One morning, she was riding her bike along the lakefront, enjoying the day. Being the lead rider, she looked back at her companions to signal where she planned on turning to stop for a rest. Suddenly, as she turned to look over her shoulder, her daughter screamed, "Mom, look out!" In the next instant, she was on the pavement. A speeding biker had hit her front tire and launched her into the air. In that moment, her life changed. For the summer, there would be no morning rides along the lakefront. At the hospital, she learned that she had a fractured tibia.
Now, more than a month later, she is still hobbling around on crutches and is looking at another month of the same. My friend is experiencing a taste of what it means to be physically challenged. In fact, she said, "I am always moving at a fast pace and patience is not my strong suit. But, I am learning."
Yes, learning. This is a key ingredient to adjusting and adapting. Contrary to her current sedentary life style, she still identifies herself as a fast-paced mover with little patience. Living in the land of in-between, the purgatory of not quite healthy and not quite disabled, she is hopeful that she will be able to re-enter the land of the fast-paced. Although cognizant of her temporary status, in order to process the always accompanying frustration that is a companion to the loss of her life as she designed it, she is being forced to learn a new way of life.
When I first read of her accident, my immediate concern was for her well-being. She and I are both glad that she did not need surgery. However, I was saddened to hear that she is suffering from a fractured tibia and the associated pain and discomfort. After some time, I came to appreciate the underlying story: the loss of an identity, the need to learn a new identity, and the hope of restoration.
It is this loss of identity - moving from independent to dependent - that has been the most difficult for me, as well. Being forced to re-create myself, at times, I am at a loss for words. How do I define myself? Who am I? What am I capable of doing?
Just this week, I had plans to attend the Master's Degree graduation ceremony of a young lady. This woman managed to finished her undergraduate and graduate degree while facing extremely difficult challenges. Her accomplishment deserves recognition. It is an exciting time. I had a driver/attendant lined-up. Then, his work associates called a meeting. So, I asked my caretaker to work over-time. After some planning (her husband has a brain injury), we worked out the timing of getting to Chicago and back to Michigan. The night before, I found out that the ceremony would be three hours long. Specifically this meant that I would leave my house in Michigan at 9:30 a.m. and not return until 8:00 p.m. This would translate into six hours of driving time and a very long day. It would be too late for me and much too late for my caretaker.
Disappointed is a much too mild word to describe my feelings as I realized that my plans to attend would not come to fruition. As I contemplated other options, I played with the idea of going by myself. "I will just drive myself and figure out how to take care of myself," I thought. Immediately, I realized that this was not an option. That was the former Rose, the current Rose cannot drive for three house each way by herself, cannot eat alone, and needs help with her daily living activities. The new me lives in a purgatory, also. I am no longer an adult. Rather, I have been relegated to "child" status.
In order to process the always accompanying frustration that is a companion to the loss of my life as I designed it, I am being forced to learn a new way of life. Just like my friend with the fractured tibia, I have hope, also. It is a God-given hope that permeates my present and future life. "For in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)
Now, more than a month later, she is still hobbling around on crutches and is looking at another month of the same. My friend is experiencing a taste of what it means to be physically challenged. In fact, she said, "I am always moving at a fast pace and patience is not my strong suit. But, I am learning."
Yes, learning. This is a key ingredient to adjusting and adapting. Contrary to her current sedentary life style, she still identifies herself as a fast-paced mover with little patience. Living in the land of in-between, the purgatory of not quite healthy and not quite disabled, she is hopeful that she will be able to re-enter the land of the fast-paced. Although cognizant of her temporary status, in order to process the always accompanying frustration that is a companion to the loss of her life as she designed it, she is being forced to learn a new way of life.
When I first read of her accident, my immediate concern was for her well-being. She and I are both glad that she did not need surgery. However, I was saddened to hear that she is suffering from a fractured tibia and the associated pain and discomfort. After some time, I came to appreciate the underlying story: the loss of an identity, the need to learn a new identity, and the hope of restoration.
It is this loss of identity - moving from independent to dependent - that has been the most difficult for me, as well. Being forced to re-create myself, at times, I am at a loss for words. How do I define myself? Who am I? What am I capable of doing?
Just this week, I had plans to attend the Master's Degree graduation ceremony of a young lady. This woman managed to finished her undergraduate and graduate degree while facing extremely difficult challenges. Her accomplishment deserves recognition. It is an exciting time. I had a driver/attendant lined-up. Then, his work associates called a meeting. So, I asked my caretaker to work over-time. After some planning (her husband has a brain injury), we worked out the timing of getting to Chicago and back to Michigan. The night before, I found out that the ceremony would be three hours long. Specifically this meant that I would leave my house in Michigan at 9:30 a.m. and not return until 8:00 p.m. This would translate into six hours of driving time and a very long day. It would be too late for me and much too late for my caretaker.
Disappointed is a much too mild word to describe my feelings as I realized that my plans to attend would not come to fruition. As I contemplated other options, I played with the idea of going by myself. "I will just drive myself and figure out how to take care of myself," I thought. Immediately, I realized that this was not an option. That was the former Rose, the current Rose cannot drive for three house each way by herself, cannot eat alone, and needs help with her daily living activities. The new me lives in a purgatory, also. I am no longer an adult. Rather, I have been relegated to "child" status.
In order to process the always accompanying frustration that is a companion to the loss of my life as I designed it, I am being forced to learn a new way of life. Just like my friend with the fractured tibia, I have hope, also. It is a God-given hope that permeates my present and future life. "For in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)
