Has My Right Foot Killed My Verve?

Life is hard!  Lately, life has gotten close to impossible for some people.  Sometimes I wonder what sustains the basic instinct of living things to survive at all costs.  

 

A foot I fractured across the instep way back in 2006 has not healed and never will.  A foot I fractured across the instep way back in 2006 has not healed and never will.  This type of injury is called a Lisfranc Fracture.  According to my doctor, only 0.02% of all fractures fall into this category.  They are usually suffered by athletes who are generally sidelined by them forever.  

On good days I am able to shove my expensive, custom orthotics into whichever well-made sneakers I choose for the day and walk with only the slightest twinge of pain, and little or no sign of a limp.   

Today is not a good day.  At all.  Out of the blue on Sunday night, that foot felt as if it had been freshly fractured.  It feels the same today.  I was barely able to hobble around the block to walk the dog.  Five years later and I am unable to go to my exercise class, the one thing I look forward to doing on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I don’t like that.

Sitting here pissed off, I am thinking about how much I am looking forward to the day my son tells me I am going to be a grandmother.  Then I think: Really?  Is that something for which a forward-thinking future grandparent should be hoping?  Think about what awaits that precious little creature after leaving the warmth and safety of mommy’s womb.

The very first breath of air the child takes is awash in trauma.  He has pushed and shoved his way through a convulsing, squeezing birth canal, head-first, if he’s lucky.  Once out, some genderless person in baggy pajamas and a mask sticks a syringe up his nose and into his throat.  Some welcome, huh?

From that birth day forward, every move the child makes is fraught with danger, or so it would seem.  “No-no, baby.  Hot”!  “Ah-ah, don’t touch that.”  “Hold onto my hand or you will fall.”  “You may not cross the street alone. “  “Look both ways before you cross the street!”  “Don’t talk to strangers.” 

Little Johnny manages to stay alive and virtually unscathed long enough to go to elementary school, only to discover the challenges of socialization outside the family unit.  His Mom and Dad smiled at the dimples in his knees and elbows pinched his chubby cheeks with love and pride.  Now, some of his classmates taunt him for being heavy and call him names like Tubby and Wide Load.  Little Janie never thought having two moms was anything remarkable, but the remarks she heard about it in sixth grade were hurtful.

Now Janie is in high school, something she had looked forward to for many months.  Her excitement morphs into terror when she finds herself the target of the legendary mean girls she thought were just a Hollywood creation.  While Jane silently suffers their nasty attacks and anything-but-subtle threats, John is sitting in class planning his route home in order to avoid being hung from the post of a fence by his tormentors. 

The kids who have the courage, the inner strength, the family support, the protection of savvy school officials and the comfort of real friends manage to make it through high school.  Many go on to college.  Unless they have been so severely scarred by their journey through childhood that they are unable to forge any kind of meaningful relationships with other people, they might find college to be a short respite from the trials of that embrace-it-at-all-costs life everyone raves about.

Those who, for whatever reason, don’t complete high school or don’t go on to college are thrust into the world of work.  There is no respite for this group.  Their first challenge is to find a job.  Good luck with that, John and Jane.  Although they’ve heard stories about “the olden days” when there were so many jobs, many went unfilled for months and years at a time.  That is not the case today.  Now they are in direct competition with middle-aged adults for entry level positions.   Minimum wage, which most of the jobs they have any kind of chance of landing pay, does not afford them the ability to support themselves adequately enough to leave their parents’ home. 

For every Mark Zuckerberg who graduates from college and becomes a billionaire before reaching the age of 25, there are millions of college graduates in this country competing for the same entry level jobs I mentioned in the previous paragraph.   Some prolong the inevitable problem of finding employment by seeking advanced degrees.  Others – the few lucky ones born to wealth – become layabouts, slackers, do-nothing drains on the patience of their parents.

Instead of school-yard bullies, young adults ascend to becoming targets of Internet scams, identity theft, drugs and alcohol, obesity, post-traumatic stress, street crime, accidents and rich people.  And the beat goes on.  And yet, to life we cling.

Why? 

For the brief, fleeting moments that happen in between the traumas and challenges. 

For the baby’s first word and first step. 

For the sound of music. 

For the sight of puppies skidding in a group across the slick kitchen floor. 

For the feeling of the pure joy of creativity. 

For the hug from your no-nonsense father.

For the first buds of spring and the first sign of snow.

For the pride of a parent watching a child achieve.

For the sound of laughter.

That’s why.

Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order.” David Gerrold