By Laura Acuff, Opinion Editor
Mondays are not good days for me. Maybe Mondays are bad for everyone. They always come as a slap in the face – after a weekend of enjoyment, the sharp reminder that the fun only lasted two days, three with luck, and we’ll have to wait another five before relaxing again.
All in all, I don’t suppose many people enjoy Mondays, but lately, I’ve begun to wonder if Monday has me on a reservation list for miserable.
Two weeks ago, on Monday, I fell off a horse. Playing red-light-green-light with some other riders, I do believe I came to the most complete stop. Aside from decidedly winning the game (I think), I also dislocated my elbow in the process.
A benevolent classmate rushed me to the ER, where about an hour passed from the time I hit the ground until the time the doctors popped my elbow back into place – a process I actually witnessed briefly when the pain momentarily woke me from my drug-induced sleep, as they manhandled my arm.
I spent the next week desperately trying not to twitch muscles in my arm, since any movement sparked pain, and learning how to function with only one arm and hand.
But the fun didn’t stop there.
Last Monday, what I had thought were the beginnings of a cold was diagnosed as the flu, and I spent the rest of the week alternately trying to go to class one day and then staying in bed the next to make up for overdoing it the previous day.
As I write this, it’s Sunday, and truthfully, I’m a bit nervous about what tomorrow might bring. As the saying goes: “Trouble comes in threes.”
However, while someone recently suggested I quit Mondays altogether, I guess I’ll keep plodding along. Throughout the last couple of weeks, a scripture reminded me, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” And perhaps the most lasting impression my ordeals have left on me is that of the comforting presence of God.
Truly, the last two weeks have gone incredibly smoothly, all things considered.
While one nurse in the ER seemed to think I might need to be wheeled straight from the ER to the OR for surgery on damaged tendons that first Monday and another doctor told me I might need a cast, it’s now been two weeks. I haven’t needed surgery or a cast. In fact, I only continue to wear my splint and sling outside my dorm room on doctor’s orders, which I guess I understand – given my luck.
While I’m still trying to regain mobility in my injured arm, the prognosis remains surprisingly good.
And as far as the flu goes, the doctor informed me it was a mild case. While I may have overdone it trying to go to class a few times, I successfully made it to several instead of being on sick leave the entire week.
The most uplifting aspect of the last few weeks, however, was the support I received from my roommates, my RA, friends, coworkers and even complete strangers trying to make the transition easier.
I hate asking for help. But although I could wash and blow-dry my hair independently, pulling it back into a ponytail required assistance. I couldn’t open bottles. I was forced to dictate typed homework assignments to willing friends. I couldn’t drive or even tear off a piece of foil on my own.
The past two weeks rendered me more helpless than I’ve ever been in my entire life. But I’ve never felt more loved.
Truly, if you have to dislocate an elbow and contract the flu, this is the way to do it.
