redpinemountain.com

More of Me

This is not a post about Red Pine Mountain but instead is more of my story.

Perhaps you want to know more about the person behind this blog. If you do, then this story of part of my life will help you to know me better. Perhaps this story is not for everyone but it is my story and I will tell it as it happened.

Grief is a strange and powerful emotion. I’m sure it affects each of us differently and there are as many ways to grieve as there are people on the planet. I was initially in a state of shock when my husband was killed. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and each breath I took was so painful, I could not manage to speak.

Those early days of numbness were almost preferable to the days that followed. I would go grocery shopping and break down in tears because I had no husband to cook for any more. I would look at couples and feel my loss. Every sunset and sunrise only reminded me of the days of emptiness stretching ahead of me. Yes, I had wonderful friends and family and a job that kept me busy. I was physically present but my mind, my heart were with the dead. I wanted to die too. One night, I decided I could no longer endure any more of this suffering. I sat crying in the bathroom and asked God for help. I have always believed in the power of prayer and God, that night, answered mine.

As I lay down in bed, I immediately fell asleep. In my dream (yet it was not really a dream), my husband came to me. He told me I had to go on and be strong and everything would be fine. I then dreamed of my life as it would be in the future. The next morning I awoke with a deep sense of peace and although it was not as simplistic as saying everything was okay, I knew I had once again found my will to live.

I made an assessment of my life. I was 48 years old, overweight and out of shape. I knew I had to start taking better care of myself so I joined a gym. Every day, after work, I forced myself to go. I started by swimming. Long laps in the pool helped clear my mind. After a while, the weight started to drop off and my energy level soared. I began adding the treadmill to my routine. After a number of months, I was swimming three miles a day and running 5 miles three times a week. I had gone from a size 18 to a size 0 and I was in great shape. I was proud of myself too.

In the summer of 2006, I decided to catch a flight to visit my Mother. I threw on some sandals despite the small blister I had on my foot and I went through airport security barefoot without a second thought.
The next morning, I woke with a swollen red foot. I thought perhaps it was a bug bite and didn’t really pay too much attention to it. By lunchtime, however, the redness was spreading and my foot and lower leg were warm to the touch. I called my Mother’s doctor and got an appointment for the same day. I went in apologizing about wasting the doctor’s time but my foot was giving me problems. My doctor took one look at it and immediately admitted me to the hospital. I had contracted a MRSA infection, a fast spreading staph infection that in the past was found only in hospitals. I was given antibiotics and told to prepare for the worst, the possible loss of my foot or perhaps my leg.

Thankfully, I didn’t lose any limbs but my life changed forever. I was put on bed rest for a month and after that month, I could no longer walk. My foot and leg which should have been improving were not. I no longer had the MRSA infection but something had seriously gone wrong. After many invasive tests and trips to a neurosurgeon, I discovered my MRSA infection had turned into Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome. I was told I might never have the use of my leg again and not to expect a lot of improvement. Here I had been running on the treadmill, swimming like a fish and now I could do nothing. I was also in unremitting pain.

I was prescribed the usual course of treatment, pain killers, physical therapy, rest and moderate exercise but I was a reluctant patient. I absolutely refused to believe I would never have the use of my leg again nor would I accept a life filled with pain killers and bed rest. I threw away the drugs and took my life into my own hands.

Daily, I’d drag myself on a mile long walk. I’d have my Logan, my german shepherd, with me and if I had to use him for balance I would but I pushed myself on and made myself walk. I’d arrive back home and collapse gasping for breath from the pain but I didn’t give up.

Today, almost two years later, I have the use of my foot again. I walk, I run, I ride horses and I have a blessedly active life. No, it’s not the same. My foot remains numb after prolonged exercise but it is such a minor inconvenience compared to what could have been.

I have learned so much from my experiences. I never take life for granted and I cherish each moment I have on earth. My Mother will often tell me I must have been born under a dark cloud because so many bad things happen to me and I look at her uncomprehending. I consider myself incredibly blessed.

For many years now, my morning routine has been to grab a cup of coffee and head out with the dogs, rain or shine, snow or wind. And as I watch the dogs, I say my prayer of thanks as follows: “God, thank you for all you have given me, for allowing me to have such love and joy and beauty in my life. Thank you for blessing me.”

There is no life lived without suffering or pain. We each have our own stories but it is the beauty of humanity that keeps us striving to make our lives richer.