“Sometimes the slightest things change the directions of our lives, the merest breath of a circumstance, a random moment that connects like a meteorite striking the earth. Lives have swiveled and changed direction on the strength of a chance remark.” (Bryce Courtenay)
I made smoked salmon chowder on Sunday afternoon. Sautéed onions and red peppers, tossed in potatoes, carrots, and parsnips, kept an anxious eye on the clock. It wasn’t the best time to start cooking. I needed to leave the house by 3:30 to make it to Village Books for my Beyond Belief author friends’ reading. That watched pot needed to boil – fast.
As soon as steam curled from the red cast iron, I snapped the burner off. Car keys and wallet were in my hand when the phone rang.
Joel’s voice was garbled. “I’m in an ambulance. I blew out my knee.”
“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
The drive from our house to the ER is 8.2 miles. A distance that’s nothing for folks whose biannual commute is a 1000 mile cruise up the Inside Passage, but a wide open range for thoughts to tumbleweed in a life-altering emergency. With every twist of the road, my thoughts shifted from fear for my beloved (A knee, fuck, sweetie, I’m so sorry) to the practical details of our livelihood (There are six weeks between now and when we have to be underway to Alaska, the boat’s nowhere near ready, and the money from last season is gone). The sun beamed brightly that afternoon, as we slipped into every self-employed fisherman’s worst nightmare.
I found my sweetheart on a stretcher in the hallway. Whether influenced by shock or the high traffic surroundings, his explanation was remarkably calm. “I was playing pick-up basketball at the gym. When I stopped fast, my knee kept going. I heard a ‘POP!’ and it just went out – I was on the floor. I couldn’t see my leg, but I could see everyone else’s faces… They all looked sick.”
His teammates rallied, linking arms to carry him out to wait for the ambulance. A nearby volleyball player brought him some water. Another man found his locker and passed his things along to the medics. One of the medics was funny, with an Australian accent. Everyone was kind.
We’ve both been working out to prepare for the season, joking that our gym memberships should be write-offs, preventative maintenance for our line of work. It’s the responsible thing to do, right – to be fit, active, before making such extreme demands of our bodies? So there was the rub: Joel hadn’t been doing anything “wrong.” As he reflected, “I wouldn’t have done anything differently. I just got really unlucky.”
After X‑rays and an eyeball/finger poke assessment, the hospital sent us home with a brace, pain prescription, and orthopedic referral. With three stairs to get in the front door, followed by another three up to the kitchen and four down to the bathroom, we got a swift lesson in how poorly our house is designed for folks of limited mobility. (“This is not the house that we’ll be growing old in,” Joel muttered.) We made him a new home on the couch – pillows to keep his knee elevated, a table within easy reach – and rolled out a sleeping bag on the floor for me. Neither of us slept.
That was five days ago.
Tuesday’s MRI led to Wednesday’s diagnosis. A torn ACL. Torn? Completely snapped – the doctor pointed out the ligament’s stump in the picture. A sprained MCL. Cartilage damage. Bone bruising. Surgery required. Four to six months – minimum – to recover.
One of Joel’s nurses was a man who’s trolled out of Southeast Alaska for the past 15 summers. He shook his head with compassion. “I’m sorry, man… As soon as I saw your MRI results, I knew you wouldn’t be fishing this year. Your knee’s hashed.”
From our first conversation in the ER hallway to every phone call to friends, Joel had made his best “It is what it is” noises. He planned for the worst, telling me, “Marlin still needs a second deckhand. If I can’t fish this season, you’ll go with him – he’ll have the best crew in the fleet between you and Mikey.” He embraced his friend Dan‑o’s policy of identifying three positives for every negative: “Thank god I have catastrophic health insurance. Homemade mac & cheese for dinner! And even if my knee’s fucked, at least I still have legs!”
He did a herculean job of being his most positive, accepting self. But to receive the official word that he really was so severely injured, and there truly would be no going to sea for him this year… The reality was nothing less than devastating for a man who’s spent every summer of his entire life fishing in Alaska. A 30 year streak broken, leaving him unsure of what – who – remained.
We’ve seen other fishermen allow this kind of news to destroy them. For so many of us, our work is not a mere job. Releasing the dock lines, tilting our heads back to take a deep, salty breath, feeling our bodies become one with the sea and our vessels… We find ourselves whole out there, while we wander, incomplete, on land. Out there, we know ourselves in a way that, on land, we often aren’t quite sure who we are or where we belong.
