Lord. I feel like Gibson jumped up and down on my back yesterday.
Well, he only weighs thirty-four pounds.
I tell you what- one thing about getting older is that it just takes longer to recover from everything. I slept nine hard hours last night and woke up ready to take a nap. Not all of it was the boys. Not by any means. Some of it was pure emotional hangover.
I think I'd held out just the tiniest bit of hope that my wrist could be, if not fixed, then at least tidied up in there. Maybe there was just a bone spur. Or something. I sort of knew that wasn't true but still...maybe?
And to be told that no, no, really there's not much to be done at all and that it's only going to get progressively worse was sort of depressing. And it brought back a lot of stuff. The accident itself which I had all those years ago when I fell off a roof, helping my boyfriend and some other friends repair the shed roof of a friend of his father's. Such an innocent thing and I was such a good girl back then. My parents had taken my little brothers off to the beach for the weekend and trusted me to stay at home alone and I did not abuse their trust. I sent my boyfriend off on Friday night with a kiss because I WAS A GOOD GIRL! And the next morning he picked me up and we went to Lake Wales to help repair that roof and I stepped somewhere I shouldn't and fell and boom! I looked at that wrist and I knew it was broken. It was not a shape one should see in nature.
It was a mess- the hospital in Lake Wales had to get ahold of my parents to get permission to treat me and this was long before cell phones and they finally did and my mother was so upset but not really because I'd broken my wrist and might be in pain but because this was all such a hassle and anyway, they set my wrist and my boyfriend drove me home and my stepfather, my abuser, had to drive all the way back from the beach to pick me up and take me back to the beach with the family and I really don't remember much of anything except the feeling that I had screwed the pooch, I'd somehow, by breaking my wrist, become THE PROBLEM.
Looking back, I know my mother was so unhappy. She was clinically depressed in those days, I believe. She had four children including two little boys which she'd had later in life, and was teaching school and visiting her mother in the nursing home every single day and worrying about her father who really needed more help than he was getting but beyond all of that, she was married to an extremely insane and abusive husband and she tried so hard to keep the peace in the house and to keep the image that we were all just a normal, every-day American family! Smile for the camera! Click!
And probably that fall, that wrist, that worry, was the last straw. Or one of them, anyway.
I remember after the fall feeling as if I was done being the good girl. Before the broken wrist I'd almost died from mono and had spent weeks in the hospital in a lot of pain and quite honestly- agony- and after I came through all of that and was treated as if I'd purposely set out to make things harder on everyone, I believe I just said, in my seventeen year old heart, fuck it.
I lost my virginity with that cast on my wrist.
So. That's the story of my wrist and I've been thinking about all of that. About how I so obviously looked for love where it was being offered in whatever way it was being offered and if that meant having sex with a boyfriend I thought I loved and whom I thought loved me, so be it. If it, as a bonus, offered some sense of autonomy, all the better. Rebellion too, quite possibly. I was certainly overdue on that particular teenaged activity.
Ay-yi-yi. I'm just so lucky I didn't get pregnant. So lucky.
And I'm thinking about all of that this morning with sadness and realizing how one misstep can lead to so much so many years later and also feeling like I should be doing more with the Shebooks promotion. They send you a document with suggestions on how to get the word out including having a "Shebooks Shebang!" event which makes me shudder to even think of.
I suck at such things.
So instead of doing great promotional stuff I'm going to run away to an island with no bridge and no wi-fi for the weekend.
My husband and I both need the rest and there ain't much to do at Dog Island except rest.
Good for the body, good for the soul, good for the marriage.
Watch your step.