Endgame

I'm not sure if there's anything that lasts forever. Certainly there are some things I'd like to last as long as humanly possible, things (people, mostly) I don't want to imagine life without knowing or having contact with. There are other things which are, by definition, transitory.

On December 26, I entered into a sort of living arrangement with my Taylor Spatial Frame, more commonly referred to as my buddy. I knew there was about an eleven degree correction to make to my leg, that the frame would get the job done in a couple weeks, that it would be a part of my life—and my leg—for another several months.

Some things are transitory.

In less than a month now, I will be permanently parting from the frame. Just like I was warned going into this whole process that the placing of the frame wouldn't be pretty and there would be pain, I've been warned by Dr. Sundberg that this will hurt a bit and that I will be wearing a knee immobilizer for a couple weeks. You see, the pins are coated in chemicals which promote bone growth, which is apparently the source of my future discomfort. And once the pins are removed I will be able to show of x-rays of my tibia with holes drilled through it.

I can't wait.

Am I nervous? Yes, I am. Every time I have surgery I tend to get a bit concerned. Along with a strong whiff of airplane gasoline, that's one of the side-effects of anesthesia. I also don't like the sound of not being comfortable. But the freedom…

For the past months, I have been limited to a ridiculous extent. No running. Be careful on stairs. Don't slip. Make sure to scrub the pin sites in the shower. Sleeping positions are dictated by the mood of the buddy. I've bumped against furniture, walls, door frames, people. The back of my calf has not felt the grass or even the mattress of my bed in months.

My most recent appointment with Dr. Sundberg was on April 8, just more than a week ago. He took another x-ray, looked at it, told me there were still a few weeks to go. He pointed out specific spots where he needed to see some more bone filling in before taking the device off. He still asked me when I wanted the frame removed.

I replied, April 26. In the time leading up to that appointment, my patience had worn beyond thin and I no longer cared about if the frame was taken off in the middle of the school day or not. As soon as possible was fine by me.

He informed me that April 26 might be a tad early. Two weeks from the appointment simply was not enough time for the bone to make the final bit of progress.

My next reply was May 3.

As of now, I'm scheduled to go in for x-rays on April 29 to ensure that the May 3 operating room date will hold. My fingers are rather tightly crossed that it will. Then the frame will be off my leg and onto its future life, in which it will be reused, I believe in Ecuador. I will say, I'm glad that somebody other than myself is getting use out of the device. As infuriating as it is, I have no doubts that this experience will transform my life for the better.

But, for now, I have a couple weeks of waiting to go, which brings me to the final part of this post.

I have been thinking about this blog, even if I haven't been updating. The point of Leg Plus Frame has always been to document the Taylor Spatial Frame experience in as full a way as I possibly can, but not necessarily the recovery. Until I change my mind, the final entry will be coming on May 9th, 2013. I think I'll spin off a sister blog to track what I do post-high school and post-frame, but we'll see.

Until May 9th, I'm fairly well aware that this has been a neglected blog. I have entries planned and, let's be honest, my academic demands are not as demanding as they could be. I should have the time to fill out the holes in the story and in my depiction of this experience between now and then. Expect an entry or so a day. Most will cover experiences I've already underwent, though there will be some brand-new stories, primarily revolving around track and the ultimate removal of the device/buddy/frame.

But for the here and now, I'm almost there. I wish I could try to express just how freeing that feels, even if my leg is still skewered and every piece of woodwork in the house is still under threat of being framed (framed, v., being forced to enter a nasty collision with a leg-attached hunk of metal).

For any readers currently boasting a frame with no scheduled end in sight, all I can say is: keep up hope. The end exists. Even knowledge of the end brings tremendous relief.