The Fall Without Grace
Shortly
after my last post, I felt I was almost, kind of, sort of, officially
recovered when my
surgeon removed the last of my drains. It had been almost two months
since the surgery and even though the drain numbers weren't where they
were supposed to be, we agreed that it was time to give up. I know, you
are all shocked that once again,
my body was not responding in the way that other patients' bodies
typically respond. After
three surgeries together, my doctor and I have finally come to terms
with the fact that I “just don’t drain like a normal person”. His
words, not mine.
The
removal of that last drain helped me achieve a sense of psychological
healing I had yet to experience in this process. Sure, I knew I’d be
having surgery again in three months, but for the first time I was
feeling a sense of normalcy. No, it was better than normalcy, I was
feeling motivated, even ambitious. I worked on projects around the
house, I started wearing makeup and jewelry again, and I took care of
administrative issues that had been buried under cancer excuses. I took
down the kid’s art wall and all of the get well cards. We started to
socialize more. We hosted our first firepit s’mores night of the
season. We had the audacity to enjoy life again.
It
was in this spirit that we headed to our friends’ house for a night of
grilling. I even made two pies. Okay, so I bought pre-made crusts and
fillings
and combined the two, but that’s still more effort than just buying a
pie. We were excited to see the renovations our friends had recently
completed on their
house, and were looking forward to spending time with their 3 little
girls and brand new puppy.
And then I fell.
I
don’t want to go into the details, but just know that I bit it…hard. In
fact, I experienced one of my greatest falls of all time, and that’s
including the time I fell down the steps of a congressional office
building in front of a congressman, in the rain. Another story for another day.
“Call
911!” It’s surprising how quickly the patient knows the extent
of the
damage while others hesitate, analyze and discuss the matter. Maybe
it's not that serious, they say. Well, since I've never seen my ankle,
or anyone else's, at that particularly alarming angle, I'm pretty sure
that we should “CALL
911!!!!!” I think swearing was implied. Jason was at my side immediately. He even had the
sense to remove my anklet before my ankle swelled into a cankle. Good tip for those of you planning an ankle injury.
It
was an intense pain, unlike anything I have ever experienced. I know a lot of
people, including children, who have broken bones. Not one of them
complained nearly as much as they had the right to complain. Have
you ever been asked to describe how much pain you are experiencing on a
scale of
1-10? I have been asked that question a lot in the last year and a
half. I always
though it was an arbitrary way of gauging pain; my 10 could be your 7. I
was wrong; there is an objective 10 and now we’re on a first name
basis. For the rest of my life, all pain will be compared to that
particular moment. But that’s not why I was crying. Did I mention I was
crying? And screaming.
Anyway,
the reason I was crying was because I realized that one small
stupid misstep would set us back for months in so many ways. I wouldn’t
be able to help around the house or work on the renovations. I couldn’t
actively seek employment. I
wouldn’t be able to make dinner or pack Jason’s lunch. I
wouldn’t be able to get my driver’s license which I had been working
toward for weeks. Instead I would go back to needing help for
everything, like rides to doctor’s appointments and running errands.
I’d need
Jason to help me go up and down the stairs, to shower, to get dressed...
pretty
much everything, except for limping to and from the bathroom with the
help of my walker. I’ve got that one mastered, although frankly it's
exhausting.
The English Major Patient
As
you can imagine, I was not the ideal patient. I don’t
even know where I learned some of the swears I hurled at the EMTs who
lifted me out of the basement on a stretcher.
“You
are squeezing my f***ing ankle! Why the f*** are you doing that? Why
would you f***ing do that to me? What the f*** is wrong with you?” Later
when a resident had the gall to set my ankle, I actually just dropped f
bombs for about ten minutes straight. I'm not exaggerating, ask
Jason. It even got a little sing songy at points.
Anyone
who tried to take my wallet out of my back pocket so they could see my ID
risked having their hand bit off. As is my nature, I did periodically pause to posit
absurd questions.
“F***! Sh**! Where's Jason? How’s my mascara? It’s new and they said it was waterproof and smudgeproof."
“Actually, it’s really holding up...I mean, considering.”
“Really? That's great. Thanks. Where was I? Oh yeah, MORE PAIN MEDICINE!!!”
At
one point a nurse suggested that it might just be dislocated. This led
to a discussion of the film Best of the Best and to me doing what I am
sure was an excellent Eric Roberts impression "Pop it, POP IT Tommy, Pop it!"
For
the next several hours I had countless conversations with doctors,
nurses, and technicians. A little bit of medical talk, a little bit of
bullshit, and always a request for more pain medicine. I also kept asking everyone for mints. My breath was terrible and I felt a little self-conscious.
Eventually,
they put me in a splint (picture a cast missing the front section, and
completely wrapped in
ace bandages). The x-ray report came back; I had broken 3 bones in my
ankle and
had 3 additional fractures in my foot. Just to be clear, I broke all
the bones you can break in your ankle. My foot was no longer attached
to my leg by bones. Want to make sure that's real clear. Sort of like
that time Harry Potter broke his arm playing quidditch and Kenneth
Branaugh screws it up almost as bad as his marriage to the incomparable
Emma Thompson. So, I would definitely need
surgery, but not that night. They needed the swelling to go down on the
tree trunk that had replaced my ankle before they could operate.
