Beyond the Pain

It was Wednesday, November 3, 2010. I had just hobbled down the stairs from my third floor apartment. The Handi-Bus was just pulling in front of the apartment. Fortunately I had left enough time to make it down the stairs. And, for a change, there were no cars blocking the sidewalk that led to the apartment’s front door. It had snowed in the night. But only a skiff of snow graced the grass. And, unusually, the maintenance guy had cleared the wisp of snow from the sidewalk.

I gripped my cane firmly in my left hand. Pushed the right hand glass door of the apartment building open. Stepped onto the rubber mat which lay at the foot of the apartment door. Slowly limped toward the Handi-Bus. When I was about five feet from the door the driver pressed some button or lever inside the Bus. The front door of the Handi-Bus opened slowly. The driver asked, “Mr. Lachmuth.” Who the hell else would I be, I thought. Then nicely said, “Yes.” I later learned, from frequent trips on the Handi-Bus that the driver was required to establish the identity of the customer. I could imagine some poor soul getting on the wrong bus. And, subsequently all hell breaking lose.

A yellow handrail, angling upward, graced the door that had opened to the right. A matching yellow handrail was firmly mounted on the passenger barrier that was to the left of the door opening. The stairs into the Hand-Bus were coated with plastic or rubber. Grooved to ensure traction. I gripped both handrails. Simultaneously grasping my cane and the left hand rail. My hands were not gloved on this cold but not frigid November day. I raised my  left foot onto the first step. Levered my right foot up using the power of my right arm. One stair down. Two to go.

I handed the driver the bus ticket I had stashed in my left coat pocket. Anthea, the Recreation Therapist I had worked with in Unit 58, had warned me that I would need a bus ticket to secure a ride on the Hand-Bus. Either that or a monthly bus pass from Calgary Transit. I did not anticipate riding the Handi-Bus so frequently that the cost of a monthly pass would be justified. I had a very tight monthly budget.

The Handi-Buses were subsidized by the City of Calgary. But the powers that be thought that the people that used the service should pay something.  I agree. As a coach I found that my prospective clients did not value my coaching when it was free.

I digress.

“Sit anywhere Mr. Lachmuth”, said the driver. So I sat in the right front seat. I could look out the front window. And, brace myself if we were going to crash. Ever after that when I rode in a Handi-Bus I would try to get that seat. But, it took me a while to learn to learn how to work the complicated mechanism of the seat belt and shoulder strap. I learned over time that the drivers were trained to politely intervene and help their passengers. Without said passengers feeling awkward or patronized.

The driver put the Handi-Bus in gear. And, we were gently underway. “We have one other passenger to pick up before we take you to Sheldon Chumir.” Again, over time, I was to learn the drivers always told you how many stops they had to make before you were due to arrive at your destination. My destination this November 3, 2010 was Sheldon Chumir Urgent Care Center. Sheldon Chumir  was named after a former Member of the Legislative Assembly of Alberta and community organizer. For me the location of Sheldon Chumir, on fourth street and eleventh avenue was ironic. My father had been a maintenance carpenter in the Colonel Belcher Veteran’s hospital that for decades occupied that site.

My exact destination was the fourth floor of Sheldon Chumir. The fourth floor was home to the Community Assisted Rehabilitation program or C.A.R. I was about to begin what would turn out to be five months of rehabilitation that was intended to build on the foundation of the work I had done in Unit 58 at Foothills Medical Center.

Only this time I would add time with a Social Worker to my work with a Physiotherapist, Recreation Therapist, and Occupational Therapist.

Expert from CRASH! – Memories of a Healing Journey  All Rights Reserved, Lyle. T. Lachmuth

What is luck?

Folks talk about “the luck of the draw”. Or, “I just got lucky”. Or, “you makes your own luck”.

The Roman philosopher Seneca said this of Luck, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” I first heard this epigram from a senior systems advisor at my former employer, Imperial Oil Limited. I was auditing a workshop on our brand spanky new employee appraisal process. I was attending in two roles. As the Western Canadian manager of Computer Technology Training I ensured I knew the content so I was prepared for any questions from front-line managers. And, as an employ myself, I made sure I was up to speed on “the rules”. Esso was big on ensuring fairness by laying down processes and rules. In my humble opinion, the fairness standard went down with the Exxon Valdez.

But, I digress. Is luck a matter of our own perspective, as Seneca seems to suggest?

Yes and no. And, what has this to do with why my surviving the car crash was lucky?

Let’s talk about the preparation phase of getting lucky.

* * * You’ll have to wait a bit for the big reveal. The answer to how I prepared for the CRASH! is contined in the chapter “Luck is When”. CRASH! Will be published in the fall of 2017. Measwhile sign up for snippets from the book and news of author events.