Taking a Stand..Or Not.

As Thanksgiving approaches,  I am taken back to a Thanksgiving day that challenged my thankfulness. A day I had great promise for, and then, great disappointment. It was the first time in this journey I felt defeated. If you don't know where it all began, please start HERE.

 The journey continues... HERE.

Which brings me to the day before Thanksgiving, 1997...

A day I had been looking forward to... sort of.

The day I was hopefully getting the pins removed from my left foot and told I could start rehab. I was nervous...anxious, but excited.  I knew this was the first step to finding my way back. Yes, this would  literally be my first step to recovery.

The first thing was removing the pins. Do you KNOW how they remove the pins?  With a set of PLIERS...NO numbing agent..just grab on and YANK those suckers out! Now, the doctor reassured me it wouldn't hurt. I didn't believe him. Seriously, how could it NOT hurt? Well guess what..he was right. I mean he tugged pretty hard to get them out and there was some blood, but no pain...NONE!

Then, he told me what I had been waiting over two months to hear...I could put weight on that foot. I could start rehab.  I could STAND!

I went home elated, but I had already made up my mind that I wasn't going to stand that day. No, I was going to wait until the following day...THANKSGIVING.  What could be more poignant than standing for the first time on Thanksgiving day? It would be perfect.

And then...it wasn't.

I had been waiting for this day...longing for it, really. I had remained positive for months.  Even through the torturous obstacles my body had put me through to get here, I remained steadfast and it was going to pay off.

As the house filled with the smells of Thanksgiving I became more and more anxious. I was ready to stand, if only for a few seconds. I was ready to give thanks for my family, my doctors and nurses who had gotten me this far. I had the whole thing rehearsed in my head. I knew I was still a long way from being "OK", but it was the first step and I was going to beam with thankfulness.

I sat up slowly..positioning myself so that I could swing my legs off the edge of that hospital bed. My husband at my side, I took a deep breath and....

NOTHING.

I sat there, unable to lift myself to a standing position.  Even with the help of my husband I couldn't budge. I looked at him, dumbfounded. My dad stepped in to help..still, NOTHING.  Then, my brother...three big men and still, I COULD NOT STAND! It felt as though I weighed a million pounds, and this leg... this foreign-looking twig of a leg was useless in supporting me.

My heart sank.

My eyes filled with tears, and for the first time, I broke down.  For the first time, I could no longer see the light at the end of this very long tunnel.  All I could see was darkness. At that moment, I could find no reason to be thankful.

I hadn't even considered that when the doctor gave me permission to stand, it would not necessarily  mean that I COULD stand. I had a lot yet to learn about this journey. It was going to be a battle and I was finding out that my biggest obstacle would be myself. Physically, mentally and emotionally I would be challenged at every turn.

I had a lot to be thankful for that day..I just wouldn't realize it until much later.

BROKEN...AND THE IMPORTANCE OF 3:00 A.M.

This is about the next step in my journey. I wrote about where it started here. This is the next piece of the puzzle in making me whole again. 





Broken.

That's all I knew.  Medicine masked the pain, for now. Traction held my leg in place, for now.

But broken isn't dead.  Broken can be fixed.  So broken wasn't THAT bad...... right?

 Everyone told me it could have been so much worse. I knew they were right, but that somehow made me feel guilty for complaining.  What right did I have to feel bad when there were others whose crosses were so much greater to bear?

So I didn't.  At least not out loud. I put on a smile the best I could when others came to visit. I wanted to make THEM feel comfortable. So when they would tell me how lucky I was, I would just lay there, smiling and agree.

But I didn't feel lucky.

I felt...pain.  I felt...depressed.  I felt....angry.  I felt...BROKEN.

I was independent and stubborn and now I had to rely on others for everything....EVERYTHING!

My family was incredible, my husband NEVER complained.  Their lives too were turned upside down, caring for me 24 hours a day.  It was either that or be sent to a nursing home and I couldn't stomach the thought of that.  I just couldn't.

So around the clock I had people with me. Asking if I was okay.  Asking if I needed anything. Jumping to my bedside if I let a moan escape my lips...wanting so desperately to make it better. If only they could.

3:00am quickly became my favorite time of the day. It was quiet...still.  No one was hovering...no one was trying to fix anything.  I love my family so much, but I needed that time.  I needed to know that if I had to turn over or scratch an itch that I could figure out how to do it for myself. It was something small, but it was so important in the healing.  Not the healing of my body, but the healing of my mind...my soul.

I wasn't prepared for the recovery.  I wasn't prepared for everything ELSE that came with healing.

I thought it was all about the broken bones, the ruptured tendons, the stapled skin.  I could endure those things.  Time would heal those things and everything would be fine, right.

I didn't understand it would be more.  So much more.

While the injuries healed, my body would rebel in ways I wasn't prepared for. The human body wasn't meant to be without activity.  It wasn't meant to lie in a bed for months without there being consequences.

Nerve pain and atrophy set in. Pleurisy attacked my lungs. Bodily functions, we take for granted, stopped working. All of these things were consequences and complications that added to the difficult and painful road to recovery.

 I tried to stay positive. I tried to hang on to the knowledge that no matter what lied ahead I WOULD survive it.  I would be a stronger person in the end...a better person.

I longed for the day that rehab could begin.  I knew it would be hard...painful.  (although I COMPLETELY underestimated how hard) I also knew that it would mark the first steps in regaining my power. The first steps in reclaiming myself.

Yes, I longed for that day.  Until then, I would try to find pleasure in the little things....like 3:00am.