up the chance to make a girl’s name, Ann Hedonia, out of it. Anyway,
anhedonia describes the state or condition of not feeling pleasure when
pleasure would normally be felt. Anhedonia is a component of
depression. People who are depressed have a diminished response to
pleasurable stimuli; they experience anhedonia.
There you have it, a little lecture right out of
psych 101. I was reminded of it when I read a Pat McManus piece a
couple of weeks ago. What should have been hilarious was completely
blah to me. My response was absolutely flat. It was not in the least
bit funny. That’s when “anhedonia,” a word learned in some long-ago
university class, came drifting through my mind.
I know, I promised not to dwell on the nasty fall
into the desert wash, the great grunt and cloud of dust, the deep,
throbbing pain of the broken arm, the walk back to the highway, the
experience of going into shock, the tender ministering of friends and
the experiences of recovery. But, all of this is new to me and, being
an introspective person, it’s what has my attention.
Sickness or serious injuries always leave me
temporarily depressed. Hence, my experience of anhedonia. A friend of
mine, Lloyd Kartchner, brought a stack of McManus books to cheer me up.
I did a little desultory reading without much affect. After the passing
of a couple of weeks, though, I began to laugh at his stories. I even
read one aloud to share with Barbara. I could scarcely read aloud
because of the laughter.
Another new experience resulting from the fall and
broken arm is that my eyesight changed. I began to look over the top of
my glasses because I could see better without them. I could not see up
close very well, either. I could scarcely see words well enough to read
them.
I was worried about this abrupt change in eyesight
so I went to see Dr. Kirk about it. I learned that there is a
connection between trauma and eyesight. He didn’t have to add that it
happens to women more than to men. That bit of information blew another
hole in the already tattered remains of my machismo. That’s OK, though.
It’s been a long time since I made even the pretense of being a macho
man. Come to think of it, it was mostly pretense all along.
Yet another new thing for us is to rent and watch a
few videos. It is something that we simply have never gotten into the
habit of doing. In that respect I sometimes feel that we are culturally
deprived. Barbara gave me a video for Father’s Day back in June. We
just got around to watching it a couple of weeks ago.
Since the remains of my machismo look like a spider
web after a hailstorm, I might as well admit to watching a couple of
chick flicks. I enjoyed them, too. So, there. However, I have refused
to watch any of the daytime soaps. I do have some pride left.
Our TV fare is limited to what we can get on two
antennas, one pointed toward our mountain and the other pointed toward
Cortez, Colorado. As I said, our TV fare is limited. It’s OK, though.
More channels means more stuff that is not worth watching.
Today is the four-week anniversary of the broken arm
and things are rapidly improving. Yesterday Barbara and I went for a
ride. I drove the Dodge truck. We got out and walked around a little.
We even picked up a few more pinyon nuts.
I have been riding for ten miles each day on the
stationary bicycle. I can hardly stand to do it. Decades ago I was out
running in Colorado when a farmer friend stopped to visit. He asked me
if all that running made me feel good. As I thought how to answer, it
came to me that exercise didn’t particularly make me feel good. It just
kept me from feeling bad. Another thing I have learned: Cycling is
better preparation for hiking than hiking is for cycling. So, I’ll keep
on cycling to fend off anhedonia and to prepare for a much-anticipated
hike.