ACL Reconstruction Surgery and Recovery

It's all over now except the healing.... I had my ACL reconstruction/meniscus removal surgery yesterday morning, and I am now on my way to recovery.  I wanted to write about my experience because in doing my own research, I've found there are not a lot of actual accounts from real patients available, and the ones that are out there are kind of old. There are some YouTube videos, but I think writing can often provide more information because it's easier to go back and add things in. So, this may be a long post, but hopefully it will be helpful to anyone else going through this process.
My surgery took place at Methodist Hospital for Surgery in Addison, Texas. I was told to be there at 6:00 for an 8:30 start time, but when I got there, all of my paperwork actually said 6:30.  That's okay--it jut ended up being a little bit more of a wait.  There was definitely no one there when we got there, so there was no wait to get paperwork and bills paid, etc.
When we pulled up, Brian went in to get a wheelchair. We had mine, but they recommended we use there's, and that did end up being easier. It took a while for an orderly to bring it, but eventually he did, and I was able to go in and wait for Brian while he parked the car.  I waited in the lobby and watched the news for a few minutes. Before he even came back in, a nice lady from billing came and greeted me. We waited for Brian and then went back to sign paperwork and pay my portion of the hospital's bill.  Maybe it is tacky to discuss money, but I do see a lot of people wanting to compare how much surgeries cost, so I don't mind saying that our portion, 20% of the hospital's fee, was about $1500.
Next, we met a nice man named Eddy whose job was to keep Brian informed of what was happening while I was in surgery. He took me upstairs and into the pre-op waiting room. He got Brian's cell phone number, showed him where the cafe, vending machines, coffee machine, etc. were located. Then, a really nice nurse came out and got us and took us to the pre-op area.
Our curtained off area wasn't very big. It didn't have a window or a TV. I found out later that the one next to us did have both of these things, so I was a little disappointed. It would have been nice to have both of those things as we waited. It was just about 6:30 by the time I got back to that area. The nurse took my blood pressure, which was a little high, likely because I was nervous. She took my temperature, etc. and I had to do a pregnancy test. She said everyone who hasn't had a hysterectomy is required to do one.

Almost every staff member we met was extremely nice and helpful.

