Father Knows Best

I know I haven't blogged in a while, but the last year has been so full I haven't really had the time or even felt like writing some things down.  I can't say the whole year has been super stressful, but we have had some things going on in our family that have been challenging, which include (but are not limited to) starting homeschool and moving.

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I recently went to a women's conference at our church.  It has taken me a few days to process some of what I heard.  I hope what I write makes sense because it was so good.  And so needed.

Have you ever had those times when you have been praying and praying for God to send you some encouragement and you feel like you have been waiting and waiting for Him to send this divine moment where you feel like the encouragement has arrived and you can practically see the the spotlight on you and hear the angels singing?  And, have you ever had one (or two or five) of those moments in your life that really jerk you back to more of a place of being humbled?  And you walk through those moments going, "God, I asked you for more encouragement.  I did not ask to be humbled any further!  Maybe you didn't hear my prayer right?" But God, in His sovereignty, knows what is best.  Sometimes He delivers what we need in ways we couldn't expect.  For me, the moments of encouragement have come after I was humbled.
I have been working for years to be a woman who builds up other women.  I want to be an encourager.  It bothers me when I have been harsh or critical to another.  I want other women to walk away from me feeling like they have just had fresh air or a warm hug.  I want them to see Jesus when they have been around me.  Sometimes I succeed.  Sometimes I fail.  There is grace even in the times I fail...from the lessons I have learned and/or in how I have been forgiven.
I will admit that I have been blind to the needs around me.  Even in my own circle of friends.  I have felt so brain-full that I have not been paying attention to what my people need.  Since the end of January, I have been in full house mode.  At first, it was getting our old house ready to sell...the cleaning out, organizing, painting, packing, etc.  And we had to finish school.  Once the house went on the market, it was keeping the house cleaned and ready for people to come in at a moment's notice.  Then looking for a house to move to, and more packing.  In the last month, we have been moving and trying to get school started.  In the middle of all this, we continued to do our ministry work.  I have felt overwhelmed and lonely a lot.  I was focused only on what I needed or wanted.  I never asked what my friends needed or what was going on in their lives.  Through a little incident that happened with a dear friend, I got a reality check.  I realized that though my needs are sometimes legitimate needs, that does not give me an excuse to focus solely on what's going on in my little world.  John 15:13 says, "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."  If I love my people, then I need to lay down my own needs or wants in order to care for them. When I do this, then the Father is glorified.  And isn't that the whole goal for life as Christians, for God to be glorified in us?

So let's get back to what I learned at the conference this weekend.  The Bible says, in 1 John 4:7&8, that God is love, and apart from Him we cannot love.  Verse 11 says that if God loved us, we ought to love one another.  Love means striving for unity.  The take away for me was, we fight for unity so that those around us see Jesus.  If God is love, and He gives us love to share, what are we saying to the world if we don't love the other women around us?  How does it set us apart as Christ-followers if we can't love and take care of the other women in our lives? How do we show the love and mercy of Christ to the world at large if we are petty and callous to the women around us?

Trillia Newbell was our speaker this weekend, and she gave us some thoughts about caring for each other:

1. Pray for those around me...especially when we are at odds.  Look, we are human.  There are always going to be times of misunderstanding, or hurt feelings, or whatever.  We will be at odds with our people at some point.  Instead of dwelling on the hurt, or giving them the cold-shoulder, begin by praying for the other person.  Pray that God will grant them favor.  Pray for grace and peace over their life.  It will be life changing for both of you when you pray for them.  Praying for the person you are at odds with shifts your attitude toward them and opens the door for God to work in your heart, making you more like Christ. 
2. Be specific when I encourage.  We all want to hear encouraging words about specific areas of our life.  When we use specific examples, it makes the encouragement more real.
3. Encouragement is NOT flattery, it's building up.  I think most of us like to hear that we are pretty or that our hair is nice.  But that isn't what true encouragement is about. It's about building each other up on the things that matter more.  When we encourage each other in the way we treat other people, the way we show the love of Christ, when we show each other grace, etc., we are building one another up, not just showing them superficial flattery.
4. Think of ways to lay down my life for other women.  I'll admit this is a tough one for me.  I want encouragement for others to be convenient.  I have a full enough plate most of the time.  I don't necessarily want to have to go out of my way to make sure that everyone else is taken care of.  But if we go back to 1 John 15:13, then I must lay down my life to show love.  Christ's love.  The same Christ who laid down His very life to make sure I would know Love Himself.  Whoa.

I have a long way to go in becoming more like Christ.  But it was encouraging to me to know that I am not alone in that process.  I am not alone in the struggles.  I am not alone in the successes.  There are so many other women out there who, just like me, are wanting desperately to connect with and encourage each other.  This weekend at the conference there were women, from a variety of backgrounds, coming together and united under the banner of Christ.   It was beautiful!  And it was such an encouragement to me to see it and experience it.
The Father knew what I needed.  He knew I needed time outside of my house and what is going on there.  But He also knew that the encouragement that I needed did not necessarily come in the manner I wanted.  My Father knows what is best.
I loved worshiping Jesus with more than 500 other women.  I loved that we all came together under the banner of Christ...to delight in being sisters, adopted by God the Father through Jesus...to delight in being women, with unique personalities and talents and gifts.  To delight in Him.

This Ugly-Beautiful Life We Live

It has now been a year since we left the corporate world and began working on the staff at a local ministry, Grace Klein Community.  People still give me perplexed looks when I say that we left a comfortable salary and great benefits to work in a place where we have just enough to cover our needs and the benefits, at least as far as insurance, are so much less.  Most people don't get it.  Admittedly, what we chose to do makes little to no sense when you look at the things like money and insurance.  Many of those who sort of understand our choice look at me with a sideways glance and ask me to tell how things are REALLY going.  I honestly don't know how to answer people sometimes.  It could be because I don't communicate as well when I speak.  It could be because I feel sort of put on the spot and awkward.  But honestly, even if the questions are out of genuine concern or curiosity, I'm not sure that most people would expect the answer.  For one reason, it would not be a short answer.  For another, it's such a complicated response, I think it might lead to more bewilderment and more questions.  I am going to attempt to explain some of what we do and how we perceive it all.

The ultra, super condensed version of how we feel is this: we love what we have been called to do.  I wouldn't go back to the corporate world.  Well, I would if God called us back there.  But I hope He doesn't.

Just as an aside, Grace Klein Community is a Birmingham, AL-based non-profit ministry.  We help feed 200+ families across the Birmingham area.  We have a Give and Take ministry for clothing and furniture and household goods.  We strive to unite "diverse individuals, ministries churches, and businesses to work together by sharing what they have in order to meet physical and spiritual needs both locally and globally".  We have a host of volunteers who are integral in accomplishing the goal of serving and loving people for the sake of the Gospel.  In addition, we have several ministry partners across the world that share a similar faith and mission.   

