Break My Fall

A week ago, I lost my footing and fell face first and almost ensued in a full lip lock with the graveled gray pavement path way towards my apartment complex.  If it was not for the instantaneous human reaction of placing my hands out, I would have most likely smashed my face and ended up in the emergency room for broken bones or mangled parts. 

The consequences of this latest fall was bright red to my face, numbness and shock from the fall even happening, two layers of my skin from the lower right side of my left hand near my wrist ripped off, and my poorly pathetic right pinky all bruised up.  More than that, this latest fall was yet another sign that I am an increased mess of physical imbalance, stress over my month away surgery, and preoccupation with a tad too much professionally and personally on my plate. 

But, alas, the fall could have been worse.  Much worse.  I could have broken a body part.  I could have ended up unconscious.  But, I did not.  I have never considered myself a religious person. In a world of labels of religious sects and divisions, I just wrap myself with a broad and large duck tape label of "spiritual."  I've always believe that "someone up there" or "some higher power" watched over me.  Watched over all of us.  

On the day that I fell, one of my neighbors whom I rarely talked to and only saw in passing was walking in front of me with her heaving large laundry basket clutched in her curled hands.  She looked exhausted at this supposed "clean up" day that she had to tackle and get through.  When I fell, the human kindness of care kicked in.  She came to my side and immediately asked, "Are you okay?"

I did not say anything for a moment.  The skinned bump on my left hand was starting to swell and at least two pieces of my skin were about to fall off.  The fall happened so fast.  I was speechless and wordless, which opposed my often overly verbose self. 

I struggled to get up, but she immediately said, "Let me help you up."

I heard the thump of her laundry basket when she dropped it next to me.  She reached out her hands to lift me up.  I took her hands in mine.  I looked into her quizzically concerned light brown eyes, startled and dumbfounded about what just happened. 

"Are you sure that you are okay?" 

I just nodded dumbly.  She picked up her laundry basket again, walked away, and did not look back.  I did not even know her name.

Still shaken, I managed to make it to my apartment in one piece and clean the pool of blood from the wound that was quickly spilling over.  While I added pressure to stop the bleeding, I thought how funny it was that I have lived with and been in the company of many neighbors by faces, but did not know their names, lives, stories, and who they really were.  What went on behind their closed doors?  We were all strangers until we were brought together by certain unforseen life circumstances that made us familiar foes or friends.  It was only in a time of need that the beauty, magic, and natural gene to help others was revealed.  It was only in a time of need that we learned who are real friends were. 

However, I learned at a young age about who my REAL friends were during the most difficult and trying times.  Surely, family will always be there.  The bounds of blood ties are tighter and stronger than ever.  I know that my father, stepmother, sister, and even my estranged mother will always be there.  To this day, the first people I turn to are my family and even over my long-time friends that I have known since I was in braided pigtails and playing with Barbie dolls.  We can choose our friends, and people have the utmost choice of me as their friend. 

In this past week and particularly since my latest fall, the level of stress and responsibilities professionally and personally have pushed me to the edge and have caused me to finally flare up the fed up demeanor that was simmering underneath the surface.  This was a week of paper pushing.  Medical leave paperwork.  Pre-surgical paperwork.  Taxes.  Constant phone calls to doctor offices that revolve around my upcoming hip replacement surgery.  The latest bout with my wounded hand was the straw that broke the camel's back.  What just seemed like a scab actually became swollen and infected and forced me to go to the emergency room for antibiotics and a tetnus shot. 

I have never been one to complain, because complaining and negativity just makes the already unfortunate situation even worse.  More than that, I notice that most people do not how to respond to my complaints or worries because they just have not been through what I have been through.  They are at a loss for words and are enveloped in helplessness that they cannot do something or anything to make me feel better.   I am sympathetic towards these people and so I have tried hard to swallow my ongoing thoughts and worries and forge forward without a complaint to escape from my mouth. 

But, there is only so much I can handle or the human spirit can handle, so, yes, I allowed myself to complain, share, and rear the fed up side to me to answer the question of: Who is really going to be there for me when times are really tough?  I have always been one to fend for myself and depend on myself, but now I am learning that I really cannot handle everything on my own.  People need people, but it is a matter of "selection of the fittest," or choosing the right people as my right friends.

Who are my right friends?  Most of all, who are my REAL friends? 

Real friends are few and far in between.  I have always known that, but that was solidified this stressful-induced week with the reality that my 'right and real friends' are the ones who listen to me and there to help out in whatever way that they can. 

