RECOVERY:
“JUST REMEMBER YOU’RE A FIGHTER...”
~ Lyrics by Jenn Johnson
Don’t you remember the nursery rhyme
which begins, “Sticks and stones may
break my bones?” Well add tiled floor
to that list. In my last tale “Bed Pan Alley” that
you may have had the graciousness to read, my
story tells about a wrestling match I had with my
kitchen floor, and the floor won. My shoulder/
arm was not only pinned to the floor for a win
but was broken as well.
Before this mishap, let me tell you that never
mind the floor, my kitchen and I were never that
deeply committed to each other. As these past
few months of quarantine have passed, I was
starting to “warm up” to it- --well, actually what
I mean is, “warming up stuff” in it like, meatballs,
salmon, pizza, etc., some of the few specialties of
our nearby take-out. (I hope you don’t think that
I am turning a new page in life and really doing
heavy-duty cooking?) As many of you know,
the thing I really do best is boil water. One of
my favorite Maxine cartoons describes my atti-tude
about kitchens and cooking so perfectly as
she says, “My next home will have no kitchen
just vending machines and a large trash bag.”
Absolutely true!!!!
It’s a bit of time since I first heard snap, crackle
and pop emanating from my upper arm. I have
renamed that part of my limb (also known as a
humerus) Hermione, and known intimately to me
as Hermie. I’m tired of tending to that break but
Hermie doesn’t let me forget. I can’t turn over in
bed, I can’t get out of bed. Actually, I love my bed
and could happily spend a lot of time there but
let’s be honest, sometimes you do have to get up
and do things; like the in-between things that I
could use an unbroken arm for, such as eating and
dressing, opening the front and bathroom doors,
unwinding toilet tissue, etc. They can be very
essential skills for different reasons. I have given
my arm and wrist personalized names because
I’m tired of trying to be a medical specialist and
using their proper names, humerus and carpus.
Please do not confuse my humerus Hermie, with
the word humorous. One puts the fun in and the
other takes the fun out. Hermie has taken the
fun out of me.
Hermie’s sister is my wrist Chaleria. For those
of us who understand Yiddish, she lives up to her
name “obnoxious b……” My life is upside down
because of her antics rendering my hand numb.
While she’s competing with her sister Hermie for
attention it is not helping my recovery. Which
one will be my favorite? Should we really have
favorites in a family? Between the two of them,
I can’t even scratch my nose, schmear a dollop
of make-up on, put on clothes, button buttons,
cut my food, shower, etc.
I’ve discovered hundreds of things that I did
before and with such spontaneity that I hardly
appreciated being able to do them, and now
struggle to do so. To get back to where I was,
which wasn’t so great to begin with, will take some
huge effort. I’ve come to the conclusion my body
knows how old I am, however, my mind absolute-ly
refuses to believe it!* I now spend what feels
like hours and hours each day by trying to find
something that’s going to make me feel normal.
At least my normal, and I use the word normal
very loosely-–not to say I’m a loose woman or
abnormal. Hmmmm!
I am now in the midst of PT. No, not Pleasure
Time, but Physical Therapy, but I’m sure when
I’m finished I will have much more pleasurable
time to look forward to. Physical Therapy is like
unwinding the tangled strings of a puppet. It’s a
little stretching there and a bit of twisting here, a
bend that I never did before, a curl of the arm and
the kneading of a muscle, a stoop, a crouch and
a wriggle can really leave you writhing in pain.
What did I expect? A wave of a wand and all is
better? I can only suggest a piece of cheese cake
when all is said and done and some Zinfandel
while you’re going through it.
If you’re lucky enough to have my PT working
with you, all the hard work and exertion is worth
all the weight you’ll put on from the cheese cake
and zinfandel. Just try to forget all the gymnastics
and squirming you went through to get better.
In the future, I expect to be so good that I may
even be able to try out for the Senior Olympics.
With all my new gained strength I just may be
eligible to become a discus thrower. My warm up
spins may look similar to a hora and of course as
an older woman I may not be able to use a four
pound disc. Do you think a shmura matzo might
be better? The longest recorded distance is over
243 feet. What are my chances? How about 24.3
inches? If I lose at least I can eat the evidence.
Does shmura matzo come chocolate covered?
It has been proven that walking is the best
exercise. While I was walking with my aide, I
heard someone whistling. I know I look a bit
better with the weight loss and new hair color, but
how thrilling it was to hear a whistle as I passed
by a man and I was even wearing my mask. I was
really lit up and smiling. Wow! At that point my
aide stopped me and said, “Calm down. Don’t
get too excited. That’s not whistling. He’s just
wheezing!”* I don’t really think it’s my hearing,
it’s just that I’ve been home alone too long! Oy vey.
It’s almost the first day of fall!! Time to stop
not exercising outdoors and begin not exercising
indoors.* I walk mostly in my hallway. I think
if you make eight hundred round trips it adds
up to a mile. How about ¼ of one lap? I could
probably do better, but it’s that cheesecake again.
I can’t walk past my apartment door without
opening my refrigerator. I’m starting to get a
tan from the bulb inside of it. That’s my fault. A
tanning bulb was the only replacement I could
find for the previous bulb. I know I’ve really got
to stop my whining. One of my friends had the
nerve to tell me, “I’ve heard enough. If you need
a shoulder to cry on, then pull over to the side of
the road.”* How could she say that? She knows
I haven’t resumed driving yet.
With all the horrifying news about the coronavi-rus
I really can’t stand watching TV too much. It’s
bad enough to have anxiety about your recovery
from an accident, but to also worry about con-tagion
for you and your loved ones, can wreak
havoc on your mental status. I have started to
watch movies from the 20s, 30s and 40s. I try to
think of what my parents went through during
those early times. I love the proper accents even
on the stars that never grew up anywhere outside
of the lower east side of NY. Time seemed so sim-ple
then but probably wasn’t. Few things compare
to this pandemic we’re now going through. Our
family managed to survive by taking one step at a
time and that’s what we’ll have to do. It’s easy to
say but in reality is a terrific challenge. Years ago,
life seemed to be moving at a much slower pace.
Today time seems as though it’s flying at warp
speed and every day is so different. I’ve heard
many times that even though things do change
what remains the same is “death and taxes. “ Now
of course, there’s “shipping and handling too.”*
That’s called progress my friends.
I leave you with this message, if you want to
do a good deed and perform a mitzvah, try to
remember if you see someone pass you who looks
un-showered and underfed and walking with her
zippers open and her shirts unbuttoned, have
pity but just keep on walking. It’s me.
Stay safe. Stay well.
Love you,
Gloria
*Quotes from anonymous authors
24 NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER ¢ October 2020