I have had a handful of instances that could be categorized as "bad luck." When I sometimes share these stories people just laugh, and it IS funny but I often ponder why am I the one who is living in a series of unfortunate events? However unfortunate, I do embrace these events as opportunities to become well rounded, I am only 34 and I have lived more lives than most people I know. What is funny is that after each event, I think, ok, I've probably met my quota of bad things for a while. Then, something else happens. Now, as I've gotten older I think, ok, I've met my deductible so if anything else happens it will be free. Life goes on and so does our series of unfortunate events.
Let's start from early childhood.
1. I am racing my sister around the block on my scooter and ride face first into a Jeep's tail light, splitting my lip open.
2. I dove into the public pool in Elko on the 4th of July and chipped half of my front tooth off, thus creating the perfect hillbilly costume for Halloween, except I had the wrong holiday.
3. I get sick after I have my tonsils removed and throw up so hard I tear the scabs off and I accidentally swallow them (INSERT BARFING AT THE THOUGHT OF IT HERE). Recovery takes a whole hell of a lot longer.
4. A month after turning 16, I total my car and my face goes through the windshield
by being hit by a man who kidnapped his baby and was fleeing the scene.
5. The power goes out while having my wisdom teeth removed and no place in town will allow my mom to get my pain meds until the power comes back on. Not cool.
6. I chip my tooth again trying to fix a button that was stuck on a visor. Because wearing foam visors were cool.
7. I chip my tooth again on my 16th birthday eating a candy cane in the cat litter aisle in Walmart.
8. I dove for a loose ball in a varsity basketball game and bit through my lip, earning a trip to the ER to stitch part of my lip back on.
9. I tear my ACL playing basketball in college, note, NOT playing college basketball, more like intermurals and have surgery.
10. I chip my tooth again, but this time on a beer bottle being totally classy at a bar hitting on a cute guy. Let's say, it stopped there.
11. I tear my ACL again and meniscus playing volleyball during the first 10 minutes of practice, post college.
12. I sprained my Lumbar and get a bulging disc from lifting my fat dog into my car.
13. I am diagnosed with breast cancer at age 33 while pregnant
Ready for number 14?
14. Every morning after getting the "ok" from my OB, Marco and I like to exercise together. Running around the block, doing yoga, push ups, sit ups, etc. We love it, so we do it. Hey, I have kicked Cancer's ass, so I am free for awhile from unfortunate things happening. I get up in the morning, turn on my super awesome work out video because we are going to Mexico for a wedding and I am getting back in shape and just can't wait to lay on the beach and let the roughness of the year get washed away by the ocean. I'm working out, getting my life back on track and feeling good. In the midst of this routine that we've developed, I feel my knee getting tighter and tighter like a wind up toy. Trying to be more responsible, I sit down and wait for the pressure to be relieved. I stand up after a little break and...I hear it and feel it. A loud pop and a very strange angle my right legs pops out on. I just stand there because obviously I am hallucinating. I go to walk and can't, so I just stand there because obviously I've fallen asleep on my yoga mat and am having a bad dream. I go to take another step and wince in pain as my leg collapses and this time I don't just stand there, I scream, " FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!". I've hurt it, I can barely walk and I now have a crying baby that needs to be fed. I go on about my daily business hopping around because the swelling will go down, everything will be fine in the morning.
In the morning everything is not fine. I go to the orthopedic urgent care and have dislocated my knee cap. I am given a beautiful hefty black brace that I just can't wait to wear with my bikini in Mexico. If I was gaining any level of hotness back, it has been flushed down the toilet. I go to Mexico and master hauling Simona around in the front pack and climbing cobblestone hills to town and maneuvering the sand along the beach. I am in constant pain, which contributes to me being on edge and ready to break. Remember the epic driveway fight I mentioned in the last post? That was fueled by chronic pain, which had spread from the base of my neck, down through my back, encompassing my knee, down my leg and into my foot. All because of a dislocated knee cap? When we returned from Mexico, I receive my MRI results and the shit storm begins. My ACL is shot and non-functioning. The bone on my knee cap has deteriorated and needs to be replaced. My femur has dislocated from the top of my knee. When my knee doc explains my surgery that needs to be scheduled I tell him I can't do it because I have my mastectomy scheduled in a few weeks. He tells me that I will be non-functioning if I don't do it. I cry the whole way home. I want to lay in the river and just call it good. I don't want any more problems, any more surgeries, any more reasons to not be normal, any more stress, I want to catch a break. When I go home I talk to Darin and my mom about it. We come up with a game plan. Cancel the mastectomy and push it back to December and move forward with the knee surgery. So I can be half mobile at a time. If I keep my mastectomy planned I would have no use of my upper body or my lower body. If I push it back and fix my knee I can still use my upper body. Done, surgery scheduled. I have an ACL reconstruction done and an OATS procedure, which is where parts of my knee cap are drilled out and replaced with cadaver bone and cartridge plugs. I cannot bear any weight on that leg for 6 weeks after surgery. I can't get out of bed for almost 2. I am miserable. I can't pick up my kids. I can't get up. I can't go to the bathroom or take a shower by myself. I lay in bed and