Joel’s knee is too swollen yet for surgery. He’s got a pre-op appointment in two weeks, with surgery to follow. The doctor warned him that the first week after surgery will be the worst. I’ll be here to take care of him for that period, then transfer caregiving duties to his parents. As Joel commits himself to a summer of physical therapy, I’ll spend the season crewing for Marlin. The Nerka will sit patiently. This will be a first for her, too – the first season that she hasn’t spent in Southeast Alaska, since her 1979 launch. Bear the Boat Cat will be Bear the Not-Spending-This-Summer-on‑a Boat Cat. (She, of all of us, will be pleased.)
As soon as Joel posted this news on Facebook, the kind wishes began rolling in. Friends urged him to keep his attitude up. “I firmly believe that adverse circumstances can produce positive outcomes,” said one who knows. Wrote another, “Life altering moment, be open.”
Stranded on the couch as he is, Joel has a lot of time to consider these wise words. He’s squaring his shoulders, bracing for what’s ahead. Even in intense pain, even knowing the worst pain is yet to come, he’s looking to the distant horizon, trying to see what he’ll welcome into his life this summer, in place of what’s always been.
I’m certain that my sweetheart will experience the great pain of his injury – physical and emotional – and move through it, finding valuable lessons and new opportunities in hardship. This is within his abilities. When he took the helm of the Nerka as a 22 year old kid, he had a trial by (everything but) fire debut that was notoriously, epically riddled with disaster. As I’ve said previously, if I’d gone through everything that he did, I don’t know that I would’ve been able to face another season. But Joel did – because he loves fishing that much, and because he’s simply a person who won’t be cowed by adversity. I know he’ll persevere here, too.
This season, Cap’n J’s job will be to repair himself. Next season, he’ll be back – he, me, Bear and the Nerka.
I know some of Hooked’s readers have had your own health scares, serious diagnoses that you’ve had to battle your way through. If you’re comfortable sharing what helped you get through, we’d welcome your guidance. How did you keep your outlook positive? How did you handle the times you weren’t able to be positive? What made the difference for you? When you weren’t able to be very physically active, how did you occupy your time and mind? Thanks, friends.
A postscript for those of you in the Bellingham area… The day before Joel’s injury, his sister and I set up his first photography show. Eleven framed photos and many greeting cards are available at the BookFare Café, upstairs in Village Books. (I hear one photo is already spoken for… Thank you, dear patron!) BookFare has long been a friend of ours – while you’re checking out the images, order the Northwest Salad to enjoy Nerka-caught smoked salmon – and we’re grateful to owner Charles Claassen for generously promoting local artists. Though this show was scheduled many months in advance, the opportunity to promote Joel’s back-up career now seems quite fortuitously timed. If you’re not able to visit his show in person, you can check out Joel’s photos here. (It’s very easy for us to make 4x6 greeting cards from any image — just ask!) Thank you all for spreading the word to your landscape photography-loving friends.
I am so sorry to hear the news. I had the same surgery some years back. The only good part is he will come back stronger than ever. Also, very appreciative of limbs that work. Take good care.
What a bummer! I thought I had lousy luck when I slipped stepping off Raven. Lying in the water between the boat and the dock, I couldn’t seem to get a hold of the 6x6 on the edge of the dock. Finally, getting tired and cold, I called for help. Silly, I said to myself, everyone’s gone home! Well, shall I just drown or think of something else? Duh, just drift back to the stern and climb up the ladder (which I had intentionally set to be held up by friction rather than a tether so it could be reached from the water), so I did. After an hour in the shower, I began to understand that the event cost more than just a little humiliation and my iPhone. Xrays showed two cracked ribs, one of which was displaced a bit. No wonder it hurts to move any part of my upper body, and thank the Creator for pain pills! Now I will pursue with more fervor the project of getting the town to install ladders on all their docks!
So what will happen to the fishing season? That’s the real bummer for you guys, but I’m sure you will think of something!
Heal well,
…Tom
To Tele and Joel: I’m so sorry to hear of this turn of events for you guys. No one ever sees things like this happening, but more often than not, our circumstances do change, not always for the best. However, you’re young and resilient, so take heart that you’ll get through this and come out just fine on the other side.
There’s a couple of things I want to share with you:
1. I had the same sudden knee blow-out in 2005, just as we were on the verge of serious house construction here in Alaska. Intense, incredible pain and injury requiring surgery as soon as possible. Those first few days were a blur of pain and pain-killers. While thankful for the pain-killers, do not over do those. Getting hooked was not the problem; sinking into an unshakable fog was. I feel like I missed so much during those first few months of recovery. Stay above it if you can.
