I’m relearning to walk “Why Critical Thinking was Germane to my recovery”
Walking is a marvel. Ask any robotics company engineering an ambulatory robot. It’s a complex process. Every time you take a step, you are in a state of controlled falling. For most, walking is second nature. It’s as much a software program as it’s hardware-dependent. Propelling you forward is an intricate exchange of continuous signals between your nervous system and muscles. We often take for granted just how miraculous the ability to walk freely is. I certainly did until I lost the ability to walk unassisted.
In January, I suffered a violent physical and psychological event; one I never saw coming. I endured a four-week long staph infection masquerading as a joint injury. By the time the issue was properly identified, the damage sustained was devastating. Roughly 80% of my hip flexor and pelvic stabilisers were destroyed, my immune system was severely depleted, I had extensive neuroinflammation, and it was undetermined whether I would walk again. If I hadn’t gotten a chance MRI on a Friday afternoon, I would not have lived through the weekend. This is an immense realisation to contend with; one I still haven’t fully grasped. I liken this scenario to falling down a well. Once the initial shock passes, your first logical question is how far did I fall? The second, how much damage did I sustain? The third, and perhaps most important, how the hell do I get out of here?
What happened to me is rare. Staph infections aren’t but multi-structural muscle demolition is. Estimates vary but the odds of this happening weren’t favourable; casually hovering somewhere around 1:100,000,000. This means it doesn’t fit neatly within the contemporary “treatment box.” That’s not great. This is not something one emerges from, cleanly, three months after the event. It’s an 18-to-24-month gruelling recovery that extends across physical, biochemical, and emotional domains. There is much talk about organisational transformation, but this is the epitome of personal transformation. Being an outlier in these circumstances is not an enviable position.
I have spent the last few years touting two primary beliefs:
1. Critical thinking is a human required skill
2. Espousing an internal locus of control1 yields positive results.
My conviction in both was tested this year.
Recovery Meant Calculated Defiance
I’ve always loved the story of Alice in Wonderland. The idea of ten impossible thoughts before breakfast resonates with me. There is something freeing about a fantastical world that is unapologetically ridiculous. Hospitals to me, are a bit like Wonderland. It is a fantastical world highly skilled at performing the impossible. However, also like Wonderland, they are not well-oiled machines, they are in essence unapologetically ridiculous. I’d think twice before wholly outsourcing my recovery when visiting one.
The medical arena is governed by the law of averages. Clinicians are taught to act, not necessarily assess. In late January, I was assessing just how far down the well I had fallen. I didn’t have a shortage of directives of what the next two months of my life looked like. The sole focus was on eradicating the staph infection; little regard was focused on my long-term mobility. No milestones or key markers were outlined. Every question I surfaced was met with blank faces and a shrug of the shoulder. I began to wonder, if they couldn’t tell me how deep the well went, how could they reliably tell me the damage sustained, or the way out?
“You are getting a PICC line” a voice emerged, stated with an element of glee. As in “congrats you get to go home!” “What’s a PICC line?” My voice unenthused. Let me guess, another needle-esq device being inserted into my body. “It’s a tube that will run from your heart to your bicep,” the doctor exclaimed. Yep, that’s what I thought. The PICC line would allow me to go home, enabling a nurse to visit me once per day to administer antibiotics for a two-month duration. “Great, what are my other options?” I asked without recourse. You could hear a pin drop at that very moment. There was an American salsa commercial in the 90s, where two cowboys delivered the punch line “New York City? … get a rope.” As in one of us isn’t like the other. My PICC line refusal was my clinicians “get a rope” moment.
My Grandfather was a US Navy Captain he commanded warships in and out of the Bermuda Triangle. He was what you might call a master strategist. As a kid we would run scenarios. What happens if we get a flat tyre, “what do you do?” He’d ask me to identify three alternate plans to resolve the situation. I can still hear him say, “always have a back-up plan but ensure you have three back up plans, for your original back plan.” It’s interesting when these “wise moments” choose to resurface. A ghost from my past attempting to salvage my future.
The PICC line would have forced me to be sedentary for seven weeks – precisely when the scar tissue would set over my joint capsule. Without external stressors, such as cycling, the tissue would set like concrete. This would have left me permanently disabled for the rest of my life. I refused the PICC line and asked the system to pivot. Luckily, they did. It was not met without haste. I was altruistically bullied into believing the plan would fail. That the gamble would result in an even larger catastrophe. I didn’t relent; I had a back-up plan for my back up plan. I fell down the well, ultimately, I was going to decide how the hell I was getting out of it.
I took a calculated risk, one that worked out.
1: 100,000,000 Odds but Universally Applicable
Re-learning how to walk is hard. It’s months of agonising, repetitive reinforcement of tens of thousands of re-education exercises to re-instate my “walking software program.” While my reality is rare, figuratively “learning how to walk again” is incredibly common. We all fall down a well. What’s important is that you assess how far you have fallen, you understand the damage sustained and you have a clear plan on how you are going to the hell out. I am sharing my top five reminders this event reinforced in me, but I believe apply to us all.
#1: Embrace the 99% to 1% Rule:
My motto through this process has been “99% of pain you work through 1% you stop at.” being able to interpret the difference is key. We tend to shy away from pain, but pain is vital information. Being able to see this for what it is, is a massive advantage. Our bodies and minds are skilled in throwing up warnings when something hurts. In my experience, this is progress. This year, pain has been my constant. Yet nearly all of it has dissipated under focused stress. It’s important to stop at the 1% but most pain belongs in the 99%. It’s the pain you observe, work with, and eventually work through. To shy away, is a missed opportunity, you are shying away from vital information.
#2 Never underestimate the power of “I will:”
I can’t take credit for this statement but it’s one I embrace daily. The adage the “world moves for those who know what they want” is remarkably true. Things will invariably go wrong. Setbacks occur but if you are focused on what you want to achieve, what is thrown in your path doesn’t matter, you’ll find a way around it. This is established wisdom, but still profound.
#3 The micro steps matter more than the macro steps:
I have always been a “two speed person” zero or 100. Arguably not the best use of energy. Having to relearn how to walk forced me to accept a wider range of speeds. Real progress is measured by millimetres not kilometres. I now measure progress in increments of .01. Re-gaining the ability to walk is achieved through micro-movements, not grand overtures. Sometimes when you don’t see the measurable change, it can feel like you are stuck. This experience has reminded me that the micro-movements over time lead to unaided freedom.
#4 Listen to the experts but always back yourself:
To be clear, I didn’t discount what the experts were telling me. I simply asked them to provide alternative paths out of the well. I knew there were realities to my situation I didn’t fully understand. Expert advice was critical to heed but that doesn’t mean I should blindly concede. Ultimately the path forward was a cross pollination of multiple perspectives. My medical team and I co-devised a plan that worked for my circumstance. Leverage experts for their knowledge but never discount the role you play in that conversation.
#5 Improbable is not impossible:
This is my “Alice in Wonderland” point. Life is full of improbable things but that doesn’t mean you accept them. I never thought ten months on, I would still be crutch dependent, but that doesn’t mean I won’t walk again. Limits are illusions, progress takes time. Never allow yourself to get sidelined by the illusion.
I don’t have it all figured out. As I write this, I am in pain and tired, but I know I will get there. I have no intention of allowing the illusion to sideline my progress. While my journey is rare, what is true for me, is true for all of us. There is a price to pay for blind compliance, sometimes calculated defiance is the difference between unaided walking and permanent disability. The choice is yours.
1 Internal locus of control: the belief that you are the master of your own life and destiny. External local of control is a belief that your life is determined by circumstances outside your control.
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