By Gary Randall, For The Mountain Times
I’m currently laid up with a bum shoulder and an arm that’s about as useful as a noodle. To make matters worse, the nerve block I got during surgery seems to have staged a mutiny, leaving me with a pain level that could register on the Richter scale. But in the midst of it all, I find myself feeling something unexpected — gratitude.
I’ve been fortunate to have good health most of my life, which is something I no longer take for granted. Health issues took my brother at 35 and my father at 62, and here I am at 66, still able to enjoy life. My mother, at 83, is still with me and doing well. She has been my rock — always there for me, through thick and thin. Since losing my dad and brother, she and I have grown even closer. If she needs something, I’m there. If I need something, she’s here.
I don’t even want to imagine going through this recovery alone. Darlene has been keeping me in check, making sure I take my meds on time — a task that feels like managing inventory at a pharmacy. There are pills of every shape, size, and color: round ones, square ones, blue ones, orange ones, even a couple fancy two-tone capsules. If I ever get bored, I could probably start a side hobby arranging them by hue and geometric shape into a Roman mosaic.
Sleep, however, has been a lost cause. “Sleep in a recliner,” they said. “It’ll be more comfortable,” they said. My aching back disagrees. Lying in bed isn’t much better, because I’m stuck on my arthritic back no matter what, and no amount of pillow propping seems to help. So in the absence of rest, I find myself writing stories like this one — mostly because I haven’t had much else to do.
Being forced into stillness has been its own kind of challenge. I’m not one to sit still for long, and as I stare out the window, I can hear the little voice in my head reminding me of everything I’m not doing. If I can sit here and write this, surely, I can tackle the mountain of things waiting for me. But that’s the problem with recovery — it demands patience, and patience has never been my strong suit.
In the quiet moments of these past few weeks, I’ve had time to reflect. I’ve thought about those who aren’t as fortunate—those who are struggling with chronic pain, those who don’t have a support system, those who don’t have much to be thankful for. It has made me more empathetic toward others facing challenges and has deepened my appreciation for everything I do have.
Thankfully, I’ve had emotional support through this. Hazel, my loyal red heeler, has been by my side like a faithful companion, sensing when I need a little extra comfort. Whether it’s lying on my lap as I stare out the window or giving me that look that says, “You’ve been sitting around long enough,” she’s helped lift my moods more than that little dog will ever know.
This experience, as painful as it has been, has given me a fresh perspective. It has reminded me of how much I love my work, and how excited I am to pick up my camera again when I’m able. It has made me even more grateful for my wife, Darlene, who has been by my side — keeping me on track, making sure I take my meds, and listening to me whine without (yet) smothering me with a pillow. And I’m especially thankful for my mom, whose steady encouragement, love, and long-distance orders have kept my spirits up when I needed it most.
So, yes, I’m in pain. Yes, I’m frustrated. Yes, I’m an impatient patient. But more than anything, I’m thankful — for my health, my family, and the life I’m fortunate to live. And if I ever forget to be thankful, I’m sure Darlene will be there to remind me. Right after she gives me my next set of instructions and a handful of pills.