Hey............I Can See You Looking at Me

     Three months after our collision, my husband took me to the grocery store in our local community.  Only leaving my living room to attend doctors appointments, I was both anxious and excited about this awaited chance to leave the confines of my home.  It was my first taste of catching inquisitive yet sympathetic glances from onlookers.

     Most would smile, some would cry, others would look away.  My life had been spent avoiding center stage at all costs and now I felt the spot light blinding me as I rolled from aisle to aisle.  

     As summer time approached, the heat increased the edema in my legs to a new level.  Socks acted as a tourniquet and if worn invariably created a condition known as "cankles", which then increased my pain and made the overall scene look worse than it already was.

     Refusing to lay in my home and miss memories with my family, I traveled as best I could to each activity.  Elevating my legs at all times was not a choice, it was a necessity and it put my tragedy on display.

     Each surgery added more scars to the plethora I had already obtained from our collision.  Some opened four times for reconstruction.  Pieces of our car embedded themselves or scraped along my skin, starting at my waist continuing to my toes to create permanent reminders of that evening when I drove down that frozen highway.

     Every so often I study them, finding one that I hadn't noticed before or how some have begun to fade slightly.  When I am out in public, I see those of you who walk by with your heads straight forward, but your pupils stretched as far to the corner of your eye as physically possible, trying to catch a glimpse without offending me.  Trying to see if the rumors are true or exaggerated.  But, I see you.

     At first, my chest would cave in, tighten and I became insecure with my new self.  I knew not a single person meant me harm and that this was an insecurity that I needed to fix within myself.  

     Everyone is curious about them, but no one asks.  It is awkward, I understand and no one wants to cause me any more distress.  But when you peer at me from around corners and look away quickly, some of my insecurity returns and there are times that I have felt ashamed.  Of how I now look.

     Putting myself in your shoes, I hope I comprehend how most of you feel.  I want to let you know it is okay to ask questions.  I am the best one to ask.  I have lived it, recovered from it and can tell you with heart wrenching honesty what each scar represents.  

     Working on myself for nearly five years has brought to me a sense of pride about my scars. These scars are my story, a story of survival that my family and I have traveled, a road map of recovery.  

     They are my one of a kind tattoos and most importantly, each one is a valuable lesson that has encouraged me to grow into this new self.   A self that I have never been more proud or comfortable with.

     So............I see you looking at me............and it's okay.

 

Grafts of a Girl

     Bone grafts have helped to fix some of my joint problems associated with my injuries received during my car collision.  It is a small part of a major recovery, but they have made a powerful difference in my progress.

     What exactly is a bone graft? 

      Basically it is transplanting a piece of your bone from one part of your body to another part of your body.  It is beneficial in fixing bones after trauma, joint problems and growing bone around implanted devices. 

     Well, I don't have just one of those, I have all three!  

     My initial bone graft was taken from my left hip.  My right lower leg was crushed and sustained open fractures where my tibia(larger bone) tore through my skin and splintered into many fragments.  My fibula(smaller bone) was crushed, but it is not a weight bearing bone so my trauma surgeon put those pieces back together like a jig saw puzzle, wrapped them in netting and set them back in place. 

     The tibia bone, sadly was splintered so badly he could not identify where they all originally fit together.  He ground them up, along with the piece of bone from my hip and filled the holes in hopes that new bone tissue would grow around the injuries and give me some stability.  

   To date, I have given three bones grafts, one from my right hip and two from my left.  The surgeons have also withdrawn bone marrow from my right hip by inserting a needle into the very center of my bone and pulling out the marrow.   That was integrated with another artificial substance and injected into one of my ankles when the decision was made to fuse it. 

That first bone graft was so large that it did not grow back in my hip.  Running my finger gently across the rim, I can feel a triangular dip that would make anyone shudder.  This scar is so long because my orthopedic took my third bone graft directly below where my first one was taken.  Extending that scar to four inches.  I am undeniably grateful that both of my surgeons really performed a magnificent job on minimizing my scarring. 

My right hip lives with this two inch scar and there is a smaller half inch scar where they removed the marrow.

Each surgeon repeated that enduring the bone grafts would not be pleasant.  I really did not know what to say to them.  There was no way it could be worse than what I had already endured.  It was not pleasant by any means, but felt trivial compared to the pain of the other surgeries.  I have had eleven surgeries and four of those were also accompanied by the surgery of bone grafts.  It all sucked, but look at the progress I have made because of it!

     Of course with that many operations, I was bound to have some kind of counteractive effects.  I seem to like being included in that category of " This only happens to about 3%-5% of patients."  

