I sat beneath a warm blanket in a cold room, waiting for the surgeon to arrive.
A week earlier, I was sitting in the sun on my porch with Potato, my chunky red heeler, by my side. She hadn’t seemed to want to walk, so I was holding the leash loosely, reading something in my phone.
In an instant, a cat rushed across the street and Potato rushed after it. The leash caught on the top joint of my middle finger and twisted my hand, slamming it against the railing. My finger was severely bent, the joint displaced and, I’d soon find out, I had spiral fracture in my middle finger.
I was not sure surgery was the best idea. Costs had been quoted, and I knew from research that my finger would not heal well without it. Meanwhile, with surgery, I would run the risk of nerve damage or scar tissue that would equally deform my finger.
My finger was “on the cusp,” my surgeon said, so it was up to me.
My inability to make a decision led me to postpone the surgery a week, hoping the “buddy tape” method would straighten things out. But the healing wasn’t happening, and my joint ached, so I scheduled.
Then I thought about unscheduling and getting a second opinion. I couldn’t get in anywhere and my window of optimal healing was closing.
Alas, I sat beneath a cooling blanket and answered the same questions again and again. Yes, I was there for surgery. Yes, my right/dominant hand. Yes, I was sensitive to anesthesia. I still doubted my choice. But I was stuck now, a writer who wanted her middle finger in tact. A woman living in America who wanted her middle finger in tact. A woman “on the cusp” fretting over whether she made the right decision.
Have you ever sat with a decision for too long, working it over and over in your mind so many times that you can no longer determine what is instinct and what is fear?
As a meditator, I’m usually pretty in tune.
But if I’m being honest, I’ve been here before while writing. For me, indecision mostly shows up when I am trying to decide on the order of things. I am mildly dyslexic, so I often have to cut and paste clauses or words or even paragraphs to follow a logical order. But the way to tell the story I want to tell is often what I overthink. Should it be first person or third? Past tense or present? Chronological or framed? Experimental?
And each of these choices truly does make a huge difference, as do life choices regarding where to eat or work or what to wear.
The ironic thing is that any seasoned fiction writer knows that a character must have agency. Meaning, they must make decisions.
To dwell in indecision is to believe there is an absolutely wrong decision. If the decision is not hurting anyone, however, is there? Really?
Besides, when it comes to storytelling, to think there is a “wrong” decision is boring.
After practicing my breathing exercises in the hospital bed to calm, I began to see how deep breathing changed the levels showing on my vitals screen and began to experiment with breath of fire, holding my breath, extended exhales, etc. I was abandoning my doubt and entertaining myself—so much so that the resident anesthesiologist came in laughing. I doubt many 47-year-old women do this while they wait.
After I woke up, I was told it was a “best case scenario” and that while I’d been under, they’d done a closed reduction to pull my bones back together and eliminate the painful twisted position my finger had been in. I was thrilled, relieved, overjoyed, but also … I remembered how much time I’d spent in doubt and fear.
Perhaps in our life decisions and writing, there are no wrong answers. I keep thinking about the numerous sleepless nights and desire to cancel what turned out to be a “best case scenario” and have come to a conclusion you may or may not agree with.
There are no wrong answers. We feel doubt when we are afraid, and sometimes we are afraid for good reason. But worry and doubt can be completely useless distractions. When paired, they simply mean we think we have more control than we do. I’d like to replace them with conscientiousness and presence. Maybe decisions won’t always be easy, but I can do the best I can.
Perhaps on another day, the worst possible outcome would have happened, but my decision would have been the same. It was my best guest, and when I let go of worrying over whether it was right, even for a moment, I found myself living again. Lauging again over the idea that I thought I had some semblance of control.
This week, as I travel to Arizona for a conference and present my historical novel for the first time (still for preorder, friends!!), I am attempting to practice surrender. After all, my finger is healing better than expected. And when we show up for what we believe in, then let go, magic happens.
Prompt: Write about a time you/a character moved forward despite doubt. What happened?
reminder to self and others. a practice on courage…
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