We aren't ready for this. And still to this day, with less than two weeks to go, I am waffling. But for every day where I have medium pain there are days where I have serious pain. The medium pain I can live with until it becomes serious again. Its then that I know I'm making the right decision.
That's the crazy part of chronic pain, it's always there, but it's not always the same. This is also one of the hardest parts of explaining that today is OK, but yesterday I had to stop myself from screaming in agony with every step I took.
So we get ready. We've bought things we think we need, and we've bought things we know we need. In the end they may or may not work out.
I barely waver on the spiritual peace in the decision to have this major joint replaced while I'm young and the kids are young. When doubts arise on the big questions with this, I'm at peace.
It's the everyday stuff that I'm seeking peace with. There is a definite goal in my head to create a peaceful, quiet background to come home from the hospital to. Clutter and chaos have always bothered me, but now I feel the anxiety of it even more as I get closer to a time when my house will need to be sterile but comfortable. My level of comfort with clutter is significantly less than the rest of the family. This is where I can't find the peace I'm desperately seeking.
How do you explain to children that don't see the mess that the mess is too much? I'm exhausted from morning to midnight with living, and I can't find it in me to clean up once again. I don't know how to get them to see that they need to care that the house isn't good enough. It's stressful and it worries me.
So with a little more than a week before I change my life in one way or another, I am still struggling to figure everything out.
Friday, March 30, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
'Life is pain...
Anyone who tells you any different is selling something."
Right now, life is pain. I'm struggling to keep up with everything as we get closer to the day I go into surgery. And while there is mental anguish that comes with making a decision to have a major surgery that promises to be painful and have a long recovery; right now I'm struggling with the physical pain of trying to offset my injury-induced scoliosis. My back from top to bottom is bruised from physical therapy and the 45 minutes of stretching and manipulation I endured today.
The therapist is trying to reduce the muscles that have spasmed and knotted into tender, fist-size bumps on my back. These muscles have pulled my spine to the left and have to be fixed before my surgery. She uses tools to press into the muscles to smooth them out as much as possible. I come out of each session in more pain than I went in. The goal is to go into surgery without these muscles spasmed into giant knots. The goal is to come out of surgery ready to relearn how to walk, stand and live.
This is the pain -- these days of pedaling an exercise bicycle, the physical therapy exercises, the recovery from each session, the building up so I don't waste this opportunity. I would rather skip all of it. But I know better. I know that there is a possibility that I won't have all of this pain forever. There is a chance that my life won't be pain.
Right now, life is pain. I'm struggling to keep up with everything as we get closer to the day I go into surgery. And while there is mental anguish that comes with making a decision to have a major surgery that promises to be painful and have a long recovery; right now I'm struggling with the physical pain of trying to offset my injury-induced scoliosis. My back from top to bottom is bruised from physical therapy and the 45 minutes of stretching and manipulation I endured today.
The therapist is trying to reduce the muscles that have spasmed and knotted into tender, fist-size bumps on my back. These muscles have pulled my spine to the left and have to be fixed before my surgery. She uses tools to press into the muscles to smooth them out as much as possible. I come out of each session in more pain than I went in. The goal is to go into surgery without these muscles spasmed into giant knots. The goal is to come out of surgery ready to relearn how to walk, stand and live.
This is the pain -- these days of pedaling an exercise bicycle, the physical therapy exercises, the recovery from each session, the building up so I don't waste this opportunity. I would rather skip all of it. But I know better. I know that there is a possibility that I won't have all of this pain forever. There is a chance that my life won't be pain.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
When I was stronger
Sometimes memories start with "when I was younger..." but most of the time for me, they start with "when I was stronger..."
When I was stronger I used to rearrange the bedroom on a whim, even though the logs for the king size log bed weigh 200 - 300 pounds each. I would move them, swearing and struggling and then reassemble the bed where I wanted it. If I decided I didn't like it, I would take it apart and move it somewhere else. I did this often to clean under the bed, or because I wanted to surprise my husband when he got home from a work trip.
When I was stronger I had no problem wearing a toddler in a backpack, a baby in a front pack and pulling a preschooler on a sled while I snowshoe'd down the lane. Staying inside seemed impractical even if we had four feet of snow when we lived at the base of the Ruby Mountains in Nevada.
