50 Percent Walk

GREAT NEWS. I went to the doctor today for my 2 month check up. My not so compassionate doc pulled my ankle back and forth and didn’t say much except this:

“WALK”

Clearly I was SHOCKED and needed the reassurance that he wanted me to walk with both feet.

“YEAH, JUST WALK” he said this so non-chilantly it made me feel like some freak of nature to be uneasy about this. Last step I took was crossing york ave, MONTHS ago. I really wanted to tell him to pipe down and let me hold onto something for a second, but he was having NONE of that.

So, I did, I walked. It hurt, hurt bad. Probably looked real funny to watch me too. After watching me hobble down the hallway he didn't believe me when I tried to convince him there was no pain. He decided bone growth wasn’t all there, so I have 3 weeks of “50 percent weight.”

"50 percent weight" includes

1) This fantastic air cast (see ya never ugly black boot)

2) Walking very slowly with two crutches, very very slowly.

3) BIKING!!! You know were I’ll be tomorrow. Equinox hogging the bike, until someone kicks me off.

4) Pain and swelling but who cares because my foot is touching the ground.

5) A good nights sleep FINALLY as well.

I spent 5 days at home after the surgery learning to crutch around with heavy metals rods sticking out of my ankle before my second surgery. With that under my belt, I can definitely learn to “50 percent walk”. NO PROBLEM.

A Real Runner

Over the last few months I've gone through a lot of phases. There was the "i'm so hyped up on pain meds everything is great" phase. Then there was the constant replay and total focus of the actual accident phase. Once I was out of the hospital and off all the pain meds I was in the "I need to know every detail of what happened in the hospital" phase. Either I repressed a lot, pain meds made me forget, or some combination of both. If you knew me at all before the accident you would have said I was pretty obsessed with running. Alot of people have said this accident could be good because it might help with my obsession. Well, they're wrong. Now I am in the phase where I am EVEN MORE OBSESSED with running.

The running obsession phase comes in many forms:

1. Constant day dreams of when my feet used to hit the pavement or of the day they will again.
2. Creepily starring at people running and mentally critiquing there pathetic speed and form
3. Creepily standing next to my favorite treadmill at the gym and fantasizing about running on it again
4. The reoccurring dream where I jump out of bed and just take off running in absolutely no pain (this took place of the dream where I get hit by the cab, so it's actually a huge upgrade)
5. Talking to anyone who is training for a race asking way to many questions and giving way too much advise that they probably don't need or want.
6. Reading runnersworld.com instead of doing work.

Yesterday I read that wearing "real running gear" (looks like swim suit bottoms and a big sports bra) will make you a faster runner. I never wore it before because I felt that I wasn't a real hard core runner and I wasn't fit enough. Yet, as I watch the runner muscle fall off my once toned body I realize that I should have been way more confident.

In my first surgery they did a couple things. First, they reset all the brakes in my tibia and fibula. Both the bones in my shin... split right down the middle.. ouch! Then put what they called the X FIX on my leg. X FIX - short for external fixtator. What the heck is that you might be wondering.. It is the definition of repulsive. It's what they used to to stabilize my leg before the swelling went down so I could have my second surgery. Key word, external, only it was attached to my (internal) bones.

As gross and painful as that may sound, I knew then and I know now that getting the X FIX was my first real step to recovery. At the time I didn't realize how many steps there would be and I still don't know how many more the future will hold. But I can tell you what the last step to recovery will be-- buying one of those runner outfits. I'm confident that after all of this, i'll be a real runner.

I Hope So

I always do my long training runs on Sundays. So I decided to check my training schedule. It said--

Sunday April 1st. 23 miles. Pace: 7:55.

So, I thought about it and decided I probably wasn't ready today. Instead, I sat on the couch and did physical therapy. Only guess what? Moving your ankle up and down and sometimes in a cirle does NOT get your heart rate up or feel as good as running 23 miles. It also wasn't enough of a distraction from the awful feeling that I should be outside running a long run. I mean, that's what I do on Sundays. No matter what. For the last 3 years.

I decided to go to THE GYM. Going to the gym on one leg is not an easy task, but well worth it.

Things you can do at the gym one legged:

1) One legged leg lifts with ankle weights on your theigh (lay on your back, side, and stomach) Given the fact that I have almost no more musle in my left leg it was actually pretty though

2) Crunches. With the bad leg laying straight ahead

3) What my students call "Push downs" where you lay on your bag and bring your legs up and down

4) Planks (bum leg crossed over your good leg so no weight is on it)

5) A million arm weight exercises sitting down

6) One legged squats, WITH CAUTION.

Now, the stuff that I was doing wasn't really that hard. That wasn't the scary part. It was really all of the people staring at me like I was a crazy person. And hey, I might be right now. I continued on trying to ignore them. Until one man came up to me and said "if I ever feel like I can't train for a day I am going to think of you... talk about determination". And then I realized, some of them were staring at me because i'm alittle wack but others were staring at me because of my crazy drive.

After a long night in the ER my surgeon finally came to see me in the morning right before I went into my first surgery. After he told me again that I had a SEVERE injury and gave me a play by play of the surgery, most of which I didn't understand. Then... I asked the question that I had been anxiously awaiting the answer to.

"If I do everything you tell me to do, will I be able to fully recovery from this and get back to where I was before?" And without even thinking he immediatly responded

"I hope so"

I clearly started to sob. I lied earlier--getting my foot jammed back into place wasn't the worst pain of my life. Hearing him say "I hope" was way more painful. Hope is not what I was looking for. He later told my parents that all he could do was his part and I was going to have to do mine to get he best outcome. Well, Dr.-- Here I am, doing my part. What do you have to say about my 7:55 pace now?

