Normal

One thing that I have a really hard time verbalizing or dealing with is actually hard to explain as it is the emotional side of this process. Emotional aren't rational, so trying to talk about them is scary as some people just don't understand. I had a post about firsts. I continue to have firsts all the time. Like my first workout without any modifications, or my first hour long step, or driving to work alone. Mostly around physical stuff, but I have a mental checklist of things I used to do and note when I do them again for the first time. It has also been stuff like wearing the jewelry I was wearing or getting a pedicure without worrying they'll hurt me. 

I don't expect a cheerleading squad every time I do something, but recognition means a lot to my emotional healing. Sometimes I feel like people have forgotten, and that seems weird/ awkward to say. I don't want to be treated like a 5 year old and be checked in on, but I appreciate when people recognize an accomplishment or ask me how I am feeling. It's been nine months (and 5 days!) and I continue to heal. I am not back to normal, and I know that. I am not even sure what normal is now.

I don't know if people think I am sick of talking about it (or they themselves are tired of hearing about it) but I'm not, as it is my every day reality. It helps me process internally, when I talk about it with others. I get home each night and immediately jump on the heating pad to help ease any pain that creeped up during the day. Pretty much anytime I am home, I am laying on my back with my knees up as that is the only comfortable position. That is my reality. I can't stand for more than about 3 hours, before the pain in unbearable. That is my reality. 

I was at the gym on my 8 month anniversary. Someone I was in a group with asked me how it was going and I shared that it was this anniversary, and it felt like a big deal to me. 8 months since my life flashed before my eyes. It seems over dramatic to some, but when you are told (while being cut out of the car) that you really should have been crushed and died, it sort of sets you on a different path mentally. So yeah, 8 months is a big deal. At the end of the workout, our amazing, kind and generous leader Marisa stopped the class and acknowledged the anniversary. I was brought to tears, not only because it's more real when you say it out loud, but also because I was touched that others also felt the importance of acknowledging this milestone. Marisa is great at noticing when I do stuff that she knows are goals for me, like the first time I pushed that stupid prowler, or when I could do box jumps with even 1 riser. 

This week, a fellow gym mate Linda came up during a workout and touched my heart in a way she probably doesn't even know. I was actually struggling with workout because I had just done an hour of step and 25 minutes of spin and my legs were just done. So I was standing there having a convo with myself about how it was okay to skip parts and not get down on myself. Be proud of what you have done, do what you can, as you are blessed to be able (says Marisa, all the time). 

As I was having this hard convo with myself, Linda stopped me to tell me what an inspiration I was to her. Gulp. Hold the tears. She said she had friends who were in an accident years and years ago, and two of them broke their pelvises, and even all these years later, they probably aren't as fit and determined as I am 9 months after my own accident. That made my day, week, and maybe my year. 

This is tough. Period. Physically and mentally tough, and I appreciate (more than I could ever say or myself acknowledge) those who acknowledge that and help me continue to heal. 

My bubble has grown

I think the number of fears changes daily. Something will happen and my blood pressure will rise and I'm like, whoa, that scared me and it didn't before. I have always considered my self fairly adventurous (skydiving, for example) so random fears sort of weirdos me out. My bubble is bigger in every circumstance that I can think of. I had someone go in for a hug (when I had a walker) and I practically fell over trying to avoid it. I didn't do it consciously, I guess I was just afraid she'd push me over. I didn't realize it until she apologized and then I had to explain that I do in fact like hugs and didn't mean to do that. 

Driving is tricky for me. A bigger bubble is not always good when driving. I have a funny paranoia that everyone wants to be in my lane and that no car can see me. I did get a bigger car to help alleviate that fear and it has helped. My new car has a back up camera, which I not only love, but more than anything, it fills the gap of my physical ability to rotate my torso. I do wish the camera could, be on when I was driving, but I can imagine the confusion that would cause. I sometimes think I prefer to be the driver, until something scares me, and all I want is to be out of the car. Then I am the passenger, and I (at times) have to close my eyes so I don't scream out. Some lucky folks, like my mom, just gets the screams. Love you mom! 

I visualize accidents a lot. It's weird to be driving and literally "see" an accident in my head. I usually have to shake it off and have a conversation with myself. And then I go and watch Chicago Fire (so freaking good) or the news (scary!) and my brain remembers those crazy TV moments. Stupid brain. 

Running/jogging, Jumping and skipping. Hard! This actually revolves more around my knee, but the way landing feels now is different everywhere. I have slowly eased back into step, which involves some jumping and stomping. The first time I did it, I lasted 15 minutes before my knee and pelvis started yelling at me. The next time was 30 minutes. And the next time was an hour! I have really missed step and can't wait to do it with the bounce that I used to have. I do go to the back, which helps with my bubble situation. 

Funny enough, I think I am getting to be as strong as I was at the accident but I have a mental block about skipping, especially the landing part. It is such a joyous activity, and I yearn for the day I can do it, without a second thought. And cartwheels, although I don't think I've been able to do one of those right for years. 

I did sign up to do the Big climb again in March 2014. That was the last event I did just days before the accident and I want to do it again, as a celebration. I don't care how long it takes me, but I am going to do it. 

Healing.

I counted yesterday. 39 weeks since the accident. I have written so many drafts of this post, starting at week 17 (note the date of this port is July . . .  Oops!). I feel like so much has happened, and so little has happened and I didn't know where to start. It will come in pieces because it would be the longest post ever, because a lot has happened. 

My last post, in July, had these goals:

1. Go up and down stairs normal (I have a lot of stairs in my life and so this is top of mind)

2. Driving on the freeway for more than 1 mile and not freaking myself out

3. Driving to work (I was still getting rides)

4. Continue lots of physical therapy! 

5. Heal (mind and body) and set news goals. 

6. Continue to find humor in all the crazy things that happen. 

7. Be grateful for where I am at and going.

My updates: 

1. Stairs. Done. I don't remember when it happened but I just go now.

2. Driving. Gads. See next post. Mind games, I tell you, mind games!

3. Driving to work. It became a necessity due to a big project. I didn't get to think about it, so it happened. 

4. I still go to physical therapy once a week and I look forward to it. I try to do as much as I can between, so the healing continues.

5. Working on healing my mind, and my body. I have a great relationship with my foam roller and heating pad.

6. I like to think I find humor in most situations, but probably need to laugh more! :)

7. Every. Flipping. Day. Grateful. 

After that post, I hit the ground running as soon as I could.  Figuratively. I travel for work, and it is like in mid July, a switch was flipped and I suddenly had a frequent flyer pass again. My first trip was a day one, so I was calmed by the fact that the first airport experience would be with just an small backpack with my iPad and a note book. No heavy laptop, no luggage. I went early to allow plenty of time to be harassed and patted. Many of you have heard me talk about his since then, but much to my disappointment, the giant screw that is now permanently part of me, didn't even make a TSA agent blink. No alarms, no pat down, nada. I know I shouldn't have been disappointment as my lack of frisking, but I was sort of hoping for an eye brow raise or something. Oh well. :)

Fast forward 18 weeks from the first flight, and I was on 3 international flights, and too many domestic to count. I have always been a light traveler, so luckily I have honed those skills more, and travel with even less. My two biggest obstabcles when flying are lifting the weight (which has gradually increased, but one trip involved no lifting at all), and sitting in a seat not on the aisle. I never noticed before how awkward it is to get into a seat. When you add the inability to move your pelvis around, it is strangely challenging. Add an old lady next to you who won't get up to let you out, and it is even more complicated. And yes, that happened more than once. 

