Month: March 2018

August to December 2017 were almost identical to the same months in 2016.  The only difference was I’d resigned and no longer had the stress of wondering when I’d be released to go back to school. My focus was now on me, myself and I. How on earth does one do that? Thinking back throughout my life, I’m not sure I’ve ever done that! Has anyone? I knew my first responsibility was to figure out what I could do to keep my mind off the pain. Because up until now, the pain didn’t seem to have any plans of going away.

The first few weeks of working on me, myself, and I, were not interesting. I continued making phone calls to doctors, researching CRPS treatments, and going to doctor’s appointments all the while trying to keep my pain under control.  Physical therapy continued through mid-November which was great because it became my only outlet for socialization.  Although being at home during the day was lonely, having the opportunity to continue physical therapy was healing.  Physically and mentally!

In the middle of October, the orthopedic doctor honestly admitted he didn’t know how to treat the CRPS, so he referred me back to pain management. It’s crazy how CRPS is foreign to most doctors.  At this point in my journey, my physical therapists, amazing family doctor, and the pain management doctor were the only ones who knew anything about this awful disease.  It was really hard for me to believe orthopedic doctors didn’t know more about it as it’s often brought on by a break or tendon tear. (Maybe my new daytime purpose should be to educate more people about it!)

By the end of October, I was experiencing some relief. Dry needling and therapeutic massage were helping ease the pain. Or at least lower pain levels a few more hours a day.  I had settled in to my routine of being at home and taking care of me, myself and I. Each day was different as I never knew what my pain level would be from hour to hour.

At the beginning of November, the pain management doctor wanted to treat me with another PRP (platelet rich plasma) injection.  He believed this would help break up the scar tissue under my incision which might help the nerve pain. Notice how I said MIGHT.  I was VERY apprehensive as my foot was still incredibly sensitive and I knew anything injected into it would/could bring on a flare and an increase in pain. I was beyond ready to be done with aggravating my nerve pain and just couldn’t see a reason to try it.  Once again my mind was playing the ping pong game. PRP, no PRP, PRP, no PRP.  Can you say whiplash?! It took a week for me to make the decision to give it a try. After all, what could it hurt? HA.

In hind sight, I found it wasn’t the best decision. Holy moly! It was like adding fuel to the fire. Literally! My foot and leg lit up in flames. Figuratively! Although slightly sedated, I could feel the needle go in my ankle and immediately felt the excruciating pain. I’m not even kidding when I say I about jumped off the table. Not only did the procedure increase my daily pain, nothing I did helped bring it down.  The weather had started to change which also contributed to my pain increase. By the middle of November, the orthopedic doctor released me from his care and ended my physical therapy. There was nothing else he could help me with and he believed my tendon was healed. I was where I needed to be structurally. But I was still in pain.

December came and so did the holidays.  The pain management doctor continued treating me with sympathetic nerve blocks. (Thank goodness no more PRP injections!) These always brought a day or two of relief which was AWESOME! I did my best to stay positive and enjoy the wonderful time of year. I didn’t know what 2018 would bring, but I continued praying for pain relief and focusing on me, myself and I.  As you read in my Farewell 2017 post, I was excited to get the New Year started.  And boy did it start off with a bang!

Time is an interesting thing.  When I was younger, it seemed to go by so slow. I always felt like the days droned on and on never coming to an end. It moved as slowly as a sloth! (I’ve always wanted to write that!) S. l. o. w. l. y. Now that I’m older, it feels like time propels forward at the speed of light.  There’s just not enough time in the day to do what needs to get done.  It’s always go, go, go, and go!  Anyone else feel like that? Of course, after my injury, time slowed down again and started moving at a snail’s pace. This was hard because I was in a rush to get better and get back to school.  Time was not!

Resigning from teaching was even harder than that.  As you’ve read before, teaching wasn’t just a job to me. It was my second career and honestly my hobby. I loved every single minute of being in the classroom, planning, building relationships, etc. (Of course, I didn’t like the stress that came along with it or the pressure I put on myself.) Nonetheless, every morning I’d get up excited to start my day. My enthusiasm gave me the energy and desire to want to make a difference.  Some would say I was too much of a morning person. You know who you are! But I was happy. There were very few days I dreaded going to school. (The before school and after school meeting days were one of those days I dreaded!) Teaching was what made time move forward for me.  It was part of what made me go, go, go.  It was my purpose aside from being a wife and mother. It made time go by fast!

