The Wake Up Call

Here describes the rise and fall…and hopeful rise again of the long long long long road to recovery.

I’ve been steadily improving over the last couple of weeks.  Each time at PT, I’m treated with tougher challenges, more weights, and new machines.  I had finally graduated to the arc trainer, which was a nice change of pace from the bike.  The leg presses are up to 70 lbs, which is a giant improvement from the 0 lb presses I started with just a few weeks ago.  (Seriously, zero pounds!)  I was driving a little more comfortably, and even started walking more confidently in the woods.  Early last week I walked over 2 miles by myself in the woods.  Just me and my handy ski pole.  I started feeling – dare I say – athletic again.  By last Tuesday I was feeling pretty confident at PT.  In fact, I was feeling so confident that I got in a little horse race with the lady on the arc trainer next to me.  I can’t help it, what was I supposed to do?  This trim, athletic looking lady hopped on the arc trainer next to me and ran her little legs off at a sprint.  My competitive juices boiled, and I couldn’t let her outrun me.  I pushed the pace up so I was stride for stride with her.  The best part was when she dismounted (she was doing 5 minutes, I was doing 10) and she was completely and totally out of breath.  I smirked in quiet satisfaction as I breathed steadily for the remaining 5 minutes.

                Since I was feeling all confident and athletic again, I decided to push my therapist a little harder about riding my horse again.  She wasn’t ready to budge, and said I still had a ways to go before I could ride.  Instead, she told me, I could take my horse for walks.  Walks!  Clearly she doesn’t know how fast my horse walks.  I said I’d think about it, but I was a little disappointed.  I felt certain I could sit in a saddle even if for just a short ride. 

                On Wednesday I had my six week evaluation with the surgeon (the surgeon with the movie star looks and charisma to match).  He seemed genuinely pleased with my progress and had me moving my leg certain ways to see my range of motion.  He gave me the okay to start doing some additional exercises and more walking.  When talk turned to running, he stuck with his start date of March.  He said it was going to take until then for enough healing to take place, and for my hip to be able to sustain the impact of running.  I nodded in agreement, saying I wasn’t going to push anything too soon and risk undoing all the work we’ve put into it.  As much as I hate this long sentence of non-running, I know it’s necessary and I’ve made peace with it.  I think part of the reason for this is that I’m still in a lot of pain.  Even though I brag about all the progress I’ve made, there’s never a time when I think, “hey maybe I’ll just jog a few steps”.  Even though I’m almost two months out from surgery, it still feels new and raw. 

                Kevin Costner – I mean – my surgeon and I then discussed my race calendar for 2012.  I had mentally committed to running the Chicago Marathon in October but he said absolutely not.  I would not be in any sort of condition to start training for a marathon, and he reminded me that when I finally do start running, it’s going to have to be very lightly for the first couple of months.  Instead, he said he highly recommended – of all things – the Disney marathon in January, 2013!  This was very ironic, since I was thinking of running this one as well.  While I was initially bummed about missing Chicago, his recommendation of Disney really brightened my mood.  Finally, I asked about riding my horse.  Again, he said absolutely not.  He emphasized that this was still too new, I didn’t have the right range of motion, and I couldn’t risk any heavy impact or unexpected movements.  He said he didn’t want me riding until March.  I protested, saying I really didn’t want to let it go that long.  His solution: take my horse for walks.  What is it with these people?  He then reminded me that when he fixed my hip, he fixed it for life.  This is just a hiccup, and I needed to keep the bigger picture in mind.  Okay…but…ugh.

                On Thursday, back at PT, I told my therapist all about my meeting with the surgeon, including my disappointment about riding my horse.  My therapist explained that the surgeon is right, but he is being very careful.  I might not need to wait until March, but I need to be realistic about my healing, and that ultimately I will know best when it’s time to get back in the saddle.  I liked his explanation better, since I was feeling pretty confident at this point and thought I would be ready to sit in that saddle in no time.  I chirped on and on about how good I was feeling, and that I was ready to start going to my gym again.  Now that I have a number of exercises I can do at the gym, it seems worth going to.  I think mentally it will make me feel just a bit more athletic and focused to be doing my exercises at the gym.  Yes, things were finally all starting to come together.  Slowly.

                And now that you’ve heard the rise, rise, rise… I bet you know what’s coming.

                On Friday afternoon I needed to pick up some horse supplies with the pickup truck.  I stopped at the ATM, and if you’ve ever driven a pickup truck to an ATM you realize that ATM’s weren’t designed for pickup trucks.  In hindsight I should have parked the truck and walked in, but of course I didn’t realize I was going to run into this problem.  At the ATM I strained and stretched out the window, trying to reach the money.  With one final super-stretch I simultaneously reached the money and felt a sharp and nauseating pain in my hip.  Immediately I knew something was wrong.  The pain was familiar.  It was the unmistaken pain I had when I first injured myself on that ill-fated day in April.  I tried to deny it, shake it off, convince myself nothing was wrong.  But throughout the day the pain continued to get worse.  On Saturday I was in so much discomfort I could barely walk, and had to skip two parties I had been looking forward to.  Finally I took a Vicodin, sat in the recliner, and contemplated my fate in a slowly increasing fog.

                By Sunday the pain was just about as bad, despite keeping my hip as still as possible.  I was sore, terribly worried, and between the pain and the anxiety I could barely sleep at night.  So many thoughts were going through my head.  I cannot possibly be back at square one.  There’s no way I can start over.  How am I going to explain this to my surgeon that in one stupid move I unraveled everything we had done.  Mentally I don’t think I can handle going through this again.  I will never forgive myself.  I felt myself going through the five stages of grief.  1. It’s not really that bad.  See?  If I don’t move it’s not that bad.  If I don’t tell my surgeon then it won’t be real. 2. How can this be happening to me? AGAIN?! 3. I swear, God, if you’re listening, I will never never ever ever ever hang out a truck window again.  I won’t even stretch.  I’ll be a better person.  I’ll do volunteer work and go to church.  I take back all those jokes I made about Tim Tebow.  Just please please don’t let this be happening. 4. I want to fall asleep and never wake up.  5. Okay, I actually never made it to this stage.

