Yesterday, I posted about my ice event from fourteen years ago. For all of these years, I have hated ice, snow and cold weather with a passion. I will explain why. I was supposed to have been off work for the day, at a small place of business, where I had worked for five years. Half the staff was out for use it or lose it sick pay, not really sick, just taking advantage of their entitled benefits. When my time to leave arrived, there was a long, long line of senior citizens, standing, patiently waiting to get their money and go about their day. As I looked at the sea of faces, I simply could not leave my only two remaining co-workers to cope with the rising level of angst among those waiting. They were outnumbered too many to one. And so, I made the decision to stay. I had to leave to pick up my daughter from basketball, before six oclock. She was only eleven years old. I agreed to stay and help out, until I absolutely had to get my daughter from school. We worked tirelessly for the next few hours. I picked up my child and called to say I was on my way back to work to help close the branch, before going to a going away party for a co-worker later that night. My cash drawer was open, my computer was still turned on, but my boss had offered to keep running my station until I got back. I was, after all, a team player. I dropped my child at home with her older brother, zipped out the door to go and help close the branch. I had keys in one hand and a small bag in the other. I looked positively adorable, fully prepared for my co-workers to be in shock as I had a cute skirt, boots and looked night and day from my normal conservative work attire. As I approached my car, I slipped on ice, ending up under my car. I had no doubt, my arm was broken, but instinctively knew this was worse. I wriggled to get free from the undercarriage of my car, scooted backwards on the ice, creeping my way up the stairs on my back. This was clearly not good. I finally managed to get the attention of my children inside, just as I was going into shock, I calmly announce that I had broken my arm and needed for them to call their older sister to bring me to the hospital. I waited and eventually made my way into the emergency room. The xrays revealed there was an unbelievable break, hand,wrist and arm, smashed like shards of glass from a hammer attack. A surgeon was called in to operate. His worst case scenario was my result. I had pins, metal plate, screws and wires holding me together inside, with stitches and a steel bar screwed through my hand and arm from the outside. It is called internal and external fixation. Not much fun. I ended up with complications from the surgery and severe RSD, which meant my hand and arm looked dusky gray from lack of circulation when level or upright and turned bright purple, ready to explode when slightly downward. The fight or flight response to extreme trauma was allowing my blood to travel down my arm and hand, but closing with the extreme pain, not allowing the blood to travel back up my veins and blood vessels. I had surgery after surgery, had the metal plate and all hardware removed at one point, had another surgery that paralyzed me from the neck down in an attempt to force movement under anesthesia. Nothing worked. At about the same time as my first surgery, it was discovered that I had a blood abnormality that appeared to be a death sentence. I was required to have a bone marrow biopsy, harvested bone and finally had a bone biopsy surgery at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, removing a core sample of bone from my leg. I was then wheelchair bound, unable to walk or bear weight for roughly a year. My fingers no longer bend, my wrist does not move and my arm, along with nearby bones hurt on a daily scale that required Oxycontin. At the same time, I was raising my two youngest kids on my own. Extended hospitalization from war related issues had eliminated their father from being a viable parent. (long story for another time). With surgery after surgery, I proved to be like Humpty Dumpty, who could never be put back together again. And so, I retired, very early, against my will. My employer sold me a long term disability policy that was not worth the paper it was written on as well as a long tern care policy that never paid a nickel. In the end, it was discovered, my bones were permanently fused together and there simply were no more surgeries to ever try repairing the damage done by a simple slip and fall on ice. My loathing of cold weather grew over the years. I had never wanted to be in a cold climate. I was trying to do a nice thing, the right thing by helping out at work, when I was free to enjoy my day. What kind of karma was that ? I dreaded each fall and winter with a passion, vocally louder each year about my disdain for the nasty weather, poorly cared for roads, hateful conditions no one should have to endure. Yesterday, fourteen years later, it dawned on me. It was my fault. I was the one who failed to sufficiently take care of the slick driveway. I was the one who thought cute boots were a smart idea, having never previously fallen. The ice was there, minding its own business. I was the one who stepped on it. Yet, for fourteen years I have hated the sight of all cold things, unless they were in a glass. If I were at a picnic and kicked an ant hill and was stung by ants scattering everywhere, naturally I would have had ill feelings toward the ants. If my child were stung after hitting a bee hive, I would have been furious at the bees for stinging my child, even knowing they were just busy living their own lives. I apologize to everyone I have ever offended with my loathing of the cold weather, not the least of whom are my children, who have endured years and years of whining each time the cold months rolled around. I learned a valuable lesson. I now pay close attention to where I step, how I move and am prepared to the best of my ability to make the most of each new day. Burying myself in warm coats and scarves will only make sense if I wander out my door. Today is a new day, for me. I am passing the wand to someone else who can hate the ice for damages done. I learned my lesson well. Walk carefully, be gentle and purposeful with each foot placed in front of the other. Life is too short to spend indoors, worrying about what might happen next. Not likely to see me skiing or figure skating ever again, but I am going to try to view my world through different eyes from this day forward. I was the one, who stepped on that ice.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 18:53:58 +0000
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