This is Part 2 of Injury Prone: Learning How to Write Left-Handed
You may recall that after I broke my wrist, I immediately fell asleep for, give or take, two days.
I blame it on the pain meds.
I still had to see a specialist to determine if the break needed surgical repair, but the first available appointment was a week later. I attempted to look pitiful at every class the following week.
On Friday morning, the day of my appointment with the surgeon, I had a funny feeling. I've been down the surgical route before and knew the rules. My appointment was as 10:00 AM. Because I had an 8:00 AM class I woke up at 7:00. I didn't eat breakfast. I didn't put on makeup. I removed my nail polish.
Just in case, I thought. Just in case he says I need to have surgery.
After class I had about 30 minutes to wait until my doctor's appointment, so I settled myself outside the university bookstore to catch up on some reading for class.
As I sat in the hallway outside the store, I couldn't get my mind off my hunger. This, in turn, led me to think about the reason for my hunger (As a rule, you're generally not allowed to eat before surgery as your metabolism can interefere with the anesthesia).
I'm usually not a worrier or one induced to panic, but this morning I couldn't keep from thinking about the worst case scenario.
Maybe it was being away from home. Maybe it was being on my own in college in a big city. Maybe my lack of panic in the past was just banked for a moment like this.
Either way, I wasn't in the best shape, and I gave up any pretense of reading.
That's when I saw her approach. A lovely gal with long, straight brown hair whose face looked SO familiar.
But where did I know her from?
I mean, this is my first year of college; I've met, literally, hundreds of new people from dozens of new places. It's hard to keep track.
She approached with a hearty, "Mandi! How are you?!?!"
Not wanting to sound like I didn't remember her, I replied with a tepid, "Hello!" and then, with the worry on my mind, proceeded to word vomit all over her greeting, telling her about my broken wrist, the broom ball ordeal, the past lethargic week, and the imminent visit with the surgeon.
I was a bit taken aback when her first response was not, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" but instead, "Can I pray for you?"
I shrugged and said, "Sure."
She took my injured wrist between her hands and began to pray. I don't remember the words, but I remember the passion and the confidence with which she said them. I know she prayed for my heart, my healing, the wisdom of my doctors, and the burden of my worry.
At the time it felt kind of strange. I mean, this was a broken wrist. Usually people pray for victims of wildfires who have lost their entire livelihood, or people pray for children starving in Africa - big things, people usually pray for big things.
But this mystery woman was praying for my wrist. In the scheme of things, a broken wrist didn't seem like such a big deal.
Regardless, she finished her heartfelt prayer, and I still couldn't place her even though I recognized her.
Fishing for a clue as to where I knew her from, as she walked away I said, "See you later..." hoping she would fill in the blank.
Instead she replied with - and I'll never forget these words - "In heaven if not sooner."
Want to know the rest of the story? Stay tuned for Part 3 tomorrow!
Current Couch Potato | Aspiring Runner:
Completing my first half marathon to benefit the Crohn's & Colitis Foundation of America will be a community endeavor. Won't you help me change lives?
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