I’m not certain what you’d call my faith — faith of everything? The church of me smothered with a mix of various principles I believe in? Reformed Catholic with a smidgen of reformed Catholic rebellion? I have a wall in my bedroom that has little representations of many faiths and cultures around the world. There are about 20 little of these trinkets that surround a giant mirror in the middle. My bedroom wall encompasses what I believe at my core: faith is cool, especially when it’s anchored by an even more rad thing called myself. That’s all well and good until myself does stupid stuff. Then, I call on my overriding belief in Karma.
I’m not sure if Karma means a tit-for-tat, eye-for-an-eye type thing, or if it’s more that, in general, goodness rules over bad. So, if I steal a parking spot from someone I know had waited for it, I know that I’m likely to end up parking in whoop-whoop the next time I’m running late and desperate for a space. This is a sliding scale, of course. If I steal a parking spot from an old lady, well, then I’ll never find a parking spot and go around in circles searching until I have to pee so badly that I have to give up and drive home. The punishment fits the crime.
Karma keeps me honest: Give the parking spot up to the old lady and someday someone will give up theirs for my walking-disabled mom. It’s not exactly a giving philosophy — it’s wildly self-serving. I like to think of it this way: I get out of life what I put into it, and if I can be as good a person as possible, I’m likely to reap that goodness from others. I also believe in the opposite. So, it was no surprise the other day when I suffered from a case of bad karma.
I was hiking with my best friend and talking trash about one of her other friends that I really don’t like. I think this woman is beneath her; worthless and, if I can remember correctly, even called her a “waste of good air.” Oh yeah, I had it coming. My friend mentioned to me that this woman had tripped over a tree stump hiking the other day and broken her arm — I told her it couldn’t happen to a better person.
And then, I fell over a tree stump.
I ended up in the ER with a giant bruiser on my ankle. Crutches, a splint, the whole bit. I didn’t have a single oh crap moment — I knew that I had paid a debt that I owed the House. What’s fair is fair, right?
My foot hurt is still swollen as all getout. It hurts. Again: punishment fits the crime.
Hobbling around town on crutches last week, people asked me what happened to my foot.
I simply replied: “Karma.”Read More
Knee surgery was Wednesday to fix the one that didn’t take. I had a partial menisectomy, which was fine, with the exception of 24 hours later when they thought I had a PE (aka: blood clot in my lungs). Three hours in the emergency room with EKG, Cat-Scan, Echo-gram, blood, IVs, etc. proved no such blood clot, but I was pretty shook up. I’m still a bit shaky from it.
The knee is so-so, but admittedly better than before in meniscus pain and even some areas of range of motion just four days post-op. This surgery is a six-week setback in recovery. I was set to complete physical therapy by the second week of August, now we’re somewhere in the mid-Fall.
Hard is surgery and knee recovery, but in some ways, the side effects are worse. Sleep is near impossible between pain and the noise from the 24-7 ice machine droning next to my head. Medication makes me tired but not sleepy and sick to my stomach. Somehow I got my sternum bruised or injured during surgery and it hurts like hell. The Spondy I live with normally is on month two of a flare up (imagine constant, non-stop sciatica through the butt and down the legs). There’s the lack of exercise, the inability to be an active mom and, currently, the inability to take a fricking shower without fully wrapping my leg in Press-n-Seal food wrap.
It’s hard to stave off depression. It’s hard to stay Up, happy, interested in the world around me. The kids’ birthdays are next week and I’ve got a deer-in-the-headlights look about me. I’ve got to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other — and soon.
For tonight, pain and exhaustion are overwhelming. Fear of blood clots and chest pain are making it downright scary.Read More
Had an MRI this morning, found out that the meniscus repair did not take.
I am having surgery tomorrow morning to remove the torn meniscus.
I am sad.Read More
Saw the doctor today with some of the results from yesterday’s Easter Day hospital visit. So far, it’s pretty darn good news:
1. My white blood cell count is normal.
2. I have low blood volume (drink, drink, drink water)
3. The strep and staph tests are in the petre dish and so far have NOT shown signs of growth.
4. My fever is hanging out at about 100, much better than a couple days ago.
Next steps are to wait until we get the all-clear on Wednesday for the results: say it with me, “NO STREP, NO STAPH” After that, I’m all clear to go back to recovery as planned.Read More
I am doing everything I’m told: take the meds I’m supposed to take, rest, like down, stretch the hamstrings, do the proper exercises. Tonight, I have a fever. And a (more) swollen knee. We’ve been on the phone all night with the doctors. No one is sure what’s going on, but they are concerned.
I am so scared. I was scared on the hill when I fell. I was scared in the toboggan, I was scared flying home to San Jose in pain meds and children. I was terrified to find out I had blown my ACL and so very upset to learn I was going to lose a big chunk of both meniscui too. I was horrified to find out that I had gotten a bucket handle tear during physical therapy *before* surgery. I was scared when I had an allergic reaction to Celebrex and broke out in hives two days after surgery. I got very scared when I couldn’t move after physical therapy four days after surgery. Tonight, I am completely horrified. They are going to do exploratory work tomorrow on Easter to see what I need or whether or not I need to be admitted in the hospital.
I’m really very scared now. I could use a prayer or two.
La GringaRead More