Reliving the Wake: The Story of My Surfing Scare

Since I've been in Balian, I've been having strange dreams. For the past few nights, I find myself dreaming about terrorist attacks of all things... all attacks being directed at me. They start with tranquility, then I hear gun shots as people are being killed in other rooms... then I hear them coming... to hunt me down. I run, I plead... and each time, I manage to escape. But, nonetheless, I awake in the morning feeling less than rested. They say Balian is a spiritual place, perhaps this helps to explain it.

In tandem with these dreams, I've been experiencing pretty intense anxiety associated with learning to surf. Odd, considering it was one of the main reasons I wanted to go on this adventure. I've been excited about it for so long too. But for some reason, something in me has made me feel really cautious this time around. Perhaps it's related to my past attempts at surfing… being bashed around in the waves and by the board, no instruction, a lot of pain, too much salt water, and a big scar down my leg which I think has only vanished a couple months ago. To this point I have been quite unsuccessful, yet I've always felt a draw to the ocean, to the past time... to the culture... and thus have kept trying. This time, however, has also brought its scars.

My first day of surfing was great. A short intro to the technique, some time in the white wash. I felt slightly calmer by the end of the day. The second day, I calmed down a bit more as we got a bit more aggressive in the white wash. But I had to stop abruptly after a substantial cut on the front of my shin. I ended up talking with my instructor for a while about the anxiety I'd been feeling.. about drowning.. rip tides, etc. I woke up the next morning, that was the day we were going to go past the break, and felt incredibly nervous... like unusually so. And oddly enough, almost like a premonition, I did, in fact, almost drown that day. 

We went out mid morning after a delicious breakfast of fruit with oatmeal, a shake... a coffee. We arrived at the beach, boards in hand, did a few stretches and approached the sea. Standing before a wall of waves well above the head of my two surf mates crashing against the shore, I watched them enter the ocean with confidence and jump on their boards to start paddling through. Fear tapping me on both shoulders calling me to hold back, I shrugged it away and with determination entered the water and started paddling as well. I made it out no worries and found myself floating among the waves with the community of other surfers in no time. After enough observation I eventually tried to start riding a couple waves... got partly up the first time... and bashed around a couple others. I started to realize, it wasn't that bad. That was until however, my strap broke.

It was an unintended wave that brought me down... I was awaiting one in the distance when it came, with an unforeseen power it came out of nowhere. Last minute noticing it, I started to paddle in hopes I could maybe catch it.. but I was too late... the wave swallowed me before I could catch enough speed and pushed me under... as I sank, I felt a snap and my leg felt lose... I emerged to the surface and saw my board already half way to shore. I had lost my board. I emerged in the white wash feeling… small. Out of breath. Turning my head, I looked behind me to see another massive wave right behind me, before I could get enough air I was pushed under again... under and trying to come up for air but the water just kept coming. I kept thinking... I've got to be able to come up soon... swim to the surface… the surface wasn’t coming… “hold on, it’s almost over”… I thought… surface wasn’t coming… “Uh oh, I’m actually starting to run out of air… I need to breath…  swim up… swim up… don’t panic, don’t…” and I emerged from underneath. Gasping for air, I looked around. Still surrounding it white wash I looked to the shore it was quite far and I felt I couldn’t swim until I caught my breath. I could feel the water changing. I turned around and a bigger one was coming. I hadn’t caught my breath yet but had no choice. Exhale exhale… and the wave hit again. “Don’t panic… don’t panic” I kept telling myself while under the water “you’ll be able to breath soon” but the wave kept pushing my under… “It’s almost over”… and I emerged again. This time, really gasping for air… I turned again to see yet another big wave coming… “I haven’t caught enough breath yet… I can’t….” and the wave hit me again. Bursting for air I was pushed under… this wave felt longer than the others… “Don’t panic… “ I reminded myself again “When you submerge swim out of the white wash” I told myself… “I’m not going to be able to survive if I stay here” I thought. Desperate for air, I finally emerged and started swimming as hard as I could to the side of the waves… I started to breath a bit better again.

It was at this point more panic was starting to set in… the reality that I was far out… that I was starting to get tired… that more waves were still coming and I was still panting. I started thinking, “wow, could this really be it?… I never thought this could happen to me.” Never thought this could happen to me… Really? I suppose with many things, you do them knowing the risk but in blind faith that you’ll come out alive you ignore the risk. Here I was, however, thinking and seeing my “end.” I was autonomously panicking and actively trying to convince myself otherwise. One side of my brain trying to use logic to calm down the other panicking side. It was almost as though I was being victimized as the two sides were arguing it out.

Another wave hit, under I went. “I never wanted to go this way” I was thinking. “How could it be now? I’m on this amazing vacation… and this shouldn’t be happening… not now… not over something so silly… I have to be able to make it out of this” I was scared, but optimistic. “I just have to swim, breath when I can, and get out of these waves” I decided.

So I swam… and swam… it felt like every stroke took me a fraction of an inch and a ton of energy. I tried to calm myself. Breath. I kept swimming… I have to make it to shore soon. One of my surfing mates came swimming up and I told her I lost my board. She kept swimming. She didn’t know what to do… geez, neither did I other than to try and swim to shore will being able to maintain my breath. I kept swimming.

