I wrote this entry a long time ago, before I had six weeks of hives from a medicine allergy. In fact, I wrote it the night before I woke up with the reaction. I remember thinking it was sort of funny that I had such a positive outlook about the healing process only twelve hours before misery. But I digress.
As I get myself set to return to work tomorrow, I revisit this entry, and find that even after the challenges, countless tests, and a variety of doctor visits (all without a diagnoses, by the way), this entry rings true. And so, we begin.
I think most of you know that 2013 couldn't possibly come fast enough for me. I welcomed it knee first after slipping on a dreadful patch of ice up on the slopes of Whiteface Mountain. And when I do something, folks, I really do it. Much like the year I was racing to forget about, I wasn't able to just get up and walk off the pain. Instead, I had to lean on (literally) Pepper and the EMTs to get me down the mountain. Then, I leaned on Nani and Lil M to get me to the hospital. And, well, I won't list the long laundry-list full of other people I've had to depend and lean on since that stupid patch of ice.
After seven weeks of working from home, physical therapy, and serious cabin fever, I found myself headed into surgery for a torn ACL (and some other minor things my surgeon took care of for me.) The recovery sucked. I mean, listen, it just did. Actually, it still does.
A few days after surgery, my body was on fire from the narcotics I had been taking. I was bored and achey. Until two weeks ago, I couldn't drive myself anywhere, and it was a challenge to even make dinner for myself. But you know, you didn't find me wallowing. Not much anyway. Instead, my friends, I say thank you.
It started out as a joke in physical therapy. I'd start whining that something or another hurt, and The Sadist's disapproving look shut me up. So I started, with a half smile, saying:
Thank you Sadist, for the opportunity to be in pain while I do this today.
No matter how many times I do it, we laugh and laugh. And for a second, I forget whatever it is I'm doing that really sucks. When I remember again, I find myself actually thinking "no really, thank you."
Physically, I have to do these things. Just like trees who consistently endures north winds start to grow
to the side, my broken and battered knee tissue will grow according to the stress I put on it. If I leave it alone, it won't hurt me really, but then I'll be left with something that doesn't really work anymore. So yeah, I guess I should be thankful I have someone to push me out of what's comfortable so that I can have a knee that works for me.
It occurs to me that this entire knee fiasco is the physical version of what made last year hard for me. The initial fall, sure, it hurts, but it's the healing that wears a person out. That healing takes balance, patience, and practice. Last year, you'd likely have found me in my bed because all I needed and wanted was rest. Rest for my body, rest for my mind, rest for my heart. Without interactions, no one could possibly hurt me. But even that took balance. Isolation wasn't my friend either, and so human interaction with people who love me - my Unlikely Friend, LIPA, my work wife, my Oldest Friend, Nani, Swati, Pepper - was an important part of my healing. Just enough to push me, just enough to cause pain, but never enough to do more damage.
I became a person who survived by bending in the wind. Somebody else. Someone so broken by the elements that I wasn't able to see it. That I can see this now is a huge step.
And for that, my friends, I truly am thankful.
Why? Because unlike the tree, I can undo my stinted growth. I can retrain. I have all the rights and power to do whatever I want with my own life.
I feel strangely calm about my physical injuries right now and that's because my mental state is tough and resilient. I get to make all the choices. I get to plan all the futures.
To everyone in my life who has rallied alongside me, thank you for the opportunity to get better. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
As I get myself set to return to work tomorrow, I revisit this entry, and find that even after the challenges, countless tests, and a variety of doctor visits (all without a diagnoses, by the way), this entry rings true. And so, we begin.
I think most of you know that 2013 couldn't possibly come fast enough for me. I welcomed it knee first after slipping on a dreadful patch of ice up on the slopes of Whiteface Mountain. And when I do something, folks, I really do it. Much like the year I was racing to forget about, I wasn't able to just get up and walk off the pain. Instead, I had to lean on (literally) Pepper and the EMTs to get me down the mountain. Then, I leaned on Nani and Lil M to get me to the hospital. And, well, I won't list the long laundry-list full of other people I've had to depend and lean on since that stupid patch of ice.
After seven weeks of working from home, physical therapy, and serious cabin fever, I found myself headed into surgery for a torn ACL (and some other minor things my surgeon took care of for me.) The recovery sucked. I mean, listen, it just did. Actually, it still does.
A few days after surgery, my body was on fire from the narcotics I had been taking. I was bored and achey. Until two weeks ago, I couldn't drive myself anywhere, and it was a challenge to even make dinner for myself. But you know, you didn't find me wallowing. Not much anyway. Instead, my friends, I say thank you.
It started out as a joke in physical therapy. I'd start whining that something or another hurt, and The Sadist's disapproving look shut me up. So I started, with a half smile, saying:
Thank you Sadist, for the opportunity to be in pain while I do this today.
No matter how many times I do it, we laugh and laugh. And for a second, I forget whatever it is I'm doing that really sucks. When I remember again, I find myself actually thinking "no really, thank you."
Physically, I have to do these things. Just like trees who consistently endures north winds start to grow
to the side, my broken and battered knee tissue will grow according to the stress I put on it. If I leave it alone, it won't hurt me really, but then I'll be left with something that doesn't really work anymore. So yeah, I guess I should be thankful I have someone to push me out of what's comfortable so that I can have a knee that works for me.
It occurs to me that this entire knee fiasco is the physical version of what made last year hard for me. The initial fall, sure, it hurts, but it's the healing that wears a person out. That healing takes balance, patience, and practice. Last year, you'd likely have found me in my bed because all I needed and wanted was rest. Rest for my body, rest for my mind, rest for my heart. Without interactions, no one could possibly hurt me. But even that took balance. Isolation wasn't my friend either, and so human interaction with people who love me - my Unlikely Friend, LIPA, my work wife, my Oldest Friend, Nani, Swati, Pepper - was an important part of my healing. Just enough to push me, just enough to cause pain, but never enough to do more damage.
I became a person who survived by bending in the wind. Somebody else. Someone so broken by the elements that I wasn't able to see it. That I can see this now is a huge step.
And for that, my friends, I truly am thankful.
Why? Because unlike the tree, I can undo my stinted growth. I can retrain. I have all the rights and power to do whatever I want with my own life.
I feel strangely calm about my physical injuries right now and that's because my mental state is tough and resilient. I get to make all the choices. I get to plan all the futures.
To everyone in my life who has rallied alongside me, thank you for the opportunity to get better. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
