My Purple Cast
I have been adjusting these past few weeks to life in a purple cast, and using crutches as my main source of transportation. Although my cast is looking extremely lovely, after my crafty niece, Amy, and my grandchildren decorated it for me; and my crutches are soft and cushy, since my wonderful hubby bought brightly colored cushions for it; I have to say, I’m growing extremely weary of being encumbered. On the plus side, this unwanted adventure does allow me extra writing time, I’m all for that. On the negative side, any little chore takes twice as long while hobbling around with crutches in tow, and that tends to cut down on the writing time. Sigh!

Helpless as a baby
These past few weeks have been an exercise in relinquishing control, and learning to trust. (The only exercise I’ve been getting, other than an upper body workout from using crutches.) From the moment Bob found me face down on the floor, unable to walk due to a broken ankle, as well as being sick as a dog; my world completely changed. Any semblance of dignity flew out the window; I had become in some senses as helpless as a baby; only I’m not a baby. As Bob assisted me with everything—and I do mean everything—I was reminded of both of his parents, and my mother, when their health began to diminish. The strong, healthy, vital people they had once been, slowly, over time as their age increased, and health decreased, became frail shells of their former selves. They, as I, needed help with every part of their daily lives. Frightening!

Nothing’s simple
The simplest of things, walking across the room to get a tissue, hobbling to the kitchen, getting ready for bed at night, having to get up in the middle of the night for a nature call, getting washed up for the day; all were done through pain, and with a great amount of trepidation. My balance was off, I was shaky and unsteady on my feet, or should I say foot. The fear of falling was a constant, the fear of breaking my ankle worse or breaking something else, also a constant. My world became the love seat, and whatever I could reach from my place of honor. I had for all intense and purposes lost all semblance of control. And through this time I had no other choice but to “let go and let God, and let Bob.” During the worst of times, I found myself feeling useless, helpless, hopeless and burdensome. Possibly as our parents may also have felt.

WHY?
During this time I also found myself asking God “why?” all the time. “Why is this happening to me again?” “Wasn’t my spring and summer already difficult enough, did I need a broken ankle as well?” “Why had I gotten sick, AGAIN, leaving me as weak as I had been?” Why, why, why. And I will admit, there was a tiny bit of anger tossed in the mix. “Really! This is happening again?! You have got to be kidding!!!!!”  All the plans I had made to get the gardens ready for fall—gone. Playing with my grandson—severely limited. I just couldn’t understand why? But, I guess I didn’t really have to understand. I had to learn to trust.

Never Alone
Once I was able to battle through the fog of anger and questioning, I found myself coming to a place of…well, I don’t know what place I came to, but it was better. I watched as my husband took care of me, pampered me, worried about me, and as useless as I felt, I also felt loved. I found myself encouraging him during his weak and exhausted moments. I grabbed hold of every tiny morsel of hope as far as my healing was concerned. Today is better than yesterday, and tomorrow will be better still. I came to realize that even though I couldn’t understand why this happened, I was learning that I hadn’t been alone during it. God was with me every step of the way, even when I was lying on the floor. My time of involuntary house arrest, allowed me the opportunity to slow down--way down—and appreciate the little things. To let go of the mundane annoyances that tended to send me into states of irritation in the blink of an eye. I had to learn to trust Bob to do all the things that I was supposed to be doing; and he did a great job. I found myself smiling at him more than usual, saying thank-you more than usual, and appreciating the amazing husband I had been taking for granted.

Thankfully my time in my pretty purple cast is nearing an end; it comes off in a week. Yay! I will then be put into  some sort of walking brace which should be able to come off for showers and such. Again, Yay! I have been informed by its decorators' that I have to save their artwork, which means saving the cast. Perhaps I need to get it framed. These past few weeks have not been easy, but are getting better; one day at a time. Thanks to an amazing God who has never and will never leave me alone, and an amazing husband who gave every part of himself to help me during this time.



 

Have you ever had one of those days, weeks, or even months when you know you should just stay in bed and pull the covers over your head? It’d be safer for you and everyone else near you. Well, that’s exactly how I have felt this entire spring and summer. Although I’m not superstitious, I have felt as if some unknown cosmic force has had it out for me in a big way: as if I had become a gigantic accident magnet. Seems a bit of an exaggeration you might think? Well, let me tell my tales of woe.

