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.

I am blessed.

I haven't been able to decide how to even begin thanking my friends and family. To say I am overwhelmed would be the biggest understatement of the century. O.V.E.R.W.H.E.L.M.E.D. I feel loved in ways I didn't even know were possible. The first time I opened Facebook after the accident was about 3 am, roughly 12 hours after my accident. I hadn't posted anything at that point, but had been able to text a few people. I had known that people had expected to see me that night and not hearing from me, wasn't like me. I just read through the posts, comments on posts and comments on others statuses about me.

I just sat there and cried. It was the only way my body knew how to process how I was feeling. I wasn't sad, just overwhelmed. Between Facebook and text messages, I had a flood of messages. Intermixed with my tears, was the alarm on my IV, because I kept bending my arm and the alarm would go off. Nurse Sharon wasn't pleased, so as I mentioned before, after about the 4th alarm, I started throwing my phone in my purse when she came in, so it looked like I just bent my arm, not like I was on my phone. (Brianna = rule follower, usually). I only had the energy to like the posts, but it was my way of acknowledging that I had seen them and more than appreciated them. I didn't have words to thank people for their positive thoughts.

And that was just within the first 12 hours. It has only increased from there. I have read words that leave me speechless, had some of the most amazing meals made for me and visitors come by just to say hi. I have incredible people who want to clean my house, when I can't. I have a selfless friend who has moved in with me, to help me, but more to help Murphy. I have a few people who text me almost every day just to say hi and check in. I know not everyone can make big gestures, nor do I expect that, the smallest things are now making a huge impact on me.

My mom's analogy for this experience was that it was like my funeral, but I was here to enjoy it. It is the only way to describe it. (she is so smart). I think it is so true. Rarely do you have a reason to tell people how much you care about them, or how just share little thoughts. I am blessed to know who is thinking about me, sending me positive thoughts and will be here every step of my long recovery.

I think my injury is deceiving visually. My impression is that everyone expected me to have tubes coming out of me, lots of bruises and probably a frown or tears. I do have a broken pelvis and injured knee, but when covered with a blanket, I just look like me (and maybe a rude me, because I don't get up to greet or hug you). Otherwise, I am just me. Lacking any visual bruises, no tubes and a big smile. (At least that makes up for my rudeness in not getting up?). My gym community that has blown me away. Words can not express how much I appreciate their support in so many ways.

I got an email the other day thanking me for being positive, and for posting pictures of myself looking good. The reality is, the experience is probably just as shocking and scary for others, as it is me. I want people to know I am okay. I am a tad broken, but I can still move and my noggin is just fine.

I am blessed to have amazing people in my life. I am blessed.

Thank you to all of your in my life. Thank you.

(Meow! - Murphy says thank you too)

Murphy is home

The day after I got home, I was "ready" to discuss Murphy. Between you and me, I was pretty sure Murphy wasn't going to make it through this. After taking him to Emergency Care on Wednesday (the day before the accident), I was a tad more optimistic, but he wasn't looking good. I felt better having him at the new 24 hour facility with internal specialists. Murphy is one of my babies. It hurts my heart that he was so sick.

My mom had been handling all of the conversations with the vet about Murphy after my accident. The short version was that he was getting better and as long as he had care (A LOT OF CARE) he could come home. There wasn't really a reason to keep him at the facility and it was more of a waiting game with his meds and feedings.

When I had checked Murphy in on Wednesday, they were toying with a few things that might have been wrong with him. Over the time that I was at Harborview, he was getting treatment too and it appeared to be working.

In order to pick Murphy up, someone had to go, with new insulin in hand, and an open mind to understand everything he would require care wise. I don't want to say the timing was good, because I would rather be able bodied taking care of my cat, but I was going to be home, and 90% of the time, someone would be with me, taking care of me - so bringing him home seemed logical. It was intense and I am really glad that my wonderful friend Cheryl (who is allergic to cats) and my mom and stepdad all went to get him. Lots of minds there to take in the information and learn what he would require.

Lucky for me, Cheryl was open to taking me and Murphy on as patients. Murphy came home and was immediately in my lap. Cheryl took on his schedule. Between Murphy and I, we were awake every two hours doing something or taking something.

After a few days, we got somewhat into a groove, with a white board of our schedule and lots and lots of alarms to remind us. I could do a lot, but needed help "catching" Murphy. And by catching, I mean pulling him out from under the bed. When he doesn't feel good, he hides. And most of my roll has been administering the stuff, and tube feeding, but not prepping yet.