My biggest obstacle for all healing has been that my injury is basically invisible. When I had a my walker or my crutches, it was a call out to something being "different" about me. Once I dropped those, I lost my security blanket. I think I actually walked on my crutches longer than I needed to, because I was scared to let that security go. It finally took my knee doctor telling me to get rid of them, or else, to let them go. 100% mental. Mental challenges are the worst, and I am not talking about puzzles. The good news is that shortly after I gave up my crutch, my knee doctor decided knee surgery wasn't necessary unless I had a ton of pain as I continued to heal. Even better news, no real unexpected knee pain! So no surgery!

Recently, I had to be vocal about the fears that I have that could affect my ability to do my job, like being in crowds. It was like asking for help in the beginning, it was hard, but I had to get over it, because I would have died of starvation in a pee soaked bed if I didn't ask for help. Pretty thought, I know. So now, I have to be vocal about what I can and can't do. Crowds, no thank you. I don't move super quick, can't jump (out of the way of danger, duh) and have a voice that does not carry (so I can't scream bloody murder and expect someone to hear me). Crowds used to be fun, and now I am scared I'll get knocked down and break again. I really know the odds of that happening are pretty slim, but the fear of it, is actually worse than it would be.

I did try to overcome this fear of crowds recently by going to a Seahawks game. I love the Seahawks and was willing to battle my brain to be there. I was surprisingly okay, except when something really exciting would happen and suddenly people were in my bubble. I KNOW people aren't going to knock me over and I KNOW that if I fall, my pelvis won't break. . . But sometimes there is just a constant fear that something could happen. Like I said, my bubble is bigger and I did pretty good most of the game and just had to be vocal when I wasn't okay. I was a little surprised that when I did say something, the response was that if I wasn't okay, I shouldn't have come. Noted to not go places with that person again. I know my fear is irrational and I know it's not fair to expect others to understand. 

I just hope it will get easier with time. Stupid fears. And Go Hawks!

Long time, no post

It's been awhile. Not for any reason, except I am actually busy again. 

I am back to work full time, which I like, but I also miss laying around healing with my cats. I can tell they miss me too. I can also tell that I still have a lot of healing to do, so my down time is more important than ever. That does mean not doing some things I want to, and making a good choice for my healing. I enjoy my work and especially the project I am working on now, which definitely makes coming back easier. I have been working from home for almost 3 months now, and just starting to get into the office on a regular basis. 

I have returned to the gym. Marisa is amazing, she is just coming up with stuff for me each time I come in (to compliment the exercises I need to do for physical therapy). It feels good to have sore muscles for something other than having not moved for 3 months. It is a different kind of sore, a good sore. It reminds me what I am capable of and that while this accident has changed me, it doesn't define what I can and cannot do. I won't let it.

In some ways, all of these experiences of returning to things I used to do every day, makes it feel like I never left. My first morning back at the gym, someone came up and said, now that you are back, it feels like you never left. It's kind of odd when you suddenly disappear from something without saying goodbye. In some ways, I sort of imagined time stopping when my accident happened, and everyone just froze where they were, so when I walked back in, it was like no time had passed. (Not how it really works, by the way). I am just back to doing what I belong doing.

A lot has happened in the last month since my last post. For starters, I am on an airplane, typing this. Talk about getting back to "normal." I celebrated 12 weeks. Which was the big milestone set by the doctors at Harborview. Healed! Right? I suppose technically my breaks are solid-ish now, so in the eyes of the orthopedic pelvis team at Harborview, that is healed. What has to heal after that, is all the stuff that was holding me together while my pelvis took its time. This is the hard stuff, cause I don't get to just sit around anymore, I have to actually do stuff. Back to reality, which is scary! 

I also went to the knee doctor. I got an MRI which showed some tearing of my medial blah blah thingy, but showed no pieces of cartilage or bone under my knee cap. Good news! I need surgery to fix my medial thingy, but not with urgency. So, I am planning on October so I can get strong again, heal up more and be out in the gross winter, rather than during this amazing summer we are having in Seattle. So, more on that, when I get it scheduled. 

I have gotten good at asking for what I need to be okay in situations, like Mariners games (2 under my belt, both wins!), concert at Chateau Ste. Michele, going to support friends at Rock and Roll marathon, going to the beach and even paddle boarding (sitting). I am challenged to try things I may be slightly afraid of, but excited that people ask and support me in trying.

I am driving again, sort of. Side streets, I am pretty much good. I would like a sign that says, stop AT the stop sign, not 5 feet after. Makes me jump too. I would also like everyone to reduce ate themselves on proper following distances. Break lights make me jump! I tired the freeway once, and had to have one, very long, pep talk with myself. Here's the deal: Fear isn't logical. I have NO IDEA why I am scared of things that had nothing to do with the type of accident I was in. No idea. But fear isn't logical, I don't chose to be afraid. I just am, and am testing it on a daily basis.

What is next?

More firsts, for starters:

1. Going up and down stairs normal (I have a lot of stairs in my life and so this is top of mind)

2. Driving on the freeway for more than 1 mile and not freaking myself out

3. Driving to work (I still get rides, bless your hearts Angela and Cheryl)

Continue lots of physical therapy! Heal (mind and body) and set news goals. Continue to find humor in all the crazy things that happen. Be grateful for where I am at and going.

I am excited to see how I progress and how my fear subsides.

Firsts

This week was a breakthrough on firsts for me. I have had a mental block on a few things, some super random, some not.

Walking unassisted is a clear front runner in this one. Just being able to do it, is nice

This week, I put on the jewelry I was wearing during the accident. Not because I was wearing it then but because I pretty much always wear the same jewelry. I wear the diamond earrings my mom gave me for my 21st birthday. I wear the silver ring I bought in Dingle, Ireland on a trip with my nurse and amazing friend Christina. I bounce around on necklaces, but I had been wearing my Grandma Ting's lucky necklace. It is gold, has a Jade clover and a cursive gold M. I only wear this necklace in March, because of St. Patrick's Day and Ting's birthday is March 18. For some reason, I had kept it on longer in the month than usual. I think I know why now. A few weeks ago, my mom asked me if I wanted my jewelry and I said no. I don't know why I didn't want it on, but I didn't. The poor stuff was in a Urine sample cup (it was the only thing with a secure lid in the Trauma unit). I hadn't even taken it out since the accident. So, now I have my earrings back in and my ring on. No necklace yet because I knew I would have to take it off for the MRI I had today.

This week, I used my blow dryer for the first time too. I have no freaking idea why I waited 12 weeks to blow dry my air, but I did. I was remind how much I need a haircut and color, but also how much I like my hair when it is dried with a dryer. Next stop, finding some reason to flat iron my hair!

Sweeping and vacuuming. I swept a few days ago and again today. I think being home so much makes me so much more aware of what the floors are like. That, and I am barefoot 95% of the time now. I vacuumed for the first time today. It was downright liberating. I loved it. And now I am just fine going back to having someone else do it, although something tells me I am screwed having just said I can do it.

Last night at my twelve week celebration, I walked to the bathroom alone and without a crutch. That felt pretty amazing, especially when all my friends were surprised, and proud of me.I walk at home quite a bit, but no one is watching me. I kind of feel obligated to start with, I am getting up and going to walk, without a crutch, and I'll be okay. Just so no one jumps up to help me (which does happen). :)

I have had a lot of firsts, but those are this week. Some more firsts I am looking forward to:
1. Wandering stores alone
2. Driving to anywhere alone
3. Going down the stairs without a crutch
4. Going up the stairs without a crutch (two items because they probably won't happen together)
5. Sitting on the ground without using the wall or furniture to get there
6. Working out
7. Going for a walk . . . and later a run
8. Getting off the toilet without holding onto the counter
9. Carrying more than 10 lbs of anything
10. Being spontaneous on anything

Here's to more firsts.

