Helping Hands

The old adage "You don't know how much you appreciate something until it's gone" has proven to be among one of the truest statements I've ever heard. I'm way too tired and in way too much pain tonight to list all the times it's been true for me ... in regard to things but even more so in regard to people. I do, however, want to tell you one thing I far under-appreciated until a month or so ago ... my left index finger. More specifically, I've realized in a big, humongous, gigantic way over the last two days how much I didn't appreciate what it meant to be able to bend my fingers ... all ten of them. 

Yesterday morning I had an appointment with the hand therapist at the surgeon's office, and it was not fun ... it was not fun at all. Everything was going well ... the therapist unwrapped my finger and removed the splint, examined the incision and said I was healing nicely. Just as I was thinking how kind and gentle she was being with my wounded finger, she said something about me needing to massage the incision area three times each day for 3-4 minutes. "What do you mean by massage?" I asked tentatively. Note to self: Never ask a person who is holding your recently sliced and diced finger what she means by massage because she will reach around with her thumb and clamp down on your still very tender incision and say, "Massage the incision area ... like this." I swear that lady must be the Incredible Hulk's sister because the pressure she applied to my finger caused me to immediately tear up and begin to cry as I stood up out of my chair and said, "You need to stop, please." I'm sure her muscles were threatening to burst the seams of her lab coat as she held my finger in her Hulkish grip and said, "Oh, so we don't like that, do we?" I won't tell you what my reply was, but I will tell you that she didn't stop until a full four minutes had passed ... the longest four minutes of my entire life, I assure you.

I'll spare you the details of the torture she inflicted upon me during the next hour and a half ... suffice it to say that I've taken more than a few hefty doses of Advil yesterday and today. When the exercises finally ended, she carefully wrapped and tightly taped my finger in a lovely powder blue bandage. I left carrying a small brown paper bag containing additional tape and my splint (in case my finger begins to do what she described as "drooping" ... if that happens, I'm to put the splint back on and call the doctor immediately). Also in the bag were what I decided today should be labeled "the three pages from hell" ... three sheets of paper with a total of nine finger exercises I'm supposed to do five times per day, 10 reps per exercise every day until I go back for my appointment one week from today. I teared up again when she told me that I would need another person to help me with one of the exercises ... I'm pretty sure I don't want Julie or Ollie anywhere near my finger, and truth is they are my sole housemates. Neither my tears nor my shameless begging for her to choose a different exercise would sway her ... she insisted the exercise is critically important and that I would simply have to find someone who's willing to bend my finger for me five times each day.

I've written a lot about the folks I work with and about how we are like a family, so it shouldn't have surprised me when I got to the office yesterday and was immediately peppered with questions about my appointment. After a couple of my friends had great fun reading "the three pages from hell" outlining my exercises, one of them decided she would enlist a team of people not only to bend my finger for the one exercise but to encourage me and cheer me on as I completed the other exercises as well. When she emailed me the "Terrie workout schedule," I cried again ... not because I dreaded the pain that I knew would accompany the exercises but because I was overwhelmed at the love and commitment the email contained. And today when one of the folks on the schedule was stuck on a phone call, another person stepped up and said, "I'll do it, Terrie ... I'd love to help you."

Those of you who know me know how much I detest having to ask for help ... I detest it because it makes me feel weak or needy or like I'm imposing on someone else. But here's the thing ... there are times when every single one of us needs help. Whether that help involves bending a finger or wiping away someone's tears or fixing a flat tire or listening to a friend whose heart has been wounded or holding someone accountable ... there are times when every single one of us needs help. I am so blessed to have so many helping hands ... helping hands that are willing not only to bend my finger but to bend my heart as well. It's humbling for me to sit across from someone and allow them to come so close to such a painful wound ... to have them see the pain on my face and the tears in my eyes ... to let them push me to do what I know I must do in order for me to heal. 

Helping hands ... I'm thankful for all the hands who have helped me not only through the last couple of days but through the last couple of years as well. I wouldn't have made it through without all of you, and I'm so very, very thankful. Now that I think about it, it's about way more than helping hands, friends ... it's about helping hearts.