My Lowest Point
I wanted to share what I remember as my lowest point in my chronic pain journey. Each and every single one of us with a chronic condition has a tale of despair, hopelessness, misery and darkness. My hope is that each of you will start to see moments of triumph, joy, empowerment and light as I have been able to do. (if you want to know how, let's have a chat! DM me or click this link https://www.erica-otto.com/schedule-a-consultation)
Three Surgeries Later
The moment I am referring to is after my third (and final) knee surgery. I was sitting in physical therapy, for what felt like the THOUSANDTH time, and my therapist and I were reviewing my progress up to that point. To be honest I LOVED my physical therapist, Ryland always kept everyone in the therapy room laughing with his jokes about his wife and kids and their shenanigans. He had helped me recover through my last two surgeries and I deeply respected and trusted him. What he said to me that day was the last thing I ever expected to come out of his mouth.
After he checked my strength and motion which he tended to do about once a month, he closed his notebook and looked at me. He told me that he believed we had reached the end of our work together. that there was nothing more that he could help me with. I swear my jaw dropped to the floor. I looked down at my left leg just to remind myself that this was real. He was saying this and my left upper leg still looked like a deflated balloon compared to the right leg. I still couldn't lift my left leg. I still couldn't do a squat, a lunge, a jumping jack. I was so shocked that I was told there was nothing left to work on, because I WAS NOT DONE GETTING BETTER. I couldn't even walk around downtown with my mom and aunt without a wheel chair yet for goodness sake!!!
He was so gentle and kind when he explained to me (in physical therapist speak), why I couldn't gain any more muscle or function. I could NOT believe it.
I remember the tears that had threatened to spill in the office unleash when I got to my car to drive home. I was so ANGRY. I was SO sad. I couldn't begin to believe that ALL of my hard work, determination and positive attitude had rewarded me with nothing.That the courage it took to take the risk of an experimental surgery that was SUPPOSED to work meant so little in the end. I called my husband on the way home and told him what Ryland had said and he was just as shocked as I was and didn't really know what to say (in fairness, he was still processing the news). He just let me vent and cry and supported and loved me through it. The next few days were a process of telling my friends and family where I was at. It was NOT easy.
The one thing I remember sticking out during these conversations was how much I HATED hearing the words 'I am sure there is something else that can be done' or 'another doctor somewhere will have a solution' or 'maybe just give it time and things will be fine'. Mind you, my loved ones were only doing their level best to love and support me. But my anger was so powerful it overshadowed the beauty of the compassion I got from them.
As hard as it is to put myself back in that place, I believe that it is important to share the bumps and bruises of our beautiful journeys.We all have a story. Sometimes, just sometimes, a miracle happens when we share our pain. Sometimes it can inspire hope in someone who had lost it long ago. Transformation is possible, i am living proof that you do not have to live this way anymore.
