I've been on a downward spiral lately, mentally and physically. Every time I return from a physical therapy appointment or a visit with my doctor, I receive negative news. While the first 3 months post operation were filled with fuzzy bunnies and progressive healing, the last 3 have been plagued with doubt and regression. One week I'm told, "Hang in there. In another month you should be able to try running again." The next week we discover my range of motion is even worse and my pain now tripled. The next thing I would hear sounded like this, "We don't know what is causing your inflammation to continue. We can try another round of anti-inflammatories if you want. You know, running just may not be an option for you anymore. Try not to do anything that upsets the joint, including walking or biking. It's time to scale way back."
Honestly, I'm mostly at peace with the idea of not running so much again. (Don't get me wrong, the thing I crave most right now is a 16 mile effort, but I can't focus on that, it doesn't help.) However, being told the only way to heal is through taking endless amounts of stomach lacerating pills and not using my legs, made me feel like I was drowning. My limbs were not amputated! I still have full functionality of my parts. They just hurt when I use them. Not walking is not an option.
I want my life back.
Last Thursday I was given two options. The first was to get a cortisone injection in my right hip joint, hoping to reduce the inflammation. My latest round of oral anti-inflammatory meds helped, but not enough. When I walk more than a half mile, my hip flexors become miserable. So the second option was to ride this out for however long it may take, hoping my hip stops hurting in the next year or two. I came home completely defeated. Hip arthoscopy was supposed to be a 4-6 month recovery. "You'll be running again by Christmas. It is not too much to think you can't run another marathon next May..." Now this could be a 2 year recovery, just to be able to walk normally again?
Not liking my choices, I decided to go for a second opinion. Today, I met with my original physical therapist who diagnosed me 9 months ago, without MRI or Xray. I trust him tremendously. After working with my range of motion and strength for an hour, he found a few stretches that he thinks will relieve my hip pain. I told him swimming makes all the difference in the world and he said that's because it's an extension exercise. So he prescribed a series of stretches to perform every other waking hour for the next 6 days. He believes we can reduce my inflammation and return my range of motion back to normal in the next few weeks, without using any anti-inflammatory drugs!
I was on the right track with swimming and he warned against stopping my 1-2 miles each day in the pool. My body literally craves the water and that one element may make the difference between a full recovery and a limited one. If we can get the pain and inflammation down in the next few weeks, we will start rebuilding my strength slowly and progress to biking again. He told me not to stop walking. That too is an extension exercise and it will provide really nice information on whether these stretches help or not. In the next 2-3 weeks, I should be able to walk one mile without pain. He believed it very possible; I needed that boost in faith.
~Roadburner
Showing posts with label hip arthroscopic surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hip arthroscopic surgery. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Forget the Experts - I'm Goin' Solo
One month ago, my surgeon told me to run. However, my defiant body doesn't give a crap what a doctor says. I tried it three times, each a week apart, and only for one mile of running/walking. My hips were so sore the day afterwards, I decided it wasn't worth trying again for at least a month. This last month challenged my mind more than my body. What's gotten sincerely old is everyone telling me, "Be patient, you're healing. It will happen." Never seeing dividends after the investment especially at the promised points along the calendar infuriated me. Each week, my surgeon and physical therapist became more and more surprised as to how my range of motion keeps decreasing and the entire area remains inflamed.
No, I am not doing too much. I followed the instructions of the experts very closely. I've taken this healing very personally and I've listened to my body more in the last 4 months than I have in my entire life. I find it funny that nobody comments on someone's training regimen until they get hurt. And once that person is injured, it's time to throw it their face, reminding them often they did this to themselves. Suddenly, everyone and their mother is an expert on your healing and knows what's best, because you've clearly lost the ability to think for yourself. (You're injured, remember?)
I've learned that exercise is a large part of my identity and onlookers reminding me to be patient, or hang in there, is as condescending as telling a child not to play. Exercise is how I relax and stay stable. Not being able to sweat for a extended length of time is frustrating and excruciating. I love running, but I've learned to adapt and take on new activities. To me, that is the absolute definition of perseverance... patience.
Two weeks ago, I decided to say, "Forget the experts. It's my body." Clearly what they tell me, doesn't work. For four months I've focused my attention to spinning on a stationary bike. Some days it feels really good. Others, I can't walk my kids to school after the workout. I lay awake at night in pain. It's a dull ache that slowly builds throughout the night like that annoying princess and her damn pea. Now I'm that complaining brat, who survives off a few moments rest each night. Damn.
Last June, I decided to learn to swim freestyle. The first time in the pool I looked like a drowning chicken, so I enrolled in a private swim lesson to teach me the basics and hopefully a starting point.
I survived the humiliation and came out with hoards of advice. Seven months later, I still drop my arm a bit when I breathe from the opposite
side. I am slower than most taking 20 minutes to cover a
half mile, but I've been persistent and I've improved. I'm comfortable in the water and can breathe from either side. My pool workouts are becoming less cardio efforts, and more of a sustained fat burn.
