I broke my hand on Thursday. I wish I had a fancy story about fending off bank robbers or protecting children from rabid ogres or something. But, I don't. 


I slipped on our carpeted stairs and fell down them like a two year old. Only I'm not made of rubber anymore like I was when I was 2. And I'm sure I was less graceful and made a lot more noise. 

 It's a bad-ish break that will likely need to be pinned; it means that changing diapers and typing takes longer than usual, and that I can't ride my mountain bike for about 6 weeks. But that's all. 

Last night I had a conversation with my eldest son that went something like this:

"Mom, I'm sorry you broke your hand."
"Thanks, honey. That's a sweet thing to say and makes me feel better. But it could be a lot worse."
"Yeah, like if you fell into an active volcano."


Blink. 


OK. Yes, that probably would be worse. It would be quick and painless, but worse. It wasn't where my mind was going.


I work with people who are in the process of getting diagnosed with cancer. In my job, I help navigate them through the first few appointments after they hear, "we've seen something we want to investigate further." I'm often sitting with them the first time they hear 'the "C" word'. One of my responsibilities is to anticipate what their needs will be and get them matched with a variety of resources. For example, an elderly person who lives alone and depends on a social security check may need help with transportation and affording medication.


This week, I met with a family. Three lovely young children he stays home with while she works full time. His malignancy is not only very unusual but also in an incredibly difficult place to access surgically. He is one of the very rare people I see who probably will have to travel outside of the state for his treatment. So on top of the complex logistics of arranging urgent consultations with out-of-state experts, I'm thinking about childcare arrangements, her job, the healthcare benefits she carries for the family (and the out-of-network coverage I will be attempting to mediate), travel costs, lodging arrangements and costs--and all while they really just want to be together and maintain a level of normalcy with the kids for as long as he has. 


Even I'm overwhelmed. There is an ache for people like that I can't even describe because it's so spiritually visceral. Some people call it 'survivor's guilt', but it's even more profound than that.


So, a hand is nothing. Even if it doesn't heal exactly right. In the meantime I'll wear the discomfort and inconvenience as a reminder of how much I have to be thankful for, and pray that his & his family's needs are met in glorious ways, miraculous ways. 


And I'll avoid any and all active volcanoes.