Born a Swimmer. My Story: Part III

I know, I am so sorry for the depressing news at the end of my last post. Don't worry though, the story does have a happy ending I swear (its a compromise, but that's life).

Leaving Trials 16 totally beaten down and sad was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Everything felt so up in the air; we didn't know how anything would work out and if I would get to swim my Senior year (or ever, little did we know). I was so embarrassed by my finish. I couldn't comprehend how something so special and well deserved had been taken from me, and why. I knew at that meet I could have easily swam a 1:01. I KNEW I could have done that. Sure, doubt me. I can't prove it anyways, but its comforting to know with confidence what I could have done had I not had a shoulder in a million little pieces.

Me and some of my mom's family at my graduation.

Ill keep the story short, because no one likes a long story. After Trials, if college coaches I had been talking to hadn't noticed something was wrong then I seriously question their ability to watch and read swims. I came forward with all the coaches, told them of the incident and what my plans were (surgery) and if they wanted to reconsider their offer, I totally understood. A couple of big schools backed out. I don't blame them, that was a risky deal with a very uncertain future. My search for schools was narrowed down. I attempted to swim High School swimming as a last ditch effort to avoid the inevitable, but after about 500 yards I gave up. Off to the Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine I went (our first of way too many encounters). Yep, torn. We thought it would be an easy fix and trusted the doctor. Surgery was scheduled for Friday of that week (three days later). I cried when my mom told me. My life as I knew it was falling down.

Surgery sucked (or what I remember). It was short and sweet and to the point. I couldn't move much at all, was in constant pain and felt drunk on meds. My first week or so at high school was a mix of tardiness, leaving early, doctors appointments and sleeping in class. Surgery was a success! Yay, everything is back where it is supposed to be, they said. Give it two months of intense rehab, and you'll be back. I was going on college recruiting trips, planning for the future and had in the mean time joined Tacoma Swim Club for training.

Fast forward two months, I committed to USC. I was super excited to train co-ed outdoors at an amazing program with an amazing coach. Mark Schubert took a personal interest in me, my training and my shoulder and truly believed I still had something amazing to offer up to the swimming world. His belief in me was something I cherished, and still do. I still wasn't really able to swim at all, but was told to be patient (yeah, right) and it will come. I traveled over to Tacoma a lot to swim and train with the team, but found myself odd man out kicking most of the time. It was also really intimidating to be around such a solid Senior group with so much depth; I hadn't ever had that kind of experience before. I struggled with swimming, and it showed. I become a very withdrawn person with a tad of a crazy side. I still struggled with processing all of the changes and differences in my life.

Freshman year. Ill spare you all the details in the name of keeping the story of short, but freshman year was a whirlwind. Much to my dismay, I couldn't swim. I met with the top Ortho surgeon at USC who was short on words but promised he could fix it. Mark was an amazing coach; he was frustrated with the situation - we both were - and with great sadness scheduled surgery for Winter Break. Mark waited for me all surgery out in the waiting room to hear the good word, and had the nurse call him the minute I was up. I stayed with some family friends for a few days and was then shipped home in a wheel chair. That was one of the longest most painful trips I have taken - so much that a newly ripped apart and screwed back together shoulder isn't built to take. I recuperated at home over break. While most friends from high school were getting together for holiday parties or discussing life over coffee, I was at home either sleeping or trying to keep my spirits up with a book.

Some of the freshman class...

Homecoming football down on the field.

Team photo. Cyber high-five if you can find me.

I started back at SC with a very dedicated group of therapists and I honestly think I spent HOURS in that room either rehabbing, icing, socializing or seeing the doctor. I thank the USC Physical Therapist team for putting up with me - I know I was annoying. I started swimming again, and was thankful to be able to share my struggles with Mark, Lindsay Mintenko and her husband Mike. I had developed one hell of a kick, which wasn't one of my strong suits when I was swimming. Mark loved to push me, and I often kicked sets people were swimming. I even got to train with Mike, who I can still remember beating on one particular kick set with Mark smiling down as he watched the beat down take place. So yeah, I had some good times. And if there was a kicking race I definitely would have taken gold.

