Picnic Table of Monkey Doom

It looks so harmless, this, our favorite picnic table.  And intrinsically, it is.  Oh, sure, it could give you a splinter or stain your clothes.  But it's nothing anyone should think of as evil, dangerous, or even complicated.  Still, there is a tale to be told here, a tale of drama and maybe a little bathos.  (Click to enlarge if you want to see all the textures.)

It's been a long time since I was a child, so I don't know if this happens to smaller people, but both my true love and I are generously proportioned, and not just because we eat well.  We are naturally large people.  We are tall-ish, true.  Also, we have loud voices, passionate hearts, strong opinions, and expansive personalities, and we are shaped to match.  Not everyone is, but we are.

As a result, in early July we learned (or relearned) something about picnic table design, and also something about phantoms and lizard-brain-level monkey terror.

It was an ordinary summer Saturday.  We cycled into the center of town and bought sandwiches at The Cheese Shop.  We bought drinks, and salads, and grabbed a wad of paper napkins.  We dashed, insomuch as we ever dash, over to this, our favorite picnic table, hoping that it would be free, and it was.

The thing about the classic wooden picnic table with attached benches is that it's yet another of those things I can no longer just use without thinking about it.  Because I'm big, it's kind of a pain in the ass swinging my fake leg over the bench and under the table.  Half the time I misjudge both distances and the length of time my prosthetic can sustain rigidity without being locked, so half the time my fake foot ends up getting caught on that part of the table where the bench connects to the table leg, and then I have to un-catch it, and it's all really too much trouble.  You know, for what it is.

Ever in search of the simplest path, I thus prefer to sit on the end of the bench, pictured above.  My organic leg can go under the table to the left of the table support.  My fake leg can go under the table to the right.

The thing about eating with my true love is that he likes to face me, not sit next to me.  This is more than a preference.  This is something he insists upon unless the only place for us to dine is on a park bench.  So on this day in early July, he parked himself directly across from me. 

It was fine.  It was perfect.  There was no reason to expect trouble, or danger.

But then a gust of wind blew our stack of napkins onto the grass.  And then my true love leaned over to grab them.

This is what I saw rushing up to meet my face.  (Click to enlarge for realistic effect.)

Yes, as I said, we are large, and so when my true love shifted his weight to reach for our flying trash, our combined largeness caused the table leg around which we sat to act as a fulcrum.  Up went the other end of the picnic table.  Down toward the grass went we.

I screamed.  My true love sat up abruptly, and the table righted itself before we could land unpleasantly.

"Well, that was exciting."

"Yes.  And now we know something new about sitting here."

"Yes."

"What was all that screaming about?"

"What do you mean?  I was terrified I was going to break my leg."

"That was a lot of screaming.  We really weren't in that much danger."

"No."  I chewed, then laughed.  "I sounded like a monkey, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"'AAAA oh oh AAAA oh AAAA AAAA AAA.'"

"Something like that."

"Sorry 'bout that.  I was genuinely terrified."

I chewed some more.  Okay, so we were going to hit the ground, and maybe the table would have fallen on us, but we were going to fall two feet and hit grass, one of my favorite surfaces to fall upon because it is soft -- you know, as compared to naked concrete.  And the table, which you can see is not in its first youth, doesn't weigh that much.  I could probably lift it, at least one end of it, with one hand and nary a grunt.  So, what the hell?

I took a swig of lemonade and thought about this.

"You know what I think it was?" I finally told my true love.  "See, I was wildly thrusting my leg out to brace us and keep us from falling.  Only I was thrusting out my phantom leg.  My actual prosthetic leg, of course, didn't move at all, because all my phantom leg is attached to is a disconnected femur end wiggling around in a sack of flesh firmly encased in my plastic socket.  And yes, I know this, and yes, it's been almost four years that this has been true, and yes, I am okay with it and well-adjusted and all that, but you know what hasn't adjusted and doesn't really understand what happened and isn't okay with it?"

"What?"

"My monkey brain.  Or my lizard brain.  Something.

"Some part of me that is base and biological and really really old expects all my parts to be there.  And even though this whole amputation thing has really not been anywhere near as horrifying as I thought it would be, every once in awhile that super-ancient part of me gets taken by surprise and is horrified.  So, like, there I am, sticking my leg out to brace us against falling, just as natural as can be, only I look down and the leg's not there.  But I'm moving it.  But it's not there.

"Now that's horrifying.  That would horrify anyone.  That's, like, archetypal horror."

"Poor sweetie!"

"Yeah.  So, sorry 'bout the screaming, but, you know."

It was funny at the time.  And then it was weird.  And now when we sit at our favorite picnic table, we sit sort of diagonally across from each other.

And my monkey brain enjoys the dill pickles and potato salad and stays quiet.

Comments

[Ron Sullivan]

Also: Monkey brain makes the most noise. Big wrinkly graymatter cerebrum might gasp and flinch and then start calculating, but monkeybrain SCREEEEEEEAMMMMS.

So, archetypal and the stuff of nightmares*, and also direct hit on monkeybrain = loud.

