**This is Part III of how to face an injury and recovery, later to be published as a book titled: Though You Fall.

At the beginning of 2025, there was a social media campaign to “choose your word.”

For reasons stated in the first installment in this series, I chose “Confidence.”

Little did I know what choosing Confidence as “my word” would ultimately come to mean— “having faith” (which is what ‘confidence’ means… ‘con’ meaning ‘with’ and ‘fidere’ meaning ‘to trust’).

But ‘confidence’ was not even on my radar as I lay crumpled (not an exaggeration) in the scoop stretcher the paramedics eased me into. I could not actually make out faces. I only heard voices, answered questions, stared at the ceiling of the rescue unit, then eyed the ceiling in the ER hallway, then gazed at the ceiling of the ER room I was assigned to.

A nurse arrived, and then my three children and their spouses started coming in. Much of that is only a blur.

Someone said it was okay to cry, but I never did. I had learned when I broke my arm in 1999 that screaming and crying only dried out my throat, a waste of energy with no result.

Later I learned when the nurse asked my pain level, I said, “Seven,” when clearly it was “Ten.” But I don’t remember her asking.   

When they put an IV in my left arm, I realized I had tried to break my fall with that arm, and my arm and wrist hurt every bit as badly as my hip. X-rays revealed (thank goodness) my arm was not broken, but my hip certainly was.

A CT scan was ordered.

Before I left the room in the ER, the nurse removed my shoes and pants. I was either vain enough or thrifty enough to ask the nurse and my daughter…please…not to cut my pants off. They were “my best ones.”

They managed to slip them off.

I was wheeled to a CT scan. Again: all I remember is the ceiling and voices, and that by now I had to go to the bathroom, which, of course, was impossible.

After the CT scan, and before an attendant came to escort me to my room on the 7^th floor, I lay in a holding area, refusing to believe what I had done to myself, regretting all the trouble I was causing, and wondering how long I would be in this sorry state.

Finally, an aide came, and I was taken to my room, where my daughter and several of the best nurses (who ever lived), waited. After ascertaining I was well cared for, my daughter went home.

I remember nothing about that first night.

Morphine, I believe, was a factor.

Surgery was scheduled only twenty-four hours after the fall.

I was grateful to be “fixed” so quickly.

But before the surgery came the worst experience of the entire business—the MRI.

I’d heard stories about how difficult this procedure is, and I’m grateful I approached the process with a smidgeon of knowledge. I learned the procedure would take at least half an hour.

Again: I trained my eyes on the ceiling. Just enough of my head was at the edge of the scanner that I could see out. This kept me partially sane.

Being the stubborn and proud person I am, I determined I would just power through, and I did…mostly.  

I asked for both ear plugs and headphones, but no music. I was on enough pain medicine that I was both reasonably comfortable, and slightly disoriented, but the noise and sense of confinement were every bit as bad as reported.

I recited Scripture, beginning with Psalm 100. Finally, I resorted to Psalm 23, which, I suppose, if the techs had heard, they would have assumed I considered myself in the “valley of the shadow of death.”

This struck me as funny even in that dreadful state.

When I ran out of Scripture, I started quoting Shakespearean sonnets.

Finally, I got so hot, I had to push the panic button. They slid me out (only five minutes to go) and removed some of the blankets, and we finished the process.

Even the surgery and aftermath were not as bad as that MRI.

Late that afternoon, the day after the fall, I was wheeled to surgery. My daughter and older son waited with me. This and that person came in, explaining what would happen.

And then…oh, blessed prospect…someone said they would not move me to the operating table till I was asleep. The thought of that was bliss.

At last, they wheeled me out, down another hall and into the operating room.

This time there were numbers on the ceiling. They asked me what music I wanted to listen to…which was basically a “trick,” because they immediately put a mask over my face, and that’s all I remember.

I was awakened later and could most definitely feel I’d been sliced open. I remember mumbling, “It hurts so bad.” The nurse stayed by my side. I reached out and found great comfort holding her hand, which she allowed me to do for I don’t know how long.

Back to my 7^th floor room I was rolled. By now, I was flat on my back, completely limp, and not caring.

When I entered my room, I found my daughter and younger son waiting, and more nurses.

I remember an ice pack being put on the surgical site…thirty-five staples (counted days later) … more muffled voices.

My son told me he turned M*A*S*H (my all-time favorite show) on the television, and according to him, I smiled, though I don’t remember.

Confidence.

How was I to know that would mean:

Confidence in my children, who loved and supported me.

Confidence in medical professionals I had never met.

Confidence I would heal and the new titanium part “would hold me up.”

Many years ago, during a dark emotional time, I found comfort in Psalm 116:6-8

6 The LORD preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and he helped me.7 Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the LORD hath dealt bountifully with thee. 8 For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.

As with the verse I mentioned in an earlier chapter, “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way…” and how surprised I was to read the next verse…

24 Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth him with his hand...

So it was, later, when I looked up Psalm 116:6-8, I was surprised to read the next verse in that passage.

9 I will walk before the LORD in the land of the living.

If that’s not an expression of Confidence, I don’t know what is.