Survive & Advance: 1 year later

So Sunday April 7th was the one year anniversary of my accident and my surgery.  I wanted to write and publish it on that exact day but I didn't really feel like writing it.  I am not sure why.  I guess I was too busy thinking about it - or forgetting it - to really write anything.  Even when I did get started, it took a bit of an effort.  Though I had been thinking about this post for a while, I guess some anniversaries are best if they quietly come and go.  And it was appropriate it came on a Sunday.  I was able to be with my family - the only place I want to be.

Nevertheless, I should say, the title and theme of this post was inspired by the ESPN series 30 for 30.  I have written about this series before.  If you haven't watched any, I highly recommend them.  A recent episode called "Survive & Advance" tells the story of the NC State basketball team and their heroic run to become the 1983 NCAA basketball Division 1 champions.  Secondly, the story tells of their coach, Jim Valvano, who battled cancer and died at the tender age of 47.

Valvano was a charismatic leader and speaker who in recent years has become as well known for the foundation he started at the end of his life as he was for his years as a coach.  Valvano was also an announcer for ESPN for a number of years.  His "Don't give up, don't ever give up" speech became a historic moment for for ESPN and their awards show, The ESPYs.

I must say "Survive & Advance" is one the best things I have watched on TV in a long time.  It shows one of the beauties of life when people or groups of people "get on a roll" and everything seems to right, particularly in contrast to a previous period when nothing seemed to go right.  The 1982-1983 season was an up and down one for NC State.  They had a solid team but never seemed to be able to get it all together until they were able to win the ACC conference tournament which was the only way to get into the NCAA tournament.  Then they strung together another set of wins to make it to the Final Four and the championship game.

Within that streak they beat Ralph Sampson's Virginia team twice.  They beat Michael Jordan's North Carolina team once and then beat Hakeem Olajuwon's Houston team in the championship game.  They beat the team with the best college basketball player of all time in Sampson, the team with the best basketball player of all time in Jordan, and the team with the best center of all time in Olajuwon.  And their wins included overtimes, last minute shots, and an array of circumstances where they simply got lucky and the gods were shining favorably upon them.

What like about their story is that it shows success and survival are not mutually exclusive.  Sometimes survival equals success.  Sometimes success is survival.  And sometimes it is not.  Coach Valvano died but continues to be a success.  Sometimes surviving allows you to advance.  And surviving isn't always pretty but it is better than the alternative.  It gives you a chance to fight another day.  It gives you a chance to learn about mistakes - albeit not fatal ones, hopefully - and move forward.  It allows you to use what you have learned and go at it again.  And sometimes that is all you need: just a chance to play again.  Just a chance to put on the uniform and lace up the shoes.  Just a chance to live again.  And maybe, if you are lucky, live better than you did before.

For me, I can't come up with a better way to describe the past year of my life.  Me and my family survived my accident but I am not looking at it as something that has stalled me.  Yes physically I was limited for a while but now I am physically stronger than perhaps I have ever been.  The hip is somewhat of a liability but the rest of my body is advancing beyond where it was.  And the hip will catch up.  And the hip will advance where it was even before the accident.

In some ways the accident helped me highlight areas of my life and myself which weren't as I wanted.  I was doing okay but the fragility of the past year gave me perspective that I can do more.  I can be more that I was and that I am today.  The surviving helped me get a view on how I want to advance and how I want to actualize myself.  I know how I want to do that physically but with my career, my writing, and my role as a parent, I am certainly evolving and seeing where I could go.  I am at the very beginning stages of that journey.

Survival has certainly made me thankful for simply being alive and walking and being able to care for my kids and my family, but it hasn't ended there.  I could be content and be at peace with life as it is. And all I have been through I doubt anyone would question that.  And in many ways I have.  I don't want more things.  I don't want a bigger house and fancier cars.  But I do want provide more for my kids.  I want to make sure I can give them as many opportunities and are as cared for as possible.  I want more vacations and quality time.  I want to ensure their education is covered.  That is my goal.

To achieve that, I think, I want to be more than I am today.  I am setting big goals for my career.  I am setting big goals for my writing.  I want to see where my skills can take me.  And the accident highlighted that.  Perhaps it highlighted the road a little better.  It is a little dim in some areas but because of what I have been through, I know myself better.  I know what drives me.  And I need to find the right forum where I can use what drives me to be successful.

Coach Valvano gives some great encouragement   He says "How do you go from where you are to where you wanna be? You have to have a dream, a goal. And you have to be willing to work for it."

So one year later, I walk a little different.  And I live a little different.  But I live better.  I feel better.  I feel happier.  I have survived.  And I am advancing.  But now I know it is a lifelong process.  And the advancing may require more survival.  But I have survived before.  Breaking a hip really sucks but in some ways I believe, unfortunately, I needed it to happen to begin to become who I was meant to be.  Destiny is an overused term but there are key moments in life that set us straight and my injury was one for me.  

Like I said before I wouldn't change a thing.  The accident means to too much to me at this point.  It has taught me too much.  And I could say it taught me how to survive but that would be only the first half of a game.  It has really taught me how to advance.  And the advancing never ends.  That's the beauty.  I have many more years to advance.  Coach Valvano didn't get chance to advance his life as far as he wanted but his spirit and his legacy lives on.  