During the 15 months before I resigned, I was dealing with extreme physical pain, but my mind was also in a difficult conundrum. Torn between being at school and at home. Feeling guilty about not being at school. Feeling guilty I wasn’t home trying to get better. Feeling guilty about not putting my work and the students first. Feeling guilty about not putting myself and family first. Feeling guilty about how I couldn’t handle the CRPS pain. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! I felt there was nothing I could do to make everyone happy. Nothing! Time was, undeniably, moving at a snail’s pace. Quit honestly, it was the slowest, loneliest 15 months of my life.

After those 15 months, I realized it was time to get rid of the stress the conundrum was causing me. It was time to put myself first. (Say what?) Resigning would mean I wouldn’t have those stressors to worry about anymore. I wouldn’t have the feelings of guilt, failure, or letting people down. Although I felt a sense of relief after resigning, I wondered what I’d do with my time and myself now. Nonetheless, I realized that letting go of teaching was the right thing for me to do. I was at peace with my decision. I was ready to put myself first. Now I just needed to figure out what that would look like.

The first several days after resigning I kept asking myself, “Now what?” I was back home within my four walls. (This is going to sound negative, but it was how I was feeling at that time.) I didn’t have a school family anymore. I didn’t have a daytime purpose. I wasn’t working towards going back to my classroom. I was at home during the day. Alone. I had more time on my hands than I have ever had before. Although that was true, I was still dealing with pain. And along with pain comes stress. (Guess you can never get rid of that!) It took me a few weeks to get used to working on myself and learning to be still. (I am still working on that!) My end in mind had changed. I was no longer working on getting back to my classroom. I was working on myself and getting better.

The next several months brought more and more appointments. I quickly realized that going to those appointments was part of my purpose.  And although I didn’t like what I learned at most of them, it got me out of the house. My hope was that at one of those appointments, I would hear about a “magic” something or other that would make me feel better. I’m still waiting patiently for that magic to come my way. Someday I know it will!

Several things in life tend to repeat themselves. History, clothing trends, home décor, and Stephanie’s doctor’s appointments are just a few of those things. Metaphorically speaking, my journey was starting to feel like the directions on a bottle of shampoo. Lather, rinse, repeat. Visit with the doctor, get bad news, repeat. (Seeing that history repeats itself, it was sort of like I was making history.J)

I made it through back to school meetings and the first three days of school.  Then I spent the weekend recovering. My pain levels had went up since starting back to work, so it was my hope to get them under control through the weekend. The stress of the new school year, getting used to working all day, and being off and on my feet were playing a huge part in my pain level. Even though I’d been diagnosed with CRPS, I had really hoped tendon repair surgery would magically take away my pain or at least ease it. As the weekend sped by, my mind was focused on resting, getting ready for my appointment the following week, and getting ready for the school week.

To say I was anxious would be an understatement. But deep down I knew. I knew what the appointment would bring. Trying to deny it, was hard. Being honest with myself was even harder. The appointment came and went just as usual. Mimicking the directions on a shampoo bottle.  Work, get pulled off work, repeat. This time, though, it felt different. The doctor assessed my incision and pain level. He then spoke the words that shook me to my core. “I’m going to have you work for only 4 hours a day now.” As I stared directly back at him, tears filled my eyes.  Just as before, I asked him how a teacher is supposed to only be at school for 4 hours a day.  To that, he had no answer.  There was nothing else for me to say.  Maybe this was my “sign” it was time to give up, to surrender. As always, my knight in shining armor (Steve) was there to pull me together.

As we left the appointment, something did feel different. This time I was losing the will to fight. Fighting to get my life as a teacher back. Fighting to get myself back to my “normal.” As tears rolled down my face, Steve’s hand took mine and he did what he could to lift me up and comfort me. I was quiet all the home and needed some time to think.  How in the world could a teacher only work 4 hours a day? How could that be good for kids? How could that be good for a school? Was that best for me? I sat in silence for quite a while not knowing what to say or how to tell everyone. Emotions took over. They went from being sad, to being mad, to feeling a great sense of guilt. Sometimes crying it out is helpful. And that’s just what I did.

