Happy New Year--with a bang! Part 2

This is part 2 of the continuing saga of my broken ankle. ;o)

The following week we went for an appointment at the hospital's fracture clinic. Again, it was a day of waiting! When I finally saw the doctor, she gave me good and bad news. The good news was my ankle bones were well placed so I didn't need surgery. The bad news was that I could not put any weight on the ankle for the entire 6-week healing process! That meant no walking cast.

The idea of not putting any weight on my left foot for 6 weeks was a bit hard to take because in just a few days, Michel was leaving for training in the province of Alberta. I was going to be alone for 12 days and would have to take care of myself and our cat Felicia.

For the next 4 days, Michel was very busy preparing for his departure and equipping me to be able to care for myself. He had to buy enough groceries to last me for the time he was gone. He had to set up the area where we feed Felicia so I could feed her, give her water (a very difficult feat on crutches), and clean the litter box. He made a way for me to be able to water my plants in the sun room. In addition, he had to get all the items he was going to need for 12 days while away from home.

Michel left on January 15. He would return January 28 only to leave again the next day for another training in Ontario. I had to face the fact that I was going to be alone for 16 days total. To be honest, I was scared. Being on crutches made everything more difficult from going to the bathroom to washing my hair to emptying the garbage.

The first few days alone were intense for me. Even though I had books to read and the TV to watch, sitting in bed for hours at a time was uncomfortable. The time seemed to creep by. I would talk to Michel each night for an hour and afterward I would relive my childhood fears of house noises and what those noises could possibly signify.

During these days, I started to really look at my life and how my fearful thoughts were controlling me. I began reading Wayne Dyer's book Your Sacred Self. I also spent time trying to understand what was the purpose behind my falling. There were many people praying for me and sending healing thoughts during this time. My sister and a couple of friends called, which also broke up the monotony of sitting in bed. I am truly grateful for everyone who wrote me, called me, emailed me, and sent healing thoughts and prayers my way!

As the days went by, I became more comfortable with my daily routine. I learned to think ahead when I went from the bedroom to the kitchen and vice versa so that I didn't have to make repeated trips to get items I needed in either location. I learned how to do everyday tasks, like laundry and dishes, while on crutches. Every little success I had encouraged me. And I began to get a glimpse and appreciate what it is like for people who live with physical challenges every single day of their lives.

I still had days of overwhelm and one night I cried for almost an hour while talking with Michel. I was worried about how I would get to my next doctor's appointment. We didn't have a definite plan. In addition, I was concerned about getting out to the car. If there was any ice on our walkway, I wouldn't be able to walk with my crutches. Instead, I would have to use the magic carpet (a piece of plastic with two holes at one end people use for sliding in the snow) and slide on the ground to the car.

The day of the appointment was approaching. Would Michel's uncle be able to take me to the doctor's appointment? Would there be ice on the sidewalk? What would the doctor say about my ankle and how it was healing? These and other questions were swirling through my mind, creating fear and worry.

My broken ankle saga continues tomorrow. ;o)

Happy New Year--with a bang! Part 1

On January 1, 2006, between 5:30 and 6:00 p.m., I broke my ankle. My life partner, Michel, his mom, and I were walking to a restaurant in the town in Quebec where his family lives. I knew the sidewalks were icy, particularly at the corners where the streets and sidewalk met. I had slowed down while crossing the street and as I got to the corner, my left foot found a patch of ice that my eyes had not seen. My foot slid out from under me. As I hit the ground, I heard internally a kind of popping in my left leg. I knew I had hurt myself but thought perhaps I had snapped a tendon or ligament.

As I sat on the ground in some pain, I was very angry at myself for falling. This fall was the culmination of a series of falls that started last April or May. Since that time, I had fallen at least 8 or 9 times. Most of the falls had happened on my bicycle. But two weeks earlier, I had fallen while walking across a street near our home, falling on my right knee and shin. What was all this falling trying to tell me?

As I sat on the ground embarrassed and in pain, several people stopped to ask if I was okay. I knew I had hurt my ankle/leg--the pain told me that--but I didn`t think it was broken so I told everyone I was okay. I just wanted to hide or to be invisible.

One person who stopped was a nurse and asked if I could move my foot. Indeed, I could and she said that my ankle wasn`t broken. I was happy to hear that!

