Numb
Yesterday, my grandmother had a stroke.
At 3:30 p.m. my grandfather called my cell phone and I didn't hear it ring. At 3:45 he called again but I didn't hear this one either. I did hear my voice mail alert and immediately checked it. I had asked my grandmother to call me over the weekend to let me know what kind of dinner she'd like me to bring her this week. I figured that was why she was calling. When there was no voice mail, I worried a bit. I checked my messages at home and there was a call from them there too. But there was no message, only silence.
I called the house and there was no answer. I hung up and figured my grandmother didn't want to bother me. I was very wrong.
When I arrived home after running errands all day long with the family, my sister called. She said my grandmother fell. That wasn't the entire story.
A few minutes later, I got my Mom on the phone. She was at my grandmother's house. The ambulance was there too because she had called them when she arrived. My grandmother had been in the kitchen and felt dizzy. Not wanting to fall and break a bone like she did a few weeks ago, she sat down and lowered herself to the floor. My grandfather eventually heard her make a noise. It's unclear what time this happened, but we know it happened at least, before 3:30. Once on the floor, she was unable to move.
He didn't want her on the floor so he dragged her into the dining room, then onto a chair and then he dragged that chair across the room so he could move her onto a rocking chair. She sat there, slumped into the radiator until my Mom arrived. My grandfather hadn't been clear about how bad she was when he called my Mom.
I was the first to arrive at the hospital, as the ambulance pulled up, and I signed the consent form for her to receive treatment. I am usually pretty good at holding myself together but when I saw her I lost it. Her face was drawn and her eyes struggled to focus. She was talking a bit and I could understand everything she was saying, but her left leg and her left arm were limp.
Over the next few hours, they did a CAT scan, blood work, and family members began arriving. The monitors beeped uncontrollably: irregular heartbeat, low O2 level and a bruise on her shoulder and gash on her arm that made me absolutely sick. I held her hand and she squeezed it tightly. She seemed to be struggling just to focus on my face and stay awake. I told her to rest.
We took turns being by her bedside and eventually, as the hours wore on, it was only me, my Mom and my sister there. She opened her eyes and seemed more alert and she said the words that brought us all to tears once again. . . "I want to die. Why can't I just die?"
They gave her a tetanus shot for the scrape on her arm, an IV antibiotic because they were concerned about pneumonia and around 11 p.m. she was moved to the stroke unit.
I was told this morning that she had a bad night, but that she is sitting in a chair today, the weakness on her left side still prominent.
My Mom and I have prayed many times that when it's her time, God takes her in her sleep and that she doesn't have to suffer. She hates hospitals and being poked and prodded and yet she is there for the third time in two months.
On the way home from the hospital last night, the song "Comfortably Numb" came on and it made me cry. Why can't she be comfortable? Why did it have to be like this? Why did this happen now when no one in my family is prepared to let her go? There is nothing comfortable about this; it's hard and painful and it sucks more than I ever imagined it could.
We know she can't go home anymore and now lives must be changed, lifestyles adjusted and reevaluated. It's going to be a rough couple of weeks and my family needs all the prayers it can get.
The least of my worries today is my own doctor's appointment later this afternoon.
Own Worst Enemy
Three years ago, if you asked me "Who are you?" I could tell you easily. I had a strong sense of self and knew who I was. Today, not so much.
Growing up, I was extremely athletic. I had no interest in television. I only wanted to play with the boys, whether it was kickball, baseball, softball or a good game of tag, I was always ready for whatever activities the day brought with it. When I was younger, I was an all-star softball player, did two seasons of swimming, took up figure skating for a while, played field hockey and ran track for a season. I spent my summers doing anything but relaxing on the beach. I was too busy to do that. I played volleyball for hours a day while on vacation, and when I wasn't doing that, I was playing tennis until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion.
Then I found karate and that became my new obsession. I would make dinner and do kata while waiting for things to cook. I would come home from class and practice self defense techniques on Mr. BBM for hours. For years, he wasn't even able to hug me if I wasn't expecting it, because otherwise I'd be trying my techniques out on him. I imagined myself as one of those karate-ka that people looked up to. I had hopes of re-igniting a self defense program and becoming a leader on that topic. I saw it as a lifetime endeavor and it was something that I absolutely loved. It was all I could talk about for several years.
And then I tore my ACL and everything changed.
The worst part about tearing my ACL was losing the confidence I had in my body, in myself. It's something that I thought returning to karate would conquer. For a while, it did. When I was training for shodan testing, I spent hours every day working out and preparing. I pushed myself both physically and mentally like never before. But the little voice of doubt and the fear never really left.
