Some Moments

One of the key themes of Leg+Frame thus far has been the sheer monotony which is recovering from surgery. Every once in a while I'll do something to add some spice to my life, such as leaving my chair to head off on an expedition to the kitchen. But for the most part I stick to my chair—while the leg is settling down a good deal, the pin sites sometimes still prickle when I stand up and I only have so much energy. The only things worth writing about, it seems, are brief little moments here and there. So, for this post, a collection of these moments.

1. Chinese class earlier this week. The frame was making its presence known by pushing against my sweatpants, each strut and each in standing out in stark relief against the otherwise loose hanging fabric. Some of my classmates notice the cage, ask what it is. I offer to let them see. The pants are barely lifted to expose the metal beneath when my classmates are visibly grossed out. "You can actually see it going into your leg," is the immediate surprised reaction. Well, yes, of course you can see the pins going into the leg. What did you expect? They tell me they expected to see some padding between the pin sites and open air. But at this point, padding would just be a hassle for me. Better to keep things simple.

2. Waiting for the elevator to arrive. My senior class of less than a 130 has been on a leg-injuring rampage recently and four or five of us cannot take the stairs. Whenever I want to move from floor to floor, unless I'm feeling really up for a challenge, I get to wait for the elevator, leaning against the walker to relieve pressure from the leg. Eventually, the elevator arrives and when it ascends (or descends) the sounds it makes remind me all too much of the sounds an elevator would make if it was debating plunging you to an early death.

3. This morning, preparing to put on a sock. I lift up the foot and see a trail of dried blood leading up to the region where the sweatpants hides my healing leg. I thought one of the pin sites had sprung a leak (again) but as it turned out the almost-healed ankle incision was to blame. My mother got me a warm wet washcloth and I gently wiped the trail away. While there was not a huge volume of blood to deal with, there was still some and the scrubbing took longer than I anticipated. I yet to check the bed to see if any blood got onto the sheets, but based on patterns in the trail on my foot, such a check would be merited.

4. Trying to fall asleep in the bed my parents rigged up in my mother's office so I wouldn't have to take the stairs to get outside in case of an emergency. It's late and I'm almost asleep. It's also time for the dogs to be put to bed. The dogs are not very fond of being locked into small confined areas away from their humans but they get fed before they fall asleep. As they are led into the back for being thrust outside and eventually confined, they bark with excitement. They just can't help themselves. I wish they could, because their excitement keeps me up later.

5. In my normal life I greatly enjoy roller coasters. While I was in the hospital, Dr. Sundberg hinted that I might be able to ride roller coasters again in August, a reasonable time. At the most recent appointment, my parents made a point to bring up how long I should wait until riding roller coasters again. Unfortunately, Dr. Sundberg does not see the appeal in such contraptions (for me, the appeal lies in the safety of the ride and in the precision of the engineering, in the magnitude of the structure and in the progression of the forces) and informs me maybe in the fall. I do not speak but am not amused. At all.

6. I should probably get outside more but at the moment the entirety of outside is a uniform shade of Minnesota winter gray and when I do go outside the temperature, with a wind chill of minus fifteen or some other ridiculous number, and the wind pass easily through whatever I have on. Maybe during the spring? It can't be too much longer now…

Visualizing Healing

Today marked yet another post-op appointment. Unlike the last two, this one was not at the main St. Paul hospital but rather in a clinic out in the Twin Cities suburbs. Also unlike the last two, I did not show up in a wheelchair but rather trundling along with my walker.

As far as notes from the appointment go, basically I'm on schedule to have the frame removed around the end of April or beginning of May, about four months after it was placed. In an interesting change of pace from when it was put on, a process which required a three hour surgery and six days in the hospital, removing the contraption will take about ten minutes and will be an outpatient procedure. For now, the pin sites look good, the leg is (more officially) straight, bone has started filling in the cuts made during the surgery. For day-to-day life, weight-bearing is according to the level of my comfort. I should be able to leave the walker behind at home before too long and leave it behind altogether within a somewhat reasonable time frame.

Proof of the healing came, as before, from x-rays. Last time I was x-rayed, Dr. Sundberg ordered a standing x-ray to get an idea of how my leg alignment was faring. That particular experiment did not go particularly well—I felt dizzy and nauseous, barely able to remain upright. This time was much easier. I walked over to the x-ray, barely leaning on the walker, got up and was able to help in the positioning of my legs. There was no nauseousness. All in all, it was really quite simple.

And I got proof of healing.

The leg with its final alignment. Note how close the weight-bearing axis (drawn in red) comes to the center of the kneecap. This puts it in a normal position, a great improvement from before Christmas when the weight-bearing axis skimmed the knee (which is not normal).

