Lessons In Patience: Twin Planks Edition

The past year has taught me many lessons. A few of the lessons were easy, but the vast majority were not-so-easy. I mean, nothing can really be easy when you go from being ridiculously active and always on the go, to having a broken back with an incomplete spinal cord injury. Physically, emotionally, not the lessons that I could have ever imagined dealing with... at any age. This past month, I've had an extra dose of the not-so-easy lessons. While I know the bionic life is going to be full of lessons of all shapes and sizes, the month of March sure was a doozie. 

There's Always Next Season...

To be honest, it's been coming for awhile. I waited 9.5 months to get back on skis for the first time since breaking my back, only to deal with the most brutal conditions and spraining my gimpy, nerve-damaged ankle. The bright side of that whole ordeal was that I got on a lift (it had a safety bar AND the lift operator was doing their job) and got in a few turns. That in itself was huge. Since that weekend in early December, I hadn't been on skis again until Dave and I went tame ski touring a few times in the Mammoth Lakes Basin around mid-February (see previous post). The tame skinning adventures were baby steps in the right direction. Well, sometimes when you're taking baby steps, you have to do-si-do around those steps.

Breaking trail on the way to Little Lakes Valley

While my body is adapting to having skis on my feet again and getting use to the feeling of having a free heel, sometimes you need to know when to call it and save locking the heel for next season. In early March, my back started flaring up. It was similar to previous flare ups, but at the same time was different and more intense. It felt like a very tight, sharp pain running down my lower spine, near the hardware. Unlike previous times when it was the upper hardware that was irritated, it was the lower region of the hardware, around the L2 area. I tried my go-to tricks that helped with previous problems - heat, ibuprofen, rest, etc - but nothing seemed to really work. I had a few extra tame weekends. I took some unpaid time off work to rest it to see if it would help (not good for someone who has massive bills to pay, but I've gotta listen to the body). Finally after about three weeks of a very grumpy back, it seemed to calm down a little. Chris, my PT, seems to think that it's most likely stress on the joint below the fusion. It makes complete sense and so we're focusing on exercises and such to help. While I can't pinpoint the cause of the flare up and it's most likely a combination of things, I'm just going to have to accept that it will happen from time to time. Welcome to the "new normal"... again. 

It's no secret that the Sierra is having a crappy snow year. That, along with the bionic back still adapting to things, made it a relatively easy decision to just spend the rest of the ski season skinning around rather than hitting the slopes. I'd still be able to get a great workout and strengthen muscles that need it, but I'd also get skis on the feet time. It's been just over a year since both surgeries and I'm still healing. With all the progress I've been making, too much could go wrong on the slopes and I don't want to take that chance. Backpacking season is quickly approaching and I don't want to risk anything happening before then. I didn't get to backpack last year and I don't want to have another year of that. So, the decision was simple... there is always next winter! Needless to say, I thought I'd be perfectly fine with that. The truth is, I'm still bitter about not being on the slopes again this year. The bitterness is very much alive and kicking. It's not bad when I'm skinning around, but when I read reports of fresh powder it hits hard. When we are around Mammoth and I see people skiing, it hits really hard. I know that I made the best decision for me. Sometimes the best decisions are the toughest ones. I'm going to keep doing tame ski tours while I can, but the major focus is on getting myself ready for skeeter season in the Sierra... err, I mean hiking season!

I always smile when I see snow-covered mountains.

Learning To Listen

Not only was the past month all about learning to listen to my body, but it was also about learning to listen to what really matters. Listening to what makes me happy, listening to those that matter to me,... and tuning out the negative. The past few weeks, the financial stress from the bionic back situation has hit really hard. The fact that I needed to take time off for my back didn't help the situation. I've been pretty down lately as a result. It's been hard to focus on the positive instead of all the negative, when that's what's looming in your face. I know that somehow it will all work itself out, it has to, but it's not easy to deal with. It also hasn't been easy to let go of those in your life that aren't really who they appeared to be. After months of hanging onto friendships that I thought were genuine, it's time to let go and move on (I don't like fake people). Luckily I have some really great friends and coworkers that are always encouraging me and are so supportive. Dave has been an amazing strength through this too. The past year hasn't been easy for either of us, and he's been like a rock for me through all of the ups and downs. 