Swimming doesn't hurt. So for two weeks I've dedicated myself to swimming 4 days each week for only 30 minutes. I wanted to get out of the pool feeling refreshed, not exhausted, and leave on a good note. The days where I stay in the water for 60+ minutes, I usually fumble out of the side of the pool almost smacking my chin against the concrete lip. Part of listening to my body is not exhausting it, but building strength. It's a balance I've needed for a while.
Instead of doing my strength exercises 3-4 times a week, I complete the routine only twice. I continue to roll out my IT Bands, hip flexors, and glutes nightly. For the first time in 4 months, I haven't hurt at all for 48 hours! I feel good. I walked my son home from school today and that familiar pull and instability in my groin wasn't there. Hopefully I'm swimming in the right direction.
~Roadburner
No, I am not doing too much. I followed the instructions of the experts very closely. I've taken this healing very personally and I've listened to my body more in the last 4 months than I have in my entire life. I find it funny that nobody comments on someone's training regimen until they get hurt. And once that person is injured, it's time to throw it their face, reminding them often they did this to themselves. Suddenly, everyone and their mother is an expert on your healing and knows what's best, because you've clearly lost the ability to think for yourself. (You're injured, remember?)
I've learned that exercise is a large part of my identity and onlookers reminding me to be patient, or hang in there, is as condescending as telling a child not to play. Exercise is how I relax and stay stable. Not being able to sweat for a extended length of time is frustrating and excruciating. I love running, but I've learned to adapt and take on new activities. To me, that is the absolute definition of perseverance... patience.
Two weeks ago, I decided to say, "Forget the experts. It's my body." Clearly what they tell me, doesn't work. For four months I've focused my attention to spinning on a stationary bike. Some days it feels really good. Others, I can't walk my kids to school after the workout. I lay awake at night in pain. It's a dull ache that slowly builds throughout the night like that annoying princess and her damn pea. Now I'm that complaining brat, who survives off a few moments rest each night. Damn.
Last June, I decided to learn to swim freestyle. The first time in the pool I looked like a drowning chicken, so I enrolled in a private swim lesson to teach me the basics and hopefully a starting point.
 |
| After my private lesson everyone looked around to see if there was someone ready to drive me home. I couldn't understand why until I realized they saw the entire lesson on the waiting room television. |
Instead of doing my strength exercises 3-4 times a week, I complete the routine only twice. I continue to roll out my IT Bands, hip flexors, and glutes nightly. For the first time in 4 months, I haven't hurt at all for 48 hours! I feel good. I walked my son home from school today and that familiar pull and instability in my groin wasn't there. Hopefully I'm swimming in the right direction.
~Roadburner
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Graditude from the Road
Three separate neighbors shoveled my sidewalk and driveway this weekend. I used to shovel it all winter long, not because my husband wouldn't do it, but because I love the snow! It is great exercise and so peaceful. The quiet created by a fresh, deep powder is unparalleled. I can't do it right now and relying on other people is humbling.
After thanking my neighbors for their help, one said they wanted to show their appreciation for me and my boys. The last few months have been difficult but I always smile and keep my spirits high, offering to bring meals, fresh bread, and other baked treats to show my gratitude for their friendship and kindness. I transport the neighbor kids to and from school on frigid mornings, or walk with them on nice days so they have the safety and security of an accompanying adult. "We can't risk you falling on this ice. We need you too much!"
After finding out I needed surgery on my left hip, my mom ordered me a spin bike for my basement! It is an early Christmas present and I couldn't be more excited. Instead of driving to the gym every day and entering into needless competition with the elderly positioned beside my machine, I will now stride down a flight of stairs. Although, I will miss the ease of a quiet rivalry.
In 3 months, I've met 8 people who had the exact same surgery. Two were at the gym while I worked out. One woman, only 3 days post operation planted herself right next to me on a bike. I didn't want to pry, but crutches in hand, it was obvious she just underwent surgery. She had that grimace between her eyes that everyone accused me of for 2 weeks post op. "I'm so sorry, I don't want to be rude but, torn labrum?"
She smiled. "Yeah, exactly. How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess. Hey, I'm 8 weeks post surgery and look at me. I'm sweating up a storm on this thing, huffing away, with resistance I might add. It gets easier. And it isn't as bad as everyone warns. You'll be fine." I've seen her 3 times since and each time she looks so much stronger.
People rooted for me when I got knocked down. Strangers ask what happened, they cheered me on, and prayed that I wouldn't see this road again soon. Neighbors, friends, and family cooked, cleaned, and kept me company. I was never one to willingly accept help. I was too proud and I've quickly learned that is a character flaw. A fault that needed change. I've developed a new sincerity and the ability to graciously accept a kind gesture such as shoveling my driveway, not as an act of pity, but as love. On the way to physical therapy each week I see patients entering the hospital with their own struggles and I quietly smile, sending positive thoughts for a swift recovery.