That the leg is in its final position is, as it turns out, a very good thing. The bone is starting to come back in, which would presumably make continued corrections much more difficult. While the frame still fixes my leg in place, the leg is starting to fix the frame into its current position.

See? The tibia is starting to fill in the cut from the surgery! Another few months of such improvements and I'll have the frame off my leg…

While the gap in the tibia is fairly small, the fibula has a much larger distance to fill back in. While my leg was not corrected a huge amount (about 11˚), the correction was still enough to do this:

See the gap? That gap will eventually become what Dr. Sundberg scientifically calls a "swoosh." Also, kind of hard to tell in this picture, but apparently the gap is starting to be filled in.

Another event to behold at today's appointment was my frame's first interaction with the paper they use to cover the beds in doctor's clinic offices (previously, it has been confined to blankets, the wheelchair and furniture). In a quick scuffle, the hard metal edges of the Taylor Spatial Frame easily dismantled the paper, as evidenced by my photographic proof:

It wasn't even close…

So that's where I'm at today. Still trundling around, bearing weight. Still wearing the frame, although not for forever (distressingly, if the four month prediction turns out to be right, I'm only about 25% of the way through this experience…the hard 25%, sure, but another three months of bonus bulk around my lower right leg does not sound like an appealing enterprise). Dr. Sundberg did not mention physical therapy during the appointment, which tends to make me think I won't need it—I'm walking around, which helps, and the tendon in my ankle didn't freeze up, a major concern.

And, in really exciting news, the wheelchair will be sent back to where it came relatively soon. In even more exciting news, I'll be moving upstairs to my normal room before too long. I've still got a week of sleeping downstairs, but normality is coming.

One Month Out

As of today, I am officially one month into my recovery from having my friend the metal cage placed around my leg—one month of wheelchair, walker (but barely walking), Recovery Couch, chair in the corner, sleeping golden retrievers, less-than-great action movies I am beyond ready to be done with. There were some good parts, yes, but on the whole recovery has pretty conclusively proven itself to be, in three words, boring, boring, boring.
 
The good news: I am making definite strides towards towards leaving the land of recovery. While I missed another half-week of school, being sick on Tuesday and Wednesday, I also made it for the full day on Thursday and Friday (granted, that full day isn't particularly long, given that my free blocks allow me to leave literally hours early). I also ate out for the first time since Christmas, using the walker and not the wheelchair to navigate my way into the restaurant. As much as I enjoy eating at home, it was nice for the change of pace.

And perhaps best of all, I exited the land of the toe-touching faux walk and, earlier today, entered the promised land.

To translate the last sentence: I'm walking again.

As in, 100% weight-bearing.

This is…well, incredible, really. I've spent so long reliant on the wheelchair and being unable to put any weight on the foot that the fact that I can put weight on it without feeling any discomfort is truly amazing. Granted, the leg's stability has never been in question and weight-bearing has always been a matter of comfort.

I'm at that level of comfort now.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'm still using the walker, though I'm holding it elevated off the floor as a balancing tool, only looking somewhat ridiculous in the process. With the month of only using one leg (and the weight disparity from the frame), my balance is not yet 100% and my right leg (with the cage) does not feel as stable as the left leg. I can mostly walk without tripping, but I do need my safety net. I don't really know for how much longer, but still—

Dr. Sundberg said at the outset that I should be weight-bearing in about four weeks. He was right. He also said that I'd only need the frame for three to four months after the corrections had been made.

Hopefully he's right about that, too (well, either right or wrong by overestimating the amount of time I spend in this thing…).

Notes from a Quiet Weekend

Well, I'm writing this from my corner chair in the back room, computer on my lap, dog snoring away on his couch. He does not qualify as quality company. The wheelchair remains comfortably in the trunk of the car. My walker is standing next to me. I've been comfortably tottering around using it for support. Even though outside it's really incredibly cold (today's high: 0˚F), I'm comfortable under a layer or three of blankets. My leg is resting on a pillow resting on a footstool. It doesn't hurt at all. Well, at least not now.



In short, on a big picture level, I'm doing decently well.


Although it was a remarkably quiet weekend, I am not heading back to school today. I spent most of the past three days on the chair, zoning out while my brothers were watching movies, zoning out while my brothers were not watching a movie, or vaguely paying attention while my brothers were watching a movie. I survived the first Lord of the Rings yet again and…well, that was about it, with a few exceptions.


