Tag Archives: pensacola

ANOTHER BROKEN BONE

Whenever I go home on leave, I have to figure out how to tell my family and friends what I’ve been up to. This process is worthy of a post in and of itself, but when I went home for Christmas last year, I told everyone that the training was hard but the worst was over and soon I would move on to the next thing! Smooth sailing!

Then I went back to Pensacola and, three days in to the next phase of training, I broke my foot.

It was mostly my pride that was injured. We had to jump off of a platform and crumple up on the landing to simulate a parachute fall. Sounds straightforward enough – until you’re standing on top of that platform and suddenly a mere four feet to the ground looks very very high and they want you to jump off backwards. So I was nervous and I did it wrong – clearly, since the whole purpose of the exercise was to prevent injury in the event that we would have to do this for real. I knew something was wrong immediately, laying there in the gravel, but it didn’t hurt, exactly. It just felt not quite right. So I did it five or six more times until I got it right. Then I did it again with a zipline. Then the Marines pulled us over the grass and dirt so we could practice escaping from a parachute that was getting dragged! All in all, good fun. Then, after switching boots for sneakers, I tried to jog into formation – and couldn’t. Putting pressure on my foot was increasingly difficult and, soon, painful. An x-ray showed two broken bones. My foot got so swollen that socks left deep indents. When they handed me crutches, I wanted to die of shame.

I hopped around on crutches for a month, then spent another three weeks in a walking boot. Crutches were exhausting beyond what I might have imagined, but there was no joy in the chore; it wasn’t the same as being able to walk and run and swim and lift weights. I spent a lot of time sitting and a lot of time being sad.

Not everything was a bummer, though. Here are some of the positive aspects of being off my feet for a while.

  1. I didn’t lose my orders! They told me I would, but I didn’t, and it was a good lesson in the uselessness of worrying. I could have spared myself a few days of misery if I had postponed an emotional reaction until I had a definite answer.
  2. I broke my left foot. I could still drive with my right. I ended up buying a car during my extended stay in Pensacola, and it proved to be indispensable for getting around and staying entertained.
  3. My healthcare is free. Not only am I going to make a full recovery without surgery, but my x-rays and doctor visits and physical therapy won’t saddle me with a decade of debt! Thanks, Uncle Sam!
  4. I learned firsthand the daily accessibility struggles for people with actual disabilities. When you’re on crutches, something as simple as opening a door – something you wouldn’t think twice about when you’ve got two functional hands and feet – is a huge challenge. Getting in and out of a car on one foot. Stairs. Bathing. Cooking. Carrying anything – forget it! The palms of my hands developed blisters, which broke and bled painfully with friction; I still have the callouses. It is hard to express in words the feelings of dread and frustration I felt when arriving back at my building late at night and finding the parking lot totally full – of having to park in another lot and crutch a long distance slowly, painfully in the dark. It is a testament to my tremendous ignorance and lack of basic empathy that I didn’t understand or appreciate these small but pervasive struggles that people with disabilities have to surmount every single day. I have a newfound sense of awe for their capacity to adapt and overcome.
  5. Friends and strangers alike jumped at opportunities to make my life a little easier. People were nicer to me while I was on crutches than at any other time in my life. They carried things for me, opened doors for me, brought me food and coffee, got up to hand me my crutches so I wouldn’t have to hop around to get them – one breakfast restaurant even kept a particular seat at the counter open for me on Sunday mornings with a chair nearby to prop my foot up. How cool is that? Even the passing comments cheered me up. One woman whispered to me confidentially when our paths crossed in the mall parking lot, “Your shoes don’t match.” I had to stop and lean heavily into my crutches because I was laughing so hard. Good, nice, thoughtful, generous people – you are my sunshine!

Today makes eight weeks since my injury, and I managed to run for a short time with only minor discomfort! I am very optimistic that I can build my strength with each new day and, slowly and carefully, get back to where I was before. Breaking a bone is tough, and there were many days that felt dark and hopeless, but when I look back on the experience, I will remember only the positive parts and lessons learned.

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RECLAIMING MUSIC

For a while, I stopped listening to an album that I really enjoy because it was the soundtrack to a time in my life that I was trying to lay to rest. Born and Raised by John Mayer is one of his best, in my opinion, but I’m pretty biased in favor of anything remotely folksy. It was an instant favorite. I listened to it over and over in the spring and summer of 2013. Now it’s bound to memories of that time – many of which I want to forget.

Born and Raised makes me think of…

  • Sandy, sunburnt skin and cold showers.
  • Two long road trips. Trips to the fish market in his 1968 Volkswagen beetle with no A/C, the leather seats making my legs and back sweaty in the heat. So many trips to Dunkin’ Donuts.
  • Learning to sail. Intense anxiety. Not wanting to sail again. Doing it anyway, to make him happy.
  • Dirty motel rooms.
  • Brunch by the beach. Sunday morning mimosas.
  • Lap swim in the dark. Watching the sun rise through the sky lights of the locker room.
  • Muggy morning runs on the unlit chip trail.
  • Staying in on Friday nights to play Borderlands 2 together.
  • PAC events. Loving color guard, hating drill. So many graduations.
  • Long marches. Sweating through a uniform every day.
  • The sunset over Pensacola. A year of being in love, wildly, but receiving very little in return. Struggling between selflessness and sacrifice versus needs and expectations.

These are mostly happy memories, but I don’t have enough distance from that relationship to look back on that time with a detached but appreciative fondness. I’m not ready yet. Even positive reminiscing dredges up negative feelings; the rose-colored glasses eventually come off and I remember the deprivation, manipulation, rejection, and ultimately the destruction of my self-esteem. The music recalls memories of the past, and memories of the past invariably lead to feelings of sadness and hurt.

But I love that album. I don’t want to lose it because of these now-bittersweet memories, so I’ve been trying to “reclaim” it. I’m trying to associate it with a new kind of experiences. Whenever I’m feeling happy or peaceful, I’ll play the album or sing it to myself. I’d like to cognitively reassign the album to positive feelings which are independent of time and location. I want to enjoy the music again, earnestly, freely, with no emotional baggage.

Do you have music that makes you remember certain times in your life? Has it ever been hard for you to listen to an artist or album after it became associated with a bad time?

goodbye cold, goodbye rain
goodbye sorrow, goodbye shame
 
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