Hanging in there.

Doesn't this look like a good place to hang in there? I came here to soothe my jangled nerves after my last orthopedic follow up. I don't know why those always have to suck so much, but at least I could chill out for a while and then go home to resume my endless rotation of Netflix, ice pack-ing and pill taking. Will Rogers State Beach is wheelchair accessible via this fantastic ramp, so I can go there no matter how I am feeling in regard to walking. I am bummed that the last time our family came to visit, we didn't get to take them to my favorite spot, and I had to sit in the parking lot while they beached it up farther down PCH.

My bloggy pal Sarah has been making my day leaving comments on this blog, while she has been laid up recovering from foot surgery. That girl has felt my pain these past few weeks! She knows what's up. Send some good healing and patient thoughts her way!

 When Sarah told me it was cheering her up to read whatever ridiculous content my pain-brain could cough up, it encouraged me. It made me feel less alone. It made me think. I've been so sad about this recent tendonitis flare. When it first started to take hold, I virtually disappeared online and in real life, stopped writing, and did everything but pull the covers over my head and quit life, all due to severe pain. Downtime is hard. No one ever talks about how it can take ten times the effort to rest than it can to keep up a punishing rhythm at P.T. or in daily life. Rest is hard. Oh, look up there! A blurry shot of my negative MRI showing no further damage! You know what else was remarkable about this scan? It showed improvement in the ACL and meniscus tears from May. The bone bruise was gone from the fibula fracture, too. It was all undetectable by a trained radiologist. I don't know why, but I was completely stunned to read and see that, that my stupid knee, which has caused me so many problems and so much pain and changed our lives every instant since I heard the bone crack, has actually been capable of growth, healing, and profound change. Let's hope I am capable of those things emotionally, too, right?

 I was shaking in my boots for days waiting for the MRI appointment and then the subsequent follow up to discuss results. I have no idea why. Shouldn't it be old hat? Back in May, my friend Pam said I must be developing a thick skin from all these tests. I looked at her like she had three heads. You see, I never think it takes strength or thick skin to do this; to be the one that opens the radiology clinic at 5 am in the dark (Honestly, could it have been any darker outside that clinic? It looks like the middle of the night.) and be the first scan of the day. It's eerie being in such a huge hospital so early before patients or normal volume of staff.

I wait endlessly for follow up calls and results, and I remain tireless in my fight to receive adequate care. I painstakingly craft the very specific Dave Matthews Band playlists that will allow me to breathe and keep me from losing my mind in the waiting room. The strength must be in me, somewhere, because I get through all of this, over and over. I face each day, even if it's not on two feet. Sure, I cry at the beach about how tired I am until my tears fog up my sunglasses. I'm proud that I can say it's hard. I want to punch walls but I don't. I hold my husband's hand really tightly when the pain overtakes me. When I can't get out of bed, I feel I "lose" whatever strength or physical stamina I've been fighting for at P.T.-- but that isn't true. It can't be true.  It's never really a loss. It's a gain. Just like those ligaments somehow miraculously managed to mend from my original scan, I manage to bounce back and heal from the blows dealt by test after test, and obstacle after obstacle. This is what my life with cerebral palsy is. I am okay with it because I have to be. Fight on, friends.