My closest friends often refer to me as a badass bitch. They say it with love…I think. Even before my aneurysm, I have been through a lot and always fought like a warrior. I’ve been through twelve knee surgeries, some absolutely brutal, including a total knee replacement (actually one of the easiest) by the time I was 40. The doctors were always amazed at how quickly I bounced back and pushed through the rehabilitation like it was a minor scrape. That’s just who I was. I pushed myself. I relied on myself. I closed myself off and trusted no one.
My very first knee surgery in 9th grade found me recovering on the couch alone during the summer, while my parents were at work. My dad would get me settled on the couch in the morning with snacks, drinks, books, and the remote. My mom would come home at lunch to get me to the bathroom (like a puppy being potty trained) and get me lunch. I wasn’t allowed to lift my leg on my own; it had to be slowly lowered to the ground. I was immobilized from the hip to my ankle. This lasted all of 4 days. By the end of the week, I had figured out how to hook my left foot under my calf of my right leg and swing that leg off the couch and lower it gently to the floor so that I could get up with my crutches and get more to drink or go to the bathroom. That trick didn’t go over well with my parents, but they knew they weren’t going to stop me. I had a stubborn and determined streak that ran deep.
That stubbornness and independence only got stronger as I got older. I learned early on that I could fight through any battle on my own. Asking for help wasn’t an option in my mind. People were selfish and unreliable. And I held myself to such ridiculous standards intellectually that I would rather search for the answer alone rather than let others know I didn’t know something. I believed I could only count on myself. So everything I did, I suffered in silence. I figured things out for myself…whether it was a physical task or intellectual. And I kept most people at a distance. I relied on my strength and my stubbornness to fight through. Even my doctors knew that if I was calling for an appointment, it was dire. And pain meds? Pfft…those were for the weak.
I expected so much of myself that I was often disappointed in reality. I’ve gone through life holding everyone to such excruciatingly high standards that failure was inevitable. I buried myself behind the highest wall I could build and kept everyone out. I believed I could only rely on myself in life. Over the years, I have let a few people behind that wall and into my tight-knit circle, but even then, I didn’t ask for help. I never wanted to be perceived as weak. Or “less than”. That image of perfection was everything.
And then my brain started to bleed. The pain was excruciating. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And when the doctors ignored the problem, I pushed through. I kept going to work, driving over 50 miles per day. I missed one day during that five-week period because I wasn’t missing work for a “headache”. And then it ruptured. And everything changed. Suddenly, I was living someone else’s life. Suddenly I wasn’t as reliable as I once was. I couldn’t even count on my own brain anymore.
The past two years have been an awakening. I’ve seen different sides of people…and myself. There is enough of the old me still here that doesn’t want help. It remembers pain of disappointment and the fear of feeling less than. And then there is this new person emerging from the wreckage of my trauma who no longer cares about what other people think. I’m not sure where the balance is, but I’m sure it’s there somewhere.
It’s been two years of constant doctor appointments. It’s been two years of figuring out this new life. It’s been two years of assessing my behavior. I was suddenly thrust into a life that required assistance. I can still do nearly everything on my own, but it takes a lot longer and it is exhausting, but I can do it. My struggles are even more apparent as exhaustion sets in and I don’t know how to handle things on my own. I’ve found myself trusting more people than I ever have in my life because of the loneliness of dealing with my damage. What I discovered was that the people in my circle often didn’t understand what I was going through. They couldn’t relate to the chronic headaches, the exhaustion, the visual disturbances, or the emotional trauma and guilt that was waging a battle inside of me. None of us understood the new found anger or anxiety. I needed some new people. I searched out other survivors. I searched out therapy. I searched out religious leaders. I opened my circle a bit.
Don’t get me wrong, I still struggle with trusting fully. That wall is still there, but now I’ve built a door. I let people play in the yard and I’m able to run back inside and shut the door when it becomes too much. There are a few new people that I’ve let inside. I let them kick back and relax with me…to see the real me. Sometimes I still have to pull away and lock the door to calm the anxiety, but every day I’m making progress. It’s not so much that I’m afraid of what others think of me now. It’s more I’m afraid of getting hurt. I’m learning that it’s okay to say “I need help” and it’s okay for them to say they can’t help me. It’s not personal. It’s not malicious. It’s not an attack on me or how they feel about me. And there is no weakness in admitting you need help. I’m learning how to live my life with my new limitations. My circle is learning about the new me too. And we are closer now because of this challenge.
Am I still a stubborn ass? Definitely. I’m not sure any of that will ever change. I’m just learning now that there is a difference between being stubborn and being stupid…if only I had listened to my mom when I was a teenager, and in my 20s, my 30s…well, you know…
