Faith is Transferable
I’ve been in a dark place. It’s kind of weird because, being from Florida, I constantly live in thelight. I’m not accustomed to thisplace. I wonder if this is what it feelslike to live near the Shetland Islands or a Nordic country close to the ArcticCircle. But I suspect what I’ve been feelingis not geographically induced.
It is not necessarily a conscious choice, I’m sure geneshave a lot to do with it, but I am a pretty optimistic person. I’ve been accused of being Pollyanna orwearing rose colored glasses. I reallydo see silver linings in dark clouds. Until six weeks ago when I underwent knee replacement surgery.
Playing Euchre (a card game originating in the mid-west)with friends one night in May I detailed the various surgeries I’veundergone. I counted 12! All have been quite successful to the point Ihad become cavalier about the surgical process. “Oh, it’s nothing”, I would say to friends. “I plan to have all my body parts replaced.”
It feels like my carefree attitude came back to teach me alesson. I awoke from my knee replacementsurgery with a drop foot on the same leg. “This is extremely rare” was the response of my orthopedic surgeon. “I only kept the tourniquet on for 23minutes. We used to keep them on for anhour.” Tourniquet?! I realized how little I knew about thisprocess. Once again, my jaunty mindsetnever prompted me to question the doctor about the process.
I’ve been told nerves heal quite slowly. In the meantime, I’m wearing a brace in my shoe to keep my toes elevated so I don’t trip and fall on my newly renovated knee (which is doing quite well by the way).
My flappy foot is a source of annoyance, anxiety, andhumility. I’ve been panicked about notbeing able to do the very things I was hoping to be free to do following theinstallation of my bionic knee—bike riding, hiking, golfing, walking. I haven’t been able to drive so I’ve been dependentupon others. Therein lies the realrub. I love my independence. I don’t want people knowing where I am at allmoments of the day. I love hopping on mybike and riding out on a spontaneous shopping trip.
I don’t think I’ve been particularly empathetic with peopleabout the psychic results of an injury or health issue. The panic. The depression. It’s easy to pullin, tending to your wounds, not having to put on a happy face.
But a funny thing happens when you have really good friendsand family members. They keep reachingin and pulling you out of the quick sand of self-pity. They start out by bringing over food. Then they drive you places- physical therapy,lunch, shopping. Then they have faith whenyou lose your own. Then they remind youof the things you enjoy in your life. “Come ride with me in my golf cart. You can drive the cart. You canchip and putt.” The prospect of golf, agame I enjoy, seemed far removed. But itworked! And I had an ear-to-ear grin coveringmy face for the rest of the day. Evenreturning to work part time was therapeutic. Obviously, this diminished nervein my foot managed to travel up to my brain diminishing my memories of whatmakes me happy.
I think this is the plight of many people in our Lose the Beige years. Now that my self is peeking out like tulips following a hard winter, I’m vowing to pay attention. There is an inevitability to depression following a loss or prolonged illness. So I will reach out and reminding them of who they are and what they love.
Oh, and yes, I’m seeing a few sunbeams.
