Lordy, it happened so fast.
I suspect that’s a defining element of an accident–there’s no time to prevent it. I didn’t see it coming, and my reflexes weren’t quick enough to avoid it.
In a split second, my wrist was sliced open, and two tendons and a major nerve were severed… on my dominant hand. (For the anatomy nerds among us, it was the median nerve, which sends muscular and sensation information to and from the thumb, index, and middle finger.) This happened on January 5, and I’ve been focused on rehab and recovery ever since.
Typing is much easier than writing (I still can’t quite keep my grasp on a pen, and when I do manage it my handwriting looks like I’m in a jeep on a rutted track), but writing hasn’t been a priority for some time (as you may have noticed). Just after the accident, every bit of energy that wasn’t directed toward my healing was intent on launching a group coaching program for alumnae at the College of William and Mary. This was a challenge, as the pain (and the medication to keep it manageable) erased important details from my wee brain, which was busy struggling to rewire.
The amount of energy it was taking to forge new connections in order to compensate for the loss of my most skillful hand, along with the energy my body was sending to the wound, made me less coach and more zombie during a critical pre-launch period.
Here’s where it gets interesting. Even though my collaborators extended more grace than I imagined possible, I insisted that I was okay, and powered through the pain rather than resting completely. I didn’t want to be seen as not holding up my portion of the workload, and was willing to give up the opportunity to rest and focus on my healing because I feared how I might be perceived. I’m (logically) 100% sure they wouldn’t have thought less of me, but the irony is that by continuing to insist on finishing my tasks, I ended up asking my collaborators to repeat things they’d already said, and I made a few mistakes in my work product because I’d forgotten things we’d previously agreed to. I never saw an eye roll or heard impatience (these are coaches after all), but I can’t imagine it didn’t affect them.
It was pretty humbling–screwing up and apologizing. But for some reason I chose the route that my protective parts thought would outwardly appear to be coming from a place of strength rather than just admitting that I wasn’t up for the task in the first place, which actually takes more strength and courage.
I’ll be continuing to write about all the lessons I’m learning as I continue a healing process that will continue until we pop the cork on 2025’s first bottle of champagne. Meanwhile, if you’re interested in learning from MY mistakes, ask yourself where you’d love to have some grace extended to you. Notice whether you’re able to ask for it, and whether you accept it when it’s offered.
