Lucky

I wake up with my ears first. The sound of the beeping machine is a constant reminder that I am not in my comfortable bed, in my comfortable home, with my three dogs surrounding me.

My eyes fight me but I open them anyway. The gloomy luminescence from strategically placed florescent light bulbs wars with the bright sunshine creeping around the blackout curtains. It matches my moods…one bright and hopeful—thankful to be alive; the other, somber and scared for the future. I try not to dwell on the pain that is already taking ahold of my day. I guess this is who I am now…a sad cripple with pain and anger overriding any happiness at being alive. Everyone tells me I was lucky.

 The driver looked up from their phone in time to pull back onto the road I was jogging next to, in time to cripple but not kill me. Looking down at my left leg, multitudes of pins and steel rods keeping it stationary, I don’t really feel lucky. I ring for the nurse.

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With my eyes closed I almost feel normal. I feel the sun on my face and imagine I am standing in my backyard with the lemon trees emitting a subtle citrus sent that flows around me with the breeze…until the sound of the physical therapist’s voice invades the sanctuary of my pretend backyard time. I must have let my guard down and allowed my face to accurately reflect my despondence at finding myself trying to train my left leg to move in conjunction with my right because the PT’s aggressively bright smile slowly started to fade. I immediately school my face into a militant “take no prisoners” attitude. That seemed to make the PT feel more comfortable…the smile and focus immediately return as they bleat out encouragement to move.

The familiar stream of sweat rolls down my back as I drag my “lucky” left leg forward. I look over at my husband, Leo watching his face toggle between hopeful and horrified as I lurch forward, gone the independent, strong woman. He knows me well enough to recognize my manufactured optimism… hopefully he does not yet realize that the strength, emotional and physical, is no longer there, no longer part of my personal arsenal. I grit my teeth and fight through the pain to take a step.

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I bury my face in the flower bouquet I am holding on my lap. Eyes closed, I inhale the scent of wildflowers, reminiscent of jogging down local hiking mountains and desert paths. Tears start to form, but at the feel of my daughter Lilli’s hand on my shoulder, I open my eyes to my family standing around waiting for some profound response from me. “I’m so happy to be going home, thanks for being here with me through this process.” They smile and all murmur platitudes about how strong and lucky I am and how great everything will be going forward. I love them and I do really appreciate them, but I’m not delighted that they have all witnessed my decline into disability. I feel my husband’s warm touch to my face as he reaches from behind, bolstering, and mournful at the same time. 

“Let’s go, people, make a hole…I will run you over with this wheelchair! Maggie wants to get home.” His deep, gravelly voice sounds friendly, but I wonder if they can hear the trepidation as well. I sure can.

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This cannot be happening. I gasp for breath and fight to fill my lungs…the pain radiating through my back and down my legs, but at this moment, all I am aware of is profound anger. I open my eyes, first seeing Leo and then the ceiling…my view from where I lay at the bottom of the stairs in which I have just taken a fall.

My desperate attempt to get air in my lungs finally becomes successful and my respiration slows. My anger, however is just ramping up…a string of obscenities makes its way from the deepest darkest recesses of my heart and brain. Just when I am starting to feel better, walking the dogs again (albeit very slowly), and weaning myself off the pain meds, the left leg shows me who is still the boss.

“Do you want me to help you up?” With tears rolling down my face I nod my head and grab Leo’s hand for support. There is no mistaking the annoyance in his voice and lingering in his eyes.

“Luckily, it doesn’t look like there is any new damage to your leg.” He points out.

“Yeah, lucky,” Is all I can manage.

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I feel the crinkling of the paper on the examination table and hear Tick Tock on my son Dillon’s phone as he focuses on something other than his mother in the hospital… again. I don’t blame him, I enlisted him to drive me to the emergency room after my husband went to work. I will fill Leo in after I know for sure what new injuries I have sustained. Along with my pain and anger at this new setback, is a hefty dose of embarrassment. It is a vain and silly emotion at this stage, but I feel it acutely. 

I open my eyes to the intrusive glare of Emergency Room lighting above me when I hear the doctor walk in.

