This is not enough. This will never be enough.

Crutching around town with a cumbersome brace attached to my right hip causes a lot of attention.  I've never had so many random strangers approach me before.  Multiple times a day people ask, "What did you do to yourself?"  Everyone has an opinion and most people are kind, offering me prayers for a swift recovery, or words of encouragement. 

Sleeping in this thing is rough.

At the gym this Saturday an older gentleman pulled me aside.  "Can I ask how this happened?"  I joked it was a hang gliding accident, but finally came out with the truth.

"Genetics mixed with overuse left my labrum crab meat."  He wanted more information on my hip joints and I told him the bones were shaped funny in the socket, combined with a nasty bone spur, and my tendons were rendered worthless. 

"You are a runner?"

"Yeah.  How can you tell?" 

"I don't know, you look like a runner.  I watched you ride the bike.  I could tell it really hurt but you pushed through that pain.  What really amazed me was when you were done, I could see it all over your face how disappointed you were when that ride was over.  You longed for more even though it hurt like hell.  You are one strong woman.  I don't know you, but I do know that you are going to be stronger than ever when this is done.  You'll get back out there and you will enjoy it so much more this time around."

He shook my hand and walked away as my husband helped me to the exercise mats where I finished up my physical therapy exercises. 

A few days earlier, a guy following me into a restaurant called from 20 feet back, "Labral tear?" 

"Yeah, are you a doctor?  How'd ya know?"

"Been there.  I did the surgery on both of my hips when it was still experimental about 20 years ago."  He laughed.

"Did it work?  Are you good now?  Any arthritis?" I didn't want to pry but it isn't often you meet people who have gone through the exact same thing and are decades down the road.

"Sweetheart, I'm old.  Age will always catch up with you, so in that, yes.  I have osteoarthritis in my hips and knees.  But I believe the surgery worked.  It bought me time that I otherwise didn't have."

"So you went back to exercising afterwards?"

"Yeah, and most people told me I was stupid.  Why continue doing the things that put you in that brace in the first place, right?  But they were stupid.  The surgery fixed my imperfections and I rode a bike pain free for a long time.  I could have hunkered down and given up like so many people told me to do.  But I'll tell you one thing, that's a waste of your life.  Take your time healing from this.  Get strong and be really patient.  When your body is ready, get back out there and run like mad."

I've been pondering this dilemma for a long time.  I won't lie, I am afraid to run again.  Is it the running that did this to me or genetic bony bumps?  If I run another marathon, will I re-tear my right labrum, or worse yet, tear the left one?  I do not want to go through this again.  My surgeon said I have a congenital defect in both hips.  Therefore, my chances of tearing my left labrum are 50%.  He fixed the bone abnormalities in my right hip and promised falling down the stairs was the only way it would tear again.  My left hip is a different story.  Those defects will be there until they are surgically fixed.  Could it tear from running?  "Yes."  Could it tear from tripping on a curb?  "Yes."  Could overuse be considered walking my boys to and from school everyday for a half mile?  "Yes."  Can strength training build up the muscles around the joint enough so that it stays healthy?  "Absolutely."

Riding the stationary bike for 20 minutes this weekend, all I could think was, "This is not enough.  This will never be enough."  I need to get back out there.  We are all running on borrowed time.  At some point or another age will catch us.  You can't defy the clock.  The day will come where I can't do what I once could and I don't want to stand on that mountain regretting missed opportunities wrought with fear.  Not exercising, not running, has a whole host of much more dangerous repercussions. 
 

For one, since I haven't been able to exercise like usual, I feel depressed. Those endorphins and mind clearing hours are good for my mental state.  Second, dying of heart disease, a stroke, obesity, alcoholism, etc... caused from lack of exercise would be a grim way to age.  I refuse to make decisions based on a what if.  There is a strong chance that my left hip will degenerate whether I run another marathon or not.  When I was told I couldn't run for at least 6 months I cried.  My doctor said he didn't know the chances of me running again period until he went in there.  The idea of never being able to run endurance events again was a blow to my stomach that I wasn't ready to accept.  Post operation I've been informed that my hip is healthy and will handle the impact.  I have unfinished business. 