Murphy's Schedule:
1:00 am - Water (15 mL)
4:00 am - Food via tube (55 mL) + Water (15 mL)
7:00 am - Water (15 mL)
10:00 am - Food via tube (55 mL) + Water (15 mL) + Crushed Meds in Water
10:15 am - Insulin Shot

1:00 pm - Water (15 mL)
4:00 pm - Food via tube (55 mL) + Water (15 mL)
6:00 pm - Water (15 mL)
8:00 pm - Oral pill
10:00 pm - Food via tube (55 mL) + Water (15 mL) + Crushed Meds in Water
10:15 pm - Insulin Shot

He's like a newborn baby (so I have been told).

Today, Murphy has gained 2 pounds, has decreased his medicine (and fingers crossed on Wednesday, even less). His hair is soft and healthy again. He is sleeping in the living room and being much more social. He has been playing with toys, and I can just tell he is feeling so much better. Next steps will be to reduce his tube feedings and getting him to eat on his own.  He has always been a big baby, so fingers crossed he will be on board.

I am blessed to have a lot of help, which enables him to be here with his mama. I just love this little guy (and so does his brother Richie, even though he won't admit that).

Tools to make life easier

I have been asked why I chose a walker, over crutches. And what else do I use to "make life easy." First of all, life isn't easy with these tools. I am working hard with what I have that are frustrating and annoying (to me and others) but whatever it takes. Each day, I am able to reach a bit further, bend a little lower.

1. WALKERING. [Wok-er-ing] verb.
a. To walk, using a walker.
b. Annoying

I chose a walker for stability. I have run into and hit my feet, usually when trying to move something out of my way. Overall, I have a kick-ass walker. Painted pink, with a basket (compliments of some great friends) and I like it. I am perfectly comfortable using it, just wish I could fit through a few more spaces. I take advantage of my able bodied parts and lift it, rather than roll it, most of the time. I don't get anywhere too quick and get hot just going to the bathroom. As someone pointed today, I am probably burning more calories than I know, just going to the bathroom. I am sure I will eventually go to crutches but for now, I like my hot pink walker.

2. ROPE PULL. [rohp poo l]  noun.
a. Contraption attached to my bed that enables me to sit up and lay down, without using my lower abs (which are on sabbatical)
b. Essential after a long day, or an interrupted night.

3. SPECIAL TOILET SEAT. [spesh-uhl toi-lit seet] noun.
a. My special raised seat (normal) with a cut out for my right leg brace (not normal).
b. Annoying to anyone who has to use my toilet because they have to use it
c. Annoying to me when people don't put it back, because I can't!

4. SHOWER STOOL. [shou-er stool] noun.
a. A single seat on legs in the shower
b. The ONLY way to take a shower

5. ACCESSORIES. [ak-ses-uh-rees] noun.
a. Hook for hand held shower
b. Handle for moving
c. Caddy for the essentials

6. GRABBER. [grab-er] noun.
a. How I turn the room light on and off
b. Not good for picking up the your cell phone or the remote, from the floor
c. How I can get things off my right ankle (underwear namely)
d. Great for grabbing my cat's leg when he is scratching his bandages

7. REMOTE. [re-moht] noun.
a. Entertainment

8. FAMILY. [fam-uh-lee] noun.
a. A basic social unit
b. Any group of related things
c. ESSENTIAL to my recovery, both emotionally and physically
d. Blessed to have an amazing blood related family, and a "choice" family
e. A group who shares in similar activities
f. People I love

9. FRIENDS [frendz] noun.
a. Someone who shows assistance
b. A person known well to another and regarded with liking
c. ESSENTIAL to my recovery, both emotionally and physically
d. What I am blessed to have so many of
e. A person who shares in one's activities
f. People I love

Stay tuned for more tools and essentials. :)

WALKER!

Rope Pull

Fancy Toilet Seat and Bath Accesories

GRABBER

The Big Booty Climb

Monday. Going home today.

One week and one day ago, I climbed 69 flights at the LLS Big Climb. Today, I climbed 4. I had to, to get home. I climbed one at the hospital with my brother and the hospital physical therapist, so he felt okay holding my leg as I went up (and down) the stairs. And 3 to get up.

The main difference between stairs a week ago and today, was that I had to sit while doing them. I must say, sitting and doing 4 flights is much better than trying to sit and do 69 flights. Perspective.

