Stubborn Luck

Over lunch today I had someone ask me how my recovery was going. People have been commenting on the fact that I'm in heels, or that I look good since the break, and that it's nice to see me without the walker. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago I was confined to my bed in a ridiculous amount of pain. With the exception of when I first wake up, my limp is almost nonexistent. With the exception of the one-inch scar on my thigh, you'd never know I have three freakishly large pins holding my femur together.

"You made it look so easy, you handled it so well."

Did I? I don't think I did. I think I threw a fit the first night I was home. I distinctly remember throwing a pillow while crying because I was in pain and couldn't sleep. I remember taking my first shower, sitting on a shower seat with my leg hanging out of the shower because it was too painful to get all the way in and just sobbing. And when I say sobbing, I mean the all the way from your gut ugly sob, the kind where you can't breathe, but you don't make a sound.

Those first two weeks I cried...a lot. Those first two weeks I swore...a lot. Those first two weeks I lost hope...a lot.

I threw countless pity parties for myself. Sometimes people would indulge me, more often than not they wouldn't. I appreciate the times they wouldn't.

Sure, it's fine to wallow in self-pity on occasion, because let's face it, the situation sucked...like really sucked. I went from running four days a week and hitting the gym at least two to three times a week to nothing. Zip, zero, zilch, nada, nyet, etc. I watched my leg muscles atrophy and it killed me. I worked for that calf, I worked for that quad and hammy. I put miles on those legs, they carried me through some of my toughest runs and helped me through some crazy shit, and they were disappearing before my eyes.

It was devastating.

I hated being helpless. I hated having people open doors, carry things for me, help me to my car. It drove me insane. Now, I would like to point out in a normal situation, I don't mind these things, but when I had a walker and physically could not do it myself, it enraged me.  Thank you to those that understood that and let me be stubborn, but finally stepped in when they knew I needed it and whispered words of encouragement so I wouldn't be defeated.

That helplessness humbled me though. The struggle of finding convenient parking (yes, I refused to get a temporary handicap parking tag...stubborn, remember?), the amount of time it took to get somewhere, the fact that I was exhausted from walking into a building, it humbled me. People do this on a daily basis and are not like me, they won't be getting better. I am so incredibly lucky.

It's cheesy to say that, but I am.

My recovery for all intents and purposes has been perfect. Everything is healing the right way to the point that I tend to forget I even broke it...well until I overdo it at the gym.

I'll repeat it, I am so incredibly lucky.

And maybe I did make it look easy, but I can promise you, it hasn't been easy, and it's not over yet. I still have a little more than a month before I can run and I just started reincorporating weights into my workout (cautiously of course). I had to laugh the other night because when I was leaving the gym I ran into my chiropractor. We were chatting on our way to our cars and he asked how I was doing. While catching up I mentioned that my surgeon humors me, he gets that I'm stubborn and that I want to push through and get to the finish line. My chiropractor laughed, tilted his head and said, "Yeah, I get that, in fact, I'm pretty sure I humored you, too."

I can see the finish line approaching and I know it's not the full finish. I know I'll have to work back to where I was and I know I'll still have to go at a turtles pace. But I can see it and I'm ready.

Unbroken

It's been a few weeks since I finally received the all clear (well, majority clear) from my surgeon. I was cleared to ditch the walker, which I may or may not have already done a few days earlier, and begin working out, albeit, modified workouts.

It's been amazing.

It's been terrifying.

Did I mention it's been amazing?

I started cycling again on a stationary bike and finally hit the treadmill and elliptical this weekend. It has been simply fantastic to workout again. It's also slightly overwhelming the amount of support I have received. It seems like every time I have stepped foot in the gym I get the smile and "it's great to have you back" from trainers, fellow gym goers, receptionists, etc. It's overwhelming to think people you just happen to see would even notice your absence.

The other thing that has been overwhelming is my reaction to the phrase "you're not broken anymore." It's silly really, but was I broken to begin with? Yes, I did break my femur, and thanks to my bill from the surgeon it shall forevermore be referred to as the pinning of the femur, but that was it. But upon reflection when hearing the phrase multiple times, yes, in fact, I was broken. I'm not going to lie, this broke me several times, not just my leg, but my spirit. I had so many pity parties, and so many times I felt like this was the absolute worst thing in the world, but that first time I hopped back on the bike, it went away. I realized at that moment just how lucky I was to bounce back in 6 weeks. I even gave it an extra week for good measure.

I still have a slight limp, but most people don't notice it. I'm not in heels yet, but that will come with time. Honestly, if you didn't know, you probably never would.

So yes, I was broken, and now I'm pinned together. What a ridiculously amazing metaphor for life, right?

Now let's back to it, shall we?

What Did You Expect?

I survived an entire week of work in the office. As silly as it sounds it was huge for me. Last week I made it two days and basically needed the entire weekend to recuperate. I was smarter this week and opted out of a few events and stayed in the office, which I think in the long run helped.

I will say though, the funniest thing out of all of this are some of the comments I have received. I'm not totally sure what people thought I would look like when they saw me. Maybe something like this:

I mean, that's the only logical explanation because almost everyone that I saw throughout the week either said, "Wow, look at you, you look amazing!" or "Wow, you're standing!"

