Last night hasn’t been as good as Saturday night. I don’t feel the throbbing and drilling in my knee but the weight of my leg is unbearable and panic overwhelms me. What if I can’t never again jump above the porch railing? Was if the mountains remain forever unreachable peaks? What if the agility I took for granted isn’t for me anymore?
I wake up after bouts of sleep that leave me weary. But breakfast, made of brioche and jam, orange juice and goat milk yogurt, puts me back in better spirit.
I have my first shampoo since Wednesday night. It doesn’t seem much but combing my fingers in my soft clean hair gives me back a sense of normality. I was missing a shampoo more than a shower since it is easier to sponge bath than washing hair.
Between reading a lot and the medicine, my eyes feel itchy and drowsiness keeps me away from serious work. However, the company of Ken Follett and his eccentric characters make up for the monotonous life I’ve had for the last month.
The weather is gorgeous and the golden sun falling on the furniture reminding me how winter in California is a gift.
I walk with my crutches from the sofa to the table, avoiding my bed until tonight. I need a sense of normalcy if I don’t want to be too shocked Thursday when the stitches will be removed.
I think my knee is better but I wasn’t expecting to be so tired after the surgery or even days after.
Darned! I can’t wait for spring.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
January 30th, 2011
Much better night although sometimes a wave of panic washes over me. Maybe the medicine makes my heart race in the middle of the night. I feel warm and cold, sweaty and anxious. I ran a slight fever yesterday morning and the day before. Nothing to worry about since it was below 100 F but with the dose of Iboprufen it should be lower.
I went twice to the bathroom, around 3 and early morning when I agreed to swallow a Vicodin. I fell asleep slowly but nicely, in this strange state of awareness and abandon. It is raining and the sound on the skylight is pretty. I feel warm and cozy next to my husband and we go back to sleep until 8. I have breakfast around 9:30. Post surgery comes with a whole package of issues. One of them made me laugh until today. I had to take one of the laxative pills. Don't laugh! Surgery is not fun. The good news is that I feel much better.
Then I read more of Ken Follett. I received a card from my hiking buddy Wanda yesterday as well as the CD of my story for NPR. I’ll have to listen to it.
I have a lazy morning where I manage to put my foot on the ground and do my exercises. I have a hard time with the quadriceps setting. Pressing my knee down to regain some muscle in my thigh seems impossible. What if I never have strength in my leg again? I’m better with the straight leg raise and this is an encouragement.
My back and my shoulders don’t hurt so I guess that’s good news.
Each day should be easier. I check my e-mail and it’s nice to receive messages from my friends. Everyone is so nice.
My fourteen-year-old son is great and he and his dad are doing the best they can to make life goes on. They clean, cook and make fun of me which is exactly what I need.
My daughter calls from Berkeley. She has called every day.
It is almost 3:30 pm and the sun is back. My son and his dad went for a walk around the lake. I was getting tired of that walk but I miss it so much now. I just can’t wait for the day I’ll lace my sneakers again.
Tomorrow I will submit one of my picture book manuscripts to Andrea Brown Agency. She has now many agents all over the country and I’d like to find one who is interested in my work.
I watch X games with my son. Shawn White gets another gold medal. Seeing the snow and the slopes and these terrific snowboarders brings back the day of the accident. I’m glad it happened as I was having fun but I wished I had known it was my last ski day of my entire life.
I went twice to the bathroom, around 3 and early morning when I agreed to swallow a Vicodin. I fell asleep slowly but nicely, in this strange state of awareness and abandon. It is raining and the sound on the skylight is pretty. I feel warm and cozy next to my husband and we go back to sleep until 8. I have breakfast around 9:30. Post surgery comes with a whole package of issues. One of them made me laugh until today. I had to take one of the laxative pills. Don't laugh! Surgery is not fun. The good news is that I feel much better.
Then I read more of Ken Follett. I received a card from my hiking buddy Wanda yesterday as well as the CD of my story for NPR. I’ll have to listen to it.
I have a lazy morning where I manage to put my foot on the ground and do my exercises. I have a hard time with the quadriceps setting. Pressing my knee down to regain some muscle in my thigh seems impossible. What if I never have strength in my leg again? I’m better with the straight leg raise and this is an encouragement.
My back and my shoulders don’t hurt so I guess that’s good news.
Each day should be easier. I check my e-mail and it’s nice to receive messages from my friends. Everyone is so nice.
My fourteen-year-old son is great and he and his dad are doing the best they can to make life goes on. They clean, cook and make fun of me which is exactly what I need.
My daughter calls from Berkeley. She has called every day.
It is almost 3:30 pm and the sun is back. My son and his dad went for a walk around the lake. I was getting tired of that walk but I miss it so much now. I just can’t wait for the day I’ll lace my sneakers again.
Tomorrow I will submit one of my picture book manuscripts to Andrea Brown Agency. She has now many agents all over the country and I’d like to find one who is interested in my work.
I watch X games with my son. Shawn White gets another gold medal. Seeing the snow and the slopes and these terrific snowboarders brings back the day of the accident. I’m glad it happened as I was having fun but I wished I had known it was my last ski day of my entire life.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
January 29th, 2011
Much better night. I wake up at 2:15 am. Since I turned the lights off at 10:30 pm, it’s good. My leg weighs a ton whenever I move it or worst stand up to go to the bathroom.
I don’t take any pain killer. Vicodin sucks.
I wake up early morning and finally take one. I dive into a mixed state of bliss and hell. My head spins a little but warmth wraps around me. I never liked drinking too much or even smoking because of that sense of loosing myself. Vicodin provides exactly what I don’t look for in my life. However, the few extra hours of good sleep are priceless.
I have breakfast at 9 and take one of my daily Iboprufen and antibiotics.
Hooray, I can do my exercises! I thought I would be stuck with my dead leg forever and ever.
Fog is rolling again through the foothills this afternoon after days of sun. I write my blog and start A Dangerous Fortune from Ken Follett.
My husband takes the kids grocery shopping and I take a short nap, trying to ease the pain that throbs and slices through my knee.
I think it’s better though, which is great. I count the days and wonder if I will be able to walk on Thursday for my check up with the surgeon. It looks impossible but again yesterday I couldn’t lift my leg and today I can.
I don’t take any pain killer. Vicodin sucks.
I wake up early morning and finally take one. I dive into a mixed state of bliss and hell. My head spins a little but warmth wraps around me. I never liked drinking too much or even smoking because of that sense of loosing myself. Vicodin provides exactly what I don’t look for in my life. However, the few extra hours of good sleep are priceless.
I have breakfast at 9 and take one of my daily Iboprufen and antibiotics.
Hooray, I can do my exercises! I thought I would be stuck with my dead leg forever and ever.
Fog is rolling again through the foothills this afternoon after days of sun. I write my blog and start A Dangerous Fortune from Ken Follett.
My husband takes the kids grocery shopping and I take a short nap, trying to ease the pain that throbs and slices through my knee.
I think it’s better though, which is great. I count the days and wonder if I will be able to walk on Thursday for my check up with the surgeon. It looks impossible but again yesterday I couldn’t lift my leg and today I can.
Friday, January 28, 2011
January 28th, 2011
My husband helps me to the bathroom, ices my leg before taking the kids to school. He prepares my breakfast. I’m not really hungry but my mouth waters when I smell the toasted waffle. I have orange marmalade, an orange juice and a Clementine. Talk of vitamin C. Then a bowl of granola and low fat milk. A mug of green tea. More water. The pain returns and I takes a Vicodin. Dr. Simonian office calls me to see how I’m doing. Great, I suppose considering yesterday.
Then I try to do my exercises and fail. It takes me by surprise, me the sporty girl who can kick my leg up to the sky. I’m unable to lift it. I can’t squeeze my muscles since I have no control of my leg, immobile beneath pads of dressings and ice. It must weigh a couple of kilos. Tears come to my eyes. I cry for a few minutes and then I feel better.
