Broken. With a Silver Lining

By | December 28, 2011

Do you know those times when you feel like saying “If only I had not…” Maddening at best, wouldn’t you say. Hindsight is a taunting friend when you don’t need one. I hurt my knee two weeks ago, was confident that I am recovered enough to go skiing again which I did. Mostly because I had promised the boys I’ll take them. Turns out that good intentions have to be backed up by mindfulness. Mild, unadventurous skiing can be peppered with just enough mishap to compromise joints. Again. A loose knee joint is not something I wish upon anyone. Not the most painful thing I’ve been through but definitely the weirdest. Backwards knee buckling is a mouthful and rightfully so.
Last night rain, wet leaves and slippery sidewalk edges made my ankle slip and break. My knee was simply not able to hold its own given the above mentioned. A split second later I resembled a crumpled leaf. And moved as much as one. At all, that is. With the closest emergency room closed I ended up in the Vancouver General Hospital Emergency Room. Never been there except for driving a friend once. Quite frightening for me to be the driven one this time. Germs aside, the vulnerability of my body needing urgent medical care scares me. There, full admission.
Three hours in waiting rooms and after being scanned by robotic long-armed x-ray machines I found myself face to face with a kind-faced doctor who built me a cast. For the next four to six weeks he said. I tried to get him to say four but he only smiled a kind smile and repeated “Four to six.” Before he wrapped me up I mentioned that I should say goodbye to my leg. The good doctor raised a brow and most likely thought what my closest ones think at times: “you’re strange.” A bit of a break will do me good, he added, by then the knee will be healed too. Two birds, one stone.
I was ushered to the car in a wheelchair with my brand new crutches resting on my lap. Quite an awful feeling for someone who does not admit to physical limitations, not even when they are staring me in the face. Humbling, you could say.
I am now looking at four to six weeks of limited mobility and a whole lot of learning about counting my blessings.
Last and not least, there is a lot to be said about people who know how to take my vulnerability and wrap up my bruised limbs and ego in it like it’s the warmest blanket. I had one as my guardian angel last night.

Counting my blessings feels right. Necessary too.

 

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