THE 3 THINGS I'VE LEARNED FROM LIFE WITH A SHATTERED LEG

Life can change in an instant.  You fall while holding your granddaughter, break your leg, almost black out, and spend what seems like an eternity on the floor before help arrives.  (Click here to read the original, emotionally-charged blog that I wrote about the fall; the one that Duncan convinced me not to post last week, for fear it was too intense. He said that the exercise of my having written it had served its purpose: therapy for me.  But I've shared the original blog with a few friends and colleagues, and they have all told me that they like it better than what I actually posted.  So here it is, if you want to read it.)

Surgery follows. 

But this is old news to all of you, assuming you read my Duncan-approved blog last week. 

Here's the new part, however.  Since the surgery, I've had quiet time to reflect.  To ruminate about life. I've been away from the hustle and bustle of the office for three  weeks. I've been in a medical bubble, which has been foreign, but enlightening. 

In addition to coming to grips with the fact that a previously innocuous  3-inch threshold turns into a snarling, taunting nemesis when you're trying to negotiate crutches with an immobilized leg, here are the 3 major lessons I've learned from my excellent misadventure:

#1.  When the chips are down, you find out who your real friends are.  I remember my mother telling me a story years ago. A group of people were headed out on a trip into the desert, and before they left, they had to take a first aid class. One of the sessions was about snakebites. The instructor told the group that if one of them was bitten by a snake, another member of the group would have to suck out the venom.  Reluctantly, one woman raised her hand and asked, "But what if the snake bites me in my derrière?"  The instructor replied, "That's when you'll find out who your true friends are."  

So true. Sometimes people don't know what to do when a crisis hits someone they know.  I see this a lot in my estate planning practice when a client dies.  Particularly a young client who dies unexpectedly.  Friends and acquaintances question whether they should reach out.  They often don't know what to say, so they stay away. They hibernate, and don't do anything.  Radio silence. 

Please don't do that.  Please always reach out.  Make the call. Send the card or email. Grandiose efforts aren't necessary to show you care.  But do something. Trust me, it's your ordinary act of kindness that will be cherished as the extraordinary.

Recently, I read the following blog entitled, "Always Go To the Funeral" by Deirdre Sullivan.  Not that I'm equating a broken leg with a funeral, but it's a great read, and a perfect example of this lesson #1. 

#2.   All that stuff about "in sickness and in health" really means something.   As you all know, I've been married 35 years.  You also know that Duncan (a.k.a. Athelstan; a.k.a. Godfrey) is my rock, with whom I have shared many professional and travel adventures.   

As for our wedding, I've blogged about my beloved father-in-law taking my hand and helping me out of the limousine just minutes before the wedding ceremony began, and about "The Mystery of the Rogue Wedding Dress" (that blog is actually one of my very favorites!).  

But this medical debacle has reminded me that marriage isn't all fun and games. The vows about "in sickness and in health" really means something, and are occasionally put to the test.  

Sixteen years ago, I had emergency abdominal surgery while on a business trip in a state far, far away.  Duncan arrived at the hospital just as I was waking up from anesthesia, and I heard him whispering in my ear, "I was put on this earth to take care of you. And that is what I'm going to do."  He got all kinds of points for that one.  It's actually one of the major highlights of the story of us.

Fast forward through additional hospitalizations and surgeries, including this last one, and I have come to the rock-solid realization that our wedding day was about a lot more than picking out the flowers, bridesmaid dresses, or "our song" for our first dance as a married couple. Those things really meant squat.

#3.  Here's one from Duncan.  I was stumped for a third lesson learned from this recent mishap, so I asked Duncan for a suggestion. His response was, "That's easy. Look where the hell you're going!"  Snap!  

If you have a moment today, please do me a favor, and contact someone who's having a bit of a hard time.  Remind him or her that they are not forgotten, and that they are special to you.  If appropriate, tell them you love them.  More than once.  And really mean it.  

Then go out into the world, and live your life even more purposely, with wilder abandon, and excessively deliberate joy.  Without crutches, and snake-free.