The 5th Day

The number of surgeries I've had is approaching my age at this point. After my hip surgery I posted a status on Facebook about how miserable I was 5 days out. Mike's aunt replied that the 5th day is always the worst. I can't remember many 5th days. I think every single day of the year that followed the spinal fusion was awful. I do remember that 5th day after the hip surgery. Today, a full five months after the hip surgery, I was having a rough day.

I was on my own with kids and the puppy and feeling exhausted from interrupted sleep and healing. Riley was being oppositional and rude over the smallest things. The puppy had a handful of accidents so there was a lot of up and down off the floor. Isaac had a meltdown at school and came home ready for another one. It was very overwhelming.

I dealt with everything in turn, often wondering how mothers of three manage. It occurred to me at 4pm that all I had eaten today was saltines and a Coke. Oops. When the pain level increases my appetite goes the other way. I was mad that I fought through the pain of a full spine fusion on extra strength Tylenol and now this relatively minor procedure was causing me to consider using the pain pill prescription I hadn't wanted in the first place. What's happening to me? Am I turning into a wimp?

On top of the physical pain and fatigue I felt like a failure. Leeloo has ONLY had accidents when I'm here alone. It must be a failure on my part. Both kids were demanding and awful in their own way today. I began to unravel wondering what choices I made that lead them to treat me/their teachers, etc the way they were today. I could also feel Mike's annoyance with me growing.

I interrupted him from work periodically through the day. He's not a natural nurse and he tends to get irritated that I've done too much rather than be sympathetic. He did coerce me into eating and taking Advil at some point. I realized as I was forcing dinner down my throat that today's the 5th day!

No wonder it all feels so bloody hopeless. I'm scared that the surgery didn't actually work and I did all this for nothing. I hate how much pain I'm in, this was supposed to be the "easy one". I hate that the puppy can't just tell me what she needs like the other toddler. I hate how no one said "Thanks! Now go lay down." I hate that I'm starting to forget what day it is because I haven't left the house in so long. I don't feel like I'm doing a good job.

Fifth days suck. I wish I could say with any level of certainty this was the last one. I guess I need to stop expecting to wake up "better". I know I shouldn't complain when my days are spent with this two:

Mike asked me if I remembered any 6 or 7th days. I don't and I think that means they were at least marginally better than the day before.

Ups & Downs of Parental Post-Op

I've been tired and grouchy with having to re-grow bone and all. I was thinking about how nice it would be to heal without kids around. How much more rest I'd get. How quiet the house would be. How there wouldn't be any toys to trip over while hopping on one foot with terrible balance. Wondering if I'd feel less guilty about my pain without having to worry if the kids were fed or Riley pottied before nap, etc. You get the picture.

Then I thought about how I powered through the check list to get the heck out of the hospital and back to the kids. I thought about how I haven't taken more than an extra strength Tylenol since the day after surgery. Partly because after 20 surgeries my pain tolerance is impressive, but also due to the distraction and entertainment the kids provide.

Speaking of distraction, my post-op depression lasted about 72hrs this time compared to months with the spinal fusion. I haven't lost any noticeable weight this time either despite 3 days of (gag) hospital food. I'm busy enough not to mope, but not too busy to eat.

It's so helpful to have other things to focus on besides my recovery. I've been really feeling the whole I have a break in the most major bone in the body today. I got out for an hour this morning and spent the rest of the day in bed. I napped and iced it, but I also had conversations with the kids. I listened to them laugh and play in the backyard with Mike while I read a book. It was a downer day pain wise, but not a bad day at all in general.

A Little Honest Emotion on the Subject

Please, don't be angry at me for not asking for help. It's not in my nature. I fear giving power to the pain and hopelessness by naming it. Please listen when I come to you calmly asking for a hand. That is my desperate plea. You will not see me crack until the damn breaks. It is the only time I allow that awful "weakness" its sway. I can only breath in and out and put one foot in front of the other this way.

When the bus hit me I got one single get well card and last year, when I was the most helpless I have ever been and trying to take care of a baby...It was horrible and lonely. It was an almost stranger who came most often. I saw people once or twice until I was well enough to leave. Most of my relationships remain distant. Did I ask for help? I remember it, but maybe none of them understood the horror I was desperately navigating mostly alone.

I wish I knew where I go wrong. When to stop calmly asking and start tearfully begging. I am so tired, still, always. I don't know how to fix what I so clearly had a part in breaking. I won't allow myself to EVER be as lost and alone as I was after that horrible surgery. Trapped in the house on the couch with a baby crawling around my feet for months. I wanted to "bounce back". I had no frame of reference. I had so little.