Yeah, I look totally normal, and if you didn't see me walk with the walker, you'd have absolutely no idea. It's funny, but it's also one of those weird things I'm struggling with when it comes to this injury.

I only have 2 weeks and 5 days with the walker and then I can safely return to the background of everyday life that I relish.

With Patience Comes Healing

I'm officially two weeks post op today. It's been an extremely long two weeks. I have been tested physically but mainly mentally/emotionally.

The first week literally beat me up. I cried, I screamed, I threw pillows and I threw several pity parties for myself. It sucked. It sucked so much.

Week two just messed with me. I was physically feeling better. I was splitting time between the upstairs and downstairs. I was going out of the house. Everything was getting easier. But I still couldn't do everything I wanted to do,  and really I still can't.

The surgeon was great today. I think he enjoys the fact that I am significantly younger than most patients for this surgery, so I'm an exception to his rules. He cleared me to drive, he cleared me for work, and he cleared me to start putting 20lbs of weight on my leg. I don't really know what that would be, so to be safe I just won't do more than just tap my foot on the ground.

I am incredibly thankful for everyone that has either come over to hang, texted me ridiculous things to make me laugh, flown down from Chicago (what up Tay Tay) and most importantly fed my family. Honestly, I don't know what we would have done without all those meals!

I'm pretty excited to head back into the office tomorrow, I even get to drive myself (shout out to the Doc for getting that approved!). Now let's hope these next four weeks fly by!

Best Laid Plans

My plan for 2019 was big. Well, not huge, but my plan was to get as close as possible to a 2:15 half, to run races I hadn't done before, to start cycling, and maybe do some duathlons. But as we know, the best-laid plans go awry.

Let me set the scene for you...I found a bike. Okay, I didn't find the bike, my husband's friend found a bike. I fell in love with the bike. It was white with light pink accents. It was beautiful. I went away to Jekyll Island with some of my running friends for a 10k and he was set to get the bike. The seller bailed.

No bike.

Then my husband found a red bike for the same price. It was pretty, it was red, it was sassy. It was mine. I got the photo of the bike on the back of my husband's car and I could barely contain my excitement.

I have a bike!

I ordered a helmet, bike shorts, a jersey, gloves, and finally went to get shoes. Now, let me share something about myself. I'm stubborn. You know the phrase stubborn as a mule? That's cute. I'm worse.

I went to a local bike store to get fitted for shoes. I decided I would go straight for clip-in shoes.

Clip-in. Shoes.

Scott tried to talk me out of them, he really did, but realized it was an effort in futility. We got home, I snagged some lunch, put on my adorable running tights and cycling shorts, helmet, and snazzy shoes. Scott had me practice a few times in the garage while he was holding the bike, I had him adjust the tension on the clips so it was easier to clip in and out. I walked my bike to the top of the driveway, hopped on, clipped in and...

Fell.

I hopped back up. I was totally fine. I got back on, clipped one foot in, threw my other foot up and it wouldn't clip and I wobbled and down I went...hard. Really hard. Like I screamed hard.

I curled up in a ball, I wailed, struggled to get up. Scott got me back into the garage and asked if I was okay. I was in denial. Just get ice, I'm fine. He humored me for thirty minutes and made me get in the car.

Go big or go to the ER, right?

We got to the ER and my leg muscle was spasming. I went for an x-ray and did everything to not flip off the x-ray tech when she asked me to roll on my hip. Oh, the one that is radiating with pain? This one? Throw all my body weight on this? Kiss my ass.

Then we waited. I had an 800 of Motrin and that totally took the pain away. Omg I almost couldn't type that because I was laughing so hard. Anyway, we waited and I heard the page from radiology for my doctor. I could see him from my bed and I saw his head tilt when he looked at his computer. Shit. Then I saw him walk to the printer. Well shit. Then he walked towards my room. I looked at Scott and said, "I broke something."

I was right.

I broke my femur right at the socket. I was lucky because I was pretty compressed so it never displaced. But nonetheless, I broke my femur.

Everything after that was rapid fire. I heard surgery, maybe tonight, don't drink any water, you're getting admitted. I just stared and tried to wrap my head around the fact that I now would not be able to run the half marathon I was signed up for on Sunday.

I was admitted shortly after and spent the night waiting. The next morning I met the surgeon. I would be getting 3 pins placed in my femur.

I'm friggin' bionic.

Or something like that.

Anyway, I had surgery and spent another day in the hospital. Huge shout out to my friends for coming and keeping me company (and for the snacks!).

I've been home since Wednesday and it's been an adventure. I'm stuck in my bed until my follow-up and I have the sweetest walker this side of the nursing home. I already know that I'm probably not running until July at the earliest and it's killing me. Now I just wait and see what the plan is for rehab and moving forward.

I really do want to say thank you to everyone that has checked on me, visited, brought my family dinner, sent flowers, sent inappropriate memes, you name it. Thank you to my sister for coming down to help out, even though I think the main reason you came down was to skip the sub-arctic temps in Chicago.

But I couldn't do it without Scott. Thank you for letting me freak out, throw a pillow, cry, sob, wail, cuss, and have the biggest pity party. Thank you for being the best nurse I could have!

Now let the countdown to July begin....