The Reality of Surrender — It is Hard
Or how my beloved guinea pig risked losing her leg and then recovered, thankfully
Content warning: This story contains details about an animal injury. The story has a happy ending, though.
The guinea pig I love was dangling at one of her feet. Just as she was hopping off my lap and onto her wired cage’s top, her leg got caught in one of its wires.
There she was now, swinging helplessly — with her tummy weighing her down (head down). She dangled like this for what seemed like an eternity before twisting her leg and falling. In reality, it was only a matter of seconds.
She landed with a sickening thud on her injured foot, which now hung at an unnatural angle to the side.
Our hearts sank in shock. It all happened in the blink of an eye and we had no control over it. Earlier, her dainty body was hopping, rabbit-like - and almost butterfly-like. Now her leg was crunched without a reason.
We stood there, in shock. We could feel her pain, which was now also our pain. I also beat myself up for not preventing the injury. (I think I may be awarded a Nobel Prize for self-beating one day — I excel in the art when I catch myself being imperfect at something or when I’ve lost control over the entirety of a situation).
As I grew up, I received specialist training in this. I even had to ignore my own needs and feelings so that I secure the greatest possible chance of peace and wellbeing for the family (back then I wasn’t even aware that those existed at all). So today when anything with my loved ones goes wrong I may sometimes beat myself till I arrive at a black-belt master status.
The latter includes this pig, too, as I love her so dearly. During the past four months, we fed her lots of love and cared for her. We had received way more love from her, however. Weighing no more than 600 grams, this animal is the quintessential source of unconditional love for our family. Her total lack of aggression is pure healing to our souls. Until now, I have never come into contact with another living being so free from aggression.
It was excruciating to see such a ridiculous injury take place within a meter’s distance only, without me being able to prevent it. I should have stopped her from jumping off my lap onto the top of her cage, thought I - which I didn’t. Heart-and-leg-breakingly I didn’t, and in theory, I could have.
While we hadn’t heard her leg bone break, we knew it did, since she twisted it at a terrifyingly crooked angle to free herself from the wire and land in her home. Unbearably painful.
I don’t know how I made it through until 8 a.m. the following morning when I called several specialist vets. We needed to wait till what — three days?!, as all clinics offering animal X-rays were fully booked.
I didn’t take these NOs as final answers and pressed on (also a childhood crisis-management habit of mine — a skill too well-honed to bury, let alone at such times specifically), so I finally managed to arrange an urgent X-ray and a check-up for my pet that very afternoon.
Throughout the day, I gave my pig homeopathic remedies, which helped her slowly resume eating. Rodents of this breed need to eat almost nonstop — otherwise, they die.
I also lay her down on my chest to pet her, something we both love, daily. Guinea pigs are masters at exuding unconditional love. With them, total vulnerability and love go together. Vulnerability always accompanies love in us, humans, too, but that is a different story to tell.
Cuddling with her on that particular day was a mutually comforting experience. I felt it in my gut that love outweighs it all. Petting her, I could feel all fears, self-blame, and other PTSD signs settle— both mine and hers. Everything was going to be alright. Love was healing her, it literally was. And love was the total opposite of control.
Petting her seemed to relieve her pain as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Later on that afternoon, the vet confirmed that her leg was broken, and if the inflammation did not subside, her leg might have to be amputated — so badly swollen it was.
I refused to accept the vet’s grim prognosis. We went back home and started her on medication plus some more homeopathic remedies. At a certain point, I also decided it was high time I stopped blaming myself for my imperfection (negligence or whatever it is called, and do you remember my Nobel Prize candidacy for the Self-Beating Award…) and bet on love. Love for myself, love for my sanity, and love for my animal, too.
While caressing my animal again, I told her her leg would be fine.
Four days later I saw her spread out her broken leg’s fingers — first signs of recovery!
I was thrilled.
In seven days she was able to hop again. She jumped onto the roof of her tiny wooden house inside her cage as she would do daily before her injury. At this juncture, I hopped with joy.
In ten days, the vet confirmed all was well, and she should soon be able to go outside her cage and run around at liberty. We had our dear rabbit back to her old (young — that is) rabbit self.
So now that things have settled so beautifully, I sit and consider it all.
Animals have no mental blocks to prevent them from healing. This is unfathomable. Seeing my animal’s leg restored within days was immensely revelatory of the power of natural healing.
I — I — still need to learn radical acceptance. Sometimes, things don’t turn out as I wish them to. This is the nature of life on our planet. I need to kick off the self-blaming habit. Generally speaking, there is only so much one can do to control the outcome of all events in life.
To keep my sanity, I need to accept that controlling everything at all times is unrealistic. Oftentimes there is only so much I can do to prevent harm, and this is a sad fact of life.
The most powerful prayer I have ever prayed is a call for the wisdom to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the discernment to know the difference (Alcoholics Anonymous Serenity Prayer). Learning to distinguish between I can change and what I can’t, has been the key to finding peace and letting go of self-blame.
Learning to tell that difference distils my soul’s gold.
It honestly hurts as hell, though. Surrender is hard — for all parties included.
But it pays off.