After that, I changed into the awesome hospital gown and some yellow socks with the anti-slip surface, transferred to the bed, and waited for the next nurse to come in and start my IV.  I had a warm blanket, but it was really, really cold in there. I almost asked for another blanket, but I toughed it out.
After about fifteen minutes, another nurse came in and started my IV. She also drew a few vials of blood, which she was able to take out of the IV prick so she didn't have to poke me twice.  She had me write on my knee. She said I could write whatever I wanted, so I wrote, "This one!" And then we waited, and waited, and waited. It was about an hour and a half, I think, before the next person came in.  Meanwhile, next door, a very animated couple took up residence. That woman was having back surgery which was also scheduled for 8:30, and she didn't arrive until 7:30, and had a constant stream of doctors and nurses over to discuss things with her. I know it was a totally different procedure, but I was feeling a little neglected, really cold, and wondering why they got a TV--and a window.
It was almost 8:30 on the nose when the first doctor showed up, and it was the anesthesiologist. By then, the entire bag of IV fluids had run out, so he had to get another bag going before he could give me the "happy" medicine.  As he went off to do that, a lady brought in the Polar Care cooler the doctor had arranged for and showed us how that works. I'd talked to her the day before and decided to go ahead and get it even though my insurance didn't cover it. I had read a lot about how this machine, which circulates cool water around the surgical area, does a lot for pain. So, I thought it was worth the $198.
As the Polar lady was finishing up, my ortho came in. He is a man of few words. He told me again what he was going to do, nothing I didn't expect, asked if I still had enough hydrocodone at home (to which I said, won't I need something stronger, and he said probably not) and asked Brian if he had any questions. I don't even know what it was I was supposed to ask, so I didn't have a lot of questions. I had been told earlier I would have to walk before I could go home so I asked if he thought that was going to happen (since I haven't walked in two months) and he said with help but I won't be putting weight on my right leg still.
The anesthesiologist came back in as my ortho and the Polar lady left.  They asked Brian to go to the waiting room now because it was time to do my femoral block. He would get to come back later to tell me goodbye, but things were getting real now, and I wasn't sure if I'd even remember if he came back in later or not.
The OR nurse came in and asked me my name and all of the questions about why I was there again--it's like a quiz and you have to pass it each time. She looked at my knee (my doctor also had to write something on it) and got on to me a little bit for not writing my initials. (The nurse said I could write whatever I wanted....) The anesthesiologist put something nice in my IV and I became very, very calm. I did hear him ask the nurse to go get him an anesthesiology tech at least three times before I started to drift into another dimension. He finally went out to get the other guy himself. I was still awake and semi-aware of what was going on, but not so much.  It took the two anesthesiologist guys a long time to find whatever it was they were looking for in my leg. They had an ultrasound machine and they were speaking a language that may as well have been foreign to me. I guess they were finally satisfied with what they had found and he put the blocker into my upper thigh.  I didn't feel it at all, although it must have been some heavy duty needle because I have quite the puncture wound now.
Brian did come back to say goodbye, though I barely remember it, and then I was wheeled back to the OR by the anesthesiologist guys and two OR nurses. When I got into the operating room, I was asked to transfer to the other bed, or table, and they helped me over. I remember thinking how everything looked so sterile and white, including the giant light hanging over the table.  I don't remember seeing my ortho in there at all. I don't remember being asked to count backwards or anything like that. I just remember moving over, and then the next thing I knew, I was in the Phase I recovery room.
I wasn't in any pain, but my mouth was incredibly dry.  The nurse offered me a pain pill, some water, and some crackers, all of which I accepted. My throat felt raw, I assume because of the tube that they probably put down it, but it didn't really hurt. I was having a hard time talking though.
My leg was wrapped in layers of gauze, ace bandages, and a huge immobilizer. I could tell the blocker was still working because it felt pretty numb, although I could feel my foot; I had my left sock on, but not my right, and my foot was cold.
I wasn't awake in Phase I for very long before the nurse wheeled me over to Phase II. Brian was brought back a few minutes later. I was really, really tired, but I also really needed to use the restroom because of all of that IV fluid. It took two nurses and Brian, but I was able to transfer into a wheelchair and go to the restroom before returning to my bed and falling asleep for about two hours. I found out later I was in the Phase I recovery room for about forty-five minutes.  So, all in all, I was in recovery for about three hours before I woke up, needing to go to the restroom again, unfortunately (because it was a real pain!)  and then I was able to get dressed and go home.
I wore some really stretchy, thin capri/yoga pants and a T-shirt, so it wasn't too difficult to get dressed, although the nurse and my husband had to help me.  My leg still wasn't hurting at all as they wheeled me down to the car, but my mouth was still incredibly dry. I wasn't sure how I would get into the car with the immobilizer on because it doesn't actually bend, but I was able to wedge it in by pushing myself up onto the console.
The ride home took about an hour, and the only time my leg hurt was if Brian hit the breaks a little too hard and I leaned forward on it.  I had to stop and get a tea on the way home because my mouth was so dry, but I definitely wasn't hungry, and the last thing I wanted was to end up nauseated or worse.
I got home and went to bed.  Brian hooked the Polar Care unit up, and it didn't seem to be doing anything at first, but it was cold--I just couldn't feel it because my leg was so numb.  Brian went to get my daughters, who had been at a friend's house. When they got home, they were a little leery of coming in because they were afraid that my leg was going to be gross.  Finally, they came in to say hi, but they didn't stay very long. I think they were happy to be home but tired from too much playing and afraid of all the stuff wrapped around my leg.
Brian went to get my prescriptions, which are an antibiotic and a pain medicine called Tramadol, which I hadn't heard of, but I have since read that it isn't very effective. I still have some hydrocodone, though, so I will probably be relying on that. I believe he prescribed the antibiotic because the tendon they used to replace my ACL is from a cadaver, and they want to make sure it doesn't cause an infection.
I didn't really sleep too much yesterday afternoon, though I did doze off for a few minutes from time to time.  I started to have a few aches later in the evening, but nothing too bad. I would say my pain was maybe a 3 or 4 at worst. The doctor had said I could take my immobilizer off to sleep, though I have read other doctors have said not to take it off, but then other patients also get some sort of machine that bends and straightens the knee, and I don't have one of those, so maybe every patient is different. So, when I went to sleep last night, I did take the immobilizer off.  I thought I would be more comfortable without it on, but in retrospect, I'm not sure it would have made any difference. I still had to basically sleep flat on my back because I can't roll onto my side with my knee wrapped in these bandages and gauze. I can bend it some but not completely, and I cannot completely straighten it either.
I didn't sleep well at all last night, despite having taken the Tramadol (I wanted to see how it compared to the hydrocodone.) My back was hurting from being in the same position, and my leg was starting to hurt.  I could tell the blocker was starting to wear off. I couldn't get my knee in a comfortable position.  I think I may have slept for three or four hours total, in half-hour chunks. Luckily, I wasn't going anywhere today.
The blocker was definitely gone by about 9:00 this morning, and my knee was really starting to hurt. Anytime the cold water started to run out of the Polar Care, I could really tell a difference. When it was time to take my pain medicine today, I decided to go with they hydrocodone. It seems to be a lot more helpful than the Tramadol.
Most of the pain I've been having is either in the back of my knee or in my shin, not too much in my knee itself, although there's been a little bit in the anchor site on the top, outside area of my knee.  I've also had a little bit of pain from the immobilizer digging into my leg and the cord from the Polar Cube digging into my foot. At one point, when it wasn't quite time for me to take my new medicine yet, my pain got up to about a five or six, and that's about the worst it's gotten today. I have had a lot of twitching and spasming, jerking, and cramping in my leg today. I decided to put the immobilizer back on because every time I fall asleep, my knee starts jerking around on it's own, which is painful and scary. I'm hoping the immobilizer will prevent any damage, though my understanding is there's not much I can do to re-injure myself at this point short of putting too much weight on it too quickly.
I go to the doctor on Friday to have my bandages changed and to see how everything is healing. Other than that, I'm planning on just doing a lot of resting this weekend.  I'm not supposed to put any weight on my leg this week, but when I go to physical therapy next week, they'll let me know when I can start bearing weight again.
That's where we are at this point, about a day and a half after surgery.  Does anyone have any questions? Anyone else whose been through this care to share their story? In my experience, every little bit of information is helpful, so please feel free to post in the comments or ask questions. I'll update again in a few days.

Zombie Knee

I went back to see my original ortho today to go over the results of my second MRI. If you missed the drama of that rant, you can find my post here. I was definitely going to get a second opinion and even had an appointment scheduled for next Wednesday. It is no longer necessary--because I'm getting a Zombie knee.
The doctor looked at my new MRI and realized that when I re-injured myself my meniscus folded up and is now stuck inside of my knee, preventing the joint from functioning. Suspicion of this is what caused him to order the second MRI in the first place, so I'm glad he did, even though it wasn't a lot of fun. He said this is why I can't bear weight and why I can't straighten my leg. Of course, I suspected this all along. (I have done my research.) So I wasn't really surprised. He said the only thing we can do is go in and take it out.  He's basically just going to cut off the inside front half of my meniscus.
And if you cut off a meniscus, you may as well replace an ACL (I'm a kindergarten teacher at heart, remember? If you give a mouse a cookie....)
So he is going to go ahead and replace my ACL with a new one. Okay, not a new one, and old one. One from someone else who isn't using it anymore.
A cadaver.
I am an organ donor, and I think it's a great thing to donate your body to science. Somewhere, there is an ACL in safe keeping with my name on it that someone so graciously donated once they passed on. The thought is a little creepy, but their sacrifice is greatly appreciated. Still, I can't help but think of it as a Zombie body part. Back from the dead. (Since I am also an organ donor. I wonder if a third person will get to use this tendon....)

