Playing the Waiting Game

Growing up, Jud and I always went to amusement parks. Six Flags Great America in Illinois was our favorite - mostly because it was so close to home and perhaps a little bit too convenient. We went on all of the rides together, but roller coasters were definitely our favorite. Jud and I loved all of the roller coasters, but that doesn't mean that they didn't freak us out. The worst part of a roller coaster isn't the loops or the high speeds: it is the "click-click-clank-clank" of the roller coaster’s initial ascent. With every "click," I used to always ask myself, "Why I am doing this?! This is crazy!" By the time we had reached the pinnacle and could see for miles, I was positively ready to pee my pants. After the ride was over, I would turn to Jud and scream, "That was awesome!!" I was ready to do it all over again.

I am currently two days out of ACL reconstruction surgery. I feel as if I am definitely back on a roller coaster with Jud, just 11 years old, waiting for my pending doom. Every well-intended, "So, when is surgery? Are you nervous? I hope it goes well!" seems to be another "click" on the track. Previously I told people, "Oh, my surgery is September 17th. It'll be a while until they find a matching cadaver graft. Right now I'm in physical therapy." I wasn't even in the roller coaster cart yet: I was still waiting in line, chatting with Jud. Now I have to face reality and say, "They found a cadaver match this morning, and I have to be at the hospital on Wednesday morning at 7:00 am."

My friend Jenny is a fabulous researcher. She researches a subject until it impossible to know anything else about any given subject of interest to her. When I told her about my surgery, she went into hyper-research mode. We found an incredible website from a doctor's office in Kansas that outlines my surgery, complete with pictures. It's definitely worth checking out: http://www.ksknee.com/Ligament%20Reconstruction.htm

The pictures freaked me out - along with the warning that even the best ACL replacements / reconstructions only last twenty years. I'm a little bit nervous to think that when I'm in my forties, I'll have to do this all over again. And there is always the amusing bit of setting off metal detectors for the rest of my life. I'm beginning to ask myself those roller coaster questions all over again, "Why am I doing this? This is crazy!"

The best answer that comes to me is the one that I've discussed with Craig, my Momma, my family, my dear friends, and my doctor: I can't imagine an inactive life. I don't want to be sidelined from running on unstable terrain. I don't want to sit out of fun, important races that Craig and I love to run. I don't want to be limited in my physical activities. I want to have limitless potential in my physical activities. As a result, I will be in the OR on Wednesday morning. I'm going to be able to see for miles, and I'll wind through the loops and survive the high-speeds.

When the surgery is successfully completed (hopefully!), I highly doubt I'll be ready to do it all over again. I won't turn to Jud and say, "That was awesome!" When I think about the setbacks of having an ACL reconstruction, I can definitely become discouraged. I don't like to think that I'll always have a weaker right knee. When the thoughts of having a weak right knee and all of the implications associated with a bad knee become too much to handle, I think of my friend Dave. Dave worked in New Orleans before, during, and after Hurricane Katrina. He writes that one of his favorite quotes (found on a bathroom stall in New Orleans) says, "A setback is nothing more than a setup for a comeback." I hope so!