make do! and mend

I've been a little dead over the past three days. Non-responsive. Lethargic. Ornery. I watched two entire seasons of Dexter knitting a sock furiously, eyes glazing over.

Just before this, my knee started to swell. I had started massaging the scar tissue around my incisions as they were slowly healing. I noticed a bulbous, fluid-filled sack at the bottom of my knee. It was hot and, upon application of my palm, felt like there was a tiny mechanism inside- creaking around, in need of a good bit of oil. Scary. The doctor told me to ice it for the next few weeks. He ripped off my remaining steri strips- the ones along my ankle, deepest spot of intrusion. I was told that these would just "fall off," and had been gingerly testing their progress over the last two weeks. Gentle, loving explorations into their continued hold on my skin. He just tore them off, one after another. It was the same way with my cast two weeks ago. These things are part of my body. Or they have been, adopted because they are on the limb of my focus. My progress charted by their existence or removal. As they are stripped away, these medical bandages leave me breathless.

So I went home, again discouraged. I am a positive person, believe me. I am going to accupuncture, taking homeopathics (ledum and symphytum), Jarrow's Bone Up, bone & cartilege tinctures, doing comfrey compresses, drinking nettle and horsetail tea. Visualizing my leg whole, healed and moving.

This incident took me back to helplessness. What had I done wrong to create this new part to coddle and watch? For the first time in my Catholic school upbringing, I feel the need for faith. There is really nothing more that I can do to effect healing. I must trust that my bones will pony up. My body will acclimate to the metal imbedded in it's fibers. Let time wash over me. I was ok with this until the knee complication.

Thus, my lapse. No floor exercises. No ankle movement. Blog abandoned. Facebook and human contact scorned.

I thought I would use this time as I always have. With projects and progress. Add a little introspection into that. I am failing outright. Movement was such a big part of my life that I can't seem to think without it. I wanted to, finally, figure out what I want. What do I want? Why can't I answer that question?

I have always been sure about derby. Four years, almost, since I started skating. I went on trips, left for a summer for a farming internship, but always came back to it. Goals for 2010 were structured around roller derby. It's that simple. Now that it's taken away, at least for a little while and my layers are being stripped away, why can't I create other goals for myself?

I can't waste this time. Make, do and mend. Make do and mend. Make do! and Mend. As a friend said, "focus on mending. Not just patching, but mending... making your leg, your mind, yourself better/more that what they were before the break." But how do I do that?

O, mighty muscle, I miss you

Growing up, I was always skinny. Stick legs, jutting out hips, razor butt bones. I was like a little gnat that couldn't stop moving. Once I hit high school and puberty (late), I was diagnosed with Type I, juvenile diabetes- right before soccer season started sophomore year. I started to put on a little more weight, but also, muscle. It wasn't until after college and the journey into my mid twenties that I have been able to achieve my "derby" body.

Now, don't get me wrong. My thighs have always been somewhat formidable relative to my size. The future destination for me, trite words meant to sum up our attributes as we left high school, was to "kick ass." This was a compliment, but I wasn't sure where it would apply.

(picture on left, 1 wk before injury; picture on right, I'm the one on the right in the pink sweater)

For the last three years, my goal has been this very thing. Derby. Skating faster. Better. I even have grandiose dreams that the sport will make it to the Olympics someday. I was on my way to travel team, thereby kicking ass across the country.

For the last three weeks, I have watched my legs shrivel to their former peg-like quality. I've lost 20 pounds of muscle and 5 inches from my left thigh (3 from my right). The hardest part of this injury is not the healing process, albeit slow, or the sitting still, painful, true, but that I have to watch my body deteriorate every step of the way.

I know what you think. All of my energy is going into healing my bones. That obsessively measuring my thighs may not be the best thing to focus on. That I'm exaggerating. That I started out with more muscle than most, so what harm would it be to lose some? I'll gain it back in no time! All of these things I know to be true. Thank you. This does not sway my alienation nor my rage at forced resignation. Leg lifts don't help much, I've tried.

This post is for my thigh. My left one in particular. O, mighty muscle, I miss you.