I broke my ankle two weeks ago. Properly. I had the whole experience – hours in trauma, days in hospital, an operation, flowers, visitors, morphine – the works.
Then it was time to put on a moon boot, learn how to walk on crutches and go to my sister’s house for a few days. Well…that’s what I thought when I got gingerly into the back of her car. Ha! Ten days later I am still here, and even getting home by next weekend is looking a bit optimistic.
It’s been hard. And I am not just talking about the pain, the weird things that happen to your body thanks to Codeine, or the post anesthetic depression that takes hold on day 4. What I am talking about is my complete dependence on others.
The immobility means I am completely dependent on the love, compassion and patience of my sister and her family. From getting a cup of tea to finding the remote to fetching my phone charger from my niece’s Hello Kitty decorated bedroom which I now occupy, there is very little I can do for myself.
And let’s not go into the details of having a shower. Suffice to say that garden furniture is your friend. Treat it nicely. You don’t know when you will need it. Oh, and my sister is a saint!
As I was wallowing in self-pity, shouting at the world and trying to work out how the hell this happened, I was struck by how ludicrous it all was. This mental drama playing out in my head wasn’t helping anyone, least of all me.
I need to take a leaf out of Basil’s book.
One thing plants and animals do, that this human seriously struggles with, is simply and openly accept what they need to grow and thrive. When I first started my garden, I was given a little basil plant.
It wasn’t much of a thing and looked so soft and flimsy that I assumed it would die within days of planting. I only planted it because I didn’t want to upset the gift giver. On a whim I threw an old tyre around it to protect it from the wind tunnel that is the side of my house, and thought no more of it.
Two weeks later it was the most enormous bush you have ever seen. It was doing better than any other plant in the garden, to the point where I was having to pick its leaves almost daily and give them away. I was stunned.
The basil didn’t worry about whether it belonged in the garden or whether it was taking up water or sunlight that belonged to another plant. And it certainly couldn’t care less about whether I thought it would or wouldn’t make it. It just grew. It took what it needed and grew.
I need to do the same. I have to stop worrying about how much I am or am not doing right now and just take what I need to heal. This mind of mine, so funny and powerful and strong, can really get in the way of the simple art of getting better.
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