Chapter 108
My body is amazing. Yours is pretty darn amazing too.
For 54 years my heart has been beating non-stop. Isn’t that an incredible thing? My Dad’s heart has been chugging away for 80 years now… for some of us we are lucky enough to marvel at relatives whose hearts are still pounding away well into their nineties and beyond.
Our bodies are resilient reparable regrowable caches of limitless possibilities. We hear about lizards that can regrow tails and other such interesting things. When I look at my hands, I think about the dozens and dozens of times they have been regrown (sin huesos).
I’ve put my fingers in all sorts of potentially dangerous and downright silly places, haven’t we all? I remember once shoving a knife into the toaster to excavate a piece of charcoal that was doggedly sticking to the bottom of the toaster sending up smoke signals. Two seconds after plunging a metal strip into an electrified object I realized my stupidity & removed said knife shortly before I rendered myself more electrical than normal.
Once, checking out my horse Boy’s teeth situation I made a clumsy entry into his mouth so he obligingly chomped down on my index finger. Withdrawing my excruciating digit, I broke land-speed records in a dash back to the house to a rushing tap of cold water. Blood spurted everywhere, cold water did its thing and I watched the appearance of a couple of good horse-tooth-shaped holes in my skin. My best opportunity to watch the miracle of regrowth manifested as my finger magically repaired itself over the next two weeks.
In Havana in 2015, something similar happened with an oscillating fan – heading back to our apartment a few minutes before Fantuzzi, I stepped through the door & picked up the fan from the table by the door to shift its orientation. Being Havana & lacking in modern equipment and maintenance, the wire cage containing the blades to protect the likes of moi, was slightly battered. My index finger slipped between two bulging wires to be repeatedly bludgeoned by the blades as they whirled. My finger ricocheted back and forth off the cage and the blades so dramatically I thought I’d broke my hand. Yet again, blood flying everywhere – this time I saw red, literally – flying past me in several directions. Then a sudden rush for running water and a bandage and collapsing in shock and remorse as I beat myself up mentally for not waiting the extra 5 minutes for Fantuzzi. I’m sure it would all have been fine if I’d come home with him as normal.
In San Francisco just a couple of years ago… being helpful, washing up in the kitchen & boiling water. A glass kettle whose lid didn’t want to fit… in my attempt to push it down everything disintegrated under my hands & suddenly I was pressing my naked flesh straight down onto murderous-looking shards of glass sticking straight upward. I lacerated a number of fingers that time. Calling for help… gently so as not to alarm anybody — I’ve done this before & the sight of blood can have a seriously detrimental effect on potential helpers — I had to call a few times before I got the response I needed.
Fantuzzi turned up to help and we ended up with me holding my hand above my head, brown paper towel wrapped around 3 of my fingers & my thumb. I looked like some bizarre mutant scissor-hands creature. The next day visiting a skin specialist, he opined that I had managed to slice off so much skin there wasn’t actually anything for him to stitch back together, so we played the waiting game. I can tell you that it takes my hands precisely ten days to regrow a significant stretch of skin along a finger!
And scars? Nothing to speak of. I guess our hands are made of sterner stuff than a lot of the rest of our bodies. I have a scar on my knee from a fall & graze that I endured when I was about 13 years old. Hands on the other hand (hahah); except, I finally remember… the bisecting line across my thumb, the vague souvenir of a decapitated digit at the age of five. One other scar from another broken glass incident in ‘95, but most of my hands’ adventures over the past 54 years go unremarked in terms of lasting physical souvenirs.
In 50 years of riding and training horses I’ve managed to maintain a relatively incident- free record despite being the go-to rider for problem beasts for many years. I rode the problem horses at the school where I studied horsemanship — leading rides around the countryside on the equines the clients couldn’t handle. It was nothing if not entertaining. The day the bridle disintegrated from the head of the ex-racehorse I was aboard was remarkable & one of the best rides of my life. We went damn fast down the extraordinarily muddy track that day! The same day, next ride out… shooting up a steep bank & jumping over the top a stirrup leather snapped in two and I spent the rest of the ride on an excitable bouncy horse without the stabilizing presence of stirrups in which to plant my feet. Good core exercise.
On a completely different note, I have to give a “shout-out” to my latest tenants who have moved on to another idyllic-sounding location near Turner Valley. Misha and Travis have been the most lovely folk to know & have renting my home. It’s such a delight to deal with people of integrity, diligence and above all wonderful positive energy to be around. Misha’s fabulous florist’s business Amborella is a powerful reflection of her skills and personality. If you are in need of flowers for any occasion, I couldn’t recommend her enough.
So onward we all go, full of summer sunshine and beautiful nature sounds around. The dark cometh, but not just yet.
With gratitude and love,
Kat Dancer
bodymudra@gmail.com
www.kat-dancer.com
415 525 2630
