enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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in the pink. doing laundry. spilling coffee on myself (and I am wearing such a nice pink skirt, too)

Elgan linked to a lovely and inspiring tribute to her father today. This got me thinking about my feelings about my hip, and more particularly about what I've learned from my step-father.

I think I've written about my step-father in brief before, although I've probably never done justice to him. He's a pretty ordinary man in many respects, but to say that he is ordinary is to fail to appreciate the physical obstacles that he has surmounted in order to be typical. I think it would serve me well to reflect on his suffering, in order to appreciate the insignificance of mine.

My step-father is a retired teacher with a good pension. My mother is tremendously devoted to him and they live a life of relative comfort and security. He is a quiet man who frequently expresses gratitude for my mother's care and for the good things that he enjoys in his life. The pair of them would like to leave Ontario and purchase an oceanfront property in the Maritimes, but they remain in Ontario in order to be readily available to his parents, who are unwilling to move away from the dreadful suburb of Toronto that has exploded around them.

Anyhow.

My step-father was born in England in 1945 to a working-class Canadian solder and a war bride. The small family relocated to Canada when my step-father was only two. Unfortunately, my step-father was born with a number of medical conditions, the most significant of which for him as a child was a pituitary gland problem that prevented him from growing properly. The most significant difficulty for him as an adult is a degenerative bone condition that has resulted in such a deterioration of his joints that he has had every major joint in his body replaced: shoulders, hips, knees. He is unbalanced and is constantly in pain, although the knee surgeries that have been completed in the last couple of years have made a significant difference in his quality of life. Fortunately, too, advances in medical technology mean that when he has his hip sockets redone in the next couple of years, the technology is now expected to "do him" for the remainder of his days. (Earlier joint replacements had a life expectancy of about fifteen years.) Unfortunately, they can't do much for a degenerated spine. On a brighter note, my step-father's surgeons and their teams are among the very best in the country and he has always received prompt and excellent care (I don't want to think about how much it would have cost, had we had to pay directly for it...).

The thing with my step-father is that I have never heard him complain even once in my life of knowing him. He is not a midget but because his legs did not grow fully he stands below 5'. The drugs that they gave him as a child stimulated acne, among other side effects, so his skin is appreciably scarred. I've felt desperately angry so many times in my life as I've watched the expressions on people's faces as they've viewed us enjoying activities as a family. You could see them looking at us and wondering how such a man could have three strapping children.

My mother has confided to me that my step-father occasionally breaks down and cries in private. She knows that when he cries he is in desperate pain, since for most of his life he has operated with such unconcern for his problems as to preclude--or perhaps, rather, prevent--inquiries after them. When he was a young man, he loved to sail and to travel. He backpacked Europe and sailed the Mediterranean and the Virgin Islands. He also loved to build things and has never failed to make significant improvements on any home or cottage that we have owned. He raised horses for a while too.

I have never heard my step-father complain about anything, except in the form of small winces of pain that are emitted semi-consciously when he is engaged in activities. His stoical nature is problematic for me in the sense that it has probably prevented me from optimally absorbing the lessons that his life could provide. I admit to forgetting completely sometimes that his life has been an exercise in acceptance without complaint.

I guess I'm thinking of this now because I've been so worried and self-centred in my thinking about my hip injury. I called and wept on the phone to my mom about the lack of control that I feel over my life right now. I say that I have low expectations of life but in truth I have the highest expecations possible: possession of good health and strength and a continual access to beautiful things.

I was thinking about this again as I reflected following a meeting that I had this morning with an insurance adjustor, to discuss a bus accident that took place in the winter whilst I was a passenger on a city bus. On this particular day, the bus driver slammed on the brakes to avoid a car that pulled out in front of him. The bus was fairly empty at the time and so a morbidly obese woman with a child in a stroller was quite comfortably standing upright in the wheelchair bay with her child. When the bus driver hit the brakes, she stumbled forward and banged her leg against the front rail of the bus. The whole incident was quite upsetting because it was clear that she was not badly hurt (only shaken and possibly bruised), and she was terribly abusive to the bus driver who was trying to help her in any way he could. The bus driver was a member of a visible minority group and his imperfect English suggested recent arrival; furthermore, he seemed frightened and I resented her seemingly taking advantage of this.

My point in mentioning this is that I felt uncomfortable about the conclusions that I leapt to in my head about this woman. I mean, I leapt to all of the usual and expected conclusions that one draws about an obese young woman in a grotty tracksuit with a young child who is riding the bus in the middle of the day. She was, furthermore, unanchored and standing when all of the seats at the front of the bus were unoccupied. Her abuse of the bus driver of course didn't assist my feelings towards her; but I realize that I instantly compartmentalized her in a class that I perceived to have a higher probability of making a false claim for compensation to an insurance company. I failed to truly, deeply consider the possibility that her individual circumstances might be such that she was deserving of more sympathy. I also failed to consider that her response towards the bus driver--and wailing in front of the mostly middle-class student group of remaining passengers on the bus--was possibly in part a defense mechanism towards the judgements that she expects from people like us every day.

I'm not saying that she deserves to make a claim against this particular bus driver. I think the situation was her fault for not anchoring herself to anything on the bus. At the same time I guess I'm saying that I don't know how she ended up so fat and unsteady on her feet. I also failed to consider the time that it would take to rehabilitate an injury of the leg if one had inadequate muscle tone elsewhere to support and compensate for the injured area and its recovery.

I guess I'm stretching the point in my discussion of this woman but I have to remind myself over and over again that when things go wrong, why not me? Why do I implicitly believe that I am entitled to the perfect life?

Before I go, one last point about my step-father: The greatest memory that I hold--and will ever hold of him--is the genuine support that he has always given to my running. I may be speculating here and interpreting his feelings as something other than what they were, but I imagine that he encouraged me so much because it was the sort of thing that was an impossibility for him. At every track meet, at every road race, I could hear his voice above my mother's and it helped me to make it home.

2:20 p.m. - 2006-05-25

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other diaries:

stepfordtart
ohell
awittykitty
annanotbob
manfromvenus
smartypants
fifidellabon
hungryghost
hissandtell