Not all of the best stories start from the beginning. At least that's what I've been telling myself. It's been six and a half weeks since I broke my leg and yet every time I come here to try to hash it out I come up short of a full story. I haven't been able to process this thing emotionally. Or maybe it's that I'm still processing it. Grief has seven stages after all...
DENIAL: IT WON'T BE THAT BAD
So... Yeah. The actual breaking of the leg part really was fairly awful. And the fallout afterwards was/is also pretty bad. I used to have this vague idea that breaking your leg doesn't hurt that badly. You always hear people say that the adrenaline kicks in and they didn't really feel it or whatever. I've actually seen at least three different people break their own legs and they didn't look like they were in a ton of pain. And you get pain meds right? Clearly the pain meds are great and make the pain go away and also make you feel euphoric about life. Right?
Not quite.
PAIN: THIS REALLY FUCKING HURTS
I'm still not really able to go back and think hard about how the fall/hit/break happened because it's too traumatic. I remember screaming and not being able to stop. I'm hoping to be able to return to the track without having to break that down mentally but maybe that too is denial. As far as the pain meds go I can admit that the first shot of morphine was great. Instant relief and relaxation. But the second did almost nothing and I was in too much pain that first night to sleep at all in spite of the pharmacy being pumped into my arm. The pain ranged from mild to severe for two weeks. My first attempted blog post was trying to happen about then and all I could manage was a long litany of how much pain I was in, the types of pain, the trying to get past the pain. I had enough sense not to post that one because it was too depressing. You're welcome.
FRUSTRATION: I WANT MY LIFE BACK
About two weeks ago I found myself in bed and trying to work from home but actually weeping for the first time. I was finally off the pain meds and realizing just how much I missed people. How tired I was of existing in bed for 20 hours a day. How annoying it was that every tiny thing around the house took three times more energy than it should have and that a simple trip to the grocery or a restaurant expended nearly everything I had. I wanted to sleep in my own bed again, see all my teammates again and have the hours of my day filled with more than TV and crochet.
...and do you know what? I'm still pretty much there (but increasingly able to get around, thankfully). I guess the next stage is supposed to be guilt. I suppose it's possible that there's been some guilt. I sometimes wonder whether things might have been different if I had been a better jammer that day. Or a worse one - so that I wouldn't have been put in. But I know that the truth is it doesn't really matter and so I've been trying to steer clear of that one.
The other truth is that there's a lot that's happened that doesn't fit into this nice rubric of grief. Like...
GRATITUDE: THANK GOD FOR MY FAMILY
When I was lying on the floor, panicked and waiting for the ambulance one of my teammates asked if she could get me anyone. I asked for Razor who came over, held my hand and asked whether I had a high pain tolerance. When I said yes she relayed the information to the firemen "hey, she has a high pain tolerance so if she says it's hurting, it really hurts." I don't know why - but it was the right thing.
When I got to the hospital the firemen tried to move me from the gurney to a wheelchair which caused agonizing spasms. As I lay there in tears my teammate Bruisey told them 'no.' They couldn't move me. It obviously hurt too much. She said it when I couldn't.
It was my last day in the hospital when my mom came in from Montana. I've never been so glad to see her face. She was immediately able to organize the things I hadn't thought of. Going to the store to grab essentials, getting my apartment ready for a less able lifestyle, making sure my insurance paperwork was in order.
On my arrival home a small army of elves from the league whisked away my sofa and replaced it with a hospital bed. Prepared meals began to fill my freezer. I may have been high on drugs and in no small amount of pain but the days were full of friendly faces, encouraging emails, love, life and laughter. It meant everything to me and still does.
So that's where things stand as of today. I know I still have a long road ahead of me and hope to do some more writing here now that I have the time. One thing is for sure, things are looking up from here (or maybe that's the denial talking).
<posted on 3.26.14>
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