My ankle surgery (there are pictures--unflattering pictures)

Holy crap, it's been a hard year. In addition to my son's difficult diagnosis, his two surgeries, and moving to another state, I had ankle surgery on Sept. 19th (about a month after we moved). 

Ankle sprains have been an ongoing issue for me since I had a severe sprain, partially tearing the ligaments and a tendon in my ankle when I was a sophomore at a basketball camp. The ankle was ever after weak, and I sprained in numerous more time as I played rec and church ball. 

On June 22, 2014, I was running and stepped on a stiff hose. I heard a pop and I went down. I couldn't walk on it for two days. I called the doctor, but they said it sounded like a severe sprain, and there was nothing they could do. 

I should have gone in, but honestly, I was so overwhelmed with all my son's health problems--he was in a wheelchair again, and we didn't know if his leg would take years or months to heal. My husband was interviewing for a new job, and we were pretty sure he was going to get it, which meant him leaving our family until our house sold (did I mention our house was for sale at the time?). It meant moving to a different state. 

Also at this time, I was having tests done on my heart for an arrhythmia, which turned out to be related to stress. 

I didn't have time or the capacity to deal with being injured. I tried to suck it up, I even went running again two weeks later. It was extremely painful, and I realized I was going to have to take a full 6 weeks off for a sprain. 

At eight weeks, I was still in a lot of pain, and my ankle sprained every time I scuffed my foot on the floor, or my heel caught on a stair. 

So I finally went into the doctor. 

I had broken off three chips of bone (on both sides and the back), all of which were causing me pain. I had also completely ruptured one ligament and rendered useless another. I had also torn a tendon. 

And I needed surgery. Well, I was moving in two weeks, I couldn't have surgery. So we waited until after we moved and were somewhat settled. 

On Sept. 19th, I had surgery. It entailed cutting the ligaments, folding them over each other, and sewing them back together. The tendon was sewed back together. The groove where that tendon passed the back of the fibula was nonexistent, so the doctor drilled a hole and collapsed the bone to make a groove (so it would stop dislocating). He also drilled more holes and sewed synthetic ligaments through the bone (as even repaired, my ligaments were shot and would be easily damaged again). 

I felt pretty good right after surgery--that had everything to do with a nerve block. But when that wore off on Sunday, holy mother of all pain. It felt like a white hot branding iron was sitting on the back of my fibula (where he'd made a groove for my tendon). In tears, I called my doc. He called me in a stronger pain pill. 

It knocked me out, but the pain kept building. By Sunday morning, all I could do was cry. So my mom took me to the emergency room--I'm not proud to admit I sobbed the whole way, but it's the truth. 

As soon as they cut the soft cast off, I stopped crying. It had been too tight, cutting off my circulation. They checked me for blood clots, thankfully I was fine. After, they gave me a shot of tordol, and I started feeling pretty good. 

Not a very flattering picture, but I believe in being real. 

They sent me home with instructions to keep up on my pain pills so my pain didn't get out of control again. Problem was, I couldn't stop throwing up. Eight hours later, I was crying in pain again. The doctor called me in something to help with the nausea and I finally had some relief. 

The next few days were a blur of pain and reactions to the drugs. First, I would get dizzy and tired, then insanely hot. I'd feel loopy and stupid. And there was always the ever present nausea.

After a few days, I was just starting to feel better when I fell, stomping on my right foot to catch myself. The pain shot back up. I had some online retail therapy. There is no need to mention how much I spent.

On the 29th, I finally started to feel like I was going to survive. I'm still bed ridden, as standing lets all the blood fill up my ankle and the burning starts, but at least I can bathe and get up to use the bathroom without wanting to curl into a ball and cry after. 

I am so grateful for my church. Even though I barely know anyone here, a girl named Ann has taken my daughter to kindergarten each day. Dawn has picked my son up from cross country practice. They brought us supper every night for 5 days. My mom and mother-in-law came and stayed with me, taking care of my family and running errands. And my sweet husband has taken over and been super helpful since they left. 

I won't be able to walk on my leg until three weeks out. Won't be able to drive until 6 weeks out (thank goodness I found someone I can carpool to the conference I'm teaching at). But that seems like a piece of cake after what I've already been through.

Now I just hope I can get off these stupid pain pills.

*edit 10-9-14*
Not long after I wrote this post, I had an allergic reaction to one of the medications I was on (my doc thinks either the antiboitic or the arnica). I was covered in hives. Like, COVERED. My incision was the worst, and the burning and itching was so bad I couldn't sleep at night. My doc put me on steroids, which really helped with the reaction, but the night sweats and emotional mess they made me were a steep price.