When I was stronger I would take the kids for a hike and end up rotating through each kid with piggyback rides when they wore out long before I was ready to call it a day. It was worth it to show them the next horizon.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn't always be strong and capable. The past few years have humbled me in ways I never knew I was proud. I'll never be as young as I used to be. I can't turn back the hands of time.
But now, I listen to my son who has taken an interest in the things I've always loved. I want him to explore the world and learn about the peace and life that exists in the deserts, forests and plains around us. I want to take him fishing and camping and to learn to laugh at the very misery that makes a bad trip into a good story.
As a kid I roamed the woods and fields. I spent countless time fishing the Clearwater River system and later the streams and lakes of Eastern Oregon, North Idaho and Northeast Nevada. I spent countless miles on my bike exploring country roads. When I was stronger, I had a world to explore.
Sometimes he says, "When your knee is stronger..."
"When your knee is stronger can we go camping more?"
"When your knee is stronger, can you teach me how to fly-fish?"
"Mom, when your knee is stronger, will you ride bikes with me?"
When I am stronger, I will.
When I was stronger I used to rearrange the bedroom on a whim, even though the logs for the king size log bed weigh 200 - 300 pounds each. I would move them, swearing and struggling and then reassemble the bed where I wanted it. If I decided I didn't like it, I would take it apart and move it somewhere else. I did this often to clean under the bed, or because I wanted to surprise my husband when he got home from a work trip.
When I was stronger I had no problem wearing a toddler in a backpack, a baby in a front pack and pulling a preschooler on a sled while I snowshoe'd down the lane. Staying inside seemed impractical even if we had four feet of snow when we lived at the base of the Ruby Mountains in Nevada.
When I was stronger I would take the kids for a hike and end up rotating through each kid with piggyback rides when they wore out long before I was ready to call it a day. It was worth it to show them the next horizon.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn't always be strong and capable. The past few years have humbled me in ways I never knew I was proud. I'll never be as young as I used to be. I can't turn back the hands of time.
But now, I listen to my son who has taken an interest in the things I've always loved. I want him to explore the world and learn about the peace and life that exists in the deserts, forests and plains around us. I want to take him fishing and camping and to learn to laugh at the very misery that makes a bad trip into a good story.
As a kid I roamed the woods and fields. I spent countless time fishing the Clearwater River system and later the streams and lakes of Eastern Oregon, North Idaho and Northeast Nevada. I spent countless miles on my bike exploring country roads. When I was stronger, I had a world to explore.
Sometimes he says, "When your knee is stronger..."
"When your knee is stronger can we go camping more?"
"When your knee is stronger, can you teach me how to fly-fish?"
"Mom, when your knee is stronger, will you ride bikes with me?"
When I am stronger, I will.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
This is the wrong fountain
Remember that legend about the conquistadors in their search for eternal life, where if they drank from the wrong fountain, life would be drained away instead of immortality received? Right now I'm in the wrong fountain.
This week, this month, this day is hard. I know a lot of people struggle more in life with no hope. I have the hope that next year at this time things will be different. One more year of pain and recovery to find what's been lost. But right now, at this moment, its hard to keep going. I'm tired, I'm overwhelmed and I'm alone.
It's the few hours of interrupted sleep every night It's the late work nights and the early mornings to get one kid to the bus and the others through their schoolwork. It's the chores. The anxiety that builds when things aren't done everyday becomes overbearing. It's the cooking I don't do because I'm exhausted and know that the effort to cook will drain away more energy than I can spare. It's my relentless nagging and begging my two able-bodied children to help me more then before and so much more than other kids their age. Its trying to be a good parent, a good wife, a good employee and not fall apart. All of it is hard. And I'm trying to figure out how to survive.
I'm jealous of those who are part of a support system of people who look out for one another. We had a support system like that years ago before we moved to Idaho. The kind of people who would offer to help when they saw a need. It was nice to be part of a community that looked out for each other. We've never had the same thing here.
Over the past couple of years I've learned that our superficial friendships here fell apart pretty fast when we became the friends in need. When we became broken and hurt and when we struggled, others didn't want to get involved. Unfortunately, messy broken people aren't fun to be around. People who need help don't have much to offer back. People in distress are self-centered and consumed by their own survival. Its not until they are safe and comforted that they can give back to those around them. And right now, I have nothing to offer anyone because I am consumed with just trying to survive.
