I started my fundraiser for my wheelchair racer (http://www.giveforward.com/teamkerry) and have learned some things in the process.... It's humbling to ask for money/help for yourself.
Eight years ago, when I signed up for Train To End Stroke with the American Stroke Association, the fundraising part was much scarier than the running/walking part for me. It's something that I look back on now as a major part of my transforming into the person I am now because I was a first-hand witness at what one person can inspire in others around them.. even those you had never met before.
Now I'm fundraising specifically for me.. albeit while simultaneously fundraising/coaching for Start Training with the Heart & Stroke Association.... and being a committee member/team captain for Relay For Life. I'm not saying any of that to boast, I'm saying that because last night I finally realized why I've been a victim of insomnia all week. I'm feeling pulled in too many directions, and I feel like I'm not up to par on any of them. At the beginning of the year, I decided that Start Training had most of my volunteering attention until their event in May, and would still take a small committee role for Relay, but the team captain part wouldn't get my full attention until May for the event in August. That was working really well... until I was going to Relay meetings once a month and seeing how much more we're doing this year, marking Start courses on Friday afternoons, going to Saturday trainings when I can, reading too many emails, learning about a second season for Start (who's event will be the week before Relay), life getting in the way.. and, of course, trying to raise some money to get myself a racer so I can still do what I'm encouraging so many others to do.
The bigger problem is I feel guilty for my own fundraiser when there are these other commitments I have. Whenever I post about my racer on Facebook, I force myself to wait before I post about the others because my initial reaction is to post all at once so that I feel that I've done something.
The lesson here is I can be passionate about all these things I do, but I don't have to put so much of myself into all of them, all at once. That I need to ask for help more and not be afraid of feeling weak for doing so. Most of all, I found that I'm still learning to accept the kindness of others as just that. Simple kindness.. people helping me just to help me.
No strings attached.
A random group of people circling around ready to help me, to provide support, to remind me I'm not alone. I'll never be able to come up with words for what I feel right now, so simply, Thank You.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
My Story
Four months into this and I just realized many of you don't know my whole story... pieces of it maybe, but not all of it. I'm sorry, it's pretty long, so here we go.....
I will start by saying that I have been told many times over the years that I should write a book. While that never happened, I did come up with a title for the non-existant book; Medical Misconceptions and Why I Hate Doctors. That should give you a bit of an idea on how well the last 18 years have gone. And I do want to say that I have met some really great doctors over the years.. it's the ones that were not great that throw the profession off.
October 1994: I was 13 years old, had just started high school (for those of you doing the math, at the time, high school in my area started at 8th grade), and was indestructible! A little over the top, but, come on, what new teenager doesn't feel that way? Anyway.... one fateful weekend I was shopping with my mom. All day. Again, dramatic, but I will refer to my last question again. I had been sent out to the car on whatever errand (probably just to get me away for a few minutes) and on the way back when I stepped up on the curb, there was a sharp pain in the side of my knee. The pain was there for each step, not a horrible pain, just quick and sharp. Not worried, my mom said it was probably just from being on the go all day, but said if it kept up she would take me to the doctor. Obviously, it did.
We were fairly new patients for this doctor. I had only seen him once, which had been near the end of the last school year. He was an interesting guy (still is) and I was curious as to what he would say this time... to this day, my appointments consist of him listening to my music to learn what's "hip", asking me about non-existant relatives and telling me about them, and/or quizzing me on extremely remote or unheard of places in the world. There's always some diagnosing and question answering in there too.
First Diagnosis: Can't remember the term, but something like tennis elbow only in my knee.
First Prescription: Whatever anti-inflammatory and a knee brace.. and come back in 6 weeks
Six weeks later, I was sitting in the office again telling him the brace helped, but even though I was getting better at not forgetting the anti-inflammatory, the pain was getting worse. He sent me in for my first x-ray, gave me a stronger prescription, and come back in 4-6 weeks.... We did this back and forth until the end of the school year, my knee was just on this downward slide that I couldn't stop and the x-rays showed nothing, so he sent me in for my first MRI and to my first orthopedic doctor.