                On Monday I was still in a lot of pain, but I will say I don’t think it was quite as bad as it had been on Friday or over the weekend.  All day I tried to decide if I should call the surgeon, but I didn’t want to seem like I was overreacting.  Finally I decided to wait until my PT appointment.  That night, I spoke to my therapist.  I explained precisely what happened (despite the risk of him dope-slapping me for hanging out a truck window).  He watched me walk, then put me on the bike with no resistance.  (Yes, I got demoted from the arc trainer).  Several of my strengthening exercises were removed, and others had the weights reduced.  I was back at where I had been weeks ago.  After careful observation, my therapist assured me that I hadn’t done any permanent damage.  He said that the motion I made of hanging out the window was simply not severe enough to tear my joint apart.  It’s not like I fell out of the truck, slipped on ice, or did any other sort of damaging movement.  He said I’m extremely sore because I strained the joint by stretching it way past its maximum motion.  That’s all.  He said it would take more time for it to calm down, but within a few days I should start feeling better.  Being the dismal skeptic that I am, naturally I’m not 100% convinced at his answer but still very relieved. 

                Today, sure enough I’m starting to feel better.  My hip is so tender and sore, but I did manage to go for a walk for the first time since Friday.  On Friday when this first happened I felt like I was back at the beginning.  Now I feel like I’m about 4 weeks post surgery instead of 7.  Hopefully in just a couple more days I’ll be feeling like I’m back on track.  If nothing else, this setback comes to me as a huge wake up call. Although I had been vigilant in doing all my exercises and had vowed to do everything by the book, it made me realize just how fragile my hip still is.  All it took to set me back weeks of progress was to reach out the window at the ATM.  If I can’t do basic everyday tasks, then I have no business sitting in a saddle or pushing the doctor to let me run sooner.  Not only is this a wakeup call, it has really made me think about all the instinctual, automatic movements we make every day that are taken for granted.  This recovery isn’t just about healing my hip.  It’s about keeping awareness of the most basic movements and instincts and being able to control them in order to protect my hip.  It’s a work in progress, but after the scare I’ve had over the last few days, it’s definitely work worth doing. 

                My goal will continue to be adhering to all doctor’s orders, sticking to my exercise plan, and protecting my hip from any sudden, instinctual movements.  And of course, I will start scoping out Disney hotels.  After all, doctor’s orders!

"Enhanced" physical therapy

It was just over five weeks ago that I had my hip surgery, and I'm finally starting to feel like I'm making solid progress on the road to recovery.  I had my doubts for the first couple weeks.  Patience has never been my strong suit, so I was floored when, after a full two weeks, I was still in pain.  I knew that the recovery time was 3-5 months.  We went over that in my consultations.  Somehow when the doctor emphasized 3-5 months, in my mind I thought that just meant I would be perfectly fine except I couldn't run for 3-5 months.  I guess I didn't realize that it also meant I would be in pain (sometimes lots of it), I wouldn't be able to move my leg properly, I would have to re-learn the simplest movements, and I would be dependant on others for so many things.

To recap the last five weeks:
Week 1: Lots of pain.  Couldn't move my leg at all without assistance. Spent most of every day sitting in a recliner with pillows under my knee to keep my hip at a more comfortable angle.  Days passed by in a Percoset-induced fog.  Nights were uncomfortable, and I was forced to sleep on my back with pillows under my leg. Strange nerve pain near the incision made it nearly impossible to wear pants.

Week 2: Still lots of pain, but moved around a little better.  Got better skilled at climbing the stairs in the house, and figured out a way to move my coffee cup from the kitchen to the living room (gaining whatever crumb of independence I could muster). Refused to take more painkillers. Started Physical Therapy, which included some very gentle exercises to move my leg, and I was given some "homework" to start strengthening my leg.

Week 3: Progress still seemed very slow and I started running out of patience.  Since I was unable to drive and was stuck at home all day, my attitude got pretty sour. (Thus, the absence of blogging).  I hated being stuck inside all day. I hated reading. I hated watching TV. I pretty much hated everything.  I finally got up the strength to crutch my way outside, and started incorporating a little bit of outdoor crutching into my rehabilitation.  The physical therapist was skeptical and mildly amused.

Week 4: Progress seemed to accelerate this week, and every time I went to PT I had better and better news to report.  My outdoor crutching increased to a half mile, then 3/4 mile.  Eventually I was able to do part of that routine with only one crutch, and I only used one crutch in the house.  My leg had atrophed so quickly that it was astonishing.  When I flexed my quad and then felt it with my hand, my leg was just squishy.  I literally couldn't even feel a muscle in there no matter now hard I flexed.  I was shocked and depressed at this revelation, but I realized I had to measure my success by comparing it to where I was three weeks ago, not three months ago.  I knew I was making quick progress.  PT had me start riding the stationary bike for 3 minutes one day, then 5 minutes the next. By the end of week 4 I was down to 1 crutch and walking a mile a day.

Week 5: Progress continued to speed right along.  I went back to work, from home, since I was finally able to sit relatively comfortably at my desk. I attempted to drive early in the week but it was still pretty sore.  I felt pretty liberated showing up to PT with only one crutch.  I again shocked my therapist when I proudly announced I had done a 1 mile walk through the woods on my one crutch. PT added more exercises and doubled the existing ones.  I started walking short distances in the house without crutches, and by the end of the week I was able to drive a short distance comfortably.

And now...the start of week 6!
The physical therapist gave me the green light to start riding a stationary bike, lightly, for 20 minutes at a time.  I contemplated going to the gym but I just couldn't drum up the courage to show up at the gym with a crutch. Yesterday I carefully climbed up on my mountain bike and rode it around my driveway.  It was fun to get on it, but probably not too wise because of all the bumps, and the likelihood of me losing my balance and not being able to get my leg under me to stop a fall.  I stopped after a few minutes, but then went for a very successful 1+ mile walk in the woods with just a ski pole!  I also decided to give myself a bit of a workout with some kettlebell exercises, which I modified as needed to avoid too much hip strain.  As usual I probably overdid it a little (just like before surgery) and I spent some of the afternoon packed in ice. 

