Somebody pinch me!

It's amazing how quickly the days are passing, but this most recent Thursday marked another six weeks since the last visit with the Orthopedic Trauma teams who worked on my feet. Anticipating this visit I've been cautious and careful about transfers to and from the wheelchair--- trying especially hard not to load bear on my feet and cause swelling--- and I've taken extra precautions while under way in the wheelchair to ensure I don't run into things--- my feet always protruding in front as tender, ineffectual, and unintending battering rams!

I go to these appointments with a certain amount of trepidation, not knowing whether I've unintentionally done something to my feet, hands or back that has compromised progress or even permanently limited the potential for full recovery.  Have I been using them too much while bending, twisting, and lifting in all the little ways you really can't avoid when making your way in the world in a powered wheelchair? It's a compromise after all between forgoing daily explorations in the world to ensure the maximum potential for recovery and throwing caution to the wind while just getting on with life.  Hopefully the path I've chosen is well-balanced between mindfulness not to push the boundaries too far while getting out there and contributing.

So with fingers and toes crossed for good luck I made my way once again to Harborview in the unusually wet and blustery Seattle fall weather---lifting my feet high while fording street-side rain gutters, the wheels of my chair making wakes as they rolled through the puddles standing in the sidewalk dips & valleys, the poncho that covers me and most of the chair drenched and dripping whenever I come in from the elements.

The doctors wanted an extensive set of films, so the x-ray techs had me transfer from the chair to the exam table and we went through the motions of me striking multiple poses with both feet.  Pleased with their results they sent me away to an exam room to await the doctors' verdict on the healing process and next steps.  Once the doctors arrived we started slow, looking through the prior series of films and then looking at those taken just now, pointing out where various bone shards ended up after the fall, where they were resettled after surgery, and the extent to which they had regrown.  (As an aside, it amazes me that bones actually know which way to grow and they don't just end up growing in a puddle down there.)

The doctors recited what they had told me after the surgeries and upon each of the prior visits: this was the most trauma they had attempted to repair for over a decade (and these are trauma center docs!), the uncertainty of the outcome, the likelihood of early-onset arthritis, the necessity to be extremely careful as convalescence progressed, the possibility of additional surgeries. . . Yada yada yada.  Then they started talking about needing to wear the removable protective boots---that have been a constant part of my life since removing the casts a month after surgery--- only when I practice load bearing on my feet.  What?!  Huh?!! No more boots? Load bearing??

They described how I should begin limited load bearing by transferring to a non-powered wheelchair at work so that I can push myself around the office with my feet. They wrote prescriptions for the new wheelchair and a walker and for the physical therapists to begin working with me on a program of gradually increasing load bearing over the course of the next six to eight weeks with the intent of achieving 100% lead bearing within that time frame. Was I dreaming? Somebody pinch me!

I asked them to repeat themselves. It was like I was in an alternate reality. I wasn't expecting to be able to begin load bearing for another two months and now they were telling me that I could get going anytime.  I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could before they changed their minds or discovered that they had made a mistake. Everyone was smiling, the doctors, the nurses, Marijane and me. It was apparent the hospital staff were proud of what they had achieved and it felt a little like some sort of graduation ceremony.  Pretty heady stuff. I was going to walk again and two months sooner than I thought.

It occurred to me to ask why they hadn't given an inkling of this possibility at our last visit but then it became clear that there's really no saying what would (and will) happen from visit to visit and they didn't want to raise any false expectations along the way.  With all this very excellent news the doctors did also manage to slip in the possibility that at some point they might (probably would) need to go in and remove one of the large threaded screws (especially after it shears from repeated cross-load pressure with each step) and/or add another plate to stabilize (fuse) my left ankle.  Details, details, . . . In a matter of several  short weeks I am going to be a walking man!

Outside the hospital, under the cover of a large glass awning, Marijane and I hugged for a long time and we thanked each other for having worked so hard to get to this point.  She waited with me at the bus stop, we waved farewell multiple times as the bus pulled away, and I thanked my lucky stars (and all eminences of good will) for our love & friendship, for this life, and for this day.  Once at Magnuson Park I blew through the leaves billowing from the trees and raced them scutting along the ground as I wheeled my way back to work at the Mountaineers, . . . .