Broken with a chance of healing
A bone snapped. I slowed down. The world kept on spinning.
I tripped up the last couple of steps as I hurried to the front door of my apartment building to get my lunch delivery. My left leg folded beneath me and I heard/felt a sickening snap as I landed on it. Then my foot went numb.
A visit to the ER confirmed it — my fibula, the smaller of the two bones in the lower leg — had a long vertical fracture down near my ankle. I was sent home in a splint, with firm instructions to put absolutely no weight on that leg. A week later, I had surgery to repair the damage, and was sent home with firm instructions to put absolutely no weight on that leg — for four to six weeks!
I had just started circulating queries for my hybrid memoir, which taps my decades of lived experience as an adopted person and the geologic origins of the Pacific Northwest to explore what the landscape of family and identity might look like as we move forward after Election Day. I was looking forward to jumping more fully into that process. I also work full time, and this is the busiest time of year for my team. The holiday season is looming. Being trapped on the second floor of our home was not part of my plan.
I spent the first night after surgery in the hospital, because there are two full flights of stairs to navigate at home and no one thought that was a good idea. After a brief session with an OT, even I had to admit I couldn’t manage. Fortunately for me, one of my daughters lives just a block away from me, in an apartment with elevators. And two lovely cats.
I spent two nights there, regaining some strength. Then my daughter and my husband helped me home, where I set up camp in the guest bedroom. Doors came off the bathroom and tub/shower. A transport chair and walker became indispensable companions. I allowed myself a good hard cry, because everything is now hard — even just repositioning myself in the bed.
It’s been a full week now, since surgery. And slowing my roll has allowed me to fully take stock of the wonderful, loving people in my life, and the good fortune that is making this recovery possible.
On my first morning home, my other daughter arranged to have coffee and pastries delivered for breakfast. My husband has taken medical leave so he can take care of me. My nearby daughter opened her home to me and made sure I had everything I needed. Including kitty cuddles. Friends and colleagues who’ve experienced similar situations sent recommendations for shower benches, knee scooters, pirate legs (I may get this just to say I have one!). Book club friends and one of the freelance writers I work with offered to bring food. My stepdaughter sent a care package with fluffy blanket, scented candle, dark chocolate and a puzzle book. Members of my birth family I’m in reunion with have checked up on me regularly.
As an adopted person who’s spent a lifetime struggling with attachment, this outflowing of love and care has left me a bit dizzy — and filled with an unfamiliar sense of belonging. It’s the best medicine I can imagine.
📖 RESOURCE: What My Bones Know, by Stephanie Foo, is about trauma, and healing. Different kind of trauma, different kind of healing, but relevant on all fronts. Beautiful balance of personal storytelling and well-researched information. I revisit this one regularly.
I totally get how an outpouring of love and support can feel wonderful but alien at the same time. It can be difficult to fully step into it and savour it. I hope that you're recovered now, and still get your snuggles with Jake!