Read Online Don't Leave Me This Way: Or When I Get Back on My Feet You'll Be Sorry by Julia Fox Garrison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Fox Garrison
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just like mine,” he says.
“Things happen out of the blue,” you say. “Only really smart people know this. People who aren’t so smart think things don’t happen out of the blue. They think nothing important can happen to you without you expecting it. But they’re wrong. You and I know. Right?”
He nods.
“You and I are going to have to work really hard not to have to wear a leg brace down the road,” you say. “But for now, it’s a good thing we’ve got them, because they’re helping us to move around, and we can’t learn if we don’t move around, right?”
“Right.”
You have this urge to reach over and hug him. But he hugs you first.
NOBODY EVER SEEMS to give you a pep talk. People who are sent to work with you are always concentrating on you adapting to your new crippled body and telling you how you need to accept it.
As they’re walking out the door after a session, they say, within your earshot, “She’s in denial.”
You say, loud enough for them to hear, “I can’t wait to get back to my yard to play soccer with my son.”
Numbness Is in the Eye of the Beholder
ONE MORNING YOU ASK your mother about the profusion of greeting cards in your room. She reminds you that Paul, your colleague from work, has sent you a card every single day you were hospitalized.
You ask her to bring the pile of cards over to you. You look through them. They are all dated. They are all different. He has never duplicated a card. Some days, you realize, you’ve received more than one card from him. He will have to start making his own cards soon, you think, because before too long, he will have used up every get-well card that ever existed.
You choose one of the cards at random and open it up. Paul has written on it, “Every day aboveground is extra.”
YOU DECIDE THAT APPEARANCE is important for someone who is overcoming a debilitation. Appearance sets your frame of mind.
You decide to feel good about yourself. You make sure you put your makeup on every day. Some of the staff think it’s funny. Your left side is completely paralyzed, your arm hangs like a dead tree limb after a storm, but there you are, holding cosmetic lids with your mouth. You put eye makeup and lipstick on every morning after your shower.
Putting on lipstick or eyeliner on the left side of your face usually produces a look that reminds you of a five-year-old girl getting caught playing with Mommy’s makeup. Your face is numb and there isn’t any muscle tone. It’s like putting on lipstick after a few shots of novocaine. What a mess.
You are going to do whatever it takes to feel good. If that means tricking yourself by using makeup, so be it. Whenever you have felt ugly in your life, you have always had an ugly day. Now you are putting on your makeup each day as though you were going onstage. You are acting, and the stage is life. You have had good days and bad days. You know that much. A positive appearance, you have decided, will help with the attitude.
Putting on makeup also gives you the chance to practice facial exercises. This is important, because the left side of your face is flaccid.
Paul teases you about your cosmetics: “She says, ‘Oh, I’m paralyzed, can’t do a damn thing.’ But hand her a cosmetics bag and she’s off and running!”
He’s right, of course. Makeup motivates you. You realize that, as part of your cosmetics routine, you would pay very close attention to the people who speak to you.
Whenever a nurse would talk, you’d look very closely at her face, and realize that her whole face, not just her mouth, was speaking. Her eyebrows, her eyes, her forehead—all moving in harmony, all working together in a seamless way that most people hardly notice, take for granted, and engage in hundreds of times a day without a thought.
When you demand a mirror and speak into it, you see that your right eye squints and is expressive while the left eye remains wide open, without any movement. The right
“Things happen out of the blue,” you say. “Only really smart people know this. People who aren’t so smart think things don’t happen out of the blue. They think nothing important can happen to you without you expecting it. But they’re wrong. You and I know. Right?”
He nods.
“You and I are going to have to work really hard not to have to wear a leg brace down the road,” you say. “But for now, it’s a good thing we’ve got them, because they’re helping us to move around, and we can’t learn if we don’t move around, right?”
“Right.”
You have this urge to reach over and hug him. But he hugs you first.
NOBODY EVER SEEMS to give you a pep talk. People who are sent to work with you are always concentrating on you adapting to your new crippled body and telling you how you need to accept it.
As they’re walking out the door after a session, they say, within your earshot, “She’s in denial.”
You say, loud enough for them to hear, “I can’t wait to get back to my yard to play soccer with my son.”
Numbness Is in the Eye of the Beholder
ONE MORNING YOU ASK your mother about the profusion of greeting cards in your room. She reminds you that Paul, your colleague from work, has sent you a card every single day you were hospitalized.
You ask her to bring the pile of cards over to you. You look through them. They are all dated. They are all different. He has never duplicated a card. Some days, you realize, you’ve received more than one card from him. He will have to start making his own cards soon, you think, because before too long, he will have used up every get-well card that ever existed.
You choose one of the cards at random and open it up. Paul has written on it, “Every day aboveground is extra.”
YOU DECIDE THAT APPEARANCE is important for someone who is overcoming a debilitation. Appearance sets your frame of mind.
You decide to feel good about yourself. You make sure you put your makeup on every day. Some of the staff think it’s funny. Your left side is completely paralyzed, your arm hangs like a dead tree limb after a storm, but there you are, holding cosmetic lids with your mouth. You put eye makeup and lipstick on every morning after your shower.
Putting on lipstick or eyeliner on the left side of your face usually produces a look that reminds you of a five-year-old girl getting caught playing with Mommy’s makeup. Your face is numb and there isn’t any muscle tone. It’s like putting on lipstick after a few shots of novocaine. What a mess.
You are going to do whatever it takes to feel good. If that means tricking yourself by using makeup, so be it. Whenever you have felt ugly in your life, you have always had an ugly day. Now you are putting on your makeup each day as though you were going onstage. You are acting, and the stage is life. You have had good days and bad days. You know that much. A positive appearance, you have decided, will help with the attitude.
Putting on makeup also gives you the chance to practice facial exercises. This is important, because the left side of your face is flaccid.
Paul teases you about your cosmetics: “She says, ‘Oh, I’m paralyzed, can’t do a damn thing.’ But hand her a cosmetics bag and she’s off and running!”
He’s right, of course. Makeup motivates you. You realize that, as part of your cosmetics routine, you would pay very close attention to the people who speak to you.
Whenever a nurse would talk, you’d look very closely at her face, and realize that her whole face, not just her mouth, was speaking. Her eyebrows, her eyes, her forehead—all moving in harmony, all working together in a seamless way that most people hardly notice, take for granted, and engage in hundreds of times a day without a thought.
When you demand a mirror and speak into it, you see that your right eye squints and is expressive while the left eye remains wide open, without any movement. The right
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