Temporarily Able-Bodied

I’m 77 today, 7 weeks after getting a new knee.  There must be a message somewhere in all these sevens.  Not wisdom, exactly, but a new insight or two.

For starters,  I’m aware that, at this age, my knee may be only the first body part to wear out.

A more valuable lesson came from the weeks following my  surgery.  For about five or six days post-op, I needed a walker to hobble around the house. With just two steps to get in and out of the house, I thought this wouldn’t be much of a problem. But when I encountered that first step, I saw what looked to be a small  mountain.  How to get the walker up to the next level without falling?  With fear and trembling, I stepped up.  Then maneuvered the second step the same way.  I was exhausted enough after this process that I needed to sit before walking any further. Even though my husband was right there to open the door and catch me if I fell.

Now that I was in our one-floor house, I believed the next part would be a piece of cake. Not so! Sitting down and getting up from a chair, my bed, into the shower (daunting!) and brushing my teeth while leaning over the walker bar to reach the sink: all these presented a new challenge.  After the walker came the cane, which, while still difficult, allowed me to move around a bit more, while still needing help with door openings and food carrying.

I was fortunate that my disability lasted only for a couple of weeks, yet long enough to learn this second, more important lesson: There is so much that I have always taken for granted.  I can get in and out of bed in a flash, walk up a flight of stairs without having to plot it out beforehand, put on my shoes without help. I experienced, for a brief moment in time, what thousands, no, millions of people face every day. Not simply the usual personal and household tasks like showering, getting dressed, cooking and washing up, but so many other things.

For example, walking on a woodland path that looks like this one:

A relatively smooth and level stretch that appears fully accessible until you come across the downed tree. I can no longer jump over it,  but I still  have other options: crawl under it or step over it,  even bushwhack off the path to get around it.  For people using a cane or a crutch they might be able to find a way to get past it.  But for someone using a walker, or in a wheelchair, forget it: it’s an insurmountable barrier.

These are the people we refer to as “disabled.” Some have been born that way, some face it later in life. Many are fortunate to experience disability for relatively short periods.  Yet, for everyone who lives long enough, there will be a time when at least one or two of our abilities fail.  We are the “temporarily- able bodied.”  Becoming aware of this is a major step toward eliminating labels.  To see and know others as individuals and eliminate categories is to get a glimpse of how I imagine God looks on us, each and everyone loved equally, without exception.