Watch Out; I Drive a Broom

A month ago, I was walking from a neighbor’s house to my own on the asphalt road when my right ankle turned on a round piece of limb. I slammed forward onto the road and lay there, stunned, for a few minutes. Two neighbors, bless their hearts, rushed to my side and sat beside me on the road while my head cleared and we could assess my injuries. After several more minutes, they helped me stand and hobble to my house.

X-rays showed a broken 5th metatarsal and further examination determined a severely sprained ankle. Thankfully, I didn’t have to be casted, but I have been confined to wearing a “boot.” For a month now. And more weeks to come.

So what, exactly, does that mean? First of all, it means I can’t drive! I’ve been driven to my doctor’s, X-rays, physical therapist’s, a writer’s meeting I felt important to attend. People have gone to get groceries for me, to the drugstore for meds, to the library. My granddaughter comes every week to do my laundry (machines are down in my basement, the cellar stairs being verboten).

I’m sure you’re thinking that I am blessed to have these people not only available to me, but willing to help me over and over again. And you’re right. I am truly blessed. And I am very grateful to them.

But at the same time, I’ve been a real proverbial witch. (You can spell that with a “b” and it would probably be more correct.) I’ve been glum, miserable, cantankerous, and downright surly. The other day, I saw on Facebook a humorous panel that gave people a warning:

Watch out. I drive a broom.

And I thought, Now that is something I should be saying. I thought about it often throughout the day. And gradually, I considered why I thought I should be saying that instead of being nice, kind, considerate, warm, grateful. Self-analysis time. Time for battle. War zone.

Why witch? Why not switch?

I’m a senior. Actually, I’m a senior senior. I decided having an infirmity not only makes my life one of inconvenience and dependency, it reminds me of my mortality. It didn’t help me to acknowledge that relatives and friends are fighting cancer—an illness far more serious than mine—and are still being gracious and positive through all the treatments, and inconvenience and dependency. I just couldn’t force a shift in my attitude. The doldrums continued, and my broom still hovered in my garage.

Yesterday, I finally gave myself a Reiki treatment. I don’t know what gave me the impetus to do that on that day, but it worked. Peace, acceptance, and tolerance washed over me and gave me the strength and willingness to change. It feels so good.

But I’m still leaving my broom in the garage—for witch emergencies..