I have survived.  It’s time to build a legacy.

Thanks for reading...

Only the Lonely

Last year, Easter was the day after I had surgery on my hip.  This is not my anniversary post, however.  That will be on April 7th, the official date of my injury.  Today is a day where the moment of injury - the exact feelings I felt, came rushing back to me.  Ironically it came on a day where one year ago I was feeling it.  It was if God wanted to me reflect and remember and examine what had happened.  I guess Easter is a good day to do it, given the coming back to life stuff and all.

The moment came as I was watching the NCAA men's basketball tournament and a player on Louisville named Kevin Ware jumped in the air to block a shot, landed awkwardly, and broke his leg.  And it was broken so badly that the bone was sticking out of his shin.  The scene was so gruesome that players and coaches were overwhelmed and brought to tears.  Some fell to the floor, overwrought with emotion.

While the care and compassion for a fallen teammate was touching, my focus was was on Ware himself.  He was on the ground, first alone and then with a cadre of tending medical staff.  After a certain period of examination they lifted him to the stretcher and took him to the ambulance where he was taken to a local hospital.

It was those scenes that brought a series of year old memories and emotions back.  I sat watching Ware and remember the feeling when I realized I was hurt, really hurt.  After falling off my bike following an ill-fated attempt to traverse a set of railroad tracks, my initial reaction was to try and get up.  I wanted to tell myself I was okay.  It was just a bad fall, to result a bad bruise, to heal in a few weeks and I'd be back to normal.  But I couldn't get up.  And I was in serious pain.  It was feeling I had never felt before in my life.  I was really, really hurt.  And it wasn't just the pain.  I felt hopeless and scared.  It was beginning of a loneliness I had never felt before.

After I fell, the two friends I was riding with caught up to me and assessed me.  I again tried to get up.  They encouraged me to stay down.  I communicated my pain level.  After some conversation, we decided I needed an ambulance.  In that time, some random strangers stopped.  It was raining and the concrete on which I was lying was cold so they covered me with jackets and held others over me to keep me dry.  It was true humanitarian behavior. 

Then the police arrived.  Then the firemen arrived.  Then the paramedics arrived.  Before I knew it there were more than 12 people around me.  Some were directing traffic, some helping my friends to figure out what to do with the bikes, and others tending to me, getting ready to get me into the ambulance.  As I saw Ware lying on the floor of the basketball court, my heart broke because I remembered this moment.  I felt sorry he was so hurt being so young and in a game to get his team to the Final Four.  More so, I felt sorry for what he was feeling.

Even though in moments like his and mine you have people who want to help you and get you the right medical attention, there is nothing anyone can do to help you feel better on the inside.  You lay there in pain and scared, but you lay there alone and no one knows how you feel.  Ware had thousands of people watching him in the stadium and millions more on television, all probably willing to help the poor kid, but he might as well have been alone. 

Alone in a stadium meant for thousands and all you can hear is your own breathing.  There was no one that knew what it was like to be one moment helping your team to a national championship and the next wondering if you will be able to walk right again much less play.  Such is the fragility of life.

As a group lifted Ware to the stretcher, I recall when I told the fireman and paramedics to go slow and easy.  I remember how I braced myself for the moment when they had to roll me to the side to slide the stretcher underneath me.  I remember the helplessness of being lifted into the ambulance - because I could no longer lift myself.  I felt pathetic.  

As Ware was lifted to the stretcher and rolled out of the stadium, everyone clapped.  Whether he heard them or not, I don't know but I am sure he was feeling something new.  Ware is an elite athlete.  A good player on arguably the best college basketball team in the country. He has never been wheeled or lifted anywhere.  He jumped over people.  He has more athletic ability than 99% of the world.  And now he can't even walk.  His bones were no longer even on the inside of his body.

I know I felt marginalized, so I can't even imagine what Ware felt.  Entering the ambulance  I knew I was entering a new place; a place I never imagined I would see.  Ambulances, you may or may not know, are lonely, sterile places.  They are seemingly built without shock absorbers.

Entering the ambulance is like entering an MRI machine.  It is cold, cavernous, claustrophobia inducing.  Once I got into the ambulance, they went through a series of tests to check me out.  They began the process of getting an IV into me.  This required removal of my jacket and since I was in too much pain to remove it, it had to be cut off.  A two hundred dollar cycling sliced to pieces.  At the time I didn't care because I was in so much pain.  Now I care even less.  I probably wouldn't wear it anymore.  As an aside, I sold the bike I crashed on several months after the accident.  It had too many bad memories

Thus began the ride to hospital where I received x-rays and was examined by nurses and doctors.  I was first told I had a hip fracture and needed replacement.  Then I was told my hip could be saved.  Then I waited and waited until I had surgery around 8 PM that night.  While my wife was with me the whole time and provided more comfort and support than I could ever ask, I remember those moments as confusing.  One moment I am riding a bike 20 miles an hour for many, many miles, the next I can't walk and I am heading into surgery.  I was fast, athletic, powerful, independent.  Then I was immobile, confused, unsure, dependent on strangers and everyone around me.