What's in your knee? In your knee? Zombie. Zombie. Zombie--ee-ee-ee!

The reason the surgeon can't take my own hamstring or some other tendon as is often done in these sorts of operations is because my tendons and ligaments are too stretchy. He was shocked that my left knee automatically hyper-extends whenever I straighten it.  So using my own tendon or ligament wouldn't be the best idea.
I will be scheduling my surgery tomorrow. He said it would be next week at the earliest. He is calling in his partner for this one; apparently, he thinks my knee may be as cantankerous as I am. He said it will probably take two hours. I should be walking within three weeks of the surgery though. That's the part I am the most excited about--I don't care about the pain and the discomfort--I want to walk again.
It will probably take a good 3-4 months before I feel normal and a year before he will completely release me. I will still have to do physical therapy, as well, but not until after the surgery.
I'm really excited to get on with this and get it over with. I know it's going to be a lot of pain, but if that's what it takes so I can function again, I'm all for it.
This has been the craziest year ever. From the tornado in December, to having Duke's face bashed in by a horse, to losing Barkley, and then this ridiculousness with my knee, I'm leery of asking what could possibly happen next. Hopefully, it is only good news from now on!
Thanks to everyone who is keeping us in your prayers! We need it. We have two and a half weeks of school left. I'm not sure if I'll be there for all of it, but my girls likely will be, which means Brian's crazy schedule will continue. It's hard having to do everything that you always do and everything your spouse usually does.  He's done an amazing job of taking care of us, and I'm very lucky that he puts up with me. Something tells me the worst part is probably yet to come....
(PS Since everyone seems to be offended by everything these days, please understand that I know that the tendon will not actually be from a zombie, make me a zombie, or that I am insinuating that the person who donated it is now a zombie. It's a "laugh so you don't cry" situation. I applaud organ donors everywhere and their loved ones who support their decisions to donate.)

MRI Take Two

The only way you don't know that I recently tore my ACL and meniscus is if you've never met me before and stumbled upon this blog post blindly.  This is because everyone who has ever met me in my entire life has had to listen to me whine and complain for the last six weeks.  (Note to self: check "unfriending" data on Facebook.) It's not because I am generally a "woe-is-me" type of person (I don't think) it's because having a torn ACL really, really stinks. I can't walk, I can't drive, I can't do much of anything. But... I can complain, apparently.
So, today's post ain't gonna be any different....
I went back to see my ortho a few days ago. Before the appointment, my husband (who is just as sick of this situation as I am) and I decided I was either walking out of there on my own power somehow or we were scheduling surgery.
Neither of those two things happened.
My doctor was shocked when I told him I hadn't been doing physical therapy for the last four weeks--because he never told me to do it!  He says he put it in my notes to have his people call the PT people, who were supposed to call me. None of those things happened. And so he determined that I couldn't have surgery yet because my leg was still too swollen and immobilized.  He didn't know why it wasn't bearing weight better or why it won't straighten, so he sent me back to get another MRI to see if my second injury about five weeks ago caused further damage to my meniscus which may now be blocking the ligaments and keeping my knee from bending. This injury happened after the first MRI.
I was so upset when he told me four more weeks that I almost lost it. I wanted to cry and punch him in the face at the same time.  I mean, it's one thing to say, "You're knee's not ready yet," but something else entirely to say, "Oops... we never called PT." The fact of the matter is, if he had told me I needed to do PT, I would have called them myself. But I'm almost positive that he said let's re-evaluate in four weeks, and if I needed PT later (like after surgery?) we could do it then, but he didn't know if he was going to order it or not because it's so expensive (guess I looked like a bum that day).
Of course I didn't punch him or cry, but I did take my toys and go home. Which translates to mean I immediately went home and started looking for another doctor.  I know this wasn't done intentionally, and there's a good possibility that he could have said no surgery, continue PT anyway, I just don't know how I feel about having someone cut me open after he's already shown himself a bit forgetful and/or unorganized.
So today I went in for my second MRI.  That probably needed to be done anyway.  I went back to the same place I went the first time, Preferred Imaging.  The first time everyone was unbelievably nice and attentive.  I felt like they went out of their way to make sure I was comfortable. Today was not quite the same.  The receptionist was nice enough but not particularly friendly. And the MRI technician was nothing like the last one.  Apparently, the guy right before me was very uncooperative, which put the technician in a sour mood from the beginning.  As he was walking the other guy out, I heard him explaining that he moved too much and that the image was not going to work. He would need to reschedule. The patient seemed pretty insistent that he didn't think that was necessary and he would just take in the blurry image, and the discussion went on for a while. So by the time it was my turn, the tech was about out of patience.  He was doing his best not to take it out on me, but I know how my knee works, and I knew we were in for a bumpy ride.
The tech pulled my wheelchair to a halt about twenty feet from the MRI machine because of the metal and told me I'd have to walk the rest of the way. (Um, sir, if I could walk, I wouldn't be here.) I explained that I couldn't do that, so he had to go find the MRI safe wheelchair. The transfer was anything but graceful, but eventually I was able to wheel myself into where the machine is kept, it's narrow white tubeyness all set up for my session of misery.

There it sat, like a portal to Hell, beckoning me....

