those of us about to die salute you

When I was nine years old, I had a massive triple surgery on my lower extremities. I spent a week in the PICU (thanks to a memorable morphine hypersensitivity…hives in a body cast) and then an additional week in the hospital. Then 10 weeks in a cast from my upper chest to my toes. It was tied dyed. I have a scrap of the casting material that I use as a book mark. My whole world those 10 weeks revolved around anticipation of March 31. The day I was to get my cast off.

To get back to Delaware required a 2.5 hr car ride in the cast. Then a 1.5 hour appt with cast saws and the cracking of plaster with me lying there trying desperately not to move for fear of being cut (I had a previous experience in the middle of the night with a sleep deprived resident who did manage to cut my knee open with a cast saw) and slowly becoming more naked. Finally it was done and there I was there with hairy (yeah for puberty deciding to hit that winter…), scaly, skinny but ever so straight legs with pink silk lines running everywhere. The second stage was the removal of all the external pins which is well the strangest sensation EVER. It wasn’t quite painful simply extremely odd to be keenly aware of the nerves inside of one’s bones. Then slowly I was lifted back into the chair and gravity won out and I nearly sat up as I was lifted down, pain shot down my legs as my muscles awoke to the outside world. I gasped it was as if my lower body had turned to fragile feathery mush.

I was wheeled slowly x-ray and tried to fight back tears as they tried carefully to pick me up and put me on the table. An hour later I am slowly exploring the idea of sitting up on my own and much like a 6 mon old seriously afraid of falling. In comes the orthopod and his posse. Up go the flims. I was a bright kid and I cringed with horror at these pictures of me. Thin lines ran here and there. I sat there looking as if someone had struck me and felt absolutely devastated. It was supposed to be over and I was supposed to feel better. I was supposed to go home and celebrate.

That was kind of how the boards were. My brain is feathers and mush. It came and went and as I walked out of there today I became steadily more pessimistic. I came home and cried.   Oddly it’s yet again March 31.

and thats the last I want to talk about it.