I visualized Uma Thurman in "Kill Bill". "Move," I told my toe. "I command you to move."
The doctor had just been by my bed to have a reality check with me. "There is a 99% chance that you will not save this leg." I didn't believe him. Denial.
"What an asshole." I thought. "I'll show him. 99% chance? I'll take those odds. Move, toe, move" Anger.
And it did.
My big toe, just a little, twitched. There. I'll walk. Maybe I'll always have these upsetting scars, maybe I'll limp, but that Asshole doctor, he doesn't know what he's talking about. bargaining.
I made a point of capitalizing on the Thurman maneuver. For a moment, I thought of myself as a fighter, a force of nature that could make miracles happen. After all, the toe had twitched. Now about that foot. One hundred twitches. Got to exercise it.
The phone. Chad is one of two straight men that I truly admire, one of the greatest men I know. I hadn't talked to him since he moved to Japan, but somehow he knew to call, found my number in the hospital not an hour after Dr. Asshole left me to convince myself that I had an iron will. The tears burst. I told Chad the whole story--well, not the whole story. there are certain parts that are mine alone. I wept. I weep as I write this. Depression.
As it turns out, Chad was exactly right in that phone call. "Bran, I don't know what to say, except that I know everything happens for a reason, and if anybody can handle this you can." At the time, I thought it was my iron will that would let me live up to that last part, but I don't have an iron will. Not really. I never have. What I have is a bright spirit, and it's that which has brought me to the last stage of my grief. When he said, " . . . if anybody can handle this . . ." I know now that he was foreseeing the future, me wearing my pegleg and an eyepatch for Halloween, or dressing as the elf Leg-o-less, or smearing fake blood on the end of the stump and screaming in a stairwell on Friday the Thirteenth. And almost every good thing in my life has come to me through that stump, not the least of which is Robert, who continues to grow in my esteem. You can find his [icebluer] comments in my other blog, and watch us falling in intense like. Stumpy introduced us. Ask one of us about the story someday; it's cute. Acceptance.
The doctor had just been by my bed to have a reality check with me. "There is a 99% chance that you will not save this leg." I didn't believe him. Denial.
"What an asshole." I thought. "I'll show him. 99% chance? I'll take those odds. Move, toe, move" Anger.
And it did.
My big toe, just a little, twitched. There. I'll walk. Maybe I'll always have these upsetting scars, maybe I'll limp, but that Asshole doctor, he doesn't know what he's talking about. bargaining.
I made a point of capitalizing on the Thurman maneuver. For a moment, I thought of myself as a fighter, a force of nature that could make miracles happen. After all, the toe had twitched. Now about that foot. One hundred twitches. Got to exercise it.
The phone. Chad is one of two straight men that I truly admire, one of the greatest men I know. I hadn't talked to him since he moved to Japan, but somehow he knew to call, found my number in the hospital not an hour after Dr. Asshole left me to convince myself that I had an iron will. The tears burst. I told Chad the whole story--well, not the whole story. there are certain parts that are mine alone. I wept. I weep as I write this. Depression.
As it turns out, Chad was exactly right in that phone call. "Bran, I don't know what to say, except that I know everything happens for a reason, and if anybody can handle this you can." At the time, I thought it was my iron will that would let me live up to that last part, but I don't have an iron will. Not really. I never have. What I have is a bright spirit, and it's that which has brought me to the last stage of my grief. When he said, " . . . if anybody can handle this . . ." I know now that he was foreseeing the future, me wearing my pegleg and an eyepatch for Halloween, or dressing as the elf Leg-o-less, or smearing fake blood on the end of the stump and screaming in a stairwell on Friday the Thirteenth. And almost every good thing in my life has come to me through that stump, not the least of which is Robert, who continues to grow in my esteem. You can find his [icebluer] comments in my other blog, and watch us falling in intense like. Stumpy introduced us. Ask one of us about the story someday; it's cute. Acceptance.
posted by Brandon | 11:02 AM
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