Inside Invisible Illness

Deep thoughts by Stephanie Griesinger. Over the last 20 plus months, I’ve had a heck of a lot of time to do some serious thinking. While that might scare some of you, it really scared me. Then again, I think it really helped me sort out a few things. I came to the conclusion as God’s children we can either sprint through life or pace ourselves. Either way there would be consequences. Before telling me he was going to pull me off work on August 22nd, the doctor said something that resonated with me. He spoke slowly while saying, “You need to look at your healing process as a marathon and not a sprint. If you rush this process, it will set you back even further.” I could very much relate to the marathon talk. After all, I’ve been a runner all my life and the farther the distance the better. Hello marathons! What I couldn’t relate to or wrap my mind around was how the process of healing is like a marathon.

Those words swirled round and round in my mind, never stopping. I’d gotten past the “you can’t go back to work” comment by knowing I had a plan. Two weeks, remember?  In my mind, though, the marathon healing process meant I wouldn’t feel better for a long time. (We all know a marathon isn’t a quick race!) How could I make a plan for that? If I were to sprint through the healing process, I would be back to work much sooner. Good news is I know how to run a marathon.  Bad news is looking at my healing process like a marathon wasn’t something I wanted to do. IT WOULD TAKE WAY TOO LONG!

As suspected, two weeks turned into three, then to four and so on. During that part of my healing marathon, I quickly learned what it felt like to be isolated. For the first time in my entire life, I didn’t talk all day. SAY WHAT? Read that again…I didn’t talk all day. (Except for a few phone calls here and there.) Although Lizzy and Boo kept me company, the walls never seemed to talk back and neither did the ceiling fan. As a result, I found myself resorting to negative talk and worrying about the “what ifs.” That’s the serious thinking that scared me. The pain I was experiencing kept me at home most days. Besides, I would have felt guilty for leaving the house anyway. (More on that later.) My mind continued to worry about school, my classroom and students. Looks like you can’t keep a good mind down!

The week after I was pulled off work, I had another unsuccessful sympathetic nerve block. That’s when the doctor decided he wanted to try a new procedure. Something cutting edge that would almost certainly make me better. Boy was I excited to hear about that. My mind thought this would speed up the marathon healing process, for sure. The doctor wanted to try Platelet Rich Plasma (PRP). He told me and Steve professional athletes have it done to help them recover from an injury faster and there’s been some research about how it can help patients with CRPS. Surely, if it worked for professional athletes, it would work for me, a teacher who played kickball at school. The procedure didn’t take long, it just hurt like crazy. Basically, the doctor withdrew my blood, spun it out to divide the blood and plasma, sedated me and injected the plasma into my leg and foot. The science behind it is that one’s own plasma can help the body heal faster. In spite of that, I was reminded to be patient as everyone responds to this treatment differently. (Do you remember me telling you it’s over rated to be normal? Once again, I proved I wasn’t normal.  With each injection I broke out with a rash and itched for days on end.  Turns out I am allergic to everything but Dial soap when it comes to antiseptic.) For the next 7 weeks, I had 3 different sets of PRP injections. OUCH….  I’m really not sure why I didn’t make the headlines like professional athletes.  I’m a kickball player for heaven’s sake! SMH…

I suspect professional athletes must heal faster because they make more money as I didn’t feel much improvement at first. Oh, but I wanted to see and feel it.  I began telling myself I was better than I really was. With each injection, I was hopeful I was improving. Sometimes I had to persuade the doctor of my improvement. By the last PRP injection, the doctor told me he would see me back in 2 more weeks to decide if I could go back to work. I’d already made it to this point, so what’s two more weeks? Turns out I was able to do just that.  Make it through two more weeks.  That’s when things started to turn around or so I thought. My healing process was, indeed, turning into a marathon process and not a sprint. The race was leaving me in more pain physically and emotionally. Going from appointment to appointment was wearing me down. Consequently, I turned to family, friends and God for support and reassurance. I found myself leaning on my mom’s important words. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it. (Notice how there’s no mention of marathon or sprint pace?) I had to wait patiently to know the fate of my journey.  Would it be a marathon or a sprint? Something tells me you already know the answer to that!