After the second surgery, I thought I would bounce back, but it only made me more afraid. It's a legitimate fear. If you tear an ACL for the second time, revision surgeries aren't as successful; and having gone through the pain and agony of one, I can't say I'd ever be eager to go through that period of my life again.
Last week, after my new surgeon told me to limit all activities and stop working out, karate and running altogether, I asked my instructors to put my monthly karate withdrawal on hold again. All these months, when I've only been going once or twice a month because it has taken a good two weeks for my knee to return to normal post karate class, I've been paying and hoping. It was like I thought if I continued to pay, that I'd still be active in karate. I know, full well, I'm not.
I've been grumpier than ever these past few months. I've flown off the handle on several occasions. Telling people off has become my new past time, and I don't like who I am right now.
Little pieces of me have been pulled apart and off in so many directions that I am struggling to figure out what I'm supposed to do and who I'm supposed to be now.
It's not as simple as having a third surgery and getting back to it. It's so much more than that. The fear is out of control. The anger and frustration is at levels I've never felt before.
I'm mad that every physical activity brings with it limitations, self-doubt or outright fear. I'm angry that I can't take my girls roller skating or ice skating like other parents do. I hate that when Lil C asks me to play soccer with her, I usually have to tell her "I can't," or I do and then have to quit far sooner than I want to because my knee doesn't feel right, or I pay for it later in the form of a swollen and painful knee.
I'm downright furious that I am having to go through this all again, and I'll be honest, I don't know how to deal with it.
The other day when I was driving home from campus, I heard Pink's song "Don't Let Me Get Me" and the part "I'm my own worst enemy" hit home for me.
I don't know who I am anymore; and while I know that beating myself up about it isn't a productive thing to do, it seems to be the only thing I know how to do anymore.
Make It Go Away
Yesterday I arrived at my surgeon's office and the receptionist asked me for my insurance card.
"Oh, when you scheduled your appointment, did they tell you that we don't take your insurance anymore?" she asked.
"No," I told her, "If they had told me that, I wouldn't have scheduled my appointment."
I looked at my card, saw the 50/50 out of network numbers and figured I was just going to go through with the appointment. I once fought my insurance company over not paying for an ultrasound because I went "out of network" after I had specifically called and asked them where I could go and they told me that place. I could fight this one too.
I'm nothing if not a fighter.
A familiar face took two x-rays of my knee. It was like deja vous. This is number three.
I sat in the room waiting for my surgeon, staring at the computer screen with the picture of my knee on it, trying to figure things out myself. I don't know what I thought I was going to figure out. It's pretty obvious when there is a screw protruding from your tibia so much so that you can feel it through your skin.
My surgeon came in and held out his hands, a gesture that said, "What are you doing here?" and I pulled up my pant leg. (See that yellowish spot to the direct right of the dark purple part? That's the screw.)
He spent some time poking around at it, moving my skin around, something that makes most people want to put their head between their knees and say "stop it before I pass out."
He said what I knew he was already going to say. I need more surgery. This time, he says he will remove more of the screw. I asked him why he can't just take the whole thing out and he said he can't. Part of it has turned into bone in the middle of my tibia. The part sticking out has not.
The weird indentation I have in my leg is due to "fat atrophy," probably a side effect from the cortisone shot he gave me a while ago, back when I kept complaining I was in pain and he thought it might have just been from an abundance of scar tissue, not from the screw sheath sticking out which only became obvious after the months of swelling had gone down. Because of this fat atrophy, my body is literally skin and bones at that part of my leg. I have no cushion and that my friends, is no fun.
He talked about excising some tissue and pulling the skin over when he closes me back up so that this problem will hopefully go away. I asked him why he couldn't just take some fat from my butt, thighs or stomach and he said it doesn't work that way. Truth be told, it should work that way. That would be sweet.
As we wrapped up our conversation, I told him that his office no longer takes my insurance. He said he would call me next week, after they talked to my insurance company, to let me know how much it would cost me. I can already tell you the likely answer: too much.
I asked him about a "buy two, get one free" special, but unfortunately, surgeons are not shoe stores.
I called Mr. BBM and put him on the insurance questions I had. Which surgeons do take my insurance? Does the hospital and surgi-center take my insurance? They both do, so the out-of-pocket costs for me come with my surgeon's fees. Last surgery, I believe it cost me about $100 per minute, which is probably a drop in the bucket for a surgeon. Unfortunately, that's not the case for me.
Not to mention, I have already spent thousands of dollars on co-pays, surgical costs, appointments and physical therapy. This has been almost three years of expenses for me. As soon as I get one paid off, I've had to go back for more surgery.