Because, if you've never had an MRI before, here's the deal--you can't move. At all.  If you do, it blurs the image. It's kind of like in the olden days when people went to get their pictures made and they had those rods up their backs to keep them from moving and ruining everything.  So he asked me to put my leg in this little positioner that was designed to isolate it, but my leg had to be fairly straight, so you can see how this might be problematic for a person who cannot fully straighten her leg.
I warned him ahead of time that my leg likes to spasm, and that there is nothing I can do about it. He kind of sighed and instructed me to do my best not to move.  Have you ever tried to stay perfectly still for thirty minutes? Not a twitch, not a spasm, nothing? It's really hard. And seeing how upset the tech was with the last guy, well, that just made it even worse for me, because I am a rule follower, and I really didn't want to mess it up and have to come back, and get yelled at for moving too much.
I am lucky that it is my knee that is injured because they don't have to put my whole body in the tube.  It stopped around my waist, so no claustrophobia. I got to listen to the radio, which was also helpful, because those machines are really loud. They sound a lot like a jackhammer.  They vary in loudness and intensity; sometimes it's a constant hum, other times it's pulsating. It's never pleasant.
And so about two minutes in, I realized my leg, which was hurting due to the straightness and the position I needed to hold, was starting to tighten up. Tightening muscles equals movement.  And then the twitching began.  It started in my thigh, and I tried to keep it there, but soon enough it moved to my calf, and then, inevitably to my knee.  Now, this happened last time, too, but the sweet tech lady whom I now love even more came over the speaker and asked if it was involuntary, and when I told her yes, she said not to worry about it, and I was doing great.  This guy said nothing. I knew he was probably swearing and cursing my name. I continued to do my best to keep from moving, but my leg was uncooperative, and it was especially agitated by the jackhammering, pulsating noises the machine made every once in a while.  I knew any minute he was going to yell at me to please hold still, but he actually didn't say anything at all for about 25 minutes.  I know how much time had passed not because there was any sort of clock or timer but because he told me it would take about 25 minutes and because of the average length of songs.... So he finally says, "Are you doing alright?"
I hesitantly said, "Yes, but I know it's spasming. Is it okay?"
There was a long pause during which I mentally envision myself going out and telling my husband and two cherubs who are patiently waiting in the lobby that we have to come back again because Mommy is an MRI failure before he finally says, "It's okay. Just do your best. Some of the scans are bad, but some of them are okay."
Now, I have no idea what this means--I don't know how many scans he is doing, how many have to be good, if a bad scan means extra years in purgatory, or what, but I am at least a bit relieved to hear that some of it is working... to some degree.  He told me it would probably be another seven minutes, and that it is taking longer because I CAN'T STAY STILL!
I suddenly know how those impulsive five-year-olds with ADHD must feel when teachers such as myself tell them to stop jiggling their legs. I apologize, my little friends. Never again.
I don't think it was seven more minutes. I think it was seven more hours. But eventually, he comes back through my headphones and says, "This is the last scan. It will take about two minutes."
And then I started counting. Slowly. To 120. As I concentrated on not moving. By the way, when you are trying not to move, the worst thing you can do is try not to move.  And I counted past 120. And on. And on. Maybe I was counting too fast. Maybe my wiggly leg is prolonging the torture. By now, my leg is burning and screaming at me. It wants to bend so, so badly.  Finally, somewhere between 300 and 400, he says, "Okay. I'm coming to get you out."
Hallelujah!
Once I was out, however, it was almost impossible to stand up and get off of that table. My leg refused to go back to its favorite bent position. It was so stiff and painful. It was all I could do to lift it out of the positioner. I thought Brian might have to come back and help me up. But I made my way off the table, into the chair, transferred to my own chair, and finally out into the waiting room, where the five minute wait for a CD of the experience turned into a fifteen minute wait, and my leg was furious and screaming at me the whole time.
When I finally got home, I immediately took my "good medicine" (it's only hydrocodone, which is nothing to a lot of people, but it puts me to sleep almost immediately) and took a two hour nap.
It's been about seven hours since MRI #2 was completed, and my knee is still angry. I think it might take a few days for it to stop screaming at me.  But hopefully this MRI will give the doctors what they need to decide whether or not my inability to bear weight and straighten my knee is mental or muscular.  I don't know if it's because I haven't been moving it enough or if it really is incapable of being straightened and/or holding me up. I hope to know soon so we can get on with it already.
If and when my knee is strong enough for surgery, it will ultimately be up to me to determine whether or not I want the surgery.  It used to be a given that if you tore your ACL, you were having surgery, especially if it was torn in two, like mine is. It cannot repair itself. Now days, however, unless you're an elite athlete, you may be just fine without getting it surgically prepared. It won't ever heal, but you should be able to do day-to-day activities with no problems. Your ACL stabilizes your knee and keeps your bones from moving too far away from each other. I can't walk, but I have practiced taking steps, and the sensation is very strange. It's hard to explain, but I feel like the bones are moving, like my knee is fuzzy or asleep in the middle, and most unsettling of all, I feel like it could just fold up at any second. I honestly think that, if it is truly my decision, I want to have it repaired. Not because I know without it I'll never fulfill my dreams of becoming a professional soccer player, but because I am so afraid of it sliding out of place again. I can't ever tear it again if I leave it the way it is now, but other things can re-tear, like my meniscus and the other tendons and ligaments, and I'd like to avoid that at all costs. I know the surgery is very painful and the recovery is long and pretty awful.  I just don't know if I can walk around on a bum knee that feels like Jello for the rest of my life. I do realize that, no matter which way I go, I will have to be extremely careful for the rest of my days not to injure it again.

I know several people who have had ACL reconstructive surgery.  If you're one of them, what do you think?  Would you do it again?

A Mother's Reflection on STAAR

Today is a day that will live in infamy--the day Imma finished third grade state assessments.  This is the first year that she has had to take the STAAR (State of Texas Assessment of Academic Readiness) test, but unfortunately, it won't be the last. From now on, every spring, for the rest of her academic career, she will be subjected to these brutal exams to see whether or not she has learned everything she was supposed to in her current grade. I have experienced them as a teacher for many years, but this is my first year to view the STAAR through the lens of parental concern--and let me tell you, the view from here ain't pretty.
I remember taking assessments when I was in elementary school--some of them high stakes, some of them not so much. I grew up in Missouri where we started out with the Iowa Test of Basic Skills. Piece of cake! Then, the state came up with something called the MMAT (don't ask me what that stood for) and it wasn't that hard either. In fact, when I became a teacher in Texas, fifteenish years ago, the state assessments here weren't so difficult. They got a little bit harder with the introduction of TAKS about five years into my career,, but when STAAR came around a few years back, things got more than a little ridiculous. Then, to top it off, the state pushed all of our Essential Knowledge and Skills in math down two grade-levels last year, and now my third grader is supposed to know how to solve equations with equivalent fractions, and my kindergartner is doing pre-algebra (part-part-whole.)

