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...

Home Sweet Home

It would appear that 1980s hair bands tend to inspire most of my posts.

Before it was Poison and now it is Motley Crue.  In listening to the song "Home Sweet Home" I got to thinking about what home, or my house, has meant to me, in particular during my recovery.  I never really thought about my house very deeply before my accident.  I wasn't really the homebody type, more of the out and about kind.  In fact, I wanted to sell the house and live out of an RV.  But that changed when I got hurt.  Recovery sure would have been interesting in an RV.  Surely I wouldn't have enjoyed it.  So the house was right choice.  I think.

As I have written before, one of the stressful moments of my recovery was when we had to move 2 weeks after my accident.  Being at my former house was comfortable and familiar but it was an older home with no bathroom on the main level.  After the injury, I spent most of my time on the main level, including nighttime, so it presented a challenge because I had to crutch up the stairs when I had to "go".  And given I was completely non-weight bearing, going up and down steps was not easy.

Sometimes I just asked for a ride to the local coffee shop to use the bathroom.  Pretty sad moment.  Additionally, the house had a shower with a tub - also on the second floor - which made it impossible for me to take a shower because I couldn't get my bad leg over and into the tub.  Thus I was forced to go and take a shower at my mother in law's.  Another sad moment.  Moreover, my wife had to drive me to my mother in law's to a take a shower.  Yet another sad moment.

I did, however, feel as if I belonged there and it was an appropriate place to carry out the rest of my healing process.  It felt, quite simply, like home.  We moved into our first house 2 weeks after we were married and lived there for 8 years.  All of my 3 kids were born when we lived in the house.  We grew into a family in the house.  We did projects and made changes and made it our own.  It was full of memories.  It was a cozy house built in the 1920s that wrapped itself around you.  But it was no longer practical.  It was a great home for 4 people but really tight for 5.  We could no longer creatively make use of the limited space.  Every room was tapped, including the basement.

After selling our house to a nice young couple, we moved to a new house with all the needed creature comforts of a bruised and battered individual.  I could use the bathroom on the main level.  I could enter into the stand alone shower without assistance and comfortably sit and use a shower chair.  From a physical comfort standpoint, the move was needed and a much welcomed change of environment.

In addition, it was a good house and not a dramatic change from a location perspective.  It was a block and half away from our old house.  It was well maintained and owned by the same family for almost 90 years.  It was the same style as our old house only bigger.  It had all the woodwork and hardwood floors that we liked.  Our daily lives would not change.  Commutes would be the same.  Routes to school would be the same.  Friends would remain the same.

However, emotionally speaking it was odd.  In some ways, I felt like we didn't belong there.  Maybe it was the injury speaking but it was now my home and I could only associate with it as an injured person.  I had never enjoyed new kids or or happy memories or birthdays or anniversaries or holidays or just the mundane morning routine.  I had nothing grounding me there.  I felt like a foreigner.  I felt lost.  The house almost felt sterile, practically banal.  I felt like I did in the hospital.

Even when we got some new appliances and painted some rooms and put in a new patio and fence and sod in the backyard, it felt like the home belonged someone other than me.  And perhaps that is always the case in a new house.  Perhaps it takes time to make it go from a house to a home.  Perhaps only time can bring memories and parties and help the home wrap its arms around you and become part of you.  And sometimes that can happen quickly.  When you feel healthy and confident and normal.  When you aren't, you feel like stranger in your own home.

And that was how I felt because I was hurt.  And then we had an issue with the toilet.  Then a few lights didn't work.  Then we got a little water in the basement.  And then we had a nasty property dispute with our next door neighbor.  Then the stress got worse.  Then the kids called the lady next door, "the bad lady."

Then I wanted to sell the house.  Then I knew it wasn't our home.  It was a mistake.  I was hurt and all these annoying things were happening.  I was hurt and needed to be in a comfortable, stress free place where I could recover and care for my family.  I was hurt and I hated being at home.  Now, I might as well have been living a million miles from home.  And I couldn't really go anywhere because I was on crutches and getting out wasn't easy.  I was stuck at home I didn't want with a body that didn't work and a head that made Nick Nolte seem sane.

I didn't know what to do.

Then, like anything else in recovery, time seemed to change everything.

