Breaking in the Knees, Part I. Crater Lake Edition.

So, I've covered that I got new knees, and that they are fantastic, but I feel like I have not completely covered why. To do so, I feel like I should go back and recap all of my adventures.

 

The road to full recovery is a long one, one that I am still on four years later. I healed quickly, and was back on my feet in record time. On a horse again just six weeks post-op. But it was hard. It's still hard. I don't like to admit it, let alone show how hard it is, but I am affected often.  Usually not with knee pain, but with fatigue and listlessness. I can't find the words for the sheer drowning sensation I feel sometimes, or for the lymphatic feeling that washes over me, but it's something I hate. I hate it even more that I am unable to control it. It's something I battle with often.

 

Aside from all of the little physical triumphs of recovery, healing getting stronger, getting back on a horse, etcetera, my first real victory came a little over two years after my surgery, in the summer of 2012.

 

My best friend, Jeff Murphy, is a Wildlife Technician. I could go on about how romantic of a job it is, studying endangered species in their natural habitats, being surrounded by wilderness that only few truly understand, but I will save it for him to tell when he finally writes his book. It will be amazing and no doubt be made into a movie, but that is neither here nor there at the moment.

 

I had visited him at Crater Lake before. Once his first year out there, and again the summer before my surgery.  I've spent time in the North West prior to Jeff getting the job at the lake, and  I couldn't soak enough of it in. Every time I go back I feel an extreme sense of peace come over me, and Jeff just gave me another excuse to submerge myself again.

 

In the summer of 2012, I was still healing. I was struggling with extreme apathy. I didn't feel like I had the energy, let alone the want, to do anything. I decided I had to go. If being back in the North West, with my best friend, couldn't fix me, I was a lost cause. So I went.

 

The first day we did a few easy trails, one of my favorites and one new. Awe-inspiring isn't a strong enough of a sentiment to describe either of them. The next day, we went on a literal bear hunt. Not to hurt the bear in anyway, just to observe. The bear eluded us, but a relatively easy hike none-the-less. The last full day at the lake, Jeff asked if I was up for Cleetwood. It was a trail I had done prior to my knees, and I knew it wouldn't be easy.
 

It would be the longest, and by far the most strenuous walk that I had taken my new knees on. It is a 2.2 mile round trip and with a sign at the trail head warning people with walking problems not to attempt the 11% grade and innumerous switchbacks.  I asked Jeff if he thought I could manage it, he nodded , and so we went. We took our time, going down the steep grade on loose soil proved to be difficult, but manageable. I took one step at a time and trusted. Trusted that I could handle it. Trusted that I was stronger than I thought. I could feel, not my knees, but my muscles complain at the task I was challenging them to. Reminding me that it had been quite a while since I have asked them to preform that intensely. But down we went. Step by step.

 



As the trail opened to reveal the lake below, I took a deep breath. I was sore, and worn, but it felt refreshing. I was pushing myself. I was tired of being tired and I wanted my life back.

 

We spent some time by the lake. I always forget how amazing it is to look into something so deep and clear. It makes you feel small.

 

As we started our ascent out of the caldera, I felt better about everything, but it couldn't compare to the feeling I got when we reached the top and the head of the trail.

 

I did it. Not in record time, but I did it. I pushed hard and it felt like I had new life breathed into me. All of the doubt I had in myself was pushed aside and I felt like I had my fight back. Looking back on it a few years later, I feel like I can say it was one of the most edifying moments of my life.

 

I still battle with feelings of detachment and disinterest, but I no longer feel as though I am on the losing side of the fight.

Re-Launch

     So getting back to me and my arthritis. The biggest game changer to date has been my bi-lateral knee replacement, which has now been over two years ago. They rebuilt me. They made me stronger. Healing has been going brilliantly. I have full mobility back, my strength is getting there and my endurance a distant, yet persistent third.

