Last August, I sustained a shoulder injury. It wasn’t caused by something heroic. I was not preventing a puppy from running into traffic. Nor was it caused by something athletic. I did not have a standout performance on a perimenopausal rugby team. It was the classic middle-aged injury story, which are common and always quite pathetic. I was driving down the road and did what one is never supposed to do. I reached my arm behind me into the backseat and lifted my fifteen-pound purse over the passenger seat headrest. It was like performing a butterfly stroke while driving 70 mph, which sounds cool — except I was screaming.
While it was happening, I thought, “Nope. Nope. Nope. This is dumb. DO NOT DO IT. I shouldn’t do this. NOOOOOO.” And if pain is a messenger, the message was clear — You are an idiot.
I became like one of those people who is in a nauseatingly perfect new relationship and cannot stop talking about it. “I don’t know if I can go. I’ll have to see where my shoulder is at.” “Did I tell you about my shoulder?” “I can’t. I’m going somewhere with my shoulder.” It consumed my every thought, and I was tired of listening to myself about it.
Luckily, after a quick seven visits to the chiropractor, two massages, one x-ray, one visit to the orthopedic surgeon, one cortisone shot, 40 yoga classes, and 248 Advil gel caps — it is better. It will likely take a year to heal. Also, every single professional gave me the same piece of advice. Keep moving. This is joint advice, but also solid life advice.
It is said, “Health is wealth.” It’s never truer than when something goes wrong. Even more maddening than pain was me kicking myself about how ungrateful I was before the injury. I had not appreciated my full range of motion. I could have been out doing cartwheels when it was available to me. But I took it all for granted.
Did you know you use shoulders for everything from getting dressed to unloading the dishwasher to folding laundry to walking the dog? You do.
It was akin to how I behave when the power goes out. I try to flip on the light switch to do laundry. Oops. Can’t do that. I guess I’ll go watch TV. Nope. That’s ok, because I need to go charge my phone. Not working. Every single thing I wanted to do was limited, and I kept forgetting until searing pain politely reminded me. I have a new deep respect for those with chronic pain. They are the toughest humans among us, and they likely don’t blather on about it.
During my active resting of my shoulder, I read a story about a French woman who is a yoga instructor at age 102. I also read about an eighty-year-old woman who recently completed the Ironman competition. These are people who have kept moving, and I decided I needed far more moving and far less complaining. I have zero excuses.
It's 2026. This year I’m going to keep going forward. It’s exciting, I’m a few months closer to the possibility of full functioning. With any luck, I won’t hurt myself in a new area. If there is a metaphor for the purse incident, it is to always face our heaviest things. Lesson learned. I’ll be out in this winter weather on the walking trail waving at every passerby. Because I can be quite social. But most importantly, for now, I can raise both arms up above my head, and I’m so proud of these shoulders. They are facing the new year with hope.
Jen Fortner is a freelance writer who enjoys asking friends and strangers far too many questions. She spends her spare time sitting in inclement weather watching youth sports, traveling, cooking, and searching for the very best baked goods. She lives in Shorewood with her husband, three children and the most spoiled dog.