Wallows and Sorrows

I had a day yesterday. A DAY. 

I’m just going to warn you that this post is full of whining and wallowing in sorrows and I HATE being that way. While I’m feeling way better now and far more like my optimistic and enthusiastic self…yesterday I had a bad, bad day. And while I’d rather just erase this day from my memory and move on with my life, this blog is a place to document the good, the bad, and the way ugly.

To start, that morning I had to drive an hour away to a field site where I had to spend most of my day. Because my prescribed Valium makes me feel like an astronaut floating through space, I thought it best to not take this pill and then drive a bazillion miles south down a 3-4 lane highway. I felt fine all day, much to my surprise. It felt a little, teeny bit tight, but mostly fine.

I had my Physical Therapy appointment scheduled at the hospital for yesterday afternoon. This was with the therapist associated with my surgeon’s office. I had intended to take my Valium when I changed to go to the appointment. THAT plan got foiled because we ran late in the field and I had to run around like ninny just to make it to the hospital in time for my 2:45 appointment. (Which I then had to sit and wait around for another half hour for them to be ready to take me…but I digress.)

Val, the very nice lady who looks very much like Sophia Bush, took me in and asked me 7 million questions and wrote notes all over my form. They all looked like chicken scratch but they apparently meant something to her. Then the fun stuff began.

She took all sorts of measurements of hip angles and ranges of motion. She took some lying on my back and my belly, an even on each side. She took measurements of both hips for comparison. There was lots of stretching and pushing and pulling. Then she started showing me “light” stretches to focus on the psoas/hip flexors. At that point, I could feel things getting a little angry in there. Just liiiiiittle bit angry.

She asked me how I thought the spasms might be triggered, so I told her that every time they’ve happened so far, it has been directly after sitting down. The folding of my torso and the contracting the muscle together seems to be what’s causing it (in my non-medically-trained brain). So she seemed intrigued but not surprised. Innocently she said “Okay, so just do me a favor, stand up and then bring your leg up into a marching motion.” And….BAM! Muscle SPASM OF DOOM! I immediately panicked because I knew I was a half hour from home, I had to drive my car, and I immediately couldn’t even walk or move. The therapist and I instantly tried working on it to get it to calm down.

We heated it, she did direct pressure and even massage, we stretched it…nothing helped. It was a freaking scene in the clinic because she had to help me with everything I did. She had to help assist me to the chair because I couldn’t move the leg, she had to get the heat for me. She had to help to and up onto the massage table while I writhed in pain. It was so embarrassing. And of course everyone watched in horror (probably not…but it sure felt that way). I was there for forty-five minutes with her trying to get it to calm down so I could at least leave. Finally we decided that I HAD to take the Valium, so she got my bag and some water for me. Luckily I had it with me.

After taking the pill it was like a twisted race against time. I needed the valium so that my leg could feel well enough to walk to my car and drive, but my Valium makes me pretty out of it and I didn’t feel comfortable driving while on it. What a mess.

When the spasms lightened a little, I was then able to at least move my leg a little bit so that I could walk if I crouched over and took tiny steps. I decided to leave at that point…there was nothing left they could do for me and as long as I could get myself into the car and comfortable, I was confident at that point that I would be okay to drive. As I was leaving, I bumped into my surgeon’s assistant, Hilda (aka nicest lady ever). She was so worried about me because I obviously looked like a hot mess. She didn’t know if I should drive like that. She lives in the town next to me and she wanted to drive me to a meeting place where Matt could then pick me up. I wanted to take her up on it, but the problem was that I was not leaving my car in the middle Providence overnight. I might as well leave a big sign on it saying “Please steal me!”

Hilda walked me all the way to my car, during which time she told me she really wants me to get a permanent handicapped placard. She told me to fill the papers out today and to send her the paperwork. She also said she was going to tell Dr. Schiller about the whole thing (I felt like it was when my mom used to say “Wait until I tell your father about this!”)

It took a few minutes to get into my car because of course I parked my car right next to a giant column and I couldn’t open my door very far. That made an already difficult situation even more difficult. Seems so silly to read that, I’m sure, but I was so stressed out from the mess of a scene at PT, then seeing Hilda and having her dote all over me and telling me she’s going to talk to Dr. S, and the tension from the spasm, this stupid column next to my car was like a monumental issue at the time.

I finally got myself into my car and found a position where I was actually pretty okay. I wasn’t irritating the spasm, and I could move my foot back in fourth to the pedals with minimal pain. It was obvious the valium was working and I could drive home. I just took it slow.

As I drove home, all of the everything that had happened over the last couple hours really just hit me all at once. I was overwhelmed and embarrassed. I was annoyed, aggravated, and most of all, severely discouraged. I kept having these awful “These spasms will never go away!” thoughts and the “I’m going to have to take Valium for the rest of my life!” thoughts. So dramatic, but I honestly couldn’t help it. I am not ever like that, ever. I pride myself on trying to always be thankful for what I do have, and grateful for an overall very healthy and happy life. But last night man, it all just kind of piled on.

And then it all just got worse. Because I am a Daddy’s Girl, through and through…right down to my core. I am the definition of a Daddy’s Girl. And my whenever anything got me discouraged, or down…or upset, I would always talk to my dad about it. He was the wisest man I’ve ever met; extremely intelligent, and insightful, and thoughtful. And besides all that, he was the most supportive person in my life. Always. He and I were two peas in a pod. So, for me, going through this has been difficult all along. But last night, after all I had been through that day, and the horrible pain that I was still having in my leg even three or four hours later, all I wanted was my Daddy.

I just wanted my Daddy. And he’s not here. So there it is. A girl sometimes just needs her dad…and I can’t have him. So while driving home, all of these awful emotions just hit me all at once and I had a “woe is me” sobbing-crying-pity-party all the way home and for about another hour after that.

Then I ate a brownie.

What can I say? Sometimes a girl just needs her Dad. BUT, I picked my head up, wiped the tears, realized I was being dramatic and have since just done my best to pick my sorry self up and move on. That’s what I do. I move on and adjust the sails.

Friday I see Sophia Bush (Val) again, and we are going to do more gentle stretches, no exercises. We may try some ultrasound, depending on how I’m doing. From this point forward I will not do any strenuous anything, I can’t even LOOK at strenuous exercises. No more of the exercises Dr. Schiller gave me. I just have a couple stretches that Val gave me and I have to do those three times a day every day.

Today, I am looking forward, and not backward. I’m realizing that even when I can’t hug my dad, he’s still hugging me. He’s here, and he’s supporting me, even if I sometimes can’t see that. Today, I move forward, and not backwards. This psoas is a roadblock, but I’ll find a detour to keep the course.