Monday, July 29, 2013

Pile of Ashes

Im just going to lay it out there for ya:

Im a chicken.

I am scared of needles, pain, and blood makes me queasy. I ask for valium for a cavity filling, and insects...well if you've been reading me this long you know what the hell insects do to me.
I also suck hard at asking for help. I like to be a 100% certified Do-it-yourselfer. 

3 weeks ago I flew to Pittsburgh for major surgery. Im still incredibly stunned that I made it TO Pittsburgh, let alone the hospital because let me tell you...I was terrified. Although it may have something to do with my sister Rubia and my friend Chris standing there, arms crossed shaking their heads at my feeble attempts of escape.

Arriving at the hospital before sunrise, I was quickly put in those cute and super fashionable hospital gowns with the convenient fully exposed backs. As each nurse, surgeon, and general hospital staff filed through I asked of each the same: "PLEASE knock me out! I DONT WANT TO SEE THE O.R.!!" I had no shame really. I was a snotty crying mess, trembling in my gurney  bed, even spewing the lame excuse of having to go pee real quick in order to prolong my death-stroll to the operating room. One of the anesthesiologists chuckled lightly as he was giving me an intravenous shot saying that I would soon feel like I had had a nice glass of wine. 

"I'd much prefer a bottle!" was probably not what he expected as a reply.
By the second dose of amazingness into my vein-line, I vaguely remember watching the nurse at her desk ask me a question whilst my brain yelled "She's talking to you! Answer her!" but my lips weighed like a pair of bricks.

And then they were shaking me awake.

Cue the frantic post anesthesia face-scratch off. 

First I madly wanted to rip off the plastic over my face. My nose was ablaze in itch and I just wanted to tear it apart a little. Bad choice because while I sounded like Darth Vader, that oxygen mask was supplying a good percentage of my oxygen. No mask and I was Buzz Lightyear the first time his helmet was opened: "Gasp! GAASSSSPPPP!!!" But lets be honest here, what can make you forget about severe oxygen depletion like excruciating bone pain? Let me answer that for you....
NOTHING. 

I mean, yea they just sawed off the blasted thing no biggie. Its nothing pain medication cant help, right? I just have to motion the nurse over nicely with erratic zombie arm flops and useless attempts to what? Hold my leg because that eases the pain? Yeah. That shit there, it totally DOESNT WORK. And apparently neither does morphine all up in my vein system because although the nurse handed me the 'med boost power button' that can give me extra pain killers every 6 minutes lets face it, Im Sherlin. Sherlin would say, press the button, and her body would be all 'Yea that was a good try kid, but we dont do drugs'. You guessed it, my body didn't respond to the awesome power of the fukital med.

Know what did knock me out however? Crying. Crying hysterically and for a prolonged period of time will for sure make you pass out from sheer exhaustion like a 2 year old who threw a tantrum over a lollipop. Like any good parent that sees a tantrum and documents it, so did my sister take a picture of me with swollen eye balls, tear streaked cheeks, and a pout no less. 

Ahh...good times good times...

Except, heres where my body declares its hatred for me, once Im fully asleep... I stop breathing. Dont worry though, know what happens when you stop breathing in your sleep but your heart doesn't? You jolt awake. Let me remind you im perhaps an hour post-op and my hip and leg were sliced and diced. Yeah. Those jolt too. 
Happens to be that Morphine, that nifty clear liquid doing absolutely nothing useful in my blood system, causes shallow breathing. In my case, too shallow. 

It was a fun 5 hours. 

Like any good patient, the first thing I asked my sister for after surgery was my phone. Its judgement time suckas...you know whom you matter to by those texts you get while you might already be dead...and yall know who you are. I have text records.
I went under at about 730 am, and was out of surgery around 2 or 3. Thats an unbearable amount of time for a little girl of 9 waiting for her mom to resurface. Her first text asking to Skype was met by Rubia's news that I was already in the O.R. It hurt a little to hear through her typed out words the disappointment she had at being just 30 minutes late. Every hour, 1 or 2 new time stamp inquiries from Iris. Each one a little more impatient. Each one met with Rubia's lovingly patient and G-rated response as to my progress. Its like I had ventured into Space to fight an alien monster and she was awaiting my swift heroic return but taking every lapsed hour as a sign of defeat. 
Finally I fat fingered: Hi Baby...its Mommy.

What it read to the both of us was: I did it. I made it baby. Im still here.

Although what it was starting to feel like to me was: "What have I done? Ive made a mistake..."

