Hold My Beer

I'm on a mission to fix my busted shoulders

A minimum of 3 dislocations a year for 20 years is 60 shoulder dislocations, but it’s been more than that. They’re absurdly painful. The first one overwhelmed my threshold and I passed out in a stairwell and was found by a member of the dorm cleaning staff. That was my first ever ambulance ride. Two years later I had my first ride in Oregon, which was significantly better because here they can administer morphine in the ambulance.

Some number of people have one and then they’re all good. But some of us are chronic dislocators. Mine pop out ALL THE TIME and SO EASILY. One time I dislocated my shoulder because I was arguing with a friend about whether the Kanye/Jay Z album Watch the Throne was good. I put my arms out to express: how could you not like it!? And one just slipped out.

Sometimes it’s cinematic, like I fell out of a raft in a rapid once and dislocated a shoulder and two friends with WFR training helped me get it back in on the side of the river. But I’ve also just woken up because a shoulder dislocated while changing sleep positions.

After a handful of ER trips I can put them back in myself. It’s become a real hobby of mine. One time I was holding baby Bruno and reached around a wall to grab a hanging broom and dislocated my right shoulder. I called for Pete but he couldn’t hear me because of headphones. I ended up putting my right leg up on the kitchen counter and using it to push against my right arm until I got my shoulder back in place.

Probably it goes without saying but this has changed my personality. I was never reckless or fearless. However I did used to be physically playful and fun and I’m not now. I’m absurdly cautious. I’m scared every time I put on a coat or backpack. I turn my entire body to grab toilet paper. I am militaristic in the way I move. It’s all very very deliberate.

The stars have aligned for me this year and I am fixing both of my shoulders. I had surgery on my left last Friday, and I’ll have surgery on my right in a few months.

It’s a 45 min procedure at an outpatient hospital, 3 weeks of an intense sling (and tragically no baths or hot tubs) and TONS of physical therapy.

Also I have to undo all the rules I’ve constructed for myself. I’m not totally sure how to even do that. I’m scared of the requests of my physical therapy. Maybe in repetition I’ll be able to overcome fear of individual movements, begin to trust my shoulders again, and then maybe slowly slowly I will shake free of my extreme caution. Maybe this will take a long ass time and I’ll always be a bit more restricted than I need to be.

For now I’m en-slinged, just waiting. I’m able to shower and dress myself. That’s new. I got caught in a rain burst the other day and Pete was in a meeting so I couldn't get the wet stuff off. Sleeping is weird because I have to be propped up. But the actual hardest part is not being able to put my hair up.

As for work I am trying. I spent January stockpiling bisque pottery and I’m now able to slowly paint it. I’m behind on emails and have spent portions of every day resting or slowly shuffling around the house. One unavailable arm has an impact. Taking my laptop and my tea to my studio is two trips. And I am walking soooo carefully.

I was giddy when I heard how simple the surgery was and I’m giddy still. It feels amazing to turn up the volume on something that’s been a low level hum for so long. Now I can give it my focus and acknowledgement. I feel lucky.