My girls after a long day of being scholarly

Now, I'm all for having high expectations, don't get me wrong. But there is a difference between setting the bar at a challenging level and putting it where no one can even see it. Let's be honest. If the students only need to get around 55% of the questions right in order to pass, and about 25% of them can't do that--that's too hard!  It's not like they have to get a 70% to pass any of these tests. Shouldn't a test be easy enough that about half of the kids should be getting at least a 70%?? I don't know what the passing rates are going to look like once everything is said and done this year, but right now, it's not looking pretty.
But I've sort of high jacked the post here, and I didn't mean to. This wasn't supposed to be about me or my views as a teacher. It was supposed to be about my daughter.  If you read my blog, you know that Imma has autism.  She receives lots of special education services because of her differences. She goes to inclusion for math, has resources for reading, sees an occupational therapist about once a week, sees a speech therapist a couple of times a week, and also sees a music therapist once every two weeks ish.  That's a lot of support. She was also diagnosed as dyslexic last year, though she doesn't receive services (don't get me started.) Despite all of this, the test she takes is the exact same test that the other children take with these differences:
"STAAR A will provide embedded supports designed to help students with disabilities access the content being assessed. These embedded supports include visual aids, graphic organizers, clarifications of construct-irrelevant terms, and text-to-speech functionality."  (This is from the Texas Education Agency website, and you can find out more here.)
  For the reading assessment, she has to read the stories on her own, and then the computer reads her the questions and answer choices.  Maybe that's fair--maybe it's not. All I really know is that it's hard.  Even for students who are not differently-abled, it's hard. We are asking eight-year-olds to analyze text, to infer, to make assumptions based on the text regarding the author's purpose and character's traits.  They need to know the differences between expository and personal narrative. They have to be able to choose between answer choices which are often very, very similar. Choose the best answer.  Not the right answer--the one the person who wrote the test, who may or may not have been a teacher at some point, who certainly doesn't remember what it's like to be eight--happens to like a little bit more than the other answers.  It's really, really hard! It's NOTHING like the tests we took--I took, anyway--when I was a child. And it's not fair! We are robbing our kids of so many things when we subject them to high stakes testing before many of them even feel completely stable on a two-wheel bike. Self-confidence.  Pride.  Resilience.  Trust.  Purpose.  Persistence.  All of these things are questioned and often go out the window when we look a baby in the face and say, "You didn't even get half. Not even half!"
Now, of course, that's not how we phrase it, but we may as well. After all, we've been teaching them all year how to analyze characters, so of course they can read us like a book--or at least like a passage.
And we are filling up our time with plenty of those, too. Passages and lots of them. Unit assessments. Curriculum based assessments.  TEKS checks.  Practice passages. Mock assessments. You name, it they've endured it.  We've taught them "strategies" and "games." We've talked about "best practices" and ways we can "make a good guess" when we are not sure.  We have replaced the joy of coming to school to learn because learning is fun with the nervous unstable existence revolving around the knowledge that eventually the STAAR will come. You cannot hide from it; at some point in your academic career, you will be judged. You will be weighed. And many of you will be told you're not good enough.
STAAR is supposed to measure a lot of things--academic readiness, intelligence, knowledge, reading skills, critical thinking skills, mathematical calculation skills.  Maybe it measures these things. Maybe it doesn't. I'll tell you for sure there are a whole lot of other things it does not measure.  It won't tell you that my child is amazing at building worlds in Minecraft. It won't tell you she can put a puzzle together without looking at the picture. It won't tell you that she's taught herself several songs on the piano. It won't tell you that she's a great big sister, that she helps around the house, that she takes care of her dog, especially during thunderstorms.
STAAR can't tell us how kind, how loving, how considerate, how friendly a child is. It can't tell you how good of a person she is or how hard he tries. It really can't even tell you if a child is "smart" or if he or she will be successful as an adult.  Having seen good readers fail, and struggling readers pull-through, I can honestly tell you I don't even think it tells us if our kids are reading on or above-grade level, or far below.  It may tell us if they know which operation to use to solve an equation, or maybe it doesn't.  It might tell us how careful a child is to read questions exactly, or if they rush, or if they are so nervous about taking a test at the age of eight that their anxiety has literally made them vomit all over their test (I know this happens. I have seen this happen. Recently.)
What do I propose, then, you might ask? Should we make it easier? Should we wait until later?  My answer may surprise other educators, but that's okay, because today I am speaking primarily as a mom. I do not think it should be so difficult. I don't think our third graders should be learning the same mathematical skills I learned in sixth grade. I don't think the reading test should be so hard that the children are throwing up just thinking about it. I think school needs to be fun again--at least to some degree. Let them learn through play. Let them explore more. Let them have more recess. And if we have to take an assessment, then let's not make a big deal out of it. Let's use it as a snapshot and have some other way to look at a child's profile for the year--like a portfolio, or on-going progress monitoring that can show us a rise and fall in specific key areas, ones we can assess quickly without kids even realizing they are taking a "test."  There are certainly some times in life when we need to take assessments, when we need to understand the importance of doing our best, but, in my opinion, we've taken it too far.  And judging by the amount of tears I've seen over state assessments throughout the years--from students, teachers, and parents, I don't think I'm the only one who has had enough.
I won't even go into all the testing problems the state has had this year, with the online site glitching and scores coming back wrong, etc.  But this does add to the "What are we measuring?" factor in my opinion.
Yes, I know, I high jacked the post again. You wanted to hear about Imma.  Well, she worked really hard the last two days.  She took lots of breaks and ate lots of Cheeze-Its.  Her teachers said she was happy when she finished, that she thought she had done well.  And I'm glad she thinks that she did well, because when those results come back in a few weeks, she'll never know the difference.  I am not planning on making a big deal out of it either way. If she failed, well, we will work on the areas I know she needs to strengthen up; if she passed, I'll be very proud of her--but she doesn't need to spend any more precious time in her third grade year thinking about the STAAR test. She can just forget it even exists.
Until next year, when she has to take three STAAR assessments--including writing.  She takes after her mother when it comes to writing. She loves it. Unfortunately, STAAR won't measure that either....