It's not fair that I need to operate on the left hip only months after the right one was repaired. But what I've gained from this experience has made me stronger and more grateful. A life chalk full of irony and challenges is far more interesting.
~Roadburner
After thanking my neighbors for their help, one said they wanted to show their appreciation for me and my boys. The last few months have been difficult but I always smile and keep my spirits high, offering to bring meals, fresh bread, and other baked treats to show my gratitude for their friendship and kindness. I transport the neighbor kids to and from school on frigid mornings, or walk with them on nice days so they have the safety and security of an accompanying adult. "We can't risk you falling on this ice. We need you too much!"
After finding out I needed surgery on my left hip, my mom ordered me a spin bike for my basement! It is an early Christmas present and I couldn't be more excited. Instead of driving to the gym every day and entering into needless competition with the elderly positioned beside my machine, I will now stride down a flight of stairs. Although, I will miss the ease of a quiet rivalry.
In 3 months, I've met 8 people who had the exact same surgery. Two were at the gym while I worked out. One woman, only 3 days post operation planted herself right next to me on a bike. I didn't want to pry, but crutches in hand, it was obvious she just underwent surgery. She had that grimace between her eyes that everyone accused me of for 2 weeks post op. "I'm so sorry, I don't want to be rude but, torn labrum?"
She smiled. "Yeah, exactly. How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess. Hey, I'm 8 weeks post surgery and look at me. I'm sweating up a storm on this thing, huffing away, with resistance I might add. It gets easier. And it isn't as bad as everyone warns. You'll be fine." I've seen her 3 times since and each time she looks so much stronger.
People rooted for me when I got knocked down. Strangers ask what happened, they cheered me on, and prayed that I wouldn't see this road again soon. Neighbors, friends, and family cooked, cleaned, and kept me company. I was never one to willingly accept help. I was too proud and I've quickly learned that is a character flaw. A fault that needed change. I've developed a new sincerity and the ability to graciously accept a kind gesture such as shoveling my driveway, not as an act of pity, but as love. On the way to physical therapy each week I see patients entering the hospital with their own struggles and I quietly smile, sending positive thoughts for a swift recovery.
It's not fair that I need to operate on the left hip only months after the right one was repaired. But what I've gained from this experience has made me stronger and more grateful. A life chalk full of irony and challenges is far more interesting.
~Roadburner
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Plastic Surgery Barbie
So get this, my insurance company is refusing to pay for my arthroscopic hip surgery because they labeled it "plastic surgery." Apparently, when a surgeon grinds down a significant patch of bone on your body they can get away with this classification, no matter where that patch is located. I guess I now have the luscious curves that would render any female instantly jealous. Take that Barbie.
It doesn't matter that they openly paid for 6 months of physical therapy, MRIs, X-Rays, drugs (and lots of them), anesthesia, braces, post operative machinery, cooling units, nurses, an overnight hospital stay... Oh, the list goes on. They paid for the screws in my hip, but not the drill to apply them. Yup, that makes perfect sense.
I keep thinking of the Incredibles. You know that scene when Mr. Incredible is having his backside handed to him because he isn't rejecting enough legitimate claims? Cheers to you Mr. Incredible and your short little maniacal boss. We are changing the world one claim at a time.
Obviously, I'm not fighting the notion that my operation was plastic surgery. Alternatively, I'm sending them multiple before and after pictures of my lovely hips, to thank them for my new status upgrade. I am sure they will love the trendy scars that grace the front of my leg. They are seductive. I can see this sort of thing totally taking off throughout Europe. The nice bump of scar tissue that I massage every night only adds to my provocative new curves, a mouth-watering appeal for every young man who gawks at my hips, wide-eyed at the rec-center pool.
In fact, I'm thoroughly flattered they think I finally personify the "perfect female." It's definitely time to give the other side a whirl. I wouldn't want this hippy beauty to be asymmetrical...
~Roadburner
It doesn't matter that they openly paid for 6 months of physical therapy, MRIs, X-Rays, drugs (and lots of them), anesthesia, braces, post operative machinery, cooling units, nurses, an overnight hospital stay... Oh, the list goes on. They paid for the screws in my hip, but not the drill to apply them. Yup, that makes perfect sense.
I keep thinking of the Incredibles. You know that scene when Mr. Incredible is having his backside handed to him because he isn't rejecting enough legitimate claims? Cheers to you Mr. Incredible and your short little maniacal boss. We are changing the world one claim at a time.
Obviously, I'm not fighting the notion that my operation was plastic surgery. Alternatively, I'm sending them multiple before and after pictures of my lovely hips, to thank them for my new status upgrade. I am sure they will love the trendy scars that grace the front of my leg. They are seductive. I can see this sort of thing totally taking off throughout Europe. The nice bump of scar tissue that I massage every night only adds to my provocative new curves, a mouth-watering appeal for every young man who gawks at my hips, wide-eyed at the rec-center pool.
