I know I'm overdue to post.I was on a roll, there, writing every week - even if some of the topics were truly insignificant.
Like my last one, about what it means to go "home" for the holidays.
Then the holidays came. And I broke my leg.
That's right. 3 days after Christmas, while spreading holiday cheer with my dad, I fell out a door and broke my leg. To be more specific, my right leg. The one I need in order to drive.
To quote the folks who worked on me - I did a "good job." Everyone who had access to my x-rays or case notes was impressed with how well I broke it.
I was impressed with the care I recieved.The ambulance drivers were friendly, composed, and calm - if not entirely coordinated. The ER nurses were helpful and reassuring. The surgeon explained things clearly, listened to my concerns, and accepted my input, respectfully. The anesthesiologist even joked with me. This might seem like no-big-deal to you, or that's-how-it-should-be, but I've seen a lot of ER's over the years (though this was my first time *on* the bed since grade-school), and I know that's not always the case. So, my compliments to the crisis team.
I was on vacation when it happened. 550+ miles from home. Visiting my parents for Christmas.
I am so thankful I was. They were amazing. My dad held my leg while we waited for the ambulance. My mom bought me dresses while I was in the hospital, since all I'd packed were pants. My brother & his fiancee brought the baby to give me hugs - even on the coldest night of the year.
Once I got out of the hospital, my dad - who is generally stuck home due to his own health concerns - was the best nurse ever! He waited on me constantly for a week. Spoiled me totally rotten, in a way I suspect he's wanted to do for years. Mom became a quite a strategist, figuring out how to wash my hair, with no chairs to put by the sink, painting my toe-nails to match my cast, packing my gear so I could travel. And thanks to my brother and his girl, that beautiful baby kept coming around.
Then, finally and yet too soon, I got my clearance to travel home.
Home, where I live independently. Home, where I've been for just under 6 months.
Home, where an acquaintance spent 2 days rescuing my car from the parking lot where I'd left it, so confident I'd be back soon.
Home, where another virtual stranger picked me up from the airport at dawn and drove me to my door.
Home, where the nearest family is 4 hours away.
Thank God my sister was able to come up and join me for a few days. She's helped me shop for the things an invalid needs, rearranged the house to be more mobility-friendly, and helped me feel not quite so lost. She also brought cute kids to give me hugs. Oh, and new wine glasses, for when I am ready to celebrate.
I look back on my decision to move here, and the hundred ways God blessed that move. I re-read my own blog from August, and really do believe He was with me, coming here, at this time.
I also believe He allowed this accident to happen this winter. Somehow this is all part of "the plan."
So I have to believe that somehow He will bring it all together for good.
Because right now, I just want to go home. Home to mom's house. Home to my sister's couch. Home to Tacoma, where I left so many wonderful, helpful friends. Home, dear readers, I have finally realized, is where you are not alone.
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. - Joshua 1:9
(Super thanks to my friend CM who posted this verse on Facebook just when I needed it the most. Thanks, girl, for following the Spirit's leading. May you be blessed, always!).
