Rarely do we anticipate the events that ultimately shape us.
We don’t plan for the accidents – the missteps – the wrong turns. We make every effort to avoid the unexpected, believing we’ll be better off if our path remains smooth and predictable, with clear skies and an unobstructed view of all that lays ahead.
We generally prefer a comfortable stroll along a gentle, familiar route to a strenuous hike over uncertain terrain. Yet I’d argue that the latter makes for a much more interesting story (and spunkier character), rich with compelling anecdotes of self-discovery and perseverance.
We grow, not by avoiding the pitfalls, but by acknowledging the risk and stepping forward anyway. It is only through stumbling– over and over again – that we learn how to recover with humility and finesse – how to fall gracefully; to pick ourselves up, 'dust ourselves off’ and push onward, no matter the difficulty.
Comfortable Complacency
Last Saturday morning, the 16th of June 2018, I invited a new level of personal growth – a sneaky opportunity to remember my well-tested strength – a decidedly unforeseen crash course in fortitude.
For context – I live in a converted one-car garage that was once an art-studio. It’s a beautiful space, with pitched roof, 6 skylights (plenty of delicious, natural light), french doors with large windows, concrete floors, half kitchenette, full bathroom and sleeping loft. It’s really quite unique and adorable.
I’ve called this tiny dwelling home since the summer of 2016. For most of that time, I’ve shared it with my partner, Thaddeus, and his sweet pup, Sucia. (Yes – it’s an exceptionally tiny place to be shared by two adults and a medium sized dog, but we've made it work!)
After nearly 2 years, my movement through the space has become comfortably habitual; a sort of muscle memory understanding of my environment. In many ways, I needn’t think much about the intersections; the transitions between various home activities. I simply flow between them in a state of suspended concern and nonchalance – a sort of trusting autopilot – believing…I’m safe here; I needn’t worry nor be overly cautious.
Therein lay the danger; I’d become complacent, without realizing I’d lost a crucial presence. My senses had grown dull and relaxed, lacking attentive awareness.
Isn’t that always when the gauntlet drops?
To The Left, To The Right
Being such a small space, a certain specificity of intent is required, meaning – some basic functions cannot overlap. Most notably – one can have full access to the kitchen or the loft, in turn, but not in tandem.
There’s a wheeled ladder that slides along a rail, from left to right. During the day, it remains stowed against the wall, all the way to the left. At night, it lives all the way to the right, so entry and exit from the loft occurs where the roof is almost at its tallest.
In its nighttime position, the ladder blocks 6 of the 9 kitchen drawers, as well as part of the counter – not a problem if you’re in bed. That becomes a bit tricky when two humans, with differing schedules, occupy both the main area and the loft simultaneously.
Cohabitation of such a space demands an extra level of alertness – a reasonable elevation in one’s vigilance. There’ve been a few close calls, yet – if one of us wakes before the other – we’re usually good about ensuring the ladder is where it should be. It’s easy enough to quickly slide it out of the way, grab whatever we need, then slide it back into its sleep state so the other can easily come down when ready.
As long as at least one of us remains attentive at any given moment – we've got nothin' to worry about. If, however, we happen to experience a brief lapse of awareness at the same time...
Fateful Over-Lapse
My dear T must’ve been a touch distracted on Saturday morning as – you guessed it; he rose before me, slid the ladder about a foot and a half to the left to access a drawer, and…forgot to re-place it.
He was reclining on the couch reading as I began to stir. Sucia pup had been let out for her morning business and was patiently waiting at the door – I could see her through the crack between curtains. While she isn’t a loud girl, she does have a rather jarring bark that occasionally slips out when we take too long to respond.
From my own, absent-minded, just-waking state, I mumbled that Sucia wanted to come in, but T was deeply engaged with his book and didn’t seem too aware of either of us. Sucia’s need was as good a reason as any to leave the warm coziness of my bed, so – I sleepily pulled on my robe, turned away from the door – without looking down – and carelessly…
...climbed backwards onto a ladder that wasn’t there.
The Space Between
The following moments are the strangest combination of frustratingly obscure and terrifyingly vivid in my recollection.
I distinctly remember the precise instant – when my foot reached the spot where it should’ve met a solid rung and instead, pushed disastrously hard against thin air – the split-second shock and terrifying realization that I was falling backwards – the frantic grasping and chaotic flailing; sadly futile attempts to disrupt gravity’s stubborn pull.
