Post-op perspective

My friend Mike O'Connor is fond of saying "if you get a choice between being really smart and really lucky, it's better to be really lucky."

Lucky, I am. Let me offer the following evidence:

1. I am en route to see Julie -- to "help" her move back to Minneapolis, and to begin our summer and the rest of our lives together. (There's at least a 10-week stint in the fall when she'll return to Columbus, but she assures me that this is going to be a piece o' cake for us.) If you'll forgive my pining, last night as I laid awake in bed, I was struck by how amazing it is to love someone so much that it hurts when they aren't near. I'm glad we'll both be spared that pain for the summer.

2. The surgery appears to have been very successful. Seeing the X-rays yesterday was awe-inducing (awe, possessing qualities of both appreciation and terror), there is simply so much metal in my left wrist now. (I was shocked that I didn't set off the airport metal detector, but perhaps they've calibrated it for those kinds of metals.) In any case, the plate, pins and screw appear to have done their job realigning the joint and organizing the chaos left after the accident as much as possible.

I'm not out of the woods yet, however: there are a number of bone fragments that were too finely pulverized for pins and screws to gain purchase. These are presently right where the should be, but there is little keeping them there, save my faithfully avoiding transferring any force through the joint, while also making progress on the physical therapy I've started. (I'm in a removable brace, rather than a cast, which is comparatively more comfortable and makes P.T. possible, but also makes walking around in public a little harrowing. I'm treating the damn arm like it's an infant with brittle bone disease who possesses the cure to cancer.) So far so good. My doc says that if it looks as good in two weeks he'll be happy, and if it looks this good in six weeks he'll be celebrating. (He's talking about the bones of course, not the scar or freakish yellow bruises.) I'll bring the champagne.

3. I had the great honor of meeting Kelly Andrews, her husband Collin and her absolutely amazing circle of friends and family. Kelly, a twenty-seven year old, vegetarian nonsmoker was diagnosed with lung cancer in November, and with love, humor and stunning courage, faced its invasive attack on her body and her life. Her youth notwithstanding, Kelly's made a big impact on efforts to end homelessness, through her infectious passion and evident skill connecting and inspiring people working to bring about its end. She's also an inspiration to me for the love of travel and its horizon-expanding effects that she and Collin shared. They made the trip of a lifetime to southeast Asia, photos capturing their joy and sense of wonder. After several years of being in love, on Monday afternoon, they wed.

Monday night, Kelly battle with cancer came to an end. At the memorial yesterday, so many people spoke of how radiantly full of love and life Kelly was, how she brought this out in others, and how deeply generous -- with her life, with her energy -- she was. I did not know Kelly well, only having met her a couple of times, but I know many people whose lives were enriched and changed by her presence. I count myself among the even greater number inspired by her example.

Apparently, helping people raise their expectations and pursue their aspirations was something Kelly did so often, Collin has a name for it. He calls it living to "the Kelly standard." May we all stretch ourselves and dream big enough to reach our own Kelly standard, whatever it might be.