The Loneliness of Recovery

Recovering means stepping away from the trails, from the snow and just focusing on getting healthy. But that step back also means distance from the people and the tribe of athletes you surround yourself with. Even as an anti-social runner and cyclist, this past month has been challenging. There's a different kind of loneliness when you are so far separated from what you love. The photos splattered across social media of sunrises, epic days on the trail and generally being outside pull you. Everyone one else is out there, yet here I am, settling in for another day on the trainer, another round of water running or treadmill run. Staying focused on the end result is important, but there can be a dark cloud surrounding the process if you aren’t careful. Recovery isn’t all sunrises and unicorns - instagram worthy posts of doing the “right” things. There’s a lot of feeling angry, worried and testing the limits.

It starts in the hospital room. On the other side of the badge, it’s hustle and bustle - call lights going off, meds to be given. The hallways are busy with patients walking, family members, nursing, housekeeping and everyone else going about their business. But inside the room? That hustle and bustle is isolated to the sliver of hallway visible from the door. With the door closed, it’s even more isolating. Just the sounds of the room - the suction, the ticking of the clock, the bed inflating when you move -  and the swirling thoughts always trending towards the worst possible outcomes. Even more so when there’s pain like you’ve never known every time you try to move and breathing is a challenge. The only link to the outside and to help is that call light. Add in IV, O2 cording and a chest tube to suction and that call light becomes ever more important. I was lucky. Even with the chest tube to suction, I was still able to get up and move around during the day. I had an extender on the suction so I could reach most of the room. I was never a prisoner in my chair or in the bed. As such, because I was independent, I was left alone for most of the day. Unless it was time for vitals, meds or if I wanted a walk, it was mostly just me and my mind. A scary place to be at times, especially when you are in the medical field and know all the things that could go wrong. You don’t realized in the moment, when you are robbed of your independence, how important that contact can be. Something for me to remember when I walk into a room.

Then freedom! Time to go home. Instead of the isolating walls of the small hospital room, the comforts of home sound appealing. Except - in the hospital there are people around, from staff to visitors. You are never really alone when at the hospital. At home, it’s very different. Everyone else is at work, going about their lives and you are stuck in the middle. Healthy but not. Simple tasks are insurmountable, so the frustration builds. And the signs of health, of pre-crash fun, are all around when you are at home. I almost found the first few days when I was home alone the darkest. I couldn’t really do anything! I was still hurting, not breathing well and tired. Walking to the library was about all I could muster before wanting a nap. But taking that nap involved attempting to get comfortable. Almost not worth with it. The dark thoughts shift from wondering about getting healthy to my identity as an athlete.

That leads to misbehaving. To pushing the limits just a bit more then I should. Yes, there was still pain. Yes, the breathing was still hard. It was only two weeks after major surgery, but such a nice day. The trip to Lake Pueblo was just what I needed mentally. I was able to ride a few harder things, had to walk a few other. But no major increase in pain. Yes, I was sore, tired and aching. But I’d been able to ride my bike! This is the danger zone, as I found out the next time I tired riding outside a week later. Stepping off the bike wrong tweaked not quite healed muscles and ribs, sending my entire right side into spasm. Had I done something to seriously set back recovery? After a well deserved lecture, time to simmer down. Allow things to heal! Internally, I was even more frustrated. Why wasn’t I healing or recovering as quickly as I thought I should? Back to the darkness, the isolation of not being able to participate in things I wanted. 

There is another aspect playing into the challenges and the darkness. Fear. The crash was nothing I could have predicted. I wasn’t going down a crazy trail or a steep technical downhill. I was on one of the easiest trails we’d ridden that day. It was a fluke - the combination of leaves, wet roots and one tree just in the wrong spot. I do keep replaying the crash and there is nothing I could have done to prevent it - short of not riding that day! Out of all the crashes I’ve had, I’ve never had mental issues getting back on the bike. Until now. Those three rides outside were mentally challenging. It would only take one wrong step (which I did) to really hurt myself again. Instead of focusing on the trail, I was focusing on not crashing. And that’s the best way to crash. I have to get out of my head and relax. Just ride my bike. That is going to be the hardest part I think - letting go. Letting go of fear and expectations - both real and imagined. Expectations about recovery, healing - any timeline I may have had. Embrace the step away and the seeming loneliness to allow myself to come back stronger - mentally and physically.