Eventually, my pity party ended.  (I think we all deserve to have them every once in a while.) I knew what I had to do. Working only 4 hours a day was going to add to my stress level. Not to mention, I really wasn’t myself while at school anyway. The students and staff deserved better.  Also, who knew what would happen at my next doctor’s appointment. If my experiences in the past were any indication, it could mean even more hours taken away. I realized I needed to be honest. It was time to put myself first. My health first. I wanted to be at school with every fiber of my being, but it was literally causing me more pain.

By afternoon, Steve and I had made a decision. It was time for me to resign. (Just typing those words makes my stomach turn.) My hope was to use the time off to figure out how to deal with the pain and try to heal.  Hopefully, without the stress and worry of school, I could slow down and take the time I needed to learn how to live with and control the CRPS pain. Resigning was one of the hardest, if not the hardest, decisions I have ever made.  I felt like I was giving up and surrendering. And I was definitely NOT rising up against all odds. Now my identity as a teacher would be gone. (I realize I’m being a bit dramatic, but that was how I felt right then.)

Although the next several months would be filled with more appointments, I could now relax knowing they wouldn’t be like the directions on a shampoo bottle. At least that’s what I thought. I did believe God had gotten me this far, and I knew He’d continue to be with me as I mourned the loss of my teaching self.  I’d made a tough decision, but I was at peace.  Simply knowing He had a plan for me kept me believing there was something better ahead and the best was yet to come.

You may recall this quote by Jesse Jackson from an earlier post.  “If you fall behind, run faster. Never give up, never surrender, and rise up against the odds.”  Given that the, “if you fall behind, run faster,” part didn’t work out so well for me, I decided to focus on the second part.  If I was patient with my recovery from tendon surgery, worked hard at physical therapy, and kept thinking positively, surely I would have no problems with returning to school in the fall. I wasn’t going to give up or surrender; I wanted to rise up and move forward.

As summer days crept along, I spent a lot of time getting things ready for my new classroom at school.  The plan was for me to start in a different building teaching 4^th grade.  I was excited and looked at this change as a new opportunity to teach a different grade level as well as to meet and learn from new teachers.  With Steve’s help (and Sammi’s Uber service), I put together new palm trees, organized students books, started filling out my planner, read through reading and writing curriculum, and prepared for 4^th grade math. (That may not sound hard, but I wanted to make sure I was ready in case any “funny” math was thrown my way.  LOL)  The funny thing is I totally read and worked through the wrong math book. Oh well, it never hurts to grow your brain anyway!

Having the summer to prepare was wonderful.  I worked at my own pace which meant some days and/or weeks, nothing got done because of pain.  Nonetheless, I felt I was prepared to start the year.  Being honest with myself was critical.  I knew there could be a chance that higher pain levels would return when school started, so I made sure to have lesson plans ready.  After all, it had been a long, long time since I’d worked an entire day.  My body may very well need to come home every night and crash.  And let’s face it, a teacher’s job doesn’t always get done during school hours.

As the start of the school year inched closer, my excitement increased.  This was actually happening.  Luckily, I was able to work in my classroom a few hours at a time.  My entire family had a part in helping me get my room ready.  I thank God for them every single day. We’d work a few hours here.  A few hours there.  They worked incredibly hard to help me get things in order and to be prepared for the first day of school.

The good news was my tendon was healing the way it was supposed to heal.  Although the incision pain was going away, the burning and ice cold deep ache was still there.  Unfortunately, the surgery hadn’t taken that away; that’s the bad news.  I was still wearing a boot at the start of the school year. (Attractive, I know!)  Regardless of how ridiculous I looked in it, I felt a sense of security knowing people could actually see something was wrong with me. Getting to know the new staff was amazing, and having a great friend at the new school was comforting.

