What She Shovels

It’s been one year since I walked with some trepidation into the Surgery Center. I will never be the same, physically or mentally, but that’s not all a bad thing.

I still can’t walk normally without pain, I can’t climb stairs, I can’t run and chase my kids on the playground or down the street (for fun or for safety). My knee hurts every day, some days are better than others, but it will never again be “normal.” I have spent countless hours in physical therapy, at home and in an office, thousands of dollars on medical care, hundreds of hours in doctor’s offices and hospitals (and that’s just for the knee!), and nearly ten weeks in bed on IV antibiotics.

I missed a summer of swimming lessons, my daughter learning to crawl, and months of “normal” days with friends and family.

Why? Because someone couldn’t say “oops.” Because someone couldn’t say “Maybe you’re right.” “Maybe you need some help.” Or admit (even to himself) that he was wrong. I will never forget, and I may never forgive.

I have learned, however, to find some comfort in all of this. I have learned the depth and breadth of friendships I have and the support I and my family have. I have learned that people are willing to sacrifice a lot to help. People I’ve never met to come and help take care of my kids. People to wash my hair when I couldn’t get out of bed. People to give up vacations and travel bonuses to help out. People to travel long distances to take care of my basic needs as well as my family’s. I have learned that I am strong and resilient and can come back from an awful horrible set back stronger, more powerful, more aware and more alive. I am incredibly thankful and grateful to the therapists, nurses, doctors, friends, family and strangers who have given up so much and helped me overcome and slog through this horrendous year.

So on this anniversary of an event that snowballed to take so much from me and my family, screw you Dr Jackass. You do NOT have the power anymore. I will not keep quiet and take your anti-psychotic medication “to help [me] sleep.” I will not sit by and let you continue to hurt me because it fits in with your golf schedule or movie watching.

I would go back and change the outcome in a heartbeat, but until the DeLorean arrives in my driveway, I will take the lessons I’ve been taught to heart and enjoy every precious day.