... I was wondering if after all these (months) you’d like to meet... (Adele, “Hello”)
I apologize. It honestly has only occured to me once or twice that I’ve neglected this little space of the blogosphere. The week after my last post, we had a stupid, life-altering accident. Here’s what I wrote on my quilting blog:
I struggled to write this blog post: if I should post, what I should post. Last Saturday morning, a few hours after my green post, I was working outside with my husband, building a compost bin. At one point, the tractor bucket slipped off a Tpost, collided with my hand (which I already know should not have been where it was), and was quickly raised by my husband.
I apologize. It honestly has only occured to me once or twice that I’ve neglected this little space of the blogosphere. The week after my last post, we had a stupid, life-altering accident. Here’s what I wrote on my quilting blog:
I struggled to write this blog post: if I should post, what I should post. Last Saturday morning, a few hours after my green post, I was working outside with my husband, building a compost bin. At one point, the tractor bucket slipped off a Tpost, collided with my hand (which I already know should not have been where it was), and was quickly raised by my husband.
Unfortunately, three bones broke in my left (dominant) hand. My third metacarpal broke, shifted, was pushed down and out of joint. My first two thoughts? No more quilting! How am I going to write?
An ER visit Saturday, a visit to the hand specialist Tuesday, and surgery Wednesday all together mean I’m a threadless, fabric-deprived woman right now. My hand is so swollen, and moving the fingers is so painful, that at this moment, it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever sew again.
An ER visit Saturday, a visit to the hand specialist Tuesday, and surgery Wednesday all together mean I’m a threadless, fabric-deprived woman right now. My hand is so swollen, and moving the fingers is so painful, that at this moment, it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever sew again.
It has been a long, slow, steadily improving recovery. I don’t think my hand will ever be normal, but I light-years from the writing of that post. The initial struggles of loss of motion and immense loss of stamina and strength has yielding to smaller, but more humbling struggles. Writing is painful after a line or two, and what feels like a bone spur in my palm means hoeing, driving t-posts, and cutting with a knife are all troublingly difficult. There is occasional swelling (minor compared to six months ago), particularly when I overdo. I am only 7 months out, so another 5 months should bring further progress.
My saintly parents have certainly filled the gap this summer, helping plant tomatoes, peppers, and sweet potatoes, and assisting with harvest and cleanup this fall. I am, this week, sorting sweet potatoes for storage that my mom planted and dug the bulk.
My strength is returning more quickly than my grip, and I continue to discover work arounds for my challenges. I am forced to reorder priorities and to lean on the kids more for daily chores. Our second, who I call Spunky, has taken over the afternoon chicken chores, and we’ve devised a way to move our chicken coops without the tractor!
It is hard to be forced to compromise on food choices because I can’t chop and cut as much, but I’m determined to fight my way through.
I don’t intend this to be a “woe is me” post, but an explanation for a long, unintended absence. I have great faith that this accident won’t define me by what I can no longer do, but by how I grow. I found a new favorite song, which I’ve quoted down below. God has been with me, most particularly during the long, dark, sleepless nights of uncertainty.
Until next time, remember, this is not paradise. It’s Purgatory Ranch.
I hear your whisper underneath your breath. I hear you say that you have nothing left. I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the night. I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest night. It’s true, I will rescue you. (Lauren Daigle, “Rescue”)
