18 Months Post-Op Surgery #7: God's Grace in Details

I wrote what you are about to read six months. Today, on my year and a half kneeversary, it's time to share it. This post is the story of one of the most trying years of my life. I struggle with being vulnerable, but my hope is that my story, in every detail, will encourage and help others. If you make it to the end, please share with someone who may need some encouragement.

November 15, 2018 marked the one-year anniversary. Six surgeries, nine years, and more doctors and physical therapists than I can count, culminated in one last surgery. One last chance to fix the knee problems that have plagued me for over nine years. My surgery took over seven hours. The doctor harvested a portion of my left patella tendon, used it to replace my right ACL, used two cadaver Achilles tendons, together, to replace my right MCL, tightened my right LCL and PCL, reconstructed both posterior corners of my right knee, took a graft from my right IT band, and wove it through the center of my knee to attach it to the top of my tibia and fibula. My Physicians Assistant, Margaret, told me someone had to hold my knee together as they worked, because it was basically falling apart. Before surgery, my understanding of recovery was that I’d be full weight bearing and mobile on my left leg, my right leg would be braced and locked straight, a two or three day stay in the hospital, and about 8-10 weeks on crutches. I knew going into this surgery that it would be intense, but even after four other ACLS, bone grafts, and a meniscus replacement, I wasn’t prepared for the aftermath of this one.

Day 1:

I woke up after my seven-hour surgery to find both of my legs locked straight in hip to ankle braces. They wouldn’t let my parents in to see me until I was out of the recovery area and into a room (which is something new we didn’t know about). Nearly three hours later, I was moved to a room and my parents were allowed to come in. By this time, it was passed 9 pm and room service and the cafeteria were closed. The angel of a nurse assistant hunted down turkey sandwiches, chocolate pudding, and cokes for my mom and I. Nothing tastes better after being intubated than that meal, believe me! The next step was getting to the restroom. I definitely was not ready for the ordeal of getting out of bed the first time. Not being able to bend your legs, while feeling like fire is pouring down them when you try to put weight on them, but simultaneously being slightly numb, and having to use the bathroom all together honestly one of the worst experiences I’ve been through. You know it’s bad when the nurses are crying with you as they help you out of bed. Finally, we were settled back in for a night of constant interruptions and more turkey sandwiches at 3 am.

Day 2:

This day passed in somewhat of a blur. The pain did not become excruciating unless I stood, so I figured out how to use the bathroom and shift around without actually standing up or putting weight on my legs. The hospital physical therapist wasn’t exactly thrilled that I was crafty enough to not get out of bed. We also found out my left leg would be locked in the brace for a month and I’d be on crutches for a total of three months. This meant the only way I could get out of bed and walk (more like creep) was with the help of a walker and wheelchair. You can only mentally be prepared for so much, and I was nowhere near ready for these newest revelations. Expecting the worst, and finding out the worst can actually be worse, is a hard pill to swallow. I was surrounded by prayers, my family, and one of my best friends who drove nearly two hours to read a book to me that I remember nothing about.

Day 3:

I was supposed to be going home today! I should have expected things to be shaken up again, but I wasn’t. My pain meds were on the same schedule as the nurse shift change. This meant my morning dose of pain killers was administered over an hour late. By this point, there was no turning back. Once again, if you know me, my pain tolerance by this point in my life is rather high. Much to my mother’s and my disappointment, I found there is always room for improvement. The next 8 hours consisted of my PA, in and out of my room, changing my medication and consistently upping it until we were able to get the pain under control. I was now on the highest dose possible of the strongest pain meds I’d ever been given. Needless to say, I wasn’t going home. With the pain finally starting to numb, the enormity of the next days, weeks, and months set in. We settled in for a night of pain, tears, and more prayers.

Day 4:

We started the day with the doctor saying I could go home that afternoon, if I got cleared by the hospital physical therapist and the pain was still under control. To be cleared, I had to go up and down stairs using my crutches and be able to get to the bathroom and back on them. Fast forward to a miserable time of PT with a physical therapist more stubborn than I am. It was probably only an hour or so, but it felt like years. Late that afternoon, armed with a walker, crutches, wheelchair, wheelchair ramp, pain prescriptions, and a direct number to the PA, we headed home. Arriving home began the struggles all over again. Figuring out the wheelchair, ramp and sofa bed, turned out to be more taxing than we thought, so my dad went off to pick up the pain med prescriptions. The pharmacy wouldn’t fill the incredibly high dose I needed, so my dad called the PA, who had to call and give permission to the pharmacist, only to find out they didn’t have enough in supply. The pharmacist called around, found a pharmacy that had enough, and of my dad went to a different town to fill the prescription and go back through the whole process again. In the midst of the hoops my dad was jumping through, we passed the mark for pain meds by nearly an hour again. By this point, we knew what the night held and started praying.

Thanksgiving:

A week after I had surgery was Thanksgiving and I was still learning to use the walker and wheelchair. I struggled having so many people around. I was overwhelmed and fighting the pain, nausea, anxiety, and depression that often come with surgery and prescription pain killers. I was waking every two hours through the day and night to take pain meds, antibiotics, and nausea meds. I wanted people near, but a lot of sound made everything hurt worse. I know after surgery I’m a major grouch, but I was way passed monster mode by this point. I absolutely love the holidays and having family around, but I have never prayed for one to end like I did that Thanksgiving. I definitely don’t deserve the patience and love of my family.

Week 2:

My first doctor’s appointment and physical therapy was this week. Being the stubborn person I am, I decided I would not use the wheelchair for the first time. I crutched in to both appointments and was useless for the rest of the day. Also, digging staples out of healed skin is definitely not one of my favorite pastimes. The days were starting to settle into a routine of sleep, family, eat, meds, sleep, movies, sleep, nausea, eat, sleep, meds, and repeat. I wouldn’t have made it through without cheesy Christmas movies, my best friend, Chick-fil-a, and my family.

