Broken Bones but Whole Spirit

I broke my leg.

There was ice. I didn’t see it.  I fell. That pretty much sums up the story. At least that was my original thought.

Having never broken anything before I was naïve to therealities my immediately future would entail. But then there was the visit tothe ER followed by the orthopedic visit and another few appointments.  The pages of the story continued to bewritten.  I learned my story would beabout 10 weeks long.  I also learned thatsurgery was potentially part of my story (and am grateful that I was able toskip that chapter!)  Despite the doctor’sbest efforts, and my attempts to pray or deny my way out of this reality, I amstill broken. I can’t drive (it would of course be my right leg that’sbroken.)  I can’t walk. I can’t pick up abasket of laundry or carry a plate to the table or stand in the shower.  It takes me 3 time as long as it used to doanything. 

This too shall pass. 

I am grateful this is temporary.

It could have been worse.

I am thankful for amazing medical providers.

I know all of these things and I try to repeat them often.But then there is that little voice that comes sneaking up and reminds me THISSUCKS.  I want to go lay in bed for thenext 8-10 weeks and ignore my life.  Iwant to forget the fact I can’t walk my kids to and from school. I want toforget that the walks with the new puppy aren’t a possibility right now.  I want to ignore the fact I can’t do a lot ofwhat I do.  I don’t want to truly believeI need help to do my life.  I am fiercelyindependent.  I almost wear it as a badgeof honor.  Not anymore. A broken legnearly broke me. 

My husband has to help me get into the shower. My family & friends are driving my children where theyneed to go. They’re driving me to work and to volunteering.  I hobble around the house or wheel on ascooter to clean up items and attempt to organize- only to realize that thetires from my scooter have left dirty salt marks on our floors because it iswinter and winter is trying to beat me down. I have to crawl down the steps to the laundry where I sit on the floor to fold it then crawl back up and someone else carries the basket later.  

I would like to say I have handled this situation with theutmost of grace and patience. I would like to say I have not batted an eye andaccepted this with poise and mature acceptance. I would like to say thosethings.  But I would be lying.  The reality is, I have teetered betweenslight grace and appreciation that this temporary and an unreal amount offrustration mixed with tears, some depression and a collection of unpleasant words.

 

But I have learned a lot during this process. And while Ican’t walk. I can’t drive. I can’t do much of my life the way I want to do mylife.  I can sit, reflect, write andshare the lessons I’ve been blessed with during this “broken period.”  

I would never ever wish this upon someone,but as a counselor and someone who often tells people “something beautiful alwayssurvives something horrible” I have had to take a dose of my own recommendationand try to find the beauty in what has been a very challenging time.

1     I am one person.

I’m just one person.  I may wear a lot of hats, but I’m still one.I don’t have to do it all and it’s OK to slow down and do a little less sometimes.  This has been a hard lesson for me but likelya good one.  I am not saying “no” toothers but learning to say “yes” to myself more. And right now, that’sespecially OK. I’ve realized that in the process of breaking myself, it is timeto give myself some attention it has been lacking too.  How often do we skip over ourselves so theto-do list can get done first?  Irealized I sure had been.

2      Things aren’t as important as theysometimes appear to be.

All those things that I thoughtwere important before I fell suddenly got less important once I couldn’t dothem as well. For example, Christmas gifts were wrapped- but they weren’t goingto win any Martha Stewart Awards.  Manydidn’t have bows. OK. Most didn’t.  Nameswere written on them with Sharpie in some cases.  And Christmas morning was just as magical asit would have been had the presents been beautifully wrapped.  The kids (and our!) beds haven’t been madeevery day. And nothing bad has happened. Life has gone on. My kids haven’t gotten into the shower as much as Iwould have liked and at least a few times I am pretty sure clothing was put onfrom the floor to wear again. It’s OK. We’ve all lived!  Speaking ofclothing - my clothing has taken a new spin (i.e. I can’t put on real pants soI wear yoga pants and leggings with one leg cut off) to work and church now.Clients & God have accepted me just fine.  My husband & kids are helpingto do a lot more around the house. It isn’t perfect. It isn’t exactly as Iwould do. And it is OK!  More than OKactually.   

