Murphy’s Law: In an instant, my life changed |
Issue 8
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Saturday began like any other weekend.
Shortly after rising, I was out the door with Ivy, our tan-colored Husky shepherd mix, on our way to the nearby park for our daily walk. In my haste to get going, I’d forgotten a key message for that mid-December day in 2021. Psychic medium Sasha, during his monthly horoscope video, had warned of some unknown danger. Other predictions of his had failed to materialize, at least for me, so for whatever reason like Julius Caesar I dismissed the soothsayer’s warning and simply went on with my day. What could go wrong? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Many people know this adage as Murphy’s Law. There are various accounts of its origins, but most attribute it to Captain Edward A. Murphy. The air force engineer served at Edwards Air Force base in California and during one of the routine tests in 1949, he was credited with coining the idea – a three-part series of laws. Murphy is also the name of a German shorthaired pointer who lives in my neighborhood. The sleek, brown-and-white spotted girl, born in late February 2021, easily weighs about 70 pounds and is taller than her friend Ivy. Now at 10 months, Murphy still runs in an unpredictable and haphazard fashion bursting with the exuberance and wild energy of a puppy. Ivy doesn’t like a lot of puppies. Fully grown now at three years old, she’s become more selective about her friends, but loves to play with larger active dogs. Our superstar has a competitive, bossy side and enjoys showing off her athletic prowess in jumping and catching balls. She never forgets anyone who has ever been kind to her, particularly if they offer treats, and will venture far from my side in seeking them out to say hello. Reaching the park, we headed for the woods and by chance were joined by Ivy’s best friend, Aspen, a spirited red tricolor Australian shepherd. Ambling along, we crossed paths with Murphy and other dog friends, which allowed the dog moms an opportunity to stop and chat while the pack raced through the trees. Round and around, the dogs circled us. Faster and faster, picking up speed. Arthur, a tiny but fearless Yorkshire terrier, leads the chase with Murphy speeding along in pursuit and Aspen pulling up the rear. Time moves in slow motion when I recall that day. Like a deer paralyzed by headlights at night, I see the dogs running straight at me. In the seconds I have to react, I’m not sure which way to turn. Little Arthur quickly slips by, followed by Murphy who slams into my left leg. Though the impact is not enough to knock me off balance, instead I’m hit with a sudden searing pain and see flashes of color. It’s so intense, I can no longer stand. Falling backwards, I collapse onto a pile of packing snow. Murphy and Aspen rush in to see if I’m OK. Sitting at their level, they press their furry noses into my face before I wave them off. My own dog is nowhere to be seen. Curious and independent, Ivy often wanders off exploring. She’s the last of the dogs to visit me as I sit on a snow mound – sweating and breathing through waves of nausea. When she finally appears and sees me on the ground, the look on her face reads: Oh no, what’s going on? What did I miss? Murphy’s second law: Nothing is as easy as it looks. If only I had taken some type of amulet with me as a precaution. One friend said she would have stayed home if she heard such a prediction. My husband remarked if harm was waiting for me, it would find me. Being raised alongside our Buddhist relatives, we were familiar with the law of karma. It made me wonder: what did I do to deserve this? Arriving at the hospital that afternoon, my husband grabs a wheelchair before we check in on a video screen and are given a number. Glancing about, I notice one person ahead of me and already in conversation with the intake nurse. X-rays are ordered and completed as we exchange one waiting area for another, ultimately arriving in the fracture clinic to wait and hear from the doctor. My tibial plateau is fractured, Dr. M. explains, but it will likely heal on its own. To be extra cautious, the orthopedic surgeon orders a CT-scan. Although it’s the weekend, there’s a timeslot available on Sunday. Once he has this 360-degree view, he sees the bone is depressed and recommends surgery. He can fit me in on standby the next day if I want to give the go ahead. A nurse does a speedy COVID-19 test to confirm we can be booked, and then I’m back at the hospital Monday