Present Tense Answer

My eyes are constantly darting around the room. The street. The train car. The bus. Not just in the high alert way - which is absolutely a part of my makeup, so much that living on a street with activity, with voices, with...you know...LIFE...pouring into my windows puts me at ill ease to the point that my husband tells me to "stand down" while we sit in our living room, lest I jump up to save someone from being attacked by what turns out to be screaming giggles - but in a way that is desperate. It is seeking. It is a flitting, fluttering, looking for a place to land my gaze. I put so much behind the gaze itself and what it means if I focus on a plane overhead versus a person's eyes versus the virtual life on my phone, that I cannot land anywhere. My gaze is indecisive and anxious. I've parented the hell out of that gaze, after all. It's just like me. I am thinking of an answer to the inevitable question. "How are you?" "How's the knee?" "How've you been? You had a thing? A knee...what happened?" I take this question to heart. I don't know how I am. I don't know how I feel. I'm having a hell of a time coming up with a good focus. A good place to land my gaze.

I am really tired of being compared to your grandmother. I know you mean well. I know that a knee replacement at 42 isn't common, and so you compare it to the experience of the only other person you know who's lived it, but hearing that Nana's just gotten the second one done and is soldiering though really isn't a consolation. I politely nod anyway, my knee bobbing furiously under the table. I can't sit still, as I'm likely going through withdrawal of one form or another. The Norco, the Tramadol (prescribed to get me off the Norco), the sleep...one of those. My body is angry it can't have one of those things and it's fidgety. Also, this constant comparison has helped me realize I have a deep seated bias against the elderly. 

That's real ugly, what I just said. I know. Hear me out. 

We don't treat the elderly like people. Look, they have their own category. THE. Like The Homeless. The Working Poor. We other them, judging their worth by their accomplishments from when they were younger. When they looked more like a person and less like a sentient dried apricot you're supposed to call on holidays. I'm speaking as someone who had older parents, and whose grandparents died when she was very young. Plus, my older parents died relatively young, so I've been unleashed to be a judgmental jerk to the world for some time. Mainly, though, it's because I fear the otherness. We all get there if we're lucky, right? Aging means you live. And our reward for a life long and well lived? Discounts. And to be recognized only by the children we've had or didn't have, the home we're forced to sell or the one we're thrown into, and some adorable nickname a child forced to see us gurgles when we see them for 15 minutes. We are celebrated when we do something normal, like climb stairs or dress ourselves, and I can hardly imagine being yelled at by my own child to follow a doctor-mandated diet. We humiliate those who know better than we do about the world. Our medicines to help them counteract one another, leaving them sicker than they need to be, and we leave them in the dust of new technology and faster paced living. Omama can't walk fast, so we'll just go to Old Country Buffet so she can sit. Then we'll drop her off and head to Target.

It's no wonder that, as my young daughter gently breathes in sleep, I silently cry thinking about all I'll miss in her life because I waited to have her until my late thirties, and as I wonder at what age she'll dread calling me.

I know. It's AMAZING I don't get out more, right? What a delight. Truly. BURSTING with joy. Well. There's always my art...

So I've been writing one scene for two months. I was paid to write it. I struggled for a while with not feeling worthy of being paid for something I already do, cause that's a super productive use of everyone's time, and then wrestled with subject matter. I let characters rattle around and then talk to me, and I have about three scenes now. They are wildly different, and only one of them will be the result of pay and a promise, but at least I like where the latest one is headed. I should probably stop talking about it, writing blogs about it, and finish the damn thing.

I haven't felt like myself in so long. First, I removed all foods that allegedly do my body harm, but I still consumed some that do animals (and, apparently, my body) harm. Whatever the ethics there, I reduced my pain and my weight, and my energy was sky high. Then I got titanium and plastic put in where a joint without cartilage used to be. Everything changed. Everything changes every day. The pain level, the location of the pain, the nausea, the hunger, the energy, the sleepiness, the anger, the defeat, the motivation, the progress, the frustration, the hope, the sweat, the worry. Each day, I comfort myself knowing that I have tomorrow to take over the world. I look forward to grabbing the day with both hands and meeting deadlines with a firm gaze and a firmer grip. I will write my own path, finish the drafts and the web series notes. Instead, the day comes, and all I want to do is sleep. I ask friends about getting together, because I want to initiate that connection. I want - genuinely want - to see the people I love. So I ask, usually careful not to commit to strictly social plans and giving myself an out. When the time comes, I cancel or say it's just not happening. I wish I could...and I do...but it's not.

