Hate

I loathe the word hate.  I loathe anyone who uses it and I forbid it out of my children's mouth.  I always tell them life is what you make it - of course in kid terms.  You can choose to remember the kid at the park that threw sand in your hair or you can choose to remember the kid who you played on the slide with for 40 minutes and you can't stop talking about.  It is their choice.  It is all about choices and what you want to remember and focus on.

I hate my situation.  I really hate this.  It has been a little over six weeks since I haven't hated my situation.  I feel frustrated and traumatized.  On Tuesday I took Emily to her class at the library.  She had to use the potty.  Water had been spilled on the ground just inside the door and I nearly slipped.  I pulled my interior leg muscles which is resulting in a minor set back but my brace protected my knee and prevented my leg from using muscles which could have easily torn apart my newly mended knee cap.  I wanted to find an employee to report the water because my soul would ache to know that anyone goes through this because of water on a floor I didnt report.  But the near fall hurt me and I couldn't muster the strength to find an employee.

One of our favorite people who worked at the place I was injured at hasn't been seen since then - and this is a person we saw weekly before.  I hate to think that something may have happened to him because of me.  I feel hate that he potentially was affected. 

I hate that rather than doing exercises at home I am so exhausted at the start and end of each day that instead I lay in bed and feel pity.

I hate that my sweet and extremely sensitive child is realizing that I won't be going as a volunteer on her first field trip to the pumpkin patch and that I can't bring myself to even admit it to myself.

I hate therapy because I lay there and have positive conversations when in reality I know I will feel like puking 2 hours later.

Mostly though I hate that I can not just stop all this drama and accept what is happening and accept that I need to reconsider my outlook.  I need to focus on the positive.  I need to focus on the amazing breakfast that I had with a friend.  I need to focus on the really cool guy who told me about his sister who had knee replacements.  I need to focus on my husband who is eager to do what needs to be done.  On our family who has kindheartedly not just lined up behind us but is standing at our side. 

I broke my knee and the next year is going to suck.  It will suck horribly bad.  Dear soul, suck it up.  Tonight I will push my will to kick hate to the curb.  I may fail, but damn I will try.

Henry

I met a man at therapy on Monday and saw him again today.  He is rehabbing prior to (hopefully) having duel Knee Replacement surgery.  He is 66 and just got on medicare.  He said he could have done it at 65 but he wanted to wait until he was at full retirement age.  He is knock knee'd (SP?) and possibly flat footed.  He was a truck driver and in '93 had surgery on his meniscus and instead of heading the doctors warnings returned to work after just three weeks vs the recommended six weeks.  He has 4 steps in his house and 3 to get in his front door.  He walks with a cane and judging from his hat loves the Dodgers.  He gave up his chair for me today, even though it pains him just as much to get up and down as it does me.  He is a Veteran.

I never met a Henry that wasn't a great person.    And Henry at therapy is no different.  He is also the second Veteran I have met waiting for knee replacement surgery.

Now I mentioned that Henry needs duel Knee Replacements.  His knees wobble, are boney and bend inward.  They appear swollen but its just the distortion of the bone and the lack of cartilage he has.  Henry didn't get bad knees in the last year...and I was intrigued as to why he was just now starting the process for a replacement and the answer was sad to say the least.  He had started the process many years ago but this brings us back to the Veteran part.  He tried getting appointments and had to drive very far only to be given cortizone shots and told to come back three months later.  Then he was referred to specialist, waited months for appointments only to e given another cortizone shot and sent home.  He said about the age of 63 is began very evident that he wasn't going to get his knees repaired and gave up and idle's for Medicare to kick in.  The minute he got Medicare he got a new dcotor  and starting rehabbing.  He goes three times a week for therapy, the same as I do. 

He admitted today that seeing me scared him and he was starting to worry about the pain after surgery.  I lied and told him it was really only bad for the first few days.  I told him I am sure since he gets to build up his muscles before surgery that his rehab post surgery would likely be much easier.  The therapist doing my magnetic therapy smiled at me.  His smile said "I know you are telling a lie".

The point of this post about Henry is that I am free because of people like him.  Because of the piece he played for our countries safety and freedom.  I fell down, got hurt and got fixed.  He fought for our country, is dealing with the consequences and has been forced to live with it because Veterans have shitty, horrible less than mediocre health care.

