Katilan
09-24-2008, 02:36
((Yet another Sandy story...))
Pain. Ow. Overwhelming.
Focus.
Breathe in, two, three, four, breathe out, two, three, four. In, two, three four, out, two, three, four.
Bearable. Pain is now bearable.
Keep breathing.
I risk turning my head to look at my ankle, which is where the pain is emanating from.
Nausea.
Oh, that's not good. I can see that my ankle is not at it's natural angle, and I don't like it. I don't have to be a doctor to be able to take one look at that angle and know that either I just broke a bone, or I've torn a ligament.
Or both.
I know enough about injuries to know that I need to just stay here and let the doctor type people get on the field to look me over.
In the meantime, I will continue to focus on my breathing.
And not think about the tongues of fiery pain licking at my anle and up my leg.
And pray.
Some people ask me how I can continue to have faith in God. My mom died with I ws five, no one in my family (aside from Jamie and myself) has talked to my brother, Daniel, for almost four years because he had the audacity to join the Air Force. Everyone in my family (again, with the exceptio of Jamie and I, and that's only because we haven't graduated yet) is in the military. Samuel is in the Marines, which my father found to be an acceptable alternative to the Army, and Jonathan followed in The General's footsteps completely.
All three of them are on deployment right now.
And let's not get started on my father issues. I know I have them, and I do my best to deal with them, instead of letting them rule me.
Not to mention that I'm a deeply analytical person, and I'm constantly watching sci-fi and coming up with ways to explain the unexplainable. So I guess the first question is, "How did I find my faith?"
Easily.
I read anything I could get ahold of, and read about Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. I looked at everything rationally. I investigated. And the only conclusion I was able to come to is, the Bible is right. The universe was created on purpose. God loves us, and because of that love, sent us Jesus, who was born like a man, lived like a man, died like a man. Who loves us and befriended us, and healed us and challenged us. Who still loves us and heals us and challenges us, and, most of all, wants to be friends with us.
After the first question, the second question, "How did I keep my faith?", follows. And the answer to that is also easy.
Correction: easy in theory. Harder in practice. But I'm getting better at it.
Bad things have happened to me.
A lot of bad things have happened to me.
But I trust God. I trust that He knows better than I do what's best for me. I can't see the design, because I'm part of the picture. I'm too close. But God is weaving the tapestry, and He is able to see all of it.
Wow.
I will do anything when I'm lying flat on my back, doing my best not to think about my possibly broken ankle. Including monologue with myself.
The guys are now looking at my ankle.
Which includes moving it.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Breathe. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four.
Bearable.
One of them tries to make me feel better. "Well, little lady, if there's ever a time to get injured, it's after scoring the winning point in the last game of the season."
Barely controlled pain has me lashing out. "No, this would be the right time to celebrate. The twelfth of never is a good time to be injured."
I hiss in pain as they probe my ankle again. "In case you're needing know, yes, that hurts."
The lead guy pulls back. "Well, sweetheart, looks like you've got yourself a nice, broken ankle."
I groan. "Oh joy, oh rapture, I scarecely can contain myself." I open my eyes. "Speaking of rapture, do you believe in God?"
***
The good news is, the ankle's not broken.
The bad news is, the ankle's not broken.
I tore two tendons and a ligament, so those nice things holding it in place? Torn and not working.
It's going to take a lot of physical therapy to get me back in shape, and even then, I'm not going to be allowed to play football again.
Which is okay by me. I'm not afraid of a little hard work.
And my joy for football was killed around the time I, I don't know, hit the ground with a messed up ankle.
I developed a reputation among the doctors and nurses. They couldn't believe I wasn't taking pain medicine, how little I complained, or how much I talked about God. I made it my personal mission to help each doctor and nurse come to Christ. I've talked with them all, I've prayed for them all, and I will continue to do both.
My father said he was proud of me.
Yeah. I couldn't believe it either. He said he was impressed with how well I'm handling this.
That it takes a strong person to handle the pain as well as I have.
Darn. If I'd known that this would make him proud, I would have done this a long time ago.
Unfortunately, I'm not joking. I really would have.
However, I won't do it again. Because this? Freaking hurts. A lot.
The good news is, it's not broken.
The bad nes is, it's not broken.