Five New Ways I'm Like My Grandma

My Grandma, Imogene Morrow, was an amazing person. Growing up, she was always one of my favorite people, and as a teenager, she was my best friend.  My grandma faced a lot of challenges in her life, probably the most significant being that she was born with two club feet. Throughout her entire life, walking was a struggle for her.  Now that I have spent the last few weeks in a wheelchair, I have a new found appreciation for her struggle.  I can't say how many times a day I realize I am now even more like here than I was before. Here are five specific times when I realize, "Wow! I've turned into my grandma!"
1) If I don't have to get up, I'd rather not.
My grandma avoided moving from one location to another as much as possible, not because she was lazy but because the sheer act of standing was painful--and scary. Now that I can't walk and have to use a wheelchair, walker, crutches, or hopping, I totally understand this even more than I did before.  It isn't that standing up necessarily hurts for me--most of the time it doesn't unless I  put weight on my bad knee--but the more upright I am, the better are my chances of reinjuring myself or falling. So, yes, sitting is good!
2) I've got stuff on me.
I bet you never thought about this before, but when you stand up any dust, debris, or other various pieces of whatever you've been doing fall to the ground. When you sit basically all day long, you tend to collect this stuff. I used to think it was odd that my grandma had little bits of thread and fabric all over her. Now I get it! I have pieces of paper and other school related items on me most of the time now because I don't stand up to give it a chance to fall off.
3) I've got stuff all around me.
My grandma used to surround herself with all of the stuff she might need during the day.  We used to tease her about it. But now, I get it! If there's not someone around to get me something that I need, that's a problem. It's better to just have all of the stuff that I need around me at all times within my reach. I may look a little bit like a pack-rat or a horder, but at this point, I really don't care.
4) Shoes and socks are not my friend.
Putting my shoes and socks on is almost impossible without help. I can't bend my right knee to put that shoe and sock on, I can't rest my left leg on my right knee to put that one on.  Some of my shoes I can get on with a lot of stretching and feet wiggling, but usually I need someone else to do it. My grandma struggled with this as well.
5) I am more appreciative of others.
My grandma was the kindest, most loving person I have ever met. Now that I have such a huge limitation on my own health and mobility, I think I appreciate people even more than I did before. Sure, I'm also a little jealous of all the bending, stretching, walking, running, skipping, hopping, and driving they can do. But I also really notice when someone goes out of their way to do something thoughtful, like hold a door for me or pick something up that I've dropped.
This has probably been the most challenging event in my life so far, but I've also learned a lot! And I am very thankful that, God willing, this is just a temporary inconvenience. Unlike so many others who find themselves unable to walk, I should be able to make a full recovery. Thank you for your continued prayers for my family and myself!

Tornade Update: We've Got a Storm Shelter!

If you've been following my blog for a while, you are aware that our house was in the path of the Copeville Tornado, which ripped through our neighborhood the day after Christmas just a few months ago. It was the same night that tornadoes tore through Rowlett, Garland, Farmersville, Blue Ridge, and some other Dallas area suburbs. We were lucky that we received a minimal amount of damage while some of our neighbors lost everything, and two of them lost their lives.  You can read our story here. I've been posting updates to let everyone know how the clean up is going, etc., and more than one of them mentioned that we would definitely be getting a storm shelter.  Well, we did, on my birthday, about a month ago, and on this rainy Sunday afternoon, I'm very relieved to have it installed.

Our new storm shelter beneath the stairs.

We looked at several options for our storm shelter, but ultimately we decided to go with Armored Closet.  Even though the model we went with was a little more expensive than what we had originally considered, it is installed in an existing closet under our stairs, so we don't have to go outside in a storm to reach it.  We can also use it for other things. For example, in the event of a home invasion, nobody is getting in this safe room! While most of the closet is now unusable, we got a little door installed in the back so that we can still use the back portion of the closet as storage. And the fact that it is also under the stairs makes me feel even more safe.

It didn't take too long for the nice folks from Armored Closet to install the shelter.  If they didn't have to turn around our closet door (which had been installed backwards by the builder) it would have probably only taken about two or three hours. They came in, did some drilling into the concrete and assembled the steel room pretty quickly and cleaned up nicely after themselves. You  can read about the high quality materials they use and how they install their closets here.

Great service, great products from Armored Closet

Armored Closets has lots of options starting at just under $4000 and installation is free.  Their options, which you can look at here, can fit up to 26 people, which is pretty impressive.

If you live in the Dallas area and you are considering a storm shelter (which you really should!) please consider Armored Closet.  They have great products, their extremely nice and easy to work with, and they do offer a referral discount.  If you decide to go with them, please tell them Amy and Brian Van Horn sent you!

The outside door of our storm shelter. Nothing's getting in here!

We have had a few really bad hail storms here lately. Luckily, we've had no damage at our house, but some of our friends have not been so lucky.  Several houses in the nearby town of Wylie have holes in their roofs, shattered car windshields, and people with injuries from softball size hail.  It's raining here today, but I think it should be relatively calm,  That is life in North Texas in the spring--and the fall. Lots of storms and rain! I feel a lot better about it now that we have a tornado shelter, though.  I pray that we never have to use it, but if we ever find ourselves in a situation like the one we faced on December 26, you can bet all four of us will be in the shelter with our fur babies.

We are expecting about five inches of rain in the next few days. Hopefully, no twisters!

Do you have a storm shelter? Is it inside or outside? Have you ever had to use it? Let me know in the comments.