Late in the afternoon, my mother presented me with the most amazing birthday gift... a cycle trainer! 

This was the perfect solution to being able to safely enjoy my bike and get some good workouts in, both during rehabilitation and beyond.  In just a few minutes, the bike was locked into place, and I was itching to use it!  Since I had already worked so hard I knew I should wait, but I just couldn't resist taking it for a spin.  I did a 20 minute ride on the bike, and it was the first time in literally a couple months that I worked up a sweat.  I've really missed that!

Today I'm taking it easy, since my body is telling me I overdid it a bit yesterday.  I might do a short ride on the bike later, but I've pledged to avoid anything too strenuous.  I can't wait to see my therapist's reaction tomorrow when I tell him I incorporated hiking, biking, and kettlebells into my rehab program!

The dawn of running

As expected, despite the best of intentions and planning, there’s pretty much nothing that can combat the feelings of frustration and immobility I’m feeling post surgery.  I’m not a person that was meant to sit still, so this business of sitting in a recliner, no matter what is attempting to entertain me at the time, is pretty much a mental death sentence.  I have come to resent the fancy HDTV (Sorry guys, Scott already called dibs on it), as well as the laptop, the magazines, and even my Nook.  I know what you’re thinking.  This is going to be one of those annoying blogs where the writer throws a pity party and I click “Next blog” to save myself from being sucked into her narcissistic depression.  Not so fast, Jose!

Granted, I’ve grown a little bored with the Nook.  That’s only because I’m reading it not because I want to, but because it’s a lack of options.  I already read through Dean Karnazes’ Run! 26.2 Stories of Blisters and Bliss, in which I was half inspired, half grossed out, by the level of commitment that crazy fool has demonstrated for the love of running and the love of humanity.  He is amazing, and completely insane, and I am scared of love him.  My goal isn’t to be anything like him.  My goal is to be about 1/50^th of him.  It would be hard for any running story to follow Dean’s words of inspiration, so in all due respect I should have switched gears to a different genre.  Instead, I followed it with Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners.  Also a good book, also with many inspirational stories.  I think it would have been a fantastic book for me to read when I first started out running.  It would have provided me with a lot of inspiration as well as education about running, gear, and grit.  Reading it now sounds familiar, as if many of these stories took tiny bits of my life and stretched them across many different tales.  After reading about the 20^th story of another underdog/out of shape/middle aged/overcoming tragedy/bittersweet tale describing the entrance to running, I lost interest.  That might be too strong.  It’s not that I lost interest, but in reading so many stories with such familiarity, it made me reflect on my own personal journey into running.  That, I feel, is a tale worth telling.

I started running in 2009.  Similar to reading Chicken Soup, it wasn’t so much done out of desire as out of a lack of options.  I was one of those people that was occasionally very committed to going to the gym.  I would get a gym membership, and go religiously for a couple weeks testing out each of the different ellipticals before becoming “too busy with personal obligations” to continue fine tuning my elliptical skills.  When my job was relocated 60 miles north, getting to the gym before or after work became a real challenge.  It was about this time that I coincidentally had started taking my health a little more seriously, was eating better, losing weight, and was determined not to let this latest challenge unravel all of my hard work.

This is where my friend Kerri comes in.  Kerri was an established runner and cyclist, completing grueling long distance races such as the Pan Mass Challenge and the Boston Marathon.  Doing this required Kerri to overcome some personal challenges, and she was a great role model.  She taught a spin class, which I attended with consistent irregularity, so when we were relocated it was natural that I would turn to her again.  Kerri is the original lunch-runner.  Her solution to longer hours and longer commutes was to squeeze workouts into her lunch hour.  With a little cajoling, Kerri suckered me into coming along.

Kerri promised to start slow, and we would do a walk/jog routine along the perimeter of the company property.  She showed me the locker room, which at the time was used by no one but us.  Back then, running at lunch was a very foreign concept and we were met with some strange looks by co-workers as we walked through the building in our sweatpants.  Our first couple of outings were a little rough, with me gasping to catch my breath while she effortlessly glided along.  She doesn’t know this, but she was a mentor, an educator, and an inspiration.  When I told her about my blisters, she told me about proper fitting socks and running shoes.  When I confided in her about the unsightly, bloody chafe marks I endured under my shirt, she enlightened me to the wonderful world of sports bras. 

When I first started running I wasn’t confident enough to go out and run a few miles on the streets.  This walk/jog routine may have been acceptable on a lunch break in the confines of a parking lot, but I didn’t want to look like a loser in front of passersby every time I stopped for a walk break.  Stupid when I look back on it, but it was a true concern at the time.  Instead, I decided to take my walk/jog routine to a local track.  It was summer and school was out, so I didn’t have to worry about the track being used by student athletes.  I will never forget the first time I went to the track.  I was determined to look like a real runner, so as not to look bad in front of the absolutely no one that was looking at me.  I grabbed my iPod, did a number of impressive stretches in the parking lot, using my car door for balance, and headed up to the track.  My first obstacle was entering the track itself.  I remember scouring the chain link fence, with sheer panic, unable to find the break in the fence.  Foolishly I wondered if each of the runners on the track had actually climbed the fence to get in.  I made eye contact with a runner, and although I was mortified with embarrassment, I hoped he would at least give a nod to point out the entrance to the track.  He didn’t.  Eventually I found my own way onto the track, and looked for a place to set down my belongings.  I placed my water bottle down on the ground, but couldn’t bring myself to set my car keys down.  I was convinced that one of the other 3 or 4 runners on the track would swipe my keys and take off in my SUV, so I decided to stash them in my jacket pocket.  This was a time long before I realized that I only needed to take that single car key with me.  On this track debut, I brought the whole jingle-jangle keychain.  I started off in my warm up jog, feeling the weight of the keys, the bottle opener, and the palm tree key chain bouncing in my pocket.  The “I won’t tell you where the break in the fence is” runner passed me, glancing over in irritation at my jingling metronome, and I responded by turning up the volume on my iPod and staring straight ahead.  I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way since then!