I'm learning to listen to my body. I'm learning to tune out the negative. Now it's time to listen to and focus on what makes me happy and really matters. Friends. Family. Nature. Hiking in the Sierra. Spending my days with Dave. Lunch dates with Sandy. Having Laura yell "don't look at the trees!" Being bionic buddies for life with Summer. Talking about EVO with Karen. Planning a return trip to Precipice Lake with Terri. Getting harassed at the PT office by Chris and Laura. The list goes on and on. I know that there are still going to be many rough days ahead for me, but I just need to remember to listen to what matters. What really matters is that I'm alive and walking again. 

The Return to Skiing

Cleared to Ski!

I think saying that I've been itching to get back on skis is an understatement... maybe the understatement of the decade. I told Dave that we have to wait until I see Dr Levy and get X-rays to make sure everything is solid. When we were up in Mammoth before Thanksgiving, I was threatening to hijack the car, drive up the mountain (we were only in the Village), and go skiing. I was pretty serious, but knew I'd never overpower Dave for control of the Darth-mobile. 

The next 1.5 weeks couldn't go fast enough. I was nervous about getting X-rays. What if something had moved (I had an achy back for several weeks). What if I wouldn't be cleared for skiing. What if, what if, what if... WHAT IF?! Needless to say, I pretty much worried for nothing... the X-rays were amazing. Dr Levy said he was happy with how everything looked - especially given how active I had become since I saw him in June. He told me I was his "star patient" and I guess that's a good thing. We'll really see how things are when I get a CT scan in January.

Who's stabbing me with screws?!

The crazy spine!

After seeing the X-rays, the next big question was "am I allowed to ski again?" I had a little sinking feeling that maybe he'd say no, but he technically did clear me for doing whatever I felt up to back in June. I was very happy when he cleared me to "cautiously" ski (I'm sure all of my critics felt a disturbance in The Force). I was very happy and relieved to hear him say that. We talked a little about things to watch out for, but they were everyday warnings too - like don't twist a lot/do straight-line stuff, etc. Overall, I was very happy hearing the news and the weekend couldn't get here fast enough.

T-2 days and counting...!

I thought the weeks leading up to skiing again were long, try the two days between the appointment and leaving for Mammoth. Eternity. With the amount of snow predicted for the weekend, I was stoked. I couldn't wait to get there. I was excited... and very nervous. I was very nervous... and excited. I was nervously excited. Practically everyone knew I was going skiing and how excited I was about it. I got the standard responses - some thought I was crazy, some were excited for me, etc. Most were excited for me, but told me to be careful. I got the "with all the progress you've made, I'd hate to see you get hurt and not be able to walk again." I'm not going to lie, that is something that scares me about getting back on skis again. What if I fell and hurt my back again? What if I tweaked it while on the skis? There are a lot of "what ifs", but what if I never tried?! How would I feel if I never tried?! One thing this whole adventure has taught me is to "do what you love" and I plan on doing just that.

Time To Drop In

The day had finally come. After 9.5 painfully long months of rehab and being banned from skiing, we were heading to Mammoth! We decided to head up on Friday so we could go to the premiere of Drop In at Canyon Lodge. When I first saw the trailer for it, I knew we had to go to it. I'd been in contact with Jeremy and Alan about coming to see the premiere and wanting to meet. I was actually excited because they actually wanted to ski with me the next day - on my return to skis! If you have not seen the trailer for Drop In, I highly recommend it. If you have the opportunity to see the film, GO! It's inspiring. It will change your perspective on what is possible. It will remind you to DO WHAT YOU LOVE no matter what is thrown your way. With all that I have been through - the fact that I'm extremely lucky to be alive AND walking, the ridiculously incredible recovery, etc - this movie inspires me. It reminds me to DO WHAT I LOVE no matter what critics have to say. 

