Official, real, live walking. The following Monday, I get out of bed, stand on both feet and walk across the bedroom, down the hall, through the dining room, through the kitchen and out on the porch: no cast, no crutches, barefoot. I feel like I’m eleven months old, like my mom is on her hands and knees in front of me, arms outstretched, urging me toward her. I shed a few personal tears. Three months after IMPACT and I’m walking barefoot.

All the countless hours of exercise and stretching have paid off handsomely, but I soon realize there’s a lot more foot and ankle bending required for normal walking. And a lot more strength required for extended walking. And a lot more pain required for tendon, ligament, muscle healing and redevelopment. Oz tackles my foot with gusto and rearranges the bones to his liking. Oz, cold, heat, stretches, exercises, diet, lather, rinse, repeat. After a return appointment with Dr. Ortho Fourtho who doesn’t suggest physical therapy until I have another heart-to-halfhearted talk with him, I schedule sessions with my former physical therapist Stephanie, who had helped me earlier with a little, tiny, teensy-weensy pain in my elbow. We laugh about then compared to now. At my first session, she is visibly shocked when she sees the size of my right calf muscle is only one half inch less than the left. Then I take off the cast and walk around her office. We still have weeks of work to do but major work has already been done. Since the bones seem to have set a bit high in the foot creating a visible raised area, I have been calling it “The Hunchfoot of NorteMan.” Stephanie renames it “Sir ArchALot.” The name fits. I’m wearing it.

Physical therapy and massage become the mainstays of every week. Oz pushes me to the edge and over. His words echo in my mind and shape my steps.
    “You’ve got to train your foot to do what you want it to do.”
    “The bones will heal together if you don’t keep them moving separately.”
    “If you don’t walk THROUGH the limp, you’ll have it for the rest of your life.”
    “Lead with your right foot. Every time you step on your right foot, say inside, ‘Right. Right. Right.’”
    “It’s time to start jumping jacks. Do 50, then 100.”
    “Walk on your tip toes everyday, even if you look gay.”
    “Walk on your toes for a half mile before you jog.”
    “You run on your toes. I want you to be able to run away from someone in Asia.”
    “I’m proud of you. You’re healing like a 30 year old.”
    “Go rest. Drink two quarts of water. Don’t work. Have a glass of red wine.”

Stephanie and Andrea, the Physical Therapy Maidens, mainly urge me to slow down. Hey, I’d rather ride my bike TO your office than get on the stationary bike and ride IN your office. I attack all of the torture devices in the Physical Therapy room, do 10 more reps than they suggest and plead for more. “Oh yeah? Well, try this, Mr. Ambitious. Balance on the trampoline, on one foot, Sir ArchALot, for one minute, with your eyes closed, pat your head, rub your stomach, and recite Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address…backwards, in French, naked…in the parking lot.” (Once you master the one-foot balance on the trampoline for a minute, try it with your eyes closed. I can’t do it without resting a pinky on something solid.)

The combination of PT and OZ works wonders. One of my favorite days is teaching yoga to Stephanie, in HER facility, during MY session: shoulder stand, headstand, plough pose (lay on back, straight legs back over head, feet touch floor, hands grab feet). In July, when I heard the word “broken neck,” I never thought there would be any of those poses in my future. Stephanie tries valiantly, but gets a rug burn on her forehead from the headstand. I suggest she should go see Oz.

The goal posts are finally in sight. In October the present feels predictable and the future seems possible. With a tentative grasp on the formidable time it takes to heal, I embrace goals I’ve already set with gusto and set a few more with glee: Quit my job at Dry Fibre at the end of 2002. Leave Winston-Salem in January 2003. Book a flight to Hong Kong, first-class, with return from Bangkok. Find a suitable person to saddle with my Dry Fibre duties. Train him/her, leave him/her empowered, put business in order.

Roller blade as soon as possible. Do it again. And again. Ride my bicycle to therapy sessions. Do 100 pushups at one time. Do a handstand for one minute. Do it everyday. Hike around a lake in Minneapolis in November, meeting Oz’s challenge: “If you walk around a 3-mile lake, I’ll give you a free massage.” (I walked, he gave, 1 hour and 55 minutes, free. He lives in my heart. And he’s a big guy. I have a big heart.) Spend Thanksgiving in San Francisco, with favorite cousins.

