Two weeks and one day ago I had knee surgery. I'm still not sure of any of the medical details except that I tore some stuff that attaches to stuff and that seems pretty common among folks I've spoken with about it. Kind of like learning a new word, you suddenly hear it everywhere.
My knee basically stopped bending past a 90 degree angle and I couldn't deny anymore that the pain was keeping me up at night. I finally went to a specialist after Greg caught me almost falling down a flight of stairs when the darn thing gave out. I still refused to take off my heels.
Setting up the appointment felt like calling a hair salon. "What are you seeing him for? Which side? Anything else you need done?" When I came in to see the doc I was in and out of his office so quickly I may as well had been picking up dry cleaning. He was incredibly charming, made a few jokes, recited his bio and began fondling my knee. He asked a few questions, explained the 'normalcy' of my situation then slapped me on the back and declared:
"Welcome to old age!"
The man is clearly older than my own father and actually sports a graying handle-bar mustache. [...and a funky turquoise pinky ring... I kept thinking of Doctor Jacoby from Twin Peaks...]
My knee basically stopped bending past a 90 degree angle and I couldn't deny anymore that the pain was keeping me up at night. I finally went to a specialist after Greg caught me almost falling down a flight of stairs when the darn thing gave out. I still refused to take off my heels.
Setting up the appointment felt like calling a hair salon. "What are you seeing him for? Which side? Anything else you need done?" When I came in to see the doc I was in and out of his office so quickly I may as well had been picking up dry cleaning. He was incredibly charming, made a few jokes, recited his bio and began fondling my knee. He asked a few questions, explained the 'normalcy' of my situation then slapped me on the back and declared:
"Welcome to old age!"
The man is clearly older than my own father and actually sports a graying handle-bar mustache. [...and a funky turquoise pinky ring... I kept thinking of Doctor Jacoby from Twin Peaks...]
I'm not saying I'm not getting old or that getting old is necessarily a bad thing. It just made me pause.
I'm thirty four. I don't have kids yet.
I suppose one could say I've taken my knees for granted but that seems harsh. People would never leave the house if life required reverence toward everything we think we might lose familiarity with. But those words have stuck to me like that silly-but-brilliant song in the Dunkin' Donuts ad.
I-want-some-kids-be-fore-I'm-42----
I-want-some-kids-be-fore-I'm-42----
Get-ting-old-is-part-of-life-why-did-he-make-me-pause--
Get-ting-old-is-nor-mal-and-kidsdon't-come-from-SantaClaus...
Am I THAT woman now?
Hell yes.
The day of the surgery...well...we've all had surgery in some form or another right? I won't bore myself trying to be witty about the details [more avoidance Boutell?] except the waiting room and recovery room felt as if folks were going in for a manicure and brought their friends and family for support. Apparently most of New York City needs work on their joints as often as they need their shoes polished.
Recovery, as I knew it would be, has been rough on my ego. I realize I am a happy, healthy, lucky and blessed woman...I really really do...but after you've hoofed it for 20 minutes to a street corner that normally takes 3 minutes to get to... try explaining with a smile, in less than 10 seconds, to someone who literally jumped in front of you WITHOUT A CANE, why YOU deserve the cab that just pulled up....it is hard to feel good. Especially when you aren't used to asserting yourself...FOR yourself.
"Excuse me. I was here first. I'm sorry, but I was and you see I have THIS." [I'm not sure I didn't point it out as a weapon.]
The other day we went to see a movie and had to wait on line. I have always taken pride in my NYC manners. I'm not one of those folks who stops short in the middle of the sidewalk, stands at the entrance or exit to turnstiles, doorways or stairs, I don't turn around mid-stream with a cell phone to my ear and blind the stranger behind me with my elbow. I go with the flow and I move with the mean speed of the 'traffic'.
Until now.
The day of the surgery...well...we've all had surgery in some form or another right? I won't bore myself trying to be witty about the details [more avoidance Boutell?] except the waiting room and recovery room felt as if folks were going in for a manicure and brought their friends and family for support. Apparently most of New York City needs work on their joints as often as they need their shoes polished.
Recovery, as I knew it would be, has been rough on my ego. I realize I am a happy, healthy, lucky and blessed woman...I really really do...but after you've hoofed it for 20 minutes to a street corner that normally takes 3 minutes to get to... try explaining with a smile, in less than 10 seconds, to someone who literally jumped in front of you WITHOUT A CANE, why YOU deserve the cab that just pulled up....it is hard to feel good. Especially when you aren't used to asserting yourself...FOR yourself.
"Excuse me. I was here first. I'm sorry, but I was and you see I have THIS." [I'm not sure I didn't point it out as a weapon.]