For Ware, it had to be much worse.  He was playing in a huge game, perhaps the biggest of his life.  And he went from running and jumping down the court to prepping for surgery.  The mental shift for me was difficult.  It must have been crushing for Ware.  The mental shift would be too much.  The change in direction nearly impossible to handle.  On the bright side, he had a successful surgery and his team won.  But now he is in a hospital bed, in another city, unable to play.  He is unable to be with his team; the people who he has spent more time with than anyone for the past six months.

Today, the day after the surgery, is probably the most crushing for Ware.  You can be tough in the moment but today he sits there with the recovery ahead of him.  For me, that was last Easter.  I remember being at the hospital while the rest of my family gathered to celebrate.  I remember after my wife left that evening to care for the kids to ask her to send someone to be with me.  Graciously, my two brothers in law came as well as some other friends of the family.

And while at the moment it helped, it some ways it just magnified that I was now - albeit temporarily - different.  I needed drugs and crutches and days off from work.  I was alone with my pain; alone with my injury.  No one else I knew was dealing with this type of injury at this very time.

And that loneliness lingered.  It lingered through crutches and moving to a new house.  It lingered as I continued to walk funny.  But over time it took a metamorphosis of sorts into a quiet peace.  An acceptance of sorts.  A confidence.  A knowledge that while all the comfort and friends and love in the world helps, it doesn't matter unless you come to  peace that in the end sometimes you have to go at it alone.  No one else lives in your heart, your head, your soul.

I really hope Kevin Ware makes a full recovery from his injury.  Initial news reports say that he will.  And only time will tell if he will be the player he was but to me it doesn't matter. If he listens to the loneliness he will end up being a better man.  And that's what is important.

So Happy Easter to all.  Its okay to be lonely.  It's okay to be hurt.  You'll recover.  You'll know yourself better and find a better place.

Best of luck Kevin Ware.  We are all rooting for you.  But you don't need us.  You have it in you already.

Thanks for reading...

I Wouldn't Change a Thing

Sometimes I think of my injury in terms of a good breakup song like "I Wouldn't Have Missed it For the World" by Ronnie Milsap or "The Sign" by Ace of Base.  Maybe "We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together" by Taylor Swift. 

I could keep going. 

Maybe "Forgiving You Was Easy" by Willie Nelson.  Perhaps "She's Already made Up Her Mind" by Lyle Lovett.  There are lots of good ones.  Too many good ones.

I am concerned how many I could rattle off.  And come to think of it, I haven’t even had that many breakups.

I may sound mushy but a good breakup and the songs they create can teach us a lot about ourselves.  There are some break up songs that extol a message of wishing to never have met the former mate, but many are simply sad renditions that it is over but don't regret the relationship.  Even though it is over, it is still looked upon fondly.  Those are the good songs.  The bad songs, about anger and regret, are for the bitter and angry who never learn from relationships or any other life experience.  Those are the ones who are bogged down by "baggage" and never grow.

Relationships - especially marriage, a wise person once said, are not about happiness.  They are about growing up.  And even the bad relationships, the weird ones, and the good ones at a bad time, help us grow up.  They show us what is good about us and what is not so good about us.  They give us a sense of love and care and demonstrate an interconnection between human beings.  Quite simply, we learn who we are. 

And most of life learning comes with a bit of pain and discomfort.  Moreover, we human beings don't like to learn hard lessons.  And as adults, I think, we often shy away from anything that could cause pain.  Thus we get stuck in ruts and don't grow.  To be clear, I am not suggesting to seek out pain but in order to live life to the fullest but you can't live in a bubble either.  You have to take chances.  In your life.  In your career.  In love. 

There's another good song: "Take a Chance on Me" by ABBA.

And it is not just relationships.  Many avoid risk in life.  But even with avoidance, life will eventually catch up with us.  Life hits us in the face and we don't know how to deal with it.   Someone dies.  You lose a job.  Someone gets sick.  Your body falls apart.  Such is what happened to me when I fell to the ground on that ill-fated day on April of last year.  It proved to be not such a good relationship.  It was somewhat tragic with a hint of pain.  And it took a while to get over.  There were lots of chocolate and tissues and tears and feeling like no one will ever love me again.  Kind of.  In truth, it took a while to love myself again.

This love song - relationship theme may seem like a strange analogy.  Yet I think relationships and other life events teach us and they teach us so significantly that we become so bonded to the event.  A past love or injury impresses so much upon us that you can't imagine who you would be without it.  Let me rephrase, they can teach you if you decide to learn from it.  If you choose not to be taught, then you become one of the angry ones who listen to too much Alanis Morrisette.  And then you have a bad hip and are angry, cranky, and cantankerous.  Pretty bad combination.  Sounds like a creepy neighbor with overgrown hedges.

It took a while, but over time I have come to embrace my injury.  It has become so integrated into the fabric of who I am now.  Yes, it has changed me physically but even more so emotionally and mentally.  Now, 11 months after it occurred, I can't imagine who I would be today without the injury.  There are many things I hate about the injury but it has given me way more than it has taken away.  If it has taken away anything at all.  It's not what it’s got, it is what it gives.

There we go again.  "What You Give" by Telsa.

