Aug 16th - 31st: Back to Taos Post Right Hip Surgeries
Daily-ish Updates
- Day 12 of Recovery: Aug 16th | Coming Home to Taos
- Day 13 - Aug 17th | Puppy Reunions and First Showers
- Day 14 - Aug 18th | Settling Into a New Rhythm
- Day 15 - Aug 19th | Nerve Pain and New Practices
- Day 16 - Aug 20th | Balancing Rest, Advocacy, and Independence
- Day 17–18: Aug 21–22 | Managing Pain, Navigating Care, and Letting Go
- Day 19–20: Aug 23–24 | Surprises, Support, and Next Steps
- Day 21–22: Aug 25–26 | Wild Goose Chases, New Discoveries, and Forward Motion
- Day 23–25: Aug 27–29 | Antibiotics, Expectations, and Hummingbirds
- Day 26-27 - Aug 30-31 | Boundaries, Breakthroughs, and New Rhythms
- On the Horizon
It was a whirlwind getting ready to leave Denver. We had a really great final evening out on the deck, ending with a bat circling above the house — so cool! We were exhausted, and I slept really well before waking up around 7 for final packing.
Mom stocked us up on some of our new favorite non-alcoholic drinks (I love a special happy hour beverage!). Patrick made smoothies and started loading the car while I got myself together. Packing took much longer than expected — I had an overwhelming amount of stuff between what I originally brought and what I acquired in Denver. Between fun shopping with Mom and the many Amazon orders after surgery 1 and 2, our car was stuffed. Since we don’t get delivery in Taos, it felt smart to bring it all back rather than deal with the post office. Packing to come here feels like a lifetime ago!
TMI but big news: as of my last night in Denver, I’m finally having some normal-ish BMs post-surgery 2.
Hitting the road!
The Drive: Getting comfortable is still tough — sitting with my legs down for too long and the seat support are both challenges. Pat and Mom set me up with options: the front seat, or lying down in the back with my legs stretched out. I started in the front, was uncomfortable within an hour, and luckily slept most of the way. I stayed awake for a stop at the accident site to leave fresh flowers, and for Thai food at Mrs. Rios in San Luis (cannot recommend highly enough!), then slept again until home.
Arrival: I was so ready to get my legs up and lay down. Walking into a spotless house (our sitter also deep-cleaned) was amazing, and she even baked me a carrot cake — so thoughtful! Patrick unloaded while I lay in bed with ice and snuggled with our kitty.
Nerve Block Removal: Removing the nerve block was easier than expected. The tape hurt and left some raw skin, but I didn’t even feel the tube when Patrick pulled it out. (Photos of the contraption here.)
We ended the evening resting and snuggling in bed, so happy to be home.
First Night: I felt like I slept really well, even though my watch only logged 5.75 hours. Pain is still intense, so I’m waking up every two hours to stay on top of meds. Our sweet kitty made sure I was never alone — each time I woke up she was curled on or near my chest. I also did a round in the CPM machine during the night, which helped with stiffness from the drive. I woke up excited to see our doggies!
Puppy Reunion: Patrick left early to pick up the dogs from their boarding spot in Eagle’s Nest. It was a short solo test for me at home — I used a backpack to carry things between rooms without losing balance. The reunion at 11 was wonderful. My new Costco lap pillow worked perfectly to keep the pups off my hip while still making space for kisses and cuddles.
After a long nap, I treated myself to cake in my favorite chair by the window. Bliss.
Later, I managed my first real shower since surgery 2. It took some setup but went smoothly, and afterward I got to see my incision for the first time — about 6 inches long, right along the bikini line. Healing looks good!
Patrick and I did some unpacking (the big suitcases are handled), then mostly relaxed and decompressed. Dinner was easy and delicious — enchiladas Patrick had prepped before Denver. We ended the day tired but relieved, grateful to be home.
This morning I’m feeling about the same pain-wise but slept fairly well, minus Umi (our kitty) going wild at 6 am by climbing the curtains above our heads. She’s mad we won’t let her in the closet!
Patrick and I are settling into a rhythm that feels good. At my 6 am med alarm, I put the protector pillow over me to prepare for morning dog chaos. Sure enough, when they woke up at 6:30 they were calmer than usual, and I felt safer with the pillow. We also started a shared note where I can list my regular needs and one-off requests. First thing this morning, Patrick made coffee and fed the dogs, then brought me water, ice, electrolytes, my humidifier, coffee, and Miralax. He’s so caring — I’m lucky.