Trying to stay calm, assuring myself it would take time to get to shore, I realized I was not only going nowhere but also being pulled out. I was, in fact, caught in a rip tide. As I realized, the panic emerged again… accompanied with fear. I’d entered another zone with waves again and was being pushed under… again… again… “Need to breath.. need to breath… can’t breath” I kept thinking every time I got pushed up and under…

I was pushed out into a calmer spot for a bit, another surfer was paddling by… she swam up and said “Are you ok?” …I told her I needed help. She said “Don’t worry… he’s coming in to get you” I looked to the shore and there was a man, a friend I’d might earlier in my stay, holding the boarding… battling the waves to come out to get me. Panic… started to calm.

I kept trying to swim… kept trying to find the perpendicular route out of the rip… so that I could get out… but remained swimming nowhere. But I could see him getting closer and closer. He eventually arrived… and told me to get on the board and that we would both paddle ourselves in on the board. But I was exhausted and could barely hold on. We tried starting to paddle and I had to stop… he paddled the both of us, then a wave started coming up behind us. We both knew the wave wouldn’t be able to carry us both. He said, you go on the board… he slid off the back and pushed me through the wave… I started to get through but the barrel of the wave took over and ripped the board from my hands. I was again left floating without a board and so was he. “Swim” he said, and showed me the direction. I tried to follow… another wave hit. Under again. So out of breath. Losing control. Pop-up. Keep swimming. Swim. I felt my toe touch the bottom… I felt a rush of relief as I went to try and stand... but another wave tossed me over… “I just need to get in” ….”Let me out!!” I was thinking. Swim. Swim. Try to stand. It’s deeper here, I can’t stand. Swim. He called over “Swim this way!” I tried… I kept swimming… but the current was getting stronger and pulling me out again. I started swimming more sideways… “Can you touch?” he yelled… and I could now, but the current was too strong from me to get a grip. He reached out his hand… “Grab my hand” he said… almost double my height, he was able to stand without troubles and was far enough over that he wasn’t caught in the rip. I swam… reaching out my hand… swam hard… and grasp! Was able to grab his hand. He pulled me in… I felt one foot be able to touch the bottom… kept pulling me… two feet, touching the bottom… pulling me… Ok, able to start walking… walk… walk… water getting shallower… Exhale. I’m on the shore. Shooken up. I was safe.

I watched him walk down and grab the board while I stood there panting, speechless, numb. I couldn’t believe what just happened. I couldn’t believe I was on land. I was… caught somewhere in between and terrified.

He came back and I walked with him… almost forgetting or in temporarily in denial of everything that just happened I thanked him… and asked him if he’d had a good surf that day.  He laughed, most likely because asking that question must have felt so absurd given what had just happened. It was absurd. I was so out of it.

I went and got my sandals and sat with him after. He ordered a lunch on the beach while I drank fresh fruit juice and we talked. Talked about everything that had just happened. Other times that has happened to surfers. It’s almost a blur really. The shock had set in and lasted most of the day. I had a good cry eventually after I left the beach bar. I still couldn’t believe that almost happened, and that it almost happened to me… me!?

I ended up having to have a nap midday and slept most of the afternoon.  The rest of the day was a right off… and the last couple days I haven’t touched a surfboard. Yesterday I started again, but in the white wash. It was tough at the start and it felt like work, but eventually I started catching a few waves again… and started to get a bit more excited again. That being said, however, surfer talks last night revealed there are both sharks and barracudas (a lot of them) in these waters… and people have been attacked. Ugh. Maybe there are just too many factors holding me back from ever really becoming a surfer.

When I reflect on the experience, I gained some interesting insight. First, the whole notion of “this isn’t supposed to happen to me” surprised me. Logically speaking it didn’t make sense to feel that way. Death happens to all of us, accidents happen to all of us… so why should I be surprised. But also, I experienced a sensation almost like “I’d been picked”?! I suppose prior I felt like I “blended in” or “was hiding” and then got a sense of “how did it find me?” I guess the “it” was death in this case. Odd.

Second, I became a little more cognizant of death. As I went through that experience, death was there right beside me… ready to take my hand if it was time. I wasn’t ready, and I wasn’t going to give up, but I had never really realized before how close it really is. Thinking about it now, it’s almost as though life is just a constant battle to avoid death… but sooner or later it will win.

Third, I found the parallels with my dreams unnerving. I felt like the terrorists I’d been running from were a metaphor for this experience… they were the waves trying to close me in… and death was hunting me. Much like I could feel the terrorists catching up to me, looking them in the eye and hoping they wouldn’t make their final move, I felt like I was battling that similar battle but within the waves. Death was the “terrorist” and life was the constant chase trying to escape it. In cases like this, however, sometimes it catches up… and I found myself negotiating with it.

I’m going to try surfing again today, but going to take it slow. It’s a battle with fear more than anything. So, we’ll see what happens. In the meantime, I’ve gained a lot of insight from this whole experience… thus far.

A Peculiar Fascination

The first night I arrived in Indonesia, my colleague and I stayed in Jakarta at Atria Hotel and Conference Centre. We arrived late into the evening after a gruelling 15 hour flight to the hotel. Greeted with an amazing drink made of cucumber, lime and sugar (not sure what it was called, but it was AWESOME) we signed in and settled our things. Still my birthday back in Canada, I insisted we celebrate... so we met up for drinks and dinner in the hotel bar.

Upon walking into the bar, I saw my colleague chatting with two energetic local women dressed in red behind the bar. I sat down, and was greeted with enthusiasm and a smile. We talked with them for a while... they had an amazing sense of humour. I eventually told them it was my birthday, and in response one of them asked if I wanted to see what her friend had brought her from Bali. "Sure!" I said. Her friend beside her... covered her eyes... and begged her not to bring it out. "It's embarassing" she said. But the other woman, keen to bring us into her secret pulled out a blanket. As she lifted the blanket onto the bar, the other woman shielded her eyes and emitted a grunt.

