That was the only thought going through my mind as I was wheeled into the OR at Duke Medical Center on November 19, 2009. Facing the prospect of having a bone removed from my leg, followed by a 12 month recovery, I'm not even sure you could call my frame of mind cautiously optimistic. No, I think "freaking petrified by anxiety" would be more accurate.
To understand how I arrived here, we have to go back to January 12, 2008, where it all started:
The day began innocently enough. My future wife Amanda and I drove up to the Peek 'N Peak ski resort in western NY to spend the day on the slopes with friends. This was going to be her first time skiing.
After about an hour or two, she's whipping down the slopes like a pro, and I'm not really surprised. She's a smart girl (with an especially low center of gravity) and tends to pick things up pretty quickly.
Several hours later, the sun is just about down, and we're all tired and ready for dinner.
"C'mon guys, ONE MORE RUN!" I say.
It's always the "one more" that gets ya.
I start down the hill at the head of the group, really gaining speed and feeling good on my sticks.
I hit one small bump, pop off the top, and land perfectly.
Not satisfied with getting a little air, I eye a much larger bump about 100 yds ahead of me. I point my tips directly at it and crouch to gain speed. By the time I reach the bottom of the bump, I'm flying like a bat outta hell.
I hit the top and jumped...
OH. SHIT.
I found myself floating through the air for what seemed like an eternity. Looking down, it seemed like the hill was half a mile below me. When I finally (crash) landed, my skis shattered and I slid about 50 yards down the hill. After I skidded to a stop, I fought to regain my breath and coughed up a little blood. When I was finally able to breathe again, I started to assess the damage.
I could feel my arms and legs, so I knew I wasn't paralyzed. At this point, my friend, Pete, got to me and started laughing at the sight before him, at the same time he asked if I was ok.
"Dude, umm, I'm not sure...."
He told me to get up and help him collect my gear that had been strewn all over the mountainside.
It was at this point, when I tried to get up, that I realized I was in big trouble.
"I've fallen, and I can't get up!"
"Uh, I can't move my right leg...."
My friend's face turned so white it blended into the snow behind him.
A sled ride, ambulance ride, and 3 hours later, I arrived at Hamot Medical Center in Erie, PA. I was in the most pain I've ever experienced in my life. They took an x-ray of my right hip:
Whoa.
My right femur was no longer resting safely in my hip socket. It was now sitting behind my pelvis. For those of you that don't know much about anatomy: This is a BAD THING.
I was wheeled out of the hospital 3 days later, hurting so bad that I could barely get out of bed.
2 weeks after that, the first time I could sit still without pain, my ass was back in the gym, on crutches of course. After all, there were some weights that needed liftin'.
3 months later, I had surgery to remove the fragments of torn ligament and chipped bone that could erode the cartilage in the joint, bringing about early arthritis.
2 weeks after surgery, I began 3 months of intensive physical therapy. I was poked, prodded, manipulated, stretched, iced, and electrostimmed 3 days a week until the end of July.
I also began training for my first bench-only powerlifting meet. I competed and won the 242 lb weight class with a 451 lb press.
Then, about 13 months after my femur was ripped out of its socket, I competed in my first full powerlifting meet in February of 2009. I squatted 650, benched 501, and deadlifted 562 for a 1713 total in the 242 lb open division.
At this point I felt on top of the world, like I had triumphed over my injury and couldn't be stopped. My training was progressing, the hip hurt at times, but in general it felt strong, and everything was moving forward.
8 months later, I learned that I had avascular necrosis of the femoral head. Apparently when my hip was dislocated, the blood supply to the femur was cut off, so the bone started to die. After enough bone dies, the head of the femur starts to collapse. When the head of the femur is totally collapsed, the only option is to have a total hip replacement.
The only treatment for this issue is to have a vascularized fibular bone graft. This is where a team of surgeons cut out a 6 inch section of the fibula in the affected leg along with the associated veins and arteries. At the same time, another team of surgeons drills into the head of the femur and removes the dead bone. Then, a third team of surgeons inserts the graft into the drilled out section of the femur and uses a microscope to reattach the veins and arteries for the bone.
The intent is to reintroduce blood supply to the bone and help new bone to grow and fill the empty void.
To me, this sounded like something straight outta Star Trek.
Awesome.
My wife and I drove to Durham, NC. I met with doctors and consultants who assured me that this was the only way to go.
The next morning, I walked into Duke Medical Center. I wouldn't walk again for 6 months.
The next morning, I walked into Duke Medical Center. I wouldn't walk again for 6 months.