Week 5:

For the past month, I had done very little. Physical therapy, pain meds, nausea, sleep, tears, and cheesy Christmas movies had been my life. I was struggling with intense nightmares and restlessness at night, so I would only sleep during the day. This got to the point of my mom keeping me awake through the drugged mornings and afternoons, to attempt sleeping at night. I become a dismal human being if I don’t have sleep. If I didn’t bark at my family and break into tears several times a day, it was a miracle. However, the week before Christmas I was able to unlock the left brace! I was able to use the walker and chair less, and began to learn to walk all over again with crutches. There finally seemed to be improvement.

Christmas:

The week of Christmas started with part of my family getting a stomach bug and passing it around. It ended with my sister-in-law and I sick Christmas Eve night. Christmas traditions are my absolute favorite things, so being sick and on crutches was not how I imagined it would go. God gives more grace. More grace. And more grace. The enormity of what Christmas represents hit harder than it ever has this year.

New Years:

As New Years approached, I began to feel a little bit more normal. The crutches and I were beginning to feel like old friends and I was getting more fresh air. Things were still off, as you can read about here. There was more and more visible progress with physical therapy and things were looking up. The reality of what I was facing started to hit harder. The leg lifts and balancing were tedious, but the thought of doing more was almost impossible.

February:

The second week of February marked thirteen weeks since surgery, over three months. I was at physical therapy twice a week and seeing my doctor every other week. I was allowed to start working my way off the crutches! This proved more difficult than I thought. The mental struggles of having knee problems for a decade were rearing their ugly head. Many of the exercises in physical therapy proved incredibly hard to get passed. Simple things like walking, standing, and driving were harder than I remembered. Things like kneeling and stairs were still impossible. My PT, Warren, is more stubborn and persistent than I am...and that's saying a lot!

March:

Four months to the day, I was able to go back to work. I started part time, filling in at sitting positions until I was able to begin working on my feet more and more. It took another month before I was able to begin working full time again. Work was incredibly difficult to adjust to. Standing and walking for over eight hours a day left my leg useless. At that point, I was also released from physical therapy to continue working on my own. I was still restricted on running, jumping, twisting, pivoting, and cutting. I was in the gym several times a week and working hard to improve.

July:

I worked my first fourteen-hour day the middle of July, and I realized something that night. I was a little swollen and sore, but there wasn’t the pain. Pain that I’d had for years. Pain that accompanied nearly everything I did. After something as taxing as that day, it wasn’t there! I lost it. For the first time in months, the tears were not sad or pain filled. They were tears of relief and awe. Tears of unworthiness that, after ten long years, God would show mercy and grace for the pain. Tears that there is an end to the suffering and joy does come in the morning or even at 11 pm on I-77.

August:

My doctor cleared me for running! I was over the moon at first, but then the enormity of that sunk in. Running? You mean how I tore my ACL the fourth time? You mean the thing I’ve never fully gotten back after ten years? Yeah right. I can’t do that. I voiced my concerns to my doctor, who then referred me to a new PT who had access to an Alter G. When you’re scared to run, face it. Running in a bubble at 20% your body weight sounds enticing. After my first visit and evaluation, Jen (my new PT) decided that I should focus on building specific muscle groups back up before risking trying to run.

October:

I celebrated my 26^th birthday without an impending doom of surgery! This was the first birthday in years I’ve been able to do that. By the end of the month, I had jogged in the Alter G at 50% my body weight! It felt weird and incredible and sort of how I imagine running on the moon would feel. Over the last couple months, I noticed improvements in how I walked, squatted, and worked. The pain was no longer constant and the swelling was reduced by incredible amounts. It finally felt like I was turning a corner. There are still things that give me pause and terrify me. Things my knee would give out on a regular basis doing. I still shake like a leaf when I do single leg squats. I still cringe when I kneel down. I still don’t pivot, twist, or cut. I was on the Alter G last week, and my right foot slipped out from under me while I was jogging. I nearly lost it right there in the middle of PT. I had just stumbled, but it had felt like my knee had given way. The fear will be there for awhile still. If there is one thing this surgery has taught me, it is that you have to move passed the fear to succeed.

November 15, 2018:

It’s been a year. Dr. Piasecki said that this is the best my knee has looked since I began seeing him five years ago. Everything is holding just like it should. Out of the prior four ACLS, only one lasted passed a year. This is a huge day for me. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. I realized that I’m beginning to hope again. Hope for a brighter tomorrow and a life past knee surgeries. The trials and surgeries I have been through have more or less defined my life for ten years. What’s next? What does my life look like without a surgery or two every year? What does my career look like? Honestly, I don’t know. There is one thing I know. I have a God who is in control. He has been alongside me this entire process. He is using it to define me and refine my life into something beautiful. The scars I have left from this process tell a story. A story of suffering, pain, helplessness, and fear. More than that, they tell a story of endurance, vulnerability, love, the foundation of a family, the support of friends, the strength of my mother, and the bright hope of a future where anything is possible. Even running, jumping, and happy tears.

May 2019:
Now I'm 18 months post-op. Reading through this has left me in awe of grace of God, the love of family, the support of friends, and the incredible drive and effort by my entire medical team. I have spent years with Dr. Piasecki and Warren Gheen, PT. They have worked tirelessly to help me get to the point I am today and I wouldn't be where I am without them. God has a plan. I may not ever know what it is, but I will move forward confidently knowing He is in control.

"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
2 Corinthians 12:9

~Rachel