Yesterday afternoon, as I went outside to get in my car and head off to a session of physical therapy, I was nearly hit in the head by a wounded bird. I heard a loud
thunk! noise, as it collided with something wooden, and then I watched as it fell down to the ground in front of me. It hobbled around, flapping its wings (one of which now looked in terrible shape), trying in vain to get back up into the air and resume its life of . . . whatever it is that birds do.
My first reaction was to double-check and ensure that I had remembered to use deodorant - if you catch my drift. But, as I was already running late for my appointment, I thought no more of the bird and sped off to my intended destination.
Yes, I'm in physical therapy once more. After spending months rehabbing my right shoulder last year following a subacromial decompression surgery, I am back. My physical therapist now says that I have bursitis in my right tensor fasciae latae muscle. (It's in the thigh, just below the hip. Don't worry if you haven't heard of it before; two months ago, I had no idea what it was called, either.)
When you're at physical therapy, you have a lot of time to think. First, you have to sit with a hot pad on the injured area/muscle for 15 minutes. That is followed by five minutes of ultrasound on the affected area. Then, you do your exercises and stretches, which usually take about an hour, and, even while you're grunting and straining through those, you have more time to think. The session often ends with 20 minutes of ice and e-stem electric therapy applied to your sore spot, which is my favorite part and what I consider to be the payoff for all of the hard work you have to do.
While I lay there with the heat pad on, the image of that poor, injured bird flopping around popped back into my head. I suddenly wished I had done something - I don't know what - to try to take care of it, instead of leaving it there like I did. Then, I got to thinking about the well-known scripture in Matthew:
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.
But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
-Matthew 10:29-31
You don't have to be a genius to figure out the symbolism of my encounter with the injured bird, which explains how
*I* was able to figure it out.
Here I was, surrounded by people with physical ailments of all kinds - shoulder pain, neck pain, wrist pain, knee pain, you name it - and, like the bird, all they wanted to do was to get flying again and get back to whatever it is that people do. And, with that thought, I gained a newfound respect and appreciation for the things that physical therapists do.
Further, I also got to thinking about family and close friends who are living through some painful experiences - of one kind or another - right now, including: depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, loneliness, unemployment, separation from a spouse, excommunication from the Church, and the death of a loved one. They, too, are in the loving hands of the Master Healer, and He will see them through.
Was I thinking too much at physical therapy yesterday? Maybe.
Please allow me to add one more thought and conclude this post with mentioning something about J.K. "Jo" Rowling, who many of you know is the author of the seven Harry Potter books. This past week, I did some research on her and wrote up a small biography for my ongoing work project of writing reading passages. Something interesting that I learned about Jo is of the struggle she had to go through just to get that first Harry Potter book on the shelf, and it is a story that gave me a lot of newfound respect for this woman.
From having the initial idea until publication, it took J.K. Rowling seven years to get
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone into bookstores. That was a tumultuous seven-year period in her life that included the death of her mother, a marriage and a divorce, raising a child as a single parent, and a bout with severe depression. In fact, the Dementors in the Harry Potter books represent her experiences in dealing with depression. No wonder that it is the love that Harry's parents have for him that often sees him through those dark times.
She was flat broke when she wrote the book, and she had to type it up on an old typewriter in public cafes in Edinburgh, Scotland. But, she persisted, and she got it done. The rest, as they say, is history.
