Since I’m occasionally asked, here’s the current status of my recovery, post-fall.
With luck, the cervical collar will come off on January 13th. That’ll enable things like stairs (holding off on that since I can’t look down easily, and we’ve learned the hard way what happens when I can’t see where I’m going when going down stairs), and driving.
I really have only two symptoms remaining:
A random memory: after having the CAT scan and MRI, we eventually ended up talking to the neurosurgeon, Dr. Elliot Min. He outlined what had happened and his recommended solution: removal of the damaged disc and fusion of C5-6 and C6-7.
In other words, major surgery. On my neck. Where there are lots of important things like nerves and blood vessels and so much more.
We expressed some concerns about all that, and wondered about perhaps just waiting for the swelling to go down instead. He (calmly) reassured us that surgery was the way to go, and not something we wanted to postpone.
“It’s what I do.”
As I continue to improve, I, of course, look to others for inspiration and examples of improvement in the face of trauma or adversity.
I had an interesting observation relating to the limits reached by others in their progress, and how it does — and does not — apply to my own situation.
It’s a common question in situations such as the one I found myself in.
People desperately want to help. The problem is that they can’t know what’s appropriate to offer proactively, so asking what they can do in a generic sense is the only real alternative they have. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help” is a common equivalent.
Now, to be clear, the sentiment is deeply appreciated; truly. I’ve remarked on how just knowing that there are people who would drop everything to render aid or solve a problem at a moment’s notice is incredibly comforting. It really does remove a level of stress, even if that aid is never called into action.
There’s something simple that also renders incredible value, and yet it’s something that, for reasons I can’t quite fathom, seems the most difficult thing to offer at all.
When you’re in an emergency 911 situation, it’s pretty clear you’re giving control over your very life and well-being to capable others. The concept of second-guessing a first responder, for example, doesn’t make sense. They do this every day, whereas hopefully this is a brand new one-off experience for you. That you would place yourself in their care makes sense.
But what happens after? When healing and recovery kick in, yet you’re still reliant on others for various forms of assistance and support?
Let. It. Go.
Not that these recent essays haven’t already been self-indulgent to some degree, but allow me to indulge in a little more: tech geekery and amazement about our ability to communicate with one another in real time at any time, anywhere on the planet.
The size, scope, and characteristics of the communications network that activated when I had my fall fascinates me.
It’s almost a case study in everything from culture to time zones to communications technologies and more. Much like the network of people that reached out, it was much larger than I’d realized.
“Family” is an interesting word, with more baggage than most people realize. Wrapped up in those six letters are things like biology, culture, legalities, love, guilt, obligation, responsibility, and probably many more words with various and significant implications of their own.
One of the words that you don’t hear as much is “choice”. It’s a concept I’ve come to embrace over the years, and especially in the last few weeks.
One approach I use to manage the incoming flood of information is to use a dedicated email account for newsletters and similar subscriptions. That way, I can focus on my “main” emails without distractions, while intentionally sitting back and reading interesting content later.
One benefit is that this email address is easy to ignore. If, say, I’m laid up in a hospital for a week, newsletters will continue to accumulate with no adverse effects. When I return to the account, I can choose what to do next. The typical approach is to declare email bankruptcy, delete the accumulation, and start over as new issues arrive. It worked well.
My primary responsibility right now is to myself, to recover. That means physically (strengthening ambulation, improved balance, manual dexterity, etc), as well as psychologically, mainly via the written word.
In reality, though, the responsibilities go further. Much further.
When someone practicing a different spiritual or philosophical tradition wishes you well from within their tradition, what’s the correct response?
Acceptance.
It’s something I ended up reflecting on and even changing my approach slightly after hearing well-wishes from several different directions.
Needless to say, emergencies and emergency surgery, where terms like “paralysis” and “spinal cord injury” are being tossed about, are serious situations. I, in no way, want to minimize that. This is serious shit.
However, looking back at the events of the past two weeks, I note another theme as well, and it’s a theme I believe is partly responsible for my progress.
Humor.
I don’t let that get in the way of doing it poorly, anyway, for the past 17+ years. My take is that the only truly “bad” meditation is the one that didn’t happen. Even then, that’s being unnecessarily judgmental, but there we are.
One of the techniques I use when meditating is to recite a specific “gatha” or short verse to myself. This comes from Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Present Moment Wonderful Moment: 52 Inspirational Cards and a Companion Book.
I am not known for being a particularly passionate guy. Emotions exist, of course, but they’re typically kept well inside.
Imagine my surprise when, in the days after my fall and surgery, I was frequently, unexpectedly, weeping. My mind would touch on a topic and all of a sudden … tears.
I have two theories: reality and “the excuse”.
The same day I was released from the hospital, Joan Westenberg posted an interesting essay, “The Harvest Will Come,” on downtime and the cyclical nature of creativity.
We accept that the world needs rest periods built into its operating system.
But when it comes to our own sense of meaning and purpose, our work, our lives, we expect constant summer.
The catch, particularly for our own sense of purpose, is that “downtime” is often frowned upon and even considered a form of failure, if not by others, then by ourselves.
Westenberg’s perspective is that of choice and/or the inevitability of going through less-than-creative periods, and of learning to accept them as not only inevitable but also healthy and restorative.
We’ve been in our home for almost 29 years as I write this, and we’ve long known we want to stay here as long as possible. Of course, it’s a two-story home, which our knees and hips have often reminded us of.
A couple of years ago, we had the chair lift pictured above installed. It’s for the dogs, honest. Well, at least initially.
To be clear, I’m writing this for myself, first and foremost. It’s how I process things, and I have a lot to process.
I’ve been overwhelmed at the number of people who’ve reached out with support (truly … more on that later). I know there are questions, and rather than repeat myself ad nauseam, I figured I’d make this little writing exercise/record public. Ignore it, or read it, or something in between. That you’ve cared enough to read even this far has already made my day. I’ll update it from time to time.
Two versions: TL;DR: WTAF! summary of the events of the last week, followed by OMG! TMI! gory details/trigger warning, etc. No blood, but there is poop.