It's Going Tibia Ok

Richa’s prosthetic has become the unexpected and unplanned fourth member of our family. Last Saturday she walked on a hill which put some pressure on her leg (small injury and no big deal). Well it became a huge freakin deal on Monday after she walked on it without telling anyone for two straight days. I’m talking about crying at school (won’t tell anyone why), secretly wiping out the blood in the bathroom, and then continuing to walk on it! I can’t.

She finally broke Monday afternoon when she got home from school and told me she was in pain. If you’re a normal human being like moi you are probably thinking “Why is she so afraid?” “Why won’t she say anything?” “Is it us or her teachers?”

Well I know she’s not afraid of us. I know she’s not afraid of her teachers. She loves them and KNOWS they love her. The only other option is she’s afraid of what will happen if she tells someone she’s in pain. Since she either doesn’t know how to communicate this OR she shuts down and can’t communicate I try to read her mind. My first guess was “Are you afraid that you’ll have to go to the hospital and have another surgery if you tell someone your leg hurts?” Bingo. I’m getting pretty good if I do say so myself.

Now the first month or so of this I was empathetic and compassionate. The epitome of patience. Glenda the Goodwitch with a Master’s in Psychology. 6 months later and 5 days of carrying my daughter around because her leg is too swollen to fit into her prosthetic because she didn’t tell anyone she was hurt and my serenity is slowly slipping away into something that resembles annoyance and delirium.

It doesn’t matter how many times we tell her she’s not going to have to go to the hospital to have a surgery she feels any amount of pain and her immediate response is survival (hiding/secrecy). I guess we’re just going to have to give her a full body cavity search every night before bed from this point on.

As I’ve mentioned before God provided the most caring and loving group of girls I’ve ever met in my life to be her classmates/friends. Yesterday they brought her a sign they made at school, and then stayed to play for 3 hours. Movies were on, food was everywhere, and the entire cabinet of activities under our tv were strewn all over the floor. At one point, I think they were painting nails on my rug but I could have cared less. Heck…. write a message in straight up OPI if you want. Just breath some life into my daughter and that they did.

I look at videos online of amputees doing amazing things. A little girl with one leg performing a floor routine at a gymnastics meet, a double amputee running upstairs, etc. It’s amazing what science and medicine have created to give those that have lost limbs the same quality of life as those that haven’t. What I notice about all of them though is their legs are all amputated at the same spot…. above the knee OR below. Unfortunately, our daughter’s leg was amputated right at her knee as a result of a deformed tibia. In a nutshell, her femur is too long and therefore her prosthetic has to fit perfectly so her leg will be suspended while she walks. It also means her knee joint has to be lower on her left leg. It’s the best and only option for her unless we want to go back in and have more of her leg removed. I'd rather eat glass.

The leg the leg the leg. It’s like this whole separate entity that I have to deal with on the daily. Is the leg in the middle of the floor because I’ve almost broken my big toe three times? Is the leg absorbing the tanning oil we’re putting on it every night to get it the same exact color as her real leg? Is the leg too tight….too lose….too annoying?

Yesterday as she tried to put it on for the sixth time this week while all her friends crossed their fingers and toes outside the bathroom and I watched her eyes fill with tears because like every day before it didn’t fit my heart broke. I wanted to take a chain saw and just cut the thing in half. We’re low on wood for our fire pit and it’s supposed to snow this weekend? I understand Richa’s panic though. When the leg doesn’t fit for the umpteenth day in a row she worries that it’s never going to fit again. She left India and her friends and her dog to come to America and be immobile. She doesn’t tell me this of course, but it’s not too difficult to assume, and she confirms that my guess is correct. I’m 36 years old with limited emotional scarring, and I even start to imagine the worst-case scenario when the leg doesn’t fit.

As much as I hate to admit it…. that dern leg isn’t really the problem. It’s just my scapegoat. The problem is trust, honesty, patience, fear, trauma, and awareness. Something our daughter, her dad, and myself all must continue to improve upon. The longer I’m a mother to Richa the more I understand WHY out of all the children in the world she was the one God gave me. I needed her just as much or more than she needed me.