I admit on the surface that this may sound a bit morbid and I don't suggest anyone go injure themselves in order to find inner peace or happiness.  But recovering from this injury has given me so much.  Things have real meaning for me now.  I know more than I did before.  Most importantly, I now know the real meaning of time.  I know that things in life take time; I know that 9 weeks is a long time to be on crutches.  I know that recovery can't be measured in time.  It takes whatever time it takes.  And recovery, or any other unpredictable event, always takes longer than we think it should.

And that learning has given me patience.  Not just the patience is a virtue, but true patience towards things I can't control or how I feel.  I have learned that there are things I can't control and I can't beat myself up over those things.  In turn, I think, I have become more kind.  I hope I have become more kind to others but mostly I think I have become more kind to myself.  I have become easier on myself and expect a little less where I should.  And, on the other hand, expect a little more where I should.

Being a parent is one of those places where I expect more of myself now.  I guess it took me a while to settle into my role as a parent.  It is not that I didn't enjoy being a parent but in some ways I didn't see myself as a parent.  I saw myself as I was before I had kids.  This is what I wasn’t anymore. 

And then having to live with being less of a parent physically, I came to realize that it is who I am now and it is a role, a trait, a way of self-visualization that I like, that I enjoy.  I don't like it when I can't work from home and see my oldest when he walks home from school.  I don't like it when I miss dinner with the family.  I don't like it when I don’t get to help put the kids to bed.  I don't like it when work controls my life more than my obligations as a parent.  This job as parent, I have come to understand, is my life.  It is the most important part of my life.  And I love it.

In the end, though, I think the most important lesson I have learned is that of progress.  Recovery from an injury takes consistent effort.  It takes hard work.  And the end comes when the end comes.  To me, appreciating progress is the first step in understanding that life really is a journey.  You really have never arrived.  Despite of what movies and professional sports want to tell us there is not destination.  Just progress.  Just another journey.  Another decision.  Another fork in the road.

And we need to take it.  As long as today was better than yesterday and this month is better than last, then you are okay.  You stay consistent.  You work hard.  And you never give up.  That's life.  That's what I have learned.

And as Ronnie Milsap said:

I wouldn't have missed it for the world
Wouldn't have missed loving you girl
You've made my whole life worthwhile, with your smile
I wouldn't trade one memory
Cause you mean too much to me

I wouldn't trade one thing about my injury or recovery for millions. Some memories are good and some are bad.  But now it means too much to me.  And I am better for it.

Thanks for reading...

Good Old Fashioned Hard Work

I need to share a story.  And trust me, it has to do with my recovery, eventually.  It is a story about my son.

Insert eye rolling here...

As far as parenting goes, our first born son tends to be our test subject, so sometimes we get it right with him, sometimes we get it wrong.  Heck, we get it wrong with all our kids but we have learned from our mistakes and we are certainly better parents now than we were a few years ago.  But every child presents his or her own challenges so it feels rewarding when you get it right, which doesn't happen every day.

Shortly after the first of the year, one of the other parents encouraged us to sign him up for the swim team.  His school has a K-8 swim team and he is in 1st grade.  With a little coaxing he agreed to go out for the team.  He immediately enjoyed it but was unable to swim the full 25 yards required to compete in the meets.  He was stopping 4 or 5 times to grab the wall and take a breather.  After 2 practices, we received this email from the coach:

One of the requirements we have for eligibility on the swim team is that the kids be able to swim one full length (25 yards) of the pool unassisted (without use of the wall, lane rope, bottom of the pool, or coaches help).  This is both a safety issue and a means to efficiently coach the team.  

From what we have witnessed at practices thus far, he is not able to make a full length of the pool unassisted.  So we need to make some decisions.  

I want him to have a positive experience and am willing to allow him to continue with Sunday practices if you so choose, but I cannot enter him in any meets this year.  

After seeing the email, I was a little miffed for some reason and I knew he would be too.  He likes being part of a team and is quite competitive.  We dreaded having to tell him.  So my wife and I spoke and came up with a plan.  We would get him in the pool as often as possible and get him a few private lessons to assist with stroke refinement and overall confidence in the water.  We called the coach and he was supportive of the plan.  We told him we agreed he would not be in the first meet but would we reevaluate prior to the second meet.  My son was upset but agreed to the plan as well.  He just wanted to be part of the team.

It was, in reality, a bit more dramatic than that, with him exclaiming, "You don't do that to a teammate!"

The private lessons he received were excellent and the instructor pushed him very hard.  Back and forth she pushed him.  After two lessons, several more trips to the pool with my wife and I, he swam his first 25 yards in a mock relay in the practice prior to the second meet.  I wasn't at the practice but when he came home and told me, I was more than a little excited.

And just like that he was in the second meet.  He swam the 25 free individual and relay.  Since then he has been in a second meet where he was also in the 25 backstroke.  What's even better is that he is posting top 5 times in a fields of 20 swimmers in the 25 free.  He went from not being able to swim the full length to being competitive.  After swimming his first event and swell with pride after getting 4th place, he gave us the "Discount Double Check" from the side of the pool.  My wife and I were beaming.

Quite simply what he learned is a "little" hard work goes a long way.  And that hard work pays off.

