Why Knee?

Snap, crackle, pop. That's what I hear each morning when I get out of bed. The sound of my waking bones after sleep. Yesterday, I was seen by an orthopedist for chronic pain I've been experiencing in my right knee.

This is not a new injury: I did not all of the sudden experience a "pop" or snap and start limping. I have been living this pain for ten years plus and was diagnosed years ago with osteoarthritis in my knees. Multiple X-rays and MRIs over the course of 15 years show the standard course of deterioration. I continue to run because I refuse to accept the inevitable. I've added knee braces, moved to trails and gravel, taken more days off in-between runs, cycled, swallowed ibuprofen and glucosomine chronindrin and swam. By strengthening my quads I took pressure off my knees so the pain was fortunately reduced. However, the arthritis continues to progress and last spring when I was committed to running each day during the 40 days of Lent, my knee said, "No".

Since then, I've been nursing my knee back to a level of mobility I can tolerate. I rest, ice, hot tub, swim, sit, and try to alleviate what I can during the day through stretching. I cannot seem to tolerate the level of running I did just 5 months ago and that is frustrating. No, that is beyond frustrating. It is depressing and has stifled me. I have felt like the victim of a cruel crime. Stripped of my moments of peace out with nature, my fitness regime, and mental well-being. Running has never been about time...or miles....or speed for me. I run when I can fit it in and sure, I have some knowledge of how far I go but whatever I accomplish on the road or trail is satisfying and helps me handle the stress of the rest of my day. Now I feel robbed of the one thing that keeps me healthy and present.

While this internal strife feels selfish for me to confess here--I realize so many worse things could have happened to me. I do not have a death sentence. I did not lose a family member. I still have most of my mind and body as a healthy unit. But I cannot belittle the effect this change has had on me. Some have witnessed it from a distance wondering why I don't walk with a kick in my step or why they don't see me tackling miles on the highway anymore. I'd prefer that they don't ask. It hurts emotionally for me to have to admit I cannot do it anymore. I've suffered a loss.

As I start to accept my diagnosis I am also trying to maintain some grace about the whole thing. There are some positives. One is that I swim. Two is that I have a good sense of humor. Three is that I won't become sedentary and will still run some until basically, I cannot do it anymore. And four, I know it doesn't take someone who's an athlete to do great things in this world. 

However, I still have to take care of myself. I am strong in the water and enjoy the monotony of laps and the silence underwater is soothing. I gain confidence with each stroke--unlike when I'm upright and trying to push through miles with large shoulders, heavy legs, and giant weighted balloons strapped to my chest. I knew I'd never win any road races. I don't have the wiry physique of my friends who are natural athletes and compete in marathons. On the up side, I do have a large, muscular Amazonian build similar to the first woman who swam the English Channel.  So, yea, I got that going for me.

My ideal swimming situation is this: A giant pool that heads out my driveway, around the valley here and back home. No laps, just miles of swimming right out my door. Swimming isn't convenient. And here in Oregon it is not an outdoor activity most of the year so the fresh air and wide open spaces that clear my mind disappear when trapped in a muggy, steamy environment.

The orthopedist pointed to the film of my knee and said, "Look. The damage is there." He was referring to the picture of my knee and the lack of space on one side of the joint. It looked pretty much like this image--bone resting on bone. He added that it was most likely happening to my other knee as well based on his analysis of my walk and physical examination. I'm a candidate for knee replacement. But we both said if I can continue managing the pain I would get about ten more years of moderate exercise before we'd be to the point that my daily activities would become difficult and it would be time to consider that option. And once my knee is rebuilt or replaced, no running. 

Ten years isn't a long time anymore like it was when I was in my 20s. It is in my near future now. So off I go. A vigorous walk, ibuprofen, a swim, and then ice or hot tub. I'll research other options to help alleviate my pain. I'll mix up my fitness options and add the mental exercise of pushing beyond the reality of my inabilities to living with my diagnosis and discovering new avenues of release. And yes, I'll continue to run.

Often towards the end of a hard run I create a chant to push through exhaustion, such as, "no pain, no gain",  "work it, breathe, energy". This new journey of acceptance and fitness requires its own motivating words and they are simple, "Keep on truckin'."

What three important gifts have helped shape your life?