August 22, 2016.  I will NEVER forget that day or the words the doctor said to me.  Those words were just about as excruciating as my pain.  “I’m pulling you off work starting today!” he said, implying I would be okay with that.  I wasn’t; even though I knew I was struggling with teaching and being in pain.  Hearing those words hit me hard. Left me speechless. How could I not be at school every day? Didn’t he know the beginning of the year is the most important time for a class and teacher?  Teachers can’t just be gone from school for two or more weeks!  Why didn’t he understand that?

Usually, my response to most things is to talk and ramble on about it.  This time was different.  I couldn’t find the words to express what I was feeling.  My brain shut down, and I literally fell apart!  Once again, Steve swooped in to reason with me.  Of course, it was going to be okay in his mind. After two weeks, I’d go back to the doctor and everything would go back to the way it should be.  Until then, someone would fill in for me, teach the kids beginning of the year procedures exactly as I would, and when I returned it would be as if I was never gone.  But I tend to overthink so many things and, in my mind, it was the end of the world.  (Maybe a bit of hyperbole there!)  But, this not only affected me, it affected students, parents, and the staff at my school.

After working to get through my shocked, silent demeanor, Steve was able to help me put the words I needed together. I was scared, worried and felt like a failure.  I didn’t know how it would work, but he was right, I needed to let it go, calm down and take a few more weeks to try to feel better. SAY WHAT?  I agreed with him? Although this was true, I wasn’t sure how to do those things. Especially when it came to school, my classroom, and my students! I had this sneaky suspicion that a few more weeks might turn into so much more.  After all, there’s no cure for CRPS, but I had a plan.  Two weeks.  Just two weeks of letting it go and staying calm and healing. Easy, right?  Not so much.

I made it through telling those who needed to know what the doctor had said. Everyone reassured me it would be okay.  It was just hard for me to accept.  I love being on my island at school with my students and missing out on the first few weeks of school was, to say the least, very disappointing.  Kids are resilient, though.  So much more than adults or at least me.

The next few weeks droned on; it was hard to stay completely away from being involved with the classroom. I did my best to keep my mind off the pain and off of school, but my best wasn’t enough.  With each day that passed, I became more doubtful my two week plan was going to work.  It’s not like I was being negative, I was just trying to be honest with myself.  But, the Stephanie I’ve always known bounces back like a boomerang.  So my plan continued to be in two weeks, I’d be as good as new and back with my students on our island. With each marking off of a day, I got closer and closer to what I thought would be my return.

There’s just something about the start of a new school year that gets me excited. The distinct smell of playdough, erasers, or cafeteria food. New clothes. New hairstyles. New shoes. School supplies. (Can you say, supply bins at Target?) I love getting a new package of Tropical Vacation Flair Paper Mate pens, to be exact!  Seriously, though, who doesn’t like those?  Seeing young ones anticipate who their teacher will be and parents feeling relieved that summer is coming to an end.  It’s the best.  Growing up I never thought about being a teacher.  My dream was to be on the radio. I wanted to greet everyone in Kansas City with, “Good morning, Kansas City! This is Stephanie G coming to you from LMNOP radio!” As you know, obviously that didn’t work out.  Instead, after a few different career opportunities, I realized teaching was the job for me. I guess I should have known since I always loved the start of a new school year.

August 2016 wasn’t any different, except for the fact I was not feeling the same. My mind was ready, but my body was not.  Nonetheless, I was excited to meet my kids and greet them on the first day of school with a lei on Learning Island.  Never did I ever expect my year to go the way it did.  Throughout the summer, I learned what triggers made my burning worse and spread.  I had an amazing group of kids who understood them and did everything they could to help me.  They did a great job taking care of me by bringing me a crate to prop my leg, staying quiet in the classroom, or running errands for me.  Honestly, they were amazing. Their compassion and understanding helped me get through the first three days of school.

