It's difficult to put my feelings into words. It feels bigger than words. So I've attached some pictures of extremely happy animals that might help communicate just how I am feeling.
Although I don't quite know the magnitude of it just yet, this experience has altered my path in life. I was headed in one direction, cruising down the path that I had chosen, the path that I had determined was best for me when I was suddenly slowed to a halt and veered off in a different direction - a direction that I never had any intention or desire of going. It forced me to re-evaluate and re-examine my hopes, my dreams, and my priorities in life. Good or bad, this experience has changed me.
Pretty intense, huh?
First things first though. You may be wondering how my MRI went. You know, the MRI that I completely built up in my mind as a horrifying experience. Seriously Kirstie? How frightening is laying still in a loud tube while your nuclei rotate about? It doesn't hurt at all, and although it's a tight squeeze, there is absolutely nothing to fear. Anyway, I worked myself up into a frenzy and decided to take an Ativan as soon as I arrived at the hospital. When the Tech explained that I would require x-rays first and would not likely begin the MRI for at least an hour, I panicked a bit (Wha? Me? Panic?) - would my Ativan wear off half-way through the test? Yikes. So, I did what any overreactive spazzy pants would do, I took a second Ativan an hour later just as I was entering the tube.
So, needless to say, I was relaxed. I was unset soupy jello relaxed. I may have even enjoyed it. I have no idea. At one point, as Justin Timberlake sang, "I'm bringing sexy back" through my giant headphones, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the obnoxious siren of the MRI machine was actually on beat with Justin.
"I'm bringing sexy back, " WHAAAAAA WHAAAAA WHAAAAA
Brilliant. I giggled happily to myself. Silly MRI.
After an hour, I was almost disappointed when the Tech came in to pull me out of my happy sexy song machine.
Evan met me in the waiting room and it was apparent by the shocked expression on his face that I resembled a crack whore after a bad trip (I actually have NO idea what a "crack whore" looks like). I wiped the drool from my chin and shuffled into our vehicle, snoring the entire way back to Prince Albert.
I then proceeded to freak out for 2 days. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't focus. I convinced myself that I would never walk again. The longer I went without sleep and food, the stronger the knee pain became. Negative thoughts infiltrated my brain and I found myself laying on the couch, staring at nothing on the television, planning a lonely life of pain, wheelchairs, and surgeries.
And then I heard the news. My Radiologist called to tell me that although Dr. M had yet to review the scan, things looked very good on the MRI. The cartilage transplant looked to be securely in place - a huge improvement from the bleak MRI a year ago, which indicated that my cartilage was falling apart in chunks. The left knee, he explained, did not show signs of Osteochondrial Dessicans (OCD), the disease that I was convinced had destroyed every piece of cartilage in my body. The left knee did show a chronic condition called chondromalacia patella - which basically just means that the cartilage behind my kneecap sucks. Although it causes pain, it is not a precursor to OCD or arthritis. It's just there. It's a non-issue compared to what I was dealing with in the right knee. It would; however, be a source of pain that I would have to learn to live with.
My initial reaction was not, "Right on! that's great!" (As one would expect). My first reaction, strangely enough, was to cry - for about 8 hours or so. "This can't be right," I sobbed, "I feel pain. My knee hurts. Something is wrong. Am I crazy?"
I had the weekend to process the news before I would meet with Dr. M on Monday to discuss. Slowly, as time passed over the next 3 days, my thoughts and feelings began to shift. Once I could attribute the pain to something real and identifiable - chondromalacia patella, knowing that I was not, indeed, falling apart as I had imagined, nor was I imagining the pain, the pain began to dissipate. I stopped taking painkillers every 4 hours and realized that although I could feel pain, the pain was not indicative of a degenerating knee, riddled with disease.
On Sunday night, I met with my BFF, the lovely Janna, who has suffered through her own nightmare of health issues over the past 2 years. Janna was diagnosed with Crohn's disease following the birth of her baby. My buddy has been through the wringer and the disease presently appears to be under control with a new med regime. Janna is looking fabulous and finally feeling healthy again. Although Janna and I have completely different health issues, we share a lot of similar feelings and fears. We talked about how unfair it was that 2 strong women be afflicted by life-altering health issues at such a young age... but we also discussed a positive experience that we both share as a result of what we've been through. We both feel that our experiences have forced us to to slow down and really appreciate those little moments in life - those small seemingly insignificant moments where you stop and think, "Right now - life is good." When Janna hears her little guy laugh, she stops and processes how sweet it sounds. When Evan predictably kisses my forehead every morning, I am consciously aware of how much I am loved. The ability to be in the moment is an amazing gift that we've been given.
I began to feel like I was ready to move on.
The next morning Dr. M went through my MRI with me in amazing detail - not only were my images displayed on all of his computer screens, but he had props - text books, line drawings, and elastics to illustrate everything that my MRI indicated. I'm surprised that he didn't act out the MRI, stretching himself out like the ligaments in my knee!
When we looked at the pictures of my cartilage transplant sitting firmly - exactly where it should be, it finally occurred to me how unbelievably fortunate I am. My knee was a mess. This man took a chance on me - I was a guinea pig of sorts - I was the first recipient of a juvenile cartilage transplant in Saskatchewan - and it worked! Because of Dr. M and this gift of cartilage, my quality of life has been greatly improved..and will continue to improve as my muscles get stronger and my confidence increases.
Dr. M told me that it was time to stop being afraid. He gave me the green light to move forward with my life.
I could say a million wonderful things about Dr. M. He's a brilliant, compassionate, confident, committed, progressive Doctor. But he's so much more than that. Many brilliant, confident surgeons would have taken one look at me and told me that nothing could be done. Simply put, Dr. M is a kind human being who saw another human suffering and decided that he could make a difference. I feel strongly that I did not meet Dr. M by accident. Our paths crossed for a reason and he's made it clear that he feels the same way. We have both learned from this experience and from each other. This man, who was once was a stranger I passed in the hospital hallway, has become an important part of my life journey. I will always hold a special place in my heart for this "fellow traveller" who has taught me so much about myself and this unpredictable journey called life.
Although I am not a huggy, cuddly person (at all!) when I stood up to leave Dr. M's office, I hugged the bejeezus out of him. I squeezed him as tight as I could and I did not want to let go. I don't really know how to express my great appreciation to him, but as he squeezed me back, I knew he understood what I was trying to convey. When I did finally let go, as cliche as this sounds, I felt myself letting go of all my fears. I don't need to be afraid anymore. The fear has literally been paralyzing...but it's time to let go and move on. I am ready. I have a lot of hard work ahead of me but this chapter is closed. As we released our embrace, I said goodbye, limped down the hall, exited the Orthopedic Department and felt an overwhelming sense of freedom.
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