I texted my brother at about 6:30 am when I officially announced to the hotel that I was ready to go home. This was supposed to put my discharge in action, AFTER my brother met with physical therapy. Of course, you can't schedule time with physical therapy so I just told him to come when he could and hopefully the timing worked out. I get that Harborview is a Trauma I hospital and you have to be nimble for the emergencies that come in, but I do think time can be scheduled a little better. Of course, I was getting discharged on April Fool's Day and of course my brother had to take advantage of that. I knew he was joking when he said he wasn't coming, and it made me smile. Everyone had been treating me with kid gloves, but not my brother.

My brother drove up from Tacoma to drive me home. He teases me, but he is a really good brother (recall: he also came up to my house on Sunday, cleaned it, rearranged it and made it safe for me). I have always felt safe with my brother, probably even when I shouldn't have. I won't tell any stories that make mom cringe now, but let's just say, he liked to torture me. He arrived at 9 am and the wait started. Physical therapy arrived about 10 am, and we whisked over to the stairwell to practice.

I had to sit down on the stairs, and then lift myself up to the next stair. My injuries made my hip-flexors and lower abs useless on both legs. So, my brother had to hold my injured leg by the straps on my brace, i had to hold the railing, while lifting my other leg up. The I lifted using my arms. It was a slow and tiring process. Going down was essentially the same, but much easier. We went up and down once, and then my discharge was approved. I used my walker to get back to my room, the furthest I had gone yet, which was about 40-50 feet.

The physical therapist told my nurse that I was good to go. Discharge started! Yay! I was going home! It was 10:30 am.

I had been warned that discharge takes a long time at Harborview. Harborview: good at trauma, not great at a ton of other things. A long time was a long time. At about 2:00 pm, my nurse wandered in with paperwork to review with me. By this time, I had had lunch delivered, my brother went and got lunch in the cafeteria, and we had watched a few too many episodes of Mythbusters. I did learn that in WWII, the Germans made their trenches with corners because it reduced the impact of explosions. Mythbusters proved it was a valuable decision. Good thing, because I ALWAYS wondered . . .

After reviewing the paperwork (which covered things like: 1. Don't drive on Narcotics 2. Here are your NINE prescriptions 3. Here is the number you call in case of emergencies and 4. Here is what you had done to you, just in case), I decided to change my clothes into my going home outfit. First time I had worn clothes since I was finally cut out of my pants late last Thursday. It felt weird. Still another 30 or so minutes passed before it was officially official and I could go home. My nurse handed me my stuff and I was good to go. I asked for a wheelchair, and although I knew the answer, asked how long it would take. Color me silly, but I would have thought that discharge would have included and assumed ride to the front door, considering I had JUST BROKE MY PELVIS. Colored silly, clearly. I was told it could be 5 minutes, it could be 2 hours, so that is super helpful.

10 seconds later, a nurse aid who I had seen around appeared with a wheelchair. YAY! I was going home!!

I climbed into the chair, loaded my brother up with my two bags and my elephant Magnolia. Part way through the maze (which up until this point I have only viewed laying in a bed and looking at the ceiling) we realized I had left my pillow, so my brother went back for it. The nurse aid took me to the main entrance, which I had never seen before (I prefer to go in via the ambulance entrance) and it was so interesting to people watch while we waited for my brother.

It was finally time. I had to get into my brothers truck. I backed up to the door, grabbed the Oh Shit handle and while they lifted my legs, I lifted my arms. It took two tries, but I did it. Thank goodness I had only been out for a few days, and prior did a lot of upper body workouts! I slid all the way back with my back against the opposite door. I was in. I stuffed Magnolia behind my back, my pillow under my legs, and buckled my seat belt. My brother called my mom, who was meeting us at my condo to witness the impending climb.

We were off onto the horrible roads of Seattle. James Street has to be the worst street in Seattle possible to be on with a broken bone. I had ridden into Harborview on it, and was riding out on it. I would support a tax increase to fix just James Street. Overall, the car ride was very uneventful, I just had to pay a lot of attention because the shift your body experiences as the car accelerates and decelerates was uncomfortable. Pretty much shift is uncomfortable.