This orthopedic doctor probably gets my award for worst doctor ever. In my darkest moments, where I had to decide on where to place blame for my knee getting so bad, he gets the biggest percentage. I was 14 when I first saw him. Before he entered the room he seemed to have made his decision about me; I was young, it was growing pains. He never spoke directly to me, always asking my mom the questions, and eventually sent me to physical therapy just to get me out of his office for a few months. The physical therapy made me stronger, but otherwise didn't help. At my check-up after the physical therapy, he told my mom he didn't want to see me again unless my knee swelled, which had never been a problem. My mom stormed out of the office, made an appointment with our family doctor, then made a point to tell him to never send anyone to that doctor ever again. At my innocent shrug, he very calmly agreed with her and gave us another name.
This is where things get interesting... I was almost 16 at this point and I have always been a silent observer. Sitting in this new office was very different than sitting in the other one, if only for the staff alone. They were happy. They talked to me. It made the waiting room a much less desolate place. I was used to being a lot younger than most of the other patients, and basically being ignored. Here, I was a curiosity for two reasons; for being so young and for smiling at each person that looked my way. Spending the last three years in offices like this had taught me that I had a choice to have a good day or a bad day.. that I could be like those people that thought it was a hassle to be there or I could just enjoy the day no matter what. An older woman left me with some great words one day, "there is always joy to be found, sometimes you just have to look a little harder."
My first meeting with my 2nd orthopedic doctor (I'll call him Dr. P since he's going to come up quite a bit) went something like this; "Hi, I'm Dr. P, you must be Kerry (shakes my hand) and your mom (shakes her hand). I know what's wrong with your knee (puts my latest MRI up on the light board)...." You know in the movies when some pivotal thing happens and they use the screeching sound effect and everything on-screen freezes? Yeah, that happened.
Official Diagnosis: Plica Syndrome. For those playing the home game, plica is something we all have and is generally harmless, but in some cases (mine) it can become inflamed and wreak varying kinds of havoc.
Solutions: Cortisone shot or surgery
I chose the shot first, it was given right there and I was to come back in 6 weeks. My mom was out of town when the check up came, so my dad had to take me... my dad doesn't like doctors or any building they may work out of. Keep that in mind. I went in and told the doctor the shot lasted about 2 weeks and started to wear off. That made surgery my only option because you're only supposed to get up to 4 shots a year. Dr. P's assistant went out to the waiting room to talk to dad, who said we would have to wait for mom to get back to discuss the surgery, but gave permission for another shot for now. She came back and asked if I wanted him there for the shot, and I said only if he wanted to... she came back a few minutes later and said he'd only come in if I wanted him to. I told her to leave him then because I was surprised he even came in the building, so I wasn't going to make him watch me get shot with a giant needle. Dr. P gave me the shot then left me with his assistant to get a bandaid and on my way out he handed me two Tootsie Roll Pops... one for my dad for being so brave.
Mom came home and within a day I was scheduled to have my first surgery the Friday before Thanksgiving 1997. The surgery itself was uneventful; we went in extremely early and I was introduced to my personal nurse, who gave me a teddy bear with scrubs and a hospital bracelet that said "Kerry's Friend" (Dr. P later had to negotiate with me to give up the bear during the surgery). In the surgery, he took out the plica and shaved down the cartilage that had been damaged over the years, some of it down to bone... the report said the plica was the thickest he'd ever seen, especially in someone so young. The rest of the day consisted of getting myself discharged, getting back to the house, mom entertaining me with movies, and a visit from a friend after school along with a card for me, signed by everyone in choir. The weekend was me doing homework, finishing a double issue puzzle magazine, and mom trying to keep me entertained with movies. By Monday morning at my follow-up appointment, when Dr. P explained everything I was supposed to do, what would happen, and asked if I had any questions, I immediately asked if I could go to school.
When I was feeling somewhat normal and getting released from care, he told me I had to remember that my knee will never be 100% because of the damage it took over the years.. then said he hoped he never saw me again.
Four years later, his hope was dashed. I went back in with knee pain. It wasn't bad, but with my past it was enough of a concern. After a few appointments, he said there was something wrong, but nothing showed on my new MRI and it wasn't bad enough to go in for a diagnostic surgery, so just come back if it gets worse. I just knew something was wrong, so I spent the next year and a half getting a 2nd and 3rd opinion, who both saw nothing and didn't even want to give the time of day. By then, it had gotten much worse, so I went back to Dr. P.... I was soon scheduled for diagnostic surgery December 2003, during which he found torn cartilage and shaved my patella a bit to make it track right. He promised me a knee replacement in my future (hopefully not until I'm 50), that I had to think of it as having limited miles on my knee.
