A Miracle Fracture

Trigger Warning: Chronic illness mentioned

               My first miracle happened when I was about five years old. My cousin was babysitting and had the bright idea of turning our treadmill up to 10mph and jumping on it with pillows, sending us careening off the end of it. When it was my turn, I hit the end of the treadmill the wrong way and I smashed my back into the rail… hard.

               She pointed at me and said, “Don’t you ever tell your parents about this.” 

               And I didn’t for almost ten years because I was terrified of her. I limped around complaining about the pain for a few days before my mom took me to the doctor’s office, which is understandable, at that age it’s hard to gauge what’s really serious with your kids and what’s not.

The first thing they asked was how I hurt my back, and I told them I fell off a slide at school. That was my story, and I stuck to it until I knew my cousin couldn’t threaten me anymore! Side note: when I finally told my mom what happened all those years later, she didn’t believe me. I guess fear will make you really sell a lie! There’s probably a lesson in that somewhere, but I digress.

               Following up with the doctor, I remember sitting in the office with the Xray of my back on the screen and the doctor looked at it with his hand tucked under his hand, and he shook his head.

He said, “I don’t know how it’s possible, but the fracture weaved through every single nerve in her spine not touching a single one.”

               He continued with his spiel saying that it could have paralyzed me, but alas, I was a miracle! I wore a cast for six months and the bones fused together in an odd shape which left me with a good bit of sciatica, but I was able to play sports, hike, mountain bike, swim, or whatever else I wanted to do.

               When I was first diagnosed with POTS, I could barely walk. The autonomic nervous system dysfunction seemed to take over my entire life, and I cried for weeks, grieving the life I lost. I couldn’t walk, grocery shop, shower, or even check my mail for a long time. I was grateful to have lived such a full life but losing the ability to be free and independent suddenly can be overwhelming.

               As I was sitting in a puddle of my tears feeling sorry for myself, I heard a voice say, “I didn’t take your legs when you were little, and I’m not going to take them from you now.”

               Even now when I think about that moment, I tear up again, because here I am seven years later able to move around a little more than I could then. I do have a walker for trips out of town or events where there might be parking far away, but I’m able to do what I need to, and I’ve managed to raise three really amazing teenagers in the process.

               It seems in my darkest moments, I’ve always had some sort of divine intervention to keep me going and encourage me to press on. So, if you are reading this, and you’re feeling hopeless or lost, maybe struggling to make sense of your life, consider this your divine intervention.

 You will be okay, and it’s all going to work out better than you planned.