It was January 1993 (I think). Twenty years after I’d graduated from junior college, I finally collected enough classes to qualify for a bachelor’s degree.
Photo by Bruce Christianson on Unsplash
That evening I took my very last final exam. We were living in the Sierra Nevada foothills in Folsom, CA in a house on a seriously sloped lot. The street was on the same level as the second story of our house. The pool was on the equivalent of a basement level in our backyard. Just before dusk I ran over to the neighbors for something. On the way back across the front yard I slipped on the wet grass, heard a loud crack, and went down like a ton of bricks. I screamed for help and Randy and his folks who were visiting at the time came running.
Yup, something was seriously wrong with my ankle. They loaded me into the back seat of the car and Randy and I went off to the nearest hospital. Because we were military, they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) treat me there and sent us off to Mather AFB to be seen in their hospital emergency room. At Mather they took x-rays and realized my injury was too complicated for them to treat so I was loaded up again and sent to another, larger, civilian hospital in Sacramento. I spent the night there and had emergency surgery first thing in the morning.
When all was said and done, I left the hospital with several embedded pins and screws, a serious cast on my lower right leg, in a wheelchair. I was told I could put no weight whatsoever on that leg for 6-8 weeks. I had broken both my fibula and tibia at the ankle, in effect, breaking my foot clean off. Thank goodness for muscles and sinew and skin that kept it attached. I spent the next 6 weeks in a wheelchair. That experience gave me a new appreciation for the handicapped.
In celebration of my long-awaited graduation from college, Randy and I had previously scheduled a trip to Hawaii for about 7 weeks hence. I told the orthopedic surgeon in no uncertain terms that I was going to be healed and have no cast by then. We were going to Hawaii. Period. He just gave me the look that says, “yeah, well, we’ll see.” I went home, sat on the couch with my leg elevated and started talking to all those red blood cells down there, commanding them to marshal all their healing forces and get on with it.
As I went back for my bi-weekly check-ups, the doctor said I was doing well, astonishingly well. The week before we were scheduled to get on that plane for Honolulu, I asked him to take off the plaster cast and give me a walking boot. In fact, I said, give me 2 walking boots, one for wet activities and one for dry activities. He looked at me like I had two heads, said it wasn’t a good idea, argued a little with me, but gave in and did as I asked. I promised to be careful about how much time I spent on that leg and foot that was healing so well. I didn’t want to do anything stupid to reverse the progress I was making. But there was no way anything was keeping me out of the water for the two weeks we were staying on that beautiful beach.
Those of you who’ve spent any time on tropical beaches know how, at the water’s edge, as the waves break on shore and pull back out to sea, that undertow can really tug at your ankles. The first time I tried to walk into the water, I knew my ankle was not yet strong enough to withstand the force of nature tugging at it in all directions at the water’s edge.
But I’m a problem solver, and I was NOT going to be deterred from enjoying the gentle, warm, wavy ocean that is at the top of my favorite things in the world list. I sent Randy off to buy a cheap air mattress. He blew it up and laid it down at the water’s edge. I laid down on it and Randy dragged me out past the breaking waves. When I was done floating around in the water I paddled that air mattress in toward shore and let the waves beach me…not unlike a beached whale. Ingenious, right?
Well, it worked. I spent two weeks on the beach on Oahu and my ankle got stronger and stronger because I didn’t stress it unnecessarily. My doctor was amazed. And thankfully, now 30 years later, I can’t really even tell I ever broke my foot off. I have no lingering problems with that ankle at all.
Looking back, I count that foot breaking off, and its healing in time to enjoy that trip to Hawaii, as a miracle. I ought to let Randy use this story for Our High Places. The time I spent having to pause life to heal from that break was instructive too in other very important ways. But that’s a story for next week.
P.S. If you don’t think our minds place a huge role in our bodies ability to heal, you don’t understand this amazing vessel God gave us to use while we’re here on this earthly plane. Your mind and mindset are crucial to physical healing. Take my word for it.
P.P.S. No, that’s not me in the photo above. Thanks to Unsplash.com for free stock photos to use in our blogs.
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