Towards the end of season, we started seeing coaches come on to the premises. This shocked all of us as we were certain Mark was there for the long haul - something we all discussed with him before we committed. He was our coach, our fearless leader. We knew coaching took a lot of time and we was a highly sought after individual in the swimming community for many things, so it came as a shock to everyone when he stepped down as head coach and accepted a position with USA Swimming. Enter Dave Salo, a SoCal coach who had had a lot of success in the club program.

Now Dave was a good coach, and I continue to hear wonderful things about him from people who have trained under his program. But my experience with him was much different and left a very sour feeling in me. Had he been a little bit more compassionate in getting to know me and understanding my situation, we could have had a very different relationship. In our one on one with Mark, he said he understood the situation I was in and would honor all that Mark and I had discussed - he was happy to have me on the team. After this meeting, and without Mark around, Dave told me to either swim 10k a day at the end of the summer (which I was spending at home) or I was off the team sans scholarship (no, he can't do that). Now, if Dave had actually considered that he was offering this ultimatum to a freshman swimmer who already suffered one life altering injury with two corrective surgeries to date and still felt it was appropriate, power to ya. But, to me, you came off as a jack ass. No check ins over summer - I got it. I was written off. I tried to come back, to be part of the team and swim to his standards, but he wouldn't have it. To him, I wasn't worth the effort. I went to weights, went to practice, met with the coaches. Maybe my memory is failing me, but I don't think he ever spent much time with me at practices at all. Swimming wasn't going well (surprised?) and I was in a lot of pain. I worked harder and harder, and the more I worked the worse it all seemed to get. I had reached my bottom, but every day just seemed to keep digging deeper and deeper.

Unfortunately, there isn't a how to book on how to deal with this exact situation. Nor is there a lot of understanding at how much pressure it seemed like there was. Everything just kept falling apart, including my shoulder. I went in for another MRI (another really expensive nap) and had it confirmed; the shoulder was worse off. Everything had come out, which sounds not fun, but when a repair falls apart it tends to cause a bit more damage and a significant amount of pain. USC didn't know what to do, so they reached out to a friend Ortho doctor, and head USA Swimming and Giants football shoulder specialist for help. The suggestion they told me was to first off, walk away from swimming. I had the good ol' 'listen kid, it just ain't happenin' talk and was told to look into a more severe form of corrective surgery - a one of a kind and new replacement surgery that could hopefully help my shoulder. In complete denial that this is what my life had come to, I said no. USC offered to honor my athletic scholarship to allow me to stay at the school and finish out my schooling but the thought of staying at a school I came to swim at and continue on as just a student was too painful. So, I left.

This period of my life was riddled with a lot of other problems and struggles, some of which I might shed some light on later because, hey, life's shitty and everyone has problems and we don't need to treat them like secrets. Long story short, I moved back home, figured out how to stand on my own two feet, started working and went back to school with some new found zest for life. I repeatedly hurt my shoulder, but really it was always 'hurt'. It was never stable, moody, and always seemed to pop out. I dislocated both shoulders skiing and ended up in the hospital. Eventually, my shoulder just started popping out in class and during sleep. Reluctantly, I started looking for a doctor who wouldn't suggest joint replacement as a solution and found my shoulder angel: Dr. Lawrence Holland of Seattle OPI. The guy is a freakin' rockstar.

