Previous | Next 

Love my lefty

Terrie Todd

What do you do when you discover you’ve become the proverbial “other people” to whom certain things happen?

In May 1995, a job lay-off caused my husband Jon to go to work for a potato farmer to tide us over until something more permanent came along. He enjoyed the work and the people, and by fall they were fully into the swing of harvest. On September 29, our lives changed forever. While attempting to brush some dirt away from the belt of a live-bottom trailer, Jon’s right arm got caught between the belt and a roller and trapped him for what seemed like forever until a fellow worker came and shut the truck off. It took several men to get him free from the machinery. At the end of the day, Jon found himself settled into a hospital bed, his right arm amputated about five inches above the elbow.

I returned home and gave the news to the kids. Two days later was our 18th wedding anniversary, and I fell asleep that night with the words of our marriage vows going through my head – “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” How thankful I was that death had not parted us yet and that God had equipped Jon for this challenge by giving him an incredibly patient, determined and resourceful spirit.

Jon stayed in the hospital a week and then underwent physiotherapy. After a loss like that, there is so much to deal with all at once. If you can’t imagine it, try this: Tie your dominant hand behind your back and leave it there. Now shower, get dressed, put in your contact lenses, butter your toast, open a carton of milk, and peel yourself an orange. Don’t forget to take the medication they put in a childproof container for you. Now tie your boots, and zip up your coat, drive your standard-transmission car to town, and run some errands – go to the bank (your signature will be different from now on), the post office and the employment centre. Wonder what your future holds. Where will you work? How will you provide for your family? Add to this some serious pain in your shoulder area, and frequent blasts of pain from the hand that’s tied behind your back. That’s about it. Oh yes, try to grasp the fact that tomorrow you need to get up and do it all over again . . . and the day after that . . . and the day after that.

On the up side, imagine dozens of cards arriving for you, as well as fruit baskets, baking, groceries and meals. Imagine your church family collecting money for you and helping with farm work, snow blowing and winterizing your home. Know that hundreds of prayers are going up for you, and feel their power as God sustains you and gives you grace to thank Him for sparing your life. Know that He has a plan in this, that it did not surprise Him. Observe as others are blessed and drawn closer to God because of it all. Enjoy the closeness among the family that comes with facing trials together. Know that you are loved and cared for by more people than you ever realized. Experience in a new way the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding as it guards your heart and mind. Allow God to comfort you through Scriptures like Isaiah 41:10: “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

All of that is history now. Someone asked me recently how the accident had changed our lives – or more specifically, how it had changed mine. Now there’s a loaded question. Where do I begin?

A friend of ours, who never knew Jon with two arms, said just last night, “I never think of Jon as only having one arm.” I guess that’s good. It shows how capable he has become and how useful his prosthetic arm is. He rarely goes without it. As I thought about it, I realized that Jon’s arm (or lack of an arm) is no longer the all-consuming theme of my life as it was those first several months. When it seems to hit me most is in my half-awake/half-asleep phase when I see him coming to bed, blearily open my eyes and realize, “My husband only has one arm!” It’s hard to explain, but it’s almost as though our lives have been forever divided into “before and after”. However, I believe I’ve learned much in the last five years. If I had to answer the question posed to me, perhaps I could sum it up thus:

1. I’ve learned that one can question God and survive. What do you do with a faith that knows God can heal but asks why He does not? In my limited experience, every instance of physical healing I’ve ever heard of has been an “internal” kind of thing, something you can’t see – a cancerous tumour, arthritic joints and so on. People stand up and give testimony to how the doctors diagnosed this horrible thing and the next time they went back it was gone, or their pain disappeared. I find myself doubtfully asking, “How do I know there was ever a tumour there? How do I know your pain wouldn’t have subsided anyway? How do I know the doctors weren’t mistaken in their original diagnosis?” Now, if God caused my husband’s arm to grow back, the whole world would have to stand up and take notice, wouldn’t they? No one could say, “How do I know his arm was ever really gone?” Although it no longer makes me angry to hear of others’ healing, I still don’t understand any of this. What I do know is that God has not struck me dead for such faithless thoughts.

2. Although Jon may not agree, I think I’ve learned to be a little more considerate. I’ll change the toilet paper roll before it runs out, so that Jon won’t have to. I leave the twist-tie off the bread bag and place his silverware and cup to the left of his plate. I slice his bagels in half for him and help him trim his fingernails – little things like that.

3. I’ve learned there’s a side of me that is deplorable – a side that likes the attention, even the stares when we’re in public. It’s the same side which hopes that people will see me as some brave and saintly person – which leads to guilt. Then there’s the guilt for not cheerfully helping Jon more with the frustrating challenges of daily life. Guilt for being ticked with him over the same things that would have ticked me off before the accident. Guilt for feeling cheated when I am hugged with one arm instead of two. I miss that arm, but mostly for the comfort and pleasure it brought me, whereas Jon misses it for every single task he does all day long – which brings more guilt. I offer no excuse for these things.

4. In contrast to the above, I have learned gratitude. Gratitude for the fact that I have a husband who is still alive; who can walk and talk and think; and who loves me, stays with me and does his best to support his family when so many able-bodied men do not. Gratitude for God’s faithfulness in providing for our needs. Gratitude for children who – thus far – have not rebelled and who may be learning much about integrity and faithfulness because this happened to their father. Mostly, gratitude for the courage I see in my husband – a man who does not give up or waste time feeling sorry for himself or expect special treatment (as I suspect I would if it were me).

5. I have learned to anticipate Heaven all the more. There, all of us will have perfect, healthy, beautiful bodies that will never grow weary; minds that will never think selfish or evil thoughts; souls that will worship God in holy purity forever.

Meanwhile, life goes on with a whole new reality, a whole new “normal”. We work, eat, sleep, worship, parent and try to relate as best we can. We have our ups and downs. We know we are not the best nor the worst off. We know that this life is not “it” – and it’s in that knowledge that we can look to the future with joy. Through the tears, anger and frustration, God has made Himself real to us. Whatever the future holds, we know who holds the future. He is our Peace, our Hope, our Rock, our Jesus.

Terrie Todd lives in Portage la Prairie, Man., where she is an administrative assistant and drama director at Portage Alliance Church.

What Can One Arm Do?

Shanon Weselake One arm can hug a daughter, a son and a wife, And make a real difference in a family’s life! One arm can shake the hand of a child on graduation day One hand can be used to help to point the way! One arm can take a daughter down the aisle. One hand can provide security, and help to bring a smile. One arm can wave. One arm can cheer. One hand can wipe away a precious child’s tear. One arm is all you need to lend a helping hand And to cling to the Father in the way that He has planned. This poem was written by Shanon Weselake for her brother-in-law Jon Todd, Sept. 29, 1995.

Some dos and don’ts when a friend or family member becomes suddenly disabled

Do . . . pray for him and his family. express your love with practical gifts of food and money. give hugs and say “I love you” and “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” allow your friend to cry and to talk about the accident and the adjustments she’s going through. include him and his family in social events. Don’t . . . think that talking about other things will help your friend “keep his mind off it”. make assumptions about what she can or cannot do. jump in to help him do things if he hasn’t asked for help. be afraid to confront her if she’s wallowing in self-pity. stop praying for your friend even though six months or a year have passed and he seems to have adjusted. Terrie Todd

Previous | Next 

Last modified April 19, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
Masthead and usage information.