Be Your Own Badass Hero

Being stuck in bed recuperating can be depressing for any Wild Rider. Foggy-headed and cooped up for days after my partial knee replacement gave me too much time to think and by that I mean feel sorry for myself. Multiply that with weaning off the Oxycodone and I had a pretty big crash.

I regretted the timing of my surgery even though the x-ray showed I walked on borrowed time. The desire to get it over with and impulsivity was a perfect combo for, “I’ll take your next available appointment!” Two weeks wasn’t long enough to prepare myself mentally. I was also dealing with the guilt of sleeping so much and not writing.

Being in great shape, I expected to exceed my doctor’s and home care physical therapist’s expectations. I’m competitive and goal-oriented. Instead, a week after surgery, I suffered a setback. My leg ballooned up with blood. I had to reduce the swelling before I could make any real improvements with mobility. (You should see my bruise. It’s amazing. It runs from my hip to the bottom of my calf. Yes. I took pictures.)

When my PT stopped by that Wednesday and told me I wouldn’t be off the walker by Friday since I seemed unstable and added I wasn’t ready to use the exercise bike, it broke me. The funk sunk in and continued to make itself comfortable the next morning.

At 10:00 AM I needed something to eat with the Ibuprofen. I pushed my walker to the top of the stairs and then gingerly lowered my foot one step at a time. I shuffled behind my other walker to the kitchen and turned on the TV. I became transfixed by an advertisement for The Hunger Games even though I’ve seen the movie and read the book. I thought, Katniss Everdeen was the ultimate badass.

AND THEN IT HIT ME WITH A JOLT. “I don’t need a hero,” I said out loud, “I am my own hero. I need to fight for myself!”

Filled with hope, the corners of my mouth formed a smile. The funk lifted. Hope forced funk out of my gloomy recesses and obliterated it.

I ate my toast, took my pills, exercised at the counter, and then pushed my walker to the stairs. This time, instead of starting with my good leg and pulling my bad one up to the same step, I lifted my bad knee and walked up those freakin’ stairs like a normal person. Well, a normal person who grunts while grasping the banister.

When the PT came a few hours later, she saw a huge improvement. I graduated from the walker to a cane. YES! Then she instructed me on how to use my exercise bike.

Now all I need is a top hat.

GAME ON!

Can you pull yourself out of a funk?