I received my Christmas wish. Though I was told it wasn’t possible to do so for eight weeks, I got to take a shower, today. As the water ran over the parts of my body that were actually in the tub, I nearly wept because I felt like I was at the spa. The simplest of things are suddenly precious.
December 13, I fell walking into church. I was to be a greeter, that day and boy, oh boy, I gave a greeting! It was a misty morning and there was enough moisture on my feet to sail me toward the greeting table as if I was slidding into home plate. I am sure the commotion of having a woman on the floor, moaning in agony, was more entertainment than the church needed. I mean, they had their own Christmas production ready to begin. They didn’t need an opening act.
Upon impact, I knew I was badly hurt because I couldn’t shake it off and get up. I fell flat on my side and my hip was my concern. My first thought was, ” I can’t break my hip! Old people break hips and I am not old!” Yep, even when in anguish, I fight aging.
The pain was mind numbing and at one point I remember losing alertnesss. I am not sure if I technically lost consciousness. I am not sure what that feels or looks like. All I know is I couldn’t bear it and kind of just slipped some where it didn’t hurt.
I heard a soft whisper close to my face and opened my eyes to see one of our church members asking if I knew my name. I thought she was being funny and said, ” Of course, Linda!”
“Whats your last name?” For some reason she didn’t recognize me. In fact, no one knew who was in such a disorganized heap on their cement floor.
My hair was lying over my face and when she wiped it away, I looked up to see a host of people encircling me, all looking down on me with equal parts of curiosity and concern. They all wore sparkly blue shirts and black pants and for a split second I was scared because I thought I died and they were angels. But angels wore white, right? I knew I wasnt in hell. So where was I? Vegas?
“Who are you?” I shouted upward, alarmed.
“It’s the choir, Linda. We are here for the Christmas production”
With relief I floated outside my body once again.
The Fire Department is across the street from our church. Mercifully, it seemed as if in the blink of an eye they were there to take me to the ER.
The next task was getting me on a stretcher and getting a look at my leg. There I am lying on the floor and even then, in excruciating pain, fashion does not escape me. I knew they would want to get those pants off. I begged the EMTs to keep my Tall designer jeans in one piece.
“Please don’t cut them off! Do you khow hard it is to find tall jeans?” I asked one of them. And this was before I was under the influence of drugs.
“How tall are you?” a cheerful EMS worker asks.
“Five-eight,” I reply. This is why I need tall jeans!
“How much do you weigh?” he asks.
I close my eyes tight. Must we make all this worse? No woman wants to discuss her weight in front of others much less the whole church choir!
“We need the correct weight so we know how much pain medication to give you,” he said, tempting the truth from my lips.
It has been said we are motivated by pain and pleasure and the greater of the two is always avoiding pain…and so true. I gave out the secret numbers with the promise of pain relief.
They administered morophine right there on the drug- free zone of our youth building. Within minutes they were lifting me onto the stretcher.
I drifted in and out awakeness because I really don’t remember anything until I was in the ER. I remember nurses somehow slipping something around and under me to get xrays. Soon a kind looking man in a Christmas red sweater was smiling over me. One of those, “I hate to tell you this” smiles. That is when I met the orthopedic surgeon on call, Dr. Ferris. He told me I broke my leg. I was so relieved. I say relieved for two reasons. One is, if I was feeling that much pain and didn’t break anything, I was going to kick myself in the butt for being a major wimp! The second sense of relief came from the fact that I didn’t I wasn’t old enough to break my hip.
I broke my femur. According to the doctor, my bones were very strong (another testimony of the power of progesterone) and this created a more complicated break. When bones are brittle they snap right across. Mine resisted breaking and tore in a downward angle.
Little did I know the severity of a broken femur. When the lower leg breaks, you can get around on a cast, crutches and haul your dangling leg around with you. When the femur is broken, one of your core support structures is eliminated and you are totally unable to move the entire leg.
The physics of it was explained like this: If you tried to hold up a lawn rake by the rake end, you can hold the entire tool horizontal, holding only the rake end. If you try to hold the rake horizontal by holding the handle about two inches from the handle tip, you can’t. At least it isn’t easy. The weight of the rake end is too heavy. This is what it is like having a broken femur.
Being the biggest bone, its break is the deepest and thus the most painful. Add the fact they had to repair my unstable break by jamming a titanium rod down the middle of it, insert pins through the bone, well you can probably imagine the pain.
Apparently, I never lose my sense of humor. In the ER , under the influence of pain killers, I told the surgeon my legs were my best asset and asked if they would still look ok. When he refreshed my memory of this event at my check up, all I could wonder is what else did I say while whacked out!? I was afraid to know. He said I also asked him if I would still be able to dance after the surgery. Like I dance all the time, now!
I was humbled to find out that doctor remembered what I said and when he did my surgery five hours later, ( he had a 101 year old woman’s emergency hip surgery to do before mine) he remembered my leg comment and instead of the usual staples to close up my four incisions, he carefully stitched me up,”doing a little plastics” leaving nearly no visible sign of the accident. There are still good doctors around and I thank him for hisTLC.
It has been four weeks now and I have four to five more weeks of not being able to walk on that leg. When I first came home I couldn’t do a thing by myself. Now I am able to do almost anything I need to do, as long as I do not need to walk and use hands at the same time.
My dear husband has been my care giver, using the Medical Leave Act to be home with me. If the shoe were on the other foot, the only thing added to my plate would have been to dump his bedside potty contents. He on the other hand has had to learn all the multi-faceted jobs of being a homemaker and having the week before Christmas his initiation.
This is the first time in my life, though I have had two C-sections and gall bladder surgery, I have had to be taken care of. It is a humbling thing for a very active, self-sufficient person to deal with.
I am learning patience. My husband has done a fabulous job, though he is a tortoise. He is never in a hurry. I am the hare of the family. Though I have slowed down some, living in the South, I live up to the stereotype of a Northerner, doing everything fast.
Waiting has become my pain’s companion. I have to deal with both all the time. But I have nothing more than time right now, so I have learned to take a chill pill, if you will, and just wait. There is nothing wrong with that. I suspect it is good for me.
I have learned that he has his own way of doing these things and where I once would have urged him to do them my way, I know it is not important most of the time how it gets done as long as it gets done. After all, doesn’t the turtoise win the race?
I have seen a glimpse of what long term illness is like. Though I know my season shall pass, there are others who are not so certain. I know a few people with cancer or lifelong illness and I understand the frustrations of loneliness and not being able to do what you want, when you want.
The Lord has made me more conscious of how I will treat my future homebound friends. I know people get busy with their own lives but we mustn’t allow the homebound to become invisible. They need company. Perhaps all it will take is a phone call or even an online chat. Just knowing someone cares helps. I will place calendar reminders to check up on my friends because I am certainly one who can get too busy and would forget.
So that is where I have been for the past month and why there haven’t been any recent articles. I am working on some now. While I can do so little, writing gives me a small sense of purpose and giving back to the world. May the articles inspire you to take charge of your health and protect the body God gave you.
I think people are finally becoming aware of the caustic nature of many brand named household cleaners. I really can give a plug to Melaleuca’s Sol U Guard and Sol U Mel 3 in 1 cleaner. They go way beyond cleaning your home, including natural gardening and deworming livestock! Sol U Guard is a germ killing fluid and is great for general household cleaning, especially bathrooms and pets. If you have pets that mess on the floor, cleaning the area with the spray does such a good job, it kills the germs of their feces completely and they do not have a “marked territory” and will not return to that spot, automatically. In fact, these two solutions do so much, they are the only two cleaning solutions you need for complete household cleaning. Almost…
