I Won't Give Up, But Damn It Hurts

It's been nine days since I shattered my leg and I have to tell you, this rivals labor pain sometimes. The sudden stabbing pains take my breath away, and the slow throbbing is constant. It's wearing. Today is a good day. Sponge bath, clean clothes, and washed hair. I have never taken showers for granted. Clean running water is a luxury for a select few in our world. But now, even more, I appreciate the ease with which I jumped in and out of the shower daily. I will be even more grateful when I can take my next shower in three months.

My shoulders are tender from pulled muscles as I carry my weight on the walker. I have to kind of scoot it, then jump one-legged holding my weight with my arms. But I am getting around. It's dicey getting through the bathroom door, but I am managing to negotiate it in the middle of the night. Twisting and turning and hopping, I make my way through the house. What I can't do, which is really almost everything, my husband does for me. I am utterly dependent. It's a little scary. If it weren't for his loving care, I'd be in a longterm care facility during a pandemic. And it's frustrating. I've always been an independent person. Now I find myself asking for help constantly.

I'm not a quitter, but this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. High levels of pain, utter dependence, and fear of unresolved pain for the rest of my life from the injury make me feel a little down. I've battled depression off and on most of my life. I have done my best for the past thirty years to seek professional help and not give up. Willing myself to cling to the hope God gives, or in some extreme times, just letting him hold onto me in my utter weakness. I don't believe for one moment this was sent as a trial. This was an unfortunate accident. Life happens and I have to learn to cope with the Lord's grace and love.

But for those inclined to say this is a test, well, God willing, I'll pass. I'll cry sometimes and suffer some. I'll thank the Lord for his provision and tender care. I'll learn greater gratitude and humility, and in suffering, patience and perseverance. And I'll keep hopping forward, one-footed until I can put one foot in front of another as my life continues to unfold before me.

On a side note, I have chosen to go ahead and retire from my job. I can't work for three months and between pension and social security, I will be fine. I had planned on working for one more year, but after much thought and prayer, this seemed like the right time to venture into a new normal. Maybe I'll work part-time somewhere down the road, but for now, my job is to heal and strengthen. I'll try not to cuss too much.

Angels in Disguise

I’m nursing a damaged leg. Splintered tibia, fibula, fractured ankle and ligament damage, all the result of a misstep. All it took was one moment of taking my eyes off the road I was walking on. I stepped into a pothole and in the next instant was crumpled in the middle of the street in agonizing pain.

I knew it was broken, though not the extent of the damage. The next moment an angel appeared at my side in the form of a letter carrier who I had just waved to and saw it happen. She came over and pulled out her phone calling for an ambulance. Then she sat down beside me and held my hand. She spoke comforting words and stayed with me while the paramedics splinted my leg. Then she disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

My leg is pretty much toast. During an hour and a half long surgery, they inserted a rod into my tibia, fixed the fibula, and put screws in my ankle to repair the break and torn ligaments. Now I am left with a high level of pain and three months of hopping with a walker. I cannot let my leg touch the floor.

While I was in the hospital the angel came by our house to see how I was. She never works our street, was just filling in that day. I may never see her again, but I wanted to thank her for her act of kindness. I stayed calmer with her and my husband’s calmness. The burden of pain is easier when shared.

I’m going to be housebound for three months. I had just recovered from a prior broken fibula in my other leg. But that stress fracture was a piece of cake compared to this. I wish this on no one. A leg full of metal and stitches. Thank goodness for pain medications. And thank God for unexpected angels who appear in our times of need. I can only hope I will be just as much an angel when I see a person in pain.