And it was good reminder for me.  At the same time he was working to participate in a swim meet, I had begun working with a personal trainer.  He corrected my form on a number of exercises and I felt weak.  I was walking around with a limp and felt weak.  I couldn't do as many repetitions as I thought I should be doing.  The hip was tilted and I didn't see much of a light at the end of the tunnel.

I remember asking the trainer about my recovery, "How long will this take?"  

He is a pretty reasonable guy so his response was, "It takes as long as it takes."

To which I responded, almost without thinking, "Okay, I am willing to do the work."

Shortly thereafter, my son complained a little about going to one of his swimming lessons because it was "hard".  And admittedly, the instructor did push him.  It was the first time as a parent I felt like I was pushing my child in the way I imagine the Williams' sisters or Todd Marinovich were pushed by their fathers.  Of course it wasn't that extreme but I worried we were pushing him a bit too much given his age.  

So I explained it in a way he might understand.  He often tells us how he wants to be Aaron Rodgers when he grows up, so I told him guys like Aaron Rodgers work harder than he does at swim practice and they do it day after day for hours.  With that rationalization, he accepted the practices and has continued to proceed.  We have backed off a bit with the lessons - he has had 3 and will probably have 1 or 2 more, because he has in my mind achieved the goal for now and should just enjoy the season from here on out.  But he will continue to get lessons throughout the year.  His younger brother is now working to swim on his own by the end of the year and he is only 4 1/2.

As for me, month 2 with the trainer began to reap what I had sowed in the 1st month.  My strength gains were quite good and just in the past week I think my gait is improving.  The hip hike isn't quite as dramatic.  The pain is a little less.  A female complimented my appearance.  And I have a renewed motivation. I want to work hard.  I want to get better.  I know I will.

I felt as if my son and I learned the same lesson.  The problem is that I am almost 38 and he is almost 7.  But I guess the lesson of hard work is one that you continuously keep learning.  And if you don't, I suppose you aren't a very productive member of society.

More importantly what I got was a new sense of pride.  I was proud of my son and our parental abilities to teach him a good lesson.  And I got a little pride in my physical abilities.  And as a former athlete, the ability to be strong and move aptly it a part of the way I see myself.  Now I know I am not broken, I am strong and getting stronger.  I am not old.  I can be better than I was before the accident.  I will come back to 100% and no one will ever know I had the accident.  

All it will take is a little (more) hard work.  It will just take as long as it takes.

Thanks for reading...

The Case of the Tilted Pelvis (a.k.a The Leg Length Mystery)

Pretty much since I got off crutches I have had a tilted pelvis or a leg length difference.  Or a titled pelvis caused by a leg length difference.  Or a leg length difference that causes a tilted pelvis. Or something. The leg length difference, it should be noted, can be structural or functional.  And even if it is structural, many people have leg length differences and walk normally.

This seems to be the last hurdle to (at least) appearing to be back to 100%.  It is not completely noticeable to everyone but it bothers me and somewhat makes me walk with a strut.  Struts are cool if you are the strutting type but I am cool enough to strut.  I know I will have some ongoing aches and pains from this injury for a while but for some reason it is important to me to look healed and move around like a healthy person.  I want to feel solid.  Strutting makes me feel wobbly.

If I were in a black exploitation film, I would be cool - those guys had cool struts.  If I were in a music video for the KISS song "Strutter", I would be cool.  If I were Sherlock Holmes, I would be cool with a strut.  But Sherlock Holmes would be cool in wheelchair.  He is just plain cool.  Alas, I am not a revered detective.  I am not a doctor.  I am not a nurse.  Or a PT or a trainer.   I am not even a musician or an actor.

I am just me.  With a tilted pelvis.  And I would like to fix it.  And it appears this is easier said than done.  And not just for me, the approach to resolve it varies - so I am confused.  Internet research and the like reveals multitudes of resolutions, all of which are not definitive, to say the least.  Perhaps because of this my recovery is at an impasse.  Perhaps I am unsure of how to proceed.  Perhaps I am wondering if I will be like this all my life.  Perhaps I am worried.  Perhaps. Perhaps.

I think the best way to figure out what to do will be to take a Holmesian approach and use some deductive reasoning.  Maybe I, you might wonder, should have done this before.  Maybe a more astute person would have acted in this manner a long while ago.  As I said, I am not Holmes.  Just me.  With a titled pelvis. 

Well at least it will be healthy to lay it all out and stick with the facts.  Even then I am not sure we can solve it.  But some mysteries do go unsolved.  Some take time.  Some go away and come back.  Maybe the tilted pelvis is my Moriarty.  It is my nemesis.  Maybe it will help me get into acting.  Maybe it will be a source of fodder for years to come.  Maybe I start wearing makeup and singing songs like "Beth".  Well let's see.

As many may know, deductive reasoning has 3 steps:

• Premise
• Evidence
• Conclusion

I will try and focus on the facts and as much acute observation as I can.

Here is what I know.

Premise:

1. I don't have x-rays of my hip position prior to the accident.
2. It was caused by broken left hip, caused my a fall off a road bike onto some railroad tracks.
3. It hurt like hell.
4. There were 3 screws drilled into my left femur to reattach the hip socket.  The surgery was deemed a success.
5. The bones fused back together in about 8 weeks.
6. I was on crutches for 9 weeks, forced to put all my weight on my right leg
7. I walked with a cane for 2 more weeks where I still wobbled around with more weight on my right leg than my left.