Reading made me drowsy again this morning, so I think it’s just how I am right now. Lots of naps (and rest in general) are one of my main job these days.
This afternoon I start PT, and we’re also hoping for news on the lawsuit. More to come!
Physical Therapy: Yesterday’s PT session was mostly a review of my surgery paperwork and how I’m feeling. I despise pain scales and diagrams of where the pain is located! I understand their value for tracking, but also their flaws (from my previous healthcare QI work lens).
We went through some exercises I’ll be working on daily: ankle pumps, glute squeezes, engaging pelvic floor and low abs, and standing right leg hamstring curls. We also tried some nerve glides, which lit up a new and excruciating pain pattern. My thigh is mostly numb, but certain movements — and sometimes no movement at all — trigger shooting, burning, electric sensations down the outer thigh, right where my dad inspired buffalo tattoo is. Right now it’s nearly impossible for me to lean or reach over my left side… as if I needed more limitations.
I’ll return to PT Thursday and twice a week for the foreseeable future, envisioning less pain and more strength in my near future. We got this!
PT side note: Having two surgeries with different, overlapping restrictions and structured PT protocols is confusing. Thankfully, I have my surgery #1 telemed follow-up tomorrow so we can clarify how to manage that alongside the new nerve pain.
Last Night: Going to bed was rough — I had a full breakdown before finally falling asleep. Then I slept like a rock, minus the regular med interruptions. Honestly, I could use more crying and more sleeping… couldn’t we all? I think my body is catching up with the emotional weight of the past few weeks… or is it years?
Today: The day flew by. I keep learning (again and again) that I need to move intentionally and at the pace that feels safe — which means giving myself more time for everything.
My daily intention reminder on Insight Timer is: “pause, breathe, then move — and most importantly, rest and heal.” It reminds me of when I used to write similar notes on my assistive devices back in late 2022 and early 2023.
This morning I also started a new practice from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. A dear friend gifted me the book right after the accident, and on my last night out in Taos before surgery the book came up with another friend. I explained my struggle getting started and they recommended: “Just do the daily pages.” So today, I tried it — three pages of stream-of-consciousness journaling. I liked it! I think it might help declutter my mind and process everything that has happened (and continues to happen).
Appointments: By mid-morning, it was time to leave for an 11 am appointment at Taos Orthopedic. I didn’t even realize that’s what I was moving toward — I just meandered through freshening up and organizing meds until it was suddenly time to go.
The visit was for surgery #1 follow-up and wound care. My sutures were removed (I was ready for those to come out!), and healing looks good. We made a plan for next steps — though, in true Taos fashion, the system was down so I’ll need to call back to schedule. While I was inside, Patrick ran to Walgreens for my much-needed prescription refills and made it back in time to join the appointment.
Our schedule was tight afterward, and I ended up having to tag along for another errand. Sitting in the car without planning for it was really tough in the amount of pain I’m in — a good reminder of how important pre-planning is for me right now. These moments are teaching me to advocate for myself more clearly, even in small day-to-day logistics.
Afternoon & Evening: By the time we got home I was so ready for food, meds, and a nap. This pain feels inescapable.
I had therapy scheduled for 3, but since I didn’t eat or medicate until nearly 2, we pushed. I’m grateful for her understanding — and for the permission to honor what I need. I ended up sleeping from 2:30-5.
Patrick is at volleyball tonight, but he set me up with everything: a thermos of leftover curry for dinner, a cooler by the bed with two canned drinks and an ice pack. I’m propped up with my new back support pillow (highly recommend!) and icing.
Tomorrow is a new day. I’m grateful to have what I need tonight, and hopeful for more strength tomorrow.
Early Morning: I woke up very early with racing thoughts and, true to form, found myself adding to my Trello lists in the wee hours. (I’ve used Trello for years and LOVE it!) After another short stretch of sleep, the dogs cheerfully woke us up for breakfast, as they like to do.