Because my incision was covered in blisters, I wasn't able to remove the stitches when I was supposed to. So another week of stitches. Yay.

This can end any time now. 

Why my son is in a wheelchair. Again.

I'm getting lots and lots of questions from people wondering what's going on with my 8 year old. So here's the synopsis. Last year, he slipped on some gravel and landed on the side of his leg. Either the fall was cause by or resulted in a spiral fracture of his femur. His femur was weak (he had a quarter sized cavity) due to a nonossifying fibroma. You can read a more detailed account here. And here.

We spent a few days in the hospital and the doctor put in a plate. We spent 6 weeks in a wheelchair/walker, after which my son gradually moved up to more strenuous activities. Over the last year, we've monitored his leg with xrays. It appeared to have healed, and because his leg is still growing, they wanted to take the plate out.

That was the surgery he had on Thursday. Only when they took the plate out, the bone around one of the screw holes collapsed (the doctor said the bone was only as thick as egg shell). He stuck a scope in the hole and found that the fibroma had not healed at all (that's the black spot shaped kinda like a #9. The grey spade-shaped thing is the tumor "track" where the tumor has migrated with the new growth).

Feeling that the bone was diseased, and therefore not healing, the doctor scraped out the bone around the fibroma, making the cavity silver dollar sized. In addition to the cavity, my son also has a hole on the outside of the bone from the collapsed screw hole (the doctor said the hole is about the size of the tip of his finger).

What this boils down to is his femur is extremely fragile-to the point that merely putting weight on it could break it. He's in a wheelchair and walker. The doctor did not put the plate back in (though he considered it), because he's hoping the bone will heal and we won't have to do another major surgery (the incision they have to make is 9 inches long and requires an overnight stay). His incision is healing, so his pain is lessening. It's really hard to get him to stay down when he's feeling close to normal.

It's also really hard because we live in a four level multilevel, making the wheelchair practically useless in our house. He crawls a lot, and we haul the walker up and down stairs for him. Their are only bathrooms on the topmost and bottommost floors. He also has a few additional medical conditions that complicate things.

If I could sell my house tomorrow, we would be gone.

Honestly, my son is probably holding up better than I am. I went into the surgery thinking we would have crutches for five days and a few restrictions on sports and jumping. I came out with a son in a wheelchair and no idea when or if his leg will heal.

So we're playing the waiting game. And I hate it.

I'm not sure how I'm going to get my next book out either. The pacing of my life was already to the point where I could barely manage it. And now this. Something has to go, and I've already pared down my life about as far as I can take it.

I've stopped doing my hair. Or wearing makeup. And I probably won't make my deadline.

I'll be completely honest, the day of and after his surgery were some of the worst of my life. I can't imagine how parents of children with scarier conditions deal with it. My husband got me through it. He kept doing silly things to make me laugh--and he never does silly things.

Last year, our deductible was $4,000. This year, our max out of pocket is $10,000. Thank you, Obama (you don't want to get me started on Obama, trust me).

Anyway, I'm doing better now, I still have my good and bad days--today was one of the bad ones.  My son is enjoying all the attention, though he misses playing with his friends--I think he's kind of lonely. And very bored.

My son broke his femur walking home from school

I had a writer's conference Feb 16 and 17th (a Friday and Saturday)--writer's conferences always exhaust me. The following Monday, my husband and I spent the entire day boxing up the majority of our house and moving it into the garage to make way for the new carpet we had coming in the next day.

On Tuesday, I cleaned walls and washed baseboards while the carpet guys worked. At 3:40, I received a phone call from my older son who'd borrowed a neighbor's phone. My younger son had fallen and was unable to walk home. I drove to the school to find him laying on the sidewalk. 

I asked him where it hurt. He said it was his entire leg. This comforted me, as the severe injuries are usually localized. I picked him up to load him into the van, and he screamed in pain. Unsure whether he was overreacting or not, I brought him home and set him on the kitchen table (the only room that had standing furniture left). I dosed him with Motrin and Tylenol and gave him and ice pack. 

He sat quietly on the table, crying out whenever anyone bumped him. He finally let me touch his leg and I ascertained that his knee and below were fine. It only hurt about halfway up his thigh. My older son said he simply lost his balance and fell.  Knowing how hard it is to break a femur, I figured he must have pulled a muscle. 