In fact, I'm thoroughly flattered they think I finally personify the "perfect female." It's definitely time to give the other side a whirl. I wouldn't want this hippy beauty to be asymmetrical...
~Roadburner
Monday, November 17, 2014
Shards Full of Irony
I patiently awaited my 12 week post operative appointment like a pregnant woman longing for her 20 week ultrasound. I needed the all clear. Not only did I need to see the giant chunk they'd carved out of my femur was healing, but I wanted to be told that I could start safely weight training and increasing my fitness level again. If weight training went well, it would be the precursor for running.
My femur still looks like a gremlin took a jagged bite out of an apple. But my surgeon reassured me that was normal and things were healing beautifully. He pulled up the before and after x-rays to let me see for the first time exactly what he'd done. "See how your bone pre-surgery looks like an electricity pole?"
"Um, sure. It's definitely sturdy."
"Yeah, that's bad. Your bone around the socket should look like an hour glass. So if you compare the before and after you can see how much bone I took from you." He laughed. "You are definitely a few ounces lighter!"
My post operative x-ray looks like Barbie's hips. She's got the curves...
While things are healing well, I've been completely miserable for the last 3 weeks. Both hips ache and burn. At night when I sleep, they throb incessantly with a persistent piercing pain. I've complained weekly to my physical therapist, asking what I am doing wrong and what I can do to fix it? But nothing helps. I've pulled way back on physical activity, but things remain inflamed. While rotating the joint around the socket, my surgeon was shocked by the level of irritation. I cringed as he circled my knee around and around, measuring my mobility.
As a comparison, he checked the other leg. When he rotated my knee inwards I yelped. Somehow, my left hip joint deteriorated faster than my right. For about a month now, driving and sitting have become increasingly difficult. While my right hip can finally handle a 45 minute drive up the mountains to visit the in-laws, my left side didn't want to risk being left out of the burden. Without knowing it, I've been pampering my left leg, altering my stride as I walk to handle the impact on two broken hip joints.
Repairing muscles applies a lot of pressure to the sockets. Just like physical therapy made my right hip worse, the act of healing my right hip post operation, is killing my left. I knew this could happen but the reality of it is inconceivable. "Once I hit the 12 week mark I will be halfway. It will be smooth sailing from there." I am not halfway anymore. I am less than a quarter of the way to full recovery.
The doctor took an x-ray of my left hip. It's the same giant pole, marked with a nice peppering of bone material that's been scraped clear of the joint. The shards sit near the socket, evidence of bone on bone abrasion. "I'm really sorry, Jen. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear today, but I can't allow you to run, or do anything until we fix your left hip. This is a congenital defect and I warned you, your chances were quite high that both legs would need to be operated on, we just didn't predict it would be this soon. Your condition is significant. Just 1mm of extra bone can make people miserable, yours is quadruple that."
He put me on a large dose of anti-inflammatory drugs to try and settle things down on both sides for the next two weeks. The next step will be to get an Arthrogram MRI on my left hip to see what the damage looks like on a tissue level. Because I love 7 inch needles, I am really looking forward to it... He told me not to worry too much about things yet. I don't have to schedule it now, but the sooner I do, the sooner I can get back to a normal life. "Take some time to think about it. This is major surgery. What I did to you was just short of a hip replacement. I know this wasn't easy on your kids, and you've worked really hard. I want to you be active again and pain free. Once a labrum flares up, sadly there's not much we can do except surgery to permanently fix the bony bumps. Because your left hip is weak, it will affect how well your right one heals."
Obviously, if I rehabilitated my right hip and finally earned the spot at a starting line, I would be crushed if I had to pull out because my left hip failed. Honestly, I'm relieved it's rearing it's ugly femoral head now. Had I run a race and consequently needed surgery on the left hip afterwards, I would question my sanity of trying to ever run again. This proves it is genetics, not running, that's caused it.
I'll get back out there, it's going to be longer than I expected. But when I hit the trails again, for any distance, the victory will be sweet.
~Roadburner
My femur still looks like a gremlin took a jagged bite out of an apple. But my surgeon reassured me that was normal and things were healing beautifully. He pulled up the before and after x-rays to let me see for the first time exactly what he'd done. "See how your bone pre-surgery looks like an electricity pole?"
"Um, sure. It's definitely sturdy."
"Yeah, that's bad. Your bone around the socket should look like an hour glass. So if you compare the before and after you can see how much bone I took from you." He laughed. "You are definitely a few ounces lighter!"
My post operative x-ray looks like Barbie's hips. She's got the curves...