I wish I could say I had an epiphany or we mended fences with the lady next door.  I didn't.  We didn't.  We didn't take a vacation and get a better appreciation for home.  We simply made some memories and had an anniversary and a couple of birthdays and Christmas. We decorated the house for holidays.  We had some laughs.  We had a few hundred morning routines.  My injury got better and I felt more comfortable.  The seasons changed and we fell in love with our fireplace and brand new windows.  We watched the snow fall and watched movies.  The house became what we first saw in it.  The house reminded us why we bought it.  The house became part of us and we became part of the house.

And I began to notice that at home is where I didn't have as much pain.  I didn't seem to limp as much as I did outside the house.  It became a bit of refuge.  I really liked working from there.  I really liked being there.  I slept well and I felt at peace when I was there.  It is now, odd enough, to the point where I need to remind myself that I need to leave more often and going to the office is good for my spirit and my career.  Home is a place to come back to, not a place to hide.

I know many bruised and battered become shut-ins perhaps because their house is so comfortable and peaceful.  We all need that.  Or because it is too much to get out.  I what it is like to only feel at peace with myself when I am at home.  And I know what it feels like not to have a home you want to go home to..  But as much as we need a home, we need to live too.  So use it as a place to refuel for your life.

In the end, I think I have learned what a house really is and how much I appreciate the house that I have.  And as much as this house and I got off to a rocky start, we have grown to love each other.  I understand the house better and its creaks and its quirks and all the things that make it unique.  I understand that a house, just like its owners, is not perfect.  And that is okay.  Because imperfect or not, we as a family need it to work and play and cook and care for each other.  We needed it to become a home and it is our home now.  And it has helped me recover - little by little - better than any other place could.

I have often said that people don't really own these old homes, they just act as caretakers for a while.  A few months ago I would have gladly given up my responsibilities for a song.  But now I know we were meant to live in this house and we were destined to be together.  Just as my accident has become part of me so has my new home.

It gives new meaning to the song "Home Sweet Home"... The song couldn't have been sung by a more aptly named band.    A Motley Crew is exactly what my family has become, thanks to our new house.

Thanks for reading...

A Mindful Recovery

I have mentioned several times before about the mental and emotional challenges presented in recovery and how these are often ignored for the physical challenges.  We are well aware of the physical challenges and they get a lot of attention in terms of massage, physical therapy, exercise, and other bodywork.  The physical side of things can change our lives and cause pain and discomfort.  That is why doctors are paid so well.  But the side of effect of the physical injury is really what this does to our confidence, our mood, and our overall state of mind.  It sets us on an emotional roller coaster that is very difficult to exit.

Immediately following my injury and subsequent surgery I maintained a fairly positive attitude.  I was, though, quite in shock and couldn't believe my misfortune.  I do remember feeling quite helpless at times and kept looking for opportunities to do something besides sit around and wait for the bone to heal.  I ended up doing a lot of pull-ups and dips (probably too many) just to make myself feel like I was doing something to physically improve myself.  Surprisingly, at the beginning, I thought I could beat the injury quickly.  I learned though that I had an injury that wasn't going to heal fast and I learned it the hard way.  The original surgeon I had was an ADD nut-job and he threw my head into a tizzy.  And the injury was going to take time to heal; it didn't matter how good of shape I was in.  I wasn't 25 anymore and I had broken the biggest bone in my body.  Thus, I became more of head case than I already was.

To deal with it and feed my mental and emotional side, I threw myself into my job.  So much so that I took only 2 days off from work after the surgery and didn't really take any time off until after I got off crutches.  In fact, at the time I considered time off from work to be a waste because I couldn't do much anyway beside sit around.  So I thought might as well work.  This ended up causing me to develop quite a chip on my shoulder for some reason and brought out my inner rebellious side.  I stopped cutting my hair and I was listening to Grateful Dead bootlegs like I was 21 again.  In reflection, it was a strange time.

And in the end it backfired a bit. I ended up getting upset at someone at work and got myself into some hot water for a while.  It was nothing severe or fatal but it dinged my reputation a little.  And unfortunately it it continued to feed the chip on my shoulder.  I wasn't exactly an angry man but certainly had a lost a lot of respect for authority.

