09/18/2026
Dear Koru Touch family,
It has been a little over two weeks since I last wrote to you, on the eve of surgery, and I have thought many times about the extraordinary amount of love that surrounded us that day.
I asked you to send light, prayer, Reiki, color, sound, loving intention, or simply a peaceful thought in our direction.
You did.
And we felt it.
So before I tell you anything about bones, plates, screws, CT scans or what happens next, I simply want to say thank you.
The surgery is behind me
On August 31, Dr. Christopher Touhy performed the open reduction and internal fixation of my right elbow.
As we have learned more about the injury, I have come to understand just how significant it actually was.
At my postoperative visit, the PA used a word that stopped me for a moment:
Shattered.
The olecranon, the prominent portion of the ulna that forms the point of the elbow, wasn’t simply cracked or cleanly broken. It had been shattered into multiple pieces. The injury also disrupted the mechanics of the entire elbow, with the radial head knocked out of alignment, creating a complex and highly unstable fracture-dislocation.
That helps explain both what happened in the emergency department and why the surgical repair was so substantial.
Dr. Touhy had to reconstruct the broken anatomy, bring the fragments back into appropriate position, restore the relationship of the elbow joint and stabilize everything with an impressive amount of plates and screws so that healing could begin.
When I look at the postoperative images now, I understand much better why this recovery cannot be hurried.
This wasn’t simply a matter of putting one broken bone back together. It was the reconstruction of a shattered and unstable elbow.
The encouraging news is that my postoperative imaging shows that reconstruction holding in alignment. The hardware is doing exactly what it was placed there to do: maintaining that carefully restored structure while my own bone begins the much slower work of knitting itself back together.
And that is where we are now.
There is still a long recovery ahead. The complexity of the original injury means that protecting the reconstruction is extremely important, and my activity remains deliberately restricted. This is not yet the moment for aggressive rehabilitation or for discovering what I can make the arm do.
There will be a time for restoring movement and function.
Right now, there is a more fundamental job underway:
Bone has to heal.
So, for perhaps one of the few times in my life, doing less is actually part of the prescription.
Those of you who know me well may recognize this as an advanced course. 😂
And then there was the shoulder
The shoulder has been the other major question throughout all of this.
Many of you know its history. Approximately 20 years ago, this same right shoulder sustained a devastating injury. After the original injury was missed for several months, it ultimately required extensive reconstruction at Duke and another procedure the following year.
So when this fall also fractured my proximal humerus, we knew we weren’t dealing with an ordinary shoulder.
Dr. Touhy ordered dedicated CT imaging of both the reconstructed elbow and the shoulder so that we could finally see, in much greater detail, exactly what we were dealing with.
The CT confirmed the proximal humeral fracture.
And after everything we had already learned about the severity of the elbow, I was preparing myself for the possibility that another surgery might be ahead.
Instead, we received the news I had been hoping and praying for:
At this point, Dr. Touhy believes the proximal humerus fracture can heal without surgery.
I cannot adequately express my gratitude for that.
The shoulder remained located through an extraordinary impact. The reconstruction performed all those years ago survived the fall. And although the proximal humerus is fractured, we now have the opportunity to let that fracture heal while avoiding another operation on an already complicated shoulder.
So I am healing two significant injuries at once: a surgically reconstructed, shattered elbow and a fractured proximal humerus.
That changes the timetable.
It also changes how I think about recovery.
The goal isn’t to get back to work as quickly as possible. The goal is to give both injuries the opportunity to heal as completely as possible so that, when I eventually return to the work I love, I have given this arm every chance to serve me well for years to come.
Nothing about this is being rushed.
For now, we are allowing the body to do what bodies have been doing far longer than orthopedic surgeons have existed: organize, repair, remodel and heal.
My job is to give it the conditions, protection and time to do that.
So when am I coming back?
That remains the question I cannot answer yet.
Hairdressing and Colorpuncture are still on pause.
My doctors have been very clear that this is not the moment to test what I can do with my arm. It is the moment to protect the repair, allow the fractures to consolidate, and gradually learn what my shoulder and elbow are ready to give me.
When the time comes, I intend to return slowly and thoughtfully, beginning with a very limited number of existing clients by individual invitation.
I am not putting a date on that.
I have spent decades telling other people that healing cannot always be forced into our preferred timetable.
Apparently the universe has decided I should have some firsthand experience with my own advice.
Meanwhile, life at Koru Touch continues
This is something I want everyone to understand.
Koru Touch is not closed.
Greg is working, and the sanctuary is very much alive.
Massage, holistic facial work, bodywork and healing self-care sessions continue to be available with him.
If you have been thinking that you should stay away because Ray is injured, please don’t.
Come.
Let Greg take care of you.
Have the massage you’ve been postponing. Come in for a facial. Give yourself a few hours away from the noise of the world. Allow Koru Touch to continue being what we created it to be: a place to exhale, receive and remember yourself.