9.5 Months Later, It Is Time... Mammoth or Bust!

We woke up on Saturday to crazy wind, single digit temps, and 10+ inches of fresh powder! It was a sign. We were initially going to just rent gear at Mammoth, but with all the fresh pow, we stopped at Mammoth Mountaineering. I was finally going to get to demo the Dynafit AT setup that I was itching to get for months. The day was getting even better. We had our Manaslus and TLT6s and headed up the mountain. On the drive up, I could tell the day was going to be interesting. When we got to the Lodge, we got the bad news - most of the mountain was without power due to the wind (constant 30mph with 50+mph gusts). They had one lift open - Chair 11. I was in luck because that was the lift for two green runs, which is what I was planning on spending most of the day on. Trust me, as much as I wanted to jump on the Blues, I knew that I needed to get use to the feel of skis again and see how my body would handle skiing. As Dave was in line getting lift tickets, I was starting to get a little nervous.

When we stepped outside, I was very grateful to have so many layers on. The conditions were brutal - the wind was blowing me around. As I stepped into the Dynafit bindings, the oh-so-glorious Radial ST bindings, I was getting nervously excited. It felt good to have skis on my feet again, but it also felt really foreign at the same time. I was just really hoping that my legs were strong enough after all the nerve damage to still be able to control the skis like I use to... or at least a little bit. Before I would figure that out, I had to get on the lift...

Being brutally honest, I was freaking out a bit about getting on the lift. I kept telling Dave how nervous I was, but I'm pretty sure he didn't hear me because of how much the wind was howling. I was getting on a lift only 9.5 months after breaking my back falling from one, in the absolute worst conditions. It was reassuring that the lift operators were actually cleaning off the seats and doing their jobs, and that there was a safety bar on this one. I was on the lift, the bar was down, we were off. The wind was about 5x worse on the lift and I had to hide my face in my jacket because it was very sub-zero feeling, but I was on a lift! The flashback of falling started as we approached the top of the lift. I was taking a lot of deep breaths for the last few seconds on the lift. We got to the top, I got off, and I made it. I got back on a lift and did it in the most brutal conditions! 

What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Now that I had made it up, it was time to see how my body would handle skiing after a 9+ month break involving a lot of titanium in my spine, significant damage to the nerves in my legs, and weaker muscles. I think I was actually more nervous about the skiing than actually getting on the lift. I knew I'd survive the lift, but I wasn't sure how my legs would handle the skis... or how my back would handle a fall on the slopes. As excited as I have been about getting back on skis, I was nervous about the bionic back.

As I started down the slope, it felt a little weird to have huge planks on my feet, but at the same time it felt great. The winds were at least a little calmer on the run, but it was still almost a whiteout. At least there was fresh powder! I could tell that my leg muscles were significantly weaker than the last time I was on skis, which is because the nerves still aren't fully back yet, so I was having a few minor issues with controlling the skis. I think part of it was that I was just nervous about falling too. I took a sliding fall, and it wasn't too bad. I got back up, with the help of Dave's hand, and continued on. I was doing okay with the turns, but then I had a little issue with controlling my right ski on a turn and took a tumble that involved releasing the binding. I'm not surprised that it was the right ski because I tend to have more issues with the muscles in that foot (can't lift the big toe, but can lift the rest fine). I could tell I tweaked my ankle in the fall (not sure how), but my back still felt great. I got up, got back in the binding, and skied on. It didn't really go how I wanted, with the falling and all, but I did my first run back on skis! Dave even said I was looking pretty good too! We escaped the conditions for awhile trying to warm up and see how I was feeling. Dave went out for another run, and decided that the conditions on the lift made it not worth it. Shortly after that, the lift was shut down because of the weather. 

