Well . . . here we are.
One week post surgery.
It seems surreal after counting down the days, the anticipation, prepping everything for the holidays, that a week has flown by in the blink of an eye.
My surgery went smoothly, as hoped. It was an all day affair, as expected. My family and I arrived at the hospital really early to check in and get prepped. Let me say. . .either the hospital really has it together or times have really changed since the last time I had surgery (maybe both). The surgery section of Lexington Medical Center has television screens with patient identification numbers that alert family members of the status of patients (in pre-op, op., post-op). They also have beepers, that look like the restaurant beepers, which are given to family members. Whenever there is an update, they page the family. Kinda neat. Anyways, I digress.
Once I was in pre-op, it was a waiting game. Several nurses came in to ask the same questions over and over again. (What's your name and date of birth? Are you allergic to anything? What procedure are you having today? Good lord...should I be worried??) The surgeon, Dr. Boyer, came in and went over the procedure with me one last time. Finally, the anesthesiologist (or his assistant) came in and started rolling me back to the operating room. I was told on the walk down that she was putting something in my IV that would relax me. I assured her (probably repeatedly) that I wasn't feeling any different.
Hey, I don't want to be one of those people who wake up in surgery. Don't judge.
She adjusted my IV and I felt some warmth in my arm. When we got to the operating room, it looked totally different from Grey's Anatomy. It was bright, huge (almost reminding me of a warehouse or something) and there was no viewing room upstairs.
As we all know, Seattle Grace's (or now Grey Sloan Memorial) operating rooms are dark and more compact with a stadium seat viewing area.
I remember that one by one, people began standing around me at the table. When Dr. Boyer arrived, I remember him asking me about the date of my accident. I began answering him...
Blink.
I open my eyes in this weird, bright room filled with beds with a lady sitting beside me. She asks me some question, and I replied "I hurt." She adjusts my IV.
Blink.
I open my eyes again, and the same lady is telling me to breathe. I ask to see my family, and she tells me I need to breathe first.
Blink.
I am in another room, alone this time, with another nurse, who is again telling me to breathe.
FAMILY, lady, bring them to me.
Blink.
This time, I open my eyes and Derrick is walking in the room.
Blink.
My parents have joined him. And that last nurse, is hovering either over me or at the door.
Stop telling me to breathe, I am obviously breathing. You are so annoying.
Apparently, between the anesthesia and the pain medication given to me afterwards, I wasn't breathing like I should have been. The nurses were standing guard to make sure that they would be able to release me without admitting me to the hospital.
Finally, finally, I get the breathing thing down to their satisfaction, and I am released into the wild.
The first few days home were a blur. My parents stayed through Sunday to help me adjust post surgery. My foot is wrapped up in this splint-boot type of contraption for the time being. I have to be extra careful because it is not as hard as a regular cast and I am not allowed to shower or bathe while it is on. (That could be AN ENTIRELY NEW post. My poor husband and child.) While my parents were here, I stayed/slept in the recliner downstairs. I pretty much slept the entire time, except when they would wake me to take medication or blow in this stupid plastic thing the hospital gave me to help clear my lungs. I know it sounds silly, but every time I was asked to blow in this thing, I would get furious. I don't know why. It irritated me. That's all I know. Like the kind of irritation that caused people to get throat punched. Those threats were made, just saying. The pain, however, has not been nearly as bad as the last time. THANK THE GOOD LORD. It's almost disconcerting, because although I have moments that remind me of the surgery, I almost don't feel any different. With the exception that I am literally not mobile right now.
With my parents leaving on Sunday, it is now just me, Harper, and Derrick. And you know what? That is a really good thing. Anyone who knows me, knows that I have always been able to rely on my parents a tremendous amount, especially for emotional support. And, I always will. I have learned something, though, over the last week. It is really tough for a husband to truly support and assist his wife when her parents are there trying to fill that role. And, although I need my parents (and always will), I need my husband through this. And he needs for me to need him.
When I started writing today, I had all these stories filed in my head of the funny (and ridiculous) things that have happened over the last 7 days concerning Derrick. Come on, we all know it happens...and I know people have said that they enjoy the funny quips that I have made in previous blog postings. But you know what? Not this time.
This time, I am just going to say that I really am thankful for my husband. It isn't easy to be him right now. He is working a full time job, and rushing home to take care of both his small child and his wife, who are both practically fully dependent on him for survival at the moment. He is responsible for making sure every one is fed (including the two cats and one dog), bathed (ok, well not me, until next week. GROSS), entertained, put to bed, etc. etc. It doesn't help that I have periods of frustration because I can't take care of myself and my child the way that I want to, which I am guilty of taking out on him. And, you know what? Even when I do take it out on him, he stays calm. Irritating. Endearing.
The man has probably had 7 hours of sleep since Sunday, still keeps a smile on his face, still stays positive 100% of the time and he still tells me that I am beautiful several times a day. (Which...is a lie. I haven't showered in a week. Come on.) (I obviously have a complex over this.)
I am truly blessed.
(Definitely next time though, Derrick....everything is fair game...stayed tuned.)
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Monday, December 1, 2014
Because You Are With Me, I Will Not Fear - Psalm 118:6
What a whirlwind the last week has been for the Hines Family.
We started the Thanksgiving holiday week with a visit to see Derrick's family in Spartanburg, stopped in North Carolina to see my grandfather, worked two days, and traveled down to Florida to see my parents for the latter part of the week. No rest for the weary.
With a 15 month old, there are numerous stories, tantrums, and stories about tantrums on an extended road trip. However, due to the shortage in time before I become a cripple once again, I have decided to narrow these lovely "parental moments" to a top three of lessons learned while traveling.
LESSON #1 - BEWARE OF THE DAREDEVIL DAUGHTER: While visiting Derrick's family in Spartanburg, my mother-in-law graciously made breakfast one morning (biscuits and gravy, of course). We brought Harper's high chair with us, and positioned it on the edge of the living room while everyone gathered on the couches to eat breakfast. Harper was happily eating/playing/throwing her food in her chair and we were chatting/eating/watching television. All of the sudden, I became aware of every parent's worst nightmare -- Silence. When I turned my head, I saw my daughter standing on top of her highchair. Heart stopping moment. Of course, she is giggling with this devilish smile on her face, as if to say "Hehehe, see what happens when I don't have 100% of your focus and attention?!" This is the type of situation where you want to freak the F out because you are certain your child is going to fall and crack her skull open. Which is exactly why you can't freak out. Without reacting, Derrick and I slowly moved toward Harper, and sat her down. At this point, we fussed at her about her actions, but I am certain that our words were not absorbed through her laughter.
Yeah, so the moral of the story is that when all those "been there, done that" parents tell you not to take your eyes off your toddler, they LITERALLY mean it. Never, ever. Even if you think they are in a secured position.
LESSON #2 - BEWARE OF THE ALOOF FATHER: The next (mis)adventure with our little lady was a result of some brilliance by dear daddy. At this point in Harper's life, she is wide open. This means that you literally have to cage her into a room to ensure that disaster is avoided. At my parents house, we barricaded the living room with couches, chairs, and coffee tables. All of Harper's stuff was inside of the barricade, so it was a make shift playroom. At no time, was Harper to be out of the barricade without adult supervision. Simple stuff. Well, after a day of Black Friday shopping, my foot was spent, and I was hobbling around pretty good, so I was propped up on a chair. Harper had a diaper that needed to be changed, so I asked Derrick to take Diaper Duty (he is actually really good at this...he handles the majority of diapers, I must admit. I feel bad about it, until I remember that I was the one to birth this child....) Anyways, Derrick dutifully (ha...what an appropriate word for this sentence) took Harper while my mom and I watched something on the television. About fifteen minutes later, we heard this splashing sound. We turn around and Harper is sitting on the floor, with her legs wrapped around Finn's water bowl, and is splashing around in the water. In a smocked outfit. Which is completely soaked. As is the entire floor around her. She is having a ball and gleefully laughing at us. We yell for Derrick, who comes in the room, completely unaware that our child is playing in the dog bowls. "WTF" I say to him. His response?? "Oh, man, I thought she went back in the room with y'all." Seriously? There are no words...
