Lessons from the Tailgate: Volume One

It’s good to be back after a few weeks’ hiatus. As many of you know, about a year ago I tripped off the tailgate of my truck and broke both my legs. It’s been a long recovery, and recently it was interrupted by a fall off a ladder while working on my boat. As a result of this most recent klutziness I fractured my pelvis in five places and broke my wrist. Having a lot of time on my hands occasions reflection, so from time to time I will share my musings in posts called “Lessons from the Tailgate.”

Lesson One: Don’t fall off the tailgate (or ladder). You break stuff and it really hurts.

Lesson Two: As you age it takes a lot longer to recover from the stuff you break.

Lesson Three: The pendulum on opioid use has swung too far in the other direction. Asking for pain medication makes most health care providers look at you like a drug-seeking derelict.

Lesson Four: My recovery is a process. If one more person talks about it as a “journey,” they better provide plane tickets.

Lesson Five: It’s not helpful to hear someone say, “God never gives you more than you can handle.” I try and remember, however, that they are doing the best they can.  

Lesson Six: Needing help is a humbling thing. In reality, we are all one trip away from needing help with everything from feeding ourselves to bathing.

Most of the time we delude ourselves with images of self-sufficiency and strength. These are fleeting gifts we can lose in the blink of an eye. I have learned that needing help occasions grace and it teaches me about what it means to be human. When I tripped off the tail gate, my calls for help were answered by at least a dozen neighbors who called the rescue, called Jean, stayed with me and comforted me while I waited for help. From the hospital to rehab to home care, I was treated with respect and care. I am very grateful.

Since then I have continued to need help with rides to the doctor, meal preparation, mobility and so much more. I am blessed with a wonderful physical therapist named Sylvie and with the gift of a loving companion named Jean. My dearest friends have bolstered my spirits and sat with me in dark places. My family has offered unconditional support and love. Churches have, and still are, praying for me. Their prayers have buoyed me through challenging days. In the midst of the difficulties of this past year, I count it all as blessing.

Lesson Seven: Beyond asking for help, there is a lesson in vulnerability.

By vulnerability I mean having fewer resources than someone else. It has nothing to do with weakness, ineptness or anything negative. It simply means that at one point or another we will have fewer resources than another person or people around us. Wrapping my brain around my vulnerability was one hell of an inner fight. I am used to being the one with more resources. I am used to being in control. I am used to being the smart one, the strong one, the (fill in the blank). Of course it is all delusion, but it helps me get through the day. My delusion was tossed into a roiling sea of need and vulnerability. I did not go easily or willingly. I could have skipped it and remained grateful, if not a little irritated that I needed so much help, all the while chomping at the bit to get back to my delusion of self-sufficiency.

Instead, I let myself be dragged to the moment and whatever insight came next. Turns out what came next were moments of grace. To feel at a very deep level what it means to be utterly dependent on someone to help me dress, bring me to the toilet, wipe by butt, and be confined to a wheelchair brought me face to face with my deep vulnerability. I was completely dependent. It was a surreal experience to sit naked on the toilet while a wonderful aide named Lucy washed my back and put on lotion. In the midst of her ministrations we talked about faith and how it sustains us in difficult times. Her professionalism and competence held my vulnerability with trust and compassion. She could have hit me on the head with a bed pan and I would have been powerless to do anything. Instead she treated me with dignity and respect. Those moments of intimate care were occasions of deep pondering and profound grace.

My vulnerability was temporary. There are those for whom it is permanent. Having fewer resources means having less power in ways like physical limitation, being subject to oppressive authority, being profiled because of the color of your skin or the distinctive clothing you wear in faithfulness to your religion. Sometimes there is vulnerability due to age, mental capacity or financial resources. There are so many ways to be vulnerable and each one presents an opportunity for compassionate care.

Our shared humanness means that at times we will be called to hold the vulnerabilities of others in trust and with compassion. It means we will be the ones, from time to time, who are vulnerable and in need. And in those moments we hope there will be those who hold our vulnerabilities with trust and care. Being human is an eternal movement between the shores of strength and vulnerability.  If you’re anything like me, you go to the land of vulnerability kicking and screaming. Yet, on the other side of my delusion of self-sufficiency I discovered a land of deeper shared humanity that is itself a state of grace.