As we pulled in, my brother backed his truck up to the building. My neighbor Larry (the "neighborhood" gossip) was coming out and I told him what happened. My complex is SUPER crazy about reserved parking, even though it is poorly labeled. I warned him about lots of impending visitors since I wasn't leaving ANY TIME SOON. I knew that he would help spread the word. While I chatted, my brother got out his tools and tighten the railing of the staircase. I swear, when we were kids he would have loosened the railing, and today, he was making sure every step was safe. I have the best brother.

I walkered over to the staircase  This is what I had been "training" for. 3 flights of stairs. A little over a week ago, I did the Big Climb, which was 69 flights and I was now slightly intimidated by stairs I did every day, multiple times per day. It was different this time. Just different. Due to the nature of how I had to get up the stairs, this adventure was titled the BIG BOOTY CLIMB. One step at a time. . . Sit. Lift left leg with my hands, while holding the hand rail. Lift using arms like a dip to next stair, while my brother held my right leg in the air. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until the top of one flight. Stand using rail and brother. Use walker to make turn around the railing. Sit. Repeat. Repeat. You get the idea.

I think the whole process took between five and ten minutes. And I was up. I got to the top, just as my mom arrived. When we were at the bottom, my brother had asked if we should wait for our mom. I said no, because I had to use the bathroom, and I wasn't sure how long it would take. Luckily, it was pretty quick!

I was home. I was home. I was home.

First stop. Bathroom. Next stop. Bed. The rest of the day was just getting oriented. What needed to go where? Did I need to be able to reach that? How do I sit up? What needs to be moved so I can get through? What medicines do I take when? And can I wash my hair (or have my hair washed) in the sink?

Last stop. Sleep. With Richie.

All things considered

So, while yes, having a broken pelvis and a dislocated knee is TERRIBLE, all things considered, everyone is shocked I wasn't more injured. Barely any scrapes, bruises, and nothing else broken. I didn't hit my head, I didn't injure my neck or spine. I am freaking lucky. I know I had an angel watching over me that day (as well as a very well built Lexus) that kept me safe.

I have a few cuts on my right arm and some bruising from the door, some cuts and bruising on my right leg from the door, some on the under side of my thigh from the door, and some bruising on my left hip and leg from the center console. The window exploded next to me, and yet the side airbag protected me from nearly all the glass. As they cut me out of the car, huge pieces of window were falling in my lap (and consequently into my pants, where it would stay for sometime). I should have been more injured.

I have sort had mini epiphanies recently of everything I could not do, if my injuries were different.

If I broke or dislocated my wrist/arm/clavicle/shoulder, I wouldn't be able to walk. Walkers require two working and strong arms. I would be in a wheel chair.

If I broke my neck or spine, well we know what probably wouldn't work.

If I hurt anything on my left leg or hip, I would be in a wheel chair.

If I was in a wheelchair, I'd probably be in a rehabilitation center. Murphy would be who knows where, and not sure about Richie.

I wouldn't be sleeping in my own house, looking out over the lush back yard. I wouldn't have my own bathroom. I wouldn't have my own remote.

So I guess when people ask me how I am so positive, it's because I have thought about what I could NOT have, and I'll take my injuries over the alternative. I have a positive outlook on my recovery because I was fit when this happened and know I'll be fit while I recover and back with a vengeance when I can. I miss working out. A LOT. For now, I'll enjoy my small weights, doing curls and presses and flies, because I can.

Hippity hoppity

Sunday! Sunday started with a visit from another doc from the Ortho team. She was nice and talked to me about my brace, my incision and encouraged me to stay in the hospital as long as I needed to, even though they kept telling me to go home. I was to be toe touch weight bearing for EIGHT WEEKS. Do you know what that means? I can't do anything. That doesn't even include what may come of my knee once I went to see sports medicine.

I must admit, my pain management over night was not great. My overnight nurse, who shall remain nameless, was not my fave. At all.

My day nurse was Mark (which isn't confusing AT ALL for other people) and my day nurse assistant was Ian. Two guys. I secretly hoped they were as good as Michael, who I had for 15 minutes my first day. My first conversation with Mark was about pain Meds. Bring them. Please. When they are due regardless of whether I ask, because I probably won't. I don't like to be a burden or inconvenience them, even though, yes I know, it's their job. Mark promised and he delivered, like clock work.

Sunday was also the first full day I was on my own to get to the bathroom. I could do everything except lower my leg to the ground. The physical therapist had given me a belt that I could use to lower my leg, which worked sort of. I had a really hard time stretching to get the belt around my foot, so it was sort of like fishing. A lot of misses. Ian ended up helping me once, a little too quick for my comfort level, but pushing me was probably good. I was starting to feel a little independent, other than not being able to do anything for myself. At all. But I could go to the bathroom!