With my morning coffee I did my second day of morning pages — free writing a few stream-of-consciousness pages. I think they’re already helping me start the day with a brighter perspective and a clearer head. In just two days, I’m noticing themes I might want to tag in my Notion app. I asked my brother (he’s a tech wiz!) for help with that, and we even started brainstorming about a newsletter or other way to share updates with subscribers (form to subscribe at the bottom of each page). We have fun bouncing ideas as sibling besties.
Telemed Appointment: I had my follow-up for surgery #1 (the arthroscopic labrum repair and femoroplasty). I was hoping for clear answers, but the appointment was with a PA I hadn’t met before who wasn’t familiar with my history. Much of the visit ended up being me explaining it.
From her perspective, there’s nothing unusual about my current pain or the nerve pain that started with PT. She advised me to keep up with pain meds and avoid any exercises that increase pain. She also noted they usually don’t have patients start PT until after weight-bearing restrictions are lifted from the PAO, but that would mean waiting 8 weeks — while the PAO team wants me in PT now.
She also wanted imaging at this follow-up, which hadn’t been coordinated with my Taos Ortho doctor. I had thought he and my Colorado surgeons would have synced on my care, but that never happened. Another reminder that I need to advocate for myself and make sure the pieces connect.
I had different hopes for how the two surgical teams would coordinate my recovery, but it seems they work closely together for the surgery itself and less so for rehab. Add in my local Taos doctor not linking up with them either, and it feels like a classic case of the poor communication I’ve so often seen in healthcare.
It’s frustrating, but also clarifying (once again) — I can’t assume providers are talking to each other, so my role has to be the thread that ties them together.
Movement & Progress: I’m trying to build in more activity. Today I did a lap around the house first thing out of bed, stayed up and moving for about an hour after my telemed appointment, and even had dinner at the table in the living room. I practiced carrying things in my backpack and even unpacked and organized a few lingering bags — progress!
That said, I still struggle to stay comfortable outside the bedroom. I don’t have supports set up elsewhere, and since I can’t carry things myself, bed remains my safest primary spot. Pain escalates much faster when I’m not able to lay down at a moment’s notice.
It feels strange that ‘venturing into the living room’ is an achievement — but right now, it truly is.
Self-Sufficiency Practice: Patrick was out from about 9 to 1, giving me a chance to practice being on my own. I yearn for more independence. What I haven’t attempted yet is taking the dogs out — especially with Mac the escape artist and our desperate need for a new fence. I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t been in the front or back yards since getting home… but I know if I can figure out a safe way, that will bring me joy.
Wedding Prep Concerns: When Patrick got home, he prepped my lunch and we had a heart-to-heart. We have a dear friend’s wedding on Saturday and are both nervous about how it will go. I can’t walk far and have to be extremely mindful of each step. Celebrating with friends while managing that feels daunting.
Patrick kindly, at my request, stopped by the venue to scope things out. The walk from parking to ceremony is about 100 yards, but the site is ADA accessible and has wheelchairs available. I don’t love the idea of using one, but it could solve some of the logistical challenges. The bigger issue is that I’m not comfortable for long in standard chairs with my hips and knees at 90 degrees. So, a wheelchair doesn’t help on that front.
Lots to think about — I’m glad for another PT session tomorrow before making decisions.
It’s hard to balance wanting to celebrate people I love with honoring my own healing.
Evening Calm: I finally got my new cross stitch project set up — so excited to be back at it! Listening to my audiobook while stitching brought a welcome peace and calm.
We ended the day with another delicious dinner and quiet evening. Still, all the wedding logistics and the possibility of needing to stay home have me feeling a little blue tonight. I’m reminding myself that taking care of myself is never the wrong choice, even when it means missing out… again and again.
These have been some rough days with bright spots along the way, of course.
PT: I’m so happy to be going to PT twice a week — I really love the team there. Even though I can’t do much yet due to my many restrictions, they want me to come in to practice the few safe things I can do, some of which they’d prefer I not attempt at home until I’m stronger and more stable. They also add gentle tissue work, and as the head PT put it: “I just wouldn’t be comfortable with you being away for so long.” That sure made me feel seen and cared for. It’s such a relief to feel heard here, especially since I’m struggling with that at some of my other providers’ offices.
Pain Management: Wow. I’ve never had such a hard time managing pain. This feels like the most difficult pain I’ve ever had to navigate outside of a hospital, honestly maybe ever. After the accident, at my worst moments, I was in the hospital under 24/7 care. Now we’re trying to handle extreme pain levels and intense restrictions at home.
