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.
Way to keep it positive Brianna! Please remind us not affected by major car accidents to do the same!
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