My wife is a pointer.
To hear her tell it, the last few years have been “tough.” If you press her for details, you may get bits of the story. If you really engage her, before you know it you’ll be able to start piecing together those bits into the skeleton of an entire story. If you stay engaged, you might even get to see and hear her heart. But you really have to earn it. It’s not that she doesn’t want people to know. It’s just… well that’s how and who she is.
Partly, she understates things–everything, including the amount of physical or emotional pain that she’s in at any given time–because she doesn’t want be the center of attention. Attention has just not been her comfort zone. The why of that is not mine to tell.
The bigger thing, from my perspective anyway, is that she wants to make sure people actually want to hear what she has to say. I mean, really hear. She doesn’t have patience or energy for surface interaction, bullshit small talk. And she’ll never interrupt in a conversation where people are going back and forth, even if she has something useful to add. She just won’t.
If you sincerely care to hear it, and you press, she will go deep… but you have to be paying attention–really engaging, listening, and hearing–or you may very well miss it completely. Because her tone of, say, “I think my arm is broken…” will sound as matter-of-fact as, say, “I heard it might rain today.” And, you gotta trust me on this: If she does go deep and you miss it because you’re not fully engaged, she will not repeat herself.
My former tattoo artist and body piercing guy called her “The General.” Imagine, this big biker dude… covered with more than his fair share of tattoos and body piercings… intimidated by my 5’4″ wife. When he finally told her he called her The General–because he’d gotten to know her on a deeper level and was no longer intimidated by her–we all laughed so hard.
Fact is, she doesn’t mean to be intimidating. Not at all. Sure, she can be rough around the edges, but can’t we all? Inside though, she’s a teddy bear. One who longs to be heard and understood and loved and accepted exactly as she is.
But she’s a pointer–you know, she gets straight to the point–and sometimes that just seems to intimidate some people.
I’m a painter.
I can’t tell the short version of anything. Most of the time, I don’t even know the short version exists, or what it would look like. I’m convinced people need to know the back story and all of the side stories, along with the actual story, in order to understand the whole picture I’m trying to paint.
We balance each other well, The General and I.
Those last few “tough” years, as The General would summarize them–unless of course you were someone very close to her–they’ve been beyond challenging. It all started in 2015, with her daily bicycle ride… to run our husky/malamute (Rusty) around the neighborhood. Oh how he loved his bike rides with Mama.
That day, it would turn out, wasn’t just like any other day.
A person visiting the neighborhood for her work, driving a minivan, didn’t look to see if anything or anyone was coming before quickly pulling out from the curb to u-turn. Less than a 10th of a mile from our front door. Bam. Life changed in an instant. The General was thrown 10 feet, and sustained numerous injuries.
She asked me to take the above picture… presumably so she could flip off the person who did this to her, or the universe for letting it happen. I never asked.
The worst injury was her left foot, which got stuck between the bike pedal and the asphalt and was literally mangled. To be more specific, it was a broken in four places… one of which was also badly dislocated.
I’ll spare you the graphic pictures (you’re welcome) of the titanium sticking out of her foot after the reconstructive surgery… but here are her foot pictures from before the emergency surgery (on the left, stabilized and waiting) and after (heavy metal, man… four pins and one external fixator) just to give you an idea.
The General was completely non-weight bearing for 12 long and challenging weeks. Hopping around, with crutches or a walker, just wasn’t possible. We rented a knee scooter so she could have at least a little bit of independence. It was a bright spot in the darkness of that time.
Thankfully, Rusty only got a sore back from being thrown in the accident. Emotionally, though, he was severely traumatized by the entire ordeal. Our precious furbaby moped around the house while she was in the hospital. Once she came home, he hardly left her side. For weeks and weeks.
Exactly eight weeks after the accident, the place where The General had worked for almost 18 years closed its doors. That was another huge blow for her. Injured. Inactive. Unemployed. It’s not a lovely picture. She knew she had at least one more surgery (it turned out to actually be two) ahead. She couldn’t look for a new job. Hell, she couldn’t even shower or use the bathroom without assistance. She sunk deep into the pit.
Just over a year later, right after she finally got cleared by the foot surgeon to exercise again, the universe delivered yet another blow. You know, just in case it the accident wasn’t quite enough. And just in case the way the continued pain in her injured foot changed her gait had further aggravated her already chronic and intractable pain from a really old motorcycle accident injury wasn’t enough.
Yeah. Just in case. Because why not?
Cerebral Aneurysms. Not one or two or even three: Six. Six cerebral aneurysms. Four behind her right eye, and two behind her left eye.
Thunderclap headaches three days in a row alerted us to the fact that something was very wrong. Well, I should say, the third day when *I* actually witnessed one is when *I* understood something was very wrong. Remember, she understates her pain? Yeah, so there’s that.
Days one and two she told me she got “The worst headache…” in the same tone of voice she would say “The mailman came.” My response “Oh, no… are you okay?” was met with “Well it’s gone now.” Sigh. How the hell was I to know?
Day three, I heard an extremely calm and quiet “I think I need to go to urgent care.” Those are not words The General says, so, even though her tone didn’t communicate the urgency of her statement, I immediately turned to look at her. She was just standing there in the kitchen. Holding the sides of her head. Tears running down her face.
The next couple of days were a whirlwind. A trip to urgent care. A CT scan which showed nothing. A trip to our primary doctor. An MRI which showed nothing. Finally, an MRA which actually saw them… and not even 30 minutes later we were on our way to the hospital in an ambulance that was sent to the house by our primary doctor.
She had emergency surgery to put a stent in the right side. Apparently, they can’t do surgery on both sides of the brain at the same time. So the worst side had priority.