When I came to after I had been cut, drilled, taken apart and put back together, I had an epidural sticking out of my spine and was on enough Dilaudid to kill a small horse. I couldn't feel a thing. In fact, my legs were completely numb.
"See, this isn't so bad!"
When they removed the epidural two days later, I realized how wrong I was.
The first time I went to stand up to move around a little, it felt like all of the blood in my body rushed into my right leg. This sent waves of pain ripping through my brain, and all I could do was close my eyes, grit my teeth, and wait for it to subside.
It throbbed.
It pulsated.
It ached like a sumbitch.
It was not a pleasant experience, and it didn't get much better in the following 3 days that I spent in the hospital.
Me with my favorite nurse and the best thing that ever happened to me.
In the months that followed, my physical condition slowly and steadily improved. 10 days post-op, I was back in the gym, training clients and getting a little work in myself. I subsisted on a steady diet of floor presses and pullups during that time, because all I could do was lay on the ground or hang from a bar. My leg still hurt like hell after being upright for a while, but it was a lot better than it was in the hospital.
When the big snow storm hit the day before the Super Bowl, I had progressed to the point that I was able to gimp my way through 30" of snow and help my wife dig us out of our icy prison.
It's not as easy as it looks.
Despite my physical progress, the uncertainty of my situation really put a strain on me mentally. I wasn't sure if the surgery was a success or not, and the surgeons caring for me couldn't give me a definitive answer. I would have to wait and see, and it nearly drove me crazy.
On top of that, I felt completely worthless around the house. Going up and down stairs took forever, I couldn't carry anything, and just walking with the crutches, carrying all 240 lbs of me, was exhausting. I wasn't much help doing anything, so my wife had to pick up the slack. It was very disheartening to go from a big, strong, physically capable guy to a dependent that was as helpless as two sleeping baby kittens.
To make matters worse, it was impossible to forget about things because every person I saw would ask me how much longer I had on crutches. I appreciated their concern and interest, but the repetitiveness of it all was very tiresome.
Well, I was on those crutches for 6 long months. May 20, 2010 was the first day I got off of them. This was easily one of the best days of my life. Air smelled fresher, food tasted better, and the sun shined just a little brighter for me that day.
My leg was still not 100%, obviously, but since then it has steadily improved. I am to the point now where I can push the Prowler using the low handles, which is something I was not able to do just 2 weeks ago.
My orthopedic surgeon has given me a clean bill of health for the time being, and all appears to be on its way back to normal. I will know for certain how well everything went when I am 12 months post-op in November.
I maintained most of my upper body strength throughout the whole mess and now I'm well on my way to becoming stronger than ever. Had I stopped lifting during this time, I'd be much farther away from my goals.
Now, if you're still with me through this long, rambling mess of a post, you're probably asking yourself what the point of all this is.
The point is this:
STOP LOOKING FOR EXCUSES!!!
Too often, people will find every conceivable reason to keep them from achieving the things that they want in life.
They don't have the time or the energy to exercise, so they stay fat, weak, and out of shape.
They don't have the skills or the experience to change careers, so they keep doing the same shit job they've been doing for years.
They don't have the opportunity or the money to go back to school, so they never enroll.
They don't know how to start playing that instrument, so they never pick it up.
"The time just isn't right," they say. Maybe in 6 months, after this happens, and after this other thing is over, then they'll start. They'll start someday, eventually.
Well guess what: The time is NEVER going to be right, the stars will never align, and all the traffic lights will never be green. "Someday, eventually" will never come.
Then one day you will wake up and 10 years have gone by and you'll regret not having done what you've always wanted to do.
You'll regret not going to the gym and getting in the best shape of your life every time you have to don a bathing suit in public.
You'll regret not making that career change every morning when you walk into that job you can't stand.
You'll regret not going back to school and opening up a new world of opportunity for yourself.
You'll regret not picking up that instrument and giving it your best shot every time you see some 15 year old on youtube playing the hell out of it.
If I've learned anything in my 28 years, it's that there is no worse way to live than in regret.
My goal for myself physically has always been to get stronger than I was yesterday. When I was laid up for 10 of the last 30 months on crutches, I could have made a million excuses why I couldn't go to the gym.
I was in pain.
I was tired.
I was frustrated by not being able to train like I wanted to.
But I got my ass in there and GOT IT DONE. I did the best I possibly could. I worked with what was available to me and my capabilities at the time.
This is a training blog, so I'll narrow my focus a little and just end with this:
If you have always wanted to lose that spare tire and build a strong muscular body that your wife won't be able to take her hands off of...