After a couple hours, I laid him on a mattress (again, he cried out whenever I moved him) and he fell asleep. My husband returned from work and we proceeded to move furniture back into the house. 

At 8:30, I went to check on him. He was awake and lying quietly. I turned his foot 30 degrees to remove his shoe and he screamed. I knew a leg cramp or pulled muscle shouldn't hurt for this long. We called our neighbor and friend over to give him a blessing.

I wasn't sure how a minor fall (my older son said he just tripped and didn't even hit hard) could break a femur, but I was becoming convinced that's what happened. 

We splinted his leg, wrapped him in a blanket and drove him to the emergency room. Within fifteen minutes, we were able to see the ex-rays. He had a spiral fracture of his femur. I could see this cloudy mass on his leg and asked what it was. The tech didn't know. 

The physician came and told us it could be cancer. 

I'd been holding up pretty well through this, but I lost it at this point and collapsed on a chair and promptly had an anxiety attack. 

They faxed the results to the doctor and radiologist, both of whom thought it looked like a non-ossifying fibroma, which is a noncancerous tumor. Basically, it was a hole in his bone a little smaller than a quarter, which is huge for a seven-year old's leg. 

I was able to leave the chair. 

He was dosed with morphine and we were admitted. The doctor figures that his femur broke while he was simply walking home, and the broken leg is what caused his fall. Every time he moved, the jagged bone was stabbing him from the inside (insert major mother guilt here). He had surgery the next day. Allowing him to be wheeled away from me while he cried out in fear and pain was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. 

The surgery went extremely well. The next 24 hours were hard, but the pediatric wing had a wii gaming system, and my son had it all to himself, which helped as much as the drugs they administered. 

On Thursday, he was able to sit up a little. By that afternoon, physical therapy helped him walk a few steps with a the help of a mini walker. 

By that evening, he was able to go about 15 feet. Hoping to get a better nights sleep, I went home for the first time in days. Unfortunately, I couldn't get my other two children to bed, and my 3 YO had me up twice in the night. 

He was released on Friday. We had a little trouble finding a walker for someone as small as him, but we finally located one. He also has a wheelchair. 

It's been difficult for him to maneuver in our four level multilevel, but he's doing remarkably well. 

Today, I finally received the results of the biopsy. He's cancer free. 

A hard week, but honestly, I'm counting my blessings. The best orthopedic surgeon in the valley happened to be on call. Bad things happen to everyone. We were unlucky for sure, but I have good neighbors and family who were able to take care of my other children. Our insurance deductible has dropped six thousand dollars in the last two years, and we have an HSA that should cover most of the bills. People have left us cookies, meals, and notes. My entire family came to see him in the hospital. We were surrounded by love and caring, and in that, I saw the love and caring of my heavenly father. 

When everything falls apart, you fix it.

And if you can't fix it, you let it go.

Many elements combined to create the perfect storm that was bent on destroying my launch party and first three signings.

First, the place I originally ordered my back-up books from fell through. I hurried and ordered them from my publisher. Those books were delayed. Now they will be arriving after my launch party and first signing. The day after.

Not a huge deal, right? The bookstores should have my books.

No. My print run sold out so fast (from preorders and such), there were no books for the bookstores to buy. The bookstore where I'm having my first signing can't get the books in. The bookstore for my second signing can't get the books in. In the last 36 hours, I have spent hours on the phone trying to fix things.

I called my publisher, who called my distributor and printer. I called other bookstores. No one has my books. No one can get my books for another one to three months.

Insert panic attack here.

And then my publisher fixed things (for the most part). *hugs to Rhemalda* Bookstores can now order my books and have them in ~10 days. Much better than 1 to three months. And we won't be having this problem again (they switched our distributor and printer).

I was able to round up 20 books for my first signing (we pulled the newspaper article and will run it later when I do another signing).

At my launch party, people will preorder the books and I will sign them and drop them off at the library for people to pick up.

I have two more shipments of books coming which I will use for the conference and signing the next weekend and the signing the weekend after that.

That's the best I can do, and it will just have to be good enough.

Q4U: Have you ever planned some huge event and had everything fall apart last minute?

My Worst Fears

My daughter as an infant.

This past weekend, we decided to do a family day trip at a nearby cave system. As we waited for our turn on the tour, my 2 YO daughter fell head first off a picnic table. Even standing right next to her, I wasn't fast enough to save her. There was this awful hollow crack as her head hit the asphalt. I scooped her up. Instead of screaming in pain, she cried weakly. Then her little body went limp in my arms. Her eyes fluttered back.

