"I broke my femur," is old news.
I had my six month check-up on September 9th. When the orthopedic surgeon came into the exam room, I was missing. I had gone to the bathroom, and was returning down the hall, when he came out of the room looking for his patient. When he saw me, it was apparent that he didn't recognize me. He stared, and then said, "If I didn't have this chart to refer to, I wouldn't know which leg I operated on! You are walking really well!" (And I paid $400 for this appointment??)
I told the doctor that I was still having persistent pain when bending my knee and walking down stairs. I mentioned that he had told me previously that I'd be back to normal at six months-walking normally, doing all of my normal activities, even dancing. "Did I say that?" He chuckled. Then he said with a grin, "You'll never be back to normal."
What????
I sat there, aghast. I think he was making a light hearted joke, but I didn't appreciate it. He went on to say that I was always going to be aware of my injury. I told him my hip hurt when I walked. He said, "well maybe you have some arthritis, I haven't checked your hip." WHAT??? I said, "don't tell me that! I haven't had any hip problems prior to this accident, I think it's related to my injury." He said, "maybe." MAYBE??
The irony is that I had almost cancelled this appointment. I knew it was going to be expensive (they take $300 worth of
x-rays every time I go in), I already owe over $30,000, and I figured I wouldn't learn anything new. The doctor would just say I was healing well.
What a surprise to learn that I would "never be back to normal."
Note to self: a) Doctors don't know everything. b) Who wants to be normal, anyway?
This past Tuesday, my friend Carolyn's husband asked me, "So, why did you break your leg?"
I was taken aback for a moment by the audacity of the question. Usually, when one suffers a tragedy, or has an accident of some kind, one will wrack their brain trying to figure out why it happened. "Why me?," has always been a popular question. But what he wanted to know was, "why did you create the accident?"
I believe in the spiritual philosophy that I create my own reality, but I told him that I'd not been able to come up with a reason that made any sense.
Still, he got me looking at some questions that I hadn't bothered to think about lately. In addition to "Why did I break my leg?" Questions like: What have I learned over the past six months? What benefit did I get out of the accident? Why am I still using the broken leg as an excuse to be a victim, to get sympathy, to be liked, to be lazy, to take it easy. Whaaaa? What was that last part? To take it easy? What's wrong with taking it easy, I wonder? And why am I still using the broken leg to beat myself up? Why am I not letting go and moving on with a new story about the broken leg, and what new story can I tell?....
After living with these questions all day Tuesday, I went to Senior Water Aerobics class on Wednesday with a renewed sense of acceptance. (Although I hadn't come up with an answer to "why" I broke my leg, I know I wouldn't have joined a "Seniors" class had I not needed gentle water therapy).
After the class, I stayed in the pool to do extra leg exercises. An elder woman from the class whom I'd often smiled at, but never talked with before, made a casual comment: "You haven't had enough, huh?" I answered with, "well, I just need to strengthen my leg." She asked me if I was recovering from a surgery. And I said, "yeah, I broke my femur in March." I saw the sadness in her eyes as she said, "my son did that." She paused. Then she said, "he got a blood clot." I paused. "Did he make it?" I asked. "No."
She went on to tell me that her 37 year old son fell in a hole, much the same way that I did, and landed wrong, just like I did. He had surgery, just like I did, was recovering well, went home, and two weeks later developed a blood clot that traveled to his lung and killed him. She said she didn't understand why the doctor hadn't prescribed a blood thinner, why her son had only been prescribed aspirin. (Blood thinners are usually prescribed after femur surgery, because the risk of developing a blood clot is so high). She said she didn't understand why her son, who was a good Christian, happily married with two children, was taken so soon. But, she said, she had to accept that "the Lord must've needed him for some reason."
As I quietly listened, I thought about the fact that I chose not to take the blood thinners that were prescribed to me after surgery. And I wondered why I escaped a blood clot. Why was I so blessed? Why was I given the opportunity to survive, live, grow, change?
Today, I'm still pondering all of the questions and I am filled with humbleness and gratitude.
Monday, I had a great big party. It lasted for hours! Clear into Tuesday evening. I didn't invite anyone. Who'd wanna come anyway? I'm talking about a Ginormous pity party. The kind where you wake up angry, and before you've even had your first cup of day old re-heated coffee, you feel that life couldn't get any worse. You cry and rage and cuss and nobody wants to be around you. Steve tried to soothe me with his classic matter of fact self-help line, "a mood has you." "Duh, no fooling you!" I said, with my most charming witch face. Brian offered (with the kind of authority that most men seem to have on this subject), "it must be your menopause!"
