A Broken Arm, A Lesson Learned.

I would be lying if I said that breaking my arm was the most difficult thing I've ever experienced. In fact, in hind sight, the whole situation was extremely humorous and makes for a killer story. And, my scar from the surgery is enough to start a conversation.

But, I will say that, even though the actual break wasn't a struggle for me, the helplessness and inadequacy I felt because of the injury was. 

Those four days in between the fall in the surgery were the worst. The simplest things--taking a shower, brushing my teeth, putting on a shirt--were literally impossible. No matter which way I moved, my arm that simply sat broken in a temporary cast, would shoot a sharp pain through my entire arm and down my side. I couldn't even sleep more than two hours straight a night, because one simple movement would wake me up with tears in my eyes.

I had this false assumption that, after my surgery, everything would be fixed. Everything would be back to normal, and I could simply forget all of silliness that was my broken arm. But, no. Of course not. According to my doctor, I had a numberless about of pins in my arms, and I would not regain full range of motion due to the extent of the injury. And, it would be another two months before I could drive, and another 4 months until I could lift anything heavier than a few pounds. 

Meanwhile, here I am at home getting extremely frustrated with myself. It's like that scene from Soul Surfer where Bethany Hamilton is convinced she can continue on normally once she gets home from the hospital, only to find that she can't even open a pack of bread. 

Yes, I realize I am lucky. And I realize that, unlike Bethany Hamilton  I still have both of my arms. But, that doesn't diminish the amount of frustration I felt after my surgery. I genuinely couldn't lift a cup of coffee--it was way too heavy and I felt like I was going to drop it. I couldn't stretch a hair tie with my hand--my fingers would just shake and my arm would ache in pain. I couldn't even walk around for more than 20 minutes without my arm blowing up like a balloon. 

I felt so incompetent and helpless and dependent. And, if you know me, you know that I tend to be too independent and hard-headed for my own good. So, this lack of control and increase in dependency literally irritated me. I spent my entire Thanksgiving and Christmas break feeling overwhelmingly frustrated with myself. I couldn't do anything without even a little assistance.

Of course, ever since my surgery, this feeling of inadequacy hasn't exactly faded. I haven't been able to do a lot of things because of my arm. And, it still frustrates me. 

I realize all of this sounds rather negative and "complainy", but I assure you my outlook has changed. Only now, four months since the original fall, do I see the benefit of breaking my arm.

First and foremost, God utilized my fear to make me rely completely on Him. I realize for a lot of people, surgery isn't that big of a deal. But, for me, the thought of being unconscious for 6 hours on an operation table legitimately terrified me. And, no matter what any of my friends or family said to me, I just wanted to burst out in tears. God knew that--so He put me in a position where only He could comfort me. 

Second, God helped me prioritize my relationships. It was in the hospital where I realized that my family is one of the most important parts of my lives. And, my dearest friends showed their compassion as well. From this experience, I was able to weed out by good friends, from my best friends. Plus, I only had my family to talk to when I was limited to a bed or couch for weeks, so my relationships with my family grew much stronger.

Third, God is challenging my understanding of beauty. For the last few months, I have seen myself as broken and morphed. I've seen my left arm as forever ugly--birthmark, six inch incision scar, and an elbow incapable of straightening. Meanwhile, I have God whispering in my ear, saying, "Do you really think beauty is based on your skin? Come on now. You are made in My image. Am I not beautiful?"

But, most importantly, as I hinted at in the beginning of this post, God has challenged my sense of independence. I thoroughly believed that independence was something to strive for, but I have learned that dependency is beautiful, and helps humble a heart.

I've tried my best to not complain about my arm. And shy away from talking about it. But, I keep failing and always fall into this long winded complaint or repeating my story over and over again.

And for that I apologize, because I don't mean to be a negative Nelly or an attention seeker. It's just my natural response to my arms and it's effects on my confidence and relationships, and it's something that I've been trying to work on.