Oops! Uh-oh!

The fallout from my rookie mistake.

There’s an ancient Chinese parable about a farmer and his horse that goes something like this.

A farmer’s horse got loose and ran away. Learning of the farmer’s misfortune, his neighbors came over to commiserate. “This is terrible luck,” they said.

The farmer replied, “Who knows what is good and what is bad?”

The next day, the horse returned and brought more horses back with it. The farmer’s neighbors came over to celebrate with him. What great fortune, they said.

Again, the farmer replied, “Who knows what is good and what is bad?”

A few days later, the farmer’s son broke his leg while trying to tame one of the horses. The neighbors cried, “How terrible! We feel so sorry for you.” The farmer’s response was the same.

The very next day, the army came through the village to conscript all the young men. All the neighbors’ sons were taken away. But the farmer’s son was left at home because his leg was broken and the army had no use for him. The farmer watched the soldiers march the young men off to war and said to himself, “Who knows what is good and what is bad?”

As I sat in the hospital emergency room, this parable and its question came back to me.

Trying to journal with my left hand.

Who knows what is good and what is bad?

My personal version of the parable began with a two-week holiday in beautiful Barbados.

😊At exactly the halfway point, we took a taxi to a gorgeous beach on the Caribbean Sea called Carlisle Bay. The weather was perfect, the water was warm, and from my beach chair, I watched my husband frolic in the waves. It looked so enticing, I decided to join him.

😒When the water got slightly above knee level, I saw a small wave coming toward me and realized it was going to crest exactly where I was standing. Instinctively, I turned my back toward it and braced myself. (Rookie mistake!) To my shock, it easily knocked me off my feet and pushed my head under the water. I had just enough time to get my legs under me and my bottom above the surface, when a second, bigger wave picked me up by the derriere and slammed my right shoulder onto the bottom. It felt like hitting cement. I felt a sickening crunch.

😊Our friends knew of a medical clinic on the drive home just a few minutes from our villa. The waiting room was empty, they had a working X-ray machine, and a doctor ready to see me and my credit card right away.

😒My right clavicle was broken in at least two places. (Have I mentioned I’m right handed?) He thought it might require surgery.

😊After examining me and looking at the X-ray, the doctor agreed, if I kept it immobilized in a sling, I could wait until I got home a week later to have it examined by an orthopaedic surgeon.

😮He handed me his written report and a copy of the X-ray. The report began with the words, “Elderly female presents with injured shoulder.” What???? This can’t be about me! How about, “Hot babe in a stunning bathing suit presents with injured shoulder?”

😎I would spend the remaining week of our holiday sitting by the private pool at our villa letting my husband and dear friends fetch me food and beverages.

💕It was here that I met my new best friend, a small dove who, coincidentally, was missing his right foot. I’m not sure why he chose to spend so much time on our patio. Was it a sense of solidarity due to our common predicament? Or was it the reliable stream of food droppings that resulted from my extreme difficulty getting food into my mouth with my left hand?

😒While Barbados proved to be an ideal place to convalesce, it turned out to be a much more difficult place to leave. Our flight to Toronto was delayed nine hours.

😜The Prosecco at the Barbados Airport bar was delicious and on seeing my injured arm, the bartender said, “Just blink twice if you need a refill!”

😒When we arrived in the Toronto Airport the next morning, we learned that our flight to Halifax was also delayed.

😮At some point during our 12-hour wait in Toronto, we learned that shortly after our flight from Barbados took off, authorities closed Barbados airspace over a dispute between air traffic control employees and the government. Suddenly, we were experiencing that “dodged a bullet” feeling.

😁When we arrived in Halifax, our luggage was the first off the airplane. We were home! I resisted the urge to fall on my knees and kiss the ground.

😒The next morning, at a nearby clinic, we heard the words we had been dreading. “You will have to go to the Dartmouth General Emergency Department.” Emergency departments are overwhelmed where I live and wait times are notoriously long. It was very possible that I was destined for another 12-hour wait. With a week-old clavicle fracture, I was guaranteed a spot at the very bottom of the triage list.

😣I told my husband to go home and get some sleep. Unfortunately, I didn’t account for the logistical issues associated with going to the bathroom, one-handed, with a jacket loosely draped over my right shoulder and backpack in tow. The early part of the “procedure” went smoothly but when I stood up and reached around to flush, I was horrified to see that my coat had slipped off my shoulder and my right sleeve was stirring urine in the toilet bowl.

🤣I’m not sure if it was fatigue from the travel or just the sheer absurdity of the situation, but as I lifted the offending sleeve from the toilet bowl to the sink and tried to figure out how to perform one-handed laundry, I started to laugh uncontrollably. It was one of those primal, injured animal kinds of laughs. When filtered through the bathroom door, it must have carried an emotional meltdown/psychotic break kind of vibe. When I emerged a few minutes later wiping tears from my eyes, I was greeted with looks of alarm and sympathy. One woman jumped out of her chair to adjust my sopping wet coat sleeve that had once again slipped off my shoulder.

💪Five hours later, which is more like 5 minutes in ER time, the doctor described my newly X-rayed shoulder as a mess. She said, “You stayed in Barbados with that? You are one strong lady!” I envisioned her report starting with, “Incredibly strong female presents with injured right shoulder.”

😉I saw an orthopaedic surgeon the very next morning. He described my injury as borderline. There was a case for surgery, but also a reasonable case for letting it heal naturally. I chose to go with nature. I’ll find out on April 20^th when they do follow up x-rays if I made the right choice.

As I reflect on this adventure, I notice how quick I am to put my experiences into either a good or bad bucket. And the unnecessary psychological whiplash that ensues. Inside everything that happens to us is a universe of experiences that defy simple labels like good and bad. I find I do better when I simply stop labeling.

Writers plan; God laughs.

Losing the use of my dominant hand, albeit temporarily, has been a ride. I am so grateful that this is temporary. Weirdly, I’m also grateful for this short-term crash course in utter helplessness, rapid adaptation, and extreme patience. (I’m not doing so well in the extreme patience department.)

As you might imagine, being a writer adds another dimension to the challenge. I am trying dictation to write this piece. It’s been… awkward!

When I returned to my office and looked at the long list of things I promised myself (and you) that I would accomplish when I returned from my holiday, a variation on an old Yiddish saying came to mind. “Writers plan; God laughs.”

In addition to my plans to publish a weekly series in April, I also found a rather manic list of personal challenges I had signed up for. (One of the gifts of being on Substack is the never-ending opportunities to participate in 30-60-90-day self-improvement challenges.) There was a daily writing challenge complete with prompts, no less than three fitness challenges, and something called a “real attention challenge” that I can’t remember but I think came from my meditation app.

As I reviewed this list on my laptop, sitting in my chair, arm in sling, unable to type a single word, I realized I was able to do one thing. With the index finger of my left hand, I could reach the delete key. Like a hired assassin, my finger quietly “disappeared” the entire list. And just like that. Problem solved.

As I sit here performing this weird ritual of dictating and one finger, left-handed edit-pecking, I have no idea what, if anything, I will be able to accomplish in the next 6 to 12 weeks.

When my life feels chaotic, messy, and completely beyond my control, I find setting an intention sometimes helps.

For this period of recovery, I’ve decided to go with, “Love what is.”

Because really, who knows what is good and what is bad?