Wednesday, August 11, 2021

Dreams and Visions

Do you ever have intensely vivid dreams? Dreams so real that it almost hurts to leave it; to re-enter the real world seems somehow foreign and obtuse?

Recently I had been reading and old journal entry from years ago about a dream I'd had. My recollection of the experience of this dream flooded my memory like it had happened just the night before.

The dream began with a simple family outing in our minivan. "I'm going to show you where I used to live," I said as I spontaneously took a freeway exit to drive through my old neighborhood. As we slowly drove the desolate streets, I regaled them with tales of this wonderful place; the shops and businesses, the amenities and local scene. I parked the minivan and we got out to stand in front of the largest of the remaining buildings, a three-story shopping and apartment building. I began describing in detail each shop and facility, where I lived and how we all worked and lived together here happily.

Then suddenly the dream changed from a narration to a flashback: I was at once whisked away to a brighter, happier time when the place was bustling with activity and merriment. Here now people lived, worked, laughed, loved, planned, built and prospered in a close-knit community under sunny skies. And then the dream changed into a news report with a montage of  images of shops being closed and families moving out of town, while the voiceover narration described the tragedy in sequence. Soon all that was left were darkened buildings, closed doors and empty streets. 

As I came out of the flashback and my own narration trailed off, I looked up at the desolate cinderblock edifice which stood on a wild, overgrown field while the cool wind and harsh sun pressed hard on it to yield back to the soil. The kids ran through the grass oblivious to the depth of significance the memories held for me. My wife stayed at my side and held my hand, listening and smiling kindly.

When I woke, the meaning of the dream hit me immediately. 

Just a week before, our company announced major budget cuts and devastating restructuring. Our group was one of many that would be impacted, meaning we would be focusing on new projects and new methods. It would also see the exodus of a vast majority of the team I'd hired on with. The "old team" was no more, and all that remained was a crumbling ruin of what we'd had, and bittersweet memories for those of us who decided to remain.

I think the dream is a lesson. Life is a journey, an adventure down a highway. There are stops along the way, but nothing permanent. Our experiences stay with us as memories, and they can be sweet, but it's important to not dwell where life used to be.  

Wednesday, August 4, 2021

A Callus Affair

We are currently enjoying week 6 of our adventure in skeletal fractures, with the rib pain becoming more of a footnote (with the exception of the pain they deliver when I'm riding in the passenger seat when my wife is driving and she makes one of her famous sharp left turns), and the humerus shaft now firmly joined by what the experts label the "Hard Callus" - a pre-mineralized cartilage profused with blood vessels and bone-building cells.

Rather than use a cast, the doctor decided in my case the best option was to immobilize my upper arm using something called a Sarmiento brace. This is a hard plastic clamshell sort of thing that secures with Velcro. It provides a Stormtrooper-esque level of protection: not enough to stop blaster fire penetration but plenty to keep the bones from shifting or getting bumped around.

My most recent X-ray was two weeks ago, and though my untrained eye would argue that the bones are still entirely separated, I was assured that there was callus formation going on. The fact that my arm aches nearly all the time is a good indicator that there's a lot happening; more than can be seen via X-ray.

Also, my arm doesn't wobble or crunch any more when I shift it. That is a huge relief. I had imagined a few years of living with an arm bone that would never actually join together and solidify, just forever flap around like a gooseneck filled with gravel. Every time I'd bump my arm it would send me through the roof in agony. There was one time I walked right into a door frame with my right arm, and the pain nearly made me pass out. And of course I will always remember when Michael decided to plop himself next to me while I was sitting on the couch, and landed his butt directly on my forearm. I swear I saw actual stars that time. His explanation? He had "forgotten" that I had a broken arm.

Each incident like this, and there were a lot of them (most entirely my fault), led me to believe that I'd never be able to heal naturally, that I would forever be re-setting the process back to square one, and that I'd need surgery like pins or a rod or an external fixator.

But no, despite everything, the healing process has gone very well, and I'm right where I should be by this point.

Physical Therapy is my new dread. To be fair, the fact that I'm at this stage now and I'm able to do the work is very encouraging.

But it hurts!

I cannot bend my arm down to my side due to tendon shortening, so that is an area of focus. I cannot squeeze my hand to grip things, so that is an area of focus. It hurts to turn my hand over, bend my wrist or touch fingers together. I cannot write or lift my hand to my mouth. All of these simple things will need weeks of work to re-establish.

It's a long road ahead.