Last week I was feeling a little down. Dark days and dark news clouded my view of humanity as I rushed to catch an early flight to Florida to give a presentation.
Then I took a header down an escalator at the airport.
I’ve almost fallen a thousand times. Most of us have. A momentary lapse or literal misstep allows gravity to reach out and grab us for a split second before we regain our balance.
Unless we don’t.
The suitcase slipped. I lunged to grab it. My shoulder bag swung forward. The rest of me followed.
The tumble continued in slow motion, like a well edited film, my brain trying to talk me through it. Grab the railing…shit.. missed it…arm out..stop the fall..cover the head..oh crap, still falling…
Then strong arms arrived and somehow lifted me across the threshold.
I could hear indistinct voices …We’ve got you….don’t worry…don’t move…does anything hurt? I’ve got her bags. I think these are her glasses. Strangers who had their own flights to catch, stopped to comfort and protect me.
I realized that I my wrist was probably broken, clearly broken, but I convinced myself that it was just a sprain.
The kind young men who rescued me stayed with me, got me water and shared their Tylenol. They hustled me through security and made it possible for me to catch my flight. I finally had to shoo them away to get to their own flights.
I’m sad that I never got their names. I would love to thank those who raised them.
After I arrived in Florida, a colleague who had never met me before, whisked me to an ER, and waited with me for five hours. A doctor confirmed the wrist was broken in two places and slapped on a splint. Other body parts were also asking for a little TLC at this point. I had the imprint of an escalator sliced in perfect steps all the way up my left leg.
Determined to forge ahead, and buffered by Ibuprofen and a shot of bourbon, I delivered my presentation the next evening to a lovely audience.
I returned home, bruised and broken, to the unfortunate news that I had postponed real care for too long. I have been proudly independent all my life, and everyone knows what pride goeth before….
My brave son held me as I howled through the torture of resetting the bones in my wrist. When I nearly lost consciousness, nurses revived me with ice and whispered reassurances.
The small army who came to my aid this week helped restore my belief in the essential goodness of most people.
A hailstorm of news about haters and hurters can turn us into a nation of cynics. I have always hated cynicism because it strikes me as haughty, dismissive and lazy. Kindness and hopefulness require action and inclusion.
To be lifted up, we sometimes need to fall.
I once fell down a mountain and dislocated my shoulder and oof it was the most ego-shattering experience. I, too, learned that helpers are all around and it overwhelmed me with gratitude. Somehow you've also managed to create something beautiful in the form of this piece. Heal up soon!
JEEZ Annie! Heal well, please!