My execution of the workout was near perfect. I hit my speeds and heart rates like clockwork and was reveling in my accomplishment the whole way home. Okay, maybe I felt a small “twinge” in my right hip flexor but that was to be expected after a tough session. Such a minor sensation paled in comparison to the ongoing glut tightness I have endured for years – always on my right side. I almost welcomed tension somewhere else.
Waking up on September 2nd for my first step of the day was cause for concern. That right hip flexor “twinge” was a bit stiff, stiffer than just typical post-workout soreness. I know the difference. Decision: drop the scheduled run in exchange for a swim. The weekend was nearing and so were some key workouts including a 5-hour ride, a long run and a threshold swim. Friday became a rest day in hopes of waking Saturday with vigor and fortitude. Muskoka Half Ironman was a week away; Austin and Miami races were six and seven weeks away. A hip flexor “twinge” was certainly not going to turn into a full-blown injury. I had big plans.
Saturday came and my “twinge” was no better. No biking, no running, just a swim would be in order. I hobbled to the pool with more than just a little soreness. Sunday would need to be another rest day. The days were getting long and my symptoms were anything but subsiding. My walk was becoming a limp with searing pain now inside my hip joint. Surely I just needed to untie all the knots in my muscles. I aggressively stretched, strengthened, rolled out and fired weak muscles. No progress. Concern and confusion were at an all time high.
One week after my initial symptoms, it was time for an x-ray to access the bones and joints. Results: Negative. Treatment: Morphine and Crutches. Could it be trochanteric bursitis? Could a soft tissue injury be this painful? Could a Cortisone Shot cure me? Wishful thinking.
My trip to Ontario was cancelled, as were any hopes of racing again this year when the results from an MRI and CT Scan showed a stress fracture of my femoral neck. The break line was amazingly clean and evident. How it did not show up on an x-ray is anyone’s guess. In fact, I’ve stopped guessing. I suspect a small undetectable split in the bone was always there but during my 10 days of hobbling, stretching, rolling, moving and walking, it spread like a crack on a windshield. The good news (because there is always good news) was the bones were in perfect alignment. Dislodged bones presented an entirely new scenario.
Not one to take an injury passively, I was anywhere but home waiting to get heal. In the preceding 10 days, I’d been to Emergency at UBC Hospital, consumed Codeine like candy, had three physiotherapy appointments, had an intramuscular stimulation (IMS) treatment, met with doctors on four separate occasions, agreed to a cortisone shot for possible Bursitis, and paid for a private X-ray, MRI and CT scan. The CT Scan cracked the code and it was worth every penny.
Allow me to digress. For many years, my team of medical experts in Vancouver has helped me prevent serious damage and rehabilitate from debilitating injury. Each one of them knows my darkest secrets and I owe them much more than just the odd breakthrough performance. For some reason, we all (myself included) had not suspected a broken bone until it was confirmed. I was being treated for soft tissue injury and we were all equally perplexed. I don’t fault any of them for not suspecting a fractured femoral neck. Apparently this type of injury only happens to people who are four times my age. Apparently not.
Ironically, my brother Mark had participated in a 24 Hour Charity Cycling event at Mont Tremblant over the weekend with friends. One of his teammates and close friends was an orthopedic surgeon specializing in Pelvic area. He graciously agreed to look at the image of my CT Scan and within in 5 seconds he called Mark to order me to VGH Emergency for surgery that night. My situation was suddenly “urgent” yet I was in the middle of making salad dressing for dinner with Ruthie! Mark’s tone was not to be questioned so I dropped the garlic, called Ruthie and we made our way to Emergency instead of to my patio for soup and salad.
I must digress yet again and mention a word about Ruthie…selflessly giving, unhesitatingly caring and authentically trusting, only begins to describe her nature and the meaning of her friendship to me. She dropped everything to take me to emergency all the while she too should have been admitted for an infected root canal she had had that SAME DAY. Her father, Dr. Coorperberg, joined us in the waiting room for moral support and to push the bureaucratic envelop a bit. He too had had a medical procedure that day. We were like the Three Stooges awaiting our fate.
Two and a half hours later, I was admitted, questioned, x-rayed, changed, drugged and checked into a single room much unlike the Ritz Carlton but a minor upgrade from the Motel 6. Ruthie was at my side every solitary second except for when she ducked out to retrieve our sushi dinner and fashion magazines. We dined in the casting room amongst plaster and medical supplies and somehow found laughter in every subtle occurrence (a.k.a: fatigue + nerves + girls = Giddy). Once we both knew I was spending the night, she made her way home to her own family and responsibilities.
Surgery was elusively scheduled for Tuesday. Somehow Ruthie made it back to the hospital just in time for a pre-operation farewell. She held my hand while tapping updates on my Blackberry to family and friends. She told me everything would be fine and I believed her.
Emotions flooded over me when I couldn’t see her anymore and the reality of someone playing around with my bones was closing in. Playing, may I add, with bones that were the lifeblood of movement and the hinge of my very important right limb. However, the importance of racing, training and my professional career as a triathlete was dimmed to a shadow in relation to basic mobility and health. It is amazing to me how perspective changes under dire circumstances and how our priorities, values and desires shift when striped of gifts as precious as mobility.
The surgery was a brilliant success. The bones were fused with three pins and the blazing pain was gone from the moment my anesthetic wore off. Post-surgery aches and throbbing persisted but trusty drugs rescued my wincing every time. Meanwhile Ruthie’s infected root canal went on to swell up and take over her lip and right cheek. Her beautiful face was transformed to that of a Fraggal Rock character. Had she not dealt with it I would have been accompanying her to a hospital bed.
My mother arrived from Montreal just as my four-post bed and IV was being rolled back into my Ritz Suite. Butlers and maids were waiting ever so patiently to refill my refreshments (IV) and change my bedding (plastic cover). In fact, they were so gracious and helpful, they didn’t even let me get up to use the Loo. They brought it to me. What a treat.
Thanks to fading anesthetic I was free entertainment for all my visitors with delirious and socially inept chatter and eyes at half-mast. My friends (even the ones I didn’t know I had) contacted me with concern and interest. From down pillows to sushi, books, magazines, flowers, super greens, yoga pants, home made lasagna, copious texts, emails, visits and phone calls and invaluable moments of laughter and tears, there wasn’t a moment to wallow in my sorrow.
Last time I digress. Promise.
Jasper’s confidence in me as an individual (with or without my next bike ride) stabilized my emotions and planted my feet firmly on the ground. I knew how I needed to embody this situation and almost enjoy a completely unplanned change in direction and priorities. I also knew this mindset would cause the least amount of stress on others and myself. Having a peace of mind and patience was going to be a critical component to my recovery and neither pity nor negativity was invited to the party.
The number one question my (athletic) friends ask me is whether I am climbing the walls anxious to train. My reply is categorically no. Would I like to be mobile? Yes of course. But at this moment, I am far more inspired to regain my health. My goals have shifted 180 degrees from racing to rebuilding with the same passion and focus as applied to my training. Amazingly, when I gain another inch of mobility in my hip it feels gaining 2 seconds in a 100 meter swim.
What has been the biggest shift as a result of a fractured hip? Likely the newfound time and energy to dedicate to entirely different activities that don’t involve sweating or a heart rate monitor. This new time is also breeding rejuvenation thanks to living a little lazy, sleeping in a little late, chatting endlessly with friends and family, reading entire books, soaking in more movies and watching the grass grow one blade at a time. It’s been years - maybe 20 - since I have lived a little lazy. It is mandatory. It feels wonderful. It has a window. It is a break through.
Off to nap.
Christine
