2.13.22
I am slightly in the doldrums today. This past fortnight has been a tad challenging to say the least! I do not make a very patient patient and having a broken wing tends to severely test my tolerance at times! However, it is amazing how much one can accomplish with only one fully functioning arm if one stops for a moment to figure things out. For example, right now, even with my brace on – which must remain on constantly unless I am in the bathtub for another three weeks – the slightest twisting of my forearm brings instant pain. As yet, the bones do not appreciate moving and let me know in a hurry! I can bend and flex the fingers on my left arm but am supposed to limit weight bearing, pushing or pulling to a mere 3-5 pounds. Obviously, anyone who has a farm will realize how challenging that is to do! Darrell has his work cut out keeping an eagle eye on me to make sure I follow doctor’s orders. I do try, as the last thing I want to do is undo what the surgeon did to fix me.
In the bathtub last night, momentarily brace free, I am finally able to let my broken arm float briefly in the warm water. Making sure to keep my wrist as still as possible, I gently wash the underside of my forearm, the still healing incision standing out sharply. Yet another scar to add to my collection, I think.
Scars. We all have them. Some of us seem to collect more than others! I sure have my share. On the inside of my right elbow is a scar that has been with me since I was a mere toddler. Apparently, I was carrying a glass milk jug when I fell, breaking the bottle and slashing the inside crook of my right arm. Stitches were needed and according to my father, when the nurse at the hospital in Hamilton, Ontario removed the bandage, the stitches were mercilessly pulled out leaving a nasty scar. Of course, being only between two and three years old I have no personal recollection of this! Just a scar and the subsequent story. How I would love to hear my mother’s version of that tale.
Getting out the tub, as I dry off, I think about all the other scars I have gathered over the past years. The tidy little incision where my appendix was removed after being rushed to the emergency room in Bend with a ruptured appendix, shortly after Darrell and I were married. The scars on my knee reminding me of the nice buck I shot just a week after having arthroscopic surgery to fix the torn cartilage and bone chips that had plagued me for years. The jagged scar on my left shoulder, courtesy of surgery to repair a damaged rotator cuff which turned into a more extensive operation. This latter ailment garnered by the way from hoisting up dozens of butchered turkeys for Thanksgiving and Christmas turkey customers years ago in Bend! The long incision on my midriff where a wonderful surgical-oncologist skillfully removed all traces of a malignant cancer from my body – a scar well worth having! The slight dent in my forehead where another cancer was removed.
Various other scars remind me of memorable moments in my life. The one on my left hand that I created as a young girl after impaling myself with a sharp knife while pretending I was spearing fish – I was actually peeling potatoes for my father at our guesthouse in Great Yarmouth. The interesting one on the inside of my left elbow where I got hung up on barbed wire while fixing a fence on a steep hillside one day on our farm just outside Kimberly. The day-to-day myriad of scars accumulated from one’s life on a farm. Yes, I have lots of scars, yet not all of them are visible.
Our hearts carry scars too. Scars invisibly yet indelibly etched in place. Some may be recently acquired, though many remain hidden for ages behind dusty doors that are seldom opened. Scars from learning your mother has passed away, leaving so many unanswered questions behind. The scars that form when our special four-legged friends leave us for greener pastures. Scars that sometimes take years to heal. Yet heal they do for the power of the mind to heal is phenomenal!
As I sit and feel sorry for myself, thinking about all my aches and pains, my scars old or newly acquired, I suddenly feel a tad ashamed. I have two arms – albeit one is a bit broken at the moment – but I have two arms! Look at all those folks out there, far too many of them, who do not have the luxury of two arms or legs. Those incredibly brave men and women of our armed forces for example who have lost limbs in the service of this great country. Children who are born without a fully functioning arm or leg or other debilitating ailment yet always seem to have a smile on their face.
How fortunate I am! How blessed to merely have a broken arm! The bones will heal, and my new scar will become yet another thin line marking my skin. Instead of being gloomy about my forced incapacitation, I will embrace this spell when I am sidelined from regular chores. What better time than now to take advantage while healing and write – yes, I think I have a novel in mind this time! Spring is coming and I with luck I will be ready for it.
