One year ago today I broke my back. There are some days it's still sore, but mostly, I'm healed. I need to work on my getting my grip back. Strange that breaking your back weakens the muscles in the tips of your fingers. It's hard to clamp the lever down on the gas pump, to hold a frying pan full of suds above the sink while I do the dishes, or to use a can opener, but I'm getting better. Really, this is the last bit of strength I need to gain back.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a waiting room. They wheeled a girl passed who had just broken her back. Three doctors talked in the hall, quietly, cautiously, seriously. In the next room, I could hear her slow breaths in and out. I wanted to tell her she was going to be OK. That they would take good care of her. That while she may not have the winter she planned, or the spring, or the summer, she's alive and breathing and her legs and arms work. That she was lucky. That before she knows it, she'll be back out on the lake, or swimming in the ocean, or skiing down mountains.
Sometimes 365 days goes by really fast.
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