Warning: Body Surfing May Be Dangerous..

I got this wrist band at the Foo Fighters concert 15 days ago and cant take it off because it makes me laugh at least once every day.  The top line says " WARNING: BODY SURFING AND SIMILAR ACTIVITIES ARE DANGEROUS."  ;-) I really needed this warning, because without it, I was bound to get crazy at the concert.  Anytime I am tempted to do something that isn't safe in my condition, I look at he pink Foo band and think....No Body surfing for me...at least not yet :-)

Foo Fighters Miracle

 

Foo Fighters....where to begin. Just saying their name makes me smile. I heart them crazy mad. Which is totally bizarre because I'm not fanatical about any other band or celebrity in the world. But I am "fan"atical about Foo Fighters.  I have been a fan since 1999.  The year I graduated from high school and at 17 years old, went off to college.

I remember loving the song Hero and watching Learn To Fly's music video in my dorm room.  In 1999 I let go of the introverted, shy girl.  I let go of who my family and religion expected me to be. I let go of so many of my insecurities and other peoples expectations of me and started the path to becoming me....  

Within the next couple years I had so many firsts.  Every time I hear the song Everlong it takes me back to one amazing moment, wrapped in the arms of a man, snuggled up on his couch.  The lyrics "Breath out, so I can breath you in,"are exactly that moment for me.  I will never forget the way his breath became mine.  He did look a lot like Dave Grohl so that just further connected the two things forever.   And after things went bad, the lyrics "the only thing I'll ever ask of you, you gotta promise not to stop when I say when, she sang"  I sang.

Times Like These, was MY anthem for taking another chance at love. 

I cant help but sing along to the intro of All My Life EVERY time I hear it:  

"All my life Ive been searching for something. Something never comes, never leads to nothing, nothing satisfies, but Im getting close.  Closer to the prize at the end of the rope."

I could go on and on about Pretender.  In fact, I have. Just this past spring I sat on my Dad's patio in Phoenix, enjoying the perfect temperature, just as the sun was setting.  I spent an hour telling my dad how awesome Foo Fighters are and how bad ass Pretender is. I made him listen to it.  

 The lyrics to Best of You hit me in a very deep place. 

"Were you born to resist or be abused?... Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?"

 So back in June, when Foo Fighters updated their Facebook that new tour dates would be announced... and Utah fans would be happy, my heart actually did a cartwheel.  I swear. I missed them at the Olympics here in 2000 because I was a poor college student and couldnt get tickets.  So while I didnt exactly have the money in my budget, at exactly 10 AM, I logged into Ticketmaster for presale tickets.  I was one of the first in SLC to get my tickets.   All summer I talked about the upcoming concert.  I had every intention of getting so close, I could see the sweat drip off of Dave Grohl's face.  

But then something devasting happened.  I had a disk "the size of a house" violently smash against my nerves and spinal cord and ended up in emergency surgery.

When I finally got home from the hospital, I remember laying in my bed, staring across my room at the awesome calendar I made for September-October with a giant picture of the Foo Fighters. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks, all the things that were different.  I now had to walk with a walker, I had a less than sexy back brace, I couldnt shower myself, I could barely make it to the bathroom.  I couldnt bend or twist....I wasn't just missing the feeling in my feet, legs, and butt....I was missing Foo Fighters because the concert was in 11 days.  

I cried so hard for so many hours.  I cried about my feet, the prospect of never wearing high heels again, but missing the Foo Fighters was beyond painful.  So I pushed the thought away.  I tried to get stronger.  I went to work way too soon. I went to bed early every night. I went for walks, everyday a little farther.  

But as it got closer I just knew how fragile I was.  I knew how dangerous it could be for me to be in a crowd of smushed together people. It could be a disaster.  So I decided to give my tickets to a friend. I sent the text offering my tickets but it broke my heart a little.  By the next day I knew I couldnt miss this concert. 

So I called the venue instead.  I called for three days straight.  On the third day, I called three times before I got the box office manager.  I explained my situation and he offered me what felt like a miracle.  I could watch my favorite band from the "PENALTY BOX" of the arena.  It makes me giggle every time I say it.  The penalty box is right on the ground but nobody could knock me over, I had walls to lean against, a way to walk a little and sit a little. It was as close to perfect as I could get. 

Gab helped me decorate my walker with black glitter spraypaint and we made a sign that said Foo Fighters or Bust.  We met our friends Derek and Romina at the Puck for a little Prefunk/dinner. I was like a little kid waiting for santa.  The anticipation and excitement helped me physically to make it happen, no matter how tired I was. 

I wish I could articulate the emotions and excitement I felt throughout the night.  It was better than birthdays, Christmas, and Disneyland!  The energy and power of the music and the band were AWESOME!!!!

This is what exhausted lools like!