We prayed and talked through this change when the opportunity was presented.  I knew there would be challenges in changing our lifestyle.  There would be things (and most likely friends) we'd have to let go of.  I knew there would be temper tantrums and tears...from all of us.  And there have been.  Our children wouldn't be able to get as much for Christmas and birthdays.  We would all have things we would need to give up and/or give away.  But here's the thing, what does all of that mean when you look at Who has called us and for what purpose He has called us?  One of the biggest lessons I have learned in the last year is that obedience to God is above all.  When you choose to obey our Father, it may not always be super easy.  In fact, sometimes it is the most difficult place to be.  It can be awkward, embarrassing, crazy looking, hard, stressful, tearful places.  *However*, He has called you to obedience for a reason: for your good, for the good of those around you, and for His glory.  And it. is. good.

We have begun living in an intentional, authentic community.  What that means is that we choose, everyday, to be a part of the lives around us.  We strive, with the Lord's help, to engage in the lives of the people we encounter, whether we are meeting them for the first time or whether we have known them forever.  Among the people we are around most of the time, we are real with each other.  We don't lie and say we are fine if we aren't.  We talk about our struggles, but it's not so that we can wallow in our self-pity.  We share struggles and hurts so that we can encourage each other and hold each other accountable.  We walk through the hard stuff with each other.  We also get excited about their victories.  We celebrate the things they celebrate.  We rejoice when others rejoice and cry when others cry.  In this last year, we have seen some indescribable miracles.   And in this last year, we have seen some incomprehensible hardships.  Those are the things, both the miracles and the hardships, that are sometimes difficult to quantify.  By living in intentional community, we are making the choice to share the miracles and the hardships with each other.  When we share the times of rejoicing, it amplifies the joy.  When we share the adversities, it eases the burden.  Sometimes being a part of the joy or sharing the burden requires sacrifice...of my time, of my agenda, of resources, of my sleep, etc.  And that's okay.  It's worth it.  This world is not about me. Or you.  Really.  It's not that we don't have fun, because we laugh a lot.  And our people crack me up.  They have wit and humor and are so much fun to be around.  But anyone who tells you that you should be happy all the time and that you're only living in God's grace if life is easy breezy is lying.  Or delusional.

Another thing about living in intentional community is that you often need forgiveness and you often need to forgive.  We have had ample opportunities both to ask for forgiveness and to forgive.  People who around each other a lot will sooner or later hurt or get hurt.  That is a part of life.  Our choice in response to those moments is either to preserve the relationship with forgiveness or to let go of the relationship through forgiveness.  But the forgiving part is not an option.  Unforgiveness on your part is just an acid or poison that eats away at you.  Forgiveness is about you, never what the other person (or people) has done.  It is simply letting go of the hurt and showing compassion toward the one who has hurt you.  As a Christ follower, I am commanded to forgive, and so are you, if you are a Christ follower.  Colossians 3:12-14(ESV) says, "Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you must forgive.  And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony."  When we choose to forgive, we exhibit all the attributes that this passage describes...compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience.  We are showing love to someone else when we choose to forgive.

I have had to let go of my pride.  We are basically local missionaries.  That means that our salary is dependent upon what money and resources people donate to Grace Klein Community.  Ultimately, we trust in God alone to provide for us.  He calls people to provide in different ways.  The majority of our provision comes from the money that is donated.  When Scott had a corporate job, he had a salary and commission he earned, but it was generally a steady, guaranteed income.  Some of the provision now comes from clothes that are given at the office or handed down from friends.   When Scott worked in the corporate world, we just simply went to a store and bought what we needed.  I often shopped at sales, but for the most part, we could just go buy clothes or shoes.  Currently, a good portion of our groceries comes from the donations that GKC gets from local stores.  There are some grocery stores and farmer's markets that gives to GKC out of their surplus.  Our family, in turn, is fed through some of the food that is collected.  In all of the ways that we get provision, there has been a certain release of my pride.  It's not always easy to see that it is God providing for us.  It's hard to see past the stigma of receiving donated clothing or food.  I was foolish in my thinking before (and sometimes still) that it is anything else but God who provides for us.  Even our salary in the corporate world was God's provision.  And now that we rely on the giving from other families and the local stores, it is still God who provides.  There is nothing so cool and humbling as equating God's provision in all circumstances, whether it is a salary from a company or the donations as support.  If you are one of those who has supported us financially or through clothes, we thank you for your support, and we give praise to God for calling you to support us.  (If you would like to support us: Click here)

Our schedule is not our own.  We sort of have an idea of what our week, and possibly each day looks like.  However, our life is not our own.  Our schedule changes at least daily if not hourly.  We have to look for what feels like the unexpected.  Be prepared for whatever.  We have to be flexible.  Things can go wrong.  People show up at the office.  Someone has tragedy strike and has urgent needs.  A phone call can rearrange the whole day.  Just last week, a store that shares their surplus had more than double of what they normally share.  A second truck had to be sent out to pick up what wouldn't fit in the first truck.  It all definitely keeps us on our toes.

I think one thing that I was not really prepared for was how overwhelming this calling can be...both in the joyous moments and in the hard.  And how overwhelming my protective nature would come out over these people whom I now consider to be family.  There are so many days that I feel overwhelmed...by just how much God loves us all...by how much hard our people go through daily...by the desire and need to pray for these people...overwhelmed by giving and pouring myself out so that I can become less and He can become more...by loving them like my own children (even though I not near old enough to be a mom to most of them haha!)...by how to speak Truth in love and not come out bossy or like I know it all...by how precious all these people are that we serve and serve with...by how exhausted my brain and body can be...overwhelmed by balancing this extended family and our own family...by how often I feel like I fail in these precious moments...by my own battles and insecurities.  But God.  His grace is sufficient.  It covers all of this and more.  In the moments I feel like I may lose my mind, He gently reminds me that I am not alone.  HE provides.  HE gives grace.  HE blows a fresh wind to rejuvenate me.  HE gives me the words to say.  HE grants me peace.  HE gives me what is needed, but maybe not what I ask for.  HE is more than enough.  HE is bigger than the overwhelming.  HE is in control, and I am not.  HE is sovereign and HE will not give up His throne.  HE cannot lie.  HE cannot corrupt.  HE is the reason we do what we do.  HE called us.  HE will not leave us.

This missionary life is challenging and good.  Being around people a lot will often lead to challenges.  Being around people who may not see eye to eye can be challenging.  Misunderstandings happen.  Reaching out to people who are different from you can be awkward or scary.  But people can be surprising in that they usually are just afraid themselves.  You can make someones day just by being kind.  Kindness and compassion will often foster community.  Simply taking the time to notice people and listening to them can turn the awkward into the lovely. 

