My husband and I met really young. We are high school sweethearts and he has been my best friend for over 15 years. During that time we always promised each other that we would age gracefully. What the heck that even meant, I have no idea. I think we were aiming at the beautiful ideal where you don't fight the aging process, you accept it as it comes and whamo, you are old people smiling at each other from your front porch rocking chairs.
We were young and so naive. I think part of aging is learning to fight it. The older I get, the more I find myself trying to prove that I am better than my age. I must remain invincible, untouched by wicked wrinkly fingers and gray hair. I found my first gray hair a few years ago, plucked the imposter immediately, and soon after found a few more. I have yet to break down and color the bastards, but one day I will. Until then I age gracefully, while my hair thins with a sturdy pull at each white strand.
On my 30th birthday my friends told me these would be my golden years. My thirties were supposed to stand for knowing who I was, not having small babies in the house, having a strong career path, and money finally in the pocket. Finally, I was old enough to enjoy the spoils of life, but not too old to feel burdened by pain and popping joints. That's why I feel betrayed by my defective hip.
For months now, I've embarked on a journey deep within my head. I'm soul searching in a last attempt of a quarter life crisis. If my body shows signs of aging, wearing away at the joints at just 30, what should I do with my remaining time? At first I thought I should hide in a corner and protect the precious moments I have left with my working limbs, but that's a waste. Why would I fix my broken pieces if I plan on letting them collect cobwebs?
My husband and I discussed moving somewhere new. Maybe a small town would do it for us. No more over-crowded suburbs. Our boys could grow up under the stars, climbing trees, riding bikes in the forest, and learning to kayak down mountain rivers. That sounds like a peaceful existence. Every morning, I could wake up to the rushing stream, hop in my canoe and enjoy the silence. Maybe I could run a couple days a week, but I wouldn't need it anymore. I could avoid further injuries by falling in love with my hollowed out tree trunk and a paddle. Better yet, I could finally become a cross country skier, and plow new paths on rolling hills.
Sadly, we need money and that lifestyle is not conducive to a paycheck. My husband has a very specialized skill set and I like food on the table and a roof over our heads.
Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me. I'm not invincible. It sucks, but someday I am going to get old. My right hip is "50% healthy," which isn't a great score when I plan to live another 60+ years. My left hip has the same condition as the right, but hasn't reared its ugly head yet. I've watched my mom struggle with arthritis for a good portion of her adult life and I always thought, "Man that is horrible. Good thing I won't have to deal with that." I assumed I got other genes or something. She was unlucky, while I knew I would remain untouched.
Instead of adjusting my life's trajectory, I am making small changes which I think are making me a better person. I completely jumped outside of my comfort zone and learned to swim. At first I was terrified of being judged by the lifeguards and natural swimmers, but throw on a swim cap and goggles and no one knows who I am. The safety of anonymity is exciting. I enjoy the water and monotony of laps. It is the same action over and over, lending itself to a beautiful repetition that creates a meditative state.
Now I live at the back of the pack. Walking with a group, I am always last as I can't keep up, but I have more time to observe my surroundings and for the first time in my life, I enjoy simply walking from one point to another. It is nice to not train for a race, the pressure of certain paces and distances are obliterated. My old calendar was organized from month-to-month from one race to the next. Now, I am looking forward to trick-or-treating with my boys this Halloween. Small goals don't have metals and praise, but I am learning to appreciate their merits.
Unexpectedly, I've improved through this process. I know I have a lot of great healthy years ahead of me and it is now that I must take the time to decide how to spend those precious moments. I took my body for granted, expecting it to age without much wear and tear. I thought I could pound out thousands of miles without consequence, but luckily I now see it is about balance and enjoying the effort. With a healthy and strong body I can challenge myself in ways I've never dreamed. I thought I was a runner. That was it, I ran. But I am not just a runner. I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a marathoner, a swimmer, a biker, a hiker, an adventure seeker.
~Roadburner
Friday, August 22, 2014
Thursday, August 21, 2014
I am scared. But I am stubborn and lucky to be so loved.
My entire life has been turned on its head. Typically I run every morning for at least an hour before my children awaken, but I haven't run in months. The range of motion in my hip degrades weekly and while I have put off this surgery to the very last moment, the time has come. It isn't like I haven't tried to talk myself out of it. I got 3 surgical opinions. I trained with two physical therapists. I neglected all exercise except walking for 3 weeks, hoping my hip would miraculously regenerate a new labrum and cartilage. Instead, the injury has gotten much worse. At first it only hurt when I ran, now it hurts if I sit for more than 10 minutes, or stand still for more than 5. Walking hurts, biking hurts. This is necessary and I know that. I can't live with this pain and I am
one lucky girl that I have the opportunity to fix it. My surgeon said I
have a 50% hip. He promises he can give me a 95% hip.
I met with my surgeon one last time for the preoperative discussions. I quickly discerned the meaning of preoperative, "Fill out a crap load of paper work, sign your financial and physical life away, and sugar coat the operation one last time so I don't run at the alter."
