Flying the Coop!

Apparently, I am either the world's BEST or world's WORST spinal patient. Either one you choose, I have "flown the coop" and am DISCHARGED from Scripps Memorial Hospital, La Jolla, CA.

YIPPEEEEE!!!!

(Not that there was anything wrong with the hospital - but for Pete's Sake! It was a hospital! Dude! YOU would want to leave if you could, right? The food wasn't all that bad though... the cafeteria was loveley... the staff was excellent... hhhmmmmm. Long pause....)

Ahem.

Back to reality.

Thank You!

Really - I am checked out. Gone. Finito. Kaput!

My departure took place earlier this afternoon, around 4:00 pm local time. After giving and recieving hugs from the nurses, donating my many boquets of beautiful flowers to the 4th Floor (THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU OUT THERE!) Spinal/Neurological Ward, packing up my gear (how much stuff can one person amass after a few days in the hospital? Seriously!), emptying my Folly for the umpteenth time, talking to Dr. Richard (my petite, yet vibrantly red-haired, and eternally optomistic urologist) for a few minutes, triple checking the room for any final items - Nathaniel and I walked hand-in-hand out of the hospital.

And then the air, the sweet-smelling, warm, salty, flower-filled air hit me. I inhaled, and it was simply beautiful. I closed my eyes, holding onto Nathaniel's hand (quick note - not recommended for any post-surgical spinal patients... beware!) - and simply inhaled the wonderful, fresh air.

No - not the same as on the top of Mount Palomar, but beautiful and sweet nonetheless.

We slowly walked towards the car, where Dad and his rented Prius awaited. And my Dad, with his infinate enthusiasm, was so excited to show me how the Prius started.

"You just push a button! Look!" He exclaimed.

I laughed, and then pressed the button.

Like father, like daughter.

After a drive along the coast, we arrived at the Stratford Inn (spelling?) - a Best Western in Del Mar, CA (Cat - where you stayed last weekend!) Dad and Nathaniel have been here for a few days, and now that I'm here - I can say that it's as great as they claim.

It beats a hospital room! :)

For the first time since Monday, I was able to shower. Wow. I will never take for granted a steamy, hot shower. Or shampoo. Let's just say that hospital bed + dirty hair + surgery cap + random rinsings = not-all-that-clean-hair.

The coconut shampoo and conditioner was so good, that I had to shampoo AND conditioner my hair a second time. You would have done the same - trust me.

Afterwards, the three of us headed out for a late dinner of Sushi and are now watching NCAA Bsketball. Aside from the hospital paraphenalia and my Folley, it almost seems like the three of us are taking a fun-filled, adventuresome family vacation. Thankfully, my Dad isn't like Clarke W. Griswold. Or Greaseball. Or whatever it is.

And no - Nathaniel has never made a dog jump off the Eifel Tower (Rusty, the token male child, threw his baret off Le Tour Eifel, and a fru-fru dog went after it. Stupid dog! But funny scene!).

So there you have it - nothing groundbreaking (already did that on Monday, thank-you-very-much!) tonight. Just back to the normal. Or as "normal" as I can do. Ahem.

Thank you again to everyone out there. I am beyond touched. You have all played such an integral part of my recovery, and I am forever grateful.

I finally have my computer AND internet back, so I'm really looking forward to reading everyone else's blogs, commenting as much as I can, and answering my emails. It may be a slow process... but believe me - I'll have plenty of "down" time, er RECOVERY time, to do so.

It's great to be out of the hospital... and well ahead of schedule. Hurrah! No, I can't skip down the road (my doctor's and body prevent me from doing it) - but the little girl inside of me is jumping up and down.

I have a feeling that sooner (rather than later) she'll emerge, and I'll go flying by the seat of my pants in one direction. Can't wait!

*One quick note: Dad, Nathaniel and I will be out in San Diego for another week or so. Dad is flying back to Minnesota on Sunday, but Nathaniel and I are staying in town for a bit longer, in order for me to see the surgical team and specialists who have played such a big role in my recovery. I've got an appointment with the Spinal/Neurologist on Tuesday (the same guy who asked me, "What did you learn?"). The others (urologist and internal trauma) are still waiting to be scheduled on Monday morning, first thing.