Bum Knees Are a Bummer

Three feet--that's all it was, just three feet off of the ground.  For most people, jumping off of a bleacher three feet high would maybe cause a little pain in the ankles, which is what I was expecting, but what happened instead was one of the most excruciatingly painful experiences of my life.
I was watching Lucy's T-ball game on a Saturday, just a couple of weeks ago, back when everything was normal.  It was early, and she was not being very cooperative. She didn't want to play. I'd already given her a couple of stern talking-tos.  But when she refused to play catcher because the helmet was hurting her head, I had, had enough.  I was about to go give her what for. I was sitting on the top row of the bleachers, walked down a few steps and thought, "I can make it from here." After all, there were people sitting along the bottom portion, and there was really no reason to make them get up.
I've always gotten pain in my ankles when I jump from higher than about a foot. Even when I was a little kid, this was a common occurrence. But that's not what happened. As soon as I landed, I knew something was wrong. My right knee seemed to slide several inches to the right, out of socket. I fell to the ground in pain. By the time I landed, it seemed to have gone back into place. I didn't even open my eyes to see who the kind people who had come to my aid were, but they assured me it was in it's socket. Nevertheless, the pain was almost intolerable, and I knew there was no way I was going to be walking out of there.
A lot of people ran over to help. One of them brought a chair, someone went to get ice. I'm not exactly sure what was going on around me. I was crying--more out of embarrassment than actual pain, if I'm honest.  I imagined all four games had stopped so that people could gawk at me. I kept my eyes closed and my head in my hands as my husband tried to figure out how to get me out of there. I refused an ambulance. When I finally did open my eyes, I realized the games had continued and hardly anyone was even paying attention, though the people who were only did so because they were trying to help. Eventually, the commissioner gave Brian permission to drive his truck up to where I still sat, now in a chair, a few feet away from the bleachers, still crying, still hiding my face. Imma sat next to me on the ground as Brian ran off to get his truck, asking me the same questions I was asking myself. "What happened, Mommy? Why did you jump? What happened to your knee? Are you okay? WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"
I wish I had an answer. It seemed pretty simple; hop off the bleachers, go talk to Lu, straighten her out, come back and watch the game. Oh, then, after the game was over we had plans to stop at the doughnut shop on the way home before I had a full day of house cleaning and laundry to tend to. Later, I would probably watch a movie with the girls. Very few of those things happened.  We did watch a movie--much later.

These are the exact bleachers I jumped from--third row up. Doesn't look that far, does it?

It took a couple of people to get me up into Brian's truck. My knee was swollen and painful. I couldn't put any weight on it.  Once I was finally in, he went off to get Lucy, who had no idea what was happening just a few yards away.  Then, we were all off to the emergency room as I continued to cry and apologize, and my family assured me it was fine and I had nothing to apologize for.
As we rode along the fifteen or so miles to the closest hospital I cared to go to, all kinds of thoughts played through my mind. Was my kneecap dislocated? Did I break something? Would I need surgery? How quickly could I walk again?  Could I drive? I had no idea about any of those things. The pain was bad, but it wasn't excruciating anymore.  I began to think maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe I was just a big baby. But, on the other hand, I knew I couldn't walk.
When we finally arrived at the emergency room, a nurse came out with a wheelchair to collect me, and then there was a lot of explaining what had happened to several different people. Eventually, I was wheeled into a room and saw a few other people, explained again, and asked for something for the pain which was promised but not delivered for a really long time. The X-ray technician was very sweet, but insisted I do a lot of things I couldn't do with my knee without causing severe pain, but I did them anyway.  Shortly after she left, my knee went into spasm. It shook and jerked around off and on for at least ten minutes. By the time the doctor came in, it had stopped.  When she went to examine it, my pain had subsided quite a bit, from about a seven to a four, and I could actually bend it as much as she wanted me to.  Once again, I thought maybe I was fine.
She looked at the X-rays and told me I hadn't broken any bones, but she couldn't see anything else--tendons, ligaments, etc.  She said it could be something as simple as a sprained tendon, or I could have torn my ACL. I was pretty sure that wasn't the case. Wouldn't I be writhing around in pain if it were? She gave me a knee immobilizer, some crutches, some pain medicine (at last) and told me to stay off of it for a week. If it still hurt after that, I should see an ortho.

I learned pretty quickly that crutches are not my thing.

