Today I am still reeling from my first major setback since completing cancer treatment. It all started on a beautiful summertime Sunday morning. The sky was blue. The clouds were white and still tinged with the pinks and golds of sunrise. I was looking forward to my morning walk. After struggling with several days of fatigue stemming from my just-completed work week, I finally awoke feeling good, rested even.
I set out towards the path along the bay with my Aussie in tow. We were both in good spirits. With nose to the air, she happily pranced beside me. As we merged onto the paved trail, I started to jog. This was my first jog in almost a week and it felt really good. I felt motivated and finally felt I was making progress. Towards the end of my normal quarter mile, I said to myself, “Today, I’m feeling good. I’m going to go farther!” No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, it happened.
As I brought my left foot forward it caught on an uneven lip of pavement. I went down and went down hard. A I fell, my inertia plowed me forward into the pavement. First my hand crunched, then my elbow, then shoulder. It all ended with my forehead on the pavement. Within seconds I was sitting on the concrete sidewalk examining myself. My hand was misshapen. I was almost certain it was broken. The skin was gone from my elbow and my left shoulder. My head ached but luckily the rest of me had taken the brunt of the impact. My Aussie stood next to me, a confused witness to my accident. Head cocked, she was clearly wondering why I remained splayed across the pavement.
I collected both my pride and body off the ground and headed for home. As I walked I examined my hand. My pinky finger was crooked. The side of my hand was dented in. Dark blue bruises were already blossoming on my palm and knuckles. I was missing all the skin on my knuckles and could make a fist but barely. I would need an xray. As I entered my home I broke down in tears. They were not tears of pain, but rather tears of complete and utter defeat. My frustration was overwhelming. In that moment I relived all the months of pain and hopelessness during my cancer treatment. The universe had beaten me. After months of fighting for every forward foothold I was officially tumbling backwards off the mountain.
My husband helped me clean my wounds and drove me to the emergency room. After a series of hand xrays the ER doctor confirmed my hand was broken and he followed with the news that the bone was displaced and would likely need surgery. I hung my head. More doctors, more anesthesia, more surgery, more fights for insurance referrals.
They immobilized my hand, wrist, and arm up to the elbow. The ER staff asked several times if I wanted pain medication. I waved them off. Pre-mastectomy I might have considered this pain six or seven out of ten. Now, after living through months of agonizing 11/10 pain all day every day, I would give it a two to four out of ten at best. It’s funny how our pain tolerance changes after massive traumas. With each throb of pain I told myself, “At least it’s not a mastectomy. Remember you’ve been through much worse.” I didn’t fill the ER’s prescription for opioids. I never even needed ibuprofen.
What followed was reminiscent of the early days after my cancer diagnosis. Multiple trips to the military base to get the proper referrals. Multiple calls to get into the first available surgeon. Waiting lists. Trips back to the hospital to get a disk of my xray images. Trips back to the military base. Stress, stress, and more stress. Throw in a 12 hour critical care night shift with an immediate transition to three pulmonary critical care day shifts…all with a broken and displaced hand bone. At least this time around the worst case scenario is permanent nerve damage or loss of use of my finger, not chemo and death.
And now I wait for my surgical appointment. I laboriously peck out this post with one hand. I can not tie my hair back without help. I can not tie my scrub bottoms. I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom during my shifts or this could get extremely embarrassing. I can not perform my normal medical procedures like bronchoscopies, intubations, or central lines. My ability to perform my job hinges on the ability to do these procedures. I don’t even want to think about what may happen to my hireability if my hand injury affects me long term. I have only just now fought my way back into regular bedside rotation after the cancer. This is a major set back.
With so much of my future unsure, this new painful and frustrating setback is weighing heavily upon me. I am discouraged. I feel defeated. In many ways all my progress until now feels like it has been for nothing. I now have even more hurdles and more mountains to climb, and I am climbing very literally one handed. How will I do this? They say God only gives us what we can handle but can I handle this? One foot in front of the other. If I can beat cancer I can do anything…right…? I no longer say this with such optimistic confidence. Only time will tell.