10 steps forward, 2 steps back . . . and a pain in my butt

Two weeks ago, I got news I wasn't really expecting. The knee surgeon I finally got in to see, wants me to have surgery. I kind of went just to check it off my list, assuming they'd agree with all other general opinions - that no surgery would really help me. Much to my surprise, I ended up at a doctor who is known for his research in young female athlete patella dislocations. He has a new procedure that has been really successful and thinks (pending an MRI) that I am the perfect candidate.

Timing wise, it is perfect. My pelvis is on its way to being truly healed (that magical 12 week mark) and that would time perfect with my knee surgery, which wouldn't have any weight bearing restrictions, just bending restrictions. So, I submitted the paperwork to get an MRI and said I would hear from them shortly to get one scheduled (one L&I approved it). Two weeks later, I am still waiting for the awful front desk staff at this doctor's office to even contact L&I. Yes, I have called and been blown off, saying it takes time. You'd think the hold up would be my case manager at L&I, but its not.

So I haven't really talked about the surgery, because at the rate I am going, it could be years before I get in. I exaggerate, but I think this delay, also has me delaying my excitement at being "healed" because I know that I am probably going back down again. Eventually. Bottom line, I am frustrated with this office (Bellevue Bone and Joint Physicians, for those curious about a place you should never expect any sort of customer service ever). I wish this doctor wasn't the best at what he does. I wish he wasn't a runner and understood what I want to be doing again soon. But he is and I feel he is the best choice.

On the flip side, I am making ridiculous progress in physical therapy. I feel like every time I go, my PT is amazed at one thing or another that I can do. I am really good about speaking up when something hurts or feels strange. Sadly enough, a lot of the pain is in my stupid knee that is waiting for surgery. My other pain, is in my butt. No, seriously. My Gluteus Medial is giving me a hard time about walking. My limp is mostly due to tightness deep in my glute.

By the way, pelvis breaks are personal. I never "really" thought about it but now that I have to explain where things hurt, it can be awkward. My groin hurts, what in the heck can we do about that? My glute hurts . . . want to dig your elbow in and make me feel better? Just awkward and open to suggestions.

Another area of progress is having started seeing a chiropractor and massage therapist for headaches. I haven't had a real headache in weeks, and already am able to scale back how often I need to go to the chiropractor. I was always weary of the chiropractor. I told the guy when I went, that I had never been before because I thought he could crack my neck, like they do in James Bond movies, and kill me. He said it would be a bad business model to kill patients, and laughed at my humor. Luckily, I have gotten used to the cracking, and I am still alive. We haven't touched anything near my pelvis, that remains off limits.

Now, I am off to wait for the darn doctor office to call me back.

Independence

This post was hard for me to write as I found myself jumping all over the place. The last few weeks have been the emotional part of healing, which in my opinion is the hardest part. Early on, my situation was just what it was. I found it pointless to be upset by the situation, because it wouldn't get me anywhere and it certainly wouldn't help my healing to be upset. 12 weeks is a long time to fret about what happened, so why bother. VERY early on, I said the "novelty" of my injury would wear off and after week six or so, I predicted that I would have a lot fewer visitors and probably a lot less help.

I have never been great at asking for help. I don't want to inconvenience anyone. I want to try to do it myself. I think that is a natural reaction for someone who pretty much does every thing on their own. I am good at asking some people and not so great at asking 95% of people. I can't really explain the reason why, it just is. Maybe because I feel like everything I ask for will eventually need to be reciprocated, and there are a few people who I know that will happen with, and others, I worry about how to thank people.

As someone who is and always has been very independent, this has been a very unique experience for me. I was essentially forced to rely on others to do things (EVERYTHING) for me. I assumed that as soon as I had a glimpse at independence, I would take it and "run." Interestingly enough, I have had quite the opposite reaction. How do I behave? Everyone expects me to be the same Brianna I was 3 months ago, but I am not so sure I am. I don't have a desire to drive at all. I am extremely jumpy when I am in a car.

Now, as I am walking some (not all the time, just so you know), driving some (not even close to all the time) and able to do more for myself; I am more scared than ever. I think I am scared that despite my progress, I still do need help, some physical, but a lot of emotional help. My job is very social, and therefore, I have always appreciated my downtime at home. Now that I am home all the time, I crave social interaction more than ever. Additionally, because I am not actually driving yet, I rely on others to get me out and bring me things.

The kind of help I need is the kind where someone just comes and watches TV with me, or takes me to lunch to get me out and chatting or helping with the few things I shouldn't do (vacuuming, taking the garbage or recycling out, for example). I find asking for companionship is even harder, because there isn't a "reason" and often I just want to be normal again. Sometimes I don't want to talk about my progress, I just want to hang out. I want to do normal stuff, but I am just not quite there yet. So close, yet so far.

Walking and the looming 12 week mark

I remember when the doctors at Harborview casually explained my recovery timeline. No weight-bearing on my right side for 8 weeks, starting walking at 8 weeks or so, it'll take about 4 weeks to relearn how to walk and you should be good to go at 12 weeks. Bam! Healed, just like that.

I also recall every medical professional I have seen (doctors, physical therapist, chiropractor, my crazy in home nurse, etc) tell me I am healing faster than most and am lucky to have been in such good shape at the time of my accident. 

Sitting here at 11 weeks, I find those conversations much more meaningful. First of all, it doesn't just happen. It is not like at 8 weeks, everything just worked. I went for a check up at Harborview at the 7 week mark and was actually cleared early to begin the process of walking. I would move from my walker to crutches and increase weight bearing by 25% each week. First of all, figuring out what 25% of my weight is, was bizarre. I purposefully hadn't weighed myself during this time, as to not get upset. I had worked really hard leading up to this accident to lose weight, eat healthy and workout; and didn't want the number on the scale to discourage me. 

I have still been consistent about doing my at home exercises, which still in itself shocks me. I like going to physical therapy, I see progress and get kudos for my progress. Like a little gold star on my imaginary chart. I'm doing the work and its paying off. I eventually dropped to two crutches outside, one while at home. Last week, I dropped to one crutch home and away. Crutches are kind of like protective gear, it helps people see that I am injured and to give me some space. Some people. I would argue that the majority of society is oblivious and rude when it comes to people with crutches, walkers, etc. we are wider, we need some space and we are probably nervous you'll forget 10 seconds after we said excuse me, and you'll back into me. And if I'm walking with crutches, don't hand me a pen and then get impatient while I figure out what to do with them to sign something. Seriously.  Maybe I should start an etiquette class . . . On life and not being rude.

Any who, I digress. Despite making lightning progress, according to my PT, I feel like, because of the darn agenda of healing I was given, that because I couldn't walk around like a normal person at 11 weeks, I'm behind. I'm not behind. I wall and furniture surf, often just walking near to feel like I have the support, but not actually touching it. I'm walking. I'm limping, but I'm walking. My knee is weak and it makes walking hard. I can't believe one PT said they couldn't help my knee until I had weight bearing status. I wouldn't be able to stand if I hadn't been working on my leg.

Learning to walk again is a strange experience. You assume it is physical, which to some degree it is, but it is way more mental. Mental walking. As I approach 12 weeks, it is interesting to think back to week one and what I was told I would be able to do, and what I am doing. That boggles my mind. Boggles. 

Eight weeks

Today marks eight weeks since my accident. Eight weeks. In some regard, it feels like yesterday. I remember every moment of the accident. In other regards it seems like ages ago, as the specific details of other parts have started to slip. I feel lucky, in a strange way, to have had the thought to start this blog so I can recall the details. You might think that I wouldn't want to remember, but I do. I want to always be grateful of how lucky I was, am and always will be. 

