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

This is not enough. This will never be enough.

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

Sleeping in this thing is rough.

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

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

"You are a runner?"

"Yeah.  How can you tell?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you went back to exercising afterwards?"

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

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

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

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


~Roadburner

Surgical Emotions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


~Roadburner

The Surgery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

"You lied to me."  I teased.

"What?  We did?"

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

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

"Where is my husband?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


~Roadburner

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

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

Forgetting Fear and Forging On

Two weeks ago my surgeon informed me that I needed surgery.  I turned ghost pale while he went over the procedure in detail; my head spun with each mention of needles, pain blocks, fracturing, traction, graphs, anchors, and sutures.  The moment he left the examination room, I threw my head between my knees trying to avoid throwing up or passing out.  My husband patted my back and asked if I was okay.  I turned up to him and responded, "It is a damn good thing I never went to medical school.  I'd make a feeble doctor."

I tried to buy a few more weeks.  Knowing that I'd already gone through 8 weeks of physical therapy, the doctor offered to let me try two more weeks of therapy until I came to terms with things.  "When you are ready to schedule.  Give us a call." 

It is really hard to pull the trigger on something like this.  I have two small boys, both of whom are starting back to school next week.  While it will be good to get them out of the house while I recover, it's my smallest son's first year of preschool and this transition will be substantial.  It is important that I am available and present while he gains confidence for the first few weeks. 

And frankly, this will suck.  Who signs up for something knowing they are going to really hurt when they wake?  That's masochistic.  The surgeon told me I will have my leg in a machine that moves the knee in an out for 8-10 hours a day for at least a week.  Physical therapy starts the day after the surgery, but there is no weight bearing for 3-6 weeks, leaving me in crutches, hip braces, and unable to drive or care for my boys for an unknown amount of time. 

However, I haven't driven my car without pain in weeks.  There is something torturous about sitting with my leg out and slightly flexed to control the gas pedal.  Forget squatting on the floor or chasing after my kids on the playground, it's literally impossible.  Last night I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling like a little gremlin snuck into my bed to pinch my hip for an hour.  No matter how I moved, I couldn't get comfortable.  He visits several times a week.  This isn't okay.  I can't live like this.  I've had two physical therapists and two surgeons both tell me it was time to make a choice. 

"What do you want to do for the rest of your life?  Do you want to run, swim, bike, and chase after your kids without a second thought?  Or do you want to learn to take it easy and only engage in low impact activities from 30 years on?" 

When they put it that way, the answer seemed obvious.  I was letting fear make my decision.  I focused on the surgery and the recovery, not the long term benefits.  Trading a few weeks or months of discomfort for a full life seemed clear.  If I neglect the surgery and sit on the couch to avoid further damage, or have to rehabilitate my hip through physical therapy until I need a hip replacement, the burden will be insurmountable.


This morning I scheduled the procedure for August 28, my fingers shook as I dialed.  My physical therapist said very reassuringly that I made the right choice.

Instead of focusing on the present for a while, which still seems scary, I am going to look far ahead.  My first goal is Halloween.  I will help with my kids' class parties and trick or treat with them in the evening.  By Christmas, I hope to walk a couple miles at a time without pain or pause.  Better yet, next summer I hope to complete my first triathlon.  This injury brought me the gift of swimming and I want to honor that fully.  I'm going to take a more rounded approach to training this time.  Finally, I will be stronger, more competitive, and more patient after this experience.


~Roadburner