A couple weeks ago, I visited the inpatient hospital where I *may* be living post-surgery and learning to walk all over again and fulfill daily tasks that I have taken for granted: getting into and out of a car, getting into and out of the bath tub to take a shower, and even sitting on the toilet.  My closest childhood buddy for over twenty years was there to cart me around in a wheelchair on the tour, ask questions, and even make me laugh when we discovered that getting into this state of the art inpatient hospital was all dependent on my insurance coverage. 

She said, "Geez, getting into the inpatient hospital is like college admissions!  Make sure that you have plenty of your transcripts sent over with all your health problems, Mary!  You are sure to get in then!"

I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my face and I forgot, for just a moment, the harsh reality and all my ongoing whirlwind of thoughts about my surgery.  She achieved what many could not achieve: She made me forget and made me laugh with the sheer simplicity and sanctity of her friendship and being there for me.  I could not ask for any more when she had given me the most.

Many of my friends are not like her who are strong enough to withstand seeing someone they love or care about in pain and just knowing what to do to make everything better.  Besides her, I have maybe only two other friends who genuinely listen and know what to say and do.  In fact, most of my friends are logical resolvers.  They believe there is always a solution to something, but my life experiences have taught me that although there is almost always a solution to a physical ailment, there is not always a solution to the emotions and mentalities of dealing with the before and after of all involved with that physical ailment. 

One long-time friend said to me that "the mind is a bully" and made me understand that "mental strength training" difficulties surpass "physical strength training."  Another friend reminded me that everything is temporary and nothing is permanent.  What I feel and go through now is not forever.  This too shall pass.  Another friend reminded me to wear my medical alert bracelet after I told her about my fall.  Finally, another friend said that he does not like to see me so unhappy because it does not suit me. 

The variety of these friends that I've come to trust and depend on to vent or share with make me realize how lucky I am, and how all of us have the innate ability and want to help and give to others. At the same time, there are takers in this world....not purposefully selfish or self-absorbed, but it is a part of them to take and they only learn to give when their givers are in need.  I also see now that what I am going through pre and post surgery is not a lonesome phenomenon.  I am living through it, but so are my closest friends that I have purposefully selected to share with and especially family-- particularly my father. 

This week has been a topsy turvy and stressful, but I have been blessed with so many who "break my fall" with their genuine love, kindness, support, and strength that make me stronger and better to get through this next month of mental strength training over my surgery and what is to come afterwards with my new hip and a new life that awaits me. 

Why Me at 30?

The crisp and thin white envelope with the curve of letters in blue ink stared back at me.  The sender was my aunt in Hong Kong. 

I stared at the envelope for a few moments, pondering what could be inside. 

I had a particularly close and special relationship with this aunt who was close to 70-years-old and had already endured two hip replacement surgeries and ongoing painful bouts with her spine and neck.  She had always had quite the temper at times, which only propelled her to fight harder than ever.  She was, by far, one of the strongest women I knew who tolerated pain to the highest degree in suffering silence and with simple smile to her painted lips.  Never a complaint spouted from her mouth.  However, since her hip replacement surgeries, she had seemed calmer and there was a golden, liberating aura about her that I wondered if I would possibly gain after my first (and hopefully, my last) hip replacement surgery that is now set for April. 

I had just spoken with her a couple days ago to spout my fuchsia feelings about this upcoming surgery and about people around my age who complained about what I viewed as miniscule mayhem.   Professionally, my same-age peers ‘mayhem” was revolved around worries about receiving time off from our supervisor to travel abroad and supposed dramatic politics with people.  Personally, my same-age peers ‘mayhem’ was the stress of school work.  Honestly, I could not relate to their worries.  They were worried about getting through work and school.  I was worried about my health and body.   I was worried about keeping my sanity and suppressing explosive confused feelings and anxiety at any given moment. 

On the phone to my Hong Kong auntie, I spouted off angrily, “I’m sick and tired of hearing people complain and complain more about petty stuff.  Don't people realize that the most important thing in life is health?  They want problems?  I’ll gladly give them my life on a silver platter of my agonizing decision-making to finally go through with my hip replacement surgery, all the preparation before surgery, all the worries of how the surgery will turn out, all that I need to finish up before my surgery on a personal level.  I finally got fed up with a couple people who were complaining about work and said to them that I can’t care about all the unnecessary drama and pettiness at work or in life anymore when I was worried about my own health.  I told them that nothing was more important than health.  They stared at me and told me now to say this because then I would make them feel bad.  That absolutely infuriated me, because you don’t say that to people.  Let people feel whatever they are feeling and make an effort to listen to them.  I’ve given my time and energy to listen to them complain, so why can’t they give me the same respect…especially when I never complain?” 