However - there is always hope. Just yesterday, I made my stern and seemingly unforgiving spinal/neurologist break out in laughter at something I said. I asked him if there was a limit on how much walking I could do.

When he replied, "No...", I got visibly excited and said, "Oh Boy! I can't wait to do laps around the 4th floor! This will be GREAT!"

He laughed and said, "I wish all my patients were as excited about walking after back surgery as you are."

He has NO idea!

Like I said before - there is always hope. In more ways than one.

First Post BACK!

I don’t even know where to begin, how to start – so I’ll do as I usually do, and simply delve in.

First of all: A HUGE THANK YOU!!! To EVERYONE out there. Your thoughts, well wishes, prayers, good vibes, phone calls, flowers, notes, pick-me-ups, and everything in between has made such a tremendous impact. I have spent much time on the phone with my Mom and with Jen, discussing all the kind-hearted posts and comments. As of now (Thursday, March 20th at 1:45 pm PST) I haven’t been able to go on line and read or respond to anyone. But please know that I am forever grateful…

I cried more from the well wishes and thoughtfulness of everyone out there, than from the impact of my crash (Kapow! Torry Pines couldn’t get the best of me – ha! And no, that’s not a challenge. It’s simply a statement of truth.)

Rest assured, as soon as I can spend any amount of time on line, I WILL! And I will comment as much as I can.

Several times over the past few days, Mom has read to me (via cell phone) all the tremendous outpourings of support through various blogs and comments on my blog.

And I am so grateful.

There were a few times in the past few days where I could feel myself getting a little blue, could feel the sadness, doubt, and insecurity creep back into the horizons of my brain. But a few words from my Mom and glances at all the emails and comments that Liz printed out for me on Tuesday have made all the difference for me.

So thank you, my friends.

Second: Sorry if my writing is a bit scattered, skittered, or what-have-you. I’m still on the pain medicine, so my thoughts may be a bit “fuzzier” than usual. As of a few hours ago, I’m off of the IV pain meds – yippee! And instead, am on regular pain pills. But as with any triathlon, as with any sort of event, it’s a matter of time trying to figure out what combination works and what doesn’t.

(It took me several months to FINALLY figure out what I was planning on using nutrition-wise for IM Arizona). So I’m going to give my doctors and nurses a break when it comes down to figuring out which pain meds work best for me.

So – while you may find humor in my blog and with my writing – you may have reason to find even more with this particular entry. Ahem.

Third: An update.

As of now, my prognosis is very good. HOORAY!!!! J

Initially what appeared as a hip or pelvis fracture, turned out to be a broken S-1, or Sacrum. It was very difficult to diagnose, due to the location of the fracture. The initial X-Ray indicated a break; the subsequent CAT Scan showed an even more serious injury, and the final MRI revealed the need for emergency surgery.

The good news is that this is a very small section of the non-weight bearing spine. My Mom went on “the Google”, and was given a very helpful diagram of information regarding this bone and its relation to the spinal structure. If you’re interested, I recommend that you do the same. (Sorry that I can’t provide the link, as I’m writing without “the Google” J)

My doctor found that both the anterior and the posterior part of the S-1 was severely fractured. Additionally, there were several large bone chips and fragments imbedded into my Sacral nerve (spelling – sorry! It’s the meds!). The Sacral nerve is important, as it controls many of the sensory parts of the pelvic region. Right now, post surgery, I’ve got about 60-65% sensation in my pelvic region – not back to full capacity, but wonderful considering the severity of the injury.

Both sides of the Sacral Nerve (left and right) were damaged in the impact. The approximate healing time is unknown, and varies from patient to patient. I could be back to “normal” in 3 weeks, 3 months, or even 12 months. But all systems should be “go” within a year or so.

The S-1 bone will take between 8-12 weeks to mend. The great news is that I can swim, can do low-impact cardio, and will become a rock star in the pool. Jen Harrison: Watch Out! You’ve got ME to contend with! (In the far far far future – but bring it on!).

There are so many unknowns with an injury of this magnitude. Technically, I broke part of my back and sustained severe damage to my nerves.

Then again – this WAS the non-weight bearing part of my back and only the sensory nerves.

However…

Add in the factor that I’m a pretty decent-in-shape triathlete, and you’ve got an entirely new kitten-caboodle.

