At the campsite, I notice a woman with her foot in a cast. She looks downcast as she hops toward the restroom on her crutches. She looks just as somber when she hops back to her camper. Even when I greet her, nothing changes. I suspect she’s hoping for a little sympathy.

Almost a year ago, I broke my humerus. The bone in my upper arm snapped in two — like the candy sticks I used to get at the fair when I dropped them yet again.

The short version of my broken arm?

I’m at a campsite with my two nieces, Sam and Lou. While they’re in the pool, I’m sitting nearby reading — ironically, the book The Wisdom of the Body. Lou walks up to me and says Sam has been underwater for a while and hasn’t come up.

I ask, “Is this a joke? Because if it’s a joke, it’s not a funny one.”

But Lou looks at me with a pale face and wide eyes, so I run to the pool. And there she is — Sam floating face down, arms spread, her hair like an underwater Medusa.

As I rush toward her, I suddenly fall backward. As if I ran into an invisible wall. While crashing onto the hardwood floor, I see Sam come up for air.

Pain and relief in the same second.

When I start vomiting from the pain, Sam and Lou realize their prank does not have the same effect as on YouTube. I can imagine they didn’t feel great watching their aunt being taken away from the campsite in an ambulance.

What pleasantly surprised me in the weeks after was the support I received. From family, friends, even strangers. When you walk around with a sling, people ask what happened (“Oh, really?”), show empathy, are kind, helpful, and patient when things take longer.

And honestly? Looking a bit miserable helps.

When I’m finally able to pull up my own underwear again and the physiotherapist has told me several times it’s time to take off the sling, I feel resistance. Eventually, I put it away in the closet.

Until I realize I’ve been using the sling — not for my arm, but to hold on to that pleasant feeling of support. Maybe just like the woman at the campsite.

I often see people around me who are, in a way, addicted to support. They unconsciously create drama or keep their story alive to make sure the support doesn’t disappear. It’s not good or bad — everything has its place. And like with all human traits, I’m no exception.

But it does make you dependent on the reactions of others. And the disappointment can be huge when that support fades.

Whether we like it or not, life is always about balance between challenge and support. Our bodies need that balance to function optimally — even though we often strive to feel happy all day long.

Johan Cruijff once said,
“Every disadvantage has its advantage.”

In the end, I found 69 advantages to my broken arm — things I truly wouldn’t have wanted to miss.

So I thanked my nieces for their “prank” and told them the gifts and drawings were no longer necessary.