Tears of Joy

Last Friday I had my 6 week post op appointment. My hope was that the new X-ray would should healing of the fracture and that maybe I could start putting a little bit of weight bearing on the crutches. I was nervous to hear that the fracture, again, wasn't healing.

Healing was on my side! The surgeon and his intern came in with huge, meaningful smiles on their faces. They said my fracture was healing really well. I asked him if he was just saying that. Partly out of being a smart ass and partly because over the last year I have rarely received good news about my hip recovery after a difficult surgery.

They placed my new X-rays on the light screen to show me the good news.

The circled area was an X-ray taken 10 days after surgery. You can see a dark shadow of a line that travels all the way past the middle screw.  That is my fracture. The second photo was at 6 weeks post op, with an arrow pointing to damn near the only part of the fracture left to heal. It's filling in nicely!

He then informed me that I could ditch the crutches while around the house, unless my hip felt tired or sore, but to use them when I am out and about. I repeated what he said to make sure I was hearing that correctly, that I could walk, crutch free around home after only 6 weeks? My first surgery left me on crutches for over 4 months, and a painful limp ever since. 

He told me he was signing me up for physical therapy to help strengthen my right leg muscles. I haven't used them in 6 weeks and they were violated twice during surgeries. He said I should be goden by Christmas. My husband and I exchanged giddy hand shakes with each doctor and they left the room.

I immediately started sobbing tears of joy. I've heard about crying tears of joy, but besides being a little teary eyed when my son won his super bowl, or when I saw my step daughter on stage for her first tap recital, I had no experience of real life tears of joy.

I was sobbing uncontrollably. My hands covered my mouth as I stated at Louie sobbing. It wasn't about being able to walk after 6 weeks of crutches. It was about healing and better to walk so soon. It was about experiencing progress after experiencing over 14 months of pain and disappointment. 

Louie took my crutches from me and asked if I'd like to try taking a few steps to him. I cried harder and blubbered the words "I'm scared!". He held out his hand to me and with my very weak leg, I waked a few steps into the safest place I know, Louie's arms. He held me there with a comforting grip while I cried some more. 

I couldn't stop crying, and I didn't want to! These tears of joy were intoxicating. All the emotions I had went through or held onto the past year were flooding out of my soul with one, long, 10-minute sob-fest of happiness. 

I looked for the doctor to give him a hug but he was on to the next patient. I'll be seeing him again in two months, hopefully with more good news and more tears of joy, although I'm not sure I can top that last one.

I went from having a painful fracture, to having a painful surgery with a painful recovery. The hardware fixated to my bone was large, painful and invasive to my life.

This was the first hardware I had put in. The fracture is circled and never united.

This piece kept me from sitting long, walking long, standing long, including not sit certain ways at all. It was painful to drive as it dug into my muscle with every left turn and ached horribly while sitting still and having my foot on the gas pedal. 

My new surgeon removed the hardware, fixated new screws, 3 of them in an inverted triangle, and filled up the gaps from the old hardware with a special bone cement.

A much smaller incision, less brushing, no infection, smooth and steady recovery.

There are screw holes left in my demure that are expected to close in about 2 more months. 

This bad boy below is out, and for now I carry it around in my purse until I decide what to do with it. It symbolizes so much for me and I'm happy to hold it my hand instead of my hip.

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.