“Sometimes these things get worse before they get better.”
He really meant for his words to be reassuring.
I freaked out this weekend, when four weeks into my second stress fracture this year, my pain was actually increasing. I begged my doctor to see me right away, convinced I was having another one of those horrific and practically unheard-of complications that – in his office, anyway — I’m famous for. Would I need another bone graft, another surgery?
But after a bunch of tests, he thought he was giving me good news — no new complications, no surgery.
“This isn’t the same fracture you had before,” he explained. “It’s much bigger, much deeper, much worse. That’s why it’s not healing the way the other one did.”
Many times my doctor has had to say, “You’re the only patient I’ve ever seen who…” or “No one else I’ve ever treated has…” So I know he totally meant it as an encouragement when he explained it’s not unusual for this type of fracture to take a while to heal:
“One of my other patients was on crutches for – what was it — eight, nine months? It might just take that long.”
Oddly enough I didn’t find that encouraging.
Let’s see: August to September, September to October, November, December… MAY 2015???
I’ve been sitting with this thought all week. Kind of numb.
Honestly, I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to post on social media or here on my blog.
Of course it might not take that long. But even if it does, I’m not crushed or devastated. My faith in God isn’t destroyed. In the grand scheme of things, a broken bone – no matter how painful or slow healing – isn’t THAT big of a deal.
But I’m also not feeling very cheerful and hopeful and “victorious in Jesus.” I don’t have any happy thoughts — about anything, really.
I look at what’s ahead for me for the next four or five or six