It's the bitterness of trying to figure things out and the weariness of the daily struggle that wears me down. I know that its only a matter of weeks before I have to face the same basic problems but while recovering from major joint replacement.
I'm not sure I'm strong enough.
This week, this month, this day is hard. I know a lot of people struggle more in life with no hope. I have the hope that next year at this time things will be different. One more year of pain and recovery to find what's been lost. But right now, at this moment, its hard to keep going. I'm tired, I'm overwhelmed and I'm alone.
It's the few hours of interrupted sleep every night It's the late work nights and the early mornings to get one kid to the bus and the others through their schoolwork. It's the chores. The anxiety that builds when things aren't done everyday becomes overbearing. It's the cooking I don't do because I'm exhausted and know that the effort to cook will drain away more energy than I can spare. It's my relentless nagging and begging my two able-bodied children to help me more then before and so much more than other kids their age. Its trying to be a good parent, a good wife, a good employee and not fall apart. All of it is hard. And I'm trying to figure out how to survive.
I'm jealous of those who are part of a support system of people who look out for one another. We had a support system like that years ago before we moved to Idaho. The kind of people who would offer to help when they saw a need. It was nice to be part of a community that looked out for each other. We've never had the same thing here.
Over the past couple of years I've learned that our superficial friendships here fell apart pretty fast when we became the friends in need. When we became broken and hurt and when we struggled, others didn't want to get involved. Unfortunately, messy broken people aren't fun to be around. People who need help don't have much to offer back. People in distress are self-centered and consumed by their own survival. Its not until they are safe and comforted that they can give back to those around them. And right now, I have nothing to offer anyone because I am consumed with just trying to survive.
It's the bitterness of trying to figure things out and the weariness of the daily struggle that wears me down. I know that its only a matter of weeks before I have to face the same basic problems but while recovering from major joint replacement.
I'm not sure I'm strong enough.
Friday, March 9, 2018
Drink deep from the fountain
It's been one hell of a week.
Tuesday was a unmitigated disaster. The kind of day that you end with five hours in the emergency room. The kind of day that burns and smolders before you can even fathom what is happening. That was Tuesday.
Wednesday was only the slightest of margins better.
Thursday, eh, we got through it.
Friday? Nope. It was definitely worse than Wednesday but not as bad as Tuesday. It's ending with a overcooked, half-frozen microwave meal where the dry chicken has somehow gotten mixed up in the apple dessert.
My husband left Tuesday morning for a trip that is scheduled to last two to three weeks. And after a fretful and irritating day waiting for my morning delivery that finally came at 3:50 p.m., I was late for work. A friend had agreed to take my kids and dogs to 4-H obedience class that evening and I was just finishing up my scramble to catch up to my first deadline when I got the call. Becky was hurt.
It sounded bad. I dropped what I was doing and bee-lined for the dog training place.
It was bad. Her kneecap wasn't where it belonged. It was very far away from where it belonged.
It was decided that I should take her to the ER in another friend's van. So I did. My traumatized friend brought home Naomi and the dogs. Naomi would take care of the evening with her brother and I would take care of Becky in the ER.
After sedation and reduction of the injury (they drugged her and moved her kneecap back where it belonged), we came home and tucked Becky into my bed.
After three fretful hours of sleep, I got up to send Naomi off to school. The day started in earnest after that.
My friend let me know that my little truck wouldn't start and she couldn't bring it to town. So I spent well into the afternoon setting up Becky's doctor appointment, making phone calls and trying to figure out how to get the little truck home. I finally had help lined up when I set out to fetch the truck. Upon arrival it fired right up and I can only assume it was too cold to start in the morning since its temperamental that way.
Already exhausted, I made it to work.
Thursday, Naomi's sore throat got the better of her. By Friday morning she felt awful. So I let her stay home from school to recuperate.
So on Friday, both my teenagers are out due to illness and injury. My son is struggling with the sheer amount of responsibility. Normally, he only does a little work, a little school, and a lot of goofing around. Now he's doing a lot of chores, a little school and a lot of helping everyone else.
We're four days into a 14 or more day stint with my husband gone.
Changes at work meant that I should have been much more on my game and much better prepared. In fact, if any week deserved my undivided attention, it was this week. I ended Friday struggling to communicate with a person who just doesn't give a damn. I ended Friday frustrated and angry.
I still have one day left in this week, and I don't know if I can redeem any of it.