At first, I couldn't figure out what was going on. Was it all the sugar I'd eaten over the weekend that caused me to plummet? Nothing else out of the ordinary could've caused this journey into the deep, dark abyss. Just a casual conversation on Sunday evening with a fellow real estate agent who appears to be doing sooo much better than me financially. That, combined with my ever-present hospital bills, and the ever-present pain in my right leg--the leg that's supposed to be completely back to normal in six months according to the doctor. (My six month check up is only three weeks away!!)
So, I woke up mad, and feeling sorry for myself, and completely oblivious to the underlying cause: I was comparing my failings to another's success. It's no fair that I broke my leg and couldn't work for several months. It's no fair that I'm still not operating at peak productivity, doing as well as Ms. X.
I recognized this old trait of mine while in the middle of my wallowing. I remembered my Hollywood acting years when jealousy ate away at me most of the time. Sometimes I would be so upset after seeing a great film, because I wasn't in it, that I'd be depressed for hours. At one point, I determined that it was my jealousy and competitiveness that were keeping me from attaining my dreams. Now I wonder, are these same ugly attributes keeping me from succeeding again? And as I have this thought, I realize it's just one more negative thought to beat myself up with.....
Comparing what you have to what others have is a good
way to make yourself miserable.
Amen.
There will always be someone smarter, stronger, prettier, thinner, wiser, healthier, happier, and more successful than me.
There is one good thing about comparing myself to others though. It usually pisses me off enough so that when I've worked through my "mood," my competitive nature kicks in and causes me to come up with creative ways to be better at whatever it is I want to be better at, and I focus on that.
“When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you.” Lao Tzu
http://hellogiggles.com/9-tricks-to-kick-envy
I just got home from my first traveling vacation since my fateful fall. I flew to San Francisco, California with my friend Brian, and we met up with a friend from L.A. acting days (hadn't seen her in 15 years), then we attended a reunion with old theatre friends on the Russian River. After Brian flew back to Nashville, I stayed five extra days and went on a road trip with my two sisters to the Monterey area, where we hooked up with two of our cousins for an extended girl's va-cay!
I love traveling, and it feels normal to me. I've been blessed with many traveling adventures in my life so far. Checking in and going through security are as natural as drinking a cup of coffee. This time, however, I had to tell the security officials that I have a metal plate and screws in my leg. At the Nashville airport, they simply told me to go through the big
x-ray machine and I didn't set off any bells or whistles--what a disappointment--no fanfare of any kind! Since I usually travel on Southwest Airlines, I knew about their open seating policy, and I was prepared to ask for a "pre-board" pass, so I could be seated before everyone else and get an aisle seat where I could stretch out my right leg. All I had to do was show the ticket agent my 12-inch gnarly scar over my knee, and I got to pre-board!
Months ago, my surgeon told me that at six months I would be completely back to normal. I'm still counting the weeks and it's been 21 weeks today since my accident. Almost everything is "back to normal" except it's a new normal. I walk with a different gait, (a slight limp) and I walk very carefully, especially up and down stairs.
I feel so fortunate to be traveling again, and many times over the past two weeks I forgot I ever broke my femur!
This past week, I spent hours and hours at Fido, my favorite coffee shop, working on the computer. Fido was my office on the road. Why is this so exciting? Because I drove there myself.
At 18 weeks (and still counting) into my broken femur recovery, I'm no longer at the mercy of being driven around by my friend Brian, or my spousal equivalent, Steve. I can go where I want, when I want, in my own car and I'm in the driver's seat. That's not to say it wasn't fun being chaffeured around and having Brian at my beck and call to take me places. We went to so many fun places, but just being able to get in the car and take off feels so liberating.
Over these past couple of weeks, Brian has torn down the wheelchair ramp at our front doorway, and thrown it in a pile for the dump. My shower chair was delegated to the basement. The wheelchair, walker, and crutches, are waiting to be returned to their lenders or donated to Goodwill. And I am driving!
Life is getting back to normal. But it's a new normal. One where I have to stretch before I can even get out of bed in the morning if I want to walk. And one where I have to exercise every single day in order to keep my knee joint lubricated and my leg functional. Water has become my best friend. The wonders of water aerobics and the healing powers of the pool are amazing, and more than ever before in my life, exercise MUST take priority over everything else. So, over an extended 4th of July weekend, while Steve was out of town, I drove myself to Senior Water Aerobics, and another water exercise class almost everyday, and Brian and I went to Percy Priest Lake, where I exercised my leg as well. I drove myself to Radnor lake, where I took two hikes (2.5 miles each), and I actually danced on two occasions.
But I digress...
I drove myself and a friend to the Nashville Sounds baseball game for the 4th of July fireworks, drove myself to the Bluebird to see songwriting friends perform, and I drove Brian back from Arrington Winery, (because I had less to drink).
On the road to recovery, driving equals independence, and independence is bliss!