I recall peripheral sensations of contact as parts of me collided with hard things – the feeling of inertia as my relationship with the floor shifted from 'behind’ to 'beside’ – a jumbled mess of sounds; my voice, T’s voice, the ladder’s noisy jostling as some part of me disturbed it.
Those few seconds stretched themselves into excruciating minutes – elongated terror as a dozen frenzied thoughts slammed against one another – the helpless recognition that I couldn’t avoid my on-coming confrontation with an unforgivingly solid ground – the uncomplicated overarching assessment...'This isn't good.'
Then – the shear agony of impact – the explosion of inescapable pain as my body came to rest in a crumpled heap on my right side.
All At Once
Starkly contrasting the surreal haze of those preceding it, this moment was marked by a biting sharpness – a harrowing jolt into absolute presence.
Like pages in a book slammed violently shut, the layers of trauma overlapped and pressed against one another with an impossible pressure, combined with the deafening blare of internal sirens as my nervous system kicked into overdrive.
My head pulsed with a deep, jarring ache as my cheekbone met cold, uncarpeted concrete. Shock rippled through me, every cell contracting then swelling in a wave of dread as a searing pain in my right foot consumed me. Pain and I have a long, well-acquainted history, but this – was of a quality and volume I’d never before known.
I was aware of my own, anguished wailing, mingled with T’s expressions of concern and distress as he bent over me. I recall no structure, no word shapes – just the tone and pitch of mutual alarm; the unmistakeable, universal sound of emergency.
I tried to get up, but my 95lb frame felt several hundred pounds too heavy. I managed to lift my hips just a few inches before collapsing – my system was in full-panic lock-down.
After The Fall
T gathered me into his arms with both care and urgency, transferring me to the welcome softness of the couch. He wasted no time stacking pillows beneath my damaged foot, as well as icing and carefully rubbing arnica into the bruises that were already beginning to appear.
I had no space in my awareness to be concerned about the throbbing in my skull, nor could I internally scan for additional hurt signals; the pain in my foot commanded the entirety of my attention. It was so far beyond my ability to handle, pulsing with swells of intensity that gripped me, making me quiver and gasp for air, then abating just enough for me to catch my breath before overtaking me again.
Within an hour, I was on my way to urgent care. Two clinics and 3 x-rays later, I was sent home with a shiny pair of crutches, a fancy ’tall boot’ and a referral to podiatry to rule out surgery.
Official Damage Report: mild concussion, right orbital bone contusion and displaced fracture of 5th metatarsal, right foot.
Unofficial: sprained right ankle, tender/bruised right shoulder & elbow, as well as both wrists.
Rest & Recovery
I spent the following 3 days on the couch with my foot elevated, feeling peripherally nauseous and unbelievably exhausted. I slept a lot those first few days – I had no idea I could sleep that much.
Between naps, I passively observed the post-traumatic response of my nervous system. My body seemed to have temporarily lost its ability to regulate temperature as I oscillated between shivering and sweating. I frequently shuddered with subtle, twitchy convulsions – mini-aftershocks, occasionally accompanied by flashbacks – as both body and mind attempted to integrate the ordeal.
As the hours and days passed, all previously unrecognized aches and pains revealed themselves. I had scratches and bruising in confusing places, making me try, in vain, to mentally recreate my fall. Neither T nor I could clearly make sense of that blurry interval before impact. The best we could do was piece together a possible sequence of collisions, using my bizarre injury pattern and the disturbance of things on shelves as a sort of map.
It Could've Been So Much Worse...
All things considered, it’s really quite amazing that I sustained as few injuries as I did. In this case, the phrase 'it could've been sooo much worse' absolutely applies. As someone with 13 fused vertebrae and an impressive list of hardware attached to my spine – my potential for serious injury was frighteningly high and very real as I tumbled backwards.
It’s been impossible not to play the 'can you imagine' game; reviewing all the unthinkable alternatives – measuring the soberingly thin margins by which I narrowly escaped life-altering outcomes. Exploring those might've beens grants me much-needed perspective, engendering gratitude instead of anger or defeat.
Rather than lamenting the uncomfortable inconvenience of it all, I find myself highlighting the unlikely blessings, feeling genuinely thankful for my good fortune.
My tiny miracles:
Of all the places on my 3 kitchen shelves for my foot to slam into, it chose the single soft spot; a stack of cardboard tea boxes, 4 wide and 3 high, flanked by spice-jars on the left and glass cups/mugs on the right. Just above that is a row of mason jars – just below; a magnetic strip full of knives, pointing up. Can you imagine?!