A lot has happened since those initial runs in the parking lot and on the track.  I have logged thousands of miles on the roads and trails.  My very first race was a 10k, and I’ve entered in at least one race a month ever since.  I still avoid the gym as much as possible but instead of dodging stationary bikes, I embraced mountain biking as a form of cross training.  I joined a running club and recently received an annual award for their Grand Prix race series.  Our lunch run has grown into a group of five, and we constantly support and motivate each other to keep running.  My confidence has improved, and I’ve realized that whether I’m running or walking down the street, I’m still doing a lot more than the person driving past me.  I hope that someday I can be a role model for others as Kerri was for me.  In the meantime, I’m proud to report that I have finally convinced Kerri to join my running club.  Now that is an accomplishment!

Hip Surgery - 1 week later

Today is Friday, so it was one week ago today that I underwent my long awaited hip surgery.  I had anticipated this surgery for so long and had prepared for everything I could think of ahead of time.  For instance, I knew I would have lots of downtime so I had bought the comfy recliner, the amazing HDTV, the Nook, and prepared to settle in for lots and lots of blog updates.  What I didn’t take into consideration was how absolutely crappy I was going to feel during the first week.  Today is the first day that I feel good enough to write.  Even still, I’m sure it will take a few fits and starts to muddle through this.  Here we go…

Last Friday I arrived at the hospital promptly at 8:00am as instructed, despite a bit of a late start.  You see, Mother Nature had thrown up ice and snow all over the yard the night before, so I spent a good while chiseling the car before we could leave.  We headed straight to surgical admissions where I was promptly escorted to my room.  They explained that this would be my pre and post surgical room for the day.  I changed into my glamorous Johnny (this one actually reached the floor) and waited for a nurse.  The nurse came and explained that I would be there for at least an hour after the surgery was completed, so my mother was welcome to leave and come back later.  I answered a zillion questions from the nurse and then waited for transport to bring me to the surgical ward.  Finally my ride came, and I was rolled up to the next floor.



Waiting for my ride up to surgery



This floor was where all the action took place.  There was a lot of commotion, tons of medical staff, and an overwhelming amount of equipment.  I thought it looked just like they do on television, complete with all the surgeries posted on the board – just like Grey’s Anatomy!  I tried to absorb every detail but things were moving too fast, and finally I was parked to wait for another nurse, and another round of questions.  Most of the questions were the same as the questions I had just answered.  When she left, the anesthesiologist stopped by.  He asked another round of questions, again, similar to the ones I had answered a few times now already.  I was starting to think they were trying to catch me in a lie!  I mentioned to him that the last time I had surgery (oral surgery in July) the anesthesiologist never warned me when he was starting the sedation.  He promised me he would let me know.  After several more interviews, the rock star surgeon came in to say a few words.  We both marked the correct hip with a sharpie to make sure we got the right one, and I told him I had high expectations of him, since I have big plans of running next year.  He said he planned to fix everything up that he could, but it was all going to depend on what kind of arthritis he saw once he got in there. 

Finally I was instructed to put cap over my hair, and the anesthesia started.  This was just a pre-dose, enough to make me groggy but not knocked out.  They wheeled me into another room with lots of equipment and informed me that this was the room where it would all take place.  In a little while I’d be waking up downstairs in the room I started in.  The anesthesiologist then gave me the final nod and began injecting the sedative, and I abruptly drifted off.

“The surgery went very well, and there were no signs of arthritis” said the surgeon.  He waved a picture in front of me, but I couldn’t focus my eyes.

“Wake up, Jill” said a nurse.

“How you doing, Jill? Time to get up!” said another nurse, or maybe the same one.  “We just can’t seem to get her to wake up” she mumbled to someone.

Eventually I pried my eyes open enough to recognize the room I was lying in as the admissions room where my morning began.  I peeked at the clock and saw it was mid afternoon.  I started to panic, realizing my mother was probably already there waiting for me to leave, and I couldn’t even lift my head.  I was locked in a battle of conscious versus unconscious, and the unconscious won out. For the next couple of hours I was repeatedly pried out of the haze, only to be rendered unconscious once again.  Occasionally I would wake enough to overhear the nurse talking, sometimes to other nurses and sometimes to my mother, who was on the phone asking when she should come back.  Eventually when the nurse came in, I willed myself to stay awake long enough to tell her that I was in tremendous pain.  One of the most common interrogation questions they ask at the hospital is, “On a scale of one to ten, how much pain would you say you are in?” and I always struggle.  I don’t know…five?  Six?  I can’t really tell the difference between a five and a six.  But at this moment I knew the answer.  The answer was ten.  I had never been so sure of anything in my life.  The pain was a ten.  In fact, if there were bonus numbers on that one-to-ten scale, I’d claim those too.

The nurse was thrilled to see my eyes open when she entered the room.  Using a buddy system, two nurses attempted to sit me up in bed.  I was going to need to be able to sit up, balance on the crutches, and hit the bathroom before I could leave.  As soon as they sat me up in bed, I immediately vomited.  The nurses lowered my head back down, administered some anti-nausea medication, and dimmed the lights.  An hour later they tried again.  Again I vomited.  They were starting to worry that they weren’t going to be able to release me, which apparently was going to be a problem because the surgical admissions ward isn’t an overnight area.  Finally they got me up and fitted for crutches.  With two nurses guiding me, I headed across the hall to the restroom.  I made it a couple of feet into the hallway and then vomited.  Let me tell you something about vomiting.  As unpleasant as it is, trust me when I tell you it’s even less pleasant when you are in a hallway, wearing a Johnny where your entire naked self is hanging out the back, trying to balance on crutches, and someone’s holding a bucket right up to your chin so you don’t look down and pass out. 

The nurses brought me back to bed, gave me Benadryl, and told me to go back to sleep.  Another hour later the nurses checked on me, and I felt much more coherent.  I could keep my eyes open, and I didn’t have the waves of nausea immediately after sitting up in bed.  Feeling more optimistic, we tried again to get out of bed.  With the utmost caution we made it to the restroom and back, and then the nurse helped me get dressed.  This is when I realized how utterly helpless I was going to be for a while.

