I’m writing out of anger and maybe a little bit of sadness. As 2017 is coming to an end, I’m remembering how excited I was at the end of 2016 to have a great new year. For the most part, 2017 has been amazing and has treated me quite well – until it didn’t. The past two-ish months have been an extremely chaotic shit show. I’m willing to give you the low down. Brace yourselves; this is going to be a long one.
As October came to an end and November started, I felt fine. School was kicking my ass, but I’m a good student and I continued to carry on. I was proud of how I had been able to handle all of my stress with my crazy housemates, fat work load and financial issues in a way most people probably wouldn’t be able to. Imagine how fucked up I felt when I started hearing from one of my very best friends that people were expressing concerns about my well being. I have worked for THIRTEEN YEARS to get to where I am today and it felt like all of the hard work that has almost killed me at times was just ripped away from me. Stolen. Two of the girls expressing their concerns had no right to do so because they barely know me. They wanted to call my mom to tell her I needed help…they don’t even know my mom. When I heard this, I told my best friend that if they had done this, my mother would have just laughed and said something along the lines of, “Okay girls, thanks for the call.” I called my mom to tell her this and guess what? She laughed. I think what pissed me off the most about this situation was the fact that these girls are not even my friends and felt the need to go tell someone else about it. If they knew about my past, I would understand. But they know nothing. What hurt the most was I was in the best place I had been to date, and it wasn’t good enough for them, which means it might not have been good enough for anyone.
I told myself not to overthink this situation, but with my amazing mind (sense any sarcasm?), I couldn’t let it go. I was damaged. I felt like I needed to be a better everything but I had nothing to use to do this because I had already used up everything I had to get to my perceived great mental state. What made everything worse was the fact that my best friend who I live with was concerned I wasn’t okay because these other girls were concerned, which burdened me with the task to check on her all the time. She loves me so much that when she worries about me, she worries too much and it effects her mental state negatively. This is turn effects mine negatively as well. I hated that she expressed all of her worries about me to her mom. My best friend in high school also did this, but her mom is the woman who has bullied me since the minute she met me in kindergarten. I believe that I first felt suicidal because of the way this mom treated me for all of elementary, middle and high school. (Fortunately, I did leave this mother’s daughter behind half way through high school. I spent eleven years waiting for her to stand up to her mom for me, and she never did.) My current best friend telling her mom everything about me reminds me of the one person I hate in this world, and all it leaves me with is a brick constantly spinning in my gut.
I think I was able to reassure people I was okay. Unfortunately, this only lightened my stress load for a bit because during this whole disaster, I couldn’t concentrate on school and kept asking for extensions on assignments. I am now facing these assignments over winter break. Who in the hell would want to continue school for an extra four weeks? Thank you to everyone who stressed me the fuck out and made me feel anxious and depressed because you thought I was anxious and depressed when I wasn’t. You suck.
Thanksgiving arrived, and I saw how sick my aunt had become. She was diagnosed with cancer five years ago and fought so, so well to get better. She was not supposed to make it but she pulled through like an absolute champion. The week before the holiday, she was fine. Then her disease hit her out of nowhere like a truck. On December 1st, my aunt lost her battle with cancer. I am still struggling to accept that five of my cousins have lost such a beautiful mom.
One day later, on the night of December 2nd, I broke my ankle in four places. Long story short: I was walking home with my best friend, wanted to ding dong ditch our friend’s house, ran down the front porch stairs, and fell off the last step into a small pothole in the grass. I think it was probably about time something seriously bad happened to my ankle. After hurting it so many times tap dancing for ten years, it was tired of all of the strain. [This is the morning after the break]
I went to the hospital the next morning, was put in a splint, and was sent on my way. Thankfully, I only had one more week of school. I finished the week out thanks to Sierra giving me rides to and from campus. On Thursday, I came home. On Friday, I went to the doctor’s and was told I needed to have surgery. Okay fine. Then I was told I was not allowed to go to Cabo in a week. Not fine. I cried and was a little bitchy but left accepting the fact there was no way I would be able to fly and spend a week on the beach six days post op.
That Friday afternoon, my family and I left town to go to my Aunt’s funeral and to spend the weekend with my family. It was emotional, sad, happy, overwhelming and fun all at the same time. I am just so glad I was able to be there with all of my cousins, aunts and uncles.
Monday the 11th was surgery day. I went in with my mom and brother at 10:30 am to be ready for operation at 11:30. 11:30 am became 6:30 pm. My surgeon was stuck in another surgery where he said things went from bad, to worse, to disastrous. Thankfully, his patient survived the operation. I am proud of how calm I was during my long wait, but my mom claims the nurses gave me something for my anxiety. I don’t remember being wheeled out of my room and into the operating room but my mom did take a video of me forcefully pushing the door all the way open for my doctor and then waving goodbye with my eyes half open. Surgery was a successful hour and a half long procedure. I was woken up thirty minutes early though because I wasn’t breathing very well. Story of my life. Because I was awake before planned, I was conscious while a doctor was putting a nerve block in my leg. I’m so glad I don’t remember this however. A nerve block is a catheter which drains medicine into my body in order to numb my nerves in the desired area. I think this bad ass mechanism only worked for a day. Post op days three, four and five were excruciating. Yesterday I found out that my splint was digging into one of my incision sites. For the past week it has hurt like a bitch and so the nurses took my splint off and put me in a boot ten days early. Bless their souls. I still can’t walk until the 29th, but as long as my pain isn’t unbearable, I’m cool with it.
Overall, I would highly advise against breaking your ankle and getting surgery because it debilitates you in so many ways and leaves you feeling depressed and bored out of your mind. I am actually tired of laying down, sleeping and watching TV and movies. I can’t drive (which might be good because I therefore cannot go out and make more stupid decisions), but I hate having to rely on other people to help me get places…not that there are many places I want to go to when I can’t walk. I weened myself off of the prescribed hydrocodone I have been taking the past three weeks and finally got over the withdrawal symptoms. This whole experience has really humbled me. I never really stopped to think about how hard life must be for those who can’t use certain parts of their body. I am just thankful I will get to walk again, unlike so many others who will never have the ability to walk again.
Below are some pictures of my ankle surgery and recovery process.