Broken me and traumatized Boo.

On September 4th, I walked out of my friend Claire’s house and, before I knew what happened, I was on my back, cradling my broken wrist.  I mean, I didn’t even know I was falling.  Boom.  I was down.

It was a blur after that.  I felt kind of sick, very scared, on the verge of passing out.  EMTs appeared in an amazingly small amount of times.  I remember Claire giving me frozen peas to ice my hand, and that they didn’t have frozen peas in the ambulance.  Why was that?  They did have oxygen though, and that brought me back to a level of awareness so much so that I knew exactly where we were on the backroads to the expressway, even though I couldn’t see through the windows.

That was weird.

We arrived at the South Shore Hospital in record time but getting out of the ambulance was terrifying.  Really.  You’re lying there, looking out over your feet into the thin air and wondering how are they going to get you out without dropping you!  That don’t though, and in a buzz of activity and information (how do they know all this about me?) I was wheeled into the “Fracture Room”.

The very kind EMT waited with me until the ER professionals took over.

God bless the Marshfield Hills Fire Department!

My husband had gone to take home my poor little dog, who witnessed this entire drama and was obviously traumatized.  Just before the ambulance door closed, I looked out and saw her hanging out of the car window watching me – her ears flat against her head and her eyes big as saucers.  Now (how did he get here so fast?) he has magically appeared in the Fracture Room.  We do the crossword puzzle, I have xrays, try to eat a Snickers Bar (which was forbidden by the nurse!), and in no time, a lovely Ortho Surgeon named Julie is pushing and pulling my arm into the shape God intended.
I just focus on my Yoga breathing and amazingly, it really doesn’t hurt.
I have no idea how that works ~ but it does!

The whole time all I kept thinking about was the play I was scheduled to be in that weekend,  and the fact that I had planned on taking a Yoga Teacher Training Program in December.
Was I going to be able to do those things?

I don’t remember going home, but when I got there, Claire was puppysitting my frightened Boo.  Then my friend Linda showed up.  Bob made me mashed potatores which was all I seemed to want, for no apparent reason.  And, I was in a splint from my fingers to over my elbow.

That was all 7 weeks ago.

Since that night, I did 6 performances of the Cemetery Club, thanks to a supportive and spirited cast and director.  We packed up and rode back to Florida.  My cast has now been removed and I’ve started Physical Therapy, I’ve found a chiropractor who is slowly putting the rest of me back together.  I am now able to type – with both hands – on my laptop.  AND – the powers that be say that I will be able to the the Yoga Training this winter.  I hope they’re right!

So.  Here’s the thing.  What they don’t tell you when you are broken.  They don’t tell you that NOT being able to do almost anything for yourself is so upsetting, so demoralizing and depressing that it moves you to tears.  Actual, sobbing, out of control tears.  I don’t like sounding like a big baby but not being able to wash my own hair, put on earrings, brush my teeth, eat like a grownup, get dressed, hang up my clothes, open anything in the kitchen, groom my dog, ride my bike, go for a decent walk, put on makeup, turn on the ignition in the car – well, you get the idea.  This all has an affect on how you feel about yourself.  I tried saying ‘it could have been worse’.  And, of course, it could have been. But still.

I decided a few weeks back that there really should be some kind of support group for all the Broken People.  I see them now – in the waiting room, with their casts and crutches and slings.  In Physical Therapy, at various levels of recovery.  Today, a women a bit older than me, who had fractured her shoulder, was told she could start using both hands to support herself when getting in and out of a chair.  She looked at the therapist as though he had just told her she won the lottery.  “Really?”  We made eye contact and I smiled.  “It’s the little things, isn’t it?”.  She was so happy.

Only another Broken Person would understand.

The other thing they don’t get into is that the cure is worse than the injury!  That damn cast just about did me in.  The PT is more to undo the damage of having a cast on than anything else.  And the therapy hurts.  Healing hurts.  And takes an inordinate amount of time.  Who knew?  Considering that my sunny disposition has been significantly challenged with this whole experience, I remind myself every morning that I am, indeed, on the mend.  A little stronger.  A little more flexible.  Maybe I’ve learned to be a little more patient.  Maybe.  But I’m not sure about that one.

The really big lesson here (in case you didn’t already know!) is this:  Your life can change in the twinkling of an eye.  Whatever you take for granted can be snatched away and there’s nothing you can do about it, except make up your mind to accept help, appreciate what you still have and

perhaps make new plans.  That’s life.

 Here we are, back in the swing of things, at the Sunset Pops Concert in Punta Gorda.

No more cast!  But no dancing yet.