See --- Moral of the Story under Lesson 1.
LESSON #3 - BEWARE OF POOPY DIAPERS AND TRAVEL WEARY TODDLERS: So this happened. About six hours into our trip home from Florida (which should have been about 5 hours total), we had to stop in Ridgeland, SC to change Harper's diaper. Up until this point in our trip, she had either slept or was content with talking to herself and Finn. However, when we pulled her from her car seat, we unwittingly released a demon. She DID NOT want to lay down to have her gross diaper changed. She was screaming and kicking and all around causing a scene as people walked by our car. It took both of us to hold her down to get her diaper off. And, what does she do? She balks her body which basically knocked the diaper down, causing the side of the seat and car to be covered in baby poop. Disgusting. Embarrassing. Disgusting. This was definitely one of those "take a deep breath" moments.
ON TOP OF ALL OF THIS - My almost 15 year old cat, Callie, had a stroke last Tuesday. For several days, she could barely walk and I was scared that she wouldn't make it. Of all weeks, this was the worst possible timing EVER. Callie is my first kitty and she is supposed to live forever. After several sketchy days, she took a turn for the better and is now walking and acting semi-normal. We are still guarded and watching over her very closely, but I think she is going to recover.
Overall, we had a great Thanksgiving break and spent much needed quality time with both our families before my surgery. So, I am going to switch gears. (Nice transition, I know.)
Now, we have come upon THE week.
This is it.
In about 36 hours, I will be rolled into the operating room and the future of my foot and mobility will be out of my control.
At this moment, I am struggling to find a humorous or clever way to describe how I am feeling. Because the truth is, I am scared. Like truly petrified.
Fear of the outcome.
Fear of the pain.
Fear of the impact on my family.
Fear of the unknown.
There have been several moments in the last couple weeks, where I have found myself in the car alone, and tears just start streaming down my face. In front of everyone but myself, I put on a brave face. Yes, I say that I am nervous, blah blah. But, when I am alone, I find myself starting to panic.
The kind of panic that happens when you try to breathe, but that breath gets caught in your throat and you can't swallow and your heart starts beating real fast and you feel like you are going to be sick but your throat is literally closing up so you start choking on the feeling of the stuck breath and nausea.
It is a terrible feeling.
And, no, when you ask me, I really don't want to talk about it. (Hence, the "blog therapy" mentioned in my very first blog.) But, that fear and panic is definitely my reality right now.
I have moments where I just want to call this whole thing off.
I am so overwhelmed with fear, combined with the stress of feeling like my house is not in order.
And, then I realize, that God is by my side. HE always has been by my side. Even when I have made bad decisions or failed to keep Him at the center of my life. Every single time when I have faltered or needed Him, he has been with me. And so, going into Wednesday, I am going to close my eyes and thank Him for his unending love, grace, and forgiveness, and remember that because he is with me, I need not fear.
And, hopefully, I will feel peace.
We started the Thanksgiving holiday week with a visit to see Derrick's family in Spartanburg, stopped in North Carolina to see my grandfather, worked two days, and traveled down to Florida to see my parents for the latter part of the week. No rest for the weary.
With a 15 month old, there are numerous stories, tantrums, and stories about tantrums on an extended road trip. However, due to the shortage in time before I become a cripple once again, I have decided to narrow these lovely "parental moments" to a top three of lessons learned while traveling.
LESSON #1 - BEWARE OF THE DAREDEVIL DAUGHTER: While visiting Derrick's family in Spartanburg, my mother-in-law graciously made breakfast one morning (biscuits and gravy, of course). We brought Harper's high chair with us, and positioned it on the edge of the living room while everyone gathered on the couches to eat breakfast. Harper was happily eating/playing/throwing her food in her chair and we were chatting/eating/watching television. All of the sudden, I became aware of every parent's worst nightmare -- Silence. When I turned my head, I saw my daughter standing on top of her highchair. Heart stopping moment. Of course, she is giggling with this devilish smile on her face, as if to say "Hehehe, see what happens when I don't have 100% of your focus and attention?!" This is the type of situation where you want to freak the F out because you are certain your child is going to fall and crack her skull open. Which is exactly why you can't freak out. Without reacting, Derrick and I slowly moved toward Harper, and sat her down. At this point, we fussed at her about her actions, but I am certain that our words were not absorbed through her laughter.
Yeah, so the moral of the story is that when all those "been there, done that" parents tell you not to take your eyes off your toddler, they LITERALLY mean it. Never, ever. Even if you think they are in a secured position.
LESSON #2 - BEWARE OF THE ALOOF FATHER: The next (mis)adventure with our little lady was a result of some brilliance by dear daddy. At this point in Harper's life, she is wide open. This means that you literally have to cage her into a room to ensure that disaster is avoided. At my parents house, we barricaded the living room with couches, chairs, and coffee tables. All of Harper's stuff was inside of the barricade, so it was a make shift playroom. At no time, was Harper to be out of the barricade without adult supervision. Simple stuff. Well, after a day of Black Friday shopping, my foot was spent, and I was hobbling around pretty good, so I was propped up on a chair. Harper had a diaper that needed to be changed, so I asked Derrick to take Diaper Duty (he is actually really good at this...he handles the majority of diapers, I must admit. I feel bad about it, until I remember that I was the one to birth this child....) Anyways, Derrick dutifully (ha...what an appropriate word for this sentence) took Harper while my mom and I watched something on the television. About fifteen minutes later, we heard this splashing sound. We turn around and Harper is sitting on the floor, with her legs wrapped around Finn's water bowl, and is splashing around in the water. In a smocked outfit. Which is completely soaked. As is the entire floor around her. She is having a ball and gleefully laughing at us. We yell for Derrick, who comes in the room, completely unaware that our child is playing in the dog bowls. "WTF" I say to him. His response?? "Oh, man, I thought she went back in the room with y'all." Seriously? There are no words...
See --- Moral of the Story under Lesson 1.
LESSON #3 - BEWARE OF POOPY DIAPERS AND TRAVEL WEARY TODDLERS: So this happened. About six hours into our trip home from Florida (which should have been about 5 hours total), we had to stop in Ridgeland, SC to change Harper's diaper. Up until this point in our trip, she had either slept or was content with talking to herself and Finn. However, when we pulled her from her car seat, we unwittingly released a demon. She DID NOT want to lay down to have her gross diaper changed. She was screaming and kicking and all around causing a scene as people walked by our car. It took both of us to hold her down to get her diaper off. And, what does she do? She balks her body which basically knocked the diaper down, causing the side of the seat and car to be covered in baby poop. Disgusting. Embarrassing. Disgusting. This was definitely one of those "take a deep breath" moments.
ON TOP OF ALL OF THIS - My almost 15 year old cat, Callie, had a stroke last Tuesday. For several days, she could barely walk and I was scared that she wouldn't make it. Of all weeks, this was the worst possible timing EVER. Callie is my first kitty and she is supposed to live forever. After several sketchy days, she took a turn for the better and is now walking and acting semi-normal. We are still guarded and watching over her very closely, but I think she is going to recover.