As someone who is used to having the little things taken care of so I can just focus on working and surviving, I realize I am not well-equipped for the challenges I'm facing. I don't know what to do about it.
This bitterness is not what I was hoping for while I get ready for surgery.
Tuesday was a unmitigated disaster. The kind of day that you end with five hours in the emergency room. The kind of day that burns and smolders before you can even fathom what is happening. That was Tuesday.
Wednesday was only the slightest of margins better.
Thursday, eh, we got through it.
Friday? Nope. It was definitely worse than Wednesday but not as bad as Tuesday. It's ending with a overcooked, half-frozen microwave meal where the dry chicken has somehow gotten mixed up in the apple dessert.
My husband left Tuesday morning for a trip that is scheduled to last two to three weeks. And after a fretful and irritating day waiting for my morning delivery that finally came at 3:50 p.m., I was late for work. A friend had agreed to take my kids and dogs to 4-H obedience class that evening and I was just finishing up my scramble to catch up to my first deadline when I got the call. Becky was hurt.
It sounded bad. I dropped what I was doing and bee-lined for the dog training place.
It was bad. Her kneecap wasn't where it belonged. It was very far away from where it belonged.
It was decided that I should take her to the ER in another friend's van. So I did. My traumatized friend brought home Naomi and the dogs. Naomi would take care of the evening with her brother and I would take care of Becky in the ER.
After sedation and reduction of the injury (they drugged her and moved her kneecap back where it belonged), we came home and tucked Becky into my bed.
After three fretful hours of sleep, I got up to send Naomi off to school. The day started in earnest after that.
My friend let me know that my little truck wouldn't start and she couldn't bring it to town. So I spent well into the afternoon setting up Becky's doctor appointment, making phone calls and trying to figure out how to get the little truck home. I finally had help lined up when I set out to fetch the truck. Upon arrival it fired right up and I can only assume it was too cold to start in the morning since its temperamental that way.
Already exhausted, I made it to work.
Thursday, Naomi's sore throat got the better of her. By Friday morning she felt awful. So I let her stay home from school to recuperate.
So on Friday, both my teenagers are out due to illness and injury. My son is struggling with the sheer amount of responsibility. Normally, he only does a little work, a little school, and a lot of goofing around. Now he's doing a lot of chores, a little school and a lot of helping everyone else.
We're four days into a 14 or more day stint with my husband gone.
Changes at work meant that I should have been much more on my game and much better prepared. In fact, if any week deserved my undivided attention, it was this week. I ended Friday struggling to communicate with a person who just doesn't give a damn. I ended Friday frustrated and angry.
I still have one day left in this week, and I don't know if I can redeem any of it.
As someone who is used to having the little things taken care of so I can just focus on working and surviving, I realize I am not well-equipped for the challenges I'm facing. I don't know what to do about it.
This bitterness is not what I was hoping for while I get ready for surgery.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Road full of promise
I face a lot of doubts going into this surgery that is coming up. But the funny thing is that where the past few years there was doubts and darkness that surrounded every decision we made, I feel like there is a ton of promise in this next step. I’m looking forward to it.
At the beginning of my work week I always entertain the thought that perhaps I really am ok. Now that the surgery has been scheduled sometimes I wonder if perhaps I’m being hasty or maybe I’m a bit dramatic. Maybe I’m a huge wimp with no tolerance for pain. But by the time the week closes and I hobble up the steps to the front door, I am reminded that I need a change. I need to have control over a body that shouldn't be tied up in so much pain.
In the meantime, I’m trying to get my life ready. I have, for the most part, embarked on a change of diet so I can be in the best possible health as I prepare for surgery. That’s hard. I like junk food. I like comfort food with noodles and breads and potatoes. I like easy food that I can put together quickly. This isn’t any of that. But it is helping. I feel a little better, and sleep a little better. And it doesn’t hurt to see the number on the scale dropping.
I’m also seeing a physical therapist who is trying to straighten me out after years of my knee warping my skeleton. X-rays show that my lower back curves to the left and my upper back is curving forward. The muscles in my lower back are so tightly wound that any pressure causes spasms. Of course the PT wants to use an array of devices to torture me. But if I want to regain the ability to walk without pain and a walking stick, I need to do it. So I twist and flail and whine as I do the required exercises. I need to succeed here.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)