Some of it eased once I got off the crutches and began therapy but still I was annoyed by my limp and my pain and flung myself into ultra problem solver mode.  I think my mind was heading there from the beginning but it got worse and worse in the first few months of recovery.  I used every free moment to research this or that up about how to fix my hip in one way or another.  My mind was constantly thinking about recovery; so much so that I was probably never in the moment.  I tend to be a bit scattered and perpetually thinking anyway so it wasn't a stretch, but I think I thought that I could intellectualize myself out of the injury.  Perhaps there is some sort of truth to that - I think - but I never turned my mind off, ever.  The constant running thoughts in and of itself became a point of stress.  I lost sleep.  I lost time.  I lost precious moments.

Because of that I wasn't even able to enjoy some activities that could have relaxed.  I have long been a habitual reader but during the accident I was only able to read 3 books: The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band about the band Motley Crue, Savages by Don Winslow, and Ultimate Rush by Joe Dirt.  And what about these 3 books grabbed me I have no idea.  Maybe they all have something to do with dirt or grit or rebelliousness.  I did read them all very quickly - within a few days, eating up the words but hardly enjoying them.  But the books were few and far between.  Perhaps they were just a binge sessions to save myself from complete insanity.  I don't know but actually sitting down to read seemed like a slow, non productive activity for a while.  I am making a comeback now but it is still slow going.  I still feel more comfortable grabbing the Ipad and looking up "lateral pelvic tilt" than I do grabbing a book.

I also couldn't pray.  To be honest I don't pray every day or every week but I never would say I don't pray at all.  I don't think I started again until a few months ago.  It seemed like a such a non concrete activity.  It didn't seem like it could help me at all.  It was all too whimsical.  I needed something I could do.  So I did a lot of thinking.

This all built up to more and more anger.  And more anxiety.  The downside of thinking is that is causes the glass to always be quite full and it doesn't take much to cause it spill.  6 months after the injury I was mentally and emotionally worse off than I was immediately after the accident.

Thankfully that balloon finally deflated itself, mostly because I have made a constant effort to turn my head off as much as possible and try some radical acceptance and gratitude.  In the end it also led to a much needed job change.  I believe the job change would have come with or without the accident but it probably would have happened differently.

In the end I learned that you can't think your way to recovery.  It is good to be proactive and be looking for ways to improve and get better but after a certain point it is really about consistency and time.  So as long as you are willing to keep at it and not quit, then over time you will get better.  But you can't constantly be worrying or thinking about it.  Trust me it is the hardest thing to do.  You just want to solve the problem.  Yet that causes us to miss out on so many great things in life.  For me I missed out on some great books and movies and on a daily basis missed out on the little things like a sunset or beautiful bird or beautiful woman walking by.  I probably missed out at work because while on conference calls I was multitasking and lost an opportunity to learn something or find an opportunity to advance myself.

The real interesting thing is that while I was (and still am) recovering, I am still alive.  I can still take deep breaths and feel my heart beating.  I can still be in the moment.  I can still choose not get lost in my head.  These are things that would have made my recovery much more enjoyable or manageable.  Or at least made it easier on myself.  Mindfulness - the practice of staying in the moment - is good for everyone but recovery by its nature causes us to naturally retreat inward and protect ourselves.  While typically the focus is to do what ever we can to improve the body, equal measures should be taken to improve and relax the mind.  Because a relaxed mind leads to relaxed body.  And a relaxed body is one that is open to healing and adjustment and balance.

Mindfulness is certainly easier said than done and takes a lot of practice.  There are hundreds of books on the topic.  Whether you are in recovery or not, the act of being in the moment and turning off the running thoughts can make everything easier.  The past is in the past and the future is in the future.  All you have is in the present.  And being in the present sometimes isn't where the bruised and battered want to be.  But it is a heck of a lot better than being dead or dying or with incurable cancer.  So consider the alternative.  Someone always has it worse than you.

So go and enjoy the little things in life.  Notice life around you and be mindful of everything but yourself, at times.  Look at it as a mental break you can take at any moment.  And it doesn't cost a thing.  All it takes is an off switch for the mind.  Problem is that it takes a little while to find it.

Thanks for reading...