Even among ourselves, sometimes doing life with people gets ugly...whether its because we're walking through the hard with them or because we're just all messed up people who are around each other a lot.  We get on each other's nerves sometimes.  But I think that can be beautiful because it shows just how much we are family to each other.  Brothers and sisters in Christ loving each other but driving each other crazy.  We are just people who love Jesus and want to serve Him and grow together in Him and through Him.  And because we are all messed up people who love Jesus together, our lives are ugly-beautiful.

Part 5: Reflections

At various times throughout all of this, people would ask me how we were getting through it.  I have to say that during this journey I knew that God was there.  I could feel that we were not walking through it alone.  There were many points along the way that didn’t go according to “plan”, but I never felt that any of it was a surprise to God.  There were most certainly frustrations and disappointments.  I knew- because His Word, the Bible, tells me - that He is faithful and never left us.  There are still parts of the journey that make me tear up or flat out cry when I think about or talk about them.  Sometimes the physical pain that I went through was intense.  Sometimes the emotional pain it caused Scott and me was intense.  Scott had secrets to hold so that I wouldn't think about what things could happen, like the fact that I came seriously scary-close to having an amputation at the ankle because of the infection.  Honestly, the realization of the pain it caused Scott still hurts.  But God never said that this life on Earth would be easy.  He said He would never leave or forsake us.  He loves us. 

There are so many aspects of this journey that are indescribable.  Words just aren’t enough sometimes to cover the magnitude of the horror and the pain that we experienced.  At the same time, sometimes words are inadequate to describe the thankfulness and awe at God’s grace and mercy through it all.  It’s a similar feeling to be in the middle of the darkest, pitch-black night, feeling completely alone.  Suddenly a little glimmer of light breaks through the darkness.  HOPE.  You’re really not alone.  The gratefulness and relief that wash over you in that moment is enough to keep you going.  But not just to keep you going--you run through the darkness toward that Light.  You fix your eyes upon it.  You don’t turn to the left or to the right.  You can’t.  You know the darkness will engulf you if you do.  So you keep going—limping crawling, or whatever—with your eyes fixed upon that Hope.  That Light.  That Truth.  We are compelled to the Light so we must go there.  No one wants to be swallowed up.  Jesus was all we had and He had to be enough.  Giving up wasn’t an option.  We had two kids at home.  What else could we do except to have faith?  I still could have lost my foot from the infection.  We had no promises.  No guarantees.  But, it is true that hope will not disappoint us.  All we could do was to stay in the place where God was, no matter where that “was” went.  If I had lost my foot, we must trust Him for that, too.

Everyday I see the scars.  Some days I still have pain in my ankle.  The trauma remains, but I am becoming whole in this “working out” of my salvation.  Our daughter still remembers.  My husband still tears up at the memories of those months.  The pain ran deep, to the core of who we were.  But, the experience cannot be wasted.  My processing of all this is worth it to help me experience the full redemption of Christ’s work in me.  The pain was mine.  The redemption of that pain belongs to Jesus.  We have so much to share of His excellent greatness.  We can praise Him.  My pain is not wasted.  Our pain is not wasted.  Our marriage is stronger.  I trust God with my body.  I trust God with my kids.  I trust God with my finances.  I trust God with my provision.  I trust God for tomorrow.

There are so many lessons I have learned through this whole process, but I feel that by far the most important are:

1.)  God is really enough.  HE is all you need.  

2.)  God is good.  

3.)  God is faithful.  Even when the situations of life suck, He will hold you through it.

4.)  I am stronger than I knew because of God’s grace in giving me His strength.

You see, God is the giver of life.  The Creator of ALL things.  He loves His creations and ALWAYS provides for them.  He knows all things, even before they happen and He goes ahead of you and waits for you.  He holds your hand through it all.  When we cry out, He hears and answers.  The Bible says it best:

Jeremiah 29:11-13:

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for a welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you.  You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

In the verses around Jeremiah 29:11, God was reminding his people, who had been exiled from their land, that He had not forgotten them or left them.  There was a purpose in their pain.  He would restore His relationship with them and it would be stronger than before.

Romans 5:3-4:

...we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

5.)  Rejection is painful.  The rejection of the titanium in my body was physically painful.  The rejection by our friends was mentally and emotionally painful.  There is an epidemic in our society, and even within the churches, where we either intentionally or  unintentionally reject the people around us who need help.  We reject those who need us to walk beside them during a struggle.  We all enjoy being around someone when things are fun and going well.  However, it’s the mark of a true friend and Christ follower to sacrifice your own comfort for the sake of someone else.  Both Scott and I felt isolated and lonely and forgotten about during much of the 11 months of this whole ordeal.  I needed someone to stay with our children when I had doctor’s appointments, because many of the appointments I had to go to were traumatic.  I needed Scott there with me, but we didn’t want out children to see or hear that trauma.  There were times that I felt like my pleas for help fell on deaf ears…ears of people we had called friends.  It was during all of this that we learned that the only One who will never reject us is God.  

6.)  Open wounds have to heal from the inside out.  No matter how many times the skin grew and covered over the wound on my leg,  because the inside wasn’t healing first, the wound would keep re-opening.  We tried everything we could to get it to heal.  It just wasn’t working in the end because the thing that was causing the wound on the inside remained.  That’s why all the hardware had to come out.  It’s similar with emotional pain.  If we don’t deal with what is cause of emotional pain in our lives, we will never heal properly.  As was the case with the hardware in my leg, sometimes we have to remove or let go of people or circumstances in our lives that don’t allow us to heal.

7.)  God provides.  

I had been nursing our son, M, since he was born.  He was a little over 5 months old when I broke my leg.  He wouldn’t take a bottle before I broke my leg.  When I broke my leg, I had to pause (and then eventually stop) nursing because of the pain killers I was taking.  They weren’t good for him.  We originally thought we’d be able to go back to nursing, but because of the complications that happened, I ended up taking pain killers longer than expected.  During that time, M took formula and did well with a bottle.  I was thankful for that, but at the same time, I was grieving that we weren’t bonding like we had been.  Once the pain killers were no longer needed, M and I had to build the bonding process back up to where we felt comfortable with each other again.  God provided in that M took bottles, but then reconnected us and allowed our bond to be very strong.  He still needs to come “touch base” and sit in my lap or snuggle up or hug and then he is ready to go back to whatever he is doing.

God provided for our financial needs during a time when finances were tight.  Scott’s job was in sales.  Part of his earnings was salary and part was commissions.  There had been a downturn in the economics of our country.  During the entire process of dealing with my leg, Scott’s sales were doing badly enough that he didn’t receive the commission part of his earnings at all.  God stretched our finances and provided enough income to cover all of our responsibilities.  We didn’t have any extra, but we had enough.