Overall, we had a great Thanksgiving break and spent much needed quality time with both our families before my surgery. So, I am going to switch gears. (Nice transition, I know.)
Now, we have come upon THE week.
This is it.
In about 36 hours, I will be rolled into the operating room and the future of my foot and mobility will be out of my control.
At this moment, I am struggling to find a humorous or clever way to describe how I am feeling. Because the truth is, I am scared. Like truly petrified.
Fear of the outcome.
Fear of the pain.
Fear of the impact on my family.
Fear of the unknown.
There have been several moments in the last couple weeks, where I have found myself in the car alone, and tears just start streaming down my face. In front of everyone but myself, I put on a brave face. Yes, I say that I am nervous, blah blah. But, when I am alone, I find myself starting to panic.
The kind of panic that happens when you try to breathe, but that breath gets caught in your throat and you can't swallow and your heart starts beating real fast and you feel like you are going to be sick but your throat is literally closing up so you start choking on the feeling of the stuck breath and nausea.
It is a terrible feeling.
And, no, when you ask me, I really don't want to talk about it. (Hence, the "blog therapy" mentioned in my very first blog.) But, that fear and panic is definitely my reality right now.
I have moments where I just want to call this whole thing off.
I am so overwhelmed with fear, combined with the stress of feeling like my house is not in order.
And, then I realize, that God is by my side. HE always has been by my side. Even when I have made bad decisions or failed to keep Him at the center of my life. Every single time when I have faltered or needed Him, he has been with me. And so, going into Wednesday, I am going to close my eyes and thank Him for his unending love, grace, and forgiveness, and remember that because he is with me, I need not fear.
And, hopefully, I will feel peace.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
The Best Laid Plans...
With three weekends left before the "BIG DAY," I had such high hopes for spending quality, quantity time with my family of three. After all, this is the last weekend Derrick, Harper and I had together with just us before I am a non-walker for several months. Next weekend, we are heading to my in-laws house for Thanksgiving Take 1 and the following weekend we are heading to my parents house for Thanksgiving Take 2.
So, of course being the planner that I am, I had both days laid out perfectly. Derrick has been begging to go to a Newberry football game all year, and their last game was on Saturday in Greenville. The "plan" was to drive up to Greenville and leisurely stroll down Main Street and peruse the shops before having an early lunch and heading to the game. I have never really explored downtown Greenville, so I was excited about this adventure. On Sunday, we would sleep in (until 8...ya know, parent sleep in time). We could run a few errands, finish the (many) loads of laundry we have piled up, straighten up the house, throw in some fun arts and crafts and generally relax while I got some work done.
Ah, the best laid plans.
The weekend started out as planned. We got up early and head to the Upstate. We made a slight detour in Spartanburg to pop in to see Harper's great-grandmother for a few minutes. Afterwards, we began the short trek to Greenville. We arrived to Greenville in time for the heavy traffic downtown. Something was going on at the BiLo Center (which I guess was renamed the Bon Secours Center) and something else was going on Main Street. Most of the street parking on Main Street was blocked off on Saturday for an unnamed event, so we drove up and down the streets looking for parking for thirty minutes. I am not sure who was more distressed -- Derrick, who spent this time cursing under his breath, or Harper, who decided to alternative between high pitched shrieking and uncontrollable sobbing. It was a nice little remix for the mid-afternoon drive in Greenville.
Finally, finally, we found a parking spot. By this time, we needed to modify our plans because Harper needed to have lunch. She is on a timer when it comes to meals. We decided to have a quick lunch at Sticky Fingers because it was (1) family friendly and (2) right next to our parking spot. Lunch was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that we had to eat without chewing because Harper was debating showing out in public. She would busy herself with eating for a minute, then busy herself with saying "Hi" to everyone that walked by, and then when she was bored with that, she would fake cry with a smile on her face. Then repeat. (Looking back, this is the moment that I should have realized the day was going downhill.)
We finished lunch and started our stroll down Main Street. Derrick and I had already decided that this stroll would be parred down to two stores because it was freezing cold and we were already running behind schedule. We headed down to O.P. Taylor's Toy Store first. It was very cool, but Harper was bundled up in her stroller and the store was too narrow to let her out. We can't afford the price tag on that type of damage. Harper got fussy and Derrick started playing with toy guns so I shuffled the family out to the next store, Mast General. Again, another neat store, but it was crowded and Harper was uninterested. We did pick up a pair of gloves for Harper, but we only lasted about 5 minutes here. By this time, Harper needed a nap and we needed to head to North Greenville.
It took about thirty minutes to get to the stadium. Harper refused to sleep for the first twenty-five of those minutes, of course. About the time we got to the game, it was half-time and Harper had been asleep for five minutes. Torn between wife-guilt and mommy-guilt, I woke Harper up to go into the game. Big mistake. Waking a baby and bundling her up in a heavy coat, wool hat, gloves, and blanket does not a happy baby make. However, NGU has a stadium conducive to strollers so as we walked to the visitor's side, Harper got distracted by the noise and people and became her normal happy self.
About five minutes into watching the third quarter, Derrick was frustrated because Newberry was getting blown out and Harper was frustrated because she was stuck in her stroller while the big kids ran around near her. I decided to take her out of the stroller and walk around, while holding her hand. This worked for a few minutes, but she really wanted to run around on her own. I didn't let her do this because there were a ton of people around and she still isn't 100% steady on her feet all the time. Combine this with the fact that she was bundled up like a snow(wo)man and the fact she has one speed (Kenyan sprinting), and I didn't think it was the best idea.
I picked her up and walked back to Derrick. I had seen some people we know from Newberry and we decided to go say hello. Derrick took Harper and we headed over to exchange pleasantries. Harper got fidgety, so Derrick and I handed her back and forth while talking to the others. Finally, in an effort to stop the distraction in the conversation (distraction being Harper), I put her down and let go of her hand.
Did she take off running? No, she didn't.
Did she smile or laugh or enjoy the fact that she was put down? No, she didn't.
She plunked down on the ground, threw herself backward, and started wailing. Loudly.
I have heard about toddlers throwing tantrums. Heck, I have seen toddlers throwing tantrums.
I have never seen my child throw a tantrum. Definitely not like this. Definitely not in public.
I mean, I thought I had seen her throw a tantrum. I was wrong. This was something totally new. I was mortified. And, honestly, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to stay out there and let her scream and cause a scene. So, I looked at Derrick and the Newberry board member he was talking to and said, "I am really sorry, but we have to leave. I cannot let my child act like this here." They both understood, and the gentleman Derrick was speaking to said "I totally understand. This is a part of being a parent. Remember, your parents had to do this too." It was nice of him, but I never acted that way and I couldn't believe my child acted that way. (stop rolling your eyes, Mom.)
We headed to the car and Harper calmed down. Harper and I sat in the car and let Derrick watch some of the game from the parking lot for a few minutes before we headed out. Harper fell asleep (thank God) and we decided to check out the new Cabelas in Greenville before heading home. This was another one of the many mistakes I made this weekend. Greenville traffic (AGAIN) is terrible. We sat at every light for about 15 minutes while trying to get to Cabelas. And, once we got there, it was huge. We lasted about a third of the store before Harper's "meal timer" went off. Although Greenville has a ton of options for restaurants, we were limited to the ones that were family friendly (a.k.a. loud), close by Cabelas and didn't have a long wait time.
