I’ve spent the last eight weeks in a heavy-duty sling after surgery to repair an old injury and getting freed from it a few days ago feels like I passed “Go” and received my “get out of jail free card.” The surgery was a little more intense than I had imagined it would be and my two months in the penalty box started out a bit rough. To begin with, I did a really poor job of setting my expectations around how long it would take me to get back to functioning somewhat normally and when I failed miserably at that (for the record, I gave myself five days), my first two weeks found me fighting through some storm clouds. More than anything, the evil pain meds they give you after surgery put me in a foggy mental state and left me in no shape to bring my best to work even though at the time I believed I could. It took me a little while to figure out how off I was (it didn’t help that I was one-armed and using dictation software).
After about a week I started weaning myself off the meds and by the week after that the cloud had lifted. I settled into a routine that didn’t vary much until a few days ago. I sat at my desk in my home office and did as much work as I could handle. Despite what I had hoped for, voice-to-text for more than short messages (while pretty incredible when you think about it) still has a lot of ground to cover to become ubiquitous and no matter how many hours I sat talking to my computer, it felt like I was falling further and further behind. I knew that sleep would also be difficult as I’ve had shoulder surgery before and had experienced how much sleeplessness accompanies it. Knowing it and dealing with it are two different states of mind though, and no matter what, having 2-3 hours being the longest stretch of sleep I could put together for a couple of months took its toll.
Two bright spots during this stretch made the ordeal a little easier to handle. First, being around Pam and the kids for two straight months without being allowed to get on a plane was a real treat. Family card games made a big comeback at the kitchen table (euchre and hearts and they didn’t make me shuffle once) and the kids indulged (and even began enjoying) some of dad’s Spotify playlists (with a strong dose of the 60’s and 70’s). The other source of inspiration for me was our dogs Ruby and Maggie. Ruby’s our 10 month-old puppy (yellow, golden & poodle mix) and Maggie’s our 14 1/2 year-old yellow lab. Being home all the time, I found out just what a busy life my wife leads as some days it was the three of us, but Ruby enjoys bopping around town in Pam’s passenger seat so most days it was just Maggie and I. Anyone that knows me well knows that I enjoy a very special relationship with her. For years she was my companion as we explored the hundreds of miles of trails out our back door together and it’s been a little tough for me seeing her slow down so much over the last year. The best Maggie can muster these days is a walk around our neighborhood for about 15-20 minutes.
I’ve begun to cherish our strolls together more than ever these last few months. Whenever I needed a break, I’d find her (napping at my feet mostly) and she’d build up a head of steam going down the ramp we’d built for her and off we’d go. She can’t hear anymore and only two legs work well, but she lights up and her tail wags like she’s a pup when we get outside. I’ve been walking Maggie around the neighborhood since she had to give up the trails last year, but since my surgery, I’ve noticed myself being more patient than ever with her as I just wasn’t in any particular rush anymore. What a sight we’ve been. The guy in the sling trying to pick up poop with one hand and his nonagenarian dog (I looked it up here – 14 1/2 year-old 70lb dog = 90 human years). My daily strolls with Mags have provided me with a lot of quiet time and for some reason lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the notion of grace. It began as the word kept reverberating around my brain as I watched Maggie during our walks. Her back right leg gives out pretty regularly now and she falls once in a while, but she always lifts herself up and manages to keep going, tail wagging. I’ve been saying to myself that I hope I can accept aging with as much courage and grace as she is.
For some reason though, I can’t seem to get the word out of my head lately. Perhaps it’s the mounting evidence when we watch this election cycle how our country’s losing its grip of the concept these days. Grace once again made an appearance in my head on our walk tonight so when I came inside, I decided to look it up. Turns out there are a handful of definitions, but in Western Christian theology, grace is defined as “the love and mercy given to us by God because God desires us to have it, not because of anything we have done to earn it.” Despite not considering myself religious, this is nevertheless my favorite definition. I think it’s because I understand that’s exactly what Maggie has been giving me all these years; she’s given me love not because I’ve earned it, but because she wants me to have it.
Spring has sprung and our walks are getting a little longer. It’s seems there’s more dogs to greet and lots of new things to smell. With my arm free now I know I’m going to get busier and I’ll have to remind myself to make sure we have time for our long walks. I don’t know how much longer we have together (we thought we lost her two years ago), but I’m cherishing each of our neighborhood excursions. Maggie’s name is borrowed from the song Sugar Magnolia by the Grateful Dead and she’s reminding me these days (as Jerry used to sing) that “once in a while you get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look for it right.”