“Elizabeth of all people!” That is what my sister said was the predominant response when she told her friends last week that I fell at Hopkins Airport and fractured my hip in two places. Well that is the generic description of what happened. Actually it was an inter-trochanteric fracture and a sub-trochanteric fracture requiring two pins and a rod to stabilize my literally, snapped in half right leg. I thought I knew pain up until then. There was nothing dramatic about my fall, pathetically pedestrian really – got the strap of my bag caught under my heel and ‘voila’. It only takes your leg to be twisted into an off kilter pretzel, shoes without traction, and a marble floor to do quite devastating damage. I thought I knew pain AND I thought I knew patience. Even the first EMT, a man, (which is only relevant because of what he subsequently said), looked at me, and I quote, “surely it’s not as bad as labor?” First of all he had no idea whether I had even had children and I had no idea whether he had ever broken his hip but what I knew for sure was that he had not given birth. “How the hell would you know?” I wailed. “Damn right it’s worse than labor.”

When I first fell my breath stopped the way it always does when you suddenly get pounded. The airport was its usual bustling blurred zone with stops and starts, connects and disconnects, my dive onto the floor almost a blip that even I expected to spring up from and pretend didn’t happen. But, after what seemed like several minutes of stunned silence and a vibration in my ears that eventually turned to nausea, I tried to move my right leg. Not only was it not going anywhere but even the thought of  another attempt brought a column of uninterrupted tears streaming down my cheeks. It was then that a police officer came up to me and asked, “are you alright miss?” I suppose there is nothing else that serves better in these circumstances. It took me back to my 2 weeks volunteering after Hurricane Katrina when thinking of asking someone if, “they were alright,” who was clearly not alright, left me mute at times. “I can’t move my leg,” I said, “give me a few minutes maybe it will get better.” Injuries whether physical or emotional are full of illusions and delusions, firstly designed to protect and then designed to deny.

A little group collected around my scattered body, and yes it, I, felt scattered. Broken apart from myself and unable to make my way back to pick up the fallen pieces. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to locate my breath. Harder than I thought it would be. Embrace the pain I am always saying – it isn’t going anywhere and fighting increases resistance and feeds the cycle of more pain. Let me tell you that first and foremost this is an intellectual idea. Full of relief and promise but not immediately transferable to the fear that collaborates with every pain fibre on rapid release that is circulating around your body. I tried for sometime to embrace the pain but I was terrified that meant I had to move and any movement was torturous. How do people who have multiple injuries through motor vehicle accidents, acts of war, repeated physical assault, find the courage and grace to recover? Yes I actually thought that while I was lying on the ground.

The kindly police officer asked me who he should call and while on the telephone attempted to protect my modesty by placing his coat over my exposed legs, my now favorite skirt flared up well above my waist. Just the pressure of his jacket sent me into spasm. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me,” I shrieked. He handed me the phone and I whimpered into the flip-up hand held, (yes I was alert enough to take note of that), something terrible has happened to my leg.” When the full EMT squad arrived there were several questions.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Did you hurt your neck?”

“No”

“Can you move your legs?”

“Not the fucking right one?” (no edits this is a true story)

“Can we put on a neck collar?”

“No!”

“Please write down patient is refusing a neck collar”

“Can you sit up?”

I let out a loud stream of throttled screams each one colliding with my attempt to inhale some clean air – the crowd was thicker now. “Don’t move me, please don’t move me. You can’t put me on that back board, you can’t move me. It hurts too much. Give me something for pain, p-l-e-a-s-e!” I would have taken anything to just be knocked out but apparently no meds are allowed until you are actually inside an ambulance. That’s a rule I have decided needs to change. Gonna work on that! The team was very kind, incredibly gentle, amazingly patient, and enduringly reassuring. It took several people, at least four, to slide me onto that back board and I yelled the entire time as I felt 59 blades penetrate my groin and then self propel down the length of my femur. It wasn’t 57 or 58 it was definitely 59. My knee hurt too but not as much as my hip and then, for some reason I thought it might be a good idea if the nice EMTs try to take off my shoes. The left one was no problem. The right one, well that was the 60th blade.

I was at Hopkins Airport on my way to Boston to be with a very dear friend who was going into surgery the next day to remove a cancerous tumor from her breast, the right one as it so happens. I had texted her, “see you soon,” just before I fell. We ended up having surgery at the same time the next day each in our separate stories, which she poignantly named for us ‘The Symmetry of Scars’. I am sharing this all here because I have been gob smacked yet again. Forced to look at the philosophical principles upon which I have built my life and have confidently shared with others as I dusted off the past in my commitment to be present. It is impossible to be anything but present in this kind of pain, no amount of wailing changed its duration or intensity. however kindness tilted the frame through which I was able to see the broken parts of myself. I have never liked the assertion made to therapists in training, “know your stuff.” Most of it hasn’t happened yet. Know that! Of course life isn’t always about crashes and calamity, loss and despair more a cryptic blend of disaster and the absurd; joy filtered through the inevitability of change. This has changed me. I don’t know in all the ways yet. I am fortunate to already be up and about on one crutch only eleven days after my surgery, although up and about doesn’t come close to my usual pace (no snide comments here please:). So I share this to let you know that I have heard and absorbed all of your kind words. Not as client to therapist but as human being to human being and I am humbled by the privilege of being let into your lives for the one, two, or maybe three hours a month that you spend with me. This is me letting you into mine because I cannot hide my pain and I will not be able to deny my recovery and for that truth I am infinitely grateful. Thank you!

“Elizabeth of all people!”

“Why not Elizabeth of all people?”