Evidence:

1. I walk with a limp.  The limp is not as bad as before but nonetheless a limp.  Also known as the aforementioned strut.
2. My low back hurts sometimes.
3. The surgeon confirmed in the x-ray that my pelvis is slightly titled.  He noticed that one leg is longer than the other. 
4. A chiropractor did their version of the leg length test and confirmed one leg is shorter than the other - according to her test.
5. I can stand straight up with legs together and align the pelvis but it isn't a natural position as it once was.
6. Stretches, yoga, and mobility exercises help.  I think.  I think little by little there has been improvement.  I think.  Some positions are better.  Some are not.
7. Strength training helps.  There are brief moments after a session strengthening my legs that I feel normal.
8. Swimming helps.
9. Biking sometimes feels good.  Sometimes it doesn't.

Conclusion:

The results, I think, are inconclusive.  None of the tests are definitive, except the x-rays and the way I have received x-rays thus far are of a limited view.  The chiropractor test, by their own admission is also inconclusive.  I could get another set of x-rays to do a measurement of the femur.  But that may not even solve the problem.  Because what I don't know is when it got longer.  The accident could have caused it OR I have always had it.  In the case of the latter, my body should eventually know how to straighten itself out.  And I can, with some difficulty, even it out.

Well there you have it. 

A trained logician would probably cringe at the above analysis but that's it.  I was partially hoping that this exercise would reveal something new.  The process of writing these blog posts is an introspective task that often tells me something about myself.  Maybe this didn't reveal anything new.  Maybe it told me what I want it to tell me.  Maybe I need to get into acting.

So what do I do?

I suppose I keep doing what I am doing and give it time.  There is a theory among some body work practitioners that the body will go into certain states to protect itself.  My body leans onto the right leg because the left leg hurt and to some degree still hurts.  So the tilted pelvis has caused a leg length difference because my body is doing its best to avoid pain.  That is what it has known.  I can do as much as I can to change that but until the body feels it, I am going to have some tilting.

I could also try some PT.  After not ever getting PT, the surgeon finally recommended it at my last appointment a few weeks back.  He said the PT could, "Stretch you out."  That's a definitive conclusion, huh?  Aaah, surgeons, you have to love them.  Yes, I love them like I love a car mechanic.  Or the dentist.  I am beginning to view doctors like I view death and taxes.

I could also try some other body work like Rolfing or Feldenkais or Sourcepoint.  I for sure will do some of this because I have a friend who is a Sourcepoint practitioner.  But this goes to the above premise that when the body is ready, it will allow it to be reset to its original patterns.  I don't know when that will be.

In all likelihood, I am going keep doing what I am doing until the pain is gone.  If the titled pelvis is still there, then I need to try a new approach.  I may dabble with PT just to see what they say but I am pretty confident what I am doing is better than what any PT could give me.  My apologies to my PT friends out there but their hands are tied and many of their methods are dated.

So where do I go?  I guess I trust myself.  I know many readers have heard it before.  To that, I had a dream recently where I was in a boat with my personal trainer and we almost tipped over several times.  And then he righted the boat and we sailed along smoothly.  Does that mean he has the answers?  Is the boat my body and he can help me balance it out?  Is he my Dr. Watson?  Is my intuition talking to me?  God only knows.

So I guess the mystery continues until new facts surface.  Moriarty The Tilted Pelvis and I will play a ongoing game of cat and mouse.  The mystery will be solved in one way or another.  It is just a matter of when.  Until next time...

Check back soon for more of The Case of the Tilted Pelvis...

Thanks for reading...

Women

I have been thinking a lot about my favorite author Charles Bukowski.  That might say something about me, if you know Bukowski.  For those of you that don't know Bukowski, he was a poet and author whose prose centers mostly around himself using an alter ego named Henry Chinanski.  The stories extoll Chinanskis’s ups and (mostly) downs in the underbelly of Los Angeles.  

Bukowski has a ton of poetry, and is perhaps more well-known and respected for his poetry than his prose but his novels are essentially memoirs of his life - which make them interesting and provide the reader with a sense of realism.  This is not life in suburbia with a few kids and a minivan and private schools.  This is world where the next few bucks to buy the next drink is the most important objective of the day.  It is a rough and tumble world where death or serious bodily harm is possible every day.  It is survival of the drunkest.

Chinanski, like Bukowski, lived in the bars, horse tracks, liquor stores, and shithole apartments of society as a boozer with little ability to hold down a job or have any meaningful relationships. When he does find stability of sorts, he works for 10 years in a soul sucking job with the US Postal Service, which provides the content for one of his novels, Post Office.  This period, coincidently, corresponds with a 10 year absence from writing.

Bukowski's novels take their way through his life, from his youth in Ham on Rye with an abusive father and various self-esteem killing ailments - including a nasty bout with boils, to the latter part of his life when one of his books is being made into a movie in Hollywood.  If you are wondering, the movie is called Bar Fly with Mickey Rourke.  A few years ago, one of his other books, Factotum, was also made into a movie with Matt Dillion. His last novel, Pulp, was written shortly before he died.  Amazingly he made it to age 72, original liver still intact.