I went and met with him with my parents, and he passed the bedside manner test real fast. He was a USC alum and fan of athletes, and we hit it off. He was sure he could help me and had consulted with another top Ortho shoulder guy on my case; while the specifics would have to be left to the operating room, he believed he could fix my shoulder with some creativity and hard work. He promised me I would swim - actually swim, and enjoy it. He promised me I could lift things over my head, ski, climb, anything I wanted if I let him operate. I was hesitant, obviously, but was intrigued. The thought of once again going into surgery and once again going through rehab brought me to tears, but I liked Holland. He wasn't covered by my insurance at the time, but was the only doctor in the US that seemed capable of fixing my shoulder, so we worked out a compromise. We would use a different hospital with an operating room that was covered by insurance, move all the necessary equipment over to said room, get an assisting Ortho doctor that was covered by my insurance and work out a payment plan with Holland. In short, this guy WANTED to do this surgery.

So, at another very trying time in my life, I went in to surgery. I was down and out for the count. Surgery went well. I loved his team. I woke up in post op screaming (gas mask clogged, choking on breathing tube) and quickly realized, HEY, the nerve block I wanted to watch you shoot into my spine hit the wrong thing. Instead of completely and temporarily paralyzing my arm, it hit my face. I could completely feel the cut and it was TERRIBLE. I didn't have much in the way of pain killers in my system yet, and I totally understood the pain Harry Potter went through when his scar burned... times like a hundred. They quickly called the head anesthesiologist who walked in (doughnut in hand - jerk), took a look and gave me a drug cocktail via needle. Whatever it was was amazing, and I was out like a light. Later, I woke up, challenged the whole hospital to a thumb war (come on, easy win!) and fought the saran wrap that held me in a tight cocoon. I then threw crackers all over myself before passing out again. The next time I woke up I demanded something to drink - GINGER ALE - and chugged. Chugged like I hadn't ever chugged before. See, drugs make you thirsty. They also make you sick. So its a constant battle to keep stuff down.

 

With my k9 companion soaking up some sun post surgery.

They ask you to mark your shoulder. This is how I marked mine. The nurses found this funny.

Ready to go.

After surgery. Nice face huh?

A walk... to the end of the driveway.

Making Hugsy, my goodluck bear!

Excursion a few days after surgery.

See? Nerve block hit the face. Talk about frustrating.

After two weeks I got to finally take off my bandages.

Eventually I was discharged into the care of my loving father. He was very cautious with moving or touching me and just wanted to get me to where we were staying in Seattle safely. They wheeled me down to the car, and I got in, no problem. This is easy guys, give me something challenging to do! Then the wheels started moving. Uh oh, dad. I don't think I can stay awake. Oh sure you can Megan, keep those eyes open. (See, the problem with passing out is you lose the ability to sit up straight, and with a shoulder that you just had staples, pins and loops put in its not a great idea to slam into a door). Dad, dad, I think I am getting sick. Dad, I have to throw up. Dad, pull the car over. Megan, we are getting on the freeway, I can't! (I frantically try to open the door without success). Megan, here's a bag, hopefully free of holes. Don't worry its ok. He stretches a supportive hand back and comforts me. Then our challenge was to keep me awake so I didn't crash into the door and also continued to hold my bag. Hardest staying awake I have EVER had to do.

Recovery from this shoulder surgery was tough, mainly because I knew what it entailed and lets face it, it loses its fun factor after so many times. But, it went well. I started swimming - yay! - and Holland gave a very good prognosis. Yes, he said, your shoulder was completely effed, but I fixed it. He said that what happened, and what the other doctors had missed, was that my bone had actually fragmented and broke into a bunch of pieces. Now, with the tendons all torn, that really sucked. Basically, the front part of my shoulder didn't exist. When the other doctors when to pin the tendons all back together, the pins would pull out because the bone wasn't whole and would shred the tendons further. Holland had to sew some things back together, screw bone back in (delicately), and then find new and good places to anchor the pins for the constructed tendons. He then overlapped and stapled the muscles for good measure, just to keep things cozy in there.

