September

Mile Marker 1300:

I know, I know.
It's October.

The thing is, I just can't let go of September yet.

I bet you're expecting my typical rant about what's ahead... darkness, wind, ice, snow.  NOVEMBER.  But that's not where I'm going.  (Well, technically, I am going there -- we all are -- just not in this blog post!)

Spring is usually the time for renewal, but right now it's fall, and I tell you there’s a growth spurt going on.  Life is busier than it's been for the past 3 years!  Even as the leaves drift to the ground, my branches burst and spread.  Sometimes in the unlikeliest places...

When I pull my Honda Civic into the gas station, my stamina runs as low as the fuel gauge.   I’ve just finished a two-hour drive from Baltimore to Philadelphia.  My butt bone aches.  I can’t wait to get out of this car.

The pumps are crowded for a Saturday evening.  I wait in line behind two cars and then pull into the next and only pump available.  I open the driver’s side door, hoist my legs out onto the blacktop, prosthetic side first.  When I straighten up, my hip is molded into the angle of the car seat, and I feel the ever familiar poke of my socket.  I slide a credit card into the gas pump.  But no-go.  It won’t read the card. 

I reach into my wallet for cash and find nothing but a lonely one-dollar bill.

So I hobble over to the glass payment booth.  Hold up my silver MasterCard.

“The pump won’t take my card,” I say to the woman inside.

“How high is your amputation?” she says back.

Huh?  In my driving-daze, I wonder if this is some sort of test.  Yes, I'm wearing shorts, but the question still seems out of place.

“Above the knee,” I answer tentatively. 

“I’m through the knee,” she says.  It's amputee jargon.  She motions to a door on the side of the booth.  “Come around,” she says.

I follow the curb around.

She gets up and opens the glass door, tugging up her peasant skirt to show me her prosthesis.

In the next two minutes, I learn her name is Cassandra.  She tells me she’s been an amputee for over 20 years.  I tell her my injury happened less than a mile from this gas station.   Then we talk some more.

For years, I've been nothing but an anonymous customer, paying an anonymous woman in a glass booth.  Now there's a connection.  It's random, but energizing.

The spark of September.

It's Susan's birthday, too...

The month lights up with birthday treats:  a pair of trekking poles from Mark, a Starbucks lunch with Deb, a chilly evening picnic with Mary, Susan, and Jen.

and Chase's...

My school team bakes me a cake, dotted with candles they saved from last year -- when I was still in the hospital.  (They ate last year's cake without me!)

Days pass quickly.  Evening creeps in earlier and earlier.  There's a trip to the beach, a hike in the woods.  A party with new friends in my apartment building.

Branches veer off, tracing curvy paths into the sky.

and Sam's!

I fly solo to Vermont for a "sister weekend" with Sam.  She's two inches taller, but 9 years and 10 days younger.  Yep, another September birthday!

Then Mom and I drive to visit friends Mo and Arnold, from the Amputee Coalition Conference.  Rob, my peer mentor, surprises us there.  He hasn't seen my mom since our shell-shocked hospital days!  The five of us have so many stories to share, it's like we've known each other for a lifetime.

One Saturday morning, I go out walking with friends from the rehab gym.  Dave and Robert lead the way, their crutches in hand.  I lag behind with Binal, pushing the wheelchair "just in case."  Dave and Robert are determined not to use it, but after the first hour, Binal and I are tempted!

Crisp, rippled leaves litter the road.  Each step is a feat of its own, yet we take 10,560 of them -- a 2-mile journey in all!

And yes, we obey the speed limit.  By a long shot!

September rolls on.  Each night, I fall into bed exhausted.  But it's worth it.  This year, instead of down-sliding, each new spark ignites me with energy.  Gives me the momentum I need to glide over bumps in the road.

I am undeniably HAPPY.  But as much as I try to put the feelings to words, I can't.  I can't bring myself to say I'm glad I was in an accident, glad to have experienced the last few years, glad to be an amputee.

Yet without my injuries, I wouldn't have met many of the people who now fill up my life.  The daily victories wouldn't feel so victorious.  I wouldn't be able to recognize each sunny, healthy moment as the gift that it truly is.

How can something built of immeasurable PAIN seem like a BLESSING in some ways, too?

Yesterday, on the very last day of September, my friend Shelley finally rescues me -- with, of all things, a Facebook post.

Call it a bike ride epiphany -- it captures my feelings perfectly:

As I was gritting at the headwind on my bike commute this morning, all of a sudden that same headwind brought me the most delightful chocolate aroma.... Ah, sometimes the thing that challenges you the most brings you just what you need (or at least a little bit of aromatherapy).

Thanks, Shell.

So maybe it's the warmth that lingers behind when the calendar says it's fall.  Maybe it's the fact that I can now count a whole year -- September to September -- since my last surgery.   Or maybe it's the energy of so many close friends, old and new.

Whatever it is, it keeps my branches growing.

As I blow out my candles this year, there's not much left to wish for -- except maybe 12 more months like this one.

Thank you September, and everybody.

My tank is full...


When you have a month like this, you've just gotta celebrate :)
Click here to watch the video.