So I sleep. Or, I did. Lately, sleep brings pain, as extra fluid pools in the joint and I have to ice or do some exercises to cycle the fluid through my system so it won't stay there and keep me awake. I'm grateful there are remedies, but it isn't easy to do them several times a night and feel refreshed in the morning.

Lest this sound like a screed of mere complaint, know that throughout all of this I am keenly aware of how lucky I am. We are in debt, and our income isn't enough to conquer it, but we're living. And we're able to afford our needs and indulgences here and there. I have excellent healthcare and physical therapy for my surgery and recovery. Our child wants for nothing (save a house and a yard with a dog, but even she knows that's a goal and not a given), and my husband and I are very much in love. We are doing what we've always wanted for a living. And dammit if I am not surrounded by some of the kindest and most compassionate people on earth. I have easy access to mind blowing art and literature created by people I know and deeply respect and love. I am asked to do cool shit. I am also white in America. Granted, we're all gonna be nuked to the sun by idiot man children in a dick spitting contest soon, but as luck of birth goes, I rolled pretty damn high.

I had the good fortune to run into two friends in one day. With one, we talked broadly about deep things very quickly. I sat in a circle with her less than a week ago, welcoming the new moon by writing thing down which no longer served us and burning the paper on which they were written. We cried as we talked about emerging from the fire anew, and casting off doubt, fear, smallness, and pain. We were able to shorthand most of this in our quick run-in. I told her I have been trying to think of a better answer for when people ask how I am, or how my knee is. I've hated how negative my answer has been. She told me she has discovered the power of, "I'm working on it" as an answer. I love it. It's honest. It's brief. It's kind to oneself and doesn't burden the listener with pain - no one asks for that when they ask how you are. Come on, we all have shit to do.

I saw another as I sat down to write. He came in, took my face in his hands and asked how I was, and was able to hang out to hear the answer. We spent the better part of an hour talking about acting, agents, imposter syndrome, gender, changing times, and terrible, filthy jokes. This served my soul just as much as the previous encounter. We contain multitudes, etc etc.

Shortly after that, I had physical therapy without pain. I spoke to my friend and partner as she drove to Iowa for film work and we covered career, money, auditions, and self worth.

I have only a bit of time before I pick up my child, and I have work to do for at least three clients. This rush means I have clients. I have work.

I'm working on it. Thank goodness I'm allowed to do that.

Thirty Days In the Whole - Days 22 - 30. The End...Sorta.

I have a great idea. Stop eating everything you love. 

No. Wait. Hear me out, here. Do it right before you have a joint replaced and you have a small child at home.

WHERE ARE YOU GOING. JUST LISTEN.

In the days before your surgery, you will experience miracles. You will spend lots of money at the grocery store because you never went out to eat. You will remain in your kitchen for what seems like days, jumping out of bed in the morning to send your husband off with lunch that you diligently prepared. You will eat all the homemade mayo and avocados you can handle. You will do all the dishes ever. You will hate everyone and wonder how that person walking with an iced latte has the UNMITIGATED GALL to be smiling and carefree while you choke down bitter black brew. You wonder if you can body swap with people eating ice cream, and then realize you're cravenly staring at children and the verboten frozen treat in their hands. However...

You will be in less pain. You will play with your daughter and you will move easier (aside from that one knee you're gonna swap out for robot parts). You will go to sleep without a problem, stay asleep, and get out of bed easily. And early. And happy. Clothes will fit differently. You will be proud of yourself. You will look in the mirror and say, "DAMN," even though you SHOULD have said that before this, at least you're starting now. You like this. It's so weird. You even get the hang of it and your husband packs up his own lunches and makes dinner and tells you to relax.

Then you have surgery. You get titanium rods in your leg and a big plastic disc to replace your nonexistent cartilage. You look like this now:

It's swimsuit seasooooooon!

When you're in the hospital, post-op, you will be incredibly nauseous. Just like you were pre-op -when they were afraid you'd choke on your own vomit because you wouldn't be able to tell them in twilight sedation that you had to hurl and they didn't want to intubate you. The nurse looked at you and said, "I don't want to be mean, but you don't look like you feel very well," and you realized that nurse doesn't know what mean is. Somehow, you make it through without aspirating on regurgitated food from 12 hours ago. When you wake up, you're still really green, so they bring you food. A turkey sandwich. Now, keep in mind, your body is in shock and you're high af. Not a court in the world would convict you for messing up on the plan. Also, what the hell court is that? Sounds like a massive waste of taxpayer dollars.