For me, one of his most revealing novels is called Women.  This takes place after Chinanski (Bukowski) has achieved some literary success and is getting more and more interest from women, including ones quite a bit younger than him.  What you come to learn about the author and his exploits, is that even with all his flaws and poor choices, he is strangely a romantic.  He has a deep love for women, with all their complexity, quirks, emotions, problems, and flaws as well as their tenderness and beauty and empathy and sexuality and love and care.  He is after all a poet at heart.

It is probably hard to believe - given that articles have been written about how to never date a Bukowski fan or that he is a misogynist - that he really wants and needs a woman in his life.  He wants to be cared for.  He wants routine.  He wants more than a hangover and another juicehead sprawled across his floor with little recollection on how she got there.  He just doesn’t know how to help himself.  Bukowski is certainly not perfect and never claims to be – and that is why he is so refreshing.  He doesn't treat women as well as he should and never fully shows remorse.  In reality, nor do most men.  I, as a man, certainly should feel worse for my misgivings with the women in my life.  It is not that I don't have them, I just don't show them.  I don’t know how to help myself.

Eventually Bukowski stayed married for the latter part his life and finds some peace but it was a broken, wet, and downright dirty road to get there.  But even that relationship had its rocky moments.  Surprisingly, he also had a daughter from a previous marriage.  The thing I like about Bukowski is that he is able to admit that he, the woman, and his relationships with them are imperfect.  They are real.  And real is messy.  But you just survive another day, hung-over or not.  He was once quoted as saying, “You have to die a few times to learn how to live.”

I think one of the reasons Bukowski has been on the forefront of my mind is that I believe my accident has changed me.  It is not that I want to see where a bottle a day can take me, it is that my interaction with people is different.  Perhaps it has to do with how I see myself.  Maybe it is what I see valuable in friendships, in conversation, in interpersonal contact.  And a big part of that has to do with women.

If it weren’t for women, I never would have recovered, physically or mentally.  The paramedics were women.  The nurses at the hospital were women.  The PTs and dieticians and Pilates instructors were all woman.  The physician assistant is a woman.  My sister.  My mom.  My aunts.  My wife.  My daughter.  My mother-in-law.  My nieces.  My boss.  My sisters-in-law - in particular my wife's twin sister. 

Did I mention my wife?  No one has carried and live through recovery like my wife.  She has had to endure more conversation about hips and pelvic tilts and avascular necrosis and limps and crutches and pain and canes and screws than she ever would have dreamed.  And she has never once not supported me.  She has attended every appointment and has lived it as if it were her own injury.

The only male directly involved has been the surgeon.  And side from the surgery, he hasn't done much.  There are only a couple of other males and those are the personal trainer and a coworker.  The personal trainer has helped greatly and if he lived nearby, I am sure I would spend a lot time speaking with him.  The coworker is also far away and in North Carolina.  But even by phone he has been great counsel and great support to me.  There are others but the interaction is far less frequent.

My realization of this internal change came as a part of conversations I have had with other writers and bloggers, all of whom are female.  I sat and had coffee with one friend and writer and had great, in-depth conversation.  I also attended a gathering with a group of about 6 other women and talked about everything from kids and parents to funny household stories. 

Before my accident I don’t think I would have ever even thought of doing such a thing.  Nor been in position where I would have even been invited.  Nor would I have enjoyed it as much as I did.  I enjoyed their depth of thought.  I enjoyed their humor.  I enjoyed their lack of airs.  I enjoyed their stories.  I saw what I had been missing.  I saw myself.

What I mean is that I enjoyed is their ability to convey a sense of reality.  These are moms with 2, 3, 4 kids, all under the age of 10.  Some have jobs outside the house.  Some don’t.  They are all, however, very busy people who are surviving in their own way.  No one has enough sleep.  The kids have a million activities.  Spouses travel.  Parents are getting old.  Budgets are tight.  Jobs are lost.  Kids have problems.  The furnace breaks.  In laws are pains in the ass.  Relationships ebb and flow.  On and on. 

But that is the beauty and color of life.  And one shows that better than women.  They feel okay with admitting that they, like Bukowski, have died a few times and found a way to live.  And that is comforting and inspiring.  And it is hopeful.  I feel that writing again and talking about life with women has helped me evolve into a better, more well-rounded person.  Unfortunately, I have about a million years of evolution to go before I catch up with the females of the world.

Just as you can tell from Bukowski’s work, the women in my life sometimes irk me.  Sometimes I think they are nuts.  Sometimes I want to go to garage.  Sometimes I wish I was alone in the woods.  But women have helped me recover physically and mentally better than any legion of men ever could.  And I now stand to have more friends who want to explore the depths of surviving life and children and love.  And if that happens in the cozy homes and coffee shops of St Paul, Minnesota instead of the mean streets of L.A., that’s okay.  Survival is survival, bottle in hand or not.

Bukowski never really achieved mainstream success until later in life and perhaps that is why his work always has a subtle undercurrent of hope.  And if I have learned anything from the women in my life is that hope is never lost.

