Recovery

Here I am again, in post op recovery. I cannot tell you how many people, nurses included, have asked how in the world I got this injury. Typically it is an "old person" injury. Just to clear the air, I ended up with a stress fracture on my hip at age 23. All I know is that I was loading a moving truck with friends because I was moving home to Tracy from Los Angeles the next day. That evening I had a painful limp. After discussing it with my ready to party friends, we decided it would be best to drink it off and continue on with the farewell Jenny escapade.

The pain was intermittent so I ignored it for the next 8 years. I would randomly be in horrible sharp pain in my groin area, causing me to limp. After a while it would stop, so I never worried about it.

After having three kids, and the extra weight that accompanied that, the pain began to occur more frequently. Once I found out it was actually a stress free acture, I declined a bone grafting surgery. My thoughts were that A. That sounded really intense. B. I had a newborn baby. C. Even though the pain was happening more often, it still wasn't on a daily basis. I declined surgery and went on with my life and my hip fracture. Nber receiving or investigating any further information and dangers of my injury.

Within the next two years I started running. My beautiful red headed Pitbull, Dolly and I ran together. We were partners. It was a new form of release for me. All my thoughts could rush through my mind but for some reason, while running, they didn't burden me. They weren't heavy objects perched on my shoulders or chest. They were light and fleeting and they flowed through me and danced around the rolling hills that was my scenery. I could easily abandon any thought at any time just by focusing on my breathing and the way my body was in a magical rhythm of respiratory, muscular and skeletal function. Never had I been able to calm my thoughts and worries so well without there being a glass of wine, a nap, or meditative state involved. It was great. It was free, it was healthy, and it was all mine.

I wasn't a hardcore runner. Dolly and I probably jogged about  a mile and half to two miles a few days a week. I wasn't in it for distance or making great time. I did shoot to improve my time with each run, but as long as I was enjoying it and it was doing something for me, I was satisfied. 

Before my first surgery in July 2013, I had to stop running. The pain became too much to tolerate, even on the treadmill. 

When I think about my first surgery, I still feel angry and cheated, a bit defeated even. I've come a long way in how I feel but I still have some accepting and moving on to do. 

I can say that it was hard. It was so hard! I was a mess leading up to it, not knowing what to expect, not having all my questions answered, knowing my husband would be off to work and I would be home alone. I wasn't even sure how much help I needed, or what I needed help with, or if I would need help at all! How long would I need to arrange a ride for my kids to get to and from school? Could I handle my busy 2 year old on my own during the day? Could I put aside my stubbornness and call on my beautiful friends for help and support? I was an anxious mess until the moment I went under in the operating room.

I didn't know that I would wake up with an 11 inch incision down my thigh and be in the most intense pain of my life, even after numerous doses of various pain medications. It took hours to manage the pain and it was difficult to keep that management steady. The hospital stay was somewhat of a pained blur. I was in no shape for visitors. Only my husband came. 

The universe gifted me an abundance of love and help from many friends and family. I started to stress after a while though. I felt guilty and uncomfortable with how long I needed to ask for help. Especially with rides to school. I know how challenging it can be to get your own kids dressed and out the door in time, then add to the task leaving earlier to go out of the way to grab my kids too? My big-hearted friend, Angela Bodas was my school transportation angel for almost 8 weeks. I tried driving at 6 weeks but it was still too painful. This was a big learning lesson on asking for the help I needed and accepting it. I had a friend come and clean, a friend who drove me to get lab work and take my kids for a while, a friend who came and made me a nice breakfast. It's amazing what a nice little breakfast will do for your spirit. I couldn't have done it without them all and their helpful hearts.

I was on crutches for about 3 months and limped around for the next year until my next surgery. The whole thing was a fail. My fracture was worse than before and the barbaric hardware drilled into my bone was almost a constant irritant. 

I can say that this second surgery is already a better experience. I had the utmost confidence in my surgeon, I went in knowing what to expect, and having all my questions answered. All of the above were forms of comfort. I also knew that my husband would have time off of work. That means for at least the first month he could take our kids to school, run errands, and be with me at home. 

There was a calmness this time. I had the normal amount of nervousness and fear that most would have before a major surgery, but I knew things would work out. I was completely calm in the operating room before going under. 

Waking up in recovery was like night and day in comparison to last year. My pain was managed and I found myself conversating with the recovery nurse about short haircuts and how cute hers was. I was happy and talkative. There was a light magical feeling to it all. Last time was nothing but tears of pain.

I was put in a newer observation area for my first nights stay rather than my own room on the ortho floor. 

This was quiet and relaxing. There were only three patients and two wonderful nurses.  The next afternoon I was moved to my own room on the ortho floor. Although it was nice to have walls instead of curtains, have a phone and a tv (which I didn't even use), it was loud and chaotic. It took longer to get nurses help due to how many patients were in need and it was noisy. However, the stay as a whole was great. You are not aloud to get out of bed until a physical therapist comes to assist you. This didn't happen until my second day. I was very mobile but it was exhausting. I took advantage of all the quiet time there. I didn't end up touching my knitting or my book. I did do some writing. 

I actually remember coming home this time. Louie got me all set up, my mom had stayed at my home to help with the kids and the house while I was away.  It was quiet and relaxing. Mom made tacos and I ate up all my kids attention. We had missed each other sentimentally the past few days.

My wonderful friends, once again flew around with capes on their backs. Planning meals, offering rides, checking in with thoughtful texts, play dates, we have 2 weeks of meals being delivered, and even offers to help Louie take the little guy to preschool so that he can just worry about the older two, plus help getting to football when we have to be in two places at once.  We couldn't be more grateful. I feel loved and cared for. I feel honored to have such giving people in our lives. 

I haven't done a whole lot of visiting and I apologize to those of you I haven't gotten  back to. As great as I feel compared to last time, I tire easily. I'm using a walker with no weight bearing allowed, it's a lot of work. The medicine, pain, and healing is just plain exhausting. I've been babying  this recovery so that it can turn out right this time. I haven't even left the house and our plan is that I won't until I go to my post op on Friday. Last time I tried so hard to be places and do things but it was too much.

Already there is no bruising, no infection, and minimal swelling.

I have to share that my husband, Louis, has been amazing. He is doing the school drop offs and pick ups, he is preparing breakfast and lunch for him and I, he is keeping up the house, he is getting the kids up and ready for school every morning and out the door promptly at 7:30am. He makes sure homework is done, he is doing laundry, he is keeping my gigantic water jug filled with fresh water all day, he is making sure I have everything I need, he is giving me shit when he thinks I'm putting weight on my right foot, he is not letting me get away with trying to do too much. He is here and he is attentive. He also will randomly surprise me with a burrito (I would never marry a man who would not do this).

So recovery this time is better. It feels quiet and calm. It feels patient and it right. It actually feels healing. Last time it was uncertainty and pain and worry. 

So thank you friends, for making this recovery feel simplistic and for shining light on the darkness of the last one. 

You are all little angels in my book and I love you dearly.