Thought I would give an update, since I know I’ve had a number of people asking about my journey as of late
The story begins on September 30th. A regular morning, which means getting up at 5:00 am to have breakfast, shower, and then take the dogs (who know my routine very well) whom are anxiously waiting for their daily walk
I was a block and half away from home when I saw a loose dog sitting at an intersection. It was one of those bigger bully types with the strong jaw and stalky build, and I could observe it staring us down. Just as I tried to duck down a back alley, it took mere seconds for it to go from 0 to 100, at which point it went straight past me, past my bigger dog Rupert (husky/shepherd cross) and to my smaller dog Buddy (beagle cross).
I could see this wasn’t your average dust-up beteeen pups, and that if I didn’t intervene iy wasn’t going to end well. So I did the only thing I could, which was let go of Rupert, jump inbetween and try and pry him off Buddy who he had locked on in his mouth pretty good.
Long story short, I eventually was able to get the loose dog on to a leash and looped over a fence post, but not before I had three fractured fingers, a severed index, and two marred kneecaps
I am still surprised and grateful that Buddy seemed to be alright. About three weeks later the scabs under his skin that we couldn’t see started to come off, but otherwise he’s good. For me, the process started with a trip to emergency, followed by a trip to plastics where they put my finger back together and reattached the tendons, and over the month of October have found myself both partially off work (the driving part), and on daily visits with either plastics, occupational therapy, or homecare.
Which up until a week ago seemed to be progressing in a positive direction. The last visit I had with occupational therapy showed the swelling had come down significantly and the raw open wounds finally scabbing over. I was also graduated to a single finger splint that allowed me to return to work
Fast forward to homecare this past Monday. I noticed a small whitish area by where the index had been severed. On Wednesday it had doubled in size, so I took pics and sent them to plastics. They had me in for an emergency visit on Friday morning at 9:00. At 3:00 that day i was walking out with a much different picture of the potential future
As it turns out, an infection had eaten away at all the tendons they had repaired, leaving a big gap where normally those tendons would be. The infection had also started into my bone, now making it a race to save the finger itself. They opened the wound back up, cleaned it out, and scheduled me for daily antibiotic infusions and wound care with the IV clinic over the next 6 weeks.
I remember when the doctor at plastics asked me if I understood what he was saying. I heard his words, but the significance hadn’t yet sunk in. I was given one certainty: I will not be gaining function back for my index finger (my primary hand); and one ongoing concern: saving the finger by saving the bone.
You certainly get time to reflect on things when you’re in the chair getting those infusions. I am struck by the fact that while we seem to understand what we might call the big losses in life, It’s the small ones that are much more difficult to name. If turning 50 has taught me anything, it is a phase of life that accelerates these losses.
So what losses can I name?
A once cherished time in my day (my morning walks) has been stolen, now being occupied by heightened anxiety and panic.
Although this is an odd one, those who know me know one of the tougher elements for me has been understanding that in certain ways my story has become a representation of a narrative I have given so much of my life fighting against, which is compassion for all life, especially at risk dogs. There is a weird dynamic I have to carry between the much appreciated care and concern of others and my own processing of a narrative that sits outside of my control. My heart breaks for the whole thing, especially when it comes to caring for our Buddy boy, whom struggles mightily with anxiety and needs a lot of extra care and concern. This trauma of course only adds to it in his own ways. My heart breaks too for feeling like I let him down and failed him in some way, that I can no longer assure him the world is a safe place as long as he sticks close to me.
There will be lots of ways losing the function of an index will reshape daily routines (such as writing and typing and gripping). Perhaps one of the more significant ones has been coming to terms with the idea that it looks like my drumming days are over. I can’t remember a life without it. Such a significant part of how I have learned to express myself and foster creativity. One of those things that allows me to experience what they call that flow state, when playing transcends the momentary technicalities of the skill set itself.
Memories that anchor me to all of the different phases of my life, which have directed my story, which have created and sustained communities.
I don’t know what processing this looks like. I do know that it’s a big loss. An identity shaping loss. A sad loss for me personally.
Which I suppose is why naming it matters
An added note. I wrote this and posted this elsewhere. I know a number of well meaning voices have looked to encourage the possibilities of finding other ways to continue to do a thing I love. Not so much a loss of drumming as a loss of drumming “as I know it now.” Meaning, that it can continue, it just will look different. That could be a reality I eventually discover. I think in this present moment, there are three things that stand out for me. The importance of naming the loss as it is. To have the doctor look you in eyes and ask you “do you understand what I am saying,” is to simply acknowledge that life will look different.
Second, whatever the journey holds, it also carries the knowledge that the thing I set my mind towards will be a fraction of what it was. That I will never be at the level that I was before. There is another kind of loss that comes with this sort of wrestling.
Third, it’s important for whatever that future is to have the space to be appropriately named as well. I do not yet have a name for that, nor do I know how to name it. I just know the present disruption. And that’s okay too, I think, as long as there is space to grieve.