The woman then held up the blanket between my colleague and I and, using it almost like a curtain, and signalled to me to look. With a twinkle in her eye she pulled out a long wooden carving from behind. Upon closer inspection, I realised... it was a huge wooden penis. To top it off?! It had a bottle opener on the top.  She dropped the blanket to expose the toy to all, and let out a laugh. We all did. She passed it to me to hold... It was uncomfortably realistic. Needless to say, I passed it back rather quickly.

As I passed it to her, she began to wrap it back up and said, with a smile, "My friend gave it to me, to help me have a good sleep." Laughter followed.

These things are everywhere. The meaning and application behind their popularity is yet to be determined. But for your enjoyment, I have attached a photo from the market... just to give you a taste.

The Unexpected Departure

The seat belt signs have just turned off and there is a bustle of people adjusting in their seats. Flight attendants are handing out headphones… or “headsets” in airline speak. Odd. I’ve just pulled out a cupcake from my bag, icing all over my fingers, celebrating. This moment marks the official start to my South East Asian two-month adventure. A little over an hour ago, however, I wasn’t so sure I’d be sitting here.

For those of you who may not know, I am going to Bali and surrounding areas for the next two months. Originally sent for a workshop and conference, I decided to extend my stay and rent by the beach to write my literature review and proposal for my thesis while learning to surf / yoga on the side. Sounds like a dream doesn’t it…. Maybe it will be, maybe it won’t. Time will tell. But, at the moment, I’m in love with the idea. Over that time I will be visiting New Zealand, and other countries in South East Asia… the specifics are yet to be determined. I will try to blog regularly for those who’d love to follow along!

So, it’s my birthday today. Unlike for some, my birthday is pretty sacred to me. It’s the one-day of the year I always take off, do only what I want and EAT! What I want to eat!! This usually implies starting my day with a piece of birthday cake. Today I started with cupcakes, a turkey sandwich and a free birthday latte from Starbucks… not bad J I can admit I’m not thrilled at the idea that I’ll be spending the next 15 hours cramped up in an airplane, and I’m still perplexed on how exactly I can make this sedentary journey feel like a celebration… but I’m grateful to have such an amazing opportunity.

Birthdays feel special, I always finding myself expecting magical things to happen on my birthday. This probably explains why, every year, I usually end up feeling slight depressed as late afternoon hits. Magic, so rarely surfaces in day-to-day life. Today, I can’t say what power my birthday has brought with it – perhaps it is the magic I’m always looking for… or the contrary, bad luck.

With a flight at 10am, and pickup for 730, I got up extra early this morning as I had much to do. I have someone staying at my place while I’m gone, so had change my bed, clean, etc. As time got close to 730, I had yet to hear from my colleague. I texted him at 7:15 and received no response. “He must be in the washroom or something” I thought to myself. I kept prepping to go, when it was not 10 minutes later, two more attempted phone calls, and nothing. I figured, ok, maybe his phone is on silent and he just forgot to tell me he was on his way. But… 7:30 arrived. No word. No taxi. I’m usually late, so was thankful he was “still in transit” to my place and decided to make a sandwich. I kept trying to call him, until 745 hit. At this point, it was clear - he was probably still sleeping. I called my own taxi. I put my new backpack on and without knowing leaned back into a nail…ripping a hole into the front of the bag. Ugh.

I tried to call my colleague repeatedly en route to the airport, but still no answer. What do you do in these situations? Just let them sleep? Call someone near them to go wake them? I finally heard from him around 8am… turns out I was right, he had slept in.

Still en route, it was now almost 830 but with the reassurance of the cab driver I’d was calmed thinking I had enough time. Soon enough, we started pulling into the Pearson airport vicinity… and travelling through the twisted maze highways between terminals.

Suddenly, we were maybe 2 minutes from my gate, and taxi driver pulled over on the side of the highway! “Not now” he said. Huh? Perplexed as to why… looking at my clock… it didn’t seem to be a mechanic failure of the taxi. He said “turn around.” The red flashing lights said it all. We were being pulled over for a speeding ticket. Ugh. The taxi driver, a sweet Somalian man, said – just tell him you’re running late for your flight, with a chuckle, and we’ll see what we can do.

The cop came over. The driver had rolled down both of windows so I could talk to him. I explained, with a smile (trying to be as pleasant as possible) that I am late for a flight and we were rushing. The police man, evidently having a rough day as he yelled “slow the fuck down” to every car that passed as we talked, grumbled and took the taxi driver’s papers. He returned minutes later, and with rage told the driver he was probably the luckiest he’d ever be and if he ever caught him speeding again he’d book him for everything he got. Interesting juxtaposition - a kind mad man. We drove off and the taxi driver, with a smile, thanked me for helping out and said “You know? People with a good heart… good things will always come.”

We arrived 1 minute later to my gate. I handed him my credit card, but the swipe didn’t work. Ugh. Interact it is.

Bags unloaded, I walked to the ticket counter. Finally, I thought – things will get easier.

