On a winter day in my early thirties, a few years less than twenty years ago, I had the misfortune of slipping and falling on an icy sidewalk. The next day, the pain had become almost unbearable and I noticed some numbness in one of my legs. I checked myself into a local hospital, where after an MRI and some other tests, I was told that I had, unequivocally, ruptured a disc in my lower back.
At the time of my fall, I had been competing in judo for over fifteen years and had suffered, over that period, all kinds of sports injuries. I saw injuries, back then, as nothing more than temporary annoyances and had come to believe in my ability to recover from anything. Being an active person in fantastic shape was how I liked to think of myself. It was part of the identity I had worked hard to build over the years, from what I felt were less impressive beginnings as a pudgy and often bullied kid. I was meant to be unstoppable but this injury turned out to be tougher than me.
As months went by and various treatments were tried and failed, my quality of life kept deteriorating. At work, I spent most of my days standing, because there just wasn’t such a thing, in my condition, as a comfortable office chair. At home, I couldn’t stay comfortable on any mattress so I would spend hours every night on the floor next to the bed. With time, I lost touch with the dojo, which for years had been like a second home to me.
Everyday activities became towering challenges: Getting in and out of my car, going up and down the stairs in our home, or something as mundane as washing my feet in the shower every morning. Suddenly, I required help from people around me with small things that I had always done without even noticing. And then there were the things that really got to me, as when my young children would trot over and look up at me tentatively with their arms extended, not understanding why I wouldn’t pick them up in my arms as I used to. It was as if I had aged fifty years in a matter of weeks.
Over the course of eighteen months, I went from being a self-reliant, self-assured person who prided himself on being able to take on anything, to feeling not only physically useless, but also exposed and defenseless. The mental and physical transformation I experienced during that period was profound, as I gradually came to believe and accept that this was going to be my life.
At the time of my fall, I had been competing in judo for over fifteen years and had suffered, over that period, all kinds of sports injuries. I saw injuries, back then, as nothing more than temporary annoyances and had come to believe in my ability to recover from anything. Being an active person in fantastic shape was how I liked to think of myself. It was part of the identity I had worked hard to build over the years, from what I felt were less impressive beginnings as a pudgy and often bullied kid. I was meant to be unstoppable but this injury turned out to be tougher than me.
As months went by and various treatments were tried and failed, my quality of life kept deteriorating. At work, I spent most of my days standing, because there just wasn’t such a thing, in my condition, as a comfortable office chair. At home, I couldn’t stay comfortable on any mattress so I would spend hours every night on the floor next to the bed. With time, I lost touch with the dojo, which for years had been like a second home to me.
Had I not recovered from my injury, it’s very doubtful that I would have enjoyed the career that I’ve had since then. Because of a bit of ice on a sidewalk, my life would have been put on a completely different trajectory, with considerable impacts on both my personal and my professional lives. It’s scary how different my life could have turned out and today, as I count my blessings, I’m acutely aware that at some point, sooner or later, the music will stop. I know, because I was there once when it stopped, but it turned out to be only a pause.
We all like to believe that we get where we are because of our own efforts, but where you end up in life is part smarts and hard work, part support from the people who love you and part sheer luck – the cards that you are dealt by life.
