Okay... I know I have to go and do my “leg exercises” right now but I have to squeeze in some words beforehand. Physical therapy is the most excrutiating experience of my life. You should see me cry everytime he forces me to bend or straighten my knee. It’s like I’m swimming in my own tears. I wake up every morning and I wonder if I’m going to stay like this for the rest of my life. It doesn’t seem fathomable at this point, but at the same time I don’t see myself ever being able to run again. My knee looks unnatural and the sight of its deformation depresses me. I wonder what would have happened if I had never had surgery.
I really don’t believe in doctors or hospitals. I don’t believe in injections, steroids or pain killers. I spent the past ten days sick to my stomach over some Percocet’s. I don’t think I’ve ever regurgitated so much. My face has become pale and I have purple circles around my eyes, such as the color of my vomit. My bones and joints feel like they are being stabbed by a sharp knife. This is by far an awful experience.
On the other hand, my mom is flying in on Wednesday and I could not be more excited. She always makes me feel better. Her presence will really bring out the sunlight in my room.
So far my days are consisting of lying in my open mouth of grave (aka bed). I flip through the channels and due to the fact that I have no cable in my room, all I can watch are court TV shows, 90’s sitcom re-runs and the news. The news really frightens me though because it makes me aware of how fragile we humans are. There is so much danger in the world and I feel like I could die at any moment. People are always dying, falling off buildings, getting shot, cancer, aids…. How can anyone ever exit their house without wearing a suit of armor? In fact, how does anyone even stay inside their home knowing that the ceiling could very well fall on them while asleep?
My days are lonely. It’s just me and knee.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Skin just shrivles. 2 weeks into my injury.
I find myself inadvertently always pivoting with my left leg, the one that’s injured. I didn’t realize how significant pivoting actually is when traveling by foot. But the continued practice is increasing my pain. I guess I should stop trying to walk, considering I’ve recently learned that the only way my knee will ever function again is through surgery. Quite frankly I’m frightened. I’m panicked. I just don’t want to die. What if I die during my surgery? What if they give me so much sedation that my poor, little body won’t be able to take it??? Or what if the doctor accidentally sneezes and involuntarily moves his arthroscope and slices something other than my meniscus???
Today, I left my house alone for the first time. I had this uncontrollable craving for something sweet, like ice cream or gum. I think not being able to have these items so available to me has caused my motivation. I struggled and dragged myself down the steps and onto the streets. Women told their children to not stare. I hate that. It's not like I'm missing a leg. And it’s not my fault I’m on crutches. But for the first time ever, I realized that tanning spray, lip gloss and zebra printed toe nails mean absolutely nothing when you can’t walk. They mean nothing when you’re sick; when you’re dying…. I’ve been cooped in my room for over a week, without any visits, any flowers or cards. I haven’t had a man look at me in nine days and I just don’t care how pampered I seem or not. Skin just shrivles up when you’re old and nothing lasts forever. Now that I’m injured, all I want is to get better.
Today, I left my house alone for the first time. I had this uncontrollable craving for something sweet, like ice cream or gum. I think not being able to have these items so available to me has caused my motivation. I struggled and dragged myself down the steps and onto the streets. Women told their children to not stare. I hate that. It's not like I'm missing a leg. And it’s not my fault I’m on crutches. But for the first time ever, I realized that tanning spray, lip gloss and zebra printed toe nails mean absolutely nothing when you can’t walk. They mean nothing when you’re sick; when you’re dying…. I’ve been cooped in my room for over a week, without any visits, any flowers or cards. I haven’t had a man look at me in nine days and I just don’t care how pampered I seem or not. Skin just shrivles up when you’re old and nothing lasts forever. Now that I’m injured, all I want is to get better.
Five days into my Injury
I’ve been in my room for five days straight now. Of course, I’ve taken a break every now and then and left to go to the bathroom or get my MRI done. It’s been a very contemplative time for me. My boredom seems to be chronic and viral. In order to destroy it, I’ve watched over twelve movies. Though it’s kind of like a hang over in a way. Although I’ve never been drunk, I can understand now when people say that alcohol doesn’t remove your problems. When the movie is over, I exhume and remember.