The month of November lends itself to asking the annual question, "What are we are thankful for? " Children are often grateful for items they can pull from the depths of their bedroom--Legos, a doll, a favorite blanket--and then eventually mention people in their lives that make a difference: parents, grandparents, or teachers. When a friend recently posed this adult-version of the yearly Fall query,"What three important gifts have helped shape your life?" I felt compelled to answer it in a manner similar to my young counterparts: by choosing three material, and three non-material gifts.

The tangible items I would choose are: a diamond necklace my grandfather gave me upon graduation from high school, my guitar, and my diploma from college.  For many years the necklace my grandfather gave me was simply a beautiful piece of jewelry. I wore it everyday and often forgot it was there hanging visible to everyone. It became a part of me.
The chain withstood the rigors of constant washing, chlorine,  nervous twisting during meetings and interviews, toddlers hands yanking on it, and my curly hair getting caught up in the links. Then, nearly 10 years ago I went to the hospital to visit my grandfather and leaned over his bedside to share a moment with him. My eyes were locked with his as I moved closer to give him what I knew would be a final goodbye. He could not speak at that point because of tubes that assisted his breathing draped out of his mouth. As I went to kiss him, the necklace swung near his face and he reached up to grab it. Without saying a word, so much transpired between us. I felt his sadness on leaving, his wishes for my future, his love for the granddaughter who was so precious to him in that moment as I smiled, teared, and held his hand.

The mellow-sounding, Sigma guitar crafted with blonde and dark woods by the Martin company, was a surprise from Rod when we were first together enjoying the giddiness that ensues with a new relationship. He researched, spent time shopping with my brother who is a seasoned player, then wrapped a pick in a simple package for me to unwrap Christmas morning. I quickly took up lessons. Much like art is a hobby for some people, so is music to me. It makes my soul sing to be able to create meaningful sound that can bring our busy family together for brief moments.

My diploma sits dusty in a drawer somewhere in the caverns of my house. However, it means no less to me because I choose not to display it for all to see. While I earned it through years of hard work, I see it as gift my parents gave me that they knew would keep on giving. It was a priority to them to send my brothers and I to a university and they did whatever they could to provide us a debt-free experience. I am especially grateful now as my own children embark on their college years. The time I spent thinking, researching, learning, and discussing with other academics the intricacies of the material we were studying gave me the urge to seek knowledge. I gained an understanding of myself and how I process information. I also earned an appreciation for tenacity, and the satisfying reward of accomplishing personal success.

Non-material gifts require more reflection, especially when considering how they have helped "shape your life". Mine include first: compassion. This gift, if it could be wrapped would be contained in a massive box because its benefits often inspire an action which touches others lives. Compassion tied beautifully with an empathy bow. The gift makes me tear up when I hear about someone's last moments with a family member, then hold them as they cry; or grants me patience to give up a day of duties for my family to work at the shelter; or inspires me to drop a card in the mail to a friend who I know is experiencing difficulty in their lives.

The ability to take risks. I was often the one among my peers that my high school and college friends called upon to do something first. Whether it was jumping into a freezing cold pool or drinking a shot of tequila. This led to many unusual predicaments and a lot of laughter. Later in life when Rod and I committed to leaving on our sailboat with the kids for a year, it was a great comfort knowing that things would work out in the end as they always had when I had taken leaps before. This gift is waning as I get older and it irritates me. I feel unsettled and I understand this to be that it is time to shake things up and take another risk. But I hesitate because those dependent on my assurance are not comfortable with the idea of jumping into something unfamiliar.

The ability to forgive. Forgiving is freeing. It allows you move forward with positive action instead of wallowing in self pity or anger at another individual. I like to face a problem, clarify a misunderstanding, or apologize if someone has been unintentionally hurt. I don't live by the, "time will heal all things," idea. Nope. Face it, deal with it, talk about it, move on. If someone is not willing to discuss or face the issue, than I will move on without their blessing and forgive. Life is too short to walk around constantly worried about relationships and what may or may not happen. I forgave my Dad, even before he died for the unfair conditions I had to endure while he suffered alcoholism and depression. I became his parent while in my late teens when I should have been immersed in college life. Though I was away at school, I would return to his condo on weekends to clean up his living areas, shop for his groceries, and be his companion. I did not know what else to do. For me, this was normal. And while it made me terribly irritable at the time, I always went back. The love and patience that continued to motivate me to return to him filled my heart every time I saw his smile and received one of his long hugs. There is comfort, joy, and hope in forgiveness.

