When I was in high school, I took a bad fall, head-first. I extended my arms to break the fall. It all happened in a flash. No broken bones, but I did jam both arms. Painful.
To ease the pain and give them a rest, the doctor ordered i keep my lower arms at right angles to the upper part. And physical therapy was prescribed. Not too difficult. Through this mending time, I was to do exercises to gently stretch my arms back out. It hurt, I mean really hurt. Sent home with exercises to do "on my own", I knew I'd get over it.
Avoiding the more intense pain by neglecting my exercises, I have paid a price. Now, about 35 years later, my arms will not straighten out. The lower arms have lost a little bit of the range-of-motion.
When I carry something quite heavy (like a suitcase) that wants to pull my arm to full extension, it causes pain. It cannot be fixed. it cannot be corrected.
Short-term pain, even though much more intense, is, in the long run, worth the price.
Otherwise, the pain is dribbled out over years and years.
The pain now (though more for others than for me) will be worth it. The slow death of depression, repression, suppression has found its Calvary. Death, where is thy sting?
Sometimes death is very, very slow. Glacial, even. At last, resurrection.
This will be my one-hundred-and-twelfth post. Give or take. I began in November 2005, twenty long months ago. Eventful year, eh?
Friends have once again lent us their condo at Hilton Head Island, SC for a beach break. My girls are here with me for several days; their my mom comes down this weekend as I depart.
This is a completely new and different kind of way to do vacation, the parent switch-off routine. The girls (now nearly 16 and 19) are adjusting (with some difficulty). It is all so different for them and so un-imagined, they are reeling. They will adjust, accept, adapt.