Over the days I’ve thought about death a lot. I’m really, really afraid of death. I keep having visions of multiple possibilities in which my death may occur. Then I become paranoid at little things. I won’t fall a sleep thinking that my room may catch fire due to a corrupt current or something. I also am afraid that my body will counter act with the medication I am taking and kill me in my sleep due to internal bleeding in the brain. I constantly try to avoid dying in a severe car crash, getting shot, drowning, slipping in the bathtub and having a concussion, etc. This is why I do not drive or own a car. I constantly think of these things and I’m not sure if it’s normal or not. I’m not saying it’s not normal to think about death, because I know it is….But I just don’t want the world to go on without me. I don’t want to die knowing that my loved ones will continue to breathe. I don’t want new inventions, infrastructure, or technology to develop without my witness or chance to experience them. And I just don’t like the concept of being buried or incinerated. Can you imagine not being able to escape a latched coffin in pure darkness??? Or being thrown in a closet of fire with no exit??? I love life too much. I’m too young to die. Even when I’m eighty-years-old, I’ll be too young to die. Everyday, when I take a shower, I think to myself “If I die today, at least my body will be clean”. Honestly, that’s the only reason I like to shower.
I’ve also thought a lot about Miles. I’ve thought about my mom and brother. I’ve thought about Oakton....Walnut St. I’ve thought about money, hospitals, color and sound. I’ve thought about B____, the boy I’ve had a severe crush on from the gym. I think about how I used to wake up every day an hour earlier than usual to curl my hair and paint on my face to perfection only for the brief occasion when we crossed paths at my job. He never paid attention. I've thought about my music career. I’ve thought about my knee and how angry I am at my body for not being invincible. Then again, I guess it would be merely impossible for anyone to go on in life and not get injured at least once.
My knee feels restrained, like it’s being tugged on by a rubber band. I can’t bend it, let alone stretch it. Movement is delicate. Around my knee cap there’s tenderness and a sensation of dislocation. On the back of my knee, I feel like my ligaments keep snapping. I can’t walk. Yes, this is a complaint.
Over the days I’ve thought about death a lot. I’m really, really afraid of death. I keep having visions of multiple possibilities in which my death may occur. Then I become paranoid at little things. I won’t fall a sleep thinking that my room may catch fire due to a corrupt current or something. I also am afraid that my body will counter act with the medication I am taking and kill me in my sleep due to internal bleeding in the brain. I constantly try to avoid dying in a severe car crash, getting shot, drowning, slipping in the bathtub and having a concussion, etc. This is why I do not drive or own a car. I constantly think of these things and I’m not sure if it’s normal or not. I’m not saying it’s not normal to think about death, because I know it is….But I just don’t want the world to go on without me. I don’t want to die knowing that my loved ones will continue to breathe. I don’t want new inventions, infrastructure, or technology to develop without my witness or chance to experience them. And I just don’t like the concept of being buried or incinerated. Can you imagine not being able to escape a latched coffin in pure darkness??? Or being thrown in a closet of fire with no exit??? I love life too much. I’m too young to die. Even when I’m eighty-years-old, I’ll be too young to die. Everyday, when I take a shower, I think to myself “If I die today, at least my body will be clean”. Honestly, that’s the only reason I like to shower.
I’ve also thought a lot about Miles. I’ve thought about my mom and brother. I’ve thought about Oakton....Walnut St. I’ve thought about money, hospitals, color and sound. I’ve thought about B____, the boy I’ve had a severe crush on from the gym. I think about how I used to wake up every day an hour earlier than usual to curl my hair and paint on my face to perfection only for the brief occasion when we crossed paths at my job. He never paid attention. I've thought about my music career. I’ve thought about my knee and how angry I am at my body for not being invincible. Then again, I guess it would be merely impossible for anyone to go on in life and not get injured at least once.
My knee feels restrained, like it’s being tugged on by a rubber band. I can’t bend it, let alone stretch it. Movement is delicate. Around my knee cap there’s tenderness and a sensation of dislocation. On the back of my knee, I feel like my ligaments keep snapping. I can’t walk. Yes, this is a complaint.
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