Exercising Caution

"As with many things,

hesitation is better than hurry."

-- Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

Traffic light 11-13-14

"Strange, what being forced to slow down 

could do to a person."

-- Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

"Don't ever take a fence down 

until you know why it was put up."

-- Robert Frost

Yesterday I got the green light from my eye surgeon to start exercising again.

Well, it was more like a yellow light.

Because I have to proceed very cautiously and very carefully.

He said I could "resume normal activity," but when it comes to exercise, for me "normal" can be anything but.

So I pinned him down so I'd know exactly what I should -- and more importantly shouldn't -- do exercise-wise, so that I don't interfere with my eyes healing right, and looking right.

I've been a good patient so far, staying well within the strict post-op boundaries. My doctor said I am progressing nicely and on schedule and that I've been doing everything just right.

So far.

And I sure as hell don't wanna fuck it up now.

Every safe driver knows that if you hit the gas after the light turns yellow, you're much more likely to get wrecked. So for now, when I exercise, I shall exercise caution.

Usually my insane workout mantra goes something like "bigger, better, faster, more."

But for now, I need to readjust my approach to something more like, "slower, gentler, little by little, stop if necessary."

I can live with that.

Because too much of a good thing isn't always a good thing.

Passing Time

"For I have known them all already, known them all:

have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons ..."

-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Hourglass 11-12-14

"Weeks passed, but my Word-A-Day Calendar

was stuck on 'motherfucker.'"

-- Colson Whitehead, 

The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky, and Death

"... and behind them all, the quiet, deadly ticking of a thousand hungry clocks,

the lonely sound of time passing in the long Caribbean night."

-- Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary

Being grounded, with strict limitations on what I can and can't do, and spending most of my time with ice packs covering my still sore, bruised and swollen eyes, means that my primary activity right now is simply passing time.

I'm growing quite content with listening to the sounds of silence. Sometimes I listen to cooking shows. They pretty much describe every step of every recipe, so I can picture it in my mind.

When I get up to change my ice packs every now and then I try to accomplish some little bit of something like, say, chop the vegetables for supper, or take a bath, or shoot some photos for my blog. 

If I do too much, my eyes start hurting. So I have to work quickly and then get back on the couch under the cold comfort of my icy blindfold.

They say "time heals."

And I am still healing. 

Which, therefore, requires time.

Fighting it won't do me a bit of good.

So it's a good thing I've got plenty.

Tick, tock.

Getting My Stitches Out

"Scars are not injuries ... A scar is a healing.

After injury, a scar is what makes you whole."

-- China Mieville, The Scar

Self portrait 3-6-14

"I don't want to die without any scars."

-- Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Having My Tummy Rubbed

"Our sorrows and wounds are healed
only when we touch them with compassion."

-- Buddha

Tummy rub 2-26-14

"Well, maybe I could help. Can I scratch your ears? I could rub your tummy."

-- Stuart Little

"So now that your ... soft underbelly is all exposed ..."

-- Carol Connelly, As Good As It Gets

I had a massage yesterday, which is always a good thing.

But this time was different.

I had a tummy ache, which is nothing new. But this one was bad. Real bad. For about a week it's felt like I've had a nest of trapped, angry pit vipers wrestling around in my abdomen.

I've had stress-related tummy aches since I was a little kid. My mom would just curtly send me to my room to lie down. 

But my massage therapist Leah listened to me very concernedly and then asked if, during my usual massage, it would be alright for her to massage my belly.

Typically a massage includes everything except the front side of the torso. Everything gets touched except the area from armpits to groin.

It's a vulnerable area, the belly. It is not an area where I particularly like being touched. By anyone. So when Leah got to that part of the massage, I tensed up. And even though she did a deft job of keeping everything else covered up with blankets and towels, I couldn't help feeling exposed.

But then she drizzled on warm healing oil and began gently pressing my tummy in clockwise circles. She whispered soothing things in soft tones. I melted. I was completely unprepared for how powerful it would be.

I couldn't speak.

I'm never super chatty during a massage anyway, but this particular touch in this particular place on my body stole away my defenses, my words. A hush fell over the room. It felt sacred somehow.

The whole thing lasted about five minutes, but in those five minutes Leah charmed the snakes. The vipers quieted down and stopped fighting.

I felt such deep gratitude. My eyes released little tears that ran down into my ears. I took full breaths for the first time in days, it seemed.

The rest of my massage proceeded as usual, and it was all good. But those five minutes were the soft, gooey center.

Leah sent me home with a little bottle of the healing oil so I could massage it into my belly myself. Later in the evening, when the snakes started stirring again, I rubbed it in the way she told me to. It wasn't even close to feeling the same. But it helped a little.

There are all kinds of touch. The good, the bad, the incidental.

This was definitely the good kind.

Thank you, Leah. You did a good thing.