Yesterday, I had to recall some pretty specific details of the accident and actually learned details I didn't know before, like the kind of truck that hit us. Funny enough, I have seen the headlights in my head so many times, trying to figure out the truck type. Every time I pass a truck when I am out, I look at the headlights to see if it affects me. I find it weird to now have closure on that piece of information. I wonder if now when I see that type of truck, if I will have anxiety, or relief. We'll see.

Riding in a car is drastically easier than I thought it would be. Some rides have been a bit more . . . Traumatizing. You know when you are driving along and a car comes up quickly on a side street? Yeah, that scares the shit out of me. Every. Single. Time. In case you were wondering, you are supposed to stop at the stop sign and then pull forward to turn. Just in case you were wondering. You know what also scares me, freeways. I worry I will turn into one of those crazies who always takes side roads. It doesn't even make sense, I wasn't on the freeway in my accident. If I end up like that, I am screwed because driving to Queen Anne on side roads would take a long time.

I can think of five times that I have felt sad about this. I think that is pretty remarkable. First, when I missed my first race after the accident. The Seahawks 12K is a race I always wanted to do. I love the Seahawks. And I finally had a crew to go with and a running mate I was super excited to run with again. It was a tough day because I was so happy for them, and so sad to miss it. Second, was missing a big work event that I had worked on for about 11 months. I didn't get to see this amazing thing come together, although my coworkers took my baby and made magic. Still not the same as being there to see it. I like to see my work through. 

Third was the day my amazing friend Christina left me. It marked 6 weeks we had been together, day in and day out. How do you thank someone who has essentially given up their life to take care of you? There is no amount of money or any gift that could show my gratitude. So, I decided to give her some items that I knew a few things about, running gear. If she is going to run (which she did a lot more of at my house) she needs to do it with good socks and a freaking amazing bra. I cried when she left and again after she came back a few days later to really say good bye before she left for an amazing five week vacation. 

Fourth was sitting at a recent family gathering and not being able to stand around the kitchen island and talk. I never realized how much we do that, until I couldn't. I didn't have the heart to say, hey, come over here so I can talk too. I honestly was in too much pain. Lastly was missing another race. I had signed up for the Portland Rock n Roll because my running partner asked me to be there and run with her. She actually said she needed me. I was so excited to be back into running after a few year hiatus and I wanted so badly to be a part of a day that I knew would be a PR for her (and it was). 

Alternating these sad days, I have had so many more happy days. I have laughed so much, even when it hurt my pelvis to laugh. I have been surrounded by so many giving people. It has been an interesting experience to learn who is there to support you in times like these. There are a few people who I would have never guessed would be essential in my healing and have grown amazing friendships with these people. I think these friendships would have happened regardless, this accident just expedited that, and I am actually grateful to the accident for that. I have had great conversations, heartfelt conversations and hilarious conversations. 

What many close to me know, but others may not realize, is that prior to this, I rarely had people at my house. Rarely to practically never. I always kind of wanted my space private and felt bad having people come over and get cat hair on them, or god forbid that Richie would bite them (gasp!). You know what I have learned? No one cares. They don't care what my house looks like, they don't judge me for how clean or dirty it is and they would rather have to visit me in a pile of cat hair (you never will) than never be able to visit me again. I am here to visit and that is what matters. I have had this thing about my house for years, to the point that it was a huge topic of conversation among some of my friends last year. You know what I know now? Who cares what others think! (And if they say bad things, I probably don't want them to come back anywho). My real friends come armed with Benadryl, ready to do whatever I need. 

Eight weeks. Here is what I recall about each week, without thinking too hard about it:

Week 1. Surgery, going home, back to ER, back home, Murphy home

Week 2. Just adjusting to what in the heck I needed

Week 3. Follow up at Harborview, new bionic knee brace

Week 4. Physical therapy starts, return to work part time from home

Week 5. Accidentally slept on my side and learned I could lay on my side without my pelvis shifting 

Week 6. Christina left me

Week 7. Follow up at Harborview, started putting weight on my leg

Week 8. This week is big. It marks the 2/3 point in my supposed recovery timeline. It's not like at 12 weeks exactly I will be normal again. But it marks the date I can return to. More normalcy. 

My big success this week happened yesterday. I hadn't been at physical therapy in a week due to scheduling, but last week I had been cleared to start putting 25% of my weight on my right leg and increase by 25% each week. Technically, that puts me one week ahead of schedule. According to my pelvis team, I am making better than expected progress. I have always been an over achiever, so I am not surprised but I am really happy. I think the fact that I actually took the time to recover (and then actually did my physical therapy . . . Cough . . . Unlike in the past). I didn't push it, I left others help me. 

I started dabbling in crutches a bit this week. Once or twice a day, usually going to the bathroom where nothing needed to go so with me. Crutches were a bit easier to start weight bearing as well. It took me like 4 days to figure out how to even kind of measure what 25% of my weight was. I had put off weighing myself until this week. I finally weighed myself on my digital scale, and then tried pushing on my leg and seeing what weight registered. I was surprised when I actually came in at about 25%. Really what I needed to do was set my leg down, because I hadn't done that in 7 weeks. 

In physical therapy, I filled my therapist in on what I had been doing with the weight and other exercises. I think he got excited that I was trying stuff because I think he had a plan for what we were going to do and it turned into crutch therapy. I learned to walk with crutches both step together and stepping through, I learned different ways to go up and down stairs and worked on flexing my quad. It was 75% mental. I would stand there and tell my leg to do something and nothing would happen. That is the strangest feeling. Back to: my brain says do this and my leg says whatever. It took some coaxing but I was able to do everything. Everything. My therapist told me I had done SIX weeks of therapy in one hour. He was so excited, I was so excited. 

I can only go up from here. Now off to more physical therapy.

Lessons Learned

This experience has taught me to be grateful for a lot of things, and quite honestly, made me aware (and maybe a tad annoyed) of a lot of things. I don't mean to sound to rude with any (except the ambulance) of this. It is honestly just things I don't think I would have ever thought of before.

LITTLE THINGS MEAN A LOT.
Prior to this accident, I figured "friends/acquaintances" wouldn't care if I didn't say happy birthday (or whatever other milestone) to them on FaceBook. I am just one of hundreds or thousands, right? Wrong. I have read every single comment, message, email and look at every single FaceBook like. And every one means just as much to me as the next. So when you think something small doesn't impact people, you are probably wrong. They may not notice when you don't, but I promise they notice when you DO. This is a big lesson for me.

GET OUT OF THE WAY OF AMBULANCES.
Their sirens are on for a reason. Move. And by move, I don't mean, try and out run them. Stop, and pull over. The "someone" in that ambulance is probably in a lot of pain, and you not getting out of the way, could make a difference in their situation and treatment. The more an ambulance has to jerk around to get around you, the more that patient is jerked around. Please, just move. It is good Karma.

PEOPLE IN WALKERS MOVE SLOW.
Really slow, unless they have 4-wheels, then watch out. Using a walker is downright exhausting, and rushing is nearly impossible. So if you are walking faster, then just pass them. If you are a car, just go if there is enough space to go without hitting the person. It is embarrassing and frustrating to feel rushed, especially when you are already in pain and probably embarrassed about being young and using a walker for a nearly invisible injury. e

IF I DON'T KNOW YOU, I PROBABLY DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED.
Period. Don't ask, it's weird. (and I probably don't want to know every story of yours either). Sorry.
P.S. If I know you, this does not apply, I promise.

DOORS AND BATHROOM STALLS SUCK.
Doors are hard to maneuver and I have appreciated every person who has opened the door for me (even more if they don't ask what happened). And Bathroom stalls are like an obstacle course. Every notice that handicap stalls are often at the very end of a hall of stalls? Yeah, well, that is THAT much more energy I have to use to get back there. So, feel free to step out of my way, or not sneak into the handicap stall, when you see and hear me coming.

