Stop, Overhaul, Rest, Heal, Appreciate.

It’s been a bit.
I’m sorry…

Hopefully this story about the goings on in my life are somewhat relative to what you may need to hear at the moment too.
I’m glad you’re here ❤

In January, my two daughters started snowboarding lessons at our local resort, Whiteface Mountain, in upstate NY. The first day of their lessons, my husband and I brought our boards, but weren’t sure we were going to cough up the money to get out on the trails.
We were gifted two day passes, spontaneously, and we excitedly strapped into our snowboards and hopped on the lift. He and I have been snowboarding for about 20 years, on and off, but mostly off the past few years.
In my experience, it’s like riding a bike, and once you’re on the hill your board remembers how to carve and get down. Enjoyably.

I wish I could say that was what happened back in January.
What actually happened was that ‘riding a bike’ feeling… for maybe three minutes. I felt good, a bit rusty, but good. I talked nice to myself, remembered how to ride, and then suddenly…
POP!
My right knee collapsed and I felt like someone punched me.
My body filled with adrenaline, shock, and pain.
I yelled to my husband, choking back tears “something just popped in my knee……..”
He yelled back… “Sarah… you probably just tore your ACL.”

Somehow, my left leg got me down the mountain to the lodge, I unstrapped, fought back more tears and got through the day. At home, I iced.
I stayed in denial for several weeks.
Stubbornly, stupidly, I didn’t go to the doctor until March, and she told me she was demanding an MRI, and to start shopping for a surgeon.

I was scheduled for ACL replacement surgery in late June. At the time my surgeon didn’t know that my meniscus would also need repair.
I worked my part-time job until the day before surgery, using my compression brace every day for relatively stable support.

I hadn’t had anesthesia in several decades and I told my husband, I want to remember. I want to go somewhere interesting, and when I wake up, I’ll tell you where I went.
I think, I’ll go to Oz.
(Wizard of Oz is my favorite story…)

Surgery day came, they told me what was going to happen. My Dr. signed my right knee with his initials.
He wrote on my left knee, in caps,
NO
But, looking down at my leg, it read:
O
Z…
I was postmarked.

I remember going into the operating room, I remember my nurse making a comment that it was a Barbara Streisand playlist kind of day, I remember being shuffled from bed, to operating table, and the white lights on the ceiling.

Then I remember a gentle voice…
“Sarah… you just had surgery dear. It’s time to wake up…
My name is Emily…”
Emily?
Like, Em?
Like, Aunt Em?

I don’t remember exactly where I went… but I remember family members who’d passed bringing me back awake, and I remember Emily.

And now, almost three weeks post op, I’m learning how to walk again.

There has been a need in my life for some overhauling… spiritually, emotionally, and obviously, physically. The broken (ACL) has been replaced. The broken (MCL) has been repaired. I’m not the same person I was when I went in, and wherever I went, and now on the other side.

I’m being FORCED to slowwwwwww down.
It’s not my strong suite.
Capricorn determination, we’ll blame astrology.

I ignored the pain, the POP, the sudden explosion. I finally listened to what my poor knee was telling me… and I got help, slowly, eventually, but surely.

Anyone who has undergone a surgery like this knows, it’s humbling.
I left my cell phone in another room today. To get up and get it would normally be a ten second experience. But now, with crutches, and brace, and swelling, it’s easily two minutes.

My daughters have stepped up to help. The pick up randomness, they are training themselves to be more tidy, and tidying up after mommy now too. They come when I call. My oldest makes good coffee, and better scrambled eggs than I can. My youngest likes to hold my feet while I do PT stretches morning, noon and night.

My husband is carrying most of us on his shoulders. He kisses me goodnight, tucks me into the makeshift downstairs bed, and makes his way up to our bedroom, to sleep alone in our king bed. Sometimes he sleeps next to me on the opposite couch.
I miss laying in bed with him.
A goal: to climb the mountain of 13 stairs in the near future and sleep in our bed again.

It takes courage to overhaul the broken.
And then the most important part… resting.
I learned early how hard it was to sleep after surgery. Without sleep, without rest, healing can’t happen. Without slowing down, healing is a pipedream.
After several spotty sleepless nights, a routine was formed, rest came, healing began.
It’s interesting how attuned to our bodies we become, and how subtle things like a good night’s sleep, a positive thought, a negative thought, impact the trajectory of our physical being.

I stretch. It feels good. It feels tight… this knee is new to me. Like a tight new hair elastic… it needs to be gently broken in.
I open up my hips. I stand. I shift my weight.
I’m looking for balance.
I talk gently to my left leg.
You have held me up for months… you are doing SO well. Help is on the way… the right side is healing.
I think of my husband and I tear up with gratitude.
You have held us up.
You are so strong.
Help is on the way.
Our daughters… being asked to take care of momma… you cook wonderful eggs, you are helpful, you are both good girls.

Humility sets in.
It’s a job to crutch to the bathroom.
It’s a project to take a shower.
I’m sorry I can’t help with dishes… I can’t carry much, except my own weight and these obnoxious, but so necessary, crutches.

And the tantrums… mostly my own. Deep insecurities bubble up, pressure rising, like an angry hot tea kettle.
I’M A BURDEN.
No, Sarah.
You’re healing.
My youngest says it to me… “mommy, you have a broken leg…”
I know, but…
Stop.
Rest, HEAL.
Appreciate.

Most of my requests come with a thank you afterward.
My expectations have changed. The house is meant to be a cozy place for healing at this time. It kind of resembles a pillow fort. But the walls hold us all in, and my family loves me, despite my never ending requests for help.
Humility sets in, again.
Tears come softly, hot on my cheeks.
So much to appreciate. Kind family forgives me for my tantrums, for my feelings of helplessness. And they keep giving me the space to heal. What a gift. How lucky I am.
Family comes from far away, friends ask how I am.
I am healing.
I am blessed.

The healing continues.
So will the humility, the gratitude, and the movement forward, to stand on my own two feet again. To balance the weight, to find harmony.
Some days are hard and heavy and exhausting.
I appreciate them all.
I slow down, breath deep, rest.
I am grateful… for my husband and daughters holding me up on both sides.

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  Stop, Overhaul, Rest, Heal, Appreciate.
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