NELLY, ENERGY WORK, AND DIGGING FOR PEACE.

Nelly and I are off to a stable beginning, and I think it’ll be a beautiful relationship, at least for the next 10-15 years.

Nelly is my new Triathlon knee, and while this particular new knee system wasn’t something I chose (literally or figuratively) I think she’s pretty trendy and rad, all things considered. Our lives intersected somewhere amidst the sedative brain fog in the Financial District of San Francisco on Monday (June 7, 2021) and while we got off to a rocky start with my laundry list of expectations and demands, we’re settling in nicely as week one starts closing in.

The first few days were so hard, I didn’t even have the energy or sense of humor to do my planned puppet show for the nurses, though I had Henrietta (my hedgehog) and Ulaina (my unicorn) tucked into the hospital sheets with me. If you know anything at all about me, the lack of desire to bust out a puppet show speaks enough right there, but I’m still glad I had them packed in for the journey to meet Nelly.

I guess I took the commentary about knee replacements being “the answer” and the detail that PT starts on day 1 as some kind of indication that this would be easier than the other surgeries, and with a little fairy dust and unicorn power, I’d skip right into the literal skipping part instead of the late night crying, moaning, and evil thoughts about the 3rd shift nurses.

But then there was Howard* who was so compassionate, hilarious, and took his job and sense of time VERY seriously. I was lucky enough to spend 2 1/2 days with him, and I literally mean we spent the days together, and as most good nurse-patient “relationships” go, we went straight from “nice to meet you” to the types of details that even make me blush. He’d drop to a whisper,

“Hey girl. I’m not saying we need to tell the whole hallway, but let’s me and you talk this through, okay? I mean, don’t you go calling me when you get home and figure out you should have let me help you…you know what I’m sayin’?”

Yes, we were talking about the disgusting side effects of pain meds on your “system.” You know what I mean.

And Jenny* whose task wasn’t to “fix” my emotions or pain, but made it her mission any way with energy work, patience, and gentle suggestions, even when I was being difficult and preferred to be left alone in a puddle of self-pity.

Her job was to help me walk shortly after surgery, re-learn the stairs, and complete extensive mobility exercises well enough to “graduate” and walk out of the hospital in a few days. She obviously made this her priority, but after PT in the morning and afternoon she spent an additional 30-ish minutes with me to do ” the real magic,” (as she referred to it). She’d put her hands on the pressure points around my injection site and for lack of better explanation, taught me how to relax and embrace the pain instead of fighting it; the idea was to visualize the pain as energy, concentrate on the intensity and allow it to wash through my knee, down my shins, and out the tips of my toes. I talked to her as if I’d trusted her for years, and didn’t feel the same “vulnerable-fear” I often have when trying to work through some of the emotional pain that has somehow become the largest side effect since the accident.

Jenny explained some of her studies about the ways pain and emotions get “stuck” and we have to be willing to embrace and then let it go. I know this sounds like the latest round of crunchy California shenanigans, but I also know that after 3 years of surgeries, consistent pain, and deteriorating quality of life, I will go to ANY length for some answers in the name of pain management and emotional health.

The second day of energy work with Jenny was pretty humbling. I felt exhausted, and had just closed my eyes when she came into my room for PT. With no shame, I did my very best fake sleeping act. “Should I come back?” she asked Nicholas, and I held very still, let him answer, “Yes, maybe in an hour?” and thought I was super clever as I heard the door close behind her. It was already after 3, so I assumed she’d just skip the second session, knowing I’d get up and do my own PT. I was really dodging her because of the emotional buttons she’d pushed in the morning, and avoidance seemed the path of least resistance in the moment.

To my dismay, Jenny was back at 4, with an agenda for stairs. This was day 2, so I thought she’d lost her mind, but vaguely remembered the physical therapist in the Trauma Unit 3 years ago waking me up right after the first surgery with crutches to do the stairs, so I figured they all have the same twisted agenda. After re-learning how to go up and down stairs (up: lead with your non-injured leg. down: lead with your injured leg) we did another 30 minutes of PT: “pain training” as I called it that day. I was being ugly, and I knew it, but I couldn’t shake the dark cloud of pain, pity, and pathetic-ism, the worst trifecta of “p” alliteration I’ve ever known. (And yes, I made up pathetic-ism. I’m aware it’s typically an adjective, but on Tuesday, I needed it to be a noun. So it was. That’s how self-centered I can be.)

Jenny wasn’t done just yet. She wanted to continue the energy work, but I was already in this downward spiral of pity and tears and literally couldn’t relax during a session that was nothing short of a generous gift, as actually paying for an energy session is super pricy, and here Jenny was offering her time and I couldn’t even accept the help. After 45 minutes of me being a stubborn ass, she calmly said (something like), “I can’t help you today. You’re fighting me too hard and I need you to be open to feeling and releasing the pain. You’re just holding on to it.”

I just cried harder, thanked her for her time, and told her I’d see her in the morning, but I was SO angry. I was angry because I knew she was right. I was making it harder on myself and couldn’t reconcile why I was actively choosing the path of extra resistance and didn’t want help. I just wanted to have an angry pity party, and I was annoyed that she called me out instead of being sympathetic to my plight.

What I know, is that her efforts were much more than sympathy; she was trying to help me survive the moment and prepare me with tools for the next chapter, but I was being too difficult to see the bigger picture. After visiting hours were over, and Nicholas went back to the hotel, I spent the night trying to make sense of my stubborn nature, and turned to Nelly and my puppets for some bonding time.

The following morning, Jenny worked with me with no agitation from the day prior; she gave me grace to start fresh and I knew the least I could do was make a greater effort. Not for her, but for myself, for Nelly, and for the better future I knew I deserved.

Meanwhile, Nicholas should get the patience award of the decade. When he slipped out of my room for a moment, Howard was back on duty to continue over-personal questions mixed with sarcasm and paternal commentary. He interrupted his own steady-stream of nurse chatter with,

“You found a good one. He really supports you. Nick, right?”

“I did. I know… It’s Nicholas, though. He hates Nick.”

I proceeded to tell Howard a 30-second version of our love story. I know I’m lucky to have someone who constantly says I’m his “ride or die,” cares more about my physical and emotional health than his own, and has been by my side through some really dark months this year. But hearing Howard’s perspective after being a nurse for 20 years and seeing different versions of patient support, I knew my gratitude was falling short of reality. I really appreciated another jolt to look outside my selfish cloud and spend some energy on the beautiful people surrounding me.

It’s not an easy or consistent emotional shift for me when I feel wrecked by pain, and have for so long that it’s tricky to see better days ahead. It’s an active choice to see and feel the goodness around me, and there’s SO much goodness:

I have my doctor’s cell phone number and actually texted him a picture of the tourniquet bruising this morning, just to make sure it was “normal” and not the start of a blood clot. He called me live on a Saturday morning to check in with me. My best friend from childhood wore her vet scrubs to get into my room and ward off the visiting-hour patrol one night. My partner at work sent the sweetest basket of pink flowers and a note that made me giggle at 2am when it was delivered. We came home Thursday to a home-cooked dinner from friends in Sacramento (who have done no less than 10 “after surgery dinners” in the last 18 months.) Our kitchen counter has 3 dozen of the most beautiful tulips grown this season, courtesy of some of our Atlanta peeps. And the guys I work for…I don’t even have words for the grace and love they’ve shown me since I starting working for them almost 2 years ago. I’ll try to figure out how to translate happy tears into words for Part II.

So Nelly and I will keep getting to know each other while I try really hard to stay grounded in all the goodness that has literally created a buffer from the outside world.

_{*I’m protecting names for privacy purposes}.