If you could’ve asked me six months ago where I would be in a half a year I may have answered something along the lines of biking around Cambridge, lending to local small business owners during the week, training a group of 25 high schoolers for summer trips to Latin America on the weekends, dancing and socializing whenever someone will join me, and generally keeping busy planning for future phases of life. I would have been spot on. Of course, I would’ve had no clue how much I was about to learn in the coming months, for example: to walk for the second time in my life. (Ask my mother, the first time took much longer!) Clearly the last six months have been a different type of journey than I would have asked for. There have been a lot of tears, a lot of pain, a lot of frustration and questioning and emotion. But there has also been so much learning and growing and support and realization. Would I do it all again? Of course not, but since I had to go through it I may as well take away some more than a couple new rods in my legs (and more than a couple scars!).
In preparing to write an update to all of you, I reread through this blog. It’s hard to describe the series of emotions I encountered while reading, particularly as I was reminded yet again of the support from my family and loved ones as they dealt with a different version of my nightmare. I’m incredibly moved every time I think of what it must have been like at the hospital for my mom, amy and heather that first night, and for those closest to me that remember much more of the first week than I do. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude towards each of you who held my hand those days, both literally and figuratively.
I thought I’d take this 6 month mark to jot down some things I remember from the roller coaster ride.
It’s interesting that what happened in the matter of days seems like weeks to me looking back. For example, I can’t believe I sat on the edge of the bed on day 5! And I thought I went weeks before they switched me to a 12 hour base pain med (it was actually only one week). I wish I could remember all the crazy dreams and hallucinations I had while on the really hard pain meds. There was a talking dog, neon lights, moving hospital walls, a cat behind the Christmas tree, and one time Kim tried to eat a salad off my leg. I remember thinking it would be awesome if I had the energy to tell people in the room all the crazy things I was seeing.
There were lots of seemingly simple challenges that were anything but simple: Touching a foot, then two, to the ground; the infamous CPM machine; dealing with the nurses; the first time I got to that chair two feet from my bed (oh man, remind me never to complain about biking uphill again!); and don’t even get me started on using a bed pan.
I remember feeling grateful at Christmastime, even more so than I do now - I need to remember that. I think in a way it was easier at the beginning - when it was just a whirlwind of [hopefully] temporary insanity. The more it all became a reality and the less confident I became in the future of my foot, the scarier and harder it was to deal with.
I was also impatient by Christmas. I remember I wanted to get to rehab SO BAD because I was terrified they would say to me “well if you had been working on this for the past x days, you’d be ok, but since you haven’t, y horrible thing will happen as a result”. And I remember getting frustrated at my family for not insisting that I do the exercises that the hospital therapist had assigned. How dare they, right? J I remember one resident (tangent: did I mention the residents loved getting me up at 4am to “check on me”? grey’s anatomy translation - get ahead of all the other residents by starting your rounds at insane hours and keeping abreast of the good cases. Seriously! I caught one resident from vascular hiding behind the curtain while an ortho resident filled me in on other surgical details) told me it was all just up to me, I couldn’t rely on any of them (docs or therapists) to make me better, I had to just work at it myself. Some of the best advice I remember from UMass Memorial.
After what seemed like at least a college semester (albeit much less fun), I finally moved on to rehab where the battle was OT vs PT. I much preferred PT since I didn’t want to use a tube with a jump rope attached to put on socks, I wanted to be able to put it on my foot by myself! But man, getting there was the most painful part of all of this. Stretching, bah! I can’t remember exactly what the pain was like but I remember almost blacking out multiple times, complaining about it and (jokingly) threatening to punch my therapist! My lack of patience really has been shown to me through this ordeal (in fact, my current PT says it’s why I’ve come so far).
One big lesson I learned at Spaulding was from the neighbor across the hall, George. George was a young guy, maybe 30 or so, a vet. He had stepped on a landmine years before and had been dealing with medical complications ever since. Recently these complications led to the loss of both of his legs. Watching him go through therapy made me remember day after day how close I came to losing a limb. It was sometimes hard for me when people said “you were so lucky!”, because generally I would have preferred someone else’s luck, but it just goes to show that we’re all dealing with something, right? Although I didn’t feel particularly “lucky” so to speak, I certainly was glad to still have my leg. Now months down the road I wonder how many other things I’ve let go out of perspective.
I came a long way at Spaulding but I didn’t want to leave when it was time to go. Although I wasn’t a huge fan of the plastic mattress, I didn’t like the idea of giving up five days of constant physical therapy when I wasn’t better yet. Plus, I worried that moving home would remind me of how different my changed body would feel in my old life. But my dad said it right: “of course finding the new normal doesn’t mean actually arriving at a destination does it?” My roommates (including my mother for a long while!) made the switch bearable and even fun at times. They were all very patient with me as I took over the living room, added a booster seat to the toilet and a chair to the shower, and freaked out every time anyone came within 3 feet of my left foot.
