Life was rolling merrily by this summer. The garden was finally thriving after a wet, cold spring, so much so I could barely stay on top of harvesting. I hired a local teen to help out in the garden a few hours a week which was a blessing.
Then, Disaster.
I was using the auger to plant seedlings in late July when it caught on a piece of landscape fabric, wrenching my arm backwards. I heard a ripping sound and then searing pain in my shoulder and armpit. After a few gasping minutes the pain subsided to an ache and I discovered if I kept my arm close to my body I couldn’t use the auger but I could use my fingers to CONTINUE PLANTING.
Gardeners (at least this one) are nuts.
Well, that didn’t last very long. I went and found Mr. Bee for sympathy and yes, tears were shed.
The Next Morning
I figured I pulled a muscle and was dressing for a workshop when Mr. Bee exclaimed “What is up with your arm?”
I took a look and my bicep was enormous! It was fascinating and terrifying (and squishy) at the same time. I figured a visit to the hospital was in order but since it didn’t hurt so bad I could wait until after my workshop.
Like I said, gardeners are nuts.
The Verdict
The doctor took one look at my arm and said “Oh, you have Popeye arm!”
Otherwise known as a proximal bicep rupture. Our biceps are attached at the shoulder in two places, and I tore one of them completely off. A bicep rupture must be repaired immediately or can be left alone, the only long term consequence will be the Popeye deformity and usually some reduced strength.
I already had a scheduled surgery in November to repair my rotator cuff, so my doctor moved the surgery up to August 7 and repaired both.
Post-surgery and a Garden Run Wild
Recovery from rotator cuff surgery is no picnic; add to that a bicep reattachment and you can do nothing. For months.
Of course, being the nutty gardener, I tried one-handed anyway. After a major melt down (in front of my fabulous Occupational Therapist) dropped the superwoman cape and asked for help.
Friends stepped in to harvest, pack up my car, and drive me to my workshops. I canceled the rest of the season with my farmers markets and the hair salon.
This is me sorta smiling but really screaming “Must. Pick. The. Flowers!!!!”
In the meantime, all manner of birds and bugs flocked to the un-harvested garden. As frustrated as I felt in this forced inactivity, it gave pause for reflection:
Wandering in the garden, I realize how beautiful it is, and how alive! More than any other year, this garden is filled with butterflies, moths, bees, and pollinators. I trust the abundance earth gives to me. There is a wealth of flowers, enough to make bouquets to share and sell and yet sustain the beings that thrive in a garden.
When I’m ‘being’ the garden, I realize all the butterflies are congregating on the butterfly weed and bright zinnias. The bees are in the pink and lavender lisianthus, and sleeping on the sunflowers, because bees can’t see the color red but the butterflies can.
Terrifying black wasps are perched in the Shimmer Celosia, which I have never seen before but turn out to be not-terrifying Four-toothed Mason Wasps, so I pick the stems alongside them.
I let myself be overwhelmed by the magnitude of flower magic.
If life threw you some lemons recently, I hope you find some lemonade in the mess and time to savor it. Now, I’m strengthening my arm to be ready next season.
[already adjusted the torque on the auger]
hugs, Pam 🌹