With each day, my pain increased and fewer and fewer of my non-med pain relieving strategies were working.  (Meditating, desensitizing, laying on my side, nerve glides, etc.) It was tough.  I wanted so much to be there and be myself with the kids.  But I knew deep down, my pain wasn’t going to go away.  It hadn’t before now, so why would it magically just disappear?  My hope was that going to school every day would get my mind off the pain. It didn’t work like that, though. I played mind games with myself saying, “It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t’ hurt.” But it did. Bad.

At the end of each school day, I would leave immediately, go home, take a pain pill and not move much for the rest of the night.  The pain was off the charts. Thankfully, I had time in the summer to make plans for the first several days of school because I did nothing once I got home. Once again, my family was awesome.  They, too, knew my triggers. WEATHER: really?  Isn’t that just a myth? I’m afraid not. CROWDS. STRESS! I’m sure that’s one for all of us. NOISE: hello, I’m loud and noisy. How on earth can that be a trigger? I remember sitting at a restaurant and three tables down a waiter asked another family if they wanted water.  I actually heard the waiter and replied thinking he was talking to us. It was like I was the bionic woman.  (Ooh, that could be my superpower now that I’m not a teacher.  I’ll make note of that.  Stephanie Griesinger, the bionic eared woman!)

Finally, the weekend arrived. I did all I could to rest, relax, feel better.  Nothing seemed to work. But, I still hadn’t lost hope.  It might be tough but more importantly, I knew this wasn’t going to be my forever.  At least that was what I kept telling myself.  Monday morning arrived, I went to school as usual excited to see my kids. That afternoon I had an appointment with the pain doctor.  That’s when he told me something I will never forget.  That something stopped me dead in my tracks. It would affect others. How would this work and how would I tell everyone? Consequently, my heart broke, my head dropped and all I could do was cry.  I left the appointment in a half-conscious state.  I couldn’t find the words to speak. I prayed for strength and for comfort for me and all those this news would affect.

 

After seeing five different doctors and trying several different types of meds, I finally had what I’d been searching for all summer. A diagnosis. At that time, I wasn’t even sure what it meant, but it was something. By the looks of the description, I had exactly what the doctor said. For those of you who love the sitcom Friends, you’ll understand when I say I was starting to feel like Ross Geller. (Season 3, Episode 23, “The One with Ross’s Thing.”)  I had a thing and now after seeing 5 doctors, I knew what it was.  (Can you tell I’ve had a lot of time to watch Netflix?) J It was time to move forward and hopefully start to feel better. I was trying to prepare for my return to school. But by now, the burning had taken over my entire left side. Moving from my foot, to my leg, to my arm and eventually to my face, at times. I felt like a volcano getting ready to erupt with burning moving slowly upward through my body. Hoping it would eventually explode and burn out. The sensitivity in my foot/leg made it hard to sleep. With each toss and turn, slight touch of the sheet, I burned.  Again, like a volcano waiting to erupt.

The good thing about breaking my leg in May was I thought I would have the summer to heal and be ready to go back to school in August. (Remember, that was my plan.) Seriously though, as a teacher, this was the best time to have a baby, go on vacation, break a leg, etc. It meant no sub plans needed to be written and no stress or worry about school. Typically around a 12 week break to regroup, recharge, and relax. A broken leg would be healed by then. But I was hit with a curve ball. I had developed CRPS and it didn’t show signs of going away anytime soon.

