Letter 148: The Hard Work of Healing
When pain changes our plans
I am so happy to share another letter from Shannon, who is among other things: a biologist, a boat captain and a white water raft guide in her spare time. In today’s letter, she shares with us about the accident that left her in excruciating pain and threatened to take her away from the many, many activities she loves and needs. I know you will appreciate this honest account of Shannon’s journey towards healing. —Anita
“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
I wouldn’t describe myself as unable to chill, but everyone else does. They can think what they want, but rest looks different for everyone. I alone have to live in my brain and body. I need *something* daily: a big day in the mountains, or a small walk or project at home. Either of these is enough to put me into my body and out of my head. There are any number of potential reasons why: holdover from my un-athletic childhood, internalized repressive health standards, a need to prove my worth, or just the classic feeling like there is always more I could be doing.
Two summers ago, what started as a fun, casual day of rock climbing took a very different turn when I fell fifteen feet while lead climbing. I happened to land just wrong, breaking my ankle bone in half and leaving crumbling bits in all surrounding joints. My visions of summer days spent in the mountains and on the water were looking like they belonged to a stranger.
I desperately tried to find activities after surgery, from training in the gym to kayaking with my cast in a dry bag. I put stickers on the peg leg I used to walk! I redid the finish on the wooden parts of my boat! I had witty retorts each time my neighbors made pirate jokes (unfortunate side effect of living on a boat while walking on a peg leg). I pushed the limits of what can be done with a lower leg cast and ultimately paddled 150 miles while not putting an ounce of weight on my right foot.
When I started walking again, it was challenging to resist comparing myself to others at physical therapy while I couldn’t balance on one leg for more than a fleeting moment. Over five months, I watched countless people limp in with fresh knee and ankle injuries or surgeries, then run and jump their way right out of PT, while I was left behind, working very hard for absolutely no progress.
The daily pain was sneaky, infiltrating my brain and destroying my resilience so drastically that a slight annoyance on the best day would trigger a meltdown. I regularly cried at physical AND mental therapy. It made me an angry coworker, a bad partner, and a person I didn’t recognize or even like. I began to question what the point of living was if I couldn’t walk, work, play, or even sleep without pain.
After advocating for more diagnostics, imaging confirmed that I required a fusion to treat the arthritis in my ankle. This would mean three more months without walking, extremely reduced range of motion AND no guarantee of pain relief. I repeatedly googled all the permutations of my age + surgery + sports, desperate to find evidence of anyone thriving on the other side, but found no reassurance. I sought a second opinion and endured medical providers insisting I would forever regret this surgery and would never run or work on a boat again.
But I made the brave choice and did it anyway. I upgraded to the peg leg’s winter foot (and added googly eyes) and held down a table in the ski lodge while everyone lied about the fun they were having. I threw myself into an intensive weight-lifting routine. We planned lazy weekend trips eating food and seeing friends. I rode the stationary bike in a cast and rigged up the cable machine to keep my legs even stronger than the last time. When the time came for PT, I started as early as possible on the zero-gravity treadmill and worked like heck (again) to regain what little range of motion I could and find the limits of my new ankle.
But I made the brave choice and did it anyway.
Just shy of two years after my fall (and two Christmases enduring the PT office’s tacky purple tree), it was me who was the one running and jumping. I have some specific limitations that I’ll just have to live with: I can’t wear certain shoes or walk across a sandy slope. Otherwise, my new ankle is great and I’m in no pain. I resumed outdoor activities, and I even passed the competitive skiing test to join the volunteer patrol at my mountain!
After spending years fighting for the ability to do these things at all and without pain, I am now much kinder to my body and the bodies of those around me. I’m stronger and more resilient than I’ve ever been. I know that my endless need to “just do something” was the fire that kept me going during the hardest season of my life so far, and for once, no one is telling me to slow down.
Shannon’s 5 Favorite Things:
Diabolical Lies: This podcast is my latest obsession. Two brilliant ladies with excellent banter give smart commentary through a feminist lens on all the latest hot topics. The long episodes held us down on the way to and from the mountain last ski season.
Women on the Water: I’ve been helping a friend start and run this rowing program in Tacoma, WA aimed at getting women and gender non-conforming folks out on the water in a replica of an 18th-century French naval vessel. Join us if you are in the South Sound area!
Madeline syrup: I’ve been adding this to my London fogs in the morning after being inspired by my favorite local coffee shop.
Ripton: I’m obsessed with their technical jean shorts and overalls, they are intended for use while biking but I wear them for everything. Great stretch, fit, and most importantly, good pockets.
ScreenZen: This app has been a game-changer for me for the last year and a half for avoiding mindless scrolling while still getting all the joy of maintaining relationships from afar. I have Instagram set at ten uses per day for five minutes each, with a 30-second delay to access. Half the time I get distracted in the 30 seconds and never look, and the other half, it perfectly kicks me out of the reels vortex.
In gratitude,
Shannon Nardi
P.S. Read Letter 118 about the boat race Shannon competed in with her sister, Katie. And Letter 92 for Jess Uhler’s letter about excruciating back pain, forcing her to pay attention to her life.
I love this story of resilience! Well done!