Maybe shortly after the halfway point is a good time for catharsis of all the toxic emotions I refused to accept. I still hate all the anger, frustration, fear and guilt so much. I hate that I did that to myself on purpose, to my family.

I hate the recovery process, surgical solutions, sleep deprivation, depression, severe weight loss and the pain. The pain that motivated me to make that choice. The pain that was a result of that choice. The daily pain I don't speak of in hopes that one day it won't be there.

I wish I could have gone into that spinal fusion with knowledge I now possess. I wish I could go back and not get hit by the bus. My time machine would be well worn and I'd probably blink myself out of existence.

This Is Now

If you had known me before, not before becoming a mother, (I've kind of beat that horse to death), but before all of it. Before I left LA. If you had known me in the happiest part of my single adult life would you like me now?

If you had known me living in LA, working a good job to pay the bills, perusing my dream (and getting somewhere), having an active social life (not just dating although, I did that too) and taking care of myself would you even recognize me now? I was a someone on my way to big things. I was pretty then because unlike now I showered everyday had hair and nail appointments and slept as much as I pleased.

My body ignored my happiness and betrayed me. I felt things changing and then after so many years of waiting there he was. Someone asking me to come be with him and I went. I was raised to guard my independence fiercely and I always had. Now I took the first conscious step towards leaving the life I knew behind.

Life just kept relentlessly happening. Now I find myself on the end of a long rough patch. I am breathless and shocked at my reflection. I actually told someone very excitedly today "I know it's only Wednesday, but I've had a shower every day this week!". Just to put that in context I moved down here (suddenly raising a toddler) lost my job, got depressed, found a job, got pregnant, lost the job, got put on bed rest most of the pregnancy (trips to the bathroom only), delivered a premature baby via C-section, post partum breast feeding every two hours, derailed by horrible pain, underwent major back surgery (still breast feeding), minor hip surgery with a first grader and a toddler in a house that was too small. That's the summary version anyway (and doesn't take into account what was happening with anyone else in the house). So, I let myself go a bit.

I'm still here and breathing. My relationship stayed together, that was no small feat. I made it to a bigger house. I made it to a place in my recovery where the future holds potential again. If only I didn't look well like "I'd been through a lot." I hope I can bounce back physically the way I've recovered emotionally.

I have dreams and aspirations again, even if they are mutant cousins of the ones I started with. I have goals for myself physically as far as recovery/strength building and weight/appearance. I also have a deadline because I'm planning my wedding. I tried on the dress I bought three years ago and it's clear I'm not the same shape I was then. The change is nothing drastic, but some work is in order (on both me and the dress). Please stop by the new blog to read all about my wedding adventures and deep thoughts on marriage: Ready, Set, Happily Ever After

I put one foot in front of the other, albeit shakily. Could this be, me getting on with my life? Lookout, world.

Settled On vs. Settled In

I know everyone's tired of hearing about the move, but It's given me some perspective. You know how in the movies some sage old man is always telling some heartbroken young man that he'll know when he finds "the one" because he'll see his future when he looks in her eyes? I'm having that experience with this house.

The old house was a dark cave where I mourned my past and couldn't picture my future. The sidewalk just ended at the edge of a cliff at the end of the world. I was angry at the stifling nature of the physical dwelling (by virtue of lack of space) which in turn stunted my imagination. Every time I pictured the future I pictured it somewhere else.

I remember simply being incapable of imagining a having a family with my ex-boyfriend. I loved him and believed at the time I'd be with him forever, but I couldn't even daydream our kids. It just wasn't there. It was like that with the old house. I couldn't see the kids growing up there even when I tried. I could only see the present and sometimes the past (shudder) there.

In this house I see Isaac's high school graduation party, I see Riley's prom, I see all the milestones lined up like little bright stars on the horizon. I can see so many birthday parties, play dates, slumber parties and games of tag in the yard. When Riley's been trying to communicate something with me and she finally gets what she wants she always says "yes, dis!". Well, that's it exactly "yes, dis."

It isn't just the physical structure, but more what being here has done for my perspective. I feel like making this change brought oxygen rushing back into my lungs again. Now, I have hope. My dwindling social life is returning to a healthy place, my painfully slow recovery from the spinal fusion got a push in the right direction, my sense of ownership is renewed and therefore my powerlessness is fading. My relationship with the world is different because when I go home I have my own space. Not just room, but my own little corner just for my writing, crafting, scrap booking, etc. I no longer return to the place where I store things and sleep. A clean slate and a project to attack as a team has done wonders for my relationship. It "reversed the signs of aging." I know that where ever you go there you are, but it turns out the old happy smiley Katie was waiting for me here.