As Michel and I waited for his mother to arrive with the car, I decided to stand up. Somehow with Michel`s help and the help of a street sign pole, I stood up, planting my left foot and pushing up with my right leg to get me to an upright position. Michel`s mother drove us to the bus terminus where we got a taxi for home.

As I sat in the taxi, I could feel my ankle swelling and throbbing. The pain was intense but not unbearable. I just wanted to get home. When we arrived home, we somehow made it into the apartment. That part is kind of a blur to me. Michel ran a bath for me and as I lay in the hot water, I checked over my ankle and leg. My ankle was extremely swollen. So swollen, in fact, it felt like the skin couldn't stretch any further. I also noticed when I touched the outside of my leg, there was some sort of movement inside. Something was moving that never moved before and that didn`t move in my other leg. That was my first inkling that a bone could be broken.

After the bath, I elevated the leg and alternatively used ice and heat for the rest of the night. Michel wrapped the ankle for me, using a pair of pantyhose because someone had borrowed our elastic bandage! I took aspirin for the pain but sleeping that night was extremely difficult.

The next day, after checking the Internet and discovering bad sprains can mask a broken ankle, we decided I should get the ankle x-rayed to make sure it wasn't broken. Michel got me some crutches and an elastic bandage from the local drug store. Then, Michel's aunt and uncle took us to a local hospital's emergency room. The number of people waiting for treatment was unbelievable! I'm sure the fact that January 2 was a holiday affected how many people were waiting at the hospital.

I didn't see the triage nurse until an hour and a half after our arrival. At that point, we had decided to go home and go somewhere else the next day. The nurse checked me over and said if I could move the foot, the ankle was most likely not broken. She also told me the wait was going to be extremely long. (Michel had heard someone talking in the waiting room. The woman said that she had been waiting since 9 a.m. and it was now 4 p.m.!) The nurse thought our idea of going to a clinic the next day made more sense.

So now it was Janaury 3 and we went took a taxi to a clinic near our home that had an x-ray department. Once again we waited. I saw a doctor for about 5 to 10 minutes. He pressed on the ankle and asked me if it hurt and then sent me to radiology. Again we waited and finally I received my x-ray. The doctor checked the x-ray and told me I had broken the ankle on both sides of my leg. Actually, what that meant is that I had broken both the tibia and the fibula! He then gave me a prescription for a cast and told us we would have to go to a hospital emergency room to have the cast put on my ankle!

At that point, Michel rented a car while I waited for him to return to the clinic to get me. We went to the hospital (a different one) and then waited again. Finally, after waiting more than an hour, I got the cast put on, Michel made an orthopedic appointment for the next week, and we were able to go home. However, I was told that I had to return to the hospital the next day for a cast check--to make sure the cast was fitting properly. So we returned to the hospital the next day for the cast check. Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long.

As we returned home, I looked forward to being able to just rest and let my ankle heal. I was encouraged because the emergency room doctor thought I would be in a walking cast (a cast with a heel) in two or so weeks. I did not know then that my healing process was going to play out much differently than the scene I was picturing at that moment.

The saga of my broken ankle continues tomorrow...

Katrina's Tears

Dedicated to all who endured Hurricane Katrina.

In she stormed!
Uninvited, unwelcomed, unwanted!
With wild wrath and furious ferocity,
she tore through their lives
shredding everything she touched
she assaulted them,

their way of life,
their very existence,
stripping them of everything…

Everything…
except their hope,

their dignity,

their spirit,

their resiliency.

Then, she left,

Behind…she left
the chaos of her tears--

flooded streets,

a sea of anger, of broken dreams, of death,

human tears falling from devastated eyes,

a sea of faces who searched Katrina’s tears

for loved ones lost, abandoned, forsaken, misplaced.

And we who watched and felt their anguish,
we, you and me,

who feel safe,

who treasure our way of life.

who cling tightly to our very existence,

who possess everything…

In an eye-blink’s instant,

we realize:

Katrina’s tears have become our own.

© 2005 Vicky Lynn Macchione

The Words We Choose

I was watching Oprah yesterday as she was broadcasting from New Orleans and other cities that were hard hit by hurricane Katerina. Oprah said something that really struck me. She pointed out that the people who remain are not "refugees" but "survivors." Think about the significance of those two words. When I think of refugees, I typically think of people who have had to flee their countries because of war, economic misfortune, or persecution. When I think of survivors, I think of people who have gone through terrible disasters--natural or man made--and have lived to tell their stories.

