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.