“…who has friends…”

Christmas Eve 2019, approximately 10:55 PM, I lay here in bed on my right side, holding my tablet in my right hand and typing with my left…watching the last few minutes of the Yuletide favorite of millions (while a must avoid at all costs to others) IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. Without fail, several tears escape and roll sideways down my cheek at the few words I actually like from a character I mostly dislike…from Harry Bailey, “to my big brother George, the richest man in town!” Then the camera pans to the Tom Sawyer book and the inscription from Clarence, “…no man is a failure who has friends…”

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Decades ago I first saw just a few minutes of the then oft seen movie because TV stations across the country could air it for free. It had not been a commercial success when released in 1946 due to its dark and desperate tones through the final hour despite the joyful ending. After Thanksgiving in 1982, I underwent my first spinal surgery. I had, a few nights prior, learned in the darkened hospital room that I would need the prayed for NO body-cast body-cast. In another room in the wee hours I was unable to sleep and held the TV remote switching channels, trying to find something to watch. Another patient was bedded nearby so I knew I couldn’t turn up the volume much. 37 some years later I still recall seeing the final 30 minutes or so when George Bailey is his most hopeless till Clarence drops in…in the water for George to save him. For the following few years, I would look for the movie…not knowing its name and usually only catching bits and pieces. I wish I could recall how long it was before I was able to see the movie from start to finish, but when I did, I knew I would always need to watch. And watch I have…innumerable times since, but less frequently each season since NBC obtained exclusive rights to air. Nevertheless, I would watch the first December airing and tape (nowadays, DVR) the Christmas Eve program as I was usually attending late Candlelight Church services. Those days, or rather nights, are long gone as several surgeries over the last 9 years have left me much more incapacitated than I ever was for the first 43 years of my life even with congenital deformities of all parts skeletal. The details do not need to be explained here. Suffice it to type that my world is much smaller…the world I can manuever in. And this 2019 year was particularly hard…as hard as 2015 was when my then world crashed around me. Then I lost both my parents, a cousin and any “smitch” of independence I had left after bad hip surgery in 2010. I felt lost all over again this year.

A never could be started surgery occurred in January…a traumatic experience that left me scared, furious and despondent. I was told the surgical team had decided to stop for fear of my coding on the OR table. Please bear with me, I wish the attempt had been made regardless of the risk…and if I had coded and died, then obviously I wouldn’t be typing this now…but I had been prepared. Another incident a couple of months later rocked me more. I felt utterly worthless. Finally in late June, the procedure was performed in a different hospital…a complicated success. Took more time to intubate me than remove the cyst that hadn’t been where it was scanned to be. At least my discomforting pain was validated as the cyst was even larger than thought. The Depression I had fallen deep into didn’t lessen after though. I let several matters go unattended which left me in even worse shape mentally and emotionally.

Watching George Bailey once again realize he wasn’t a failure (as he thought others think of the standards) filled up my well even more…the well that had run dry but that I had finally began filling again myself back in September. I had a choice one day whether to give up …for instance my presentations and much more. But even with short arms and stubby fingers, I “clawed” my way up enough so I could begin to refill my soul well and I chose to continue trying.

This Christmas …not in the song sense…had gotten away from me…decorations were missing …two stockings, too. Sitting up is more and more difficult …no window light were hung, no wreath on my front door…

And yet in the past 3 days as well as over a week ago, I received comfort by the visits of friends…Saturday, Monday and today, Christmas Eve. 3 separate visits today along and then I was able to visit other friends’ home with steps. And while very different, I attended early Candlelight service …thanks to the willingness of friends making sure I could get in despite the steps to and in the Church itself. Hmmm…3 visits in my home today…the same as we imagine certain visitors to another laying in a bed of sorts….hmmm

I may not be exactly where I long ago thought I would, much like George Bailey. He even has wife and children. No spouse or children of my own…not even a failing like the Building and Loan business. My “business” isn’t even big enough to be a failure…

Yet, I know I have friends, old and new, near and far…virtual and face to face…so for now, I’m not a failure.

Hope, Peace, Joy and Love … May all these gifts of Christmas be with you now and throughout the coming year…

Beauty and the Beast – More Than A Fairy Tale

MeThis weekend opened the long awaited live action “remake” or re-imagining of the Disney animated modern classic Beauty and the Beast, a movie near and dear to me for many and some complicated reasons. No longer a “cartoon” film but one with live actors, this version is likely to affect me even more.