My friend Joan calls me. Her older son tore his ACL in both knees and he had a machine to lift his leg so it gives me hope. If a boy who was fifteen-years-old had a machine, what could a fifty-year-old woman do without? I will call my physician and seek some advice. I don’t see how I can lift my leg without help.
My writing friends like my short story and I will submit it for the contest. I read Publishers Weekly online. Great to keep up with the news in the industry.
I finish Caribou Island, not the best book for a recovery since it’s a pretty dark book. I loved the setting in Alaska, a character itself. The topic is the breaking of a marriage and its implications for the couple’s daughter engaged to a man who has already cheated on her. Although she doesn’t know it, she is aware that her fiancé doesn’t respond to her needs the way she wished he would, so the reader can already see how this marriage will possibly fail. The end of the book is both tragic and optimistic. The mother kills herself after killing her husband with a bow and arrow. The daughter arrives to the cabin they are building on remote Caribou Island. She is concerned for her parents but the book ends before she sees their dead bodies and rather ends on her decision to plan a simple wedding in Hawaii and starts a new beginning. Will she be able to do so after she witnesses her dead parents? The readers are left wondering of the many possibilities.
And as I lay in bed, pain shooting in my knee and leg heavy like a log, I think that everything is also possible. The best and the worst.
Then I try to do my exercises and fail. It takes me by surprise, me the sporty girl who can kick my leg up to the sky. I’m unable to lift it. I can’t squeeze my muscles since I have no control of my leg, immobile beneath pads of dressings and ice. It must weigh a couple of kilos. Tears come to my eyes. I cry for a few minutes and then I feel better.
My friend Joan calls me. Her older son tore his ACL in both knees and he had a machine to lift his leg so it gives me hope. If a boy who was fifteen-years-old had a machine, what could a fifty-year-old woman do without? I will call my physician and seek some advice. I don’t see how I can lift my leg without help.
My writing friends like my short story and I will submit it for the contest. I read Publishers Weekly online. Great to keep up with the news in the industry.
I finish Caribou Island, not the best book for a recovery since it’s a pretty dark book. I loved the setting in Alaska, a character itself. The topic is the breaking of a marriage and its implications for the couple’s daughter engaged to a man who has already cheated on her. Although she doesn’t know it, she is aware that her fiancé doesn’t respond to her needs the way she wished he would, so the reader can already see how this marriage will possibly fail. The end of the book is both tragic and optimistic. The mother kills herself after killing her husband with a bow and arrow. The daughter arrives to the cabin they are building on remote Caribou Island. She is concerned for her parents but the book ends before she sees their dead bodies and rather ends on her decision to plan a simple wedding in Hawaii and starts a new beginning. Will she be able to do so after she witnesses her dead parents? The readers are left wondering of the many possibilities.
And as I lay in bed, pain shooting in my knee and leg heavy like a log, I think that everything is also possible. The best and the worst.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
January 27th, 2011
I set the alarm for 3:50 a.m. but I wake up shortly before. My husband takes his shower while I dress. I’m a little cold but the night is clear and a sliver of moon accompanies us until we reach the fog rolling in, about ten miles down from our house. The road is however fairly easy since we know it well.
We arrive at Clovis Community Hospital just before 5:15 a.m. Registration goes smoothly. The outpatient center is still quiet with limited staff. It is a comfortable ambiance and I’m not really nervous. I’ve always been like that: I dread things before I am actually living them. Then, my anxiety diminishes as I am going through the things that worried me.
A man in his sixties arrives for a shoulder surgery with Dr. Simonian as well. We talk a little bit. I’m called for prep work before 6:00 a.m. The nurse whose tag read Catherine is great. She is helped by another one who does an EKG because she says, “You’ve reached the magical age of 50.”
They guarantee me I look much younger. It’s always nice to hear, even though today I’m not so sure. They also test my urine in case of a surprise pregnancy. Come on, people, I have four children and have contributed to the renewing of the aging population.
Then the anesthetist pays me a visit. He’s funny and quick, his Indian native accent gives his English an even more accentuated flavor than my French one. He brings me the happy drugs. “It’s like two glasses of wine,” he says. “Just to relax you. Kind of Happy Hour.”
It must have worked because I can only remember being pushed to the OR and moved from one bed to another. I get a glimpse of the surgeon. Clad in his green scrubs, I wouldn’t have recognized him. He smiles and gives me the thumbs up.
Then I’m back to a recovery room where I don’t recognize anyone and it takes me a few seconds to remember what happened. Again, the nurses are great, caring and professional.
I’m switched from the bed to an amazing armchair where I sit for another hour or so. Another nurse takes my IV off and a physical therapist comes over with some exercises to do from home. From today until next Thursday, two sets of 10 to 15 pumping of my ankles, 5 to 6 times a day. It is to avoid clots in my legs. Plus the quad setting and the straight leg raise three times per day starting a day after surgery.
I leave with a new set of crutches although I already have one from my initial ER visit at the same hospital. The nurse insists that I take hers. I guess nobody wants to be in trouble.
I also get an ice machine that the hiker I am initially mistakes for a gigantic water bottle. It comes with some form of attachment that looks like a huge straw.
It is in fact called a Knee Cryo/Cuff. It has two functions: compression to reduce the swelling and cold to reduce the pain. The cooler must be filled with a mix of cold water and ice and the cuff applied to the knee with velcro straps. The blue tube I took for a giant straw is connected from the cooler tank to the cuff and a vent allows the iced water to fill the cuff. When the desired pressure is reached, the vent is closed. Easy enough. My left knee must be iced every hour except during the night.
I am urged to take Vicodin before the pain gets too intense. I get one at 9:10 a.m. and I’m planning to avoid the stuff as much as possible. Will see who wins!
I am wheel chaired to the parking pick up loop and we were home before 11:00 a.m. My friend Joan had left me a message on my cell and at home. I call her and my parents. The afternoon stretches between reading Caribou Island, an interesting but depressing novel after surgery, cat naps, icing, and medicine.
I have a collection of bottles on my commode. It’s more medicine than I have taken in my entire life.
I got Vicodin for the pain, Iboprufen for the swelling, antibiotics for the infection, Vitamin C for strength, something against nausea and another to fight constipation. I have not taken the last two ones. I eat light food: soup, yogurts and crackers and drink a lot of water to hydrate my muscles. That’s my hiker’s tip of the day.
I skip he pain killer until midnight but I give up since pain wakes me up. I have slept for a little more than an hour. It takes a while for the Vicodin to kick in but I wake up around 6:a.m. and don’t feel any pain in my knee. I remember waking up briefly because of the nice sensation of lightness in my leg.
We arrive at Clovis Community Hospital just before 5:15 a.m. Registration goes smoothly. The outpatient center is still quiet with limited staff. It is a comfortable ambiance and I’m not really nervous. I’ve always been like that: I dread things before I am actually living them. Then, my anxiety diminishes as I am going through the things that worried me.
A man in his sixties arrives for a shoulder surgery with Dr. Simonian as well. We talk a little bit. I’m called for prep work before 6:00 a.m. The nurse whose tag read Catherine is great. She is helped by another one who does an EKG because she says, “You’ve reached the magical age of 50.”
They guarantee me I look much younger. It’s always nice to hear, even though today I’m not so sure. They also test my urine in case of a surprise pregnancy. Come on, people, I have four children and have contributed to the renewing of the aging population.
Then the anesthetist pays me a visit. He’s funny and quick, his Indian native accent gives his English an even more accentuated flavor than my French one. He brings me the happy drugs. “It’s like two glasses of wine,” he says. “Just to relax you. Kind of Happy Hour.”
It must have worked because I can only remember being pushed to the OR and moved from one bed to another. I get a glimpse of the surgeon. Clad in his green scrubs, I wouldn’t have recognized him. He smiles and gives me the thumbs up.
