Humble Pie and Healing.

          I pride myself in being a very independent person. My mom says I’ve been like this since I was little. From telling my grandma I wanted mayonnaise on my banana bread to wanting to play my own player at a board game, I was a stubborn little girl who always wanted to do things by myself. To this day, I love being independent and “grown up.” I was anxious to get my driver’s license when I was 16. I was anxious to have a job as soon as it was legal. I’ve filed my own darn taxes since I was 17. I enjoy making lists and schedules and meal plans and budgets.  This may come as a surprise to some of you (*cough*sarcasm*cough*) but I am a control freak. I know. SURPRISE!

 Well, Heavenly Father knows when to knock us off our high-horses, and it was about time for me to cram down some humble pie. I have had to be extremely dependent on others. As of today, I have not been able to drive nor walk very far for 22 days, and although I was permitted to return to work, I had to stay at my desk for two weeks. For my job, I usually spend 70% of my time in the lab. As I recover from surgery, it has been a challenge for me.  

What happened is I broke the tibial sesamoid in my right foot by landing wrong after a pirouette. It was my senior year of college, about three years ago. There was a sharp pain in my right foot, but it didn’t bother me after that. I thought nothing of it until I moved to Utah and decided I really wanted to run a half marathon. As I increased my weekly mileage my foot would just ache. I kept trying to ease into it slower and slower, iced it, massaged it, but regardless of how easy I took my runs, my foot was hurting worse. I sought out a podiatrist here in Utah. X-rays showed that I had broken a sesamoid in both feet, but my left foot was asymptomatic (which just means it’s worked itself out and doesn’t hurt). The left injury probably happened while I was running at some point and I just didn’t notice. My doctor said it wasn’t common to have both broken, but since my foot is hyper mobile, meaning it moves laterally more than most feet do, I am prone to it. Just like my mom.

                I inherited some really wonderful things from my mother. Her graceful hands, her empathy for others, her optimism, her deep emotions, her gumption, her concern for others. But unfortunately, I also inherited her feet. Her small, slender feet with high arches and hyper mobility. Weak feet with a tendency to break. In fact, she broke both her sesamoids too! How cute are we.

My doctor gave me some options before talking about surgery, but the pain was increasing. Last year I realized I couldn’t do yoga anymore. Hiking was out. Running was definitely out. I was confined to specific types of strength training because lunges, which put vertical pressure directly on your sesamoid, had become a special type of torture.  

After over a year of other attempts, I opted for the surgery—a tibial sesamoidectomy, to be exact, which is a big, big word for “Let’s take this broken bone out!”  I was pretty freaked out about it. I’ve never had surgery before, unless you count getting wisdom teeth taken out. When I had my pre-operation appointment, my doctor was explaining exactly what they would do in as sensitive a way as he could, but I almost passed out. He noticed my pallor and stopped with the gruesome details and then spoke about my options for anesthetic. He explained general anesthetic, a lighter general anesthetic called MAC, or just local anesthetic. When he went to the last option, he said “but I definitely wouldn’t recommend that for you, because then you’d be awake for it.”Another wave of nausea came over me.

When I talked to my mom about my pre-op, she started laughing.

“What!?” I asked.

“I just didn’t know you were such a wimp!” My mother said she had just gotten the local anesthetic. I was astonished. I mean, I knew my mom is pretty thug. But she was awake for the entirety of her surgery?! She could see all the blood, she could hear the sound of her foot being mangled up, and could smell all the great smells that accompany surgery. Man, my mom is a champ! Beneath her bubbly exterior, she is one tough cookie.  

I was pretty shaky and weepy the day of the surgery. I had this irrational fear that the anesthetic wouldn’t work and I would just be paralyzed but conscious. My wonderful husband gave me a priesthood blessing, and that helped. The surgery was done at Orem Community Hospital and I was superbly impressed with the staff there. They answered all sorts of silly questions and explained everything really thoroughly. They made me laugh, which is really important for me when I’m anxious and stressed. I met all of the nurses and doctors who would be working on me face to face before being rolled into the surgery area. Honestly, the worst part was getting the IV put in. I usually have great veins.  I donate blood often and have never had a bad experience.  But the combination of dehydration from fasting and nervous jitters made my veins shrink. They had to go through my hand, which was pretty uncomfortable. This easily could have been my first bad experience with needles, but the nurse was awesome so it turned out okay.

