Discovered: Dislocated elbow, torn ligaments, two pieces of fragmented bones floating about, crushed radial head of the ulna, fractured ulna.
Strike 1: Pack of dogs appear, one dog lunges towards Dumpling. Dumpling kicks up into a giant handstand, I am flung too fast, and too far over. I lie in blinding pain, on muddy tracks, in the Commons, my left arm, a separate body part.
Strike 3: Review, 2 days post-surgery. Dr C unravels my arm. The hope is to get me out of the cast and start me on physio, because there is the reality that we have to race against time to recover as much movement as possible. My arm is unrecognisable, deformed. The pain pushes me into shock. I can focus my breath, steady, steady, but I can't control the shuddering and shaking of my whole body.
Spice feeds me lunch. How's my little friend with the wounded wing?
Jon opens and shuts doors for me. He leans close to kiss me and buckle me into the passenger seat.
Trace says how long are you in hospital for, what is a good time, I'll come visit.
S says, shall I bring dinner over tonight? SF and TJ send love from London. K says something about my ability to adapt. Every other person I know cheer me on, Get well soon, Tam!
I miss my dog.
After 19 years of a good marriage, it is now only dawning on me that I have trust issues. I trust my husband to be the wonderful human being that he is. But I have not trusted him with myself. I have kept myself unconsciously, bottled up, away.
How does the song go... Three strikes you're out at the old ball game!
Strike 3, I'm out. The pain is too loud.
I can see his worry. Because he needs me, to trust, him.
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