Another Conversation with Myself
/Berry asked, “Did you sleep well last night? I noticed you got up and went to the living room couch at 2:00 am.”
I answered, “You know I didn’t. My right ankle throbbed all night. Kept me awake.”
“I thought your left ankle was your bad one.”
“That was yesterday. Today, it’s my right one.”
“What happened to your ankle? Did you overuse it again? Isn’t that what usually gets you into trouble?”
“I have no idea what happened. I don’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary all-day Monday. I rode my bike for a couple of hours, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”
“Maybe it was the Finance Committee meeting Sunday afternoon when they released the members who were rolling off and you bolted from the room?”
“Cyndi would laugh if she heard you use the term bolted to explain anything I do.”
“So, what happened? Ankles don’t go bad on their own.”
“Well, firstly, maybe they do. Maybe injury without warning is more common than you think. I have a friend whose eyes blew up on him this past summer, with little or no warning. And secondly, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m older than I used to be. Maybe it is a natural part of aging to get new pains in the middle of the night. In fact, it happened to me about a year ago with my big toe.”
“If I remember, that was gout. Not an injury. Do you think you have gout in your ankle?”
“No. Ankles aren’t susceptible to gout. Toes are. And if it were gout my ankle would be swollen and red.”
“Did you feel any other soreness? Were you especially tired? As if you had been wrestling all night?”
“You are referring to the Bible story of Jacob who wrestled all night long with an angel? I have no memory of that, which would defeat the purpose. Also, I’m sure Cyndi would have noticed had I been wrestling all night.”
“Because Jacob ended up with an injured hip. It bothered him the rest of his life.”
“That’s right, he did. That isn’t what happened to me.”
“So, you’re saying you weren’t touched on the ankle by God.”
“No, not saying that. God might very well have touched my ankle. But I am saying there was no wrestling match.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I have a giant bottle of ibuprofen and a drawer full of ankle braces. I’m going to start with those and see what happens.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Who said I was afraid? I’m in problem-solving and making compensation mode.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything. I expect this to be gone in a couple of days and I’ll be back to running and cycling. I might even be able to do a long ride on Saturday.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of being the weakest link. I’m afraid of being the one everyone waits for. I’m afraid of explaining why I’m limping.”
“Really, that bothers you when people ask why you’re limping?”
“No. I appreciate people caring about me. But I don’t want to be answering that question for the next thirty-five years.”
“What are you going to do next? Today?”
“Well, besides the ibuprofen and ankle brace and all, I’ll spend most of the day sitting down. I want to give my ankle time to heal.”
“You aren’t going to a doctor?”
“Not yet. I don’t have a podiatrist anymore, so I don’t know where I’d go. And I won’t consider going to a doctor unless I see swelling or discoloration.”
“I see you’ve thought a lot about this.”
“I think a lot about everything. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Do you think you’re immune to the aches and pains of aging?”
“Is your name Bob? He always asked me that.”
“Do you think you’re immune?”
“Yes. And no. Yes, because being immune is always my default assumption. No, because I’ve learned of the past few years that I’m not immune to anything. I’m way more vulnerable than I’m comfortable with.”
“Have you prayed about this?”
“I was about to. Now I’m waiting for you to stop chattering in my head.”
“Maybe you should have started with that, instead of waiting for me.”
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
