It has been one year since I had a large mass removed from my left calf.
Over the last 12 months, I have shared updates on my physical healing progress; noting the notable physical achievements and indicating the days as they pass. I have moved through many stages of recovery: lying in bed with no movement, then 6 weeks of not bearing weight and using a walker until I could move with crutches, and finally using a cane. As my range of motion increased, I started taking longer and longer walks until I made the bold step of attempting a run or two. Telling a stubborn person that they can't is a sure way to have them show you that they can.
Incisions heal. Neural pathways reconnect. Range of motion expands. Mobility and strength returns. I’ve experienced this before through my previous operations, but my most recent surgery, similar to the ones prior, reminded me again that it’s not the physical return, but rather the emotional one that is the hardest part of the healing process.
Reflecting on this past year, I can better see how my sense of urgency to heal physically was often motivated by my need to prove that I could, as I have prided myself on my ability to be strong, able, and active. Reflecting, I realized that it was my identity that needed more time to heal.
I have been living with the uncomfortableness of not being able to achieve. My disposition to achieve is relentless - It has always been too challenging for me to take time for rest and recovery. I have a propensity to overdo it. Candidly, it is quite hard for me to sit with myself and my racing thoughts. I think this is more about my own insecurities of not being relevant or having to say no to something, considering my mortality, and learning how to manage myself.
The first months after surgery there really was nothing that I could do without help. Justin watched protectively over me and managed every aspect of my recovery. Gretel and Thor were helpful even as their lives were taking off; Gretel leaving the excitement of her freshman year at college to watch me for a weekend, although I’m pretty sure this was done so I didn’t make bad decisions with Justin and Thor away. To have your kids see you in discomfort and bedridden feels heavy, as the parent is supposed to take care of their kids, not the other way around.
This mass in my calf, which thankfully turned out to be non cancerous, was my second brush with mortality. It brought back feelings from my mountaineering accident 24 years ago where I had managed to do significant damage to my right leg. After being hit by a rock when rappelling and a big evacuation, I spent time on bed rest until I I could use crutches to get around. I have often shared that to have a brush with mortality at such an early age has no doubt impacted the way I lead my life. It is hard for me to pass on opportunities, to pace, to say no. I feel an URGENCY to live. And urgency isn’t a welcomed companion when healing takes time.
As this year progressed, my energy slowly returned. Fatigue from healing is quite frustrating - and it is not just the leg. Mental focus eluded me in my work and I felt withdrawn from others. I simply can’t go at the same clip as I did before, and for that I am mourning, but I’m also building new boundaries and perspectives and measures of success.
I am trying to lead valiantly. That is where I am focusing my healing, and my work, as I look towards this next year of healing and growth. The word valiant is an adjective that comes from the 14th century and means "bold" or "of worth” - and that is what I aim to be - and also believe - that I am. Bold and of worth, just as I am.
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