Finally at 6:30, five hours later than expected, I was released from the hospital.  The nurse said it was a real blessing that my surgery was first thing in the morning or I never would have been able to leave.  The 45 minute ride home was a real test of will, trying to avoid any motion sickness.  Mom brought me to the back door so I could avoid any stairs.  When we entered the house I realized quickly it was going to be a whole new challenge of navigating through hallways on crutches.  The cats looked at me with curiosity, and the dog scattered when he saw my “extra legs”.  Andrew was a huge help in getting me into bed, and helping me to the bathroom throughout the night (all those IV fluids finally caught up).  It was frustrating going anywhere.  The process of trying to maneuver my legs out of the bed, onto the floor, and crutching my way to the bathroom was excruciatingly slow.  Oh, and just for fun, a rogue October nor’easter was scheduled to hit on Saturday.  As if crutching around wasn’t bad enough, the thought of having to do this in the dark and cold (if the power went out) made me positively panic.  Well, relatively speaking.  Panicking is hard to do when one is sleeping 15 hours a day, zonked out on Percocets. 

This last week has been just about the most inactive week of my life.  I have been too groggy to read, so that new Nook hasn’t gotten much attention.  That nice fancy HDTV…well, it turns out it gives me motion sickness when I’m taking my medicine, so I haven’t even been able to watch much television.  I’ve spent a lot of time lying in bed, and a lot of time sitting in my recliner.  All of the medicine makes me very groggy and very nauseous, so I’ve had very little appetite.  Still, every morning I get breakfast in bed. 

A couple days ago I made it up the stairs to the rest of the house, and today I even ventured out to the barn for the first time to say hi to the horses.  Rocco wasn’t nearly as scared off by my extra legs as the dog was, and was just happy to have someone to scratch him. 

My follow up appointment at the hospital is Tuesday.  I’m eager to hear the details on how the surgery went, when I can start PT, and what my running future looks like!

Let's do shots! (cortisone shots)

My day started off with a field trip up to UMass Memorial in Worcester, MA for a cortisone injection in my hip socket.  The hope is that this will provide me with some relief while I wait for surgery, and although I was looking forward to the temporary relief, I knew there was a good chance there would be some initial pain.  This is the same hospital where my surgery will take place, so it was a nice little dry run to scope out the hospital.  I’m glad I got this chance too, because I realized that the hospital isn’t very convenient for people that have trouble walking.  Part of the problem was parking in the parking garage, which had a series of stairways, elevators, and odd annexes to navigate through to get into the hospital.  For the surgery I’m splurging for the valet service, which will give me straighter access to the building.

                I walked into the Radiology waiting room at precisely 8:45 (the time of my appointment) and was immediately escorted into the back room.  The room resembled an ER, with a long row of mini-rooms separated by individual curtains.  There were probably 10 of these mini-rooms on each side; each occupied by someone waiting for a procedure or recovering from one.  As I waited in my little curtain area, I had to listen to the lady in the next room over who I’m guessing had spent a good 50 or 60 years cozying up with the Marlboro Man.  Her voice was deep and jagged, and she coughed and wheezed incessantly.  I had to listen as she responded to the list of potential allergies, pointing out that she didn’t know if she had a shellfish allergy.  It was a strange conversation, and I couldn’t help but wonder how a lady this “mature” could go through life (especially in Massachusetts) without knowing if she had a shellfish allergy.  After the nurse left, I heard Mrs. Crab repeatedly swear under her wheezy breath, and then apparently cough/sneeze/gag up something putrid.  She then swore some more when she realized there were no tissues in her little mini-room. 

                The nurse left Mrs. Crab and came into my room to take vitals.  She seemed so relieved that I didn’t have any allergies, issues, or smoke breath.  She took my vitals and expressed outright joy, saying “wow, you don’t get better than that!”  Well, you do get better than that in my opinion, but I’m guessing she spends a lot more time with people like Mrs. Crab than with runners.  But for the record, blood pressure was 120/65, pulse was 60, oxygenation was 100%.  She left me a johnny to change into, and instructed me to change out of my clothes, leaving just my bra, underwear, and socks on.  I did as told, but as usual I struggled with the Johnny.  One-size-fits-all johnnies don’t generally work out too well for me since I’m shorter than the average person, and judging by Mrs. Crab next door, probably a bit narrower than most too.  I tied it as tight as possible but it wouldn’t stay in place.  I started panicking about how I would navigate past all the other patients into the treatment room without giving everyone a show.

                A few minutes later another nurse showed up to ask some additional questions, and when she noticed it was a hip injection, she told me I would need to remove my underwear as well.  I balked at the thought of this.  I explained that the Johnny didn’t fit me very well, and I refused to walk out in public with my bare ass hanging out.  She got a good chuckle out of my honesty, and gave me a second Johnny to wear like a coat.  All wrapped up like a sushi roll, I ambled over to the treatment room with my dignity intact.

                In the treatment room I met the doctor, who was a very good looking man (what is it with movie star looking doctors at this hospital?) and we went over the procedure.  He said I would expect to be in a lot less pain than the last injection I had back in May, which was done in conjunction with an arthrogram.  There were three people assisting him and I was a little surprised at the amount of activity in the room.  He said it was possible that I might have some luck with this injection, but he looked at my films and there’s no getting around it:  I need surgery.  He didn’t have to tell me twice, but it was kind of comforting getting another opinion.  We talked about how I got this injury, and he gave me some interesting information.  In looking at my films, he said that I may have injured it from that one specific accident, but that my hip had it coming and this accident probably just sped up this tear.  I was a little surprised to hear that, but it did make sense since I was told I have those bony hooks (FAI) that create tears.  That leads me to question the condition of my other hip, so I’m going to try to remember to ask the surgeon when I see him, if I can talk to him without drooling.

                The doctor was right.  The injection was still painful, but not nearly the extent of the arthrogram I had in May.  Still, it was no walk in the park, and my post-treatment vitals showed my blood pressure spiked up to 131/84, and pulse was in the 50's. I was able to walk relatively normally after the procedure, although I opted for the elevators to get back to my car afterwards.  My mother drove me home from the hospital, since I couldn’t drive because of the numbness, and I was ok until I tried getting out of the car.  I must have stiffened up a lot in the car, and experienced a lot of pain walking into my house.  For the rest of the day I spent a lot of time sitting in the recliner and trying not to move too much. 



