More than six weeks have passed since I surprised myself while hiking a familiar trail:  falling on my face and breaking the wrist of my most useful hand. More than three years had passed since my other major orthopedic event: a torn rotator cuff, surgery, and six weeks in a sling.  Lessons learned and re-learned.

I discovered both times, but even more when my left hand was affected, that I write or type to think.  In times when neither is feasible, the creative juices in my brain dry up and blow away.  It has been a difficult time for my weekly emails, Reflections and Sharing the Journey. Even after the cast has been off for two weeks and I spend less time wearing a brace, I still struggle with flow when I sit down to share.  It might help to reflect on (then move past) the experience itself.

I was grateful!  The break was clean and simple. It did not need to be "set." It was not badly swollen.  It was not especially painful.  It did not require surgery.  It did not involve hardware.  Fiberglass casts come in many colors, and I enjoyed choosing fluorescent green.  Friends could pick me out in any crowd!

I was frustrated!  It's amazing how life changes with what is (by any comparative measure) a small-scale event.  As already mentioned, I could neither write nor type.  I couldn't make out checks or sign credit card purchases.  Brushing teeth was awkward and ineffective.  Driving was too.  Advised not to sweat in the cast, I stopped running and cancelled a half marathon in Minnesota. I could not knit.  Or weed or prune.  Or vacuum or mow.  I could not manage a fork or spoon, dish cat food out of the can, or cut up veggies and fruits. The list goes on, and with time I developed a number of work-arounds, but it was amazing how many actions basic to daily life were different after than before the fall.

I was moody! The hardest adjustments were more emotional than practical.  I went through cycles of anxiety and depression.  I had trouble sleeping at night, but (no doubt related) napped all day long.  Though I knew that connecting would offset the doldroms, I lacked social energy and withdrew.  I ate convenient comfort food, drank beer, and chubbed up.

I was relieved!  After a month, the cast came off and with it many layers of mental and emotional baggage.  The new brace was lighter, cooler, and most of all it could come and go.  I could take it off and take a bath.  Sweat evaporated so I could be more active.  I could start rebuilding flexibility and strength.  When the arm and hand tired, I could wrap them back up to rest with support.

The stages of this small detour from my everyday journey can apply as well to other disruptions in our lives.  Something we count on breaks (a body part, an appliance, a relationship).  The first step is to freeze, stabilize the situation, and process the emotions of loss.  A second step is to relax the constraint, remove the cast, and facilitate healing by gradually expanding our range of motion. Then, as a last step, we re-build strength and re-train function, accepting the (sometimes painful) cycles of exertion and recovery that come with the process.