Then I’m back to a recovery room where I don’t recognize anyone and it takes me a few seconds to remember what happened. Again, the nurses are great, caring and professional.
I’m switched from the bed to an amazing armchair where I sit for another hour or so. Another nurse takes my IV off and a physical therapist comes over with some exercises to do from home. From today until next Thursday, two sets of 10 to 15 pumping of my ankles, 5 to 6 times a day. It is to avoid clots in my legs. Plus the quad setting and the straight leg raise three times per day starting a day after surgery.
I leave with a new set of crutches although I already have one from my initial ER visit at the same hospital. The nurse insists that I take hers. I guess nobody wants to be in trouble.
I also get an ice machine that the hiker I am initially mistakes for a gigantic water bottle. It comes with some form of attachment that looks like a huge straw.
It is in fact called a Knee Cryo/Cuff. It has two functions: compression to reduce the swelling and cold to reduce the pain. The cooler must be filled with a mix of cold water and ice and the cuff applied to the knee with velcro straps. The blue tube I took for a giant straw is connected from the cooler tank to the cuff and a vent allows the iced water to fill the cuff. When the desired pressure is reached, the vent is closed. Easy enough. My left knee must be iced every hour except during the night.
I am urged to take Vicodin before the pain gets too intense. I get one at 9:10 a.m. and I’m planning to avoid the stuff as much as possible. Will see who wins!
I am wheel chaired to the parking pick up loop and we were home before 11:00 a.m. My friend Joan had left me a message on my cell and at home. I call her and my parents. The afternoon stretches between reading Caribou Island, an interesting but depressing novel after surgery, cat naps, icing, and medicine.
I have a collection of bottles on my commode. It’s more medicine than I have taken in my entire life.
I got Vicodin for the pain, Iboprufen for the swelling, antibiotics for the infection, Vitamin C for strength, something against nausea and another to fight constipation. I have not taken the last two ones. I eat light food: soup, yogurts and crackers and drink a lot of water to hydrate my muscles. That’s my hiker’s tip of the day.
I skip he pain killer until midnight but I give up since pain wakes me up. I have slept for a little more than an hour. It takes a while for the Vicodin to kick in but I wake up around 6:a.m. and don’t feel any pain in my knee. I remember waking up briefly because of the nice sensation of lightness in my leg.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
January 26th, 2011
I wake up at 4:15 am. The good news is that I’ve slept for five straight hours. The bad news is that I’m sore, pain is shooting through the base of my hip and my calf is stiff. I realize when I stand up that biking yesterday was cool but has definitely worked up loose muscles.
I’m disappointed since I was hoping to be as supple as yesterday to show off my mobility to the surgeon.
After a quick but nice Starbucks breakfast with my husband, I go to my 8:45 am appointment. The PA who sees me gives me the pre surgery talk including the procedure and the risks.
The surgery is expected to last one hour but based on Dr. Simonian’s expertise; the PA said it will be more like half an hour/forty five minutes. Then I will recover for a few hours before going home. Did I mention it’s under general anesthesia?
Also, since I have no previous history of allergies, illness or surgeries, I fill out the questionnaire in a blink. The PA listens to my heart and lungs which are in better shape than my knee. Then he wants to see the bending of my knee and I’m once more disappointed to be so sore. He said 120%. My husband says he was nice. It looks closer to a 110.
Still, I started at 70% so I guess there is room for gratitude. The other one being 150%, there is also room for improvement.
The PA gives me a prescription for a collection of medicine that beats my lifelong consumption. There is a bottle for everything. Vicodin, vitamin C, laxative (don’t laugh, they say it can come handy), antibiotics to fight the possible infection (don’t forget the cadaver tissue), and some Iboprufen to combat the inflammation (swelling).
I go home and do my exercises. I am a pro at dangling my knees on the high bar stool. I’m glad we kept it although we don’t have a kitchen high counter anymore. I pretend that I sit at the edge of a pool and that warm yet fresh water tickles my feet. I can’t wait for the real pool or even better the lake in Maine. But the therapists are right to use visuals. It helps the body when a specific picture is set in the mind. As a writer, I can’t disagree.
If one day I’m rich, I know what I’ll do. I’ll hire a special trainer. I don’t care about cars, boats, and designer clothing. But someone who can lead you to maintain or reclaim a better health sounds like a luxury I would appreciate.
After the PA’s visit, the scheduling nurse comes in. She is like him, friendly and professional at the same time. She tells me to arrive at the hospital at 5:15 am. My husband and I glance at each other. Alarm clocks flash to our minds. It means leaving home at 4 o’clock. Although home is in the sun for the last days, the valley bathes in thick fog. So we will leave early enough to allow a margin if we are delayed by the poor visibility.
My daughter is staying at her friend’s tonight and my son will miss school tomorrow. It is too early to take him with us. I hope he won’t be too lonely or too worried. I’ll ask his dad to call him.
I mail my manuscript to Australia today. I will submit my short story for the Children’s Writer Contest and work on my new picture book after surgery. I’m impatient and a little anxious too. My parents have called from France to wish me luck so I suppose I really have to go and hope for the best.
Two calls from the hospital in the afternoon. Many questions and recommendations for tomorrow morning:
No hair product.
No deodorant.
No perfume.
No body lotion.
No moisturizer.
No jewelry.
Take a shower with an antibacterial soap. Do I have one? No.
Very loose and comfortable pants. I’m thinking I don’t have any! I’ll check the scrubs my college daughter brought home after her externship.
Insurance card and ID.
I get my stuff ready for tomorrow and manage to find a light summer pair of pants with very wide legs. Glad I kept them!
If I consider the frames that decorate Dr. Simonian’s office and patients’ rooms, I am in good hands. The man has fixed as many knees as I have read books.
Wish me luck!
I’m disappointed since I was hoping to be as supple as yesterday to show off my mobility to the surgeon.
After a quick but nice Starbucks breakfast with my husband, I go to my 8:45 am appointment. The PA who sees me gives me the pre surgery talk including the procedure and the risks.
The surgery is expected to last one hour but based on Dr. Simonian’s expertise; the PA said it will be more like half an hour/forty five minutes. Then I will recover for a few hours before going home. Did I mention it’s under general anesthesia?
Also, since I have no previous history of allergies, illness or surgeries, I fill out the questionnaire in a blink. The PA listens to my heart and lungs which are in better shape than my knee. Then he wants to see the bending of my knee and I’m once more disappointed to be so sore. He said 120%. My husband says he was nice. It looks closer to a 110.
Still, I started at 70% so I guess there is room for gratitude. The other one being 150%, there is also room for improvement.
The PA gives me a prescription for a collection of medicine that beats my lifelong consumption. There is a bottle for everything. Vicodin, vitamin C, laxative (don’t laugh, they say it can come handy), antibiotics to fight the possible infection (don’t forget the cadaver tissue), and some Iboprufen to combat the inflammation (swelling).
I go home and do my exercises. I am a pro at dangling my knees on the high bar stool. I’m glad we kept it although we don’t have a kitchen high counter anymore. I pretend that I sit at the edge of a pool and that warm yet fresh water tickles my feet. I can’t wait for the real pool or even better the lake in Maine. But the therapists are right to use visuals. It helps the body when a specific picture is set in the mind. As a writer, I can’t disagree.
If one day I’m rich, I know what I’ll do. I’ll hire a special trainer. I don’t care about cars, boats, and designer clothing. But someone who can lead you to maintain or reclaim a better health sounds like a luxury I would appreciate.
After the PA’s visit, the scheduling nurse comes in. She is like him, friendly and professional at the same time. She tells me to arrive at the hospital at 5:15 am. My husband and I glance at each other. Alarm clocks flash to our minds. It means leaving home at 4 o’clock. Although home is in the sun for the last days, the valley bathes in thick fog. So we will leave early enough to allow a margin if we are delayed by the poor visibility.
