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.

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.

From Zero to Marathon

I went back to work on Wednesday. I had told my boss come hell or high water I would be at my desk that morning. I honestly cannot tell you just how amazing it was to be back at my desk. It was the normalcy I craved. Now, don't get me wrong, it didn't come without some babying, and constant checks to see how I was. I have a feeling that will continue until I ditch the walker.

I worked at the office Wednesday and Thursday, full days. Friday morning though, I woke up, started to get ready for work and Scott finally looked me in my clearly exhausted eyes and said, "just work from home today." He was so right. My friend Leona compared it to marathon training and how after a few hard runs you need to either dial back your miles or rest. So, reluctantly, I did just that.

I've mentioned it before, but the mental games that come with this injury are by far the hardest. I look fine by all accounts, and if you saw me at my desk (and didn't see the walker), you would never know I'm two weeks post-op. And the reality is I don't know if anyone really knows how much it takes a toll on me.

Something I have mastered over the years is the stoic face while in the midst of a crisis. Maybe it's the years of PR training, maybe it's my Eastern European heritage, who knows. The point is, in a crisis, I will never show my cards. You will never see me cry (unless you are deep in the inner circle), you may see a slight fluster, but that's it. When my son took a ball to the ribs at practice and dropped, I portrayed the calm parent, but on the inside, I was screaming. When my daughter went through a fence on her horse and flung to the ground, I didn't scream, I didn't yell, I was calm on the outside. In the midst of all of this, I've shown a calm face, a smile, an "I'm totally okay" but inside I'm screaming, I'm wailing, I'm defeated.

Staying home on Friday was a giant pity party. I was upset with myself. Upset that I couldn't make it another day in the office. That I was weak. I cannot tell you how many times I was reminded that I'm still healing, that I'm actually probably going too fast. I was reminded of all that I've accomplished in the two weeks, and yet, it's not good enough for me.

I know this is going to be a long process. I know this is going to be a challenge both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for my friends and family who talk me through my pity parties. The amount of support I have is ridiculous honestly. It's so much more than any one person normally has, and I am so grateful for it.

Each day brings a new victory and I'm hoping to accomplish more this week than last week. And by accomplishing more, I mean actually work and go places, not accomplish watching more documentaries on Netflix.

Only 3 more weeks with the walker. Okay, 3 weeks, 4 days, and 16 hours from the moment I write this. But who's counting? Me...that's who.

But the Reality is...

That this sucks. This whole experience has been on the most mentally and emotionally draining experiences of my life. I have cried more over the dumbest (well, in my mind) things and have had full on breakdowns.

Today I went to my GP so I could get a referral for my follow-up with the surgeon (yeah, I don't get it either). While I was there the nurse asked if I had been feeling depressed and I laughed and said well I have been in my bed for a week so...

But the reality is I have been, how could you not be? The highlight of my day yesterday was that I can downstairs and got to sit on a barstool. I can't sleep because I'm on my back, which I'm sick of being on my back.

I can't do anything alone. I have to have someone on hand for everything. I'm an insanely independent person so the fact that I need Scott to get me in and out of the shower, car, you name it, makes me insane.

I also know people are walking on eggshells to a point to not upset me or give me a case of FOMO (that's fear of missing out, Mom), but the reality is, it sucks. I know everyone else is living their best life, you don't have to hide it. Scott felt guilty for running the other day and I laughed. Why? It sucks, but it is what it is.

I know this is going to be a long process and it's only starting (151 days until July 1st, thank you, Shelly!). Each day will have its own unique struggle, but it will also have its own unique little victory. Today's victory? I made it downstairs, in the car, and into the doctor's office with no pain.

Only 151 more days to go...

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....