Barbara Breazeale

Barbara Breazeale

Anyone who knows me, knows that I would not make a good invalid.

I tore my plantar fasciitis and have a crack in the heel of my left foot. It really hurts, but I could limp around. Bill says I need to exercise more. I know, I know. I married him.

Last week, I fell at home being clumsy and broke my right foot. My doctor looked at me and said, “This is bad. You cannot have any pressure on that foot and will need an operation to put a screw in it.”

All I could think is that God has a morbid sense of humor. Friends told me that God was telling me to slow down. I won’t tell you what I thought, but cuss words were involved.

Here are some observations from a person who has broken their first bone ever, who has never been confined to a wheelchair and who is frustrated.

I love my doctor, he is really good and explains things very well. His young assistants come in and proceed to outfit me with a boot that must weigh 20 pounds and crutches. They tell me to just lift my right foot off the ground and proceed with one foot on the ground. I tell them that I have not been on crutches before and my left foot can only take partial pressure. There is no lifting in the air happening, plus I am old. All I can imagine is a faceplant in the parking lot.

Everyone is cheery but me.

My husband proceeds to pontificate that I must get this fixed and need the operation. I must have missed it when he slipped out to get his orthopedic medical degree.

Now Bill is fixated on my left leg getting fixed and needing an MRI. I guess he wants me to show up and tell them my husband wants it done today. I keep wondering why I did not think of this myself.

A scary moment is realizing that he is my nurse. I will explain this gently so I am not inundated with men telling me they are as nurturing as women. Better yet, go to any emergency room, child care facility, nursing home, school and see what gender has the largest percentage of employees. There is a reason.

Bill works outside, pokes his head in every two to three hours and says, “Is everything OK?”

Yeah it’s ducky. Liz Heiser, a wonderful friend, comes over with a walker, makes sure that I have a clear path, asks what she can do and brings me lunch. She offers to do my grocery shopping and more. Women get it.

I’ve had seven meals in three days, all from women. Bill said, “Great, I get home-cooked meals.” I knew this was all about him.

I am going stir crazy; how many episodes of “Poirot” can you watch? I am a good housekeeper and things are always clean, but in the chair, I am seeing dirt I never knew was there.

I cannot fit through the pantry and closet doors. It really makes you aware of why they have handicapped guidelines.

Walkers, wheelchairs, crutches, shower chairs, etc.: It reminds me of when you have a baby and your house explodes with things.

I hate this boot but remember the plaster casts, so this is a step up. (Excuse the pun)

I feel self-conscious being in this chair. I think of Cole Ohrt and how it feels to be reliant on others for everything.

I know I should be grateful, but my pity party is into high gear.

It is exasperating to empty the dishwasher and not be able to put things away. If something falls on the ground, it stays there.

Simple tasks like getting water or getting dressed are an ordeal. I am not even going to talk about taking a shower. Yikes.

Good friends come by to talk and you would think Tom Selleck just walked in. I am way too needy.

Bill is doing better. The kids must have had a talk with him. I hired a person to clean my house.

Patience is not my strong suit. At first, my thought process was “no divorce but possibly homicide.” (He can be cranky). I am glad I am not alone in this house and grateful that Bill is there for me.

Maybe God does have a plan in all of this. Maybe he realizes that in a marriage and friendships, there are ups and downs. When we are tested during sicknesses, pregnancies, absences, etc., we realize the true worth and character of the people in our lives. We see them rise to the occasion, help us when we are down, be there in our time of need. If we have done for others, it comes back sometimes, sometimes not. You don’t do it for the payback, you do it because it is right.

But I must admit, I check the sky often to see if Mary Poppins is coming to my rescue.

I bet she’s never cranky.

Barbara Breazeale is married to Bill Pozzi, the mom to four and grandmother to six. She is the advancement director for Victoria House of Palms, P.O. Box 4886, Victoria, TX 77903. Contact her at barbarabreazeale@gmail.com.

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