There will always be another Monday… Monday, June 25, 2012
So last October, I took a tumble off my bike. Okay, if you
know me at all, know I don’t do anything half-ass…I shattered the top part of
my distal radius. For people like me,
it’s the top part of your wrist. I also
broke another bone on the other side of the wrist. Now, Ironman might actually be true because I have a metal plate
and seven screws in my wrist. It’s a pretty awesome scar.
To most folks, they would pick themselves dust themselves
off and try again. Me…not so much. For
2009, 2010 and 2011, I had tried to ride 10,000 miles. On October 6, 2011, I was at about 7800
miles and on day 5 of a week-long cycling trip. My favorite week of the year is what I normally call it. Cycle North Carolina has been my tradition
for the past five years. I love
it! Even before the tumble, I wasn’t
really having fun. It had nothing to do
with the company, the route, the ride, the wine (what could be wrong with
wine), or anything. Cycling had become
work. I was angry for so many
things. My husband should have been
home from a year-long tour in Korea on October 6, 2011. His tour was extended. We would be moving to Germany in January and
had to sell our home that literally had my blood, sweat and tears in it. He would return for three weeks in November
and then off to school for three weeks and back home for less than a month
before we moved. My new bike, though I
love it, wasn’t quite right. I was
going to have to leave my friends of almost ten years that had become my
support system and my family from love.
I probably wouldn’t be able to see my family before I left. I was working from sun up to sun down to try
and get our house ready to sell. I was
riding well but I felt like our club rides had become about speed and the hell
with anyone else. That’s not what the
club had worked so hard for in the past.
So, even though I was riding well, it was never good enough. After three weeks off the bike, I slowly
started riding again on a flat bar bike in my neighborhood and eventually made
it back to riding and rode 8,000 miles for the year. Most people would be thrilled with that number but missing the
10K mark was just another failure to me.
So, we moved…well, I should say I extended my stay for about
2 weeks to finish getting our house ready to sell. I literally was working like a one-armed paper hanger to do
it. I was painting bathrooms when I was
still in my cast. I was filthy in the
yard and just let me tell you…don’t do that, it was so itchy!!! Thank God for friends because I would have
never got it done. Well, it still
wasn’t completely done but our realtor and friends were amazing!! So, on February 1, I get on the plane and
got bumped to business class for the long flight. My bike was in tow and I
didn’t have to pay for it. I was going
to see my husband and actually live with him for more than two months out of
the year, which I hadn’t done in almost eight years. What could go wrong?
In Germany, in February…it’s really cold! I don’t mean throw on your booties,
handwarmers, toewarmers and go cold…I mean for a week it did not go over
freezing. I am from Texas, have lived
in North Carolina for the past ten years…I HATE riding in the cold. It makes all those tumbles and falls hurt so
much worse. Still, when it got to about
40, I would go for short rides. The
bike paths are so awesome here. Soon,
even that became a struggle. Soon, I
hadn’t worked out in three weeks, a month, and I didn’t want to. My breathing started to become labored going
upstairs and when I would stand up I would be dizzy. My shoulder hurt so bad
that I had panic attacks on a regular basis.
I went to the doctor, the therapist, the physical therapist, the social
worker…I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing but I wasn’t getting
better. Honestly, I told my husband
that they should take my six Ironman medals back and I shouldn’t even be able
to have my tattoo. I felt like that had
happened to a different person.
Luckily, they can’t do that. Oh,
I am sure I have used performance-enhancing drugs, too. You know like Motrin, Perocet, caffeine,
salt tabs, and whatever else might help.
I thought I was going crazy. I
mean literally, not figuratively because I already there figuratively. To me, my prognosis was not promising.
In May, I went in to my primary care doctor. I went to the therapist directly after and
she said I looked awfully pale. I just
thought it was because I hadn’t been riding and getting tan. My husband works across the parking lot from
the hospital so we had lunch in the dining facility and as we were finishing
up, the assistant comes running in and politely asks, “Mrs. Doyle, could you
please go back to the lab and have them rerun your blood work?” I did and headed home. After I got home, I got in the shower and as
I was getting out, the phone was ringing.