So in honor of the women, I raise my glass.  Charles Bukowski would have it no other way.

Thanks for reading…

Recovery Intuition

Intuition is a funny thing.  We all have it.  Some believe it, some don't.  Some trust it, some don't.  Some have been brought to greatness by it, some have tumbled to disgrace.  Some see it as factual, some see it as subjective.

But really what is it and what does it have to do with recovery, injury, or illness?

In my opinion, quite a lot.  The Sherlock Holmes in me may disagree but Holmes never had to solve the case of his own body, did he?

Our good friends at Merriam Webster define it as "the power or faculty of attaining to direct knowledge or cognition without evident rational thought and inference."  Interesting.  Intuition is the "power" to get "knowledge" but it does not include "rational thought".  So intuition is not rational?  Perhaps.  But it does give you knowledge, right?  I am in agreement that it has nothing to do with thought.  If I could think my way to recovery, I would have been healed months ago.

Given all that, I think people should put stock in their intuition, and the intuition of those around you.  As I have said before if I had trusted my wife's intuition, I wouldn't be in this mess.  I probably never would have broken my hip.  She didn't want me to go on that ride.  She offered to pick me up half way through.  She said she had a "bad feeling".  I ignored her pleadings and didn't listen to her.  Now I can walk thanks to some metal screws holding me together.  Shows what I know.  Her intuition told her something was going to happen to me and I ignored it.  Well let's just say now when she says she has a bad feeling, I listen.

That's why I think intuition and recovery go hand in hand.  Intuition is a feeling.  Pain is a feeling.  Hunger is a feeling.  The only way our bodies can talk to us is through feeling.  And in some strange hokey way, it knows things before they actually happen.  I know that sounds a little far-fetched but there is something there.  So as we recovery we need to listen to the little messages our intuition tells us.  It is the only way to know if we are going in the right direction.

I recently debated about adding or replacing some kettlebell or body-weight exercises with some barbell exercises.  There was exercise in particular that is considered one of the best - the deadlift - and I thought it would be beneficial.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it it wouldn't be appropriate for me. I had this feeling I would get hurt.  And I wanted the feeling of throwing around some weight.  What I would get, though, would be another injury.  Barbells are forgiving.  Either you are in form to use them or you are not.  I certainly am not.  This time I listened.

Another time right before my wife and I got married, my wife was heading back to her apartment.  She was on the phone with her sister who begged her not to go because she had a bad feeling.  She listened to her sister and didn't go.  I went to her place a few hours later and found it had been broken into.  And this was 5 days before our wedding.  My sister in law - like my wife - has some crazy sixth sense intuition.  When they feel something, you listen.

And with recovery all we have to go on is feeling.  The doctors and therapists can make recommendations but if it doesn't feel right, then we need to question it.  There is a lot less science in recovery.  Yes scientifically they put screws in my hip to put the bones back together and then scientifically it did fuse back together.  But after that it has been all feeling.  By everyone.  The doctor has his feeling - probably influenced by experience as does the therapist.  The massage therapist.  the chiropractor.  The personal trainer.  Then we have our own.  Which is the most important.

Perhaps the only scientific fact left in my recovery is X-rays.  And even those are are interpreted through subjective lenses.  Sometimes the doctors see what they want to see and their intuition tells them to make a diagnosis or recommendation.  There is not a sure fire way to fix whatever is appearing on the screen.  We can get information but the information does not make the decision, a feeling does.  And if anyone says differently they are lying.

In the kindest of ways, people always think they know they way to heal us bruised and battered.   And sometimes they do.  Sometimes they don't.  And the amount of suggestions can be dizzying at times.  Everyone has an idea on how to help.  And I think people should explore as many options as they should but ultimately settle into the ones that feel right.  For me I could be doing other things but my intuition tells me to focus on some mobility and light yoga, strength work, and riding my bike.  That is pretty much all I do aside from a massage every couple of weeks and the occasional chiropractic adjustment.

I have thought about doing other things.  I have even ignored advice to perhaps not do as much strength work until after my pelvis is better aligned.  But that doesn't feel right to me.  I like the weight room.  I like doing pull-ups and dips in the garage.  I feel at home in these places.  And as much as I feel like I have changed, that hasn't changed.  I know where I belong.  Either walking perfectly or with limping with a cane.  I don't dislike the yoga studio but I like the weight room better. I like Pilates but I need something different now.  I like how I feel after doing what I have chosen to do.  I feel like I am going in the right direction.  I think.

So whatever your body is telling you, you need to listen.  And listen over time - because it changes.  If you are tired, listen.  If you are hurt, listen.  Your body can't speak so you need to listen to those little messages.  And though the dictionary says it isn't factual, I think it more useful.  Recovery facts are few and far between.  There is no law of gravity to abide by.  There is only the law of what we feel to be right at that very time.

All we have is what we feel.  It is what us makes us human.  So use the intuition to your advantage and to the advantage of those around you.  You get better and you'll get better happier.  As we manage our own care, we can't rely on tests as if we were testing the air temperature.  We have these finicky bodies that talk to us how they want to, not how our minds suggest.  Go with your intuition - trust your gut as they say, you'll heal faster.

Thanks for reading...