When I was six years old I had my tonsils taken out. It was the week before Thanksgiving and it was just supposed to be a simple procedure. Little did I know that "simple procedure" would leave me with an injury that would affect me for the rest of my life.
When I went in and they were getting me ready for the surgery I had a pre-op shot. I can still remember getting it. I went in, had my tonsils taken out and back to my room seemingly with no problems.
Later as I started waking up I needed to go to the bathroom. My Dad got me up, set me down on the floor to walk to the bathroom and at my first step I promptly fell. I couldn't walk. My left leg was fine, but my right leg would not work.
I don't remember much about what happened after that for the next couple of days. I just know my Dad had to carry me everywhere. After a couple of days I was able to walk some, but with a noticeable limp.
We learned that when the nurse gave me the shot, rather than giving it to me in the fleshy part of my butt, she gave it to me on the side hitting the main nerve that goes all the way down the leg. When she did that it killed the nerve all the way down. It was like my leg was asleep, but this time it would never wake up.
My parents talked to the hospital administrator about it. They talked about sueing the hospital because it was very evident I would have to have some type of special care for many years. They were also worried because my mom was pregnant with my sister and due in just a couple of months. The administrator told them if they did file a lawsuit against the hospital my mom would not be allowed into any hospital in the state of Texas and would have to go out of state to have the baby delivered. They also found out a few days later that all of my records had been destroyed at the order of the same administrator.
So, they were now on their own. I can remember visit after visit to different doctors to try and get my leg fixed. My Dad would walk with me to school every day because I could not even open the door to the school at Sunset Elementary in Dumas. I remember my grandmother sitting and holding me and crying.
After that it was a series of things which were supposed to make it better. First, cowboy boots. I had to wear cowboy boots ALL the time. They were supposed to help support my foot. See, when I walked my foot dropped. I could not flex my foot upward as I walked. I still can't. This caused me to trip and fall, stumble, etc. So I wore cowboy boots all the time. With pants, dresses, everything. Today that would be ok. Back in the mid 60s it wasn't. It was embarrassing.
Next was a brace. If I thought the cowboy boots were bad, the brace was worse. That was when I started wearing pants all the time. That way the brace was covered up and not as noticeable. But kids still saw it and I still got teased. I got teased and picked on a lot because I walked "funny".
About this time someone told my Mom about a chiropractor in Lubbock that could help me. We started weekly trips to Lubbock for adjustments. They were painful and caused horrible headaches. After a few weeks we stopped going. It was just too painful.
I don't remember any other treatments. One doctor said that surgery could be done to take part of the ligaments and reattach them in a different spot and that would take care of my limp. I don't know why that wasn't done, but it was probably just as well.
When in my mid-teens my parents stopped looking for a cure and we just left it alone. I still had a limp. It was pretty obvious to anyone watching me walk and I got asked about it a lot. Or made fun of for it.
In the last few years as I have aged this injury has come back to haunt me and cause other problems. My back is crooked because my right leg is a touch shorter than my left and my right foot is smaller. Also because of the way I walk I have just about worn out my left knee. I still have an unusual gait to my walk and I have to be careful about tripping or stubbing my toes. I also have to be careful about the kind of shoes I wear.
Then today I went to a podiatrist because of severe pain in my right foot. And guess what? Yep, all because of that "simple procedure" and a shot that I got almost 50 years ago. So now I am dealing with that. It has caused problems with my foot because it doesn't flex like it should when I walk. So now in addition to cortisone shots, I have to do stretching exercises.
I have tried to not let it limit what I do. My husband and I did search and rescue for several years with our dogs and that entailed a LOT of walking while we trained. I also love to hike at our place in the mountains. I always have a lot of pain after doing any of these, but I can't see just sitting around.
I have learned a few things from this. First, there is no such thing as a simple procedure. Also, my Dad reminded me of my heavenly Father. My Dad picked me up and carried me when I could not walk. He opened doors I couldn't open. He took care of me. Would I rather have a leg that was whole and worked? Sure I would. But this is what I have. I just have to trust God that he knows best and that He still loves me.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
September 11, 2001. A day I am sure I will never forget.
Our youngest son, Brannon, was home on leave from the United States Marine Corps after finishing boot camp. That morning we got up early to drive him to the airport in Amarillo so he could fly back to San Diego and from there a bus trip to Camp Pendleton. He was going back for combat training.
We were visiting with him about his job he had chosen in the Marines which was to be a crew chief on the C130 transports. Even though we felt he had chosen a fairly safe job, we also knew his first job in the Marines was a rifleman. It is for every Marine. We also talked about if we went to war we knew there was a possibility him and our oldest son, Michael who was also a Marine, could be deployed somewhere for combat duty.
We took him to the airport and watched his plane take off, got back in our van and drove the 50 miles back home to Dumas. My husband had been working shift work so he leaned back in the passenger seat and went to sleep. I stuck a CD into the player and listened to some music as I drove home.