A couple months later, our cardiologist told us the CPAP that The General uses for her severe sleep apnea literally saved her life. If it wasn’t for the positive pressure, at least one of the aneurysms would have burst in the night. She would’ve simply gone to sleep one night and never awoken.
Although I had no idea initially how close she actually came to dying, the gravity and intensity of the entire situation definitely weren’t lost on me. Not by a long shot. The fear and worry nearly drowned me while she was in surgery. Then they couldn’t get the bleeding to stop afterwards because of the blood thinners required to keep the body from rejecting the stent. OMG. So terrifying.
Needless to say, I am so grateful that she’s one tough old broad. The General. My General.
In the ICU the day after her emergency surgery, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me again.
Ten days later, a second surgery to stent the left side.
Massive doses of blood thinners and cerebral angiograms every six months–to check if the aneurysms were shrinking and disappearing–would be her way of life for her for the next nearly three years. If you so much as looked at her, she bruised horribly. True story. And of course she wasn’t allowed to lift more then 5 pounds, exercise at all, or strain in any way, shape, or form.
Two and a half years later, two of the aneurysms on the right side and both on the left side were completely gone but those biggest two on the right side were still getting blood to them. She didn’t necessarily want to go in for another surgery, but she wanted her quality of life back. So, in she went for another surgery. The neurosurgeon put a second stent inside the first stent.
Finally, earlier this year, we got good news! The last two aneurysms are shrinking, and nearly gone. The neurosurgeon took her off the blood thinners and cleared her to exercise again. She has just one more cerebral angiogram ahead, in a couple months, to make sure they went all the way away… and this nightmare will be behind us at long last.
A tough few years? I’d say that’s the understatement of the century!
She worked hard on learning to manage her stress. Stress was, after all, the cause of her aneurysms. She made the difficult decision to change careers, largely because her last career was so stressful. She went back to school, which she finished this last May.
And!
The universe finally lined up in her favor. This week she started her new permanent full time job. After more than four years unemployed. That’s right. This is the first week of her fourth career, at age 60!
Because, dammit, there’s just no stopping The General!
But that’s not the end of the story, of course.
In late March, after I registered Brandon and I for The Big Run 5K on Global Running Day (June 5), she matter-of-factly said “I’m tempted to have you register me, too.”
“Oh?” I said, containing my excitement. “To walk it?”
“I think I might like to run it.”
Let’s review, shall we? She’s 60 years old. She’s a survivor of a major motorcycle accident, a major bicycle accident, and six (count them, SIX!) aneurysms. Any of those things could very well have killed her. They didn’t, hallelujah, but she is permanently disabled.
She ran a bit in her early 20’s, when she was in the Air Force. But let’s be real. She was young then. And definitely not disabled. So her simple statement “I think I might like to run it…” was an extremely big deal.
The thing is, although her chronic pain sometimes makes even mundane functioning nearly impossible, she refuses to be defined by her disabilities.
I jumped on it.
“I could totally train you for that. I mean, you know, if that’s what you want.”
“I think I do.”
Yes. Yes. OMG YES.
The next day, we went shopping for her running shoes. Two days after that, she started her training to run on Global Running Day.
Couch to 5K is a great app for embarking on the running journey. It’s what I used when I first started running 6 years ago. But. When I started training The General, I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be appropriate for her.
I developed my own 12-week plan to get her to 3.1 miles the week before the race.
From day one, I’ve run with her. Initially, it was to make sure it was something her body was even capable of doing. We weren’t sure. And I didn’t want her to be out there alone if something went wrong. Now, I run with her because I absolutely love running with her. I’m truly honored to run by her side. Y’all just have no idea what it means to me. (And, ever since the second week of her training, Rusty gets to run with us too!)
Did she finish the race in June? You bet your ass she did!! Cause she’s a badass, this wife of mine! I’m not saying it was easy, or even strong. The course was a nightmare, with huge hills. Not at all a first race kind of course. The truth is, I wasn’t even ready for that course… and I’ve been running for six years now. Plus it was in the evening, in 80-degree heat. Who knew?
But she crossed that damn finish line!
The race was seriously tough on her and for days she could barely walk. It wasn’t just the course and the heat. Or her old injuries and chronic pain. It was most likely a combination. All of the above.
The fact is, although my training plan worked, it would have been better if we’d had more time to increase her distance more slowly and give her body more time to adjust to this new way of life.
After The Big Run, she decided it would be best to drop back down to 2 mile runs until she felt strong running that distance. Then she would ramp up more slowly.
Her next two races–Father’s Day and Freedom Run–were 2-milers. Let me tell you, she ran STRONG in both of those. My heart was beaming with pride!
Then a chance to register for Christmas in July 5K came across my desk. Although we were still working on 2M runs in training, I really thought it was something she could do. It was a morning race. The course was going to be flat and in the shade most of the way. When I asked her, she didn’t even hesitate. And wouldn’t you know, of course, she ran it like a badass!!
So I registered us for another 5K less than a month later. Because of course I did. 😁 Hey, don’t judge me… running is a way of life, my way of life! And I’m getting to share it with my wife. Against every one of the damn odds even. I’m just freaking ecstatic!
Her training runs are up 2.25 miles each now, and she’s getting stronger all the time. I suspect she’s going to increase to 2.5 miles in training either next week or the week after. Because she can.
Because The General is a runner!
This is also not the end of the story, not by a long shot. We will keep running together, and we will keep racing. As long as humanly possible. Because life is for living… and my wife and I–in my most humble opinion–are living our best life.
My heart is overflowing, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. 💖
MiSFiT in MoTioN 
OMG! I do love this! And I love The General. She is an amazing badass. (and I kinda want to run)
Whenever you’re ready!