I arrive at the ticket desk, hand my passport over. She begins preparing my ticket. I watch the weight gauge with apprehension. Noticing I have 3 lbs to spare, I sneak a few books into the bag while she’s not looking. Phew! I think to myself. This is easier now than anticipated. She prints out my boarding ticket. Simple I think. But… as she’s handing it to me, she asks me about the visa – says I don’t have one and that I’m staying past the allotted time period allowed. I explained to her, that I planned to either a) extend in country or b) fly out at the 30-day time limit and return. My tickets in her hand, she continues to look at her screen. She says she has to check with her supervisor about the logistics of the visa, as according to their system they can’t let me fly unless they have proof I’m leaving the country within the visa time limit. I explained I’d called the embassy of Indonesia, and that there were no issues… but she insisted she had to verify with her supervisor.

And so I waited. And waited. Time… ticking. It’s 845… boarding time is at 9. Her supervisor comes over, looks at the system. He looks at me and says “Mam, unless you can show me proof that you’re leaving in 30 days I can’t let you board that plane.” I explained to him my intent and described the research I had done, but no luck. It was black and white… proof = you fly, no proof = you don’t.

He left, and it was just me and the lady at the ticket desk. She explained unless I could provide her with proof in the next 15 minutes that I would be leaving within the 30 days, they couldn’t let me fly. Seriously?

So, I was faced with a choice. Miss my flight altogether and try and rebook? With rebooking btw would be a nightmare… or! Book a flight somewhere within the 30 days. Given I wanted to go to New Zealand and visit a professor friend of mine while away, I decided well now or never… I guess I’ll book my flight to New Zealand now. I plunked my backpack down beside the ticket desks… pulled out my laptop and connected to the Wi-Fi. Looked up my flight… compared a couple dates… time was ticking. I was about to book when she came over… asked me where I was booking… I said New Zealand. She asked about my stop over.. I said it was in Sydney. She said to wait as she wasn’t sure about Visas. Seriously?! I thought. I’m pretty sure there aren’t visa issues with either country… but I had to wait. I decided to look it up in the meantime and determined we would be ok. I walked over to her, laptop in hand, explained the visa situation and showed her the site I was booking on.

I literally booked the flight in front of her, 1200$ flight in seconds out of the blue… for 10 days. The reservation confirmation came up. Sigh… relief it went through and we could continue. I pointed out to her the details, and searching through she was looking for the “ticket number.” She scanned the webpage, and then the confirmation email they sent… and said “there is no ticket number, I can’t accept this.”

I’m now thinking… I’ve just bought this $1200 flight, in front of you, without really even having a chance to plan anything… you’ve watched it processing and you’re saying it’s not proof I’m leaving the country in 30 days? Ugh.

She calls over another nearby supervisor. It’s now 9am, the cut off, for being able to let me through to board the plane. He comes over, she explains, and he says “if another supervisor is helping you – you have to talk to him, not me.” I pleaded for his help as I was going to miss my flight if he didn’t help. He responded with a flick of the hand and walked away. Grrrr.

It’s mere minutes now before I am not allowed entry. My colleague is beside patiently waiting… Another family is circulating another desk, in tears, as they’ve been denied entry to their flight to St. Lucia. “Is this a foreshadow?” I think.

The other man comes over, the one we were dealing with in the beginning. I had hope, but minimal. He seemed pretty “by the book” in our first encounter. We both explained the update to the situation. He looked at the email and responded “If there is no ticket number, I can’t let you board.” I explained further about my contact with the embassy, about how the ticket counter lady and I had booked the ticket together. No use. I explained I’d also looked into what happens if you stay past the deadline of the visa, and told him the daily fine. Suddenly, he changed. “Oh! …you’ve been there before?” I said “No, I contacted the embassy here in Toronto and spoke with them and that’s what they said.” He looked at my email again. I could tell he was starting to soften. I explained… I don’t think there is any way better to demonstrate my intentions than the fact I have just purchased a ticket within the last 10 minutes with this lady here at the ticket counter and spent $1200 to show I plan to leave in 30 days. He hesitated, talked quietly to the her, and said “You know, if it comes back on us… Air Canada is sued $10 000 and it comes back to me” …then he jokingly said, “Ahhh, I would kind of like to be fired after 23 years at this job.” He let out a small smurk. At that moment, the lady returned to her computer, told me to put my backpack in the tray, gave me the tickets, and said “Have a good flight.”

9:15 and I’d been just granted access to the gate. Wow. There wasn’t even time to process what had just happened.

We rushed to security… 9:20. Both of my colleague’s bags got checked. Mine, fortunately, came through no questions. We rushed to our gate, and got there with 30 minutes to spare. To my surprise, this was enough time to swing a birthday latte from Starbucks, a bathroom trip, an awesome birthday phone call from my brother, and a slowly moving line to the plane. I got my seat and sat down with plenty time to spare.

It’s now almost 3 hours later. The lights in the cabin oddly keep cycling through a rainbow of colours?! One minute the cabin is blue and the next it’s red… green. Odd. I’m puzzled as to what exactly is the purpose. keep thinking about this morning. Wow. I can’t believe the sequence of events to get here. Hoping it’s not a bad omen for what is to come.

I’ve had a couple sangrias since – that’s helped. Making them here myself – although ordering an orange juice, wine, and club soda all in one sitting gets strange looks from the flight attendants. Ah well. It’s worth it. I have another cupcake waiting for later in the flight. I have a solemn Chinese man sitting beside me. I’ve added “trying to make him smile” to my list of to-do’s for this flight. So far, I’ve managed to squeeze a couple. My request to meet the pilot for my birthday was probably what struck the biggest reaction.