While things are healing well, I've been completely miserable for the last 3 weeks. Both hips ache and burn. At night when I sleep, they throb incessantly with a persistent piercing pain. I've complained weekly to my physical therapist, asking what I am doing wrong and what I can do to fix it? But nothing helps. I've pulled way back on physical activity, but things remain inflamed. While rotating the joint around the socket, my surgeon was shocked by the level of irritation. I cringed as he circled my knee around and around, measuring my mobility.
As a comparison, he checked the other leg. When he rotated my knee inwards I yelped. Somehow, my left hip joint deteriorated faster than my right. For about a month now, driving and sitting have become increasingly difficult. While my right hip can finally handle a 45 minute drive up the mountains to visit the in-laws, my left side didn't want to risk being left out of the burden. Without knowing it, I've been pampering my left leg, altering my stride as I walk to handle the impact on two broken hip joints.
Repairing muscles applies a lot of pressure to the sockets. Just like physical therapy made my right hip worse, the act of healing my right hip post operation, is killing my left. I knew this could happen but the reality of it is inconceivable. "Once I hit the 12 week mark I will be halfway. It will be smooth sailing from there." I am not halfway anymore. I am less than a quarter of the way to full recovery.
The doctor took an x-ray of my left hip. It's the same giant pole, marked with a nice peppering of bone material that's been scraped clear of the joint. The shards sit near the socket, evidence of bone on bone abrasion. "I'm really sorry, Jen. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear today, but I can't allow you to run, or do anything until we fix your left hip. This is a congenital defect and I warned you, your chances were quite high that both legs would need to be operated on, we just didn't predict it would be this soon. Your condition is significant. Just 1mm of extra bone can make people miserable, yours is quadruple that."
He put me on a large dose of anti-inflammatory drugs to try and settle things down on both sides for the next two weeks. The next step will be to get an Arthrogram MRI on my left hip to see what the damage looks like on a tissue level. Because I love 7 inch needles, I am really looking forward to it... He told me not to worry too much about things yet. I don't have to schedule it now, but the sooner I do, the sooner I can get back to a normal life. "Take some time to think about it. This is major surgery. What I did to you was just short of a hip replacement. I know this wasn't easy on your kids, and you've worked really hard. I want to you be active again and pain free. Once a labrum flares up, sadly there's not much we can do except surgery to permanently fix the bony bumps. Because your left hip is weak, it will affect how well your right one heals."
Obviously, if I rehabilitated my right hip and finally earned the spot at a starting line, I would be crushed if I had to pull out because my left hip failed. Honestly, I'm relieved it's rearing it's ugly femoral head now. Had I run a race and consequently needed surgery on the left hip afterwards, I would question my sanity of trying to ever run again. This proves it is genetics, not running, that's caused it.
I'll get back out there, it's going to be longer than I expected. But when I hit the trails again, for any distance, the victory will be sweet.
~Roadburner
Monday, November 3, 2014
Runner's Purgatory
Having an exercise addiction sucks. The suck ratio multiplies exponentially when injured. Most normal people would embrace the time off the hamster wheel and proudly show off the pounds gained while they continue to squeeze into their now useless Lulumon pants. (I've gained 6 pounds by the way.) But everywhere I look, I am assaulted with beautiful images of happy people frolicking through the gorgeous countryside. Why is Fall so much more beautiful this year than ever before? Because I can't run. That's why. It taunts me as I gaze longingly from the window of my recreation center as I hammer aimlessly at the cumbersome pedals of my elliptical.
Ellipticals are purgatory. They are the closest thing to mimicking what running actually looks and feels like without applying the real pressure to your joints. I lunge my foot downwards and around in aimless circles pretending I am somewhere else. Anywhere else but here, listening to the Treadmill Kicker snorting away, throwing his sweat all over my elbow. Somehow he manages to kick the front cover of the belt drive every time he takes a step. How does he not notice that? It jolts him awkwardly and punches everyone's ears from across the room. I've starred at him at least 10 times and I've been here exactly 3 minutes, 8 calories.
I can't ignore the impulse. I need to compete, to feel the blood pulsing through my brain, sweat seeping from my dry pores. I pick an easy target. Sorry lady, you might be 85, but that level 2 resistance won't hold up today. You are going to loose. Elliptical victory is mine.
Somehow the flat screen positioned in front of my machine is stuck on cartoons. I try not to watch. How ridiculous, a 30-year-old injured woman finding delight in the Sprout Network, but I can't look away. Chica's singing and dancing are so flamboyant, my iPod Shuffle easily fills in the gaps. My elderly competitor enjoys the ease of a woman's cooking magazine. Highlighter in hand, she is armed to multitask, preparing for a Fit-Family Thanksgiving. How does she do that? I can't read when I bounce. Am I bouncing too much? Maybe that is my problem. No, that's not my problem. That is Treadmill Kicker's problem. He ricochets, clashing violently with the machine. At some point he will over-kick and things will deteriorate. Chica pulls me back. Oh, isn't that cute? She is wearing a squirrel costume! A chicken pretending to be a squirrel, nope this will never get old.