In the back of my mind, I was stressed, anxious. (Actually all throughout my mind: forefront, sides, back!) It was getting closer and closer to school starting. The doctor didn’t seem as concerned as I was, though.  From August 1^st to August 9^th, I had 3 sympathetic nerve blocks. These blocks were supposed to calm down my nerves and provide me with a little bit of relief. In addition to the nerve blocks, I was using different types of meds to help cope with the burning and pain.  Even though they never took the pain totally away, I could bear the pain for a few hours. With the help of my family (they are ah-mazing), I was able to get my classroom ready. (Unpacking books, cleaning out cabinets, setting up desks, hanging up anchor charts/posters, etc.) There was no way I was going to get on a desk and hang something, which as a teacher, you do quite often. I did the absolute minimum while my family worked hard to make my classroom the island I wanted it to be. It looked tropical, wonderful.

Then it was time. Time for teachers to start back to work. Once again, I convinced my mind that I could do it. I could be the same teacher, person that I’ve always been. Even though I hadn’t been all summer. My energy levels were down, the meds made me feel different, my brain was foggy, and I just wasn’t the same. But as I always do, I put on a happy face because I love what I do. I was excited to be back in my classroom. Each day I woke up, I would look in the mirror, tired, burning, hurting and remind myself I could do it. Sometimes crying.  Sometimes sobbing. I convinced myself to suck it up and deal with it. At least that’s what I was told to do. It was exhausting, but I did what I needed when I needed to.  I was able to lay down, rest, and desensitize several times throughout the day. I was incredibly thankful for that.  The hardest part was admitting I needed to do those things. How would that work when the students started?

My mom has always told me God won’t give me more than I can handle.  And if He does, He’ll give me the strength and knowledge to show me how to handle it. Trust in Him. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it. (Very wise words, Mom!) I was grasping on those words. I needed strength, knowledge and hope more than ever before. In spite of those things, I was incredibly excited to get back to my classroom and meet my new students.  I hoped it would be enough to help me move past the pain and send the volcano into eruption.

Through the months of June and July, I made several phone calls to the doctor and never got anywhere.  Steve and I were still researching and decided I had a variety of different things.  But none of them were a conclusive diagnosis.  (I wonder if you can become a doctor by just reading WebMD?) Between phone calls not being returned, hearing the word Hypersensitive, and being told I need to get my emotions in check, I was becoming very FRUSTRATED!  I was ready to blow a fuse. Literally! In the middle of July, I was told I could get rid of my crutches.  One would think it was the best day of my summer.  Don’t get me wrong, I was happy about getting rid of them.  I was elated, on cloud nine!  But I was still in pain, burning, red and swollen.  I still hurt.  But I was hopeful.

I was looking forward to walking without assistance and doing things on my own.  Now I would get my role as caretaker back, or so I thought.  My crutches were ecstatic about the news; they were tired of being thrown around anyway.  Once again, the doctor reassured me the pain I was experiencing was “normal.”  By now you should know nothing about my journey has been normal.  I mean, Dr. Seuss must have been talking about me when he said, “Why fit in when you were born to stand out?”  Some would say nothing about me is “normal.” 🙂 This journey has proven time and time again that I do stand out.  That I’m not the “normal” patient.  I must be a medical phenomenon.  (Maybe that would make me famous?!)  I was “standing out,” and no one could seem to help me.

School was getting closer and closer and that became a big stress in my mind.  How in the world am I going to make this work?  I worked hard at getting things ready for my classroom while at home.  That always got me excited.  I began telling myself, “You can do it. This will go away. It can’t last much longer since they say it’s normal.”  You see, my mind was saying those things, but my body wasn’t.  Regardless, I had to move forward and be prepared.

A week before my final orthopedic doctor’s appointment, I received a phone call from the doctor.  He had finally returned my call.  The DOCTOR, not his nurse.  He admitted the pain I was experiencing was something he didn’t know how to treat and something that shouldn’t have lasted this long.  (Finally, some honesty!)  He told me he would refer me to the pain management doctor in his practice.  I was back on cloud nine, floating!  My appointment for the new doctor was a week away, but I felt I was moving forward instead of at a standstill like I had been most of the summer.

