I hate those arrogant ‘update’ blogs. As if the world is waiting, on the edge of their seat, to learn the fate of that once frequent blogger who mysteriously went AWOL from the Facebook feed.
But alas…here I lie, tapping away at the keyboard. So much to say… so little of it actually interesting.
It’s been over three weeks since I had surgery to repair a Hamstrng Avulsion. That’s a fancy way of saying I ripped my hamstring muscle clean off the pelvic bone. Damn, that hurt.
The surgeon made about a six inch incision across the back of my buttocks in the seam where my booty meets my thigh. They drilled some holes in my pelvis, fished around inside my leg until they found the run-away muscle and zip-tied it back to the bone. I crutched out with instructions to go home, lie down, and don’t move a muscle for six weeks. Minimum.
And so I have been here on this twin bed we shoved in the corner of the cabin. Twice I’ve ventured out and both times ended up back on pain pills. Summer has left us; the leaves are crisp and yellow. It has rained for eleven days straight. Still, I’m here, until the ground freezes.
I’m three weeks from my first goal and it couldn’t come sooner. Then I can slowly ease back onto my feet, begin physical therapy, and eventually all this will be behind me. (that’s right, I said ‘behind’ me…)
I have to say, a few things have surprised me about these weeks on my back:
Muscles, when not used, deplete very, very quickly.
I’ve never broken anything before. Never been laid up for more than a few days with the flu and until now, I couldn’t remember the last time I napped. My leg is pretty well useless already, thin and shapeless. I’ve always been proud of my strength and muscle tone. Even when I’m chubby, my legs still look good and I rarely lack the strength to do whatever I want. But in just the seven weeks since my original injury, I’ve lost it all. Such a good lesson in ‘use it or lose it’ and I hope I gain a new motivation for keeping my body in shape when all of this is over.
Injury to the body affects the mind.
I’m not a crier. I rarely react emotionally to any situation. My older kids tell me I’m dead inside and I’ve a reputation for being a bit nonchalant about emotional subjects to say the least. But I’m telling you, lying here all these weeks, staring at the ceiling with nothing to do but think…I’ve cried more than I had in my previous 43 years combined. It’s not pity, I don’t think. Well, maybe partly it is.
I’m intent on getting off this bed if for no other reason than I will be able to once again run from my emotions. In all seriousness though, it has been eye opening to get a teensy-tiny taste of what some folks go through. Knowing my injury is temporary, it’s been difficult to remain emotionally intact. If this were a permanent injury keeping me down…well, I’m just not sure I’m a strong enough person to handle it. Kudo’s to those who do.
My children are saints. (All but one anyway…)
There’s a failure in the chain of command when the leader goes down and soldiers are sent scrambling in unknown territory. Suddenly those accustomed to being cared for are the ones doing the caretaking. And for the most part, my kids stepped up. The husband had to go back to work days after my surgery and my kids took over the role of parents. They cooked, cleaned, chopped firewood, tended the farm animals, harvested the garden, kept me fed and alive. My girls shaved my legs, changed a bandage that wrapped well into my nether regions, helped me dress and shower and put up with the aforementioned mood swings from Hell. My small boys were less aggravating than normal and shockingly well behaved 90% of the times. (The other 10% they’ll pay for when I can run again.) Friends and my mom brought meals, paid visits, kept me sane at my lowest points. But it was those kids of mine, trapped in the woods for weeks on end with nobody to drive them anywhere, waiting 24/7 on this cranky mother….that is what impressed me to no end. There is a reward at the end of this long tunnel for those little people who held me together through this difficult recovery.
And so I’m on the road to wellness. These past few days my right leg goes purple from hip to toe each time I get out of bed. Clearly something is wrong yet a trip to the hospital found no blood clots so we assume swelling may be cutting into the blood flow. As long as I stay on my back staring at the ceiling, I’m fine. My neck is kinked as I type this and so you’ll probably not hear from me again until I’m at least able to sit in a chair. Even leaning on a pillow at a slant puts pressure on my healing wound.
I’m going to lay back now and stare at the ceiling some more. I’ll pop in another 80’s movie, open my third bag of caramels, and enjoy the silence that pervades my little cabin as the children have escaped outside between rain showers.
I’ll check back in as my body allows. Thanks to all who read my words, all who wish me well, and even those who don’t. There I go, getting all emotional again. Crap…