With Practice (Blog #715)

Praise the sweet baby Jesus. After feeling like crap for the last few days, as of this morning–and I do mean morning–I feel better. Once again, the credit goes to the miraculous probiotic/bacteria L. Sakei, which I received a new batch of in the mail yesterday afternoon and used three times before going to bed last night. No shit, y’all, I woke up at four this morning bright-eyed and ready to go. I eventually fell back asleep, but talk about getting your energy back. The previous two nights I woke up hot and sweaty. But as of four, I’ve been back to my normal-temperature self. Fingers crossed this trend continues.

This afternoon I went to Fort Smith to see my chiropractor and massage therapist, as well as to return a pair of crutches I borrowed from a friend over three months ago when I injured my left knee. Boy, did giving those suckers back feel good. For nearly a month I needed them to traverse even the shortest of distances, but this evening when I went to the gym, I was able to jog on the treadmill for twenty minutes, unassisted! (I mean, crutches on a treadmill would be totally awkward.) But, eeek, I really have come a long way. That being said, I may have overdone it on the treadmill. My knee was a bit swollen when I got home, so I had to ice it. Oh well, I guess it’s normal to have little setbacks.

Little setbacks. That’s what I consider the sinus infections that have creeped up on me lately. And whereas part of me is frustrated that I’ve had to deal with them at all, another part of me is thrilled because what used to last anywhere from seven to fourteen days (or more) is now over in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Plus, my former sinus infections often involved doctors, prescriptions, and multiple swipes of my credit card. But now I’m knocking these things out from the privacy of my own home for a mere thirty-five bucks (the cost of the probiotic) or less (if I have some of the product left over). So maybe my sinuses aren’t perfectly healed or “normal” like everyone else’s (whatever that means), but THIS IS HUGE PROGRESS.

HUGE.

Whenever I have a health setback, I’m reminded what a blessing good health is. This afternoon when I dropped the crutches off I borrowed, my friend and her husband and I visited for over an hour and a half. Not once was there an awkward pause or did I think, I wonder what we’ll talk about next. Rather, we laughed and laughed. Seriously, it was one of the best times I’ve had lately. All thanks–I kind of hate to admit–to my hurting my knee.

So you know, silver linings.

But really, when you’ve been sick and finally feel better, there’s so much joy in the simplest of things–visiting with friends, going to the gym, watching a television program (which I did before starting tonight’s blog). It’s like, Hey, I feel good. I’m ALIVE. What can I do now?

After having sinus infections for decades and finally finding something that works, what I can say is that “it gets easier.” What I mean is that–apparently–it’s not that I’m never going to get a sinus infection again. But having done the hard work in terms of seeing doctors and doing no small amount of internet research, I now know what to do about them. Likewise, I know what to do when it comes to my knee rehab. Again, not that it’s fun or pleasant, but it’s less intimidating than it was when it first happened because I’ve walked–or more accurately hopped, lurched, and scooted–this road before. This thought applies to the work I’ve done in therapy too. Over the last five years, I’ve gotten a lot of practice setting boundaries, having confrontations, speaking my truth, and listening to my gut. And whereas I wish I never had to have a difficult talk ever again, that’s not realistic. But since I’ve done it before, I know I can do it again. Indeed, with practice, anything gets easier.

Want something to get easier? You know what to do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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A Day for Hoping (Blog #624)

It’s 8:30 on a Friday night, and I’ve been doing laundry for the last three hours and eating peanut butter by the spoonful. I know–I live a sexy life. (Try not to be jealous.) During my second load of laundry (of three), a pair of athletic shorts I’ve had since Jesus was a small boy got “hung up” in the dryer. I guess the drawstring snagged on the lint catcher. When I pulled the shorts out, the string was wound up tighter than a spring. Alas, the string was beyond repair, since it was sewn into the shorts and there was no way I could re-thread it. So grabbing a pair of scissors, I snipped the string and removed it altogether.

All good things must come to an end.

