Chronicles of a Cheerful Gimper

One week ago, I was talking with the anesthetist about…I don’t even know what (we may have been joking about how I had so many signatures on my leg I was planning on framing it & sending it to the Met - on loan, of course)…and then seconds later I was waking up to someone saying, “Okay, that’s it. You’re done! You don’t believe me, do you?” I told him, of course, that I didn’t, and my recovery since then has been similar parts denial/acceptance/anxiety/tenacity.

Denial
I didn’t feel like any time had passed between being knocked out & brought back to. It didn’t feel like I had been moved, intubated, flipped, sliced, stretched, sutured, stitched (I’m sure there’s a difference & that I have got it backwards, but I’ll educate myself on the particulars later), and moved to the recovery room. I didn’t even think I had left my little pre-op cubicle.

I know that I’m on crutches and need to operate in ways that are strictly non-weight-bearing (NWB), but one of my biggest fears is that I will get out of a car/bed/couch right leg first and step up on that leg without thinking. Especially in the middle of the night when I my auto-pilot is groggy.

Acceptance
However, the reality was made clear to me - very little of what I take pride in doing myself (especially transportation) is practical or even possible. The day I tried to return to my apartment and resume a normal life, I was forced to accept that little things like heading up/down my 34 stairs, taking a bath, or being vertical long enough to brush my teeth & wash my face - the most ridiculous of small challenges left me exhausted.

Time had passed without my knowledge, challenges could be overcome but would take their toll, and I accepted that I would waste much of my energy on recovery if I did not start accepting help as it was offered.

Anxiety
My main concerns from here on out have less to do with successful recovery and rehab than they do with the possible complications. Going from the most active person many of my friends knew to an all-but-sedentary bump on a bed has my mind on high-alert to any unusual sensation in my leg. The hard pooling of fluid in the pad of my foot - tingly to the touch. The throbbing calf pain. Whether I should rest my cast/splint on the inside, outside, or squarely on the back. I wonder if I would feel all of this if I were on the dulling medications; I wonder if masking these pains is dangerous or par for the course.

Tenacity
Even with the challenges & occasional overconfidence, I am still getting stronger & healthier daily. I’m off the prescription pain killers & trying to take very little of even the OTC ibuprofen I’m allowed. It’s probably a good thing I’m staying with families that refuse to let me do anything for myself (trust me, I’ve asked numerous times) because I can stay awake for most of the day and have energy to spare.

As one who values her independence ad ridiculum, it could be frustrating to live on someone else’s schedule. For a few minutes every day, it still is. I take pride in my physical toughness and my mental tenacity, so now I need to back it up with intentionality of action. By that I mean I’m going to use this learning opportunity to refine my time-management skills.

One more thing. I’ll make sure my needs are met - even my need for independence.

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