I went skiing last week. I was at a theological conference where we study early in the morning, we study later in the evening, we pray together morning and night, and we have free time during the day. This conference happens near a ski area, so many of us spend our free time on the slopes.
I had gone to this conference, and skied with some of the regular attendees, before I broke my back and injured my spinal cord six years ago. The vertebrae have healed. The spinal cord injury, though, is something I’ll be affected by for the rest of my life. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to.
All things considered, my spinal cord injury is relatively mild. I can walk without crutches or a cane. I can ride the bikes I was riding before the injury. I can ski on the same gear I was using when I was injured. But I don’t ski as well now as I used to be able to do.
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| Beautiful snow conditions |
By contrast, when I ski on snow that’s packed and rutted by other skiers or that’s icy, I have no problem turning right. I feel secure, confident, and in control. But when I turn left in those same conditions, my right ski and boot and foot and leg and butt chatter around, and I feel like I’m not in control. I’m not in control. So I ski really slowly on those slopes.
Before the injury, I was a decent skier. I wasn’t super fast, and I wasn’t great on the most challenging slopes. But I could mostly keep up, and I almost always felt like I could control my body; I felt like I could make my muscles do what I asked them to do.
Now, by contrast, I feel betrayed by my body. And it’s not just on the ski slope. Church pews, icy sidewalks, flights of stairs, automobiles, and curbs are a few of the obstacles I encountered over the past week when I wasn’t able to make my muscles do what they were supposed to do.
The thing is, my injury isn’t a humungous problem. I feel a little embarrassed writing this post, because I worry that some of my seven readers will think I’m complaining about something that isn’t noticeable, and so isn’t actually an issue.
But I notice. My movement is hindered. My confidence is limited. I feel betrayed by my own body.
I'm sorry for the way you're feeling, but honestly a portion of what you're feeling is probably what you would be feeling had there been no accident. Because feeling betrayed by the body is a good way to describe how it feels to get older and have less mobility. But for someone that was previously in peak physical condition, it's understandable that it bothers you.It would be weird if it didn't !But try to remember to talk with great compassion towards your body, I think it's always listening. Be proud of yourself for what you've overcome physically to be able to ski at all and to do anything at all. You're a walking miracle! Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDelete-Michelle J
Just because ‘things aren’t so bad’ doesn’t mean that one doesn’t lament for what was. I still lament over a body whose left and right sides don’t work in sync and I have recovered enough to compete on a national level. Celebrations and laments live together. It doesn’t have to make sense. The new normal isn’t the normal you knew before and it is hard when you know you were physically more coordinated before your accident.
ReplyDeleteYour feelings are real and honest and tough.
ReplyDeleteBut I pray that as time goes by, your times in which you feel in control and your body is acting as it’s “supposed to” will come to surpass the times of uncertainty and “not supposed to.” -
Because you’re not dead yet.
You are very much alive. And living. And doing. And going. And creating a beautiful life with your strong and miraculous body that has defied so very many odds in these past 6 years. Not. Dead. Yet.