I am Woman. Hear me roar. Several lines of this classic song have been going through my head for…oh, about a month and a half now. Can’t you hear my roar? No? Maybe it’s in secret code. Or maybe it’s only for select audiences. Namely, an audience of one. Me.
So I had another adventure in the ongoing relatively uneventful saga of my life. I guess my single independent control freak woman-ness needed to be taken down several (many) notches.
I decided I would stoop down to look at something that seemed really important at the time. Ms. Grace here stumbled backwards trying to stand back up and fell…and instinctively put my right hand behind me to break my fall (yes, I am right handed). I successfully broke my fall. Yay me. But my wrist did not fare so well. I thought at first it was sprained or wrenched or whatever, but after continued swelling I decided a trip to Urgent Care was warranted. They were supposed to confirm a sprain and wrap it up and send me on my way. They did not follow my instructions. Imagine that. Don’t they know I’m an Independent Woman? Yep, that’s me. Thank God for wonderful girlfriends who know that persistence pushes me out of the way when I need help, like when I realized I could not fill out Urgent Care paperwork left handed.
A follow up visit to the Orthopedic doctor confirmed the fracture and the slight misalignment of the radius bone in the wrist area. I now actually know the name of a bone in my arm. 🙂 I got a big cumbersome splint from hand to above elbow and I was to return in 10 days for a cast. Living life like this was very interesting. I learned to be resourceful and found there were some things I could do, just not in the normal, easy, efficient way. I learned that everything takes longer to do and some things are just meant to be impossible. Even Independent Woman has to ask for help sometimes. Hate that… but shouldn’t.
Why is help such a bad word for me? Why do I take such pride in my supposed independence that really is not mine at all? Sometimes, I finally have to give up and allow help, or just give up and not do what I was trying to do. But that pride that comes when I can pretend the accomplishment is all mine is quite a rush. That sounds terrible… Well, it is terrible. Because it means I’m way too attached to pretending. Wow. This is me, being transparent.
Back to my current adventure. I went back to the Orthopedic doctor 2 weeks later for another x-ray and a cast. Or that is what was supposed to happen. He came in the room and told me the x-ray looked worse. The bone had drifted slightly so that it was further out of alignment and he recommended surgery. What??? Wait. Hold up. This is not the right page or the right result or the right idea! I’m frantically searching for this scenario in my head, and it’s not there. I never imagined that this was even a remote possibility. This came out of nowhere and I find myself, horror of horrors, unprepared. This just isn’t right, but it is happening anyway. So I struggle to wrap my mind around this new reality and start my usual reworking and regrouping process at warp speed. The Planner has to come up with a new plan, pronto. I admit this is a rather useless coping mechanism, yet it makes me feel like I’m doing something. More pretending. Ouch. I allowed my useless coping mechanism to trump what I should have been doing. Stop. Breathe. Pray.
A week after surgery I went back to the doctor to get – Praise God – a removable hard splint that I can take off when at home. He gave me some restrictions and exercises, and released me to return to work.
It’s a few weeks later now. I’m gradually regaining function. It’s little things, like I can tie my tennis shoes, put my makeup on, use both hands to wash my hair. Things I never thought about before. Now I get excited when I can do something I have been missing for weeks. It really brings home God’s complex orchestration of all the body’s moving parts and how they work together. I found a new appreciation that I want to keep.
Independent Woman took a spill and landed on the hard, unforgiving concrete. Healing takes time. This wake up call also takes time to completely process and learn from.
And what of this self made pretend independence I’m so proud of? I found it to be a fair weather friend, again. I am reminded, again, that whatever taste of the independent life I am blessed with comes straight from the hand of God. The more I rely on Jesus, the more I learn that this is where I should always be. Relying on Him. Leaning on Him. Trusting Him. To truly be independent, I must be fully dependent on Him. Paradoxical and illogical, but then that is the beauty of the Christian faith. It does not make logical sense, yet it works perfectly.
I am not a self made roaring Independent Woman. Not really, not ever, not at all. I am a much loved child of a Savior and King who longs for my consistent trust that He will take much better care of me that I can. In fact, His care is the best. His best, all for me.