My Big Hurt Left Foot - Life as a Process

Life is a series of processes, big and small. Mostly small. You do things, routine things, to get through your day, your week, your life. You wake up, shower, shave, brush teeth, head to work the same way in the same car, see the same things along the way, the same people when you arrive. On weekends or off time, different processes, more relaxed, less routine perhaps but processes nonetheless.

We are a processed people. Eating too much processed food and ingesting FAR too much processed politics, but I digress.

Since I've been homebound (since Nov. 8), which I cannot stress enough is temporary and I'm in no way complaining about it, just observing, I've noticed how my process has changed. Well, not changed really, just slowed down. WAY down. Every process now requires a plan and if I'm smart, consolidation, ways to condense processes into one, to lessen impact on the injured foot and what it takes to work around it.

Going to the bathroom any day is never anything more than going to the bathroom. Now, it's planning the process. Do I use crutches or the wheeled stroller (a very worthy device but which makes me feel like I should be creaking through the aisles at Shaw's bitching that the price of tomato soup went up a cent and seeking senior discounts around every corner)? Crutches are easy, just lift and swoop and boom, you're there. But then you lean them on the wall, or one of them, stand on the good leg, do your business and you're done. Maybe. Depends on your business. If you sit, well then, a whole 'nother story to be sure. More time. More planning. More process. More processing.

If you use the wheeled thing, you kneel on it, with the knee of the bad leg, and fly across the kitchen, into a narrow hallway, and jockey into the bathroom. There, you freewheel it, leaning on the wall or sink, and do your business. Again, depending on what that business is. One or two. In the world of processing incapacitated bathroom stuff, numerics are quite important. One thing's for sure: When sitting, and trying to hold the injured leg aloft, it surely cuts down on reading time. Eliminates it actually.

One big help: The plastic male urinal thing they gave me at the hospital. THis thing is a godsend, it really is. Gotta go? Go! Right there, wherever you are. Provided you've thought to bring along your little friend to the couch, the bedroom, your office. I've no idea why one of these isn't by every man's bedside. Oh, right. Wives. Yeah, it's kinda gross, when you think about it, though you clean it all the time and it has a snap-lid device on it. But still, there it is, right there, which is full of, for lack of a better word "pee," right there on your nightstand. Separated by a thick wall of plastic, to be sure, but visible nonetheless. Which apparently women don't like. Men? We don't care, we'll go anywhere. It's one of the creator's gifts to our gender, the ability to go in front of people streaming by in cars on major highways, like we're invisible. One of the greatest gifts, I might add.

So there's that process. Probably the easiest. The hardest could be eating. My daughter, bless her heart, sees me every day, leaves food apportioned in fridge or wherever, making it easier for me to get to, so that's hugely helpful. But the process involves hobbling into the kitchen, again on crutches or the wheeled thing, preparing the food, pouring liquids, etc., and then getting it all back to the living room and safety of the couch and coffee table. Not easy. Forget it on crutches, no way to carry and hobble. Best on the wheeled thing, but then you're limited to one carry per item. Bring in the liquid. Back for the salad. Back for the main course. Shit, forget the fork and napkin, back again. Dessert? Well, maybe, if I'm up to it, but the idea of pounding something fattening down and letting it turn to inches around the waist by sitting on the couch sort of has deterred me from eating too much. So far I haven't noticed any weight gain. Then again, I'm wearing sweat pants. I'm not sure I want to try on jeans any time soon.

But like I said, it's all a process, and I don't mind. I sorta like breaking down these long-held mindless processes into tiny, analyzed bits to see how it's done. That's why I love Discovery and History channels, things like that showing how things work, how they're made. Processes fascinate me. I guess even my own when I step back to look at them.

On one foot of course.