Hello, lads! Welcome back to this semi-dead creative space!
As promised by my Instagram post earlier today, I am writing today to mark the one-year anniversary of my knee surgery. Now, many of you seemed startled to find out that I had surgery a year ago to begin with. That just comes to show that we really aren't close... and I honestly have no idea what you're doing on here... but thanks for coming, I guess.
Well, if you want to find out more about the circumstances that lead to this surgery, go here. I have already written the back story for you months ago (and again, if you didn't read it back then, what are you even doing here? It's like you missed this blog during its Golden Age... you really are looking at the remains of the Roman Empire right now, yo).
Anyway, so now that you have caught up in the drama that lead to the surgery, let's talk about what this last year has been like...
Ya'll, at the risk of sounding super-duper vulgar... this year has been feckin' hard. ALL THE BLOODY THINGS HAPPENED!
Ok, first of all, the things that happened DURING surgery and my stay at the hospital:
1. The anesthesiologist couldn't find my spine to do the epidural because "it is harder to find the spine with bigger patients."
How even dare you, lady? Just because you're bad at your job doesn't mean it's my food's fault. She had to prod me FOUR times until she found the spot. Those of you who have had an epidural know what that feels like and are probably going, "F that!" right now.
2. But then the same dumb anesthesiologist did not calculate the anesthesia correctly? How do I know that? Well, she goes "ok, so we are all set" and I respond by moving my toes voluntarily. LIKE, THEY ARE ABOUT TO CUT ME OPEN, LADY! I SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DO THAT! So her eyes open wide and she adjusts the meds going into me, but guess what? I WAS STILL AWAKE THROUGH MOST OF THE SURGERY! Including the part where I got to hear the drill going in and making a hole in my bone.
And you know what the main problem was? That I was LAUGHING MANIACALLY while that drill went to work because I was super high. I mean, the drugs were working for sure. They just weren't strong enough to put this old stallion to sleep! It was like when Dwight tries to put Stanley to sleep:
So I was laughing and chatting non-stop with the doctors and nurses, which is very distracting as they are trying to do their jobs. The first thing the doctor told my mom when surgery was over was, "everything went well. Wow, your daughter talks so much." 'Tis true, reader. I do. I have my own actual blog. Should have warned the doctor, I suppose.
And I did fall asleep for what must have been like 30 minutes of the surgery, but I was awakened by a strange itch on my face, just in time to hear the doctor go: "fuck, she is bleeding a lot" because the brace they used as a tourniquet was not strapped on properly because my thigh is the size of a small dolphin. Imagine waking up to those words, reader. How would you feel? Well, my reaction was along the lines of "oh...my leg's too fat, LOL!" because remember I was flying high. But my face was totally itching and I tried to take off my oxygen to scratch it. In other words, I was an asshole patient the entire time.
2. Then, after a 2+ hours surgery, the staff forgot me in the post-op room. A solid 40 minutes. While I scratched my face fiercely because, of course, I had an allergic reaction to one of the drugs! But get this: the hospital staff refused to give me Benadryl or anything similar for a whole 12 hours because they thought it was just me being weird (since there was no rash). So no, I did not sleep a wink that night after surgery.
3. Oh, and did I mention they also didn't want to give me any food or drink until the next day? THAT IS MORE THAN 24 HOURS WITHOUT FOOD OR DRINK! Pure torture. Naturally, my mom sneaked a liter of Tejuino into the hospital for me. Tejuino is a typical drink made in Guadalajara that most people think is absolutely revolting (made with fermented corn masa, so yeah), but I find absolutely exquisite. I immediately chug down the whole thing, itchy face and all, and it was the most glorious moment of my existence.
4. But this disobedience would have consequences. The other stipulation that the doctor had made was that I could not get up from that bed until noon of the day after surgery. Now, imagine the state of my bladder: a liter of tejuino and God knows how many other mL's of junk from my IV. By 9 pm that night, I was about to burst! So I asked my nurse to help me go to the bathroom (why did I not have a tube connected from my pee-pee to a bag, I know not) and she brought me what can only be described as a plastic chamber pot, which I, of course, immediately flattened with my giant body as Niagara falls made their way out of my body and I ended up swimming in the
My poor nurse had to change all my bedding, my robes, and wipe me down with towelettes (I know, it is gross, but they wouldn't let me shower). But, dear reader, should I feel bad after my poor nurse made the mistake of bringing the flattened chamber pot TWO more times the next day and had to change me and my bed TWO more times? What happened to learning from one's mistakes? Tsk tsk, nurse. Tsk, tsk, indeed.