We decided on T.G.I.Friday. Fifty dollars later, we understood we had made yet another mistake. The food was subpar, the meal was expensive for what it was, and Harper decided to make this meal the one where she was going to feed herself with an adult spoon and no parental help. We have been introducing a kid friendly spoon at meals (at home) where we can regulate the noise level and mess level. Miss Independent was not about to let us help her with her mac and cheese. If we even reached in her direction, she would shriek loudly and threaten a meltdown. Now, don't get me wrong. We don't tolerate this behavior. And, we didn't tolerate it last night. We quickly finished what we were going to eat, asked for the check and got the hell outta dodge. We were completely discouraged, frustrated, and exhausted. This family will probably not be heading to restaurants for awhile. (although, that is probably a blessing for our checkbook.)
We finally got home, put Harper to bed, and I called it an early night, ready for Sunday to be a better day. (Remember, the plan was to wake up at 8)
Sunday morning.
6:00 a.m.
Harper begins wailing in her room.
Turns out, she had a massive blow out during the night. Such a fun thing to wake up to on a Sunday morning.
So, at 6:15 a.m. we were stripping Harper down and giving her a bath. Of course, by this point she is wide awake, Derrick is wide awake, and I am (not) wide awake. Our family Sunday begins.
We have breakfast, Harper has a short nap, and we run errands. Luckily, this part of our day was uneventful, so I will skip to the fun part. Craft time.
A few weeks ago, Harper came home from MMO (Mommy's Morning Out) and she had made this amazing fingerpainted tree. It was her first arts and crafts picture ever. Of course it is hanging on the fridge, and I am a super proud Mommy. My child is obviously a creative genius at 14 months old and I need to foster this creativity. I went to Michael's to pick up some finger paint and canvas for us to enjoy this creative time together as a family.
So, today, I set everything up. I put out trays with different colors and had a canvas ready to go. Harper poked her finger in the paint and then...
She puts her finger in her mouth.
Ok. Not a big deal. It's non-toxic paint. She can do that. Once.
I guide her hand to the canvas, she giggles and draws around for a few seconds. She reaches back to the tray and gets more paint on her hangs. And rubs in it her hair. And then back on the canvas. It's cool. Finger painting is supposed to be messy.
She then tries to grab the canvas. I gently tell her "No, m'am, we need to leave the canvas on the table."
She looks defiantly at me. Reaches again. Again, I tell her "No, m'am."
She has a psychotic break.
For real.
I mean, screaming, hitting the table, trying to throw herself out of her highchair type of psychotic break.
All because I told her "No."
I ignore her. This my attempt to teach her that her behavior is not going to dictate my rules.
Major fail.
Before I was a parent, this is the point where I would have judgmentally told someone else that their child needed a spanking.
However, this is my child. And, although I am definitely still a fundamental believer in spankings, I am struggling as to when this is appropriate for my child. Harper still only says a few words and although I know she can understand when I am speaking to her, I just don't think I can spank her until she can verbally communicate with me.
By this point, Harper has been wailing for twenty minutes.
Therefore, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I Facetime my mom.
I figure if anyone can get my child to behave, my mom can. She can silence a group of kids with one look. Growing up, she instilled the fear of God in me. My friends feared her. My friend's parents feared her. I still fear her.
I look at Harper, almost with pity while the phone is ringing. She has no idea what's about to happen. Facetime connects and Mom appears on the phone. Harper wails. I tell Mom that Harper is having a tantrum.
I wait.
Mom's voice comes on.
"Oh no, Harper...you don't feel good, do you? You poor thing. Calm down, sweetie. I know you don't feel good"
Wait. What?!?
I look at the phone, and slowly explain. "No, Mom. She is throwing another tantrum. I can't stop it. That's why I am calling."
She totally ignores me.
"Oh, poor Harper. It's ok. You just don't feel good, do you?"
Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me.
(I may be paraphrasing, but equally obnoxious comments were made in this conversation.)
About this time, Harper realizes she has claimed victory in this little escapade. She starts smiling sweetly at my Mom (a.k.a. "The Traitor"), picks up her baby doll and starts cooing and patting the doll's back.
Unbelievable.
So. Yeah.
In a nutshell, my weekend did not go as planned.
I still have laundry.
I didn't finish all my work.
I may be prematurely graying.
I definitely have an ulcer.
Apparently, my child has decided to start the terrible twos at 14 months. Yippee.
Perfect timing.
So, of course being the planner that I am, I had both days laid out perfectly. Derrick has been begging to go to a Newberry football game all year, and their last game was on Saturday in Greenville. The "plan" was to drive up to Greenville and leisurely stroll down Main Street and peruse the shops before having an early lunch and heading to the game. I have never really explored downtown Greenville, so I was excited about this adventure. On Sunday, we would sleep in (until 8...ya know, parent sleep in time). We could run a few errands, finish the (many) loads of laundry we have piled up, straighten up the house, throw in some fun arts and crafts and generally relax while I got some work done.
Ah, the best laid plans.
The weekend started out as planned. We got up early and head to the Upstate. We made a slight detour in Spartanburg to pop in to see Harper's great-grandmother for a few minutes. Afterwards, we began the short trek to Greenville. We arrived to Greenville in time for the heavy traffic downtown. Something was going on at the BiLo Center (which I guess was renamed the Bon Secours Center) and something else was going on Main Street. Most of the street parking on Main Street was blocked off on Saturday for an unnamed event, so we drove up and down the streets looking for parking for thirty minutes. I am not sure who was more distressed -- Derrick, who spent this time cursing under his breath, or Harper, who decided to alternative between high pitched shrieking and uncontrollable sobbing. It was a nice little remix for the mid-afternoon drive in Greenville.
Finally, finally, we found a parking spot. By this time, we needed to modify our plans because Harper needed to have lunch. She is on a timer when it comes to meals. We decided to have a quick lunch at Sticky Fingers because it was (1) family friendly and (2) right next to our parking spot. Lunch was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that we had to eat without chewing because Harper was debating showing out in public. She would busy herself with eating for a minute, then busy herself with saying "Hi" to everyone that walked by, and then when she was bored with that, she would fake cry with a smile on her face. Then repeat. (Looking back, this is the moment that I should have realized the day was going downhill.)
We finished lunch and started our stroll down Main Street. Derrick and I had already decided that this stroll would be parred down to two stores because it was freezing cold and we were already running behind schedule. We headed down to O.P. Taylor's Toy Store first. It was very cool, but Harper was bundled up in her stroller and the store was too narrow to let her out. We can't afford the price tag on that type of damage. Harper got fussy and Derrick started playing with toy guns so I shuffled the family out to the next store, Mast General. Again, another neat store, but it was crowded and Harper was uninterested. We did pick up a pair of gloves for Harper, but we only lasted about 5 minutes here. By this time, Harper needed a nap and we needed to head to North Greenville.
It took about thirty minutes to get to the stadium. Harper refused to sleep for the first twenty-five of those minutes, of course. About the time we got to the game, it was half-time and Harper had been asleep for five minutes. Torn between wife-guilt and mommy-guilt, I woke Harper up to go into the game. Big mistake. Waking a baby and bundling her up in a heavy coat, wool hat, gloves, and blanket does not a happy baby make. However, NGU has a stadium conducive to strollers so as we walked to the visitor's side, Harper got distracted by the noise and people and became her normal happy self.
About five minutes into watching the third quarter, Derrick was frustrated because Newberry was getting blown out and Harper was frustrated because she was stuck in her stroller while the big kids ran around near her. I decided to take her out of the stroller and walk around, while holding her hand. This worked for a few minutes, but she really wanted to run around on her own. I didn't let her do this because there were a ton of people around and she still isn't 100% steady on her feet all the time. Combine this with the fact that she was bundled up like a snow(wo)man and the fact she has one speed (Kenyan sprinting), and I didn't think it was the best idea.
