No More Turning Away From The Weak And The Weary

(song: On The Turning Away/artist: Pink Floyd)


A couple of weeks ago I took my son to Whole Foods here in Brooklyn to get a cake for my husband's birthday. It was my first time in a public errand-running setting since the surgery. Naturally I chose one of the busiest times - the after school/pre-dinner rush - to go to the grocery store for the first time. What my son didn't (and shouldn't) know is that I had been feeling extremely anxious about public outings, so going in I was a silent mess. I'm feeling so vulnerable and exposed with this newfound handicap. 

Before we got out of the car we discussed our plan of attack: Go straight to the bakery, pick out a cake, get the hell out of there. My son got a small rolling cart, while his crippled mama hobbled behind him on her hospital-issued cane. We go straight to the bakery, pick out a cake, put it in the rolling cart and...oh yeah, we need milk too. We head over to dairy, get the milk. Oh yeah, we need eggs too. I grab those. Oh yeah, a few yogurts too. And this package of cheese. I instruct my son as I hand him the items one-by-one to add to the cart. Take out cake, put in eggs and milk and yogurt and cheese, put cake back. 

We head to the check-out line. As we pass the hot food bar, the cart topples over. Out comes the cake, eggs, yogurt, cheese and milk. My sweet little boy says, as he falls to his knees and scrambles to collect the runaway groceries, "I'm sorry, mommy, I'll pick it up. The eggs are broken, will we get in trouble?" I'm not mad at him, but I'm so anxious and visibly agitated and I can't bend down and help him. And no one, I mean NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON, stopped to help an almost-crying child and his cane-using mother. 

No eggs were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

Now that I'm a full-time cane user, I've noticed that people who walk past me don't make eye contact for very long, if at all. And I've come to realize that's exactly how I looked at the disabled before this happened to me. We are taught not to gawk: however inadvertent, we treat the disabled as invisible because it makes us uncomfortable to imagine ourselves in a similarly compromised position. 

Perhaps the assumption that handicapped people don't want special treatment is what drove every person that walked past my son and me not to stop and offer help. What I know is that I will no longer assume that help is not needed if I find myself in a similar situation. My awkwardness at coming face-to-face with someone that has a handicap is no match for what it feels like to need help and not be offered it. We as humans can do better. I'll go first.


 

Or at the very least, by lifting others' groceries. 

Condition: Grounded, But Determined To Try

(song: Learning to Fly/artist: Pink Floyd)



Jan. 5, 2016

Today was my 3-week follow-up with Dr. Rawlins, my surgeon from Hospital for Special Surgery.  You might recall that we didn't have a lot of time to get to know each other as I only met him 48 hours before he sliced into my back, so it was nice to see him under slightly better circumstances. We reminisced about the day we met. He said, "You were essentially paralyzed when you came in." And we laughed and laughed...

A hell of a lot happier and ready to make recovery my bitch.

I update him on my post-surgery progress. Three weeks after surgery:

• I am now able to slide my feet into my shoes all by myself! (Seriously, I couldn't do that for the three weeks prior to surgery.) My toes have feeling and they can mostly grip again. I still can't use my toes to ease my shoes off the back of my foot, but I'll get there. 
• The tops of my feet are no longer numb! Hopefully this is a positive sign that means I didn't sustain permanent nerve damage. Cautiously optimistic. 
• My shins are still numb.
• My lady business is still numb. (If you're a medical professional, this is called saddle paresthesia. If you've ever sat on a bike seat or had a Brazilian bikini wax, it's that whole area...)
• I still have footdrop. Though it's not as pronounced as it was before surgery, it's still there, and that sucks big time. 

Now that I'm used to being asked about my bathroom functions, when that subject comes up, I tell him that while I get the sensation of needing to go to the bathroom, I am now able to sleep through the night without getting up to pee. If you've ever given birth vaginally and/or you're over 40-years-old, you know that's not normal. (In 2008, I was diagnosed with stress incontinence after I peed through my Spanx while dancing to Jump Around at a wedding, so yeah, my newfound ability to go for more than eight hours without peeing raises a flag.) For this and the other remaining numbness, he refers me to a neurologist for further testing of the nerve damage.

He was happy with my progress but warned that "some of the numbness may never go away". And while I do not find this remotely comforting, if it only means a lifetime of pain-free bikini waxes, that's pretty much like gaining a superpower so I can totally live with that outcome.

Then he cleared me for physical therapy! He says, "Getting the strength back in your legs is completely up to you now." No shit. It's going to be so fucking hard and tedious and frustrating and I just wish I could blink myself one year into the future a la "I Dream of Jeannie", but I can't, so I'm going to work my ass off because I hate being like this more than I hate hard work. So...here I go!

Is it 2017 yet?!