Much to lose

I almost made a decision that would've permanently altered my life in a bad way.

Thinking back to what I almost did, causes heaves in my stomach and prickles under the surface of my skin. I had no idea I had so much to lose.

I kneed to tell you this story because it's a cattle-prodding reminder of our need for God's wisdom and an openness to hear wisdom from an unexpected source.

Sunday, I attended a new Sunday school class. It's a class made up of a kalidiscope of women yearning for a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ. At the end, the leader of the class asked if anyone had prayer requests. Before I arrived at church, I planned to keep my mouth shut and ease myself back into the church community as a fly on the wall. Anonymity was my goal.

Several requests were shared. The leader looked around the room asking if anyone else needed prayer. My mouth opened and I asked for much kneeded prayer.

"Um, I had surgery two months ago on my knee and I'm not able to get the swelling and pain under control. Physical therapy is too expensive and probably won't do me any good. Swimming seemed to help when I was in PA, so I guess I'm asking for you to pray I can get access to a pool. I also need wisdom on how to figure out my knee issues on my own."

After prayer, class broke up so the next group could use the room. A woman approaches me.

"Wow. It's funny you asked about access to a pool. My daughter broke her leg two months ago and is learning to walk, so we have access to a community pool along with some free passes. Call me tomorrow and we'll start you swimming. I'd love to play with Kyle while you swim and my daughter water-walks."

Deb proceeds to tell me that her husband is my husbands primary care doc at Kaiser. She asked me who my PT was and why I wanted to be my own therapist. Did I have a degree in physical therapy?

Before going our separate ways to join our families for the 10:40 service, she made me promise to call my PT. (Her daughter has the same PT who happens to be the department head and one of the best in Kaiser.) One visit was all Deb made me promise. And she was going to hold me to it.

It's important to know that on average, it takes two weeks to get an appointment in the PT department. I called Monday morning, and was sitting on the PT table at 8AM Tuesday morning.

The PT listened to my frustrations with pain, swelling and a lack of progress. She took measurements of my knee's ability to flex and extend. My extension was 8 degrees short of my good knee.

"It's good you came in because you are nine weeks out of surgery, and if you don't regain full range of motion by twelve weeks, your knee will be permanently bent which will cause you a lot of pain, and will injure the muscles connected to the knee. You have three weeks to gain 8 degrees and it won't be easy. Also, your kneecap doesn't move. We need to get it in motion ASAP before any more scar tissue builds up."

She told me the consequences of failing to follow through with therapy will make hiking, biking and the other physical activities I love, almost impossible to do. I'd also live with increasing pain and injury to the joint. I had a lot to loose.

I had no clue.

I assumed I could do the knee thing on my own to save a few bucks (and avoid doing painful things I knew the PT would prescribe).

God immediately provided both the wisdom I kneeded, and the resource (pool) to follow through. My PT gave me a huge list of exercises which does take up most of my day. Rehabbing my knee is my full-time job right now. I see her again in a few weeks.

Thinking about how close I came to incapacitating myself over $30 is humbling.

I'm so glad I have a Father in Heaven who not only saves me from my sin, but saves me from my self!

Percocet, Shmerkocet - OWWWWW!

I'm over it.

Done.

Can I get off my butt now?

Following up where I left off with the eat thing - when I got out of the car to go into the hospital, there was a small boy with a milkshake walking alongside his daddy. I almost ate him.

Next to the check-in area sits a cafe. Fresh muffins, lattes, scones, turkey sandwiches . . .

The check-in-dude waved me over, and as I approached him, his eyes grew wider than those satellite dishes people had in their backyards in the '80s. He saw the hunger in my eyes. He thought he was gonna be my lunch!

"You people are so cruel! Making pre-op patients who haven't eaten in nearly a day walk through a freakin' cafe with muffins! This is patient abuse!" I jabbed by Kaiser card and credit card at him.

"Uh, I guess they didn't think that through when they designed the building." Check-in-dude ducked. He really thought I was gonna bite him. Well, I would've if I could've.

Somewhere in that hunger craze, the surgeon came in, told me it looked like he'd only be cleaning up some rough torn edges in my knee (per MRI). I'd be back to normal in two weeks or so.

In recovery, the post-op nurse tells me the surgery went well. What needed to be fixed was fixed.

Long silent pause.

She had pictures.

Of the my knee's inner parts.

A city bus driver could take a gander at those photos and think, "Oh. My. Word! How did a cheese grater get in her knee?"

