Renew My Strength

It was September 17, 2001. I was jogging along the cart path on
the 8th hole, and over the next ridge I could see a pack of crows
diving repeatedly. I thought they were probably attacking an unlucky fish pulled from the nearby pond. What I found, instead, was a poor turtle huddling in defense inside its shell. The crows scattered as I approached. The turtle sat motionless, half of its shell cracked and broken. My first instinct was to lift it to safety in the tall grass by the pond. But, I wondered, will it just die, starved and broken? And what about the food chain and the deserving crows? I chose to leave it. As I took two steps back, it scurried on its merry way down the fairway, unmolested. Hmm, it has no choice but to heal itself the best it can and carry on with regular turtle life.
I continued my run and went to tennis practice giving no more thought to my turtle friend. Later that day, I lay in bed with almost unbearable neck and shoulder blade pain. The diagnosis: two herniated cervical discs. How could this be happening? Why? God, I pleaded, why did you give me these wonderful physical talents and then take them away? What an overwhelming sadness and anger I felt. Life, as I had always known it — running, coaching, playing sports — was over. The turtle was the farthest thing from my mind.

I began physical therapy because the surgeon said “well, you might as well try therapy.” Though the orthopedist told me “with discs like that, you’ll eventually end up needing surgery.” But there was a wonderful therapist — an Egyptian man named Farouk Elkassed. It was October, and this was an interesting time to give my well-being over to a man who, in his words, “follows Islam, but is not a terrorist.” But, where I expected therapy would be useless, Farouk had seen it help many patients. He was hopeful. And so, under his care, there was traction, manipulation, massage, posture instruction, exercise, stretching and more exercise. No turtle yet.

My pain lessened. I recovered strength. Sensation and coordination returned. But I was still broken! I had seen on an MRI that disc compressing my nerve. It was not going away. Four weeks passed. My questions changed. God, help me decide about surgery. I can accept it if it’s your will for me. Still, no turtle.

Well, the answer came. My condition had improved enough that surgery was unnecessary. “Now” was the unspoken last word. I went for my last therapy session. Farouk asked me, “When you came in here, did you have any hope?” “No,” was my honest reply. Now if I kept doing my exercises, I could resume my previous activities. “And don’t think of this as temporary. Think of yourself as never being a candidate for surgery,” he added. In completing his discharge report, Farouk asked me the date of my injury. Monday, September 17th. “That’s my birthday!” he smiled. In a flash I recalled the amazing, resilient, hopeful turtle — broken, yet grateful to have been saved.

He had given me new life, too, this man who followed Islam. I had been made to see the body’s amazing capacity to heal without the “cure” of medical intervention. True, I am still broken. I have had to make some changes in what I ask my body to do. I treat myself more gently, graciously, gratefully now.

I wonder if God looked down upon my broken shell and longed to move me to the safety of the tall grass. Instead, He sent angels who would renew my strength, invest me with hope and encourage me to run again. Today, I will run four miles. Slowly, but ever more gratefully than any four miles I’ve ever run.