Ok, I’m signing off. Jakarta in T minus… you know, I don’t even want to calculate the hours remaining.  Stay tuned!

The Story of Surgery | Part 3. Week 2

1 week down on bathing daily with a sponge... rotating my cyro cuff throughout the day.. almost daily trips into town for physio or massage appointments (and gingerbread lattes from Starbucks)... naps.. reading by the fire... hobbled walks down to the water... home cooked meals from mum... it was a lifestyle so distant from any of my normal routine... and for the most part, I was loving it! As the week went on, however, I expected this to be a long haul... (hence the "trying to be positive" photo... the counter to my facebook profile pic).

I had an appointment with my surgeon on the 7th day following my surgery.. a Friday. I was pretty excited actually as I wanted to hear what he had to say... I was hoping he'd fall over in amazement when he realized that wolverine really was real.. but also I sooo wanted my dressings removed so I could shower with something other than a face cloth and a sink full of water. Sadly, I never made it to that appointment. Half way down to Toronto, mid-conversation my dad went silent.. "Hmm" he said "I just pushed the brake and it went all the way to the floor and nothing happened..." at least he didn't panic! Anyway, it was not something you mess around with. So we stopped at a gas station, he checked the brakes.. did a few tweaks... and we decided to keep going. It was less than 5 minutes on the highway before that happened again. Worried for both our lives, we turned around and proceeded cautiously home. Fortunately we made it, no problems.

Anyway, I had to wait another 4 days to see him.

In the meantime, things were going well. My physio said I could start riding my exercise bike.. "do little half circles" she said, just to try to start the stretch and try to go all around when you can. And you know what? That night I went home... managed to go all the way around in 2 minutes and spent the next 20 minutes on the bike. It felt soooo great! And I've been biking 30 minutes a day since :)

The splint.. also referred to as my "roboleg" ...was becoming more of a nuisance.. that was probably the biggest hinderance. You have to velcro this long metal tube pretty much to your leg, that keeps it straight all the time. You're left no choice but to hobble. It slides down persistently which is sooo annoying! Going for a walk is not easy more because the splint won't stay up than because of the knee pain! Anyway, I was told it would be 6 weeks until the brace comes off so I bit my tongue and summoned patience.. and started to think of ways I could MacGyver something to hold it up.

I had my surgeon appointment mid week.. at this point it was 12 days post surgery. Well past the 5-7 days he prefers. My dad and I drove down to Toronto again, this time with the brakes fixed, and sadly got a speeding ticket on the way (funny, it's like the universe didn't want me to see him for some reason!).. but I finally saw him. I walked in with my splint and optimism, got excellent feedback from him and my progress, and walked out holding the splint in my arms - I was "free-walking" again! (very wobbly mind you.. but I was freeee!) News was great... knee flexion was well beyond the 90 degrees they need within the first few weeks... wounds healing... I could even start swimming at the end of the second week!! He had done a great job and I was motivated.

Anyway, since... I've just finished my 2nd week and have started into my 3rd. I have to say, at this point I feel great. It's such a rush to learn to walk again after you've been deprived... humbling. I have an appreciation for something so basic.. something so fundamental.. something I had never given a second thought and it feels amazing. Incredibly enlightening. I also feel a strange special connection with my body.. like I've stepped into a damaged temple and my only job is to protect and rebuild it. Crazy huh! It's like everything outside doesn't matter other than my body and getting it back functioning. In thinking of day to day life where we place so much energy worrying about the things we can't control, it's nice to be in a place where the energy and worries are placed on something we can.

The physical feeling is pretty good too. Knee is tight still... it feels like you have duct tape over your knee and you're trying to stretch it. Yet with each day it gives a bit more. Walking.. for a while it feels like you're still wearing a phantom splint... for the first bit I walked the same without the splint as I did with. It's recommended to wear the splint at night every night for another week.. as you can't control how you move when you sleep - so night times are still a bit tough.. hard to sleep. 2 more days and no more splint in bed though :) It's strange every day brings new pains and new strengths... parts of you are sore that aren't even close to the knee! My glutes in particular are sore pretty regularly with exercise now.

In hindsight, I definitely think pre-hab is just as much or even more-so important than rehab. To be able to do the exercises, as well as just manoeuvre the tasks of life like going the washroom... arm strength is key to be able to push your body up off the floor... leg strength is essential... as every trip to the bathroom involves 2 one-legged squats!

It's also interesting that the mental / cognitive functioning aspect definitely suffers. Post drugs... and with the pain.. I have noticed it incredibly difficult to connect thoughts... or even carry on conversation. I feel much quieter than usual. Don't have much to say. Recently, thanks to a great friend, I learned there are actually links between pain and language - it's common that as physical pain dominates language diminishes temporarily (See Private Language Argument). Interesting. And it's so true! I feel so brain dead. And to this day.. I'm still feeling it big time. You'll probably notice too in there are most likely many spelling mistakes / grammatical errors in my write-up!

Anyway, I'll wrap up for this week. Everyone told me it is so tough going in... and I was prepared (well not so prepared) but I have to say.. so far it's been totally fine and I've loved the opportunity it has created for life to slow down and take a breath. Stay tuned for the update end of week 3 - hopefully the spirits are still high.

The Story of Surgery | Part 2. Post-Op / Week 1

So, I made it through... safe and sound.

I won't deny I wasn't crying like a baby going into the hospital.. because I was. The anticipation was literally killing me. I pictured getting doughy.. hobbling around ...knocking things over in my path.. being a burden to everyone.. everything being so difficult..

