In The Breakdown Lane

Remember when you were a little kid and falling down was just part of being young? In fact, you would fall down on purpose. It was fun, like when you’d crash into leaf piles, jump off high places onto snow banks, or flop on the ground grabbing a pal’s legs and down he/she would go into a rumpled stack of laughter. Remember those days? I dream about those days now, days when I took freedom of movement for granted and could fall down without consequences.

This morning, I woke up exhausted. I was dreaming about swimming. It started out happily enough with me gaily gliding through warm tropical ocean waters kicking and splashing away. Then my legs got very heavy, and I began to drown. I fought as long as I could to stay above the undulating water, but I was losing. Then I heard the dog squeak from his crate at the foot of the bed. I opened my eyes, but for some reason I felt physically restricted. My brain woke up more fully and shifted from dream-state to wakefulness. Then I remembered I fell down and am now in a leg brace.

It’s amazing how quickly one’s life can go from the fast lane to the breakdown lane. I’ll be in the breakdown lane for an undetermined number of weeks as I heal from a fractured knee- cap. Without going into the details that find me using crutches, wheelchairs, and other mobility assistance appliances – thank you Mattapoisett C.O.A. – along with the strong arms of others (primarily my husband), I fluctuate between being ticked off and in pain to being ticked off, in pain, and grateful.

I’m grateful for good medical care. I’m grateful I have a loving, caring, strong husband. I’m grateful for the people who have supported me with friendship and, oh yeah, food. I’m grateful this happened at a time when I’m not missing out on too many outdoor activities. But most of all, and with all candor, I’m grateful I didn’t break a hip!

There’s a great deal of pre-planning and presence of mind required to execute any task when you have to negotiate them without full use of your body parts. Take something as simple as using the bathroom. If you can’t walk to the facility easily, things can get very dicey. Or, keeping oneself clean and presentable has numerous steps, not unlike a military drill (“Atten-hut! Man your positions. Present towel. Engage faucet. Position target. Release Soap. Retreat, retreat water was too cold!”)

If you are in a wheelchair in a conventional kitchen, the counters are too high and the refrigerator impossible to access, so you end up saying to yourself, “I’m not really hungry,” and give up until you can prevail upon someone else to get you food and water.

Independence? FORGET ABOUT IT.

That is probably the hardest part of this whole ordeal; the mental added to the physical – the loss of independence is a profound blow. It’s like being in the breakdown lane. You have to learn to cool your jets and that ain’t easy, my friends.

Attitude, I’ve decided, has to be at least 50 percent (Okay, probably more, but right now that’s all I can muster) of the equation when you forget to swerve and end up hitting a rut in the road of life.

I’m really trying to be mature about this misadventure where I am playing the leading role. The reality is that I owe it to those closest to me to try and stay positive and pleasant. After all, it’s not their fault I’m wounded. But it can be challenging at times because I can’t do things for myself. A loss of independence also means learning how to be patient. I thought I possessed deep reserves of patience. Then I found how quickly it is depleted.

For those who are facing a lifetime of dependence versus independence, I can imagine how harsh that can be. I’m thinking about wounded soldiers, accident survivors, Boston Marathon Bombing victims, and the many hundreds of thousands of others who each and every day have to struggle through acts of daily living. These people must find the inner fortitude to push on through, smile at caregivers, and develop ways to look forward rather than back. They are my heroes.

Although my full prognosis has yet to be written on my medical chart, it is probably going to be good with a satisfactory recovery. That’s what I’ve set my hopes on, at any rate. In the meantime, I’ll take my inspiration from those who face much greater challenges with grace and dignity. I’ll also remind myself how lucky I am it wasn’t a hip and that soon I’ll be putting my blinker on as I merge back into the travel lane of independent mobility. Keep on truckin’ baby!

By Marilou Newell