morning – the third day in a row – now getting prepped for the operation. Because of ever-changing rules regarding negative COVID tests prior to surgery, I end up bumping the second prescheduled patient who, on arrival at the hospital, had to be tested and wait for their results. Looking back, I marvel at how quickly I was ushered through what normally is a long wait time in the medical system – it felt as if the stars had aligned following my accident. However despite these surprising twists, having never broken a bone before, I was totally unprepared for the long road ahead to recovery. Weeks later at the beginning of January 2022, 50-plus staples are removed from my leg and the wound begins to heal into about a five-inch-long scar. Viewing my X-rays, the complexity of the operation becomes apparent. Dr. M. points out the mini Eiffel Tower he recreated within the confines of my knee. He’s pleased with the outcome. Having endured this major ordeal, I wish this fate on no one. Yet in a bizarre coincidence, one month later, my almost 91-year-old great-aunt broke her right leg. Climbing the concrete front steps of her bungalow, she slipped and fell sending her house keys flying out of her hand into the dark night. Auntie Sakae had just driven home from her sister’ condo. The many lockdowns affected how our large family celebrated every occasion, and she was one of the few people to attend my grandmother’s 101 birthday. Luckily she had her cell phone and was able to call 911 as she lay alone in the snow that mild February evening. Once in hospital X-rays revealed her bones, weaken by osteoporosis, had shattered like cornflakes. Surgery was not an option. Instead she was fitted with a heavy leg cast, which made it difficult for her to move around. Within a week she was transferred to a nursing home and seemed to be improving. My aunt Marlene visited and sent an email to everyone saying she looked well and added: |
Suzanne Elki Yoko Hartmann is Suzanne Elki Yoko Hartmann is a Toronto-based editor, writer and children’s book author (My Father’s Nose, 2016). She is thrilled her creative non-fiction work – “The Nail That Sticks Out” – is being published by Dundurn Press. The hybrid memoir and Japanese Canadian history reflects on cultural arts, events and traditions.
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“Hopefully, Sakae won’t be defeated or get depressed. I think it’s not in their outlook, or due to their Buddhist beliefs. Or … stubbornness! Lol! Just dealing with some of her affairs has been one brick wall after another. She didn’t have an updated power of attorney. Been bugging her for ages. Murphy’s law certainly has come up every way we turn."
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At first Auntie Sakae was able to do some walking in the halls as part of her rehab, but a COVID outbreak and lockdown confined her to her room. Adding to her isolation, the TV and telephone were on the fritz. Her roommate tested positive, and it wasn’t long before she did, too. Pneumonia rapidly set in, sending her back to the hospital. No doubt, the multitude of tests and being bounced back and forth from the nursing home wore her down.
By early April she was out of isolation and we were finally permitted to visit. She had been awake and alert the day before, we were told. Yet now on this sunny Saturday afternoon when we stepped into her hospital room, she never once opened her eyes. I made a point of calling my mom so she could say a few words before we said our own goodbyes. The next day she was gone.
Shock and disbelief rippled through our family. How could this happen to someone so active and vital, so full of life?
Murphy’s third law: Everything takes longer than you think it will.
A year has passed and at long last feels like we’ve turned a corner. During the pandemic, there were bleak days when I barely wanted to get out of bed. Feelings of helplessness plummeted me into a deep pit of grief and unleashed uncontrollable bouts of tears. At times, envisioning days ahead filled with pain and lack of mobility, I was overcome with sadness and despair.
I’m not prone to feeling sorry for myself. And this wallowing in self-pity led to pangs of guilt: I was alive after all – I should be thankful, shouldn’t I? Especially when there are other people in worse condition or living with chronic pain – at least I’m not at that stage, although who knows what the future holds?
For now, I realize being able to walk is a gift. It’s something we don’t always appreciate when we are young and able-bodied.