To my right are huge plate glass windows, 50 feet high and over 40 feet wide. Straight ahead are men pumping iron admiring their pulsing flesh. I can see myself in the mirror from afar but I look away. I never see myself when I run outside, unless I steal a glance in the windows of a parked car or store front. That's okay though, everyone does that. I am only checking my form... I try to pretend to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from the new guy that took residence on the rowing machine and thinks perpetual grunting creates power. I direct my attention back towards the windows. The wind rustles the remaining leaves on the trees and I wish I had wind in my hair instead of a fan that is never on.
Thirty minutes later my competitor put up a good fight. She circled 8 recipes, burned 127 calories and lasted 20 minutes. I on the other hand, put in the extra ten minutes, burned 311 calories, and watched Chica transform from a squirrel to a mountain lion.
~Roadburner
Ellipticals are purgatory. They are the closest thing to mimicking what running actually looks and feels like without applying the real pressure to your joints. I lunge my foot downwards and around in aimless circles pretending I am somewhere else. Anywhere else but here, listening to the Treadmill Kicker snorting away, throwing his sweat all over my elbow. Somehow he manages to kick the front cover of the belt drive every time he takes a step. How does he not notice that? It jolts him awkwardly and punches everyone's ears from across the room. I've starred at him at least 10 times and I've been here exactly 3 minutes, 8 calories.
I can't ignore the impulse. I need to compete, to feel the blood pulsing through my brain, sweat seeping from my dry pores. I pick an easy target. Sorry lady, you might be 85, but that level 2 resistance won't hold up today. You are going to loose. Elliptical victory is mine.
Somehow the flat screen positioned in front of my machine is stuck on cartoons. I try not to watch. How ridiculous, a 30-year-old injured woman finding delight in the Sprout Network, but I can't look away. Chica's singing and dancing are so flamboyant, my iPod Shuffle easily fills in the gaps. My elderly competitor enjoys the ease of a woman's cooking magazine. Highlighter in hand, she is armed to multitask, preparing for a Fit-Family Thanksgiving. How does she do that? I can't read when I bounce. Am I bouncing too much? Maybe that is my problem. No, that's not my problem. That is Treadmill Kicker's problem. He ricochets, clashing violently with the machine. At some point he will over-kick and things will deteriorate. Chica pulls me back. Oh, isn't that cute? She is wearing a squirrel costume! A chicken pretending to be a squirrel, nope this will never get old.
 |
| Click here if you want to dress Chica... |
Thirty minutes later my competitor put up a good fight. She circled 8 recipes, burned 127 calories and lasted 20 minutes. I on the other hand, put in the extra ten minutes, burned 311 calories, and watched Chica transform from a squirrel to a mountain lion.
~Roadburner
Some goals take more humility
Ten weeks ago my sights were set on Halloween. I kept telling myself that by Halloween I should be able to walk with a minimal limp and no crutches for at least a mile at a time. If I could get to that point, things would start feeling more like normal and my hip surgery would be a long removed memory. While pain and a revolving limp are pretty familiar, I surpassed my goal. I've been walking my boys to and from school, a quarter mile each way, for a month now. Those obnoxious crutches found a home in my basement and most strangers would have no idea I've ever had major surgery.
I've always been goal driven. When I wanted something I would run out and take it, work my butt off and grab the opportunity. I graduated college summa cum laude with a double major in three years. Yeah it took a lot of late nights and hard work, I didn't play as much as many, but I saw the destination and I got there. While satisfied, I always knew I would graduate. It was my path. There weren't bumps along the way, I didn't have to practice any form of humility. It was a diploma of pure grit.
This time I am combining hard work and humility. I have permanent loss of feeling covering a large chunk of my hip. When I reach my hand into the right pocket of my jeans, I can't feel it. There's no sensitivity to touch over a 5 inch square patch. The two scars are a window into my healing. When they are red and inflamed, my joint is red and inflamed. I've learned to find equilibrium in my workouts. Push too hard and I can't walk for two days without a strong limp and major piercing pain. Don't push hard enough and the entire joint seizes up in a restricting tightness that makes it equally as hard to function. I'm trying to learn how to test that balance with muscles that grow daily.
During hard training runs and races that felt like they would never end I always used to count my steps. It felt easier as a direct distraction than any simple words. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. Shoot, I employed this simple method while in full labor racing down Colfax Avenue on the way to St. Joesph Hospital, 45 minutes from our home. I was fully dilated and cars kept pulling up next to us at each light pointing at me and laughing. I was breathing hard and ready to tear their feeble heads off. I stared intently at the clock on the dashboard. 1:45. 1:45. 1:46. 1-4-6. 1-4-6. 1-4-7. Time is moving. I am almost there.