God provided stamina and encouragement at the right moments during the journey.  The sweet ladies in my Bible Study prayed for us and checked in and brought us meals when they could.  They were the hands and feet of Jesus.  Our own children made us laugh when we needed to not cry.  Our mothers sacrificed part of their lives to come and take care of the children and house.  That provided relief, allowing us to be more able to focus on my getting better.  God provided the funds for us to be able to go to Walt Disney World for a week.  That week was the most relaxing, fun, bonding week for our family.  

God provided and protected the relationship between Scott and me.  There was not much time many days to even speak to each other beyond the needs of my care or the care of our children.  I was in so much pain for months that physical intimacy and that connection was close to impossible.  The days that Scott was stripping the wound and causing some of the physical pain were very difficult for both of us.  How could I not love a man even more for loving me and serving me and caring for me when it was dark and difficult?  Throughout the whole process of my leg healing, Scott was always there, ready and willing to do what was needed to be done so I could heal.  We had to learn how to sift through the things that were really important from the arguments that were mainly about the stress we felt, and not about the differences between each other.  We were so stressed out for so long, yet our relationship grew stronger.  I learned to let go of many of the things that were about my own agenda.  We had to learn to communicate in an efficient, but thoughtful, way.  We get comments from our friends now about how well we communicate with each other.  Praise God for that, because without Him, that could have gone in a completely different direction.

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There are so many aspects of this journey that I don’t understand, and probably never will understand.  I will never understand God’s timing of this journey…why He chose a time when our children were so young.  I will never understand how friends who said they loved us would end up leaving us when we needed them the most.  I will never know how deeply it impacted our children.  I will never fully understand God’s “big picture” behind this journey.  I have come to terms with all that.  What I have begun to see is how it impacted me.  Through God’s grace, I am more aware of the suffering around me.  I pray that I am more compassionate and responsive when I see suffering.  Relationships have a much deeper meaning and connection for me.  My close friends have become family.  I am more intentional about developing those relationships.  I am more forgiving.  I never considered myself to be someone who would hold a grudge, but   going through the experience of having most of our friends leave us showed me how much more room there was for me to be even more forgiving—to let go of even righteous hurt and anger, and to forgive.  I learned that being unforgiving would never really affect the other person as much as it would damage me.  Mark Twain’s quote, “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored that to anything on which it is poured,” really stuck with me.  I think the same idea can be applied to unforgiveness.  Forgiving someone never has anything to do with the person who offended me.  It’s not about saying that what they did was okay.  It’s about bringing healing for me and being able to let go of the offense, just as Christ did for me.  Colossians 3:12-13 says, ”Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you must also forgive.”

I have a much deeper faith that God is in control and that everything that happened to us passes through His hands first.  If He has ordained it for our lives (which He always has), then I know it will be for our good and for His glory.  So, even if it is painful, I know He is trustworthy.  He is faithful.  He will be there through the whole thing.  He will provide for our needs.  Jesus alone is my hope.

I am not perfect.  Far from it.  But this journey has brought me farther, deeper into faith and surrender to Jesus than where I was before.  For that, I will always praise my God for it.

Part 4: More surgery and a PICC line

After the Disney trip, we resumed life.  Scott was working and I was home with our children.  In June 2009, M turned 1.  We had a Mickey Mouse themed party.  We invited a few close friends over and our parents were there.  With all that had happened in the last year, I could hardly believe it had actually been a year since M was born.  I was finishing a round of antibiotics again for the wound on my ankle, which seemed to finally be healing.

With my increasing mobility in mind, we started thinking about ways to become more active, but that would not tax my ankle too much.  Scott and I decided that biking would be a great low-impact way to keep working on strengthening my ankle and doing physical therapy.  I had sold my mountain bike after E was born.  Since my birthday was approaching in July, we chose to buy a new one.  We tested bikes, did research online, and ended up purchasing a bike from a local bike store.  We started riding a couple of times during the week after Scott got off work, and also on weekends.

In August, nine months after this all started, E started Kindergarten.  It was a great time in our lives.  Our precious girl had entered into a new phase of her life.  The wound on my ankle had been doing well.  Scott’s job was still tough, and finances were still tight, but his work was starting to show signs of rebounding.  God continued to provide for our needs.  We were trying to keep riding our bikes as often as we could, which ended up mostly on weekends once school started.  After one afternoon of biking, I noticed that my ankle was aching a bit more than normal.  I sat down in the recliner to prop it up.  In a sort of reflex move, I put my hand down on my ankle to try to massage it.  That’s when I noticed that the wound felt warm.  My heart sank.  I quickly asked Scott to come feel it.  His eyes widened and he told me he thought it would be a good idea to call the Wound Clinic in the morning.  I knew I needed to call, but I couldn’t shake the sense of dread I felt.  I prayed and prayed for God to take this all away.  His answer was “no”.  

I woke up the next morning and called the Wound Clinic.  I was expecting them to tell me to come in again and go through another round of antibiotics or something.  Instead, the nurse put me on hold to speak to the doctor.  When she came back to the phone she told me that they had done everything they knew to do to help the wound heal and that I needed to call my orthopedic doctor to see what he thought.  I sort of panicked.  I couldn’t help but wonder what the orthopedic doctor could do since he had been the one to refer me to the Wound Clinic in the first place.  But I called the orthopedic office and they set up an appointment for me to consult with my doctor.  It was set a couple of days later for Thursday, August 20th.  E was at school and I got someone to watch M while I went to my appointment. Scott had to work, so I went alone.  It must not have been a big deal to me that I was going alone, otherwise I would have gotten someone to go with me.  The only thing I can imagine is that God made it okay with me.  

I walked in to my doctor’s office, signed in, and was taken back to a room.  While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I was trying to occupy my thoughts with what E might be doing at school, or how Scott’s day was going.  I was saying quick little prayers for them and for myself.  I had no idea what the doctor was going to say or what our next step would be.  After waiting only 5-10 minutes, my doctor came in.  He said, ”Well, I hear you’re still having trouble with that ankle.  You know what that means, right?”

No.  I had no idea.  But I was starting to have that sinking feeling again.  He must have noticed that I was starting to get nervous.  I think I felt my face flush.  

“Obviously your body doesn’t want the hardware in there.  Your body is rejecting it.  We’ll need to take all of the hardware out.  You’ll need to be in the hospital for a few days.  How’s Tuesday?”

Wait.  What?

How’s Tuesday?

How’s Tuesday?!?!

A million thoughts start zooming through my head.  Among them are thoughts about getting my children taken care of; what Scott’s going to do about work; how this could be happening; next week is only the second full week of Kindergarten...  Why couldn’t Scott be here?

The only thing I could muster to say was that I’d have to call the doctor back and let him know if I could get everything worked out at home that quickly.  I think he could tell I was fighting tears.  He just told me to let him know by the end of the day and that this needed to happen as soon as possible.  He then hurried me out of the room to go check out.

