As I struggled to grasp the doorknob when I arrived at the BCI office last week, a fellow who kindly opened the door for me asked in jest, "So how long are you going to milk this hand injury, Kathy?" If only he had a clue. I smiled and answered, "Two years, probably." When he stopped to see if I was serious and really looked at my scars and struggle to straighten my fingers he continued, "It IS pretty deformed, huh?"
Wow. My husband always comes to my rescue and whips out his phone with the gory image from April 5 of my forearm laid wide open. I haven't looked at it yet, but the fellow's response showed his renewed perspective, "WOW."
Yeah. It's a journey in humility and healing in all areas, for sure. Emotionally, I've had to learn how to respond to the immediate and standard greeting, "How's your hand?!" Over and over and over. It's my new identity somehow. Who I am. I get it. But what's really sick is that I almost feel offended with that rare person who just converses with me as if nothing ever happened. Never even acknowledges my hand! But I have figured out that I'm most blessed by those who give me a hug and talk to me about ME, my life and family, etc... then acknowledge my hand, the struggles and improvements. I want to learn this lesson of compassion well.
The intellectual journey is just as tricky. Being asked if I still feel the fog of concussion sends me into immediate fog! Large administrative tasks that used to fuel me are still daunting. But I've learned to break things down into one task at a time and to allow myself more time. Processing things out loud with others is helpful. I want to learn this lesson of grace well.
Physically, I am so thankful to be without a brace anymore! To sleep all night without Tylenol. To have peeled the last scab off my burns this afternoon. To have some use of my hand! To scratch Sheldon's back. To fold clothes. To drive. To take pictures. To clean my house. To not be completely inept in the kitchen. To wave and to shake hands. To teach Sunday School and piano students.
I still do 45 minutes of stretches 3-4 times a day and go to PT twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays now, 9-10a. with Susan. She acknowledges my frustration in atrophied muscles with no nerve signal. She massages, applies electricity, stretches, and celebrates growth. She gives me more rubber bands on my strength tool. And stickers on my scars. Waiting for nerves to regrow is like watching a tree grow. I want to learn this lesson of patience well.
This morning I had my devotions on the deck in the sunshine and the Lord spoke directly to my frail spirit. This spiritual journey of abiding is definitely a lesson I want to learn well.
"I will sing of Your strength. I will sing aloud of Your steadfast love in the morning. For You have been to me a fortress and a refuge in the day of distress. O my Strength, I will sing praises to You, for You, O God, are my fortress, the God Who shows me steadfast love." Psalm 59:16-17
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