Very unflattering photo of me working this afternoon from the recliner. Notice I haven't given up the running socks!



Tonight I seem a little more comfortable and I’m walking a little better.  I’m hoping that by tomorrow the injection pain will be over and I’ll be experiencing the benefits of the cortisone!  I have a fun camping trip planned for this weekend and I’ll be a real drag if I’m hobbling around on crutches!

One final thought…

Today is September 28.  That means my surgery is ONE MONTH away!

One of my goals on my 5 week plan was to exploit this injury for personal gain.  I’m proud to say this is coming along nicely!

Examples:

Andrew is painting the family room for me!

Mom made me dinner and cleaned up after!

The Asics Sabbatical

A lot has happened since the last time I posted, so I’ll try to catch up best I can with some of the key high lowlights. 

My last run: The last time I laced up my brandy spanking new Asics was on September 10.  Kerri and I did another long run, on my quest to prepare for a half marathon this weekend.  We did 9 miles and I felt very good.  My hip restricted me of course, but I felt strong and it was a real confidence builder.  I knew that if I could squeeze in just one more of those before this weekend I would be in good shape for the half.  Unfortunately, three days after that long run I had to cancel my running plans because of some unusual hip soreness.  That extended into Wednesday, and then Thursday, and so-on.  The pain has gotten progressively worse over the last couple of weeks and now just walking is a struggle.  My running, hiking, and biking days are behind me, and I’ve officially hung up the Asics until 4 months after surgery.

Energy reassignment: For the first time in years, running isn’t what I think about most.  At first, the realization that my running ended 6 weeks earlier than expected was tough to digest.  I think this is a big reason why I didn’t update my blog for so long.  I struggled in finding a way to redirect my energy and remained a little bitter about my early retirement.  Finally, I made a plan to remodel the family room.  Totally unrelated to running, sure, but still a major project that I could focus on.  The plan is to have the family room finished by the time I go in for surgery, so I’ll have a comfortable room to be spending a lot of time in.  So needless to say, I’m deep in the process of painting, carpeting, installing a giant flat screen, and scouring the internet for good deals on furniture.  As I start progressing through my rehab, I’m thinking about getting a cycle trainer in there to pedal indoors on my mountain bike.

My 5 week plan:

I have just over 5 weeks left until surgery, but in desperation I called the surgeon yesterday.  When I first saw him I was in pain but I was still getting through daily life ok.  My hip has gotten to the point where it impacts pretty much every aspect of every activity… even sleeping!  They scheduled an emergency cortisone injection for me tomorrow morning to try to make it a little more bearable while I wait for surgery.  I’m hopeful that this will provide some relief, but I also distinctly remember the amount of pain I experienced the day I had my first injection back in May.  At least now I have experience, so I will be cautioning the doctor to fill me up with loads of lidocaine.

Other happenings in the 5 week plan:

·         Finish the family room renovation, which includes picking out a kick-ass recliner

·         Wrap up some work stuff

·         Go on one last camping trip with the horses (this weekend, yay!)

·         Take full advantage of the injury and exploit sympathies for personal gain

I promise not to be as absent on this blog, but don’t be surprised if you start seeing more “remodeling” updates and pain killer comparisons and less running articles.  I will be sure to blog about my experiences post-surgery and physical therapy, and the long eventual road back into my running shoes. 



See you in February, Asics!



Surgery – Prepping for my biggest speed bump

After hobbling, limping, and shuffling around for three months I finally got to meet with a hip surgeon today.  I didn’t know what to expect, but tried to compile a good list of questions and dragged my mother along in case I got tongue tied.  The biggest questions were: How soon can you fix me, and how soon can I run again?  The orthopedic specialist that originally diagnosed my injury had informed me that this particular surgery isn’t all that common, and is generally reserved for athletes.  My biggest concern was that he was going to take one look at me and write me off as a has-been, not worth the effort of fixing.  I’ve spent the last few days working out some scripts that would make me sound athletic.  Like maybe I should bring up my award-winning performances in some local races, and hope he assumes it was the Boston Marathon.  Maybe I could casually mention my “club” affiliation and hope he assumes it’s the Mammoth Track Club.  I went there today armed for battle.

                I barely had time to sit down in the waiting area before I was escorted into the examination room.  While I waited for the doctor to arrive, I scoped out the pictures on the walls.  There were endless photographs, posters, newspaper articles, and even a surfboard with autographs of accomplished athletes thanking the doctor for making them better.  Three things were clear to me at that point.  1. I was in good hands, 2. No one is immune from injury, and 3. He wasn’t going to mistake me for a Boston Marathon winning member of the Mammoth Track Club.  As I fawned over the pictures the doctor made his entrance.  I wouldn’t say I had made any assumptions about his appearance, but I can say he definitely surprised me.  His charming demeanor and good looks made him look more like a movie star than a surgical star. 

                After quick introductions, and after I untied my tongue, we got to the root of the issue.  He explained to me that in addition to a labral tear, I also have what’s called FAI, or Femoral Acetabular Impingement.  You can click on the link for a detailed and graphic description, or for a brief summary: the bone in the hip has some rough edges that are damaging the cartilage.  This problem results in pain, loss of range of motion, and labral tears.  In my case we know that my labral tear was caused by specific trauma and not necessarily the FAI, but the reality is that both problems need to be fixed.

                Once the diagnosis was clear and we discussed the length of time that has passed since the injury and the current state of my hip, he stated that “at this point you’ve exhausted all non-surgical options without success, and the good news is, no one dies from a labral tear”.  I flatlined for a moment, sure that he was going to say there was nothing that could be done and I would have to live like this forever.  But then he continued, “The only way this can be repaired is through surgery, and there’s a very good chance that this will completely correct the issue”.  Jackpot!  I didn’t need to beg, cry, or tell him how important I was… he was a reasonable man that understood the toll this was taking on my life.

                The conversation quickly turned into a discussion of math: statistics, percentages, and calendar dates.  Here are some key facts:

·         88% of all hip repairs are successful, and that includes all types of hip repairs.  Labrum repairs are a subset of that percentage and have an even higher success rate.

