Back injuries are cumulative, or so goes the current medical understanding on the subject. For me, it was a lifetime of picking things up carelessly, not using proper body mechanics, taking my body for granted. So ... it all caught up with me one rainy afternoon in Addis when I slipped on a rock trying to avoid stepping in some puddle of something that was not rainwater.
A herniated disc in my spine. Two of them, actually. It hurt like the devil when I tried to bear weight on my left leg. But ... I got by with the help of all the wonderful people who volunteered to go on the April trip, made it back to the United States with my very own personal flight attendant (grazie, Francesco), and followed up with my doctor. Got some steroid shots, accupuncture and thought I was good to go.
But my body had another plan. Or Mother Nature, or the Great Whomever ... time for me to slow down and contemplate my life, the universe and everything while convalescing from major surgery. So ... here I sit on a Saturday evening, in an air-conditioned rehabilitation hospital, learning to walk all over again.
These last three weeks have been a great and amazing wonder: because God gifted a neurosurgeon with the ability to free my spinal nerves from compression, I will have a regular pain-free life again soon; I have been able to see just how much my friends love me, how much my husband loves me, and that what I always thought was my "same-old, same-0ld" actually makes a difference when I'm not doing it.
I am blessed beyond belief. I have health insurance, I have the means to earn a living from my hospital bed, I have skilled therapists and nurses to help me get better, a comfortable bed, a clean room, excellent food, the list of bounty goes on and on.
Trish told me that Africa would change my life, and although I fully expected it to, I didn't imagine this would be the revelation: it is impossible for me to feel sorry for myself. There are people all over this planet with far more debilitating conditions than mine who are sleeping on the street, without so much as a cardboard box for comfort. People begging on the streets of Addis or Nairobi or Mumbai for just a fraction of what showed up on my dinner tray this evening.
As I sip my bed-time herbal tea, my thoughts turn to the Kumela family. I hope tonight in Addis it is warm, that the roof has stopped leaking and that Fakhadu's legs have begun to strengthen so that he can take full advantage of his crutches. I hope the day is nice tomorrow and that the family has enough for dinner. And I hope, most of all, that I never ever forget how lucky I am to be sitting here tonight, counting my blessings.
A herniated disc in my spine. Two of them, actually. It hurt like the devil when I tried to bear weight on my left leg. But ... I got by with the help of all the wonderful people who volunteered to go on the April trip, made it back to the United States with my very own personal flight attendant (grazie, Francesco), and followed up with my doctor. Got some steroid shots, accupuncture and thought I was good to go.
But my body had another plan. Or Mother Nature, or the Great Whomever ... time for me to slow down and contemplate my life, the universe and everything while convalescing from major surgery. So ... here I sit on a Saturday evening, in an air-conditioned rehabilitation hospital, learning to walk all over again.
These last three weeks have been a great and amazing wonder: because God gifted a neurosurgeon with the ability to free my spinal nerves from compression, I will have a regular pain-free life again soon; I have been able to see just how much my friends love me, how much my husband loves me, and that what I always thought was my "same-old, same-0ld" actually makes a difference when I'm not doing it.
I am blessed beyond belief. I have health insurance, I have the means to earn a living from my hospital bed, I have skilled therapists and nurses to help me get better, a comfortable bed, a clean room, excellent food, the list of bounty goes on and on.
Trish told me that Africa would change my life, and although I fully expected it to, I didn't imagine this would be the revelation: it is impossible for me to feel sorry for myself. There are people all over this planet with far more debilitating conditions than mine who are sleeping on the street, without so much as a cardboard box for comfort. People begging on the streets of Addis or Nairobi or Mumbai for just a fraction of what showed up on my dinner tray this evening.
As I sip my bed-time herbal tea, my thoughts turn to the Kumela family. I hope tonight in Addis it is warm, that the roof has stopped leaking and that Fakhadu's legs have begun to strengthen so that he can take full advantage of his crutches. I hope the day is nice tomorrow and that the family has enough for dinner. And I hope, most of all, that I never ever forget how lucky I am to be sitting here tonight, counting my blessings.
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