A couple of things that only a twisted knee could teach me

On a sunny Saturday of March, the second to last day of my Einführungsseminar (a mandatory seminar that all EVS volunteers have to take part in), I had the brilliant idea of trying something new. Maybe EVS inspired me to be brave, and maybe I confused bravery with stupidity, but whatever the reason, the outcome was a twisted knee: a Subluxation des Patella rechts, as they say in German.

Basically, I was jumping on a trampoline with two other volunteers, when one fell down and I tripped over her: while I was falling I remember thinking "Holy shit my knee is going somewhere"

After some screaming and swearing, everyone understood that I was in real pain, and they wanted to help. The first question that really resonated with the way I was feeling was: "Was the fun worth the pain?"

Well, the fun was damn worth the pain, and this is the first thing that my twisted knee taught me. A couple of days later I had a conversation about regrets with my aunt, and I told her that I prefered being in pain that regretting not doing what I wanted to do.

After the accident, I was asked if I needed an ambulance and I said that I would rather wait and see if it would get any better. Our trainer wanted to make sure that I wasn't scared or anything like that, because health care can actually be pretty expensive but I have a private insurance. I was also scared, but I was especially very unwilling to go through the trouble of going to a hospital, waiting forever and be told that it's all right, I just needed some time. At a certain point, I thought that I could try to walk again, and so I did it. But after a few step it was obvious that I just couldn't, and at that point I asked for an ambulance. So what I learnt here is to listen to what other people advise, but also to my own body and let it decide. It may sound naive but it's actually a very important lesson that I sometimes forget.

The next days were difficult because I mostly couldn't do anything by myself: walking was basically out of the picture, and at a certain point I asked another participant if she could go to my room to get my beers, but it took her so long that when she came back I was just so tired that I wanted to go to bed. Later, when I needed to go to the toilet, I had to jump on the healthy leg, which is still not good for my other knee, and it was a real pain in the ass. That night I needed the toilet three times, a very rare event that had to happen just then of course.

In the morning, I knew that there was no way I could get to the breakfast room by myself, and I could only wait for someone to remember about me and come pick me up. Someone did. But before that, I had to get dressed, wash my hair, pack my luggage, wear some make-up...all by myself, jumping on one leg and wearing a brace on my right knee. This made me realize that independance is invaluable, but so is friendship. This person who took so good care of me was not a friend of mine, he was one of the trainers at the seminar, but after all he did for me I can't imagine talking about him as any less than a friend. I usually have a hard time asking for help, and when I do it's because I rationally force myself to do it. With this person (that I will refer to as to "my new friend" from now on, no matter whether or not he actually wants to be my friend!) I had no problems asking for help, or telling him when I didn't need it: he had the grace of anticipating any potential need that I may have and then respect whatever answer I'd give. Helping people in need is an art, and it requires a lot of selflessness, but also letting other help you is no joke. Sometimes you need to understand that it's not all about the help that you actually need, but also about people who care and want to be helpful.

I kind of feel like I'm stating the obvious here, but my point is that there are things that we don't think of, we don't reflect on, until something forces us to.

Last but not least, this annoying condition of mine is forcing me to see the world from a different perspective, that of someone who lives a whole life with mobility limits. Stairs have become my worst enemy, and I feel happy when I can open a door and close it behind me all by myself. I just have a twisted knee, I'm going back to walking, jumping and running in no time, but some people have to live their whole life like this, and being forced in this condition for a few days is teaching me to look at the world from the point of view of someone who needs to work more than me to obtain the same things - simple things like being at work on time, despite the stairs, being clean and hanging out, going to meetings, to the cinema, to a language course. The simplest things are a challenge for me at the moment, and I'm grateful to my pain and my difficulties because they're making me a more solidal and empathic person.

I think that there's something for us to learn in every experience, even in the smallest ones, in the the annoying ones, and in the painful ones. If we look at bad experiences as at opportunities, we may even stop calling them bad experiences.