I left in a daze.  I walked to my car, got in, and closed the door.  I immediately rummaged through my purse to find my phone.  I tried to call Scott, but he was in a meeting.  I had to talk to someone, but I really needed to get home.  I started the car, pulled out of the parking spot, and headed toward home.  I was scared.  I was disappointed.  I was frustrated.  Worried.  Angry.  You see, so many things along this journey had already been going wrong.  Many complications and setbacks.  The initial recovery time for the broken leg had been double what they estimated, mostly because of wound issues.  I had had an open wound on and off for what felt like forever.  I felt that I had missed so much of M’s first year of life and now I’d be missing some of E’s first year of school.  I was trying to hold myself together long enough to drive home.  But I needed to connect with someone.  I needed somebody to tell me it would be okay.  

While stopped at a traffic light, I picked up my phone again and called our friends, Jim and Pansy.  I was hoping that Pansy would be available to talk, but Jim answered and Pansy wasn’t home.  He asked if he could help.  God, in His infinite wisdom, had definitely ordained that phone call.  I was able to tell Jim everything the doctor told me without breaking down into sobbing.  I know that if Pansy had been able to talk to me, I wouldn’t have been able to make it home.  I would have pulled over and  completely come unglued.  As it was, I made it home before the tears flowed.  

After I finished my call with Jim, I waited until I got home to call anyone else.  I didn’t think I’d be able to make it through another call and be okay to drive.  I don’t remember the order of the calls, but I called my mom, my precious friend Beth, and Scott.  Each time I had to go through what the doctor said, it became increasingly more difficult.  But between the calls to my mom and to Scott, we talked through the logistics of the hardware removal, and we ultimately felt that Tuesday would be the best time.  The last call I made was to the orthopedic office to set up the procedure.

So on Tuesday, August 25, 2009, every last bit of hardware was removed from my left leg: 1 rod, 1 plate, and a 20-some-odd screws.  My surgery had been done late in the day, several hours later than my scheduled time.  But, I was very happy to wake up and hear that the surgery went exactly as planned.  Finally, something had gone smoothly.  I was placed in the first room they had available.  A semi-private one.  (Remember my roommate from the experience after having the metal put in?  Scott and I didn’t want a repeat of that experience.) First thing the next morning, Scott requested a room change to a private room.  We moved into one within an hour.  Almost as soon as we got set-up in our new room, a man came walking in.  He said he was the physical therapist and it was time to get me up and walking.

Say what?!  Didn’t he realize that I just had surgery last night?

Yes, yes he did.  Now let’s get up and walk.  We tried to walk using one of the now infamous boots.  It hurt the incision sites too much to continue.  His next brilliant idea was for me to take the boot off and walk with his support. 

Again, say what?!  You’ve got to be kidding.  

No, no he wasn’t kidding.  So we put on my feet those hospital socks with the grippy things on the bottom.  To my astonishment, it didn’t hurt when we started to put some weight down.  We walked out of my little room, down the hall and back.  It was awesome!  I was already hurting less than I did just the day before, right before surgery.  I wanted to jump for joy.  But of course, I didn’t.

Later that morning, my doctor came in to check on me.  He was pleased with my progress from therapy.  That was when he told us the reason I would be in the hospital for a few days.  He said rejection of hardware in your body is the result of an infection.  During the hardware removal, they had seen some signs of infection on one of the screws.  They had taken a tissue sample to the lab and it takes a few days before they can see if anything grows in the petri dish.  He then told us that an Infectious Disease doctor would be coming in later to talk to us.

Excuse me?  INFECTIOUS DISEASE doctor?!?!

Later in the day, the Infectious Disease doctor came in during his rounds.  He said rejection of hardware like mine is almost always due to staph infection, and the testing of the tissue sample would indicate how aggressive the infection is.  He said he would know a course of treatment as soon as the results came back within a few days.  If anything grew in the petri dish, the sooner it grew, the more aggressive the infection.

We waited and hung out in the hospital room with a few visitors, nurses, my PT guy, and my doctors passing through.  At the end of my last full day in the hospital, my Infectious Disease doctor came in to give me news on the infection.  There had been no growth in the lab dish so the infection was not aggressive.  

Woohoo!  Praise God that this was good news!

Then the next part...the treatment.  Six weeks of IV antibiotics administered through a PICC line in my arm.  It would be 2 times a day for about an hour each time.  The antibiotics were in these pressurized IV bags that looked like frosted glass Christmas ornaments.  

I was well aware that things could be worse, but this was not going to be a picnic with a now 14 month old boy at home and a 5 year old girl going to and from school.  Also, I had already received the antibiotic, Vancomycin,  during my stay in the hospital and had a reaction to them.  I turned red from head to toe in splotches.  And the splotches itch like crazy.  I remember waking up from anesthesia in the recovery room because I was itching from this medicine.   I asked if there was another antibiotic I could take.  The Infectious Disease doctor told me this was what they had to use. How can I take a medicine that I reacted to?  Did he not know how badly I had reacted?He said that because of the reaction, I had to take Claritin 30 minutes prior to starting the IV antibiotic.  An that there shouldn’t be any issues if I just take Claritin.  

Nice.  So reassuring.  “Shouldn’t.”  (What I didn’t know at the time was that the doctor told Scott if the Vancomycin didn’t work, I would be facing amputation as a viable option to keep infection from spreading to the rest of my body.)  

The nurse who put the PICC line in was a pro.  I didn’t even know what she was doing after the injection of numbing medicine.  The next morning, the nurses taught me how to flush the PICC line with saline and also with blood thinner to keep the line clean and prevent infection.  Then I had to learn how to hook and unhook the IV bag to the line.   I could take showers, but had to be very careful not to pull the PICC line out or make it irritated.  I have to say that it was annoying having this little tube hanging out of my arm.  I was worried that M would pull on it or I’d get it snagged on something.  I knitted a few small sleeves to go around my arm and keep the PICC line hidden and protected.

During the six weeks with the PICC line, a home health nurse had to come out once a week.  She drew blood from the PICC line, checked the PICC line, cleaned it, took my temperature, blood pressure, and asked if I had questions or concerns that needed to be addressed.  During the third week’s visit, my temperature had spiked to 104* F.  All the lymph nodes in my head and neck were swollen.  I didn’t feel poorly, just warmer than normal.  The nurse suggested that I go see my regular doctor.  My General Practitioner wasn’t in that day, so I saw his partner.  He told me that my body was obviously fighting something off besides what was in my ankle.  I asked him if the IV antibiotics would take care of it.  Of course, he said, “No.”  He prescribed an additional oral antibiotic to take.  I was beginning to be frustrated with the amount of drugs that were going in my body.  I was concerned about what all this was doing to me.  I kept waiting for some sort of nasty reaction to start.