I was content. And 4 months later I was doing well. Happy, hell yeah! I am fixed. Now, when you have surgery, often your whole body loosens up because during rehab you aren't able to do much. For most people, this isn't a problem because laxity is great - you can stretch! For me, and my shoulders, not so good. So my left shoulder was weak, and without that built up muscle to hold it together and with the added stress of doing everything the right shoulder couldn't it finally collapsed. During the first week of my summer job, the baby popped out while assisting a person into their canoe. After assisting the arm back into socket, I called my mom about to have a breakdown. NOT AGAIN. Work dismissed me, and wouldn't allow me back on the premises until I had a note from my doctor saying it was ok to work. Really, it wasn't ok that I worked, but I HAD to. After filing and LnI suit, things got underway. Holland saw me again way too soon for his liking, and I had surgery a few months later.

It went about the same as the one before. Holland did some extra precautionary work on the shoulder for good measure, and I got to rehab once again. 4th time and its like a walk in the park (no, its really not). But, even though I have had many scares and set backs since then both Holland and I are confident in saying surgery, while maybe in the future, isn't needed right now. And anyways, isn't it that when you pay for 4 you get the 5th free?

So, things I have learned.

Stay away from angry fat guys living in their own ego obsessed world.

Bikini tops are a girls best friend after surgery - easy to tie.

Wash clothe bathes are not glamorous.

Use of only one arm is a pain in the ass. Seriously, you have no idea what it does to a person. I started walking with a certain gait and had to relearn how to use it for balance when walking and running EVERY time.

Having a bed full of pillows will still not keep you from moving around. If you can, sleep in a lay-z-boy chair for a month and be, well, a lazy boy (girl).

Best time in your life to watch all the TV and movies you ever want. I flew through 7 seasons of Greys Anatomy and a couple other shows.

Let people come visit you and cheer you up. Seriously, it helps.

Don't be afraid to eat stuff and gain weight if you are committed to losing it later. And yes, whether I wanted to or not I tubbed out. I'm an emotional eater and I ate all those damn feelings.

Get someone to take care of you. You really can't do it (well) alone.

Wear the freaking sling. Its better than trying to open a door, reach for a falling dish, or hold it out in front of you when falling. Ouch. Lesson learned.

Don't try to even look pretty. Just resign to the fact that for the next month, you will be a couch potato. Be proud.

Respect the scar. I used to hate mine, probably because it was bright purple and represented the thing I hated most about my life, but I came to accept it and now I am proud of that freakin' thing! Yes, you may have ran a marathon, but I had 4 shoulder surgeries. Different kind of fight, but one to admire nonetheless.

You can drink on meds, I just don't suggest it unless you want to be very very drowsy.

Set a goal with rehab; it makes it way more entertaining. In fact, this just applies to life. So, set goals for life. Its way better that way.

Read books. Read a lot of them.

If you can, have someone get you out of the house. They can take you for walks, drives, the market. Its just good and healthy to get out.

These photos go to show that life after losing your life isn't that bad:

I got to play in Ecuador with this girl.

I get to hike. Oh boy, I get to hike.

I climbed a volcano in Chile with my dad.

I still get to swim open water and dominate my division in triathlons.

I got to cheer on my brother at his Olympic Trials in 2012.

I spent a winter (there summer) in South America.

I ice climb.

Yeah. Beaches.

Snowshoeing is actually really fun!

Playing on ice.

I get to compete and FINISH triathlons. It's fun.

My life is some kind of wonderful.

And lastly, do not live in the past. Sometimes things don't last that long, so enjoy who you are and what you have in the moment. Don't ever be ashamed of something that played some sort of role in your life (cheesy, I know) and don't waste time pitying yourself and what could have been. It could have, yes, but what happens next and for the rest of your life is entirely up to you. If it changes you, that's ok, let it. Don't spend your life crying over your losses and looking back on your life with regret; be happy with what you have (because we all have something, even just memories) and find comfort in the fact that while times might be trying (really trying sometimes) now you know what kind of strength you really have, and there isn't a single soul that can strip you of that in the world.