July 2006
Monday July 10, 2006
The Bionic Man
“The Bionic Man” is actually a misnomer. The seventies televisions program was called “The Six Million Dollar Man” and his girlfriend, who got her own show later, was “The Bionic Woman”. I loved these shows as a kid as they embodied the human spirit overcoming adversity and succeeding both athletically and professionally, though I doubt I thought of it in those terms as a prepubescent child. In retrospect, these episodes look rather silly, but belong in a context of time.
So, why in the hell am I opening a journal entry with this bit of pop culture trivia? Today my husband became a real-life bionic man. He had his hip replaced with the latest and greatest of bioengineering technology. Although he will be in the hospital for a few days, after his recovery, he will no longer limp or need a cane to walk. The pain will be gone and he will regain his mobility. I took him to the hospital this morning. Although he really needs this surgery to preserve the quality of his life, it is considered “elective”, meaning he does not absolutely have to have it to survive. The heart operation a few years ago was a different story. I was nervous about today’s surgery, but it is not a life-and-death situation. Instead of wringing my hands in the waiting room or my father-in-law’s house all day, I went to an ice rink.
This may sound insensitive, but I needed to do something to take my mind off my concerns and relax for a while. I found a one-hour morning public at a rink within a twenty-minute drive from the hospital. I stepped on the ice with only two other people. This would certainly be an hour of absolute bliss! I stroked gracefully and powerfully, enjoying the grip of my blades on the frozen medium. Dance steps and moves in the field followed.
Then I saw them. A swarm of children in bright orange day camp t-shirts filed into the arena. A skate guard had generously coned off the center but drew my attention to the hoard. I nodded and thought I would leave if necessary. But, damn it, I did not want to leave. I wanted to skate. The kids got on the ice slowly, allowing me plenty of time to skate around them. The place never became a soup of children flailing around in rented boots. Most of them preferred to watch from the lobby or clung to the boards. Finally, I claimed the center and practiced various turns and twizzles. Amazing how a person can concentrate so completely on performing a forward inside three-turn with equal proficiency in both directions. I became utterly immersed in the task. I also practiced patterns of footwork around the central hockey circle incorporating all of the three-turns known to man. It really did not matter that dozens of people in fluorescent t-shirts were on the ice. They did not affect my practice at all.
I had a great time and got a call a couple hours later from the doctor. My husband is in recovery and doing well.
Tuesday July 11, 2006
What a Bummer
I called the rink to find out if another big group was expected on the public session. None were, so I drove to the rink with the intention of visiting my husband in the hospital following the session. I practiced stroking, dance, and footwork; and did not attempt one spin or jump. Lately, I have been more focused on basic skating and have spent less time on freestyle elements. In order to increase speed and ambidexterity, I have created several of my own patterns designed especially to improve my personal weaknesses. I worked alternating forward inside three-turns with backward crossovers and mohawk steps in between. Then I proceeded to twizzles and finally to double forward inside to backward outside three-turns. Another adult skater complimented my movements as I progressed around the arena. I turned my free leg with a ballet flourish with each back outside three. I felt graceful, confident, and directionally balanced.
When performing the sequence in the counterclockwise direction (my bad direction), I caught my toe pick when turning forward, my free leg flew out of control while my skating ankle buckled. I went down hard. A friend approached and asked if I was okay. “I’m going to get up,” I replied almost desperately. But I felt dizzy and nauseous. I did not hit my head, though I was asked if I hit my head about a dozen times. My friend put her jacket under my head when it became obvious that I could not get up immediately. Soon a group of people gathered around trying to help me up. This group included adult skaters and rink employees. To my utter horror, children skated slowly past me gaping in astonishment. The dance lady had fallen and could not get up. I was terribly embarrassed in spite of mild shock. I did not lose consciousness, put teetered on the verge curled up in a ball on the cold surface.
My right leg would not do anything. I could not put any weight on it or use it to push myself up. I continued to insist that I would be fine if I could just get off the ice, warm up, and rest. I had to walk out of there. My husband was in the hospital and would be coming home in a few days. He needed me. I had to get up. Somehow, between a combination of other people’s assistance and my strong left leg, I was lifted onto a chair. Rink people pushed me to the edge of the ice. They were asking questions, filling out reports, covering their asses. Did I hit my head? No, goddamnit, I did not hit my head.
I left the rink on a stretcher in an ambulance. I could have cried with despair and humiliation. I have been skating in one form of another for most of my life and have never been injured. The emergency medical technicians got my skate off in the ambulance and admired its quality. One declared its cast-like stiffness probably saved my ankle. Good, maybe it was only a sprain.
