The Silver Comet Trail
OpinionShaindle’s Shpiel

The Silver Comet Trail

Here’s my truth: I have a highly developed talent for heading to my land of denial upon hearing something I would rather not know about.

Shaindle Schmuckler spreads her energy and humor as a regular contributor to the Atlanta Jewish Times.

Shaindle Schmuckler
Shaindle Schmuckler

I did not see the Boy Scout coming.

He ran directly in front of me as I was riding my bike down the Silver Comet Trail.  By the time I saw him, it was too late to move out of the way.  I slammed on my brakes, and flew directly over the bike’s handle bars, landing like a rock on my left side, my shoulder enduring the bulk of the fall.

At the hospital, as I lay writhing in pain, X-rays showed two fractures in my left shoulder. Months later, at a follow up visit, my doctor informed me I was healing nicely.  No surgery required.

Speed time along, and not so many years later, I was once again writhing in pain. Many shots later – those who’ve experienced shoulder or knee pain know the shots to which I’m referring – I was informed the shots stopped working because there was no more space in my shoulder. Really? What does that even mean?

I was experiencing the effects of bone on bone. I developed traumatic arthritic something or other. I could barely hear any words after I heard traumatic.

Here’s my truth: I have a highly developed talent for heading to my land of denial upon hearing something I would rather not know about. Try it, you may want to join me in this peaceful, brilliant, beautiful place.

Two months ago, I had a complete shoulder replacement. My surgeon and his nurse were angels from heaven — kind, compassionate and intuitive. Remembering I live in denial, they did not suggest I check out the stunning implants which make me the first bionic in my family. No worries; I am well on my way to recovery.

I was, and still am, basking in the light of the kindnesses extended to my family while I was incapacitated. I can tell you, without exception, we ate the most fabulous meals. Respecting my exhaustion, telephone calls were kept short and sweet. Visits, the same. (I was so drugged, I cannot be held responsible for what I may have inadvertently divulged).

My four girls, my sons-in-love, my 10 grandchildren are the pillars of my life. Although my girls are working moms, they organized themselves so that each evening one of these four beautiful women would arrive to prepare and serve the dinner meal to my hubby and myself, and a lunch meal for the following day. They cooked and cleaned and loved on us.

I thank the Boy Scout for providing me with yet one more opportunity to remember how blessed and grateful I am, for my family of 18 (chai), who are the wind beneath my wings.

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