I picked her up and walked back to Derrick. I had seen some people we know from Newberry and we decided to go say hello. Derrick took Harper and we headed over to exchange pleasantries. Harper got fidgety, so Derrick and I handed her back and forth while talking to the others. Finally, in an effort to stop the distraction in the conversation (distraction being Harper), I put her down and let go of her hand.
Did she take off running? No, she didn't.
Did she smile or laugh or enjoy the fact that she was put down? No, she didn't.
She plunked down on the ground, threw herself backward, and started wailing. Loudly.
I have heard about toddlers throwing tantrums. Heck, I have seen toddlers throwing tantrums.
I have never seen my child throw a tantrum. Definitely not like this. Definitely not in public.
I mean, I thought I had seen her throw a tantrum. I was wrong. This was something totally new. I was mortified. And, honestly, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to stay out there and let her scream and cause a scene. So, I looked at Derrick and the Newberry board member he was talking to and said, "I am really sorry, but we have to leave. I cannot let my child act like this here." They both understood, and the gentleman Derrick was speaking to said "I totally understand. This is a part of being a parent. Remember, your parents had to do this too." It was nice of him, but I never acted that way and I couldn't believe my child acted that way. (stop rolling your eyes, Mom.)
We headed to the car and Harper calmed down. Harper and I sat in the car and let Derrick watch some of the game from the parking lot for a few minutes before we headed out. Harper fell asleep (thank God) and we decided to check out the new Cabelas in Greenville before heading home. This was another one of the many mistakes I made this weekend. Greenville traffic (AGAIN) is terrible. We sat at every light for about 15 minutes while trying to get to Cabelas. And, once we got there, it was huge. We lasted about a third of the store before Harper's "meal timer" went off. Although Greenville has a ton of options for restaurants, we were limited to the ones that were family friendly (a.k.a. loud), close by Cabelas and didn't have a long wait time.
We decided on T.G.I.Friday. Fifty dollars later, we understood we had made yet another mistake. The food was subpar, the meal was expensive for what it was, and Harper decided to make this meal the one where she was going to feed herself with an adult spoon and no parental help. We have been introducing a kid friendly spoon at meals (at home) where we can regulate the noise level and mess level. Miss Independent was not about to let us help her with her mac and cheese. If we even reached in her direction, she would shriek loudly and threaten a meltdown. Now, don't get me wrong. We don't tolerate this behavior. And, we didn't tolerate it last night. We quickly finished what we were going to eat, asked for the check and got the hell outta dodge. We were completely discouraged, frustrated, and exhausted. This family will probably not be heading to restaurants for awhile. (although, that is probably a blessing for our checkbook.)
We finally got home, put Harper to bed, and I called it an early night, ready for Sunday to be a better day. (Remember, the plan was to wake up at 8)
Sunday morning.
6:00 a.m.
Harper begins wailing in her room.
Turns out, she had a massive blow out during the night. Such a fun thing to wake up to on a Sunday morning.
So, at 6:15 a.m. we were stripping Harper down and giving her a bath. Of course, by this point she is wide awake, Derrick is wide awake, and I am (not) wide awake. Our family Sunday begins.
We have breakfast, Harper has a short nap, and we run errands. Luckily, this part of our day was uneventful, so I will skip to the fun part. Craft time.
A few weeks ago, Harper came home from MMO (Mommy's Morning Out) and she had made this amazing fingerpainted tree. It was her first arts and crafts picture ever. Of course it is hanging on the fridge, and I am a super proud Mommy. My child is obviously a creative genius at 14 months old and I need to foster this creativity. I went to Michael's to pick up some finger paint and canvas for us to enjoy this creative time together as a family.
So, today, I set everything up. I put out trays with different colors and had a canvas ready to go. Harper poked her finger in the paint and then...
She puts her finger in her mouth.
Ok. Not a big deal. It's non-toxic paint. She can do that. Once.
I guide her hand to the canvas, she giggles and draws around for a few seconds. She reaches back to the tray and gets more paint on her hangs. And rubs in it her hair. And then back on the canvas. It's cool. Finger painting is supposed to be messy.
She then tries to grab the canvas. I gently tell her "No, m'am, we need to leave the canvas on the table."
She looks defiantly at me. Reaches again. Again, I tell her "No, m'am."
She has a psychotic break.
For real.
I mean, screaming, hitting the table, trying to throw herself out of her highchair type of psychotic break.
All because I told her "No."
I ignore her. This my attempt to teach her that her behavior is not going to dictate my rules.
Major fail.
Before I was a parent, this is the point where I would have judgmentally told someone else that their child needed a spanking.
However, this is my child. And, although I am definitely still a fundamental believer in spankings, I am struggling as to when this is appropriate for my child. Harper still only says a few words and although I know she can understand when I am speaking to her, I just don't think I can spank her until she can verbally communicate with me.
By this point, Harper has been wailing for twenty minutes.
Therefore, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I Facetime my mom.
I figure if anyone can get my child to behave, my mom can. She can silence a group of kids with one look. Growing up, she instilled the fear of God in me. My friends feared her. My friend's parents feared her. I still fear her.
I look at Harper, almost with pity while the phone is ringing. She has no idea what's about to happen. Facetime connects and Mom appears on the phone. Harper wails. I tell Mom that Harper is having a tantrum.
I wait.
Mom's voice comes on.
"Oh no, Harper...you don't feel good, do you? You poor thing. Calm down, sweetie. I know you don't feel good"
Wait. What?!?
I look at the phone, and slowly explain. "No, Mom. She is throwing another tantrum. I can't stop it. That's why I am calling."
She totally ignores me.
"Oh, poor Harper. It's ok. You just don't feel good, do you?"
Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me.
(I may be paraphrasing, but equally obnoxious comments were made in this conversation.)
About this time, Harper realizes she has claimed victory in this little escapade. She starts smiling sweetly at my Mom (a.k.a. "The Traitor"), picks up her baby doll and starts cooing and patting the doll's back.
Unbelievable.
So. Yeah.
In a nutshell, my weekend did not go as planned.
I still have laundry.
I didn't finish all my work.
I may be prematurely graying.
I definitely have an ulcer.
Apparently, my child has decided to start the terrible twos at 14 months. Yippee.
Perfect timing.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
A Step In The Right Direction...
Wow, I guess y'all are legitimate stalkers like me!! (refer to my previous post if you don't get this reference) It's pretty amazing that over 100 people read my very first blog post within the first 12 hours of it being posted on the Facebook. Several people have reached out with sweet messages of positive vibes and encouragement...I am really quite touched. The motivations behind my blog were not get sympathy (or god forbid, pity) but I must say, all the well wishes....man....thanks.
Just be careful with the offers for help....I may send a crying, hungry, grumpy baby to your house....and the hubby isn't as cute as he looks when he is grumpy.
I jest, I jest. (He is.)
Anyways, moving on to more important subjects...
Me. (Duh.)
As I mentioned in my previous post, I am scheduled to have surgery on December 3rd. Specifically, I am having an ankle fusion. This procedure is designed to eliminate the continuous pain caused by arthritis, bone spurs, and trauma to the bones/joints that never healed from the previous surgery. It will also restrict and/or eliminate movement from my right foot. Some people may interpret the limitation or elimination of movement in the foot as a negative or downside to the procedure, but in actuality, it isn't. Over the years, I have almost completely lost the ability to move my right foot. Right now, it is set at an angle and I can't move or flex it. Because of the angle, my leg and knee is hyper-extended with every step I take, causing obvious concern of future injuries to my body.