"Can you give me something for the morning of? Just to take the edge off?"
"No. We need you fully aware and able to sign your leg beforehand. Once you do that, we will give you a nice dose of Valium."
"Wait, what? Sign my what?"
"Yeah we will mark the incision sites and you need to sign your hip next to my marks to show it is the proper location."
Next they fitted me for my $1,900 brace (WHAT?), handed me 7 pain and anti-inflammatory prescriptions, and a pair of crutches. We went over the expectations for the various cold water circulating machines, passive movement machines, and calf squeezing equipment that will be strapped to me 24-7 for two weeks. The reality struck. "When will I be normal again? You know, walking without a limp and pain free?"
"I can guarantee you will be walking without a limp around 7 weeks from now. You will be pain free in 3-4 months. Jen, this is a long recovery, be patient."
As the doctor readied himself to leave, I laughed, "You know I am letting you cut me open, shave down my bones, put screws, pins, and someone else's cartilage in me, all so that I can eventually run again. Is that just stupid? Should I have my head checked?"
The doctor smiled, "Yeah, we can check that too if you'd like."
My husband and I went to dinner afterwards. We needed time to clear our heads. As we sat at the table in near silence I told Randall my biggest fear is letting go of control. When they put you under, you put all of your trust into a total stranger. My doctor is one of the best in the country, but he is still a stranger. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my boys. Afterwards I will be relying on so many people to get dinner on the table, and my kids to and from school because I can't drive or walk for a month. I take pride in caring for my kids and always being available. This won't be easy stepping back.
Ethan, my oldest son, wrote a story in school yesterday that his teacher wanted me to see. They read a book about worries and how to make them go away, their task was to respond to the story with their own experiences. He wrote about me. He said, "My mom has a full plate. I can tell she is scared and worried, but she won't tell me she is because she is strong like that. But I am worried for her. I don't want her to hurt or not be her anymore. Running makes my mom happy. I want her to be happy and run again, but I am worried."
This broke my heart. And all I can say to my son is that he is right. I am so strong and so damn stubborn that I will be fine. I have amazing friends and family surrounding me. I took them for granted as I had no idea how lucky I was to be loved so much. I never knew how my loved ones would step up and offer their support and service. We will be okay because of them.
~Roadburner
I met with my surgeon one last time for the preoperative discussions. I quickly discerned the meaning of preoperative, "Fill out a crap load of paper work, sign your financial and physical life away, and sugar coat the operation one last time so I don't run at the alter."
"Can you give me something for the morning of? Just to take the edge off?"
"No. We need you fully aware and able to sign your leg beforehand. Once you do that, we will give you a nice dose of Valium."
"Wait, what? Sign my what?"
"Yeah we will mark the incision sites and you need to sign your hip next to my marks to show it is the proper location."
Next they fitted me for my $1,900 brace (WHAT?), handed me 7 pain and anti-inflammatory prescriptions, and a pair of crutches. We went over the expectations for the various cold water circulating machines, passive movement machines, and calf squeezing equipment that will be strapped to me 24-7 for two weeks. The reality struck. "When will I be normal again? You know, walking without a limp and pain free?"
"I can guarantee you will be walking without a limp around 7 weeks from now. You will be pain free in 3-4 months. Jen, this is a long recovery, be patient."
As the doctor readied himself to leave, I laughed, "You know I am letting you cut me open, shave down my bones, put screws, pins, and someone else's cartilage in me, all so that I can eventually run again. Is that just stupid? Should I have my head checked?"
The doctor smiled, "Yeah, we can check that too if you'd like."
My husband and I went to dinner afterwards. We needed time to clear our heads. As we sat at the table in near silence I told Randall my biggest fear is letting go of control. When they put you under, you put all of your trust into a total stranger. My doctor is one of the best in the country, but he is still a stranger. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my boys. Afterwards I will be relying on so many people to get dinner on the table, and my kids to and from school because I can't drive or walk for a month. I take pride in caring for my kids and always being available. This won't be easy stepping back.
Ethan, my oldest son, wrote a story in school yesterday that his teacher wanted me to see. They read a book about worries and how to make them go away, their task was to respond to the story with their own experiences. He wrote about me. He said, "My mom has a full plate. I can tell she is scared and worried, but she won't tell me she is because she is strong like that. But I am worried for her. I don't want her to hurt or not be her anymore. Running makes my mom happy. I want her to be happy and run again, but I am worried."
This broke my heart. And all I can say to my son is that he is right. I am so strong and so damn stubborn that I will be fine. I have amazing friends and family surrounding me. I took them for granted as I had no idea how lucky I was to be loved so much. I never knew how my loved ones would step up and offer their support and service. We will be okay because of them.
~Roadburner
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Forgetting Fear and Forging On
Two weeks ago my surgeon informed me that I needed surgery. I turned ghost pale while he went over the procedure in detail; my head spun with each mention of needles, pain blocks, fracturing, traction, graphs, anchors, and sutures. The moment he left the examination room, I threw my head between my knees trying to avoid throwing up or passing out. My husband patted my back and asked if I was okay. I turned up to him and responded, "It is a damn good thing I never went to medical school. I'd make a feeble doctor."