Sunday was also the day my brother and Carrie were going to my house to clean and get it ready for me to come home. First of all, embarrassing. I didn't clean my house whatsoever before work on Thursday, or recently for that matter. Carrie is the cleaning queen, I wish I had that bone in my body. I am way more organized in work than I am in life. I am so grateful that they were willing to do this. They spent hours at my house - sending me videos of playing with my healthy cat (which made me cry) and a video of my new set up. They brought a bed and made the whole place safe for me. They made me an amazing little flower box too. Very popular among the friends. I love it.

Sunday was Easter. Evelyn was so excited to talk to her daughter Shay and hear about her grand kids and their Easter egg hunt. I was so sad to hear the conversation she had with her daughter. She basically blew her off, and made her call sound inconvenient. I felt horrible. She had been in and out of Harborview for 5 months and this was how her own daughter showed her she lived her? Ugh.

Luckily for Evelyn, Sunday was also when PartyBot visited. I am pretty sure PartyBot made her Easter. PartyBot made a lot of people's Easter, mine for sure. I hadn't laughed like that in a long time. Thank you PartyBot. I think the personal highlight of my PartyBot visit was him playing Chariots of Fire as I went to and from the bathroom.

I had so many visitors that day, it was just amazing. Thank you everyone who took the time to navigate Harborview to come and see me. It was basically agreed that I was going home tomorrow and I needed to prep for that. Most importantly, getting up three flights of stairs, no elevators. I needed to come home. I needed to see my cats. I needed to feel secure and not like I would be a bother for anyone. I needed to come home. Stupid stairs.

I worked with the physical therapist that day on stairs. Basically stairs were me sitting on the stairs, doing dips up, without someone holding my leg. Thank goodness that I was fit when this happened, because this was HARD. Obviously there was serious concern about me getting home. I arranged for my brother to come on discharge day and work with the physical therapist to make everyone okay with this route up my stairs. I also had my first wheelchair ride with actual sitting, not on a bed.

I mentioned it was Sunday a lot. Sunday stood out to me, it just felt like a day of accomplishments and a lot of happy. I usually spend Sundays at my gym, Happy Hour by Marisa (HHbM). I missed HHbM today, luckily they missed me too. They had an Easter bunny for goodness sake!

Good night Sunday, I'm going home tomorrow!

Moving on up . . . To the eastside

The doctors at Harborview makes their rounds between 5 and 6 am for the most part. They work in teams, so you see a variety of people each day. Its nice to know that multiple people worked on you and know your case. I woke up Saturday to my giant armed doctor. Everything was great and he said my surgery went well and he was really happy with how it turned out.

Harborview is a hurry up and wait kind of place. So, like the day before when I was whisked off to surgery, moments after my big biceped doctor left, I was surrounded by a bunch of hospital employees and being whisked off to my new room. I was excited but the last time I got whisked off to a new room, I ended up in boarding. It was kind of like deboarding an airplane, gather up all your stuff and exit. They piled on all my stuff onto the bed, which had become a lot of stuff as people had started coming to see me.

It was kind of funny how it all happened. The people moving me knew I was moving but had no idea where they were taking me. Hurry move her! Where are we going?

I ended moving up to the 7th floor, east wing. It was all quiet on the floor and I was pretty sure it was going to be awesome. It was 645 am I was greeted by Michael. Michael was going to be my nurse for the next 15 minutes (shift changes are at 7 am and 7 pm). I liked Michael and was immediately sad that I would only have him for 15 minutes. It was almost like he was my kindred spirit as he started with the whiteboard and talked to me like I was 5. Your name is Brianna and my name is Michael. Today is Saturday, March 30. You have 4 goals for today:
1. Get off IV pain Meds
2. Get up with PT
3. Use bathroom
4. Get rid of foley (catheter)

My perspective on these goals:
1. WHAT!?!? I like on demand drugs via IV
2. WHAT!?!? I just broke my pelvis and had surgery less than 24 hours ago!
3. No way.
4. Not necessary because I am not doing 2 or 3 so I need this. Plus never having to go to the bathroom is kind of blissful.

Reality: I am goal oriented. Have a box that needs checked? I'm your gal. Damn my determination.

