By Esther C. Baird
Written for the Chronicle & Transcript, Nov 2021
Our 14 year old daughter and I are both in post-concussion therapy. Hers has to do with strengthening muscles so that she’s less prone to getting a concussion next time she’s hit by a ball, or bounces on a wave, or generally has an average teenage life. Mine has to do with fixing my jaw after I fell into the gravel pit of despair a little over two months ago.
The good news is that there are some great physical therapists that do nuanced and specialized work. The bad news is that they all seem to work out of Greenland, or you know, Manchester-By-The-Sea, which is all the same to a person who lives in Boxford.
At any rate my daughter and I are both working on it.
She’s not supposed to play high risk sports and I’m not supposed to chew steak. She has to balance on a sofa cushion with her eyes closed and I have to open and close my mouth slowly 30 times in a row. She has to tuck her chin into her neck and lift it while on her back and I have to ice three times a day.
We’re super fun to be around. Really.
What was particularly fun, in my case, was the security footage of my accident. At first, I didn’t realize it existed. But on my first day back to the office (for one hour, with my daughter driving) I went outside to inspect the site of my fall.
It may not surprise you to learn that I fell when I was speed walking to my office on a Sunday morning between church services. I was taking a short cut through our almost done fellowship building. But ‘almost’ means not yet. So technically, my route was not so much of a short cut as an off-limits area. Sure, the caution tape and fencing were a clue, but I mean what was this, a board game? Was I Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick? Uh, no. I was Esther, in the gravel pit, with a concussion.
Also, the nature of construction sites is that they… change. And where there had not been several foot-high wooden stakes to demarcate the about-to-be-poured new cement, suddenly, unbeknownst to me, there were.
As was reenacting the event with my daughter, one of the pastors who saw my fall, came out and disputed my acting. I remembered falling straight down, but he remembered a fall that involved a roll in the air.
He thought for a second and said, “I bet it’s on the security footage.”
I was instantly dazzled by the idea and we hurried back to our high tech surveillance room (also known as the other pastor’s coat closet). Since it was his office, the other pastor joined in the fun, and the three of us began rolling back the tape.
“There you are!” The one pastor pointed.
We all leaned in. There I was in my late summer church clothes, waving at one person, talking to another, not looking down and…. WHOAH!!
“Ohhhhh,” the pastors said.
Ohhh, was right. I had a momentary pause. Seeing yourself do something catastrophic, that you can’t remember, is bizarre and slightly shocking. My pastors helpfully pulled me out of the weirdness in their delicate pastoral way.
“Let’s watch it in slow-mo, frame by frame,” one said.
“Let’s see if we can zoom in on you,” the other offered.
They know me well and we were all laughing within seconds.
We watched it over and over and I got a little giddy. “Wow. I flew, I rolled, I maybe did a backwards half-somersault? It’s amazing how much worse it could have been!”
Flying into the air among stakes in the ground is a risky endeavor conscious or otherwise. As it was, my concussion and jaw situation wasn’t great and my recovery was slow. I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t work, and I couldn’t cook (well, no tears there). The whole no screen thing was impossible, and somebody cut me a break with the no reading rule.
People told me this was a sign from God that I needed to slow down; this was a lesson in perhaps living a more peaceful and thoughtful life.
Hmmm.
Like I said at the beginning, we’re working on it. So sure, after I drive 1,000 miles back and forth to PT appointments while sorting out the various life calamities in Teenager Land, and obviously after I decorate for Christmas and do the shopping while working and writing and…
Maybe as we hurtle into the holidays, instead of slowing down, I’ll try simply looking down. And, I’ll remember to carry a candlestick.