Recovery Requires Surgery
Life has been different these past 11 months and for me it especially hit in November.
On Saturday, November 7th Danny and I decided to go brunch at “Another Broken Egg Cafe” (you’ll see the irony in just a moment). I decided to throw on some old boots that I hadn’t worn in a while and the heel was a little worn but I thought they would be ok for that morning. After taking a couple steps down my long staircase, I would end up missing the other ten steps. All of my plus-sized self landed on my arms, elbows, and face in a massive way. I fractured my nose and both elbows while the right elbow and arm sustained the most damage - completely smashing the radial head in the elbow, dislocating my elbow, and tearing the ligament off the bone. I landed at the end of the staircase with my head down and feet up. All my weight was pressing into me. I felt something warm dripping and I knew immediately this was bad. I started having trouble breathing because of the position I was in, because of panic, and because of asthma. Danny lifted my a head a little so I could breathe better while Avery (our oldest) was calling 911.
While going through the most painful (and expensive) x-rays ever, it was found that I had an enlarged thyroid. So enlarged it goes down to my clavicle bone. We had no idea this was going on in me. This development took the plan of surgery in the ER off the table. They wanted to do an ER surgery to relocate my elbow. Instead, my only option was to allow a needle with pain meds go into my smashed elbow so that the doctor’s could manually relocate the elbow. Then, I would have surgery within a couple of days to repair all the damage. The two doctor’s in the ER only had one shot to relocate the elbow and I was praying hard they would have a slam dunk. Thankfully, they did.
After being pumped with some drugs (legal and very good ones) at the ER to knock out the extreme pain, I was trying to move my fingers.
Why?
Because I wanted to make sure they still worked for typing at work.
Even in the smashed up state I was in, I was thinking about getting back to work on Monday.
Needless to say, I’ve been home recovering since the fall because this recovery required surgery and therapy. For the first six weeks I had to have help with everything. Danny is a champion as he has helped me in ways I didn't think we would have to help each other until we hit 80 years old. I’ve always been independent and taken care of myself. This scenario required me to give myself grace and be willing to accept grace from others. Needless to say, my anxiety has been through the roof. The first time I had to go to the bathroom at home I cried in front of Danny because he was going to have to help in such a personal way. I didn’t want him to be grossed out and never look at me the same again. He chuckled and looked me in the eye to reassure me of his love and commitment to help me through this no matter what.
My recovery progress would not be where it is today without Danny and my Mom’s very personal and intentional care through it all. My Mom stepped in for anything that Danny was unable to do while he was working. She even cleaned the wall at the end of the staircase where my face smashed into it (it looked like a CSI crime scene). I think she cleaned it so well it looked better than it did before the fall.
When you feel caged in by your body, your mind can spiral. Anxiety, worries, and frustrations were heightened. In those initial weeks with limited abilities, I couldn’t help but think back on the patients who were cared for through the Home Health agency I worked for. Many of them had issues limiting their ability to care for themselves. And not all of them had family to care for them like I did. Finding myself on the patient side of Home Health opened my eyes even wider to the need and made me more passionate about my job that I couldn’t wait to get back to.
For two weeks I was excited about Wednesday, January 6th. It was the day of my appointment with the surgeon to determine if I’d made enough progress to get back to work. I had a feeling he was going to give the greenlight to at least work part-time. So I ordered a beautiful new planner, ordered a new tote bag to carry all my things in, was shopping around online for a new mini-fridge for the office so I could eat healthier at work, decluttered my work notebook, and decluttered/deep cleaned the house to have a fresh slate for my dive back into work.
I assumed right and my surgeon gave the permission slip needed to start working on Monday. While in the exam room I texted my leadership team with the fantastic news that I was coming back. They were no longer needing to cover for me and I was ready with a refreshed enthusiasm to pour into our nurses, therapists, marketers, and patients.
But there was no response to my text.
I chalked it up to them being busy and they would get back to me later on in the day. Yet that thought didn’t set right in my gut - and I refused to think the delay was for any other reason.
When I arrived at home I found myself a bit tired and thought a nap would help pass the time while I waited for a response to my text. I turned on the news for a second to watch the confirmation of the November election results. Nothing crazy was happening at the time and I ended up falling asleep. Later on, I was jolted awake by the sounds of the Capital being stormed. My mouth dropped at what I was witnessing and I was trying to figure out what happened while I was napping. I checked my phone for any messages and nothing had come through from work.
Then my phone rang - it was someone within the leadership team. I muted the Capitol chaos and answered sharing how excited I was to come back on Monday.
Then the bomb dropped.
While I was out on leave it was decided to streamline some processes. With a declining patient census due to the pandemic, I was left without a job to come back to on Monday. I was told that if I “handle this well” they may be able to bring me back on once they start to grow again.
All the sudden I was blind to the Capital mess raging in the background and trying to process the raging mess in front of me. I had bills, two more surgeries in the near future, a family to help provide for, physical therapy to continue, and a refreshed joy to intentionally serve people again.
I literally felt punched in the gut.
All I could get out was the word “wow” as I was trying to control the ugly cry that wanted to come out of my throat while catching my breath at the same time. I had invested so much of myself into being what the nurses, the therapists, the marketers, the leadership team, and the patients needed.
At that moment, my heart shattered over my dismissal.
At that moment I realized I did what I did with my prior job - dedicated too much of myself to serve others.
And at that moment, my gut proved itself once more how it’s better than a crystal ball.
When I got off the phone I sobbed from the hurt I was feeling because the job I had deeply invested in was gone. I was needed in 2020 and now just like that I’m no longer needed in 2021. I called Danny sharing all the raw feels within that moment. (Again, he’s the best.) I tried to reach out to leadership for some information but found myself in their voicemail.
I discovered how silence is a much harsher response than the initial conversation laced with “sorry” and “I don’t know”. I found myself holding empathy for the tough decision they had to make yet I had intense feels as the human being on the receiving end of this. Somehow the heart has the capacity to hold both.
It’s been four weeks since that call and this week I’m needing to research insurance plans that I can pay for on my own. I’m no longer sobbing over the loss of the job as I realize this was meant to be and will lead me to something better. I hold gratitude for the experience I had with them and genuinely wish each former co-worker all the best. I know this happened to pivot me into cultivating a healthier life/career balance and I’m truly excited for what’s ahead.
After some honest self-reflection I’ve realized I’m burned out from working within healthcare. I’ve served the Hospice, Palliative Care, and Home Health industries for six years and it’s time for some recovery and change.
Sometimes recovery requires surgery. And what I’ve learned these last few weeks is how my work life also needed some surgery in order for me to heal.
