My brother's into his third week of dialysis. My sister was just diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Lifelong things they will always be grappling with.
I fell off my bike. Not in the same league. Not in the least bit comparable. I'm thinking it'll take some time but I should totally heal. And yet, I'm unnerved. Thrown off. Facing, in a very small way, my body not handling things all that well. I can't climb down stairs. I can't bend my left leg. I can't put any pressure on my palm. I'm sporting vibrant purple bruises that mirror pieces of my bike. I ache.
And not just my body.
My mind is shaken up. How does one cope with, handle, accept, live with a body that isn't living up to what you think it should? The jolts of pain are constant reminders that all is not right, that my muscles, my joints, my bones are in distress.
That my body, my home, is fragile. Can be broken in a moment. That no matter what my intellectual self thinks, my physical self is beyond my control in many ways.
I'm both grateful for my health and frozen with fear at how quickly things can change.