A triage nurse asked me more of the same questions and took my insurance card. Finally someone came to help me to the bathroom in a wheelchair. I found most of these people unfriendly and blunt. They left me in the hall shivering on a stretcher with no blanket. When I told the nurse I was feezing, she told me it was because I had an icepack on my ankle. No, you dumbass, my clothes are wet from lying on the ice and being in a cold rink. Plus, I am in a state of shock. Finally, someone brought me a blanket. No one gave me any pain medication although the doctor ordered it. They hauled me into x-ray and moved my foot around painfully taking pictures of it. Finally I got a shot of something wonderful. Yes, the ankle was broken, but it was a simple break and not of a weight-bearing bone. I did not need surgery or repositioning of the bones. The doctor put splits around my lower leg and wrapped it tightly. I rested in a state of half-sleep for a couple of hours listening to the banter of people around me. The kid in the curtained compartment next door cried and panicked like a baby over a splinter under his fingernail. I wanted to throw up.
My dopey brother-in-law came to take me home and got my prescriptions. I am grateful for his help, and he has a heart of gold, but is a very difficult person to deal with. He has no everyday skills or ability to interact with others. He seems to suffer from some type of anxiety problem that makes seemingly simple tasks challenging and intimidating. I had called my husband in the hospital overwhelmed with guilt that I could not help him. Fortunately, he will be taken by ambulance to a rehabilitation center where he will continue to receive twenty-four hour care. Myself, I am alone in the house with a pair of crutches. A friend came over and has volunteered to take me to the doctor and make grocery runs. I have enlisted the services of my cat sitter to help with the feline chores that I cannot manage. One of my husband’s friends will pick up my car at the rink. Better to rely on my brother-in-law as little as possible.
Overall, I feel well. The house is comfortable, and I can easily get out of bed and to the bathroom on crutches. Our house has sunken rooms, and those few steps are a pain the backside. I have to negotiate them on my hands and knees or my tush depending on whether I am going up or down. I am not completely helpless, but greatly disabled. I will be on crutches for about four weeks.
This incident shoots my skating plans down the drain for the summer. I had planned to take lessons and test while my husband recovered from his surgery. I even called a coach on Monday. So much for that. At this early stage, I cannot make any decisions about my skating future, only that I hope to come back and take my time. Ironically, this accident did not involve a multi-revolution jump or other crazy trick. I fell doing a three-turn. Those are the worst falls. I was not expecting it at all and had no way to save myself. What a bummer.
Friday July 14, 2006
The Orthopedist
My friend came to the house to take me to the orthopedist. According to the emergency room doctor, my break was not a serious one, but I still had to go to an orthopedist for follow-up treatment. No one was in the waiting room, and I went in accompanied by my friend, who broke her ankle years ago before we knew each other. She (and her husband) has been a god-send during this ordeal.
The x-ray technician took more pictures of my foot, and few minutes later the doctor clipped them to a light screen in the examination room. He told me it was more serious than the emergency room doctor recognized. I started to panic. He needed to reposition my foot otherwise it would heal in an awkward position, be very stiff and painful, and eventually require corrective surgery. Now I was getting sick. I started to swoon from fear. I was afraid of surgery and losing mobility in my ankle. I was afraid of this nasty-sounding repositioning process. But the x-ray clearly showed my off-set foot. I could see how it hung unnaturally when the orthopedist removed my cast. I had to lie down. I hoped the doctor did not think I am a weenie. Then I asked him if I would at least get a shot before he worked on this horrible repositioning thing. Nope, no shot, you weenie. He told me the pain would be manageable. He probed my foot and found that I feel very little discomfort anyway. Most people with this type of injury generally suffer more pain. I was really not in pain at all.
He made me laugh talking about the colors of cast materials I had to choose from. My friend and I discussed the fashion implications with him as though it were the most important part of the entire process. Once I was relaxed, he prepared me for bone repositioning. I allowed myself to go limp on the exam table. He felt around on my foot and ankle then applied pressure. The most painful part was how hard he had to press my shin into the table to get the bones to align. I felt something strange and said “Oh, mommy!” more in surprise and shock than actual agony. Once the job was done, I actually felt better. He wrapped it up and rubbed my leg while I made silly comments and laughed with giddiness. I was light-headed and completely relieved. The technician wheeled me back to x-ray.
The new x-ray images were beautiful. Everything looked balanced and perfect, good enough to skate on. I felt great. The three of us continued to chat and laugh as he finished my cast. The cast is a wonderful innovation borrowed from the automotive industry of all places. It starts as a roll of colored material that looks like a polymeric Ace Bandage. The doctor applies a cotton knit sleeve around the affected area then begins wrapping while wearing a pair of equally funky-colored plastic gloves. The whole process is performed wet. Between the water and a catalyst released from the gloves, an exothermic reaction occurs causing material in the bandage to cross-link and harden. The exotherm gives off heat and coincidently sooths the patient. I felt like I was having a massage and could have fallen asleep. I asked the doctor if he had some hot stones to rub on my back.
My friend took me and my pretty new cast to visit my husband in rehab. It was so good to see him getting along well and looking cheerful. He is making an excellent recovery and I am on my way to one too.