The Goal is the Goal

Goal setting in adults is something I think is sorely lacking.  So much so that I don't think we even know how to set quality, tangible goals for ourselves.  We push our children to learn how skate all the way around the rink or catch 10 out of 10 passes or ride their bike all the way down the block or learn all their spelling words but we adults tend to just trudge through our lives with the hope that we are going to get better but never actually putting down something concrete.  And, to be clear, these aren't resolutions.  Resolutions are declarations or expressions.  Resolutions fail because they really aren't anything you can measure.  Goals succeed because they put a line in the sand and, if carried out correctly, bring us to a better place than before.

The hard truth is many of us adults never really plan for ourselves; year after year passes and we are still stuck in the same job, with the same routine, and carrying around the same 20 pounds we have been meaning to lose.  Because as the saying goes, "Failing to plan is planning to fail."

I felt like I was doing exactly that until I recently signed up to do some online personal training with my favorite trainer Geoff Neupert.  I was so excited to work with him that I felt like a kid on the Christmas morning the evening that my specialized program came.

Before he actually wrote up a program, however, he asked me a simple question: "What are your goals?"

To which I replied: "Get stronger."

And I seriously thought that was a good enough response.  As someone is recovery, I figured that would suffice.  But healing or "getting better" isn't really a goal.  It is a desire but a goal is much more definitive and concrete.  It is something like "the ability to walk up 3 flights of stairs without the use of a cane".  And it is about doing some real self care and owning it.

I should have known better given all the talk of goal setting in the workplace but I guess I half expected Geoff to take what I had said and work his magic.  But he didn't know how strong I was already nor did he know what I wanted to be stronger at/in/with.  So he kept whittling away at me until we came up with 3 fairly solid strength goals that meet my particular needs.  The difficult thing was, each time he asked a question of me I was forced to sit and really think about what I wanted.  Because, I came to realize, there a millions ways to define "stronger" and stronger for me may not mean stronger to someone else.  Forgive me, but I can be a bit dense at times.

In some ways it was very uncomfortable.  It felt so nebulous - as if I was pulling something out of thin air.  And perhaps that is why so many adults don't set goals.  As kids many of our goals seem to be dictated for us. Learn to read.  Learn to ride a bike.  Learn to drive.  As adults, however, we have already achieved most of those baseline goals and now it is about self actualization of who we are uniquely meant to be.  And we don't do it because life seems to get in the way.  Or we simply let life get in the way - because it is easier than thinking about who we want to be or what we really want out of life or what we want to improve about ourselves.

Even more to the point, I was recently sent a link to this article: "The Goal is to Keep the Goal" from All About Kettlebells.  In it the author credits Geoff Neupert and another great trainer, Dan John, with the title of the article.  Quite simply the message is to set a goal, get a program or method to get you to that goal, and stick with it.  And it isn't always an easy process.  But if you want to get somewhere other than where you are at, then you have to go through it.

Sometimes the goal setting process can be fun and exciting and even getting the plan can be straightforward. Sometimes the plan is fun and exciting because you get a new book or get to work with a great instructor or trainer.  Then 2 months into it you get bored.  You get distracted.  You get antsy or depressed or sick.  And then you can't keep the goal.

Well to that I say if the goal is worth achieving, then it is isn't going to entertain you or make you feel excited all the time.  Sometimes it might be downright boring.  Trainer Pavel Tsatsouline has been quoted as saying that lawyers are better than others at staying fit and getting strong because they can deal with boredom better than the rest of us.  Now I don't know if that is true but the point is well taken.  Keep the goal, stay the course during the ups and downs and you will achieve what you want to achieve.  And don't' expect it to always be rosy.  Expect that you will hate it sometimes.  Expect that you will have drag yourself to the gym or curse the fact that you have to eat a salad instead of french fries or will have to practice yet another day.  But you will thank yourself once you achieve the goal.  And don't get too caught up with a bad day or bad week.  Keep the long view.

I know staying inspired is not always easy but, over time, you have to find it somewhere.  One of my favorite Nike commercials says, "Passion has a funny way of trumping logic."  So, I take this to mean, if you have passion and enough wherewithal or simple motivation to keep the goal, you will get there.  And while this is particularly true for us bruised and battered, it is also true for anyone who wants to improve themselves.  

I encourage everyone to set goals and keep them.  For me I have my recovery goals and I have other goals, including the success of this blog.  I don't have a lot of readers right now but if I stick with it and set goals of getting 100, 200, 500, or 1,000 readers per post, I will get there and the blog will become what I want it to be.  It may take a few months or a few years but as the article says "The Goal is to Keep the Goal". 