It was the 2018 International Urine Fest, my friends. I am ever so mortified to remember it. But I know you are probably pissing yourself with laughter, so there's that.
5. Well, after all these predicaments, I was allowed to stand with crutches and get the heck out of the hospital for two weeks of bed rest. My plan for my bed rest was to watch a lot of Netflix and eat a lot of junk food (worry not reader, I was doing my exercises 10 minutes out of every hour). My plan worked out great for the first ten days or so, until the food part turned on me and I got the most horrifying case of food poisoning ever recorded in history.
We have talked about pee in this post already, so it is inevitable to talk about poo. My friends, it all started with a stomachache followed by a fever followed by going to the bathroom 30 times in 24 hours. Yes, you read that right. I legit would have died of dehydration if it wasn´t for the PediaLyte and Gatorades. But the worst thing is having to GET UP as an invalid in the middle of the night to try to make it to the bathroom. Thank God the toilet was literally 12 steps from my bed and I have an insane amount of self-control when it comes to crapping my own pants.
Anyway, I was sick for about six days. It was rough, but I must confess that I looked smoking hot after (lost like six pounds, so--do not worry though, gained it all back pretty quickly). Between the bathroom runs, the fever, and the leg rehab, it was a tough week. Oh yeah, and my knee hurt like hell, of course.
6. About a week after that, I started physical therapy, which was grueling but also empowering. About a week into physio, I had a horrible fall in the shower after the old-ass stool my grandpa put in the shower for me slipped from under me, defying all the natural laws of physics. I hit my back head against the wall, cut my ankle open, and injured my upper back and neck severely enough to have to wear a neck brace for a few days. The neck pain was enough to keep me awake a couple nights after that. Thankfully, my physio treated me for those injuries as well as my knee because she is basically an angel on earth. But man, can we talk about this sitcom that is my life?
7. Now, physical therapy was a success, and I was doing so great! But, per usual, all the things happened and I quickly found myself in a difficult situation: Christmas time came and I was doing poorly. I had stopped exercising because I pulled my quad in October and could barely walk. Then, starting in October, I got sick every. single. month (this trend continued until MARCH. That is right: I had a cold in October, November, and December; possibly the flu in January, a cold in February, and Strep Throat in March). my quad injury led to other complications, including agonizing hip joint pain and a iliac (groin) strain. An absolute shit show, in other words. I was not doing physio, my health was deteriorating, and my spirits were low.
I felt that the whole surgery ordeal had been in vain. I felt so lost and tired and in pain. There was not a single day that my knee was not hurting. I started regretting the surgery and just became really hopeless. Then one day, my friend Lou recommended me this chiropractor that ¨worked wonders.¨ Skeptical, I made an appointment, not getting my hopes up.
That day, this whole journey took a 180. Doctor Raymer readjusted my pelvis (it was completely off due to me carrying my weight on one side) and began with me a short yet effective process of getting things back in order/place and beginning a new physical therapy regimen. This process was excruciatingly painful, but once I recovered most of my mobility, I was able to throw myself into an exercise routine that I had not had in months: weights, resistance training, biking, swimming.
Since then, I have watched myself getting stronger and more confident on my knee. I have jogged a couple times, I have gone dancing. I have played a little soccer. It has been so good for my body and for my soul.
I know the road to recovery is far from over. Kneeling at church still hurts quite a bit. So does running. I have so much muscle to build (and so many pounds to lose), but to just be able to see myself juggle the ball again (50, 100, 200 reps), to dance to my favorite songs. To sit with my legs folded under me... these are all little things for most people, but huge landmarks for me. I am just so happy to have a shot at living life with a fully functional knee.
And I am just so proud of myself for having been so brave in this crazy hard process. For wiping off the tears. From getting up from that shower floor and just continue doing the thing. I am kind of in awe at my own resilience.
So now, there is a giant screw drilled into my bone, holding a piece of cadaver in place. But, more importantly, there is a firm, shimmering hope drilled in my heart that says that I will run again one day.
