I don't usually consider myself elderly, but I fell twice last week. The first time, I tripped over the hem of my pajama bottoms and fell on the rug in the bathroom. The landing was soft, and only the pinky on my right-hand hurt, but I fell again the next day. After my art class, I got distracted by the logistics of putting my suitcase filled with art supplies into the car. I fell on the curb. Ouch. I know that falling is one of those nightmares that an older person does everything to prevent, but up until then, I didn't feel elderly. A woman nearby saw the fall and asked if I needed help. I said yes, and she kindly helped me up from the ground, put my suitcase in the car, and ensured I was OK. It was humbling, but I appreciated her help.
I have always prided myself on being able to fall gently and harmlessly. This is a skill I perfected back in the days when skis were metal, and there was no snowmaking, so slopes were often icy, and moguls were big and hard. I used speed to make my turns, and it was rare not to fall at least once or twice on my way down the mountain. I always picked myself up and continued on the run. I took my resilience for granted and never fully appreciated my hardiness. Now that I am older, I am aware of my vulnerability and the need to listen to my body. My balance can be off and my bones are more brittle. My days of feeling invincible are over. I use poles when I walk, and I don't go skiing. Yet, I like to think I am still young. My spirit says I am still alive and vibrant, but my body tells me to be careful.
I minimized my fall and drove to the physical therapy appointment that I had scheduled and didn't want to miss. I go to strengthen my hip and be more balanced when I walk. The therapist kindly checked me out, swabbed a bloody spot by my knee, felt my pinky finger and said," You know you could have canceled." He suggested having my hand checked out. Deciding to be prudent, I went to urgent care, and indeed, I did break my 5th metacarpal, the bone on the side of the hand by the pinky. A cast was created for me that went up to my elbow and didn't allow movement in my fingers. I maintained a state of calm during this procedure, but it's harder as time goes on. My equanimity is being tested. I miss being able to drive, and I need help doing some of the daily maintenance tasks required for self-care. I have always said that it's good to give and to receive, but I'm finding it hard to be dependent, and it seems like it could be a prelude to future needs. Boy, do I now appreciate having two hands and being able to take care of myself. It has also highlighted how much we need each other. I'm very thankful that I have a husband who cares for me and is willing to help me. I realize how hard it is to be alone and the importance of assisting another person with generosity and compassion. All of us are subject to aging, illness, loss, and death. It's part of the human condition. It's not only me that falls. We are all vulnerable. Kindness makes a difference.
I did my best to maintain my routine and go for my morning walk, but zipping my jacket and buttoning my coat was hard to do with one hand. It's also tricky getting into one. I was happy I had some with wide sleeves that fit over my cast and thankful that I had a husband willing to help me, but he wasn't home. It was a beautiful day but cold. I found a jacket that snapped and zipped, and I could do the first few snaps, so I went out… and it was very cold. I needed my coat fully snapped. I saw a woman who regularly ran past our house. I didn't want to interrupt her run, but I was getting colder, so I stopped her and asked for assistance. She was delighted to help and did up the remaining snaps. It was a lovely connection.
I proceeded up the hill and bumped into another neighbor walking her dog, Poppy. She's a young woman with a small child who works as a speech therapist at a rehab center. She noticed my cast and was very empathetic, so much so that I felt free to confess that using only one hand was hard, and I didn't like it. She said, "It's OK not to like it." which prompted me to speak loudly and emphatically, "I don't like it." I said this with feeling more than one time, and we both laughed. It made my day.
I feel very fortunate that I live in a neighborhood where people say hello to each other. We are of different ages and experiences but are all subject to life's ups and downs. My experience emphasizes the importance of support, compassion, and generosity. I feel immense gratitude that I live in an area where people can express caring, and I hope I do the same. It also felt great to say I don't like this. Sometimes, we forget that equanimity doesn't mean that there is no struggle or dislike of something terrible that has happened. It is about facing what is true without getting lost in anger, hatred, or despair. We are a part of a larger whole. It's not just about me but all of us. We affect each other. I have immense gratitude that my break will heal, and I will continue to be mobile and have support. It's too easy to focus on what's wrong rather than appreciate what is correct and working. I still have trouble with accepting the break. The wish to have my hand fully functional again is vital—and that's ok. I still can laugh, and I've gotten good at feeding myself with my left hand.
When I listen to people in my classes tell me what happened to them, which causes pain and is difficult to manage, I always appreciate the strength, resilience, and courage it takes to maintain equanimity. We need each other. Coming together and sharing is powerful. I feel fortunate to be with you this Thursday, November 7 at 11 AM,EST. I hope you can join me as we discuss our vulnerabilities and strengths.