Exception number one is that over the weekend, for the first time since before Christmas, I sat in the front seat of a car. Friday night my parents decided to pick up Mediterranean food for dinner. My father asked if anybody wanted to tag along. To the surprise of just about everyone, I volunteered (in my normal non-frame wearing, weight-bearing life, I go on just about every outing possible, be it to the grocery store or the post office or to pick up dinner). To the great surprise of me, my father agreed to take me with. He also agreed to let me try out the front seat of the car. Up until then, I'd been riding pretty exclusively in the back simply because the back provides better opportunities to rest my leg. At some point, however, mixing things up takes precedence over the ability to rest the leg (with frame) on soft, comfortable objects.


Exception number two is that over the weekend, for the first time since before Christmas, I managed to make it to a movie in the theaters (the excellent Silver Linings Playbook, which had been a priority movie to watch for quite some time). This was really quite exciting—not only did I have an excuse to get out of my chair and leave the house, but popcorn would be involved. And a movie. Because of the large distances involved in getting from the car into the movie theater into the specific theater the film was screening, I went in a wheelchair. Most people didn't really seem to notice the wheelchair. I had people cutting ahead of me to get into their seats quicker. And after some time without moving (it should be noted), the wheelchair ceases to be comfortable.


Unfortunately, after getting home from the movie, I did not feel particularly energetic. I sat in my chair and felt tired. I went to bed, got lots of sleep, and spent Monday in the chair feeling tired. Even though showering is, at this point, a relatively simple activity for me to do, stairs and all, I didn't have the energy to shower last night. Just to sit in the chair and feel tired.


Today, I'm back in the chair and still tired.


In normal existence, I rarely (if ever) get sick. Or at least, rarely (if ever) get sick enough to consider missing class and needing to catch up on missed work. As far as I can remember, I haven't gotten sick before during recovery. But I think it's fairly safe to say that I'm not thriving at the moment. Maybe I'll have the energy to put myself back together for tomorrow. Maybe not.


Whatever the case, I can't say this latest development is making me any fonder of this chair (a major discovery from recovery: the more time I spend in/on a piece of furniture, the less fond I am of it).

About Resiliency

As I mentioned yesterday, today my grade got lectured at about resiliency. Well, up until we actually arrived in the library to be lectured about resiliency, everybody was hoping that today would be a surprise bowling trip, including a decisively not-able-to-bowl myself. As it turns out, bowling did not happen, or come close to happening and we were deprived of fun for the morning.

That would be because, instead of going bowling or playing laser tag or doing some other fun activity, we got talked to for a sadly literal three hours about resiliency. To be perfectly honest, I did not pay attention particularly well. I picked dog hairs off my sweatpants. I played with and removed the bandages from my ankle incision, exposing the incision to the air for the first time (it had some distressing amounts of goop on it…I did not approve). I stared at the ceiling. I stared at the floor. I stared off into space. I fidgeted in the wheelchair. And I listened. Occasionally. Long enough to gain some concept of what the talk was about, at any rate.

Now, I've never really given resiliency much thought. I figured I wasn't bad at it, given my previous experiences with surgeries and recovering from surgeries, getting back on my feet and walking. As it turns out, my conception of resiliency was more or less accurate.

According to the wonderful Dictionary app on my computer, resiliency is the ability to recovery from or withstand difficult circumstances.

Before continuing this post, I think it's really important to note that there are millions of people out there who are more resilient than I am, billions who have dealt with more difficult circumstances than I have. In short, I have no special knowledge about resiliency. I am, for the most part, a completely ordinary person (or at least I think of myself that way). But at the same time, given that this blog is the story of my recovery after having this frame, I probably ought to address the subject.

So, how do I deal with recovery?

There are a couple answers (of course). Answer number one is that recovery really hasn't been that bad. As I've said before, I'm more or less completely off of pain medicine now. I no longer use the wheelchair at home. So this hasn't been that hard to deal with.

Answer number two is that there have been some hard, frustrating moments. There was a fairly brutal night at the hospital after I got behind on pain medications. There were my problems with the blister on the bottom of my foot. Some of the pin sites are still a bit sore. And then there's the issue with the sheer bulkiness of the device. I deal with these moments mostly by having focusing on the fact that I will get better and have made ridiculous progress. I suppose you could call it faith, but I think it's more like knowledge. I'll get better soon. Knowing this makes dealing with smaller temporary adversities much easier.

Answer number three is consoling myself with the knowledge that at the very least I won't be able to remember what the discomfort felt like and that once this whole frame endeavor is done with I'll just have some pictures, some scars and some isolated memories to cling to. Heading into the surgery, when I knew full well that this could be a very painful experience, I used this tactic to console myself. Well, this tactic and the fourth tactic.

Answer number four is recognizing the progress I've made from before starting the surgery. My leg, after all, has been corrected by 11˚ and the weight-bearing axis has gone from alarming to normal. As I said, progress.