During the surgery, the doctor will go in and remove all the arthritis, cartilage, and bone spurs from my ankle and foot. He will also remove the screws that have lived in my foot for the last 12 years. Then, he will use some sticky stuff to "glue" the bones together and use more screws to secure the bones in place. At this point, the bones are supposed to grow together, similar to what happens when you break a bone. The ankle will be set at a normal resting position, so when it heals, I should be able to take a step without limping or hyper-extending my leg. So, although the movement is limited, the outcome should be easier than what I have been experiencing in recent history. And, because the arthritis and bone spurs will be removed, the pain should be gone.
In theory.
I have been warned that the forementioned is the "best case scenario." If everything goes perfectly, I should be pain free and limp-less.
However, it is possible that my ankle refuses to fuse together, and "Operation Peg Leg" as I have come to call it, is back on the table. (Actually, my darling husband coined that term, while we were still in the doctor's office receiving information on my options. That man has tact. Mmhmm. )
I am making a conscious decision to think positive and ignore the worst case scenario(s).
That being said, even with the best case scenario....I am still having moments of absolute panic.
Panic of not being mobile with a toddler, two cats, and a golden retriever in the house.
Panic of falling down the stairs.
Panic of having my house clean and laundry done in the next 21 days.
Panic of decorating the house for Christmas in the next 21 days.
Panic of Christmas shopping for EVERYONE in the next 21 days.
Panic of traveling to Spartanburg to see my in-laws, North Carolina to see my grandfather, and Florida to see my parents...all for Thanksgiving week which is RIGHT before my surgery. (Relax, both Kathys [mom and mother-in-law]...we want to come home!)
There is so much to do and so little time.
And seriously...do you know how hard it is to shop for Harper? She has EVERYTHING. Apparently, for her first Christmas and her first birthday, I (and the grandparents) felt like all the stores would self implode and there would never be an opportunity to buy another present. We have a fully stocked Pottery Barn / ToysRUs shop in her playroom. SOOOO... I would love some ideas from my fellow Moms out there in the same situation. I will shamelessly admit that I intend to re-gift some presents that she received last Christmas that were not as age appropriate at the time than I realized. Judge away.
Until next time, my fellow nosy peers....
Just be careful with the offers for help....I may send a crying, hungry, grumpy baby to your house....and the hubby isn't as cute as he looks when he is grumpy.
I jest, I jest. (He is.)
Anyways, moving on to more important subjects...
Me. (Duh.)
As I mentioned in my previous post, I am scheduled to have surgery on December 3rd. Specifically, I am having an ankle fusion. This procedure is designed to eliminate the continuous pain caused by arthritis, bone spurs, and trauma to the bones/joints that never healed from the previous surgery. It will also restrict and/or eliminate movement from my right foot. Some people may interpret the limitation or elimination of movement in the foot as a negative or downside to the procedure, but in actuality, it isn't. Over the years, I have almost completely lost the ability to move my right foot. Right now, it is set at an angle and I can't move or flex it. Because of the angle, my leg and knee is hyper-extended with every step I take, causing obvious concern of future injuries to my body.
During the surgery, the doctor will go in and remove all the arthritis, cartilage, and bone spurs from my ankle and foot. He will also remove the screws that have lived in my foot for the last 12 years. Then, he will use some sticky stuff to "glue" the bones together and use more screws to secure the bones in place. At this point, the bones are supposed to grow together, similar to what happens when you break a bone. The ankle will be set at a normal resting position, so when it heals, I should be able to take a step without limping or hyper-extending my leg. So, although the movement is limited, the outcome should be easier than what I have been experiencing in recent history. And, because the arthritis and bone spurs will be removed, the pain should be gone.
In theory.
I have been warned that the forementioned is the "best case scenario." If everything goes perfectly, I should be pain free and limp-less.
However, it is possible that my ankle refuses to fuse together, and "Operation Peg Leg" as I have come to call it, is back on the table. (Actually, my darling husband coined that term, while we were still in the doctor's office receiving information on my options. That man has tact. Mmhmm. )
I am making a conscious decision to think positive and ignore the worst case scenario(s).
That being said, even with the best case scenario....I am still having moments of absolute panic.
Panic of not being mobile with a toddler, two cats, and a golden retriever in the house.
Panic of falling down the stairs.
Panic of having my house clean and laundry done in the next 21 days.
Panic of decorating the house for Christmas in the next 21 days.
Panic of Christmas shopping for EVERYONE in the next 21 days.
Panic of traveling to Spartanburg to see my in-laws, North Carolina to see my grandfather, and Florida to see my parents...all for Thanksgiving week which is RIGHT before my surgery. (Relax, both Kathys [mom and mother-in-law]...we want to come home!)
There is so much to do and so little time.
And seriously...do you know how hard it is to shop for Harper? She has EVERYTHING. Apparently, for her first Christmas and her first birthday, I (and the grandparents) felt like all the stores would self implode and there would never be an opportunity to buy another present. We have a fully stocked Pottery Barn / ToysRUs shop in her playroom. SOOOO... I would love some ideas from my fellow Moms out there in the same situation. I will shamelessly admit that I intend to re-gift some presents that she received last Christmas that were not as age appropriate at the time than I realized. Judge away.
Until next time, my fellow nosy peers....
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
And So, The (Blogging) Journey Begins...
After years of quietly following (a.k.a. stalking) other people's blogs, I have decided to jump on the bandwagon and start my own. Many of you have specific blogs about your growing families, health concerns, hobbies, fashion, and even food (these are usually my favorite ones ;)). In the interest of not discriminating against one particular subject, this blog will strive to include a little bit of everything all thrown into one.
Obviously, the most important part of my life include my one-of-a-kind husband, Derrick, (if you know him, y'all know what I'm talking about), our beautiful, spirited, opinionated, fearless, fourteen month old daughter, Harper Katherine, and our fur babies: Finn (a two year old golden retriever) and two fourteen year old (but young at heart) cats, Callie and Hannah. We have a full house, which I am sure will grow even more as the years pass us by. Needless to say, we have an abundance of (mis)adventure over on Whispering Oak Lane in Chapin.
Usually, the motivation behind a family-based blog is to document daily life, memorable events, and those cutesy pictures that us mom-folk tend to overly post on social media for family, friends, and similarly inclined online stalkers. It's sorta like new twist on the old school photo albums our grandparents used to show off. Every. Time. You.Visited.
Well, my motivation for this little blog of mine is a little different from the common nostalgia-esqe counterpart. My motivation stems from one word. Therapy.
Yep, that's right. I am trying to prevent myself from going crazy. I mean this in quite the literal sense. There are some big things happening in the Hines household in the next few months, and I am being pro-active in obtaining an outlet for dealing with all the craziness that will soon consume my life.
Calm down, I am not pregnant. Geesh.
Professionally, I have some important (stressful) events and decisions that will occur / be determined. I won't bore anyone with these details at the moment, although I am sure in the New Year, I may change my mind.
Personally, I have made a life-changing decision regarding my well-being and this decision will have an impact on my entire family.
Let me slow down, and give some background. Those that know me well can scroll on down, because you already know the story I am about to tell. Those that don't - well, here goes. On December 7, 2002, I was in a really bad car accident. The details of the accident are irrelevant, but the outcome is not. As a result of the accident, I broke (crushed) my right foot and ankle. At the time, the surgeon was concerned that I would lose my foot, but alas, the good Lord had other plans. The official classification of the serious part of the injury is called a Hawkins Type III talus fracture. (You know, just in case you ever decided to do random Googling on foot injuries) Anyways, the talus (which controls the blood flow to the foot) is one of the hardest bones to break in the body, and man, I did it right. I crushed and dislocated it. Yep. Overachiever.
