Wade On In

I had to get my pins out at County USC, which is where the prisoners like to go. It was on Thursday, and it wasn't very crowded at the hand clinic, I guess most people in knife fights had had their hands mostly cut OFF, so no need to mess with fixing anything. Lucky for me.

I brought a bag of books and mini MnMs and Good n Plenties, and painkillers and anti-anxiety. The momish super emergency kit. The pins in my hand stick out of the top of my hand like Frankenstein. When you rotate them by accident, putting on clothes or something, you get a jabbing twinge of pain all throughout your body. So I was looking forward to getting them out, but not the me having to be there during the taking them out part. Hoping to throw a pin party afterwards. Pinata, pin the tail on the donkey, duck pin bowling.

The biggest puzzle is figuring out how late to take your painkillers so the the pain doesn't kill. I waited until after xray, when I knew the next step was see the young lanky doctor and hear him smile and say "let's get those out of there."

In line, I had met Ricardo, a huge dude who had broken his wrist doing some kind of hammering. Like hammering machinery, with big Popeye hammers. He looked like someone who could pick up your car and put it over THERE, if you asked. Someone you'd be afraid of in Target, and here in Club County, we are brothers. We talk about our kids. We go to xray, and come out, and talk about accidents we've had. Then Oscar joins us, a chef at the Greek Theater, who's cooked for and seen every artist that has performed there. Oscar tripped over his shoelaces and fell down the stairs, breaking his arm. He's getting his cast off too.

Anyway, while Ricardo's in xray, I pop my painkillers and the tiny piece of anti-anxiety pill falls down into my mnms. I rummage in there, suddenly full of anxiety. That's when I notice my water has spilled into my Good n Plenties. I eat them anyway, sticky, and find my sliver of a pill, and take it.

Twenty minutes later, I am wasted. I never take these kind of pills, and now I know why. I feel like I'm on a boat. They call my name and I heft myself up, hoping I can walk a straight line. Mostly hoping this means I won't feel pins sliding out of my finger.

Lanky doctor is there, with his lanky wrench. "You ready?" I lay down on the cozy white paper bench. He pulls one out. It freaking KILLS. Like having a pin pulled out of your bone, bones can feel stuff. Half done. Those painkillers are LAME. They're standing around staring. GET TO WORK! What are you afraid of??! He pulls the last pin. I do not explode like a grenade. It's more of a dull, intense throbbing hand pain for half an hour. And my Good n Plenties are wet. I think I'm crying into them.

When I can stand up, I go back to the waiting room, glad it's over. Ricardo and Oscar are there. Ricardo moves over on the end of the stretcher he's sitting on, and pats it for me to sit next to him. I squeeze in. He has his cast off, and we look at his naked arm with no tan. Oscar has the same thing, cast off, vulnerable arm. I show them my hand that is hurting, and the two red dots where the pins were. We sit in our little space in the corner, where the stretchers are parked. We talk a little about how you need stuff like your hands and arms. You don't realize how much you're doing until you have no arms to do it with. But mostly we are just glad to sit with someone who's kind, and almost done with something painful, too.

They give me my next appointment, and by that time, Ricardo is in with the doctor, so I don't get to say goodbye. I look across the room. Oscar waves his good arm.

I barely am able to drive home - apparently, what painkillers are really good at is becoming instantly HIGHLY effective for the pain of driving on the freeway, they're guys that came late to help and have decided to build a dreamhouse for you. On your eyelids. I drive home squinting hard the whole way so I can stay awake and fall over once home.

The next morning I'm making breakfast and my hurt hand is trying to help, trying to get back in shape. And there's Ricardo in my mind. I'm thinking if Ricardo is making breakfast for his two year old. I think about Oscar cooking up omelettes for Taylor Swift, or the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I think how we'll never see each other again. Bound by injuries, better now. Part of the healing.

Sprawling city of L.A. I always think I am alone here. It's them and me, and mostly me, because I am loud, to myself. And then I'm at County, and there's two guys.

What helps with trauma friendships, is that you are already linked, you just wade right into someone else's story.

So everyday life, I don't know. What if we waded right in? There is alot of kindness in there.