The position of the ladder, while disastrous for my initial descent, may very well have saved me, acting as a sort of protective barrier. I was falling backwards – had it not been there, my spine (the most vulnerable part of me) could so easily have met the counter's edge. Instead, I believe my torso hit the ladder and bounced off of it. Based on the bizarre, 3 inch scratch I found that night – the only part of me that appears to have grazed the counter (likely a metal drawer pull) was the softest part of me; my left butt-cheek. It won't even leave a scar.
That mid-fall collision changed my trajectory, effecting a crucial twist to the right, allowing me to reflexively draw my hands toward my head, softening the blow. Though my colorful black-eye makes quite an impression, the bones and brain beneath are intact. Yes, it still hurt like a motherf@#er, and being even mildly concussed wasn't so much fun, but...'it could've been so much worse.'
Less miraculous, but still lucky: Sweet Sucia Pup was outside when I fell. She's a super smart, intuitive doggo and would've been stressed by the chaos. She also would've been right on top of me the moment I touched down, all dog-breathed and lickylou – not my favorite, even at the best of times! Instead, she just kept being her lovable self, happy for her share of the feel better treats T brought me that first day.
Being Gentle With Myself
I’ll admit – on Monday, I felt absolutely miserable.
All I could focus on was how ill-timed this accident was – how it only compounded the emotional and financial strain I was already under (T and I had decided to split up the previous weekend.) I was irritable and on edge, prone to tears and very much feeling sorry for myself.
I can easily forgive myself for that – I’m human and it does suck to be looking at a summer on crutches, unable to drive, much less work – to feel the frustrating loss of independence that comes with an injury of this kind. Allowing myself to fully experience my understandably resistant response was an important part of my process; I had to pout for a minute and that’s ok.
Thankfully, I didn’t linger there too long; I was able to move through the paltry muck surprisingly quickly, waking on Tuesday with a sincerely bright disposition – feelin’ scrappy and tough – determined not to let this little blip hijack my summer.
I'm wearing my best Shit Happens face and rockin' the boot like an intentional accessory – I might even bedazzle it. Hey...YOLO, right?
Freedom Of Choice
I can’t change my circumstances – can’t unfall from that loft – can’t unbreak my foot (or can I??)
Maybe it’s not what I’d have consciously chosen, but – it happened. As is always the case – the only thing I can change is how I frame it.
It’s a matter of choice; I can languish in self-pity, ruminating endlessly about my misfortune and the unfair difficulties that lay ahead, OR – I can pull myself up by my damn bootstraps, take stock of just how much adversity I’ve overcome in this lifetime, embrace my innate resilience and transform this would-be setback into a valuable opportunity.
Victimhood, while deceptively alluring, does nothing but invite more misery. I haven’t always been very good at catching myself before becoming ensnared in its unyielding grip, yet I think I’ve outsmarted it this time.
Does that mean I won’t have my agitated, grumpy days? Not by a long shot. Only that I’m welcoming the challenge; hobbling forward with all the grit and tenacity I can muster – resolved to make the most of this unexpected 'grounding'.
Perhaps someday I'll look back at this moment with fondness, remembering it as My Lucky Break.
postscript:
This post has taken several days to finish – I'm now 8 days post-trauma. I've watched my foot turn all sorts of fascinating colors, matching the rainbow tones on my cheek. I've likely pushed myself a little too hard when I should've been resting, but my foot lets me know when I need to slow down.
I also got a very confusing call from the doc who initially took care of me, letting me know that a radiologist disagrees with her findings, claiming my foot is 'perfectly normal'. That means 3 people saw a fracture, describing it as 'chipped', while one person saw nothing.
Whatever it is – something is sincerely wrong with my foot; I can't move my littlest toes, no matter how hard I try. It is still considerably swollen and too painful to bear weight. Sooo – I'll just keep wearing this damn boot and treating it with care, for at least 4 more days. I have an appointment with a podiatrist on the 28th, so I'll have my answer then.
UPDATE: https://steemit.com/ulog/@zipporah/broken-things
I've been truly humbled by the kindness of friends near and far who've made sure I feel well-supported, loved and cared for. • Big love to the handful of folks in Helpie, TKC & PYPT who let me vent during ouchie moments. • For checking on me, sending pizza(!!) and helping me stay positive – with my whole heart, I THANK YOU:
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