My aunt had gained the art of listening after many years of life and health experiences and simply said, “Mary, they just haven’t been through what you have been through.  You have been forced to go through things that other people your age have not had to go through.  You do not have to spend these times with people who always complain or talk about things that you do not find so smart.  You say whatever you need to say, and I will be here to listen to you.”

I steadied my breath, and held the phone even tighter.  I finally said, “I guess people do not know what you are going through until they have gone through it.  I know it is hard to see the people you love the most go through pain, too.  We all go through it.  It means a lot that you just listen to me.” 

My aunt said quietly and easily, “You are so, so brave.  Such a brave and strong girl.”

I blinked back the tears that clouded my eyes.  I eventually hung up the phone with my aunt after talking a little more.  I closed my eyes, but the tears flowed freely down my cheeks.  My head vibrated and swam with thoughts, and the number one thought I had was:

Why me at 30? 

Debilitating osteoarthritis, hip replacements, scoliosis, hip dysplasia, avascular necrosis, hospitals, bed-bounding muscle spasms, chronic pain, my complicated medical history revolved around my kidneys, and all the hospitalizations and surgeries that I had endured were meant for the middle-aged and older.  What was going to happen to me when I was middle-aged when I was already living through what middle-aged people normally went through?

Hadn’t I had my fair share of pain and problems since I was born?  Hadn’t I ‘done my time’?  Hadn’t my family already ‘done their time’ for me as well, for I knew that it was both my family and me living (or rather re-living) the uncertainties and fears all over again with my health and body acting up?  Could I please, please, please just have a brief reprieve from all these big bumps or gaping potholes that continued to pop up in my life’s path? 

My reprieve was supposedly a month from now when I was on the operating table with my cute surgeon for hip replacement surgery rendezvous.  The only catch was that this reprieve from the pain that has been with me for twenty years is not certain and specific.  This reprieve completely out of my control, because, honestly, who knew what will happen and how I would be after I was cut open and implanted with fake materials?

I heard my father in my head saying, “Life hasn’t been fair for you.  It hasn’t been easy for you.  But, don’t ask questions like ‘why’ when there are no answers.  Things just happen, and you do the best you can with grace with all that happens.”

No matter how much I tried to make my father’s voice saying those words louder in my head, I could feel the overwhelming sense of exhaustion, frustration, negativity, and pitying embracing me into a tight and unwanted squeeze.  I could feel that everything with my health was defining and controlling me all over again.  I could feel that defining myself as more than just ‘my health problems’ was getting harder and harder.  I was becoming dangerously and obsessively compulsive about my upcoming surgery and all revolved around my health.  I was scared of who I was turning into, and what was happening to me. 

I did not doubt that I possessed a positive gene in my body, but physically, emotionally, and mentally draining times like this tested that positive gene that I had to work to get back.  It was not easy to be positive when experiences, the mind, and the body twisted you into negativity.  It was not easy to find hope again in all that felt hopeless.  And, it was not easy to locate strength when everything in me and around me seemed embedded with weakness.  But, as my father said, I was more than allowed to feel bad and get frustrated at times because I was only human, and it was only natural. 

My father just warned me, “Don’t drown in anger and negativity that can eat you up alive.  You have to rise above it.  Because, at the end of the day, you still have to deal with all that you must deal with and the only way to deal with everything is with a positive perspective.”

Since talking with my aunt, I had gone into isolation from my co-workers and many of my friends.  At work, I sit solo at the cafeteria and put my hand to work on delayed hand-written letters to my friends from overseas or make phone calls and notes all in relation to my health.  The stress at work for everyone has become almost unbearable due to the extreme imbalanced ratio of too much work and not enough workers.  My stress has increased tenfold from the constant chronic pain that gnaws away at me, leaving me exhausted and truly not wanting to work anymore and feeling as though I am lacking the abilities to fulfill my job tasks as I was able to before. It is already stressful at work, but has worsened for me with the constant physical pain and personal stress of preparing for this surgery.

Personally, I’ve turned extremely selective about who I am sharing my constant painful worries and concerns with about this upcoming hip replacement surgery and especially the aftermath.  I’ve learned the hard way that sharing with the wrong person will just backfire on you and make you feel all the more worse rather than a chance of better.  I’ve heard it all:

            “Oh, don’t worry.  You will be fine.”

            Or

            “At least you aren’t (fill in the blank).”

            Their dismissive passing phrases are often accompanied with a hand wave, empty nod, and then just walking away.  Anger, rather than relief, is increased with the harsh understanding on my part that they truly do not know what I am going through and how I am feeling.  Even worse, they lacked interest or abilities to just be there by my side to maybe just listen, sympathize, and just give me a hug.  I could not blame these people or lash out my anger at them because they just hadn’t experienced what I had experienced.  They didn’t know.  They were doing the best they can with the little living experiences that they had. 

