I awakened about three in the morning several nights ago to an incredibly crisp, clear and star strewn sky. A large oak tree is visible from the bedroom windows, and it appeared to be strung with stars. It was absolutely magical as well as transient, as our planet continued on its orbit and the stars quickly shifted position. It was a sweet few minutes.
That was the good part. And now for the bad (not horrible, just garden variety bad): I am really struggling with my broken ankle. It’s not that its not healing properly: as far as I can tell, it is slowly on the mend. I even recognized my leg this morning, as the discoloration and swelling has largely abated.
I am however, impatient. I believe I’ve already stated that patience is not my strong suit. Having a diagnosis of advanced cancer has done nothing to temper that. Although I am better at savoring small wonders than I may have once been, I am also terribly cognizant of the value of each moment. Time is no longer something I can take for granted. Now that I am past my “expiration” date, I can’t help but we aware of the tentativeness of my existence.
When our lives are in balance, we don’t have to focus too much on any one thing. It is difficult to maintain balance when you have a terminal illness. Just as someone who is famished hungers for food, those of us who are so cognizant of our mortality hunger for life.
Ok. Sitting here in my recliner (the lazy girl) is life, but I mean LIFE. Capital L, Living. I actually thought I was going to be able to ski this year. Last night I started googling information about broken ankles, because I didn’t ask a lot of questions when I was in the hospital. You’d think I’d be pretty good at this by now, but the truth is, I was just focused on getting through the moment.
There is an internet site devoted to broken ankles called brokenankle.com. All things broken ankle; including pertinent information relating to recovery time. Now I didn’t just break my ankle a little, I broke it a lot. So it looks like 8 weeks plus in the aircast, many months of physical therapy, and then after a year or two, with hard work, back to almost normal. Sheez. My first reaction was, “I don’t have time for this”. I’ve got to get out there, make every day count, not miss a thing…
I think if I had understood the severity of my injury in terms of recovery time, I might have cried on that mountain.
But, too late. It happened, the nastiest, most painful part is behind me, and I’ve just got to deal, right? I’m going to pretend the physical therapist is really a personal trainer, and I’ll get in the best shape ever. And in the meantime, even as I watch my leg(s) atrophy, I’m getting some awesome biceps from these crutches.