A Look Towards the Future and a Note of Thanks

It's hard to believe that it's been less than a week since my final surgery (yes, I think the frame removal will be it for me and the operating room, barring emergencies). Less than a week ago, my leg looked something like this:

In the waiting room for surgery at Gilette Children's Hospital, St. Paul Campus.  Note the sweatpants, thoroughly destroyed after months of wear (none of my five-ish pairs of Taylor Spatial Frame sweatpants survived the experience).

Fifteen minutes or so in the operating room transformed the leg into the following:

In the car after discharge on May 3 (in case anybody was wondering, I spent less than an hour in the hospital after regaining consciousness, from what I can remember—it was a really short, really easy stay). Please note the lack of bulging metal frame, though if you look closely, you can see where the pins poked holes through the fabric.

That's more or less what my leg looks like at the moment when fully covered by sweatpants and splint. Uncovered by sweatpants and splint, well, it looks incredibly normal. It's healing fast. I think within a month or so you'll barely be able to tell I even had a frame. Then again, another thrower described my leg today as looking as if it had a couple bullet wounds…not sure what to make of that.

The leg, minus frame; frontal view. You can see all five halfpin sites, a piano wire pin site (to the side) and two incisions, all from December.

The leg, minus frame, side view. Most visible here are the ankle incision from December and a piano wire pin site. You can also see a sort of groove in the leg, which is where two of the halfpins used to reside. I'm not sure if that will go away or not. Can't say I really mind that much. My former "second kneecap" is gone, the groove isn't too big or noticeable, the leg is straight.

And there my legs are. Leg which never had a frame and leg which was plus frame but is now minus frame.

So I'm done now. I don't know what more there is to say. Once upon a time, my right leg was not straight. After spending years fearfully avoiding the Taylor Spatial Frame, I bit the bullet and spent the final week of 2012 in the hospital with a leg newly adhered to my leg. In mid-January, my leg was at last straight. In March, I managed to get myself back to track and back into the swing of things. And a week or so ago, I parted ways with the frame.

This blog, when completed tomorrow, will span approximately six and a half months and 65 entries, which is an incredible number (I'd try to provide a word count, but a) it isn't yet complete and b) that would really take a lot of work). I have received some really wonderful feedback and in the end, though Leg+Frame has taken many, many hours to maintain it has been completely, one hundred percent worthwhile. I know I've benefited from having this venue to channel some of my frame experience and I hope that others get some use out of this blog as well later on down the line.

As far as what I myself will be doing later on down the line, first priority is going to college. I'll be entering the University of Virginia in the fall, which is incredibly exciting (being a native, I adore Charlottesville) and a bit intimidating (though this is part of the reason I chose the school, it is incredibly different from the schools I've been in up to now). With the leg, I'm mostly just waiting on word from Dr. Sundberg as far as returning to activities. I'm not in any physical shape at the moment and getting myself into shape is an incredibly high priority. This summer I hope to walk, bike and swim a solid amount. We have a dog, Boone the Enthusiastic English Cocker Spaniel, who loves walking and I think he and I might become really, really good friends in the next few months, once I'm cleared to leave this splint behind.

Beyond that, I want to run. In theory, if I got in better shape I'd really like running. I like the feeling of motion, I like the simplicity of the concept, I like knowing that I can endure and to me, running and endurance seem to go hand-in-hand. Also, after so long being not able to run, I think it's about time. I spent however many months in this frame so I could do more activities, I want to run. There are about a bazillion reasons why it shouldn't work (even though I've had all these surgeries, my legs still have issues and I haven't run before and and and and…). But, hey, it wouldn't be the first time I've done something which I probably shouldn't have (for example: throwing).

My numeric running-related goal is a 27 minute 5K, though I think 25 minutes would be pretty neat as well. I just need to find somebody to help me learn how to run now…

Also, once I get cleared, I want to indulge one of my many obsessions. Not dinosaurs, not box office numbers, not the phrase "Carthago delenda est," but roller coasters. When wearing a Taylor Spatial Frame, one is not allowed to ride coasters, which is rather sad. I intend to indulge myself the second I'm allowed to.