What is important- and has becomeeven more important- is what actually matters. We have read together more. Wehave played more games. We have sat longer at the table after meals totalk.  (Amazing how much you can do whenyou’re forced to sit!)  The power ofsitting, being still, connecting, loving one another- that is what matters! Howoften was I flitting from this to that- while still doing other things. I can’tflit anymore.  I am still. And while Iknow my days to walk will return, I’ve learned the value of not always usingthat ability too.   There truly is powerin stillness.  

     

3  People are amazing.

The outpouring of love I havereceived during this situation has made things tolerable.  People have brought meals, changed schedules,driven me dozens (yes, dozens) of times, picked up my kids, taken our puppy onwalks, cleaned our home, helped me get to appointments and work, picked upgroceries and run errands. And others have called, sent care packages, textedsupportive messages, prayed for me. Strangers have held doors, carried myscooter down stairs when elevators were broken, helped me into buildings on icydays, etc.  People truly are loving andkind. While the media wants us to believe anything but that- at the heart ofit- people are good and we need to remember that and thank them. 

4 Asking for help is not a sign of weakness.

We weren’t created to be loners.  People need people and while my independenceand ability to “handle it all” was once a sense of pride, this brokenness hasbroken that believe.  I have needed toask for people- and that has been hard. But they have answered my calls and helped in so many ways.  I used to feel weak if I had to ask for helpbut now realize that it’s just being human. I’ve accept it- I’m a human andthat’s a pretty amazing thing to be.

5. People need to feel what they need to feeland that takes time.

My entire professional role is basedupon this belief but this situation has reiterated just how true that is.  You can’t rush a feeling. You can’t rush thehealing. You can’t rush the acceptance of reality or deny the truth.  We actually have to feel and process what weare feeling.  Denial is a wonderful placesometimes but when we come out of that, we still have to face the reality.  I’ve needed to feel it all with this- denial,acceptance, anger, frustration, and empowerment. We can’t rush thisprocess.  Affirmations of hope andsupport of loved ones helps but the story can only be written as fast as itcan- and we have to be a patient author as it happens.

6   Those who face and overcome lifelong andconsistent challenges are amazing people and don’t get enough credit for it.

I would like to think that we are acompassionate population who considers others and all they’re facing- good andbad. But the reality is we see the world through our own lens most of the time.While this broken leg is temporary and doesn’t begin to compare to thechallenges many face, it has given me a slight insight into how amazing peoplefacing bigger challenges truly are.  Theyovercome hardships most of us can’t begin to understand.  The smallest of tasks can be overwhelming forsome. I rub my own aching muscles from the use of crutches and am frustrated by the lack of truly ADA accessible spaces at home and in society. But this is a 10 week story for me. I shouldn't begin to complain.  For many this is life.  Switching lenses can help us to better understand such a reality – and offermore readily to lend a helping hand when we can!

7   There is something funny, good and educationalabout every situation.

I say it often in sessions.  We can find something to laugh about, to appreciateand to learn from in every situation. It isn’t easy to always find it. It’smuch easier to see the negative. Our brains are trained to find the negativequicker actually but if we stop, force the brain to find the good, educationaland funny- it’s a whole lot more enjoyable of a process.  From the outside I am sure that watchingmyself crawl up the steps is just one funny thing.  There is much good in my injury even as I know it could be worse, the medical attention has been outstanding, the support and  love. And yes, of course everyeducational lesson I’ve learned has been good. Yes.  There is something funny,good and educational even in this.

Thischapter in my story will come to an end and while it is a chapter I am morethan ready to finish, it is one that has taught me a great deal, and for that,I am surprisingly grateful.