And I swear there was a moment, as Dave stood on the second stage right in front of me, where I held up my walker with my "Foo Fighters or Bust"sign and he looked at me and smiled. Gabalicious was so awesome she surprised me with my now favorite Foo Fighter shirt and Derek and Romina were a blast to hang out with in the "penalty box." Since Romina had never been to a rock concert, I was thrilled to be with her as her "rock concert cherry," was popped. 

For days before and the days since the concert, I have been rockn' out to Foo Fighters constantly.  The songs are in my head all day, everyday.  Im certain my roomate and friends will attest, I have the "Foo Fever."  I have it bad!! 

Truth be told, this has been a devastatingly tough week for me.  One of my darkest in fact.   I wasn't prepared to hear what the surgeon told me for my post op appointment. I wasn't prepared for "maybe never," in reference to ever feeling certain parts of my body that I hold dear. I wasn't prepared to hear the term "cuada equina syndrome."  I am so not together, I almost don't know myself.  But tonight I did what I do most nights, I crawled into bed,  turned on Foo Fighters music and just got lost.  I spent hours watching their music videos and interviews online and then I realized why....because when Im doing those things,  I am not thinking about all the things I cant feel or do. I am thinking about that magical moments on the couch and past heartbreaks I over came.  Im thinking about what their music highlights about life.  Its ups and downs.  The heart breaks,  the tragedies, but more importantly, life's triumps, the amazing unexpected moments, the miracles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HELP

I have always loved my independent nature.  I take pride in it but every great once in a while it has dawned on me that I might be too independent and prideful.  It even has occurred to me once or twice that due to my Independence, aka my pride, that I am single more than not.  But how do I change such a huge part of who I am? I became independent out of necessity.  I hate asking for help.  I hate showing weakness.  I hate burdening people that are already burdened with their own things.  I hate for people to see me as anything but happy, healthy, successful, fun, and capable.  And while every single moment in my life isn't happy, healthy, successful, and fun, I sure as hell don't like to advertise that. 

Then my life flipped upside down. 

This morning, I didn't want to get out of bed.  Yesterday I told my boss I would be in at 8am, but this morning at 7 am I emailed her and had to say...."apparently 12 hours just wasn't enough time in bed, Ill be a little later."  I made it at 9:15am.  While getting ready; I dropped my brush, my sock, missed the garbage can, left lights on that I had to walk back through my place to turn off.  These things sound so simple, but they weren't.  Each thing I dropped I had to go to wherever I last left my grabber and then go pick up what I dropped.  Every step was exhausting.  

Last night I had to ask a friend for a massage. I almost couldn't send the text because I didn't want to make her feel obligated, even though she told me she would come back again.  Every day there are at least 5 things I need but cant bare to ask for.  Even though I have more people offering to help than I can count.  

And then there are all the things I can and do ask for help.  Every day, 50 times, I ask for help. 

I often wonder about why things happen.  Some things are so hard and painful, its hard to see the positive side. 
But almost every time I let go of my pride and ask for help, I think to myself, this is the lesson. This is what I couldn't do and now must do in order to wear clean cloths, keep the sink empty of dishes, access anything in the world that sits lower than my waist, move anything over 8 lbs, walk up or down stairs, get lotion on my legs, and the worst yet. Get my toe nails cut. 
When I look back at the hardest things in my life, I also see the most growth.  And since I clearly couldn't learn the lesson of humility with simple little obstacles.  I am learning, or rather, its being beaten into me every day. 
My heart feels softer and appreciative every day that I have so much help to get me through this.  I cant even imagine what a person would do in this situation if they didn't have HELP. 

Here is a song "Walk" I can relate to both figuratively and literally from my favorite band, the 2nd song "Pretender" is one of my favorites. 

 

Going Under The Knife

People say all time that if you don't have your health you don't have anything.  After the most painful, scary, and traumatic two weeks of my life, I know this to be true. I have learned so much about myself and I am forever changed.
 On Tuesday September, 27th I went under the knife to fix what my amazing surgeon, Dr. Huntsman, said was one of the worst ruptured/herniated disks he has seen.  Which would probably explain why I was numb from the waist down. 
Ordinarily a Micro Discectomy is scheduled weeks or Months in advance.  I saw Dr Huntsman Monday  and Tuesday I was being wheeled into the operating room.
In pre-op, one by one, each of the surgeons stopped by to comment on the whopper of a disk they were about to remove.  They made jokes such as " Looks like we are about to deliver a 10 LBS baby," and "You are going to feel so much better once we remove that small house settled on your nerve."  While in recovery, Dr Huntsman said to my Mother and Gabrielle, that it was more of a Condo Community that they removed than a house.  The bits and fluid from my ruptured disk had spread and were effecting the surrounding disks and even my spinal cords.  My nerves were very traumatized and while they try to salvage part of the disk, there was very little of mine to salvage.  Ill use one of my favorite words and say they left a "smidge" of my disk behind in hopes it will grow back. 

