The Procurement

A questionable mission

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I understand the gravity of the assignment. The items that need to be procured are of the utmost importance—doubly so given my non-ambulatory state. My station at the corner of the couch, with the two charcoal gray pillows propped up behind me and my braced and bandaged leg elevated on the gray West Elm mini-ottoman, needs to be equipped with as much entertainment and distraction as can be stored within arm’s (or crutch’s) reach. My books, water bottle, and laptop are my élan vital—my lifeblood.

My mission is complicated by the fact that these items are scattered throughout the house. The books and water bottle are on my bedside table, which would require traversing the hallway rug, taking a ninety-degree left turn, and nudging open a slightly-closed door with the end of my crutch. There is also the possibility of a dog to be circumnavigated. The laptop, on the other hand, is sitting on the desk in my office, warranting a journey across the hall and around a desk chair and perhaps another dog. I have an allowance of 30% of my bodyweight to allocate to my surgically-repaired leg; the rest of the legwork, in a rare literal use of the term, must be done by the crutches.

Daunting, to say the least.

There is also the question of carrying capacity and logistics. The round handles halfway down the crutches are bulky enough that my hands can just barely wrap around their circumference, so transporting the items in question calls for some creative dexterity. I figure I can palm the books and pin them against the side of the crutches while my fingers wrap around the grips. Same for the laptop. The water bottle provides a different kind of challenge, though. It’s one of those 1000ml hospital-issued plastic bottles with a mug-like handle and bendy straw. My best bet, I figure, is to loop my pinky through the handle, let the bottle dangle off to the side like a shopping bag, and hope that the muscles in my finger have enough tensile strength to manage the load.

Given the arduous nature of this endeavor, making two trips is out of the question. This will have to be an all-or-nothing effort. I go over the plan in my head repeatedly. Crutches on solid ground—watch for slippage. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Head on a swivel. First hallway, then bedroom, hallway again, office, then back to basecamp. You got this.

—

Sure, I had two exceedingly kind, willing, and able helpers¹ who would have been happy to procure these items for me—who, in fact, would have preferred to do so in order to avoid the possibility of finding me splayed out on the ground and having to schedule a second surgery in as many days.

But when you feel helpless or existentially claustrophobic, winning the smallest battle—however inconsequential, arbitrary, or foolish it may be—is perhaps the most important thing you can do. This, I believe, is how to preserve a sense of vitality when life seems to be intent on suffocating us: by finding some way within the constraints of our situation to exercise agency. By surrendering to what is true while exercising conscious willpower. By refusing to resist our reality while resisting the impulse to resign to its sovereignty.

Sometimes, this means going on an ill-advised procurative odyssey in spite of having two people a whisper away devoted to this very purpose.

Maybe it was the Percocet talking, but as I repositioned myself on the corner of the couch with my bounty, exhausted but triumphant, I felt ready to conquer the world. Right after my dad brought me an ice pack.

1. My dad, mom, and girlfriend have been nothing short of saintly in going above and beyond to make sure I have everything I need as I sit my ass on the couch all day, every day. Having done this knee surgery thing twice now, I can’t imagine what this would have been like without them.