2. There are far worse things in life that can happen to a person, so please try to keep this setback in perspective. Sure it will be no fun at all and it changes the course of your lives for a chunk of time, but it is not permanently debilitating or restrictive. You’ll get through.
3. Physical therapy is everything, so stick with it and you’ll recover sooner.
Best of luck and God speed.
I’m so sorry to hear about the turn of events. Over the past decade I’ve had my own series of maladies, so I sympathize. I don’t know any magic words other than I believe in putting one foot in front of the other each day (although that’s not a great analogy considering the circumstances). Surrounding myself with good people helped a lot. We know Joel has those in abundance. Perhaps while he’s at home doing physical therapy while you’re at sea, he could use that time to really grow his online presence as a photographer by selling, making the cards, stock photo sites, etc. and follow through on another of his passions.
Ugghh! So sorry.
You will be adding many more dimensions to your fishing selves, for whatever that is worth.
xo
Mel
Dear Tele and Joel,
BUMMER! I’m so sorry about Joels’ knee. When I was laid up for months in a big cast and in cnsiderable pain, one thing I had to learn and didn’t want to, was to take my pain meds as described. I hate taking them and kept putting them off until I felt I really needed them. The doctor told me once I thought I needed them, I was way past needing them. The pain itself became more of a problem than the leg. I learned to breathe through the pain as much as possible. I loved it when people did laying on of hands (gently) and reiki. I think it helped my leg. It certainly helped my spirit!
I read a lot, watched as many funny movies as I could and did art therapy. During those group sessions I never felt any pain at all. It was weird. I was lucky I had someone who dragged me to the sessions. I had to learn to receive help, ask for help and allow people to take care of me. I’m so independent that was really hard! A wise person told me to remember what pleasure it gives me to help others. I needed to allow others the same pleasure. It was a major shift of understanding.
Sending you both love, love, love!!!! The situation WILL get better. You have a great life philosophy, Joel. Now you will see get a chance to put it into action. In my circle we say with both a smile and a grimace — AFGO! another f____ing growth opportunity! :>)
Thank you for posting this, and good luck with all you are going through and trying to do. I am very interested n the photos you posted a link to. How does one go about ordering cards?
Life is like that, isn’t it? Just when we think we have it all figured out there is a twist in the narrative. Be brave, and take good care of yourselves! Sending all good thoughts your way…
As fellow fishermen, we know this hurts like hell at every level.
Already, you two have a plan for the summer. Resiliency. It will be your greatest ally.
Because you have asked others to share about the experience coping with physical set-backs:
I have bum shoulder. It required surgery, twice, when I was a teen-ager. Benign bone tumor requiring bone grafts. Enough of a problem to keep me off the boat, as a deckhand, those two seasons. I fell on it two summers ago. Wanted to refuse the pain-killers (as I was “seasonally” single-parenting) and realized I was a worst parent and would never get enough sleep to heal without them. I deal with chronic discomfort. I don’ t take pain-killers right now but they will always be prescibed to me as needed for pain (that feels dangerous to me so I avoid it as a coping strategy). I am a bit too young for a shoulder replacement, but that is the only outlook for this issue looking forward.
Advice: Use the pain meds to help promote rest for healing. Then, as others said, plan to get off of them. Be patient, fishing will still be there next season. Nerka can wait. Your job is to heal properly and stay up. Find new passions. Pursue photography vehemently. Know your buddies are standing by. Joel and Tele, most of all, nurture your relationship!
As I read this, I’m sitting at my desk with my posture trying to keep my lower back, which I seem to have blown out last Sunday. from hurting through muscle relaxers and four Ibuprofen. I remember having total knee replacement in 2006. It was a pain, to be sure, but knee surgeries are commonplace, and they know so much more now than they did even then. I’m sure you’ll be religious with your therapy, Joel, and that’s what you want.
Meanwhile, know that it will be stronger than ever afterward, and use you time for photo editing, maybe seeting up your own website(?) or working on your poetry career! Writing does help!
Best wishes for the surgery and the season. TIme to go ice again.
