1-28-08: Mowing the lawn...

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May seem innocuous enough, until you take away some of those things which make the chore easier. Now the lawn I'm dealin' with here is only about 75 square feet of stubborn Bermuda grass... too small for a riding lawn mower to be practical. A gas push mower would work, but they make noise and pollute. I've used electric mowers and always hated contending with the cord. That leaves a basic push mower with rolling blades whose effectiveness is contingent upon the efforts of the pusher. Besides, it was a $69 dollar deal from Home Depot and it's good exercise.

"You're going to do what?" Peggy asked.

"Mow the lawn."

"Yeah, but..."

Her concerns were warranted after all. I too wondered whether I was physically ready to take on this task. Mentally and psychologically, however, I wanted to... to regain a sense of usefullness and take another step to becoming somehow integral again. And the day was sunny and warm. So, I put on a pair of shorts, pulled off my shirt, set my walking stick aside and grabbed ahold of the push mower. Push, step, push, step, until I did indeed get the lawn mowed. I then traded the mower for a rake to finish my small yard manicure to create a pile of cut grass and leaves (for Peggy to put in the wheelbarrow). Even worked up a bit of a sweat in the process... haven't done that since last September.

Many of life's chores that I used to do with aplomb and have attempted again are now, how shall I say, problematical but evolving.

Shortly after arriving home eight weeks after the accident, I decided to do the dishes. My mode of mobility at the time was a wheelchair and crutches. Either one got me to the sink to stand and lean against. Faucet, sponge, stacked dishes to the side, and the dishwasher adjacent to the left... which was good because my right arm could not extend or my right hand grasp adequately. Though it took a while, I did manage to rinse, load, and start the dishwasher. Unloading and putting away took even longer, having to hop on my good leg or do the alternate heel toe pirouette and forward motions to move from dishwasher to cupboard/drawers. Now, with two legs and a better right hand grasp, doing the dishes is not the big production it once was.

I'm reminded of something I've done with students with regards to how quickly we can lose our ability to do simple tasks by taking away a certain part of the body. Tape the thumb to the palm and try picking up something, tie a shoe, write with a pencil, etc. Tie the ankles together, thereby being relegated to one leg instead of two, and experience the difficulty getting from point A to point B, with obstacles like desks and chairs and steps, and then carrying something besides... with crutches, a crutch, a walking stick. It helps students better appreciate the what they have when they suddenly don't have. Of course, I've become the student because of recent events. For me right now, though, "getting back" certain body parts takes a lot more time and must be earned. Tedious sometimes (Mr. Crankypants), but necessary.

Other problematical productions: from sponge-baths to taking a shower sitting down to standing; from getting up and down a flight of stairs on my butt one step at a time to step-together-with-crutches to step-with-walking-stick-and-grabbing-whatever-with-other-hand-for-balance to unassisted... not there yet; oh, and I've made Peggy a sandwich for lunch and helped her with dinner by making a salad AND have cooked the main dish (Papa's Grub recipe); AND I'm driving now (doctor said I only needed the right leg and one good arm, so...).

Of course, not all of life is a series of chores. There are those endeavors which we do because we want to. Being able to keyboard and dabble on my computer with both hands was huge. Hence, my continued musings.

Playing guitar takes two hands. Fortunately, my left fret hand was undamaged or the creation of notes and chords with my fingertips upon the fret board would have delayed any guitar playin' indefinitely. Sustaining a broken wrist immobilized my right hand enough, however, to not attempt to play the guitar until early December. Musical instruments are like bicycles. If you don't practice them, the notes/distance become harder to attain. But for me to not practice either of these disciplines was/is not of a conscious volition. And the damage to my right arm went beyond breaks and a dislocated shoulder. There was nerve damage as well, especially to the hand. With limited feeling and stiffness of wrist and fingers, I could not pick and pluck the strings instinctively. I had to visually place my fingers on the appropriate strings. It was slow going at first, but so has the rest of my rehabilitation. But the bones are healing and the feeling and strength in my right hand is slowly returning to play some tunes on my six-string.

Oh, and another huge... I have also rolled up my pant legs and walked upon the beach again and let the ocean surf splash over my bare feet...