Almost exactly a year later, I signed up with the American Stroke Association to train for my first full marathon (what better way to use those miles..?). Between the doctor, the coach, and my knee, I relented to training for my first half marathon, which I completed June 2005. I went on to do two more in January and October 2006. I was benched with knee pain in 2007 and was sent to physical therapy with the diagnosis of scar tissue, which my therapist was all too happy to take care of. I have three small scars (he used the old scars to guide him on the 2nd surgery, so no extras) and the massages went from not much problem to cringe worthy to holding me down. I think that last one was her favorite. After my release, Dr. P said I shouldn't be able to keep walking the half marathons. So I started running a bit, and played around with going barefoot.
In 2008-9, I started doing more 5Ks and 10Ks with 3 halfs thrown in up to March 2010, when I did my first mud run... turns out I sprained my foot during the mud run and ended up in a boot for most of the year. I did more volunteering during that time and ached to get active again. Little did I know at the time, I had made a friend that would be all too happy to encourage that. Entirely out of the boot by November and into minimal footwear, I did my next half in February 2011.. it wan't great, but I finished. My new friend convinced me to go back to the Disneyland Half in September, then DisneyWorld January 2012. I completed half #10 in February 2012. I was becoming a stronger runner. In Disneyland I had shattered my previous personal record by 21 minutes, took that down a bit further in Disneyworld, and stayed there in February. In July, I finally made my goal of doing a marathon and turned it into an ultra, but by August I had been having problems with my ankle. I was in and out of the boot as needed and still did my next half in September, a 10 miler at the end of the month, and half #12 a week later (I'm still convinced the aforementioned friend tricked me into these back-to-back events ;) ). Half marathon #12 seems to have been my undoing. Around mile 9, my hip went out and a mile later it was hovering around being useless, but I made it into the finish... and ended up in the medical tent with a large volunteer medic quizzing me and ice covering my hip, knee, and ankle.
Now we have a month and a half of visiting Dr. P again, getting a couple MRIs, and eventually being told the best thing I can do is stop running. And my knee replacement age has been brought down to a hopeful 40.
New Diagnosis: Almost completely bone-on-bone on the bad knee and not to far behind on the good one. My patella tracks horribly, which is causing muscle spasms in my hip. My ankle/foot is just getting beat up being at the bottom of all this.
And a month later, I started this blog.....
I will start by saying that I have been told many times over the years that I should write a book. While that never happened, I did come up with a title for the non-existant book; Medical Misconceptions and Why I Hate Doctors. That should give you a bit of an idea on how well the last 18 years have gone. And I do want to say that I have met some really great doctors over the years.. it's the ones that were not great that throw the profession off.
October 1994: I was 13 years old, had just started high school (for those of you doing the math, at the time, high school in my area started at 8th grade), and was indestructible! A little over the top, but, come on, what new teenager doesn't feel that way? Anyway.... one fateful weekend I was shopping with my mom. All day. Again, dramatic, but I will refer to my last question again. I had been sent out to the car on whatever errand (probably just to get me away for a few minutes) and on the way back when I stepped up on the curb, there was a sharp pain in the side of my knee. The pain was there for each step, not a horrible pain, just quick and sharp. Not worried, my mom said it was probably just from being on the go all day, but said if it kept up she would take me to the doctor. Obviously, it did.
We were fairly new patients for this doctor. I had only seen him once, which had been near the end of the last school year. He was an interesting guy (still is) and I was curious as to what he would say this time... to this day, my appointments consist of him listening to my music to learn what's "hip", asking me about non-existant relatives and telling me about them, and/or quizzing me on extremely remote or unheard of places in the world. There's always some diagnosing and question answering in there too.
First Diagnosis: Can't remember the term, but something like tennis elbow only in my knee.
First Prescription: Whatever anti-inflammatory and a knee brace.. and come back in 6 weeks
Six weeks later, I was sitting in the office again telling him the brace helped, but even though I was getting better at not forgetting the anti-inflammatory, the pain was getting worse. He sent me in for my first x-ray, gave me a stronger prescription, and come back in 4-6 weeks.... We did this back and forth until the end of the school year, my knee was just on this downward slide that I couldn't stop and the x-rays showed nothing, so he sent me in for my first MRI and to my first orthopedic doctor.
