Waking up after surgery from the anesthesia, the faces hovering over me asked if knew my name, where I was, and why I was there. I remember saying “whoa, I was dreaming that I was in a bike race. I guess that’s not where I am.”
Then I said, “you fixed my leg, right?” They assured me they did. That moment was the first sense of relief I’d had since the time of the crash.
Back in my room, my leg felt like one of the Iberian ham legs I’d seen hanging in restaurants in Spain 2 months ago:
Very swollen, and the nerve block meant I couldn’t feel or move it. Actually I wasn’t disappointed that I couldn’t feel it.
I’m already getting the sense that each one of these little forward progressions will ultimately lead to the next frustration. The next day post-surgery, the PTs came in and tried to get me out of bed and standing, with a walker.
I told them I was starting to see stars. I don’t think they believed me until I promptly passed out and had to be put back on the bed. This went on the next 3 days. Not passing out, but being unable to do much more than go from the bed to a chair.
It was shocking to think that in the span of 3 days I’d gone from riding 28.5 mph at the Presque Isle time trial to being unable to stand with a walker for more than a minute or two. And also rather sobering to consider just how quickly your fortunes can change.
Day 5 post-surgery I finally started to feel a bit stronger and was able to stand and move a bit longer each day. Day 7 I was finally going home.
Which then has led to the next set of challenges and frustrations as I have to navigate the house, do things for myself, find a comfortable sleeping position (still working on that), and perhaps most difficult: keep from going crazy while being inactive.
So far the biggest accomplishment has been going to the kitchen and bringing coffee back to “my chair”. I’ll take it for now.