The Past 3.5 Years

A lot has happened in the last three-and-a-half years. Too many things to tell in a condensed version, if I were being honest. I sit here on a shortened lunch break, in my second full-time position that I have now been in for 10 months, since leaving my previous and first full-time job. I have ended up so far of left field from where I thought I would be.

When last I wrote to you in April 2014, my last post happened about two weeks before I fell in a Best Buy parking lot, after leaving disappointed that they did not have the complete series of Chuck. I still blame my compulsion to watch the show, every time I feel poorly, on the fact that I was in the throws of new discovery when my original injury occurred.

It was one of those bad sprains that I had not experienced in almost two years by that point. It was my right ankle. I had to drive home on it. My left knee was bleeding.

I fell in front of a guy and his girl as they were getting out of their car. They made no move to help me, but when I fell he stepped forward and said, "Oh shit! That looked like it hurt." Why don't you walk over here and I will show you exactly how much it hurt.

In August 2014, I secured tickets to see Hamlet at the Barbican in London for a friend and I. I told my chiropractor that I had bought Hamlet tickets later than week and she said, "For where?" I said, London. And she said, "For when?" I said, October 2015. She had no idea I wanted to go. I said to see Hamlet or to London? To either. New level of nerd status unlocked.

I met my ankle surgeon for the first time on 12 September 2014. It was an appointment in the middle of the morning. I had been referred by a different orthopaedic surgeon to him earlier in the week, as that orthopaedic had no idea what to do with my ankle pain, since my ankle "appeared stable." I left that office believing that surgeon was an idiot, and praying the surgeon he referred me to would know what he was talking about.

That sports medicine foot & ankle surgeon declared that the x-ray I had had taken a few days after my sprain was bad, because my foot was pointed, and the MRI I had three weeks before seeing him was too dark to determine if I only had the contusion my PCP and the referring ortho thought. I had to go for a CT scan, because he thought my ankle was actually broken. Two weeks later, the results of my CT scan proved his suspicions correct. ENTER Surgery #1.

I had my ankle surgery to repair the fracture and tearing ligaments on 23 October 2014. I was non-weight bearing for 6-8 weeks. I came off my crutches the second week of December. By Christmas, my surgeon said I could drive myself again. It was the best Christmas gift I got that year, which I know sounds ridiculous.

At the end February 2015, I was offered an entry level position with a background screening company fives minutes from my house. You could not ask for an easier morning commute if you thought to ask for such a thing in the first place. Background screenings was not online marketing for publishing. I actually really enjoyed working at the job, though. The stories of people misbehaving are incredible. If I had taken better notes, upon expiry of my confidentiality in October 2018, even the handful of stories I have saved will probably make the best stories.

At the end of July 2015, despite periodic check-ins with my surgeon since being discharged from his care and physical therapy in April, I was back in his office. My ankle still hurt, and especially my Achilles tendon. I had suffered contracture after the stabilization procedure, so rehab was initially tasking and my recovery was slower than both he and my PT anticipated. That visit was the first time, I baked for his office staff and his residents. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and exceeded his job responsibilities by answering a deluge of questions via email for months or engaging in the most nerdy conversations as distraction in his office. If he was going to have to put up with me more, I could at least repay the kindness.

He said at 9-10 months out, my pain should not be so acute. He ordered an MRI to make sure something had not been missed, or that anything was tearing. A week later, in August, I was in his Oakland office for my MRI results. A resident came in, and introduced himself, asking if I was the one responsible for the cupcakes. I told him if they did not appear often, then yes. He told me my Achilles was developing micro-tears, confirming the original suspicion. My surgeon came in and after discussion, recommended a second surgery to release the tightness in my tendon, and stop the tears from worsening.

He then looked at me and asked when my trip was planned. October. He said there was no reason I could not wait to have the surgery until I was back. Outside of the fact that I had no idea how to coordinate surgery around a newer full-time job, it was relieving to hear that my ankle was not going to cancel the trip that I had been planning almost as long as I had known him. I asked him if he was absolutely sure. He told me, "Your ankle will not explode between now and October. Besides, I am not going to deprive you of a once-in-a-lifetime trip to London."

My friend and I were in London from 14 October 2015 to 20 October 2015. My friend flew in Tuesday night, before we left Wednesday evening, and flew home Wednesday evening, after we got home Tuesday night. We saw Benedict Cumberbatch in Hamlet at the Barbican on 17 October 2015. We left over two hours early for the show. We got lost between our flat and the theater due to restricted line maintenance on the tube. We got to the theatre just 10 minutes shy of curtain. My friend hit me in the arm when the curtain rose and Benedict was sitting there, as if I could not see him, too.

ENTER Surgery #2, 22 October 2015. One year to the day of the first. I am nothing if not consistent. Even though the surgery was not as complicated as the first one, and dealt with only soft tissue and no bones, my recovery was difficult. I was getting sick when we left for London. I lost my voice and ran a fever most of the time we were there, but still we went out and did almost everything we planned to do before we had arrived. There was minimal rest and I had to stop taking certain medications while we were there, because of my up-coming surgery.

I was off work from London through the end of October, recovering from post-op. At the beginning of November, I was back in the office. A week later, I was in my PCP's office. The illness I thought I was recovering from in the nic of time for my surgery not to be cancelled, roared back causing ear, sinus, and upper respiratory infections. My PCP told me I had to stay home Monday-Wednesday, and could only go back to work on Thursday. The following week, on Tuesday, my mom took me to the ER, because it hurt to breath. My surgeon thought I was too far out from post-op for it to be a clot, but nevertheless, precautions had to be taken.

