Did I Pass The Test?

       Pop goes the…..ACL.

       I find it strange and fascinating with how people react when you’re injured. As I sat on the ski hill contemplating the pain and the remaining descent, I noticed that a few concerned skiers had gathered around me. I found it amusing that no one actually came up to me though, and that they all remained at least 15 feet away from my twisted skis….in strange and complete silence. Did they think a torn anterior cruciate ligament was contagious? Were they afraid I might grab onto one of them in anguish, pulling them down with me into the abyss of knee pain? One guy, who actually heard the shotgun sounding pop along with me, remained at a comfortable 20 feet uphill, but managed to nevertheless vocalize in my direction with an appropriate exclamation of “Holy S#@*!” Honestly, it was comforting to know that at least someone had been paying attention. A few others gathered, maybe 5 total, but no one questioned my need for help, or if I was even hurt. There was one guy who asked if I needed a sled down, but he posed the question as he whizzed by me at 20 mph: “Do you need a s….l….e…….d……?” What if I had said, “Yes, please”? He would have never heard me, as he was at the base by the time I could have responded….obviously terrified that he may have had to cease skiing and help out on such a fine day. There are no friends on powder days, and no time for manners. I forgive him.

       Finally, when my husband caught up to find me in my pathetic situation, the watchers continued to stand around….like lost zombies….with no apparent purpose but to irritate me. At that point I figured they were just sick voyeurs, depraved of any recent tragedies, and in the mood for a good accident and some gory misfortune. Sadly for them, there was no blood and no protruding bone. I wasn’t even in that much pain, and although I did wince a bit (the performer in me…..), they quickly dispersed when they learned that I would ski the rest of the way down and wouldn’t need a ski patroller nor a sled (adrenaline makes you do crazy things). How boring am I? Can’t even have a dramatic accident.

       So within exactly a week, I’ve had surgery to replace that sad little curled up ACL (that looked like a terrified slug on the MRI), and now I’m about to begin physical therapy. Things happen quickly in this town, where no one has time for limitations, and rehabilitation is more like training for a marathon. I promised my doc that I’d take it easy though, so I’ve set up my new lair downstairs, close to the kitchen, the television, the bathroom and my books. I had my computer and notebooks brought down and I imagined a hugely productive and artistic surge that included a lot of writing….maybe even something brilliant enough for a novel, since…what the hell else am I supposed to do? Surgery and pain pills however, have taken my muse and sent her packing….and I appear to be on a pharmaceutical holiday myself. My most creative moment thus far was discovering alternative uses for my crutches and learning to use them as tools for lifting water bottles, taking off socks, and opening the trash compactor. I’m sure if I really work at it, they could help me change that light bulb over the kitchen sink too. They really aren’t given enough credence, those large chopsticks, and they are certainly not used to their full potential. Mine have little spiky things on the bottom as well, for ice and snow control, but they could also be used as very effective weapons in required situations! Multifunctional. Brilliant.

       In any case, I’ve not been able to read more than 3 pages of any book, nor accomplish anything productive whatsoever. Instead, I’ve shamefully managed to watch the entire series of “Lost”…. That’s right, about 100 episodes. I’ve ‘lost’ my mind! This is not like ‘me’. Someone - I thought was a friend - told me that the show was entertaining and smart, and that since I would be on the sofa for a while, I might want to watch past episodes and catch up. Well, apparently I have. I must say that I quite enjoyed the first season, and then found it to be rather boring and repetitious, (lets face it, there are only so many scenarios that can occur on an island…even with time travel…) yet I continued to pursue watching….like a drugged subject in a Clockwork Orange-like experiment. Am I unknowingly part of the new Ludovico technique of rehabilitation? Was my ACL accident staged or part of my destiny that brought me to this ridiculous obsession with this mediocre show? Is someone or something trying to alter my perception of life, time and purpose? Has fate intercepted because I’ve been abusing my free will?

       I don’t know. I’m lost.

       Maybe I just need to cut back on the Hydrocodone….