My heart collapsed inside my chest and I cried for my husband. An eternity later, her eyes focused on me. We watched her closely after that. Especially her eyes, to make sure they were equally dilated and reactive to light. I also knew it would be really bad if she started throwing up.

After over half an hour of crying, she finally settled down. Later, my ER nurse sister-in-law checked her out and proclaimed her fine. She said that children knock themselves out easier than adults because of their softer bones. As long as she didn't have any symtoms of a concussion in the first two hours, she should be fine.

But for those few seconds, I stood on the precipice of my worst fears. That something bad would happen to one of my children. That I would have failed to prevent it.

What's your worst fear?

Why I Only shaved One Leg Today

I come out from hiding under the covers. The first thing I notice is that 18 MO is fussing from her crib. But sad to say, that's not what forced my brain to kick on. Strange, metallic clangs are coming from the kitchen. Baby on my hip, I trudged down the stairs, still half asleep (it'd been a long night). Mid-yawn, I step into the kitchen to see burned toast crumbs spilling from the counter onto the tile floor (which I'd just swept the night before) all around my 8 yro's bare feet. He looks up from where he's shoving a butter knife into the toaster.

"What're you--"

He cuts me off before my lecture has even begun, "Someone put batteries in the toaster, Mom."

Still befuddled with sleep, I step closer. Sure enough four rechargeable batteries. All toasted a nice crispy black . . . kinda smells like my sister-in-law's idea of the perfect bacon.

"Who did that?" I demand.

8 yro shrugs. "I don't know. Not me."

I take a deep breath, pull out a rag, the broom, and dustpan and get to work.

After I'd finally finished feeding everyone breakfast, I picked my 18 month old up from her high chair. Of course, she'd figured out how to unscrew her sippy cup a few days before. And of course she dropped it. All. Over. Me. Soaking wet, I clean her off and penguin walk toward the bathroom.

Before I've made it up the second step, my 8 yro comes bursts  back into the house. "I forgot to have you sign something." Winter wind whips in from the open door, freezing my milk soaked pajamas to my legs. Shaking, I sign it and hope against hope his teacher doesn't think he forged my handwriting.

At this point, I know there won't be time to clean up the kitchen if I'm going to make it aerobics. I jump in the shower, just to rinse off my bottom half. Then I fight to get the kids out the door, find shoes, and convince the 5 yro that the little kids WILL NOT chase him anymore.

When I get home, I jump in the shower for the second time. Just as I'm starting to shave my second leg, 5 yro bursts into the bathroom, his voice high and panicked, " . . it ing . . . off . . . waw."

Wiping soap out of my eyes, I move the shower curtain back. "Huh?"

He's dancing from one foot to the next. "it . . . fell down . . . waws."

He's spinning in circled and miming something falling. "Do you need to go potty?"

"No!" he shouts in exasperation.

"Is your sister okay?"

He takes a deep breath, as if finally understanding I'm not going to get it unless he speaks very slowly. "The ite ting fell off the waw."

At this point, I've decided it's time to rinse off. "What white thing fell off the wall?"

"You know," he points to the ceiling. "The white ting above the tabwe."

It suddenly clicks in my head. Shutting off the water, I run downstairs, dripping water all over the carpet as I go. In the kitchen, the mess that awaits me has reached epic proportions. The ceiling light has indeed fallen from the "waw". It's now teetering serenely on a box of Multigrain Cheerios. Another box of cereal has been knocked down, spilling Life (how perfect is that metaphor?) all over the table, chair, and floor.

At least nothing is on fire. Yet, I think. And no one needs to visit the emergency room. All in all, not as bad as it could've been.

And then I realize something profound. I'm standing, perfectly naked in my kitchen. And all the blinds are up.

With a little squeal, I rush back up the stairs to dress (at this point, toweling off seems unnecessary). Of course, when I finally pick up the box of Life cereal, milk has practically dissolved the cardboard. The sack would have prevented the cereal from flying everywhere, except when my 18 mo had spilled it the day before, she'd ruined said sack. And with the cereal in nothing but the box, I know have SOGGY cereal all over me.

Of course, the phone would have to ring at this point. As I screw the light fixture back into the ceiling, phone propped on my ear, I remember the flyer my church handed out recently. About training for disaster response.

Disaster Training, ha! I'm already an expert.

And that, my friends, is why only one of my legs has been shaved today.