My daughter is staying at her friend’s tonight and my son will miss school tomorrow. It is too early to take him with us. I hope he won’t be too lonely or too worried. I’ll ask his dad to call him.
I mail my manuscript to Australia today. I will submit my short story for the Children’s Writer Contest and work on my new picture book after surgery. I’m impatient and a little anxious too. My parents have called from France to wish me luck so I suppose I really have to go and hope for the best.
Two calls from the hospital in the afternoon. Many questions and recommendations for tomorrow morning:
No hair product.
No deodorant.
No perfume.
No body lotion.
No moisturizer.
No jewelry.
Take a shower with an antibacterial soap. Do I have one? No.
Very loose and comfortable pants. I’m thinking I don’t have any! I’ll check the scrubs my college daughter brought home after her externship.
Insurance card and ID.
I get my stuff ready for tomorrow and manage to find a light summer pair of pants with very wide legs. Glad I kept them!
If I consider the frames that decorate Dr. Simonian’s office and patients’ rooms, I am in good hands. The man has fixed as many knees as I have read books.
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
January 25th, 2011
Physical therapy at 10 today. Breakfast at Mimi’s café again. That’s almost funny since my husband and I often spoke of having breakfast in town but never actually did it until my injury.
The therapy went very well. I was able to bike. Yes, bike! I know it sounds crazy since I have used almost every day a stationary bike at the gym without giving it much thought. Today, as I pushed my injured knee an inch at a time and then gained some speed (okay, speed is maybe exaggerated), exhilaration overcame me. A surge of love for life washed over me. A new step had been conquered. I know there is a chance I will hurt for a few days. But for now, I don’t care as I feel a normal person. At least, for the time of a five minutes ride on a stationary bike. I want to remember today as the best day to make sure I won’t forget that I can do it.
We have lunch on the terrace at home. It’s unseasonably sunny and warm outside. I will read later on, under the porch. For now, I have completed the three manuscripts submissions I want to take care of before my surgery.
I’m sending a short story for a contest, the first four chapters and synopsis of my middle grade novel to an Australian publisher, and a revised picture book manuscript to an editor looking for picture books.
Then I want to consider another contest and start the art picture book I am thinking of since a while.
The therapy went very well. I was able to bike. Yes, bike! I know it sounds crazy since I have used almost every day a stationary bike at the gym without giving it much thought. Today, as I pushed my injured knee an inch at a time and then gained some speed (okay, speed is maybe exaggerated), exhilaration overcame me. A surge of love for life washed over me. A new step had been conquered. I know there is a chance I will hurt for a few days. But for now, I don’t care as I feel a normal person. At least, for the time of a five minutes ride on a stationary bike. I want to remember today as the best day to make sure I won’t forget that I can do it.
We have lunch on the terrace at home. It’s unseasonably sunny and warm outside. I will read later on, under the porch. For now, I have completed the three manuscripts submissions I want to take care of before my surgery.
I’m sending a short story for a contest, the first four chapters and synopsis of my middle grade novel to an Australian publisher, and a revised picture book manuscript to an editor looking for picture books.
Then I want to consider another contest and start the art picture book I am thinking of since a while.
Monday, January 24, 2011
January 24th, 2011
Physical therapy at 8:15 am. Fog is still lining the bottom of the valley but the foothills are green and golden, bathing under the early sunshine.
I woke up less during the night, feeling less pressure in the upper thigh. It’s a great feeling to be able to move with more freedom. I can turn fairly easily in the bed and it helps my lower back.
The physical therapists are all at work when I show up. Funny how I never thought of the profession until now. These people do a remarkable job.
One of them starts me on four minutes of knee dangles. First, two minutes with my good leg on top of my bad and that’s the hardest part. The pushing is okay until it reaches a point where I feel stuck. Meanwhile, my other knee is smirking and bragging. Then, two minutes of extension with my injured knee on top of the good one and this is the easiest part that I always keep for the end.
Then follow the regular exercises that must strengthen my hamstring, my calf and also my butt. Straight leg raise, rolling my feet on a gigantic ball, and finally the icing of the knee right after the PTA has checked the improvement. He’s pleased with the mobility of my knee. I am too, but it’s awful to remember that I will be back to the staring point after the surgery.
I heard some people prefer going on without the reconstruction of the ACL, but I want to return to a full life so there is no question about doing it or not. But in the back of my head, I dream of waking up with a normal knee and skipping the surgery. The post surgery looks like such a long bumpy road.
I have tons of questions for Wednesday when I meet the surgeon. My most important one is when can I walk without a leg brace and crutches. I’m not even talking of long walks or hikes. Just moving around. And then there is Maine. If I believed in a god, I would pray so that we can all return to our beloved lake cabin without even thinking about it.
Oh how I wish I could rewind the 4th of January. I would have stayed on Academy, the blue slope that wasn’t challenging my knee. I would now be doing whatever needs to be done at home. I hate watching my husband do all the work. It used to be me doing all of that. I know that patience has entered my vocabulary but I’m not yet fully cooperative.
I woke up less during the night, feeling less pressure in the upper thigh. It’s a great feeling to be able to move with more freedom. I can turn fairly easily in the bed and it helps my lower back.
The physical therapists are all at work when I show up. Funny how I never thought of the profession until now. These people do a remarkable job.
One of them starts me on four minutes of knee dangles. First, two minutes with my good leg on top of my bad and that’s the hardest part. The pushing is okay until it reaches a point where I feel stuck. Meanwhile, my other knee is smirking and bragging. Then, two minutes of extension with my injured knee on top of the good one and this is the easiest part that I always keep for the end.
Then follow the regular exercises that must strengthen my hamstring, my calf and also my butt. Straight leg raise, rolling my feet on a gigantic ball, and finally the icing of the knee right after the PTA has checked the improvement. He’s pleased with the mobility of my knee. I am too, but it’s awful to remember that I will be back to the staring point after the surgery.
I heard some people prefer going on without the reconstruction of the ACL, but I want to return to a full life so there is no question about doing it or not. But in the back of my head, I dream of waking up with a normal knee and skipping the surgery. The post surgery looks like such a long bumpy road.
I have tons of questions for Wednesday when I meet the surgeon. My most important one is when can I walk without a leg brace and crutches. I’m not even talking of long walks or hikes. Just moving around. And then there is Maine. If I believed in a god, I would pray so that we can all return to our beloved lake cabin without even thinking about it.
Oh how I wish I could rewind the 4th of January. I would have stayed on Academy, the blue slope that wasn’t challenging my knee. I would now be doing whatever needs to be done at home. I hate watching my husband do all the work. It used to be me doing all of that. I know that patience has entered my vocabulary but I’m not yet fully cooperative.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
January 23rd ,2011
Sunday morning. Family breakfast around the table. Bad night but the sun is back so I spend time outside while my husband loads the dumpster we rented for the week. We have always enjoyed working on our house so once in a while we need to get rid of old wood, shingles and such.
I enjoy the sun but hate being so still. It’s hard for someone who took care of the house and the garden to be stuck like I am now. At least, I can run laundry and empty the dishwasher. Putting everything back is harder since I can’t carry much with the crutches.
In the afternoon, I do my feet with the help of my daughter.
After all, French women don’t get surgery with bad feet.
I enjoy the sun but hate being so still. It’s hard for someone who took care of the house and the garden to be stuck like I am now. At least, I can run laundry and empty the dishwasher. Putting everything back is harder since I can’t carry much with the crutches.
In the afternoon, I do my feet with the help of my daughter.
After all, French women don’t get surgery with bad feet.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
January 22nd, 2011
I wake up every hour, pain shooting through the base of my left hip. Who would have known that a couple of ligaments hold so much of one body? I spend the early morning hours in pain, alternating three lines of my book and quick naps.
