Baby Steps

Day 16

September 17, 2024

Today was my follow-up at UMass. We arrived and I told my mom that I could make it up without a wheelchair so that we didn’t need to park. It was supposed to be a quick follow-up and I would be getting my staples and stitches out.

I went inside and was shocked at how slow I could move now. An elderly woman with a knee brace was twice as fast as me. I had always been told, “Slow down, I can’t keep up. What are you walking so fast?” Now I couldn’t compete with a grandmother fresh out of surgery. Humbling, to say the least.

I made it to the elevator and then floor 3. I followed the signs to the neurosurgery clinic. I turned and could see the sign hanging from the ceiling. The distance seemed miles away. I limped my way down the hall, made it to the check-in desk, and told them my name. Halfway through the typical questions, I had to sit down. I couldn’t stand for one more minute.

“I answered these questions when I checked in online—the answers should all be the same.” I took a deep breath and tried to persevere through the pain. After she asked three more, I interrupted, “I’m so sorry. I can’t stand here anymore. I have to sit down.” I hobbled to a nearby chair and collapsed. I DEFINITELY could not walk back to the car.

I was called back, prayed the room was close, and gritted my teeth as I followed the nurse at a snail’s pace. I sunk into the chair as she took my vitals. I really hope this would be quick. I was also very eager to get these staples out. They were itchy and would be great to hit this first milestone.

The neurosurgery nurse came in and asked questions on my pain, numbness, examined my incision, and evaluated my muscle strength and range of motion in each leg and foot. It was clear that my right foot was weaker and still impacted by the nerve compression.

When asked to point my toes to the sky, my right foot turned inward, rather than up straight like my left foot. Next, she placed her hand under each foot and asked me to “push the gas.” My left foot made her hand move, my right foot didn’t appear to apply any pressure at all. My brain said, “PUSH,” but my nerves wouldn’t comply. It wasn’t muscle weakness but flawed messaging between my brain and nerves. This was my driving foot. I definitely wouldn’t be cleared to drive anytime soon. I knew this already. I once tried to open the bathroom trash with the foot pedal and nothing happened. I willed my foot to step down, but despite my effort and determination, it didn’t work. I switched feet and “pop” it opened almost instantaneously. As I predicted, it wasn’t broken, I just could not control my right foot.

She told me that I would be unable to work until at least December 2nd. I would engage in six weeks of outpatient physical therapy once I was cleared by my surgeons at my next visit. She explained that I was still fresh out of surgery and that I needed to give my body time to fully heal. Starting physical therapy too soon would be too risky.

“Is the feeling supposed to come back incrementally or like a lightbulb one day?” I asked. I had noticed virtually no change in numbness or strength since leaving the hospital. Despite getting better at walking with one good leg, I was still completely numb.

“Well it’s hard to say. Some patients have ten minutes of nerve compression and have permanent numbness. Others have experienced nerve compression for a year and it is resolved directly after surgery. We won’t know until the one year mark.” Well, that wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.

After she was done her evaluation, another nurse came in and removed the staples in my back. “It looks great!” she exclaimed. I turned and checked it out in the mirror on the door. I wasn’t sure what she was looking at. But this far from great.

I told her that I was unable to walk and she grabbed me a wheelchair. She called hospital transport and a friendly, young woman came up and pushed me towards the elevator. She brought me all the way outside and to the car. It was shocking at how effortless and quick it was for her. I never appreciated my ability to walk before, but man was it a gift.

On the way home I tried to accept that this may be permanent. I told myself that I could live like this if I had to. That I needed to be grateful for my life and my ability to walk. That this was not earth-shattering. I had found several forums online with many saying, “If I don’t regain feeling my life will be over” or “I fell into a deep depression and could not face life with the inability to run again.” As a self-identified “small stuff sweater” and “glass half empty” person, I was truly surprised by my optimism, strength, and positive outlook.

I attribute this to faith and prayer. At the end of the day, when I began to feel the stiffness, pain, and lack of ability to live the way I wanted, I headed outside. I usually took car rides when my mind began swimming with overwhelming thoughts, but that wasn’t an option now.

I hobbled out the front door and down the three steps to the driveway. I used the side of the house to lower myself to the ground, and slowly and gingerly laid down on my back. I looked up at the sky and the stars and prayed.

I had never been able to meditate. Every yoga class instructor always said, “Acknowledge the thoughts that enter into your mind and let them just pass through.” This never worked for me. I didn’t just have one thought, I always had like 8 thoughts simultaneously at any given time.

As I stared at the sky, I felt peace. I remember the words of a therapist I had seen after my divorce. “Be still and you will see God.” He connected this to Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I am God.”

Outside, with the breeze, the sound of acorns plinking onto the driveway, and the vast, open sky peppered with bright stars, my mind was still. I prayed for faith and healing. I saw two shooting stars. No matter what my odds, I would believe, pray, and have faith that I would completely recover. I wasn’t alone. God would carry me through as he had every time before. ❤️