I started my rehabilitation on a bike. 10 minutes everyday for 2 weeks. No resistance, but very painful. Patience. Week three I added 5 minutes. I looked around at all the people sweating. I was jealous. Patience. Within a couple weeks I added resistance to the spin bike and very slowly worked my way up to 45 minutes. Patience. My physical therapist told me to start using the elliptical, but watch carefully for soreness. I only lasted 5 minutes the first time. My femur danced garishly around the socket with every pull. I cursed and jumped off. After waiting two more weeks I attempted it again, cautiously. I've built up to 30 minutes on the elliptical with resistance, but I still can't handle more than 45 minutes of cardio at one time. Patience. Living in the moment is easier than always looking forward. I find taking smaller bites out of a larger goal is much more satisfying than focusing on what isn't yet possible.
Strength work is a part of my daily routine. I ride the bike for 45 minutes and jump off for clam shells, bridges, ball crunches, free weights, planks, push ups, lunges, etc... I've learned not to do the same exercises everyday. Each week I ride the bike, swim, and use the elliptical. My muscles are becoming much more balanced and I feel my strength growing daily. My legs, glutes, arms, and lower back are all stronger now post surgery. That is an honest victory. I can't run yet. That probably won't happen for another couple months at best, but when I hit the trails again I will be steadfast.
~Roadburner
 |
| My youngest son was a "fierce spider." My oldest, Captain America. |
This time I am combining hard work and humility. I have permanent loss of feeling covering a large chunk of my hip. When I reach my hand into the right pocket of my jeans, I can't feel it. There's no sensitivity to touch over a 5 inch square patch. The two scars are a window into my healing. When they are red and inflamed, my joint is red and inflamed. I've learned to find equilibrium in my workouts. Push too hard and I can't walk for two days without a strong limp and major piercing pain. Don't push hard enough and the entire joint seizes up in a restricting tightness that makes it equally as hard to function. I'm trying to learn how to test that balance with muscles that grow daily.
During hard training runs and races that felt like they would never end I always used to count my steps. It felt easier as a direct distraction than any simple words. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. Shoot, I employed this simple method while in full labor racing down Colfax Avenue on the way to St. Joesph Hospital, 45 minutes from our home. I was fully dilated and cars kept pulling up next to us at each light pointing at me and laughing. I was breathing hard and ready to tear their feeble heads off. I stared intently at the clock on the dashboard. 1:45. 1:45. 1:46. 1-4-6. 1-4-6. 1-4-7. Time is moving. I am almost there.
I started my rehabilitation on a bike. 10 minutes everyday for 2 weeks. No resistance, but very painful. Patience. Week three I added 5 minutes. I looked around at all the people sweating. I was jealous. Patience. Within a couple weeks I added resistance to the spin bike and very slowly worked my way up to 45 minutes. Patience. My physical therapist told me to start using the elliptical, but watch carefully for soreness. I only lasted 5 minutes the first time. My femur danced garishly around the socket with every pull. I cursed and jumped off. After waiting two more weeks I attempted it again, cautiously. I've built up to 30 minutes on the elliptical with resistance, but I still can't handle more than 45 minutes of cardio at one time. Patience. Living in the moment is easier than always looking forward. I find taking smaller bites out of a larger goal is much more satisfying than focusing on what isn't yet possible.
Strength work is a part of my daily routine. I ride the bike for 45 minutes and jump off for clam shells, bridges, ball crunches, free weights, planks, push ups, lunges, etc... I've learned not to do the same exercises everyday. Each week I ride the bike, swim, and use the elliptical. My muscles are becoming much more balanced and I feel my strength growing daily. My legs, glutes, arms, and lower back are all stronger now post surgery. That is an honest victory. I can't run yet. That probably won't happen for another couple months at best, but when I hit the trails again I will be steadfast.
~Roadburner
Monday, October 6, 2014
Shubeez some Motivation
Six weeks post operation checkup. I laid down on the examination table waiting for my surgeon to flex my leg in multiple directions. The movement was painful, but I expected as much since my physical therapist checks my range of motion every Thursday morning. When he moved my knee upwards and away from my hip I cringed. "Wow, Jen. Seriously. You look amazing! How is it possible that your range of motion is this good? You are six weeks into a six month recovery, but I would swear you were a month further at least." I starred at him struggling with the idea that my range of motion was that good. When people twist the joint, it feels like they are tearing my joint away from the flesh. Next he pushed against my knee at different angles and told me to resist the pressure. "You have been working hard. There is no doubt about that. I don't need to ask you if you are following your physical therapy plan. You are strong; unbelievably strong."
Then he pointed at my shoes and laughed. My friend Monica gave me "Shubeez" for my laces almost a year ago. I have one for each foot, 26.2 and Boston. Running Boston has always been a goal and wearing these simple reminders on my laces have provided just enough motivation over the past year. Insecure, I commented on his gesture, "Is that dumb? I clearly haven't learned my lesson."
