The 39th year of my life was really one of the best I’ve ever had.  I felt amazing, was the most active I’d ever been in my life, my marriage was incredible, the kids were doing fantastic in school and out.  It was the whole package.  I turned 40 in December 2009, and thought, “Hey… this isn’t so bad!  If 39 was that awesome, 40 is going to be….”

Different.

The year started off innocently enough, until March 5 rolled around.   There was nothing special about this day.  Mark was up early and off to work.  The kids went through their morning routines as usual and were off to school.  I settled in to my workday at the computer with a cup of coffee and the pets napping nearby.  I had been dealing with a strange cough for a couple of weeks- not cold or allergies, and it would come and go.  I hadn’t really thought anything of it.  Early in the afternoon though, I started coughing again.  I got up for something, and while leaning over my desk, I coughed.  I felt a sharp pinch in my back.  I wasn’t too alarmed, over the years my bad back has caused me pain now and again, and I thought I had simply twisted a muscle funny.  I straightened up and began to walk around, but the pain was not going away like it would with a muscle pull.  I decided to lay down and nap a little, since it was hurting so much.  When I woke up a short time later, I needed to get up and use the facilities.  Only problem was, I couldn’t get up.  What was going on?  The pain in my back was getting pretty intense now, and I was getting scared.  I managed to roll myself off the bed and onto all fours, and crawl into the bathroom.  I couldn’t get onto the toilet, and I couldn’t back out of the bathroom: I was stuck.  Crying now, I finally let my arms go and flopped to the floor.  My cell phone, which I had with me, was dead.  My son had just gotten home from school, but he was outside.  I had to wait for someone to find me, and I was in trouble.  After about 1 1/2 hours on the floor in the bathroom, my daughter came home from volleyball practice.  I was so relieved to hear her come in.  The slightest move sent me through the roof in excruciating pain and I was desperate for help.  Weakly, I called to her and told her to call 911.  This would be the first of three trips to the hospital.

After a myriad of heavy painkillers and muscle relaxants at the hospital, the pain became manageable.  An MRI showed that I had torn a disc in my back.  The disc fluid had leaked out, I learned, which is toxic to the body when not contained inside the disc itself.  The damaged disc was already compressed from years of degenerative arthritis, something I’ve had since I was a child.  I was in a pretty sorry state in my fortieth year.

Six weeks after my initial injury, my conditioned had worsened to the point that I could not even lay down in bed. I was sleeping sitting up in the recliner.  I was in constant pain.  I had seen a succession of doctors and specialists.  The only good news I received was that I was not a candidate for back surgery.  I received a cortisone shot in my back which was completely ineffective.  I was on Oxycontin, Percocet, Neurontin, plus a powerful muscle relaxer (all at the same time) that still barely controlled my pain and spasms.  I went from being an extremely active mom and road cyclist to needing help walking to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet.  I couldn’t work, I was losing a lot of weight (and it wasn’t in a good way), and my mental state was deteriorating. Dressing myself or getting up from the recliner unassisted were considered huge victories.  I cried a lot because I didn’t know what to do or how to control the pain.  During my next two hopeless trips to the hospital, when the spasms were so bad that I could not move, I literally begged the ER doctors to find out what was causing my pain.  They responded with a complete lack of compassion.  They treated me as though I was one of their many patients who comes to the ER looking for a fix.  I’m sorry they have to deal with these people, but I was not one of them.  They had given up on me, so I gave up on them.  This turned out to be the beginning of my recovery: I needed to take my health into my own hands.

I want to share my story with you because my life has changed.  I cannot deny that physically, I am different now.  My back, which has always been my achilles heel, is a little more vulnerable now.  After all the negative hospital and doctor experiences, I have a very different perspective about modern medicine.  My health awareness and desire for knowledge has been awakened.  In fact, through several months of physical therapy and chiropractic and nutritional care from an extremely talented Chiropractor,  I am close to cresting the top of this steep recovery road I’ve been climbing.  I’m hoping to share my journey with you through blogging about nutritional discoveries, cycling milestones, and health breakthroughs.  I’m quite determined to be reborn from this physical nightmare I’ve been living and make the most of the rest of my fortieth year.  I hope you will join me.

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