Hello, friends. It's time to dust off the old blog again. Disclaimer: I am typing with one hand, and I just took a nice strong painkiller. If this post makes no sense, it means I hit "publish" too soon. You have been warned...
If we are Facebook friends, you probably know that the kids and I were in a car accident almost two weeks ago. The children are physically fine-thank you, God-but I was injured. Long medical story short: I sustained an open compound fracture to my radius (the larger forearm bone), a fracture to one of the wrist bones, instant carpal tunnel syndrome, and damage to multiple tendons that control movement to my thumb and the last two fingers.
The accident was on a Thursday evening, I had surgery Friday evening, and I went home Sunday afternoon, which was Super Bowl Sunday. I have a splint now and can't use my arm at all for at least six weeks. Full recovery could take up to a year. That's all I'm going to say about my injuries, because this is not a pity party post. Except I will say this: whoever said childbirth is the most painful thing one can experience was, uh, misinformed.
What is remarkable is that I am in the exact position I was almost three years ago in that I am entirely dependent on others to meet our family's basic needs. More than one person has mentioned our family's repeated misfortunes and my newfound familiarity with hospitals.
This is such a discouraging situation: the pain is unbearable at times. I can't hold my baby or even be alone with him. My husband is once again my caretaker, sole caretaker of the children, cook, errand runner, breadwinner, and house cleaner. Caroline was traumatized at watching me bleed AGAIN; she said she thought my hand was going to fall off. I JUST started homeschooling her last month; it's been going so well, and we are derailed already. Will didn't cry immediately after the impact, so I thought he might be dead. I have newfound grief over the physical suffering Weston must have experienced in his short life, now that I have a taste of it myself. My "In Mourning" bracelet for Weston that had never left my wrist had to be cut off. I have every reason to throw a massive pity party.
(I have, at times. There has been plenty of ugly crying.)
AND YET...
I have said before that having and losing Weston has given me many beautiful gifts. Of course, I'd gladly give them up to have him back, but I choose to acknowledge and accept the gifts he has given me. He has made the world a better place. On my best days, I am a better person than before, and it is because I am Weston's mother. Also because God didn't give up on me.
GRATITUDE and PERSPECTIVE are Weston's gifts to me regarding this accident. Consider:
My children were unharmed. MY CHILDREN WERE UNHARMED. That first night at the hospital was scary, to say the least. To keep myself under control after I was admitted and taken to my room, I just repeated a prayer of thanksgiving over and over for their safety.
We had so much help at the accident scene. I couldn't help the kids at all due to my injuries, but a woman took hysterical Caroline and held her until the Fire Department arrived. A man called 911 and Shannon for us. Another man took Will out of his carseat and then sheltered him from the rain. Others looked after me. The first responders were...amazing. What a difficult and rewarding job.
My right hand and arm were injured. I'm a lefty.
I have no internal injuries.
I knew two of my nurses, although I didn't recognize either of them initially. Morphine...
I talked about Weston a lot to the hospital staff. I don't remember what I said (again, morphine), but the accident really triggered a lot of painful memories, which is why I kept talking about him, I think. Even in my state of shock, system full of drugs, and hyperventilating as my preferred coping mechanism, I remember and appreciate the sincere sympathy everyone displayed.
My first night, I had an elderly roommate with dementia who kept me awake almost all night with her chattering. If I'm being completely honest, it was REALLY annoying, but I felt terrible for her; she was in pain and so confused. In the morning, a volunteer from a neighborhood Catholic church came to visit her and give her communion. As she left, I called out to her from behind my curtain and asked her if she would give this searching Protestant a prayer. We said the Our Father together and chatted for a few minutes. She was so kind when I (of course) started bawling again. This chance encounter was another reminder that God never left my side.
Caroline is now in Flagstaff having the time of her life at my mom and sister's houses. She'll be up there all week.
Once again, the outpouring of love and help has been overwhelming. I can't even put it into words. (But you know I'm going to try anyway...) After all we have been through in the last three years, I would have thought people would get tired of helping us. "Help the Yoder Family" practically deserves its own time and money budget category by now. But the offers continue to pour in, all the way from old friends whom I haven't seen in many years to brand new friends I have just met in the past month, and everyone in between.
Last week, I was worrying about how we were going to find help for six weeks. Then I remembered a quote from C.S. Lewis (I think): "Manna kept, it worms." The quote refers to the Israelite exodus from Egypt in which God made food (manna) rain down when the people were starving. The manna shower happened every morning, with just enough manna to get through that day. If the people tried to ration it, it spoiled. The point was to trust God for everyday provision and not worry about the next day.
Anyway. I stopped worrying about who is going to help with the kids on February 28 or whatever. (It's not nearly as pious as it sounds. I was just distracted by trying to manage the pain.) And now we have EVERY NEED through February 21-ish met at this point.
Making a meal, giving me a ride, and babysitting might seem mundane. But I have stopped distinguishing between the sacred and the mundane. Using your hands (or car) when I can't use mine is being a servant. As far as I'm concerned, meeting my or any family's needs is a sacred act.
Equally important are the prayers and words of kindness and encouragement, some coming from people who are suffering much more than I am.
And, the perspective. How am I doing right now? I have been much better. This situation sucks. But it could be, and has been, far worse. I did not have to bury a child this time. While I certainly wish this accident was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, I know that my family can survive this setback.
Thank you for being present for my family, yet again, whether physically or in spirit.
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