“You have three broken ribs from the fall. They are not bad enough to require surgery but we have a special vest for you to wear that will keep them stationary while you heal. The tech will be in later to fit it specifically to you and to show you the proper way to wear it.”

“How is her leg?” My sunny but introverted son looks pale as he waits for the answer.

“Luckily, she only twisted it a little. No significant damage. It will hurt a bit, obviously—but that shouldn’t last very long.”

“Listen,” he said, turning to me “Be more careful when walking around the house. Your abilities are different now from how you used to be and you need to make allowances for less mobility.” I did not respond so he turned back to my son.

Dillon and the doctor shake hands as if all is right with the world. They both completed their task and can move on to the next thing.

At some point on the car ride home, I stopped caring about how other people felt about my “condition.” All I felt, as my son filled my husband in on the day’s adventure, was a dark shadow that crept up my spine and settled in my brain. It felt like a living, breathing organism that sat in my skull, squeezing the amygdala until there was no room for anything but surrender and despair.

Riding home in Dillon’s car with every movement tearing my back apart with pain, I felt everything that I once was slowly streaming out of the cracked window like toxic, invisible smoke from a vape pen. All that was left was a broken husk for my loved-ones to cart around to doctor’s appointments.

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The jingling sound of keys interrupted my dream. I was walking on the beach…no pain, no limp. Just a normal act of someone enjoying a vacation. 

“Hey…wake up.” I peeled my eyes open unwillingly to face whomever had breached the sanctity of my self-imposed solitary confinement. It was my sister. In her work clothes looking down at me lounging on the couch with a mixture of pity and worry and not a small dollop of anger.

“Is it a work holiday?” I attempted to keep the snark at a minimum. My sister did not.

“Only if you consider leaving early to drag one’s sister off the couch, a holiday.” She looked around at my current living conditions. 

“Cool…looks like you never need to leave the couch.”

Normally, I would have been embarrassed at the clutter around me. Food wrappers, electronic equipment, and endless pillows to help me into comfortable positions. Most nights I slept on the couch, telling Leo that I hurt too much to walk up the stairs. Then I would pretend to drift off until I hear him sigh and head up to bed.

“Why are you here, Sis?

“It’s a holiday, remember? The drag you-off-the-couch, holiday,”

“I don’t know…I can’t really do anything. I would just be boring.”

“We can just drive around. It’s a beautiful day. When was the last time you had a Chai Tea Latte from Starbs?”

I didn’t answer but held out my hand for help up off the couch. 

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It is a beautiful day like my sister said. With my eyes closed, the sun warmed by face through the car window and the latte tasted like ambrosia. I remember how to feel like a person.

After a driving for a while, my sister turned into a local Phoenix mountain preserve and came to a stop in the parking lot at the base of the trailhead. We watched in silence as people moved onto the path and up the hill. Most of the urban hikers had friends or family with them—no one seemed concerned or hesitant.

It dawned on me that I wanted to be that person again. To go on hikes and ride my bike and go out to brunch with Lilly.

“I see that look on your face and I know you want to start participating in life again.” It was a simple statement and one I could not dispute.

“We will all help you. You won’t get back to where you were before the accident, but you’ll be active and happy… I know you will, please try.” I saw the pain of my withdrawal etched on her face. I also saw hope, something I never thought I would see again and had stopped looking for it.

We sat in the car for a while longer while I cried and told her everything I had been feeling since the accident—The anger, fear, and embarrassment. As the sun went down over the valley landscape, I remembered who I once was and felt ready to get back to living my life, with all of my determination, strength and humor.

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The smell of wild flowers and citrus trees swirled around me. I opened my eyes and looked down on the Phoenix skyline. It had taken a few months, but I finished my first hike all the way to the top of the trail.

I felt Lilly’s hand on my shoulder and heard my son exhale as he looked at the landscape instead of his phone. Leo wrapped his arms around me from behind and I imagined the smile on his face. 

“Alright, gang! Let’s head back and get some dinner. Don’t make me hit you with my new, fancy walking stick!” I was never going to be what I once was but I vowed to keep moving and trying new things. My running and jogging days are over but that only keeps me from hurrying past the things I love.