~Roadburner

Surgical Emotions

There are numerous things that I expected during the first few weeks recovering from my surgery.  I knew I would miss running.  Shoot, I've missed running since June.  The pang of needing to push the strength of my lungs, stretch my legs, and feel invigorated on the trails is something I will never break free from.  I need to run.  I miss it dearly.  But because I expected to long for it, I haven't been surprised by its lengthy absence.

I expected immobility.  I knew waddling to the bathroom in the middle of the night, crutches in hand would be laborious.  Obviously, all the machines and bandages would scare the crap out of my kids.  I also expected boredom, and draining my brain from endless hours of television.  I expected intense, indelible pain and relief from multiple pain killers.   

I didn't have a clue.  I don't miss running, I miss burning off steam.  If given the opportunity, I would enjoy an intense finger aerobics class.  Oh, and who would have guessed how much I would miss swimming?  Somehow I found a home in the pool during the summer and I long to immerse my sore hip in the cold water. Three weeks left until I can swim a few laps, I can't wait.  My physical therapist lets me ride a stationary bike for 15 minutes each week.  I treasure those moments when I raise my heart rate to 95 bpm.  Instead of watching the clock waiting for it to end, I smile and hold onto the effort.  I don't work up a sweat, but I am moving.  Sort of.

Cutting through my leg muscles combined with only being allowed out of bed for 2 hours a day leaves major side effects.  My right quadracep is Jello.  It isn't rounded and strong anymore.  When I flex the muscle it wiggles and I can poke straight through to the bone.  However feeling weight on the bottoms of my heels feels wonderful.  I learned to stand unassisted on both legs the other day.  I practiced for 30 minutes starring in a mirror on how to balance my weight evenly 50% per leg, and when I figured out how to no longer lean to the left, I was elated!  "Yes, I can stand up!  I am getting somewhere."

Recovery presents an amazing dichotomy.  In one hand, I have never felt so lifted and held up by my family and friends.  Close friends and relatives cooked for us so much so that I still have frozen meals in my freezer to last another week!  A couple friends brought me lunch in bed and sat bedside filling me in on gossip.  Randall took over a week off work to focus on me and the kids.  My mom flew in this week to help with the kids and spent nap time with me watching TV and talking.  My in-laws have been here every chance they get.  Flowers grace my tables and everyday I get multiple messages checking on me.  "How are you feeling, do you need anything?"  How did I get so lucky?  I feel unbelievably loved.

On the other hand I've never felt so lonely.  The first two weeks are very isolating, spending hours in bed, alone.  I heard my kids laughing and playing downstairs and I couldn't join them. When my husband was off work, he was amazing.  He brought me food and changed out my ice packs.  He stretched out my legs and held me up so that  I could bathe or brush my teeth.  But it wasn't our normal contact.  I was a patient, he was my nurse.  I miss cuddling with him and our active playful banter.  

I had no idea how much I would miss bath time routines and walking my boys to and from school.  Normally I show up to school early so that I can talk with the other parents for 15 minutes.  I need to be around people.  As a family, we never just stay home.  I take my boys to recreation centers, museums, and parks where I play with my kids and converse with other moms.  I am always on the go.  I didn't expect how severe the boredom would be.

This Wednesday I went back to my surgeon, who removed my stitches and took new x-rays.  The top of my femur (the ball part of the hip socket) looks like someone took a bite out of an apple.  There is a lot of bone missing.  It seriously should hurt more than it does!  I told my doctor thanks for not letting this be as painful as it could have been.  He laughed and said, "Thanks for having low expectations of me."  I took major pain pills for the first week, but the side effects of those things are NOT worth it.  My stomach was officially corked.  So I've been off narcotics and dealing with the pain on my own.  It isn't as bad as I thought.  It pinches and aches.  But it isn't excruciating anymore.

My doctor said now that I've made it to the two week point, I can be up more.  I can do my 10 hours in the continuous passive motion (CPM) machine at night and spend more time with my kids.  "If it hurts, don't do it.  Don't fall.  Don't trip.  Don't do anything stupid for at least 18 weeks.  If you get sore at night or the next day, you did too much.  Slow down, but you are free to be up and about.  Rest when you are tired.  No driving for a few more weeks, but you may walk using crutches.  Do NOT take off your brace."

