A misstep turns into an adventure, of sorts

By Natasha Josefowitz, Ph.D 

LA JOLLA, California — A tale of a one-armed bandit.  No, it’s not a slot machine, it’s me, trying to brush my teeth with my left arm, eat with my left hand, and generally feeling totally handicapped. What happened?

I was planning to speak to the residents of Seacrest Village, a retirement community in Encinitas. I was to talk at one o’clock on my latest research about loss, grief, and healing.

When it was time to start, I was taken to a beautiful synagogue also used as a venue for lectures. A large crowd had gathered to hear me. There was a podium; I was miked; I spread my papers on the lectern. Then I looked up and saw a friend in the audience and happily sauntered towards her. I had entered from the back and did not realize that the stage was elevated. You guessed it: I missed the  step down, crashed, and fell flat on my face! How embarrassing is that?

I tried to get up and could not. My arm hung useless and limp by my side. When I was helped to a chair, I realized that my shoulder was dislocated. I wondered if I could I still give my talk. The pain made me decide against it.

Someone called 911; the paramedics put me on a gurney and into the ambulance. The ride was bumpy and I was in pain. Valerie, the paramedic, inserted an IV in my hand and dripped morphine. She was warm and helpful, but I was worried about how much damage I had done to my shoulder.

We arrived at the ER where I was transferred to a bed and rolled to a hallway to wait my turn to see a doctor. Valerie stayed with me for as long as she could, a reassuring presence.

I waited twenty minutes in excruciating pain, then was wheeled to a cubicle and waited there for too many minutes, getting very anxious. Finally, the doctor saw me and immediately sent me down the hall to get x-rayed. Within minutes she got the results: a dislocated shoulder and a break. Dr. Lisa Morikado has worked in the ER for twenty-two years and knew what she was doing. She took my right hand and started pulling hard, again and again until we heard a click. The shoulder was back in place. Another x-ray was taken, and now I have before and after photos. I was relieved that the break was small and wouldn’t need surgery. I was given a pain medication, which made the room become blurry, and a copy of my x-rays. I called a taxi to take me home.

A nurse and wheelchair were waiting for me at White Sands. I was taken safely to my apartment but realized I could not undress myself. I am grateful that I live in a facility with nurses available around the clock. I was helped into bed and spent a restless night half sitting up and hurting. The next morning our house doctor, Dr. Lazarus, who’s here every morning, came to my apartment.

Breakfast was brought to me, then lunch. I went down for dinner to a chorus of “How are you? What can I do for you? Can I drive you? Can I get you something? Call me anytime, even in the middle of the night.” White Sands is a family; I am home among friends who care. But I find it difficult to be dependent on others. I soon figured out how to dress and undress by myself. I felt a surge of pride when I figured out how to put on my brassiere.

The lesson according to my friend Eileen: we are all pilgrims on a journey, we should pay attention to every step we take. In other words, watch where you’re going, look around you, slow down! I tend to run everywhere. And from my daughter Nina, “Don’t schedule more than one event a day, and, if more, put some space between each event.” I was scheduled to do a radio interview after my talk and was anxious to get back on time which probably contributed to my lack of focus. This adventure was a wake up call to stop rushing through the day, through life.

Although breaking a shoulder was not on my bucket list, it is an adventure of sorts: riding in an ambulance, waiting my turn in an ER. The inability to take care of myself adds to my understanding and compassion for others’ disabilities.

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Josefowitz is an author and freelance writer based in the San Diego suburb of La Jolla.  This article initially appeared in La Jolla Village News.  The author may be contacted via natasha.josefowitz@sdjewishworld.com