The One Where No One is to Blame

My “journey” was starting to feel like Howard Jones’ song called No One is to Blame. I know I have what it takes to get through this, but each time I believe it may be coming to an end, I get stuck and can’t seem to make it there.  Jones sings, “You can see the summit, but you can’t reach it.”  Before surgery, I was hopeful it was going to be what I needed to be healed.  I soon found out I was nowhere near reaching that summit, the end of my pain journey. Although I was reaching with all my might, it just wasn’t happening.  Sometimes things just don’t go the way you plan and there’s really no one to blame. This process has proven that time and time again.

After surgery, I awoke from my medically induced slumber to a nurse calling my name and telling me where I was. Thankfully, it was in a recovery room where I had the surgery. The good news was the anesthetic had worked.  It kept me sleeping through the entire process.  (That’s the way it usually works, but you know how things work for me. HA) I had no recollection of the doubt that was going through my mind before the procedure.  It had went away. Although I wasn’t anywhere near coherent, they released me and wheeled me to the car.  Obviously, those who work in outpatient surgery aren’t allowed to be “patient” and wait on their patients to fully escape the effects of anesthesia.

Anesthetic really kicks my tail as I didn’t become fully coherent until 5:00 that evening.  I knew immediately something wasn’t right.  My ankle was fully wrapped, my pain level was high, and I noticed my crutches leaning against the wall. WHAT? If you remember, this was supposed to be a simple procedure with one small incision, and I was supposed to be able to walk out with a boot. Once again Jones’ song came to mind. It was becoming clear to me the surgery hadn’t gone as planned and the aspirations of being healed were quickly going down the drain.

Turns out the bad news about the surgery was the surgeon had to cut into more of my ankle than he expected. In fact, he cut into my entire tendon repair scar to remove part of my sural nerve and untangled another group of nerves.  This meant, I wouldn’t be walking or wearing a boot anytime soon. I was back to building a relationship with my crutches. MY CRUTCHES! The doubt and concern I had before were proving to be accurate. I wanted so badly for this to be the last piece of my puzzle, but it wasn’t proving to fit. Once I processed this new information, my emotions started churning. I was mad, angry, sad, frustrated, and beyond emotional.  How could this be happening? I began thinking, “WHY ME?” Why don’t things ever work out for me?  This would be the third time with my crutches, and I wasn’t anywhere near happy about that!  The pity party came on rather quickly, and it didn’t include anyone else, any cold beverages or balloons. It was just me, myself and I!

I spent the next week with my foot propped, being waited on, and taking pain pills. I was still hurting. The burning and aching pain were still there plus, I now had acute pain.  It was like I signed up to add another pain dimension to my situation.  The first week after surgery crept by slowly. I continued using the pain management techniques I learned at The Lemon Center.  I tried abundantly hard to stay positive amid my anger, frustration, and pity partying. How could it be possible that I was back in the same position as I was almost a year ago?

The first week didn’t prove to be any different than the first week after other surgeries. My pain was high and my incision was still bleeding. Of course it was! (Sarcasm)  Steve took me to see the surgeon to make sure everything was fine.  Are you sitting down?  The surgeon simply stated, “Your scar looks amazing.  You shouldn’t feel any pain at all because I removed a nerve.” COME ON!!  WAS HE SERIOUS??? There’s more than 1 nerve in a foot. Jones’ words of, “The doctor says you’re cured, but you still feel the pain” reverberated through my head. Why was it so hard for doctors to believe I was hurting?  The next thing he said was I needed to start taking valium! You heard it right. After 6 weeks of learning to relax and being more relaxed than I’ve ever been, he had the nerve to tell me to take a relaxation pill.  This was not an anxiety issue.  This was an acute and chronic pain issue.

Once again, I went home with doubt and confusion in my mind. After two years of living in pain, I knew what I had to do.  I had to refocus my mind. Although my anger and extreme sadness had taken over, I knew if I let it, it would consume me.  I reminded myself to take one minute at a time. To breath. To lean on God because I knew He would help get me through this.  However, I didn’t know it was going to get harder.  I thought I had been through the hardest part of my journey already.  Unfortunately, that didn’t prove to be true.