I’ve continued the pain regimen I was discharged with: oxy as primary, tramadol for breakthrough pain, muscle relaxers, and Tylenol. My pain has been extreme (though very slowly improving), and with near-daily demands — moving home, unpacking, constant appointments — I haven’t felt I could risk lowering my meds yet.
In a recent conversation with a provider, I felt minimized: told simply that I “need to get off oxy” and reminded that of course I was going to have pain. There was little acknowledgment of what my body has been through or how intense this really feels. It left me frustrated and unseen — a classic experience for so many women in healthcare.
This has stirred up shame and “shoulds” — negative self-talk that I’m grateful to snap out of with the help of people who see and hear me. My pain keeps shifting in quality and location throughout each day, sometimes subtly, sometimes drastically, but the level hasn’t decreased. That part is scary.
Meanwhile, my inner dialogue also runs on a different track: Wow, am I really as strong as people think? Why is this so hard for me? I’ve never had issues tapering off oxy in the past, even with how many times I’ve needed it since the accident. I’m not worried about dependence — but I am shaken by how unrelenting this pain feels.
When a provider minimizes my experience, I remind myself: my pain is real, my trauma matters, and I deserve care that acknowledges both.
Advocacy: My transition home has brought quality-of-care concerns and so much mental/emotional labor in figuring out how to handle them. There are many moving parts to coordinate, and I deserve attentive, safe care where I won’t fall through the cracks.
Thankfully, I have an incredible community of trusted local providers to lean on, but the toll of constant advocacy is heavy. I feel frustrated and sad, but I also trust it will work out.
Even with a great community, it takes persistence to ensure care is coordinated. Advocacy is exhausting — but it’s how I keep myself safe.
Balance: I canceled a few appointments this week because my system simply couldn’t handle more input. I want to reconnect with my trusted local providers, but right now I can’t do more than one obligation a day. For now, I’m focusing on rest and letting my system settle. We will see how this weekend unfolds and I’ll go day by day next week; I’m grateful to my providers for understanding this need and remaining flexible as I heal.
A blessing: my PT will be able to handle wound care and staple removal from surgery #2 on Monday, saving me an extra appointment while my ortho doctor is out of town.
I even took a 3.5-hour nap yesterday, which helped distract from the pain and gave me a natural gap between meds. At night I’ve reduced alarms so I only wake once, at 4 am, and so far it’s manageable. Sleep is golden.
I’m slowly learning - over and over - that fewer inputs can equal more healing.
New Worry: At the end of last year, I had an exposed facial plate moving into my nasal passage — it caused a horrible smell and discharge until surgery to remove it. I fear it may be happening again. I’ve reached out to a provider who helped me last time but haven’t heard back yet, and I’m considering contacting another. With it being the weekend, I’m left waiting, which stirs up questions of self-worth and whether I’m “a bother.”
Wedding Decision: After much thought — and with my PT’s strong advice — we decided not to attend my dear friend’s wedding tomorrow. Between severe pain, limited mobility, and rising anxiety for both Patrick and me, it became clear it wasn’t realistic. It hurts my heart, though, to keep missing important moments. Almost three years of recovery has meant so many losses like this.
Choosing my health doesn’t mean I don’t love my people. It just means I want to be here for them in the long run — and back at it sooner than if I didn’t prioritize my health.
Bright Spots: Amid all of this, there have been moments of light:
Sweet puppies by my side.
A friend visiting this morning with a latte and muffins — such a bright spot! And a wonderful distraction from pain for an hour.
Sitting outside on the back porch, soaking in our amazing view.
Constantly delicious meals from Patrick, who I love seeing find enjoyment and calm in the kitchen (and I love reaping the rewards).
A group text with my mom and brother, with lots of daily activity.
Love from friends and family through texts and voicemails — thank you all for thinking of me and for your patience when I take time to reply.
Tomorrow, Patrick and I plan a front yard/garden tour, hopefully timed with meds so we can enjoy it without crisis.
This weekend was meant for rest and recovery — focusing on pain, easing off medications, and simply allowing myself to “be” as I settled into being home.
Instead, it turned into a whirlwind of problem solving, care coordinating, and phone calls with dear friends and provider contacts. It felt like an all-star team cast coming in to save the day.