You will, without even making a deal out of it, peel the bread off the sandwich, eat the turkey, tomato, and all the fruit. You will mention that perhaps the turkey has carrageenan and sugar in it. But you're ok with that. You leave the bread, cheese, and crackers on the tray. You followed your fucking plan after surgery when you DID NOT have to. But hey, you were on day 23...you think. What day is it? Can you go to sleep yet? What the hell do they mean, "Get up and walk?!" You've had an epidural, you can't get up and - holy shit, you got up and walked. Time to go home.

You'll lose some time in there for a while. You know your delightful husband made you this delicious cauliflower rice stir fry:

He still has a sense of humor, however, so he gives your high ass chopsticks to use. Joke's on him. You use them as mini shovels to pour the food into your gullet.

You sleep for...a long time. At some point, he gives you more of the delicious porridge you had before, because porridge goes well with a cane, which is what you're walking with now. 

You sleep some more. When you wake up, you are given fistfuls of medication. And then this for dinner:

You can see this is my icing station. I live on the couch now.

That's right. He went out and grilled for y'all. It's simple, delicious, and helps keep you from vomiting everywhere because it has substance to it. You're so grateful, you pass out again. 

There's been physical therapy and nurses in here somewhere, but that's not relevant and involves a lot of crying and cursing.

Saturday is going to be rough, you think, because your husband will be at work and your Father-In-Law hasn't arrived yet. 

You're wrong, Your village comes out in full force, and one friend plays with your kid all day while getting you whatever you need. Another drops treats by. Many text and call to see if you're ok.  Once there as many people as possible in your house to surround you with love and support, you throw up into a crock pot thanks to your meds.

You always liked to do things in front of an audience. So. 

While you were in surgery, a saintly friend cleaned your whole house while another took your kid to school. The same one who cleaned your house came in with groceries and made food for you and your husband for the entire week, all plan compliant. 

You are the luckiest human alive. You try to thank them, but all that comes out is drool. Damn painkillers.

Over the next week, uou eat carnitas with pineapple salsa and almond flour tortillas, autumn orange soup, chicken salad, and delicious potatoes. Notice there is slaw on the carnitas. This is NOT the bullshit you made previously. This is actually tasty and perfect in this dish.

To celebrate, your daughter draws a picture of you with a potato.

The likeness is uncanny, really.

The end of your Whole30 happens while you're still recovering and you father-in-law is still visiting. According to the reintroduction, you can bring booze back first. They suggest gluten free hooch, like potato vodka and tequila. You aren't ready for shots yet. So your very generous FIL brings you a giant bottle of Chopin.

You take about two sips. You're a goddamned lightweight now.

Over the next couple of weeks, you will try reintroducing some foods, but not so much the heavy hitters (gluten and dairy). Now, why would you NOT bring those back? They're your favorites! 

Because you're taking painkillers and an anti-inflammatory so strong, it has torn your guts to shreds. You throw up, you feel nauseous, and your digestion has gone straight to hell. All the beautiful work the Whole30 did for you has been replaced with fitful, painful sleep, almost no stamina, and one TWO AND A HALF HOUR stint in the bathroom.

It's as awful as it sounds. Actually, it's worse. You try not to think about that day...but it haunts you still. 

Therefore, you are UTTERLY TERRIFIED to have a sandwich. Or ice cream. Or an ice cream sandwich. You don't know what it will do to you, so you decide to wait until you're done with your meds.

On the upside, there are a lot of clothes you can wear that you couldn't wear before. You're super stylin at physical therapy. It's important to look great while you cry and scream, "MOTHERFUCKER" at the really nice therapists.

So, while the author of the Whole30 goes on about how you aren't allowed to say this is hard, you challenge her to do it while getting a goddamned knee replacement. You fantasize about standing over her while she works on flexion and ask if she packed an Rx Bar for snacking and she's not allowed to complain. Because you're petty. And no diet is taking that away.

I'm gonna switch back to first person. Here's the thing: I will continue eating this way most of the time. I shudder to think how this would have gone if I was sitting on my ass in recovery shoving pizza in my sad I-Will-Never-Be-Normal-Again face hole. It would have been gruesome. I look great...until I try to straighten my leg for long periods of time. Then I look like a very angry monster.

My energy has been entirely focused on recovery, which is why this is so late. I had paying clients that had to wait for their pieces because the pain killers made letters wavy when I looked at them, and because I wanted to fall asleep after standing for 10 minutes. 

I'm getting back to good, ever so slowly. I will keep most of the Whole30 on my menu in order to keep the inflammation down. Also, I'm really digging how my pants fit so I don't need to buy new ones. 

But I swearddagod. As soon as I'm done with these meds? I'm having a giant baguette that I will wash down with a waffle cone.