Let’s be honest, this injury isn’t
my first rodeo. If I inherited anything from my father, I inherited the bull in
him. I’m heavy handed, hard on my body and when I decide I want something, I put
700% of myself into that thing – sometimes to a fault – all leaving me with a
pretty hefty tolerance for pain. I’ve had two knee surgeries leaving me with
two screws in my right knee, one shoulder surgery, a broken ankle, countless
strains and sprains and more cuts, burns and bruises than I would ever care to
count. However, this injury is different. All of my prior incidents have had an
end in sight and I’ve understood the injured mechanism and knew how to work
around it. Sure, I still have days where my knee bothers me or I may sleep
funny and leave my shoulder sore, but I know that it is temporary and I’ll be
back to me shortly. This one is different.
This injury has proven to be so
much more than just physical. The first week of March was the absolute worst
week I have ever had in my life. Simple movements would leave me shivering and
sobbing in pain; I couldn’t walk without crutches and even with them I was
still sobbing harder with every step. My mom had to pull up my pants for me in
the bathroom because I couldn’t bend down to do it – and I could rarely even
use the restroom once I got in there because the pain of sitting upright was so
immense that the rest of my body just shut down. I remember lying on the couch
thinking that my life was over. I couldn’t even fathom getting back to any form
of normalcy considering how terrible the pain was… how much my body wasn’t
working – or how much it was working against me.
Things have improved considerably
over the past two weeks in regards to my physical condition, but my mind is
still struggling. Before hurting my back, my body was so fucking strong. I was
doing awesome at work, I could lift more than a lot of guys at my gym and I had
a desire to be so much more and so much better than I was. Now all of that –
everything that meant SO MUCH to me – seems so far out of reach. I cry because I
feel like I’ve lost my identity. Other than Nora, my entire life was work and
working out… and now I can’t do either of those things, or even pick up my baby
girl. I’ve spent the last three weeks on the couch while lives are happening
all around me. I slept upstairs in my bed for the first time last night with
Nora and she woke up in the middle of the night screaming and crying because
she wanted to sleep with my mom… because she’s slept with her for the last
three weeks. I just feel pretty useless right now. My chiropractor warned that it
was easy to get depressed with injuries like this because it can be so frustrating
and feel so hopeless – and it effects every part of the body. He keeps
stressing how important it is to stay positive and hopeful so the negativity
doesn’t cause regression with the recovery process… but that is far easier said
than done. As I still struggle to walk at times, I have a hard time imagining
my life or my body ever being back to normal. I fear that I won’t be able to
run again. I fear that I won’t be able to go hiking with Nora. I fear that I will
have to change my career. I fear that a simple movement will throw me back into
the excruciating pain I experienced just two weeks ago. I have never been one
to let the challenges of my body hold me back from doing anything, and I feel
like I’m succumbing to the fear of the pain.
Despite all of the negative
aspects of this injury, I have discovered some positive to hold onto. Never in
my life have I been so appreciative of the simple things. The ability to walk,
to drive, to stand, to bend, to run, to jump, to dance. Never again will I take for
granted the ability to function without pain. Never again will I waste a day of
physical freedom by sitting lazily. It has certainly put things into
perspective and I find myself getting annoyed much easier when I hear people
complain about silly things or see people lamenting about insignificant things
on Facebook. I can’t help but want to say to them, “Yes, but can you walk?
Okay, shut the fuck up.”
I know it will get better and I’m
on the path to recovery… I’m just waiting for that light at the end of the
tunnel.
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