I don’t know where to begin. I should have started this blog weeks ago, but I had no motivation. (I had plenty of anger, but no motivation…come to think of it, the anger would have made for great reading…oh well. I am pretty sure I’ll get angry again in the near future.)
It has been 6 weeks, 3 days, and 15 hours since I had, yet another, life altering surgery. (I know they say, “God doesn’t give one more than they can bear,” but I would like a pass on the hard stuff from time to time.) Six weeks, three days, and fifteen hours ago, I became fixed to a frame, to be more correct, I have a Taylor Spatial External Frame/Fixture attached to my lower left foot/ankle. For those who can’t form the visual, think of the movie series SAW. This frame looks like a torture device used in ones of those movies, except, unlike the unfortunate characters in those films, I was fortunate to receive anesthesia.
Can you add a picture to this blog? Hold on...
What happened? Good question. My body gave out. My ankle bone shifted out of place--no car accident, no elaborate story, my body just got tired. (Did I lose you? My apologies. Let me back up and give you a little history.) I was born with CMT, a neuromuscular disorder, affecting various nerves in the body. I have always had problems with fine motor skills, sensation, and walking. When I was nine, my life was altered. I have and continue to live a very independent life, but that has been no match for a body that slowly deteriorates over the years. I have survived a hit-in-run car accident, resulting in a bar and six screws in my left arm; I survived a work related fall, resulting in a bar and four screws in my left hip; and I survived a slip in the bathroom, resulting in a compression fracture to vertebra T-12 (I had to wear a plastic, corset-like back brace for 3 months). I always survive, that’s what I do, but at times, “surviving” is not what I wish to do.
I think this is why I am so mixed up this time around. In the past, I always had some situation to blame for my physical predicament (car accident, slip-n-fall, etc.), but this time, this time, there is only my body to blame. Doctors warned me that my body might one day wear down, I have always been afraid that my body might give out before my spirit was ready to make the transition, but in my wildest dreams, I never imagined that my ankle bone could/would shift out of place. The combination of neuropathy due to CMT and my diagnosis of osteoporosis approximately six years ago, led to my dislocated ankle and the last thing on my mind was “surviving.”
Truth be told, I am a little tired – 36 years old and tired! I am tired of having to be “on” and having to be “strong” all the time. When the bandages were first removed from my frame, I thought, “There is no way I can live with this thing for three months!” It took me two days to actually look at it. I mean, what would you do if you had 5 pins and 22 wires sticking out of your leg???
I want to give up, but I am too stubborn to that. *hahahahahaha* In truth, I didn’t want to wake up from surgery. I was ready to leave this earth because something in me knew I was tired of “surviving.” (Yes, even the strong are weak.) I was so ready to leave: I informed my sister of some last wishes, cleaned up the house so it would be presentable for the repast, and had my various life/death policies laid out on the bed. I wanted to be taken, but, lucky me, I woke up. I still don’t know why I woke up.
(actully written 2-1-10)
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