I have been to the edge and down into the depths.
I have felt like sinking into the earth.
I've felt helpless.
I have been to some dark places over the past
two years.
At first my family and I
didn’t know what was wrong.
I was unable
to walk without pain.
We went from
calling it a debilitating injury to finally coming to terms with the fact that
it will never be the same for me.
I will
always have to think about it and I will be lucky if I can walk normally
without pain.
It turned out I have a
severe cartilage disorder, one that was hard to diagnose and seems to be even harder to fix.
My last option, a last resort sort of, is one that surgeons do
not even want to do, a full knee replacement at 22 years old.
I have gone through three different
surgeries, the biggest and last of which just took place three weeks ago.
The idea for the name of this blog came from
when I was joking that I “gimp this road alone” and my sister put a more
positive spin on it by saying that I am actually “crutching through life.”
I can also say that I “wheel away” through
life, in a wheelchair, for long distances.
Besides the crutches and the wheelchair, I have a cane as well (not anything
like the cool one Christian Bale uses in the last Batman or Chuck Bass uses in
Gossip Girl).
I never knew that people could donate cartilage just like
any other organ. I was on a transplant list
for 6 months. Every day I waited (and I
know it was even harder on my parents).
One day I was playing with my dog when I got the call. My surgeon told me that they had a match and
I would be having surgery in a week.
This was the biggest surgery I had ever gone through (open knee)
complete with hospital stay. I felt
awful when I woke up. I used a bedpan
and had trouble going at all at first because they had given me a spinal tap to
help numb some of the pain. The morphine
made me nauseous and I couldn’t keep anything down. The nurses came in throughout the night to
prick me and take my blood pressure while my mom sat in the chair beside me the
whole time. She refused to leave.
That first week at home I felt horrible.
I couldn’t bathe and the pain was so extreme
it brought tears to my eyes.
I was out
of it most of the time and nothing agreed with my stomach while I worked
through the pain meds.
I had vivid
dreams, almost nightmares, at night that I learned were normal my doctor said (as normal as
can be I guess).
I wanted to give
up and give in.
I longed to hide under the covers and never come out.
I remembered how hard it was after
my first surgery and I didn’t want to go through that again.
I was in bed for three months after that
surgery.
Even now I feel like I’m
treading in the deep end, just trying to stay afloat.
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| My scar after cartilage transplant surgery (or battle wound as I like to call it) |
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| Home after hospital stay and Jan. 25, 2013 surgery |
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| 5 inches |
I learned that the person that had donated my cartilage was
a young woman-22 years old like me. The cartilage
came from Denver, Colorado. It had most likely
been a car accident. I can’t put any
weight on my right leg for six weeks and will be in physical therapy from 3 to
6 months. So I won’t know if the surgery
helped at least even a little, if I will able to walk for a while (even though I know I
will always have some pain). This is my last chance or real option so I owe a lot to that young woman
from Denver. Maybe I shouldn’t think about
it too much but it’s weird to think that somebody had to pass away in order for
me to get a phone call. It’s like I was
waiting for someone to see the end in order for me to begin. It’s also weird to think that I have a part
(even a small part) of someone else inside of me. I know it’s not like a heart or anything but
still.
I’d seen 12 doctors until I finally found one that I like
and respect for telling me the truth. I’ve
had one tell me “It’s just a knee.” The
thing is, you need a knee to walk. That’s
the problem. I don’t think anyone should
be able to tell you how you should feel or that it isn’t a big deal. I shouldn’t have to prove that what I’ve been
through has been hard and big for me.
Everyone goes through rough times so you would think that we could
empathize with one another more. Where a
simple “I’m so sorry, I hope you get better soon” would suffice people often
don’t seem to know what to say. What
they say instead is hurtful. “There are even worse things in life” and other such comments just seem unnecessary. I feel like only I can truly know what I’ve
been through and how it’s helped shape who I am. I like what Anderson Cooper once said about
how having his father die when he was young changed who he was. He said something along the lines of- I see
how I could’ve been different, like a different path, but my path changed. It’s like a rearview mirror image of what
could’ve been but wasn’t. It’s neither
bad nor good, it just is.
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| Me trying to rock a brace 1 month after surgery |
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| Just wheelin' it with my big sis and Pilgrim our puppy |
I was also told by one surgeon that I should look more into
academia and not field work if I wanted to go into Anthropology (I didn’t
correct him that the emphasis would be more Archaeology then). He needn't worry because my true love lies in Creative Writing. I’ve lost
friends and had people who I thought I knew well and cared never ask and
belittle my experience. I think I’ve
just about seen and heard it all when it comes to telling people about it. The good news is that time is not a myth, it
really does help fade and ease the ache that was once so sharp.
