I Fall to Pieces

As Brennan's mom I've been called brave and strong and many other words I knew I didn't deserve. We were all forced to try to be strong -- for ourselves, and for each other. In the beginning I didn't even try to fake it. I could be found in a heap of tears or asleep in a corner from the emotional exhaustion. Doctors who would come in to check on Brennan would notice me in the corner and ask if I was ok. I was not ok, but it was because my previously perfect child was NOT OK!  

I learned to adapt by learning how to hide my fears (someone recently told me that I make jokes as a coping mechanism -- I have no comment). I was so good at hiding fear that once when a Code Blue was called on Brennan the staff told me after that they had never seen such a calm parent. I was freaking the fuck out on the inside. I moved aside so the people who went to school for such things could do their work, I was sending messages on my phone to friends so I could panic in some way, but mostly I knew that freaking out didn't do anyone any good, but especially not my child. And it was all for him. Not becoming a basket case was all for Brennan. 

So what happens when it is me that falls apart physically?  I fall apart emotionally. 

After years of being told that I needed it, I finally started to feel like I needed it. I scheduled knee replacement surgery for my right knee with the plan to schedule my left as soon as I was recovered enough. I had tried to hide the pain of my arthritis for years, so many people questioned my decision to have my knees replaced. It was like being pregnant and having everyone start telling you pregnancy horror stories. I was already scared and didn't need to know about your friend who had it done and gave birth to a 12 pound baby. People, keep that shit to yourself!

I was so afraid of the surgery that the last thing I remember before the anesthesia hit was starting to cry and hearing someone in the room ask, "Is she crying?" in a tone that sounded like Tom Hanks reminding us that "there's no crying in baseball!"

Everyone that didn't have a horror story told me that I was going to be so happy that I did this and everything was going to be so awesome after. And maybe that will all be true. Someday. 

It's been a little over a month since I had my right knee replaced and recovery has been difficult. I had a few setbacks in the beginning that effected my ability to do the physical therapy as much as I should have (low blood pressure and pain management). 

But the biggest obstacle has been me. Me falling apart on a regular basis. Me questioning my decision to do this. Me feeling like I was failing at physical therapy (which I was). Me afraid that this new (and worse) pain was never going to go away. Me frustrated with my medication options and being treated like a drug seeking addict by every pharmacy (even the one that we've gone to for years for Brennan's medications). 

I feel horrible about my reaction to my situation. I make comparisons in my head about how much I've cried over my knee versus how much I cried in the last nine years of brain tumors and seizures and surgeries and codes being called. What kind of mother am I that I even kind of feel sorry for myself?  

I have no idea yet how this is going to turn out yet, but I am starting to feel better. I am hopeful that my recovery, while slow, is still moving in a positive direction (thanks to finally hearing my physical therapist and really trying to do my at home exercises multiple times per day).  

And people tell me I can do this. Some people have even used the words brave and strong. Some people, but not Brennan. I think he knows that those two things have little to do with it. 


The following is a really gross picture of my knee about 5 weeks post-op.  It's yucky looking, flaky, and has a fricken' dent!