Nursing a Broken Ankle

I’ve just returned home from a month away nursing a broken ankle that happened three months ago.

I use the word “nursing” loosely, because I did little nursing but was well nursed by others.

I’ve written about the beginning of this ankle saga, but the past four weeks were eye opening, bringing up issues I had heard about but hadn’t understood or experienced.

The main shock was realizing the need for help increases dramatically as I age. I intellectually knew this, but experiencing first-hand was ego-damaging, uncomfortable, humiliating, and unnerving.

Thinking of myself, apparently mistakenly, as a healthy and independent human specimen, I was mortified to need caregiving… a lot of caregiving.

Who, me? No, I can walk 3+ miles a day, perhaps not as fast as I could 10 years ago, but hey, I’m a walking dynamo and I have calves to prove it.

Alas, food needed to be cooked and brought to me, assistance to the bathroom and to bed was required, bathing became an art form never endured before, at least by me.

It didn’t take a genius to be rudely shown yelling for help was mandatory. Not that I had to yell for it, but it felt like I was screaming and begging non-stop when someone had to ‘do’ for me.

This is in no way complaining about the helpers, but rather how losing one’s independence is life changing. I saw it when my dad had to give up driving, my mother needed help keeping her medications straight, my aunt lived 10 years in a nursing home having no say about what she ate or when. But it wasn’t happening to me. I hadn’t lost that ability to do what I wanted when I wanted.

I don’t want green beans for dinner, but rather a steak and mashed potatoes with gravy, no matter how unhealthy it is. And I may crave to sneak into the kitchen for ice cream at 3 a.m., but can’t get there on my own.

I told myself I was imposing on those waiting on me, even if they were being paid rather than a family member. But, the main fear was I had to give up power, diminishing my self-image as the one in control.

What a blow to my ego. You mean, I’m not in charge? Getting older has its benefits, and it has it’s challenges, just as youth and middle age did. During those periods I still felt I could change things, I remained believing I was my own boss.

Oh, reality sucks sometimes. The adjustments in my old age begin with being grateful for the assistance I need and is available to me. Another is the knowledge receiving is as beneficial as giving. Both parties benefit, each helping the other experience what is good in life.

The adage: ‘it is better to give than receive’is a two-way street since receiving opens me to a lot of self-awareness and ridding myself of false beliefs about my vulnerability.

Does this mean I am grateful for a broken ankle? Don’t make a liar out of me.

That Little Voice