It was a short hike that I was fitting into the day before coffee with friends.  Warm and clear.  I was walking, not running, and had remembered to bring my trekking poles for added stability.

Why was it then, with the trailhead in view on return, that I hit the rocky dirt surface hard? I am not sure what struck first, face or hand.  Adrenaline helped as I gathered bent but unbroken glasses, ignored the pain in my wrist, and tongued my teeth, reassuring myself that none were loose or broken.  A bruised eye-socket was already swelling into view.  The bandanna was bloody after I dampened it and wiped my mouth. Further exploration revealed a deep gouge inside my upper lip, and I was grateful that the impact had not split my lip on the outside as it did when I fell from a teeter totter at the age of six.

I am writing now twenty-four hours later.  Wrist in a lime-green cast. Lip swollen, cheekbone a spreading purple blotch. Grateful for all the things that still work. Taking stock of what has changed.

Writing has gone and typing has changed. Yes, I am a lefty and that hand is immobilized.  (Can you believe that they still expected me to complete endless medical forms at the orthopedic office?) One-handed typing is awkward, capitalization and punctuation even more so.  I am leaning hard on auto-correct and (on the smartphone) autofill.  Its creative options it make me laugh.  My doctor said I could run with a cast.  Autofill ran with a cat.  Poor Aspen!  I don't think that is her idea of fun.

Mowing is out. Taking trash to the curb down the steep driveway as well.  Any kind of can- or bottle-opening tends to need two hands. Including kitty food.  Weeding and pruning, scrubbing and sweeping have always been leftie chores.  Signing for credit card purchases. And yes, a Facebook friend reminds me, personal hygiene favors the dominant hand.

I am doing my best to let go of "what if?" and "why me?" to tap the creative brain.  I am practicing mindfulness meditation. I am trying to walk the life-coach talk.  But it is not easy. I am tempted to rant about it and to bang my head on the wall in frustration.  I am old enough to know that does not help but I am tempted anyway.  

I am also looking for the silver lining, confident that it will be revealed soon.

I am grateful to have you in the Reflections community, and my face-to-face friends, and the Facebook network; a competent doctor, a helpful spouse, and a cuddly cat.  Cold beer sipped through a straw, and Slim-Fast shakes until the gouge inside my mouth heals.

How have you moved past the shock, denial, and outrage when a sudden mishap changed your life and your plans?  What kind of self-talk helped you to see more clearly and cope?