I’m scared now of the surgery and moreover of the post surgery. What if I can’t ever walk again?
The physical therapist said that after surgery I will be back to the meager 70% bending capacity I had after the accident. Great!
I’m also angry. Until this accident, I’ve done everything right. I do exercise every day. If not, I walk about three miles a day without counting the cleaning and the basics of running a household. Why me? But then, I hate self pity and I do my exercises, hoping that this moment of blues will pass. My two kids are up and I feel like a bad mom since I can’t take care of them as I have done until recently.
I’ve prepared every breakfast and almost every other meal for the last twenty years spent here in the USA. I’m not counting the ones I prepared in Paris for me and my husband when we were newly wed.
Arrrrgh!
I’m scared now of the surgery and moreover of the post surgery. What if I can’t ever walk again?
The physical therapist said that after surgery I will be back to the meager 70% bending capacity I had after the accident. Great!
I’m also angry. Until this accident, I’ve done everything right. I do exercise every day. If not, I walk about three miles a day without counting the cleaning and the basics of running a household. Why me? But then, I hate self pity and I do my exercises, hoping that this moment of blues will pass. My two kids are up and I feel like a bad mom since I can’t take care of them as I have done until recently.
I’ve prepared every breakfast and almost every other meal for the last twenty years spent here in the USA. I’m not counting the ones I prepared in Paris for me and my husband when we were newly wed.
Arrrrgh!
Friday, January 21, 2011
January 21st, 2011
Physical therapy at 8:00am. I feel sore this morning and the PT who takes care of me today isn’t as good as the one I have had so far. I finish my exercises in better shape though and stop by Starbucks for my first latte in days while my husband runs a quick errand at Target.
Got a card from Nancy, one of my writing critique members, also a good friend. I call my other good friend Joan. I miss all of them and can’t wait to have coffee soon and resume our writing meetings.
Read The Partner from Grisham and starts CS Lewis The Perfect Divorce. My sixteen-year-old daughter has it on her bookshelf. I’m also browsing through Keith Richards’ memoir. So-so writing but fun stories of course. I like to watch the pictures. He took even more drugs than I thought. I still like him a lot but the book isn’t that great. Maybe it’s better to let the stars live their lives without knowing too much about them.
I finish the prep work for several manuscripts submissions. I even enter a contest for a writing magazine. I watch a couple of episodes of the last season of ER with my family and the 10 o’clock news before calling it a day.
Got a card from Nancy, one of my writing critique members, also a good friend. I call my other good friend Joan. I miss all of them and can’t wait to have coffee soon and resume our writing meetings.
Read The Partner from Grisham and starts CS Lewis The Perfect Divorce. My sixteen-year-old daughter has it on her bookshelf. I’m also browsing through Keith Richards’ memoir. So-so writing but fun stories of course. I like to watch the pictures. He took even more drugs than I thought. I still like him a lot but the book isn’t that great. Maybe it’s better to let the stars live their lives without knowing too much about them.
I finish the prep work for several manuscripts submissions. I even enter a contest for a writing magazine. I watch a couple of episodes of the last season of ER with my family and the 10 o’clock news before calling it a day.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
January 19th, 2011
The second therapy session goes as well as the first. I have already regained a little bit of flexibility so I feel better. I do my exercises at home and adjust to the routine.
Monday, January 17, 2011
January 17th, 2011
Dr. Simonian is a surgeon whose specialty is sports medicine. The walls of the waiting room, the hallways and his office are covered with trophies and posters signed from USC football players, professional dancers and Air Force pilots. From famous players (football, basketball and baseball), to amateurs athletes alike, the words of praise are unanimous and again it feels reassuring.
A PA sees me first to check the basis: blood pressure, temperature and health history. Then Dr. Simonian comes in. He is a gentle man, very soft spoken and I feel an immediate relief when he tells me right away that he will put me back on my two feet. I believe him and isn’t it a huge part of the healing process?
He confirms that I tore my ACL and my MCL, and damaged a little bit my menisci. He reassures me that all of that can be put behind me.
A decision is quickly reached to reconstruct my ACL with cadaver tissues. It implies some risks such as Aids or hepatitis but compared to the consequences of using my own tissues, they are minimal and I accept them. The surgery is non invasive but the post surgery is long and will test my patience (surgeon’s own words). Of course, by now it has already been tested and I have no doubt it can’t be worst. Little I know that I will soon change my mind!
Before the surgery, Dr. Simonian suggests some physical therapy to regain some flexibility in the knee. He assures me that this is crucial for the post surgery. Anything, I’m ready for anything.
The PA takes away my hideous white leg cast that was keeping my leg so straight it’s not even funny, and instead equips me with a leg brace that offers a safe range of motion. I am asked to use my crutches until surgery. Fine with me. At least, I’m building some triceps here.
I leave with a reminder card for a pre surgery checkup on the 26th. The surgery will be on the 27th at Clovis Community Hospital. My husband is relieved. We would have said no to Saint Agnes that has been dealing with too many issues related to poor hygiene over the last years. Locally, the hospital is nicknamed Saint Agony.
Another nurse from Dr. Simonian’s staff schedules an appointment with a physical therapy facility while I’m still in the office and I get an early afternoon session at Thrive in Clovis.
After a quick but relaxing lunch at a Japanese restaurant, we drive to Thrive. It looks like a gym except that the clients are called patients. Also, most wear leg braces and limp or have their shoulders iced.
But I’m excited to see bikes and treadmills and even machines I haven’t seen before. I meet a couple of physical therapists which I will from now on call PT for short. I also meet their boss who has a tag displaying his name and his rank: MPT.
He puts me on a regimen of knee dangle exercises. They consist of sitting on a tall narrow table, massage like, and dangle the knees as if I were at the pool. I wish!
Series of extension helped with the non-injured leg and then series of flexion helped again with the non injured leg. The goal is to regain extension and flexion in the knee. I am measured and score 70%. To have an idea of what we are talking about, I ask, "What about my other knee?" It is a 150%.
Ooops! A lot of work ahead.
Then, I move to hamstring stretch exercise. Seated on the same table with the good leg hanging on the side, lean forward from the hip, toward the injured leg until reaching a stretch in the back of the thigh. Easy for me since I’m flexible.
The calf stretch with a towel is pretty easy too. The injured leg is straight (as much as possible considering the swelling) and a long towel or old sheet is wrapped under the ball of the foot. Pull on the sheet with two hands until a stretch is felt in the lower leg (ankle area).
I do straight leg raises with the non-injured leg bent while the injured one is lift 30 degrees off the table. The goal is to strengthen the muscle in the front thigh. I’m fine with that too.
The quad sets are more difficult to do. The PT uses a measurement tool which registers the tightening of the muscle above the bad knee as I press it down to the table. Not too good. Perhaps my muscles weren’t as tight as I thought.
The hour or so of exercises ends with 15 minutes of icing of the knee, legs elevated. The equipment is far more sophisticated than my ice pad and before long I’m freezing. Why did I say no to the blanket they offered me? I need to remember to bring a fleece for next time.
I leave with an appointment sheet for four sessions before surgery and the copies of the five exercises I have done to do at home.
Yeah! I’m someone who likes goals and I think of myself as a disciplined person so this is the kind of thing I like. I go home, reassured and hopeful.
A PA sees me first to check the basis: blood pressure, temperature and health history. Then Dr. Simonian comes in. He is a gentle man, very soft spoken and I feel an immediate relief when he tells me right away that he will put me back on my two feet. I believe him and isn’t it a huge part of the healing process?
He confirms that I tore my ACL and my MCL, and damaged a little bit my menisci. He reassures me that all of that can be put behind me.
A decision is quickly reached to reconstruct my ACL with cadaver tissues. It implies some risks such as Aids or hepatitis but compared to the consequences of using my own tissues, they are minimal and I accept them. The surgery is non invasive but the post surgery is long and will test my patience (surgeon’s own words). Of course, by now it has already been tested and I have no doubt it can’t be worst. Little I know that I will soon change my mind!