I am thankful to Henry.  Too everyone else who signed up to do their part.  I can't do anything to make it better for him, individually.  I can write a letter to the President about Henry, to our Congressional delegates.  You can too.  It won't help Henry, but who knows...its something small.  What else can be done?  I am sincerely asking. 

Confessions

So what is a blog without some confessions.

1)  My children watch TV pretty much all day long.  Yeah, I know.  Don't feel bad, its a period of time that will be a distant memory in a few months.  Or, you do what you have to do.  But any of you who are parents know that while I will say "I know it shouldn't bug me" that it does and will continue to bug me.  It is not what I want but I get that it is not solvable at this time.

2) I had to ask my six year old to sit outside my bathroom door tonight because I stunk and needed a bath.  He didn't even bat an eye and sat dutifully outside the door doing his homework.

3) I peed in the bathtub.  My kids do it all the time....and really the idea of limping over to the toilet and propping myself down after a bath was exhausting.

4) I walked today without crutches for the width of my kitchen and living room.

5) I yelled at my son, the same one who didn't bat an eye when his 33 year old mother asked him to listen out for her.  Talk about way more guilt then number 1.   That in addition to not allowing him to turn in a book order because he has taken to fibbing on the truth.

Back to number four.  I walked.  It resulted in two naps - both two hours long but I walked.  No crutches, only me and my braced leg.  I was able to not only bear all my weight on my leg but was able to use what little muscle I have to move it forward.  The doctor told me this could be possible and was a goal.  Now this does not mean I am healed.   I still can not bend my leg more than 40 degrees nor can I walk without my brace.   Tomorrow I go for an x-ray and with all luck my knee cap will be in perfect position held by its screws and wires.  And perhaps I can move forward with more physical physical therapy.

And onto number 5.  With all phases of parenthood there are challenges.  And with each phase it seems the challenge is increased.  You do not get off with learning from the oldest child and breeze through similar phases with younger children because no child is alike. No two children respond to punishments, encouragements or situations alike.  And its frustrating for any parent.  We all want to check out, take a trip or just step out and take a breath.  I can't wait for the day I can step out again and take a breath.  I know my son can't wait either.

Thirty five days since injury.   Twenty five since surgery which means I am nearly one month into a six to eight month recovery.  Filled with dread, anticipation, and a little fear but hope and a few more smiles. 

I love you...even though you have a broken knee

Mommy, how do you spell "when your broken knee is better can we play outside together"? Sydney said.

The words that spoiled my fragile happy mood.  The day was great yesterday.  There is one special little girl that all my kids love.  A little girl in school with Luke that magically became the first and only friend they all share and love.  Her mom the sweetest person in the world, so easy to speak to and be with.  I confessed to my friend that I had invited her over because she was just so easy going and I knew she wouldn't mind helping serve our kids and watch over mine when I couldn't.  Having a little bit of my life before one month ago in my home was refreshing.  Sadly, not enough of a spirit lift.   

I have this internal debate raging inside me.  Suck it up, move on.  Stop dwelling you are going to drive yourself nuts.  Nothing is going to change this situation so just stop focusing on it.  Live for tomorrow not today or yesterday.  All things I did easily 4 weeks and 1 day ago.  Now bed times come and go and my mood remains sour and pitiful.  The day begins and the minute my achy arms and blistered hand bear weight against my crutch the pity and frustration sets in.  I push through it, struggle to get clothes off hangers and get dressed.  I crutch to the top of the stairs, heave and blink and make my way down.  Crutch down, crutch down, bad leg down, good leg down, breath.  "Down with the bad, up with the good" the physical therapist speaks in my mind.  Like Heaven and Hell.  Down is hell it really is.

And all that aside I feel ready to just give in and just let myself be pitiful and sour.  Let myself cry.  What have I got to lose?  I actually looked on Pinterest for funny memes about shitty days.  There were no results.  There really is nothing funny.  Now, Pinterest results for memes about sadness are plenty.

A little positive for a sad rambling - Mrs. GD, I am doing my best.  One little guy in this world who is learning empathy.  Thank you for reminding me how important it is.