And then things right themselves and all that adrenaline is still flushing around and, whew. You're lucky you didn't get whiplash.

*My brother, as a small child, once fell asleep with his arm under his pillow and woke up and the arm has fallen "asleep" and he could neither feel nor see it. You wanna talk about screams? Hooo, scared half the neighborhood. Couldn't say I blamed him either.

Funny thing about surviving our nightmares: It doesn't stop them from coming back. Dammit.

[Sara]

Heh -- yeah. And I can now honestly say I know how your brother felt.

You know what the great thing about this little incident is, though? Not counting going to the hospital here to have my leg off in the first place (which was still not as bad as having it blown off or hacked off inadvertently, as so many are, or even having it off at one of the filthy, overcrowded teaching hospitals in Boston), or the last days of my last two beloved cats (which were going to happen somewhere and be horrible no matter what), this picnic table thing is the single most terrifying experience I've ever had in Concord, Massachusetts.

I hope I can continue to say that for a long, long time.

[elizabeth]

Well first off, a little misunderstand when reading as you were talking about when you were a child and how generously porportioned - and it was flashback to Junior high and you are one of the "Early developers" (sorry, around our house generously porportioned is slang for D cup and up) - so, the story starts and you are already rubbing your early developing generous brests into my tramatized junior high memories.

Except that wasn't what you were saying. Oops.

The same thing happens to us with picnic tables - they are tricky things, when you stand up to pass the salt and blammo, suddenly it is the deck of a sinking ship.

Sorry you had such a horrid primal response into terror response. Can I ask, how long did you have regular phantom limb sensation? And as for the hospital, can you go back? Have you been back? I have had some sort of naseau going to places where I had old wounds. I read a piece written by a woman who gave chemo in a special cancer wing and she said people would start vomiting just seeing her in her special Chemo suit as she was bringing the chemo to them. I can sort of relate to that since ever since one incident after knee surgery where a missed step started a screaming pain and a literal gyser of blood I have never felt particularly safe around jaccuzzi's. I was wondering if the hospital had a similar effect? Sorry if this is too painful/personal a subject - please ignore it if is.

[Sara]

I'm not sure exactly what you're asking, but I will try to answer.

First, about the phantom: I had my leg off four years ago in October. I have had phantom limb sensation the entire time; I have not, however, had pain, a stroke of pure good fortune. So it doesn't bug me at all, most of the time.

In fact, usually it's sort of comforting. One of the things that icked me out worst about the prospect of amputation was the concept of having something completely removed, never to see or feel it again, just this big vacancy. Only I don't have a sense of vacancy. I can feel every toe as though it were still there. I can feel my arch, my heel, my calf, everything -- but not the cancer; yay. When I do yoga without my prosthetic on, or barre exercises balancing on my remaining organic leg, I use the phantom to direct my movements just as I used the late leg when I had it. Only it isn't really happening. The end of my stump moves up and down, and even does this inside my socket when I stretch while wearing my prosthetic, and it feels just like it did when I moved my original leg only with this curious Tupperware sensation embracing part of the thigh. If I want to move my prosthetic leg, on the other hand, that has to happen at my hip. My monkey brain hasn't reconciled all this, though, and might never, so it got a little bit of a shock.

I have no fear about the hospital here (except re bills) and have been back more than once. My oncologist is there. It's also where I went for stitches when I sliced my hand open on broken glass long after I'd returned to work. It's the best one in northeastern Massachusetts; of this I am convinced, having visited several others. With only extremely rare occasions of incompetent/careless nursing or doctor-vs.-patient power struggles, very rare indeed, I have only ever received compassionate, respectful, and competent care in a clean environment at this hospital. The point I meant to make in my previous comment is that, even though it was once scary to make myself go through with an amputation which just happened to be at a hospital in this town, and even though two out of five of my cats happened to end up their lives here, I have a preposterously easy life overall and this is a ridiculously safe town. :)

As for my primal response, mostly it just surprised us both. We were laughing, though. It was ridiculous and strange.

As for size, well, the last time I was both under 5' tall and flat-chested was early 4th grade. Though I later starved myself briefly down to 115 lbs. to be a low-level fashion model in high school, this is why I can't remember what it's like to be physically small. I have been small-minded from time to time since then, however, in spite of my generously proportioned physique, but do prefer to try to live large, albeit in a trivial, suburban way.

Now I wonder if anyone has ever done a study to determine how big you have to be or how far away your trash has to fly in order to make a picnic table seesaw when you sit on the end and lean over. Sounds like an excellent candidate for the IgNobel Awards.

[Michelle]

I have had a similar experience, and I may or may not have also been compared to a monkey regarding my scream. Ergo I think your reaction was quite natural, but um, warning? The crispness of this experience will fade with time. I'm just sayin.

[Sara]

Heh -- I like to think we have learned our lesson and will sit more strategically from now on. Hopefully we will not have enough experiences like this to become jaded. :)

[Hugh]

I learnt something from your writing - a lot about courage and self awareness. Thankyou very much for the insights.