Before the surgery, Dr. Simonian suggests some physical therapy to regain some flexibility in the knee. He assures me that this is crucial for the post surgery. Anything, I’m ready for anything.
The PA takes away my hideous white leg cast that was keeping my leg so straight it’s not even funny, and instead equips me with a leg brace that offers a safe range of motion. I am asked to use my crutches until surgery. Fine with me. At least, I’m building some triceps here.
I leave with a reminder card for a pre surgery checkup on the 26th. The surgery will be on the 27th at Clovis Community Hospital. My husband is relieved. We would have said no to Saint Agnes that has been dealing with too many issues related to poor hygiene over the last years. Locally, the hospital is nicknamed Saint Agony.
Another nurse from Dr. Simonian’s staff schedules an appointment with a physical therapy facility while I’m still in the office and I get an early afternoon session at Thrive in Clovis.
After a quick but relaxing lunch at a Japanese restaurant, we drive to Thrive. It looks like a gym except that the clients are called patients. Also, most wear leg braces and limp or have their shoulders iced.
But I’m excited to see bikes and treadmills and even machines I haven’t seen before. I meet a couple of physical therapists which I will from now on call PT for short. I also meet their boss who has a tag displaying his name and his rank: MPT.
He puts me on a regimen of knee dangle exercises. They consist of sitting on a tall narrow table, massage like, and dangle the knees as if I were at the pool. I wish!
Series of extension helped with the non-injured leg and then series of flexion helped again with the non injured leg. The goal is to regain extension and flexion in the knee. I am measured and score 70%. To have an idea of what we are talking about, I ask, "What about my other knee?" It is a 150%.
Ooops! A lot of work ahead.
Then, I move to hamstring stretch exercise. Seated on the same table with the good leg hanging on the side, lean forward from the hip, toward the injured leg until reaching a stretch in the back of the thigh. Easy for me since I’m flexible.
The calf stretch with a towel is pretty easy too. The injured leg is straight (as much as possible considering the swelling) and a long towel or old sheet is wrapped under the ball of the foot. Pull on the sheet with two hands until a stretch is felt in the lower leg (ankle area).
I do straight leg raises with the non-injured leg bent while the injured one is lift 30 degrees off the table. The goal is to strengthen the muscle in the front thigh. I’m fine with that too.
The quad sets are more difficult to do. The PT uses a measurement tool which registers the tightening of the muscle above the bad knee as I press it down to the table. Not too good. Perhaps my muscles weren’t as tight as I thought.
The hour or so of exercises ends with 15 minutes of icing of the knee, legs elevated. The equipment is far more sophisticated than my ice pad and before long I’m freezing. Why did I say no to the blanket they offered me? I need to remember to bring a fleece for next time.
I leave with an appointment sheet for four sessions before surgery and the copies of the five exercises I have done to do at home.
Yeah! I’m someone who likes goals and I think of myself as a disciplined person so this is the kind of thing I like. I go home, reassured and hopeful.
Friday, January 14, 2011
January 14th, 2011
Wait, wait, wait.
My physician doesn’t call me but I get a call from a surgeon’s office I’ve never heard of before. It must be how referrals work.
I’m offered an appointment to see Dr. Simonian on Monday. I wonder if I should try Stanford instead, but after spending some time researching Dr. Simonian and visiting his website, I feel less anxious. His patients’ feedback is excellent and his ranking is five stars.
My physician doesn’t call me but I get a call from a surgeon’s office I’ve never heard of before. It must be how referrals work.
I’m offered an appointment to see Dr. Simonian on Monday. I wonder if I should try Stanford instead, but after spending some time researching Dr. Simonian and visiting his website, I feel less anxious. His patients’ feedback is excellent and his ranking is five stars.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
January 13th, 2011
Breakfast at Mimi’s café with my husband before the MRI appointment. I can walk a little without my crutches. I make my bed. Yeah! Not as perfect as usual but still, it is progress. My knee is also less swollen.
The MRI facility is friendly although the crowd in the waiting room is depressing. Nothing fun to be surrounded by ill and injured people.
The exam is easy although quite long. My knee is isolated and I lay down, facing a wall that represents an exotic beach. I can almost hear the surf crashing on the golden sand. The tech guy offers me music and I pick “easy music” when he asks what I’d like to hear. I should have say NPR or Democracy Now but he takes me by surprise. I had no clue you had to listen to music during an MRI. I understand when the loud humming starts. Despite the beach in front of me and the blue ceiling, there is no way I can sleep.
The results will be forwarded to my primary physician.
The MRI facility is friendly although the crowd in the waiting room is depressing. Nothing fun to be surrounded by ill and injured people.
The exam is easy although quite long. My knee is isolated and I lay down, facing a wall that represents an exotic beach. I can almost hear the surf crashing on the golden sand. The tech guy offers me music and I pick “easy music” when he asks what I’d like to hear. I should have say NPR or Democracy Now but he takes me by surprise. I had no clue you had to listen to music during an MRI. I understand when the loud humming starts. Despite the beach in front of me and the blue ceiling, there is no way I can sleep.
The results will be forwarded to my primary physician.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
January 12th, 2011
My husband drives to Sacramento to pick up our college daughter who finished a hospital externship. My knee is still swollen. I’m afraid to put any weight on it so now my back is really hurting. The good news is that our beloved California sun is back after days of fog. My daughter and her boy friend take the dog for a walk and then return to Santa Cruz. I sit in the sun for almost two hours. Gosh, I became a real Californian. I was craving warmth so much!
I finish The Modigliani Scandal from Ken Follett. I loved the topic since I’m a visual arts fan.
I can’t wait for the MRI tomorrow and finally know what’s wrong with my knee.
I finish The Modigliani Scandal from Ken Follett. I loved the topic since I’m a visual arts fan.
I can’t wait for the MRI tomorrow and finally know what’s wrong with my knee.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
January 11th, 2011
My two younger kids go skiing today while their sister goes to the ice skating rink with her boyfriend. My knee looks better today and I decide to walk without my brace for a little while, using only the crutches. If it weren’t for the backache, I would feel okay. I eat and sleep well. I revise my novel that I definitely want to submit soon.
Monday, January 10, 2011
January 10th, 2011
I wake up at 5:00 am. My knee doesn’t hurt as long as I don’t try to bend or turn it. I call Sierra Imaging Associates before 9:00 am since nobody has called me after my appointment with my primary physician. My understanding was that someone would book the MRI early this week and confirm before the weekend. I am told that they first need to get insurance authorization before booking an appointment and that the first opening will be Friday. I wonder how it would be for someone, who unlike me doesn’t have a PPO health care plan. I opt to book the MRI before insurance approval. How long does it take to call to get authorization? I’m sure it will be done by the time I show up for the MRI. I manage to get the exam for Thursday at 9:00 am.
Meanwhile, I ice my knee to decrease the swelling. My older daughter and her boyfriend arrive late afternoon. They plan to spend a few days here. It is nice to have some company to break the routine of the last days. Tonight I can apply some pressure on my knee. I suppose it’s some improvement but on the other hand my lower back hurts, probably because of the crutches and how I’ve changed my posture to accommodate the pain.
Meanwhile, I ice my knee to decrease the swelling. My older daughter and her boyfriend arrive late afternoon. They plan to spend a few days here. It is nice to have some company to break the routine of the last days. Tonight I can apply some pressure on my knee. I suppose it’s some improvement but on the other hand my lower back hurts, probably because of the crutches and how I’ve changed my posture to accommodate the pain.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
January 9th, 2011
My husband takes the kids grocery shopping. Yesterday, my daughter ran a washing machine and today I fold the laundry, seated at the kitchen table. I crave a shower but I need help to step in the stall so I wait for my husband to be home.
