2 Week Anniversary

Fresh from the road, July 4, 2010.

Two weeks ago right now, I was in pretty tough shape. Not moving much, in and out of x-rays, still trying to convince the nurses to give me something to drink or eat. Which of course, they wouldn’t, for my own good. At this point 2 weeks ago I was still holding out hope that nothing was broken, that I’d just be sore for a couple of days and be able to start at least 1 of my Musselman races.

That, of course, was not to be, and after the doctor told me about my pelvic fractures, I let myself cry. And then I turned my focus to getting through this, to healing, to getting back – eventually – to riding, running, swimming, and racing.

Some days it’s not too hard. But some days – like today – it’s beautiful outside, my friends are all Facebooking about their awesome bike rides, and I’m sitting in my Lazy Boy, getting through the nausea of a new medication and wishing that healing happened faster. This, in a word, sucks.

So since Michael had to be out, grocery shopping with his Ma, I called my grandma. She chatted with me for almost an hour, about family members, about when she was in the hospital, and about my situation. Talking with a person who has an 89-year memory does help drive home that a 2-3 month recovery really isn’t much. It’s a drop in the bucket. It’s something to get through, to absorb, to learn from, but not to dwell in. That’s one of the reasons I love endurance sports. Because after you’re warmed up and before you cool down, there’s a middle to your workout. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get to the end…and that’s when you focus on your next step, where you are right now. And then you get absorbed, get focused, and get through.

I think when I get most down about my little predicament here is when I don’t see forward movement, when the new drug seems as bad or worse than the first, when the injury site seems more sensitive than it was before, when I don’t have any more energy than I did the day before. I get scared that I’ll stagnate, that I either won’t improve or will lose my drive to be active once I do. But those are fears, and I don’t have to live on them.

Instead, I can step back, BREATHE, and take a little step. Get through the next little bit of the middle of this workout. Feel it all, soak it in, but keep moving through it. It WILL end; I WILL feel healthy and sharp again; there WILL eventually be an easy descent after this long climb.

And for the moment, here are a couple of photos of Michael’s and my Wheelchair Walk last night. A beautiful night to be out, warm breeze and good summery smells.

Wheelin' West Ave.

When I first got my road bike in 2004, we were living on our farm in Iowa, which was at the end of a 1/2 mile gravel lane. I was TERRIFIED that the shifty gravel would make me spill off of my skinny tires, so trips down the gravel usually ran to the soundtrack of, “$&!*$(&*@@&!!^(!!!!!” I got that soundtrack back out for the wheelchair ride out the door and down the driveway. Kudos to Michael for not cracking my cracked ass further, and for thinking my soundtrack was funny.

And I never, ever wiped out on our Iowa driveway. Guess I was saving up…you know, go big or go home. 🙂

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About solveighanson

I'm a (late) thirtysomething Plant Breeding Ph.D. student, daughter / sister / auntie, vegetable fan, yogi, sometime cyclist, and enthusiastic if infrequent baker. I started this blog in the summer of 2010 to trace my recovery from a pelvic fracture sustained in a cycling accident. That healing process was truly transformative, and since then I seem to have written mostly about the transformations that have followed. And hence the title of the blog: Don't call me a butterfly, because I'm not done changing.
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2 Responses to 2 Week Anniversary

  1. Ruth H says:

    Solveig, Well, after an hour talking with Grandma you seem to have a resolve that will help to quiet your fears. Call it “Perspective” or “Experience” or “Wisdom”—–it’s part of that inner strength from which you will draw as you heal. Also, a determined partner, like Michael, won’t let you drift into melancholy—let’s hear it for those wheelchair rides and BBQ’s!

  2. Connie B says:

    Hey, that NY road looks like your road in Iowa! Chins up and smiles wide, Solveig. You’ll be back on your feet before you know it!

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