Michael also told me my new neighbor Evelyn was a very nice woman and even though she was snoring and talking in her sleep, she was very sweet. He gave me the call button and the light switch and was out. I sat there in total silence (periodically interrupted by Evelyn's mumblings). This felt like the first time I had quiet in several days and I just sat there staring.

What felt like 30 seconds later, but was in fact 45 minutes later, a lovely gal named Phaedra popped in, erased Michael's name from my white board and wrote in hers. She explained she didn't normally work on the floor so to be patient with her. She looked at my goals, winked, and said we've got this. She said she read my file and her personal goal was to get me bathed. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Shortly after, she came back and told me to take in my last few hits off my IV. (Bless her) and I was disconnected from my machine. One thing I didn't mention about IVs is that they have a sensor in them so if it gets blocked or cut off, an alarm goes off. My first two IVs were out in my right arm, with GIANT needles (16 and 18 gauge), my second was in my left hand. When I was down in Resus 4, I kept setting my alarm off because I would bend my arm to respond to text messages and posting on Facebook. My super happy nurse Sharon had to continually come in and turn off the alarm. She would shake her head at me, so I started throwing my phone in my purse when she would come in . . . I didn't want to make her mad.i knew I was one of the easy ones and didn't want to change that. Back up to the 7th floor, and getting disconnected . . . . I didn't get rid of the IV in my hand, I got rid of the drug machine.

Shortly after 10 am, the physical therapist came in and walked me through what we were going to do. I said I was nervous about every part of this and wasn't looking forward to it. She said, I want you to try to stand, and we'll worry about the next part when we get to it. I had been sitting and laying in essentially the same position for 2 days. I had to somehow turn and get my feet to the floor. The physical therapist helped me inch along and the next thing I knew, I was standing. She had put a very springy belt on me to hold on to, and for the first time, I held on to my new walker. I opted for a walker over crutches for stability. The thought of crutches was scary. Walker. Check. No tennis balls, those are for old people.

Next she wanted me to take a step using my good leg. My bad one was non weight bearing, which was just fine with me. I got to the end of the bed, and was exhausted. She told me I could turn around and come back, and I did. I went a grand total of about 3 feet. 6 feet round trip, that is. Scary. Get me back in bed. She said she would be back later to get me up again.

I had a ton of visitors that day. Word spread fast that I had moved to a room. Flowers started arriving and people with gift just kept coming. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. In a good way. I never took a picture of all the amazing things people brought me, but it was beautiful. The food was delivered for lunch and I was actually kind of impressed. I was given a menu to select all of my meals for the next day too,

Evelyn (roommate) had a hilarious nurse who kept encouraging her to socialize and open up her curtain and her window shade. She eventually came around and met me. I told her some of my story and she told me some of hers. She had a botched hernia surgery in Yakima in November. Not sure exactly what happened, but she had been in and out of Harborview since then. Her family lives in Yakima and she was getting excited to be transferred home, but nervous because every other time she went home, something else went wrong. I am still not 100% sure what was wrong but I know she had a contraption on the outside of her stomach that put stuff into a container on the floor (which funny nurse eventually spilled all over). Bleh, enough info for me. I introduced Evelyn to all of my visitors and it really seemed to help her. She was just adorable.

At about 1 pm, I had a second physical therapist come in. This time I was going to the bathroom because my good friend Phaedra had taken my catheter from me. I didn't have a choice because I was guessing based upon all the fluids I had been on, I was peeling a lot. Now, I had to get there to go. No options here. Plus I had a goal, and peeing in a bedside commode was not one of them. Back on with the fancy belt and I was off. I had a cheering squad who also took pictures of the first moments of me standing and walking, for real. Earlier was just practice.

I'm not going to lie, it hurt. Walking is normally a shift in your pelvis as you switch legs. So as I would set my left leg down, I could feel that shift in my pelvis. It is hard to explain, but I kind of felt like I was wearing a brick fanny belt. But, I made it all the way to the bathroom! They put in a toilet seat that was raised so I didn't have to sit as far down, and had a cut out for my leg in the brace. It meant I wasn't trying to sit with my leg straight out. Mission complete, well half of it, cause I had to get back. Again, I had an audience and a goal, so I made it right back. Sat back down and I was spent (until the next time I had to pee!)

So back to my goals:
1. Done
2. Done
3. Done
4. Done

All boxes checked. Okay Saturday, I conquered you.