Monday You Can Fall Apart

I have survived 13 orthopedic surgeries before I turned 18. Moving 2,000 miles from home with no support system to college. Getting hit by a bus as a pedestrian my senior year. Moving to NYC with no job or place to live after graduation. Moving back home the following year. Moving to LA. Even when the person I loved left me in LA by myself to move back into his parents house after living off of my student loan for 4months. The death of my beloved childhood pet that spring. Emergency surgery to remove a tumor from my uterus. A post-op infection. Moving back home (which I swore I'd never do). Being laid off. Getting pregnant. Almost 7mo of bed rest. A c-section and a baby in the NICU. A spinal fusion surgery. A hip surgery. Being unemployed for 2yrs because of all the medical issues.

I have made it through all of these things intact. I don't mean I never got sad or even suffered some depression on the contrary it was a recurring theme. I would face something tough, battle through it, get sad, get over it and repeat. That's how it always worked. That as far as I'm concerned is how life's supposed to work.

I had these reasonable and brief bouts of depression starting in adolescence. I never talked about it. I honestly can't believe I'm talking about it now. I didn't need anyone to know I was sad because I didn't need any help to stop being sad. It was something that had to run its course like a cold.

Pain and depression feed off of one another. The more it hurts the sadder you are and the sadder you are the more it hurts. Add to that pure primal fear and you have my current state of existence. I remember when I was single and had 3 jobs and I never had days off. After 28 consecutive days of working 8-12hrs I got horribly sick. Not just the sniffles because I would have pounded Emergen-C and water and kept going, but really sick. I think I was sent home from work after almost passing out. Anyway, the point is that I thought, “well I guess that's the number of days you can work without a break before your immune system objects loudly”. That's exactly what happened this time.

I endured all these things and kept going with very little break and then my brain broke instead of my immune system. At first just like the overworked immune system I thought I was fine and got “sent home from work”. After that I had to face up to actually being “sick”, but was completely convinced it would resolve itself quickly. Wrong on both counts.

I had a very difficult time with idea of the C-section because I'd had enough surgery to last a lifetime, but I consoled myself by thinking it would be the last. Wrong. I felt terrible having to back to the Orthopedic after Riley was born, but something had to be done. Apparently that something was major surgery. I pulled through having metal rods put in my back, breastfeeding the whole time, and moved on. Of course moving on meant hip surgery to remove old hardware and maybe replace my hip. I really couldn't have been more wrong about the whole "last surgery" thing. I survived with my own hip and a hope to make it "at least until the end of the year" before my hip would be replaced. Wrong again.

Are you noticing a pattern here? Apparently, that realization was my "28th consecutive day." The dam broke and I was drowning. It's not a simple problem. I can not simply "get through it" this time. If I go to the doctor tomorrow and he confirms what I know is true the amount of procedures and recovery required is daunting. Beyond that it's not fixing a flat tire. There's no guarantee more surgery with "fix" things and even if things improve there's no way to know how long they'll be that way. After all the hardware removal that was supposed to buy me a year with my own hip didn't quite make it to 6mo.

I've had a "breakdown" here and there. I've been mired down by hopelessness, but never like this. I blamed hormones. I blamed fatigue. I blamed the pain. I blamed Mike. In the end those things all played their part, but as my Ortho is always quick to point out it doesn't matter what's causing it once the problem is solved. So how do I solve it?

Step one: Admit you have a problem. Ok, done. Now what? I overcame the feeling that everyone will judge me harshly and that they're right to do so because being depressed enough to need help means I'm a huge failure. I'm not a wimp who couldn't hack it. I buckled under tremendous strain it's not the same as giving up. I worked through the fear of someone accusing me of being an unfit parent. Obviously my kids are well taken care of. If anything they save me from wallowing too much during daylight hours. I'm just worried about what happens now. Generally I'm good at taking personal responsibility, but terrible at failure (which is what severe depression feels like to me).

I decided after several attempts to cheer myself up that ended in teary disasters to call my doctor about this. However, my schedule is overwhelmed with scary medical issues so after the first two are in hand I've promised myself and Mike I would call.

Here's hoping writing about it helps me (and someone out there reading it) feel less alone. Deep breath. Sometimes you can't kick a virus without antibiotics. Sometimes you can't kick depression without a professional. Makes sense.

Show your support for me and moms everywhere struggling with depression by commenting on this post anonymously. Depression is a lonely place. Thank you so much.