A young (well, comparably, since he’s mid-fifties) friend of ours tore up his knee in an off-road motor bike accident. He and some buddies were out in the middle of nowhere rodding it up when ba-bam, he was down. Unable to walk and with no sensible-transport-for-an-injury vehicle parked nearby, his pals helped him remount his bike. GRIT! In ongoing heroic efforts, he figured out how to pick up his leg under the thigh and drop it down to help himself throttle or clutch or whatever and ride for help.
The drama! The mind over matter to overcome the pain! The focus. The heroics! The unbelievable achievement.
And now we fast forward.
For several weeks post-op (all kinds of repairs and pins and kneecap wizardry) he is not allowed to bend the knee or put weight on the leg. For an action type of guy—or anyone, for that matter—this is not a good time. It’s a crutches-and-brace laden time you must gird your loins with humility and depend on dependable people to help you along with daily functions such as carrying your plate back to your recovery encampment, if you can manage to not tip yourself over while filling said plate. Everything is exhausting. I remember this well after my knee replacement back in 2017.
His wife had to travel for business for a week and thus a spread sheet was put in place for dependable volunteers to sign up and check in, do whatever, keep him company. Being the mature, retired and dependable types, Big George and I signed up for three slots between us.
The evening after George arrived home from his last shift, he realized he’d left his metal water bottle behind. The patient’s wife was returning home the next day, so we waited another day so as not to immediately bug them with trivialities, before we called and asked if they could set it out on the front porch for our retrieval.
Mind you, I had no harsh words (mostly, as I recall, or I suppose, er, I hope, maybe that's possible) for George’s lapse since he’s spent a good portion of his life retrieving items I’ve left behind. Glasses. Jackets. My water bottle on dozens of occasions. Credit cards. Purses. Any sense of decorum or brilliance.
During the “waiting day” between leaving his water bottle and picking it up, we attended a local play held in a church sanctuary. When we got home, guess who didn’t have her water bottle? The next day calls began to the theatre folks and church folks and everyone I could think of asking if anyone had seen my easily described, crumb-bummy looking, sticker-laden yet sentimental water bottle. Yes, it was in the church lost and found where someone probably took it with prongs, if they were smart.
On Double Retrieval day, we two dependable volunteers made our physical list on the back of an envelope. At this age, I tend to stockpile errands so we “have to” grab lunch or breakfast along the way because there are just “so many errands.” It’s like a build-in incentive and reward system which I highly recommend.
When we arrived home from the marathon, I went to take a swig from my water bottle which is when I realized (checked the list) that we dependable people had missed that task since apparently, I’d crossed it off on the way TO the task (because it was crossed off) and lost track of the actuality of the situation since… crossed off means done.
We were just too pooped to head out again so we added it to the next day’s agenda with the FOCUS of ONE TASK and ONE TASK ONLY: get my water bottle. GROAN!
The drama! The Mind over Matter to, eventually, overcome ourselves. The lack of focus. The questionable guys in our own story. The unbelievable old people's follies.
Yet, here we sit, side-by-side in our lounge chairs, just sipping away from our water bottles, as though we are perfectly normal folks.
Dependable. Eventually.
The drama! The mind over matter to overcome the pain! The focus. The heroics! The unbelievable achievement.
And now we fast forward.
For several weeks post-op (all kinds of repairs and pins and kneecap wizardry) he is not allowed to bend the knee or put weight on the leg. For an action type of guy—or anyone, for that matter—this is not a good time. It’s a crutches-and-brace laden time you must gird your loins with humility and depend on dependable people to help you along with daily functions such as carrying your plate back to your recovery encampment, if you can manage to not tip yourself over while filling said plate. Everything is exhausting. I remember this well after my knee replacement back in 2017.
His wife had to travel for business for a week and thus a spread sheet was put in place for dependable volunteers to sign up and check in, do whatever, keep him company. Being the mature, retired and dependable types, Big George and I signed up for three slots between us.
The evening after George arrived home from his last shift, he realized he’d left his metal water bottle behind. The patient’s wife was returning home the next day, so we waited another day so as not to immediately bug them with trivialities, before we called and asked if they could set it out on the front porch for our retrieval.
Mind you, I had no harsh words (mostly, as I recall, or I suppose, er, I hope, maybe that's possible) for George’s lapse since he’s spent a good portion of his life retrieving items I’ve left behind. Glasses. Jackets. My water bottle on dozens of occasions. Credit cards. Purses. Any sense of decorum or brilliance.
During the “waiting day” between leaving his water bottle and picking it up, we attended a local play held in a church sanctuary. When we got home, guess who didn’t have her water bottle? The next day calls began to the theatre folks and church folks and everyone I could think of asking if anyone had seen my easily described, crumb-bummy looking, sticker-laden yet sentimental water bottle. Yes, it was in the church lost and found where someone probably took it with prongs, if they were smart.
On Double Retrieval day, we two dependable volunteers made our physical list on the back of an envelope. At this age, I tend to stockpile errands so we “have to” grab lunch or breakfast along the way because there are just “so many errands.” It’s like a build-in incentive and reward system which I highly recommend.
When we arrived home from the marathon, I went to take a swig from my water bottle which is when I realized (checked the list) that we dependable people had missed that task since apparently, I’d crossed it off on the way TO the task (because it was crossed off) and lost track of the actuality of the situation since… crossed off means done.
We were just too pooped to head out again so we added it to the next day’s agenda with the FOCUS of ONE TASK and ONE TASK ONLY: get my water bottle. GROAN!
The drama! The Mind over Matter to, eventually, overcome ourselves. The lack of focus. The questionable guys in our own story. The unbelievable old people's follies.
Yet, here we sit, side-by-side in our lounge chairs, just sipping away from our water bottles, as though we are perfectly normal folks.
Dependable. Eventually.
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