I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

Tonight, I'm feeling especially "old". I just received my new Lifeline device from my insurance company. I have it sitting on its charging dock as I'm filling out the paperwork for my emergency contacts and medical history. I don't feel old enough to need one yet here I am. After my fall last December, I feel some sense of relief in knowing that help can be a push of a button away. There is some peace of mind that comes with having access to emergency services without the panic that gripped me when I came to in the bathroom after having passed out. The excruciating pain and the sight of blood pouring out of my lower leg and ankle was bad enough, but it paled in comparison to the overwhelming fear that I was going to bleed to death alone on my bathroom floor before anyone would find me. Now I can summon for help simply by pressing a button and, even if I'm not capable of pressing that button myself, it should detect a fall and initiate a call to emergency services automatically which is reassuring. So, if "I've fallen and I can't get up", I can have faith that help is on the way.

That's all well and good for my physical safety and needs. But what about my mental, emotional, and spiritual needs? In so many ways I feel as though "I've fallen and can't get up" in those areas as well. A lot of my OCD symptoms are rearing their ugly little heads right now and as I feel more stress and anxiety, I find myself counting and arranging everything in my mind. I have this notebook that is filled with numbers, just one through eight, that I've written over and over and over again. At first, writing numbers seems to help to decrease my anxiety, but then that act takes on a life of its own, becoming something that I must do. That then in turn feeds into my depression which is telling me to pull my blanket up over my head and hide from the world. I don't want to eat. Then I want to eat everything in sight. My participation in the weight loss program I was doing before my injury has been put on hold at this time until I'm further along in my recovery from the fractures and surgery. I'm frustrated by that. Instead of continuing to do what I need to be doing I've adopted the attitude "the hell with it!" And so it's no surprise that I've gained some of the weight that I had lost back again. That too feeds into the depression, and I let more and more of the little everyday things like brushing my teeth and putting on clean clothes fall by the wayside. I've slacked off on my physical therapy exercises and can feel myself losing strength. If I don't gain strength and endurance, I won't be able to leave my apartment which means I won't be able to be around people face to face. It's becoming all too easy for me to isolate right now. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm alone. I feel as though "I've fallen, and I can't get up".

The good news is that there are lifelines out there for my mental, emotional, and spiritual needs that I can tap into if I choose to. I have a therapist and case manager who can help me process my emotions and challenge my thinking. I have support groups that I can reach out to and meetings I can attend on Zoom until I'm able to get out and about again. I do have friends, peer mentors, and sponsors that care about me and are willing to help if I ask and let them know what I need. I have a loving and supportive family. I have three kitties who love me unconditionally and are always happy to see me. And perhaps most importantly to me I have a gentle, loving God who is just waiting to help carry me through my life journey.  Sometimes it's hard for me to see God working in my life when I'm in the midst of darkness but I have to believe that He is there because I always make it out on the other side despite myself. All I have to do is press that button and God will answer my call for help. There are no emergencies that are too small, and I have to believe that I'm not bothering my family, my friends, my therapist, or my God when I reach out and make that call for help.

Open Fractures

On Saturday evening, December 16, 2023, I passed out in my bathroom. When I came to, I was pinned between the bathtub and the toilet with my left leg underneath me. I immediately felt this excruciating pain in my left leg, a pain like no other that I've ever felt before. I was gripped by a sense of panic as I realized that I would have to figure out how to get myself out of the bathroom so I could call for help. I live alone, and no one would be looking for me until Monday. I had to arch my back over the side of the tub and pull on my pantleg to get my left leg out from underneath me. I began scooting towards the bathroom door, blocking out the pain as best as I could. I grabbed for my reacher to push my shoes off because they were sticking to the bathroom floor, making it impossible for me to scoot on my butt. When I finally managed to get my left shoe off, I noticed that it was full of blood. I thought to myself, "Oh shit! That's not a good sign! That means that there is an open fracture!" I somehow managed to stay calm, focused on getting myself out to the living room. When I reached the hallway, I rolled over onto my stomach and began to do an army crawl towards my Amazon Echo device, where I could ask Alexa to call my dad for help. When I finally reached him, I told him I needed him to come over to my apartment to unlock the door for the fire department and EMS services because I had fallen in the bathroom and broken my ankle. He asked me how I knew that my ankle was broken and I replied "because the bones are sticking out"! I believe that I entered a state of shock because at that time I was no longer feeling much pain in my leg. Then a sense of panic began to set in and I started to hyperventilate. Emergency workers arrived and worked to get me up off the floor and up the stairs outside of my apartment to load me into the ambulance.

