the month i lost my arms and legs

if i were straight. 2010.

I am fast-approaching the end of my first-year on the West Coast and thank Meryl Streep for that! As wonderfully surprising as 24 has been, it has also been trying! Thrown a couple of curve balls these past two months, I am finally getting back on my feet (literally). Shall we pick up where we last left off?

Trading in my black apron at the restaurant for a green one, I jumped into full-time hours at Starbucks last February in search of a career and a husband. For the first month, everything seemed to be in order: the district manager knew I had my sights set on moving up in the company, and I was grateful for the change in pace from serving tables. I was also meeting a number of cute male med-students, plastic surgeons, and making friends that were opening me up to different parts of the city. 

Then one day in March after the Olympics had left I woke up and could not move my right arm. Thinking I had just pulled a muscle, I returned to work the next day in firm belief that I would be back in shape in three days. Using only my left arm to grab cups, jugs and pour coffee (an impressive feat at Starbucks!) it was four days later when I realized my arm was not getting better, but worse. Penning a letter to a friend down South, the grave reality of the situation finally hit me when I learned I could not grasp on to a pen for longer then ten seconds at a time. Fearing I might be writing through a microphone one day, I became frantic. It’s amazing how much we take our bodies for granted until they start breaking down on us. Two days later I lost my left arm.

With no hands to work with I walked into the coffee shop defeated. I did not know what to do. I did not have enough money to take time off work but was in so much pain I could not afford not to. I debated returning to the restaurant as fast as I could, but was in no shape to open a bottle of wine let alone clear someone’s plate. Visiting a doctor later that day, I learned that I had developed tendonitis in both arms from over-use and was prescribed a physiotherapist.

 **Adult lesson I learned number one: Always save up for a rainy day or month. Always.

…

Weeks passed and it soon became clear that the only way my arms were going to heal was if I stopped using them. My savings account rapidly draining (one tends to drink more wine when they’re life starts falling apart) it occurred to me that my days at the global chain were numbered. Apart from my hands, it also became clear to me during this time that there was no way I could afford to live in the most expensive city in Canada, the way I was living, on minimum wages. Sometimes one has to learn these lessons for themselves. Placing a call into my old restaurant, I begged for my old job back. Luckily it worked, and after informing the manager I could not work certain nights because I had joined the gay men’s baseball team, I was back on the schedule.

stonewall, mb. 2009.

Determined to not let my gimp hands ruin my life, I arrived three days and two buses later at my first baseball practice, promising myself I would take it easy. Stepping off the bus with my newly-purchased used mitt, I looked at the three baseball diamonds before me, and walked towards the one with the gayest looking men.

Shyly introducing myself, I started practicing catch with another man on the team and before I knew it, had made eleven new friends. Made back-catcher for the first forty-five minutes of practice, (gay jokes and softball are just like gay jokes and the Catholic Church – they are too easy to make I don’t even bother) it occurred to me that I had not played the sport in thirteen years. Stereotypically, I had dropped out of softball as a child to join choir. However, ironically, I probably would’ve been better of staying because I ended up getting teased out of choir. Damn alto boys.

Back to my story – oh yes, practice. Well, everything was going wonderfully. The sky was blue, the sun was setting and I was not wearing the proper shoes. Playing outfielder, I got so excited after catching my first fly ball that I fell right over. Picking myself back up, I laughed as one of the other men on the team called out “looks like we are going to have to get her a new set of heels!” Returning home to my apartment later, I walked up the stairs to my place with the biggest smile you have ever seen. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was getting my life back on the right track.

Sleeping very well that night I woke up the next morning to go to work with a much-expected sore set of knees.

48 hours later I couldn’t walk.

Unlike my arms in which I could still manage to get by, without my legs I actually was for real defeated. Calling in sick to both jobs, I put my hands up in the air and returned back to physiotherapy. Luckily this time around, my benefits had managed to kick in two days prior at Starbucks.

Now thankfully, two weeks later, I am walking again. I have to sit out the first two weeks of baseball but that is ok. We have our first game tomorrow afternoon and I am planning on cutting orange slices for the team. Yesterday I returned to the gym for the first time in months (my biceps now gone) and practiced walking. Testing out a couple of the upper-body weight machines, I brought the peg down from 70 pounds (the weight I had left them at in January) back down to 10.

Adult lesson learned number two: respect your body more than anything else, and know when it is time to throw in the towel. 

My west-end girl Joy told me late one night that the reason she loves big cities is because they challenge her. They force you to work harder, pick-up that second job if you need to and give your all, because anything less than that is not enough. Nearing the end of ten month in Vancouver, I can safely say at this point that although I am still learning, this city has taught me my limits. From my maxed out Credit Card to the mountains outside my window and the Pacific Ocean down the street, I am constantly reminded that sometimes in this life, the sky is not the limit.