Two big things got handled:
A plan for short-term surgery follow-up care and a path forward for the longer term. Most immediately, this means heading to the hospital soon for imaging. We also had to pivot on wound care and staple removal from surgery #2, since we won’t be in town tomorrow as originally planned.
Next steps for assessing and addressing what looks like another exposed plate moving into my nasal canal. For now, this means an 8 am appointment tomorrow in Albuquerque. Based on my prior experience, this could mean another surgery very soon to remove the plate.
I went from feeling very lost — unsure who to reach out to or how to get the right attention — to being overwhelmed with conversations and next steps, but also beyond grateful for people who are willing to jump in and help get me to a better place.
Tomorrow we’ll leave at 5:30 am to make the appointment. After much stress and discussion, we decided to bring the dogs and pack for overnight in case we need to stay. We have no idea what the day will bring, both from the appointment itself and from the toll of so much car time and sitting. Luckily, my cousin has a casita ready for us — to nap, to leave the dogs while at appointments (with ABQ temps so high, that was a big factor), and/or to stay overnight — another reminder of how supported we are.
It’s overwhelming, but incredible too, how quickly community can mobilize when things get serious.
At Home: Through it all, the culinary magic continues. Patrick’s cooking is not only nourishing me but also clearly feeding his own spirit. It’s beautiful to watch him find creativity and calm in the kitchen — and I feel spoiled by the results.
We are navigating so much right now, and I’m worried about how my pain levels will hold up with this surprise (but very necessary) trip to Albuquerque. It feels like things just keep coming.
Tonight, though, I’m cozy in bed, rain out the window, puppies curled beside me, while Patrick makes dinner: soy-braised pork belly with tofu and rice. Even in the chaos, there’s comfort — rain, puppies, and pork belly.
We left the house at 5:30 am on Monday — which meant I was up at 4:45. These days, I move s l o w. Pre-surgery, if I had to leave by 5:30, I might not have gotten up until after 5. Patrick was up at 4 to prep us for the journey. I don’t know what I would do without him. We’ve unfortunately become very good at navigating urgent, scary, whiplash-like days.
It turned out to be a bit of a wild goose chase, but we got to the bottom of things — for now.
Oral & Maxillofacial Surgeon: First stop was with the surgeon who helped rebuild my mouth after the accident. It was so good to see him. A CT scan showed healthy sinuses, plates flat against bone, and everything stable — all really good news. At first we thought there was exposed bone in my septum with yucky tissue around it, but this was really more of an ENT issue, so we transferred to UNM ENT for further evaluation.
ENT Evaluation: After dropping the dogs at my cousin’s casita (lifesaver, with the ABQ heat) and grabbing our favorite drive-thru breakfast burritos, we headed to UNM Hospital.
A dear ENT friend — who had already helped me navigate this concern all weekend — stayed at the hospital in case I needed her. And I did. She scoped me with specialized tools and cameras and found no exposed bone (again, really good news!) but instead multiple piles of crusted mucus that had to be debrided, and to my surprise, within both nasal canals. Unbelievably gross. Patrick even stepped in as medical assistant, swapping tools and grabbing nasal goo with gauze. Amazing! Who knew that would be added to his ever growing list of unexpected duties?!
She started me on antibiotics to add to my sinus rinse twice daily for 10 days. She’ll also culture the gunk and let us know results. My CT did show a perforated septum, but it looks like it’s been there since my initial reconstruction in 2022. Since it hasn’t caused problems and I haven’t had an issue like this until now, we think this mucus build-up was more likely something I picked up during hip surgery. Wild. Even still, I’m planning to check in with my facial and reconstructive surgeon about the permeated septum and it’s possible relation to my infection just so it’s on his radar.
Even good news can come with confusion — which means asking more questions, not fewer.
Staple Confusion: She also kindly looked at my hip incision and offered to remove staples — only to find none there! Ridiculous and funny icing on the cake of how frustrating my hip follow-up has been. Maybe I imagined it? No, I swear it was mentioned in surgery planning, day-of, and after; my mom and Patrick also remember hearing about staples. So weird and confusing. At least the incision is healing perfectly.
Telemed Follow-Up: My hip surgeon confirmed today that all looks well — no concerns, healing as expected. I’ll start scar massage, but otherwise all good news.