·         After surgery I will be on crutches for 3 weeks, and because this is my right leg, I won’t be able to drive for at least that long.

·         Overall recovery is long.  Although I will be feeling somewhat better after a few weeks, full recovery is a 3-5 month process.  Absolutely no running until 4 months.

·         No riding my horse for a minimum of 8 weeks, and that’s if I can figure out how to get in the saddle.

This was a whole lot of information to process.  My first question, after doing some quick math, was, “How will I be able to run the Boston Marathon?”  His response was, “You won’t.  Not next April.  But you can the following April”.  I have a few memorable quotes from him actually.  His phrases were smooth and well rehearsed, like a movie star, but somehow genuine and comforting.  He said, “I only want to do this surgery once.  I’m not doing it so you can run a race next April.  I’m doing it so you can run races for the rest of your life”.  (I think I developed a little crush on him at this point).  He then said that if I truly wanted to run Boston in April, I would have to load myself up with cortisone and painkillers, hobble through the race, and have my surgery after that and be immobile for all of next summer.  Or, I could have the surgery this fall, be immobile all winter, and start running again in the spring.  I didn’t need more convincing that surgery was the right option, but I liked listening to this guy and let him keep going.  He said, “You’ve rearranged your life for your hip for the last three months.  It’s time to rearrange your hip for the rest of your life”.  (Yep, I’m smitten with this guy). 

        When all my questions were answered, I headed out to the front desk to make my surgical appointment.  I had the option of late October or late November.  I was afraid waiting too late would push me back too far into Spring to start running, and there was a chance I’d be on crutches in the snow, so I opted for the October date.  The secretary gave me all sorts of reading material about the injury and the surgery, but cautioned me not to spend too much time researching because I might end up scaring myself with the gory details. 

        I’m reacting to all of this with mixed emotions.  It is undoubtedly the biggest speed bump I’ve ever had in my active life, and hopefully will ever have.  I’m excited at the prospect of making a full recovery and being good as new next spring.  I know in my heart that I can’t live with this injury forever, and I look forward to the day that my hip doesn’t burn and throb with every step or slight re-positioning of my leg.  There are some real drawbacks too though.  Some of my favorite, must-do-every-year races will get skipped.  These include some fun 5k’s in the fall when PR’s are achieved, the Wrentham New Years 5k (let’s face it, I just go for the breakfast buffet), and my favorite: the Hyannis Half Marathon.  I’ll miss the Newport Bridge run in November, which looks like a total blast.  I’ll miss New Bedford, the half marathon I choked on this year and desperately wanted a do-over.  I’ll miss Boston, the race I watched enviously this year from the sidelines and swore I would run next year.  The great part about these races though, is that they are all annual events.  The pool of races is never dry I’ll be back at it when I’m healed.  Who knows, I might be better than ever!

        I’m already starting to get some advice about how to handle the upcoming surgery and downtime.  The doctor gave me some unexpected advice.  He said, “Go live your life and enjoy your summer.  Run, bike, and ride your horse as much as you can tolerate until the surgery.  Because after that surgery, you won’t be doing anything for 4 months.  You have to get it all in now while you can”.  That is of course great advice in theory, but the reality is my options are quite limited since I am still in a significant amount of pain.  My mother said I should start thinking about what hobby I will pick up during those 4 months.  Maybe a big project I can focus on, like writing a book, or making an afghan.  Something that will be time consuming and give me a sense of accomplishment.  Kerri, who knows the most about what this is like after breaking her hip about 8 years ago, said to start putting some goals and races on the calendar for next year.  Something I can look forward to during the recovery.  I expect to be running again by March, so I’m already thinking that the Boston Tune-Up 15k in April might make a good racing debut next year.  It’s one of my favorite races (I don’t know why, it’s brutal!) so it would be a great carrot to dangle in front of me.

        So, it’s official.  I’m on the disabled list.  That doesn’t mean I’m not going to run as much as I can, or think about running the Harwich half marathon in October (doctor said live it up, right?).  Although I’m bummed out about what this means for the short term, I’m anxious to get this under control and move on with my life.  One thing I promise, is that I will be a good patient.  It won’t be like the time I stress fractured my foot and instead of taking 8 weeks off, I took off 4 ½ so that I could run Hyannis.  This injury is just a speed bump, and I don’t plan on making it grow into a brick wall.

Dam race, damn hip

I’ve come to the realization that I run for approximately two reasons:  1 – to eat unlimited amounts of ice cream, and 2 – for exciting blog material.  There are probably other reasons as well, but those are the ones that stand out.

                Last night was the second race in the Woodland Trail Series at the West Hill Dam in Uxbridge, put on by my running club Tri-Valley Front Runners.  Last month my hip was too cranky to run it, and instead I volunteered and had an unexpected blast.  I’ve been looking forward to helping out again at this one, assuming my hip wouldn’t be in shape to run.  I’ve babied my hip lately with short, flat runs on the treadmill and even managed a 3.2 mile run earlier this week at a campground I was staying at.  A few days ago I got a message on Facebook from Joanna, a friend from high school and college, saying she was running this race.  We hadn’t seen each other for a zillion years and I was thrilled that she was coming.

                As the day wore on yesterday I started thinking, wouldn’t it be fun to run the race.  Real slow, of course.  Plus, it would make much better blog material to RUN the race (one-legged) than to volunteer again.  I tossed around the idea, and ran it by a couple people.  The general response was: No, you dumb idiot!  YES, absolutely run it!  Even driving home from work I still wasn’t convinced I should run, hip throbbing as I sat in my car.  But before I could talk myself out of it, I walked in the door, changed into running gear, packed a change of clothes, and flew out the door.  I got to the race and several buddies looked at me in disbelief, saying “You’re running?!”  My response: “Um, I think so.”  Even 10 minutes before the start I pondered if I could get my money back if I changed my mind.  I don’t think I’ve ever had less confidence heading into a race than I had last night!