Fast forward a couple of days.  I was still doing the IV antibiotics with a pre-med of Claritin.  I had added the oral antibiotic to the regimen.  I started itching, nothing out of control, and I didn’t see anything that would be causing the itching.  However, the next day, I noticed some strange splotches here and there.  The itching was turning into a burning feeling.  Over the next few hours the burning, itchy splotches were appearing everywhere.  I realized I was having a full body reaction.  I was beyond uncomfortable.  I called my infectious disease doctor (which, by the way, when you have multiple doctors, sometimes it can be completely confusing as to which one to call when there’s questions or trouble.  Scott and I debated for about 30 minutes on exactly who to call).  My doctor and I talked on the phone for around 10 minutes.  He finally told me to stop taking all current medications and start taking Benadryl.  I was thankful it was Friday.  Scott would be home to take care of the children so I could take the Benadryl and be in a Benadryl haze all weekend without interfering with his job.  The doctor said we would figure out the next step about the antibiotics on Monday.

I slept most of the weekend, but it was nice to have a break from all the antibiotics.  On Monday, my infectious disease doctor changed my IV antibiotics.  This new antibiotic was much more expensive than the previous one, so insurance companies like to try other options first.  Since I had reacted so badly to the first one, our insurance would agree to pay for this new one.  We were thankful for Scott’s job providing insurance.  As a bonus, this new medicine was only once a day and took just 30 minutes!

On October 6, testing showed that I was free from infection and the PICC line came out.  I was overjoyed and wanted to throw a party.  We had to find a way to celebrate this milestone!  This whole ordeal that lasted almost 11 months was finally coming to a close.  We had a little family celebration, with just the four of us and it was wonderful!  I don’t even remember exactly what we did to celebrate, I just remember feeling really light and happy for the first time in a while.  There wasn’t anything looming over our heads.  

Stay tuned for the wrap-up.....

Part 3: The Next Few Months

After the two of weeks of stripping the wound, we added the Wound Clinic at the hospital to the list of those caring for me.  My orthopedic doctor felt that my ankle stood the best chance of healing by having the wound clinic specialist care for it.  We loved the nurses at the wound clinic.  They made us smile when we really needed to smile.  They took good care of my wound and also encouraged us.  We laughed about my crazy looking foot.  We nicknamed it the Hobbit foot.  Due to the swelling, it was about two and a half shoe sizes longer and wider.  And hairy.  I guess they shaved my foot before surgery.  We really don’t know why there was thick, black hair appearing on my foot.  I’d never before had such hair on my feet, but it was rather manly looking...like a Hobbit’s foot.  It was a good thing we liked the doctors and nurses at the Wound Clinic.  We saw them a lot over the next several months.  

The bones in my leg were on the path of healing.  I think the healing process for the bones would have happened even quicker had it not been for the open wound.  My body was trying its hardest to heal, but I am convinced that it was overwhelmed with all that was going on inside.  After all, it hadn’t even been that long since our son was born.  So I was postpartum, had broken bones that needed healing, and there was this open wound.  That is a lot for one body to be dealing with at one time.

As I said before, the bones were beginning to heal.  I was still in a decent amount of pain.  By this time Christmas had long come and gone.  It had been a whirlwind of activity.  (I thought I had been pretty lucid during all the festivities, but months later, when E wanted to play a new board game, I hadn’t remembered where it came from.  She had gotten it for Christmas from family.)  New Year’s had also come and gone, along with all the cards and most of the visitors.  We were all in pain.  I was in mostly physical pain, but I can’t deny the emotional and spiritual pain and loneliness I felt inside.  Still, I think those next 3-4 months were harder for Scott than for me.  Being a caretaker of a patient can be one of the most challenging experiences in anyone’s life.  On top of being my caretaker, he was still working full time.  Business for him was stressful because of the down turn in the economy.  His salary was partial-commission, which means he got a base salary and earned commission off of his sales.  During the down turn in the economy, he wasn't selling enough to collect on his commission.  He was making much less money than he had been, but still dealing with pressure to keep selling.  He was also caring for our two young children.  Both our moms sacrificed a lot in order to help take care of our household.  And while most of our friends had, in effect, disappeared, we had a small band of precious friends who communicated with us frequently and sometimes brought us meals.  The ladies in my small Bible Study group continued to meet and all agreed we would just meet at our house so I could continue to be a part of the group.  We could not have made it through this incredibly dark time without God’s mercy and grace shown to us through these ladies.  They became, for me, the picture of compassion and sacrifice.  They rejoiced when we rejoiced and cried when we cried.  Unfortunately, there was probably more crying than rejoicing during this part of the journey.

During the next few months, my leg stayed in a boot.  I couldn’t risk opening up the wound when we were trying to get it to heal, so I had to wear to boot in order to keep weight and pressure off the wound area.  I was not allowed to get the wound wet during that whole time, which meant taking sponge baths while it was healing.  As a matter of fact, I took sponge baths for the majority of the nearly 11 months of this whole ordeal.  It was a humbling experience to have others help me do the basics of going to the bathroom and helping with baths.  Most of the time, especially in the beginning, Scott was the one helping me get to the toilet or wash my hair.  There were a couple of times that my precious friends had to help me wash my hair once Scott went back to work.

Anyway, after about 4 months, skin finally completely covered the area where the wound was.  I was able to walk without wearing the boot cast.  Even though I had just begun to do physical therapy, we decided to plan a trip to Disney World.  We needed to get out.  We needed to have a little fun.  We needed a change of scenery.  While we needed to get out and have fun, I still felt guilty about going on the trip because we couldn’t really afford it at the time.  We prayed about it and trusted that God would provide the funds.  God blessed us with an absolutely wonderful trip.  M was 10 months old and E had just turned 5 years old.  My walking, or rather limping, was at a slow pace, but I was moving without the use of crutches or a wheelchair.  We had planned a week’s vacation so we would have plenty of time to take breaks and rest.  After lunch each day we would go back to our resort room for nap time.  I would ice my ankle and take ibuprofen.  Then we’d go back until the fireworks had finished.  When we got back each night, I would repeat the ice pack & ibuprofen procedure.  Not once did I have any pain or problem with my ankle that week.  Between the near-record high heat and the miles and miles of walking, there were plenty of opportunities for something to go horribly wrong with my ankle.  I am convinced God showed us mercy that week and allowed us to have the most smooth Disney trip ever in the history of Disney trips.

Part 2: The Wound

The day of surgery arrived.  December 9, 2008.  Scott wheeled me down to the surgery waiting room and we signed in.  It seemed like an eternity before we were called back to be prepped for surgery.  We went back to our little room.  Got an IV started.  Marked which leg needed to be worked on…and waited.  More waiting.  And waiting.  Scott’s mom brought him food.  Waiting.  Visit from our sweet friend, Jim.  Again, more waiting.  The anesthesiologist came in.  More waiting.

Finally!  I got the  I-don’t-care-medicine shot.  I was wheeled back to surgery on a gurney and transferred to the surgical table.  Then fade to black.