"Learned your lesson? I hope you have learned your lesson. You are working incredibly hard and I hope that you have found new motivation. Don't count yourself short. You have a long athletic road ahead of you. There have been no setbacks. The surgery went better than we could have expected, and you are healing like a champ. There is absolutely no reason to think you can't run marathons again, and this time, you are going to Boston!" My surgeon smiled.
"So it isn't overzealous that I have a race scheduled for this May? I just haven't found the heart to ask for a refund yet."
"Nope. You will be ready. And this time you will be stronger than ever before. I know that for a fact because it is only my elite athletes who heal this well."
I walked out of his office with a new sense of confidence. My smile radiated throughout the building. He was right. I've earned a new level of motivation from this experience. Each day is a new accomplishment based on the perseverance and patience of the day before.
Day 1, Smile. Keep my sense of humor. Learn to go potty without help. Stay on passive motion machine and calf squeezing machine 24/7.
Week 1, Rest, stretch, and stay calm. Continue using machines.
Week 2, Ride a stationary bike with no resistance everyday, slowly.
Week 3, Learn to stand up without help while spreading 50% of my weight on each leg.
Week 4, Loose the crutches, brace, and machines. Get back in the pool twice a week for 20 minutes. Start lifting free weights.
Week 5, Walk my kids to school at least one way everyday. Start adding a little resistance to the stationary bike increasing the time from 15 minutes to 30.
Week 6, Pump up the resistance on the bike, increase the time to 45 minutes, and add more strength exercises to my right leg.
Slowly, I am getting stronger. I tire quickly but I embrace the work like never before. As lactic acid builds in my quads and glutes, I don't pull back. I breathe in deeply and I envision how desperately I miss running, how devastated I felt after being told I had the hip of an 80 year old woman and I may never be able to run again. I listen to my body much closer, resting, icing, massaging when necessary. I alter my exercise routine constantly to create more balanced muscles. My scars aren't pretty but they are a wonderful reminder of who I am. I went from being told I may never run again, especially distance events, to being told the best is yet to come. Yes doctor, that new motivation is profound.
~Roadburner
Then he pointed at my shoes and laughed. My friend Monica gave me "Shubeez" for my laces almost a year ago. I have one for each foot, 26.2 and Boston. Running Boston has always been a goal and wearing these simple reminders on my laces have provided just enough motivation over the past year. Insecure, I commented on his gesture, "Is that dumb? I clearly haven't learned my lesson."
"Learned your lesson? I hope you have learned your lesson. You are working incredibly hard and I hope that you have found new motivation. Don't count yourself short. You have a long athletic road ahead of you. There have been no setbacks. The surgery went better than we could have expected, and you are healing like a champ. There is absolutely no reason to think you can't run marathons again, and this time, you are going to Boston!" My surgeon smiled.
"So it isn't overzealous that I have a race scheduled for this May? I just haven't found the heart to ask for a refund yet."
"Nope. You will be ready. And this time you will be stronger than ever before. I know that for a fact because it is only my elite athletes who heal this well."
I walked out of his office with a new sense of confidence. My smile radiated throughout the building. He was right. I've earned a new level of motivation from this experience. Each day is a new accomplishment based on the perseverance and patience of the day before.
Day 1, Smile. Keep my sense of humor. Learn to go potty without help. Stay on passive motion machine and calf squeezing machine 24/7.
Week 1, Rest, stretch, and stay calm. Continue using machines.
Week 2, Ride a stationary bike with no resistance everyday, slowly.
Week 3, Learn to stand up without help while spreading 50% of my weight on each leg.
Week 4, Loose the crutches, brace, and machines. Get back in the pool twice a week for 20 minutes. Start lifting free weights.
Week 5, Walk my kids to school at least one way everyday. Start adding a little resistance to the stationary bike increasing the time from 15 minutes to 30.
Week 6, Pump up the resistance on the bike, increase the time to 45 minutes, and add more strength exercises to my right leg.
Slowly, I am getting stronger. I tire quickly but I embrace the work like never before. As lactic acid builds in my quads and glutes, I don't pull back. I breathe in deeply and I envision how desperately I miss running, how devastated I felt after being told I had the hip of an 80 year old woman and I may never be able to run again. I listen to my body much closer, resting, icing, massaging when necessary. I alter my exercise routine constantly to create more balanced muscles. My scars aren't pretty but they are a wonderful reminder of who I am. I went from being told I may never run again, especially distance events, to being told the best is yet to come. Yes doctor, that new motivation is profound.
~Roadburner
Monday, September 15, 2014
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.
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
 |
| 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."
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
Friday, September 12, 2014
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
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
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
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.
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.
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.
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
"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. |
 |
| 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. |
 |
| 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. |
~Roadburner
Friday, August 22, 2014
Aging Gracefully From the Back of the Pack
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
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
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
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