verse 22

Today is Day 22. I wasn’t very descriptive in my last post about my injury because no one reads this blog who doesn’t already know in full detail the extent of what happened. But just for future’s sake- I fell from a rock climbing wall at PRG in Glenside about 15 ft and missed the mat. I fractured my left ankle in six different places-which I wasn’t told at the emergency room. I went home the same night and a week later I had surgery. A “left ankle/tibia open reduction and internal fixation”. My sister luckily used her position at Rothman to get me in with Dr. Steven Raikin, one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the area. Surgery was terrifying. I don’t think anyone knows this but I was convinced there was a 50% chance that I would die on the table. I don’t know why but I just felt so small, so fragile, so scared because I don’t know any of these people and to them, I’m not important. It’s scary to feel like your entire life from here on out could be affected by people who don’t care about you personally. But everyone was great, surgery went perfectly and I went home the same day with two pain pump catheters in my leg. The next day the block wore off my leg and I was in the most pain I’ve ever been in in my life. I cried constantly (a side effect of this injury that has stuck with me from beginning to present) and gobbled all my painkillers greedily. My fiance took care of me the entire time, helping me get to the toilet, helping me get to the shower, seeing me at my most vulnerable and pathetic moments. I know there’s no unseeing some of the moments of struggle I’ve had, I just hope it hasn’t done too much irreversible damage.

Fastforward: Day 27.
I didn’t finish writing on Day 22. John came home and we got to talking. In the past five days my ankle has gotten stronger yet more painful at the same time. This boot that they fitted me for this past Monday is heavy, uncomfortable, and extremely hot. I attended John’s cousin Bethany’s wedding yesterday. I didn’t handle it well in the beginning- it was almost 90 degrees, we sat in full sun, the entire place was thick grass or loose gravel and the bathroom was an upscale port-a-potty that was three rickety metal steps high off the ground. I was overwhelmed with discomfort and pain and felt so isolated by everyone’s trying to cater to me in my wheelchair. Refusing food and drink without seeming ungrateful or grumpy was exhausting; explaining how I got my injury to complete strangers over and over again got to be a drag. But as the night wore on it got a little better and I was glad I went.

Tomorrow I start back at Printfresh full-time. It hasn’t even been a full three weeks since my surgery but hey-this is real life. I need the money, I need the time to pass more quickly and I need to be out of the apartment more often. I’ve definitely felt a rift between John and I in the past week or two. His understanding can only go so far-understandably. No one can understand the mental toll that a physical disability, even if it is temporary, can have on a person unless they’ve experienced it firsthand. It would make me so happy to just sit and talk with someone who has been here, who understands, who can tell me it’ll all be okay because they’ve lived through it already. I’m so tired of feeling constant pain and pretending like it doesn’t hurt because people will be uncomfortable or feel awkward and not know what to say. Or think I’m exaggerating. I know I need patience. I know this is an opportunity for me to count my lucky stars and my blessings but today I honestly just wanted to give the finger to my life. Life is such pointless pain sometimes. We can get mushy and sentimental and say there’s a reason for everything and blah blah but sometimes a point in your life is just random accident, or lonely beyond all reason. Sometimes life hurts. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t feel that. I give you permission to feel the way you feel. Just don’t let it eat you up and spit you out like today did for me.

No, no, there is no going back. And thank God for that.

 

g.g.

 

 

Days like today bring me closer to prayer. I recall when that was my way of coping-basically laying in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, tears streaming into my ears, and asking God to change me. “Dear God, make me a better daughter. Dear God, make me more patient. Dear God, make me able to understand my friends. Dear God, help me feel happy. Dear God, make me less selfish. Dear god. Please make the pain go away.” It’s 2:34 am. It’s day 15 since I badly fractured my left leg and today is the lowest I’ve felt since this happened. It’s not the day I’ve felt the most physical pain, it’s not the day I was the least comfortable or least productive, but today is the day that brought me to prayer while rolling myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face at 1:45am. I’m a pity. I’m feeling so sorry for myself that I cried simply for wanting to cry because of how uncomfortable I am, how forgotten I feel, how much of an inconvenience I’ve become to myself and to everyone around me. Day 15 is past the point where you’re worried about. Day 15 seems to be the exact point where the need/desire to rally and be tough and start to take matters into my own hands intersects with the need to be comforted-for real-because it’s now officially been a substantial amount of time being completely “useless” in a lot of ways and the lack of movement/sunlight/physical intimacy/privacy has started to wear at my nerves and my subconscious. I am surrounded by blessings and answers to prayer every which way I turn and yet I still feel sad and frustrated and the fact that I don’t feel properly justified (in my eyes and assumably yours) to be upset makes me angrier still.

It’s hard not to navel-gaze when you’re propped up on pillows all day. Just a little more than a week and I’ll hope to be free of these restrictions and get to living the exact life I was trying to leave behind.  It’s my mission now to not see it that way.

g.g.