When the Body Holds Secrets: Still, between staple confusion and learning I’ve had a perforated septum all this time without knowing — it’s another reminder that my body is very different than before. It doesn’t always feel like it belongs to me. And at the same time, of course it does. Maybe this is not so different from someone else learning they have an illness or injury they never knew about.
Sometimes the hardest part is realizing what I was never told. Missing information is still information I have to advocate to uncover.
PT Update: Thanks to the wonderful PT staff, I got an appointment today (since I missed Monday). I’ve now advanced to phase 2 of my restrictions — I can weight bear 50%! I can stand without crutches! And I’m not going to lose my booty, because glutes are constant in this program.
New additions: bridges, hamstring and quad work (laying down), heel raises, stationary bike (no resistance). I also have intense tightness in my front body — likely my psoas from so much sitting — so my PT suggested intentional time lying flat throughout the day. A forced opportunity for meditation, listening to books, or napping.
Oh, and tummy time! I hadn’t been on my stomach in weeks, and it felt joyous — almost like a baby discovering the world. It reminded me of rehab, when I realized I hadn’t been on my tummy in over four weeks. What a surprisingly wonderful thing it was then, and it still is now. I understand it for babies more than I ever imagined. Turns out tummy time isn’t just for babies after all.
Side-lying and side-sleeping are on the horizon too
Progress & Beyond: Progress feels wonderful. On another note, the lawsuit is so close to being behind us — all documents signed, just waiting for the very final steps. Any day now.
Tomorrow I’ll go for imaging on my first hip surgery to send to the Boulder surgeon. Other than that, the day is for rest, recovery, and sunshine in the front yard with the flowers and ducks.
There’s comfort in the little things: burritos, puppies, and tummy time.
The Staph Saga: Turns out, I have a staph a. infection in my nose! Still waiting to hear if it’s resistant to anything, but my ENT (and dear friend) is confident in the antibiotic approach we chose.
I’m not contagious, which is a huge relief. Oddly, the infection is in my nasal cavity and not my sinuses — confusing, but happily, it’s resolving. I already feel better, the smell is completely gone, and I’m using way fewer tissues. No more grandma stash of tissues tucked into clothes, sleeves, and pockets — though my college friends have lovingly called me “granny” for years, so maybe it was fitting.
We also tackled possible sources of “muck” — out went the humidifier, Brita (yes, I’d been using it instead of true distilled, oops!), and tea kettle. Distilled water it is. Simplifying my environment isn’t a failure — it’s wisdom. Reducing risks and responsibilities frees up space to actually heal.
Planning for Visitors: We’ve been mulling over what I can realistically handle as we get ready for a cherished friend’s visit. I’m so excited to see her and meet her partner, and equally grateful to know she’ll support whatever my body needs. We shifted plans from Sunday–Tuesday to just Sunday–Monday, which feels much more doable.
Even joy requires boundaries — taking best care of myself sometimes looks like adjusting plans so connection stays sustainable.
My Current Reality
Sleep is rough — I’m averaging 5–6 hours a night when I probably need double, given I’m healing from two surgeries, growing new bone, and now recovering from an infection.
I’m still in bed about 80% of the time at home. My setup here makes it easier than trekking back and forth across the house.
Patrick and I haven’t had the capacity for dinner guests or long visits yet; an hour or so is all I/we can manage. It will be a good experiment to have comfy guests that will be attentive, low maintenance, and support whatever is needed as it arrives.
Big news: after Monday, I can officially say goodbye to the Continuous Passive Motion (CPM) machine! Six hours a night with that contraption has been a marathon.
Naps are non-negotiable, though scheduling them is trickier than it sounds. They keep slipping to late afternoon, but at least they’re happening. Ideally a post-lunch nap (2-4ish) is what I’d like to get to.
Even with “not that much going on,” I struggle to juggle the have-to-dos, should-dos, want-to-dos, and push-myself-because-it’s-good-for-me dos. Letting go of the “shoulds” is a form of advocacy too. It’s easy to compare myself to what the surgical team expects, but honoring what my body actually needs is more powerful than checking boxes.
Pain Management Reality Check: At my two-week follow-up, I was told most patients are on only Tylenol. Wild. My reality? I’m still on:
Tramadol and muscle relaxers four times daily (scheduled).
Oxycodone as needed, often preemptively for appointments since pain ramps up so fast.