To that end, the Nike commercial also says "...the odds may be stacked against you. Fair enough. But what the odds don't know is, this isn't a math test."  Life is about producing actualities, not living out some sort of expert prediction.  Keep striving as if you couldn't fail, as if success is guaranteed - even if logic, maybe even your own internal logic, says it isn't.  And time will tell the tale.

So get a goal, any goal.  No goal is too strange or unworthy, if you believe in it.  For example, I read an article about a guy whose goal for 2013 was to do the Rubik's cube in under 10 minutes.  Hey, it's not my thing but he is going to be a better person when he achieves it.  

Therefore people, set those goals, they aren't just for kids anymore.

Thanks for reading...

"You Have to Live Your Life"

I wrote a bit in my 2012 year end piece about not being your injury or illness.  I said that we need to make every effort to transcend it and overcome whatever obstacles are in our way.  In particular, I spoke of someone close to me who has MS and has recently lost 50 pounds.  I found it very inspirational because there are times where I feel that I - albeit mentally and emotionally - succumb to feeling like my life is on hold in some ways and I can really start living once I am completely healed.

One area of my life that I put on hold is riding my bike in the winter.  Some of you may feel that riding your bike in the winter is crazy for anyone, hip injury or not.  But here in Minnesota we embrace the winter.  We run, we snowshoe, we ski, we ice fish, and we bike - all in the cold and ice and slush and snow.  As long as you have the right gear and equipment - and a little bit of gumption - you can enjoy "summer" activities all year year round.  It is an attitude that sets us apart from other places.  I am not a native Minnesotan and tend to be more critical of this nutty state than I should be, but the fact that the people here are so active year round and treat the cold and snow as nothing more than a slight nuance is something that has changed me for the better.  It is something I admire in the people and has toughened me up to do anything in any kind of weather conditions.  It may seem crazy to our western and southern brethren but biking in the winter is a bit like wresting an alligator.  If you know what you are doing, it is a calculated risk with (usually) an exhilarating, positive outcome.  If you don't, well, you get hurt - or die...

Nevertheless, when the first snowfall came in mid December I was hesitant to get on the bike.  I had decided in November that I would ride in the winter but when it came time to actually ride, I froze.  I was scared.  I didn't want to fall.  And rationally that was the right way to feel.  There was no reason to put myself in harm's way.  I didn't need to prolong my injury or set myself back.  So for about 3 weeks I didn't get on the bike and figured that I would do other things this winter, perhaps snowshoeing.  Perhaps salsa dancing.  And I had convinced myself I was okay with that.

Then one day last week I drove to work, following my usual riding route to work along the Mississippi River.  I saw some people riding.  I saw how beautiful the river looks in winter.  I saw that the paths looked clear enough.  And it got me thinking: I have a bike rigged for winter with the best studded tires money can buy.  I can ride slow.  I can just ride once a week to work.  I can...

So I got up last Friday morning and told my wife I was riding to work.  And somewhat to my surprise she didn't say anything to me.  From time to time, my wife will comment on things I am doing and express concern.  In fact, on the day I crashed she expressed concern before and during the ride.  And I assured her I was fine but of course I wasn't.  What I have learned is that my wife has very good intuition and if she feels like something could happen, she is usually right.  So I try and listen.  But this time she didn't say much.  She called and asked me how the ride was when I got there and that was it.

Later that night I asked her if she was mad at me for riding, given the fact if I were to get hurt again it would throw our household into an immediate tizzy.

Instead she said, "No, I am proud of you.  You have to live your life."

And she is right.  Just that comment got me motivated to keep living my life and moving forward as much as I can without thinking or acting on part of the injury.  I need to consciously not limp the best I can.  I need to not lean and sit too much.  I need to move on.  In some ways my body is not ready to completely move on but if I can get my mind and spirit there, hopefully the body will follow.

The ride itself, then, was great.  I missed the cold winds and sounds of snow crackling under my tires.  I missed the nice sleepy fatigue a winter ride brings at the end of the day.  I missed feeling confident when the terrain is unsure.  All in all, I missed how much fun riding in the winter is.  I went slow but I never felt like I was going to fall.  Since then I have ridden 2 more times and have 2 more rides planned for this week.

