| As I sat on my love seat with my left leg propped on a pillow on the coffee table I wondered why people say "Brake a Leg" for good luck. I broke my Tibia and my Fibula as I danced to the beat of Los Amigos Invisibles on a random Tuesday night. I don't really know how I did it: One minute I was having a great time and the next I was on the floor and couldn't move my leg. About a week after "the accident", I still couldn't move it... I had to have surgery to have a rod inserted into my bone, as well as six screws to hold it in place. Some time has passed since, and I have healed incredibly fast according to the doctors. In my eyes it seems like a rather long time. Perhaps it was the fact that I was ON THE COUCH for almost four weeks, and that every time I moved from my assigned seat (assigned only by my leg's personal comfort) I felt shooting pain from my toes to my thigh. Or perhaps it was the six weeks not being able to bear weight on my left leg. Or maybe even the twelve weeks out of work. Whatever it was, it certainly feels like longer than a couple of months. Yet here I am at the fifteen week mark, without a cast of any sort, my crutches finally resting in the bedroom, and nothing but a sexy leopard print cane to help me through my adventures around town. The thing is, even though I am proudly walking on my two legs, with only seven well-healed scars to show the world that my left one is "damaged", I am just now starting to realize how long this "healing process" is going to be. Please don't get me wrong, I am extremely grateful that it was just a leg, that I have healed the way that I have, and that I have a whole network of people who love and support me; friends who kept me company, a husband who has been nothing but compassionate, funny and understanding and a mother who traveled over three thousand miles to come take care of me just a few hours after she got the news. Not to mention so many others who weren't able to be here physically but were still here in mind and heart, like my dad and countless other family members and friends. It certainly makes it a little less painful when you know you are not alone. However, as grateful as I am, grasping the reality of the situation has been a little rough on my free spirit and spontaneous heart. For reasons that I have yet to understand, I was under the impression that once I could walk on both my feet I would be back to my old self. It turns out I am not even close to that! If you see me walking down the street you might think that I look healthy, you might even wonder what I am doing with a cane, and being that we are in San Francisco you will probably come to the conclusion that it is some weird new fashion trend. I assure you it is not. Some days, it honestly is nothing more than a security blanket. Others, like today, I couldn't have left the house without it. My physical therapist explained that if you take a perfectly healthy leg and immobilize it for one day, it takes two days for it to recover to its original strength and flexibility. Therefore if you immobilize it for three months, it will take six. The thing is my leg was not perfectly healthy when they immobilized it. So we are looking at a minimum of six months for me to be back to what I consider normal, at least in terms of mobility. On the good side, along the way on this "broken leg/ healing process" path, I have discovered a lot about myself. One of the most amazing things that I learned is that I am considerably stronger than I ever gave myself credit for, both physically and emotionally. Being the active person that I am, I thought after just a few days on the couch I would be going out of my mind, maybe even fall into some temporary depression. But I was able to keep myself in good spirits and stay productive for most of the time, only undergoing about three melt downs since this all started. When I was finally able to leave the house, I surprised myself again by "crutching" around San Francisco for blocks and blocks of steep hills at a time, (a workout that I highly recommend to anyone trying to shape up) just to be able to enjoy moments as simple as sitting in the sun, or eating oysters with friends. But perhaps this journey's most important lesson is to constantly remember to slow down and enjoy life for what it truly is: A collection of moments. As I face the challenges of regaining strength and flexibility and dealing with the leftover pain, I understand that the only way that I will succeed, is by giving myself completely to this healing process, and realizing that putting my plans on hold doesn't mean life is passing me by: This is life! |
