I began to think about, not what had happened as a result of having the accident, but rather how my life would have been different had that morning ride gone as originally planned. How after riding ten miles I would have just ridden up the driveway at home and parked my bike on the porch. Kind of like never even uttering the phrase "old lefty" or being a frequent visitor to the Kansas Orthpaedic Center in Wichita, never receiving the gift of bone material from an unknown donor or anyone of a thousand other things that I ended up experiencing.
If I hadn't crashed my bike that late summer morning last year, I could have dressed my own self with ease~for crying out loud I'd been doing that quite nicely for about a half of a century ! I'd have been tying my own shoes, never had to teach school "one-handed", or relied on anyone else to type my blog posts for me. There would have never been a "peanut butter sandwich making fiasco", no tattoo on my right leg honouring someone unknown to me who gave "old lefty" the gift of new bone. So many things I would never have known had I not tried to jump that curb and subsequently landed on my sorry behind. And now, as I type these words to you, I find myself a little confused. Can something this bad really turn out for the "good"? How on earth do I explain it to you so that it makes any sense at all?
I have often said that busting my left arm to "smithereens" last August 4th was the very best thing that could have happened to me in life. And you know what? I mean it~without a doubt my life took a change for the better that day, at that very moment in time. From the very instant that my front tire hit the curbing head-on and I flew off my bike and landed on my left side, life switched. The moment I felt my arm go numb from my shoulder to my fingertips, it all suddenly became so different. In the hours, days, weeks, and months that followed I knew that I was in big trouble and that no "quick fix" was going to save me this time. Gotta tell you that when the best orthopaedic surgeon in our town looks at you as you are in the ER and says, "Peggy, I don't know if I'll be able to fix you. This is horrible.", well that's a pretty sobering experience.
If someone were to ask me what the greatest lesson that I have learned from all this was, I'd have little trouble giving them an answer. And the answer is this.... I learned about courage. Before saying anything else, I have to give credit to where it is really due and that would be to anyone that is reading this blog post right now. I know that many of you, hey actually ALL of you, have to summon up your courage each and every day. Heck, as far I'm concerned, it takes a lot of courage just to get out of bed in the morning and face the "unknown" that is ahead of us all. Perhaps some of you are exhibiting courage as you face the prospects of losing a job, issues of poor health, concerns about your children and their well-being, or whether or not enough rain will come to save your dying crops and cattle. And if not for these reasons, we could name a thousand more. Every day, people that you know and those that you do not, have to call upon their courage and face life. I truly stand in "awe" of you and wonder if I could do as well if I were having to deal with the very serious issues that some of you do. Even in my worst times, I have been blessed beyond measure and I thank God every day for the things that I DO NOT have. Perhaps my friends, you feel the same.
You know I used to think that people who were courageous were those who had no fear of anything. They were the kind of people who could go into battle, scale the highest mountain peaks, or perform jobs that many of us would say "NO WAY" to. But while I was recuperating I noticed a bumper sticker on the back of someone's car with this quote~"Courage is being scared to death of doing something but doing it any ways." (sorry, don't know who to attribute that one too.) It made sense to me as I read it and it really is true.
If I said that the experience that I went through taught me courage, then I would also have to say that I didn't do it all alone. In the first excruciating hours, my "new best friend" morphine (and a WHOLE LOT of it) helped me to calm down, to be brave enough for the nurses, x-ray technicians and doctors to do what they needed to. It was not my idea of fun, believe you me, brothers and sisters! During the second surgery, when I was scared to pieces about what Dr. Chan would have to do to help my arm, it was the blessing of a cadaver's bone material that helped me to continue onward in the recovery process. My students at school provided the impetus for me to be courageous as they cheered me on one day while I was having a dickens of a time peeling off a stupid sticker from a sheet. And it doesn't get much better than having a group of 5th graders watching me as I tried my best to "will" the thumb of my left-hand to bend in even the slightest of movement only 8 weeks into the recovery time. As tears of disappointment rolled down my face, it was their applause that gave me the courage to keep trying and sure enough, in its own time, my thumb finally bent a tiny bit. These are just a few examples, there were many more.
Now just about 12 months later, I find myself looking back and realizing that it all turned out ok for me. At first everything looked so dismal, as if there was NO way that it would ever get any better. But you know what, it did~Sometimes I needed a "kick in the seat of the pants" from my dear friend and occupational therapist, Kim Lockwood. Ok, ok friends, I DID get a little lazy! At times, it took a "frowny face" from my dear surgeon and friend, Dr. Prince Chan, to make me work even harder to get better. And I surely cannot forget my truest and best friend ever who did his part to encourage me to not give up just yet. After all, he had been the one to tell me that I needed to learn to swim well enough to save my own life some day. I had conquered my fears then and I could do it now....HE SAID SO. And when I found myself whining about the smallest of things and expressing my doubt that I would ever fully recover, it was my 3 children who let their mom know in no uncertain terms that I was wrong. I WOULD get better!
I think the question that I have been asked the most about this was if I have ever ridden my bike since then. The answer is "yes", now many times. I remember well that fateful day in November, between surgeries 2 and 3 that I decided what the heck? Give it a try. With all of the courage that I could muster up, I put that foot in the right foot pedal and just pushed down. And I've been riding ever since. Am I worried about crashing again? Perhaps a little~but I remain steadfast in my attempt. I am way more determined to get back to normal than I would ever be afraid of trying. Have a great evening family and friends. I love you all and wish only the best for you in this life.
and "old lefty" for fighting back to become strong again. God has been so good to me~
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