During the first three days of back to school meetings, I worked hard to listen and learn. It felt like I’d been away from teaching for years. At times, my brain would fog up, I’d get focused on my pain, and have to lay down or go home.  Nonetheless, I did what I could to manage the pain while there.  My excitement kept me going and after meeting my new students, I just knew going back to school was going to work.  To be fully transparent, though, the back of my mind was worried about the pain I was in and how I would handle it.  But as Jesse Jackson says, “Don’t give up, never surrender, and rise up against the odds.”  I was determined to do just that.

The school year started, and the first several days with students went by in a blur.  Walking, sitting, and stress were increasing my burning and pain. Just as the year before, once I arrived home, I took meds and didn’t move much.  While at school, I did my best to put on a happy face thinking I could work through the pain without others knowing.  Ha… That was wishful thinking.  Once again, my students were absolutely amazing. Kind, helpful, patient, and understanding. Although I wasn’t feeling well, being back in the classroom was absolutely amazing.  I wasn’t about to give up and give in to the pain that seemed to be controlling me.

By the end of the week, I was thankful I’d made it to the weekend.  My next doctor’s appointment was the following week, so I wanted to make sure I was relaxed and ready for the questions that would be asked. My mind knew I was hurting and struggling.  My heart knew I was happy to be at school.  Why is it that my mind and heart never ever agree on anything?  Then again, I guess the one thing they did agree on was they seldom liked what the doctor had to say at each appointment. Come to think of it, neither did I!

Cue Gloria Gaynor’s song “I Will Survive.”  At first I was afraid.  I was terrified.  Kept thinking I don’t want surgery on my CRPS side.  But then I spent so many nights preparing for this day.  And it was May.  And I just wanted to get away.  And so here I go…  Just a little ditty to get this post started.

Surgery day arrived. Almost exactly one year after I fell.  I’d taken all the time I needed to mentally prepare and be ready for what surgery could bring.  Success or not. I was nervous. Scared. Afraid. Prior to this day, I had mentally made the decision to return to school in the fall.  The doctor suggested my recovery would be anywhere from 12 – 14 weeks which would bring me right up to the start of school.  I was hopeful on that end; however, the thought of someone cutting into my foot was still hard to even think about. Hopefully, repairing my torn tendon would end my nerve/CRPS pain. Keeping my thoughts positive was arduous. But that helped me make it to and through surgery day.

I could go into a detailed description of what happened during the surgery, although I’m not sure if anyone would believe me.  I was out like a light and have no memory of anything until I finally came to and the nurse asked if I wanted ice chips. (Well, of course!)  Apparently, when you don’t drink or misuse drugs, you are more affected by anesthetic.  It took me quite a while to come out of it and get wheeled to the car.  Once home, I settled into my “daily” retreat.  I hadn’t missed it.  It felt like déjà vu as last summer I laid in the same spot with the same foot propped up on the same pillows. This time the ceiling fan was clean!!

https://ibb.co/dyRCV7

Surgery went well.  The tendon tear was much larger than the doctor anticipated.  It was actually two inches long! (Check out the picture of the incision. ۩ Yikes!) The first few days of recovery were just as expected.  I kept up with my pain meds and was feeling positive.  Then the third day came and YOWZA.  That was the day I actually realized this surgery was no joke!  I had developed a serious rash all the way up my leg.  Not only was my foot hurting from the incision, the red, raised rash on my leg was extremely itchy!  And it looked horrible.  Come to find out, I was reacting to the Chloraprep the anesthesiologist put on me.  Guess he forgot to look at my allergy list.  Not even joking!

During the next few weeks, I worked on getting to know my crutches again.  I was not excited about that! I could tell they missed me, though.  😉 With each doctor’s appointment, I was given more hope that my tendon would be healed before the first day of school.  My other pain; however, was still there.  It hadn’t gone away.  The difference between incision pain, burning pain, and ice cold ache pain was noticeable.  I would choose incision pain any day. Not to mention, the incision, my crutches and boot were all visible signs I was hurt. As absurd as it sounds, that was comforting. I no longer had to worry about judging eyes since people could see my injury. What a relief that was.

Within two weeks, I started physical therapy.  Once again, the staff at Serc of GV was amazing in helping me get stronger and stronger while also understanding and treating my other pain. I continued having good and bad days.  Some days were filled with high pain and sadness.  While others were filled with hope and joy.  After several doctor’s appointments, I decided to make my hopes of returning to school in the fall official.  That was exciting.  I knew I could start preparing and work on keeping my mind occupied and not thinking of the pain.