I finish Rescue from Anita Shreve, one of my favorite writers for adults. Her last book is a little disappointing, too predictable. Meanwhile, I take advantage of my immobility to revise my latest manuscript. It’s a novel for YA and I hope to submit it soon.
My husband and the kids come home and put the groceries away in the fridge and pantry. This is one of the very few times I don’t do it myself and I hate it.
Pain and discomfort would make any active person crazy. I’ve been acting fine until the end of the weekend. Frustration and cabin fever have boiled inside me for a couple of days now and as Sunday ends, I turn into an impatient and emotional wreck.
I miss my body. My independence and my work. Funny how a house can turn upside down when a woman gets ill or injured.
I finish Rescue from Anita Shreve, one of my favorite writers for adults. Her last book is a little disappointing, too predictable. Meanwhile, I take advantage of my immobility to revise my latest manuscript. It’s a novel for YA and I hope to submit it soon.
My husband and the kids come home and put the groceries away in the fridge and pantry. This is one of the very few times I don’t do it myself and I hate it.
Pain and discomfort would make any active person crazy. I’ve been acting fine until the end of the weekend. Frustration and cabin fever have boiled inside me for a couple of days now and as Sunday ends, I turn into an impatient and emotional wreck.
I miss my body. My independence and my work. Funny how a house can turn upside down when a woman gets ill or injured.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
January 8th, 2011
I wake up, hoping once more that my knee will be fine, but the dull pain that turns sharp as soon as I twist my leg inward, returns. My husband has some business to take care of in San Francisco so I stay home with my two younger kids. They do the best they can to be helpful and I appreciate their efforts and concern. I feel diminished. I’ve never been hurt before. I ice my knee although I hate the ice pad. I use the crutches and I go to bed with a swollen knee around 10:30pm.
Friday, January 7, 2011
January 7th, 2011
I sleep well, hoping once more that my knee is better but the swelling is pretty bad by now. I take a shower, helped by my husband. Isn’t he glad that I only weight 120 lbs?
Yesterday, I called my primary physician. Although the ER doctor told me to wait a few more days, I decide to see her as soon as possible. I have an appointment at noon today. After a quick exam, my physician orders an MRI. She also tells me that I tore my MCL. She tore her ACL a few years ago and says that there is no way I could have skied down the slope with a torn ACL.
The stuff I read online flashes back to my mind. An ACL can be reconstructed with surgery. The MCL heals on its own. Surprisingly, surgery suddenly looks better. Healing takes time and a lot of physical therapy.
Someone will call me to schedule the MRI. If only I knew what’s wrong with my knee! Oh, I miss my knee!
Yesterday, I called my primary physician. Although the ER doctor told me to wait a few more days, I decide to see her as soon as possible. I have an appointment at noon today. After a quick exam, my physician orders an MRI. She also tells me that I tore my MCL. She tore her ACL a few years ago and says that there is no way I could have skied down the slope with a torn ACL.
The stuff I read online flashes back to my mind. An ACL can be reconstructed with surgery. The MCL heals on its own. Surprisingly, surgery suddenly looks better. Healing takes time and a lot of physical therapy.
Someone will call me to schedule the MRI. If only I knew what’s wrong with my knee! Oh, I miss my knee!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
January 6th, 2011
I spend most of the day in bed, skipping my beloved daily shower. Ken Follett had a good idea to write Tome 1 of his trilogy.
The day goes by in this strange rhythm when one is away from real life. My husband plays his new role of caretaker to the perfection. I find out that lying is hard for my back. I never have backaches until now. I miss moving around the house. I know that dirty laundry is already piling up. Dust gathers on my nightstand and my Christmas tree is still up. I push the mundane chores in the back of my head as I test my body.
I can stretch my toes, move my ankle. I miss my daily walks when I didn’t think of my knee. My poor knee is now swollen and I’m not convinced Iboprufen can do much so I skip it since I’m not in pain.
Thanks to the internet, information is at the top of our fingers. My husband makes copies and soon I learn everything about knee injuries. I discover new words I never heard of before. ACL, PCL, MCL seem to play a big part in the life of the human knee. Is one of these ligaments damaged?
A small nugget of hope grazes my mind. Maybe this is just a tendon or a muscle. Then, it will heal on its own. But I realize that I can check yes to every single symptoms described for a torn ligament. Besides, I am a woman and we are more prone that men to tear our ligaments. Plus, I was skiing which ranks high among the most dangerous activities for a knee.
Conclusion: I’ve learned a couple of new words today and have the impression that they will be part of my vocabulary for a while.
These two websites can come handy if you, reader, ever experience a similar injury.
www.webmd.com/fitness-exercise/knee-ligament-injuries
www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anterior_cruciate_ligament_injury
The day goes by in this strange rhythm when one is away from real life. My husband plays his new role of caretaker to the perfection. I find out that lying is hard for my back. I never have backaches until now. I miss moving around the house. I know that dirty laundry is already piling up. Dust gathers on my nightstand and my Christmas tree is still up. I push the mundane chores in the back of my head as I test my body.
I can stretch my toes, move my ankle. I miss my daily walks when I didn’t think of my knee. My poor knee is now swollen and I’m not convinced Iboprufen can do much so I skip it since I’m not in pain.
Thanks to the internet, information is at the top of our fingers. My husband makes copies and soon I learn everything about knee injuries. I discover new words I never heard of before. ACL, PCL, MCL seem to play a big part in the life of the human knee. Is one of these ligaments damaged?
A small nugget of hope grazes my mind. Maybe this is just a tendon or a muscle. Then, it will heal on its own. But I realize that I can check yes to every single symptoms described for a torn ligament. Besides, I am a woman and we are more prone that men to tear our ligaments. Plus, I was skiing which ranks high among the most dangerous activities for a knee.
Conclusion: I’ve learned a couple of new words today and have the impression that they will be part of my vocabulary for a while.
These two websites can come handy if you, reader, ever experience a similar injury.
www.webmd.com/fitness-exercise/knee-ligament-injuries
www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anterior_cruciate_ligament_injury
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
January 5th, 2011
I wake up, refreshed and certain I have dreamed my injury. But it’s not a dream and since I can neither bear weight nor bend my knee, I agree to go to the ER. My husband and I drive the kids to school and then go to the Clovis Community Hospital since it has a sport injury department.
Although the hospital is under major remodeling, registration is quick. The waiting room is empty and a nurse calls me almost right away. For the first time of my life, I’m not well and it is strange to see people opening doors when they see my wheelchair.
A set of X Rays confirms there is no fracture but damage to soft tissues. The nurse says that in a way a broken bone would be easier to heal yet I’m relieved. Soft tissues sound so much less dramatic. I don't know yet that I will soon change my mind. But for now, I am reassured when I leave with a brace on my left leg, a set of crutches and instructions to see my primary physician in five days. I also have to ice my knee and take Iboprufen for the swelling. In addition I get a prescription for Vicodin. I never take any medicine since I’m one of these lucky women who never have headaches or any body ache and have never swallowed any pain killer. My husband insists to fill the prescription. Just in case. I say no but we still get it. Little I know that the nasty stuff will come handy sooner than I think.
I walk to the car, limping and rewinding the day before, still hoping for the best. There is no way that such a stupid twist could damage a knee, right?
At home, I’m unable to do much and since I never sit down for more than a couple of hours before moving around, it feels unreal and boring too.
Fortunately I have Fall of the Giants, the latest Ken Follett, to read and it takes my mind away for a few hours.
Although the hospital is under major remodeling, registration is quick. The waiting room is empty and a nurse calls me almost right away. For the first time of my life, I’m not well and it is strange to see people opening doors when they see my wheelchair.