                When I woke up after the surgery, my sweet husband was next to me. He was on his phone and I asked him what he was doing. He said he was texting his mom. LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE. He was writing down the loopy things I was saying, because I had actually been awake and chattering away for a while before I was really conscious of it. Which, kudos to him, because it was hilarious. I’m glad he was there to document it.

Here are some of the things this crazy nut says when she gets out of surgery:

Me: "Where is the doctor?"
V: "He's gone."
Me: "You mean he bailed!?!?!?!"

"The prep was the worst part...this feels amazing!"

"Can I see the bone?" (I asked this several times, even though I told Vaughn specifically I didn’t want to see it the day before)

Said with great emphasis: "I'm coming back!!!!"

"If you're going to die, this is the way to go; just fall asleep, man..." This is, in fact, how Rodney Dangerfield wanted to die. I totally get it.

"Why was I freaked out about this...the worst part was poking the IV in... (looking down at my hand) Which is still here!!!!!!!!"

V: "Why don't you try to eat something."
Me: "That's like, the best suggestion you've made..."

Nurse: "Here is some apple juice".
V: "Hey, drink your apple juice."
Me (drinking apple juice): "Hey! This is apple juice!!!"

                Since then, I have been simply doted upon. My friend Ashley came and stayed with me the first day when Vaughn had to go to school. My friend Morgan brought me M&Ms and gum. The Browns brought me dinner.  My in-laws sent me this mondo care package that consisted of a butler’s bell to ring for help and enough snacks to build a fort with. I received phone calls, texts, and messages galore just checking in with me to see if I needed anything.

                And then there was Vaughn. My husband, AKA WORLD’S BEST TEAMMATE AND SWEETEST HUSBAND OF ALL TIME. He went above and beyond anything I could have imagined or asked for. That was extremely humbling for me. I strive to be the one to take care of him. In this time of our married life, I get to be the bread-winner, I get to make him dinner, I drive us most places. He remembered to do everything the nurses suggested. He sent me text reminders to hobble around like I was supposed to every hour while he was at school. He did the exercises assigned to make sure I had adequate blood flow to my toes and to check for blood clots. He made me dinner—something he’s not the most familiar with doing. But he did so very cheerfully. He brought me ice packs and took them off at the right times. He even set alarms to wake up throughout the night to put ice packs on and off, even though I said he shouldn’t worry about it at night. But he insisted because the nurses said the first 24 hours were the most important to keep the swelling down. He did this for three nights. THREE NIGHTS. He was sweet without being asked, he was sensitive to my needs. He would bring me a blanket when he knew I forgot. He kept my water filled up consistently. He bought me meds from the store. He took on the glamorous job of helping me bathe when I couldn’t do it by myself. This man is a champ. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve him. It’s not like he doesn’t have a full plate. He has a really challenging semester. He has enough to worry about without a gimp wife.  But he never complained. He’s an angel. I can’t give this man enough accolades.

                Another aspect of this surgery was giving up piano for a while. We had just purchased a digital piano, which I have fallen in love with. It’s been so long since I’ve had a piano in my home, basically since I moved out of my mom’s place, that it has been a major treat to have a piano again. But I had to give up a couple months of accompanying my ward’s choir. It’s a silly thing, and I know there are many people capable and willing to take my place. But I’m really selfish, and it’s something I really enjoy doing. It took a lot of effort to admit I couldn’t do it for a while.

                To be honest, I really like feeling needed. And for a few weeks, I felt basically useless. I didn’t cook dinner. I didn’t put on make-up. I didn’t go grocery shopping.  I didn’t do much. And I was so powerless that I had to allow people to help me, and I was extremely humbled to see how many people were sincerely willing to help me. Heavenly Father has placed special people in my life to help me feel loved. Not needed, just loved.

                It was a tender reminder that we don’t need to do anything to receive God’s love. We come to him as we are and plop ourselves before him, with our messy buns and clumsy words, and he shows us that we are his beloved, divine daughters.  Heavenly Father would be so happy to take care of His children, if we just place the precious pearl of our lives into his very capable hands.

                Today, I am grateful. I needed this surgery more than just physically. My heart is softened and I felt a layer of calloused pride be stripped away. I have been watched over and administered to by angel friends and family. Healing has come quickly. The incision is scarred up, discoloration almost nonexistent, most mobility has returned.  I never felt much pain, just some discomfort from a nerve which I realized for the first time this evening no longer hurts. I have high hopes of running again. I still want to do a half marathon. I also look forward to dancing and hiking and going on walks with my husband and practicing yoga.  You guys, I am so excited.