Two weeks ago, we were playing a double header game. Around the 5th inning of the first game, I hit a long single. The next batter hit a shot out to left field, which bounced past the fielder. I ran from first to third, then rounded the base, surveying where the ball was (since we didn't have a third base coach). I saw the cutoff bobble the ball and in that split second, I imagined myself in my late teens and started going home. I hesitated mid way, rethinking my course of action. The ball was then thrown home and the catcher caught it, stopping me between third and home. I quickly turned my tired body around and headed back to third. Running down the line, I heard the ball thrown over my head and quickly visualized my options. I knew I had to slide, otherwise I would get tagged out, but my legs were behind me and I also knew I was too tired to bring the bottom half of my body around to slide, feet first.
So I dove.
Face first.
Before I continue, let me say, I was safe.
And I scored on the next batter's hit.
But as I stood up from the ground, the knees of my favorite blue sweats were torn. I had dirt from my neck to the shoes. Scrapes were on my elbows and my right knee. But, my left knee was immediately swollen and bloody. It all happened so fast, I'm not even sure how my one knee impacted the ground harder than the other. I nonchalantly asked how my slide looked... Did it look like Pete Rose? Or did I look like a tee baller diving back to a base? Because the way I felt, I was almost positive, it was the latter.
But no, my team and spectators said it looked awesome. They were impressed. And the athlete in me, shrugged off the pain and played the rest of the game and the second game, without complaint.
Fast forward two weeks later.
My knee was every shade of purple, still swollen, and now my toes and calf area was getting tingly and numb if I sat a certain way. I'm not a doctor person, and I've had major injuries worse than this back in college, so I hesitated to call.
But this past Monday, I finally called my doctor and was told to head to urgent care to get evaluated.
I called my mom to see if she could hang out at my house with my children, so they didn't have to be dragged with me from place to place.
She obliged.
So I headed up to urgent care for the first series of testing.
Upon my arrival home, my daughter was curled up in her bed with my mom stroking her head. Throughout the 50 minutes that I was gone, she spiked a fever. She did have a cough starting a few days ago, but never showed any other symptoms. I was shocked by how quickly the onset occurred.
I sat beside her in bed, holding a piece of paper in my hand that stated I had to go back to the hospital at 7:30 for an ultrasound to test for a DVT (deep vein thrombosis).
It would figure that the day I finally decided to get my knee checked, was the same day that my daughter spiked a high fever and now, I had to inconvenience someone else to help.
I felt my stomach whirl when I had to figure out the next steps. The urgent care doctor was adamant about getting this ultrasound checked because of the numbness and tingling in my feet. She said, it could be a blood clot (DVT) or a pocket of swelling behind the knee. Either way, it needed a diagnosis. So there I was, typical me, trying to self diagnosis while I snuggled next to my daughter. I was thinking logically, if it was a DVT, I probably would have already thrown a clot by now, because I never sit still.
My mom broke my thought process by saying she would stay with my children while I went and received the final testing.
I hesitated a few dozen times within the two hour wait, because I didn't want to leave my daughter. But my mom pushed the significance of getting the testing done. And, I'm glad she did, because if it were just me, I would have probably skipped the final testing and stayed home.
Thankfully, all the testing came back fine. But sadly, there was still a lot of swelling remaining behind my knee that was pinching my nerve and causing my symptoms.
For me, that diagnosis was a little hard to swallow. I could remember playing college field hockey and slamming my knee into the turf on a daily basis. And, I remember diving face first towards the goalie, trying to get the ball in the goal. Hell, I was even kicked by a goalie in my shoulder/neck area and knocked out and I still played the rest of the game. But here I am, almost 35 years old, and laid up for over 2 weeks because of a little swelling behind my knee.
Ugh...
Once the house was quiet, I tidied up the downstairs waiting for my husband to come home. About an hour after my children went to sleep, I heard a child walking down the steps. I turn to see my daughter standing at the bottom, with her hair disheveled, holding her curly shirley doll and sheet. I felt her head and her fever was high. Much higher. I called my husband and step mother in law to bring a fever reducer here, which they did. But before they arrived, I laid her in my bed and rotated a cool cloth on her body to lower her body temperature.
As I laid in the dark room, with my fever reduced little girl snuggled into my body, I rolled through the day in my head...
I realized the reality of how much time has passed since I've played a collegiate sport. Also, that I'm getting older and probably should limit my urge to slide at softball in the future. Or, get into better shape..
And I also realized how much I missed my little girl snuggled in my bed with me. My daughter never slept in her own bed. Never. Not longer than 15-30 minute increments. When I fought cosleeping, before I became an attachment parent, I used to go into her room 6 + times a night, every night. Finally, when I was sick during my pregnancy with my son, I caved and brought her in my bed. And, it was glorious! I couldn't imagine I would have ever slept again. But, as time passed, I wanted to transition her into her own room so I could have time on my own. Because all who cosleep, knows it's not as simple as just going to sleep. I had to end my night when she went to sleep. There wasn't much of a bed time. And there wasn't much of "me" time. Surprisingly, the transition went smooth and she's been on her own for over 2 years now (my son has always loved sleeping on his own). But the past nights, she's been with me. And I was transported back to a time when her voice was little and her body tiny. To a time when I would wake up in the morning and she would have Dora already on the TV and drink her bottle with her head on my shoulder.
As much as I see myself aging, I see my daughter aging as well. It seemed like yesterday, I could do Petey slides and hop right back up and run more bases. Or, I would do crazy things to my body on the field and never give it a second thought. And it seemed like yesterday, my daughter was my only child and we would spend our days, hanging out, without so much structure keeping us boxed in.
But as life has it, we all have to learn to grow and adapt in this world. And as much as my daughter is learning to function in her new environment, technically, us adults are also learning how to function in our environment as well. We all have to learn the new us, as we age.
Things around us are constantly changing and evolving and we have to keep learning new ways to adjust while moving forward, just like children do too.
Because good and bad, life's always changing.
And time is always moving.
And, either you're moving forward.
Or, you're moving backwards.
Because, time won't wait for you.
And standing still, isn't an option...
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