Melinda Henneberger: After you fall, you no longer take getting up for granted | Opinion
This is not so much a column as a thank you note to all of you who wished me well while I was in the hospital for 18 days. As I wrote a couple of weeks ago, I fell and fractured my pelvis and sacrum during what was supposed to be a quick trip to Colorado Springs, then wound up staying on a lot longer than planned. As always, your support really did matter.
One Star reader with whom I’ve been corresponding for years put me on a prayer list of some 90 women, and I thank all of you who were part of that soulful effort.
A woman who read my column in the Las Vegas Sun told me about her recovery from a broken pelvis, also thanks to a fall when she was far from home. I certainly related to this part of her note: “I had no idea how painful something could be,” she said, even as someone who’d already survived breast cancer and multiple surgeries. “How humiliating to not be able to get out of bed. I had no concept of looking at the world from the perspective of a wheelchair. A place my mother spent a great deal of her arthritic life in.”
Yet today, she said, she’s not entirely sad she fell, because she learned so much from a detour none of us would ever have chosen. “I learned a lot about my mother’s life and about aging.” I already feel that way.
Yet of course I hope that before long, I will also relate to this part of her letter: “I am amazed that (six months later) I was able to visit Portugal and walk across cobblestoned streets without too much heart thumping.”
A number of readers responded to what I wrote about how I’ve always believed there is truth in that quote attributed to Ram Dass, that “we’re all just walking each other home.”
“All of us loyal readers feel a kinship with you,” said one note that made me cry, in a good way. “We are walking this with you in spirit, and it’s a privilege to be invited in.”
Another wonderful letter came from someone who does not always love what I write: “This is your occasional antagonist,” he said. “I’m sad to hear about your injury and sorry about the slow recovery that goes along with this type of fracture. … My hope for you is a gradual and complete recovery so that you are up and around, writing again. I look forward to it.” How hopeful, right? Would that we all could show such kindness to those with whom we disagree.
Not surprisingly, a number of the letters I received were from nurses and others in health care. Some called themselves retired RNs, but I’m going to say that just like there’s no such thing as a retired journalist, there’s no such thing as a completely retired nurse. A physical therapist sent me this helpful tip: “Swearing like a navy shipyard welder during physical therapy is more than acceptable.”
By the time my daughter read my column, which said that I was trying to learn to ask and accept help, I had been moved to the rehab unit of the hospital. She happened to have been in my room, snickering at the idea that I was suddenly going to be good at letting others do things for me, when one of the nurses came in. I introduced them and told my daughter what good care Nylasha was taking of me. Ha, says Nylasha: “Miss Independent here doesn’t let me do anything for her that she can do for herself.” More snickering followed, of course. My guess is that Nylasha could tell I wanted to do more, so that was her way of bucking me up.
And did I say already that my 18 days in the hospital and rehab were made so much easier by all of the kind and competent nurses, physical therapists and occupational therapists who took care of me and also made me laugh?
One day, the PTs played the theme from ‘Rocky’ as I ever so slowly climbed four or five steps, and I’m still smiling about that. Another morning, an OT named Katy saved me from a second fall, in the shower, and I won’t forget that save anytime soon, either.
Injuries are humbling; I used to have a hot red convertible, and now I have a hot red walker. But injuries and illnesses also remind us that we’re all vulnerable and all frail at some point, and the sooner we realize that – not necessarily through some calamity – the more fully human we are.
On our 9-hour drive home from Colorado Springs to Kansas City last Thursday and Friday, we were supposed to stop every hour or so, so I could walk around a little to ward off blood clots. A couple of times, my hot red walker and I were nearly blown over by the ferocious winds in western Kansas.
Yet I arrived home, not quite three weeks after my accident, in much better shape than seemed possible in those first days when I was in too much pain to move.
After you fall, you no longer take getting up for granted.
