Healing
I've been feeling like a slug-butt again for not having posted these past few days. I actually sat down to do it several times but didn't think I had anything to write about.
I did, of course. Just nothing of the blockbuster variety. No dramatic medical interventions or gut-wrenching decisions, no rants about our health-care (should be -careless) system, no fog-fueled meditations on illness.
That's because, I now realize, I'm spending a lot of time doing something much subtler and, therefore, much more difficult to chronicle. After all these months of enduring assaults, my body is finally—slowly—starting to heal.
In truth, I'm not yet accustomed to it. I know intellectually that I've moved from what I'll call acute medical care to something more akin to maintenance and upkeep. But I find myself not quite able to relax my defenses—either physical or emotional. I still seem to be bracing for another assault.
I don't mean to suggest that I'm suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder or anything of the kind. It's just taking me a little while to adjust to this phase and to figure out how to be right now. And the fact that my days remain unstructured, and will at least for the very immediate future, is probably not helping the cause.
If we were filthy rich, I imagine we'd spend this time on a restorative round-the-world cruise or in a well appointed villa in a remote corner of Tuscany. I'd take long walks and read the classics and indulge in hours-long naps under handmade quilts. I'd listen to the crash of the waves or the crackle of the fire. Maybe I'd even grant Zach's eternal wish and learn to play bridge, although that would require two bridge-playing strangers to materialize in our midst. Perhaps I would finally finish that scarf and start another, or learn to bake bread, or do a 10,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.
Back here on planet Earth, where we are sometimes filthy but never rich, I will find other ways to regain my equilibrium. This morning, we are in Phoenicia, squeezing out a couple of extra hours before we head back to the city. The air is cool, the trees are green, and I can hear the birds chirping and the wind chimes softly ringing.
It's a start.
I did, of course. Just nothing of the blockbuster variety. No dramatic medical interventions or gut-wrenching decisions, no rants about our health-care (should be -careless) system, no fog-fueled meditations on illness.
That's because, I now realize, I'm spending a lot of time doing something much subtler and, therefore, much more difficult to chronicle. After all these months of enduring assaults, my body is finally—slowly—starting to heal.
In truth, I'm not yet accustomed to it. I know intellectually that I've moved from what I'll call acute medical care to something more akin to maintenance and upkeep. But I find myself not quite able to relax my defenses—either physical or emotional. I still seem to be bracing for another assault.
I don't mean to suggest that I'm suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder or anything of the kind. It's just taking me a little while to adjust to this phase and to figure out how to be right now. And the fact that my days remain unstructured, and will at least for the very immediate future, is probably not helping the cause.
If we were filthy rich, I imagine we'd spend this time on a restorative round-the-world cruise or in a well appointed villa in a remote corner of Tuscany. I'd take long walks and read the classics and indulge in hours-long naps under handmade quilts. I'd listen to the crash of the waves or the crackle of the fire. Maybe I'd even grant Zach's eternal wish and learn to play bridge, although that would require two bridge-playing strangers to materialize in our midst. Perhaps I would finally finish that scarf and start another, or learn to bake bread, or do a 10,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.
Back here on planet Earth, where we are sometimes filthy but never rich, I will find other ways to regain my equilibrium. This morning, we are in Phoenicia, squeezing out a couple of extra hours before we head back to the city. The air is cool, the trees are green, and I can hear the birds chirping and the wind chimes softly ringing.
It's a start.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 4:54 AM
2 Comments:
I'd learn to play bridge for you Jody. I just can't provide the fourth person....yet. :)
But in the meantime, if you are looking for activities during your unstructured healing time, if you'd ever like to have lunch or coffee in midtown-- I'm around for the next month before I head to Baltimore...shoot me an email or give me a call, I'd love to see ya!
xo,
Christine
If you start playing I will come up and play... Do I hear "Four? Four for Bridge?"?
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