The Irony isn't lost on me. Medical History: Part One.

Normally I try to write with a little perk and some irony, even when addressing dark times in my life. But the only way I was able to keep this "short" (comparatively) and also get through it, was by being rational and a little drier than normal. I'm sorry for this. Strictly speaking, this background isn't even necessary for the rest of the blog, but I find the context is important. The regular text is my physical health. I have some notes on my mental and emotional health in italics, so you can place the progression on the timeline. My apologies in advance, as much of this is from the viewpoint of my young self, which could allow for inaccurate understanding of some events or causation/vs/correlation issues. I also included over-simplified medical information. My apologies to all spinal specialists for my elementary explanation. Read only if you wish. I am going to break this up into a few posts, if you are going to read them, it is important to read them in order. This is the first.


When I was young, really young, age 10 and below, I was pretty athletic. Unfortunately I was sporadically motivated. For example, kindergarten soccer saw me picking dandelions almost as frequently as preventing goals. Still; I dabbled in soccer, dance, gymnastics, tae-kwon-do, horseback riding, tennis (which stuck more or less), and swimming (which stuck for real).

I was also in a very strong place in my faith at this early age. I was already serving on a worship team in the youth service at my church, and God was very very real to me. For those of you who don't know me, I am a crazy, missional, all in, bible-thumping Jesus Freak, and proud of it. Also, for those of you who don't know me, I take Jesus practice of loving everyone and judging no one very seriously. Please never hesitate to ask me questions.

I was taking private lessons as an equestrian (English style) when I was 11, so I was excited when I heard our summer vacation was to a horse ranch. I enjoyed the trip. I got my first taste for archery, which I still love, although I'm only adequate at it. I played in their awesome pool/mini water park. And I even rode a bull. Although it was a sad pansy of a bull. And I rode horseback. My favorite horse was called Thunder....or Thunder-something. I mean I was 11, this is pretty good memory. But on a trail-ride later in the trip I qualified for a cantering ride. For liability reasons they test riders before allowing them to trot, and canter. That day I rode a horse called Nelly. Irony not lost.

There was an incident. I was, of course, on a ranch. This means I was riding Western, when I had been trained English. Normally this would not be much of a distinction on a leisurely trail ride.

This is an English saddle. This image is head left, rump right. Meaning the left side of the image would be closest to the horse's neck. The part on the right which goes up is called a cantle.

This is a Western Saddle. As you can see, there is another protrusion on the "front" of the saddle. This is called a "horn" and cattle ranchers could tie off a lasso here back in the day. As you can see the cantle (back part) on a Western saddle is harder and taller. It was easy for a cattle rancher to lean back against it when pulling on a stubborn head of cattle, or a cowboy could lean against it on a long day.

Yes, this annoying aside does serve a purpose. Because Nelly got a little frisky and I got tossed upward a bit. I was just experienced enough to keep my seat (not fall off) but I was unused to the higher cantle. I slammed down on the cantle in such a way that my tailbone made contact with the wood. We wouldn't be sure until a while later, but I fractured my spine in four places.

This is not my x-ray. As you can see, the little scotty dog in the picture has a broken neck. That is where the fractures occur in Spondylolysis. The difference in mine was that both scotty dogs had broken necks. What this represents is a fracture in an attachment for the vertebrae. Mine was fractured at two vertebrae and on both sides. 4 fractures.

The diagram below shows Spondylolysis. Spondylolysis is the initial condition of the fracture. Again mine was fractured at more than one vertebrae. 

Spondylolisthesis is a progression of Spondylolysis. It is when the vertebral disc begins to degrade and the pieces of broken bone begin to move. It has a progression and is numbered by severity.

Between when I was 11 and when I was in middle school the doctors told us I maybe had a mild slipped disc. They said my increasing pain was all in my head, and that I was exaggerating it. After middle school we became aware of the severity of the situation, but were put off by a doctor suggesting we "throw a few screws in there," especially given my young age, and decided to pursue other options.  By the time I was 13 I was in pain every second of every day.

My mood, attitude, and faith began to suffer. I wondered how I could be such a wuss? I mean the doctors said the mild slipped disc doesn't even usually cause pain, and they said when it does it's mild. I struggled with self-doubt over the pain. I considered myself to be the wussiest of the wusses. The worst sort of pansy. I tried to train myself to never talk about what I was going through.

We tried everything to avoid surgery. I did three rounds of physical therapy, I tried nerve deadening injections, deep tissue massage. I tried to remain physically active, tennis was the last of my initial team sports to die. I ran cross-country in middle school, which is an impact sport and is one of the things they highly recommend you avoid. But remember, in middle school we didn't know the severity of my condition. Running cross-country caused me extreme pain, but trying to explain that to my parents when doctors were telling them it was the opposite was difficult.

