It's Day 6 after surgery, and life goes on. The weekend was exactly what my fried and frantic brain needed. I spent Saturday at the beach with a long skirt covering my bionic-ness, moving and shaking in various different reclined positions. I think it killed the crazy in my head, which was beginning to leak out into things like text messages and dreams. One of those is worse than the other - I'm sure you can imagine which one. Social interaction and general self-sufficiency allowed me to re-adapt back into my initial stance on this whole ordeal - a BETTER one. I have to give myself, my surgeon, and time credit. I was back full time today, after only missing two FULL days of work last week. My first time around I think it took me 8 days to even get to part-time. Sunday reminded me that I'm still an adult and have responsibilities, so I cleaned my house, paid my bills, ran errands, and watched an assortment of SVU episodes (yes, that's an adult activity). How did I get around? I drove myself. For one, don't worry, I haven't taken pain meds since Thursday. Pain > nausea, thankyouverymuch. My right leg (formally known as my "bad" leg) is fully capable of pressing the gas and brake pedals, so I'm living the dream. My seat is in full gangsta lean, with my left braced leg in complete extension, hanging out above all the nonsense down below. My right foot is also in full stretch, conducting the ebb and flow of my speed with the touch of one toe. Hey, one toe is all you need to stop and go. Nothing in this town is more than 10 minutes away. I promise I'm being a safe driver.
After fulfilling my time with an assortment of friends over the weekend, it was a true "wake up" to have to come into the office early on a Monday, with one crutch, workout clothes on (givemeabreakihavenothingtowear), and 312 unread emails and 42 voicemails waiting for me. ACL surgery is like getting married. Everyone is all about it for the first few days, but after that, it's only you thinking that the world should be considerate of your big life change. Oh you didn't think ACL surgery could be compared to marriage?
After fulfilling my time with an assortment of friends over the weekend, it was a true "wake up" to have to come into the office early on a Monday, with one crutch, workout clothes on (givemeabreakihavenothingtowear), and 312 unread emails and 42 voicemails waiting for me. ACL surgery is like getting married. Everyone is all about it for the first few days, but after that, it's only you thinking that the world should be considerate of your big life change. Oh you didn't think ACL surgery could be compared to marriage?
After a couple of hours trying to answer the same questions, new questions, and statements that are so poorly written, I'm unsure if they're questions at all, I took the elevator down to my car. There's this sign next to our elevator at work (3-story building) that says "Burn calories, not electricity." I get nervous that someone is going to snub their nose at me when I'm waiting for it, so I strategically hold my crutch in great visibility. Sometimes I even put a little pain-stake look on, too. The full effect. Don't judge. Anyway, I got into my car and headed to the gym where my first post-op PT is. I purposely arrived 30 minutes early. No, I'm not that excited. I'm determined. I read like 9 articles about AP's ridiculous 6-month comeback after his ACL tear last night, and I decided that while the world may not be watching the way they watched his, my recovery will be miraculous as well. And I will work for it. I showed up 30 minutes early to get my workout in. See that picture? This is my old friend, thearmbike. It's the one piece of gym equipment that you never see anyone on. Except for those people who have never been to a gym before and they feel so incredibly uncomfortable that they just try any piece of equipment that doesn't have a crowd surrounded by it. Ya. The arm bike wins every time. It's a bike. For your arms. One woman walked by and took out her headphones while looking at me. In gym language, this means I have to take out mine to hear what she's about to say. "Well, that certainly doesn't look fun," she said. She seemed so nice, so I let it slide. "I keep telling myself it's a blast," I replied. She said something along the lines of good for you and that sucks all in one breath. I hobbled along to get an arm and ab circuit in as well, and had a good sweat worked up in time for my 10am appointment.
Now don't forget that I know the rehab routine well. The very beginning isn't so bad, but the near beginning (i.e., next week ish) will be pretty tough. Today I worked on movement and flexing my poor, sagging quad. I was impressed with the difference between my other surgeries and this one. It already feels like my body isn't letting anything get in the way. My surgeon wants my knee to be able to bend 80 degrees. (90 degrees is an "L," so just a little big smaller in case you were wondering). I got to 70 on my own and cringed as my PT got me the rest of the way. But I did it. More than once, too. I got ice and stim (little stickies that buzz your muscles), and then was the real treat of the day. I showered at the gym. If you weren't keeping track, my first official shower was on Saturday. It was glorious and awful all at once. It was hard to balance, slippery, and painful, but it felt so good and my hair was a happy, clean haven. When I used to take showers at the gym, I'd spend a lot of time waiting until no one was in there so that they wouldn't see my change. It was this weird fear I had. All the 65+ women were just letting it all hang out, and I was - oh, I dunno, 21, and barely letting my undies show. Those older folk know what's up. There isn't really a graceful way to get undressed with one working leg, so the crowd got a full show. No one seemed to be too taken aback by the blood-soaked scene on my knee, and most of the women wanted to talk for hours about how they have bad knees too, and that athletes just don't know how to scale back! Undressed and unstable, I wobbled and crutched to the shower and snuck in. I wasn't about to use the handicap stall, even though that seat looked dreamy. There are just way too many women who need that seat more than I do. In the real scheme of life, I'm capable to hold myself up in the shower. So I stood on the grody tic-tac-toe shower mat, and enjoyed the process. A small (and elderly) audience seemed to enjoy watching me towel off and redo my bandage and brace, but I was just glad to have gotten so many things done all it one sitting - so to speak. Back at work, things never slowed down, blood drained to my ankle, and discomfort threatened my attitude, but I got through it. AP may not have had to sit at an office and answer hundreds of emails; I'm pretty certain his gym-shower experience may be a bit different; and I suppose his team of helpful hands may very well quadruple mine...yet nonetheless, I'm sure he didn't let a little brace-funk get in the way of tearing towards the endzone. We have this in common. And probably a lot more. I'll look into it. Onward and upward! The countdown continues.