It was great having Sammi home to help Uber me around and keep me company.  Trust me on this.  When you have someone around most of the time, being at home in pain is much less depressing!  I was hopeful that if I worked hard enough to strengthen my tendon, the other pain would go away.  The thought of going back to school and teaching again kept me excited. It was my prize; the one I’d been trying to earn for so long.  As the summer went on, I focused more on my good days and did my best to keep a positive attitude.  I did everything I could to heal and be ready for the new school year.

Tendons heal. CRPS doesn’t and wishing it away doesn’t work either. Nonetheless, I continued to take care of myself and pray. Leaning on God to get me through.  Only He knew what was yet to come.  With this in mind, I continued grasping onto the hope that returning to school was in His plan.  Regardless, I knew I would survive!

May 9, 2017 arrived. The day wasn’t any different than other appointment days.  As always, I was anxious, sleep deprived, and ready for all the questions.  For the past several weeks, I had experienced a decrease in pain level.  (Hooray!)  Having days with pain levels of three and four was AH-MAZING!  Physical therapy was helping tremendously and being home from work helped me stay relaxed and focused on myself.  Although I still didn’t like sitting at home, I felt I was making progress.  Nonetheless, I was still nervous.

Steve and I sat patiently while we waited for the doctor to come into the room.  There were so many thoughts in my mind.  I was playing the “WHAT IF” game.  (Anyone familiar with that game?)  What if he says he can’t help me anymore?  What if he says I need to have surgery?  What if he says I need another cortisone shot?  What if?  What if?  My mind was playing ping pong in my head.  Back and forth and back and forth.  Then the doctor walked in.

I wasn’t prepared for what he said.  Nor was I ready to accept it.  After checking my ankle and discussing my pain levels, he said he liked the progress I was making.  He was ready to surgically repair my torn tendon.  The ping pong game going on in my head got faster and faster.  I could no longer see the ball going back and forth.  All I saw was a blur.  Here was yet another decision I needed to make.  Surgery or no surgery?  One would think I’d want surgery since, after all, I had a torn tendon.  But I worried it would increase my CRPS pain.  And I didn’t want that.  At all!

We left the appointment with a lot to discuss.  I had to decide what to do.  Honestly, I really shouldn’t have been shocked about this news.  I knew it might come eventually.  Somehow, though, the journey I’d been on had set me up for doubt and lack of confidence in the system.  Things were never approved in a timely manner.  Appointments and medications were hard to get.  I was just another “number” in the system getting passed from one doctor to the next.  I had no control of the system.  But I did have control of this.

After a lot of talking and reasoning, I decided to go ahead with the surgery.   Actually, I put it in God’s hands.  I knew this would be risky and could cause the CRPS to flare and spread, but maybe fixing the tendon would help?  (The thought of anyone cutting on my CRPS foot send burning lava up my entire left side.)  Once I let the “system” know I wanted to have surgery, I waited.  In the back of my mind, I knew it would take two or three weeks to get it approved and then another two to three weeks to get it scheduled.  I decided if it took that long, I would back out and continue with physical therapy and find another option.  Going back to work the following school year was very important to me.  I didn’t want this to prevent that.

Better sit down for this one…  Within TWO hours, the surgery was approved, and an appointment was scheduled for the following Monday.  Say what???  Did you read that?  TWO HOURS!  I witnessed God’s work in action as I knew this was a sign for me to go forward with the surgery.  My mind was still playing ping pong, but my heart was thanking God for sending me the message.  There was a sense of calmness that came over me even though the burning lava had filled my entire left side.

May 15, 2017 was surgery day.  I had five days to prepare.  As these days plodded along, I worked on mentally preparing for the surgery and polishing my crutches. (Just kidding!) Thank goodness Steve cooks because I wouldn’t have known what to do to prepare dinners ahead of time.  The bright side of me envisioned the surgery going well, the CRPS pain disappearing, me teaching again, and me running in the bright sunlight!  The dark side of me, well, let’s just say it wasn’t as confident.  I was anxious to find out which side would win!