One Tough Cookie

I know that most of my friends think I'm crazy. I don't imagine you've ever met anyone quite like me. Nobody can possibly imagine the backstory that has given me this... grit.

I'm sitting here this morning and debating if perhaps I should go see a doctor. To say I'm a little nervous, would be a monumental understatement. I know damn well that I SHOULD have gone to the emergency department a week ago. I suspect I may have crushed some bones in my foot and sustained hairline fractures in my lower leg.

But...

• We were in the middle of a blizzard that day and live 40 kilometers from the nearest hospital.
• I'm unvaccinated and the last place I want to be is anywhere that has people.
• I love my doctor, but I HATE seeing him.
• I can't stand even the thought of having someone touch my foot. If I go, SO many people will have to touch my foot, and dear Lord, THAT'S going to hurt!
• I have a high pain tolerance.
• I know how to limp... and rest if need be.
• I have a family and animals to tend to, and NOBODY else can do it quite the same way I do.
• Damn it!! I don't have time for this shit... Christmas is just around the corner!!

It seems like these past few years I just can't seem to catch a break, unless it's in my bones.

In September of 2018, a 500 lb calf knocked me over and then proceeded to stand, with all 4 feet, on my back. He had been an orphan from birth, so hand-raised. He'd come up behind me while I was crouched, trying to free a goat that had gotten herself stuck in the fence. He wasn't trying to hurt me, he was just looking for his milk. He headbutted me in the middle of my back and knocked me to my face. He stepped up on my back and nuzzled and slobbered on my hair.

My granddaughter had been standing nearby when it happened. She froze, just stood and there, and kept repeating, 'Are you okay?' I pleaded for her to get him off of me, but she was paralyzed in horror at the sight before her. Mind you she was only 10. It took everything I had and then some to twist around and kick him in the ribs to get him to step off.

I crawled to the nearest tree and pulled myself to a stand. Every move was agony. I was certain I would die, but death on the couch would certainly be more comfortable than in the middle of my goat pen. My granddaughter's paralysis broke and she helped me walk to the house, still repeating those same words.

At the bottom of our steps, I stopped, 'No, I am NOT okay!' I finally said.

'Maybe you should go to the hospital.' she replied, looking at my van.

I had visions of the 5-kilometer washboard road that led from our house to the pavement and just knew it could only cause more damage. Then there would be 35 more kilometers to the nearest hospital. I'd likely pass out at the wheel.

An ambulance was out of the question. We are so remote that they would never find us. There's some kind of glitch with GPS and Google. When they plug in our address it sends them hours away. Besides, I couldn't afford to pay for it.

So instead, I had her help me to the couch, where I spent the following three days watching for any sign of internal bleeding. I knew my ribs were broken and I prayed that was all. Every breath was agony. I was terrified to move, for fear a broken rib might puncture an internal organ.

When I finally did muster the courage to make that long drive to the hospital, I found out that I had been right. I had broken all of my ribs and torn the soft tissue down the right side of my back. The doctor said he could clearly see the hoofprints on my back. Miraculously the calf had missed breaking my back by just half an inch just above my pelvis and one inch between my shoulder blades. None of the ribs had splintered, nor punctured any organs. I was lucky, I was alive and not paralyzed.

It took eighteen months to heal. Just three months later a goat tried to rip off my arm. She'd made a habit of getting stuck in the fence... and no it was NOT the same one from the incident with the calf! I had decided to administer 'The Stick of Shame'. This is when you secure a stick across the goat's horn that extends a little beyond on either side. It prevents the goat from being able to put her head through the fence. At any rate, I held the goat, by one horn, close to my leg and reached for my stick and tape. She reared up on her back legs and twisted her body, underneath my arm, and bolted.

An interesting thing happens when soft tissue tears from the base of your neck to your shoulder. You suddenly lose the ability to move your hand. I couldn't release her and as she twisted beyond 360 degrees and bolted, the rest of the tissue in my arm was shredded. My rotator cuff was mangled. I sustained spiral fractures to the long bones in my arm and cracked my elbow.

An ultrasound revealed that the supraspinatus tendon (the big one that runs along the back of the collarbone from the neck into the shoulder) had been completely severed and there was a nearly two-inch gap between the severed ends. My tricep muscle had also been severed from the elbow.