I am thankful for all the people who stay by my side, and support me with reminders that I am not alone in this.  My childhood buddies have firmly planted themselves by my side.  I befriended a new woman in her late 50’s at my gym who battled with cancer in her 30’s.  She has the most comforting voice to soothe, listening capabilities that surpass, and radiating and genuine warmth of understanding.  Another newbie friend is a friend of a friend who is currently juggling a full-time school schedule, part-time work schedule, and taking care of her mother who is suffering from a rare autoimmune disease that is attacking her kidneys.  Her mother’s kidneys are only on 10% function and she goes to dialysis three times a week and then chemotherapy about once or more a month.  Her mother’s life depends on a machines.

Physically, I’ve been more drained out.  Flashbacks of my childhood when I was 10 years old come back at me full throttle when the pain was so intense that I had to be put on crutches and then finally a wheelchair on an as needed basis.  I waver in fear that it has come to a point that I do need a handy dandy wheelchair again as I use to. 

So, yes, when I rehash all that I am feeling and living through mentally, physically, and emotionally up until my surgery, I cannot help but say ask rather bitterly:

Why Me at 30?

            The feel of the envelope stopped me from trying to answer an answerless question.  I slowly shuffled to my couch to open up the envelope from my aunt.  I winced in pain.  Just a couple days ago, I had experienced one of my full throttled muscle spasm bouts.  The best and only way I can describe these muscle spasms is if someone had wrapped and then tightened a lasso that contained electrical currents all around my body.  The muscle spasms leave me bed bound and as though I am being cattle-prodded or tasered alive along with burning and tingling sensations that are sprinkled in as frosting on top of the cupcake.  I was feeling a lot better after following my blessed osteopath’s advice of forcing myself to go to the gym for an Aquatics Arthritis class.  Swimming has always been my saving grace from the pain, but now it has also become a therapist and sanity saver. Due to my history of chronic kidney failure, two kidney transplant, and lifetime immunosuppressant medications, I was limited to take certain pain relievers and had resorted to menthol-scented ointments that made me smell like a senior citizen.  These painful muscle spasms had increased in frequency in the last couple of years, which was a big push for me to finally go through with my hip replacement surgery.

            I slit open the envelope and inside was a lucky red packet with money tucked inside the packet.  There was an apologetic note inside that she had meant to send this lucky Chinese New Year money earlier.  I thought back to what my father had said that the 2013 Year of the Snake was supposed to be a much luckier and better year than 2012 Year of the Dragon.  Luck, I scoffed.  I needed all the luck I could get.

            Trying to subside my blooming bitterness was becoming harder and harder.  I checked the time and saw that it was mid-morning in Hong Kong.  The time difference would permit me to call my auntie and thank her over the phone for thinking of me and giving me a bit of luck and a lot of love. 

            My aunt picked up the phone call right away and we slipped into an interesting conversation about luck and numbers. 

            “Is it true that 2012 was a bad and unlucky year and 2013 is supposed to be better and luckier, according to the Chinese calendar?”

            “Well, in Chinese, 2013 means growing.  There will probably be a lot of growing happen in the face of change and hardships.”

            “So, in regards to what is happening in my life, I am going through ‘growing pains’ with my relationships, people, and what is to come with my surgery and after surgery.  Can I ask you the question of how you knew you were ready for the hip replacement surgery?”

            “It was not easy.  The problem is the mind.  You keep thinking and thinking if it is the right time or wrong time.  You keep thinking that maybe the pain will go away, or maybe you are strong enough to withstand the pain because you are so scared of the surgery and what could happen afterwards.  And, you want to control everything that can’t be controlled, but you learn that there is only so much that you can control and plan in life.  Finally making the decision is a relief, and then you can’t think anymore.  You just have to do.  Then, just when you are about to go in for surgery, you just really stop thinking because you know that your decision is coming true.  You do not need to always understand because there is not always an answer.  You just need to accept and let go.” 

            Accept.  Let Go.

            When my aunt said this to me, a warm feeling of peace began to cover me like a blanket.  The words were simple, but the actions were difficult to fulfill and make happen. 

            I could and would never gain a specific answer the question: Why Me at 30? 

            But I could possibly gain my greatest life experiential tools through ‘acceptance’ and ‘letting go.’  I could say to myself now and forever that I was accepting and letting go, but saying was incomparable to doing.

            Did I have it in me at 30 years old to ‘accept’ and ‘let go’? 

            I was about to learn about making acceptance and letting go a reality this start of the March month, which marked one more month until my hip replacement surgery.