Thankful for a broken hip? You’ve got to be kidding, right? That’s what I thought three years ago as I sat in an emergency room, four states away from my home, the Saturday after Thanksgiving and listened to the physician say I needed emergency surgery.
While traveling from East Texas to South Georgia to spend time with my mother, I fell and broke my left hip in a Tallahassee, Florida parking lot. Three hours short of my final destination.
Let’s just say the fall was not my fault. It wasn’t really my dog, Bear’s, fault either. Even though he is the one who bolted at the sound of a semi truck’s air brakes while I had him on a leash at a rest stop, and pulled me through the parking lot until I fell with a solid thud onto my left hip. I’d have to say leather shoes that had absolutely no traction on their sole were the culprit. Shoes I no longer own.
Five hours after the fall, where I convinced myself the pain was from a really bad groin pull and not a broken hip, I was in the Mayo Clinic’s emergency room in Waycross, Georgia. After multiple x-rays and CT scans, I was transported to a room. I was prepped for the emergency surgery which would take place the next morning. Not what my husband and I envisioned when we left our home for the two-day drive to Georgia. It felt more like the castaways of Gilligan’s Island and their three-hour-tour.
Was I thankful I broke my hip? No. Was I thankful I only saw my mother for maybe sixty minutes, total, during the time I was in Georgia? No. But was I thankful? Yes. And you want to know why?
Although I prayed my hip didn’t break the instant I landed on it, God hadn’t forgotten me. The break could have been considerably worse than it was. God went before me and leveled mountains and filled in valleys. He prepared the hospital for my arrival. He put in place a caring, thoughtful, wonderful staff. Because it was the weekend after Thanksgiving, I didn’t have to wait for a slot to open for my surgery.
I was told I’d have to stay in Georgia for twenty-one days for rehab before being allowed to return home. That took me right up to the week of Christmas. That decision changed, however, when I mentioned to the surgeon we drove our full-sized van, (something we rarely did) and promised to stay on the couch at the back for the ride home. We’d take as long as necessary. I’d stop every two hours and move around to avoid blood clots. Whatever it took. I wanted to go home. Now.
Because God is not bound by time like we are, He knew before I was born I’d fall in Tallahassee and fracture my hip. He even knew the exact spot where I’d land. He prepared me for the fall by giving me the most amazing husband to care for me throughout the whole ordeal.
God gave me the strength to bounce back fast enough to leave the hospital two days after the surgery that placed three screws in my left femur. He created me with enough upper body strength to maneuver on the walker until I transitioned to a cane. God made a way to bring me home three days after the surgery by having us take our van.
So, even in the worst of scenarios, God is with us and never leaves. If that is the only thing we have to hold onto and be thankful for, then it is more than enough, don’t you agree?
I wish you well.