While most would think that the day was a bust due to the conditions, only one lift running and having it be shut down before lunch, I think it was a success. I got back on skis again... and a lift. That in itself is huge for me! We also ran into friends that were at Mammoth for the weekend and spent the rest of the day hanging out with them. Also, major props to Mammoth Mountain for giving us vouchers for another visit due to the situation on the mountain.

The smile says it all!

My Thoughts On Bionic Skiing 

I broke my back on a ski lift. In order to get back on skis, I would need to ride a lift again. 9+ months is a long time to wait to get back on skis for someone who fell in love with the sport last season. I knew that getting back on skis was going to be an adventure, but the past 9+ months has been an adventure for me. It might not have gone exactly how I wanted it to, but I did it! It's going to take some time to get use to being on skis again and getting my skiing legs back, but just as with the recovery process, it's going to be a journey. I know I'm going to have to be cautious and it's probably never going to feel the same as it did, but I'm back on skis again! I'm sure I'm always going to be a little worried about falling and possibly doing something to my back, but I'm back on skis! I'm back on skis again!!! One thing I've learned from this whole situation is to do what you love... that's what's most important. Others might not understand or feel the same way, but all that matters is doing what is important to you. I'm back on skis again, maybe skiing a little too cautiously, but I'm skiing!! 

We can rebuild her. We have the technology. :: 1

Waiting

I felt like I was caught in a whirlwind laying on the gurney in the trauma room. There was so much going on around me and it almost felt like I wasn't there. I honestly don't remember much of the initial few hours I was in so much pain. I remember being annoyed because none of the doctors would tell me why they were only focusing on my back and not the pain in my legs/feet. I remember them somehow getting the rest of my clothes off aside from the sports bra. I remember how painful it was having the sheet draped over my feet and specifically asking them to pull it off my feet. I remember waiting for the X-ray. I remember them transferring me to the table for the X-ray and how much it fucking hurt. I didn't think it was possible to be in more pain. I was wrong.

I remember being put in another trauma room with a kid that wasn't doing so good. Trust me, definitely not doing good. I remember finally seeing Dave at some point. I remember seeing the X-ray image. I will never forget that image. I was broken. That's when it hit me. That's when I knew nothing was going to be the same again.

Not pretty. An L1 burst fracture.

The Hallway

There is nothing quite as awesome as being put in the hallway to wait... and wait... and wait. I remember the nurses rotating between morphine and some other liquid painkiller in the IV. I remember Dave handling the "letting everyone know what was going on" aspect of things because I was in no shape for it mentally. Honestly, I don't think either of us were mentally prepared for it or anything that was to come. I remember emailing back and forth with Kim about the situation and being scared. I remember getting a text from Mike joking about "no more cartoons for you" and it made me smile and giggle a little (inside joke from earlier in the week). Yes, I actually smiled for what seemed like the first time since before the fall. I don't remember much of what else happened in the hall and maybe it's for the best. I'll let Dave enjoy those memories of crazy patients pissing on themselves that I clearly forgot for a reason. 

I somehow managed to get a little sleep in the hallway. How that happened, I don't know. As we waited and waited until surgery, I was happy to have a few visitors. Sandy, Jenn, and Steve made several hour drive to spend some time with me before surgery; it meant the world to me. As shitty as I felt, it really helped to see them. I was on a lot of drugs and scared to death about surgery, but they helped make the ordeal easier to handle. I know they helped put Dave at ease too... or they at least gave him a distraction from what was going on.

The time had finally arrived after several delays, they were taking me to the pre-op room. I was scared to be going to surgery, but so happy to be getting out of the hallway. I remember Dave was in there. I remember a needle being put in my IV. That's all I remember...

We Can Rebuild Her. We Have The Technology.

