They Say Things Will Get Worse Before They Get Better

They say that things are always darkest before the dawn.  And that was never any truer than it was right now.  It’s 4 in the morning, about 43 hours post-op, and the pain is more than unpleasant.  If I was going to rate it, it downright sucks.

The day of surgery, up until Friday evening, I was able to at least put my foot on the ground when I walked with crutches and bear a bit of weight.  My PT even went well Friday morning considering everything my body just experienced 24 hours earlier.  Things seemed well within my grasp.  I was in a positive frame of my mind despite my discomfort because I was finally, FINALLY, on my path to healing – on my path to running again.

That positive frame of mind seemed like eons ago as I laid in my bed in complete darkness.  The pain was more than little intense, and it was hard not to succumb to thoughts even darker than my bedroom.  

While I was unconscious during surgery, a plastic catheter was positioned in my left quadriceps close to the femoral nerve to deliver numbing medicine to my leg to keep the pain away.  I was also taking my pain medicine as prescribed despite my earlier reservations. Despite those pain-killing measures, I was in the most physicalpain I had ever experienced in my entire life.  If this was what the pain felt like with pain killers and my nerve block, how was I going to cope when the numbing medicine wore out in less than 24 hours?!

Before surgery, I was confident I could handle this.  I was so confident that I didn’t even think about short-term disability for my recovery time off.  Ever the cheapskate, I thought I could handle the pain, ditch the painkillers by Saturday and only use two of the precious few vacations days I have at my job – I’ve been here less than a year and am all about conserving

Not only that, but I have $6,900 out-of-pocket max that will need to be paid at some point, so only getting part of my salary while I recover just didn’t seem like much of an option.

This pain was destroying my plan to come back to work on Monday.  This pain had tears springing to my eyes and not just from what I was physically feeling, but from being truly, and utterly, completely scared.  How was I going to help pay our bills?  How long did I have to keep needing Chris to wait on me hand and foot?  How long did I have to need to have Chris doing absolutely everything around the house for himself, me, two very rotten dogs, and one extremely bitchy cat?  How long was I really and truly going to be an invalid?

I pride myself on being able to do it all.  In my head, I’m more than just an average human being, and I expect more physically and mentally from myself in response to how I see myself.  It’s not that I think I’m better than anyone; it’s that I know what I’m capable of.  Knowing my capabilities, I expect way more from myself than I would ever expect from any other person.  So, yes, I hold myself to higher standard in every way, shape, or form possible.

Laying in this bed at this tremendously dark hour made me rethink my abnormally high standards.  Those thoughts then turned into way more than despair as I suddenly realized I wasn’t quite as capable and strong as I wanted to be.  

To know me is to know how competitive I am.  I like to set goals and smash them.  In fact, when Chris and I got COVID-19 in April 2021, my pulse ox value was lower than Chris’s one morning, and I was furious that he would have a better vital sign than me.  If he was a runner like I was, it wouldn’t have been as bad.  But Chris no longer ran, and therefore, wasn’t in anywhere near as good of shape as me.  I would absolutely not let his pulse ox be better than mine, and I would get over my COVID-19 faster and in better shape than Chris.

Now, yes, I know it is absolutely ridiculous to think that I was able to control my pulse ox, but I will say this: My pulse always higher for the duration of the time I checked, and I recovered from the virus way better than Chris did – I was running (slowly and half-mile intervals because I did get winded faster) 14 days after my first symptoms.

I can also say that telling me NOT to do something is as good as having me get it done.  As a gymnast, bars soon became my favorite event the higher up I got in the levels.  I loved swinging around them and defying gravity in the process.  To this day, I can honestly say that swinging around the bars and letting go between them is the most freeing, is the closest thing we can get to flying on our own.  I had worked hard on my routine this one particular year.  When my coach asked us to set competition goals, I didn’t hesitate and said to be state bars champion.  He told me I needed to be a little more realistic.

I realize what he was going for when I said that.  Gymnastics is subjective and it isn't always as simple as having the hardest, cleanest routine.  However, I knew what I was capable of, and I knew that if I hit my routine the way I expected to hit, I would win.  No questions asked.

In case you’re wondering, I won state on bars.  I then went onto regionals and placed 10^th on bars with a step on the landing which really disgusted me.  Still, my score was higher than state and I was proud of what I accomplished.

I know my doctor and nurse thought I was insane for wanting to go back to work so soon, but I knew what I was capable of – thought I knew what I was capable of anyway!  But I was apparently oh, so wrong.  It absolutely killed me to be so wrong.

Chris woke up and came in from the living room.  He was sleeping on the couch because he wanted to make sure I had space (and yes, the both dogs are sleeping in this bed with me) and gave me my pain medicine.  With a foggy head, I heard him gently ask how I was doing.  I had cried my asleep at some point after my mini-breakdown.  I told him I was ok, which he knew for the lie it was, but didn't push me any further.  I took the pain medicine from him.   He got the dogs up and outside.  By myself, I took a deep breath and proceeded to do my ankle pumps, quad sets, knee bends, and leg raises from the day before.  It wasn’t easy, but I got it done.  

With my my first round of PT done and the animals fed, Chris came back into the bedroom to help me into the living room.  I still hurt like crazy and couldn't put weight on my foot, but had Chris steer me over to the Romtech for my first session.  The RomTech cycling sessions were not fun and those last 2-minutes of active pedaling really made me work, but I managed 3 sessions that day and was more than happy with that and being able to do my PT three times total that day.

We watched some episodes from the Law Order universe that we saved up for this recovery time together, and I was able to take my mind off of the pain.  I iced my knee a ton and kept doing my ankle pumps - those really did help me feel better.  By afternoon, I was in a better frame of mind, but I was so cold.  I had on my big sherpa over my PJs, and I even had slipper socks on as I sat chilled under the blanket.  I put my arms under my fleece blanket and my little icicle fingers felt an extremely warm leg.  I knew I was a running a fever, so I sent Chris to fetch a thermometer.  It was 100.2°F.  I wasn't alarmed because that does happen after surgery, and after a  Tylenol, I felt my fever break.  

Chris asked how I was holding up on my numbing meds and I realized a couple of things.  The first thing I realized was that I didn't have much left.  The next thing I realized was that I wasn't in as much pain as I had been that morning.  In fact, when Chris helped me up so I could use the bathroom, I could once again put weight on my foot!

Did this mean things were going to start looking up?  Had I put the darkest part of this surgery behind me?  Perhaps.  I really hoped.  But I wasn't going to hold my breath.  I like to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.  I wasn't about to think about anything until tomorrow morning, and then we would go from there.  One day at a time because that's all any of us can really do!