The “original” premiered back in the day – a phrase I use too much as I get closer and closer to 50 this coming October. And really 1991 wasn’t all that much back in the day considering I started out in 1967. Disney’s great new era of animated features began two years earlier with its release of the fabulously entertaining The Little Mermaid. I don’t remember why I wasn’t fully enticed by Ariel (though I can guess) at the time but when Beauty and the Beast was released, I became a grown up fan of each new annual animated feature. Brain cells storing the memory of my first viewing of what would become an Academy Award Best Movie nominee are long gone, but I do remember being as enchanted as countless little girls wanting to be Belle. And I remember being hopeful for the message that I spread today…that people need to look beyond what is on the outside…that people who look different are regular people …not to be afraid of but worthy to befriend and perhaps even love. I didn’t relate so much to Belle (though I loved her love of books and her feisty independence) as I did to the Beast. Though many believe I have self-acceptance of my body differences there was a long time when I thought I was a freak, a grade or two below Beast level and to be honest, those thoughts rise up every now and again.

Belle, the plucky village girl dreams beyond the typical role of a woman in a provincial village with “stuck in the past” residents including the overbearing and chauvinistic Gaston. Gaston only wants Belle because Belle doesn’t want him. And later when Gaston discovers the Beast, he becomes enraged – how could anyone turn him away for a head horned pawed covered with animal fur man beast? This story “as old as time” does not need me to recap how it ends. Instead I write this about how Hollywood and Society still don’t understand how this is too much an one sided story and why it affects me so personally.

The summer before I was to enter college a well-meaning important person in my life had wanted me to be careful at campus parties. Though Smith was and still is a women’s college, male students from surrounding colleges as well as town residents were known to attend house parties. For various reasons that can wait for another blog, I did not participate in usual HS social activities. My inner party animal (pun intended) was waiting to get out. This person knew I was excited to leave home and enjoy all that college had to offer yet worried I was too naïve and inexperienced with partying situations. She later told me she agonized over how to properly prepare me for potential danger. She finally blurted, “Geri, be careful at parties where guys are likely to drink too much and become drunk. A group may see you and decide to make wagers as to who can fu@& the handicapped girl…” Horrified is too much an understatement of how I felt in that moment. I could be seen as a freak experiment? I had finally emerged from my almost 5 year self-imposed moratorium on talking to the boys in my class because in 7th Grade the all too common puberty related self-doubts took a stranglehold of my self-esteem.

I had always known I was different – having congenital deformities of all parts skeleton. I wore unbending prosthetics and my malformed arms/hands/fingers only reached below my bust line. My below the waist body is even more weird — my ugly legs and feet that don’t allow me to walk. I had been used to stares in public and questions of “what’s wrong with her?” as early as I had conscious awareness. I was actually an outgoing little girl, as plucky as Belle herself I believe until adolescence and hormones took over. And I had talked to, even kicked at times, the boys in my classes up until 6th Grade. Finally by the time 2nd half of HS Senior Year arrived, I emerged from my shell and began communicating, however difficult, with some of the guys. Yet I waited too long and I was not invited to my Senior Prom – again chalking it up to that no one wanted to go with the funny looking Geri even as I had grown up with all my classmates in our small school district.

And now this special woman was warning me that again I could be seen as freak just as I was keen to start a new chapter of my life, determined to push myself out into the world – even if it was an all-female college.

See the connection now as to why I feel a kinship to the Beast? Yet life is not a fairytale with all happy endings. No magical transformations swirling in cinematic glory. And the Beast was a guy who was loved by a woman – the way it is generally in both reel and real life. Many more men with physical disabilities are likely to be married. We see this in many more feature films and our everyday world. Women are traditional caregivers. In my many hospitalizations over the years, several in rehab settings, I’ve seen women therapists have relationships with their male patients. The Boston Marathon, while horrendous in its initial terror and tragedy, has in time brought out stories of nurses and other health care providers who have married male survivors with various life changing injuries/conditions. And while I, embarrassingly, have never been in a romantic relationship, I have nonetheless been interested in a few gentlemen over the years. And a couple of times, mothers of a two men I liked would intimate that I should not get my hopes up, that I was not wife material and could not provide a home – in other words, I would be a burden. For those who don’t know my background, I was abandoned by my biological parents at birth – was I too much a beast baby and perhaps would be a burden? These questions have followed me throughout my life.

I still want to see this new version of Beauty and the Beast, for the music I love, for the banter between Lumiere and Cogsworth, for the fairy tale ending that true love sees beyond the beastly exterior. I still want to have that hope for myself.