I remember waking up in the post-op room. My back was in pain, but the shooting pains in my legs and feet were gone. I remember being taken to the elevator and Dave, Jenn & Steve, and Mike & Kim being there. I was still in a daze and didn't say much, but was so grateful to see all of them. I was surrounded by people I love and really had no way of showing my appreciation for all of them being there.

That night marked the first of many, many challenging nights. Sleeping was difficult. Between the pain in my back and left side (where the incision was), the annoying circulation things on my calves, and the bed movements, I didn't know if I was going to get any sleep. On top of that, needing help to turn on my right side was tough for me. Nothing was comfortable. I remember the nurse being really helpful and supportive, but it was still a long night. 

The next day was a huge smack in the face and a preview of the long road ahead for me. It started off well - Dave was there by my side, the neurosurgeon stopped in and said everything looked good from their end, the flowers that Mike & Kim brought were beautiful. I was having a really hard time being stuck in bed all the time, but I didn't really have any other option. It all really hit when PT paid me a visit. It all started with the log roll to get out of bed. My legs didn't want to cooperate and it was hard to push myself up because of the back pain. Standing up from bed wasn't easy, but I did it with some help. Then came the blow - trying to walk. I could barely move my legs. I managed two or three baby steps and my left foot was uncooperative. It was like I was hit by a semi. I felt like I hit rock bottom at that point. How does someone who runs up and down mountain passes in the Sierra all the time deal with barely managing to move her legs?! Not well. Not well at all. I knew it would get better, but at the time it felt so hopeless. I was really grateful Dave was there for encouragement and a shoulder to cry on. After I told Kim what happened, she told me to "celebrate that you can stand". It was true. Things could have been a lot worse. To this day, that has stuck with me. After what happened, I will always celebrate that I can stand. 

It was rough over the next few days. Dave and I were going stir-crazy. He was going back and forth between the hospital and the hotel and I was just, well, spending my days in room 904B. I still don't know how he did it. He was always there being supportive, spending hours upon hours at my bedside. When I was struggling with anything from PT to dealing the pain to, well, anything, he was always there. He is amazing.

PT was improving day by day. I went from barely taking two steps, to taking 10 steps in the hall, to walking almost all the way down the hall. As someone who hiked 10-15 miles/day with significant elevation gain every weekend, I never thought walking down a hallway would be so exhausting. I wanted to keep pushing myself though, to go a little farther every PT session. It was frustrating at times, but I could see the progress every day. I was transferring to/from the bed more on my own, sitting up more and almost standing up on my own. I was still struggling with not being able to get my legs back up onto the bed and not being able to pull my feet up when laying in bed, but I was still seeing progress.

The outpouring of support and love from friends since the accident really helped me survive being stuck in the hospital. Dave and I were overwhelmed by all of it and couldn't thank everyone enough. Calls, visits, messages. So much love and support. I remember getting a phone call from my arm-twisting buddy, Stacey, which totally made my day. She always finds a way to make me giggle. Our hiking buddy, Natacha, and Jenn & Al from work came to visit me and keep us company for a few hours. The support from Mike & Kim was beyond amazing; they are like family. Mike liked to send me words of encouragement from time to time. He's also quite the jokester too because I found out from Kim that he asked the surgeon to fix my attitude. I have yet to pay him back for that comment - there will be lots of post-it notes and paper airplanes. Kim was always texting me to see how I was doing, checking on my progress, sending words of encouragement, etc. She was great at making me laugh when I needed it and just being there when I needed to 'chat'. Mike and Kim are just amazing, there is no other way to put it. 

Five days after the accident, I was using the walker in the hallway during PT and my neurosurgeon walked by us and watched for a bit. He said he was impressed with how much I was walking so quickly after surgery. He must have seen something or realized just how active of a person I was, because later that morning I found out that he wanted to do a second procedure. That afternoon, we were still waiting to hear what the second operation was and when it would be. Nobody seemed to have answers for us, so all we could do was wait... and be frustrated. That night I didn't sleep well. The thought of a second surgery, and thinking I might have to start recovery all over again, scared me.