But! In reality? The picture I had in my mind compared to the what I'm actually living now.. is drastically different.

The pre-operation period went incredibly smooth. No long waits. No rude nurses or hair-brained doctors. I was incredibly impressed. I passed along the assembly line of the hospital from running shoes to slippers, greeted and cared for by friendly face after friendly face along the way.

It was two hours before my parents and I split ways and I entered the symbolic "do not enter" misty windows doors to enter the operating room area. The experience was to be expected I suppose.  ...waiting in the stretcher up against the wall hearing the bustle of the medical team between operating rooms... simultaneously dreading and hoping that the doctor would approach shortly to take me through the final stages...then finally when he does he tells me that there was going to be a delay and proceeds to hands me a newspaper. Waiting. Waiting. Trying to enjoy the article on beard competitions meanwhile distracted by the unknown of the moments to come.. then the nurse comes.. checks me twice.. then the surgeon comes... autographs my knee for operation.. and then pulls down the stretcher bars and instructs me to follow him into the operating room. I walk behind him and enter THE ROOM. Then there you are... IN the operating room. The green walls. The big lights. The surgical masks and the cold.. sterile.. equipment. Instructed to take off my outer gown and feeling the cold brush of air against my backside as it was exposed to the room. Lying down and covered with a heated blanket, strangers hands sticking electrodes on my body... my neck.. my ribs. The anesthetist enters the room, introduces himself, and makes a dry joke. The sedation begins. Lying in silence watching the team prep themselves for their work to come. Waiting. Waiting for the feeling to come.. waiting... then starting to feel it.. "Wow" I said "It hits fast." "Yes" the anesthetist said. And then I woke up.

It all happened so fast. The next thing I remembered was waking up in recovery to a man vomiting uncontrollably across from me. It felt like the deepest sleep I'd had in ages.

The process post-operation in the hospital was pretty smooth. The nurses were incredibly kind and helpful and I had a big window to look out of. Morphine, that was a nice touch. The food? Not such a nice touch.

I had a roommate who cried uncontrollably for the first hour I was there. Claiming that she was bipolar and sometimes just cried... so she cried, a lot. The rest of the time she moaned in pain. Poor woman.

I dozed in and out pressing the morphine button anytime I approached consciousness.

In the middle of the night, however, the machine malfunctioned. Each time I pushed the button the machine would beep to say I received the injection but then default into error and beep non-stop. Each time I had to call the nurse, they'd come and unplug and plug it in... over and over. This went on for hours. I felt more pain, and more like a high maintenance patient needing ongoing assistance. At the end of the night, however, another nurse finally came and uncovered that problem - there was a clasp blocking my IV tube! Meaning.. I had not been receiving morphine ALL NIGHT! What a gyp.

Nonetheless, in the morning I felt pretty great. The physio came, I did all the exercises with ease. I could wiggle my toes and move my ankles. I could lift my leg even! I got to see the dressing change and was nicely surprised to see 4 little incision holes instead of a sight resemblant to a scene in a SAW movie.

I felt so good in fact that when we returned back to my parents home town we did errands around town.. for hours. I hobbled around on crutches and felt great.. for a while! We got my pain killers.. and I decided I wasn't going to take them until I needed them. I AM wolverine I thought. We continued around town.. until it started to hurt a bit more. I pushed it. It started to hurt more. Pushed it. Hurt more. Ok, it was time to go home and time for the meds.

Bad BAD idea not taking it easy that day and not taking my meds 4 hours after I should have. I was in excruciating pain until 2 in the morning. Lesson learned... (after I phoned Telehealth Ontario) when you miss a dose of pain killers... you have to play catchup when you need to startup again. The pain killers take a lot longer to kick in this way. Seems simple really. I felt stupid. I also was slightly disappointed that I wasn't wolverine.

Anyway, since! the recovery has been coming along great! I'm doing my exercises regularly.. resting lots... catching up on movies and books. I've been able to walk the last few days without crutches! I have pain only when I move certain ways. I've been going for short walks around the neighbourhood and they feel "slowly" great. My knee bends almost to 90 degrees with assistance. I still have to sleep with a splint every night for the first while (docs orders), so that part kind of sucks. I'm using a cryo cuff  (circulating ice knee cuff device) which really helps with the inflammation! I've seen physio and had a massage already (the massage was glorious).  I learned that if you lie on a heating pad under your hips, the liquid moves upwards away from the site and gives relief.

All in all, I'm feeling positive and driven while also feeling relaxed and sleepy... which is a nice change of pace from life.

Let's see what week 2 brings.

The Story of Surgery | Part 1. Pre-Operation

So it was approximately 10 months ago where I experienced the thrill of a complete ACL tear. It was amidst a soccer game where I got tackled from the side, heard a snap and went down like a push button toy.

The only difference was that I didn't spring back and hit the pitch again minutes later.

After delaying the surgery... twice... the time has come for me to brave it out and do the ACL reconstruction. My surgery is on Friday November 9th, two days away, and I've decided after the experience of going through the motions trying to anticipate exactly what to expect that I would blog about the whole experience... treat my journey as a case study. Although I can't deny writing will have cathartic benefits, I wanted to offer my story to the ACL veterans wishing reminisce their way down memory lane and to ACL up-comers looking to demystify the process.

So, the lead up?  ...I must admit it has been emotional.