When I woke up...more pain.  I was supposed to wake up, get pain meds and go home with a prescription of more pain meds.  I’d like to say that’s what happened.  Unfortunately, the nurses on duty that night must have had an off night.  To finish waking up, they took me to a semi-private room because the recovery area was full.  Fine.  But here is what happened while I was there:

1.)  At no point was my pain managed, even though my doctor had left orders for care.  They said he had not left orders.  THEN CALL HIM FOR PETE’S SAKE!  THE MORPHINE IS NOT TOUCHING THE PAIN!  NOT EVEN A LITTLE!

2.)  The surgery was supposed to be outpatient.  However, I was there until 9 am the next morning.  They wouldn’t let me leave without my pain under control.  When my doctor found out I was still there during his rounds the morning after my surgery, he was furious with the nurses for not letting me go home and for not getting my pain managed.  He gave me the first dose of my new found best friend, Lortab.  As soon as it kicked in, Aaaaah!  Relief.  The pain was gone, and I got to go home.

3.)  I shared a semi-private room with an elderly lady who had a LOT of issues going on.  As a result of her many issues, she was hooked up to several machines for the nurses to monitor her.  She was miserable, in pain, and moaning all night long.  Not to mention her machines were constantly setting off alarms.  I truly felt sorry for her, too.

4.)  My monthly “friend” started the visit while I was writhing in pain in the hospital, adding insult to injury.  Literally.  And a week early.  Too much information for you, I’m sure.  Just telling it like it was.  Keeping it real.

The week after surgery was pretty uncomfortable.  It consisted mainly of eating and drinking enough to keep the Lortab from upsetting my stomach.  I took the Lortab as often as I could because I had discovered, during my brief stay in the hospital, that getting behind on the pain was to be avoided at all cost.  I stayed pretty much by myself in the bed.  I was doped up a good bit of the time and whoever else was there was preoccupied with caring for our children once Scott returned to work.

One week post-surgery and I had to go back to the orthopedic doctor for a check-up on the incision sites.  His nurse cut all the bandages and removed them.  I saw the look of concern come across her face.  “Hmm.  There’s a blister,” she said.  In my drug-hazy mind, I was wondering why that was such a big deal.  Scott came over to see what she was talking about.  He, too, had the same look of concern come across his face.  He told me that I shouldn’t look at my leg.  I told him I thought he was probably right.  (It would be a few months before I would see the outside of my left leg.)

When my doctor came in, the nurse showed him what she had seen.  I think he was a little disappointed, but not exactly shocked.  He explained that sometimes after a trauma like this, followed by surgery, a blister can develop.  We had to wait for it to do its thing and open on its own before we could treat it.  He would let us know what to do next at the following visit.

Again, I am thankful at this point for God’s merciful gift of ignorance.  I had no thoughts or emotions at this discovery of a blister.  I think part of that was because I hadn’t seen what the blister looked like and how large it was.  The other part of my ignorance was from the blissful haze Lortab had caused.  Whatever the case, ignorance was a good thing at this point.  The education and keen awareness of the blister, later known as the wound, would come in due time.  

The next several days were again a blur.  Sleeping off and on.  Playing my Nintendo DS.  Looking at magazines.  Watching movies.  I tried reading, but I couldn’t focus on the words because of the Lortab.  I desperately wanted to read my Bible to seek its comfort.  I was alone in the bed.  A lot.  In a way, it was kind of nice.  At least I didn’t have to feel like I had to entertain anyone.  I didn’t have to worry about putting on a fake happy face for anyone.  But it was hard missing out on all the Christmas activities.  It stunk that I was missing out on breastfeeding our son.  I missed that bond with him.  I was sad to miss out on what our daughter was doing.  I felt disconnected and lonely.  I really worried about Scott’s stress levels.  I had never seen him more stressed.  I was concerned about his health.  As a result, I was trying my best to help out in the only way I could imagine: by being the best, easiest patient possible.  I tried not to ask for much.  I didn’t want to cause more stress for everyone than I already had.  I stayed in our bed most of the time, trying to maintain a low profile so no one would worry about me.  It was also the place where I felt most physically comfortable.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the loneliest I’ve ever felt.  It was a dark time.  I felt like I was drowning in that loneliness.  I just forced myself to keep going, and pleaded with God to help me cling to the hope that one day, this would all be a distant memory.

On top of the feelings of disconnection and loneliness, at our next doctor’s visit came the news that we would now have to be caring for an open wound.  I don’t know if you have ever had an open wound before.  I don’t mean a scrape, scratch, poke, or any other minor irritation.  I don’t think you can appreciate what all this entails until you have experienced the 3D version of a wound.  Mine was fairly small compared to the wounds that can happen.  

When we started caring for the wound, it was about 2.5-3 inches long, about an inch wide, and about half an inch deep.  Our insurance had a large deductible to meet in order for home health care to come change bandages and clean it.  We couldn’t afford to pay the deductible.  Plus, the first part of the stages of caring for the wound sounded very painful.  Scott felt that he would be more gentle dealing with the care of the wound than anyone else would.  So my brave hero of a husband said he’d give it a go to do what had to be done.  The nurse showed Scott how to care for the wound.  For the first stage of this wound care stuff Scott had to “strip” the wound 3 times a day.  To strip the wound meant that Scott would slightly dampen a length of what is called “packing strip” (which is basically a 1/4 inch ribbon of gauze) with sterile saline.  He would pack the dampened packing strip into the wound cavity.  Then cover the wound with a gauze pad and tape it to my leg.  Four or five hours later, when it was time to change the bandages, Scott removed the outer gauze pad.  Then he pulled all of the packed in packing strip out of the wound cavity.  The process rips all of the sickly, damaged, infected tissue out of the wound to allow new, healthy, flourishing tissue to grow back.   But the process causes intense pain.  Let me put it this way: considering I have a fairly high pain tolerance, and I took a Lortab about an hour before each procedure, I still was screaming into a pillow from the pain.  Our kids were always home during these procedures and I didn’t want our children, our four-year-old daughter especially, to hear my screams.  It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about this stage of things.  And we were doing this three times a day!  Let me reiterate...this was three times a day for two weeks.   We’d have to do this before Scott went to work each morning.  Then he came home at lunch to strip the wound.  We would do the final stripping of the wound each day after dinner.  Scott told me a few years after all this that he would go in the closet and cry over the pain he was inflicting on me.  The wound stripping was a necessary evil.  Three times a day for two weeks...causing very intense pain in order to bring about healing. 

That Time I Broke My Leg: Part 1

I've had several people ask me about the story behind the scar on my ankle and why I have had chronic pain there.  On and off for a few years, I have been working on writing the story down and editing it to create a series of blog posts that will answers those questions.  I have taken a long time to write all this down because sometimes the memories of the trauma are still raw and intense.  Through the sharing of my story, I pray that you will see the richness of God’s grace and mercy in suffering.  May God alone get the glory for what I share with you, dear reader.  