Though Dr. M. said my bones looked healthy and strong, it never made sense to me how easy it was to break my leg. When I found a doctor accepting new patients, five years after my longtime family physician retired, I asked Dr. T. to order a bone density scan. I can’t say I was happy to hear my recent diagnosis of osteoporosis, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise considering my family history, having a smaller stature and being a woman over the age of 50. Furthermore, according to the Asian American Health Initiative’s website, “being Asian is a risk factor for osteoporosis.”
Only in retrospect can one really recognize and pinpoint a life-changing event.
Getting older, I’ve grown more mindful of how each minute shapes the present; a decision made today can affect tomorrow; a promise to connect with family or friends may never be fulfilled. In an instant, your life can change forever. Loss, tragedy, accidents or happy occasions, chance meetings and introductions – one random incident can provide the impetus to launch you on a completely unanticipated trajectory.
Questions continue to plague me: If only I had heeded the warning sign, stayed home or carried a talisman. Would it have made any difference? Instead of standing still, why didn’t my intuition kick in and have me dodge out of the way in an effort to keep me safe? Unlike some of our canine counterparts, who seem to be more connected to their surroundings, I wasn’t able to sense the imminent danger.
Fatalists believe everything is predetermined. That something bound to happen will occur regardless of efforts made – and any attempt to change a destiny are only an exercise in futility. Even if it is possible to alter specific circumstances in our timeline, the overall effects are inclined to remain the same.
Maybe in some other universe, my leg remains unbroken and my aunt is still alive. If it hadn’t happened, would I have received a different diagnosis? Would I have had the same realizations? Until we find a way to view the many alternate realties and experience the non-linear elements of time, the possible permutations are unfathomable.
In my case, it is difficult to see the silver lining here and much easier to imagine far more extreme circumstances. Truth be told, my life is forever changed –– not necessarily for the better, but I am grateful things were not worse.
As for Murphy, I hold no ill will against her. She’s grown into a calmer dog and still likes to play ball with Ivy. She taught me a crucial lesson to be extra careful around large and fast-moving dogs. My collision with her that winter day forced me to have a change of perspective – to slow down and savor every moment. It’s something our dogs already know; they embody this wisdom every day.
Reflecting on the situation reminded me of another bit of sage advice encountered years ago when I attended a Japanese tea ceremony, the idea of “one time, one meeting.” The saying has evolved slightly from the expression ichigo ni ichido or “one chance in a lifetime,” which dates back to the 16th century. The original proverb is credited to tea master Sen no Rikyū who stressed the importance of viewing each occasion with others as a singular event occurring only once in our lives – and to make the most of it.
Beyond the fog of fatigue and routine, are our lives one endless series of ichigo ichie? How exquisite and meaningful our existence becomes when framed by this notion of “one lifetime, one encounter.”
How many of us actually live in the present and relish each experience as it unfolds? On any given day we’re thinking ahead to what’s for dinner, the next item on our to-do list or replaying a scene in our mind.
I’ve decided it’s important to forgo the need to maintain maximum busyness – to stop and make time to connect with people, to show them we truly care. Seize and embrace every second, and be ready and open to change.
As a result of that unexpected rendezvous, I’ve gained an appreciation for many things. Like the annual hanami festivals, when flocks of people scramble to view the cherry blossoms while they are still in bloom, my accident reminded me life is short and unrepeatable. Cherish each day. For there is beauty all around us, however fleeting.
By early April she was out of isolation and we were finally permitted to visit. She had been awake and alert the day before, we were told. Yet now on this sunny Saturday afternoon when we stepped into her hospital room, she never once opened her eyes. I made a point of calling my mom so she could say a few words before we said our own goodbyes. The next day she was gone.
Shock and disbelief rippled through our family. How could this happen to someone so active and vital, so full of life?
Murphy’s third law: Everything takes longer than you think it will.
A year has passed and at long last feels like we’ve turned a corner. During the pandemic, there were bleak days when I barely wanted to get out of bed. Feelings of helplessness plummeted me into a deep pit of grief and unleashed uncontrollable bouts of tears. At times, envisioning days ahead filled with pain and lack of mobility, I was overcome with sadness and despair.