Oh, well. At least I'm getting really good at using crutches.
END
Pain. Ow. Overwhelming.
Focus.
Breathe in, two, three, four, breathe out, two, three, four. In, two, three four, out, two, three, four.
Bearable. Pain is now bearable.
Keep breathing.
I risk turning my head to look at my ankle, which is where the pain is emanating from.
Nausea.
Oh, that's not good. I can see that my ankle is not at it's natural angle, and I don't like it. I don't have to be a doctor to be able to take one look at that angle and know that either I just broke a bone, or I've torn a ligament.
Or both.
I know enough about injuries to know that I need to just stay here and let the doctor type people get on the field to look me over.
In the meantime, I will continue to focus on my breathing.
And not think about the tongues of fiery pain licking at my anle and up my leg.
And pray.
Some people ask me how I can continue to have faith in God. My mom died with I ws five, no one in my family (aside from Jamie and myself) has talked to my brother, Daniel, for almost four years because he had the audacity to join the Air Force. Everyone in my family (again, with the exceptio of Jamie and I, and that's only because we haven't graduated yet) is in the military. Samuel is in the Marines, which my father found to be an acceptable alternative to the Army, and Jonathan followed in The General's footsteps completely.
All three of them are on deployment right now.
And let's not get started on my father issues. I know I have them, and I do my best to deal with them, instead of letting them rule me.
Not to mention that I'm a deeply analytical person, and I'm constantly watching sci-fi and coming up with ways to explain the unexplainable. So I guess the first question is, "How did I find my faith?"
Easily.
I read anything I could get ahold of, and read about Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. I looked at everything rationally. I investigated. And the only conclusion I was able to come to is, the Bible is right. The universe was created on purpose. God loves us, and because of that love, sent us Jesus, who was born like a man, lived like a man, died like a man. Who loves us and befriended us, and healed us and challenged us. Who still loves us and heals us and challenges us, and, most of all, wants to be friends with us.
After the first question, the second question, "How did I keep my faith?", follows. And the answer to that is also easy.
Correction: easy in theory. Harder in practice. But I'm getting better at it.
Bad things have happened to me.
A lot of bad things have happened to me.
But I trust God. I trust that He knows better than I do what's best for me. I can't see the design, because I'm part of the picture. I'm too close. But God is weaving the tapestry, and He is able to see all of it.
Wow.
I will do anything when I'm lying flat on my back, doing my best not to think about my possibly broken ankle. Including monologue with myself.
The guys are now looking at my ankle.
Which includes moving it.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Breathe. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four.
Bearable.
One of them tries to make me feel better. "Well, little lady, if there's ever a time to get injured, it's after scoring the winning point in the last game of the season."
Barely controlled pain has me lashing out. "No, this would be the right time to celebrate. The twelfth of never is a good time to be injured."
I hiss in pain as they probe my ankle again. "In case you're needing know, yes, that hurts."
The lead guy pulls back. "Well, sweetheart, looks like you've got yourself a nice, broken ankle."
I groan. "Oh joy, oh rapture, I scarecely can contain myself." I open my eyes. "Speaking of rapture, do you believe in God?"
***
The good news is, the ankle's not broken.
The bad news is, the ankle's not broken.
I tore two tendons and a ligament, so those nice things holding it in place? Torn and not working.
It's going to take a lot of physical therapy to get me back in shape, and even then, I'm not going to be allowed to play football again.
Which is okay by me. I'm not afraid of a little hard work.
And my joy for football was killed around the time I, I don't know, hit the ground with a messed up ankle.
I developed a reputation among the doctors and nurses. They couldn't believe I wasn't taking pain medicine, how little I complained, or how much I talked about God. I made it my personal mission to help each doctor and nurse come to Christ. I've talked with them all, I've prayed for them all, and I will continue to do both.
My father said he was proud of me.
Yeah. I couldn't believe it either. He said he was impressed with how well I'm handling this.
That it takes a strong person to handle the pain as well as I have.
Darn. If I'd known that this would make him proud, I would have done this a long time ago.
Unfortunately, I'm not joking. I really would have.
However, I won't do it again. Because this? Freaking hurts. A lot.
The good news is, it's not broken.
The bad nes is, it's not broken.
Oh, well. At least I'm getting really good at using crutches.
END