two broken wrists. there’s not much that can stop me, but two broken wrists has done it.
it is profound what you do in daily living with at least one hand. really everything. this is my fourth day on this hand-less journey and i know there’s a long road ahead. i am not a good patient and the inability to perform the simplest of tasks has been world-stopping. i had to teach david how to ‘properly’ wipe my mouth, put on girl jeans, comb out wet hair. he has to hold my coffee cup (and yes, a wine glass or two) with the infamous sesame street ernie straw, feed me every bite, help me sit up from laying down, open doorknobs, pick up my cellphone so i can voice activate it, wipe my tears as i cry in frustration. the list goes on and is only limited to your imagination.
i wanted to have a tiny window into my beautiful daughter’s world. My Girl tells me lots of coaching and instructing stories from her high mountain snowboarding career, but i have never stepped on a snowboard. i wanted to physically experience the board under my feet, even a tiny grasp of how she feels. so we have planned for a long time to take a lesson and surprise her with our tale.
this week was wisconsin ski and snowboard week and for a mere $29 you could purchase lift tickets, rental equipment and a group lesson. it seemed perfect.
and for an hour and twenty minutes it was. a really difficult sport, we stood on boards and managed to learn the slightest of skills. until that little girl on skis was in front of me downhill just a bit. not really well-versed at turning and, clearly, less versed on stopping, i worked to avoid her. the stop and the fall were simultaneous. tailbone down i clearly put out my hands to help my fall, the first do-not-do-this rule. instinct took over; reflexes prevailed. that was step one in this two-broken-wrists tale, this whole rest.
four days ago i took for granted every little thing my hands (and arms) did for me. i could play the piano at any given moment, grab a pencil and jot a lyric, readjust the bench, open the blinds and let the sun into the studio. today the studio is dark, the piano quiet, the pencils waiting.
instead, moment by moment i am aware of every move i make, every single thing i need assistance with. i work each day to gain one more tiny ability. we have slowed down to a crawl and are abiding in each minute, one by one. i appreciate david’s help beyond mere gratitude or words; his commitment to my every-single-movement is humbling. our friends and family have reached out with offers of meals, company, words of encouragement and vast amounts of humor. we are right here in this very moment. presence defined.
i wonder about my piano. i know that my right hand in a hard fiberglass cast is on hiatus. i think that maybe my left hand, which is in a hard splint, might have a beensy chance at a few notes, regardless of the ensuing pain. when i was 19 i broke three fingers on my left hand slammed in a steel church door. they were splinted but i was fending for myself making a living for college as a musician and so i relentlessly started playing with those fingers anyway. this too-early-in-the-healing-process-playing prevented full healing, so i am cautious now. the piano is a part of my soul and so i honor the process of getting-back.
in the meanwhile, in the way that only the universe understands, after these last months, i seem to have needed a reminder of being loved and cared for, a reminder of attending to ‘now’ with no dreaded worry of ‘next’, a reminder of what’s truly important.
last night i held a fork. it was pretty amazing.
oh, and – the little girl skied on, unaware.