Helping Me Breathe

My beautiful, free willed, loving friend took a 6 hour bus ride today to come see me for the weekend. Damn, I feel pretty lucky she did that FOR me.

I posted that blog entry yesterday pretty nervous about being open to the public about not feeling so great about this. But the amount of support I have gotten today is unreal. People are reaching out to me all over the place, like you wouldn’t believe. I spent so much time thinking yesterday I needed to make myself feel better. When really all I had to do was say it and today everyone in my life did it for me.

Through out this entire experience I have been so pleasantly surprised by the amount of people that have reached out. The people that are close to me have done such extraordinary things and even others have gone out of their way to say and do things to make me feel better. You don’t realize what a difference it makes till your having a rough day and you have 7 texts says “I love you blog” and that alone will get you by or you get a phone call from an old friend who you haven’t talked to in years.

I was hurt around 10PM. My boyfriend was in the car before I knew it and drove through out the night to get to me as soon as he could. I was taken to x-rays, MRI, and catscans where I layed still, alone, and in pain. And then he was there. He sat with me through out the night waiting for the morning surgery. I was on so many meds I had trouble breathing. So he sat next to me, all night, helping me breathe. The machine would beep and then he would grab my hand “breathe, Sarah, breath”

Everyone keeps telling me I need to learn to ask for help. But I don’t really think I need to ask whether it’s a bus ride, a blog read, a text message, or literally helping me breathe. I know you’re all there and that’s beyond helpful.

“it's not fair it happened to me”

I was pretty mad at the world today. I got by hit by the “it’s not fair this happened to me” feeling. Just about everything I saw and did made me more mad, more frustrated. Completely little, unimportant things.

SO MAD!

1. Spilling my egg when I tried to put it on the table.
2. My running shoes in the teachers cabinet I found at work.
3. The ambulance noises that kept running by the school building and causing me to completely zone out.
4. My friend telling me she went to the gym today.
5. My cab driver speeding down fifth ave
6. The lady next to me at PT who was running on the tredmill

I figured after my day went by I would feel better. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but that doesn’t mean I had to stay that way. But apparently the “it’s not fair it happened to me” is a feeling that’s not so easy to kick.

So, I decided I was going to have to take action to really knock these thoughts out. I chose to take a little ride, feel a little freedom and independence. So, I whipped out my scooter and got some independence back. Kinda cool right? Pretty easy to keep up with the kiddos this way. Here’s the thing ,even with a little more independence and ease, I still felt like it wasn’t fair this happened to me.

My parents arrived at the hospital to the sounds of me screaming from pain when they were setting my ankle back in place FOR THE SECOND TIME. The were immediately told by the doctor that I suffered a SEVERE injury and was going to need two SERIOUS surgeries. I kept hearing the words SEVERE and SERIOUS over and over.

So, I’m not going to sugar coat this one. I have a SEVERE and SERIOUS injury. And some days, like today, suck. And on days like today I will always do things to try and make myself feel better, like ride around on a scooter. No matter how MAD I was today, no matter how SEVERE this injury is, I know that tomorrow will be better and I will eventually kick the “it's not fair it happened to me” feeling. And for that, I am so thankful. But that doesn’t mean that today didn’t suck.

The Power of Healing

I woke up today thinking -- I won't blog today. I'm not doing anything interesting. Just heading back to New York City from a relaxing spring break and getting settled back in. I'll go to physical therapy like usual. Nothing worth writing about.

Until I saw this in my mailbox.. The "Welcome Booklet" from the Boston Marathon that I

had been hoping to receive for the last 3 years. Today... I hated that ugly booklet. I hated that booklet so much I threw it o n the floor and stormed off to PT.

My Physical Therapist said this when I told her " Wow, t hat sucks. Sarah, that really sucks." And you know what? It made me feel better. Instead of sugar coating it or trying to make a bad situation good, she just said it. It sucks. With that being said, we still had to play and tug on my ankle for an hour.

The first thing she did was take my measurements.

My goal by 4/9/2011: Minimum of a 90 degree angle with my ankle.

Today: I hit 90 degrees. If not a little past!!! GO ME.

I saw my foot at 90 degrees on the hospital bed, but definitely not facing the right way. As soon as the doctors undressed me and calmed me down they had to set it back to place. They asked my dear friend Megan to leave the room for this. They told me it would be more pain than I had ever felt. They weren't lying. I'll never forget it. I'll never forget hitting 90 degrees the right way today either.

When I got home I saw a note on my fridge from my aunt. It said "believe in the power of healing." So yeah, I won't be reading this Welcome Booklet this year. But one year, I will.

Out with the old, In with the new

That's me, an hour before the accident. (Hey, lawyers: please note there is NO alcohol around) I was decked out in Valentines Day clothing and making sweet heart cookies for my valentine. My biggest problem at that moment in time: I wasn’t going to see my Valentine on Valentines Day. POOR ME. I realized when I saw this picture I don't have these clothes anymore. I told my mom this immediately and we made the bold move to go to the mall...

The mall consisted of

1) walking breaks
2) elevators
3) Finding the pefect works pants (they can fit
under the boot, but aren’t as tight as leggings)
4) My mom carrying my bags.

Was it a piece of cake? No, it was a work out. I think when I’m off crutches I’ll probably miss the days where I can shop and work out at the same time.

On the way home my mom asked me if I knew what happened to those clothes, I explained to her that the first thing they did when I got to the hospital was cut my clothes off. A young resident had the job of cutting off my pants. This made me really upset because those were my favorite. I looked at him and told him “he had the best job tonight.” I laughed, as did he. Then I looked down saw my entire leg for the first time. Wow.

I stopped worrying about my pants.

I liked the new ones I got today better anyway. And guess what else? I saw my Valentine on Valentine’s Day.