The pain management doctor referred me to yet another doctor who diagnosed me with CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) and suggested we start with a series of sympathetic nerve blocks.  I was speechless.  (I know that will shock A LOT of you!)  I had a diagnosis. I had a plan. You know how happy that makes me.  Yet again, I was more hopeful than ever.  The first nerve block was scheduled 1 ½ weeks before school started.  Although I knew this procedure wouldn’t magically cure me, I was looking forward to the little bit of relief they said it would give me.

I continued getting ready for school with anticipation of going back.  After all, teaching was one of my favorite things to do.  Those that didn’t realize what I was going through, had a hard time understanding my pain as it was completely invisible now.  No leg brace, no crutches.  I worked hard at putting a smile on my face, trying to ignore the pain.  I wanted to go back to school; my mind said I was going to, so that must mean something, right?   I continued to pray.  Leaning on God to help me understand and praying the nerve blocks would bring me back to my “normal” self.  It’s funny how things work.  Your body doesn’t always have the same plan as your mind.  Can anyone relate to that?

Here’s a link to help you understand my diagnosis:  http://www.rsdhope.org/what-is-crps1.html

So there’s this…most of us have done it a time or two.  We all do it differently.  Some blurt out derogatory comments.  Others shake their head or give a dirty look.  Some even whisper to others.  Some try not to look and tell their brain to stop.  Sometimes unintentional.  Sometimes purposeful.  It’s human nature.  JUDGING. While it’s okay for us to form our own opinion, the problem lies in how we use non-verbal and verbal cues to turn it into judgement.  That summer I started giving judgement the power to make me feel a certain way.

I was lucky enough to have Sammi at home during the day while I couldn’t drive.  She continued to be my driver, carting me around town.  Venturing out of the house was a big deal, and it was something I looked forward to when feeling up to it.  The first several times I was able to venture out, I had my leg brace on which indicated to people there was something wrong with me.  It was visible.  As the weeks progressed, I was able to remove the brace and crutch around without it.  At that time, nothing was visible.  Others just saw me with crutches.  This was the first time I was a victim of negative judging. Or should I say the first time I was aware of it.

It was worse than when people would judge me for singing and dancing at an intersection while in Georgia.  (My close band family will remember that.)  Or singing at the top of my lungs while driving. (I always sound better in the car. You?)  I didn’t mind that kind of judging because I was being myself.  This time it was different.  Picture this.  A beautiful teenager (I’m biased) driving a car with a handicap tag pulling into a handicap parking spot.  Teenager gets out, helps the passenger (Miss Stephanie) get out with her crutches, and proceeds to go inside.  The two saunter into the store, get a motorized cart, and begin their shopping trip.  (At Target, of course.)  This is when I had the notorious aha moment.

I had no brace on at the time.  There was no visible sign of injury.  No scar, no scab, nothing.  I just had my crutches.  The looks I got from others that day were unforgettable.  The whispers were noticeable.  The judging was evident.  It had begun.  People who didn’t know me, were wondering why a seemingly fit person would be parking in a handicap spot and using a motorized cart which are both for those who need them.  I get it.  There are people who might take advantage of these things, but I wasn’t.  I had crutches, wasn’t that enough?  I quickly learned how it felt to be judged.  Judged for using things I needed, without evidence of needing them.  Little did I know it was just the beginning.  I didn’t know what was ahead on my journey or that I had an invisible illness at that time.  All I knew was I didn’t like how it felt to be stared at, whispered about or asked if I really needed to be using “that.”

