ZONE V5 PALM CITY WEST-643

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For What It’s Worth by L.E. Murphy

O ne place I never expected to write from is a respite facility. Let me explain. I stumbled over the last step going downstairs, thinking the step was the oor and to make a long story short, I broke my ankle. Not just a little break, a huge break, the kind of break that you can brag about later when things seem funny in hindsight. It has been a long journey for the past two weeks, and six more weeks of non-weight bearing until I get really well-acquainted with my physical therapist. Now, I’m not one to brag, but I’ve never fallen before, nor have I ever broken a bone, so in light of that, forgive me if I want to complain just a little too much, but are you kidding? Who knew that one ankle could cause this much pain and interruption in my life. No wonder they shoot horses. Let’s begin what you can expect if you don’t pay attention to the stairs and nd yourself in this position. First, you should have your cell phone on you at all times. I did. Second, call everyone you know to help you. Check. Did that too. My house was lled with two sets of grown children and spouses, a grandson, and my neighbors, who eventually called their son, who owns a gym, to come escort me to what was the rst step of dependency and what was becoming a bad mood. Next step, let’s all ll the emergency room with my son-in- law betting me y dollars that it was a sprain and not a break. I wish I had bet more. Aer spending most of the day in the ER for no apparent reason since it was not busy at all, the news came. It was a break, actually several breaks, and a couple of ruptured ligaments. I took the y. Now I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but in my mind I’d get a couple of ace bandages, some sympathy, and call it a day. Nope. Not at all. I got a very uncomfortable berglass cast with lots of padding and my rst glimpse of life as an invalid. For one thing, I have suddenly acquired new furnishings and by that I mean a wheelchair, a walker, a call bell that I wear around my neck, a boot that goes from my ankle to my knee with velcro straps that snag everything, and I don’t mean a walking boot. Oh no. at is to be determined in a total of eight weeks sitting on my behind. I know by now you’re thinking that you’re tired of me complaining, and I don’t blame you. ere are worse things in the world, but here’s the thing. Going from total independence to total dependency is not going well for me. I am not used to counting on other people to run my life and although I am so appreciative of all the help, I just can’t take it anymore. I have raised four children, I have had dogs that are so energetic that they’ve chewed everything that wasn’t

bolted down, I have lived in New York City where every day was a possibility that I would be mugged or killed, but I never complained. is, however, is the last straw for my mental health. So, if you’re still reading, and I wouldn’t be if I were you, let’s continue the journey. I had surgery, One day later I was placed in a rehabilitation facility where physical therapy was like a religion, and everyone had to perform a minimum of three hours a day of physical and occupational therapy. It was a huge gymnasium of broken people of whom I was one. No one cared that you were tired or in pain. e idea was to adhere to the rules and the rules were, you do your exercises from the crack of dawn until you were allowed to return to your room

for a miserable diet of mystery food. Let’s not even talk about bathroom issues, even I don’t want to relive that. Okay, so aer seven days in hell, I decided to go to a respite place for the rest of my recovery, which was to be a minimum of 6 weeks. It is now day four. I want out!! ere is no real reason to complain other than to say this. I have no idea how I ever committed to marriage, when I can’t commit to six more weeks of living my life at the mercy of other people. I’ve already called my son and told him if I ever actually had to live the rest of my life as a dependent human, he had my permission to kill me. He laughed. I don’t know why. It isn’t funny. My point is that I have an entirely new perspective on everyone with a disability. God bless them if they have reached deep down and found their sweet, fun personality. I give them credit. For me, I’m going to gure out a way to break out of here and go home, even if that means I can only live in my room with no food for the next month or two. Also, I’m selling my house. ere is no reason anyone should have a house lled with stairs. Or throw rugs, or anything else that is going to impede your independence. Take heed. Only two weeks ago I was among the happy, sane people and now I’ve become a shell of myself. Get out of your houses as soon as possible if you have steps ey are the real villains of the unsuspecting. anks for reading. I’ll try to get myself together before the next article!

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