It was the doctor’s assistant.
She said the words everyone hopes to never hear…Mrs. Doyle, can you come
back in, the doctor needs to talk to you?
Okay, I thought this is it, I have cancer, I am gonna die. My husband doesn’t answer his cell phone and
I start to go a little crazy. About
five minutes later, she calls back with the doctor on the line. The doctor explains that my hemoglobin
levels were at 6.6 when they were at 12 in January. I need to have a blood transfusion. I need to go now. There
is bleeding somewhere in my system. Our
post is closing in the next few years so the nearest proper hospital is
Landstuhl, which is about an hour away.
Landstuhl is where they send the troops injured overseas. This is probably the top trauma Army
hospital. So, my husband gets home, we
go to Landstuhl and check in. By then,
the hemoglobin level had dropped to 5.6.
That night they gave me two units of blood. I stayed in the hospital over the weekend and had a procedure on
Monday that found I had several small peptic ulcers, which causing the
bleeding. You see, when I broke my
wrist, they found I had osteopenia probably caused by my heartburn medication
that I had take forever. This is why
the bone shattered. So, they changed
the meds and when I got to Germany I went on a daily NSAID. Peptic ulcers are usually caused by, drum
roll please, NSAIDs. So, they put me
back on the regular medication and lots of calcium. After this, I started slowly to feel better. I was attempting to exercise twice a week
and two weeks ago, I even went to the gym.
Finally, things seemed to be turning around. BRRRAAAKKKEEE…
Last Sunday, I started to feel bad. Monday, I could barely get down the stairs
and was very nauseated. Tuesday, I
couldn’t eat anything and I had horrible diarrhea. Of course, my husband was TDY when this happens. I can’t go to the store because I can’t walk
down my short flight of stairs without grasping the bars. I have the flu. The last time I had the flu was the day the Space Shuttle
Discovery crashed. I don’t get a flu
shot because I haven’t had the flu since then…Wednesday things seem to feel a
little better. Thursday I was so sick
again. Friday, I go to the doctor and
he tells me I have the flu but he will run my blood levels just in case. My blood levels had dropped from 9.1 to 8.2
but normally a transfusion isn’t done until the level is at 8. The reason it probably dropped because I
can’t eat. I can’t tolerate the iron I
normally take because it makes me sick.
It doesn’t last long in my system anyway. In normal fashion, I start to beat the crap out of myself again
and having a pity party. I really was
mad because it just didn’t seem fair that things always happen to me (lost the
job I loved, dog attack, broken wrist, moving, low iron, the flu-nothing
half-ass ever) and other people seem to just bounce back and I can’t seem
to. I’m fat, flabby, unemployed and I
can’t get motivated for any reason. I
think if the house were on fire, I probably wouldn’t run. I never wanted to be fat again. I fought with my husband and think he’s a
jerk sometimes. Finally, last night, I
realized that the only person that can change all of this is me. I can walk around like I have been for the
past six months…mad at God and the world, sad, and depressed or I can fix
it. It’s no one else’s fault these
things happened. Sometimes stuff just
happens. When I woke up this morning, I
remember something someone once said to me about getting back on the wagon,
there’s always gonna be another Monday.
What she meant was we often say “starting Monday, I’m going to the gym
every day and eating right”, etc, etc. but we can start right now. It just
happens to be another Monday. Why am I
telling you all of this? Because I want
you to come on my journey (and yours, too) of pulling ourselves out of the
dumps or whatever. People feel this way
all the time but they never say it out loud.
I am always afraid people will think I am weak and I don’t want
that. So, here I am…I’ll say it out
loud. I’ll take the ridicule and rude
comments – I got big shoulders. Just so
you know I won’t like it but I’ll take it because we need to stop trying to be
SuperWoman or SuperMan and start being ourselves. So, come along on this journey back to the road less traveled…the
more, the merrier. The road will be
bumpy and dark sometimes but we can make it if we try.