I feel (a little more) like myself again.

So no matter your state, get your body to place where you can live your life. If I can do it, you can do it.  I am far enough along that I can finally enjoy myself again.  So if you are hurt or just plain de-conditioned, just get up and get active.  Get strong.  Get motivated.  No matter if you are 15, 30, or 65, go live your life.  You will thank yourself for it.

And hopefully I will see you out on the trail.

Thanks for reading...

A Therapy Confession

I have to make a confession.  I need to get something off my chest, so to say.  I am a huge Sarah Palin fan.  I really hope she gets back on the ticket.  Just kidding.  Sorry that's not even a good joke because it is not even remotely believable.  Actually, here goes: "Call Me Maybe" might be my favorite song of 2012.  Okay, kind of true, but I am procrastinating here.  Procrastinating is kind of fun.  Especially when it it involves small, harmless fibs.

In truth, here is my confession: I never received any traditional physical therapy after my hip fracture. 

I did get a little immediately following the surgery to basically make sure I was mobile enough to get up from a seated position, use the crutches to move around, make it to the bathroom, get in and out of a car, go up and down steps - you get the picture.  But after I was done with crutches and I was cleared to begin strengthening and rehabilitating, I was never prescribed nor did I ever participate in traditional PT. 

I did, however, ask for it.  I asked for it right after I got off crutches and then I asked for it again 2 months later.  The first time the surgeon told me it wasn't going to help someone like me - I was already versed in exercise.  He said just start working out and biking and I will get better.  So I started working one on one with a Pilates instructor and I started making progress.  The second time I asked because I was concerned with my leg length difference and wanted a gait specialist.  The surgeon pretty much replied with the same answer and said to keep working with the Pilates instructor.  So I did until October when I recovered enough that I wanted to focus on strength training. 

To me this has always been one of the great mysteries of my recovery.  I don't quite understand why.  I also recently had a physical and asked my internal medicine doctor why.   He replied by saying he thinks many don't often make a lot of progress with physical therapists.  To me this feels like quite a generalization but I suppose the theory applies to me.  I told him what I had done to recover and he said that was the right thing.  He also said long term to get a personal trainer and focus on keeping my mid section strong.  To be honest, I don't take a lot of stock in getting fitness advice from MDs but I think his approach is the right one.

Therefore, what I can theorize is that doctors seem to be somewhat unknowingly pushing patients away from PT and towards full body exercise such as strength training and Pilates.  The question still remains as to why and I suppose I have only two thoughts.  One, they don't like PTs.  PTs and MDs tend to have a long standing dislike of each other and some philosophical disagreements.  I think this has some truth but disregarding PT altogether seems like it could in the end  be bad for the MDs so it seems odd to dismiss it completely. 

That leads to my other thought.  And that is, they don't believe that PT works because the traditional approach it usually takes to recovery is flawed, outdated, or simply doesn't help the patient get progressively better.  Now I know there are some great, foward-thinking PTs out there but as a whole it seems that PT is very singular in its focus.  You hurt your elbow, lets do some elbow exercises.  Maybe some shoulder stuff could help because it is all connected but that's not what you are here for; you are here for the elbow.  Conversely, with Pilates, you are going to work the whole body and focus on full body alignment, strength, and posture.  Same is true for kettlebells.

Again, I am not here to disparage PTs.  I think they have a very, very important role in recovery and healthcare in general.  Nonetheless, the fact that the surgeon never recommended it to me and to some extent encouraged me not to do it has always been something that weighed on my mind.  So much so that is has been awkward when people ask about how my physical therapy is going because I never did any in the sense that most people think of it.  It has been in some ways difficult for others to understand given the magnitude of my accident.  It always took a little bit of explanation.  Instead of saying, "It is going well," I have had to say, "Well, I have never had any.  I have been doing Pilates..."  I guess I am used to it by now and from here I can just forward people to the blog.

All in all, my situation aside, it will be interesting to see where and how PT fits into the picture in the future.  I suppose all we can do for now is sit back and wait.  And get our own trainers to work with. 

Now that I have confessed, I can move on and not worry about it.  I can get back to listening to "Call Me Maybe" and hoping for a future President of the United States from Alaska...

Thanks for reading...