My first month at home seems like forever ago now. Dance parties with Kim as I conquered the stairs, countless episodes of the West Wing, practicing walking by frequenting the mall (and subsequently falling into the trap of retail therapy), learning to live with shoes a size and a half different, slamming my fingers in the car door and crying for an hour even though I didn’t hurt anything, visitors from all over the country, solidifying my sweet tooth, my roommates hosting a pajama party so no one would want to leave and go dancing (since I couldn’t), trying to muster the energy to get back to work, going from two crutches to one to none, gradually conquering the fear of riding in the car and crossing the street… the list could go on.
Then all of a sudden I was ready to try riding my bike. Man, I remember so clearly the day in Spaulding rehab when I made all of the nurses and doctors and therapists listen to Queen’s “I want to ride my bicycle”. It was my goal – I was going to make it happen as soon as possible. Keep in mind at that point my legs weren’t even bending 90 degrees. So mid march I borrowed a good friend and master biker for support, donned my helmet, and went for it. Let me just tell you I cannot explain the happiness that overtook me that day. Not only did my legs bend enough to ride, but I wasn’t afraid of the traffic! We rode on cloud nine.
Slowly but surely I’ve been able to get back to my normal life. Much too slowly if you ask me, but we all know patience isn’t my strongest quality. I couldn’t believe how long it took me to get with it mentally. I thought I would be back to work as soon as I got home from the hospital but it seemed to take forever! I wasn’t sure if it was the pain meds, the fact that I had been out for a while, the general affects of the trauma (whatever that means), or if I was just always that slow and I had never realized it. Very frustrating.
Sorry if I am sounding negative. Many of you have been generous in describing me as strong, resilient, positive. I wish I could say I have been optimistic 100% of the time but those who have had to deal with me on a regular basis (particularly my mother and roommate kim – bless their hearts) know otherwise. I hope to live up to my father’s description: “I would characterize her outlook as positive with a healthy dose of realism”. I’m only trying to manage my expectations. If from the beginning I were anxiously waiting for everything to be back to the way it used to be I would have been in for a lot of disappointment. I realize things are different and I’m working at adjusting… but I can’t say I’ve constantly had a smile on my face.
My biggest challenge even as my legs continued to strengthen and heal was the continued unknown recovery plan for my foot. Some days I would wake up and feel so sad because I knew as soon as I stood up, I’d remember I couldn’t walk without my brace. And then I would get frustrated with myself because “well at least you can walk fine with the brace! Stop being such a baby.” It’s hard to feel like you’re making a big deal about something that in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem like that huge of a deal, but in the moment it just overtakes you. (This can be applied to much less important things as well, of course.) It’s funny, you’d think that breaking both femurs would be more of a big deal than a floppy foot, but the thing is, I knew my legs would get better. With the foot it’s just a constant mystery.
Fortunately, 6 months and one more surgery later I can honestly say I have hope about my foot. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still managing my expectations about it getting completely better, which it probably won’t, but I’m growing more and more content with the way it is healing. I remember the first day it went from no movement to a slight downward motion back in Worcester. Then once I got home from Spaulding it started slightly moving to the right. A week after my most recent nerve surgery it started inching its way left. And finally, just a few weeks ago, I woke up and was able to move it slightly upwards. Shortly after that I was able to get a smaller brace that gives my ankle more wiggle room, and I’m working my way towards getting rid of it all together! (Side note: the day I graduated from brace number one was another cloud nine type experience. I thought I was going to be stuck in that large white cast-like brace for the rest of my life – imagine my thrill when they let me switch to a small black carbon fiber brace which means I can wear my favorite shoes again.)
Of course, it’s always easier looking back. If you could’ve told me on day one exactly when I was going to get better I would have been fine mentally. That’s why even though my legs breaking was a big deal, I wasn’t nearly as phased by it because I knew they would get better. I wonder what my mindset would have been like had the bone not severed the artery and smashed the nerve, leaving my left foot as normal as the right - I’m sure the recovery still would have been traumatic. Again, it’s all in perspective.
I’ve already taken a lot out of this experience and I honestly am curious about all I am going to continue to learn about myself as I continue to heal. I hope that as time goes on I don’t forget the life lessons I’ve been forced to think about. I would love to thank each and every one of you who has impacted my life so positively over the past 6 months, but that would take pages. Please know that I absolutely could not have done it without all of your support. Again and again reading the blog I was reminded of the infallible support from my family. So I’d like to say a special thank you to them. Mom and Dad: I can’t even imagine doing this without you. Your constant support, prayers, phone calls, logistical assistance, long visits – the fact that you have dropped everything for me – means more than I can say.
There are many cliché phrases with which I could finish this, but I’ll leave you (and myself) with this thought: As I lived through the last six months, everything seemed to progress excruciatingly slowly; now, looking back, it seems like a blink of an eye. On the days I feel discouraged I am trying to remember how much progress I’ve made, all the amazing people that have helped me to do so, and the fact that in six more months I’m sure I’ll look back and have accomplished still more.
Thanks for reading!
