In the Fall
Have you ever had one of those serious “ah ha” moments? While I’ve had a few, I would say that on a dramatic scale, September 28th was far and above the winner in this.
It started
out like any other day – it completely changed me. You see, I fell three steps from a
ladder. Doesn’t sound like much, does
it? Three steps, that’s barely a
stumble. But the people who say “it’s
not the fall, it’s the landing – well, they’re right”. It was definitely the landing that did me
in.
One minute
I was on the third step of a stepladder in a client’s house, peering into the
attic. The next thing I remember is
being on the floor, and looking down at my right foot. It wasn’t at the end of my leg where it was
supposed to be. It was beside my
ankle. Trust me, that’s not a good place
for a foot to be, and as I looked at it, I started to realize that it
hurt. A lot.
I laid back
down, bent my left knee, and put my right – sideways – foot on it. Carefully, because even that movement
hurt. (This is where experience with
pain comes in handy). I looked at my client
and said “I think we should call 911 now”.
Thankfully, she was a PSW and not freaking out, as I was probably
in shock.
Boy, was I
wrong.
After a
couple series of x-rays, a straightened ankle, and still more morphine, they’d
worked out that my ankle needed bigger help than the smaller hospital could
give, and were preparing to send me to a bigger hospital for bigger help. Meanwhile, I’d worked out a few things too:
-
When
you’re in that much pain, morphine really just takes the edge off. It doesn’t deaden anything,
unfortunately.
-
I
wasn’t just going to get my ankle straightened and walk out of there.
Neither of
these realizations was exciting or inspiring – then, or now.
Enter new
hospital, new doctors and nurses, and a surgeon who specialized in these
things. The surgeon earned my undying
admiration by demanding more pain medication for me – it seems the hospital was
being cautious in ensuring I wasn’t too doped up when they were ready for me in
surgery. It also seems that orthopedic
surgeons don’t typically operate at 3am.
I’m grateful that mine did.
The good
news was that I only broke one bone – fairly miraculous if you saw the 90-degree
ankle my foot was on. The bad news was
that – as with most things – I did this thoroughly, and while there are
apparently all kinds of minor talus fractures, mine was … well, not one of
those. My surgeon describes it as fishing for the bone on the wrong side of my
foot, and the parallel scars on my ankle certainly bear testament to that.
I spent
about 3½ months in a “non-weight-bearing” state. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t drive. Heck, I couldn’t even carry an ordinary
coffee cup (or plate, or bowl) from the kitchen to the recliner where I spent
my days, nights, evenings … you get the picture. I couldn’t get in or out of my wonderfully
deep bathtub, or the raised shower. (I
was SO sick of sponge baths …)
On January
11th, 2018, the day finally came.
I sat on the examination table at my physiotherapist’s office. My cast was off. I had my cane. I had my physiotherapist – who was also a friend
– to help and support me. And yet, I was
terrified. It didn’t make a lot of sense – after all, I’d been walking for
nearly 50 years before I fell. This
should come back easily, right? My
therapist said “don’t worry, I won’t let you fall”. I knew he was right. He wouldn’t let me fall. I said “I trust you”. And I realized that the person I didn’t trust
was myself.
I didn’t
trust my ankle to hold me.
I didn’t
trust what my changed life would hold.
I didn’t
trust my ability to move forward.
I’d spent
the last three months cocooned.
Afraid. And for the most part,
hiding.
I walked
that day. If you see my personal
Facebook posts, you’ll see the video. But it took a lot longer for me to come
back to the rest of life. About a month after I walked, I started driving – in small
increments for the first few months, though in a Canadian winter, a “short
drive” can vary drastically.
By the time
I’d been walking for a year, I was closer to my old self. I connected with some people. I wasn’t afraid to go places. I was actively involved in my Toastmasters
club again.
Three years
later, as I reflect on the lessons I learned, and changes I would have made, a
few things stand out:
-
I
wish I’d pushed myself – or been pushed harder – not to curl into myself and
hide. I think more connection with
people who cared would have done me a lot of good.
-
Change
is the one constant in life. And my life
needed a change, though this isn’t how I would have arranged it.
-
Trusting
myself is always the first step.
Today’s
life lesson is this: while we can’t change things that have happened, we fully
control the way we respond to them. And
I feel a whole lot better by responding with my whole self.
It was all I could do to read this and NOT throw up.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry you felt that way. It certainly wasn't a fun experience, and I felt that way myself during this process as well.
DeleteWhat a difficult period in your life Kris. You have been through all this and come out of it with such a positive attitude to life. That's the sign of a remarkable person!
ReplyDeleteJust a fabulous blogpost Kris. And I love the analogy between your ankle and life. Keeping moving forward - one step at a time ❤️❤️
ReplyDelete