OFFERS.
I have had so many offers for help, especially in the beginning. I can't accept every single help at every offer, even if I wanted to. As time progressed, and I have still needed things, I have a hard time following up with people who offered to do stuff. Seems weird, but it is hard to say, hey remember 5 weeks ago when you offered to clean my bathroom, can I take you up on that now? So feel free to offer again, if you want and I will almost definitely be able to take you up on it. An offer is an offer, whether it was the day after my accident, or 8 weeks later. I want to see you.

And . . .That's my sassy contribution to today.

All you need is love. . . And a cat (or two)

There are studies that show cats (well, probably all domestic animals) are healing. Don't ask me which studies or where they are, because I am just assuming. Cats get a bad rap. I don't get it. People walk around and say they HATE cats. I feel like that is like saying, I hate all people, or all brunettes, or something. It's so overarching, it's annoying. I'm okay with not being a cat person, but to just boldly say you hate something bugs me.

Secondly, you don't know all cats. There are nice cats and there are some real terrible ones, but when you have a cat and they help you heal, you love them. I am pretty convinced that Murphy and I helped each other heal. And Richie, albeit a tad bit of a grump to others, loves me with all of his kitty heart. So everyone reading this is hereby ordered to love Murphy and Richie. So there.

When I took Murphy to the emergency care facility the day before my accident, I actually thought that was going to be the last time I saw him. I made my mom drive me there with him, so I could sit in the back seat and hold his paw. I hate when animals are sick, you can't explain it to them and you can't ask where it hurts. They just look at you. So here I am thinking that Murphy is near the end, and then I get in this accident. That's it, I'm definitely never seeing his face again. . . At least that's what I thought. I had to out that out if my mind, and focus on getting myself better. No easy task. I asked my mom to be the contact for the vet until I was up for it. I couldn't even really ask for updates, because it was too much for me. And then there was Richie who was home alone, which NEVER happens. Luckily, I have amazing friends who take care of him/them when I travel and they started feeding him. Since I didn't know how long I was really going to be in the hospital, I had another friend come and hang out with him. He probably ignored her, but she was there if his grumpy ass decided he needed attention. Yes, you read that, I had a friend for Richie. What started out as a friend for Richie, became one if the most important people to me in this process. She's kind of amazing.

I've specifically not talked about people who have helped me, visited me, etc because I don't want to leave anyone out, even if they don't read this. It's like my Oscar speech, and would never want to miss anyone.

Back to cats and how amazing they are. They are. The end. Just kidding. :)

Emotionally, it has been harder to deal with Murphy's illness than my own injury. Strange to many, but since I don't know by asking him if he is okay, I just have to listen to him, or watch him. I remember the first time he snuggled me during this and his nose was wet. That is good and it made me so happy, I had to announce it to everyone here. When he started meowing again, I knew he was on the up. With his insulin, at first, he never fought the shots. Then as he started to feel better, he would cry like we were stabbing his with the biggest knife ever! (I would also like to add that the needles his insulin is being given with are tiny 31 gauge, like you almost can't see them. My needles were 16 gauge, which felt like the size of someone's finger). Now, he cries at the end, just to let me know, but doesn't fight me. He knows it is is good for him, or at least that is what I am telling myself.

My point is, my cats make me happy and I think their energy (lots of sleep) and their calmness make me heal. Their purring is pretty awesome too. They crack me up. They drink my coffee, try and fit in small places, look super cute sleeping, followed by a dramatic cat wrestling championship on the floor, followed by a nap. They entertain me when I'm alone and make me laugh all the time. I'm no crazy cat lady but I appreciate a good cat story or video.

So all you need is love (which I have a ton of) and cats. And I suppose a lot of time and patience are helpful as well. Meow.

Physical Therapy begins!

I had a few options for physical therapy:
1. Go to any physical therapist I want, which requires leaving the house
2. Bring back the home care physical therapist

Hmmmmmm, yeah, sure I'll go with the one who said there was NOTHING to be done until I had weight bearing status on my leg....or I could choose the one I have seen off and on for years and just make some trips to the outside world.

Much to no one's (maybe Elaine's) surprise, I opted for my trusty physical therapist. I emailed the office manager and heard back that the soonest I could get in was 3 weeks away. I took what I could and was put on the cancellation list. Luckily, a few days later, they called with two cancellations for the next week.

The day of the first appointment seemed monumental in my mind. First time leaving without Harborview as my destination, first time going down the stairs without my brother, first time riding in a regular sedan style car, first time riding in the front passenger seat of a car, first time being in public and first time going to physical therapy with a broken pelvis AND a "recovering" dislocated knee cap.

I started with paperwork. Always my favorite part. I don't quite honestly know if my paternal grandfather had any heart problems or if my maternal grandmother had liver problems. I feel like someone should create a system for us to be able to pull this up because every time I go to the doctor, I sit there and ponder what I know about my family's medical history. I bet if you compared all of my forms over the years, it would be pretty comical what I thought I might know about that.

Getting anywhere with a walker is time consuming and exhausting. And even old people look at me weird when I am using it. The thing about my main injury, is that no one can see it. I wouldn't know the severity of it, if it weren't for my X-rays. It hurts, and that's about what I would be able to tell you. And bone pain is different, period. I'm not talking about breaking your toe.

Using a walker is way harder than it looks. Way harder. I enjoy working out. I miss it like crazy. Physical therapy is the closest thing I have to working out for a long time, which is what makes me like it. I get to accomplish something, even if it is wiggling my toe.

Fast forward to now (first week of May) and I have been in PT for 3 weeks. While leaving is still hard as hell, I look forward to getting out, especially when we have had great weather. Getting out also tires me out. My former busy bee personality has been replaced with someone else, for the time being. I need to build up my stamina slowly. Slowly. Another 2 weeks and I should start get to start doing even more.

If you haven't been to PT, it is a lot of small stuff. If you haven't been injured and had stiffness and soreness from not moving a joint for weeks or months, it is a weird thing. Your brain says bend and your leg says whatever. It's frustrating. Especially when you have come from a place of doing box jumps, burpees and running. But I know this is what I need to do to be able to do all of those things again. Flex and extend your ankles. Kegals. Rolling a tennis ball under my arches (harder than one would think). Fun stuff.

Keep on walkering, that's all I can do. One day at a time!

Murphalicious

While I was getting an update on me, Murphy was getting checked out too! Busy day in the Mark household! After Murphy's last visit, he had gained 2 pounds, had decreased his medicine, was sleeping in the living room, being much more social.

While I was waiting for the nurse to come with my brace, the vet called. All good news. Murphy was ready to come home. We were going to drop all medicines, except insulin and the liver support until it was out (like 8 more days). We were going to "starve" him for 12 hours so that he would become hungry and seek food on his own. And he had gained more weight. Overall, the vet was very happy with his progress.

I had decided to have the vet tech bring him home at the end of her shift, rather than going to pick him up. Honestly, I wanted a few hours off, not having to worry about where he was and what he needed to have shoved in his tube. Plus I was having a group of friends over and just thought it would be better if he came home late. Good choice for me. Murphy. Oh Murphy. Back in the day, Murphy ALWAYS peed in the carrier when he went in it. He hadn't done that since this whole thing started, but on this day, he did. Ha, lucky for me, he did it with the tech, not my mom. To most this would seem like he wasn't okay, but to me, this meant he was better.

He has been pretty good about eating (often only out of my hand, but eating). Still doing the afternoon and evening feedings by tube, insulin shots twice a day and a pill down the throat. Not too bad! His tube get get clogged and we had to take him back to the vet to clear it. Otherwise, he has been doing good. He definitely doesn't like his insulin shot, but I am learning how to do it with less pain for him (and me).