The Week in Review

It is a tradition at my school to designate the Friday before Martin Luther King Day as Grade Activity Day, in which each grade goes off and does some sort of activity. It is also tradition for the senior class to do something fun and exciting, like bowling or laser tag. So tomorrow, instead of going to my normal classes, I will be meeting with my classmates in the library to be talked to about resiliency so I can survive the rest of this year and (hopefully) college.

My week, in other words, is more or less done.

Out of four possible days to return to school, I made it back on three. During those three days, I had very few problems with wheelchair accessibility, barring an incident during which my brother briefly drove me off the sidewalk (without incident). My energy levels seem to be on the rise—I felt dead after returning Tuesday, beyond dead after returning Wednesday, though perking up later in the evening, and functional today. I went from being subjected to my youngest brother's action movie choices to being able to select movies myself today, going with Dumbo, a movie I hadn't seen in years (thank you, Netflix). I started showering every night again without being completely depleted. I left the wheelchair behind for school, turning entirely to the walker for home transportation. I've gained lots of independence as a result—being able to walk on your own power is really different from relying on somebody to push you around.

In another noteworthy accomplishment, today marked my first complete day back at school. Now, this accomplishment is entirely due to a quirk in my schedule that has me done with class at 12:05 PM each and every Thursday. But at the same time, I made it to school today without missing a class. Definitely a step up from Monday where I stayed at home all day and missed every class.

But perhaps best of all (aside from some truly gorgeous snowfall today) has been the blister on the bottom of my foot. Or, that is, what used to be the blister on the bottom of my foot. If you recall, it used to look like this:

Note: this thing was three-dimensional, filled with fluid, large enough to interfere with toe movement.

Today, it looks something like this:

Ignoring the poor image quality (blame my phone) (and my phone photo-taking skills), note how there is no longer fluid in that blister and how it is now more or less flat against the surface of the foot.

Yes, I can now place the entirety of my foot on the floor. Progress.

Next step: walking. Well, actually it'll be weight-bearing, followed by walking, but you get the idea…

Actually Returning

I meant to write this post yesterday, but after a successful partial return to school I was completely drained of energy to the point where writing a blog post was really beyond me. All I really had the energy to do was sit in my chair and watch television, trying not to fall asleep. I even made the grave mistake of letting my younger brother choose whatever movie he wanted to choose to watch. Two hours of Thor later (actions scenes so poorly lit it's impossible to tell what's going on, shot after shot where the camera's at a thirty or forty-five degree angle for no apparent reason, general action movie predictableness), I was still awake. Barely.

But I'm alive and functioning at the moment and therefore able to write this post, after surviving yet another action movie I didn't want to watch this afternoon (and a nap, which has left me feeling much better, though I suspect that leaving my chair to trundle around in the walker briefly helped, too).

As evidenced by the first paragraph, I have, in fact, managed to return to school. This isn't a full return. I'm only able to stay for a few classes each day and even that manages to drain me of all energy. But at the same time…it is a decisive escape from the house, from the chair, from the Recovery Couch.

I've also started discussions with my teachers as far as what I should do about the material I missed. In most cases, we're just letting it slide. Given my current state, trying to make up all the work seems like it could be counter-intuitive (good: work made up, bad: not enough energy to function), though there is some stuff I will need to complete, mostly classes such as Chinese where the material really is cumulative. All my teachers have been quite understanding so far, which is great.

Another bright spot is the fact that, in practice, my school is decently handicap accessible. I haven't tried the tricky bit yet (the math wing/cafeteria), but the elevator…works, even if it is slow as death and twice as scary, and the classrooms are fairly easy to maneuver about in, even in the world's largest, most cumbersome wheelchair.

The final bright spot I'm going to note here is that people really truly have been very accommodating, very welcoming and (it seems) pleased that I've returned. When you're worn out and spending most of the day in a losing battle to try and keep your ankle incision covered up by your sweatpants, it means a lot to have people smiling and saying "hi" and holding the doors open. So that's been really wonderful.

As far as some very brief, bullet-point progress notes, though I should have mentioned it earlier, my incisions are officially healed—ten to fifteen days post-op is when they're said to be healed. That said, the bandages they stuck on the incisions have not left yet and show no signs of wanting to leave. Additionally, I have moved out of the wheelchair at home. I still need it at school since the crowds are much greater and the distances much longer, but at home I'm completely walker-dependent, which is a definite strong progress note. The closer I get to normal life…

And equally of note:

One of my recovery objectives: defeat a game of Minesweeper (seen here: 20 by 30 gameboard with 100 mines). As you can tell, mission accomplished! I'm feeling much triumph at the moment…

My recovery is actually happening now, in other words.

Very much a good thing.