Sometimes You Can't Make it On Your Own (or What I Learned From Some Broken Ribs)

My previous blog post details the fall that broke my ribs and the aftermath of that fall (see Falls So Hard). This post is going to focus on the lessons I learned. No one was more surprised than me by how much I learned from that one fall. I learned so much more than the limits of my pain tolerance. As James Morrison’s “Too Late for Lullabies” says, “You don’t know your strength ‘till you’ve faced defeat.”

These are the six lessons I learned from my recent physical defeat.

Lesson One: Listen to your gut over everything. I learned that when my gut is telling me something, to listen, instead of dismissing like a voicemail notification you easily ignore. That last day in Lisbon I knew something wasn’t right just like I knew something wasn’t right in Berlin. I also learned that my gut feeling trumps any outside advice. Indeed my dad was a doctor. He knows my symptoms and can recommend what action to take, but the only one who can judge my pain is me. As my sister succinctly reminded me, it’s my body and my money.

Speaking of money, this brings me to Lesson Two: Taking care of yourself costs money. I have been very fortunate with my health so I haven’t paid for it in quite awhile. Hospital costs aside, I realized the cost of comfort while in Berlin. The level of pain was so great that the need to comfort myself outweighed my signature frugality. Without a second thought, my budget was out the window in favor of hotel amenities.

I also had an uncharacteristic “let me upgrade you” moment en route from Berlin to Buenos Aires. Unable to check-in to my flight online, I got to the airport early in hopes of garnering a much needed aisle seat (as bending over to get inside the aisle was not an option). I get to the ticket desk and ask if an aisle seat is available. The man tells me that none are available for the Frankfurt to BA leg of the trip. I explain that I’m traveling with two broken ribs and ask if I can pay for an aisle seat. He serves me a firm no.

So as I board the 14 hour flight, I plead my case to the welcoming flight attendant. She proceeds to tell me that the flight is sold out. Once again, I ask if I can pay for one. She tells me that an aisle seat is available in premium economy. I ask how much it is they way you do, every so quietly, hesitantly, when you don’t really want to know the answer. Yet, next thing I know I’m giving her those three little words: “I’ll take it.” And you know what, I’m so glad I did. It was the most enjoyable flight experience I’ve ever had. I had the room to recline without ruining the flight of the passenger behind me and best of all I was able to sleep for 8 hours. Stepping off that plane feeling better than I ever have after a long distance flight, it made me see just how much my frugality is tied to feelings of worth. In this case I was worth the upgrade because I was in pain and I needed an aisle seat.

I’ll put those feelings of worth up on the shelf for another post. Let’s talk about fear. Lesson Three: Pain is scary. It’s scary to not know what’s going on with your own body. Night one in Berlin my body was rejecting my injury while also trying to tell me something. In those moments, I had a newfound empathy for babies, who can’t even express how they’re feeling. I can express that I have never felt more scared or alone than I did that night.

It’s no wonder pain is scary, because it’s a beast. Lesson Four: Pain is an invisible beast. You can’t see it, other people can’t see it, and it’s about as hard to describe as what food tastes like (or maybe that’s just me). By the time I made my second ER visit, I had a better handle on how to describe the pain. Instead of simply saying “I’m in lots of pain,” I put it in context by describing what the pain causes me to do or limits me from doing.

When I joined my Ohana in Buenos Aires, the invisible beast struck again. People would welcome me back with a warm hug and I would have to intercept said hug with a cautionary “be gentle” since I don’t have a visible representation of my injury like a bandage or a cast.

In the case of my broken ribs, the other invisible beast was the collateral damage. This injury was more than broken bones, it was a direct knock on my mobility. The injured ribs prevent me from doing all of my daily stretches. I manage my cerebral palsy by stretching my legs morning and night. The stretching is a temporary release of the chronic spasticity in my legs. It also greatly increases my mobility while decreasing the pain in my back. Two broken ribs ended up impacting my whole body.

Those two broken ribs also impacted my perspective on solo travel. Which leads me to Lesson four: Have health, will travel. I have done my share of solo travel both domestic and international. It is something that I cherish. It is also something I took for granted. In all my previous solo travel I’ve never even considered my health (to be young and healthy is the personification of ignorance is bliss). Berlin was a reminder of what an important role health has in your travel plans.

Being alone in Berlin also brought the next lesson to the forefront of my consciousness. Lesson five: the dichotomy of care. My realization in Berlin was this: you are the only person who can take care of you - yet you can’t do everything alone. Or as the U2 song goes, “Sometimes You Can’t Make it On Your Own.” Although I could do the tactical things alone, like going to the ER and filling my prescription, the emotional support that I got from friends and family was invaluable. Sometimes I just needed to hear a familiar voice, other times I simply wanted a distraction, but the end goal was the same, connection. As Bono advises, “Best you can do is to fake it. Sometimes you can’t make it on your own.”

Faking it brings me to my final lesson. Lesson six: You will get to the other side. My experience in Berlin tested me on every level. And while there were certainly moments that got the best of me, I made it to the other side. In testing my strength, it also held a mirror up to it that showed me how capable I am. If you listen close enough, life gives you what you need. My first day in BA Spotify played me a Pink song I had never heard but that caught my attention from the first line of, “They say everything is temporary.” My mind went to pain and the chorus drove the point on home. “But We Lost It” became my recovery anthem, reminding me with every listen, “The bone breaks. It grows back stronger.”

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