It's a quarter past 10 this Monday morning and from my vantage point on the tweed recliner in our living room, I can see my husband packing apples and notebooks for school. The sound of his keys jingling as they swing from his jeans, where they are latched securely onto his belt loop, triggers my heart rate to increase.
He's heading out for the day. I will be alone for the first time in nearly 48 hours, I think to myself.
"I love you. I'll call you in an hour," Ken replies, as if responding to my inner dialogue. He gives me a quick kiss goodbye. The lock to our apartment door clicks, and he is gone.
I glance over at my left foot and slowly practice flexing my toes, back and forth. Within the past day and a half, I've noticed a growing sense of fear that at some point I'll look over at my left foot and it'll be gone. I'm not sure what that means exactly, so anytime I start to panic about possibilities (i.e. a dead foot, a black and blue foot, a foot that never moves again), I focus on my foot and practice moving it ever so feebly. Until the pain returns. Then I stop and remember to pray.
In retrospect, I am baffled by how incredibly painful my current state is compared to the minor incident that most likely caused it. On Friday afternoon, while my cousin and his wife and Ken and I were hiking through some old roads en route to Mukilteo Coffee Roasters on a nearby island, I tripped and rolled my left ankle. It was quick and painless. Not memorable in the slightest. I've lost my balance countless other times and rolled both my ankles in ways that actually hurt, whereas this moment, I felt nothing. Just a little embarrassed, I suppose. Regaining my stance, I continued walking and enjoyed the remainder of our trip to the coffee shop and back to our vacation rental--all without a hint of discomfort.
But then that night, I woke up with a tinge of pain in my foot. I ignored it, assuming the cause to be an awkward sleeping position. In the morning, I started limping. This was now Saturday. A few steps here and there and I could feel my foot cramping. Annoyed, I decided to "walk it off" because honestly, the more I walked and moved around, the better my foot felt. Looking back, I don't completely understand why that was. Shouldn't my body have told me that it was hurt? I feel slightly betrayed.
Easter morning the pain hit me like a rush of searing hot water hurled against my left foot. My blood boiled with heat from every movement of my leg, as I tried to prop myself up in bed. Something is wrong, very wrong, I thought to myself, as I nudged Ken awake.
"I'm in a lot of pain, Baby. Can you please help me call the nurse's hot line for my insurance? The cards are in my wallet."
As Ken stumbled in the morning light toward our hallway, where my purse hung from the closet door, I shuddered at the thought of what was happening. I had never felt pain like this before.
The slightest twitch of my toes in the "wrong" direction, and I screamed out in agony. Every curse word I've ever heard, I voiced with equal opportunity, shouting, as I struggled in vain to get my foot in a comfortable position. I managed to make it through the phone call to the nurse, with only a few tears grazing my cheeks. She could tell I was hurting. Without any conversation filler, she got right to the point: "You need to see a doctor. Today. Go to Urgent Care. I will help you find one--but you must go today because this could get much worse." Amidst my physical pain, I couldn't help but cry over the disappointment of missing church on such a special day. Our friends were waiting to meet us for breakfast before service and we wouldn't be there. We had to go to Urgent Care. And we had to leave now.
At our local Urgent Care, I was seen by the physician's assistant, who kindly knelt down on the floor by my foot and gently pushed and prodded to locate the origin of my pain. She gave me two possible diagnoses: either I fractured some bones in my ankle or foot or I tore the muscle tissue of my Achilles tendon. One option required a cast, while the other required immediate surgery. Both would take 6-8 weeks for a full recovery. Once she voiced the possibility of surgery, my mind started panicking and I struggled to breathe. The room was closing in. I heard the physician say something about crutches and needing X-rays, but all I could think about was the thought of surgery. A small word with so much fear attached to it. I immediately thought back to my sister's recent surgery. It should've been a routine operation, an easy outpatient "fix." But the surgeon messed up. She aimed wrong with her medical tools and because of a simple error, my sister was in intense pain for days, with a catheter and the inability to move in and out of bed.
The crinkling noise of plastic wrap jolted me back to my surroundings, momentarily releasing me from all the "what-if" possibilities plaguing my mind. Crutches. The physician wanted me to try out the set of crutches she had just removed from their plastic covering. After we found the right height for my crutches, she sent us off to our next appointment at a nearby hospital. Time for X-rays. Following my X-ray exam, the radiologist determined that there were no broken bones. My physician also ruled out a torn Achilles tendon, which was very encouraging. This meant that both the possible diagnoses didn't fit. Surprised by the results herself, my physician decided that the next step will be to see whether my foot can heal on its own. We are giving it one week to see if the pain eases and if greater movement returns. If not, I will be scheduled for an MRI to better examine the muscle tissue around my ankle. In case the X-ray missed something.
I have so many questions swirling around my mind: Will my body heal on its own? Is this degree of pain normal? What does it look like to honor God when I feel so debilitated by pain and the inability to move and function? In the past two days, I have had multiple opportunities to extend grace and practice humility toward myself and others. Last night, I decided to start crying out to God in my moments of severe pain rather than scream obscenities. God knows I'm hurting. Instead of just voicing my anger, I want to face my pain and ask God to meet me there. I also want to show myself more grace, because the way I feel right now doesn't define who I am. In faith, I see how God is increasing my ability to relate to others in pain and extend compassion. I can't even imagine living in a state of constant pain, as some do.
Likewise, I've been humbled in ways that are hard to share. Showering and even using the bathroom are difficult obstacles when I am prone to lose my balance and fall down. Yesterday, I slipped while trying to use the toilet. Upon hearing a loud bang, Ken ran in to see me crying hysterically, as I had fallen on my hurt foot. I'm still getting used to my crutches, and it's going to take time. Yet my husband continues to show me his faithful devotion to our marriage, especially in this time of injury. For example, today I was so fearful of showering that Ken stood outside the curtain, squeezing shampoo and bathing products into my hand while I balanced on one foot, firmly grasping the shower bar with one hand. When I finished, he carefully guided me out of the bathroom, encouraging me that I could do this. I am so thankful for the glimpses of God's goodness, faithfulness and healing that I have experienced these past two days, even in the midst of such pain. I'm holding on to hope.
Lord, please heal my foot and restore my mobility. Until then, please continue to show me Your Kingdom with eyes and ears, perhaps just a little bit more inclined, to receive it.
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