What's Broken Can Be Healed

Almost four years ago, with my foot in a cast, the dream of walking without crutches, without a cane, without a limp was a daily prayer. I would wake up each morning and hope that I was one day closer to healing. I wanted to know what it felt like to jump out of bed instead of strapping on the velcro air cast and pumping the air into the hidden bubble sacks to the exact tension that would give my foot the needed support, but not cause the numbing sensation of zero circulation. I wanted to stand in the shower again instead of balancing unsteadily on one foot as I tried to lower myself into the tub without causing even more injury. I wanted to go for a walk. I wanted to dance. I wanted to fill my day, not endure it. I wanted to appreciate what had temporarily been taken away, and never take it for granted again.

The broken foot, ironically, occurred at a time in my life when there were so many other things that were broken. When I retell the story of that night of dancing in my bare feet- which ultimately led to a trip to the ER, a plaster cast, an air cast, surgery, a fibreglass cast, the air cast again- it might seem as though my five month saga was adventurous, even comical. It was, after all, only a broken foot. What people don't see or hear, and what I never wanted them to see and hear, was how that short loss of my independence and my capabilities created a struggle inside of me that eventually gave me a source of inner strength that I didn't think I even possessed. I re-evaluated so many of my choices during those months. I could let my life continue to feel broken, or I could take charge, fix it, and then give it time to heal into a life that I really wanted.

Four years later, my foot long out of the cast, and I know that not only has my physical self healed, but I am on a path that is helping me to create the life that I once thought was out of my reach. There have been many days, weeks, months that I have questioned how I tried to fix what was broken. But there have also been so many new experiences and new people brought into my life that I am so grateful for, that I don't have any regrets about the imbalance that I thought I was creating for everyone else. A counsellor I was seeing at that time was trying to help me to embrace the changes in my life while still considering the effect of these changes on the people around me. She wanted me to see that it was okay. She used the analogy of a wind chime. When a wind chime is still, each piece is hanging perfectly straight; there is no movement to create noise or confusion. When one piece of the chime starts to move, it causes a chain reaction of movement in the other pieces which creates the sound and the swaying of the entire chime. The change can be heard as a beautiful sound by some, or to others as an annoying disturbance of their silence. Eventually, the chime stills and order is restored. I was the piece that swayed in the chime. I disrupted the balance, caused the movement, and made the noise. The noise has gradually become soothing and peaceful music. The chime of my life is once again finding its equilibrium.

Finding the sources of my strength to continue the healing has been an ongoing journey for me. Last week, I accomplished a goal that I had set for myself this past summer. I was going to run and finish a 10km race with my son. There were many days that I didn't feel like adding an extra km to my training; I didn't want to run up that pool hill; and I really didn't want to hear the sound of my son's voice when I returned from the run, and he's telling me that I can shorten my time. Run faster? Is he kidding? I'm happy to have returned at all. But, what I really didn't want to do was to give up. I listened to that voice in my head as it reminded me of those crutches, of the cane, of the months of physiotherapy. I listened when it reminded me of how broken my will to be my own person had become. I listened when it told me to set my new goals, and do everything I could to make them happen.

As I passed the 9km marker at the Festival City Run, I could hear the crowds near the finish line, as each runner's people inspired that last shot of adrenaline to get to that line. Nearing the last bend, an old friend of mine who had already finished the race, ran up beside me, pushing me with his encouraging words, and I could feel the energy inside me build. As he dropped away to let me taste the thrill of the finish, I looked up and saw my three children, heard them cheering for their mom, Greg yelling at me to pass the girl in front of me. I sprinted to that finish line with a smile on my face, and a sense of pride and accomplishment in myself for having achieved my goal- I had finished the race; I had rebuilt my life.