Sunday, November 29, 2015

But I can eat a banana - DONNA MANN

For over a month, after breaking my right hand and severely injuring my rotator cuff, I have begun my day differently. Lifting my right arm carefully with my left hand, I slowly place it on the armrest of my chair and proceed to respond to emails, and add a few thoughts to my current novel manuscript . . . with left handed poke-typing. Although this is hard work, there is definitely a sense of accomplishment when completed. 

This is a new normal for me, as I can’t lean into a favourite or familiar process of doing what two months ago would have seemed perfectly normal. I’ve had to set aside my personal goals to revise a waiting novel and knit a Christmas gift for a great granddaughter.

However, all of this definitely has a lighter side. And yet the brighter view also has compromise. Several of my email, Facebook and blog friends are limited in various ways in their day-to-day-life. We share similarities and differences, as all of our situations are different. Considering this has offered a common bond between us and rather than moan, “Why me?”, I say, “Why not me?” All of this has also given me a wake-up call to what it must be like to live with limitations.

Another dimension of the lighter side is that I have my own personal chauffeur who takes me to x-ray, physiotherapy, doctor’s visits, shopping, visits and even to a dance last week (which I managed to keep up to his fancy steps). He also delivers my meals to my chair, but without the white linen over his arm. Attending the local community suppers has been worth a laugh or two, where he has to butter my bun and cut my meat.  But, I can peel and eat a banana all by myself. Truly, this same happy-hubby has been handy to the intercom to take my requests and a champion at nuking the beanbag to alleviate the pain.

Which brings me to my third point: my chair is a rocker swivel. I can sit one direction and welcome the sun every morning through a double window. Or I can swivel my chair around to a small window in the same room for a limited view, that is until mid afternoon when the sun claims its space on that side of the house - which leaves me thinking that some of my outlook in life is reality and some is choice. Something like a half-empty or half-full cup. 

In conclusion, I have been amused at people’s personal response to my accident. Some are helpful, while others are not. As I compare my state of being with extreme situations, i.e. the mega severe and tragic situations of refugees, I think again “Why not me?” Somewhere in the land of Internet images, there is one of Jesus standing in the midst of a boat filled with helpless people. Seeing this gives me a sense of hope in troubled times.
Christmas Island sounds good, but we'll settle in Egypt

My accident is so meagre to what others experience. Through change, to safety, security and serenity.

What makes it easier to say this, is the knowledge that God's comfort, consistent presence in life's process and the assurance of healing is ongoing and unlimited, regardless of situation. 

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Psalm 46:1). 
Donna Mann
Check out Agnes MacPhail series for the young and young-at-heart: Brucedale Press
A Rare Find: Amazon, Castle Quay Publishing (soon to be e-book)
21 Promises: Honouring Self During Grief - Amazon, KOBO


Peter Black said...

Thanks Donna. Your positive - and I suggest, healthy response to your current limitation provides a helpful example of faith and hope. It's good to know that you have such a loving and caring "happy-hubby" - a true helpmate.
That's a cute Christmas cartoon, too! May your healing to full recovery continue. ~~+~~

Donna Mann said...

Thanks Peter. Had my six week x-ray today. Hopefully each day will be an upgrade from here.

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