The surgeon, with the assistance of some screws, put my foot back together, my parents moved me home, and I began an extremely lengthy recovery process. The whole back story and recovery process during this time in my life could be the material for a whole other blog, so I am going to cut to the chase. At the end of the day, my foot "healed" and I moved on with my life. I was told that I would have limitations, to expect future issues (both of which I promptly ignored) and I was left a slight limp, which I became a pro at hiding. And, life went on.
Fast forward twelve years.
Yeah, the doctor was right. Dammit.
Over the last decade (wow, that makes me feel old), my slight limp has evolved into what could be termed a massive hobble, or even better, a legit pimp walk. Even though some may strive to replicate my impressive gait, it has caused serious health implications to my overall body. One "side effect" of the increased limitations in my right foot is that I have not been able to be as active as my previous life, and in the more recent months, active at all. I haven't been able to run since my accident, but for a few years, I could walk, ride a bike or take spinning classes, etc. Over the years, my mobility has slowly decreased. Now, if I walk around Belk for thirty minutes, I literally cannot walk to the kitchen from my bedroom in the morning. AND, to make matters worse, this stupid foot is causing problems for my knees, hips, and back...not to mention, the weight I have gained because of my lack of activity (and, I won't lie, lack of motivation.)
Sometimes, I could seriously kick myself out of frustration. Then, I remember that I only have one good foot...
I will admit, it took a long time for me to find the motivation to seek answers to fix the issues with my foot. But, then, my wonderfully energetic child became mobile. Seriously, the kid could beat the Kenyans over the Cooper River Bridge. And, I can't keep up with her. It is heart-wrenching.
Harper = Motivation.
You know, sometimes God works in mysterious ways. My accident happened in Charleston, and I was treated by one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the state (and country, I believe). However, I have since relocated to Chapin (sniff, sniff). Would you believe that my surgeon ALSO relocated to Lexington??? God is Good.
After many sleepless nights, I finally booked an appointment to consult with my original surgeon. I went by myself, and although I put on a brave face, I was a nervous wreck. The thing is, I knew he was going to tell me I needed surgery. And, I also knew that it seems impossible to navigate a two-story house and a toddler individually, much less together, with a cast. But, at the same time, I had reached the threshold of my ability to cope with my disability.
When Dr. Boyer walked in the room, he remembered me. I know it seems silly, but this was so important to me. Over the years, I have seen the look on people's faces when they realize I am limping or that I had a broken foot, which was causing a limitation in some way. Because I don't seem outwardly "disabled," (I hate that word) I feel that people feel like I am making excuses or that my injury was not as significant as I make it seem. But, good ole Doc Boyer?? He knew. And he remembered that my break was one of the worst he had ever seen at that point in time. And for a moment, I felt validated. Moving on...
During my appointment, my foot was x-rayed and we discussed my options. I told him I just wanted to have as normal of a life as possible. Normally, the doctor would suggest pain management, cortisone shots or braces. However, the x-rays indicated that my foot was significantly impaired and needed further evaluation with a bone scan. Dr. Boyer informed me that it was very likely I would need a fusion surgery but that the bone scan would give him more information.
Two weeks later, my parents came down and took me to the hospital for the bone scan. It was pretty uneventful. They give you a shot of radioactive "stuff" and tell you to come back in three hours. At that point, they take you to a room with those scary, huge circular machines that they slide you into. Luckily, because it was just for my foot, I only had to go in halfway, and my upper body was on the outside of the machine. Thank goodness. Unfortunately, you don't get info right away, because they have to send the results to your doctor.
One week later...
Derrick and I went together to meet with Dr. Boyer. Derrick and I had discussed my previous conversation regarding the fusion, I was pretty much convinced that the doctor was going to tell me this was my best option. Not so much. Dr. Boyer comes in and says, "Well, I have your bone scan results, and I have compared them with your x-rays. I can say one thing for certain... I wouldn't have been surprised if you came in here and told me you were in pain every second of the day." (I thought to myself, duh, yes, but it gets old complaining about it for 12 years) Dr. Boyer then continued with "There have been significant improvements with prosthetics..."
He continued talking, but I tuned him out and started laughing. Derrick's face went slack. Dr. Boyer was still talking, explaining something about how a prosthetic foot could actually flex like a real foot, or some crap like that. I awkwardly continued to laugh and tell Derrick how funny the doctor was, "but seriously, tell me what we are going to do, and stop joking." Dr. Boyer looked at me and said, "I am not joking. The only way for you to lead a normal life is to have a prosthetic foot. I have people come in here and ASK for a prosthetic and their foot is not as bad as yours is. It is a completely reasonable request."
Shut the front door.
This. Is. Not. Acceptable.
After a few dumbfounding moments, I (graciously) explained to the good doc that amputation was not just something that I was prepared to discuss. I had prepared to discuss a fusion. So let's discuss a fusion. Good grief.
Dr. Boyer then quickly explained that amputation was not the ONLY option, it was just the BEST option, IF I WANTED A COMPLETELY NORMAL LIFE. Uh-huh. Normal. Amputation. Same sentence? Not so much. He explained that a fusion was still a good option, a possible option, and would let me live a mostly normal, pain-free life. The fusion (which I will go into detail about in a later post, as this one seems to be getting excessively long...seriously, how many bathroom breaks have you taken?) is a great option, as long as it is successful, barring any complications. (which then, would take us back to Plan A ("A" meaning awwwnawhhh) After disclosing all of this oh-so-fun info, Dr. Boyer told us to think about it, plan for it, and call him to let him know our decision.
So...about a month later....I scheduled the surgery. We are going the fusion route. The recovery time will be several months and I am sure even more headaches, stressful experiences, and hopefully, overwhelming successes. The ironic thing is that the surgery is scheduled for December 3, 2014... Almost 12 years to the WEEK of the first surgery on my foot. Craziness.
To bring this posting full circle, the purpose of my blog will be for my personal therapy. I found out from my previous experience, that it is not a good thing to internalize fears, stress, and life in general. So, here is my outlet. I promise (to try) not to make this a "woe is me" storyline. I will throw in the antics of my husband, child, and fur babies for entertainment value and for posterity's sake. The only thing I ask for in return is prayers for my sweet husband, child, parents, in-laws, and other family/friends that will be helping us in the coming months. I am fully prepared for what is about to happen, but I worry for them...
What can I say...I'm a mom, it's what I do.
Obviously, the most important part of my life include my one-of-a-kind husband, Derrick, (if you know him, y'all know what I'm talking about), our beautiful, spirited, opinionated, fearless, fourteen month old daughter, Harper Katherine, and our fur babies: Finn (a two year old golden retriever) and two fourteen year old (but young at heart) cats, Callie and Hannah. We have a full house, which I am sure will grow even more as the years pass us by. Needless to say, we have an abundance of (mis)adventure over on Whispering Oak Lane in Chapin.
Usually, the motivation behind a family-based blog is to document daily life, memorable events, and those cutesy pictures that us mom-folk tend to overly post on social media for family, friends, and similarly inclined online stalkers. It's sorta like new twist on the old school photo albums our grandparents used to show off. Every. Time. You.Visited.
Well, my motivation for this little blog of mine is a little different from the common nostalgia-esqe counterpart. My motivation stems from one word. Therapy.
