So, remember that last post where I said all was well? I think I jinxed myself.
A few weeks after my surgery on my 9th of September, I was cleared by my surgeon to resume light activity– I still had the sutures in my shoulder but was told cardio/running and not too strenuous lower body workouts were okay. I was SO HAPPY! He didn’t have to tell me twice, I hit the ground running (literally) and was finally starting to feel like my self again. About a week later, on the 27th, I had an appointment to finally get my stitches out, almost 20 days after surgery. That’s when things started to go back downhill.
I woke up the next morning in a lot of pain and there was blood on my sheets; the incision had reopened overnight. After an emergency appointment with the surgeon (who was dismissive, unhelpful, and has possibly the worst bedside manner of all time), I was given the news that there was basically nothing he was willing to do, it would have to heal on it’s own (which could take months, oh, and, by the way, you’re going to have a terrible looking scar afterwards), and due to the fact that I now have an open wound that is highly susceptible to infection, I am banned from basically any and all activity– I cannot run, lift weights, sweat, be in the sun, go in any body of water, move my arm too vigorously, etc, etc, etc.
That was especially great news considering we were supposed to leave for the beach with Scott’s family that week. Spoiler alert: we had to cancel the vacation. Oh, and THEN, someone hit my car on the way home from the doctor’s appointment. JESUS H!
Needless to say I was in a pretty bad place for a while. I’m not going to lie– I still go there sometimes. For a while the wound seemed to be getting worse and worse every day, and it has been absolutely maddening to be on the sidelines for this long. Because it’s not that I just can’t run, it’s that I can’t do anything, and I have a big nasty open wound that requires frequent dressing changes and oozes and bleeds and hurts almost constantly (and is going to absolutely hideous when it does heal, forgive me, I’m vain). When my well meaning family sent us photos from the beach, I just cried. Seeing all my friends post about their runs and races fills me up with a shameful amount of jealousy. My training schedule is so far in the trash can– hell, it’s in the dumpster, no, it’s in the LAND FILL– I know none of the goal races I had scheduled are going to happen. I’m particularly heartbroken over most likely missing the race I was most excited about– the Flying Monkey Marathon, which registers on a lottery and several of my running girlfriends are doing. Not only that, but I haven’t been able to run and help with the marathon group I’m supposed to be a coach for, and I feel TERRIBLE about not fulfilling that obligation.
So… it’s just a lot at once. And I’m struggling. And even though I know it’s probably the worst possible thing I can do, I’ve isolated myself. The world is going on without me. I’m insignificant. I don’t matter. It’s stupid, but that’s where my mind goes. Scott and my mom, bless them, they are so wonderful and have been doing everything in their power to cheer me up. I’m trying too, but some days it’s easier than others. AND ALSO IT’S ELECTION YEAR– NEED I SAY MORE???
I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. While there’s still a long road ahead, the wound seems to have started healing instead of looking worse every day. I’ve forced myself out of my hole and am trying to make an effort to be around the people who make me happy (dinner plans with gal pals this week– I need it so much), do things that make me happy (did y’all know I do art? I forgot too), and I’ve contacted a few of the race directors of the events I’m registered for and asked for a volunteer position (a few of them have even been kind enough to defer my registration until next year!).
I’m going to make it through this hell of a year if it KILLS me, y’all. I may not be in one piece, I may be battered, bruised, and a little worse for wear, but I’ll make it.
(I’m already thinking about my glorious come back. Mountain Mist 2017 anyone?)
(Also, you’re welcome for not including any gory photos.)