Although
I have been absent from The Wheel Deal for nearly two months The WD has crossed
my mind nearly every day. I felt the
mean chill of winter in more ways than just weather. For the last several weeks (especially after
half a dozen job rejection letters) I’ve reached the peak of my frustration
with my unemployment. The words “if you
don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” kept running
through my mind, so I didn’t post anything.
My attitude has improved (taking account of one’s blessings does wonders
to help lift one’s spirits) and I’m focusing on my job search with renewed
vigor. Despite not having any fantastic
employment news to post I didn’t want to keep ignoring The WD. I’ve been getting more involved in the AMC
community via Facebook and forums, which is been great for me. While racking my brain for a topic to write
about I looked at the calendar and saw it.
This week marked a very special anniversary that helped put things in
perspective for me.
As
of Wednesday January 29th, 2014 I have been surgery-free, broken
bone-free, hospital visit-free for 15 years.
I
have a hard time wrapping my mind around that fact. Remember – I am the girl that was literately
born with a broken leg. The cute little
outfit that parents pick out for their newborn to come home from the hospital
in had to accommodate a half body cast.
By the time I was a year old I had already had a surgery or two and
spent months in casts. It seemed that
for the first 10 years of my life I was stuck in a cycle of; breaking a bone,
getting healthy to have surgery, recovering from surgery, and then rehabbing
after surgery. Luckily I don’t remember
much of the icky things from those years.
However my last surgery and the months leading up to it I remember
pretty lividly.
It
was fall during my third grade year. I
went to a routine visit at my orthopedics’ office, which was really more of a
second home at that point in my life.
While looking at x-rays of my back my doctor noticed that it had started
to curve slightly. My mother asked if we
should do anything about that. He said
that we’d watch it and take a look in a few months. When I went back in the winter it was about
35 degrees, towards the end of third grade I went back for a check-up. We were expecting to see my spine curve a few
more degrees. It was a shock to all of
us to see a 55 degree curve in my spine.
As a kid I could tell that something wasn’t quite right because I had
noticed I was becoming out of breath quicker than usual. The curve was starting to crush my left lung.
My doctor explained our options and gave us his recommendation – surgery, which
we took.
The
operation wasn’t anything experimental.
Two titanium rods would be inserted and attached to my spine to
straighten it out. A few of the vertebra
near my neck would need to be fused together.
In order to put a little foreign stuff in my body as possible they would
take my bottom right rib and grind it up to use as bone to fuse my vertebra. The surgery although tried and true had
several obstacles to it. First of all
was the spinal cord. Anytime you work in
the back and neck near the spinal cord you always run the risk of paralysis. The second was doing two operations in one
surgery: getting the rib to use as mortar, and putting in the rods. They would remove the rib first by cutting an
envelope flap in my side while I was lying on my back. Once they had my stitched up they’d roll me
over and get into my back. While they
worked in my back they had to wake me up in the middle of the operation to make
sure my spinal cord had not been compromised.
Slowly they would bring me out of anesthesia to have me wiggle my toes
and fingers. Once it appeared things were
ok they would put me back under to finish off the procedure. The whole operation would take approximately
nine hours start to finish.
Due
to the large block of time needed we scheduled the surgery several months ahead
of time. Those months were pivotal for
the success of the surgery in my opinion.
During that time my semi-sadistic third grade teacher got me into the
best physical shape I had ever been in.
She pushed me in a way that I’m not sure my physical therapists dared
to. When I went under the knife my body
was ready to heal in whatever way it needed to.
Also during that time we were able to find two blood donors to give
designated donations for me, as my doctor said it wouldn’t be uncommon for
someone to need a transfusion during this operation. Low and behold I have the rare A- type of
blood, something no one in my immediate family has. We were able to have one of my mom’s good
friend’s give and a woman my dad worked with at the time. Unfortunately the sweet receptionist at my
orthopedics’ office was a bit anemic so she couldn’t give, but the fact that
the receptionist at my doctor’s office was willing to do that for me meant a
lot.
My
mom had typed up a full page, single spaced list of prayer requests for this
operation. Our church placed that list
in the bulletin for several weeks so that everyone would know exactly what to
pray for. Not only was our extended
family and our church family praying over that list, but people around the
globe. That list went viral (I think
before “going viral” was even a thing – it was 1999 after all) and we got
e-mails from all over the place. Someone
even placed my name in the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. On my final doctor’s visit before surgery day
the curve was measured again – 96 degrees.
My mom was amazed that I wasn’t walking sideways but I was able to
compensate well. Although it may not
have looked like it from the outside I knew my body was folding in half. My lung capacity had been severely
compromised and I could barely wheel down the hall at my school without getting
out of breath.
Before
we knew it was the night before surgery day.
I had been doing a lot of thinking about heavy stuff, probably too much
thinking for the fourth grader I was. It
was as if the seriousness of this operation started to hit me and fear was
creeping in. I knew because I was older
I would remember this surgery unlike the surgeries I had the years before. I think I was afraid that I would only
remember pain, that maybe something would go wrong, and that I would always
think about being frustrated during the recovery process (which I was told
would be long). My mom just shared the
story about tucking me in that night with me.
She said that while she was sitting on the end of my bed she asked “If
you could stop it, would you?”. Very
seriously I responded, “No. I have scars
on my here, here, and here. There’s not
much more they can do to me”. Sometimes
you need to remind yourself of what you know out loud.
 |
| My wonderful anesthesiologist and I. |
The
morning of January 29th was here.
It was still dark when we left the house. The hospital is about half an hour away from
my house. It seemed that both my parents
and I were deep in thought because few words were said, the ride there felt
much longer than it really was. I
remember staring at the lights hitting the rain drops meandering down on the
window of the van. It was like the sky couldn’t
hold its tears in, or maybe that’s just how I felt. Upon arriving at the hospital we filled out
the mountains of paper work and then were ushered into the pre-op room. I changed into the paper thin hospital gown
and put on my standard issue orange socks.
The anesthesiologist came in and went over all the usual things. All of my past experiences with anesthesia
have resulted in me being terribly ill (to this day the smell and taste of
cherries makes me think of anesthesia).
This time I was to get the grape flavored kind. The fruity flavor doesn’t really make a
difference but the chemical make up the anesthetic was different and supposed
to not make me sick. Then Dr. A (my
ortho doctor who has been with me since I was born) came in to explain the
procedure once again and asked if we had any questions. After he had left to go prepare himself for
the day of operating our senior pastor walked in. I remember Pastor Don praying with our family
and then quickly being told it’s time.
My parents kissed me goodbye and told me I’d be fine. As the nurses pushed my gurney down the hall
I remember my eyes welling up with “fear tears”. I reminded myself of all the things I know:
Dr. A is the best, worst case scenario I’m paralyzed – what’s the big deal
about that, and God is in control.
*Fourth
grade me was right, I have remembered that experience. The operation that took place January 29th
and the months after it are vividly etched in my mind. There is so much more to this story, but if
you’re reading this you know this post is long.
Stay tuned for part two – I promise you won’t have to wait long.*