And finally…

I’ve got a great sense-of-humor, great attitude, and try to roll with the punches. So if I get lemons, I’ll more likely-than-not, try to make lemonade. Or something of the sort.

Let’s just say that I’m a big believer in the healing power of a positive mental attitude.

And besides, I’ve often found that there are so many things in life that we simply can’t control. However, WE CAN CONTROL HOW WE REACT, HOW WE RESPOND.

We choose our attitude; we choose how we want to behave (well, as long as the pain meds aren’t too strong!)

If I could go back in time and change what happened last Monday, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t.

And as Grumpy Bear in the “Care Bears” used to remiss, “There’s no use crying over spilled milk!”

(He was also the one who claimed, “We’re not here to bake cookies!”)

No use crying over what has already happened. Yes, I’ll be sad, have painful moments. And I know that there will be good days and bad. That’s only human, that’s part of life. But I am determined to heal as quickly and as safely as possible. This is merely a small detour in my life.

So, there you have it.

I am so grateful to everyone out there. Your support has been simply overwhelming, and I will forever be grateful. If I could personally thank each and every one of you, I would… But know that you ALL have played a tremendous part in my recovery. So thank you.

And I’ll leave you with this:

Before the accident, I was embarrassed about my butt. Never a big fan of “flashing” or “bearing my bottom”, my derriere has lead a tame life. 3 years on my high school Cross Country Team, and my bottom never saw the light of day. Go figure. However, for the first time on Sunday, I actually managed to produce a BM in the woods after our run (Liz was SO proud!). If the bush that I squatted behind could be permanently scarred, I’m sure it would be. (this, my friends, is the meds talking. Enjoy)

Post-accident, it’s been an entirely different story. First thing Monday after the accident, Liz took a gander at my rear. And after biking up to Chris and Thomas, Chris pulled out my shorts and commented, “what a great bruise!” I was sporting. And finally, to add insult to injury – while laying flat on my stomach on Brad’s floor – Thomas pulled out my shorts, took a long look at my ass, and stuck a bag of ice on my bruise. With a few choice words, of course.

In the hospital, it’s been no different. I find myself apologizing to the various doctors and nurses when they take a peek at my butt. They have assured me, however, that they see many butts (and asses) in their line of work. So mine is one of many.

But its still mine. My butt.

And for now, my butt is broken.

But its not defeated. Yes, it hurts. And yes, it prevents me from doing what I love. But the outlook isn’t permanent, and before I know it, I’ll be back up on my feet, swimming, biking, and running my heart off.

But for now, I’ll stick with the walking. (Without the walker, of course!) That has already been discarded, given a permanent place in my closet of post-surgical accessories. Hooray.

Besides, I’m already causing enough ruckuses on the 4th floor of Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla. After abandoning my walker, I’m walking laps upon laps around the corridors, catheter and Foley (pee pouch) in tow. And I’m surging past my neighbors from room 411 and room 413 in the process.

Yep – I’m back.

Thanks again to everyone out there. Love to you all!

Monday Morning Update

Raise your hand if you feel as though you've been hit by a truck?

It's interesting to asses how my body feels after 4 tough days of swim + bike + run + repeat. I am tired. I AM sore. But I also want to keep going...

California is great, and the prospect of our "last ride" has me a little sad.

Yes - there probably will be tears (mine), but Thomas and Liz have some challenge going about climbinb a big big big hill.

Thomas told Liz that, "In an hour and fifteen minutes, I'll show you what it means to climb!"

Without missing a beat, Liz responded, "Oh - you mean when I'm already done at the top?"

I just sat back and laughed. It's been a great weekend, full of great/epic/tough/hard/incredible/fill-in-the-blank training sessions, and now we've got our last ride.

Liz vs Thomas.

Thomas vs Liz.

While I don't aspire to sit at the back, for the first time, I think the view will be well worth my effort (or lack thereof).

No - I take that back. I'll still be working my butt off, climbing in the gearing that Chris instructed me to use. But I'll have a heckuva good time watching Liz and Thomas go at it.

That is, if I can look up quickly enough to see them without falling off my bike. I think Soledad hill is pretty steep.

Another challenge.

Another opportunity.

And I can't wait.

The Swami Ride

(This was Saturday Morning's Ride. I finished the recap Sunday night... just a quick note.)