                By 6:30 I had run out of opportunities to back out of the race and took off at a trot with everyone else.  I started at the back of the pack, and that’s exactly where I finished!  The course was nice (very familiar since it’s in my backyard) and the bugs weren’t bad at all.  I averaged a 10:00 pace, tiptoed in the rough sections, and walked up and down some of the hills.  Most people were out of sight by the time I hit the 2 mile mark, and I was thankful for my thorough knowledge of the trails.  At one point I wondered if I was dead last, but after rounding a corner, I heard a volunteer clapping for people behind me.  I certainly took my time and tried not to be discouraged at the Garmin display as it edged up to 11:00 and 12:00 minute paces.  On sections of good footing I tried to move out a little more, but my hip reeled me back in with a quick burn.  I crossed the finish in a record slow 50:18, but I was greeted with lots of cheers from the club and that was a great way to finish a race!

                Joanna and I stayed to watch the awards before heading out for some post-race victory beers, and we were shocked when she won 1^st in our age group and I won 2^nd!  We laughed about it, saying we must’ve been the only people in our age group, or there must’ve been a mistake.  We had our picture taken and it made for a good story afterwards at the bar.  We were award-winning runners!



Joanna & I - award winning runners.  (I want Joanna in all my pictures from now on, she makes me look so tall!)



                This morning I got an email from the club apologizing for the confusion, but as it turns out one of the runners in the 20-29 age group was mis-categorized and really belonged in my division, and oh by the way she actually won.  So… victory was sweet while it lasted, but Joanna got bumped to 2^nd and I got bumped to 3^rd.  I have no plans to disclose this to the people at the bar, who think I’m a running genius.  Let them go tell their families about the award winning runner with the pronounced limp they met in the bar, who guzzled well-earned Sam Adams like a champ, and then left abruptly…in search of ice cream.

Some of the TVFR runners and volunteers: a fun (and sweaty) bunch!

Blogging from the sidelines

WARNING: You are about to read a full-fledged pity party.

If you’ve noticed (which you haven’t) (don’t worry I’m not offended) (okay I am a little) that my blog hasn’t been updated in over a week, rest assured it’s not because I keeled over when my heart went into some sort of arrhythmia.  The unfortunate truth is that my hip injury that I’ve been denying carefully nursing has gotten progressively worse.  It’s pretty discouraging, especially because I had been hoping that over time it would start to heal on its own and wouldn’t require any sort of surgical repair.  I’m starting to lose hope on that, but at the same time I’m looking forward to surgery if it means getting patched up good as new.  Now, some may argue that I’m not giving it a chance to heal on its own because I have continued to run lightly, mountain bike, and ride my horse.  Some may argue that my definition of “lightly” running is skewed, but I can honestly say that my mileage has dropped to just about zilch.  Nada.  Goose egg.  In fact, my mileage tally for June is a measley 34 miles.  And if that’s not convincing enough, I am doing something amazing: I am backing out of a race that’s on my race calendar.  See?  I’m maturing.

                This Thursday is my running club’s first in a series of three trail races, and I’ve been looking forward to this race since I ran the last one in August of last year.  It’s a 5 mile trail race, and what I love most about it is that the course is on the West Hill Dam trails behind my house, which I run, bike, and ride my horse around on a daily basis.  I was so excited about this race that I even coordinated a trail clean up day between my horse club and my running club so that we could get the trails in ship-shape for the race.  That was just a couple weeks before my infamous faux-pas that caused my hip injury (which, coincidentally, occurred on these same trails).  Since the injury, I’ve been reducing my mileage and incorporating more rest days in between runs.  Up until last week I had still been able to run a couple days a week for 3-6 slow miles.  I had been careful to keep the strides short and I avoided hills and sharp turns, which all seemed to cause worse pain.  As pain started to win out, I eventually stopped riding my mountain bike on trails, and incorporated even more rest days in between runs.  The last time I ran was one week ago today, the first day of summer.  It was a beautiful day for a run and I ran on trails and roads, for a total of 4 miles.  The roads were more hilly than I should have tackled, and my hip started hurting pretty badly while running.  I knew this was a bad sign because that was the first time the pain was so severe that I couldn’t continue running.  I ended up walking the last half mile back home, and felt pretty deflated about it.

                The days following that last run were painful, and I alternated Aleve with some stronger painkillers, packed myself in ice whenever I could, and stopped pretty much all activity.  As a person who identifies herself as a runner, this injury has some pretty serious consequences.  Now what?  As a runner I feel like I have something that not everyone else has.  I have a physical ability that a lot of people say, “wow, I could never do that”.  Losing the ability to run is like getting my wings clipped, and it’s made me pretty depressed if we’re being honest.  The only thing that lifted my spirits last week was knowing that I was heading on vacation with my horse.  (Yes, Rocco and I vacation together).  He’s been a real godsend to me, because he’s a super comfortable Tennessee Walking horse, which basically means that I have a lot less pressure on my hip than I would with other types of horses.  I’ve also used the past week to evaluate my current condition and make some decisions.  As depressing as this is, I recognized that it would be irresponsible of me to attempt to run the trail race on Thursday.  The hills and the terrain would be too harsh on my hip, even if the pain had started to die down by then.  Another factor is the Harvard Pilgrim 10K race I’m signed up for next Monday, July 4^th, at Gillette Stadium.  This is another race that I’ve been looking forward to all year.  I ran the inaugural race last year, and it was a total blast.  That course is very flat and easy, and I am confident that if my hip gets back to what it was a couple weeks ago, I would be able to complete it.  I obviously won’t be breaking any speed records, but I would be content just to finish it.  If I have any chance of running that race next Monday, I know I need to rest the hip as much as possible this week, and that means backing out of the trail race. 

                Once I made the decision to back out of the trail race, the next best thing I could think to do was volunteer at the race.  At least this way I can still be part of the event (and won’t get nearly as sweaty!)  I really enjoy volunteering, which is good because if this hip doesn’t get resolved in the near future, my racing blog is going to turn into a volunteering blog!  In the meantime, I am going to attempt to run a couple of flat miles sometime later this week so that I can gauge whether or not my hip can survive the 10K in Foxboro.  If it poops out on me, I’m still planning to attend the race and cheer on my pals, take pictures, and hopefully find new ways to scratch my running itch.