The first time I tried to take a shower, but found I couldn't stand on my own.
Because of my injury.
Every time I struggle up the 25 stairs to my apartment.
Because of my injury.
Every time I get asked by a friend or stranger, "What happened to you?"
Because of my injury.
Every time I miss being able to hold Boy's hand when we're walking together (although I've recently discovered a way to link pinkies).
Because of my injury.
Every time I have to ask Boy to carry my coffee to our room because I can't carry coffee and use crutches at the same time.
Because of my injury.
I feel less than human.
I feel like I'm losing myself to this injury.
I can't find any other way of saying it. Of seeing it. Of feeling it.
The things that make me feel most alive... most ME... are gone. Suddenly totally inaccessible. No yoga, no massage, no walks through nature, no MOVEMENT.
I don't believe I've ever looked at someone with a physical disability and judged them as less than human, but it's certainly how I'm judging myself.
Most of what made me feel worthwhile... valuable... is linked to my ability to move. To teach. To keep myself busy and active. To be the one taking care of others. And now?
Furniture was moved into my place of work on Thursday. Two... err... not weak men carried couch after couch into the building, and I hobbled around on my crutches, awkwardly inspecting each piece for quality.
"What happened to you?" were the first words from one of the men.
"I fell skiing. It's a bummer," I've been trying to keep my story short.
Why do I feel so small? So insecure? Where is my confidence?
My confidence disappears when I know that these crutches are the first things people see when they look at me.
The last few weeks have been tough. I suffered from food poisoning Tuesday night from indulging in some gluten-free pizza at my favorite pizza place.
Food poisoning + a broken leg is just pathetic. Like, it's unreal. Leaning over the side of the bed, violently heaving into a fruit bowl, trying not to accidentally bump your knee as your entire body convulses.
This doesn't seem fair. I understand that the world isn't a fair place, that life can be entirely too random for its own good and that worse things happen to better people, but WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?
My MRI on Wednesday morning revealed bone bruising, a fracture, a totally torn ACL and a torn meniscus. Boy had a work meeting, so my mom came and sat with me as the doctor rapidly flipped through photos of my broken knee and told me in his professional, monotone voice just how broken it was.
I wasn't surprised. A tiny bit of me had been holding onto the hope that the fracture was an isolated event, but the level of pain I'd been experiencing since Sunday the 20th had made that hope very small indeed.
Well... at least now I know. Know what I'm dealing with. Know why it hurts so damn much. Have a slightly better idea of what the recovery process looks like.
On the way out of Rocky Mountain Orthopaedic, I stopped by the billings office to get an estimate of how much this surgery would cost me. How much my insurance would pay, and how much would come out of my pocket. With my insurance company, I pay a maximum of 6,350 dollars a year.
"Yeah, you're easily going to meet that maximum," billings lady told me.
That's more than I make in four months of work... my heart caved in and my shoulders slumped around it. But if I don't have the surgery, there's no way I'm going to safely practice acro yoga again. I'd never have any confidence in my body as a base -- I'd be too afraid that my leg would buckle under someone else's body and I'd hurt them. I don't want to distrust my body. I don't want to live the rest of my life wondering if, regardless of how strong I become, my leg could collapse underneath me without warning.
On the road, all I have is my body. I don't have a home, a large (or even moderate) amount of money, people to call who can readily come rescue me, or easy access to medical care and a place to heal up afterwards. I have my two feet to carry me, my two knees to stabilize me, my one back to carry my few belongings and my two hands to write, massage, paint...
I don't want this one body to feel unstable.
Several hours in the past few weeks have been spent at the workforce center. Through some strange miracle, when I applied for medicaid back in January, I was rejected for January and February, but eligible just for the month of March. So Medicaid carried the burden of my MRI and its monotone reading.
But April and May will be the big expense months for my knee.
My hours dropped from 30 to 22 at work (because of my injury), and I was able to submit my change of hours form on April 1st.
And now I'm on Medicaid for April and May.
There's a silver lining.
I've been doing my best to seek out the silver linings. I probably even hallucinate a few, here and there. But most of my silver linings are very, very real. Because another thing this injury is revealing to me is a) just how ridiculously awesome my boyfriend is, and b) just how ridiculously awesome my community/family is.
You missed two weeks of massage school and now can't even stand up long enough to give a proper massage... But... you have all this time your massage teacher has offered to spend with you, one on one, to catch you up.
I've had a couple of different friends drop off food and cards. My roommate made me a mix cd and wrote the sweetest letter. My little sister made me soup. My dad would leave work to drive me to my appointments when I couldn't drive myself. My mom missed her own doctor's appointment just so she could sit with me as I heard all that bad news.
But it's Monday, April 11th. I still have no idea when my surgery will be. I don't even know if I'll be able to have the surgery before I leave the country on June 28th. I know that for the first two weeks after surgery, I'll be totally grounded -- unable to put any weight on my right leg. I know that if my meniscus needs to be worked on, I'll be stuck wearing this god-awful knee brace for at least six weeks. I know that full recovery for a torn ACL takes between 6-12 months.
"But you'll be able to walk before that. No acro yoga, though," the doctor told me at his office last Wednesday.
I made one mistake doing something I just... just don't really care about... and am now unable to practice what brings me the most joy.
I'm still having a hard time accepting that this is real.
But it's so, so real. It feels like the only thing defining me right now. My whole life feels like it's skidded to a halt and fallen on its ass.
Because of my injury.
I'm still having a hard time not feeling bitter. Not letting my entire day be consumed with anxiety and panic. Not spending too much of my morning mourning the yoga classes I used to teach. Not spending all this extra time I have on my hands regretting those three seconds that left me with so much extra time on my hands.
"You're tough," my friend encouraged me at a coffee shop today.
"No," I responded flatly. "I'm tired."