Brian wheeled me out to the truck, and after some acrobatics, I was able to get into the truck, and eventually, home. Getting into the house was also a feat I still question.  Before too long, I was on my couch, still unsure of what was wrong or how long it would take to fix.
I was hopeful that I would be walking again soon, but even the smallest amount of weight was not only terrifying, it was painful. So a few days later, I went to see Dr. Johnson, an ortho.  After a close inspection, he said he couldn't really tell what was wrong and listed all of the possibilities I had already read about online. He recommended an MRI. He suggested I stay off of it and even wrote a note that I couldn't stand at work. I would see him again as soon as the MRI was back.
Two days later, I went to get my MRI.  I'd never had one before  and was a little worried. The place I went to, Preferred Imaging in Plano, was in a strip mall, which was a little scary to me. But as soon as I rolled into the waiting room, I knew it was a reputable place. It looked like a spa. And while the experience of the MRI was not fun to say the least, the people were very nice, which made it better.
Imma had an MRI once last year when she was very sick and we didn't know what was wrong, so I'd seen a machine before, but hers was open and this was not. I was relieved to find out I would only be in the machine from the waist down.  Just getting on the bed, however, was challenging. The technician was very helpful, and before I knew it, I was laying on my back with my legs in a machine, headphones on to help drown out the loud jackhammering noise of the machine, trying not to move. Have you ever been in a situation where you are not allowed to move a muscle? It's extremely difficult. The more I told my knee to stay still, the more it wanted to move. There were several times when it went into involuntary spasm, probably because it had to stay straighter than it had been in a few days.  I apologized to the tech for moving, but she understood that there was nothing I could do about it. In about thirty minutes, it was over, and my husband wheeled me back to the car, DVD for the doctor in hand. This would tell us what was wrong with my knee.
I couldn't get in to see Dr. Johnson again for a few days. By then, I thought I was getting really good at using the walker he had recommended. In fact, I was now able to put a bit of weight on my injured right leg. I was doing just that in order to hop out the door on my way to visit Dr. Johnson one morning when I heard another pop and instantly felt like I was going to throw up; I'd done it again. Brian brought me a chair, and I sunk down into it.  I had hardly put any weight on my leg at all, but it was enough.  The pain was excruciating, worse than the original injury.  I felt like the last week of trials had been for nothing, and I was right back where I'd started.
Dr. Johnson didn't seem too concerned about this most recent injury, and I wasn't sure why.  He examined my knee again, nodding the whole time, and then explained what he had seen on the MRI. I had torn my ACL, my meniscus, bruised my bones, and stretched the tendon that runs down the inside of my knee.  He said he wanted the soft tissue to heal before he decided what to do about the ACL and meniscus, and that he wanted to see me again in four weeks to decide whether or not I needed surgery. In the meantime, he recommended some stretching exercises, gave me some new pain medicine, and told me to stay off of it.
That was five days ago.  Since then, I haven't hurt myself again, but I also haven't done much of anything.  My biggest fear is that I will reinjure myself again and have to start all over. I'm avoiding that at all cost because this way of life really, really stinks.
If you've never been in a position before where you couldn't walk, you probably can't imagine what it's like, not really. I have a new appreciation for people who are permanently in this situation. I feel like I've always been understanding when it comes to people with mobility issues. After all, my grandmother whom I loved dearly, was born with two clubbed feet which limited her mobility for much of her life. I have a new understanding for what she went through now as well.  I feel extremely lucky that this is temporary for me, but I also want to explain what this new situation is like for those of you who may not know and haven't put much thought into it. I know I hadn't really thought about it before, and I definitely took my ability to walk for granted. So, here's what it's like for me now.
My knee hurts most of the time, but that's not the biggest problem. I can't get up to do anything. There's no more jumping up to grab something, reaching things in high places, taking a step to drop something in the trash can. I can't go upstairs at my house, so I can't tuck my girls in or even pick out their clothes from their closets. I don't usually cook, but if I did, I wouldn't be able to reach the back burners. I have to be super careful around my dogs because they could jump up on my knee.  I can't get in my laundry room, so I can't help there. I can do a little bit in the kitchen but not much. Taking a shower was a nightmare until Brian got me a special shower bench that actually goes out of the shower, and it's still not fun, but at least I likely won't get trapped in the shower again like I did a few nights ago--for an hour--because I couldn't get my good leg under me well enough to stand up. For the most part, my husband has to do everything around the house while taking care of me and the girls.
If I have to go to the bathroom, it's an ordeal that will take at least ten minutes, even if I'm close to a bathroom. I won't go into too much detail, but for example, if I have to go to the bathroom at work, there's really no one to help me. Maybe someone will open the door for me, but that's about it. There are bars on the wall, which help, but I have to wheel over, lock my chair, pull myself up, balance on one foot while I prepare to transfer to the toilet, take care of my business, and then, guess what--you need your knees to be pretty flexible to do some of the other things required before you're ready to hoist yourself up, balance on one leg while making yourself presentable, hopping/pivoting back to the wheelchair, etc. Luckily, it's easier to open the bathroom door to get out.

I didn't expect to end up in one of these for another fifty years or so. At least it's temporary!

Probably the worst part of all, however, is the fact that I can't drive. I injured my right leg, and as of right now, I don't have the confidence in my ability to move it far enough or fast enough to go from the gas to the break. So Brian has to get up extra early to drive us an hour to school and then drive another forty-five minutes or so to his work and reverse the process in the evening.  We have to stay at school until Brian gets off of work, which means an extra two hours of my girls' lives being sucked away each evening. This accident has definitely impacted the rest of my family.
I'm not sure how much longer I'll be in a chair. I'm hopeful I'll be able to put some weight on my leg once this tendon heals as I've read lots of stories from people with an ACL injury who could walk with a brace.  Even the smallest amount of pressure on my leg hurts, and the last thing I want to do is start over again.
I go back to the doctor in about three weeks. I'm expecting I'll need a new MRI. He said it may be an additional four week after that before he knows whether or not he will recommend surgery. A lot of people are saying they can't believe he won't just schedule it, but I guess some new studies done in the past few years show that about 50% of ACL injuries don't require surgery, especially in older people who are not athletes.  I think that includes me, but I am not optimistic. I expect I will need surgery, which could mean another 12 weeks of recovery after that.
I could still be struggling with this at the beginning of next school year.
There have been a lot of tragedies close to home lately, and this is not one of them.  As I watch the news reports about a teacher from our town whose husband and two children were killed in a horrific accident, I am reminded that my life could be much, much worse.  This blog post is not at all an attempt to gain sympathy, but there are a few things I would like for everyone to take away from it. First of all, don't take things for granted. You could lose what you have in the blink of an eye. Secondly, be kind to others who may need your help.  Try your best to put yourself in the position of others whenever possible. You never know when you might end up where they are.
My family could really use your prayers and well-wishes over the next few weeks as I  continue to be immobile and my family continues to fill in the gaps.  I greatly appreciate everyone who has helped us out so far; even going out of your way to hold the door open for me is much appreciated. I especially want to thank my sweet friend Sidney who brought her wheelchair over for me on day three.  Without it, things would be so much more difficult.  You are a blessing, my friend, and I'm so glad God brought you in to my life! My co-workers and students have been incredibly helpful as well. Of course, my husband and children have been amazing, and specific prayers for their strength and patience are much appreciated.
If you've read this long, thank you for your dedication! I will try to keep this updated on our status.  If there's one thing I can still do, it's write! So I intend to do so! If you can, do a little dance for me today, and thank your knees. They're more important than you may realize.