This week, he started jumping up on the bed again. It is high and takes a lot of energy for him. He also started jumping on the bathroom counter for water (yes, I let them drink out of the faucet) and in the last few days, he started meowing at me a little. All these little things seem so random but show that he is feeling more like himself.

Both of us have made a lot of progress. Yay!

Frequent Flyer Miles

I feel like I should get frequent flyer miles at Harborview. My surgical follow up appointments will all be at Harborview. Funny enough, most of my time at Harborview had been laying down, so sitting up or walkering there, is a whole new experience. Luckily, my visit to Harborview was NOT like the previous two. It was planned.

April 17. My 2(ish) week post op appointment. Two days before I had gotten one of those generic calls confirming my appointment, which has been made prior to my checking out. You could tell it was a regular message where certain field were "merged" in. I had an appointment with "a physician" at "the hospital." Wow. Specific. Thanks Harborview. I got dressed and put two shoes on. First of all, this was the first time a show had been on my right foot, since the accident. Second, the fact that I even got a shoe on, was kind of a miracle, let alone a Nike Free (which is hard to get on, even able bodied).

My brother and mom came over to take me to the doctor. I opted for hopping down the stairs and my brother had brought some stool steps for me to get into the truck. It was MUCH easier than the first time I had gotten in. It was a sunny day and I was (and am) grateful for them giving up their day to take me for my check up. The drive was uneventful, thankfully. I'll admit I have some anxiety about riding in a vehicle.

We arrived and my mom grabbed a wheelchair. We waited in the lobby for my brother to park and then headed up to the Orthopedic Post Surgical Center. This particular office had JUST opened. I don't know where they were before, but it was unorganized and under construction. My stomach wasn't feeling good, so while I had been pretty positive, I was getting irritable while I was there.  Meh, it happens. We had to check in, and the line took nearly 10 minutes to do so. I learned why after my appointment.

My brother got comfy with his Kindle and we waited maybe 3 minutes before a nurse came out. (Flashbacks to the hurry up and wait part I loved so dearly during my stay . . .). We went back into the room, which had a great view south on I-5, with the sun shining. The nurse took my vitals, confirmed a few things (what paperwork I needed for L&I, etc) and the doctor would be in shortly. A lady named Teresa came in, who has probably the most unappreciated job ever. She does all the paperwork for the doctors, so they just have to sign them. She filled everything out for the L&I paperwork, as well as some stuff I needed.

Shortly after, my doctor came in. He was cute and I actually remembered him. He introduced himself and said he had been in my surgery and had been one who had done many of my post op checks. I definitely remembered him. He was super cute (and on the team with big arms Krieg), with nerdy glasses, with a super soft demeanor. We talked through my surgery (since the last time I heard about it, I was coming out of a fog). He pulled up the x-rays on the computer and walked my mom and I through each step. He answered every question and I think even found me a little funny. He was so patient, unlike any other doctor EVER.  Dr. Westrick I like you. (Later I told my mom that he was my type and she responded, even with his ring? No mom, he is my type minus the wedding ring. ;) )

Dr. Westrick brought printed version of some of the better X-Rays (both before and after). He removed my staples (3 of them, holding together a tiny 1" incision). My mom wanted to hold it. I don't even know what I asked him, but I remember feeling like he was willing to be there as long as I needed him to. I think my favorite was when I said I thought I could feel the screw. He smiled, and said, No you can't, you can feel the break. Ohhhhhhhhhh. :) Ha. That does make more sense, I suppose. It was really beneficial for me to understand the breaks and where they were more. I have an 88 mm long and 7 mm diameter screw. The largest they have. Forever and ever. My other two breaks were in bones that were too small/round/flat to fix.  It explained a lot about my pain.

We did talk about my knee too, which I wasn't expecting. I had been told in the ER that I would get a referral to sports medicine for my knee, but that I would probably need surgery. My knee cap had been dislocated for several hours, which is never good. After about 10 days home, I called my for referral. Silly me had thought Harborview would have done that. Silly me. I talked to someone on the phone who asked me a lot of questions I felt like should have been accessible in my file . . . like why was I admitted to the hospital. I feel like that should be in my file. For real. I was told I would get a call back. Five days later, I got a call, saying my referral had been approved and would be receiving a call soon. Harborview soon.

Fast forward to my appointment. Dreamy Dr. Westrick explained that their sports medicine department was going through some "changes" and to not wait to hear from them. He wanted me in a different brace that allowed me to bend it, in physical therapy ASAP to get mobility and printed out two doctors he recommended at another hospital (gasp!) that he recommended. He encouraged me to get healthier, and then visit them, as having surgery on my knee, while my pelvis was healing was not ideal.

So, moving forward:
1. Still no weight on my right leg (for my pelvis) until 8 weeks post op (5 1/2 more weeks)
2. New fancy brace, to start bending my knee
3. Start PT for my knee now
4. Another appointment in 4 weeks, with X-Rays
5. 2 weeks after next appointment, start PT to learn to walk again, which should take 4 weeks
6. No NSAIDs for 6 months. I need my bones to heal on their own.
7. Cleared for at home, sedentary work only.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in to confirm that I needed the brace and would be back shortly. Un-Harborview like, she was back very quickly. Unfortunately, the brace was a velcro monster and needed to be fit. The nurse was a crack up. She had us all laughing in the room, while she cut the brace to shorten it, and I pointed out she was actually cutting the "girth" not the height. According to her, she was grateful I had skinny thighs, because if she needed to wear it, she would have to get a new one. After a lot of laughs and a few minutes, I was ready to go, once I got my shoes on (no easy task).

We went out and I was standing near the desk to check out. After a few minutes of chatting with my brother and showing the X-Rays, a lady yelled to me that if I was waiting to check out, I needed to join the line. This was the line I was in before, to check in. I was using a walker from the hospital at this point, probably because I wanted some independence. The line was all the way on the other side of the long desk. I kind of sighed and then started my journey over (with my mom right behind me with the wheelchair). It took me a few awkward minutes and the exact second I got in line, the same lady yelled that she could help me now. So, I walkered back over (practically back to where I had JUST been). Thanks lady, you know you work in the Orthopedic Surgical Center, right?

As I approached, the lady to my right was arguing with another admin about being stupid and not knowing how to do her job. So my "gruff" lady had to interfere, which meant I got to stand there longer. I think I did a pretty good job of being patient, considering this was the longest I had ever stood. My left butt check was starting to talk to me, right as I thought we finalized my next appointment. The lady next to me started to cause problems again. Luckily, my lady apologized when she finally wrapped up everything I needed. I sat in the wheelchair and we were out of there.

We left and I cursed at James Street. I think there are more potholes in James Street than all other streets combined in Seattle; which is ironic considering it is THE way into the #1 trauma center in the Pacific Northwest, and has the top rated pelvis team. Broken bones and potholes do not mix. Someone please pass this on to the City of Seattle. Thank you.

Uneventful ride home (yay!) and then back up the stairs. I decided I wanted to try hopping up the stairs, rather than sitting on my bum and doing dips. It looks more chaotic than it really is. It is jarring and not something I could have done even a week before. It was the opposite of going down. My brother stood on the stair above and basically served as a railing. I held on and jumped up on one leg. With the new brace, I could slightly bed my leg out of the way. It took half the time but I was still exhausted. That was the most action I had in weeks! And I needed some down time before my dinner dates arrived.

Harborview visit done and done.

Elaine

After I got over my allergic reaction, I feel like I just cruised through the days. Lots of alarms for Murphy's schedule and lots of visitors bringing me flowers, delicious meals, treats and great conversation. I had a few hours here and there where I was alone, and I didn't even know what to do with myself.