Yep, that's right. I am trying to prevent myself from going crazy. I mean this in quite the literal sense. There are some big things happening in the Hines household in the next few months, and I am being pro-active in obtaining an outlet for dealing with all the craziness that will soon consume my life.
Calm down, I am not pregnant. Geesh.
Professionally, I have some important (stressful) events and decisions that will occur / be determined. I won't bore anyone with these details at the moment, although I am sure in the New Year, I may change my mind.
Personally, I have made a life-changing decision regarding my well-being and this decision will have an impact on my entire family.
Let me slow down, and give some background. Those that know me well can scroll on down, because you already know the story I am about to tell. Those that don't - well, here goes. On December 7, 2002, I was in a really bad car accident. The details of the accident are irrelevant, but the outcome is not. As a result of the accident, I broke (crushed) my right foot and ankle. At the time, the surgeon was concerned that I would lose my foot, but alas, the good Lord had other plans. The official classification of the serious part of the injury is called a Hawkins Type III talus fracture. (You know, just in case you ever decided to do random Googling on foot injuries) Anyways, the talus (which controls the blood flow to the foot) is one of the hardest bones to break in the body, and man, I did it right. I crushed and dislocated it. Yep. Overachiever.
The surgeon, with the assistance of some screws, put my foot back together, my parents moved me home, and I began an extremely lengthy recovery process. The whole back story and recovery process during this time in my life could be the material for a whole other blog, so I am going to cut to the chase. At the end of the day, my foot "healed" and I moved on with my life. I was told that I would have limitations, to expect future issues (both of which I promptly ignored) and I was left a slight limp, which I became a pro at hiding. And, life went on.
Fast forward twelve years.
Yeah, the doctor was right. Dammit.
Over the last decade (wow, that makes me feel old), my slight limp has evolved into what could be termed a massive hobble, or even better, a legit pimp walk. Even though some may strive to replicate my impressive gait, it has caused serious health implications to my overall body. One "side effect" of the increased limitations in my right foot is that I have not been able to be as active as my previous life, and in the more recent months, active at all. I haven't been able to run since my accident, but for a few years, I could walk, ride a bike or take spinning classes, etc. Over the years, my mobility has slowly decreased. Now, if I walk around Belk for thirty minutes, I literally cannot walk to the kitchen from my bedroom in the morning. AND, to make matters worse, this stupid foot is causing problems for my knees, hips, and back...not to mention, the weight I have gained because of my lack of activity (and, I won't lie, lack of motivation.)
Sometimes, I could seriously kick myself out of frustration. Then, I remember that I only have one good foot...
I will admit, it took a long time for me to find the motivation to seek answers to fix the issues with my foot. But, then, my wonderfully energetic child became mobile. Seriously, the kid could beat the Kenyans over the Cooper River Bridge. And, I can't keep up with her. It is heart-wrenching.
Harper = Motivation.
You know, sometimes God works in mysterious ways. My accident happened in Charleston, and I was treated by one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the state (and country, I believe). However, I have since relocated to Chapin (sniff, sniff). Would you believe that my surgeon ALSO relocated to Lexington??? God is Good.
After many sleepless nights, I finally booked an appointment to consult with my original surgeon. I went by myself, and although I put on a brave face, I was a nervous wreck. The thing is, I knew he was going to tell me I needed surgery. And, I also knew that it seems impossible to navigate a two-story house and a toddler individually, much less together, with a cast. But, at the same time, I had reached the threshold of my ability to cope with my disability.
When Dr. Boyer walked in the room, he remembered me. I know it seems silly, but this was so important to me. Over the years, I have seen the look on people's faces when they realize I am limping or that I had a broken foot, which was causing a limitation in some way. Because I don't seem outwardly "disabled," (I hate that word) I feel that people feel like I am making excuses or that my injury was not as significant as I make it seem. But, good ole Doc Boyer?? He knew. And he remembered that my break was one of the worst he had ever seen at that point in time. And for a moment, I felt validated. Moving on...
During my appointment, my foot was x-rayed and we discussed my options. I told him I just wanted to have as normal of a life as possible. Normally, the doctor would suggest pain management, cortisone shots or braces. However, the x-rays indicated that my foot was significantly impaired and needed further evaluation with a bone scan. Dr. Boyer informed me that it was very likely I would need a fusion surgery but that the bone scan would give him more information.
Two weeks later, my parents came down and took me to the hospital for the bone scan. It was pretty uneventful. They give you a shot of radioactive "stuff" and tell you to come back in three hours. At that point, they take you to a room with those scary, huge circular machines that they slide you into. Luckily, because it was just for my foot, I only had to go in halfway, and my upper body was on the outside of the machine. Thank goodness. Unfortunately, you don't get info right away, because they have to send the results to your doctor.
One week later...
Derrick and I went together to meet with Dr. Boyer. Derrick and I had discussed my previous conversation regarding the fusion, I was pretty much convinced that the doctor was going to tell me this was my best option. Not so much. Dr. Boyer comes in and says, "Well, I have your bone scan results, and I have compared them with your x-rays. I can say one thing for certain... I wouldn't have been surprised if you came in here and told me you were in pain every second of the day." (I thought to myself, duh, yes, but it gets old complaining about it for 12 years) Dr. Boyer then continued with "There have been significant improvements with prosthetics..."
He continued talking, but I tuned him out and started laughing. Derrick's face went slack. Dr. Boyer was still talking, explaining something about how a prosthetic foot could actually flex like a real foot, or some crap like that. I awkwardly continued to laugh and tell Derrick how funny the doctor was, "but seriously, tell me what we are going to do, and stop joking." Dr. Boyer looked at me and said, "I am not joking. The only way for you to lead a normal life is to have a prosthetic foot. I have people come in here and ASK for a prosthetic and their foot is not as bad as yours is. It is a completely reasonable request."
Shut the front door.
This. Is. Not. Acceptable.
After a few dumbfounding moments, I (graciously) explained to the good doc that amputation was not just something that I was prepared to discuss. I had prepared to discuss a fusion. So let's discuss a fusion. Good grief.
Dr. Boyer then quickly explained that amputation was not the ONLY option, it was just the BEST option, IF I WANTED A COMPLETELY NORMAL LIFE. Uh-huh. Normal. Amputation. Same sentence? Not so much. He explained that a fusion was still a good option, a possible option, and would let me live a mostly normal, pain-free life. The fusion (which I will go into detail about in a later post, as this one seems to be getting excessively long...seriously, how many bathroom breaks have you taken?) is a great option, as long as it is successful, barring any complications. (which then, would take us back to Plan A ("A" meaning awwwnawhhh) After disclosing all of this oh-so-fun info, Dr. Boyer told us to think about it, plan for it, and call him to let him know our decision.
So...about a month later....I scheduled the surgery. We are going the fusion route. The recovery time will be several months and I am sure even more headaches, stressful experiences, and hopefully, overwhelming successes. The ironic thing is that the surgery is scheduled for December 3, 2014... Almost 12 years to the WEEK of the first surgery on my foot. Craziness.
To bring this posting full circle, the purpose of my blog will be for my personal therapy. I found out from my previous experience, that it is not a good thing to internalize fears, stress, and life in general. So, here is my outlet. I promise (to try) not to make this a "woe is me" storyline. I will throw in the antics of my husband, child, and fur babies for entertainment value and for posterity's sake. The only thing I ask for in return is prayers for my sweet husband, child, parents, in-laws, and other family/friends that will be helping us in the coming months. I am fully prepared for what is about to happen, but I worry for them...
What can I say...I'm a mom, it's what I do.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)