But, first and foremost, I'm going to just try to enjoy life with a straight leg. I want to ski and walk and run and ride roller coasters and just relish not having a metal cage circling/piercing my tibia/fibula. In case anybody's wondering, I fully intend to create another blog to cover my life after frame. It won't be as focused as this blog is and I think the entries might be shorter. The main reason Leg+Frame is ending now is I think that a 65-entry blog on wearing a Taylor Spatial Frame is a bit unwieldy, particularly for somebody entering the blog trying to get an idea of what wearing a frame might be like (which is the primary purpose for this thing).

Now, this isn't a particularly graceful transition from plans to thanks, but before I move on with my post-frame life, there are some people I want to take the time to thank right here, right now for the help they've given me with the surgeries, with the leg, with just getting through. In earlier entries, I've generally tried to avoid using people's names, out of respect to their privacy. For those who I haven't mentioned by some name earlier in the blog, I'll use initials. This isn't a full list but simply a list of those whose contributions were so great I'd feel awful if they weren't specifically mentioned here.

I'm fully aware that many of these people will never read this entry. That's fine. I just want to get these thanks out in the open.

So…

Thanks to Dr. Abel, the excellent surgeon who started fixing my bones. Your contributions to my life have been…well, I don't know how to quantify what you were able to do. I'm not sure I can state how lucky I got when I wound up with Dr. Abel as my orthopedic surgeon.

On that line, thanks to Dr. Sundberg, who straightened my leg and opened my future.

Thanks to Coach D. and the other Blake School track coaches, for letting me on the team and, in doing so, giving me access to some many wonderful opportunities and experiences and, this year, helping me get out of the Recovery Couch rut. Track has been a powerful, affirming experience and there is no way I can thank you all enough.

To Jake and the other throwers, for welcoming me into the fold and helping me improve my throwing even though they gained nothing from it.

To BTL, for providing needed company and good moments and for pushing my wheelchair and so much more. That sentence doesn't do a particularly good job of expressing how helpful you've been, but at least it puts down some sort of outline.

To EAM (and her parents), for always being available when I needed somebody to talk to and for being a wonderful host in March. Wearing a frame can be a long and grueling process. You raised my spirits many, many times. Thanks.

To MLP, who managed to understand so much. I'm not sure if I've actually tried telling you what a difference you made just by listening, especially in those earlier days, but it was a profound difference.

To DD, whose kindness and generosity have been an inspiration for years and who provided valuable support during the frame experience (and afterwards). I was incredibly fortunate to have you for a teacher so many years ago and have been even more fortunate to have been able to keep in touch.

To the brothers, who, despite themselves, provided lots and lots of desperately needed company and kept me from going absolutely insane from loneliness. CLHP, for helping me get into school every day for weeks and weeks (pushing a wheelchair might not be as hard as swim practice, but I know it isn't always the easiest) and for staying with me the first night at the hospital. JLEP, for always being sporty and enthusiastic. OSP, who spent days upon days with me in the back.

To Sunny the Golden Retriever and the other dogs, who were at least present (albeit asleep) most of the time. Barking is not always appreciated, but cheerfulness and snuggling normally is.

To Stephen King, who, despite scaring me off the frame for years with On Writing nevertheless provided some of the stories which kept me from slipping entirely into mindlessness.

To my father, who provided me with an almost uncountable number of opportunities to escape the house on errands and who was just there for me (and who also helped me clean myself for the first long weeks).

To my mother, who raised me and encouraged me and ultimately was the one who really bore me through these months. I know it wasn't always easy, but I'm done now, and it's mostly because of you. I could not be more proud to have you as my mother. Your mix of being caring and thoughtful and scary smart and understanding is hard to beat.

Thank you all.