The process of moving forward

More random ramblings about how the last few months have unfolded. I'm grateful that writing typing has been so therapeutic. It's helps me organize my mind a bit.

So here's what's on my brain today:

June 14 is when I went to Dr. Z to find out the results of the Arthrogram that was done on my knee just the week before.  

Just 3 days before this appointment (June 11), I completed a Half Ironman. My first and only. I felt invincible. 

I went to the appointment with some knowledge of what the test showed (thanks to the e-chart app which allows for instant access to your own medical info). 

The summary said some things I didn't understand. But it mentioned "major meniscus defect and ACL tear." Those are terms I understood. 

I had expected meniscus damage, but the ACL threw me for a loop. The meniscus was the "easy" injury in my mind. The ACL meant a bigger surgery and harder recovery. The irony is that the meniscus damage is the irreparable part and the part that is most difficult to treat. 

But I went to my appointment, and Dr. Z had a "holy shit, how did you just complete a half Ironman on a knee THIS busted" look on his face. His tone was not hopeful sounding, and even though he didn't want to give me a prognosis until he did the  diagnostic surgery, I had a bad feeling about it all. I didn't see what he saw looking at the images (radiology is NOT my forte), but I saw his face and heard it in his voice. 

After that appointment I was in total denial, and deludedly firmly thought I'd get reparative surgery and be back to running by next spring. 

Then I had the appointment with Dr. S who told me that ANY running with restoration like I needed would leave me needing a total knee replacement in no time. Consults with a few other doctors confirmed the same theories in the following weeks, and the decision was made about both the surgery, and the running. 

Ever since then, I've been in a grieving process of sorts. Don't worry, I'm not going to compare losing running to losing a loved one. But there is legitimate grief tied to losing a part of your identity. And until I no longer had it, I didn't realize how much of my identity had been attached to running. 

I joked with my therapist once or twice over the past few years that I should really find a back-up "thing" in case I'm ever injured badly.  I imagined that I would be a wreck, a mess, completely lost...without running. Hahaha, we laughed and laughed and laughed, both praying hoping that would never happen.

But it did happen. 

**And I'm saying I lost running rather than I gave up running. I'm sure you can appreciate why the wording matters. **

And while I'm grateful for my overall health in general, I am allowing myself to be upset about this turn of events. 

And speaking of upset, holy crap have I been through a range of emotions related to this whole process. 

And my grief has changed over the last few months. I went from grieving the physical loss of running, to grieving the loss of pride and purpose and achievement I had attached to running related goals, to grieving over the physical limitations and pain that has rapidly progressed over the past 2 months...knowing that it's only going to get worse...hoping it won't be as bad as they say. 

Some of the emotions I've felt...

Angry Sad Frustrated Empty Disoriented Vulnerable Afraid Alone Pained

but also...

Grateful Proud Decisive Empowered Surprised Hopeful Lucky Inspired

If there's other emotions that fit between those, I've likely felt them also. 

Not having the outlet of running means that my head isn't ever clear of emotions. Not as clear as running made it at least.

But I'm finding that to not be such a bad thing. 

 If you don't like running and don't get mental relief from it, you'll think this sounds crazy. If you are like me, and running is was a large component of your self care, mental health, and coping with life, then you totally get what I'm saying. I could be having the worst day, and if I had a chance to run, even one fast mile, I felt dramatically better and my head felt clear. So without it, my head feels full all the time. 

But in having a head full of emotions and thoughts, I've had to think about them. 

Name them. 

Decide what triggered them. 

Decide what to act on and what to leave alone.

 It's caused me to be more present and aware.

 No "hiding out" in the euphoria of a runner's high.

One thing I did yesterday after encouragement from a friend, was register for a long (100 mile) bike-ride in September 2018. 

Knowing that I have that to look forward to and to work towards while rehabbing gave me an immense rush, and I feel so excited! 

I'm imagining telling this to Dr. Z the morning of the meniscus transplant and having him laugh and roll his eyes and shake his head and smile knowing that I'm going to make sure I am on that bike and riding well by then.