Flu recovery has been challenging. I take caring for myself very seriously, you see. I maximize protein so my muscle development and, moreover, muscle preservation is above average. Septuagenarian Dina doesn’t want to break a hip. I work out for heart health and strength development. Octogenarian Dina still doesn’t want to break a hip. I prioritize the quality of the food I eat and avoiding what doesn’t benefit me. Older Dina does not want dementia, or more cancer. It’s all about my hips, my internal health, and my brain these days. I get it. Weight and appearance were never as important as I made them to be all those years. It’s about longevity and the quality of the next era of my life. Preparation is key. That’s what makes this issue hard to swallow.
I hurt my shoulder. How? I wish I could tell you. Did I overdo it at the gym? Every single social media account I follow for the purpose of working out over 50 claims lifting heavy to be the key to the kingdom of aging gracefully. Is the injury a correlation to the lack of feeling on the right side of my torso, a result of a radical mastectomy years ago? My latissimus dorsi flap procedure from 2008 is known to cause scar tissue that can result in uncomfortable areas. My armpit and upper back will always feel numb from the nerves that were damaged. I often don’t feel pain in that area until it has escalated. Turns out, any of these could be right, but the most likely culprit of my shoulder issue is that good old influenza from last month. See, I coughed until my throat was made of razor blades, until I woke up every creature in my house, until I was forced to try and sleep sitting up, all the pressure of my body resting on my right shoulder, night after night after night.
Speaking of shoulders, I am reminded of a recent social media “viral” post by Maira Kalman. Maira has accomplished so many things of importance. How ironic that Instagram is what brought her to the attention of the masses on a global scale. She’s an artist with paintings in the famous Mary Ryan Gallery, amongst others. She has written and illustrated books including a MoMA collab. She has an AIGA medal for storytelling, illustration, and design. She’s been a contributor to The New Yorker for thirty years. Yet, it’s a poem entitled “Women Holding Things” that had us all abuzz. Here’s an excerpt from a book by the same title that Maira both wrote and illustrated.
“What do women hold? The home and the family. And the children and the food. The friendships. The work. The work of the world. And the work of being human. The memories. And the troubles and the sorrows and the triumphs. And the love. Men do as well, but not quite in the same way. Sometimes, when I am feeling particularly happy or content, I think I can provide sustenance for legions of human beings. I can hold the entire world in my arms. Other times, I can barely cross the room. And I drop my arms. Frozen.”
Women are the root. We are the base that the children run to when life gets crazy. We are the glue that assembles random items into things called meals. We are the ones who care about appearances and making sure that all the function still has a little form left. We are the worst-case scenario thinkers, the over packers, the tethers. We are generally the first ones to notice the rainbows, the full moons, the way oil in a puddle of water is beautiful. We are the party planners, the detail assemblers, the happy makers. Oftentimes, we are the pleasers. Just a wink or nod of understanding and appreciation intoxicates us. We are the set designers of the lives of families, making sure the curtain rises and descends properly, that stage left and stage right are functioning at a premium level. And, just as Maira points out, these are not ideals relegated only to women. Men do these things, too. But ask any woman who has idly watched her emergency contact blindly rummage for mustard in the refrigerator – we just do it differently.
After more than a month of shoulder pain, I treated myself to a new pillow. Turns out, increasing the space between the mattress and the mandible, while maintaining proper alignment, is all this side sleeper needed. If my healing continues at this rate, I will be ready to use these shoulders to hold a myriad of things for the people I adore the most very soon. Until then, I’ll keep hiding the mustard. No one ever said women can’t hold it all and have some diabolical fun at the same time.