On a Learning Curve

Life may not be easy, but it's always an adventure.


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Hobbling but Grateful

Let’s say you’re a mom and you’ve just had knee surgery–your second surgery in four months. Let’s also say you have a thoughtful friend who sends you a bouquet from Edible Arrangements. What do you think your children will do?

If you guessed that they will immediately fight over who gets to eat the chocolate-covered fruit and suck the helium out of the balloons, then you must also be a parent.

There are definitely more serious problems to have than my example. And Schuyler, thank you from the bottom of my heart. The chocolate-covered salted caramel slices are definitely aiding my recovery.

Instead I would like to acknowledge that I am forever indebted to three families who graciously made tissue donations in their times of grief. To each of them I would like to offer my profound gratitude.

In July of this year, I received two donor bone grafts to close up significant holes in my right femur and tibia. When I had my ACL repaired at the age of 18, my surgeon used titanium screws that loosened over time and created tunnels that couldn’t hold a new graft.

Yesterday my surgeon used two pieces of my own hamstrings plus an additional piece of donor tissue to construct a new ACL for my right knee. Apparently I have dainty hamstrings that aren’t large enough to create a graft on their own.

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I wasn’t awake to hear the explanation of why there’s purple thread in my knee, but you can see the dissolving screw on the left side of my ACL graft.

As my knee heals and strengthens over the next year, this graft will allow me to return to running, coaching soccer, and being an active participant in my children’s shenanigans. I know this may sound trivial to those of you who think running is bad for one’s knees or who don’t wonder why I just don’t give up running.

If, however, you understand that regular physical exercise is an important component of emotional health, then you probably understand why I’m not ready to retire at the age of 42. If you’ve also ever experienced the frustration and helplessness that comes from anxiety and/or depression, then you know that exercise is a tool to combat these afflictions.

While I wish that I weren’t intimately acquainted with anxiety, I refuse to let it rule my life. Running is just one of the ways that I find calm and balance. Returning to running shape, therefore, is important to me, and I am thankful that there are kind-hearted people who are willing to help me reach my goal.

And for a lack of anything more profound to write, I hope that I am honoring the lives of these three individuals by being a good steward of their gracious gifts to me.


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Distracted

I am a distracted writer. I don’t know how to separate life and its disruptions from my writing–or anything else really.

For example, last week S turned 12. I wrote half of a solid blog piece, and that’s where it ended. It bothers me to have half-finished things, so I deleted the entire post. Here’s the picture that I would have posted if I had finished writing.

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S and her beloved rat Nori. I have no explanation for her love of rodents.

We also had a few rough days of parenting in between the birthday festivities. I was torn between typing up my frustrations and violating the privacy of G, who doesn’t read my blog anyway. In the end, I scrapped that piece, too.

Needless to say, I don’t seem to have the hang of this parenting job just yet. We’re 14ish years into this vocation, and I still manage to be surprised by how ridiculously hard it is. One thing I am learning is not to judge other parents by the behaviors of their children. If Ryan and I are trying this hard, other parents also must be pulling their hair out, crying their eyes out, and wondering what’s gotten into their children’s minds, too. Right?

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Watching and waiting…

For a pleasant bit of distraction, I took H and her friend MC to our local Christmas parade on Sunday. We live in a small town, and anyone was welcome to walk in the parade. (The latter fact helps explain why a propane delivery truck was also one of the entries.) I love our newly adopted home town, and I was loving the fact that we could watch an entire parade in just 20 minutes.

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It’s not a Christmas parade without Santa and his draft horses.

Unfortunately, it takes me longer than 20 minutes to write. I wrote most of this piece yesterday while S and H were taking their weekly classes at our homeschool co-op. I did so in between emailing G’s teachers for make-up work because her body decided to succumb to strep; checking in with Ryan; and finding three co-op parents to keep an eye on H and S next week while I am recuperating from knee surgery.

If everything is for a season, then I suppose this is simply my season to figure out how to stay focused on what’s important, weed out what isn’t, and persevere when something–or someone–needs extended time.