The Dark Place

Thanks to my new habit of trailwalking, I have been immersed in a culture of dogwalkers I overlooked when I was running. In my haste to exercise I didn't stop to talk to passers-by, a necessity when one is walking because chatty folks are hard to avoid. I'm naturally anti-social, however there's something comforting in the knowledge that everyone enjoys talking about their dogs. It's a natural icebreaker to comment on the adorable smile of a hopeful border collie.

Recently I've been nodding hello to a new couple in my town, one of whom works in a nearby hospital. In taking notice of my post-op state, they frequently ask after my recovery while throwing a stick for their shepherd. The last time I met them, she spoke of a patient whose hands had been crushed in a rock climbing accident. Having spent a few hours talking with this person at the hospital, she asked how she could help him look toward a future that wasn't bleak and crippled. What could she say?

I was a little startled by the question. Having unexpectedly lived that future, I tried to think of what I would say to myself eleven months ago, and I came up empty. Encouragement is just annoying; a hope that one can grow from tragedy is infuriating; a belief that something better will happen seems impossible. All I could think of was, "Tell him the dark place will pass."

I wanted to tell him that it does pass, but there's nothing you can do to hasten the process. You just have to ride it out and hope that at the end you'll see something better. Or, hope that at the end, you'll have enough strength left to go on.

Then I thought over my answer again, decided that it was too heavy, and told her to advise the young man, while his hands were out of commission, to master voice recognition software.

photo credit: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2290/1809841427_ac57666503.jpg

Making the Rounds

A few months ago, I met the deductible on my insurance plan, and since then I have been racing around to every conceivable doctor to make the most of my nearly-free coverage. Somewhere between the eye doctor and the dentist I started to notice how nice it was to hear that I was totally healthy within a particular specialty - it is a statement I have been fairly used to my entire life but now seems rare. My doctors' appointments were always quick check-ins until the past year. Today, I'm lucky if I make it out in an hour.

Visiting doctors has become a frighteningly easy process. I am a whiz with forms and consider blood tests lunchtime errands. There is a running history of doctor-phobia in my family, which I think I have overcome through necessity and forced tolerance. (This also applies to my ticklishness, which has completely evaporated in the wake of countless people touching my abdomen.) I sometimes wonder if there is anyone else I should check in with now that I'm on a role and have all this time - wouldn't it be worth it to just check my respiratory function? Hearing? Kidneys? How many doctors can I see before I'm classified as "paranoid"?

Hypochondria aside, it's a little irritating to just talk about my health with everyone I meet. I have little social interaction outside of my doctors and physical therapy, which is disconcerting. Most of my doctors now know more about me than my gradating class of twenty-nine. But I guess that's the point - focus on my health now, get my clean bill, and then later I won't have to think about it at all.

Right?

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