     The biggest change in the past year is the moving into a new home with my boyfriend. A funny, intelligent boy who is a great conversationalist with a yearning for knowledge not too far from that of my own. He’s also rather good looking, which certainly doesn’t hurt his case… but again all this has its place in a blog about my personal life instead of my personal life with RA. So why am I telling you this? Because he helped me realize its okay to be me, and to do what I love. You see, living with RA, I can really only do so much in any given day. Christine Miserandino's Spoon Theory demonstrates this principle really well. Never heard of it? You should familiarize yourself with it. Here is the link. Read it. http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/. It puts in perspective what people with RA, or any auto-immune disease, go through every day.

     So back to this boy and why he is so great in reference to my life with RA. Having been diagnosed at 12, I have never been in a relationship where my disability was not a factor. It usually starts out ok, but then it goes downhill once I hit a flare-up. It's difficult to explain to someone how I am able to be so active one day, and then the next, not be able to move. I don't just mean not be able to get out, go for a stroll or get on my horse, I mean CAN NOT move. Spending all day in bed, or the couch, or on a "good" flare day, at the computer. Dishes pile up, laundry needs to be done, the house needs to be cleaned, all things I am well aware of, but helpless to fix during a flare. I become dependent, something I can say I truly hate more than anything, not solely because I am prideful, but because of the burden I was always made to feel I was. I was once told by a boy that I was lucky to have him, and that I would never find anyone else that would "put up" with my disability like he did.

     Anyway, another point of distention were days that I did feel good. Most people wake up, and with the help of a cup of coffee, have enough energy to do whatever they want and need to do. This is where the Spoon Theory comes in. Every morning I wake up with a set amount of "spoons". Some days I have very few, only just enough to get through activities of daily living (ADL’s). Other days I have more. When I happen to have spoons leftover, I have to make a choice. I can either get out, go for a walk or ride my horse, or I can stay home, catch up on housework and cook dinner. But not both. I can tell you once I start to feel better, I could give a damn about dishes or dust. I am first going to do what makes me happy. I am not saying that is what I should do, I am saying that is what I am doing. Selfish? I think it’s more about self preservation. If I spend my whole life being either sick and miserable, or well and miserable in a kempt house, I am still miserable. And I do not mean “I didn’t get the toy I wanted for Christmas miserable”, I mean deeply despondent to the verge where one starts to lose themselves, and losing oneself is an awful thing to let happen. It's happened to me before, when I started to believe the ones who told me I wasn't good enough, that I was a burden instead of something to be cherished.

   And that's what this boy does. He cherishes me.  He supports me. He takes care of me. He helps me. He builds me up instead of tearing me down. And above all, he let's me be me. The Good, the bad and the ugly. I guess, in brevity, that's what this rambling is about - find someone who loves you. Accepts you. Everything about you.  Trust me someone's out there just waiting to fall in love with everything that you have to offer.
 

 

    

Out with the Old in with the New

So today is the last day that I have to spend with my old knees. I feel as if I should have had a going away party or something. Granted I haven't felt quite up to it, but just the same, my knees and I have been through a lot.

As a baby I'm sure that I put some miles on them, crawling around, testing them, learning how to walk. Later, it was hopscotch, skip-it and jump rope. Tree climbing and bike riding. Hiking and swimming, my knees and I did it all and made it through life with only a few scrapes and bruises between us.

At a young age I had also found horses, my passion in life, and my knees were right there with me. Supporting me as I learned how to ride and how to jump. Picking me up when I lost contact with my saddle, and made contact with the ground. My knees and I were a team.

Then something happened. We started to grow apart. At first it was little things, like running and dancing. Then, my knees no longer wanted to take the impact that came with high level equestrian jumping competition. After a while,they resisted even small tasks such as walking, standing and climbing stairs. They had completely forsaken me, leaving me to spend my days in bed or experiencing life outside of my apartment, from a wheelchair, looking up at my world around me. Looking up at a world that I was so used to surveying from the back of a horse, or the limb of a tree. My knees and I had reached a cross road.

It was an easy decision. The decision to replace my old knees with new metal and plastic ones. I feel it was like the decision a major league coach makes when he pulls from the bull pen. He knows the man standing on that mound is done and worn out, even injured, but the game still needs to be won. So he brings in the relief pitcher, and with this new, refreshed pitcher, the promise of the chance to win the game.

So here I stand on my pitching mound ready, ready for relief, ready for promise, and ready to turn this game around.