"If you fall down and break your leg don't come running to me!"

One month ago today I went with my husband and our two daughters to grab lunch.  My husband didn't want to go but I pushed him.  It would be fun to get out with just our girls since our son was in school all day.  The memories, the smells and the events are still burning in my memory.  After ordering we sat down at a table I am sure we have sat at many times before.  Sydney spilled her drink under the table we sat out and I groaned in frustration.  But, I got up and walked over and re-filled her drink and went over for a new straw and that is when I slipped and fell.  There was nothing grand about it.  I wasn't up a ladder.  I wasn't on my cell phone.  I wasn't distracted. I am certain that it took less than two seconds from the time I realized I was falling until I was on the floor but I remember praying in my mind and feeling dread and naturally embarrassment.  And then, I landed. 

I remember the face of the little boy sitting at the table closest to me.  He was eating a hotdog with his mom (or maybe grandma - some maternal figure).  I remember a man walking by with a cart full or water and toilet paper on his way for lunch I am sure.  I feel like I remember so much for such a short moment, blip even, of time.  And then I looked down and saw my knee.  I knew immediately that my life was shattered - figuratively and literally.  A lady screamed our Lords name as she looked at me.  I screamed - or maybe yelled for Justin to please come over multiple times and when he did I told him to call 911.  I covered myself with my dress because that boy was eating just right there.  The lady continued to scream the Lords name in prayer followed by calmer moments.

Justin called 911 as I instructed but had no clue what I had hid under my dress.  He said he thought there was a slip and fall and requested an ambulance.  I told him that it was bad, really bad and lifted my dress.  Emily ran over.  I never cried.  I asked the lady who was repeating Lord to please take my girls back to the table and when Emily was back over the table Justin rejoined them.

My lower leg was parallel to my upper leg.  I have since learned that the patella (knee cap) is connected to muscle.  If the bone breaks, the muscle jolts the bones attached to it into new positions.  I had a visible sunken hole in my knee.

Next I will describe to you what happens when the human body lacks oxygen.  I was essentially having  a panic attack.  No tears, but I was breathing quick, shallow and my fingers began to seize up.  I couldn't control my fingers.  They bent up into a witch like shape and were essentially frozen.  Enter distinct memory number three.  A nurse.  She knelt near me.  Urged me to take deep breaths and explained I was going to pass out.  She told me how strong I was and how any other person would be sobbing and screaming.  I told her I couldn't be upset because my girls were there and that boy was still sitting there with his mom.  I shifted my focus to his mom - please take him to another table.  She didn't look at me but she did point to something over in the other direction diverting his attention.  The nurse told me my girls were great and they were excited to see the fire trucks.  I knew she was lying but I didn't let myself even consider that it was a lie.

Finally the fire department arrived, followed by the paramedics and they finally moved that boy and his mom away.  Justin took the girls to the car and I let go.  My blood pressure was very low, my memory starts getting fuzzy.  I told them how painful it was but they told me I wasn't stable enough to give pain medication.  They gave me oxygen, fluids through IV and eventually morphine.  Next they had to get me onto a gurney.  I was in a sitting position, my leg literally snapped in half.  They would not even consider moving my leg so two got behind me, three in front of me and they lifted me up and onto the gurney, wheeled me to the ambulance and finally, I cried.

The gravity of this was immediately obvious to me.  I know nothing about broken legs or knees but I knew I had one or the other.  I knew I wouldn't be walking  out of that hospital in a few hours.  I knew for a fact I wouldn't be walking period for a long time.

The lady in the ambulance had a dog.  A pit-lab mix.  She took out her cell phone and showed me pictures of her baby.  The dog was beautiful.  She was just over a year old.  I wish I remembered her name.

It has been thirty days and I can recall so many details that occurred during a traumatic time.  I can small the food.  That boy, the pit-lab mix.  The man with the water and toilet paper.

I have nightmares about falling.  Slipping.  I dream about walking.  And my typical optimistic outlook is fractured by many thoughts of doubts.  I feel gratitude and blessings only to have those thoughts retreat minutes later to depression and fear and anger. 

So I will re-purpose this blog for my ultimate challenge.  Restoring what I am afraid I have lost - my positive outlook.