Assessment Day... I survived.....

This morning was a pretty tough one for me, it meant I had to make yet another admission of weakness and that's something I'm just not good at doing. When it comes to physicality, I've always just been naturally strong and my love of playing sports has always thrived because of the fact that it was always so easy for me. My body took no time in adapting to new training methods with whatever new sport or activity I decided to take on. It was easy, until it wasn't easy anymore.

After almost sixteen months of dealing with struggling just to be able to walk again because of the Peripheral Neuropathy that overtook my legs, I thought I had everything emotionally dealt with even if not fully physically dealt with. I thought I had come to an understanding between my body and my mind. I thought I had come totally to terms with what I'm still going through. And then today... I fell apart.

Appointment after appointment with the Neurologist over these months of struggle has been more than disheartening. I want to get better. I want to walk without having to think about and plan each step I take, I want that ability that I took for granted back. I was willing to work at it, I begged my Neurologist to send me for physical therapy but he kept telling me there was no point, that it wasn't going to help, that I just needed to be patient and give my damaged nerves the time they needed to heal. When I was paralyzed in the hospital he assured me I would be back completely to my old self within eight weeks. Then it was maybe three more months. Then it was maybe twelve months. At my last visit just over a month ago he told me it sometimes takes years for the nerves to heal... if they ever even fully do and then he tried to just pat me on my head and send me on my way once again. But that wasn't quite going to fly with me any longer.

I had gone from this...

That's me (center) in my happiest place, derbying-it-up on the track.
Photo Credit to Frank Caputo

Photo Credit to Frank Caputo

Photo Credit to Frank Caputo

.....to this........... overnight!

Thank goodness my boys were happy to keep
me company while on bedrest!

Now, in this doctors defense, I know he deals with a lot of patients who have horrible stroke and brain injuries and he may just simply not be used to being questioned. This is a man who was truly and utterly flabbergasted when I told him simply, "...Not acceptable....." as he explained to me that my body may now be at its new one-hundred-percent of walking capabilities. The shock on his face as he asked me, "You don't want to accept this? Why?" Did he seriously ask me 'whyyyyy'? And then he told me about one other patient of his who had suffered a stroke and who also refused to admit to his own new 'normal'... All I could do was look at him as tears of fury started to stream down my face. He went on to tell me that I should be happy I got any walking capabilities back, at all and that I should be happy because there are so many people worse off than me. I not only get that, I know that; I am thankful, but I'm not the me I was and that means something, too. I can't not grieve for what I've lost even if it's in fighting to regain the only me I've ever known. One week I was skating and skiing and swimming and dry-land training and the next week I couldn't feel or move my legs. I was assured my body would quickly return to it's former abilities but that didn't happen. I'd been patted on my head and ushered off one time too many and I seriously lost my shit. The tears came hard then. I stopped talking. I stared my daggers of hurt and disappointment directly into that doctors eyes. I shakily stood and walked out of that office, head held high, shoulders back and praying with everything I had to God that he wouldn't  let my wobbly-faltering legs drop me in front of the waiting room filled with people all staring at the crying idiot just trying desperately to get out of there and never look back... even if it meant checking my every hope at the door on my way out.

I thought I was done. I would never go back to see that doctor again, ever!

And then, the following day I received a phone call directly from the doctor. He was suddenly worried because of how I had left the day before and he wanted to check on me. He asked me why I had gotten so upset. I didn't hold back, I let it all out. He had promised me I would return to my healthy self and I had believed him. He had told me to just wait and I had waited. He told me it wasn't a big deal and it would be over with soon and I had settled for his word to be truth. And then, months after all his prior assurances,  he had told me that this might actually be my new best-I'm-going-to-ever-be?? "I'm not okay with that," I told him with new tears starting, my voice cracking in trying to hold back the sobs that threatened, "how can you possibly expect me to just want to lay down and say I'm done and fine with being trapped at home with no semblance of independence? I need to be confident in walking. I need to be confident in me and you're telling me I have to just settle when you haven't even let me try physical therapy. You haven't even let me try to help myself and take part in my own healing fight. You didn't know it would last this long so how can you possibly know what therapies might or might not work? You don't know why this happened to me so how can you possibly know that sitting and waiting it out will fix me?? My muscles are so gone now, from doing what you told me, sitting and waiting. My nerves aren't working properly and I don't even know how to begin rebuilding my body. I just need some help and nobody is helping me..."

A few long seconds passed before he answered me... "What if I refer you to the Neuro Therapy Day-Program and we'll see if they can help...?"

Finally, he had heard me... finally..... and hopefully I was not heard too late.

Which brings me back to my assessment appointment this morning. I thought I was ready. I thought I'd already been through the hardest part and that I was moving on toward the actual healing part of my recovery. But when I had to go back to the days when the Neuropathy hit I felt like I was right back there again. Talking about it is so hard for me because it means I have to admit that I am so much less-than now and that I've lost over a whole year to being broken. I had to explain everything that happened and how much of a struggle it still is for me to do even the simplest tasks. It's embarrassing to be seen faltering, it's devastating to be so desperate for help and it's terrifying to think that at forty-three I may just have to deal with trying to fully heal for the rest of my life. I am not willing to live past forty-eight if this is to be the case because it sucks.

Ultimately, I did fall apart and into distraught tears but also did I survive my assessment interview for the Neuro Therapy Day-Program this morning. From here, my assessment will be assessed by a full team of therapists (physical, occupational), doctors and counsellors who will try and figure out which therapy mixture will be most beneficial in helping me to overcome my physical struggles. The process takes a few days but the lady I spoke with today said that this next part will move quickly so we can get working toward my goals of once again finding my way to fully healthy.

I left for my appointment filled with apprehension. I managed through my appointment even though frustrated tears appeared. And I left my appointment filled with hope... real hope that I might just be on my way back to who I really am.

Sometimes, even at rock bottom,  there's still just the tiniest bit of bounce to be found if we just look hard enough to find it..