Back to the lemons……

My friends were quite unceremoniously packed off with the unsung hero in the picture who had facilitated their trip in the first place and now, had to accommodate them with such short notice.  I underwent surgery for my broken right ankle the very next day and was tied to my bed for close to two months. Twiddling the toes of my heavily plastered right foot was the only activity allowed me in the initial weeks. All the bustle in my life came to an absolute standstill.

There never was a shortage of naysayers who said that the healing of a fracture in the middle years of life was bound to be less than perfect. They predicted at least some stiffness of the joints, decreased mobility or swelling of the feet as aftermath. However, I feel, I have a never say die attitude toward life and soon learnt to introspect and to be thankful to be alive. I was grateful that I didn’t hurt my back or worse, fall headfirst. I did always have sympathy when I saw suffering, but this was more in a detached fashion. Now, I learned what empathy was all about after having gone through it myself.

It was a whole new experience to swallow my pride and to let friends and neighbours help me, in whatever ways they could. A neighbour helped in the cooking and the washing and another pitched in to procure things. I got a new perspective on life as a patient. To be dependent on another soul, even for a glass of water, did make a great dent on my pride.

However, I soon shunned all negative thoughts and swung into action. I realized that time, of which I could never have enough of, at happier times, now hung heavily upon me. It would be slothful to let it go waste. I tried to fill myself with all that positivity which until then, I had only preached of. Many autoimmune diseases are thought to be the result of stress and negativity and I had often tried to guide my patients towards positivity. Now I had to consciously fill myself up with the same.

Fortunately, I had witnessed my mother’s long battle with her rheumatism. She often told me that the most important thing for an invalid, in addition to remaining pleasant, was to avoid weight gain. It was to avoid adding to the burden of the caretakers. So, this was one of the first things that I paid attention to. Strict measures of food at mealtimes and no snacks in between was my dictum. Thankfully this was easy for me as no food was within my reach while on the cot. I also gave up coffee, tea and all other such stimulants without any regrets.

Time management was yet another important factor. My daily routine was well set with 4 square meals and 3 sets of exercises in between. I kept my mind busy reading books on the Amazon Kindle on all conceivable subjects. I pored over classics, fiction and more serious stuff, including how to start a blog. This last was what probably sowed the seed of a blog in my mind. I religiously followed the newspapers to stay abreast of the times.  I picked up neglected crocheting and tatting projects using whatever needles, shuttles and yarn that I could lay my hands on, without being too much of a trouble to my caretakers. I ended up with too many small pieces of cobalt blue laces as that was the colour of thread that I had in plenty.  It was not all work though. I did relax in the afternoons, watching an hour or so of lighter entertaining soaps on my iPad. The television, unfortunately, was beyond me on a higher floor in my house.

 The two months soon passed. I was finally allowed to rest my right foot on the ground after yet another surgery to remove a screw. The orthopaedics gently let me know that though I could put my feet on the ground, I was still a long way from letting my right foot carry any significant weight. I had to console myself that something was better than nothing and resigned to a life on wheelchairs, crutches and walking sticks temporarily. Trust me, the latter two do need some amount of knack and expertise which most us two-legged creatures, do not innately possess. Learning to use each of these was an eye-opening exercise. I decided to get back to work on a wheelchair with the encouragement of my orthopaedics. Initially, I was a bit sceptical but soon I became adept at even performing operations while on the wheelchair never failing to congratulate myself at each new step.

The ignominy of being transported on a wheelchair, to have to use the support of another human being to transport oneself, is an experience by itself. The first significant hurdle that I faced after I decided to return to work was that I found it impossible to drape a saree while standing on one foot and the saree was my preferred attire until then.  Undoubtedly the most gracious of dresses but it lacks much by way of practicality especially as far as the disabled are concerned.  It was a great relief when I finally let my hair down and chose more practical outfits for my new life on mobility aids.

I soon learnt to tackle the daunting task of climbing the staircase to the upper floor of my house by actually crawling up. Hoisting myself up each step with my arms while being seated on the lower one was an exciting journey. This technique was graphically described to me by a friend who had a similar fracture. Though undignified, this was a useful life lesson that won’t be forgotten soon. It gave me fair accessibility and independence in my own home. I could watch the television or get more resources for my projects from the rooms on the upper storey. Needless to say, such valuable tips and the virtual hugs from my various friends kept me in high spirits. While on staircases, there was yet another point that I discovered. Unlike what I imagined, it was way easier to climb upstairs than to descend. Walking downstairs without support came last on my way to recovery.

One of my lowest moments after the fall came when finally, I was allowed to walk on my feet without any aid. I found myself unable to get the rhythm of walking. I had forgotten the whole technique of walking. I had not given a thought to it being so complicated. It took me almost the whole of a day and much heartburn to relearn the rhythmic lifting of a leg while placing down the other one. How easily we all, as children, had learned to walk without applying much mind.

Rehabilitation was a long-drawn but rewarding process and the screws and plates were finally removed. I was able to walk with stability after about a year or so. I recovered unscathed by the incident, a stronger, trimmer, disciplined and above all a more empathetic person. Even at the cost of sounding cavalier, I feel, it would have been a loss to miss that fall at exactly 5:15 pm on that fateful Thursday evening. After all,” Life is a grindstone and you choose to be ground down or polished up”.