I did have a visit from a Home-care advocate, assigned by L&I. Elaine. Oh Elaine. She came in to my house shortly after the allergic reaction was starting to heal. She was just APPALLED by my house, which initially offended me, but really she was saying that I needed more support to really be safe. She wanted a home care nurse assigned to come and help me bathe, and clean for me. She also wanted physical therapy and occupational therapy to visit as well. Well let's just say Elaine is used to visiting with old people. I appeased her.

The next day, I got a call from a nurse Leslie who wanted to come in from the Home-care service provider to evaluate me. She took my vitals and then talked about my options. Their primary concern was getting me bathed regularly. They had a nurse, Tess, in mind. She was all business, not a eat bon-bons and watch Pretty Woman kind of gal. Sounds good to me. I wasn't really sure how I felt about having a stranger in my home helping me shower, but I also wasn't sure how I felt about too many friends help me either. One thing I have had to come to terms with modesty. I am not the strip down in the locker room type, and having a home care nurse dry your bum after a shower . . . is demoralizing. I know it shouldn't be, but it is. (especially when they surprise you with it). In the end, whatever.

My next call was from a physical therapist. Elaine insisted that I have a physical therapist in my home ASAP to get me moving and to get me strong for the stairs. She came and basically said, you are screwed until you have weight-bearing status on your leg. I knew this wasn't the real case, but I didn't particularly care for her, so whatever. I hadn't even been cleared for PT at this point, so I was really just making Elaine feel better about my DIRE situation.

Fast Forward another week, and I get a call from Resa, an occupational therapist. Occupation therapists are basically there to make sure getting around and doing things are safe. Think stools, handles, etc. This woman talked LOUD! I could tell she was used to dealing with old people, and I just nodded and smiled. Everything she asked me, I had an answer for. Shower - yep, we bought a stool and I have help getting in and out. Walker - done. My rope tow - BRILLIANT!! (apparently). Basket on my walker - A LIFE SAVER!! Bed in the living room - AMAZING!!

My absolute favorite part of her visit was when she asked me about going potty. Keep in mind, I have been home for TWO WEEKS. She kind of leaned over and said, so this is a bit embarrassing  but how do you go potty? Do you need a female urinal? She seemed genuinely concerned. I actually had to ponder how to reply. I had been home for two weeks and someone was just now asking how I was going to the bathroom?! I mean, thank goodness, I hadn't been holding it for 2 weeks. I calmly explained I had been getting up and walking ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL the way to my bathroom (I am guessing it is 20-ish feet), with my walker, and using a special toilet seat. Wow. Good for you. That's really amazing Brianna. I explained I wasn't allowed to check out until I could go to the bathroom on my own, so yeah, I had been using the bathroom. <awkward>

Then, she made me go into the bathroom to show her I could safely get to the toilet all alone, and then sit on it. I actually faltered a bit, and sort of landed on the seat. It was the first time ever, that I hadn't sat perfectly. I explained that and she just smiled at me (probably thinking, yeah sure). She tried to get me in the shower but I said it wasn't necessary. I know she was well intentioned, but I felt like they were treating me like they would any other patient, usually old people.

A week later, I got a call from the home-care nurse scheduler Robbie, asking me if Tess had been back. When I said no, he gasped. I said it was okay and that I hadn't really needed her. He said L&I preferred professional care to ensure no further injury. I said fine, and she could come once a week, to help me shower if needed, and help clean. He asked I wanted more often, as Elaine had insisted I needed serious help. I laughed and said Elaine is nice, but I am 33, not 93 and don't require the same care. He laughed and said he wished every client was like me. :)

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

Monday = Home!
Tuesday = Murphy!
Wednesday = Friends!
Thursday = Allergic Reaction :(

I woke up Wednesday morning with a bit of a dry scratchy throat. Boo, I wasn't interested in getting sick. Late Wednesday, my arms and chest started to itch. By Thursday morning, my stomach and back were itching. By mid-day, everything itched. I tried Benadryl. Nothing. I tried Gold Bond Anti-Itch Cream. No dice. My mom called the nurse hotline and was told we would receive a call back within 15 minutes. I showered (first since coming home, by the way, without fan fare due to the stupid rash). I used anything I could think of.

By 4:30 pm, I was ready to pull my skin off, and we still hadn't hear back from the nurses (good thing I wasn't dying), so I called back. (Side note, I noticed later they had called, and left a voicemail. Oops!). After listening to all of my symptons - itching EVERYWHERE, sore throat, fast heart rate and a slight shortness of breath, along with the long list of medications I was one, the nurse suggested I come into the hospital. OF COURSE I had waited until after 5 pm to call back, which meant my only option was the emergency room.

I pushed the nurse, asking if I really needed to come back in, and if I did, could I just go to Evergreen? She put me on hold and called the Ortho Doctor on-call. She said the doctor thought it was my pain medicine, and that he said I needed to come in. Sigh. Then she said I "could" go to any hospital that I wanted, BUT she really reccommended coming to Harborview. Did I mention it was about 5 pm at this point? On a Thursday? Blergh. She, in not so many words, said that another hospital would need to request my records from them to really understand what drugs I had over the last week, and after 5 pm, that might take some time. (code for, Harborview probably won't respond). Harborview it is.

My mom had JUST left before I talked to the nurse. I hung up and immediately called her. Twelve times. This woman doesn't believe in answering her phone while driving. I felt like maybe me calling so many times would alert her, but nope, she had it on silent in her pocket. In fact, she never even noticed, until I called her after she was home. Luckily, Cheryl and Christina were here. Cheryl had been staying with me since Murphy came home, helping take care of him. After two nights in my house, she was packing up to go home when I was talking to the nurse. Bless her heart, she stayed.

The gravity of returning to Harborview started to set in. I started to cry. (really? I broke my pelvis and was solid, but an itchy emergency room visit sent me into tears?) Whatevs. Action time. We agreed that Christina would stay behind and take care of Murphy, and Cheryl would take me to the ER. Mostly because Cheryl has an SUV, and that was more appealing of a ride than a sedan. I talked to my mom and agreed it made more sense for her to stay home and I would call with an update when I had one.

Now, how do I get downstairs again? Ack. I don't recall exactly how we came to the conclusion that I should go down standing vs. sitting, but we did. We tried a few options, but landed on Christina being my left crutch and the railing being my right. She would step down to the step below and I would lower myself down. She pretty much just had to stand there, because her natural reaction was to grab my pelvis.

We made it down pretty quickly. I loaded into the back of Cheryl's SUV, just like I had into my brother's truck. Brought Magnolia the elephant along, pillows and blankets. We were off . . . into traffic. It took us about an hour to get down 405, across 520 and up to Harborview. We pulled into the unloading zone at Harborview. Cheryl grabbed my pink walker from the back and helped me out. I hadn't encountered any step of any sort with my walker yet. I had to get up the curb, which was strangely awkward.

I made my way in, with Cheryl in tow, while her car was left in the loading zone. The entrance of the Emergency room includes a hallway about 30 feet long, a large waiting room and a triage space. The initial 30 feet, felt so far. I checked in, got a bracelet and was instructed to go to the triage waiting space. Cheryl left to park her car. I walkered over and found a seat. The closest seats were taken by a large family. Cheryl showed up a short time later, and the wait started.

Eventually, I was called over, had my vitals taken and poured out all of my medications, while discussing my symptoms. I walkered over to another station to sign stuff. The intake staff recognized me from last Thursday. While I didn't recognize them, one said she had taken my signature. I quietly hoped that meant something good and maybe I would qualify for frequent flyer miles or something and get to board early. Now, more wait time.