I’m not prone to feeling sorry for myself. And this wallowing in self-pity led to pangs of guilt: I was alive after all – I should be thankful, shouldn’t I? Especially when there are other people in worse condition or living with chronic pain – at least I’m not at that stage, although who knows what the future holds?
For now, I realize being able to walk is a gift. It’s something we don’t always appreciate when we are young and able-bodied.
Though Dr. M. said my bones looked healthy and strong, it never made sense to me how easy it was to break my leg. When I found a doctor accepting new patients, five years after my longtime family physician retired, I asked Dr. T. to order a bone density scan. I can’t say I was happy to hear my recent diagnosis of osteoporosis, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise considering my family history, having a smaller stature and being a woman over the age of 50. Furthermore, according to the Asian American Health Initiative’s website, “being Asian is a risk factor for osteoporosis.”
Only in retrospect can one really recognize and pinpoint a life-changing event.
Getting older, I’ve grown more mindful of how each minute shapes the present; a decision made today can affect tomorrow; a promise to connect with family or friends may never be fulfilled. In an instant, your life can change forever. Loss, tragedy, accidents or happy occasions, chance meetings and introductions – one random incident can provide the impetus to launch you on a completely unanticipated trajectory.
Questions continue to plague me: If only I had heeded the warning sign, stayed home or carried a talisman. Would it have made any difference? Instead of standing still, why didn’t my intuition kick in and have me dodge out of the way in an effort to keep me safe? Unlike some of our canine counterparts, who seem to be more connected to their surroundings, I wasn’t able to sense the imminent danger.
Fatalists believe everything is predetermined. That something bound to happen will occur regardless of efforts made – and any attempt to change a destiny are only an exercise in futility. Even if it is possible to alter specific circumstances in our timeline, the overall effects are inclined to remain the same.
Maybe in some other universe, my leg remains unbroken and my aunt is still alive. If it hadn’t happened, would I have received a different diagnosis? Would I have had the same realizations? Until we find a way to view the many alternate realties and experience the non-linear elements of time, the possible permutations are unfathomable.
In my case, it is difficult to see the silver lining here and much easier to imagine far more extreme circumstances. Truth be told, my life is forever changed –– not necessarily for the better, but I am grateful things were not worse.
As for Murphy, I hold no ill will against her. She’s grown into a calmer dog and still likes to play ball with Ivy. She taught me a crucial lesson to be extra careful around large and fast-moving dogs. My collision with her that winter day forced me to have a change of perspective – to slow down and savor every moment. It’s something our dogs already know; they embody this wisdom every day.
Reflecting on the situation reminded me of another bit of sage advice encountered years ago when I attended a Japanese tea ceremony, the idea of “one time, one meeting.” The saying has evolved slightly from the expression ichigo ni ichido or “one chance in a lifetime,” which dates back to the 16th century. The original proverb is credited to tea master Sen no Rikyū who stressed the importance of viewing each occasion with others as a singular event occurring only once in our lives – and to make the most of it.
Beyond the fog of fatigue and routine, are our lives one endless series of ichigo ichie? How exquisite and meaningful our existence becomes when framed by this notion of “one lifetime, one encounter.”
How many of us actually live in the present and relish each experience as it unfolds? On any given day we’re thinking ahead to what’s for dinner, the next item on our to-do list or replaying a scene in our mind.
I’ve decided it’s important to forgo the need to maintain maximum busyness – to stop and make time to connect with people, to show them we truly care. Seize and embrace every second, and be ready and open to change.
As a result of that unexpected rendezvous, I’ve gained an appreciation for many things. Like the annual hanami festivals, when flocks of people scramble to view the cherry blossoms while they are still in bloom, my accident reminded me life is short and unrepeatable. Cherish each day. For there is beauty all around us, however fleeting.