My Body Kept the Score
A rock has the potential to shift my timeline to sea level, warm seas, and fish tacos.
Welcome to my new subscribers!
First, I must tell you about another Substack, The Heart Dialogues, that my fellow CHD friend, Leigh Kamping-Carder authors. She invited me to write a guest essay on my experience with heart surgery. I surprised myself on what I wrote as it was a departure from my normal voice.
13-week X-ray. Bone modeling is happening at every break site!
A couple of weeks ago, my physical therapist declared my right leg was ready for a ski boot and flat land skiing. I had reached the highly anticipated 12-week mark since breaking my tibia and fibula. At 12 weeks, my physical therapist said I could “really start to get after it.” I met my PT with disbelief. Three days prior, I had sped hobbled through the Denver International Airport when our flight from Mexico arrived over an hour late. We had one hour to get through customs and back through security to our gate to Jackson Hole. We made it with seven minutes to spare but my leg paid the price. Still sore at my PT appointment, he still insisted I get back in my ski boots. It was time to show my body that I was healing, and I could ski again.
Quickly joining in the excitement, I set other lofty goals with him in that appointment. A fellow athlete, he gets my desire to set physical goals. We discussed reasonable timelines and objectives as well as what I needed to be able to do before my biggest goal could be achieved by September 2024. We didn’t hold back. I giddily drove home, dreaming of a healed leg with no more issues or setbacks.
Then, it was time to put on the ski boot. I held the right one in my hand and my hands began to tingle. Putting the boot on did not hurt at all which was surprising. What was surprising was the nausea that overtook me and then the flashbacks hit me hard.
Instantly, I saw my body from below as I floated above in a ketamine dream. I could hear my distant scream as four men pulled at my ski boot, releasing my mangled leg from its plastic grip.
“Hello?!” Jason hollered at me from across the living room. I am not sure how much time had passed, but he was concerned at where I had been in that moment. On autopilot, I had put both my ski boots on from the couch and was frozen in time. He had been talking to me, checking in on my pain level, yet I had not heard a word.
Once I came back to the present moment, I folded over my legs and held my head in my hands, fingers clenched on my scalp. I honored my body and all it had endured in the last 12 weeks. I allowed myself to sift through the memories that needed to surface: two helicopter rides, the cold snow on my throbbing leg, the warm ER room, the familiar faces helping me along the way, the nurses, the look on the ER doc’s face as he told me I was in a world of trouble and needed to be life flighted immediately, the awful “food” at Eastern Idaho Regional Medical Center, the toll those four traumatic days took on Jason, and my precious friends who were by my side every step of the way.
Back in the living room, feeling my ski boots on my legs, I had zero pain. It was miraculous considering the worst part of my break is down in my boot. Pushing the memories aside, I went to our shed to retrieve my skis. Inspecting the bases, I could see the gauge marks where I “dry docked” with both skis on the rock that ended my ski season. My neck shivered and the nausea returned but I pushed through and threw my skis in the snow. I was determined to ski in my yard!
Jason joined me in the driveway as I grimaced. Now, the break was hurting. Both the dogs and the cat who thinks he’s a dog were all “helping” me ski as I shuffled around. The pain grew more acute, and my body shook. I was not ready. My physical body wasn’t ready. My mind wasn’t ready. My soul wasn’t ready.
Bessel Van Derk Kolk wrote a very thick book, The Body Keeps the Score, in microscopic font, endless footnotes, and a robust index about all the ways our bodies cope with trauma. I’ve slowly been reading it over the years and the book’s core message has never felt truer. While my mental state has been quite superb since December 9th, my cellular memory filed away the accident until now.
I lasted a total of five minutes before I threw my skis to the side yelling choice obscenities and hobbled inside. Acutely aware of the reality of my last 12 weeks, I pulled my ski boots off, stuffed them in a closet and crumbled back on the same couch that held my flashbacks just minutes before.
I follow a tib/fib fracture page on Facebook and have read the sad tales of fellow patients never returning to sport again. I get it now. Why risk the same horrendous injury? Yet, I also know of a few who’ve had the surgery I had, and they do prevail. For me, this story is still in progress. I met with my surgeon this past week at my 13 week follow up. He was astonished by my quick healing, exclaiming I was at least six weeks ahead of normal. While I was relieved to hear his report, I still met him with doubt. I really can’t picture myself skiing again at this point in my journey. I told him that maybe it’s just time to hang up the skis and go surfing. I’ve grown tired of winter anyways. Even as I type these words this morning, I surprise myself. I moved to the Tetons for skiing. All I could talk about was skiing for over 20 years. Even heart surgery couldn’t get in the way of skiing! Now, a damn rock has the potential to shift my timeline to sea level, warm seas, and fish tacos.
All I know is my body has the last word. Trauma such as a tib/fib spiral fracture, alone on a mountainside, with life threatening complications needs time, patience, and a boat load of EMDR. My body is keeping the score, and I am listening.
How has your body kept the score? What does it need today to feel safe, loved, and supported?