I never knew what it was to cry on the bike.

But today, I learned.

The task: Ride with the Swami's.

The mission: Be aggressive, work hard, hang on as long as you can.

The result: tears, anger, frustration, more tears, resolve.

I was downright scared going into this ride. Liz gave me some very helpful advice: 1) Shift smoothly 2) Don't coast. (Sherpa Thomas advised me to, "Ride like hell. Whatever you do, don't stop!")

I was oddly quite in the van on the way over to ride headquarters (Nytro). But this is what I wanted, this was part of the reason why I came out to California to train.

The group was fast, they were intense, and holy shit! Their bikes - fully carbon, many decked out in race wheels, the latest high-tech weight saving devices to reduce weight and conserve precious grams. I was mortified. My bike - my trusty old Giant road bike, 3 chain rings and all (Big ring, Little ring, Granny Gear) - looked downright pitiful compared to everyone else's speed machines. Chris assured me that it would take 3 of "their" bikes to equal my Giant's weight.

Thomas, sensing my fear and doubt, assured me that the weight of the bike was the least important, the least of my concerns. I needed to focus on myself, on my riding, on my ability - on the factors that I could control. What good would an $8,000 bike with $1500 race wheels do, if the person in charge could't ride, didn't have the "right motor?"

A theme that stuck with me through the day.

I may not be the fastest - may have a 3rd "Granny Ring" - may carry a camera, extra gels, salt, baggies of CarboPro, and other misc items that make me heavier - but at least I would try.

And try I did.

I managed to hang with the "A" group (mostly Cat 1/2 Men - Liz, and I were the only women who rode with the group, save 1, something that neither of us wanted to point out to each other, but discussed in great detail afterwards) for around 30 minutes, before entering the wonders of Elfin Forest.

During the "warm up", I was amazed at how tired my legs were, how labored my breathing was, yet listened in amazement as the incredibly fast guys all around chattered away. They weren't even out of breath, and I was huffing zone 4 up a few longer climbs.

Right before turning into the Elfin forest, towards the top of a fairly long climb, I could feel myself slipping. It was so, incredibly painful - I kept watching the wheels of the guys in font of me pull futher and futher ahead.

Just when I thought my time was over, that I was bound to be enveloped by the pack and spat out the back - left to my own devices to ride some Elfish-road in San Diego County, I felt a strong, solid hand on my back, giving me a huge push forward. Before I knew it, my speed had increased, and I found myself again with the group. I had never been given a push like that - some stranger coming up behind me and willing me forward, helping me to bridge the gap. (Later I discovered that my savior-of-the-moment was Chris. I thought it was either Chris or Thomas, but was unsure due to my delirium at the time.)

After makeing a quick right onto Elfin Road, the pack drew together, bunched up, and then... BAM! Attack the rollers, attack off the front, attack attack attack.

It was all I could do to hang on.

I was helpless, watching rider after blue-clad rider go around my tired and weak body, and rejoin the group. This time there was no hand on my back, no one to give me that extra push forward. I looked back, and realized there was no one behind me.

I was all alone.

And I was maxed out.

My heart was pounding, my legs were screaming, my tricpes were aching, and emotionally I was spent. I had just worked my hardest to hang on, to ride as strong as I could - and all within a matter of a minute, I was discarded off the back end.

I took a deep breath, and looked at the empty road behind and then focused forward, on the pack quickly growing smaller in the distance.

I was working my hardest, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do.

And that's when the tears started.

I cried out of frustration. I cried out of pain. I cried out of sadness. I cried because I didn't know what else to do. I was broken, riding as hard as I could through the Elfin forest - a "magical place" according to my own friendly ELF - yet sobbing on my bike.

I quickly realized that if I wanted to maintain any semblance of pace whatsoever, I needed to stop my crying, get my act together, and push forward. I had 2 options. 1) Stop. And where would that get me? Absolutely no where. PLUS - I had no clue where to go, and I figured that once this damned road ended, there would be some sort of direction about where to go. Or 2) Keep going.

So ride I did.

There was a rider ahead who had fallen off the pace, and was adjusting his ipod (who bikes with an ipod?), who happened to look back and see my pitiful, lonley self, biking forward. With a quick hello and a few encouraging words, "Big Mac" as he called himself (the guy was seriously over 6'5 and named Mac. As in Mac Truck) said that we would work together and pick up the stragglers one by one.

