Naked Ladies

I was just walking down the street and an elderly Latino woman stood there in her first floor window, looking at me.  When I passed by her she said, "I thought-a you were a moviestar!" It made me feel really special for some reason.

In reality, I have felt not so special for the past couple weeks.  Today is the thirteenth day following my surgery.  The surgeon said that it was a success, but I honestly don't feel any different than before.  My neck and back still hurt in exactly the same spots, and my right arm still kills me.  Maybe it is still early, and once I am able to go physical therapy things will get better? I hope so.

And now I have a huge Frankenstein scar across my neck, just in time for Halloween!

My friend Phil texted me last week, "How's the Colombian necktie feeling?" For a second I thought, "Good one!" because I had never heard that term before and it was pretty clever I gotta admit! Then I cried.  I don't know what I expected the scar to look like.  Its not that I thought it would be any better or worse than it ended up being.  Its just that initial shock of when you first see it in the mirror and that its really on your skin and its permanent... Its hard to explain.  Its like a war wound.  Although even more apparent.  A very visible kind of baggage to have to explain for the years to come.  As if there wasn't enough of that already!

(Above: Flash forward to my next date.  I'm the butch one.)

I did a lot of crying the first few days after the surgery.  Things got really bad too when my Dad had to go back to Chicago on October 4th.  I was upset partly because I still needed someone to help me out and partly because each time I see him I am afraid it will be the last time.  Crazy I know.  But I am really lucky he came here for the surgery, because I don't know how I would have eaten or moved or even reached for the remote for those few days without him.

This whole year of being injured and out of work for so long, then being incapacitated and helpless after surgery and with little help from others has been a strange experience.  I have always felt as though I have been cursed/blessed to have experienced things early relative to other people my age: abandonment, grief, psychological issues, now even physical illness and injury.  This year, I feel like I have definitely experienced what it must be like for older women who don't have a family of their own or anyone to help them as they become more and more a prisoner of their aging bodies.  The waiting, wondering: Will anyone stop by this week? How will I get food in the house? How will I change that lightbulb in the hallway? Will this pain ever go away? Will I have to pay someone to come and take the air conditioner out of my window? Is this what life is all about? Is it really worth it? It is definitely a humbling experience to question whether you can physically manage your basic needs on a daily basis.

I have also observed that for the most part people seem to be terrified of illness - uncomfortable even talking to or being around someone who is ill or injured (even with non-life threatening injuries like mine).  Is it because it reminds people of their own mortality? What about illness causes people to behave so... inhumanly? Its almost like people think they will catch something if they spend time around someone who's sick or injured.  A lot of people get totally weird and disappear, even stop calling.  In a way, I think illness is just another one of life's magnifying glasses... revealing truths about oneself, about what is truly important to you, about who is a real friend and who isn't.  Its yet another lesson; a blessing in disguise.  A cold, lonely blessing mostly, but one I am doing my best to embrace.

So the part of me that still has the will to live and the power to fight to regain my strength came bubbling up to the surface yesterday.  This part took me on a 23 minute walk to Porter Square to join a gym.  A ladies only gym.  A real fancy one with exercisin' machines and cardio funk classes and saunas and whirlpools... Did I mention already that its for ladies ONLY? And what is it about a ladies only gym that makes everyone get so... naked? There are totally naked ladies EVERYWHERE.  Its like an "art film" in there. "J'aime le gymnase?" I might even be turned on if it weren't for all the painkillers.  So, hopefully this new, improved, more erotic gym will help me on the road to recovery.  I have to become tough! Buff! Impervious to degeneration, oxidation and especially defenestration.  Bulletproof.