In my rush to get from there to here
I missed some things. The solitary song
of the chickadee; the play of winter light
on kitchen walls; the smell of fresh-raked leaves;
the summer days of childhood, stretched slow
from dawn to dusk, no need to know the date
or time, only the sound of a silver swung bell
to call me in for supper.
Could I re-learn to navigate by phases
of the moon, the ebb and flow of tides,
the rhodies budding out today before
the fall’s first snow? Could I re-learn
to take my waking slow?
~Ted McMahon, M.D. “Slow Season”
I took an unscheduled landing while wheelbarrowing hay to our horses in the field yesterday morning.
In my rush to get from there to here I missed some things.
I stumbled on uneven ground and fell hard, badly injuring my elbow. Finishing chores afterward was a challenge and a necessity, wrapping my broken wing up tight in my jacket, doing what was needed before my husband came home to take me to the ER where good people who know me took great care of me.
Even though no bones were broken, it was dislocated, so my elbow (and I) needed to be put back together. The miracle of “conscious sedation” IV medication let my body “think” I was awake – I was surrounded by a swirling round of voices telling me to take deep breaths and constantly reassuring me–while the ER doctor and nurse put traction on my arm and shoulder, then twisting and turning my elbow back into proper position with a “clunk”. I was blissfully unaware of the tugging and torque, paying attention only to the swirling sounds in my head, then waking slow to find my arm splinted and wrapped from mid-humerus to fingers — all fixed but now typing is also slow.
The ground is near yet still can be a hard and abrupt landing;
I celebrate the good clinicians who put broken people back together again.