What people didn’t see at the time was I was recovering from a broken leg.  They also didn’t see the burning, achy pain in my foot and leg. My guess is these people didn’t mean anything by what they were doing.  (I always try to see the good in people.) Then I began thinking.  (Because that’s always worked in the past, right?  NOT!)  What was I going to do without my crutches?  Maybe I liked them after all; I should start being nicer to them.  Should I start putting my brace on when I leave the house?  All these thoughts flooded my head.  I started thinking more about it and decided right then and there I would ALWAYS make a conscious decision to have #judgefreeeyes.  (I hope I’ve always had them.) Everyone deserves it.  Whether you live with a visible or an invisible illness #judgefreeeyes matter, and I am thankful for my family and friends who live by this motto every day!

Summer days crept along.  I was getting acclimated to all the help I was receiving from Steve and the kids. As good I could anyway.  I’ve always been the caretaker, the helper, so having people wait on me for everything was hard.  Really hard!  I didn’t like it.  I felt helpless.  Plus, some would say I’m a control freak.  Say WHAT?  Not me.  I would try to get around and do things or just get a glass of water on my own, but all those things proved to be incredibly difficult at first.  My hard headedness wouldn’t stop me from trying, though.

After many conversations with my crutches, we would come up with plans to do certain things.  I even asked Google.  “Hey, Google, what can a person do while on crutches?”  Google responded with showing me how someone did yoga.  Yoga on crutches?  Now that’s insane! Remember, my plan was to return to school.  I don’t think that would have fit into the plan.  So I opted not to try it; I was now more cautious than ever before.  My bucket list began to change.  I no longer wanted to become an extreme sport athlete. Or a professional kickball player. Just kidding.

I’m sure if you asked Steve and the kids, they would say waiting on me was no problem.  But let’s be honest, you can only wait on someone for so long before it begins to drive you crazy.  “Zack, would you bring me a cup a water please?  Sammi, would you please bring in the laundry so I can fold it?  Oh, I forgot, I also need some popcorn.  One more thing, can you bring me the book I left in the living room?” They would always deliver with a smile.  Zack came up with this FABULOUS idea.  He suggested I make a list of all the things I need before laying down or getting comfortable.  Then he or Sammi could bring everything at one time.  He’s brilliant.  But my mind never cooperated with that idea.  I love lists but I could never think about what I needed before hand.  Sorry kids, I tried.

Soon it became time for me to start getting out of the house.  With my crutches.  I was going stir crazy sitting all day inside my four walls.  I couldn’t drive, so Sammi became my Uber driver.  Thanks, Sammi Jo.  I’ll be truthful, though, she never got paid.  Sorry, Sis! I felt like Miss Daisy in the movie “Driving Miss Daisy.”   Sometimes she would just drive me around town, sometimes we would even go to Target.  Now that was an experience.  Sometimes we would get a drink or ice cream.  She was the best Uber driver out there.  I’d like to think I was the best Miss Stephanie as well.

My broken leg continued to heal and physical therapy was going well despite the intense burning in my foot/ankle/thigh and the sensitivity in my foot/ankle.  The orthopedic doctor continued to tell me it’s normal.  Although, my physical therapist didn’t think it was. It was about this time I started hearing the word HYPERSENSITIVE.  I loathe that word.  Truly, I do.  The doctor and his nurse used it so often I was beginning to think that was the only word in their vocabulary.  “You’re just hypersensitive.”  “It’s because of your hypersensitivity.” “We need to do something with your hypersensitivity.” See where I’m going with this?  I could not get the doctor to understand my symptoms.  My foot/ankle was swollen, red and sensitive to touch.  It hurt.  LIKE CRAZY!  I started thinking it must be in my head then!?!?

You’ll later find out it wasn’t in my head.  Never was.  But that comes much later in my journey. I was still grasping on the hope for the doctor to realize there was something wrong.  And what I was experiencing was not “normal.”  I can’t even tell you how many appointments and phone calls I made to try and get help the first 8 weeks of my journey.  Actually, I could because I have it all documented.  Remember, I was just sitting around that summer.  But nothing seemed to work.  As a result, my mind started wondering.  Google started diagnosing me. (I mean, who hasn’t tried diagnosing themselves with Dr. Google?) My confidence started waning.  The start of school would be here soon, and I had to be better by then!  I prayed harder for answers and for pain relief.  This is honestly where learning how to Be Still began.  Not sitting still.  But being still so that God himself could help me get through my journey.  Being still enough to accept the fact He already has it planned out for me.  Nevertheless, Steve and I continued our search for answers.  We weren’t ready to give up hope!

