Upon greeting me, a client often asks, "How are you, Ladonna?"
"I'm OK," I typically respond.
"Just OK?" he questions.
I usually laugh and answer "It's better than not OK."
Heading out to mow, it was four weeks to the day since I took an inglorious spill in a crosswalk in downtown Boise, Idaho. There was nothing casual about the fall, no trip and stumble, rather a splat to the street.
Heading out to mow, it was four weeks to the day since I took an inglorious spill in a crosswalk in downtown Boise, Idaho. There was nothing casual about the fall, no trip and stumble, rather a splat to the street.
A visit to the emergency room verified my initial comment as I pulled myself up. "My jaw is jacked up." An X-ray confirmed that it was indeed. I had actually broken my jaw.
There is no cast for a broken jaw, and, in order for it to be stabilized, extreme braces were put in place. The initial plan was for screws to be placed in the gums and then wires attached. The correct wire wasn't available so plan B included braces with bands. Thank God.
"Liquids only for six weeks," I was told. At first, I could ingest liquids with a syringe through a very small tube. After twelve days I would be promoted to just the syringe. No chewing allowed. My blender became my best friend.
Adjustments were made as I filled the fridge with protein- and calorie-rich dairy products and shakes, maximizing meals with as many legumes as possible, creating dishes with combinations of a variety of foods to provide the eighty grams of daily protein suggested by a dietitian. I was never able to come close to that.
Settling in to the process of physical healing, I wasn't prepared for the need to be healed emotionally.
My family insisted I stay with them for the first several days despite my claim that I was fine. Surrounding me with love and protection, it was the perfect environment and cocoon in which to begin healing. In retrospect, I wasn't as fine as I thought I was.
Pain was never an issue; having the rug pulled out from underneath me was.
The lack of confidence and the sense of being unsure of myself and basic motor movements came like a wave hitting the rocks, unannounced at random moments. I found the fall had shaken me.
The first time I went into the grocery store alone I sat in the truck, steeling myself. My family had surrounded me for ten days, and now I was on my own. Cautiously, gauging every step and every flaw in the pavement, I headed out. Knowing my inability to express myself verbally because of the restrictive banding, my instinct was to retreat, but an empty larder and the need to feed myself won out.
Fear has its residence in the unknown, and all of life is just that--unknown. The "what ifs?" took over. What if I fall again? What if the jaw isn't fully healed, and I damage it yet again? What if, what if?
I had to force myself to cross the street to get my mail from the mailbox. Holing up inside my house, curling up into a ball and staying there almost seemed easier and was quite inviting.
My faith, my spiritual being, was shaken as well. "You let me fall. You didn't keep me from falling," I cried out in those quiet, alone times. God reminded me of Job, who was stripped of his livelihood and his family and still refused to turn on Him. God does not keep us from difficult situations, but He promises to take us through.
A client who has had several bad falls with serious injuries described them as being traumatic--a new concept to consider. That description matched some of what I had been feeling, including a real sense of vulnerability.
Going back to work was my version (or make that God's version) of being pushed out of the nest. I fought it, yet at the same time I knew it was important for my well-being. I needed to get back in a familiar routine again. I did only cleaning that first week. I tested any unexpected ramifications from using the vacuum cleaner, leaning over while working, anything which might cause a shift.
I mowed for the first time almost a month after falling. It was the first time I had off-loaded and loaded the mower from the truck, the first time I had started my tools by pulling on the rope starter. Was I putting pressure on the healing jaw? Was my ear protection pressing against it? So much of the body is used in the simplest of motions. Was I causing unforeseen damage?
Peace was not my friend as I concluded my day and headed home. Pulling into the garage, I heard my inner voice--"I am not OK. I am not OK. I am not OK." Over and over again it spilled out until I was emptied. There was only silence as I headed to clean up. Then, very quietly I heard, "You are OK."
So many times we want to be great, fantastic, fabulous, outstanding, and superb. But those are often bubbles which quickly burst and disappear. My position is being "just OK" is a good thing.
And I am OK.
"It is well with my soul."
There is no cast for a broken jaw, and, in order for it to be stabilized, extreme braces were put in place. The initial plan was for screws to be placed in the gums and then wires attached. The correct wire wasn't available so plan B included braces with bands. Thank God.
"Liquids only for six weeks," I was told. At first, I could ingest liquids with a syringe through a very small tube. After twelve days I would be promoted to just the syringe. No chewing allowed. My blender became my best friend.
Adjustments were made as I filled the fridge with protein- and calorie-rich dairy products and shakes, maximizing meals with as many legumes as possible, creating dishes with combinations of a variety of foods to provide the eighty grams of daily protein suggested by a dietitian. I was never able to come close to that.
Settling in to the process of physical healing, I wasn't prepared for the need to be healed emotionally.
My family insisted I stay with them for the first several days despite my claim that I was fine. Surrounding me with love and protection, it was the perfect environment and cocoon in which to begin healing. In retrospect, I wasn't as fine as I thought I was.
Pain was never an issue; having the rug pulled out from underneath me was.
The lack of confidence and the sense of being unsure of myself and basic motor movements came like a wave hitting the rocks, unannounced at random moments. I found the fall had shaken me.
The first time I went into the grocery store alone I sat in the truck, steeling myself. My family had surrounded me for ten days, and now I was on my own. Cautiously, gauging every step and every flaw in the pavement, I headed out. Knowing my inability to express myself verbally because of the restrictive banding, my instinct was to retreat, but an empty larder and the need to feed myself won out.
Fear has its residence in the unknown, and all of life is just that--unknown. The "what ifs?" took over. What if I fall again? What if the jaw isn't fully healed, and I damage it yet again? What if, what if?
I had to force myself to cross the street to get my mail from the mailbox. Holing up inside my house, curling up into a ball and staying there almost seemed easier and was quite inviting.
My faith, my spiritual being, was shaken as well. "You let me fall. You didn't keep me from falling," I cried out in those quiet, alone times. God reminded me of Job, who was stripped of his livelihood and his family and still refused to turn on Him. God does not keep us from difficult situations, but He promises to take us through.
A client who has had several bad falls with serious injuries described them as being traumatic--a new concept to consider. That description matched some of what I had been feeling, including a real sense of vulnerability.
Going back to work was my version (or make that God's version) of being pushed out of the nest. I fought it, yet at the same time I knew it was important for my well-being. I needed to get back in a familiar routine again. I did only cleaning that first week. I tested any unexpected ramifications from using the vacuum cleaner, leaning over while working, anything which might cause a shift.
I mowed for the first time almost a month after falling. It was the first time I had off-loaded and loaded the mower from the truck, the first time I had started my tools by pulling on the rope starter. Was I putting pressure on the healing jaw? Was my ear protection pressing against it? So much of the body is used in the simplest of motions. Was I causing unforeseen damage?
Peace was not my friend as I concluded my day and headed home. Pulling into the garage, I heard my inner voice--"I am not OK. I am not OK. I am not OK." Over and over again it spilled out until I was emptied. There was only silence as I headed to clean up. Then, very quietly I heard, "You are OK."
So many times we want to be great, fantastic, fabulous, outstanding, and superb. But those are often bubbles which quickly burst and disappear. My position is being "just OK" is a good thing.
And I am OK.
"It is well with my soul."
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