Golf on my birthday, December 1, not in NC as usual, this time in California. Hike six miles from the ocean, through Golden Gate Park, back to cousin’s house. Sort my entire life into three piles:     1)  Give away.     2)  Put away. (One 10'x25' storage unit with Trooper)     3)  Take away. (Two bags: one day pack, one backpack) Buy digital camera, smallest PC laptop possible, Asia power/phone adapters. Put all finances in order, including taxes, to be handled via the web.
Have shots for polio, diphtheria, tetanus, typhoid, Hep A, Hep B, flu, tuberculosis. Get prescription medicine for malaria prevention and gastro-intestinal disasters. Prepare for a profession of writer on the road. (Does that say “Vacation!?!?”) Perform for the rescheduled Dutchies View Anniversary celebration in December. Attend daughter Sara’s graduation in MN and say farewell to Minneapolis friends. Beat at least one relative in NC at ping-pong, maybe Lindy, since she’s only 11. Finish my prepaid swing-dance lessons in Winston-Salem. Hike up an NC mountain on New Year’s Day.
Join my cousin and husband (hers, not mine) on Maui for ten days. Swim without crutches, jog, hula. Return to San Francisco to complete tasks, packing and shots. Fly to Hong Kong on 19 January, 2003. Vacation and recreation at resort. Vacate, re-create, re-sort.  Live in Asia and start writing a book, articles, poems, songs, whatever.

So I’m still here on the sleepy island of Lantau (mostly state park, one of Hong Kong’s 234 islands) in the sleepy village of Mui Wo (no cars, lots of bicycles, mostly feet) about a half-hour ferry ride to the city of Hong Kong (not sleepy, churning like boiling water, bustling with a capital B, absolutely amazing, all hours of the day). I’ve achieved all of the previous goals except the hula and am working on a few new ones.

Today is my six-month anniversary of IMPACT. January 27, 2003. The good news: Most of the time, if you see me walk, you wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The bad news: It still hurts to walk. The good news: It only hurts half the time. The bad news: That means every other step. The first step out of the bed in the morning and I think, “Hey, I thought we healed a little more than this.” Sometimes, by mid-day, if I’m walking, SirArchALot barely complains. If I’m concentrating on the passing islands, the million faces I see downtown, the spicy Thai food, there’s no pain. And though the pain level may go up and down each day, it’s a little better every week. I’ve had a couple foot massages here and they’re getting cheaper by the mile. In Thailand, massage is $3.00 per hour. “Okay, I’ll have one hour on each toe, two hours along the right instep and your choice for the last hour.” Just another eight-hour day for them, and still $16 cheaper than Oz charged me for an hour and a half.

I’m having the time of my life. San Fran was grand, three trips in one year! I loved feeling the warm hearts in Minneapolis, and though I miss them daily, I don’t miss their daily weather. Hawaii was sweet, sublime, sensuous. If I’m looking for paradise, I’m not sure why I’m going any further. I picked up a hitchhiker on Maui and we talked about the temperature. It was 81 degrees. I told him about walking out on a December deck at my father’s cabin in northern Minnesota, on a bright, clear, sunny day. The thermometer showed 57 degrees below zero, without a wind. That’s 138 degrees colder than it was in Maui. I’m sure he thought I was joking. The world provides endless options. My cousin Kraig experienced 150 degrees in Mali, Africa. I think I’ll draw my line around 100.  

It’s time to put this story (and me) to bed so I can get on with the next one. I’m thankful there is a next one. No idea how long it will last, but I’m going to focus on the steps. “If you’re not happy now, you never will be.”

Lessons learned? Cosmic insight? Advice for the masses? Nothing new. You’ve heard it before. It may take a close encounter with the Grim Reaper to personally drive the message home, deep into the heart and soul.

Have the time of YOUR life. Right now. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing. The next moment could be your last. Make it last. It’s not a morbid thought. It just makes the moments mean a little more. ( Previous page )

ã2003 by Scott Jones, Mui Wo, Hong Kong, 27.01.03  

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