When you walk into an ER at 6pm at night, complaining of chest pain and difficulty breathing 3 weeks out of surgery, medical staff descend on you rather quickly. One of the nurses talked to me about the book I was finishing, an investigative journalist's expose on an angel of death, The Good Nurse. She thought I was brave for reading that while in a hospital. My mother thought I was morbid for reading it at all.

My mom and I did not go home until well after 9pm. As we were pulling into the garage, she said she forgot to tell me that I had package. Mail is always nice to receive, especially during surgical recovery. She asked what I had ordered. I told her I had not ordered anything. She asked again, saying the package was from London. I told her I certainly had not ordered anything from overseas since we had returned. It was a stretch, but I had been very good, despite the increase of my obsession that I did not think could be made any worse.

It was from a press company I did not recognize. I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a special, slipcase edition of the Shakespeare documentary, Muse of Fire. I almost screamed. I read the letter. Months before I had been to London, I had submitted my name for a drawing to win a copy of the documentary from Shakespeare Magazine. Since we submitted our address with our entry, they did not announce a winner prior to shipping the prize. The slipcase was signed by the two creators of Muse of Fire--Dan Poole and Miles Terera, as well as Sir Ian McKellan, Dame Judy Dench, and Tom Hiddleston. That night, after a long day of work, an evening in the ER, and a diagnosis of nothing more serious than pleurisy, I curled up in bed and put the documentary on. I told my friends in a message what had come in the mail. My friend, that had been to London with me, told me that if we were not as close as we were, she would shank me for that in a heartbeat.

For 90 minutes, I was able to forget how bad it hurt to exist between my lungs and my ankle. On the heels of a trip predicated on consuming Shakespeare, that my surgeon had allowed me to delay my second surgery for, and on the wings of recovering from that surgery and my respiratory infections, Shakespeare had brilliantly timed his arrival again.

Four weeks later, when I was cleared to drive by my ankle surgeon, I went and saw NT Live's encore broadcast of Coriolanus from the Donmar Warehouse down in the SouthSide Works. Within seven weeks, seeing both Benedict and Tom play Shakespearean characters, I thought Tom was the better Shakespearean actor, despite the fact that Hamlet is still my favorite play. Again, being able to drive in time to take myself to see it, was amazing. 

I know it seems like this post has been more about the medical treatment that has consumed my time over the past 3.5 years. It is actually not about that, but there is too much in the details to be shared in an overview. I just wanted to catch you up in big strokes.

It would take too much time to count all the conversations I have had with my ankle surgeon that were both about my surgeries and not, but also the level of nerdism we possess for books, movies, and tv shows we both enjoy. It would take a lot of space to recount my friend's and I's adventures in London: the smells of a perfect day in Hyde Park, the sounds of my friend collapsing in our flat kitchen over Hank Williams tunes in a fit of laughter, or the sheer awe of seeing Hamlet live and praying to God that the adrenaline of almost missing curtain would not ruin it.

I could tell you that instead of having a third surgery in October 2016, I got a new job with a company I submitted 14 applications to, between November 2015 and September 2016, before getting this job, which I love. It still in a field with no relationship to marketing, publicity or publishing. I work with physicians every day. 

I could tell you that I totaled my first, solo purchased, brand new car in an accident in November. It created a small fracture in my left ankle, which my surgeon only found six months later, this May, since it presented as a mild sprain in the direct aftermath. I could tell you that 3 weeks after learning of my bone chip, I fell and sprained that left ankle while crossing the street back to my office during lunch, and how when I saw my ankle surgeon the next day, I was reading Murder On the Orient Express.

He told me, "I heard you fell, again." Yes. "And that you have hurt yourself, again." Yes. "Sheridan, we have talked about this more than once. You need to stop falling and hurting yourself." I am gravity's favorite test subject. Then we talked about the book and upcoming movie, and how he was going to see someone that weekend who shared a name with someone in the book, before he even touched my ankle. It is his modus operandi. He knows the pain it will cause when he presses on an injury. With me, because our nerd is so similar, and it was a discovery he made after the first surgery, he provides distracting conversation. I relax and my body is easier to manipulate for things like range of motion tests and evaluating the ligaments included in the injury.

I could tell you that while driving in and out of the city for work in the past few weeks, I have listened to a Shakespeare lecture from Oxford University on Henry V, and whether Hal is hero or villain, and how I had not thought to evaluate his moral character after watching The Hollow Crown.

What I should tell you is that I have written and read nothing like I intended when I created this space three-and-a-half years ago. I have seen a lot of theater, though. I went to New York City for the first time in April 2016, to see She Loves Me on Broadway. I watched it again in a theater encore a week after my car accident this past fall, and it made me feel almost human again. I have seen NTLive's War Horse, Treasure Island, Man and Superman, Coriolanus, an encore of Hamlet, and finally this past October, after missing it due to both ankle surgeries the previous two years, both screenings of Danny Boyle's Frankenstein. A couple of weeks ago, I saw Disney's Newsies on Broadway, when it had its theater encore appearance. 

While I did not keep up with writing about writing, reading, film, or Shakespeare as I had intended, I have consumed more theater and literature than I also thought. I have seen more movies than I can count, and too many for my bank account to be outwardly proud. I started a new job with a company I have wanted to work for since after my second ankle surgery, and I love what I do, even though it is pretty left of what I thought I would be doing with my life. I can see myself building a life here in this city, which I was not sure would happen for me as I hoped. 

For now, until the words come again, I pray you are well. My con artist cat, Caffrey, and I wish you grand adventures, enough film in your camera to capture them, and enough ink in your pen to preserve them.