Another round of x-rays and drugs and just like that, 7 hours later, we
were on our way home.
If you live on our street and happened to peek out your window at 4:00 AM that Sunday
morning, oh what a sight you would have seen. Jason had to drag me up a
small flight of concrete stairs, up a path, another flight of concrete
stairs and through the front door. Inside the house we somehow made it
up the steps and into the bedroom. It was awful, but we were both
so tired we persevered and I barely remember how we got it done.
In
the following days we adjusted to our new situation. Jason replaced my
nightstand with a
small fridge. By keeping
it stocked with food and drinks I was able to be a little more
independent and slightly less annoying. So Jason could be downstairs,
out in the yard or next door, we started using the walkie talkies we
bought for this purpose when I had my first surgery. I noticed J keeps
forgetting to take his with him. Strange.
Two
weeks later I had surgery on my ankle. This was, without a doubt, the
most horrific medical
experience I have faced in my entire life. I'm not talking about the
surgery, I was blissfully unconscious for that. I'm talking about my
treatment before surgery. I do not want to
discuss it in any detail because it was so upsetting. I will say this: I
do wish all medical professionals would really think about what they
are doing.
Your patients are human beings, not items on a to do list you have to
complete before heading home. Perhaps you shouldn't force a patient to
go without food or drink for 18 hours, while filling her stomach with
pain medicines, and then bombard her with terrible news, for example. I
strongly believe that when you
mistreat patients you should be forced to undergo the exact same
treatment…twice...and harder.
Things
were so bad that Jason had to call for backup. My
amazing sister immediately got in her car and drove up from Raleigh
that night to meet us after my surgery.
Again we struggled to get me inside the house and up to bed and again I
barely remember. Two days
later my sister took me back to North Carolina with her, so I could
recuperate
at my parents’ house. They have a guest room and full bath on the first
floor, so it would, in theory, be easier for me. Plus, it would give
Jason a break from his role as caregiver. He'd earned two weeks off
after being on call for a year and a half. He spent half of the time I
was away with a terrible cold. The universe better have something
really good planned for this man.
Lessons Learned
I
learned how to use a
wheelchair and I got to spend a lot of time with my parents and my
amazing six year-old niece. She
likes pushing me around in the chair, but she can’t actually see where
she’s going over my head.
The walls of my parents’ house will never be the same. After my two
weeks at the Dansky Assisted Living Facility, Jason came to retrieve me
so I could meet with my doctors and return to my second floor
lair.
The
doctors are happy with my progress and switched me from the splint to a
boot. It is what
it sounds like, a giant black plastic boot. There’s also a lot of Velcro
involved. Super comfortable for sleeping. Duct tape your leg to a small
plastic trash bin and you'll see what I mean.
I’ll start physical therapy soon and in about three weeks I should be
able to start walking, sort of. I am going to have some gnarly scars,
but since
I’ve already started a collection, I don’t mind that much. I’ve gotten
better at
hopping around. I even changed the sheets the other day. It was one of
the most physically demanding things I’ve ever done. Today I cleaned
the bedroom and I can tell you that one-legged vacuuming is the new hot
yoga.
This
experience has made me realize something very important. People with
physical disabilities do not complain nearly enough. This world is
incredibly difficult to navigate without the use of a leg. I cannot
imagine how anyone spends an entire life facing these obstacles. I am
humbled by people who deal with these issues every day of their lives.
I
think everyone should break a bone or two at some point in their
lives.
It would do everyone some good to see the world from the perspective of a
person living with a disability. Not on purpose. Please do not go out
and break something of yours or
anyone else’s. Just let it happen naturally. It is an incredible
learning experience.
I
learned one other thing. Life is way too dangerous. Lots of people who
survive diseases like
cancer come out of the experience with a new perspective on life, and
I’m no exception. Life is precious, so put it
in a safe place and keep it heavily guarded. Like in a safe room or
something. Some people go bungie
jumping or deep sea diving or climb a mountain to show their
appreciation for life. Not me. I left the
house for dinner and now I haven't seen my own kitchen in almost two
months because I can't physically get there. For the
rest of my life I will have problems with my ankle, not to mention the
handful of hardware currently keeping my foot attached to my leg. It
looks like an Ikea bookshelf that has been moved too many times. Screws
and nails everywhere. When this is over I
don’t want to waste another minute of my life being sick or
incapacitated, so I am going
to avoid risk at all costs. Jason has suggested getting me a giant
hamster ball or making me a suit out of bubble wrap. Other suggestions
are welcome. They say most
accidents occur within 5 miles of the home. Fine, I’ll stay at a
hotel six miles from our house.
If
some day Jason and I get to have something that even remotely resembles
a normal life, I may reconsider my position on risk. I'd love to be
that couple that goes camping and hiking, or maybe just the couple that
goes for walks on dry days on very flat surfaces wearing shoes with a
lot of traction. For now, I think it's best we play it safe and then
maybe, if I'm really lucky, one day I'll get to write a blog about how
absolutely nothing has happened lately.
