Feeling Fragile

A line popped into my head the other day and suddenly I’d written a poem about the heart and how hearts don’t really break because they are made from squishy stuff. They can be bruised and squashed, torn or pulled taught, knotted and battered.

I know for a fact hearts are soft and squishy rather than hard and brittle because I’ve been binge watching Grey’s Anatomy, I’m still a bit squeamish and avert my eyes at some of the blood, gore and operations, but since having some of my own and living with scars I have become more curious, in awe of the talented surgeons.

But while hearts and soft and bouncy, bones are solid and dependable – until you fall and break one.

I’ve now had some follow up on my broken arm and while I was originally delighted to hear my break was an uncommon one - who wants to be like everyone else - I have now discovered the type of break I have is a fragility fracture, the sort of things found in the older population, a sign of weakening bones!

I’m not yet 55 and this has added a further dent to my confidence as if widowhood and cancer haven’t reminded me enough that life is a delicate balancing act we will all fail at - eventually..

No high wire trapeze acts for me if I can break just falling from ground level – that's what a fragility fracture means.

Image found at clipground.com

I’ve started on some medication – “your nana was on that,” says mum.

Great - that’s another bit of medical history I’ve inherited.

“We’ve not got great genes have we?” Said oldest son once, realising that cancer runs deep in my side of the family and heart disease is all too prevalent in his dad’s.

I’ve got thyroid issues too, all my own, I don't know any other family connection for that one.

The doctor tried to convince me I’m really not that old, but I feel worn down in this world that has never fully recovered from 2020. I want to write at least I’ve never knowingly had Covid, but will that jinx it?

I was one of only about three people wearing a mask in the supermarket today - prevention is better than cure, they say.

And maybe that's the way to look at my unlucky break too. A reminder to not be complacent. Being on medication (and hopefully being monitored by the hospital - a bone scan would be reassuring) may just prevent a far more serious injury in the future. 

In the present, it's only been 4 weeks since the break and it’s only January, a month when you often feel a little blue. As I cure I think it's time to throw the blanket around my shoulders, curl up with a mug of cocoa and watch another episode of two of Grey’s Anatomy, hoping the medical woes of others will trump my own and leave me feeling far more grateful.

As for my poem - I might just save that for the day of Squishy Hearts - Feb 14th