Best,
Pops
I am so sorry that you are dealing with this. My partner and I have a lot of experience with health issues interfering with our dreams, so I really understand. The one bit of advice I would give to you is to make sure that you (the uninjured party) are checking in with how you feel about all of this. Joel’s knee is hurt, and he is going to have to take the time he needs to heal. But this impacts you too. It is very, very, very easy to fall into a situation where all of your needs and desires take a back seat because you are not the one who is injured. But, you will have so much more to give emotionally to your sweetie if you make sure to take care of your own needs. This may involve asking friends to come and help after surgery to give you a break. You won’t think you’ll need one, but it can be tough. I’ve helped my sweetie through two surgeries. All of a sudden, your super independent and capable partner can – by necessity – become completely dependent. I won’t go on extensively, but make sure to take care of yourself! It’s how you’ll stay sane and how you will best be able to help your partner. Best of luck!
Oh what a bummer! Especially since it affects your livelihood as well as his health. I broke the top of my humerus in January, and I’m about 80% healed, still going to PT. My best advice is to be a good patient and follow medical advice. Take the meds, rest, do the exercises when you get to that point. If you do, you’ll heal more quickly and get your mobility back. What helped me mentally was reading A LOT and letting my family step in and help with things. It was hard to let someone else help me instead of the other way around, but that part was a good lesson for me to learn.
Dear Ones, I know how life can change in an instant. It’s okay not to be positive all the time. Let yourself grieve, and let the love around you flow in. This is the most healing energy in the world and you are both loved more than you know. Sometimes it will suck sooo bad and sometimes it won’t. Everything will be alright in the end. If it isn’t alright, it isn’t the end. It will only be when you’re looking back on this from a distant day that you will know what gifts it has brought. Undoubtedly you will be transformed by this experience. Sending love and prayers for healing. Angela
Sh*t happens! The good news is this problem can be fixed. Joel will be better for next year’s season and life will go on. It’s a diagnosis for which many would trade … and I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. It’s still a bummer. As someone pointed out above, many good things often come as a result of an unexpected change of course like this. My first thought was of Joel’s brilliant photography and … here you are, talking about just that at the end of this post. The time he has to devote himself to that now may begin an entirely new enterprise. I’ll be sending all the good karma your way that I can muster!
Dear Tele and Joel,
Bummer, but you’ll be OK. Be patient, don’t over do the exercises; show us all how smart you are by making slow, steady progress.
As a retired nurse, I would advise you to get your leg above your heart to decrease the swelling. Gravity is at work.
Best wishes,
Sue in Port Townsend
Give Joel a hug from me…
I can feel how devastating this news must have been and no doubt you are still a little in shock about it and it will be hard to even imagine what it will be like to one day look back and see it for the turning point it might well turn out to be. Because, there MUST be something positive to come from it. Just don’t expect to discover it while you’re searching for it. Just trust in the universe. That’s all I can offer, I’m devastated for you both, but I’ll get over it soon too I hope 🙂
What a startling change of course for you both — that you’re already facing with incredible fortitude. Will Joel’s fixed knee be, like, bionic? The photographs are gorgeous. In my experience, trauma like this takes over for awhile, and then eventually, marvelously, there does come a day when it starts to take a back seat. Old movies help, and lots of music & good books. XO.
“Up with the good, Down with the bad.” The Mantra when going up stairs with a bum knee (also good for life in general). Frozen peas make a nice malleable ice pack when the swelling is bad and in a pinch a good healthy snack if you don’t feel up to going to the refrigerator. If you can find a good recliner to borrow- getting your leg up can help with the swelling and a recliner chair can be more comfortable for sleeping in with a bum knee. Physical therapy is key to getting back adequate range of motion. The painkiller warnings others have posted are indeed a legitimate fear. Use them to help you push through the therapy but don’t use them to escape the work. Be prudent. You need pain relief to heal but too much or too little can slow your rehabilitation. Take control of your recovery; own it and make it your new job. Emotionally the betrayal of your body can be hard to accept. Focus on where you are strong and the positives in your life. Forgive your knee. Remember to celebrate the things you can do and visualize the progress you hope to achieve. One day at a time… You will get there and the next trip will be even sweeter for all your work. Sometimes slowing down brings life into better focus. Take the time, to learn something new,explore a hobby, listen to your body, find peace and heal. Wishing you and Tele a good season.
Tele, I am so sorry to read of this; I’ve been following your blog for some time, and am a great admirer of yours.
I’ve been working up in Alaska as a fisheries observer for a couple of years now. I’ve decided, though, that I want to ‘switch teams’ and fish. Ultimately, I intend to get a captain’s license and run boats, because it is the best way I can think of to ensure that I can spend the remainder of my life working at sea.
As you so eloquently write, the sea is sanity to me; it makes me whole, and brings me a peace that I had not experienced before. On land, I am lost.
