I have thought about how this month means that its been 10 years since I temporarily lost the ability to walk, seeing the ability to stand on either leg go, my lungs stop, my body absorb all these new scars that got scratched into me from my chin to my kneecaps, and the largest and lowliest bones in my body break. Ive thought at length about the experience of being disassembled in a hospital, but without any honest ability to believe that you can make yourself into a whole person again. Ive thought about traveling for a full decade with a little bit of extra stiffness inside of every step: titanium rods that came into me on an operating table without me being awake to understand light or permanence or time. If Ive been out of the hospital for 10 years, then thats a strange 36,500 days that my cells have been knitting themselves around the pieces of titanium, sort of like ribbons ensconcing a maypole in the spring. Ive thought about waking up in a square room after an accident. Things I remember are not knowing what year it was, feeling a strong dislike of pain. Things I still toss around in my mind when Im staring into space are what a strange thing it is to just breathe after youve almost died. I also think about where breathing has let me go in the last 10 years, and where 10 years as I lived it meant missing things. I think, as is probably inevitable, about 10 years of picking back up. Think about it all the time. Im a great dancer, 10 years later, and I think Im only going to get better.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 04:00:51 +0000
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