Revisiting Old Scars

Today, I revisited some old scars. Literally and figuratively. And in a good way.

I got the stitches out of my elbow, stitches that had sewed up the same scar from two previous surgeries. These particular stitches were from my most recent elbow surgery- the one where I got the metal plate and 8 screws removed from my ulna.

My regular doc/surgeon, whom I'll call Mac, was out of town so I saw his partner (whom I'll call Rolf) and his partner's medical assistant instead. The MA commented on how fast I healed up, which was good to hear.

Rolf was someone Mac had consulted back in May of 2007 when I first came into the clinic with my elbow pinned closed, just after my first surgery (before the reconstructive surgery). Rolf had seen the x-rays of my elbow and unlike the Mac, he had recommended against having the reconstructive surgery.

I asked him if he remembered me; he said I looked familiar, which was nice of him to say but I doubted he actually recognized me because I don't even think we actually met face to face. I was actually asking more if he remembered my x-rays, since every doc or PT or nurse that I ever showed them to made such a big deal about how they had "never seen such a traumatic injury in all of their career..."

I didn't remind him that he'd given me different advice than Mac. He may or may not remember that.

And the only reason I even mention this is that I am convinced- totally convinced- that the reason I am where I am today is because of four reasons:

1- Mac's expertise and foresight

2- the reconstructive surgery (Mac was alone in recommending this)

3- the CPM machine

4- me working my ass off in rehab.

I firmly believe that had I not had that surgery, I would be much, much worse off today- maybe not even able to use my elbow.

Rolf was one of three (or maybe it was four) other orthopedic surgeons who didn't agree with Mac. Rolf's opinion, along with several other docs' "who had been in the field for awhile" was that to open me up again and disturb the tissues again, causing more scar tissue, was not worth the risks nor the uncertain potential for increased results.

But I am so deeply grateful for the decision I made. And now when I look back on those other opinions, it's actually kind of shocking that a doctor would recommend that I not have the surgery.

Anyhow, because of this history with Rolf, I was interested to meet with him today and show him my progress. The last time he saw me, my arm and I were a mess. And inside my head I was thinking, "I am so grateful I didn't take your advice, Rolf."

But I wasn't thinking that with any hard feelings at all. He is a really nice guy and a wonderful doctor, I'm sure. Yet, I still whisper thanks to my gut feeling, the voice that nagged me to have the surgery, regardless of the fact that Mac was voted down by three other surgeons.

So after showing him my elbow's current status, I was interested to get Rolf's take on some concerns I had.

I asked him about how my prosthetic radial head is moving around inside my radius (came up on my pre-op x-rays). Did he think that would eventually be a problem? "It's not a problem unless it causes pain." Did he think I would be more likely to get arthritis in my elbow because it's still a bit unstable on one side (Mac had discovered this pre-op, as well)? "No way of knowing." Did he think the metal prosthetic radial head grinding against my humerus bone might cause a problem at some point, since I don't have cartilage there anymore? "Maybe."

But he was very upbeat about all of this. He was impressed that I'd gained so much of my extension back. I reminded him that I was told, even by Mac, that I'd be permanently stuck with only being able to extend my elbow to 30 degrees (all the way out is zero) and only flex it as far as 120 (all the way flexed is about 165 for me). I told him how I'm only short about 5 degrees on both sides. He seemed very pleased all around.

There was a moment between when the MA took my stitches out and when he came into the room- maybe about 5 minutes- when tears started to fill my eyes. This happens to me every time I visit this clinic. It's become a familiar part of the visits, almost like a friend dropping in.

My friend, the tears.

What happens is that I flash back to early May of 2007 when I first came to this clinic. I flash back to the fear so intense that it made my whole body hot. I flash back to just how surreal it was to suddenly one day, not know if I'd ever be able to live the life I wanted to: an active life, a life with a working arm.

I flash back to the thoughts that haunted me for months, all those typical thoughts that are supposedly normal with any kind of loss: shock and denial thoughts. Why did this happen? Am I dreaming? Why did I have to...? If only I had... I just wish I could go back and...

Basically, I was torturing myself with whys and what ifs.

Then I flash back to all the repeated visits here, for all those dozens of x-rays that were, at first, painful to even get (turning my arm this way and that to get a picture). And then, there's just a general feeling that floods me. Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, it's like the last 10 months flash before my eyes. I see it fast-forwarded. And then suddenly, I'm sitting on that table again in the present moment, doing miraculously well but with a long road ahead of me still.

The tears are not sad tears. They are grateful tears. They are compassion tears. They are "thank god I'm here and not there anymore" tears. They are "holy shit, I've been through something big" tears.

They are part of that powerful feeling I've alluded to previously- when the strength within you to get through something blows your own mind.

Those tears, just like any good friend, are more or less saying to me, "We did it, Tamara."