My femur bone was broken and dislocated in a bad car accident. I have never experienced such tremendous pain in my life. I have also never been in such a bad car accident. This is the oddest thing… as I was on the stretcher being wheeled into the emergency room, in an extreme amount of pain, and totally dazed by what was happening, I heard my student’s voices.
Earlier that day, I had been commenting on student papers for their Essay 4. So while I am being “escorted” into the white blinding light of the emergency room, where sadness and impatience looms, I heard all of these essays in my head, about recording moments, reminiscing on memories, the obsession people have with needing to “prove” moments happen by posting them on social media. It was this weird twilight moment kind of thing. I wondered if I could record this moment, this feeling, and I think I came to the conclusion that I could not. Well, I did not really come to a conclusion, its more like pain jolted me out of that thought and the next step was morphine.
While I was morphined up and in pain, waiting hours to be sent into surgery to have a titanium rod put into my femur bone, all of my responsibilities that were incomplete kept going through my head. Did I mention I was a perfectionist earlier on? I had a broken bone and I seemed to be more concerned with perfectionism.
The next day or so, I sent an email to my students telling them what happened. I was devastated that I would no longer see them. I teared up when many of them sent me get well emails, reminding me of my shitty state. Another marginalization is added to my identity intersections; disability. I am not fully able-bodied now, although I will not always be this way. I will be this way for a while.
I have a whole new perspective on the privilege of walking. The privilege of standing in a classroom, walking back and forth while talking to students, I miss those moments greatly. I end the semester with a cyborg good-bye to all. It kinda hurts. But I shall continue on. And I am lucky the accident was not worse.
This seems to be more of a flow of consciousness than a manifesto, but whatevs. My proletarian spirit will continue to thrive, even with my current femur disability.