The Lord God Made It All

When I left the orthopedic’s office for the last time in 2002, it was with a heavy heart.  For four weeks my right foot had been encased in a plastic boot to be worn 24 hours a day in the hopes that the swelling and cysts in the ligaments and tissues would subside.  According to the orthopedic, the ligaments and possibly the tendon itself had been torn and stretched.  Surgery, he said, was the last corrective measure he could take and even then, the chances of getting back to normal were slim.  There was even a possibility of the ankle becoming worse.

Four weeks in the boot had brought down the swelling, but I was still in a great deal of pain.  The atrophied muscles in my foot ached with only a little exertion, and I had shooting pains between my shoulder blades – consequences of walking in the boot for over a month.  I thought surgery wasn’t an option because the thought of aggravating my condition was frightening.  I couldn’t imagine it being worse than what it was then.  Better to walk in perpetual pain than to run the risk of being further maimed. 

My parents put me in with a chiropractor to help alleviate the pain in my back. Secretly, I cherished an inner hope that all would be well – after all, I had read so many “miracle stories” about people who had life-long pain completely cured. By January, 2003 it was clear to me that not even chiropractic treatment was going to completely fix my problem.  My back was recovering nicely, but my foot continued to ache.  I couldn’t walk well, much less run, and my ankle was continually giving way, causing several nasty spills.  Worst of all, I discovered that horseback riding made the problem significantly worse. 

By the end of it all, I was becoming angry and bitter.  It was obvious to me now that my childhood dream of owning a horse was going to remain just that – a dream.  I couldn’t walk long distances – thirty minutes on the road left me hobbling.  Consequently, I stayed indoors more and more, shutting myself off from the outside world I loved so much.  Instead of enjoying the beauty of the country around me, gazing at the clouds, observing wildflowers, horseback riding, biking long distances, hiking and the like, I found myself staring at piles of laundry, sinkfulls of dishes, and hours of housecleaning.  In a matter of months, my life had turned completely upside down. 

Looking back now at that irritated, confused seventeen-year-old, I tend to shake my head in a bemused fashion.  I don’t really think I’m any wiser now than I was then, but I have to laugh when I remember how stubborn I was.  And since I’m still very stubborn, it makes me wonder what I’m missing now.  I know what I was missing then.  The last thing I wanted as a young girl was to be a house keeper.  That didn’t mean that I was adverse to the idea of having a family, but the idea of filling my daylight hours with sewing, cooking, cleaning and like things was a bit too much.   Horses were an idol in my life – I thought upon them exclusively.  So now I have some measure of understanding why God entered this trial into my life.  He saved me from ruining myself and bringing grief to my parents.  The very nature of my injury caused me to look at what I disliked most and accept it.

Over the next several years, I adjusted to the way my life was going.  The thought of being a wife and homemaker someday wasn’t so bad, I slowly allowed myself to become more feminine, and even learned to cook and sew.   Horses were enjoyed from afar, mostly from pencil and paper. I still walked in pain, but it was something I could live with.  Until last summer.  I was walking on a Friday morning in July, enjoying the beautiful play of clouds in the sky, when my ankle suddenly gave out and I found myself hurtling towards the asphalt.  I compensated quickly, as I had learned over the past few years, and caught myself before I smashed my face.  I was shocked.  My ankle hadn’t given me any indication that something was wrong – no tingling, aches, or pains.  It was highly unusual.  I stood back up, dusted myself off and continued walking.  By that night, my ankle was throbbing and it was six weeks before I would really walk again.

My mother did a considerable amount of research over the winter, and, to make a long story short, found out that perhaps there was something we could do after all.  All the symptoms pointed to a repeatedly injured tendon at the junction of the ankle.  In January of this year my sister fractured her foot and ended up at a foot and ankle surgeon.  While there, my mother discussed the possibility of repairing my ankle, and the doctor said it was not just possible, but probable to repair it.  In fact,  he said to my mother that he was confident that the pain could be eliminated and then possibly I would even be able to walk well if the right surgery was done.

I decided to try it.  By this time, I was in so much pain that I had some incentive.  My parents and I had a growing concern that the next fall I would take would injure something else like a hip and put me in a multiple injury situation.    Even if I never walked the same again, wouldn’t it be worth it just to make it through the week without the constant ache and the fear of falling?  We prayed about it and  on July 10th I went into surgery.

Initially the physician we used said he did not expect any surprises in surgery, but I guess I had “one up my sleeve,” or I guess in this situaiton I could say, “one up my sock.”   During the surgery, the doctor found that the ligament was far worse than even he had anticipated.  It was so frayed and stretched that he said to my parents during post-op that if I had done anything more to it, even a mild sprain, it would have been impossible to repair as an individual tissue unit of itself.  As it was, the doctor had to insert a titanium screw into the outer ankle bone.  This screw had needle and suturing thread secured in it and then my frayed ligament was sewn to the screw.   I get to keep this screw for life and the only downside of having it is that it won’t set off the security alarms at the airport like I had hoped.

I spent the first few days in the trailer.  My entire lower leg had to be elevated and it was encased in a firm splint and wrapped around with two ace bandages.  Except for when the doctor needed to check on the stitches, my leg remained this way for two weeks.  There was some sort of surgical cleanser on my foot that smelled terrible and, yes, the whole thing itched.  Even chigger bites don’t itch that bad.  Fortunately, one of my sisters has a good supply of knitting needles. 