This winter, I was working on a crab boat, and was fine even with the ice, a rotting deck, and big seas. But right after we were finished, I slipped on ice on the dock in King Cove, falling on my head (which resulted in a nasty concussion), and injuring my neck and lower back. I’ve been off work for about 6 weeks now, and was just told that I cannot work for at least another month, perhaps longer — they want to run some more tests before clearing me to work.
So I’m currently stuck on land, and in a place that I hate (my husband works at a university in Ohio, and having nowhere else to go, I came back here.) I miss the ocean, more than I can say. I’m trying to maintain some semblance of sanity, even so. To that end, I am staying focused on PT, doing as much as I can to get better, and also working on some art (I’m a sculptor as well as a biologist.) But it is hard, some days, to stay positive.
So I’ll echo something that others have said: I recommend that Joel focus on his photography, which is beautiful. As Neil Gaiman said, “Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by a mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art…” It can get you through those rough patches. Also read, watch good movies, whatever he does that occupies his mind, and gives him an escape from the bad days.
I’d really like to order some greeting cards! How do I do that?
Lynja, I’m terribly belated at replying to your comment (which I suspect you understand and forgive), but I wanted to tell you how touched I was when you left it. You’ve been one of Hooked’s quiet friends, occasionally leaving a footprint of “liking” a post, leaving me intrigued by your profile image/name. I’m so pleased to finally meet you — thank you for your trust in speaking up and sharing your story.
Any admiration is mutual; you’ve got all my respect and congratulations for finding/pursuing your peace, your wholeness. I’m so sorry to hear about your accident. How scary! And, after the fear, how devastating. I’m sorry for the isolation you’re feeling, and send my best, healing thoughts your way. Yes, grief & bad days; yes, PT, and yes, art. (I’d love to hear more about your sculpture…) I know a lot of ocean souls struggling with their landlocked situations — my sweetheart will soon be one of them, as soon as all his people head out to sea — so you’re not alone out there. Hang in there, friend.
Re: Joel’s cards, thanks so much for your interest and kind words! He’s just started monkeying with ordering some new test prints from a company he hasn’t yet worked with, so he’ll see how those turn out. If he’s satisfied with the bright/dark & all that photographer stuff, he can put together specific cards on request. Until he launches his website to simplify this process (a good goal for the summer), I recommend going to his gallery here — http://500px.com/joelbrady-power — seeing which ones you’d like in 5x7 cards, and sending me a private comment with the photo names and number you’d like. Sorry to be cumbersome; that seems the best way just yet.
Please do stay in touch, Lynja. Until you can get back out there yourself, I’ll try to bring some photos/videos of the ocean to you. (If only we could send the smell and motion through the computer screen, huh?)
Oh Tele, Thank you for this as usual beautifully written explanation of the “sudden change” mentioned in your rental note on FB. I was surprised not to see you at the reading at VB, this explains it.
The only tip I can pass along after surgery is that I really learned to ask for help, and then to welcome and receive it. I’m so glad that Joel’s photos are up at BookFare – such a great venue!
What about you? How are you feeling about what you will be doing without Joel?
Hugs, Steffany
I have no words, but will attempt anyway. I FEEL for both of you as you face this great Unknown together and apart. I just wrote a LONG poetic response and it gave me the “Error” page and erased it. Few things infuriate me more. I’m sure you relate.
What a blow! I can’t even fathom what you two are going through. The pain. Joel’s facing the first season not fishing in his life! Wow. A new chapter indeed. And you, Tele, as you will not fish next to your CaptainLover and friend, but on a new boat — the fish are running and the cash is dwindling. I relate.
My beloved, and newly betrothed, is at sea and out of contact for a few weeks fishing Herring. I head up to prepare for salmon late May. I hope our paths will cross, but it’s not a guarantee. Three months apart. You will do even more yes?
May it be an blessedly abundant season, and may your hearts grow fonder across great distances. I trust you will return empowered and fulfilled. May Joel’s recovery be rapid and ease-ful.
Sending love and gratitude to that great nknee/ACL that has done so much, and now must rest and repair.
Hugs and heart from
A fellow fisher,
Heather
So sorry, Tele. Knowing you – and your exceptional attitude and inner strength – I’m sure you’ll both U‑turn out of this beautifully. Meantime, amid the agonizing pain, through all the interruptions to your best-laid plans, and in every extra effort that will be required of both of you, let your friends surround you. Lean on them. If there is anything I can do, esp. while you are away, just say. I’m happy to help. Thinking of you.