50 days from now I will lay down for my last hip x-ray (well, last one for a WHILE)... and then will sit behind my doctor while she stares and speaks at her monitor saying...
"it looks like you have not gained any weight so that is good, you should be happy"
"these 3 screws look fine and there is no evidence of a fracture"
"why are you crying? this should be good news. you are going to make me look bad on your way out."
...followed by elaborate surgeon-jargon I will not understand nor remember... if I even hear it at all.
the waiting room, lab, little hard-plastic offices with old fishing magazines and shiny chrome devices... are articulately detailed in my brain from many nervous and tearful visits. recalling them paints a wince on my face - a wince which has matured in to more-than-a-few small wrinkles over the last 10 months.
there are several recoveries this injury has prompted.
...my bone has needed to heal and allow blood to flow.
...my hip flexor rips have needed to fill back in with more magical hip flexor.
...my emotions need to be grasped, broken down, calmed down, cooled down, and put down.
when I hit the pavement on September 13th, I did not cry... or at least, I do not remember crying. Rai asked if I was able to ride back home or at least walk to the sidewalk. and I responded by pivoting my spandex-sealed butt out of the road like a monkey, thus confirming the walking and riding were not possible.
when 3 nurses lifted me from the wheelchair to a bed, my eyes pinched shut (because not seeing equates to not feeling) and I put the subsequent yell of pain the politest way that I could.
when the doctor told me I needed surgery and hardware installed ..."but don't worry, the screws are not from Home Depot"... everything fell out of my eyeballs and I choked on spit and air and forthcoming difficulties and bad surgery jokes.
for the next month, my shit was lost about 20 times a day. my friend who is a nurse visited me one afternoon right as an ugly-cry was gaining momentum. I was a messy pile of assumptions... assumptions that I was not healing properly; I would no longer be able to ride my bike; no more triathlons; no more fundraising races; my dog will hate me; my boyfriend will dump me; me and my bum hip will never find another partner; my friends will leave me because I need so much help; the only people who will love me after all of this will be my parents.
fast forward through many Netflix months later...
the pity-party rave my brain was having quieted.
friends and family held me tight and patiently eased me through new challenges. care packages, notes, and phone calls reminded me I would be okay. the breakdowns became less frequent and I shakily started balancing on those 1 inch road bicycle tires again.
in 50 days it will have been a year... which is what my surgeon quoted as the time required for full recovery. the last time I wanted a year to pass so quickly, I was a teenager in high school sweating in my Chemistry Honors class.
thank you to everyone who lent me a helping hand and / or hip.
I am forever grateful for you.
"it looks like you have not gained any weight so that is good, you should be happy"
"these 3 screws look fine and there is no evidence of a fracture"
"why are you crying? this should be good news. you are going to make me look bad on your way out."
...followed by elaborate surgeon-jargon I will not understand nor remember... if I even hear it at all.
the waiting room, lab, little hard-plastic offices with old fishing magazines and shiny chrome devices... are articulately detailed in my brain from many nervous and tearful visits. recalling them paints a wince on my face - a wince which has matured in to more-than-a-few small wrinkles over the last 10 months.
...my bone has needed to heal and allow blood to flow.
...my hip flexor rips have needed to fill back in with more magical hip flexor.
...my emotions need to be grasped, broken down, calmed down, cooled down, and put down.
when 3 nurses lifted me from the wheelchair to a bed, my eyes pinched shut (because not seeing equates to not feeling) and I put the subsequent yell of pain the politest way that I could.
when the doctor told me I needed surgery and hardware installed ..."but don't worry, the screws are not from Home Depot"... everything fell out of my eyeballs and I choked on spit and air and forthcoming difficulties and bad surgery jokes.
the pity-party rave my brain was having quieted.
friends and family held me tight and patiently eased me through new challenges. care packages, notes, and phone calls reminded me I would be okay. the breakdowns became less frequent and I shakily started balancing on those 1 inch road bicycle tires again.
thank you to everyone who lent me a helping hand and / or hip.
I am forever grateful for you.