July 16 & 17, 2006
Determination and Independence
So, here I am alone in the house with a cast over my knee and a set of crutches. This is how it will be for a while. I have to make it work. I cannot let this ruin my summer. Of course, I cannot do the things I planned to do like skate, swim, jog, kickbox, etc. But I certainly can sew and read. I can also play around on the computer, catch up with friends over the telephone, and do some upper body work. I also have to free myself of the cat sitter and learn to take care of the feline chores myself. Readjustment to different circumstances involving disability requires creativity and determination. A strong body does not hurt either. The rest of my body is in great shape. I am very strong and able to compensate for almost nonexistent use of my right leg.
After making the decision not to feel helpless, I became empowered. I found ways to do things. Simple tasks that I could not do the day before, I suddenly could manage through a little ingenuity. I could take care of myself and my cats, use my sewing machine left-footed (which is not a tremendous leap considering my innate ambidexterity), and work in the kitchen while sitting in a chair. I ordered groceries to be delivered through an online service. I arranged for the cat sitter to only come once weekly to deal with the garbage. I learned to carry things.
Sewing a garment was probably the biggest lift to my self-esteem. I could accomplish my sewing goals regardless of my injury. I have virtually no pain and am in good spirits. Walking on crutches does not seem so difficult anymore. I look forward to skating again; although, initially I felt apprehensive. My husband told me to just get out there and skate when the doctor declares me healed. What am I going to do? Spend my life worried about breaking a bone? That would be ridiculous and cowardly. No, I will get right back into the saddle and onto the ice.
July 28, 2006
The Orthopedist 2
My husband came home from rehab on July 18th. I was very happy not to be rattling around the house alone anymore. He has improved steadily and is finally walking without a walker around the house; although he uses it for neighborhood walks, which he takes twice daily. He is even able to help me. Since he can stand up and is supposed to put weight on his leg to strengthen it, he makes meals and can get things for me. Amazing how helpful it is for someone just to hand me something. I am basically living as a one-legged person, which is incredibly difficult. Through this experience, I have gained enormous respect for the physically disabled and the challenges they face everyday. I am truly grateful that my disability is only temporary.
My friend took me for a check-up to the orthopedist. The technician prepared another set of x-rays. The purpose of this visit was to determine if my bones were holding position. They were. Lucky me! I did not have to suffer another repositioning ordeal. It is too early to observe calcification of the bones in an x-ray. The doctor expects to be able to see calcification in another two weeks, at which time he will cut my cast down below my knee. Until then, my leg is immobilized such that extraneous knee movement does not misalign my fracture. A smaller cast will certainly permit greater mobility and gives me something to look forward to.
Read about my first trip to the orthopedist.
Week of July 30, 2006
No Refunds, No Exchanges
I have spent my time lately doing a lot of sewing. I first learned to sew in the 4H Club as a young girl. As I recall, the teacher did most of my sewing because I was really too young to handle the task. In fact, I was the youngest child in the group. However, I had been bitten by the sewing bug and began to hand-sew little outfits for my Barbie dolls. In high school, I took to the machine again and tried to make a skating leotard. If you are not at least a somewhat experienced beginner, do not try a leotard. Leotards are not necessarily difficult garments to construct, but they require a foundation of basic sewing skills before graduating to techniques for stretch fabrics. Now I can whip out one leotard after the next, but I started sewing about thirty years ago, if you want to count 4H Club.
In addition to sewing, I have been reading quite a bit. I am embroiled in a historical novel about Ancient Rome called “The First Man in Rome”, it is the first of a six-part series by Colleen McCullough that dramatizes the fall of Rome. I find the book fascinating. I am also reading “The Book Nobody Read, Chasing the Revolutions of Nicolaus Copernicus” which traces scholar Owen Gingerich’s research odyssey through the topic. As a science educator myself, I find the book the right bit of intellectual stimulation to keep me from going brain-dead over the summer. In the spring, my husband and I hit a used book sale, and I filled a grocery bag with reading material. I have also purchased some titles from ebay. There is no shortage of literature in this house.
The telephone has kept me in touch with the outside world, and I have contacted several old friends. A couple of friends have come by to visit or take me out. I have a lunch date in a couple of weeks with a coworker. Until then, I am packing my bags to visit my father. This summer presents the ideal opportunity for a trip. I can recover just as comfortably at his house as in my own. My husband is becoming very independent and has started driving. He will take me to the airport on Wednesday morning before the roosters even think about crowing. My father and I have not seen each other in five years. We have always enjoyed a positive relationship and are both looking forward to the visit.
Several people have looked at me as though I am nuts for wanting to go on an airplane with my leg in an enormous cast. I called my doctor to make sure it would be okay, and he saw no reason why I could not travel. So I am traveling. I cannot sit home and vegetate just because my ankle is broken. My uncle, who I virtually worshipped as a child, gave me the best advice many years ago that I have ever received. He told me: “Never wish a day of your life away. You can never get it back.” As a kid, I don’t think I understood that. Being immortal, I had infinite time and just wanted to fast-forward through difficult periods. I am no longer immortal. Days do not come with an exchange policy. These weeks of disability are part of my life, part of my summer vacation. It is up to me whether or not I enjoy them, and I choose to enjoy them.
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