If you've always wanted to finally lose the fat and enjoy the jealous looks from other women at the pool as you walk around looking amazing in that bikini...
If you've always wanted to get to that next level of performance on the playing field that leaves your opponents stunned and wondering "Who the heck WAS that?"...
NOW is the time!
Now is the time to go out and get after those dreams you've been sitting on for so long.
Now. Not tomorrow, not on Monday, not next month, not in the fall, NOW.
The "right" time will never come. So stop waiting for it, and GET IT DONE!
***I would like to thank my friends, family, and especially my wife, for all the love, support, and assistance that they gave me throughout my "ordeal." I don't know how I would have done it without you guys. I love you all!***
On top of that, I felt completely worthless around the house. Going up and down stairs took forever, I couldn't carry anything, and just walking with the crutches, carrying all 240 lbs of me, was exhausting. I wasn't much help doing anything, so my wife had to pick up the slack. It was very disheartening to go from a big, strong, physically capable guy to a dependent that was as helpless as two sleeping baby kittens.
...and not nearly as cute.
To make matters worse, it was impossible to forget about things because every person I saw would ask me how much longer I had on crutches. I appreciated their concern and interest, but the repetitiveness of it all was very tiresome.
Well, I was on those crutches for 6 long months. May 20, 2010 was the first day I got off of them. This was easily one of the best days of my life. Air smelled fresher, food tasted better, and the sun shined just a little brighter for me that day.
My leg was still not 100%, obviously, but since then it has steadily improved. I am to the point now where I can push the Prowler using the low handles, which is something I was not able to do just 2 weeks ago.
For the uninitiated: this is The Prowler.
My orthopedic surgeon has given me a clean bill of health for the time being, and all appears to be on its way back to normal. I will know for certain how well everything went when I am 12 months post-op in November.
I maintained most of my upper body strength throughout the whole mess and now I'm well on my way to becoming stronger than ever. Had I stopped lifting during this time, I'd be much farther away from my goals.
Now, if you're still with me through this long, rambling mess of a post, you're probably asking yourself what the point of all this is.
The point is this:
STOP LOOKING FOR EXCUSES!!!
Too often, people will find every conceivable reason to keep them from achieving the things that they want in life.
They don't have the time or the energy to exercise, so they stay fat, weak, and out of shape.
They don't have the skills or the experience to change careers, so they keep doing the same shit job they've been doing for years.
They don't have the opportunity or the money to go back to school, so they never enroll.
They don't know how to start playing that instrument, so they never pick it up.
"The time just isn't right," they say. Maybe in 6 months, after this happens, and after this other thing is over, then they'll start. They'll start someday, eventually.
Well guess what: The time is NEVER going to be right, the stars will never align, and all the traffic lights will never be green. "Someday, eventually" will never come.
Then one day you will wake up and 10 years have gone by and you'll regret not having done what you've always wanted to do.
You'll regret not going to the gym and getting in the best shape of your life every time you have to don a bathing suit in public.
You'll regret not making that career change every morning when you walk into that job you can't stand.
You'll regret not going back to school and opening up a new world of opportunity for yourself.
You'll regret not picking up that instrument and giving it your best shot every time you see some 15 year old on youtube playing the hell out of it.
If I've learned anything in my 28 years, it's that there is no worse way to live than in regret.
My goal for myself physically has always been to get stronger than I was yesterday. When I was laid up for 10 of the last 30 months on crutches, I could have made a million excuses why I couldn't go to the gym.
I was in pain.
I was tired.
I was frustrated by not being able to train like I wanted to.
But I got my ass in there and GOT IT DONE. I did the best I possibly could. I worked with what was available to me and my capabilities at the time.
This is a training blog, so I'll narrow my focus a little and just end with this:
If you have always wanted to lose that spare tire and build a strong muscular body that your wife won't be able to take her hands off of...
If you've always wanted to finally lose the fat and enjoy the jealous looks from other women at the pool as you walk around looking amazing in that bikini...
If you've always wanted to get to that next level of performance on the playing field that leaves your opponents stunned and wondering "Who the heck WAS that?"...
NOW is the time!
Now is the time to go out and get after those dreams you've been sitting on for so long.
Now. Not tomorrow, not on Monday, not next month, not in the fall, NOW.
The "right" time will never come. So stop waiting for it, and GET IT DONE!
***I would like to thank my friends, family, and especially my wife, for all the love, support, and assistance that they gave me throughout my "ordeal." I don't know how I would have done it without you guys. I love you all!***
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