Grace and Peace to you,

               -Alison

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let me start from the beginning. It was a cool, cloudy Sunday after Thanksgiving.  The date was November 30, 2008.  My parents had spent the night with us the previous night because they had been traveling and stopped to spend some time with us as they passed through Birmingham on the way back to Atlanta.  All four of us (Scott, E, M, and I) had started getting colds.  With my parents leaving and the colds that were taking hold, we decided to stay in from church and get some rest.  We decided to watch a couple of Christmas movies since the Christmas season was about to begin.  We started gathering all of the essentials together to get our movies going - hot tea for Scott and me, a snack for E.  I had just finished nursing M, so he was all set.  The final piece of the plan was to have blankets to snuggle under.  We just needed one more blanket.  M was fussy, so while Scott was in the kitchen fixing himself some tea, I picked up our son and headed upstairs to retrieve a blanket from the guest room.   After I got the blanket, M in one hand and the blanket in the other, we headed downstairs.  We made it all the way to the bottom two stairs safely.  As I took a step down from the second step, I felt my heel touch the front of the bottom step and my toes touch the floor.  After that, all I remember is a whirlwind of commotion.  I dropped the blanket at some point to put that hand up to keep my son from crashing into the wall in front of us.  More blur of commotion.  Then it all stopped.  I was still standing, but something wasn’t right.

Suddenly, P-A-I-N!!!

I knew I had to put our son down. Quickly!  I was thankful for the rug on the floor and the pile of clothes I had gathered to be donated.  I laid our son down on the pile of clothes and started calling for Scott.  The pain was intensifying.  It was pain like none I had experienced before.  I looked down to find two bulges, one on either side of  the bottom of my leg, just above my ankle.  After a few moments, however, God’s mercy though shock began to set in and as long as I didn’t move much, the pain was tolerable.

It’s a funny thing that comes over you in that moment.  My mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts:

“Oh no!  E witnessed all of this.  Will she be traumatized?”

“We have to call Mom and Dad.  They just left and they will be the closest to come watch the kids.”

“Oh no!  Who will feed M?  He won’t take a bottle and he just started eating cereal.”

“Wait!  It’s Christmas season!  I’ll be missing lots of fun!”

“Who will do all the Christmas shopping?”

Oh, if only I had known what road lay ahead...The mercy of complete ignorance of things to come can sometimes be one of the biggest blessings.  But I digress....

Scott suggested that he could load me up in the car and drive me to the ER.  I told him to call for an ambulance.  I didn’t know if I could make it downstairs to the car.  I didn’t want him to carry me, either.  He called 911.  He then called my parents, who had just left.  My parents got back to our house just after the EMTs began putting an air cast on my ankle.  More pain.  As I was loaded on to the stretcher, the shaking started.  I thought I was just cool from being outside heading to the ambulance.  I felt okay otherwise, but that’s when the head EMT started talking.  He was asking questions and  telling stories.  That day was his last on this job before he was to begin teaching new EMTs how to do their job.  He couldn’t give me any pain medicine before we got to the hospital to have me examined.  He talked and asked questions all the way to the hospital.  I think it was partially to help distract from the pain and partially to keep me awake because of shock.

Once we were at the hospital, the doctor and nurses started caring for me and I was taken to a room.  They started IVs and took my blood pressure, to make sure that I was well enough to safely start pain medication.  A happy-go-lucky guy strolled in with a huge piece of equipment - a portable x-ray.  He announced that he was the bad guy that gets to do the job of taking x-rays, and that I would hate him.  He was correct about being the bad guy.  I am very thankful for a husband who protects me.  When the x-ray technician started to try to move my leg to take the pictures, the pain was intolerable.  Scott told the tech, in no uncertain terms, to leave and find someone who could give me pain medication before anyone else tried to move that leg.  There would be no x-rays done until I was more comfortable!  Before I really knew what was going on, the tech and his x-ray machine were out of the room and a nurse was coming in with a syringe full of pain meds.  I was suddenly in love with whomever invented that drug.  

Unbeknownst to me, Scott had made some calls while he was driving to the hospital.  Some sweet friends of ours, Jim and Pansy, had come to the ER to check on me.  They are about our parents’ age and, at the time, they were our Small Group leaders at church.  They came into the room shortly after I received the pain medication.  They were talking around me to Scott. I felt it best to keep my mouth shut, lest I say something completely inappropriate.  All I can tell you is that all manner of funny thoughts were racing through my mind.  

The rest of the time in the ER was a blur.  The “bad guy” tech eventually did come back for the x-ray.  Only, this time, I can assure you, I was in NO pain.  We learned that I had, indeed, broken both bones in my leg just above the ankle.  A tib-fib, they called it.  We were given the name of an orthopedic doctor to call to set an appointment and find out further details.  The ER nurse put a temporary splint/cast/wrap thing on my leg until we could get to see the orthopedic doctor.  Then we were sent home with a prescription for more pain medication.  All I really remember about the ride home was wondering how I was going to get up the basement stairs to get in the house (we have 14 steps just to get to the main level of our house no matter which entrance you use).  When we got home, I sat down on the bottom step and used my good leg and my arms to back my way up the stairs on my rump.  With the help of Scott and my dad, I got to my bed.  As I was in a pain medication haze, I really don’t remember the next couple of days until my first orthopedic appointment.  

At that fist orthopedic appointment, learned a few things:

1.)  DO NOT forget to take/bring pain medicine for an orthopedic appointment, especially if it is the first appointment after an injury (it wasn't quite time to be able to take more medicine before I got to the doctor's office);

2.)  the breaks were, in fact, going to require surgery to place titanium in to hold the bones together for healing; and

3.)  we would have to wait a week to be able to do surgery to allow the swelling to go down.  During that week of waiting, I would have to be on my back with my leg above my heart.

Laying flat on your back with your leg raised sounds like fun, huh?  Yeah, it didn’t sound fun to me, either.  I can tell you that it wasn’t fun at all.  It was boring.  It was lonely.  I was constantly loopy from the pain medicine.  I watched more TV shows and movies than I really care to think about.  I was tired of being in the same position 24 hours a day.  However, being on my back all the time wasn’t even the worst part.  Having to get Scott to help me on and off the toilet wasn’t the worst part.  The worst part of that week was that every time I would get up to go to the bathroom (which were the only times I got up) my ankle would throb (it felt like I should be able to see it throbbing) and the broken bones would shift.  The pain of the bones moving around is just as bad as the day they were broken.  I’d have to pause on the edge of the bed for a minute before moving toward the bathroom.  Think about it for a second.  When your bones are not together to hold your foot to your body, gravity works.  I shed many tears from pain that week.  The only parts I remember from the week that were nice were the parts where we got visits, phone calls, emails, and postal mail cards.  Both Scott and I felt loved on.

To Be Continued.....