I came home and Mr. BBM encouraged me to call a different surgeon. A couple months ago, I ran into my old high school athletic trainer. He is still at the school and is a wonderful guy. I worked for him as an athletic trainer my senior year and loved it. He asked me how I was and I embarked on my ACL saga. I asked him which surgeon he recommends if a student athlete tears their ACL. He gave me a name and that's who I called yesterday afternoon.
My trainer had told me it might take me weeks or even months to get in with him, so he told me to mention his name. I did and I have an appointment on Wednesday.
I am torn though. I have a real comfort level with my current surgeon. While some of my friends and family think I should see someone else, I don't know what to think. My surgeon has a personality, one that I get along with quite well. I feel like he's always been straight-forward with me and that he has my best interests in mind. However, I'm also on my third surgery now for what should have been finished, once and done, back in December of 2007. I don't know what to think. Am I part of the 3% that has a problem with the bioscrew? Am I part of the small minority that will have an unfortunate reaction to a cortisone shot?
I don't know.
The way I see it, Wednesday's appointment will be a fact finding mission. I will gather as much information as I can this week so that I can make an educated decision about who I want to do the surgery and when. When my current surgeon calls me with the fees he would charge, I have a feeling the decision will be more obvious.
However, I don't look forward to another OR visit. I especially don't look forward to going in there with a stranger.
There is one thing I'm absolutely sure about though. I want this to be the last time; and I want this ordeal to be over.
Tech Non-Support
Last week, I noticed that my university email account was prompting me to come up with a new password.
"7 days until your password expires. Renew now?"
I watched the days tick away until it was down to one. I figured I had better get to it. Unfortunately, I was too late.
I logged onto the university website and found a tech support number for password lockout and called it. I was in the middle of helping Big I with homework and trying to get Lil C to quit whining. I was also making dinner and figured I had about 30 minutes of time before ju-jutsu to get some grading done.
I should have known better.
I described the problem to the tech support guy and he asked me to spell the name of the university where I work. I was pretty sure I had spoken clearly. I was pretty sure that if you're working as tech support for the university, then you should probably be able to spell it too.
I trudged on with the process, even after he put me on hold about 40 times. Sometimes he would have me on hold and only come back to tell me he needed to put me on hold for another two minutes. I wanted to ask him to just keep me on hold until he knew some actual information or something but I held my tongue. I figured my ordeal would soon be over.
Once again, I should have known better.
After 45 minutes of confirming my name, spelling the university name and being put on hold multiple times, the tech support guy says, "Ok, your new password has been emailed to you. You should be all set."
"Um, yeah, well there's just one little problem. . ." I said.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Which email did you send it to?" I asked him, knowing full well he only had one email address for me, the one I'm locked out of.
He read back the email address to me and I laughed.
"Yeah, you see, that's the email that I'm locked out of so it's all fine and good that you emailed me my new password, but I still can't log in to get it."
"Oh," he said. "I'm going to need to escalate this to a level 2. They'll call you."
At that point, my head almost exploded.
I went to ju-jutsu, returned hours later and I still didn't have a call.
I called a number I recognized from the actual university and got a familiar voice on the phone. Exactly two minutes later, my password was reset and I was back in my email. I learned my lesson. Local is better.
My Full Time Non-Paying Job
Filed under: Board of Directors, Mental Strain for Mama
Most mornings, Lil C wakes up and packs one of her bags with snacks and toys without me even asking. Then she puts it by the door and asks when we're going to the club. It's been an almost daily occurrence. Next week, when the new sports bar is finally finished, and I can stop going to the club to rip wallpaper down, sand walls, paint, stain, put frosting on windows, lay tile, caulk seams in the floor, lay laminate flooring and deal with any other craziness that happens, Lil C won't know what to do.
I will.
There will be sleeping and long hours spent outside. There will also be clean laundry in the house that will make it to drawers for a change. Perhaps I will go grocery shopping so we can stop ordering food or eating at the club almost every night. Perhaps I will attend karate classes for a change, actually do some exercising, call my best friend, socialize with my neighbors and plan for an opening cook-out to celebrate warmer weather on the way. Maybe I will wash my hair more often. Maybe I will swap my paint clothes for some of the new things bought when I decided I needed a little retail therapy from all the stress.
Perhaps I will grade some papers in a timely fashion for my paying job. Maybe I will try to converse about something other than the club. Maybe I will get some sleep and get rid of these dark circles.
And I know, I will disconnect for a bit, from email, the internet, the phone, and all the negativity, and just relax for a very nice change.
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