A Bed with a View

It all started on a beautiful sunny day. I got Stella ready for her second day of school and the boys settled with Grandma before Spencer and I drove to the hospital. It was only Stella's second time walking home from school and I was so nervous about it. I spoke with a friend to double check that she would walk with the group of girls. At this point I was so emotional I began to cry making a little scene on the street corner. How was I going to pick up the kids from school, clean the house, make dinner, do laundry, teach my class, do my church duties, exercise, pick a piece of paper of the floor,do ANYTHING if I couldn't walk or drive a car. Spencer assured me that I would have plenty of help and we went on our way to the hospital for my knee surgery.

I thought back to that cold winter day when Spencer and I secured a babysitter so we could grab our equipment and get some much needed time together on the slopes of Sundance. The powder was as light as cotton gently brushing against our skis. But beneath the fresh powder was packed icy snow. Perfect for getting your skis caught. Spencer flew down a mogul hill and slid into stopping position to wait for me to finish my run. He waited patiently watching each skier pass by and getting a little more nervous with each minute that passed. I had been peacefully gliding down the mountain, breathing in fresh cold mountain air, when my ski planted right into the ice below the powder. Unfortunately my binding did not release my ski and my knee twisted, what felt like 360 degrees, while I flew forward. My poles and other ski did come loose and soon two skiers were collecting my things. "Are you ok?" one of the skier asked. "Oh ya, I am fine. Thank you." I replied. I stood up feeling a little wobbly but I thought "I can walk this off." I popped my other ski back on, regrouped myself and began to make a ski turn down the hill. Immediately my knee offered no support, like a bunch of jumbled up bones slamming into one another. And I fell deep into the powder. Tears welled up into my eyes because I knew I was really hurt. I don't know if I was crying because of the pain, the fact that I was really injured, or because I couldn't ski the last two runs of the day. By then the skiers were long gone and I found myself alone on the mountain hill. I scooted all the way down the hill to Spencer where there was a lift. I rode the lift to the bottom of the mountain and spent the last two runs sipping hot chocolate in the lodge. I refused to leave!! And the diagnosis was a torn ACL, snapped completely in half leaving no support in my knee. This was not comforting news because surgery would be required to repair it.

But surgery did not have to be immediate and so I lived with my unstable knee for over 6 months until I finally felt the timing was right. Luckily I didn't do any further damage to my unstable knee during that time. And as far as the timing being right, I now know there never really is a right time it is just something that had to be done.

We arrived at the hospital where I was checked in and placed into a room to de-robe. A team of nurses came in to prep me, poking me with the needle a few times to get the IV in. That nerve piercing pain is terrible and the nurses can never get into my veins. Finally the IV was in and we waited and waited for over two hours. It was probably a mistake to watch the food network since I had been instructed to not eat or drink anything since midnight the night before.

Finally the Dr. arrived to discuss the surgery and mark my left knee with a big YES written in purple marker. He asked what music I wanted to listen to while going under so that I might feel relaxed. I chose Iron and Wine and with that he was off. A friendly man wheeled me down the hall with clean white walls. He casually chatted about skiing and living in Utah. Meanwhile my heart was racing and I could hear the squeaky wheels of the bed bringing me closer and closer to the surgery room. It was about 20 degrees cooler in there and everything was starkly white. It smelt clean. The anesthesiologist was bold and loud as he explained what he would do. I was shaking and cold. I looked to my Dr. and he asked for a favorite Iron and Wine album or Song. "Anything was fine." I replied. I was officially freaking out. I really do not like any sort of medical places or situations and this was horrible for me.

I heard the first lines of the song began to play and I thought of Spencer, I thought of home, of peaceful happy times....and I was out.They drilled three holes directly into the bone, made a small incision on my shin to graft my hamstring, and made me a new ACL. Absolutely amazing that there is technology and people that can do this. I woke up to the usual beeping sounds of the hospital and a nurse scurrying above me. She was asking me questions but everything was blurry and she might as well been speaking french. Slowly things were a little more clear and they wheeled me back to Spencer. Fortunately it was an outpatient surgery and after a few hours we were on our way home. The ride home was long and hot. I looked for a bag to grab and hurl into but luckily I made it home before all the post surgery snacks resurfaced. Because of a nerve block, I wasn't in a lot of pain but extremely nauseous and groggy. We carefully slid my leg, that was in a huge contraption from my thigh to my ankle, from the car. I would not be bending my leg for the next 10 days.

Home, I was home in my bed. The pain was bearable for the first day after the surgery because of the nerve block but as it slowly wore off the reality of what I had done settled in. I began to have all sorts of perspective as I lie in my bed hour after hour, minute after minute.

I gained perspective on pain. I had felt pain before, I did birth three children and have several kidney stones, I knew pain but this was different. I couldn't move. I was stuck with this huge contraption on my leg that felt like 200 lbs and an ice machine attached that was constantly running cool water around my knee. It made me think of people who suffer from chronic pain or illness. That have a terminal illness. I knew I would get better that this pain would go away in a few short months. For some it never goes away. You could say I gained empathy by experiencing pain first hand.

I saw the other side of service, the receiving side. How hard it is to accept it, I have a tendency to say no. And for the first time I found myself saying "That would be great, thank you so much." I found what true helpful service is. And that there are good willing people to help without fanfare or reward. That while it may just be knee surgery there were people that shared that empathetic perspective. I saw true friends at my side the day after the surgery. They did not mock the very fashionable moo moo I was wearing because nothing else would fit over my leg, my matted down hair, and loopy demeanor. But instead showed sympathy and kindness. Took my kids to play and brought dinner. Friends with nothing to give still offered. And when I felt at my lowest most depressed painful moment I saw that prayers were answered.

I was reminded and saw daily that my mother is an absolute saint. She has come everyday as Spencer leaves to work and stays until his return. I could literally do nothing but hobble from my bed, to the bathroom, to the couch, to my bed. She is working hard to care for me and the kids, clean the house, do my laundry, and bring so much comfort to me. I saw myself in the future doing the same for my kids. Having this kind of surgery doesn't even seem possible without such a mother.

And finally I saw my husband. The love of my life interested and eager in my care. He wanted to go in the surgery room for mere interest in the surgery, a little too much gore for me. Spencer is an amazing tireless caregiver. He worked all day only to come home and put the kids to bed, clean the house and help me. He got up early every day to make sure the dishes were done and to help me bathe. He was up in the middle of the night refilling the ice machine, giving much needed medicine, and food to eat with the medicine. He is protective and kind. And does it all without complaint.

I realized as the clock ticked and I watched all this action around me how much as a mother we really do. Not that I didn't realize before but just how I didn't appreciate that. And that my handicap is temporary. I get to go back to work and serve my family and friends. I can in all honesty say that I can't wait.

Thank you to my indispensable family and friends for meal after meal.Taking care of my kids.For kind words and concern. For taking care of my every need. And don't worry, I haven't lost my spirit or sense of humor about my knee surgery. Spencer and I have found ourselves laughing at all those humorous moments. I write this for the record, so I will never forget and never pass up the chance to help someone else. Because I have seen many things from this bed while going through this little bump in the road.