Ca va bien aller

thank you Judies

During the pandemic lockdowns here in Quebec, people made posters and flags with a rainbow that said “Ca va bien aller" which translates as “It’s going to be okay” It was a way of keeping distance at the same time as saying You are not alone, and we’re going to be okay.

I am on the 5th day of recovery from bilateral knee replacement surgery. I am a girl who does her research. I knew going in that this wouldn’t be something for the faint of heart and I can tell you - it isn’t and I am not.

Knowing something will be hard doesn’t really make it any easier, does it?

Perhaps you’re like me - I’ve come to realize that I have a high tolerance for pain and a very low tolerance for discomfort. They are definitely not the same thing.

The long term trajectory has been very good, both in my prehab (the work you do up until replacement surgery) and rehab (I’m pretty sure you know what that is)

The prehab journey took three years - that and the chronic knee pain - those are the hard part. The uncomfortable part is having to navigate all the obstacles to receiving care that unfortunately exist for people in large bodies, especially if those large bodies are senior and femme.

The reward is that, every single time a barrier was put in my path, challenging it rather rather than giving up led me to a better solution, a better practitioner, and better outcomes, including financial resources that were not available to people with disabilities in this country at the beginning of my journey. Is it possible that things are getting better?

I am so intolerant of discomfort that I am always looking for ways to make things better - How can I shift this pillow? Where can I sit comfortably to read? Why are gluten and dairy free options so fucking unpalatable and inaccessible for finding places to eat and recipes to use for my family? And if by chance those place can accommodate them, can they accommodate my disability?

I like what I like when I like it, and usually the when is right fucking now.

I’m an incurable side sleeper. Most of the time sleeping on my back is really uncomfortable, and as you now now, I have no tolerance for that.

I have been given no restrictions for sleep positions, but stacking two freshly operated knees on top of each other - let alone getting my post-surgical body into that position - was just too painful.

My surgery went more quickly than anticipated. Everything that could go wrong went right, and even though I had been told to anticipate a stay of at least 2 nights in hospital - maybe more - I was discharged after one night.

Which is a very good thing because most hospitals are not the best places for rest and recovery. They’re so uncomfortable.

I was sent home with 9 different medications, each with its own dosage and schedule, with three of them taken after the two previous were done. They all have generic names that sound the same to me (like Charlie Brown’s teacher actually) and I was overwhelmed trying to figure it all out after the 250km drive home.

On Day 1 of recovery, the nursing staff at the hospital had taken care of all of that. I just woke up, said thank you, and downed the pills.

On Day 2, most of the day was gone, so I just took what I needed to get to the end of the day.

I know that healing is not linear and there are many more days to come in this journey, but Day 3 of recovery was the absolute fucking worst for pain.

My mother was a nurse and her advice from the past echoed in my head: “Stay on top of the pain” by taking medication on a regular schedule even if the bottle says “as needed” and even if you don’t feel pain.

This is a regime I have followed for my kids and I know it works.

So Day 4, I logged each medications in an e-journal and set the timers on my phone. It’s a lot of medication, and it took a lot of spoons.

When my phone alarm woke me for the third round just before midnight, I was astounded to find myself side sleeping, a pillow tucked between my legs, comfortable and with no pain.

I was so excited that I woke my partner who is sleeping on the couch for the time being to tell him about it. I got up to pee, returned to bed, took the medication, and promptly threw up.

Discomfort in the tenth degree.

I took very little time to float in the comfort of my results, knowing my body was able to get back to being comfortable again.

I now have a new discomfort to solve - nausea.

I’ve learned that healing from trauma - physical or emotional - doesn’t mean the pain goes away. It means our capacity to hold the pain and process it increases so that we are able to remain active characters in our own lives.

A high tolerance for pain and a low tolerance for discomfort - this is holding the both/and in my body - and I believe that allowing them to coexist with each other is what moves us forward.

Maybe you’re like me? When something like this happens in my body, I worry the situation is permanent, that I’ll never improve, that I’ll be like this forever.

I highly recommend saying those things out loud to someone you love and trust.

I did that on a video call with a dear friend today.

And just like every single time I have before, I rediscovered two things: I am not alone and Ca va bien aller.