This orthopedic doctor probably gets my award for worst doctor ever. In my darkest moments, where I had to decide on where to place blame for my knee getting so bad, he gets the biggest percentage. I was 14 when I first saw him. Before he entered the room he seemed to have made his decision about me; I was young, it was growing pains. He never spoke directly to me, always asking my mom the questions, and eventually sent me to physical therapy just to get me out of his office for a few months. The physical therapy made me stronger, but otherwise didn't help. At my check-up after the physical therapy, he told my mom he didn't want to see me again unless my knee swelled, which had never been a problem. My mom stormed out of the office, made an appointment with our family doctor, then made a point to tell him to never send anyone to that doctor ever again. At my innocent shrug, he very calmly agreed with her and gave us another name.
This is where things get interesting... I was almost 16 at this point and I have always been a silent observer. Sitting in this new office was very different than sitting in the other one, if only for the staff alone. They were happy. They talked to me. It made the waiting room a much less desolate place. I was used to being a lot younger than most of the other patients, and basically being ignored. Here, I was a curiosity for two reasons; for being so young and for smiling at each person that looked my way. Spending the last three years in offices like this had taught me that I had a choice to have a good day or a bad day.. that I could be like those people that thought it was a hassle to be there or I could just enjoy the day no matter what. An older woman left me with some great words one day, "there is always joy to be found, sometimes you just have to look a little harder."
My first meeting with my 2nd orthopedic doctor (I'll call him Dr. P since he's going to come up quite a bit) went something like this; "Hi, I'm Dr. P, you must be Kerry (shakes my hand) and your mom (shakes her hand). I know what's wrong with your knee (puts my latest MRI up on the light board)...." You know in the movies when some pivotal thing happens and they use the screeching sound effect and everything on-screen freezes? Yeah, that happened.
Official Diagnosis: Plica Syndrome. For those playing the home game, plica is something we all have and is generally harmless, but in some cases (mine) it can become inflamed and wreak varying kinds of havoc.
Solutions: Cortisone shot or surgery
I chose the shot first, it was given right there and I was to come back in 6 weeks. My mom was out of town when the check up came, so my dad had to take me... my dad doesn't like doctors or any building they may work out of. Keep that in mind. I went in and told the doctor the shot lasted about 2 weeks and started to wear off. That made surgery my only option because you're only supposed to get up to 4 shots a year. Dr. P's assistant went out to the waiting room to talk to dad, who said we would have to wait for mom to get back to discuss the surgery, but gave permission for another shot for now. She came back and asked if I wanted him there for the shot, and I said only if he wanted to... she came back a few minutes later and said he'd only come in if I wanted him to. I told her to leave him then because I was surprised he even came in the building, so I wasn't going to make him watch me get shot with a giant needle. Dr. P gave me the shot then left me with his assistant to get a bandaid and on my way out he handed me two Tootsie Roll Pops... one for my dad for being so brave.
Mom came home and within a day I was scheduled to have my first surgery the Friday before Thanksgiving 1997. The surgery itself was uneventful; we went in extremely early and I was introduced to my personal nurse, who gave me a teddy bear with scrubs and a hospital bracelet that said "Kerry's Friend" (Dr. P later had to negotiate with me to give up the bear during the surgery). In the surgery, he took out the plica and shaved down the cartilage that had been damaged over the years, some of it down to bone... the report said the plica was the thickest he'd ever seen, especially in someone so young. The rest of the day consisted of getting myself discharged, getting back to the house, mom entertaining me with movies, and a visit from a friend after school along with a card for me, signed by everyone in choir. The weekend was me doing homework, finishing a double issue puzzle magazine, and mom trying to keep me entertained with movies. By Monday morning at my follow-up appointment, when Dr. P explained everything I was supposed to do, what would happen, and asked if I had any questions, I immediately asked if I could go to school.
When I was feeling somewhat normal and getting released from care, he told me I had to remember that my knee will never be 100% because of the damage it took over the years.. then said he hoped he never saw me again.
Four years later, his hope was dashed. I went back in with knee pain. It wasn't bad, but with my past it was enough of a concern. After a few appointments, he said there was something wrong, but nothing showed on my new MRI and it wasn't bad enough to go in for a diagnostic surgery, so just come back if it gets worse. I just knew something was wrong, so I spent the next year and a half getting a 2nd and 3rd opinion, who both saw nothing and didn't even want to give the time of day. By then, it had gotten much worse, so I went back to Dr. P.... I was soon scheduled for diagnostic surgery December 2003, during which he found torn cartilage and shaved my patella a bit to make it track right. He promised me a knee replacement in my future (hopefully not until I'm 50), that I had to think of it as having limited miles on my knee.