This morning, at the direction of my primary care physician, I saw an orthopedic surgeon who specializes in knees and sports injuries. This ended up being the best thing, and I consider it “an act of the universe” because I only called to make the appointment yesterday. Having looked at my MRI, the surgeon explained that as a result of my accident two weeks ago, I’d 1) bruised a bone, which was no deal at all, 2) torn my lateral meniscus, which was a small deal, and 3) severed my ACL, which was a big deal. He went on to say that the meniscus acts as a shock absorber and is basically a backup system for your joints. “They help stave off arthritis,” he said, “and I tell people that if you make it to 40 with yours intact, you’ve gotten your money’s worth. You’re 38, so close enough.” Then he said that because your ACL runs THROUGH your kneecap and gets a limited supply of blood, it CAN’T repair or heal itself when badly damaged.

“Yours is dying as we speak,” he said.

So that felt good.

The surgeon proposed shaving off the damaged part of my meniscus (since sewing a meniscus back together doesn’t work) and reconstructing my ACL with part of my own patellar tendon (the tendon just below one’s kneecap). He said, “If we used a cadaver’s, you’d heal faster, but your own will function slightly better. Since you’re an active person and I want you as strong as possible, I’d suggest using your own.” And then–get this shit. For the last thirteen days I’ve been hopping around on one leg, using crutches, using a walker. But like some sort of FAITH HEALER, this guy today said, “Stop using your crutches. Stop using your brace. I want you WALKING before surgery.”

Remembering how my leg gave out while I was performing two weeks, I sat there in disbelief.

The surgeon went on to explain that “you don’t need your ACL to walk,” since it’s responsible for twisting and pivoting movements, but other muscles, ligaments, and tendons are responsible for everyday getting around. Then he talked me through straightening my leg out fully and bending it to at least ninety degrees. Y’all, I almost fainted the pain was so awful. But the surgeon said, “If you think a loose knee is bad, you should try a stiff one.” (I thought, I’d rather try a stiff drink.) Still, his point was that I’ve gotta get my leg moving through its normal range of motion both before and after surgery so that my knee doesn’t “lock down.” Plus, he said movement would help reduce swelling, which I have plenty of.

So we have a plan. Surgery is scheduled for December 26. (Merry Christmas, Marcus Coker.) If you’d like, send cards, flowers, chocolates, and handsome, eligible bachelors to me by way of my parents.

Believe it or not, after all this time of my being fearful of putting weight on my left leg, I walked out of the surgeon’s office and have been walking the rest of the day. Sure, it’s not overly graceful walking–I’m not ready for the runway–but this is huge progress. Hell, I’ve even been walking up and down stairs. And whereas I can sometimes feel my knee strain, the surgeon said, “Don’t worry. You won’t do any damage. It’s ALREADY TORN.”

So that was a nice reminder.

Here’s a picture of the brace I no longer have to wear. Notice the cat (Oscar) peeking over the kitchen island.

Considering the fact that I haven’t fallen down yet, I’m thrilled about being able to walk. Honestly, I’ve been more optimistic today than I have been in the last two weeks. Like, life doesn’t completely suck. What does suck, I’ll admit, are these stretching exercises. Straightening my leg isn’t so bad, but bending it hurts like hell. I get nauseated every time I go past a certain point. Still, I’m determined to slowly make progress, since we’re talking about my potential for future movement here. To that end, I’m also not letting myself “cheat” on the stairs, as in only using my good leg to push myself up. Rather, I’m doing things like I normally would.

Push with my right leg, push with my left leg (say a curse word).
Push with my right leg, push with my left leg (say a curse word).

Even with limited range of motion and trepidation in my steps, having both my legs back is a game changer. Part of me wishes I’d known to “take up thy bed and walk” sooner, but this way I have a greater appreciation for all the “simple” things I took for granted before. Things like being able to get up and get myself a glass of water, do my own laundry, or even take a shower without sitting down or having to tie the handheld sprayer to an overhead mirror with the strap of a fluffy scubby thingy. (See picture below.)

Today is a day for hoping.