I tried to buy a few more weeks. Knowing that I'd already gone through 8 weeks of physical therapy, the doctor offered to let me try two more weeks of therapy until I came to terms with things. "When you are ready to schedule. Give us a call."
It is really hard to pull the trigger on something like this. I have two small boys, both of whom are starting back to school next week. While it will be good to get them out of the house while I recover, it's my smallest son's first year of preschool and this transition will be substantial. It is important that I am available and present while he gains confidence for the first few weeks.
And frankly, this will suck. Who signs up for something knowing they are going to really hurt when they wake? That's masochistic. The surgeon told me I will have my leg in a machine that moves the knee in an out for 8-10 hours a day for at least a week. Physical therapy starts the day after the surgery, but there is no weight bearing for 3-6 weeks, leaving me in crutches, hip braces, and unable to drive or care for my boys for an unknown amount of time.
However, I haven't driven my car without pain in weeks. There is something torturous about sitting with my leg out and slightly flexed to control the gas pedal. Forget squatting on the floor or chasing after my kids on the playground, it's literally impossible. Last night I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling like a little gremlin snuck into my bed to pinch my hip for an hour. No matter how I moved, I couldn't get comfortable. He visits several times a week. This isn't okay. I can't live like this. I've had two physical therapists and two surgeons both tell me it was time to make a choice.
"What do you want to do for the rest of your life? Do you want to run, swim, bike, and chase after your kids without a second thought? Or do you want to learn to take it easy and only engage in low impact activities from 30 years on?"
When they put it that way, the answer seemed obvious. I was letting fear make my decision. I focused on the surgery and the recovery, not the long term benefits. Trading a few weeks or months of discomfort for a full life seemed clear. If I neglect the surgery and sit on the couch to avoid further damage, or have to rehabilitate my hip through physical therapy until I need a hip replacement, the burden will be insurmountable.
This morning I scheduled the procedure for August 28, my fingers shook as I dialed. My physical therapist said very reassuringly that I made the right choice.
Instead of focusing on the present for a while, which still seems scary, I am going to look far ahead. My first goal is Halloween. I will help with my kids' class parties and trick or treat with them in the evening. By Christmas, I hope to walk a couple miles at a time without pain or pause. Better yet, next summer I hope to complete my first triathlon. This injury brought me the gift of swimming and I want to honor that fully. I'm going to take a more rounded approach to training this time. Finally, I will be stronger, more competitive, and more patient after this experience.
~Roadburner
I tried to buy a few more weeks. Knowing that I'd already gone through 8 weeks of physical therapy, the doctor offered to let me try two more weeks of therapy until I came to terms with things. "When you are ready to schedule. Give us a call."
It is really hard to pull the trigger on something like this. I have two small boys, both of whom are starting back to school next week. While it will be good to get them out of the house while I recover, it's my smallest son's first year of preschool and this transition will be substantial. It is important that I am available and present while he gains confidence for the first few weeks.
And frankly, this will suck. Who signs up for something knowing they are going to really hurt when they wake? That's masochistic. The surgeon told me I will have my leg in a machine that moves the knee in an out for 8-10 hours a day for at least a week. Physical therapy starts the day after the surgery, but there is no weight bearing for 3-6 weeks, leaving me in crutches, hip braces, and unable to drive or care for my boys for an unknown amount of time.
However, I haven't driven my car without pain in weeks. There is something torturous about sitting with my leg out and slightly flexed to control the gas pedal. Forget squatting on the floor or chasing after my kids on the playground, it's literally impossible. Last night I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling like a little gremlin snuck into my bed to pinch my hip for an hour. No matter how I moved, I couldn't get comfortable. He visits several times a week. This isn't okay. I can't live like this. I've had two physical therapists and two surgeons both tell me it was time to make a choice.
"What do you want to do for the rest of your life? Do you want to run, swim, bike, and chase after your kids without a second thought? Or do you want to learn to take it easy and only engage in low impact activities from 30 years on?"
When they put it that way, the answer seemed obvious. I was letting fear make my decision. I focused on the surgery and the recovery, not the long term benefits. Trading a few weeks or months of discomfort for a full life seemed clear. If I neglect the surgery and sit on the couch to avoid further damage, or have to rehabilitate my hip through physical therapy until I need a hip replacement, the burden will be insurmountable.
This morning I scheduled the procedure for August 28, my fingers shook as I dialed. My physical therapist said very reassuringly that I made the right choice.
Instead of focusing on the present for a while, which still seems scary, I am going to look far ahead. My first goal is Halloween. I will help with my kids' class parties and trick or treat with them in the evening. By Christmas, I hope to walk a couple miles at a time without pain or pause. Better yet, next summer I hope to complete my first triathlon. This injury brought me the gift of swimming and I want to honor that fully. I'm going to take a more rounded approach to training this time. Finally, I will be stronger, more competitive, and more patient after this experience.
~Roadburner
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