The next morning, the news came. I found out I was having surgery that evening.

To be continued...

Weekends Are Made For Skiing...

In the beginning

A typical winter Saturday for Dave and I meant spending the day skiing at Badger Pass in Yosemite. At least that had been the typical Saturday for the past several weeks. You see, I just started learning how to ski over the holidays as a way to spend more time in our favorite mountains - the Sierra Nevada. I didn't fall in love with it at first, but as the weeks went on and I started getting better at it, I was in love. The speed, the fluidity of the movements, the rush... I had found a new passion to go with backpacking/hiking. Little did I know, the day I was about to get on my first Black Diamond runs, my life would change drastically in a split second.

February 23, 2013

I woke up to an email from a dear friend telling me to "have fun" skiing. The morning felt the same as every other Saturday morning - driving from Oakhurst to Badger Pass while sipping coffee and munching on a protein bar or two. It looked like a cloud had planted itself on the mountain as we were getting ready to hit the slopes, but it didn't deter us. 

I always liked to warm up on the Bruin run to get a feel for the snow before hitting the Blue runs, so naturally we headed over there. The lift seats were a little snowy/wet/icy and the operator didn't seem to care too much (not cleaning them off at all). The first two runs went well, and I wanted to do one more before heading over to the the better runs. I remember the chair felt colder and almost wetter than either of the previous two, but didn't think much of it at the time. Dave and I were getting ready to get off the chair and the next thing I knew, I was sliding...

The Fall

I remember not being able to stop. I remember trying to grab for the side rail (this lift didn't have the front bars). I remember screaming. I remember the impact and falling over. It all happened so fast. I was later told that it happened so fast that Dave heard me scream and by the time he turned his head my direction, I was gone. 

I remember laying in the snow... or maybe I should call it concrete snow... or maybe even ice. If it was powder, I might have been able to ski away from the fall. Instead I lay there, on my side, scared to death and in tears. I knew something was instantly wrong. My lower back was throbbing and my legs felt heavy, but there was a little movement in them. I could move my arms and I never blacked out. I could hear Dave yelling from 15 feet above me not to move. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't paralyzed. I wanted to know everything was going to be okay...

I remember the upper lift operator by my side within seconds. He witnessed it from not even 20 feet away. I remember ski patrol showing up in waves. I remember Dave finally being able to get off the lift and be "by my side". The next several minutes seemed to last forever. When ski patrol mentioned getting the ambulance rolling, I knew it was probably bad. I just wanted to ski, that's all I wanted to do...

As the shock started to wear off, the pain started to kick in at the First Aid hut. Sharp pains shot through my shins and feet. I seriously thought that I had shattered bones in my legs and feet from the fall. Somehow the nurse and few ski patrollers that stuck around managed to get my Arc'teryx shell, pants and layers off without cutting them (I was worried... I love my Arc'teryx gear and it's not cheap. See? I clearly didn't realize how badly I was injured yet.). It felt like I was in there forever waiting for the ambulance. The pain was starting to get really bad - and I have a pretty high tolerance for it. They made makeshift splints for my legs to try and help ease the pain. It didn't do much good. It was then I learned that morphine does nothing to me. Nothing was helping. All I wanted to do was sit up because laying flat on my back was painful and kept getting worse. I was in tears. I remember Dave holding my hand and trying to keep me calm. I was scared... really, really scared...

When the ambulance finally arrived, little did I know how long and painful of a ride it would be to Fresno Community Regional Medical Center. Two hours of slow, curvy driving on the 41 and morphine doing nothing was getting to be too much. The pain started to shoot up through my thighs on the way to Fresno. I didn't know what all was wrong, but I just wanted the pain to go away. Every bump, every turn, every stop was painful. I just wanted to not feel the ride.

To be continued...