My grandparents sent several good books to keep me occupied during my recovery - ones that I had wanted for a long time.  Several families sent flowers that Mom placed on a nearby table so I could see them.  Now I understand why flowers are given to people who are suffering physically - they really are beautiful to behold and cheerful.

There was a mixed bonquet from the Smith family.  Mrs. Smith also sent us a wonderful, delicious meal that was one of the few things I kept down during the first week.  Mrs. Kizziar also sent a wonderful picnic type meal and helpful items for my family.

Sunflowers from the Wahlquist’s garden…

Roses from the Hulslanders.  I dried these and placed the petals in an old lantern that’s now sitting on my nightstand.   They also brought a delicious meal for us.

The anesthetic didn’t bother me, but the pain medication did.  Not only do I remember almost nothing of the first five days, but I ended up getting terribly sick, so much so that I told Mom I would rather endure the pain in my leg than have to continually… well, I won’t describe it.  It was two weeks before my stomach really settled from that.  The memory loss was, well I can’t remember!  After I came out of the fog, my siblings took great delight in informing me of all the strange things I had done while on the medication.  Rather embarassing, but at least only my family had to witness it.  One of the things I found out is that my mother slept very little the entire time as she was caring for me through those nights and then caring for everyone during the day.    I don’t remember needing help every half hour or so in the night time, but she was there for me when I was spaced out on the pain medication.  The domino effect on our household meant my dad took extra vacation time to help us all.  This is all a blur to me.   I’m one of those people who don’t like to be a burden to others so maybe it’s a good thing it is a blur.

Two weeks after the surgery, the doctor removed the stitches and I went into a walking boot.  He left the tape over the incision in place to keep the skin from moving too much.  Those purple lines are where he drew on my foot before the surgery so he would know where to cut. The stitches themselves (I didn’t get a picture of them) were bright blue.   My mother saw the stitches at the one week mark and remarked to me, “Now that should keep you in stitches for a while!”

Here’s a close up.  That blood you see there is left over from right after the surgery.  At this point, the skin was already closed.

This picture was taken after the tape was removed (about four weeks after the surgery) and the same day that I began walking without crutches (boy, was that ever a relief!).   I had also been crawling around on the carpet and my knees were raw. 

Walking was understandably difficult after putting no weight on my foot for five odd weeks.  I thought it would be hard for my foot to remain steady with my weight pressing down on it, but such was not the case.  It was steady, even more so than my left foot.  What was different was the amount of stiffness and the fact that a great deal of blood had pooled in the veins on the underside of the foot. Every time I put pressure on the foot, it was the same sensation as when one’s foot falls asleep from lack of blood, only much stronger because my weight was forcing all that extra blood very quickly out of the veins.  For days, I felt like I was walking on pins and needles.

Soon the pins and needles subsided, but the stiffness did not. The doctor recommended that I literally “write” the entire alphabet with my foot.  The first time I tried it, I almost went through the ceiling, the ligaments hurt so bad.  My mother has quite a sense of humor.  After enduring the first set of alphabet letters, she poked her head into the living room and quipped to me, “How about lower case now?”  I just looked at her.   She added in a whisper, “Another font?”   With time, the exercises became easier.  Even so, I still wasn’t walking comfortably.  It was ironic that now my ankle was too stiff to move whereas before it was too mobile.  The doctor recommended physical therapy.

Well, physical therapy was something I had never experienced before and I had little idea what to expect.  The physical therapist was a lovely Indian woman named Nayna, and in two weeks she did amazing things with my ankle.  She had me bicycling (indoors of course) upt to two miles each visit, balancing boards, something called total gym, and special foot exercises.  Nanya told me that the muscles were very strong (that surprised me) but that the ligament was stiff because it had been remodelled.  Thanks to over a month in physical therapy, it’s certainly not stiff now!

As you can see, the scar has healed beautifully.  It will remain purple for a few years, but should eventually turn white and fade.

This past week, the doctor finally released me from treatment.  I have to wear a brace until Christmas time and keep up with my exercises, but I’m over the worst of it.  And the best part of it is, I am finally walking without pain for the first time in six years.  I’m not afraid of falling.   The prediction is that it will take me a full year to have the full percentage of restoration that I should have.  Right now my goal is to walk our street, which I have not done at this point (but hope too soon!).  The next goal is to walk the zoo.  After that, well… they do say it’s best to get back on the horse after you’ve fallen off.

This post is really written for my benefit and not anyone else, as I wanted to journal the events of the past few months.  There are some things I am thankful for, and I would like to list those things here.

I am thankful that God used this affliction for good because it has helped me focus on what God wants me to do in my life.  If I hadn’t been limited by pain, I would have certainly walked down a path that I would have eventually regreted.

I am thankful for the many hours off my feet, August of 2007 and July through September 2008, as these were times set aside to work on the hymnal project for my father.  I am thankful that I had something productive to do that would please my dad and I am thankful for the time to do it.  Not to mention that simply reading the hymns as I’ve typed them into the computer has deepened my appreciation for those Christians who have gone on before.  I have also learned a lot about music. 

I am also grateful for the support of my family during my convalesence.  I couldn’t have done it (or anything else, for that matter) without them.

Walk in the light! and you shall know
That fellowship of love
His Spirit only can bestow
Who reigns in light above.

Walk in the light! and you shall find
Your heart made truely His,
Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined,
In whom no darkness is.

Walk in the light! and you shall see
Your darkness pass away,
Because the Light has come to be
In which is perfect day.

Walk in the light! and you shall share
Your path, though thorny, bright;
For God in grace walks with you there,
And God Himself is light.

Bernard Barton, 1784-1849