Because of Oprah's show, I did some research on both words. The word refugee comes from the Old French and originally meant "to take shelter, protect." The meaning changed over time and eventually signified "one fleeing home." Originally, the word survivor was more of a legal term and meant "one who outlives another." As the word evolved, survivor was defined as "one who has the knack for pulling through adversity." I love that definition! (If you are interested in the etymology of words, check out www.etymonline.com.)

Technically, of course, the word refugees can be applied to Katerina's victims. However, for me--and what I think Oprah was trying to communicate to her viewers--describing the people who lived through hurricane Katerina as refugees makes them appear as helpless victims who have little hope of returning to their normal lives. Describing them as survivors calls attention to their strengths, their resourcefulness, their ability to make it through adversity. One word creates a sense of helplessness and hopelessness while the other word creates a sense of empowerment, of hope, of pride. These Americans who have gone through this catastrophic disaster deserve our respect, admiration, and support. They are alive; they are doing the best they can in the worst possible adversity; they are truly survivors!

The words we choose to describe ourselves, situations, and others are powerful. They can create impenetrable prisons or open doors to new possibilities. Prisons or possibilities, which will we choose?

--Vicky :o)

Hidden Masterpieces

I remember reading a book or seeing a documentary about great works of art that had been painted over either by the original artist or another artist for various reasons. Sometimes the original artist didn't like what (s)he had painted. Or, the artist was poor and didn't have money for another canvas. If another artist painted over the work of art, it might be because (s)he was trying to hide the original painting. (I vaguely remember that artists during WWII had painted over works of art to keep them out of the hands of the Nazis.) Or, perhaps the artist didn't know the painting was a great work of art, and (s)he needed a canvas on which to paint.

I am not quite sure how these works of art were discovered but I do know there is an actual profession dedicated to examining and maintaining painted masterpieces and other great works of art. An art conservator examines art objects to determine the condition, need for repair, appropriate method of preservation, and authenticity using x-rays, radiographs, and special lights. In addition, the art conservator knows all there is to know about handling, mounting, care, and storage of art objects. So, I am guessing that an art conservator was probably responsible for bringing these hidden masterpieces to light.

Why this interest in hidden paintings? The other night before I fell asleep I got an image of myself as a famous masterpiece that was hidden under another painting. As I thought about the image, I wondered why I would have "painted over" this masterpiece. I came up with a couple of reasons that parallel the reasons mentioned in the first paragraph. Perhaps I thought I needed to paint a "better" picture because I wasn't satisfied with the masterpiece I already was. Or, perhaps I was trying to hide my masterpiece from the eyes of others, fearing their criticisms.

Upon further reflection, I realized that even though I am the masterpiece, I am also the only one--the only art conservator--who can reveal to the world that hidden masterpiece. I am the expert on the masterpiece that is me!

And so it is with all of us spiritual beings. As we journey through this life, we realize that there are parts of our spiritual selves that we have hidden away, painted over so others cannot see them. We each have reasons for our decision to hide who we really are. However, the fact remains that we are all masterpieces of the Universe. Fortunately, we all have the ability to be our own "art conservator." What steps can you take to examine, clean, preserve, and reveal the hidden masterpiece that is you?

--Vicky :o)

Goodbye Newsletter, Hello Blog!

The Blue Heron Visions Newsletter is going on hiatus for a while (possibly forever)! Instead of a newsletter, I have decided to join the world of bloggers and publish my own blog. This change will encourage me to write more often without having to focus on one particular theme for a monthly/bimonthly newsletter. In addition, I won't be adding to my readers' email box quota with a newsletter that they may not have time to read. (Once or twice a month, I will send an email to my subscription list that indicates there are new posts on my blog and the blog's link.) Blogging will also allow for immediate feedback from my readers. Readers can add comments to the posts they read. Thus, blogging creates an instant forum around any subject about which I write.

So, to all the loyal readers of Blue Heron Visions Newsletter, I want to say, "Thank you!" I have appreciated your feedback and support. And, my hope is that you will find the blog enjoyable, enlightening, and entertaining.

Have a stupendously surprising and serendipitous September!
--Vicky :o)

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