And, selfishly, there are three French Bulldogs who are beginning to wonder where everybody went.
They miss you.
Their nursing skills, however, have truly begun to reveal themselves, and apparently they have divided the household into shifts.
Because I still need to protect the arm and cannot safely have the dogs climbing over me during the night, I have temporarily relocated to the daybed upstairs. Beside me are their fluffy round beds, although the overnight assignment has become very specific.
Stillwater is my dedicated night nurse.
He settles in beside me and seems to understand that his job is simply to stay close, keep watch and make certain his patient remains where he belongs.
Tashi and Bridget, meanwhile, have recognized that there is another patient in this household who requires attention: the caregiver.
They have largely assigned themselves to Greg.
So while Stillwater takes the night shift with me, Tashi and Bridget are doing their part to look after the man who is looking after everyone else.
It seems we have accidentally developed a rather sophisticated French Bulldog nursing department.
The staffing ratios are excellent. The credentials remain questionable. But the love is impeccable.
An unexpected joy in being cared for
One of my favorite parts of all the help we have received has actually happened in the kitchen.
People have been helping us prepare the dogs’ food.
Those of you who know us know how much thought and care goes into feeding our animals. Having friends step into the kitchen and help wash, chop, prepare and portion their food has been an enormous practical gift to us.
But it has also become something unexpectedly joyful for me.
Even while I am temporarily unable to do much of the physical work myself, I can teach.
I can explain why we choose particular foods, how we prepare them and what we have learned over the years about feeding our dogs thoughtfully.
And if someone leaves our kitchen inspired to prepare something healthier for their own dog, if they choose to, then something beautiful has happened in the middle of all this inconvenience.
Care has moved in both directions.
Someone came to help us, and perhaps they went home with something that may help another little creature they love.
I treasure that.
For those who have asked, “How can we help?”
This question has been asked so many times that I want to answer it openly.
First, please know that you already are helping.
The meals that have appeared at our door have been extraordinary. The groceries, errands, chores, dog care and dog-food preparation, check-ins, rides, practical assistance, prayers, healing work and simple acts of friendship have carried us through days when ordinary life suddenly required far more hands than the two of us possessed.
Greg has been simultaneously husband, caregiver, business owner, practitioner, household manager and keeper of three French Bulldogs and one cat.
Every bit of help has mattered.
And for those who would like another tangible way to support us while I am unable to work, one of the kindest things you can do is simply continue supporting Koru Touch.
Come see Greg for a massage, facial or healing self-care session.
If your Laurel, OSEA, Shankara, Romany Botanicals or other favorite skincare is running low, let us know what you need. We have an extraordinary collection of beautiful products here, and we would much rather send you home with something you already love than have it sitting patiently on our shelves waiting for my arm to heal.
And if you know you will be coming back to Koru Touch in the future, a gift card is another wonderfully simple way to support the business now and enjoy that care later. Gift cards also make a beautiful way to introduce someone you love to Koru Touch.
Please don’t hear any of this as an obligation.
It isn’t.
Many of you have simply asked us what would actually be useful, and this is the answer:
Help us keep the heart of Koru Touch beating while I heal.
Book with Greg. Replenish your skincare. Purchase a gift card for yourself or someone you love. Tell someone about us.
Those ordinary acts of support are extraordinarily meaningful right now.
What I am learning
The strangest part of this experience may be discovering how difficult it is for someone accustomed to caring for others to become the person being cared for.
There is vulnerability in that.
There is also grace.
Food arriving at the door is grace.
Someone taking care of a chore before we even realize it needs doing is grace.
A friend standing in our kitchen learning how to prepare food for our dogs is grace.
A little cream French Bulldog choosing the fluffy bed beside my daybed each night, while his brother and sister keep watch over my caregiver, is grace.
A friend sitting quietly beside you is grace.
And every prayer, message, card, flower, healing intention and moment in which one of you has simply thought, I wonder how Ray and Greg are doing today, has been part of that same web of care.
In my last letter, I wrote:
Trust the body.
Accept the help.
Allow the healing.
I didn’t realize quite how much practice those three sentences were going to require.
But that remains the assignment.
The body knows something about rebuilding.
And perhaps healing is not simply returning to the person we were before something happened.
Perhaps it is allowing ourselves to become quiet enough to discover who we are on the other side of it.
For now, I am resting. I am healing. I am extraordinarily grateful that another surgery does not appear to be necessary. And I am allowing myself, perhaps more than ever before, to receive the love that surrounds us.
Koru Touch is still here.
Greg is here.
The dogs are definitely here.
And I am here too, healing one day, one bone and apparently one lesson in patience at a time.
Thank you for carrying us through this.
With enormous love and gratitude,
Ray
Koru Touch
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