“Sir….Sir….Sir, Are you okay, Sir?” Those words aren’t registering nearly as rapidly as the pain that is radiating through my body. I am in a stupor as I lay face down on the cold institutional quarry tile. Somehow a fulfilling day working with folks in a North Philadelphia neighborhood, followed just minutes ago by a pleasant late afternoon dinner with friends, now seems so distant.
If I wasn’t in so much pain, the shear embarrassment of having my six-foot-four-inch and amply wide frame lying across a busy walkway would have rapidly brought me to my feet. As it is, even with the excruciating pain, embarrassment is my dominant feeling as a small crowd of Good Samaritans and gawkers encircle me. This busy restaurant is on the verge of its “Saturday night rush” and I am sprawled in between the waitress station, the dining area, and the rest rooms. Much to my horror, I might add. I am not used to viewing things from ground level and all these strange feet and legs are a real change of perspective. This is not even remotely close to how I wanted to cap off an otherwise wonderful day.
You see, this particular chain restaurant is designed with their dining area on a platform perched on two innocuously positioned steps. Guess who missed one or both of the steps as I navigated for a last minute trip to the rest room before a journey home? Yep, me; and thus my painful, embarrassing dilemma. Slowly, I figure out how to drag myself to my feet without stressing my knees, hand, foot, or shoulder. Well, I think you get the picture. Finally I am teetering on my feet and facing a myriad of questions from an ashen-faced assistant manager. “Yes, I hurt and no, I don’t completely know how it happened. I’ll call you when I know what my condition really is.”
The trip home is painful but bearable. However, after I sit to check my email, I can’t put weight on my left leg to stand back up. My wife isn’t designed to get a massive husband up thirteen stair steps but somehow she manages. The next events are a bit of a blur. After a fitful night and a sixty mile trip to an emergency room, I am equipped to cope. X-rays show nothing is broken and that a brace, crutches and pain pills will suffice. I am advised that I will lose a big toe nail (and sure enough, I have) and that I will have a lot of pain, but that I should recover. Somehow that’s not comforting enough when I am the patient.
Now weeks later, it’s time to finish this story. The bruises have disappeared and the brace turned out to hurt worse than the injuries. The camera that was in my pocket has been replaced with another new model to hopefully take another 10,000 pictures. The crutches are now stored and much of this is now a memory.
However, the pain remains; especially in some situations and in one area that I didn’t expect—my foot. Yesterday I met with a podiatrist about my left foot and she told me that it was not uncommon to experience foot problems after a traumatic leg injury. In addition, she mentioned that I could experience it for up to a year till this is completely behind me. Just what I want to hear!
She then goes on to explain that the foot is a hidden stabilizing force for my whole upright body. When my body compensates for a debilitating injury it strains the alignment of the foot. In other words, even though my foot may not have been injured directly, supporting my massive body in a new unexpected way overloads it and may have injured all the delicate supporting structure of my foot.
It made me realize how interconnected we all are. Like my foot, each person is delicately designed to assist and support a larger entity of folks. Interestingly, even though that larger entity may appear to soon recover or “just get over” injuries, those “hidden” people on the extremities may take a long time to heal. Those “in lowly or hidden position” may not be the ones “carrying the weight,” but often play a stabilizing supporting role that is invaluable. Conversely, the prime movers can inadvertently overload and thus damage those whose crucial support they perhaps seldom consider. Please don’t ever underestimate how crucial your “hidden” role may be on the body of folks surrounding you or the effect of their functions on you. We’re designed to be linked and mutually supportive even though it’s not readily apparent. Sometimes it takes pain to prove it.
No comments:
Post a Comment