I've never heard more beautiful words!  I AM OUT OF MY BED!!!!!! 


~Roadburner

The Surgery

One week before the surgery my anxiety grew to unprecedented levels.  Everyday I became more anxious.  I can't explain how hard it is to imagine laying down on a table knowing when you wake up, you will feel incredible pain, not be able to take care of your kids, and not be able to walk for over a month.  I knew the recovery was 6 months long, there wasn't a short end in sight.  No, I wasn't afraid of dying on the table or anything that dramatic but I worried how much all the stress affected my kids.  On the way to school one morning my three year old asked me, "Do Mommy's die?"  I was flabbergasted.

"NO!  I am going to be fine and Mommy will always be here."

"But you said they would put you to sleep for the surgery.  Will you wake up again?  How will you know when you are awake again?"

He is three and obviously didn't understand the scope of things.  He didn't understand anesthesia, honestly I don't really get the science behind it either, but his worries were real.  No matter how many times I told him I would be okay and that I wasn't worried, this was just a small bump in a very long road, he saw through me.  I was terrified.

For some reason my surgery was bumped from 12:30 in the afternoon to 2:45pm.  That meant no food and only 8 oz of water starting at midnight the day before.  Happily, it afforded me the opportunity to bring my oldest son, Ethan, to school, and spend the morning with Owen.  We went to the library and a park.  I put him down for his nap at noon and because he forgot my surgery was only hours away, I didn't remind him, and I didn't say goodbye.

As I walked out of his room, my eyes welled up.  "Breathe deeply."  I walked downstairs, told my husband it was time to go, said goodbye to my father-in-law who reassured me I would do great, and strapped on my seat belt.  My poor husband.  I am brave for everyone else in the world.  My boys never see me cry.  I stay strong at the hardest times for them so that they always have a rock, but the second my boys are out of view, I loose it every time.  I looked out the window and cried.  Randall didn't say anything which I was unbelievably grateful for.  There are times to talk, to reassure, to listen, and times to quietly understand.  At that moment I needed to let it out for a few minutes so that I could put myself back together by the time we arrived at the surgical center.

I calmly checked into the center as everyone watched me limp into the lobby.  In one hand I held my $1,900 brace, the other clutched a set of crutches.  My husband had my hospital bag equipped with a toothbrush, clean clothes, and my ID.  Within 5 minutes a nurse asked me to follow her back.  My husband would be allowed to follow in 20 minutes or so after they prepped me.

Nurses are seriously angles sent from Heaven.  They are the most wonderful people I have ever met and the things they witness and endure are beyond courageous.  They aren't there for a fancy paycheck or title.  Everyone of those people were there because they wanted to be.  They knew I was freaking out on the inside.  Their x-ray vision saw straight through my brave facade and knew how to help.  When I get nervous, I become painfully sarcastic.  They rolled with the punches and dealt them back beautifully.  Before inserting my IV, Nurse Linda asked if I needed to pee one last time.  I said, "Yeah that's probably smart."  As I waddled away, butt hanging out of my open gown, she laughed, "I knew we would scare the pee out of you sooner or later!"  The bathroom door slammed closed and I knew I was in good hands.

For some reason I pictured a female anesthesiologist.  Instead I got a wonderful older male who reassured me he anesthetized the dinosaurs.  He asked me what I needed from him and I simply said, "Don't let me wake up.  Let me fall asleep before I enter the operating room and then wake up when it is all done and I will love you forever."  He smiled and assured me he could do one better.

When you have work done on a major joint, it hurts.  There is no way of sugar coating the amount of pain you feel when you wake up and the best way to combat that pain is to block the nerves off before they cut you open.  I never had an epidural when my two boys were born.  They were both completely natural so I was a little nervous about a pain block.  But this time I had nothing to prove.  Let's make this easy on myself, the nurses promised I wouldn't regret it.  The anesthesiologist found a cluster of nerves using an ultrasound, then poked around my back 3-4 times using a huge needle (5 inches long) until my quadriceps jumped around like a pendulum on a clock.  Once the muscle danced, the doctor knew we found the right nerves, he released the medication and within 5 minutes I couldn't feel my right leg.  They sedated me slightly for this so I wouldn't move, but when he finished pulling out the needle I joked with the doctor, "That was the most pathetic sedation I've ever felt!"  He snickered.

