Yolo

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— Ocean Vuong, from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”

If I break a bone, it can be set and cast. If I gash myself - on a nail or a rock or a knife - they can pull the skin closed with stitches. Maybe with enough time it’ll even look as though nothing ever happened.

But for other times, there are remnants.

Once, in the restaurant kitchen, I sliced the top of my thumb off; wrapped up, collected it, and went to sit in outpatients for five hours. I left, went home, and came back again. When the new triage nurse on-duty saw me, she declared I should have been rushed in immediately, that the top of my thumb was probably dead - and still, they managed to save it. It has a wrap-around scar that looks like a shark bite and no feeling at all to speak of. I can barely use it anymore. Does that count as “healed”? 

What am I using for measurement? What requirements are you asking me to fill? Is fully healed defined by wholeness, completeness; wellness; or maximum functionality? Because none of those are the same thing. 

My finger is technically whole again. It did not die, it still moves, it is well. But it functions like a rusted hinge.

There are wounds and diseases deeper and far worse than anything we could do to our physical selves. I have never been prescribed anything that could fix my “wholeness”. I have no time for yoga or money for vitamins, so I’m stalling on “wellness”. But - and this is important - BUT I can still perform at peak function fine. 

The day after they sewed my finger back on I went to work. My employers have always praised me for my reliability. 

On the days where I don’t work, it’s not my finger’s fault I’m not getting out of bed. My clumsy hands are not the reason I don’t feed myself. But if I open the curtains or the dog cries - for attention, for outside, for food - then I can remind myself. I am learning to try even when it comes from no genuine place inside of me.