The Magic of Literary Nostalgia

Since early childhood, I’ve had a voracious love of reading. I’d dive into anything I could get my tiny hands on with reckless abandon, age level be damned. I’d ricochet between Jane Eyre one day and Goosebumps the next - and hey, some could argue that Eyre is in itself a horror story so maybe there is some consistency. I read The Phantom Tollbooth so many times, I’ve had to glue the cover back on twice. I could replace it with a new copy, but that history is what makes it so special.

In my now-aged state, I can trace a myriad of life lessons that shaped me all the way back to my childhood obsession with books: 

• Matilda taught me that being a quirky kid with strong interests and limited social interaction didn’t mean I had less of a voice than my peers. This long-time homeschooled kid still owes Roald Dahl a debt of gratitude.

• The Baby-Sitter’s Club showed me that you can develop your entrepreneurial spirit at any age, which led me to selling handmade goods in a hobby store by 12 years old. Don’t let your dreams be dreams, kids.

• Most influential of all was A Series of Unfortunate Events. Over the course of those thirteen books, I learned to keep moving when things go wrong, to see all the beauty between inevitable hardships, and to never underestimate the power of an extensive vocabulary - all of which has come in handy as I battle complex health problems.

I’m sure each and every one of us can trace back similar pathways. We can attribute persistence to The Hobbit and sacrifice to The Giver. We learned how magical chosen families can be from Harry Potter. Our curiosities were encouraged by Harriet the Spy. We all remember the bonding experience of staying up late with a best friend and traumatizing ourselves with Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.

I’ve kept my childhood copies of these books close to my heart, lugging them back and forth with each cross-country move. As adults, our free time is often so limited and it can be difficult to find opportune moments to read. I find myself prioritizing new-to-me novels rather than circling back around to my YA staples. That’s what inspired me to paint this Young Adult Nostalgia Book Stack. Now, every time I walk down my hallway, I am transported back into the feeling of what it was to be young, curious, and craving my next great literary adventure.

The Young Adult Nostalgia Book Stack Art Print will be available in my shop on Sunday, October 6th. To celebrate its release, my whole shop will be 10% until midnight on Monday, October 7th.

The Miserable Malalignment | An Uncommon Diagnosis

Here is an x-ray pre-surgery. The orange line is for reference as to where my bones should be.

As is expected post an extensive surgery, I've had a lot of people asking how I'm holding up. I love you all and really appreciate the concern. Also as is expected post surgery, I have been way too out of it to respond much. I figured I would just do a blanket update here so I don't have to repeat myself a hundred times.

Short recap: I have a condition called Miserable Malalignment. It's fairly uncommon, to the point where the majority of my nurses didn't know what it was. Nutshelled, it means that the bones in my legs were rotated in opposite directions, leaving none of my joints stacked, my knees on the inside of my legs, and me legally disabled in the state of Massachusetts. I made the decision last September to get a surgery so intense, it gave me a panic attack the first time I heard what it was. The surgery is called a rotational osteotomy and I needed four of them at once.

I won't lie, last week was actual hell. People kept telling me that it wouldn't be as bad as it was in my head but the truth of it was so, so much worse than anything I could have imagined. I'm doing my best to forget the hospital experience as quickly as I can. The trauma is severe. 

The surgery I had is called a rotational osteotomy, which means they break the bone to rotate it and insert a metal rod. I had four - one per femur and per tibia/fibula on each leg - simultaneously. That means six concurrent broken bones. Needless to say, it was an overwhelming and extensive surgery. 

I have a short list of things I learned during my six days in Loma Linda. 

• Don't ever get surgery during a holiday weekend. The doctors you need won't be accessible, there will be very few nurses, and it will be impossible to get your medication in a timely manner.

• Make sure your nurses are 100% aware of what surgery you got. Otherwise, don't let them move your legs.

• When no one believes you that you're resistant to painkillers, it will take no less than four angry adults (not including you) to get them to listen to you.

• When they give you a level 0-10 pain scale, it is possible to reach a 15. It is also possible for your nurse to do nothing and leave you there. Twice. (Resulting in one nurse being written up.)

• But then, when you find the one nurse that makes everything seem a little more okay, you'll be really thankful (and feel guilty) that she works twelve hour shifts.

Special thanks to Katie, who mommed me so hard. Dom, who provides impeccable moral support. Brian and Brittany, who drove so far not once but twice. Melissa, who came all the way from Arizona to love me. Vince, who brought flowers, laughs, and didn't mind that I almost immediately fell asleep. Ben and Charly, for sending the most beautiful flowers I've ever gotten. Emily, Brittany, the Santos, and Jay/Eugene/Kat, for the cards and care packages. My inexhaustible parents, for sitting up with me all night, bringing me smoothies, being my advocates and warriors. And Alex, the love of my life, who has gone so far beyond the call of duty, I will never be able to make it up to him. I couldn't have made it through any of this without him softly coaching me through some of the most humiliating moments I can even imagine.

Flowers from Ben and Charly.

Doped as hell, day 2.

The only thing I saw for six days.

My situation for the next several weeks. I can barely stand and walking isn't really feasible until the swelling goes down.

Because my situation sounds like a Series of Unfortunate Events book (which is one of my favorite book series), my amazing mother drew this fake book cover and sent it to Lemony Snicket himself. He sent me this note back, signed as "representative Daniel Handler."

I'm looking at many months of minimal movement and a lot of pain, hoping that my knees will bend one of these days and eventually relearning to walk. Since all my muscles, tendons, and skin are in different places, lord only knows when the pain will subside. Fingers crossed that it's sooner rather than later.

Anyone nearby enough to visit, I would love visitors basically whenever. I have a lot of time to kill.