I had gone my whole life without knowing or even meeting another person named Debbie. Even at work, for years I was the only Debbie. But not anymore. Now the school district where I work has four Debbies. Four working at the same place in one tiny town.
This post goes to one of the Debbies - Debbie D. - and the crew who thinks I'm doing great. Thank you! Despite my complaining I know I can make it through with the knee. Just look what has happened with my weight loss over the last three months.
Over the course of the last seven months I've managed to have lost 122 pounds (as of today). Thanks to all the Debbies and non-Debbies who cheer me on!
When my alarm went off early this morning it jolted me awake. I'd had another rough night tossing and turning with an achy knee. And a bawling cat that wanted outside. And a snoring hubby. And a hot bedroom.
I sat there on the edge of the bed after the alarm jolt. Sat there for quite some time, my head full of negative thoughts.
Why do I have to be in pain all the time?
Why is this knee taking so long to get better?
How come I'm the only one that has to work so hard to just function normally?
How is it that at the age of 49 I've already had 12 surgeries?
Why do I have to go to physical therapy?
Why do I have to work so hard at physical therapy?
I'm tired of pain.
I'm tired of working.
I'm tired of working through the pain.
I don't know if I can do it anymore.
It's not fair.
Despite the thoughts in my head before my feet touched the ground, I got up, got dressed, and got to therapy. I did all my required work with a cheery imposition. No one would have known about those few minutes of negativity that faced me earlier in the day.
Yes, I'm tired. But I can do it. The pain lessens a bit every day. The joint is healing - and muscles are strengthening - at a faster rate than the last time 'round. All this pain and hard work is going to pay off in a big way. I'm going to have two good knees for the first time in 30 years. (5 of my 12 surgeries have been on my knees.)
Pity party over. No more whining.
Especially no whining on Wednesday. That day is going to rock! It'll be almost as cool as my scar. Awesome, right?
Strawberry Greek yogurt with chocolate protein powder for breakfast. Either an apple or banana with peanut butter for snack. Plain tuna fish with five Ritz crackers for lunch. Whatever I can get for dinner. Depending on the day it could be beef jerky, a taco, or a piece of birthday steak. Water. Crystal Light. Lots of physical therapy. Treadmill, bike, balance board work, calf work, leg raises, weights, wall squats. Pain pills thrown in here and there. Sleep, no sleep. From the bed to the office chair to the camp chair outside. Supervise the cat's outside visitation. Don't supervise the cat's visitation.
She's doing quite a nice job of being outside by herself and sticking close. Thank goodness because closed doors sure aren't her favorite thing. Just check out her work when the bedroom door is closed.
And yep, it's all temporary. Things are about to get interesting.
While I might not be the best person giving out advice on how to be a warrior I can speak to being a part time warrior. I'm only two weeks out from major surgery (did I say major?), I'm so very much ahead of where I was when I had the last knee done, I'm feeling much more confident and strong, but I can't seem to maintain my warrior behavior for a full day. Part time warrior it is.
Ditched the walker, onto the cane. Warrior!
At physical therapy I did 15 minutes on the treadmill. Warrior!
Another 9 minutes on the bike. Warrior!
An additional 35 minutes working on the balance board, doing calf work, and lifting weights. Warrior!
20 more minutes hooked up to the electrical stimulation machine with ice on my knee. Sweating like crazy, hair dripping, trying to catch my breath. Not so warrior-ish.
Headed right to the doctor. Sat in the waiting room and tried to keep myself from throwing up. (You ever work out so hard you throw up? Yeah, I had that going. Non-warrior-ish.) But I didn't puke. Warrior!
Watched as they took out each one of my staples. They have this little tool that reaches under the staple, puts pressure on the top of the staple and bends it, which then helps it pop out from the skin. Warrior!
Took pictures for you. Warrior!
Went back to the Boise place, let the kitty out for some outside visitation. (No more unsupervised visitation for her.) Took a pain pill. (Non-warrior.) Walked into the backyard with no cane. Warrior!
In my pajamas, tucked into bed by 1:00 in the afternoon, napping for a few hours. Kitty and I are both done being warriors for the day.
And now...how can you be a warrior? All you have to do is look at these next pictures, pretend you were there with me, and you can call yourself a warrior, too!