Month: January 2018

After my humiliating fall, (Did I say it was in front of the ENTIRE school?) the ER doctor took x-rays, gave me crutches and said to follow up with an orthopedic doctor.  I’d be dishonest if I didn’t mention that he sent me home with pain meds, of course. That was the first of many appointments, different types of prescriptions and doctors cyphering to figure out what was wrong.  The next day, May 18^th, 2016, I met with another doctor who ordered an MRI of my leg but wasn’t concerned about my foot/ankle. I went home, propped my leg, and thus began my relationship with the four taupe colored walls of my home.

The first three weeks of this relationship were fine.  I got to know the walls, every nook and cranny.  Every cob web I’d never seen before.  Every single speck of dust.  I had them all memorized so I would know what to clean when I could move without crutches. Hello Swiffer! (Let’s be real here, I made a “to do” list for the kids and Steve!)  For the first time in FOREVER, I noticed the dust on the ceiling fan. How in the world can a ceiling fan accumulate dust when it spins round and round and round ALL of the time?  I made a note to check into the science of that while resting.

Despite the fact the relationship with my four walls was fine, these weeks were filled with pain and agonizing waiting.  (Through this journey, I’ve found myself in the “waiting place” far too often.) Waiting for an MRI to be scheduled and waiting for a follow up doctor’s appointment so I could get my diagnosis.  It was during these three weeks I started burning. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.  It was like a raging fire inside my left foot and leg.  A 10 alarm fire.  Not even using hyperbole here, folks!  At times my foot would swell and turn bright red which would bring on even more burning.  It wasn’t pretty at all, just saying.

After 3 weeks of waiting, I was given my diagnosis.  My leg was broken, and I would need to be on crutches for another 4-5 weeks as well as begin physical therapy. At that time, I convinced myself “that’s no big deal. I got this. At least I have a diagnosis.” My mind started making a plan and a “to do” list for myself.  I thought, WOW, I can get so much done while sitting around. The list included home and school stuff.  Who else gets excited about organizing their Google mail?  Creating a new teacher planner? Creating new lesson plans? Filing home stuff? I had a plan.  A PLAN!  I thrive on plans.  Who doesn’t? In spite of my excitement for the plan, I was still concerned that the severe burning pain, swelling, and redness of my foot and leg weren’t going away.  But I had a PLAN!

At the end of these three weeks, I realized this was the longest I had EVER sat still in my ENTIRE life.  I felt positive, hopeful, and encouraged about the prognosis of my broken leg.  Yes, I would miss exercising A LOT, but I honestly felt I could get through it.  Remember, I had a plan.  Plus, I have the best family ever to help me!   I never dreamt that I’d still be “dealing” with this 20 months later. And now here I sit, learning to be still and learning to take one day at a time.  I’m a work in progress. God loves me and is teaching me so much, and that truth is what I’m holding onto every single day.

PS…Lizzy Lou spent a lot of time with me staring at the walls.  😉

A word of advice and trust me on this one.  When life presents you with the opportunity to play kickball, say no and run away as quickly as you can!  Every good kickball game needs amazing fans.  Be one!  It’s funny how life works.  To think participating in a kickball game actually started me on this 20 month journey is absolutely CRAZY!  But it did.  The good news, though, is that I am here today to tell about it.

Exercise (specifically running) and teaching were two of my favorite hobbies.  Running was a stress reliever and therapy for my soul.  My day never truly felt the same without experiencing that “runners high.”  And teaching wasn’t just a job for me.  I LOVED it.  These were two of my all-time favorite things.  Ironically, playing kickball while at school ripped those two things away from me.  I can actually say literally and figuratively.

Thinking back to that day, I wouldn’t change it for anything because I was doing two of the things I love.  Although, for the last 19 months I didn’t really feel that way.  This is a new revelation.  At first, I was angry with myself for participating. I mean, seriously, what the heck was I thinking?  Should a 47 year old really be playing kickball?  At school?  In the gym?  Probably not!  But it was for the kids, so that made it okay for me.  I’m sure none of those things went through my head that day.

You are probably thinking that I fell while trying to kick the ball.  Not so much.  Maybe that would have been less humiliating.  Actually, I was running toward third base, minding my own business when BA BAMMM!  I fell.  Fell to the ground, crushed it.  As if falling in front of the ENTIRE school wasn’t painful enough, fierce pain immediately took over my left leg and foot.  It was excruciatingly painful.  Worse than child birth.  (Sorry guys, you just won’t be able to relate!)  Falling while playing kickball that day was the most painful, embarrassing and life changing event in my 47 years of life.  Horrific, really.

That day, May 17^th, 2016, was the day my life changed.  Not to be dramatic, but falling on the gym floor and what came after has been a life changing event.  Something I’m trying to learn from.  Something that’s brought pain every day.  Something that I will remember forever.  God will get me through this, I know He will.  I also know He has great things waiting for me at the end of this particular journey.  Somedays, I really have to convince myself of that.  Pain does that to your brain.  To mine anyway.  Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I ended up being a kickball coach??

Farewell 2017!  I won’t brag about all the opportunities God gave me to learn and grow, or all the things I’ve learned about myself.  But I will say that I’m more excited than ever to get this New Year underway.  Look out world, here I come! (Not even sure what that means exactly, but it sounds good, right?)

I started this blog in October of 2016.  That was over 16 months ago. I guess I spent those months working on being patient and waiting.  It reminds me of my favorite Dr. Suess’ book, “Oh, the Places You’ll Go.”  I’ve been in that infamous “waiting place” for quite some time now. (January 17^th, 2018 will be 20 months, but who’s counting?)  I guess I am.  Still. Counting.

Somewhere between the waiting and counting, I finally decided I would channel my “inner Stephanie” by writing.  As Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”  For the last 20 months, I’ve been holding onto my story.  Let’s be honest, putting myself out there (the good, bad and ugly) isn’t really my style. (Although some would say I don’t have any style…fashion style that is!)  My style or not, this is my attempt to rediscover who I am and what I am passionate about. If it educates or informs others about what it’s like living with an invisible illness that will be a bonus.

Part of the “waiting” was my fixation on what others would think of my writing, of my situation, or my honesty.  Let’s face it, there are A LOT of grammar police out there.  (Admittedly, I was once one of those police.  Probably still am!) The last 20 months have been hard.  Really hard.  These months have had a physical, social, and emotional impact on me.  I’ve finally come to realize sharing my story, my thoughts, and my experiences is therapy.  An outlet. Something for me to do to help me move forward.  I don’t make New Year’s resolutions.  They are over rated, really.  But I’ve always been a goal setter.  Not for the last 20 months, though.  I hope to figure out what my next goal is through sharing my writing.  I look forward to seeing what God has in store for me in 2018!