A set of X Rays confirms there is no fracture but damage to soft tissues. The nurse says that in a way a broken bone would be easier to heal yet I’m relieved. Soft tissues sound so much less dramatic. I don't know yet that I will soon change my mind. But for now, I am reassured when I leave with a brace on my left leg, a set of crutches and instructions to see my primary physician in five days. I also have to ice my knee and take Iboprufen for the swelling. In addition I get a prescription for Vicodin. I never take any medicine since I’m one of these lucky women who never have headaches or any body ache and have never swallowed any pain killer. My husband insists to fill the prescription. Just in case. I say no but we still get it. Little I know that the nasty stuff will come handy sooner than I think.
I walk to the car, limping and rewinding the day before, still hoping for the best. There is no way that such a stupid twist could damage a knee, right?
At home, I’m unable to do much and since I never sit down for more than a couple of hours before moving around, it feels unreal and boring too.
Fortunately I have Fall of the Giants, the latest Ken Follett, to read and it takes my mind away for a few hours.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
January 4th, 2011
There is a distinct snapping sound and a flash of pain in my left knee as I tumble to the ground.
Right away, I know something was wrong.
"Too bad," I say aloud, taking in the perfect California blue sky and the branches of the pines trees, heavy with fresh snow, above my head.
Here I am on one of the easiest slopes at China Peak in Shaver Lake, California, less than three hours away from my home.
I try to stand up but don’t find the strength to do so. It doesn’t occur to me that I could be injured. The pain was brief and is now gone, leaving a strange sensation of weakness. I try to move my skis so I won’t slide downhill. But I can’t and I remain seated in the deep snow as skiers and snowboarders zoom around me.
I know it’s not safe to stay where I am so again, I try to move. The weakness in my knee tells me something isn’t right. I look for my daughter but she has no reason to wait for me. We have been skiing together for a couple of runs and that’s our last one before boarding the bus that will take us to her high school.
A snowboarder stops by and asks me if I need help. I tell him about my fall and he offers to ski down and seek help. He snowboards away. Meanwhile, I still hope to stand up but ultimately have to admit I can’t without some help.
Two young snowboarders are taking a rest nearby and I ask one of them if he can give me a hand. Although he must be thirty years younger than me, he smiles and kindly accepts, offering me his gloved hand.
"Yeah!" I say, as I stand up easily. Great! That was nothing.
He smiles again and disappears in a cloud of fresh powder, followed by his friend. Carefully, I drag my skis downhill, and for a second it is as nothing at all had happened. A grin grows inside me and I thank my body that has so far never failed me. But as I praise my good luck and health, the weakness in my knee returns with a strange and unpleasant sensation of looseness in the leg. I meet my daughter and a few of her friends waiting for me a few hundred feet down the slope. They are sixteen and agile. A flash of pride convinces me that I can’t stay here for help so I ski down, avoiding turns as much as possible.
I manage to reach the lodge but when I take my skis off, my leg collapses under me and I fall. My daughter gets my skis and I limp to the lodge where I successfully get my ski boots off and retrieve my pair of sneakers.
I don’t complain and with a smile on my face swears I had the best day ever. And I’m not lying. The snow, the sun, the beauty of the Sierra and the incredible joyful sensation that skiing provides was truly amazing today. I can’t deny the pleasure I experienced even if I hurt myself.
But I can’t deny either how an injury cuts me right away from the non-injured rest of the world. All around, people sunbath and relax in Adirondack chairs with a book or even a glass of wine or a beer. Skiers and snowboarders slalom to avoid me. Although I trip countless times, nobody looks at me or asks me if I need help until I reach the bus.
A young woman notices my careful walk and asks me if I am all right. Upon her insistence, I agree to see one of the ski patrol guys. Scott is ten years older than me, weathered and lean like most mountain older men are. He examines my knee and doesn’t find anything wrong. There is indeed no bruise, no swelling, no evident fracture. He brings me a pack of ice for the road and strongly suggests a visit to my physician if I still feel the same way in the morning. He also assures me that I am in great shape and that it’s probably nothing serious.
I board the bus, all the way hoping that my knee will be fine. But when we reach the high school down in Fresno, although there is still no swelling and no pain, my leg gives way as I climb down the bus. I still have an hour drive before being home. My kids load their skis and shoes in the trunk and I thank the Americans for their automatic cars. At least, I only need my right knee.
I make it home without any pain but as I park down the steep driveway, I fall. In fact, I fall countless times before calling it a day.
By the time I’m tucked in bed I already know I am due for a visit to the ER.
I have no clue yet that my injury has a three letter name.
Right away, I know something was wrong.
"Too bad," I say aloud, taking in the perfect California blue sky and the branches of the pines trees, heavy with fresh snow, above my head.
Here I am on one of the easiest slopes at China Peak in Shaver Lake, California, less than three hours away from my home.
I try to stand up but don’t find the strength to do so. It doesn’t occur to me that I could be injured. The pain was brief and is now gone, leaving a strange sensation of weakness. I try to move my skis so I won’t slide downhill. But I can’t and I remain seated in the deep snow as skiers and snowboarders zoom around me.
I know it’s not safe to stay where I am so again, I try to move. The weakness in my knee tells me something isn’t right. I look for my daughter but she has no reason to wait for me. We have been skiing together for a couple of runs and that’s our last one before boarding the bus that will take us to her high school.
A snowboarder stops by and asks me if I need help. I tell him about my fall and he offers to ski down and seek help. He snowboards away. Meanwhile, I still hope to stand up but ultimately have to admit I can’t without some help.
Two young snowboarders are taking a rest nearby and I ask one of them if he can give me a hand. Although he must be thirty years younger than me, he smiles and kindly accepts, offering me his gloved hand.
"Yeah!" I say, as I stand up easily. Great! That was nothing.
He smiles again and disappears in a cloud of fresh powder, followed by his friend. Carefully, I drag my skis downhill, and for a second it is as nothing at all had happened. A grin grows inside me and I thank my body that has so far never failed me. But as I praise my good luck and health, the weakness in my knee returns with a strange and unpleasant sensation of looseness in the leg. I meet my daughter and a few of her friends waiting for me a few hundred feet down the slope. They are sixteen and agile. A flash of pride convinces me that I can’t stay here for help so I ski down, avoiding turns as much as possible.
I manage to reach the lodge but when I take my skis off, my leg collapses under me and I fall. My daughter gets my skis and I limp to the lodge where I successfully get my ski boots off and retrieve my pair of sneakers.
I don’t complain and with a smile on my face swears I had the best day ever. And I’m not lying. The snow, the sun, the beauty of the Sierra and the incredible joyful sensation that skiing provides was truly amazing today. I can’t deny the pleasure I experienced even if I hurt myself.
But I can’t deny either how an injury cuts me right away from the non-injured rest of the world. All around, people sunbath and relax in Adirondack chairs with a book or even a glass of wine or a beer. Skiers and snowboarders slalom to avoid me. Although I trip countless times, nobody looks at me or asks me if I need help until I reach the bus.
A young woman notices my careful walk and asks me if I am all right. Upon her insistence, I agree to see one of the ski patrol guys. Scott is ten years older than me, weathered and lean like most mountain older men are. He examines my knee and doesn’t find anything wrong. There is indeed no bruise, no swelling, no evident fracture. He brings me a pack of ice for the road and strongly suggests a visit to my physician if I still feel the same way in the morning. He also assures me that I am in great shape and that it’s probably nothing serious.
I board the bus, all the way hoping that my knee will be fine. But when we reach the high school down in Fresno, although there is still no swelling and no pain, my leg gives way as I climb down the bus. I still have an hour drive before being home. My kids load their skis and shoes in the trunk and I thank the Americans for their automatic cars. At least, I only need my right knee.
I make it home without any pain but as I park down the steep driveway, I fall. In fact, I fall countless times before calling it a day.
By the time I’m tucked in bed I already know I am due for a visit to the ER.
I have no clue yet that my injury has a three letter name.
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