Portrait of a Walking Disaster

ankle-injury
This is a very old picture. No need to send me a sympathy fruit basket. Unless you really want to.

 

A (Barely) Fictionalized Account of My Klutziness Through the Years

 

2016

“Uh, honey?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“So I really hurt my ankle taking the kids to school. I’m having a lot of trouble walking.”

“Are you serious? How?”

“Ice.”

“Uh, I do not know how to handle this right now. Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’ll just ice it, I’ll be fine.”

 

2014

“Ooooooooo, I really screwed up my elbow! Like, I think it might be broken.”

“Are you serious? How?”

“Weeding the garden.”

“Weeding the garden?”

“Yeah, there was one weed that was really stubborn and I yanked too hard, and when it gave way I went flying.”

“Uh, I am in the middle of grouting the backsplash. Are you okay to wait?”

“I’ll put some ice on it.”

“Did you really need to weed the garden two days before vacation?”

“Who the hell knew I would break my elbow just weeding?”

 

2012

“I hurt my ankle. I can’t really walk.”

“Are you serious? How?”

“I was playing with the kids at the park, and I was pretending to walk the curb as a balance beam and I stepped off funny.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m icing it right now.”

“And elevating it?”

“And elevating it.”

 

2008

“So, am so glad your cell phone is working, I just called 911, and Mom and Dad. I shattered my ankle pretty bad. Dad’s going with me to the hospital, Mom is going to watch Nicholas.”

“Oh my God, are you serious? How?

“Ice. I was taking out the garbage and I was wearing the wrong shoes and they slipped, and I went down hard and I tried to put weight on it but I couldn’t, and I had to crawl up the driveway in the snow, and then my cell phone wasn’t charged, and then I left the portable phone upstairs and I had to crawl upstairs and then I called Mom and Dad, but I couldn’t call you ’cause the cell phone wasn’t charged and we can’t call long distance from the house, but I could call 911. And it hurts really bad.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to handle this right now. Are you okay?”

“No, but I will be.”

“I’ll get a flight back, but I came out on a regional, I don’t know how fast I can get back.”

“I’m icing it until they get here.”

“And elevating it?”

“And elevating it.”

 

1993

“Mom, I think I really hurt my ankle!”

“Oh no. How?”

“I kind of missed the last two steps of the stairs.”

“Are you serious? How is it you can be graceful in dance class, but you can’t walk to save your life?”

“It’s not like this happens all the time.”

“Uh, I don’t really have time for this. Your brothers have soccer and boy scouts tonight. Can you ice it until I can get you to the doctor?”

“Yeah, I can ice it.”

 

1991

“Mr. DeMarco? Yes, thank you for calling us. Your daughter is still in the Emergency Room, we have not transferred her to a room yet. As soon as you get in the receptionist should be able to direct you here.

“Hmmmm. Well, it seems she was trailing her fingers along a wall by the fairground’s bathrooms and the hinge side of the door closed on it and took the tip clean off.

“Yes, hard to believe but I am serious. Is she okay? Yes, I’d say so. We’ve cleaned the wound and have given her painkillers, so she appears to be in good spirits. Oh and we’ve iced and elevated it until we could get you in and get a consultation with our surgeon.”

 

1985

“Awaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh”

“Oh no, Michael, there’s blood everywhere!”

“Are you serious?”

“Kristin, are you okay?”

“Awaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh”

“How? Just how?”

Sob, hiccup, sob “I was pretending the couch was balance beam, and I fell off and hit the coffee table.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that? Just two days after moving?”

“I didn’t know I was going to get hurt just (sob) PLAYING!”

Faint muttering stage whispered just loud enough to hear. “I thought those dance lessons were supposed to help her be less of a klutz. What are we paying all that money for?” Louder “Lorena, you go call the doctor.Β  I’ll go grab the ice.”

Rubbing of temples, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering again. “Ugh, I do not know how to handle this right now.”

Loser

wilted-flower

I have been meditating on the idea of loss this morning. Fear of loss, the imagined specter of what might be, is horribly powerful. The fear of attack, the fear of hunger, the fear of oppression, the fear of disability, the fear of failure, the fear of war. The loss of dreams, loved ones, security, ability.

What is one of Donald Trump’s greatest insults, one he uses all the time?

Loser.

We are terrified of loss, and terrified that that loss will define us in ways that make us less than. Others will see the taint of loss in us, and we will no longer be good enough, worthy enough.

Failures of empathy are often failures of imagination, we do not want to imagine how horrible it would feel to sit with the losses that other people do. It seems contagious. This is why many people shy away from the grieving, or take up protective denial at how bad a situation is. Truly understanding what someone else is going through makes us acutely aware that it could happen to us, and that is frightening.

Life is frightening, and having evidence at our fingertips that it is capricious is more so. Some people want to believe that when misfortune happens the unfortunate person brought it upon themselves-poor choices, lack of faith in God, excessive vices, ignorance. Some people don’t want to believe the situation is as bad as it seems-they diminish someone else’s hardships as a way of distancing themselves.

Those of us who have felt loss that was stinging and life-altering will wonder for a long time if we did something to cause it, we hide how bad it was away from our loved ones out of compassion as we don’t want you to feel frightened. But, if you have felt deep loss, deep oppression you know in your bones that Trump’s assertion is all a lie. Experiencing the losses of life are not indicative of your worth as a human being, they are an inescapable part of being human.

We can compound the effects of loss upon people by being too frightened to face it, to look it in the eye. And if you have yet to really experience loss you will be even more frightened. This is where privilege comes in. I had the privileges of being white, straight, middle class, educated, thin enough, pretty enough, Christian enough, free from sexual abuse. By the time I got to college, I had two beloved grandparents die, and that was the most I really knew of loss. And my fear of losing anything was palpable, it felt, at the time unendurable. When you haven’t lost much yet, losing feels like it will be worse than death.

On the other end of the spectrum are people who have had more than their share of loss, and looking at other people’s losses might sink them with the weight of all the unfairness of the world. Adding other people’s losses onto their hearts is too great a burden, and they may turn away.

Loss is something we will all have in common, if we don’t already.

To have a leader who looks at anyone who has ever lost anything as a “loser”, with all the degrading connotations that implies, is unconscionable. If that was the only despicable thing he had ever done, it would have been enough for me.

Although, I suspect he is more frightened of loss than any of us will ever be. He has done everything in his power his entire life to ensure he never has to endure the sting of loss even once. And his lack of human feeling matches the measure of his fear of being a “loser”.

The antidote, the key to empathy, the key to really understanding and alleviating suffering, is then bravery. Facing down your fear that something horrible will happen, because if you live long enough something always will, is imperative. Difficult and excruciating, but imperative. Face your fear of loss with as stout a heart as you can, knowing that this scares every single one of us, too. Then we can actually take practical steps to truly help each other