Rush of my Heart

Let’s play a game called: How many things can go wrong in one day?
It started off with another doctor appointment – this time to have my MRI from last week read. I was expecting to be put into a straight leg knee brace and on crutches for the next 6 weeks to try to correct some of the damage that was done in last year’s surgery, but after the doctor checked out my MRI, he had a few things to say.
First and foremost, he wants to give the brace a chance with physical therapy during these next six weeks, so he ordered a “more sophisticated brace” from my insurance company that I’ll get within a week’s time to keep my leg perfectly immobilized during the day as the tissue hopefully heals.
Next, he said he could tell from reading the MRI that I had a problem within my tendon that wasn’t an easy fix, and it would have been better if I’d torn it clean through. He said we can always hope that these six weeks on crutches will work, but he’s already thinking of Plan B. I asked what plan B was…a reasonable question, no?
He said shock treatment. Now, I’ve had shock treatment before during Physical Therapy sessions – and though extremely unpleasant (it feels as though fire ants are biting your skin), I can deal with it. When I mentioned that, he corrected me.
“Not that kind of shock treatment…Traumatic Shock Treatment.” I didn’t like the sound of that, and actually laughed at the funny joke. That’s when I realized he wasn’t smiling, and I felt my face go slack, the echo of laughter still in my head. I asked him what he meant, and he told me to think of it as re-breaking a bone to make it heal correctly.
They would open me up and cut all the way through the biggest tendon in my leg.
He says they may have better luck if they start from scratch, since it’s already so shot.
Awesome.
He said recovery time would be about a year.
I cried all the way back to my house as I drove. It was stupid, I know – but the disappointment of a probable second surgery with such a drastic recovery time was still enough to make my eyes water.
After trying to minimize the damage to my face, I decided I should go back to work. As I did, I found out that a potential show (that sounded absolutely amazing) had fallen through, and wouldn’t be happening. Though I tried not to be too excited about it when it was mentioned as a possibility, the opportunity would have been so awesome that I couldn’t help but hope. But that’s just the way these things go.
I finally arrived at my office, to realized that my insurance company still hadn’t returned my calls from several days ago, so I decided enough was enough.
Here’s the thing – I am 22 years old, and my wisdom teeth just decided to make a very painful appearance. One of them is growing in sideways, and my little girl mouth doesn’t have enough room. They are rapidly undoing the 2 years my teeth spent locked in prison (braces sucked), so I am anxious to have them out ASAP, since already I can’t close my teeth anymore, and it even hurts to move my mouth to speak.
I spent almost an hour being juggled by different people on the phone, and was only able to FINALLY get some real answers and help once I accidentally started crying from pain and frustration to some poor man from Blue Cross. I couldn’t help it, and it surprised me as much as him I think. Those tears had been building all morning since they stopped the first time, and they finally let loose again all over Jim from Customer Service. Sorry Jim. It wasn’t you, I promise.
Turns out I’ll need 1-2 weeks for recovery, which is something I don’t have in between shows from now through mid October. That means – cancellations. The teeth won’t wait, they’re demanding I pay attention to them or else suffer their destruction. Santana Row, I love you, but my teeth are sharking me.
I was looking forward to something though – I thought, at the end of a bad day, the Sharks game tonight will be awesome. Which it was – I have never been to a hockey game before (though I’ve long loved the sport), and I had a blast, watching the skaters float so gracefully over the ice while violently beating the snot out of each other. Sometimes literally.
It was all good, that is, until I discovered my barely week old beautiful new digital camera was gone. Yes, gone. Complete with a load of pictures of my friends’ last weekend here, and videos of new song ideas that I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t realize it was gone until we got to the parking lot, and we turned around and ran back to the giant pavilion to check our seats.
Of course, it was gone. And all I could think of was my friend who used to work at the ballpark telling me that the cleanup crew loved their jobs, simply because they would pocket whatever they found. Though I doubt my shiny new camera even lasted that long, what with all the entertainment seekers coming down the stairs to get to the exits.
I sniffled my way through the stadium, out the door, and finally felt the first drops as I walked through the parking lot. A few people saw my face, and nodded sympathetically, thinking I was just a hardcore fan mourning over the loss of the Sharks tonight to Vancouver. Yes, tragedy indeed.
Now that I’m home, I’m thinking. Was my day really so bad?
Let’s break it down.
I am blessed to finally have a doctor who is willing to acknowledge the very real problem I am having – something my previous doctor refused to do. And yes, another surgery would suck – but isn’t it amazing that I live in a time where they would take blood from another part of my body and inject it into my tendon to stimulate healing and growth? That’s incredible. And though a year seems long to me, I’m young. And there is still hope.
Plus, my love for playing the drums has been slowly transferring over the years to a deeper love of the guitar – an instrument that doesn’t require my legs. I can sit down and play my guitar to my heart’s content, and never feel the sting of the kick pedal burning in my right leg.
Second, thanks to hard work, lots of praying, and some sheer luck – I now have steady shows lined up every month. I never know where they’ll come from, but they always come without fail. Why should I fret over one lost? I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the ones I do have.
Third, I just recently got full benefits from this job that I somehow, unbelievably managed to attain. This means I can have my wisdom teeth pulled, and thank my employers. Who cares if I had to spend some time on the phone? Geez Randi, whine more.
And as far as losing my camera – it’s not good to put so much stock into an item. Really, stuff is in the end just that – stuff. Replaceable, often unnecessary and merely pleasurably extravagant do-dads that offer us distraction and some small amount of practical functionality. Our society is too materialistic anyway. Yes, it would have been nice to have those pictures, and those videos. But what now? I just remember the events in my head. I can do that. And as far as my songs go – it’s good motivation to make me sit down and really focus on the good thing I had started, and how I can improve on that floating memory of a melody.
So often, things have a way of getting me down, affecting my day, my attitude, my mood – my everything. But why? If the worst thing in my day is that a doctor wants to fix me and I lose some frivolous little electronic device, I’d say I have it pretty good.
So Randi — stop crying, ok?
Ok.