When it happened it was painful. But! I was able to walk off the field by the time the game ended, and within a few months I was running again. I was determined that I could "will my way" to a fully healed knee. And now, here I am, almost a year later... and I'm running, cycling and swimming regularly. In fact, I might be in the best shape (or close to it) I've ever been!

...So, why have the surgery? Because I can't play any pivoting sports... pivoting...?! really? Had you ever thought before how many sports involve pivoting? Almost ALL of them! Anyway, I decided to have the surgery to get "back to normal."

Since making the decision, it has been a roller coaster.

There are the good days where I think - oh wow! I'll be able to play soccer again!... squash!! ....snowboard!! ...I'll be able to run and not experience pain in my hip after half an hour!!

But then there are bad days where I'm overwhelmed with the pending isolation that awaits, the lack of independence, the frustration with a body that "doesn't work like it used to" and the lack of motivation that I'm assuming is accompanied with rehab.

In many ways I feel like I'm approaching an abyss where it's impossible to emotionally and physically prepare myself for something I have no idea how to relate to. Not having experienced surgery before, I can say, however, that it's quite something to experience your body break and realize that it's not going to miraculously heal itself like wolverine... the youthful dream of invincibility dies pretty quick.

It's also quite something to be going about your daily life before hand.. and realize the things you're doing at this moment you won't be able to do for the next 6 months. Simple things like going for a run, biking to school... I went for a swim this morning and couldn't help but think.. it would be a while till I would be in that pool again. Tough. Hopefully all worth it though.

Two more sleeps and then the big day - and I'm as ready as I'm going to be. I have crutches booked for rental (way cheaper than buying), my brand new splint awaiting its unveiling from the box, an exercise bike, cryocuff (cold water circulating unit) borrowed from a friend.. and books... a couple of them. Apparently it's a long wait in the hospital before... and after. They also make you stay over night just in case.

On the day leading up.. I can eat until midnight tomorrow night and then the day of no food or water prior to the surgery, no gum as well. Apparently you need to get there two hours before your surgery for all the prep. I'll be reading Stumbling on Happiness through the process... I was inspired by his TED Talk.

Cheers to smooth sailing. Stay tuned.

The Therapist That Handed Me The Noose

So... after an extensive break from blogging regularly of exhaustion, life events, and a summer sun that just won't allow me to escape it's glorious grasps... I have decided to try and start writing again. The inspiration? An experience that rendered me speechless at the time that now leaves me bursting to express my recent encounter with a therapist that would put Dr. Kevorkian out of work.

Now, to give a bit of history, since I've arrived in this city my quest for a therapist has been far from a easy.

My first attempt to find a therapist put my on a waiting list at school and a backup option of participating in a volunteer experiment where doctors in training provide unofficial therapy sessions. In reality this was an opportunity for doctors to use people seeking help and support as guinea pigs mainly as an outlet to build their bedside manners. Although the woman I saw was nice at the time, I provided her more coaching on how to conduct a therapy session than the should provide me support. A dangerous venture in my opinion.

The second experience, I tried a woman recommended by my doctor. I spend an hour trying to explain why I had come to her while consistently trying to shift my gaze and look comfortable while trying to understand her "trained approach" of starting me down in silence. Argh. It was so bad I emailed her, told her how unhappy I was with the session and tried to negotiate paying her half of what I owed her. I broke down and had to pay the whole thing.

The third experience, a man this time, left me feeling like I'd come out of a first date. When I expressed myself, he would say things like "oh, I like that" or "oooh, that's a very special quality"...the room was tense, he rarely made eye contact and when he did it was "hungry"... I later email him also and told him I could not continue sessions as I felt like our meeting was like a first date. He responded with a swift "good luck in the future." Had to pay him too.

It wasn't until this most recent experience, however, that I reached my tipping point and decided to write. This time it is a about a teary eyed PhD student seeking support and counsellor who evidently should give up the chair.

I arrived to the counselling office to be her first patient of the day. It was 10:00 by the time I sat down to wait for her. Around 10:15 a tall woman came around the corner to call my name. She was slightly overweight, medium length frizzy black hair, and slightly awkward. She peered over her glasses and introduced herself and apologized for being so late. A bit surprised she was running so late, I tried to think nothing of it. I stood up to shake her hand and introduce myself but she turned and started walking down the hall leading the way to her office. I put my hand down and followed her.

When I got into her office we both sat down, and she asked my about why I am at the University. I began to explain my schooling.. my dept.. the usual story when you first meet someone. As I explained my academic history (somewhat irrelevant given she was already 15 minutes late for a 45 minute session) she started moving around the office. Turned to the filing cabinet and started looking for papers. She went to her purse and fumbled around. The whole time half listening and half asking me questions. At one point she said, what did you do before here? And I explained my undergrad and masters... "I have a Masters in Education Technology" I said.. she asked what school I went to here, and I said "OISE" ...her response "don't you have to have a masters in education or something?

"Hmmm.... something isn't right here" I thought.

Then she cut straight to the wound... "So why are you here?" Now, first of all, a good therapist eases into the conversation. But they ALSO don't make you feel like they're distracted settling into their office, half listening, and not spending any time to tune into your energy or where you might be coming from. Nope! No tact.

Swallowing my shock I started to explain a bit of what brought me there.. but as I was doing so she was typing on her computer... fiddling with the mouse. "Odd" I thought, "this isn't right?!" So I'd say a bit.. pause... say a bit... pause.. nothing. So, eventually I cut off mid sentence just to see if she was listening and no response from her end. She was still screwing around on her computer.