I cannot sit up. I cannot wiggle my toes. I cannot piss and I sure as shit cant stomach looking at whats under the sheets. My surgeons on the other hand, have a different idea. 

Let me tell you something about my surgeons. I have 5 of them. They're all 7 foot some and save for one...unbelievably handsome. Like GQ sent their models to Medical School. I've also spent 7 plus hours fully naked in their presence with no recollection. Thats both terrifying and upsetting. 
They also have typical Ortho Surgeon take-no-bullshit personalities that make it infuriating to speak to them when you're in my situation so it all balances out. Some. 
With his nonchalant I-cut-people-and-bones-on-a-daily-basis way, Dr. Bill throws back my covers and I have no time to look away. The gauze and surgical tape starts at my hip and ends past my ankle bone with only a short 6 inch break at my knee. There are two valves extracting blood and I am desperately searching for my puke pan.

And yall thought I was brave. 

When Dr. Rob, standing at the foot of my bed, has had enough of my whimpering and sissy-fit he looks at me sternly and says:

"Hey. You told me you were tough, that first time I met you in the office. Now prove it to me."

Hes right. They all told me this was a no bull-shit surgery. That this crap right here, it would suck and suck HARD. That I was not meant to do this with no spouse or parent to care for me for a month or more. That I needed to think this through and figure out how the hell I was going to make sure that I didn't fuck it up once we were past the point of no return. It was me who told them I would figure it out. That I was sure, and I didn't need time to think because I had been led here to this ONE opportunity to save my leg and that I was TOUGH. 

Well then...lets stir up this pile of ashes. 


Sunday, July 7, 2013

Into the FIre

6 Years, 4 months, and 26 days ago I simply didn't die.
I survived.

I wavered between hazy consciousness and drugged sleep, yelling at nurses that the bed was swallowing me. That I couldn't breathe. I had one good arm and that was it. My head, face, right arm and legs were damaged. I had no say in my surgeries and I went in to the OR crying, begging not to go.  I woke up to a leg that would never be the same, run through with a titanium bar. "Skeletal Traction" the surgeon called it, and demanded I stop my whimpering and start forcing my muscles wake up again, to point my toes, bend my knees, flex sore muscles impaled by metal. He told me that this wasn't the end,  nor the beginning of the healing. This was a pause in time, a stolen few years before my body would start to shut down the bone and I would need a replacement. How long? Who knew. "Face it, look at your wounds. Look at your new leg. Look at what you now are"

None of it was a choice.

Tomorrow is a choice. Right now I am at the base of a monstrous mountain. I havent even started, Ive merely arrived at its feet. I am looking up to the peak hidden up in the clouds and the climb seems overwhelming. The first step seems to be impossible to force myself to take, my mind screaming inside my head: "This is atrocious! This is barbaric! This is not the easiest path! Run! RUNRUNRUNRUN!"

In the days counting down to my femoral bone graft, I have thought heavily on Jasmine. Jasmine whom didn't have a bone removed and implanted further up her leg, but half her brain removed. Jasmine whom had ports in her heart, head, and belly. Jasmine who had more surgeries that I, with much less odds of survival and recovery than I have been given. Jasmine whom I never in my life saw cry a tear for anything so pitiful as an operation. My smiling Monkey, who never felt the despair and rage that I am encountering now.

Having moved to a one level apartment in preparation of 6 months of crutches, I recently unpacked Jasmine from her travel container and placed our molded hands and her precious ashes on my bureau. I've always wondered why she wouldn't let me hold her hand that day, fighting instead to hold mine in hers. Leading me. From her altar in my room she's often listened to me talk about my roughest moments. Asking for guidance. Asking for help. Asking for her match in grace.

Unfortunately I dont have the strength that child did. I have asked the nurse, no, I've BEGGED the nurse to drug me up before I ever get to the OR. I dont want to smell the antiseptic smell of that stainless steel room. I dont want to see those lights and masked faces. I want this small amnesty from the war against AVN.

Iris asked me if I was scared. I lied and told her only a little bit. I told her I was instead looking forward to being healthy and whole again so that I could chase them in the park. I told her that after all of this was done and over I wouldn't get as tired as I used to. That I wouldn't need to stop because I was in pain. That we could do REAL Yoga, without alteration, and I could sit on the floor cross-legged again.

The truth is that I am sitting outside my hotel room trying to avoid sleep and the coming of dawn. Theres a swing set below my room that I want to sit on because when the new Sun rises I will be surrendering my body to the fire.

I am the Phoenix, and when the sun has begun its decent...I will rise from the Ashes.