Within a few minutes they put more meds into my IV, "This is the good stuff," the doctor smiled.  And we made our start towards the operating room.  Randall was standing in the main hallway.  He looked scared.  I smiled at him, full of blissful drugs, and said, "It's okay.  I love you.  I'm fine.  I'll see you soon."  Black.

I don't remember the sterile operating room.  I don't remember the 15+ people.  I don't remember my puncture holes, the cameras, the continuous x-ray machines, waking up apparently very emotional, nothing.  At one point a nurse appeared very faint.  There was pure white light and her cute little blue hat holding back her hair.  "Jen, take your boys to the beach.  Have you been to the beach?"

"Yes."

"Take your boys there.  Relax.  Build a sandcastle.  Splash.  Have fun."

When I awoke at 6:45pm I felt a lot of pain in my hip and back.  I looked down.  I was in my brace and it felt tight.  "How long have I been here for?  Have I been awake for a while?  I hurt."

Nurses flooded the room and immediately started dosing me with amazing pain meds which washed away my discomforts like the sand under my toes.

"You lied to me."  I teased.

"What?  We did?"

"Yeah, you said I wouldn't dream.  I had the most amazing dream.  My boys and I were at the beach and we built the biggest sand castle you've ever seen.  We body surfed in the waves and my oldest son touched a huge fish.  It was beautiful."

"Oh, sweetheart.  That's wonderful.  You awoke from the anesthesia very upset.  You were scared and crying.  We told you to take your boys to the beach and you immediately calmed down and drifted back to sleep.  You love your boys very much.  They are your calming place."

"Where is my husband?"

"He isn't allowed back here until you are fully awake.  We will take you to your overnight room and he will be there waiting."

While I was fully terrified of the surgery, it wasn't so bad.  I fell asleep telling my husband I loved him.  I woke up with my boys at the beach.  Soon after my husband held my hand as I asked him the same questions over and over again.  He kept smiling at me saying, "You did great, Jen."

I had two full time nurses that night in the hospital.  They were with me every hour delivering pain meds and helping me to use the toilet.  I asked my physical therapist weeks before the procedure how someone pees after this surgery and she said she had no idea.  Well, now I know, like a 90 year old woman with a walker and no range of motion in her hips or legs.  It sucks.

The morning after surgery my right knee and leg were literally three times bigger than normal.

I am partially weight bearing relying strongly on crutches for everything.  I will wear TED compression socks 24/7 for two weeks.  I have calf squeezers for blood clots 20/7 for two weeks and a passive motion machine that moves my knee in and out at a 45 degree angle for 2 weeks and an 80 degree angle for the third week.  I use that machine 10 hours a day.  Half of my labrum was "crab meat" so they cut that all away.  The surgeon said the other half was torn but usable so they stitched up the tear, stretched it out and rolled it up on the other end to replace the irreparable damage.  They anchored that all down and ground down my hip bones in multiple places.  I had a large bone spur on my femur (the ball part of the hip) that caught everything nearby and left lots of tears and scaring.  That little devil is forever gone and my hip has zero impingement.

Owen cuddled with me right away.  He really missed me and wasn't afraid of the machines.  My oldest struggled at first as he came home from school to me strapped down to all this stuff and it scared him.  Once he saw it was still Mommy under all that he gave me a hug of relief.  

When the surgeon came out of surgery to talk to my husband, he said I had the hip of an 80 year old grandma.  Now I have a perfect hip.  He deemed it a huge success.  I now do physical therapy exercises twice a day every day, and will visit the PT office once a week, for the next six months.  I ran 2 full marathons and 9 half marathons on an "80 year old hip."  Give me time to heal properly and I will prove what I can do with a healthy one.

6 Days Post-Op.  This is my second time outside in a week.  I get a few minutes each day where I get out of bed and outside is the first place I ask to go.  

This morning I asked my husband to sit on the porch with me for an hour while the kids were at school.  He looked at me really kindly and said, "Jen, I really need some exercise."  Don't I know it!


~Roadburner