I do not like to wait. I do not like to wait in waiting rooms with other people. I do not like to wait in waiting rooms with other people who appear to be crazy, or drunk, or on drugs, or chew loud, or smell bad. Harborview's waiting room was ALL of these things. Luckily, Cheryl understood, as I grimaced each time people would wander by. There was one special guy who was brought it my an ambulance, and just reeked of urine and alcohol. He EMT's brought him out through the ER into the waiting room. He sat near me and I am pretty sure I gagged. Cheryl and I scooted over, but couldn't move, because we were sitting on the only seats that didn't have arm rests. I needed to put my leg on a seat and ones with arm rests didn't work. Eventually this guy wandered over to the bathroom (note to self, don't have to go to the bathroom here, EVER), then over to one entrance to the ER that requires a key card or granted access, so he set off the alarms. Then he wandered over to the other entrance to the ER and set off that alarm. Then he scuffed off out of my view, eventually returning to his seat. While he was gone, others went to sit there, and people near by encouraged them not to.

Cheryl and I also spent time watching this couple. She was obese in a wheel chair with one leg up in the leg extenders. He was pushing her around. They kept coming and going and coming and going, and Cheryl pointed out that every time they left, they came back with something new. A face mask. An ice pack. Dinner. It was comical. I guess.This was not my cup of tea and I was seriously wishing that I had just gone to Evergreen or Overlake. The snob in me was starting to come out. All in all, it was a distraction from the itching.

I watched people who had been there before me go back. A lady came and sat right next to me. She smelled of incense (a smell I despise, almost more than urine and alcohol). Then she started eating peanuts. On the other side of me for some time had been a kid with an allergic reaction to nuts, and had been rushed back. I found irony in the fact that the vending machines (where she had purchased these nuts) even sold nuts, when people have nut allergies. Anyways, she started to chomp them and then turn them into paste. The sound was so gross, my skin started to crawl. I was hyper-sensitive to crazy things at this point. I overheard my name among the nurses in the back, hoping that was a good sign, but the nurse taking people back called someone else's name. Blergh. Maybe I did have increased shortness of breath. Maybe my heart was racing more, I was pondering lying about it when he called my name.

He called my name and Cheryl waved at him. I slowly stood up and he asked if I needed a wheelchair. I said it would probably be faster to use one, if one was available. He ran though the doors (which my drunk, urine soaked friend had previously set the alarms off) and I made my way over. He was running. He came back with a bed. A bed. He explained there was a good bed available and he wanted me to have it, but it is first come, first served. I hopped onto the bed as best I could and he started pushing me while running down the hallway, my walker clanking behind us and Cheryl following.

At one point, he thought the bed had been taken, but it hadn't. We whizzed in and he said the bed was mine once I was in it, so to hurry up. I got in on a side of the bed that I had never done before. It was awkward, and it hurt, but I was in. Someone will be with you soon.

I had been texting people while we waited, but my phone battery was nearly dead. There were no outlets in the waiting room, so as soon as we got in, Cheryl scouted some plugs and got us charging. Christina was home taking care of Murphy, having problems getting a pill down his throat. (sorry Christina).

I was greeted by a Registered Nurse Practioner, Kimmie. I immediately liked her. We talked through all of my symptoms (again) and started talking about what the plan was. Step one, another IV. She decided to put me on Benadryl (Histamine II blocker) and Zantec (normally used for Stomach acid, but also a Histamine I Blocker). A nurse would be in shortly to administer.

A few minutes later a nurse came in and introduced herself. He name was Z. I immediately remembered Z as the nurse who had administered my medication while I was in the trauma unit just a week before. I mentioned something and she recognized me.

She first administered the Benadryl. As it came into the IV, I could feel it. I started to get shortness of breath, very rapidly, to the point where my brain started to panic. I looked at her and waved my hand, and she just stared at me calmly. It was very creepy, and what I would envision the look would be like if I was ever murdered by someone crazy. (yes, I have thought about this, I watch WAY too much TV, especially about crimes). In my defense, Cheryl thought it was creepy too and was about to jump up when it stopped. Obviously Z knew it happened, but I kind of felt like she could have warned me so I didn't panic when it set in. The Zantac was administered slowly. I still itched.

Kimmie had left to chat with the Pharmacist about what could have caused the allergic reaction, while I got Zantac. The warned me I would get tired, but I didn't. I just kind of sat there, periodically asking for my phone, or chatting with Cheryl. Kimmie returned and told me they were fairly confident that it was the Dilaudid pain killer I was on. They were going to send me home with some additional prescriptions, and change me from Dilaudid to Morphine. She also said that the pharmacist said that an allergic reaction to Dilaudid was common after about a week. It was a synthetic, and just took longer than others. WHAT?! Why did you yahoos send me home with a month's worth of Dilaudid then? Kimmie asked if I wanted to fill my prescriptions there, or if I wanted to go elsewhere. I made a joke about the pharmacist taking 3 hours and she smiled, and said, yeah probably. I'll pass!

After discovering they also couldn't call anything into another pharmacist (stupid narcotic drug addicts who make life difficult for the rest of us), I was discharged with prescriptions. There were definitely times of waiting and excellent people watching (comfortable from my little curtained area, and a safe distance from all smells), but all in all, it was a pretty quick ER visit.

Cheryl wheeled me out to the waiting room, and left for the car. I walkered out and waited near the entrance. It was cold and windy. Standing on one leg was no easy task. We were on our way home shortly after, without much more event. We stopped at the pharmacy to fill my prescriptions (and er, McDonald's . . . shhhh!) and made out way home. We were gone a total of 7 hours. That sounds long, but I have spent a lot more time in ER's before, so I was actually impressed. (sad, I know)

Cheryl decided to stay another night at my house, to make sure I was okay and it was nearly midnight by the time we go home. Other than continuing to itch, my Friday was very uneventful. Cheryl left about noon to beat traffic. I had cancelled all of my visits that day, except dinner because I wasn't sure how I would feel.  I was still itchy, despite being on Benadryl and Zantec.

Late Friday night, I was pretty sure that I would be pulling my skin off. Itching is the worst thing in the world. Period. I have debated about what was worse, the broken pelvis turn my first night, or this. GAWD. It was awful, and I looked crazy. I had gotten ride of the bumpy rash I had at the ER, but I was still freaking itchy. And scratching was totally sub-conscience. I would get yelled at my Christina and she would threaten to put mitts on my hands. At 4 am, I had enough. I called the nurse hotline again, and they suggested adding Zyrtec and doubling my Benadryl. PLUS I was on Morphine and Tylenol for Pain. Oh and a few other things to help my stomach deal with the pain meds (Senna and Doc Q lax) and then an injectable blood thinner.The nurse had recommended a baking soda scrub. So, Christina and I (well Christina) made a paste and we started applying. I scratched, she applied.

Normally, this is something you would do in the bathroom, not on a bed. Damn you stupid leg. Lots of scooting and scratching. It helped a lot. Most of the other solutions (calamine, Aveeno Oatmeal Bath, etc) lasted about 5 minutes. This lasted until like 10 am on Saturday.

I was taking the Morphine for pain, coupled with Tylenol. My pain was gone. I only mention this because it demonstrated that not only had Dilaudid caused an allergic reaction, it also hadn't been working. Apparently the pill form of Dilaudid is known to not work for pain as well as the liquid form administered via IV. I was feeling all of my pain, except what the Tylenol had covered. I repeat, I was feeling all of my pain. I had been on the pill form of Dilaudid since Saturday when I got my IV out.

At 3 pm on Saturday, I took Morphine and within minutes I was itching again. I was done. I was done with narcotics. I just had to let this Morphine get out of my body. I loaded up on Benadryl, Zantac and Zyrtec and hoped the next few hours would be okay. I decided to take the maximum amount of Tylenol and hope for the best.

That evening I had a group of amazing girlfriends over, and luckily they distracted me from the itching. I woke up itch free on Sunday. HALEFRICKINLUYAH.