Now, the recovery. There is nothing easy about any recovery. There are always setbacks, ups and downs, and moments where you think its not worth it. There is never a scenario where recovering will be easy. (Unless you get a paper cut… And well, if that's not easy for you then… I don't know what to tell ya). Recovering from surgeries can be extremely difficult, or they can progress faster than expected. I have no clue which category mine fits in, only that it sucked. No way around it, getting that out there. It was torture.
Looking back at this step of the process, I laugh a little at some of the things I remember, but of course, at the time I was terrified. One of the things I laugh about, among others, is the very first instruction my doctors assistant gave my mother in our last meeting before the surgery, which was "Because of the morphine, for 24 hours after your surgery, eat as though you just had the stomach flu, so that's, rice, cereal, oatmeal, things that won't upset your stomach. Every one's body reacts differently to the medication", and what do my parents feed me that same day?? PANCAKES! Yayyyyy. Haha, who eats pancakes and bacon after having the stomach flu? I do apparently. It's ok though, I don't hold it against them because my body accepted the food even with the medicine and it was a very yummy breakfast, they're very lucky I don't have a weak stomach. So, that's one thing I laugh at. Another thing that will never cease to terrify me, is the fact that I had to take out my own stitches…
So, here's how this went. My follow up appointment with my doctor went well and he was pleased with what he saw, his assistant, who I now appreciate very much, was out of town due to a family emergency, so my doctor had an Attending with him. He looked over my incisions and said it was time to take the sutures out he gave instructions to the Attending, wished me luck with the rest of my recovery and left the room. The Attending left, and came back with a little plastic package, "Ok," she said "here's the suture removal kit, take the scissors and cut the knots, and then you should be able to pull out the threads with the tweezers. You can do this at home, it usually works best if the area is wet." and with that she left the room. Uhhhh what? So, here I am, sitting on the sanitary paper covered table, mouth gaping eyes wide. I turn to my parents… "I…. Have to take them out myself?" I say, I pretend to laugh it off, but in my head I am screaming. I can barely look at my ankles, let alone take out sutures. On the ride home I tell myself to suck it up, because there is no way I'd let anyone else do it, so if I don't it will never get done.
We get home, and i head straight for the bathroom. I fill the bathtub up about ankle deep, with lukewarm water. Sticking my feet in, I realize, it's is the first time in 2 1/2 weeks that my feet have felt water. It's weird to think that something like that could make some one happy, but believe me. When you are a dancer, and your feet have been constricted for 2 weeks… Everyone is happy. Trust me. So, after I decide my feet have soaked long enough, I dab them with a towel so that they aren't soaking wet. I gather up my courage and take a few deep breaths. I rest on ankle on my knee "Lucky for that Attending I'm flexible. Good thing I don't have to see her again, I'd like to take out HER sutures…" I don't know why. I just really didn't like her, maybe its because she came in right before the surgery and asked me what ankle we were operating on… How about both? But anyways! While I thought angry thoughts and examined my ankles, determining where to start, my mom walks in. Startled, I just about stab myself with the scissors. She apologizes and asks "How are you doing? Do you need help?" trying to hide the look on her face that says she really does not want to help, she is just being kind. I tell her I'll be alright, but I need to concentrate so I don't cut my foot off. Besides, I would never ask my family to help me with something like this in a million years, it seems like way to much to ask.
Here it goes, I start snipping away at the threads, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible, now that all the threads are gone, I pick up the tweezers… "Ew" I think to myself, "I can't believe I am doing this.", I start, lightly tugging on the first knot, I stop when I see and feel, my skin bob up and down with the thread, "Uhmm, Mommmm?", she comes in, "Do you think that doctor was right about these being ready to come out?", she shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know, try another knot and see what happens, if it doesn't work maybe just leave it?" helpful. I don't blame her though, if it was me, not only would I want to get out of that bathroom as soon as possible, but I seriously would have no clue whether or not they were ready to come out… So I continue tugging. Finally one makes its way out from my skin. "Okkkkiiiiiiii, I think that's enough for today!" I say out loud, but in my head, "There is no way I am doing that again, they can just come out when they feel ready."
During my immobile days, when my dad would spend evenings in my room with me, we would schedule and reschedule my road test, and he also helped me pick out and order, an entirely new outfit for Easter. I began regularly attending church again. One thing I forgot to mention, is that on my first outing, while still on crutches and still in boots, was to the mall with my best friend Renee, probably one of the dumber things I did during this time. We got to the mall, and everybody stared, which I hated, but I don't know what I thought was going to happen. My ankles started hurting and then I felt like I was going to throw up, so my sister picked me up and I went home. Easter Sunday came along, and I had asked my PT if I was ready to wear heels and I actually don't remember what he said but I am pretty sure he said no. So I obeyed. But then, it came time for me to see my friends from ballet in their spring showcase, Snow White. Some of my best friends were graduating that year and I had to see them. I picked out my outfit, including a new pair of heels that I had not been given permission to wear, and my sister and I left for the show.
At the theatre I saw all of my friends and we talked and blah blah blah, and then one of my friends who was graduating asked the school director if I could hand out the graduates flowers at the end of the show. He said yes and I rushed back to tell my sister. She had some interesting things to tell me. Apparently, while I was talking to my friends, the ballet mistress had walked past, and knowing about my surgery was very very angry that I was wearing heels, and told this to my sister, so I borrowed some shoes from one of my friends, so I wouldn't get yelled at after handing out the flowers. When I went back stage, the ballet mistress told my sisters "I am glad Stacey took those GD heels off." Allrrightttttt. But she wasn't my main reason for taking off my heels. One of the girls in my class goes to the same PT as I do, and she told me he was in the audience, I had not gotten permission to wear heels, I was scared of his wrath, but the next day I confessed and he said it would probably be really good for my calves, because it would give them a rest. Wish I had known that before.
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