Almost exactly a year later, I signed up with the American Stroke Association to train for my first full marathon (what better way to use those miles..?). Between the doctor, the coach, and my knee, I relented to training for my first half marathon, which I completed June 2005. I went on to do two more in January and October 2006. I was benched with knee pain in 2007 and was sent to physical therapy with the diagnosis of scar tissue, which my therapist was all too happy to take care of. I have three small scars (he used the old scars to guide him on the 2nd surgery, so no extras) and the massages went from not much problem to cringe worthy to holding me down. I think that last one was her favorite. After my release, Dr. P said I shouldn't be able to keep walking the half marathons. So I started running a bit, and played around with going barefoot.
In 2008-9, I started doing more 5Ks and 10Ks with 3 halfs thrown in up to March 2010, when I did my first mud run... turns out I sprained my foot during the mud run and ended up in a boot for most of the year. I did more volunteering during that time and ached to get active again. Little did I know at the time, I had made a friend that would be all too happy to encourage that. Entirely out of the boot by November and into minimal footwear, I did my next half in February 2011.. it wan't great, but I finished. My new friend convinced me to go back to the Disneyland Half in September, then DisneyWorld January 2012. I completed half #10 in February 2012. I was becoming a stronger runner. In Disneyland I had shattered my previous personal record by 21 minutes, took that down a bit further in Disneyworld, and stayed there in February. In July, I finally made my goal of doing a marathon and turned it into an ultra, but by August I had been having problems with my ankle. I was in and out of the boot as needed and still did my next half in September, a 10 miler at the end of the month, and half #12 a week later (I'm still convinced the aforementioned friend tricked me into these back-to-back events ;) ). Half marathon #12 seems to have been my undoing. Around mile 9, my hip went out and a mile later it was hovering around being useless, but I made it into the finish... and ended up in the medical tent with a large volunteer medic quizzing me and ice covering my hip, knee, and ankle.
Now we have a month and a half of visiting Dr. P again, getting a couple MRIs, and eventually being told the best thing I can do is stop running. And my knee replacement age has been brought down to a hopeful 40.
New Diagnosis: Almost completely bone-on-bone on the bad knee and not to far behind on the good one. My patella tracks horribly, which is causing muscle spasms in my hip. My ankle/foot is just getting beat up being at the bottom of all this.
And a month later, I started this blog.....
Monday, March 4, 2013
Saber
Last week, I lucked into finding a store in Fremont that could help fit me for a wheelchair.... and they just happened to have the one I wanted.. and it was a perfect fit for me...... aaaaaand they ended up offering it to me at quite a discount.
So I picked it up Thursday after work and I now own my very own wheelchair! No more renting or borrowing! Well, I still have to borrow a racer for now, but that's less frequent. Aaaaaaaaand the guy that helped me at the store is going to try to get a racer in the store for me!
So I picked it up Thursday after work and I now own my very own wheelchair! No more renting or borrowing! Well, I still have to borrow a racer for now, but that's less frequent. Aaaaaaaaand the guy that helped me at the store is going to try to get a racer in the store for me!
A quick picture I took Thursday while switching rides... Raptor (my bike) meeting Saber (my wheelchair), probably sniffing each other out. I hope they end up playing nice
On Sunday, we went out for a maiden voyage at Lake Elizabeth. I ended up fighting the trail too much because most of it has a slight lean towards the lake. I turned around after a little over half a mile and tried going the other way, but that way was just as bad. So, of course, I turned into one of the fields and bumped over the grass and dirt, tried out the different terrains I could find in the stretch near the parking lot.... I figured if I was going to be fighting the trail it might as well be fun. Since I've never been one to give in to not being able to do distance (and I had time to kill while a rabbit was running 12 miles anyway..), I switched to testing out inclines.
It looks flat, but I promise there was an incline on this!
A humble beginning, but a beginning none-the-less
I ended the day with almost 3 miles of wandering, sitting on top of this small hill just taking in the park. It wasn't far off from the nearest path, but it seemed like a world away. No one noticed me (unless they braved the "climb" and happened upon me), so I got to just sit in the sun and people/nature watch while said rabbit finished up one more lap.
It was nice to get out and really feel like I'm training again. I've missed that feeling....
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