I'm motivated now to go dig out the hand-made turkey decorations and prepare for the feast with family at the end of the month. Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

The Way We Hold Each Other

It is true that in life we never really know each other. We do our best to provide a profile of ourselves to one another, but it is not a complete or accurate portrayal. It's tainted by what we wear, what we said at a party, or what we spend money on. The gaps are filled in by each person based on their experience with you. In short: Your image isn't you.

I am lucky enough to have a few close friends who have deeper exposure to my true self because of what we have endured together. I also grew up with loving parents who encouraged me to be strong and defend my own principals. Despite these positives, I still hold my deepest, most difficult struggles to myself in the hopes I can see myself through. So while others continue to expect my "image" to perform the way it has in the past, my inner self is screaming to turn course because of turmoil.

In the photo here, it is 1968 and I my mother is holding me tight. Clearly I am forcing a smile, with some hesitation. Maybe it's the sun. Maybe it's that I don't really know what "Say Cheese!" means. But either way, I'm comfortable for the moment in her arms. I was her first daughter after having two boys 18 months apart. She's clearly proud of her accomplishment, beehive hairdo and all. Her smile is genuine, though I can tell now when I look at her eyes, it may not have always been her natural state.

Mom adored her four children, dedicated her life to our happiness. And when my youngest sister died of a brain aneurysm at 6 years old there was nothing we could do to comfort her but be there. Mom got busy, though, doing everything in her power to try to make the pain go away for us, and for herself. She drove us to every music lesson and sport practice, attended every game, fed our friends, and told us there was nothing we could not do. She fought off her own sadness with wine, valium, and hours of piano playing that included loud, banging chords, endless runs up and down the keys, and sad, minor notes. We all went to college, earned our degrees and embarked on our own life adventures while she divorced our Dad and continued her methods of maintenance despite her depression. Rarely, did she ever talk about losing her daughter except once in a while in Oct. when it was the anniversary of my sister's death. And when we moved across the country, Mom followed and continued her role as caretaker by helping our busy family with child care, exposing the kids to culture and taking them special places. Somehow she managed to carry on.

So I learned from her and became a nurturer at heart. I have, over the course of 20 years of raising three kids put many of my own needs aside. I am hopelessly dedicated to what I consider to be most important--our family. This includes not just my kids and husband, but Mom who now lives nearby and was diagnosed 25 years ago with an illness that no one would know she has by her appearance. At 78 she has survived breast cancer and is physically in fantastic shape and looks it too. However, for the span of her lifetime and mine, she has suffered with manic depression/bipolar mental illness.

Caring for her during her different phases of depression and manic behavior has been exhausting and encompasses much of my time. I could write a novel based on some of the bizarre behavior I have witnessed and difficult situations I have been in because of this unspoken illness though I have told only few of what I've endured. Today, I loosely monitor obvious basics like Mom's trips to doctors and her medication, but the core of what constitutes most of my time is keeping her emotions in check as she progresses through her life and fights off depression and loneliness.

I 've recently decided to pursue more consistent employment in my career. I need to channel my intelligence toward something that gives me a sense of accomplishment with less emotional involvement. And though I have written and edited on brief projects over the course of raising kids, I realize that my resume experience consists now of life skills that may not transfer easily to employment in the business world. Here is a list in order to clarify my recent experience: Get Mom out of bed. Make sure she eats and showers when she is severely depressed. Take her to the grocery store. Tell her to stop medicating with alcohol and refuse to let her behind the wheel. Call to settle payment disputes when she cannot face a bill discrepancy. Keep her spirits up and remind her of her blessings.

Our roles have switched since that wonderful photo from the sixties. So while others may view my profile as an energetic and positive wife, coach, and mother who is available to everyone always, in reality I'm emotionally spent and physically busy. Today, my career is caring for an ill and aging parent and struggling to keep myself positive in the process while raising my own family.  That's what I've earned my Ph.D in and it's been a challenging but fulfilling education. Now I too will carry on.