The week before the surgery I can say with certainty that I had never felt so much pain in my life x 100.  I stopped eating, drinking, my bowels and blatter stopped functioning.  I missed almost the entire week of work because I couldn't move an inch from the floor.  I suffered for several days by myself because I was prideful and hate for people to see my weakness.  But then my mom called and "I made the mistake" of mentioning that I was in too much pain to eat or drink. My mother came right away.  She helped with the paperwork the U of U's Neurosurgical center needed just to schedule me an appointment.  But unfortunately, it can takes days or weeks to get an initial appointment, so the secretary said she would call me the  next week with an appointment.  My mother slept right next to me on the floor in case I needed anything for several days.  She tried to feed me.  But more than anything she kept me from suffering alone.  By Saturday night, I was in worse shape.  I tried to get to my bathroom but collapsed in my hallway.  My mother said she was going to call an ambulance and I had no fight in me to say no. I couldn't go on like that.
Someday I may write about the horror of that ambulance ride, about the agony, and the furry I feel just thinking about the way they handled  the situation and my body, but for today I cant.  I'm not ready to revisit it.

By the time I reached the Emergency room I was numb from the waist down and had the highest blood pressure I have ever had,  It was dangerously high. I spent the next 6 hours there and while mostly bad I will never forget the kindness of one very special EMT.  I hope that he goes far in his medical career because his compassion somehow made the Urine Debacle of 2011(again something I'm not ready to write about) just a little bit more manageable.  They didn't do an xray, they didn't do a ct scan, they didn't do an MRI, they just pumped me full of morphine, Valium, and toroidal. and sent me home the next morning to wait for a surgeon appointment that could take days. IDIOTS!
On Sunday, as I laid back on my living room floor feeling hopeless and desperate, I kept having a flashback of a person's scar on their back.  Someone I knew had had back surgery and shown me their scar, but I couldn't remember who.  I kept trying to focus on the memory until it hit me, it was my good friend Trenton a year and a half earlier. He actually scrubs in on surgeries as the rep for the company that provides the hardware for orthopedic surgeries.  I texted him about my situation.  He texted the doctor that day and the next morning I got a call from Dr Huntsman's assistant.  She got me in within an hour, she found an MRI clinic appointment right then, we took the images back to the office, and within 20 minutes one of the surgeons came out and said "We are getting you on tomorrows schedule!"


Truth be told, I didn't know even the name of the surgery.  I just knew that I needed the pain to stop. I was tired of crying every moment, even in public.  And I wanted the feeling in my lower half to come back.


When I woke up from surgery, the pain was gone.  But do to the severity of the case, they didn't try to get me up and moving so I could go home. I barely moved for the next 24 hours.  It was the first night I had ever been admitted to the hospital. I spent a total of three days in there.  It was more time than I ever hope to spend again.  Once I was up and moving the reality of my situation hit me.  I was out of pain which I am so thankful for, but unfortunately The bottom of my feet, the back of my legs, and my buttocks were still numb.  I have the ability to walk, but cant feel my feet.  It is bizzareIm pretty sure I now look like Frankenstein when walking.

I keep telling people that a good ass smack is lost on me these days, and anyone who knows me, knows how much I LOVE a good ass smack. Its a small tragedy.
I cant bend, twist,  and I cant sit for longer than 20 minutes.  I have to wear an brace that looks somewhat like a medieval chest plate, but with Velcro.  I have to walk with a walker.  I cant maneuver stairs, I just cant make the muscles and pressure work right.
As much as I wanted out of the hospital, I had no idea how hard the first few days at home would be.  My dear friend Amy brought me dinner that Thursday night and I cried for hours with her.  I couldnt stop.  I was angry, exhausted, and finally realizing what my new life would be like.
I was going from being a woman who worked her ass off between her day job, her cakeball business, doing the farmers market,flirting, dating, going out with friends on weekends, dancing, hanging at the pool every Sunday.  Having every night of my schedule full of friends, family, laughter, adventure, and movement.  To 20 hours a day in bed with three walks mixed in.  The only thing that helped me to stop crying that first night was my dad.   I cant even remember what he said in detail.  But he promised me it would get better, that it would be ok.
The next day I had to fight off tears every moment, but awesome visitors,  countless phone calls, and a plethora of text messages let me know just how loved I was and helped to keep the abyss of self pity just far enough away, that only a few tears slipped through. 
Each day has gotten better. I walk further, spend less time in bed, and can even shower myself now although it takes me 2 hours to do what I used to do in 30 minutes.

After this type of surgery, people can go back to work within 1-3 weeks.  I went back to work on the one week anniversary. I have only worked a few hours a day but it has made all the difference in my depression.  It has given me hope each day as I find myself able to do just a little bit more.  I walk around in circles a lot to keep moving since I cant sit for too long. Everyone at work was shocked that I was back, but I couldn't handle one more day of doing nothing.  I couldn't handle one more day of not being optimistic. I couldn't handle one more day of not being me. 
Putting on my own shoes and socks, being able to bend, twist, climb stairs, and dance, and most importantly, enjoy a good ass smack, will all just have to wait for another day.