stare out the window most of the time because I am depressed. Marco wants nothing to do with me because I can't run around and play so I become invisible to him. My mom and Darin become the primary caretakers of Simona and I have to watch it all happening. Clothes and toys get put away in different spots. Things aren't cleaned the way I would do it. I am not cleaned the way I would do it. I have no control over anything. My meds make me sick. My knee won't bend or straighten. I have a machine that forces it to bend and it's painful. I lose my appetite. I want to shrink into a hole and die because everything has just become too much. I have gone from an active and healthy young working mom who ran a tight household. Clothes were washed and put away. Groceries were stalked and meals were cooked every night. Marco was clean and presentable when he went to school. I hiked, ran, rode my bike, worked hard, kept things organized, cared for my family. Now, I am a bedridden. Now, I cannot wash clothes or put them away. Now, I cannot make Marco dinner. Now, I don't have a clue what is in my pantry or what is being cooked. Now, I don't rock Simona back to sleep in her room. Now, I have to have someone help me in and out of the shower. Now, I watch people run and ride their bike down the street through my window. Now, I have been stripped of a routine, adult interaction, satisfaction from work, satisfaction from taking care of my family, satisfaction from everything. I am depressed. I know it. My recovery is slow. I don't sleep. I trip over my dog a few times and fall down on my crutches. I want to scream, but I am too tired to do it now. I have gone from the ultimate independent person to the ultimate dependent person and I HATE EVERY SECOND of it. I am sure there are life lessons to be learned here, but I don't have the mental capacity to think about. There aren't words anymore that can even describe my level of frustration with the cards I have been dealt this year. I want to be strong and not depressed but a person can only take so much. I also know, that my motto this whole year has been to, "Let it Go," but I am in no mood for philosophical bullshit, intuition, good attitudes, good vibes, positive thinking, etc. The world has fucked me and I am allowed to be mad about it for a few seconds.
As I entered my late twenties, I wanted to start doing everything right. I've always been very active and healthy, but I became more aware of the importance of my health if I was going to be in this life for the long haul. I worked out more often and differently, ate more healthy, took care of myself. When I had kids I wanted to be present, teach my kids right from wrong, be a strong presence and role model, mold them to be better than me, provide a better life than I had, laugh with them, play with them, keep them in line, show them the world. Things haven't worked out that way and it makes me frustrated. I watch people who are absent parents or neglectful or drugged out and their kids are happy as clams (not all, but some). I watch those who could give two shits about their body and what they ingest and consume and they have never been diagnosed with cancer or had knee problems. I watch Darin play with the kids and at times it makes me angry because that used to be me and now I just sit on the sideline and watch, for almost a year now. When I had my mastectomy I was limited, when I started to recover I was nine months pregnant and on bed rest. When I could work out again, I blew my knee out. When I started to make progress with my recovery, I slide backwards. Marco keeps asking me when we can run again, when can I chase him, when can I play rough? I don't even know what to say anymore. We used to be connected at the hip and to put it bluntly, he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. I knew this would happen at some point, but not at 3 years old. I wanted to do things right and by doing that I've ended up here in this position and I am a little bit bitter. Not often, but there are times that I get angry. Then, I snap out of it and realize that I've gained more experience and knowledge about the way life works than most people I know. Has my life worked out the way I envisioned it? Not even close. Is that a hard pill to swallow? Absolutely. Should I focus on the things that are positive? Yes. Am I allowed to be disappointed? Most definitely. Should I let it consume my life? No. That's the part I am working through now. So...
When Mother's Day rolled around, I decided that I couldn't stay in bed anymore and I decided to give myself the best gift anyone could give me. I got out of bed and started barking orders and bossing Darin and Marco around. With each, "pick this up and I want it in THAT bin, not the green one" I could feel a piece of me coming back to life. Who knew that I was actually such a bitch? It was news to me, but I have a feeling Darin has known the whole time. As my recovery started to progress I started doing push ups on one leg to relieve stress. When no one was watching I would hop on my good leg until I started to sweat, that progressed to me hopping around the house with Marco shortly behind it developed into a game and he became interested in my again for a short time. My check ups started looking good and 6 weeks later I was off crutches and came home and played the Rocky theme song and took five steps on my own. Marco peeked up from the chair and said, "MOM! You don't need your walkers!!!" It was a celebration indeed.
I am now 8 weeks post op. I can walk slowly on my own and can carry my kids short distances. I have transitioned back to work and am trying to get into a routine for the next six months to establish some normalcy before I go back into surgery and start my reconstruction, which will set me back again. The pain is not over. The frustration is not over. The fighting is probably not over. The stress is definitely not over. But what is over, is my deductible for the year. Here comes a brand new set of boobs...for free!
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