Things at the ER were crazy. Doctors and nurses were working in what seemed like a frenzied manner to me to begin to assess the "damage". Once I arrived at the hospital the intense pain really began to set in. I remembered the car accident I had been in back in May 1997 in which I shattered my right calcaneus. At the time, I thought that nothing could ever be more painful than that. I was wrong! I've also had both knees replaced. Nothing compared to the pain I was feeling that evening. NOTHING!!! After the necessary scans and x-rays were completed, I was told that I had an open ankle dislocation and an open fibula fracture. The doctors were going to put me under conscious sedation to set the dislocation and close that up. Then I would be going into emergency surgery early Sunday morning to repair the fibula fracture. After five days in intensive care, I was transferred to a skilled nursing facility to begin my recovery. I struggled to make progress in PT and OT, in part because of my eight week, non weight bearing status on my left leg combined with partial weight bearing on my right foot (due to a hairline fracture also a result of the fall), and in part due to a very deep depression that was setting in. I have bipolar I disorder and typically experience a dip into depression after the Christmas holidays are over anyway, and this situation certainly didn't help matters. I missed my three kitties terribly. I was missing my family over the holidays. I was mentally done and over it. I often found myself crying in the wee hours of the night when I should have been sleeping. It wasn't just my ankle and fibula that were fractured. My spirit was fractured. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to return home to take care of myself after this injury. Once I was finally able to start putting weight on my leg and walking again the pain was pretty intense. After three weeks of walking with physical therapy I felt like I was ready to return home. Those first few days were brutal, and I felt discouraged and defeated. I questioned my decision to come home and began to think that maybe I would have been better off surrendering my apartment, my kitties, my everything, and become a resident of the long term care facility. Those were not good feelings to have. 

One thing that was a saving grace to me during my first week home was the encouragement from a close friend. She was there to support me, push me to take those first few baby steps, to see how far I had really come in such a short time since beginning to walk again. She has been my primary care assistant over the last couple of years and I always looked forward to her coming over to my apartment to help me with housekeeping tasks, meal preparation, and daily living skills because she always knew how to make me smile. I didn't only view her as a caregiver; we had become friends. She helped me to laugh and to appreciate the little things. She helped me to see how far I had come. And then...she told me that she was going to be moving out of state in a month. I was crushed. And even though I could appreciate the opportunity for a new chapter in her life, I was devastated. I don't let too many people in. I had let her in and now she was going to be leaving. After she told me I cried. In many ways this felt like an open emotional fracture. I don't like to hurt, inside or outside. This hurts. It hurts more than I thought it was going to. 

So, where does all of this leave me today? Where do I go from here? I know that I have to continue with my physical recovery efforts in order to gain strength and endurance. I can't allow myself to settle in with my depression. I have to push myself to reach out and let others in. I have to get back to my prior level of functioning, both physically and emotionally, so that I don't remain isolated with my thoughts and feelings. I have to remember that my friend did not die, that I can still choose to make the effort to stay in touch. The physical pain in my left ankle and leg is lessening with time. I have to believe that the emotional pain and hurt I'm experiencing as my friend prepares to move next week will also lessen with time. Right now, I'm pretty raw. I'm in that "open fracture" stage. I can grieve what was - the almost daily contact with my friend - and know that it will not always hurt this bad. I can continue to share how I'm feeling with others, just as I have others help me with my physical therapy exercises. My legs will get stronger. My depression will quiet down. I will be happy for my friend and smile and laugh when I remember conversations we have had over the past four years. Open fractures can and do heal with time. I will be patient. I will have faith. I will do my part. I will get better.