So, I shut up and sat there. Sat there in silence. Waiting. Waiting. She just kept fiddling away on her computer.. typing.. squinting through her tiny little glasses at the keys... two finger typing.. odd. I continued to wait and started to get annoyed. About ten minutes later, still not having said a word to me about what was going on.. she picks up the phone "Hi there" she says "I can't seem to log into my computer, can you give me the number for tech support?" Ooooh man, I was not NOT impressed. She hangs up the phone and calls tech support, has to leave a message. She was helpless, just kept trying her password over and over again. I was getting more and more angry and also very disappointed at the same time. "Why can't this woman just pickup a goddamn piece of paper and take notes manually for this session and deal with the computer later?" I thought to myself. I am a techie, there's no doubt about that, but in this case? there was no need for technology. And in fact, I don't think that therapy sessions are the place for technology.

Nonetheless,  the non-confrontational, patient, optimistic person that I am.. I kept waiting. I tried to help her log into her computer, but no luck. And her response?  She just kept trying.

There was maybe one apology during this time.. but she didn't make any efforts to come up with a plan b.

It was about 10:40 maybe at this point and tech support finally calls. They spend maybe five to ten minutes on the phone troubleshooting while I continue to wait. I am not happy at this point. But, she finally gets off the phone and lets out a sigh of relief that she was able to get into the system. She opens up my file from my pre-screening I'd had done over the phone when I first contacted the clinic in the fall and was placed on a waiting list.

She starts into "ok, let's go a bit deeper into why you're here." Trying so desperately to be optimistic that this woman could provide a bit of help on a day where I could barely keep myself together, I responded with trying to explain more. As I did so, she faced the computer... reading on the screen. I continued.. and she interrupted me to tell me what the notes said and that I was there for that. Explaining the notes no longer applied to my situation and what I was going through was relatively different than before, she insisted on telling my why I was there.. all the answers were in the notes apparently rather than in the actual words that were coming out of my mouth.

Anyway, I kept correcting her to tell her the situation was different.. what she was reading no longer applied. She finally stopped.

And so I explained a bit more, she started typing. She asked a question, again half listening, and I responded.. hesitantly as she typed. As I kept talking she was completely unresponsive, and so, again I stopped mid sentence. No response from her. Just typing. At this point I might add, tears had welt up because I was so upset about what I was going through.. and she hadn't even turned to look at me to notice. She kept typing. I sat there in silence feeling increasing humiliated and frustrated.

She speaks up again "ok, so tell me about your family.." "What?!!" I thought to myself? She just totally changed the subject - didn't ask anything about what I was talking about, take the time to try to listen, nothing. In complete shock, I stumbled and started explaining a bit. She asked if I had issues with family, etc.. all standard therapy questions, which are relevant I get that, but given the context of our meeting so far she'd not heard anything yet to relate this history too. Grrr. Anyway, I began to explain. And AGAIN she kept typing... and stopped listening. I stopped mid sentence again. No response. Waited. Waited.

Finally, she spoke again "ok, so let's try and get more to the bottom of things so we can give you a bit of help in leaving today." Of the mindset that there is always something positive that can be taken from every meeting, I thought "Ok, at least!! At least let me take something away from this!" She asked me to explain more about what I was feeling and why. I started to explain more of my history.. which I know is very VERY important information for her.. I got very teary as I started to get into it. At first she listened, defended my side as I went along, but turned again and started writing. I kept telling the story (as it's a good one).. but given her response, or lack thereof (again).. I stopped midway through my story. She kept typing and typing. Didn't respond.

That's it I thought. I'm never seeing this woman again. I felt so exasperated... so objectified... my emotions so trivial... this woman took me when I was incredibly down and just kicked me further. I thought to myself "you know? if I was suicidal? after this meeting - today... today would be the day. And this, this is the hour!"

She kept typing.. and then spoke again "Ok, so if you want to book another session, I'm free wednesdays..." I thought to myself "should I lose it with her and tell her how disappointed and unimpressed I am with her?" Oh boy, I so wanted to lose it.. but I was so overwhelmed with emotion I knew I'd blow.. so I told her I'd have to think about it. She gave my a piece of paper and told me to look up Mindfullness-Based Cognitive Therapy classes. I took the paper and left. It was 11:20, approximately 35 minutes after we were supposed to finish

Immediately I went to the front desk, told them the session did not go well, and placed myself back on the waiting list for another therapist. I subsequently biked home, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me and more alone than before I walked into her office. I came home, sat down on my bed and cried. To feel pain is one thing but when the very source that is supposed to give you support makes you feel embarrassed or guilty about your pain... suddenly the escape seems more distant, and you're left feeling hopeless and helpless.

This, this is how this woman made me feel.

I saw another therapist a few weeks later.. the one referred to me next on the waiting list. The session was ok, but she definitely "wouldn't get a second date." I think it was her starting off the session by reading out loud why I was there off her computer screen instead of just asking me. The funny thing? She was reading me the notes from the previous therapist. And what did these notes entail per se? Given the amount of typing she did in my session, I expected a volumes. But as the therapist read out the notes, I was summed up in five sentences...... grr.

Now?! All I can do I shake my head, keep my chin up and my running shoes running for my sanity.. and keep trying. In many ways find a therapist truly is like dating. You have to find someone you truly connect with, and much like a first date.. you know in minutes. And so I keep searching. There is another one coming up in a couple weeks. Hopefully, this time.. this will be the one.