The way I’m thinking about my severing my ACL is the way I’m thinking about my cutting the drawstring in my athletic shorts this evening. All good things must come to an end. (It was nice knowing you.) This moment is my new normal. And whereas part of me is fearful (I’ve been afraid to put weight on my leg for the last two weeks), another part is hopeful. Even confident. While driving home from the surgeon’s office, it was weird, it was like I could hear my leg talking to me. Not out loud of course, but our bodies are alive and our cells are conscious, so why couldn’t they talk to us? Anyway, I felt like mine was saying, “We can do this. We can support you.” This is huge, the idea that my body and I are working together here, that we’re stronger than I previously believed, and that our future looks bright.

Yes, today is a day for hoping.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

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On Being Disrupted (Blog #623)

After twelve days of being on crutches, I’m officially over this one-legged life. Granted, at my parents’ house, it hasn’t been that bad; they’ve been awesome about helping me out. Dad, will you bring me breakfast? Mom, will you plug in my phone? But now that I’m house sitting for some friends, I’m all alone and have to do everything for myself. (Harrumph.) And whereas it’s going well–last night I managed to successfully get into and out of their hot tub AND shower AND navigate their stairs–everything from bringing in the morning paper to transporting my coffee cup from the counter to the kitchen table is a big damn effort. You should have seen me moving their trash can from the street to their garage this afternoon.

Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This afternoon I went to the hospital to get a copy of the MRI I had done earlier this week on my knee. This should probably be a daily requirement for me, to get out of the house, since it forces me to get dressed, interact with others, and not feel sorry for myself. And y’all, interacting with others is EASY when you’re on crutches that have been decorated with holiday tinsel. (The ones in the photo above are the ones I use INSIDE, since the decorated ones are kind of “messy.”) But seriously, all sorts of strangers talked to me today. Oh, I love your crutches. How festive! Now THAT’S making the best of a bad situation.

That’s me–always looking on the bright side.

Along with the MRI images (which came on a CD), I got a copy of the radiologist’s report, which described my ACL has having been “disrupted.” I assume this is the medical term for “fucked up,” and a quick Google search seems to confirm this. When I first read the report, I thought, Oh good, that’s better than a tear, but no–I don’t think so now. Disruption is apparently a serious separation. Like, think earthquake.

Think my life.

Here’s a random picture from the MRI images. Naturally, I have no idea what I’m looking at here, other than some part of my knee. But I picked this image to share because I think it looks like the face of an old man–see the two eyeballs? Also, I think it looks like something from outer space, like two black holes, an entire mysterious universe just below my left thigh. Granted, it’s an entire universe that’s currently–um–disrupted, but hopefully we can get things put back together soon.

Fingers crossed.

Another thing the report said was that I’d been experiencing constant pain since the time of my injury. This isn’t true at all, and I assume it’s just a medical “hiccup.” My chart at my primary care physician’s says I have “anxiety” even though I don’t, I guess because I see a therapist. Oh well, shit happens. But my point is–yippee–I haven’t actually been in pain. All this disruption, and yet it’s not AWFUL. Granted, it’s inconvenient, and earlier when I misstepped on the stairs and came “this close” to tumbling all the way down, it was terrifying. But mostly this ordeal is simply causing me to slow down, take better care of myself, and reconnect with the good humans around me (and that includes my parents). And that’s a good thing.

To be clear, I’m worn out by this disruption. The last fourteen months have been FILLED with sickness and disappointment, and my knee injury is just one more thing. But I do feel supported–if not by my leg, by my friends, family, and my therapist. The last time my therapist and I talked, she said, “Everyone who goes through this process of personal and spiritual growth walks through hell–and by that I mean every circle of Dante’s Inferno. But the reward for walking through hell is a level of generalized contentment that most people never experience.” And whereas I have some proof of this being true based on my personal experience, I’m largely trusting her experience that things are going to get better. (She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.) This, I think, is a reason to keep going, the idea that entire universes may fall apart, but they can also come back together again. Perhaps even better than before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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