I gathered myself as best as I could, and rode his wheel.

After a few minutes, he upped the tempo and I matched his speed as best as I could. After questioning me on how I was doing, I replied, "My legs are toasted. I climbed Palomar yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" he replied. "I'm a 52 year old Dad of 5-year-old twins. Are we even."

That shut me up. And I didn't complain anymore. Not one bit.

Not about my tired body. Not about my heavy bike. Not about anything. I just shut my mouth, held back the tears (a few came out on occasion), and simply dealt with it.

I couldn't control my bike. I couldn't control how my body felt.

But I could control how I reacted to my situation.

So me and Big Mac rode through the wonderous Elfin Forest, picking up stragglers along the way. After 15 minutes, we had amassed another 4 or 5 bikers, and were our own little pack. We were all hurting, all had been spat out the back. But we were still going.

I was still going.

Looking back on that ride - it was incredible. The range of emotions, how I felt, how I responded, my tears, my anger, my pain - those are the things I was hoping to experience on this trip.

I am so happy - looking back - about this ride. It was good for me, it was good to crack. To experience it all. I want and need to ride with faster people, to push myself beyond my limits.

Because yesterday, I met my limit and broke. And now I'm stronger for it. I pushed past it, discovered more about myself than I knew before the ride, and found that (inspite of tears), I can keep going.

And - to be brutally honest - I hope it happens again.

Sunday night stuff

I'm sitting on the couch. There is talk of clucking chickens (Liz), clothing options for tommorow's ride (Thomas), and cardboard box break down (Chris). We're all tired, but happy. Well fed, but happy.

And discussing our final ride tomorrow morning.

What's more effective? Hill repeats or a big hill called Soledad?

I don't really know, don't have a clue. Chris and Thomas are debating the two, Liz is doing something half-relaxing, half-painful on the foam roller, and I'm sacked out on Brad's comfortable leather couch (which dubbs as Thomas's bed).

Today was a triple workout "recovery" day. Meaning we go easy, but long. An easy swim (where yours truly got to lead the lane) that involved meeting a few Chicago-ians at the local YMCA (Bob Mitera - great guy! And a few others), followed by an easy 60 minute run (no rattlesnake sightings), and then an easy 1:45 bike after a L-O-N-G and L-A-T-E breakfast at the world-famous Einstein's bagels.

Our food break was great, as it reminded me of mid-morning collegiate study breaks at Einstein's with Nathaniel. Oh, how time flies!

We all had bagels. I experienced my my first chocolate bagel bite (courtesy of Brad), and had coffee with my cream. Or something like that.

At one point, I had to laugh: standing in front of the 5 coffee jars were Chris, Thomas, Brad, and Cat (stellar triathlete that Liz coaches) and Liz. Oddly enought, Liz stood in front of 2 coffee jugs. Go figure. The ELF needed to be fully caffienated. And no one - Sherpa Thoams, Chris, Cat, or Brad - was getting in her way.

I just stood back and laughed.

After our ride along the coast, we cruised back to Brad's. The views were incredible - blue sky, whispy clouds, thunderhead in the distance, and mountain is the background. And the Pacific - blue and sparkling. It was wonderful, magnificent - and I find myself sad at the prospect of tomorrow's departure.

But we've still got one ride left. One more to go.

And now Chris and Thomas are debating the merits of a hill called Soledad and another hill near Del Mar Hights. There are hidden turns, endless "ups", and pedal stomping involved. Liz is on her laptop, looking up the exact gradient of the hill. She has just reported that, "It is a 12 minute climb. And you will be going 7 mph."

Chris and Thomas are joking about "delivering papers." Not as in news papers, but zig-zaging back and forth because the gradient is so steep.

The things you learn at camp with fast people. Wow. Go figure.

All I know is that it'll be painful, it'll be hard. I have been told to NOT use my small (Granny Gear) ring. Chris is looking up the gearing he wants me to use on one of the climbs (no Granny Gear, no small ring - POWER up the hill).

And I will go along with it. I will do my best, train my hardest, and leave bits and pieces of myself along the way.

Self-discovery at its best.