On Ailments

I write to you now from the blackened mist that is recovery from a sprained ankle - sympathy cards to the usual address please. It's a terrible place to be. I can't move or even angle my left foot without a considerable amount of pain, I am fully reliant on the kind people around me for some previously basic tasks and my only mode of transportation is the hop. For the past day and at minimum a few days to come, I will be constantly aware that something is not quite right in the state of Me. On a minutely basis I will be made to face that fact from the signals my foot is constantly sending to my head. Or maybe the signals my head sends to itself, via my foot. I probably should have done a bit more research before I started typing.

How easy it is to forget about the potential discomforts that we are not currently experiencing. When cuts, spots and other bodily chinks disappear and are no longer causing a daily distraction we almost instantly discard the very thought of them, dismissing the knowledge itself that we can even be affected by them. It's understandable, we have plenty of other stimuli around and we want to move on - our brains are busy people. But we also discard the appreciation factor.

The appreciation factor is what makes it hard to give a very nice steak to a very cute dog. The dog may scoff it down and lick his lips for hours after but to him, the meal was just as satisfactory as all the other meals he has ever consumed. What's he going to do? Note it down in his foodie diary under "must try again" and then let you know when he next fancies it? If you fed him toes, ears, guts and bumholes (or as they're more commonly known, "hot dogs") then there would be just as much affection coming back at you. It's not just a waste of money or a waste of steak, it's a waste of the experience of eating that beautifully prepared quality meat-based product on a deeply cognitive level that a non-human animal simply isn't capable of receiving.

Dogs are perfect examples of living "in the now" - I'm eating steak, now I'm not eating steak, mmm I can taste steak, mmm licked all the steak taste away, aww yeah now I'm getting stroked. It's not a complex internal monologue but it does for their purposes. Not once do they think "that piece of cake I found discarded in that sealed box on the table yesterday was good, I wish I had some more of that"; they're always looking forward.

As humans we can hark back to, say, the best lasagne we ever had but rarely would we take the memory of the cold sore we had last week, compare it to this week, and feel a benefit to it being gone (I do apologise for that mention of lasagne and cold sores in the same sentence). The sore is no longer pissing you off but there's not the constant joy that, considering how much time you put it to recognising it as an impediment, should be present after having regained full function of your lips. Or your whatever-it-was.

When I extend my arm I should be feeling great that the elbow joint doesn't click like it did a few weeks ago - a few more arm exercises and that particular annoyance has gone away - but somehow I'm not capable of that, I'm just extending my arm in an uninhibited manner. Sure, I can sit here, do it and think "awesome, it's not doing that clicking any more" (yes I am the kind of person who both says and thinks the word 'awesome') but after doing it a few more times with no sound or discomfort happening I get bored. Bored of watching my functional arm functioning functionally. And I know what an awfully wasted experience that is and what a fickle beast I am.

When I mend from my sprain I will no doubt go back to racing around on that foot, oblivious to the days (days being the measurement of time I am hoping turns out to be most relevant in this case) I spent without its usefulness. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better is that I'm sure that's just how it works. So maybe it's better to just embrace it? Fine then; may your ailments be minor, your mind be unappreciative and your lasagne consumption be unimpeded by cold sores. Oh, I did it again.