When we walked in the door of our house our phone was ringing. On the other end was a friend of Brannon's asking if we had heard the news. She then told us about the first tower being hit by planes. My husband hung up the phone and we turned on the TV. We couldn't even sit down. We just stood in the middle of the livingroom and watched the news and listened as they announced it was a terrorist attack. We also stood there in stunned silence as the second plane hit and then the towers fell.
I felt like my world had just stopped. Both of our sons were in the Marines. We had just talked about what would happen if we went to war. And now we were sure that was going to happen. At that time I knew one or both of our sons would be going to war.
And at that time we also didn't know where Brannon was. Last we knew he was a United flight that was supposed to make a stop in Denver. I started out trying to call the airport in Amarillo to try and find out any information about his flight. I couldn't get through.
We did hear from Michael. He was in Pensacola, Florida at school for his job training for the Marines. So we knew he was OK. Our daughter was in high school and we knew she was OK. We just didn't know where Brannon was.
I called my office and told them I would not be in until we knew where Brannon was. They said they understood and to not worry about it and they would be praying.
I finally got in touch with the airport in Amarillo and found out that his flight had made it to Denver with no problems. A little while later he called us from the airport. All of the military personnel were in one room and they were being allowed to make phone calls to let family know they were OK.
At that point we were still in shock and still watching the news coverage, but we knew our three kids were safe.
Brannon was supposed to be reporting to Camp Pendleton that day, but he and many other Marines were stuck at various airports. Every week at least a couple hundred Marines report for training, but that week only a couple of Marines made it. The next week when the flights started again, so many Marines flew in to San Diego for Pendleton that it took 24 hours for all of them to be transported.
Brannon did eventually go to Afghanistan for seven months. Michael was never deployed. He was needed stateside and was not allowed to deploy. We also had a nephew in Afghanistan at the same time as Brannon and one of my husband's brothers also was deployed.
It was a horrible day. But afterward our country came together. Everyone was flying the American flag. I had one attached to the antenna of my van for a long time. When one wore out, I attached a new one. To this day I still find it hard to believe it happened, but it did.
Don't let us ever forget.
Our youngest son, Brannon, was home on leave from the United States Marine Corps after finishing boot camp. That morning we got up early to drive him to the airport in Amarillo so he could fly back to San Diego and from there a bus trip to Camp Pendleton. He was going back for combat training.
We were visiting with him about his job he had chosen in the Marines which was to be a crew chief on the C130 transports. Even though we felt he had chosen a fairly safe job, we also knew his first job in the Marines was a rifleman. It is for every Marine. We also talked about if we went to war we knew there was a possibility him and our oldest son, Michael who was also a Marine, could be deployed somewhere for combat duty.
We took him to the airport and watched his plane take off, got back in our van and drove the 50 miles back home to Dumas. My husband had been working shift work so he leaned back in the passenger seat and went to sleep. I stuck a CD into the player and listened to some music as I drove home.
When we walked in the door of our house our phone was ringing. On the other end was a friend of Brannon's asking if we had heard the news. She then told us about the first tower being hit by planes. My husband hung up the phone and we turned on the TV. We couldn't even sit down. We just stood in the middle of the livingroom and watched the news and listened as they announced it was a terrorist attack. We also stood there in stunned silence as the second plane hit and then the towers fell.
I felt like my world had just stopped. Both of our sons were in the Marines. We had just talked about what would happen if we went to war. And now we were sure that was going to happen. At that time I knew one or both of our sons would be going to war.
And at that time we also didn't know where Brannon was. Last we knew he was a United flight that was supposed to make a stop in Denver. I started out trying to call the airport in Amarillo to try and find out any information about his flight. I couldn't get through.
We did hear from Michael. He was in Pensacola, Florida at school for his job training for the Marines. So we knew he was OK. Our daughter was in high school and we knew she was OK. We just didn't know where Brannon was.
I called my office and told them I would not be in until we knew where Brannon was. They said they understood and to not worry about it and they would be praying.
I finally got in touch with the airport in Amarillo and found out that his flight had made it to Denver with no problems. A little while later he called us from the airport. All of the military personnel were in one room and they were being allowed to make phone calls to let family know they were OK.
At that point we were still in shock and still watching the news coverage, but we knew our three kids were safe.
Brannon was supposed to be reporting to Camp Pendleton that day, but he and many other Marines were stuck at various airports. Every week at least a couple hundred Marines report for training, but that week only a couple of Marines made it. The next week when the flights started again, so many Marines flew in to San Diego for Pendleton that it took 24 hours for all of them to be transported.
Brannon did eventually go to Afghanistan for seven months. Michael was never deployed. He was needed stateside and was not allowed to deploy. We also had a nephew in Afghanistan at the same time as Brannon and one of my husband's brothers also was deployed.
It was a horrible day. But afterward our country came together. Everyone was flying the American flag. I had one attached to the antenna of my van for a long time. When one wore out, I attached a new one. To this day I still find it hard to believe it happened, but it did.
Don't let us ever forget.
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