The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste

Once, when I was a teenager, I went on an archaeological trip to Mexico. I was never a swimmer. I took lessons, but I never quite learned how to swim. On this trip, I decided I was going to swim. I swam in every pool we ran across until I felt comfortable.

The very last day, we stopped at this underground lake that had been a holy place for the indigenous people. It was basically a flooded cave. I swam across to the other side and grabbed a stalactite. I started to swim back... and halfway across, out of nowhere, I started to get tired. Instead of just dealing with it as I would any other physical activity, suddenly my mind filled with the idea that there were many skeletons at the bottom of this ancient Mexican underground lake, and I would join them. I lost my shit and flailed around, convinced I would die. And when you're convinced of something, it's hard not to make it true.

Luckily, I was swimming with a friend, and he slugged me and dragged me to shore, and thus I am still alive. (There was another "friend" there, but he stood on the shore and laughed while this happened, but he was a douchebag anyway, so fuck that guy).

The point being...

On Nov. 13, I dumped my bike on my leg. When I stood up, my right ankle was bent at an unnatural angle. It was blown out. I could put zero weight on it.

Since then, by two week increments, my recovery has progressed: from boot and crutches with no weight on my ankle, to boot and crutches with weight on my ankle, to boot and cane, to boot and no cane, to Ace wrap and cane, to Ace wrap and no cane... at least around the lair.

I went to Arizona to visit my family. When I came back, I felt strong. I ran out of water for the coffee maker. This would not do. The nearest grocery store was about a mile away. I decided to walk there, with nothing but an Ace and boots -- no cane -- and see how it would go. Mind you, this is MONTHS after my accident.

I got there, no problem. Wandered around the store, finding my stuff? No problem. But on the way back...?

About halfway to my lair, I started to feel lightheaded. Not like I was going to pass out or anything, as I wasn't in any pain. But my ankle felt so weird and loose, it started to trigger a mental response. I felt the exact same way I did halfway back to shore across that underground lake in Mexico, like I was suddenly without a net, the worst could happen, and the worst would likely happen. Life yawned as an abyss underneath me. I was convinced my ankle was going to blow out, and I'd have to crawl back for blocks before I could call help. I know, it makes no sense, but that's how the mind worked.

I came to a bus stop. I sat on the bench for fifteen minutes, answering email on my iPhone. After a while of doing mundane tasks, I got my head back together, and simply walked the rest of the way without incident.

Yesterday, I did as little as possible. I wanted to recover, in all ways possible.

But I refuse to live in response to fear. Caution? Sure. Fear, no.

First thing, I got my ass out of bed and determined to walk to downtown Hollywood, maybe two or three miles. I took my cane, but I never used it. I walked the whole way there carrying an unused can in my hand. I got to Sunset and La Cienega, stopped at a coffee place and answered email. Then I walked back. Same thing -- cane in hand, but never touching the ground.

No problems. No flip-outs.

I think sometimes the mind needs a placebo, just something to let it know that an option is there, even if it's not needed, or even wanted. My cane sits next to me right now, a totem of potential, but unused. It's strange, but... whatever gets me walking, then running, then push-starting my motorcycle... Well, who cares how it happens, so long as it does?