Question.  Have you ever sat perfectly still in silence contemplating how lucky you are to have your family?  Ever taken the time to tell them how much you appreciate and love them?  You should.  Even if you think they already know.  Tell them again. This post is for all of my family including friends whom I am lucky enough to consider family.  They are the ones who have gotten me this far in my journey!

I don’t really want to gloat about this, but I do have the BEST family!  Here’s something to think about.  Never forget about your family in this busy thing we call life.  Appreciate them.  Talk to them.  Get to know them.  All of them.  Never take them for granted.  When all is said and done, it’s our family who will stick by us.  I know this because in the last 20 months, I’ve been given the opportunity to sit perfectly still and admire just how incredible my family truly is.  How lucky I truly am.  My family has stuck by me through thick and thin.  Through the good (on low pain days), the bad (when my crutches “magically” flew through the air), and the ugly. Can you say ugly crier?

It’s hard to see a loved one hurting, crying.  It’s hard when you don’t know what to say or what you can do to help.  You want to “fix” them, so their hurting stops.  Unfortunately, my family has experienced these things.  They’ve watched me lay in pain, crying for relief.  They’ve seen me angry (stupid crutches) and frustrated (why won’t this burning stop?).  They’ve seen my outgoing, talkative personality dwindle to a quiet, reserved Stephanie.  They should get a “putting up with Stephanie” award, especially Steve and the kids.  To be frank (That was my grandpa’s name.), they are the ones who have to, or should I say “get to,” live with me!  Maybe I should create a “we survived the summer after Mom’s broken leg” award.  Steve, Zack and Sammi, I will get started on that.  J  Seriously, they know the real me now!

That summer, my family sat with me, encouraged me, loved me, understood me, played games with me, cooked for me, cleaned for me, and sometimes they would laugh about what I’d say or do while taking certain medications.  They made me smile, laugh.  They helped take my mind off my broken leg and burning.  Everyone deserves a family like mine.  I hope they all know how much I appreciate them, love them, and how unbelievably thankful I am for them.  I am!

With all those things being said, the next few weeks of my journey continued to be rough.  My family made it bearable.  I had high pain days as well as not so high pain days.  I got to know my crutches rather well.  Sometimes I loved them, sometimes I hated them.  (I don’t think they thought much of me either, especially when they got “tossed” across the room or out of the car.)  But they did help me get around.  I started physical therapy at the best therapy place in town – SERC.  (I promise I’m not getting paid to say that!) My leg was getting stronger and stronger, but the burning pain, swelling and discoloration in my foot/ankle weren’t getting any better.  The pain I was experiencing was out of proportion to what a broken leg should feel like.  My foot and thigh were burning.  It just didn’t make sense.

As the summer droned on, I kept thinking positive and was looking forward to getting back to school. That was my plan anyway.  (Remember how I like plans?)  I was enjoying the “down” time with my kids, Steve, and the rest of my family.  The bedroom where I propped my broken leg, became a meeting place where good discussions were had, board games were played and comforting took place.  My family was there for me, and they still are.   They continue to encourage and pray for me and never give up on me.  I love them.  Did I already mention how awesome my family is?  Although, if I’m being honest, like most families we may not have it all together, but together we have it all!

One final note, I know God’s plan for me is in the works.  As I’ve said before, I know there are great things ahead for me.  As for my family, I’m looking forward to dancing and singing loud for all to hear when I’ve returned to “normal!”  Love you all.

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??