A Summer Lost

It's been a long time since my last blog and I am not sure why. I love to write, I love to share. But I have to admit that I've been in a bit of a slump. To be honest, slump is really not the word to describe where I've been. Actually, I have been in the state of Depression, in the city of Despair, on the street of Self-pity, in the house of Pain! Wow! I can't believe I said it. The truth is so raw and so hard to admit at times, yet it brings such a liberty! For some reason we think denial is the best approach to everything and therefore like a child we close our eyes, put our hands over our faces, and say, "You can't see me". But the reality is EVERYBODY sees us, they all know our state, only they are too kind--or maybe lost in there own denial--to say anything.

Here was my journey to visit the great state of DEPRESSION. It all began with a trip to the doctor's office. At 54 years old There has been some serious abuse to my body over the years. Playing football, hockey, and baseball took its toll on my knees and other vital joints. Then working construction on building homes with steep roofs and difficult elevations took its own toll on my body. At 45 years old I started getting cortizone shots in my knees, had minor surgery to remove floating cartillage and such. Back then the orthopod recommended knee replacement surgery but I declined thinking I was too young and could surely tough this out.

But the pain went from being slight and occaisonal to severe and chronic. It got to where I couldn't even walk at times and secret thoughts of being crippled and unable to function assailed me. At the urging of my wife and others I decided it was time perhaps to get the knee fixed. I went to see a surgeon who came highly recommended and after consultation the only means to help was surgery. Quietly, secretly I feared this move but when facing the day and night pain I was in I felt like I had no other option. So we set it up.

On June 1st doctors did a total knee replacement and I spent a week in the hospital. There were some complications. The day after surgery when it was time for me to get up for the first time, I blacked out and went unconscious. They called a code and thought I was having a heart attack. It happened 2 more times that day. When I came to, all these nurses and people were in the room looking at me with a very serious look on there faces. I asked why they were all in the room and they explained how I passed out and fell back to the bed. It was surreal. I saw no bright light, I saw no Jesus coming toward me with an outstretched hand so I figured it was not death. I was moved to the heart floor and monitored and they ran a battery of tests.

It turns out is was not my heart at all. It was the morphine they had me on. It seems I am very sensitive to narcotics. When they took away the morphine things got better. The Percoset was too powerful as well it turns out and Tylenol 3 was all I took for pain. But this little ordeal got my mind working. What if? became my secret mantra. All sorts of scenarios played out in my mind and fear set up a little workshop and I began to feel really depressed. Of course I didn't give voice to my fears, I wouldn't want to share them, for that was a sure sign of weakness. So I just kept them private and allowed them to slip me further into the "dark night" of the soul.

I thought that once out of the hospital and in rehab improvement would come and things would start looking up. Then once things are getting better climbing out of a depressed state would be easy. But it didn't work that way. Improvement was not quick, easy, nor at times even measurable. When I moved from a walker to a cane the first week home, that was not seen by me to be improvement, only less weakness. After 3 weeks I started walking without the cane but again in my mind, that was not quick enough. What I thought was going to take a couple of weeks turned into THREE months. Long months, long days, and very long nights. It seemed to me to be a "summer lost".

My summer was spent in rehab, and in two sessions of exercise at home every day. I rode my bike 6 to 8 miles a day and walked my neighborhood streets daily. Yes, surgery had disrupted my normal life and nothing was as it was before. Sleep was difficult and fleeting. For 3 months I never got more than 3 hours of sleep a night. Rising at 2 o'clock in the morning gave me time to clean, to do laundry, vacuum, and to exercise. AND to visit the thoughts that were haunting me about the outcome of this surgery.

I didn't get it. My doctor and therapists were all very pleased and impressed at my progress. I was very frustrated and angry that it was taking so long to recover. In the first 2 months I was in total regret for having this surgery and felt like it was a huge mistake. But then in mid August I actually started feeling good and it seemed like the worst was behind me. Finally! My depression started to lift, my despair was leaving and I thought for the first time--I'm ok.

Now it was time to put it to the test and do some work. I decided to tear all the siding off my house and put on new. A project that required ladders, some scaffolding, and some real stress on the new knee. Everything went according to plan and without the help of anyone I completely resided my house, built a storage shed, and laid several hundred feet of stone on the front of the house. Some thought this was not a good idea. But let me explain something. Every piece of siding I nailed up was therapeutic. It was taking away the old and putting up the new. It represented to me the process that I was going through. My own confidence needed to be 'rebuilt'. My attitude needed a makeover. A the end of the day the only person who can decide for you if you are going to make it is YOU!

Many nights in the quietness of my own mind I wondered if I would ever be able to do much of anything that I was accustomed to doing again. I feared becoming permanently crippled, dependent on others, and forever bound to a life of limits. But by God's grace this is not the case. Fear, even though kept under the surface, was my constant companion through this ordeal. I wish I could tell you of my great faith and my supernatural outcome. But I cannot. I wish I could tell you how I heard God's voice through all of this, but I didn't.

So what did I learn from this "lost summer"? Nothing is really ever"lost". We just get a preset plan of what is going to happen--whether it is founded in reality or not--and when things don't go according to plan--which they seldom do--we then allow fear and worry and doubt assail us. A wise man said that the best plan sometimes is no plan. He said it like this: "Take NO thought..."
I take many thoughts, too many thoughts most of the time. Which is a good way to get into depression. A good way out? Quiet your mind, be still, and know...