Here is definite proof that I am both arrogant and foolish. Arrogant because I think I’m 20 years old and there is nothing I cannot do, and foolish because I act on this belief. I had about 500 books on my shelves which I knew I would never read or re-read. I also had about the same number of CDs that I knew I would never listen to. I discovered that the board members of League House, across the street from White Sands, were willing to hold a book fair for their 30 residents and staff and include our White Sands team members. It was the perfect event to which I could donate all my books and CDs.
I have to admit: all my life I have had trouble not only asking for help, but also accepting it when offered. So (thinking I am still 20 years old), I took the 500 books off my shelves and packed them into 16 huge boxes ready to be given to League House. The event was a huge success! Their residents, staff, and our team members took as many books and CDs as they wished. By the end of the day, only four small boxes remained, which were picked up by the Friends of the Public Library.
However, something was not right—my back was hurting. Was it from lugging all those heavy books? When the pain intensified, I decided to fix it by exercising and doing stretches, which only made matters worse. Then I had trouble walking. I went to Scripps Clinic for a CT scan, followed by an MRI, and sure enough—I had fractured my sacrum. My orthopedist, Dr. Hai-Yan Li, told me it would take four months to heal. There was nothing to be done except to lie flat on my back and move as little as possible. The common wisdom is that it takes six weeks for a fracture to heal, but that is for young people. At 92, it is supposed to take longer. But as you remember, I still think I am 20 years old, so I anticipated healing accordingly.
Dr. Lazarus, our esteemed in-house doctor, gave me the choice of either moving to our nursing floor or getting caretakers. I opted for the latter so I could stay in my apartment. Bonnie Simmons of Good.AtHome swiftly organized everything with wonderful caretakers. Meals were brought to me on trays, which I ate in bed.
This all sounded good, except the pain was overwhelming. I couldn’t find a position in my bed where I could lie comfortably. Sleep was a problem—lying in one position, unable to move without pain. More than that, I couldn’t tolerate any pain medication. I tried Vicodin and Tramadol, as well as Butrans, Salonpas and Fletcor transdermal patches, and even CBD oil. I also tried Advil, Aleve, and Celebrex; they all made me nauseated and gave me bad heartburn. I took Prilosec and Zantac for the heartburn, which in turn gave me diarrhea. (I’m sure you’re interested in that!) Running to the bathroom with a cane does not work well. Tylenol was the only relief I had, which wasn’t much. Are you feeling sorry for me yet? I was feeling sorry for myself, catastrophizing, “I will remain a cripple all my life,” until Gary Boriero, our Executive Director, warned me that negative thoughts could influence the outcome of my healing. So I reframed my thoughts into “I will heal. I am healing.” After an energy healer worked on me, I was able to sleep on my side for the first time in five weeks without pain. I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it was not New Jersey!
I got a wheel chair that reclined (as sitting on my fracture was not advisable), and thus was able to attend in-house meetings while lying down. Going to my first meeting in seven weeks in my reclining wheelchair, I was surrounded by my friends greeting me with joy. Seeing all those happy faces, I realized how much I missed them and how much I love my White Sands family.
Is there a lesson here? I need to learn to accept my age and its limitations and take better care of my body instead of abusing it as if it were indestructible. In addition, I have experienced how positive thinking can influence the healing process. However, I am a slow learner and tend to overdo as soon as I start to feel better. After two months, the pain has subsided enough to start rehab. As I’m on my way to recovery, I hope to become a wiser self.