Week Six (Flags): “Leave me alone, How Bow Dah?!”

It had now been 6 weeks since I broke my ankle, and 5 weeks since the surgical repair. I had not been on my own two feet in 6 weeks, and this really started to take a toll on me. Every single day that I needed to remain in the cast seemed to be a day too long. I was so ready to get on with my life. But alas, it would be 3 more weeks (to complete my 8 week sentence in the fiberglass cast).

Go-Go Gadget...

Meanwhile, due to muscle atrophy, my legs looked wimpy and pathetic. I especially hated the fact that, in addition to looking this way, I also felt the way I looked…

As I’ve mentioned before, the process of recovering from something is a complicated one, which everyone undergoes in different ways. For me, some of the toughest obstacles that came along with this process were the psychological ones.

Of course, the physical challenges were obvious, and they were abundant. But that did not bother me too much, since pain seemed to be a tangible concept- and had a simple and systematic treatment associated with it. If it hurts: R (rest) I (ice/ice cream- haha) C (compression) E (elevation) M (medication). This was something that I found easy to grasp- even when the medication did not fully manage my pain. I understood it: I knew where it was coming from, and for the most part, I also knew why.

First Aid 101:
Milkshakes.

The psychological challenges that came along with all of this were different, and in my opinion, more challenging. It truly was a roller-coaster, one of those huge ones with a 90 degree drop that took your breath away, and all those loop-de-loops that made you want to throw up.

Just as I would start to feel physically better and stronger, I would also experience the clarity associated with being pain-free (allowing me the luxury of looking beyond the moment that I was currently in), which would often lead me back to feeling helpless, frustrated, and resentful. Throw in some pitiful glances from friends and colleagues, an onslaught of people sharing their own stories with you (almost as if it was a competition), and a surprising amount of people who would make  it a point to tell you “wow, you move pretty fast on that scooter- I wish I had one”!

Listen lady, I understand that you are tired of walking around the grocery store on your own two feet- but I’m really not in the mood to make YOU feel better about what I AM going through. So kindly excuse me, as I have a few quarts of mint chocolate chip ice cream with my name on them, Mmkay?!

Oh please- do tell me about
how jealous you are,
and how you wish you had this
scooter because it's "so cool"...

In addition to all of that, I felt extremely helpless due to the inability to drive myself where I needed/wanted to be. As the physical challenges of my injury began to fade away- this lack of independence was among the hardest things for me. My husband was nice enough to accommodate me in any way that he could, and my friends and coworkers were nice enough to pitch in when he could not… but I just could not wait to be back in the driver’s seat of my Santa Fe (and of my life), listening to my own music, and most importantly, not having to talk about the same things over and over again.

As they say, silence is golden.

I had never realized just how much I relied on and appreciated those times that I was able to be alone with my thoughts. The times where I could go to the gym every morning to do something simply for myself and no one else. The routines that made me feel happy, productive, centered, and sane. The freedom that went along with being able to make plans that did not rely on those around me.

I realized that  so much of my time over the past 6 weeks was spent convincing others that I was “doing great”, “looking forward to being out of the cast”, “itching to get back on my own two feet”, and that I was getting “better and better”. I knew the importance of letting myself experience the anger, frustration, and hopelessness that went along with my recovery- but I also knew that people who were politely asking how I was doing were not interested in hearing the truth. It was simply exhausting. The only times I was truly alone with my thoughts seemed to be those recurring sleepless nights (without any explanation as to why I was up from midnight until 4:00 am…).  

How is it possible to be so exhausted and
hopelessly unable to sleep, all at once?!

But hey, maybe that was a good thing for now- since my thoughts were the equivalent of the latest attraction at Six Flags…

So I just painted a smile on my face, strapped in to my iWalk, armed myself with mindless niceties, grabbed my trusty fanny pack, and rolled onward as week 6 came to a close.