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.