It all began on a lovely May evening. We had gathered with friends from our church in a large, fancy restaurant for an over priced, under-whelming meal to honor this years laity person; that person who had gone the extra mile over the past year for our church. Honoring our friend was absolutely the high point of the entire, long, drawn-out evening. My husband, Bob, our friend, Karen, and I were walking through the parking lot, laughing and joking, talking of stopping for ice cream on the way home to fill the void in our stomachs. All of a sudden my right ankle turned under me and with a loud squeal I began to plummet toward the ground. Thankfully my husband had been holding my hand and this prevented me from falling flat on my face. OUCH! It took both Bob and Karen to get me back onto my feet, or rather my foot, and to a near by car on which I could lean.

I won’t go into all the icky details, I’ll just say my foot was swollen and painful and I felt completely helpless, and more than a little embarrassed. Needless to say, we did not get ice cream that night. The next month or so involved using crutches that were too small for me, using my late mother-in-law’s walker which gave my husband ample opportunity for “good humored” joking at my expense; and moving on to using a cane Karen loaned me. My world consisted of pain, hobbling, more ice packs than I can count, more pain, and of course more “good humored” jokes. My gardening involved carrying a bucket of weeds in one hand and a cane in the other, limping at a pace that would make a snail look like speedy Gonzales. Every dip or lump in the ground, every tiny stone or stick was to be avoided at all costs. They were another accident just waiting to jump out and attack me if I wasn’t vigilant...I was vigilant.

That is, until another lovely evening around the middle of June when Bob, and I went to our youngest granddaughter’s soft ball game. I had hobbled across the lumpy, bumpy ground with cane in hand and was sitting in a chair chatting with friends—completely minding my own business. When out of the blue, a yellow orb whooshed from somewhere behind me, performed an unexpected curve in mid air according to witnesses, and without my seeing it, slammed into my forehead. WHUMP! OUCH!  As usual, I gave a shocked cry, which drew the attention of all around me—not too embarrassing. An ice pack was gotten, and I was informed that I was actually bleeding; my glasses bit into the bridge of my nose. Really?! I was just minding my own business. I wasn’t even walking. The worse part of this tale of woe: it was our oldest granddaughter who had lost control of the ball, while playing with a friend somewhere behind me. She had yelled look out—I didn’t hear. Talk about Grandma guilt. So, when the game finally ended I hobbled back to our car with cane in one hand, and the other covering the egg a goose left on my forehead. As could be expected my eyes and forehead turned into a rainbow of colors: purple, green, and yellow.

But wait! My tale is not yet finished. Today is September 1st, Labor Day, unofficial end to summer, and here I sit with foot elevated and wearing a lovely purple cast. Yes, that’s right…a cast. I broke my ankle. How did this happen you ask? Again I won’t go into the icky details, let’s just say I was sick—very sick—and about 3:00 am on Thursday, August 21st I fainted while on route to the bathroom, somehow breaking three bones in my ankle. The magnet just keeps getting bigger and bigger. I now use crutches that are the right fit, (adorned with cheery blue, pink and purple under arm and hand cushions. A gift from my husband for my comfort) I wear a purple cast, and thankfully today am not in as much pain as yesterday. My end of summer plans…right out the window; the weeds in my gardens mock me daily. My poor husband has been working tirelessly taking care of me, plus doing his regular job. Not anything how we envisioned the last weeks of our summer to be.

Now you have heard my tales of woe. I’m sure there are life lessons strewn about these catastrophes, such as, if I get hurt get x-rays and don’t assume it’s sprained. Stay hydrated if possible while sick; and appreciate the incredible husband who has been my nursemaid during this time. Summer is unofficially over, school is only 2 days away, at least in our neck of the woods, and I am learning about life in a cast—hint: stepping onto a hard surface, such as laminate flooring without the boot you wear over the cast, is just like stepping onto ice…whoosh. It is now, have boot will travel!

Here’s to hoping for a much better autumn.
I wonder if I should stock up on bubble wrap...just in case?