The other day we went to see a movie and had to wait on line. I have always taken pride in my NYC manners. I'm not one of those folks who stops short in the middle of the sidewalk, stands at the entrance or exit to turnstiles, doorways or stairs, I don't turn around mid-stream with a cell phone to my ear and blind the stranger behind me with my elbow. I go with the flow and I move with the mean speed of the 'traffic'.
Until now.
I have no choice. The doors open to the theater and the line starts going. I start hobbling forward leaving the 'no-no' gap in front of me. Feeling a little panicked I speed up my three-legged dance which gets me out of breath. [How old am I again?] We sit down or collapse into the only seat I am capable of 'rushing' to and I decide [like a normal person] I should hit the head before we settle down. But that means stairs. This place has lots of stairs. I might miss half the movie before I get back to my seat. [Since when does a New Yorker care about stairs? Vertical City Baby!] Full bladder rules out. I hobble back up to the lobby and ask if there are restrooms on "this floor".
"Down. The. Stairs. And. To. The. Right."
I deflate and head that way. No rest for the wicked. No one really cares if you are wicked. No rest for anyone.
"Wait, M'am! For YOU...YOU go to the elevator and go to the second floor!" [God bless you, sonny.]
I do so. Occupied. The door opens and an older [woman?] with a gray beard comes out. She eyes my cane and asks what happened. She tells me what happened to her. Apparently she'd injured her shoulder after falling down. Yes. She with the beard said she needed her cane because she'd injured her shoulder. I gave a sympathtic smile as a I tried backing into the bathroom while slowly shutting the door to her. She was still talking. I had to go bearded lady.
The movie was sensational. We took a cab home and met up with our little devil dog who is so excited when he greets you at the door he will repeatedly jump up to your head unless you stop him. His little brain is so small. You can only shake your head and grin.
A few days later, we order take out from a new restaurant in the area. It is trendy. It is pricey. It is an hour late. We finally get our food and they've over charged us. So I call them.
Me: Hi...um...we just received our food and we were charged for a soup that we did not receive....and...
[She interrupts me.]
Vinyl Chick: ...I'm sorry what? I called you. I told you we were out of soup.
Me: Yes. I know...and I said I would take the fries instead but you still...
Vinyl Chick: ...hold on...
[I'm on hold. A dude gets on the phone.]
Vinyl Dude: Hello? Hi. Did you want soup? We called to tell you ...
Me: ...yes...I know. I ordered Fries. Fries and a Banana shake. [Comfort food, ok?] And I was charged for the soup and I received a Vanilla shake.
Vinyl Dude: ...hold on...
[I'm on hold. The chick gets back on.]
Vinyl Chick: ...um yeah. You got your fries right?
Me: Yes. But you charged me for the soup. It is $1.75 more.
Vinyl Chick: It's only a $1.75. You got fries right?
[Are you kidding me?! 7 second pause.]
Me: Yes.
[Pause.]
Vinyl Chick: M'am...I mean, it's only a dollar...
[I interrupt her. I decide to cut to the chase. She apparently said something I didn't want to hear. I wanted to hear her say, "I'm so sorry. What can we do to make up for it?..." and have her give me a list of options. I know they are new. I realize they don't necesarily have to care about a little $1.75 mess-up and I know this is NYC, but in that 7 second pause I decided I wanted to be treated as if they cared and I decided I wanted a Banana shake. Another one. BANANA this time.]
Me: Yeah. Um. You know what I want?
Vinyl Chick: ...seventy five...I know...um...yes. But. Hold on...wait...what?
Me: You know what I would like?
[Pause.]
Vinyl Chick: What?
Me: I would like a Banana Shake.
Vinyl Chick: You want us to bring you another shake and take off the dollar...
Me: No.
[Pause.]
Vinyl Chick: You want another shake?
Me: Yes. And I don't want to pay for it.
[Pause.]
Vinyl Chick: ...um...hold on...
[I hold.]
Vinyl Chick: [Over-heard talking to Vinyl Dude.] ...yeah...no...a shake...ok M'am. We'll bring your shake.
[We hang up.]
They called two more times. The second time was a manager. Half an hour later I got a shake and the delivery guy would not accept the tip. I felt a little guilty and worried I might have a loogy in my prize. Perhaps I shouldn't have demanded free food from a neighborhood restaurant as one of my stand-up-for-myself moments...but I did. And at the very least I'm trying it out. [Like I would a new restaurant?]
This cane is a weapon. For now it is helping me destroy the instinct to feel passive about things I want. I should have brought it to auditions last year.
[We hang up.]
They called two more times. The second time was a manager. Half an hour later I got a shake and the delivery guy would not accept the tip. I felt a little guilty and worried I might have a loogy in my prize. Perhaps I shouldn't have demanded free food from a neighborhood restaurant as one of my stand-up-for-myself moments...but I did. And at the very least I'm trying it out. [Like I would a new restaurant?]
This cane is a weapon. For now it is helping me destroy the instinct to feel passive about things I want. I should have brought it to auditions last year.
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