There is something indescribable about watching your body slowly strengthen from almost nothing. Every mile that I walk and every kayak trip that I take brings an overwhelming sense of gratitude to me. Even a month ago those very same activities were not physically not possible yet. But perhaps the most overwhelming obstacle that I have been slowly overcoming is running.
Last fall, only several months after my total colectomy, I made my way outside for a short run for the first time since I had become sick. I was never a competitive runner before my illness, but running was always my way of clearing my mind and staying in shape. When I tugged on my old running shoes my weight was still in the 70s and my energy levels were easily depleted, but I was not about to let that stop me. I was confident that, even if only for several minutes, I would run once again.
I made my way outside as my yoga pants draped loosely on my very thin legs. At this time I had my ileostomy, which was neatly tucked under the colorful band of my pants. I teetered at the end of the driveway, taking several deep breaths of the cool, fresh air and double-checking my shoes. Slowly, I began walking on the dark pavement and after several feet, advanced my walk to a slow run. Except I was not running. My feet slapped the pavement in an unnatural way as my legs, stiff and weak, made if feel as if I was running on stilts. Quickly I realized that my body was not ready for what my mind was ready for. I slowed to a walk again. My lungs burned from the cool air and my muscles ached and tightened. I walked, defeated, back to the house. I had told myself that i could do it- but I was wrong.
Fast forward to almost 9 months later as I run on the treadmill, my legs carrying me steadily and naturally. I breath deeply to fill my lungs with air, releasing my breath in a relaxed stream of air. I was doing it. I was running. Maybe not as fast or as long as before my illness, but nevertheless, I was doing it. The seemingly impossible was suddenly possible once again.
Every day that I run, I go a little further- my legs feeling a little stronger. A sense of accomplishment fills every inch of my body and makes me feel alive and unstoppable. My recovery throughout all three of my surgeries has been incredibly challenging both physically and emotionally, so with every new milestone in my progress, I am left amazed and grateful.
Friday, July 28th, marked 11 weeks since my reversal surgery and the bandage finally came off of my incision where my stoma once was. The once gaping incision is now a soft pink color and my parents say that it slightly resembles a third eye. I have to agree. The indented scar has thin lines of either side of the larger opening with small lines around it from my staples that ripped through my skin.
Throughout my surgeries I was reassured that I could buy scar cream for my incisions to lighten them and make them less noticeable. But the more time that passes, the further in love I fall with my array of white and pink scars. My scars tell a story- sort of like the constellations in the night sky. I love my scars and I love the story that they tell even more. I am not ashamed or embarrassed by them. My scars are the reason I am alive today. My scars represent the second chance that I was given. My scars will serve as a permanent reminder of my journey with Ulcerative Colitis. They will remind me of the struggles and heartbreak, but also the joy and love. My scars are part of me and I could not be more proud of them.
This week also brought new, exciting advancements in my diet. I have been cautious to introduce new foods one at a time over the period of several days to gauge whether my j-pouch is tolerating them or not. This week, grapes and blueberries were put to the test.
I have always been a lover of all fruits and veggies, never really finding one that I did not like. So, slowly reintroducing a few of my fruity staples was a scary, but exciting step for me and I am proud to announce that both blueberries and grapes were tolerated very well. I will continue to eat them in moderation for now, thankful that they at least hold a place in my diet once again.
Tuesday, August 1st, is my very first physical therapy session since last fall when a physical therapist visited my home several times. At that point, I was still very weak and a mere walk down the hallway was a large goal that the physical therapist had set for me. Thankfully, I will be going into my session on Tuesday in completely different health and I look forward to becoming even stronger as I near 3 months post-op.
I still have a long way to go in my recovery and there are many days that bring great challenges. On these days I allow myself to acknowledge and embrace my frustrations and challenges, but remind myself that each day is a new day. Each time I step out of bed in the morning, I have the choice rather to dwell on my lack of sleep from multiple trips to the restroom and pain or my previous day, or I can step out of bed with a grateful heart and a smile on my face because I am alive and I am healing. Each day is a new opportunity for me to explore, appreciate, and marvel in the beauty that is our world.
Not every day is great, but I am grateful for every day.
"No rain, no flowers."
- Kristen