Tylenol three times/day (max dose).
Nerve pain medication, also max dose.
And still, my pain feels poorly managed. Friends, family, and even local providers are shocked at the surgical teams’ expectations. Being told “most patients are fine on Tylenol” felt minimizing. I’m reminding myself that my pain is real, my trauma matters, and my healing doesn’t need to match the “average patient” timeline. It’s maybe even most important for me to accept that fact over anyone else.
Connection Fatigue: I yearn for connection and feel so grateful to everyone who reaches out. But I can’t keep up. I am trusting that love doesn’t require constant replies — connection can’t be measured in response time. Please know your messages matter deeply, even if I’m a slow (or non-) responder.
Two Bright Big Things
The lawsuit is officially settled. It’s behind us. Wowee wow. I don’t know what this means exactly for healing — my wounded heart and soul, and body — or for the future, short or long term. But what relief I can already feel in the shift: from daydreaming without possibility in sight, to actionable daydreaming.
Hummingbirds — treasured visitors who keep showing up in surprising places: perched on our backyard fence, sipping from sunflowers, even outside our bedroom window where I’d never seen them before. Each sighting feels like a blessing, a reminder that even amid the heaviness, beauty keeps finding me.
Healing is painful and rarely progresses as expected — but with antibiotics working, my local provider community and advocacy bringing clarity and comfort, the lawsuit behind us, and hummingbirds at my window, I’m reminded there is still so much lightness to hold onto.
A Heart-Filling Visit: We had a very heart-filling visit from my treasured friend from college and her partner. We sat outside on the back porch, they cooked us a delicious Thai coconut curry noodle soup, and then we all snuggled up on the couch for a movie — furry children included, of course. This morning we soaked in the bright sunshine of the living/dining room and chatted for several hours before they left around noon. Patrick unfortunately had to work this morning, so he only got about an hour of hang time, but I’m grateful we could make it work.
I’m so glad they came — and also glad we honored boundaries by shifting from two nights to just one. Once again seeing the power in advocating for myself by keeping the joy-filled socializing sustainable. It was perfect.
Fatigue and Milestones: That said, I only slept 4.5 hours last night according to my watch. Between lack of sleep, relentless pain, limited mobility, and hosting visitors, I’m more than ready for a restorative night’s sleep.
BIG milestone: last night was the final night with the CPM machine… let’s go!
Local Support, New Hope: Back home, I’m slowly reintegrating my deeply cherished Taos providers into my schedule. Those I’ve spoken with are frankly shocked at how my pain management has been handled up to this point, and they’re eager to help me figure out a better plan. Sometimes the providers closest to home bring the best clarity, comfort, and a sense of being seen when larger systems fall short.
Last week, a couple of appointments focused on breathwork and gentle movement to help my body remember that it can move from a calmer place. I’m hopeful that I’ll be approved to begin gentle movement on my pilates reformer this week.
Space for Both of Us: Patrick is heading to Santa Fe mid-week to spend time with an old friend and stay overnight. I’m glad he’ll have a little getaway of his own. I’ll be lining up rides and some “lady hangs” while he’s away, which feels like another step toward independence.
Looking Ahead: Oh — and I’m working on a newsletter email for anyone who’d like regular reminders of what’s been updated on the site. Subscribe below!
✨ Tonight I’m dreaming of deeper sleep, fewer wake ups, and gentler movement.. Progress feels slow, but each step — from boundaries with visits to saying goodbye to the CPM — is proof that healing is happening.
This week: slowly resume regular weekly appointments with Taos providers as able
9/8: Phase 3 of Restrictions/PT Protocol - progress to 75% weight bearing, start pool exercises (and ok to hot tub!)
9/22: Phase 4 of Restrictions/PT Protocol - progress to 100% weight bearing, work on gait pattern and continue crutches until normal
9/22-24 (tbd): Longtime friend of Patrick visits
9/25: Mom to town
9/27: Nathaniel Rateliff and the Nightsweats at Kit Carson Park in Taos
10/1: Follow up with local Orthopedic Dr
10/5: Denver for follow-ups
10/7: PAO Surgeon 8-wk follow-up
TBD: Eye Specialist follow-up
10/13-29: P+T trip during trial dates!
TBD: return to run, impact, and higher intensity exercise