My health continued to deteriorate. At this point I got my hips (puberty...what can ya do?) but went up two sizes instead of one. I believe I gained extra weight due to the decrease in my physical activity and the fall in my spirits.

My mood tanked. I lost friends because of my pain. I lost a dear family member at the same time. I started to become so very angry with God. "God, I was your most faithful little Jesus Freak, why did you allow this to happen to me?" But at the same time I was afraid to be honest with God about how I was hurting. I had seen God's power all my life, I had felt His presence and His love. But it seemed like He had abandoned me.

By high school I was discouraged and in severe pain. I had learned that being honest in my health struggles would cost me friends, so I hid the majority of what I was going through. I also began to have occasional panic attacks when I was stuck in a desk at school and the pain became severe. That feeling of being trapped and in pain was a trigger.

My school accommodated my needs readily. A parent note allowed me to pace the hallways for a few minutes and stretch when the panic attack seemed imminent. I had permission to get up and move during class if necessary. I attended a very small private school, and the girls who didn't participate in sports got left out, so I played basketball (badly) and volleyball (adequately with occasional bouts of competence).  The one thing I had going for me in basketball was endless hustle and an unbeatable pain tolerance. Again, later I discovered that both of these sports are highly discouraged for back patients. Again, the irony isn't lost on me.

I was a broken person even then. I was being treated for depression. Later we discovered it was actually a severe vitamin D deficiency causing low mood, exhaustion, lack of motivation, and lack of focus. But the feelings were so real, and the pain was so real, both physical and emotional. And I no longer had a close relationship with God to lean on. My relationship with my friends was 50% focused on hiding my pain. Unfortunately this lead to being mocked and picked on sometimes when I needed accommodations for the issue, because I had made it seem less severe than it was. 

During high school my parents and I became separately and quietly aware that my condition was more severe than our early doctors, and even the doctor recommending surgery had made it sound. My pain level became incredibly severe.

People who I now love and respect were downright cruel. A girl told me I lied about my condition, because I called it something different the two times she asked me, when really she couldn't remember what I had said the first time. I attended a sleepover on my parent's condition that I be allowed to sleep on a couch or a bed, but after the girl's parents went to bed, one student took the only couch and wouldn't allow me to sleep on it, even when I explained. I was in such pain the next day my parents scolded me and forbade me to attend another sleepover. They said I should have called them and gone home. And they were right. 

My sophomore year season of volleyball, the last practice of the season (preceding the last two games of the season) I had a volleyball served, overhand, point-blank into the tip of my right elbow by the most powerful server on the team. It hurt like the dickens, but less than my back, so I shook it off and figured it was ok. I had a bad rep with the coach, because I had a doctor's note that forced me to replace some of the warm-ups. I couldn't do suicides for example, so she put me on wall-squats. (I am proud to say at that time in my life I could do a 7 minute wall squat.)

I played in the final two games of the season. In the last game of the season, my elbow was hurting BAD. The pain was closely approaching the pain in my back but it was more acute. But I was serving. We were behind, and I had served 7 aces in a row. I had to keep it together. They got a hand on the 8th ball, but it still dropped to the floor. After 4 more aces I whiffed, but now we were tied at 21. It was a final game miracle. It was also the only time in my entire sports history that the entire crowd was chanting my name. Coach pulled me because I had begun to cry from the elbow pain, and my team got the two points necessary to win. And coach STILL rolled her eyes at me, even though I had won us the game. Which is honestly the first time I had been particularly useful all season. I'm not bitter.

My mom took one look at my face and took me to the hospital. The doctor took one look at the x-ray and said "What did you do?" Which is never a good sign. Apparently I had fractured my elbow. There was marrow bleeding from the fracture, so he couldn't see how badly I had fractured it clearly. I had to have it in a splint and ice it for a few days before they could get a clear x-ray. It was pretty bad, and I had to have a cast from my third knuckles up to my arm-pit.

When I came to the after-season party, I have to say I enjoyed the look on Coach's face when she saw the cast. She said "It was broken," and I replied, "Yeah," and gave her the gory details. Juvenile, I know. We have to take our moments when we can. It was a strange sort of vindication for the borderline verbal-abuse I had taken from her all season.

I mention this incident for an important reason. That badly fractured elbow had hurt less than my low back until I literally beat it against a ball 13 times consecutively. Not to mention all the bumping and spiking of the rest of the game. My family realized how severe my pain actually was and we got a referral from my family doctor to a spinal specialist.