Or, in the words of Dinah Washington:So, in the month preceding it, I prepared- and I played. I went inside, drew my thoughts together, went into “training”. I decided that preparation was what would make this life-changing event as successful as possible. After years of avoidance, I was getting a new hip. I knew it would be the last time I’d be independently mobile for some time, and decided that in preparation for the inevitable– and presumably very temporary- detachment, I would gather all the best of my world- people, places and things- to take with me into the process of regeneration that was about to begin.
Like my favorite children’s book, “Fredrick the Mouse”, I gathered color and beauty to me for my cave. I spent floating steamy August afternoons sitting on the beach soaking in light and air, flew a kite in Pt. Pleasant crosswinds, ate waffles and ice cream on the boardwalk, jumped through and over waves surprisingly free of jellyfish, dug my toes into the sand and turned my face to the sun. Awesome. Sultry evenings eating crab and mussels with sticky fingers; mojitos and meandering conversations with good friends.
On Labor Day, two days before my surgery, I drove into a deserted NYC for the day. Parked by Central Park, went to MoMA and visited old friends- Cezanne, Brancusi, Miro, Pollack, Motherwell, Diebenkorn and- my personal favorite- Matisse. (see the show- it’s lovely). I went into the garden, a serene space gently walled from the intense frenzy of the city and the museum itself. The fountain is my favorite- a rectangular reflecting pool bridged by a simple slab of white marble. I stood in the middle of the bridge and threw a coin into the water. "A Wish for Wings that Work."
In a last inspired act of self-kindness (and to my daughter’s great amusement), I filled my IPod shuffle with “The Sounds of Anesthesia”- music to inspire, elevate, dream and make me smile through the process- “Spaced Out”, Comfortably Numb”, “Dreaming Tree”…”I Will”. Hah, of course I will. Was there ever a question?
We live in a society where the value of things intangible is questioned. I’ve run into that repeatedly in my life from those who doubt the possibility of building a life doing things that bring pleasure and beauty- art, music, words. My own family, marvelous and grounded pragmatists that they are, have always looked at me a bit askance as the “odd duck” in a pond of productive beavers. Go do something practical. So I did. All practical- including the gathering of light and laughter. Most important for healing.
Certainly, I worked too- put all ducks in rows so that the process would be as smooth as possible and my electric would still be on. Saw clients, sent emails, cleaned house, set up, worked out extra hard. Because, quite frankly, I had no idea what would be on the other side of the bridge… and If I stopped to think about it, I was pretty scared. This was major surgery, after all- and things go wrong all the time.
Fear is a terrible thing- it pushes us to avoid taking the steps in our lives that will bring us to the place we most want to go. Truth is, what we avoid and flinch over settles into the joints; we become more and more inhibited by the restrictions we’ve created- by the narrow range of movement in our lives, whether they be physical or otherwise.
The stamina to take risks; to forge through and across the bridges of life takes resources- psychic Sherpas so to speak to put oneself at the end of the proverbial bungee cord.
My new leg and I are fast becoming best friends. I find myself amazingly, miraculously stronger every day. Partly preparation, partly luck and good genes, and very much the skill and care of the talented people who took apart my broken wing and put it back together. It took a team of dreamers (the inventors of my miracle hip socket) and pragmatists (the PT who kicked my terrified ass into moving) to get me here. And, most critical, the supportive cushion of loving people that I am so very fortunate to have around me. And I won’t discount the power of Pink Floyd.
Of course, all this great insight could be the result of the excellent cocktail of drugs I was blessed to ingest this last week. Don’t think so, this is the result of a year of mindful preparation- designing my life.
In a cool twist, I have new clients who are doing a major renovation and are very focused on disability design- something that all of us Aging Boomers need to keep at the front of our minds, whether for loved ones or our own eventual falls and failings. I am now familiar first-hand with what it means to get to the bathroom at 2 AM when your legs don’t work- and am a much better designer for the experience. Events in our lives aren’t discrete- they interweave, interconnect, inform and reverberate in and through each other- and that’s a good thing.
From the other side of the bridge? I do believe that wish will come true…
A couple of children’s books that inspire me still:
A Wish for Wings That Work: An Opus Christmas Story; Berkeley Breathed
Frederick the Mouse; Leo Leonni