The proposed treatment plan was going to involve four surgeries, two would be done simultaneously. It was estimated that my arm reconstruction and recovery would take five years. The first surgery involved taking a piece of my hamstring to fill the gap in my supraspinatus tendon. There would be 8 - 12 weeks of rest, followed by 6-12 months of physiotherapy before they could do the next surgery. With Covid shutting down local operating suites, my doctor estimated I would have to wait two years for my first surgery.

I'm no spring chicken anymore and it seems like the older I get the slower I heal. I'd be pushing sixty by the time they finsihed putting my arm back together. That did NOT sit well with me, neither did the idea of not being able to use my right hand for that long. So I took matters into my own hands while I waited for an appointment with a surgeon.

I used 'super strength' kinetic tape (ironically the brand was called Goat Tape) and taped my tendons back together. Then I started forcing my fingers and arm to move. It was excruciating, but I wasn't willing to give up doing all the things I loved.

By the time I had my consultation with an orthopedic surgeon he was shocked. He immediately sent me for an MRI, then took two days to consult with the technicians that had done my x-rays and ultrasounds. He had to confirm that the images on my file were, in fact, mine. When he finally emailed me he said that in his fifteen years as a surgeon for professional athletes, he had NEVER seen severed tendons heal without first being surgically reconnected. In fact, they are taught in school that it isn't possible. Had he not seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it. He feared that if he operated, he would cause more damage and that I would lose the progress that I had made on my own.

That accident was on June 14th, 2020. I have regained almost 100% mobility and have been working on getting my strength back. I haven't had a single surgery.

Now, I'm crippled again. Without considering that my arm can still give out with no warning, I attempted to move the mower deck from my lawn tractor. It wasn't attached to the tractor. It was laying in front of a shed getting buried in snow. I worried that my husband would run it over when he went to plow snow. So, I used a pry bar to lift up on it's side and then tried to drag it into the shed. My arm went limp and the mower deck landed squarely on my foot.

That was eleven days ago. After a sleepless night last night, despite taking enough painkillers to knock out an elephant, I finally brokedown and saw my doctor. X-rays were taken. Apparently, eleven days is just enough time for breaks to begin healing and to the 'untrained' eye, it's hard to tell them apart from older, previously healed breaks. Yes, I have broken my feet that many times. It goes with the territory when you work with large livestock.

So I still don't know for sure. The general practioner on call had to send my x-rays to a specialist. He'll call me if he need a cast. 😖

I know it sounds a little crazy. Okay maybe more than just a little. If it was one of my loved ones hurt, I would have braved the poor driving conditions to get them to the hospital immediately. In case you haven't guessed, self-care may not be my strong suit.

I'm pretty sure it goes back to my very first broken bone. I was two. My family was visiting friends on a farm. It was winter and the adults had been taking the kids out for ski-doo rides. There were only two skidoos and twelve children, so we had to wait our turn.

When it was finally my turn I bolted out the door, slipped on some ice and flew threw the air, down 4 steps, landing on the concrete sidewalk with my arm underneath me. I screamed and lay on the ground crying. My father was tired. I was the only child left to take out on the sled. He yelled. Telling me that if I didn't get my ass on the sled, he would put it away and I would miss the chance.

So, I got up and went sledding. We went out for supper and to a movie. Whenever I tried to tell me parents that my arm hurt, they told me to suck it up and quit whining. If I couldn't handle the pain, I'd have to miss out on the fun evening they had planned and so would everyone else. When you have five older brothers, the last thing you want do is be the reason for cancelling fun plans...

My older sister could tell that I was in a lot of pain, so she took me to bed with her that night. She tried to tell my parents that they might want to check my arm, it didn't look 'quite right'. They waved it off saying, that if it had been broken THEY would KNOW.

The next morning my mother tried to get me ready for church. I couldn't move my arm to put it through the sleeve of my dress. She was exasperated. She'd had enough of my whining about my arm already. She reached in, grabbed my arm and yanked it through my sleeve. I screamed, then passed out.

I woke up in the hospital with my arm in a cast and my mother sobbing beside me.

Forty-seven years later, I still can't bring myself to whine about my pain. I still 'suck it up' so that I don't have to put anybody out. Those closest to me can only shake their heads and tell me that I am 'one tough cookie.'