     After recovering from my right bone graft, I noticed a lump appearing a few weeks after surgery.  Apparently this can happen due to all of my tissue being moved around, it did not find it's originally position and formed something like a hernia.  Now I have a nice bulge on my right lower abdomen.  If I could get some major abs going, I could camouflage it by being ripped & buff, but..............

     During one of my left bone grafts a resident nicked a nerve.  Just a small nick and just one nerve, but now the left side of my pelvis is partially numb. 

      The lasting effects of bone grafts are that they ache just as my ankles do, just not as severely.  I cannot lean against a counter, wear low rise pants or belts around that level of my hips.  A few friends have been so happy to see me that they have tried to pick me up around the waist and nearly lost their arms as I disengaged myself from them. 

     I envision myself with the word, Fragile, stamped all over me because of all of my injuries.  But I would choose those embraces over a little pain every. single. time. 

          I have much to deal with each day, but it seems so small when I visualize my future.  I look at the larger picture and ask what my end game will be.  My disabilities will not keep me from accomplishing my goals, I may have to be more creative about how I'm going to get there.  And maybe, just maybe I will have to learn to accept help from those who wish to give.

 

 

It's a New Dawn, a New Day, a New Year!

      A New Year!

    What I am about to write is not my originally intended post.  I was following the timeline of the year.  Sticking to New Years resolutions, which still ends up at the end of this column, just in a different manner than anticipated.
     When deciding to create a blog I accepted that this meant opening emotional scars, healing, criticism and hopefully encouraging others.  This is why I must be honest, painfully honest about my day yesterday.  New Years Eve.
     The day was filled with wonderful moments of sharing a couple of hours with our two middle children while watching them get beautified at the salon.  Listening to their teenage goofiness ends with me shaking my  head, but smiling none the less. 
 




(not a pic of recent hair changes, just the most recent one I could find of them together)

 Next was lunch at the Mexican restaurant with friends I may not get to see often, but pick conversation up with as if we were just visiting the day prior.

(gorging on Mexican food with laughter around the table is the best!)

 
      An afternoon nap was essential since my energy level is low after recovering from surgery. I awoke with my chest tight, my spirits low and an anxiety coursing through my body that I could not shake. Here is where my day takes a ninety degree turn from fantastical to bleh.

      A couple hours of fervently trying to rid myself of this mood, I acknowledged where I was. This same familiar place I pass through after every single flippin' surgery. 

      I'm in pain, from recovering and from two dopey falls in the past week. I've come down from the narcotics, my body is using all of its energy to heal, I am again dependent on others until I can walk again. I have seven more months of casts, air boots, braces, physical therapy and healing before I feel decent. Anger is waiting for me to let it completely take over, but something holds me back from letting myself adequately dive into it. 

      I live in the Jacuzzi bathtub due to my severe arthritis, trusting that this will decrease the pain and ease my apprehension, I slide into the steaming water. In a sense I am soaking out my anguish, except that my left leg is propped on the edge of the tub, owed to the red cast covering it, tears are brimming at the ledges of my eyelashes and the scars that ordinarily don't bother me are flashing like the vacancy sign in the hotel window.

      In a short amount of time, I have effectively made myself miserable. Just me, myself and I. I did this. Knowing from past lessons what I need to do to get myself out of this trench is not helping. This is crap. 

      When I make a conscious decision to step out, get back into my positive pace, a smile replaces my frown, a glint returns to my eyes and all is back on track. The first two years this would sometimes last for days, on occasion, weeks. The past year I could change it within hours, at the most, a day. 

      At the same time I establish that I will obligate getting out of this hole I've fallen into, my husband is right on cue with an hour of motivational coaching. To my dismay and his delight, I whisper that I perceive his words are correct, tears of release flow down my cheeks and I am spent. It's late and I am exhausted. I eagerly anticipate a new dawn on the horizon.

      I am in bed when the new year arrives. A cheerful realization cracks my thoughts. December 29th has come and gone. Without thinking, I wake my husband. I exclaim, "Husband! It's the thirty first!" His sleepy "uh huh" response really meant " No #*%! Sherlock"
      " Husband, the day passed and I didn't even think about it, not once." I am ecstatic. The day nor the six o'clock hour of the collision has haunted me this year!

      It's literally now a new day and new year. My muscles tense with exhilaration, my fists ball at my sides, I feel like I've just made the best play of a softball game. I point my finger at nothing into the darkness and say "You just try to keep me down! 2014, I am going to kick your BUTT!!!"


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