There are times when you ask a higher power "why?" And then there are times you just have to say "WTF." (not sure what movie that was from--but I like it.) This was one of those times where I said both. A painful opportunity to learn multiple lessons while eating cup-a-soup with a spill-proof lid on my couch. As you may have read in my previous blog-rant, I fell. A very special Christmas on crutches. And as good as I got at hobbling on sticks-- I did take another tumble. Week 2. Crutching around in the morning. The slipper on the good foot got stuck in the bad carpet--and down I went, again. I felt something pop and sat there crying, harder than I've ever cried before. Not so much for the pain. But because I couldn't do this alone anymore. I cried because I was tired of these stupid, deadly, metal messes. I thought they were supposed to hold you up? Be my support? I needed a crutch---but clearly a different kind.
Sitting on the floor, I reached for my "crutch purse" (I got smart and secured a little Coach bag to one crutch so I always had a cell phone and some style.) I thought--who can I call? I need to go to the doctor's again because it felt like I sprained the sprain. I called a co-worker. No answer. I called my old pal Matt. No answer. The landlady was at work. So I did it. I called the Ex-crutch. I would like to think this qualified under the category of "don't ever call me again unless it's an emergency like you're dead on the side of the road!" Right? I actually got him on the phone. He told me he had jury duty. (I plead the fifth.)
Stubborn and alone as ever, I drove myself to the doctor. And this time--they gave me the boot. Literally. Years of avoiding bunion surgery because I didn't want to wear that damn UGLY black walking boot--and I get it by default. Sure it's better than crutches, but nothing says "Hey look at me! I'm an old spinster with bad feet!" --than this piece of sexy footwear.
After a couple of painful weeks trying to sleep with that hardware on, I was referred to a sports med specialist (not that falling with chairs is considered a sport) who said, forget the boot--meet your new brace. He also ordered an MRI. Apparently my little sprain wasn't so little. As I waited for my turn at the giant magnet, I started talking to a man who was waiting for his wife. He asked me why I was there--I told him about my foot. I asked about his wife. "She was in a car accident. Hit and run. She hit her head. That was a few years ago." By now my interest in this story made me nearly forget I was sitting in a hospital gown wondering why they made me remove all the metal on my body. "They did a little surgery back then to fix a cut--and found out she had a massive brain tumor. She didn't know. So basically, if she didn't get in a car accident--she'd be dead! They removed the tumor--this is just a yearly check up. Isn't God great? The way he works?" Wow.
They called me in, so I shook the man's hand and said that I hoped his wife would be fine. As I limped down the hall to my own MRI, I thought--why the hell am I complaining? A sprained ankle? This guy finds grace in a hit and run and I'm sad because I had to go xmas shopping at Rite Aid?! I breathed a sigh of relief when the technician said they think I can do the open MRI for arms and legs. "As long as we can get your foot inside this tube." Come hell or high water--I was getting my foot in that tube. I didn't want to be in that whole body Xray coffin for an hour. (I was blessed not only with hypochondria but claustrophobia as well. God
is good!)
The technician gave me headsets and asked if I wanted music. "Any preference?" I'm guessing my 'no rap please' response and my year of birth on the chart, must have forced his selection of the Golden Oldies. The giant magnet began to whirr. Thankful to have any music to drown out the scary sound--I rolled my eyes and chuckled at the first song. "Hey, Hey Paula, I wanna marry you some day." I laughed louder when it reached the second verse--or the "girl" verse--"Hey, Hey (the male version of Paula that is also Mr. PP's name) I wanna marry you some day..." Seriously? I'd settle for a ride to the doctor's office. I closed my eyes and thought about that lovely husband and wife I met in the waiting room. And how you never know how something will turn out.
Three months, 2 Xrays, an MRI, 2 torn ligaments, a boot and a brace later--I've finished my physical therapy and have learned more than any other kind of therapy could have taught me. I've learned that 1. no matter how "in control" you feel--crap happens--and things change. Just when you think things are plugging along--God throws a wrench in and changes up your plans. So how do you deal with it? I've been there before. With the guy. Instead of saying "okay, this has happened, now what?" I fought it. Questioned it. Not this time. So I can't work out and I put on a few pounds. So what?
Lesson #2 - no matter how careful you are--you can get hurt. And when you're hurt--you need someone to help ease the pain. We are put on this planet to care and be cared for. While my friends and family did their best to care for me long distance (especially my BFF who drove two hours with her kids to bring me a spaghetti dinner) this entire ordeal has taught me --I'm done with being alone. Sure--I can do it alone--but I don't want to. So even if I have to learn to love old and ugly or suffer the humiliation that is online dating--I'm gonna love again! I want to take care of someone--and dammit--I deserve someone here 24/7 to care for me and clean up the crutch spills.
#3 - I need balance in my life. My physical therapist is teaching me to balance again --on my feet and oddly, in my life. First it was all career all the time. Then I let it become all relationship all the time. I didn't balance both very well. And that's when you fall hard. A few months ago I cried at the cruelty of losing my guy, my gig and now maybe my passion--yoga. But this whole thing has been yoga. It may not be on a mat, but I've been balancing--taking care of myself and practicing patience and healing. And sometimes that takes a really, really long time. But you DO get stronger--you get up and walk again--and yes--eventually you'll get that heel back on the floor in your awesome downward dog! I'm not there yet--but I'm close.
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