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Rebecca Otowa

THOUGHTS AFTER AN INJURY




(The photo shows the scene of the accident, a little bit cleaned up since then.)

 

Last Monday morning I was working in a corner of our property, clearing out years of unpleasant viney growth and branches going every which way. My husband was working nearby. I went to get a pruning saw a few steps away, quite irregular steps over a large trash heap and some half-buried roof tiles. My right foot, clad in a rubber boot, stepped wrong, my arms flew out as they do (there’s no stopping reflexes), and the next thing I knew I was on the trash heap, clutching my right shoulder and screaming “Help!!” at the top of my lungs. My husband came, thank goodness he was both at home and near enough to hear me (not a very usual occurrence), and at my instruction brought cold packs, a sling and other shoes. Working together we got me onto the deck where I lay down on my left side while he called the hospital. A kind neighbor stopped by and helped me get into the car, and hubby drove me the 10 minutes to the local hospital, while I shouted and groaned.

 

The hospital was kind of a blur, except I remember making a lot of noise, especially when x-rays revealed that I had dislocated my shoulder. Instantly I flashed back to descriptions of this injury I had read in books, and went into full panic mode, not enough however that I didn’t do what I was told, no running out the door for me! Somehow – wheelchairs were involved -- I got to where the relocation was to be performed and lay down on the table. I felt a sharp pain in my lower leg which turned out to be a blood pressure cuff; it was at this moment, I believe, when I was distracted, that the doctor eased the ball back into the socket. Anyway, I guess all’s well that ends well, no bones were broken, and connections within the arm are OK (I can still wiggle my fingers and flex my wrist) and I was taken home with three weeks of immobility, with doctor’s appointments, ahead and a very uncomfortable sling holding my arm to my side.

 

Fast forward to now, about a week into the recovery. I am typing this with my left index finger, one of many adjustments I have had to make in my lifestyle. I am not exactly sick, so though I have cancelled many things, there is nothing I can do about international visitors, friends who arranged to come and stay with us months ago. They are coming tomorrow for two nights; fortunately my husband took over the heavy cleaning and lifting, but I have to do some, and every movement makes me aware of just how much I took four functioning limbs for granted all those years.

 

I can’t sleep well, though I don’t really need painkillers; my neck and shoulders, and other random parts of the body, are very stiff and lying flat on my back is uncomfortable. I can’t bring the injured arm behind my back at all, nor should I if I don’t want another dislocation. I can’t sleep in my favorite position, on my right side. The various slings I have arranged for myself slip around and are either too tight or too loose. This all sounds like whiny First World problems – “My phone charger cord won’t reach to my bedside table,” etc. But the first time one finds oneself in a situation where one can’t move as usual, it takes a very great psychological toll. It may seem silly, but I never imagined how it would feel to have my husband helping me to do up my bra in back, a motion I have performed by myself for over 50 years, day in and day out.

 

Eventually, the bruises on my arm, now angry purple and green, will fade and my life will gradually get back to something approaching normal. I am well aware of how lucky I’ve been, though I have scheduled an MRI to rule out anything untoward (aside from old age creeping in) that is affecting my balance and causing me to fall.

 

There are other factors, of course. The fact that I am overweight probably affects my balance, as does the daily necessity, in this old house, to step up and down and be constantly changing footwear. Probably something could be done about these things, interim measures, both exercise for me and outer adjustments in my environment.

 

Meanwhile I’m trying to learn what I can from this experience, and view it as practice for other, inevitable things that will happen to my body, in this material world with all its implacable physical rules, from now on. What can I learn? First, to express sincere gratitude to my caregivers, who also didn’t ask for this and have had their own lives disrupted as well. Second, to use my brain, to think sideways and solve problems. For example, have you ever thought how hard it would be to hang wet clothes with only one functioning arm? But I figured out how to do that, though folding and putting away dry clothes presents a totally different set of problems. In our old house, most bureau drawers open with great difficulty by pulling on two metal handles about 50 cm apart (at the same time, with varying degrees of pressure depending on the drawer). This is an operation that definitely requires two hands, but can be done with the left hand grasping each handle alternately and opening it 1 cm at a time on either side. Slow, but it eventually gets done. Third, this experience helps me connect with others who may have been in a similar situation in this house in the old days, but without benefit of painkillers or sympathetic relatives – quite the reverse; I am imagining a young wife with a withered hand and a mother-in-law who constantly scolded her for clumsiness or slowness.

 

This too shall pass, I will get through it. Perhaps even by the next blog.

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