My poor knee was in shreds. John said the tissue looked like lace curtains used by a mountain lion as a scratching surface.

Sure, they cleaned out some rough edges, but then they had to stretch things out and sew others back together.

Good-bye two weeks and back on the happy hiking trails.

John broke the news to me that the earliest I could hike was NOVEMBER!

Hiking, biking, camping, mountain climbing - I live for that stuff in the summer. Now I'm on my butt or some metal crutches.

"Kiss Rickett's Glenn good-bye." John said to me referring to our trip to PA to visit my parents in July. I can't hike my beloved trail with 32 waterfalls. Can't even go near it. May have to travel with crutches.

Do you know TSA treats you like a terrorist if you have a metal brace or crutches? I was searched in a very embarrassing way a few years ago at the MN airport when I had my hinge brace on my elbow. Had to unbutton my jeans and roll down the waist-band in front of the line of passengers behind me!

So, I have to be funny. I need to come up with 101 ways to have fun on your butt. Humor me here. Any ideas?

Know of pain management that works better than Percocet that's legal? Drugs, ice, elevation . . . none of it's working right now.

Eat! Eat! Eat! Eat!

Oh somebody help me! I'm seeing Blob burgers instead of a very fat cat. Had to do the drop-food-on-the-table-and-get-away, far, far away thing when I fed Kyle.

This is why I don't fast.

I can't handle the growlies, the cravings!

Keyboards aren't edible. As long as I'm writing and reading something I can't eat. I'm so desperate for diversion I popped off an entry to a writing contest!

Agent Rachelle Gardner has a picture prompt and is asking for 100 word "stories". Mine is way bizarre. Would you expect anything less from moi?

Ramble alert:
Last night at ACFW, HIS Writers, I found out I need to have a huge list of captured e-mails in order for an agent to notice me. We're talking 10 - 15K! Ummmmmm. . . .

How?

The why is to prove I have an established reader base.

I hate it when my e-mail addy is captured. Don't really want to go that route, but what if my blog gets lots of subscribers and lots of hits? Help me out here, show some litter!

Spread the love!

I make you laugh.

I'm funny.

Funnier than that VW comercial for their new crossover vehicle featuring a talking slug-bug.

Oh, I need to get out of this house where inanimate edible objects are calling my name.

Three hours. Three more hours until I'm put out of my vacuous misery. Then I'll be too sick to eat.

Not. Fair.

I "knee'd" a break?

And I'm getting one.

Tomorrow an orthopedic surgeon will drill three holes in my left knee and shave out all the smashed, torn up goo. I hope they make a DVD of it. I've heard of doctors recording artrhoscopic surgeries and giving the patient a copy as a souvenier. Litterbox can sport a YouTube short: "Inside Darcie's Knee".

Am I scared? Not yet. Ask me again when I'm laying on a hard table, watching blurry blobs swim around my head and a voice says, "This will only be a little prick . . . "

Surgery is scheduled for 12:30 PM tomorrow. I can't eat anything solid after midnight. I can't skip breakfast! I've never been able to successfully skip that morning meal - my stomach gets ugly when its empty. I'd rather have to be at the hospital at 5 AM and get it done by 7 to avoid the whole hunger thing.

I mean, come on. How the heck do "they" expect me to feed the Booger and not stuff my own face? The OR nurse told me today that one swallow of water can cancel the whole thing. Grrr.

On Saturday, John, the Booger and I drove up to Dillon on the other side of the tunnel. We biked from Lake Dillon to Breckenridge. 30 miles round trip. 4 hours of bike-seat-butt. It was awesome!

We fought head winds gusting to over 50 mph. That's hard enough alone on a bike, but pulling a child trailer? Uphill? Our average speed up to Breck, was 4 mph. And that was when we dipped behind some trees or a hill that sort of blocked the wind.

Scenery was amazing! I've lived here for 13.5 years and am still awed by the massive Rocky Mountains. Thanks to the wind, we had a rare day when the fresh fallen snow-capped mountains popped out against a cobalt sky. The contrast was so sharp, I had to squint to stare.
John shot some great pix that I'll post soon.

I needed that. Burning out my legs gave me pre-surgery satisfaction. I don't know what recovery will be like. I've injured my knee twice since surgery was scheduled. Who knows what the doctor will find in there? So, I don't know how long I'll be off the bike, off the trails, and stuck here in Denver.

At least I have my beautiful backyard!