If you hate oversharing, close this page now and go on your merry way.
Still here? OK – you’re about to read about what a wuss I am, because with just one weekend’s exception (and it was probably a mistake), my woodworking has been limited to reading, writing and editing about it. Oh – and this weekend, I’ll get to talk about it a lot (I’m guessing).
As you likely know by now if you follow this blog, our substacks, my Insta, the Lost Art Press Insta etc., I slipped on ice and broke my right ankle in three places on January 14 (1 out of 10, do not recommend). On January 21, after the swelling had subsided enough, I had surgery to insert a long cannulated (good word, that!) screw into my fibula, and to have a plate screwed to my tibia. (No, the screws are not slot heads. No, the screws are not clocked. Yes, I wish they were. Yes, I will likely set off airport metal detectors.)
The soonest I will be able to drive (and it’s iffy) is April 16. So I’ve been mostly working from my couch with my right foot elevated above heart level. This is comfortable only for my cats, who like having a constant lap handy for naps.
I knew most of my work would be of the sedentary type (good thing I have lots of it!) – but I had SUCH BIG PLANS to scoot down to the basement on my butt (the easiest way to navigate stairs) to work at my bench down there for at least an hour or two most days. Heck – I even borrowed an ATS (all-terrain scooter) from my buddy Aaron for that purpose, one with large tires that can navigate the horse mat in front of my bench, and easily roll over sawdust.
But you know what happens to plans – we make them and the gods laugh.
The only other time I’ve broken a bone was more than 25 years ago, and it did not require invasive surgery – just a closed reduction and a few months in a cast. Healing this time around has been much harder work – and it is requiring more naps than I’ve taken since pre-school. (Most things are more difficult at 56 than at 30, even without a broken ankle…and I have finally been forced to accept it.)
The only “woodworking” I’ve done since my accident was demonstrating a few operations (and not terribly gracefully!) in a February 7-9 Dutch tool chest class. It is difficult to maintain the proper sawing stance while balancing on one foot…oh wait…that is not a proper sawing stance. If my friend Jake hadn’t come to town to help out – and do most of the work, as well as drive me back and forth to the shop – there is no way I could have taught that class. And being upright (even in a wheelchair) for three days straight likely set me back as far as healing. Still, it was worth it. I was so happy to make even a few shavings and a small pile of sawdust.
But apparently not happy enough to do it at home.
So here I sit on my couch, foot in the air, marveling at those who every day overcome physical challenges, challenges that don’t stop them from picking up a woodworking tool, from modifying a workbench to accommodate a wheelchair, from lowering a table saw to a safe working level, and myriad other modifications that simply allow them to make things. I feel rather ashamed when I think of folks like Michael Rogen, who hasn’t let a degenerative disease keep him down. Or Steve, aka Wheelchair Woodworker, whose spinal cord injury can’t keep him away from the lathe. Or John Furniss, aka The Blind Woodsman, who uses a full complement of power tools.
There are so many woodworkers who don’t have it as easy as me; I do know how lucky I am. I will heal. I will be back working in the shop before too much longer – and without needing to modify anything. In the meantime, I can afford to be lazy. I can afford to be a wuss. And I am thankful beyond measure that I can afford – in every sense of the word – to be so.
But I am at least thinking about woodworking; I’ve come up with a long list of projects to get 90-percent done, per my usual MO.
— Megan Fitzpatrick