Gravity Sucks

In January, I was on a cruise ship when I, quite literally, hit the deck. I managed to slip, trip, sling food and fall in a very public and embarrassing way. The embarrassment immediately took a backseat to the pain. My sweet traveling companion, and a ship's officer who witnessed it, later described the fall as very scary. In the moment, I just knew that something was very wrong with my left arm and shoulder.

The very kind officer was quick to call for help, and I was rushed to the medical office in a wheelchair. They assessed me, took x-rays and announced that I had no broken bones. Relieved but still hurting I was released to continue my cruise, trying hard to shake the feeling that my injury hadn't been correctly diagnosed. What else was I to do? I was at sea and unable to seek a second opinion. I was pretty much without a paddle in a very large body of water. The following day, I soaked myself in the ocean waters of Half Moon Cay, trying to convince myself that the cool water would reduce any inflammation. After all, it was likely just a sprain, right? I finished the cruise depending on my right arm and a premium drink package. I simply drank cocktails until I forgot I had shoulders.

The cross-country trip home was challenging, running through Phoenix airport to catch my connecting flight as I desperately tried to find a tolerable way to carry my bag. Sleep was possible in one-hour intervals spent on my reclining sofa. Three weeks later and unbelievably sleep deprived; my husband drove me to the local ER where I begged for an MRI. When the orthopedic surgeon finally confirmed my fears, I felt relieved. I was not, in fact, a whining wimp. I was, instead, a woman with a fractured shoulder and torn rotator cuff.

The good news is that after navigating a revolving series of emotional phases (anger, fear, frustration), I am on the mend. The bad news is I seem to have developed a new fear of falling and, frankly, I don't like feeling physically vulnerable. It's not that I had previously held some fearless belief that I could overcome gravity. Let's be honest, I am a woman of a certain age who owns several mirrors. I get a daily reminder that gravity is undeniable as I view my own image and brush my teeth. This new fear is disconcerting because it is my first real understanding of the impact my age has on my body's ability to heal.

With lots of physical therapy, ice and care, I am happy to be healing but the pace is slower than I anticipated. The doctor originally predicted three months, the therapist predicted six months, and a similarly aged local boutique owner predicted a year. Despite her lack of medical training, the shop owner is the one who got it right. I am not incapable of living my normal life, but I have been forced to find alternative ways to navigate daily activities. Small things, like dropping my trousers in the ladies' room or buckling a seat belt remain annoyingly ouchy. Every day gets a bit easier, but I have no doubt that it will be months before I feel 100%.

I am sharing this story not to whine and bellyache but rather to describe a new retirement learning. It is true that age will change us, but it doesn't need to limit us. It would be easy to feel sorry for myself and begin scaling back my travel and adventure dreams. I could choose to sit at home, stewing about a future bereft of fun and challenge. Instead, I will be soon floating down a river in Utah, camping and braving rapids with my son. I have also booked the same cruise for next year, same boat...same damn deck. Yes, I may need some new camping gear to support a good night's rest. Yes, I may need to invest in more sensible footwear to avoid slips and falls. But, no, I will not stop enjoying the things that make my life so rich. Every day is a gift, and I don't plan on wasting a single one of them.