May 28, 2013: 9:18 pm
12 minutes til fighter training ends. I’m sitting outside on my balcony bending my knee. I’m using my big toe to move my knee to the beat of my new favorite song, Ships In The Night. I’ve always loved the songs that use a piano to the fullest.
I deactivated my Facebook until I can walk again. Too much of a distraction. I keep seeing all these pictures of people training. Walking around. Playing at the beach.
Too much right now.
I gotta use the bathroom but the pain I experience when I get up is making me hold it until I’m done writing. So until then my big toe is still moving my knee.
One step forward. Two steps back.
Had my first physical therapy session since I had my ACL surgery a week ago. I told my PT the pain was a 4 at the worst. For the average person it’s an 8. For me, it’s a 4. I’m used to excessive amounts of pain. The worst will come late tonight, when I try to sleep. It’s when I have to be the toughest. It’ll be 3 or 4 am when my body will wake me up from the pain. The immoblizer holds my knee straight so I don’t violently jerk it when I’m lying unconscious dreaming about fighting. Maybe about Kevin Hart too.
Yet…I almost never remember my dreams.
When I got home from PT I crutched to my bed. As I slowly crawled in the knee immobilizer I was wearing caught on a blanket. I broke out laughing. I manically laugh when pain is unbearable. That or when I’m mad. This time it’s both. It takes about 45 sensational seconds to get situated in bed. It’s king-sized, and right now it feels like I’m crawling across a desert. My knee is throbbing uncontrollably and my teeth start chattering. I start to get nervous that maybe I’m sick, but then I yell at myself to suck it up.
As always…it goes away.
Water starts falling from my eyes when I realize the ice pack is still in the freezer. It’s just water though. Dries right up. To my right is some Tylenol: Extra Strength. I ran out of Vicidon in 4 days. The pain was so bad in the beginning the only thing keeping me going was counting down the minutes til I could take more painkillers. No refills.
I like it that way.
I refuse to take the Tylenol. I’d rather feel the pain. That way I remember it when I walk into the cage again. I want the next girl fight to feel the pain I feel right now. I don’t want her to be injured. I would never…ever…wish this upon anybody. But I have to transfer to pain. And for as long as our fight lasts…
Someone has to feel what I know I will go through for the next several months.
I’ll make her feel everything, and it’s one of the only things that keeps me going when I’m moving my knee. Back and forth…back and forth. Over and over again until it feels like it’s going to snap. My PT told me that’s not how it works.
I’m doing my best to believe him.
It’s 9:36 pm now. Everyone at fighter training is putting there hands together. Glad the training is over. Glad they pushed through to the end. They’ll count to three then scream, “Family.” I wanted to go tonight, but the thought of moving again stopped me quick.
No one likes a quitter.
They’ve come through. Asked me how I’m doing. Watched movies with me. A lotta movies. When they’re here I try my best not to look like I’m in pain. They can see right through me. I was never good at hiding emotions on my face. I better work on that. I don’t like to show how I feel unless I want to show it. My friend tells me it’s unusual. Usually at training I’m good at hiding the pain. He tells me even when I’m getting the worst of it I don’t show the pain, mostly just the frustration.
When I move my knee it all shows.
The frustration as I un-velcro the 6 wraps that hold the knee immobilizer together. The pain as I bend my knee to get in the car. The anger as I hand them my crutches. My purse attached to one of them so I don’t forget. The sadness on my face when they say they ‘re leaving to go train. The motivation on my face when I tell them I’ll be there soon enough. Kicking them all in the face with my left knee.
Well…the shin…all the same to me right now.
It’s 9:41 now. I’ve always been a fast typer. I’m hoping my best friend calls. I keep texting them how much it hurts when the pain gets bad at night. They ignore it. It’s why there my best friend. They know damn well they can’t do anything about it. I have too.
The only thing worse than a quitter is a whiner.
My goal was to walk today. One week after my surgery. Early afternoon I tried it. With no one around in the house I threw my crutches down. Staggered hard on my good knee, and slowly went forward. One step. Two. Three until I grabbed onto something. Gotta be more careful. Only thing worse than going through the next several months would be to re-injure myself.
To the left of the computer I’m watching my dinner get cold. My cousin cooked my beef and brocolli. And helping me around the house. Just like my 78 year-old Abuela brought an ice pack to me every 20 minutes the first 4 days after my surgery. Just like my dad and uncle woke up at 4:30 am to pick me up to go to surgery. Just like my mom who chilled with me when she got home from working all day to see how I was doing. Just like my sister and brother and friends who’ve visited me ever since. Just like my two best friends who asked me how my knee was doing even after I unfairly yelled at them that they didn’t care about me.
I remember it all for the day I get into the UFC.
The VIP tickets are adding up.
It’s 9:50 pm now. Time to wo-man up. Pick up these bada** crutches, and go to the bathroom.
Til next time.
My knee is looking ****ed up. All the PT I did yesterday has got my knee looking like a water balloon. I’m pissed all day. The pain is just like the first day after my surgery. But I ain’t got no more pain medicine.Still refuse to take it. My thought process for most of the day?
I hate everything.
Later that night. I’m chilling with my neighbor. All of a sudden I’m like mannnnn Rosanna calm down… Do one straight leg raise.
Make it happen.
Oh ****. It actually worked. My neighbor starts watching me. One more?
Up to 2. My neighbor keeps staring and simply says,
“Rosanna. Leave that knee alone.”
I look up.
Still did two though.
May 30th – 7:00 am
Time to rehab my knee before I start work. I throw on my music so I don’t think about it. I’m screaming in my head. Yelling at my leg. Hoping it’s listening.
Dude, turn. THE ****. BACK…ON.
I got my favorite song on again, Ships In The Night. The guy keeps singing about ships passing him by.
I’m tired of everything passing me by. Ahhhh…one more rep.
I deactivated my Facebook until I can walk again. As much as I go on there I find I don’t really miss it. It gave me some time to just chill by myself. I don’t like doing that much. I’m finding I kinda like it. I get up from bed. Lunch time.
Try a leg raise again homey. You did 2 last time. Maybe you can do 5 today.
I do thirty.
When I was in high school I ran track. When I first started I couldn’t even jog a lap around the track. 2 weeks later we had to go on a 2-mile run. I was like man I can’t do this I could barely jog a lap two weeks ago.
I finish the next two miles non-stop. Suddenly I can breathe. It just comes outta nowhere. I’m so glad I didn’t quit in those first two weeks. Most people did. It doesn’t make sense that if you keep trying one day it just starts working. I’m standing up on my crutches. But something feels different today. My leg feels like I can try. I throw my crutches to the floor. Take a deep breath…
My last FB status for the night. Don’t really feel the need to write so much today. There’s something I gotta do.
“Tonight I’ll be assisting the 6:30 PDS basic class. With a cane. On a brace. Like a boss.”
May 31st til the day I throw a kick again
Rosanna “Rosanimal” Garcia