Post surgery

Recovery Week #1: April 3-10, 2013

Now for the fun part!  I was absolutely thrilled to get the cast off my arm at my first occupational therapy (OT) appointment post-op on April 3, 2013.  I don’t have a picture of the cast, since I wasn’t planning on documenting this whole process at the time.  It felt fantastic when my hand therapist cut through the dressing with regular old scissors, my pinky and ring fingers could stretch out again.  “Hmm… I could have done that myself,” I was thinking.  Looking at my hand was very, very difficult.  It was swollen up like a paw and various shades of purple, blue and black and the incision was particularly upsetting for me.  I misunderstood the orientation of the incision,  I thought it would be the long way from index finger to thumb.  Instead, it goes across the knuckle into the middle finger knuckle, perpendicular to the fingers.  It was only 7 sutures, and not nearly as long as I had guessed.  My hand therapist made me a splint for night time that holds my finger at a 60 degree angle to let the muscles rest in a balanced way. I got to pick the color of the velcro strapping – red, or course!  Then she told me that I only needed buddy wraps, black velcro strips to attach middle and first fingers together, for the day time.  I was shocked… “That’s it?  You do realize I have 2 little kids at home?”

Then she gave me my exercises.  My rehab consisted of 14 different exercises, all of which need to be repeated 10 times, with 4-5 sets of the whole thing per day. Wow… now the real work starts.  The first exercise is forearm rotation.  I teach this regularly as part of my Body Mapping course to musicians.  This movement is an elbow movement and shouldn’t be a problem I thought.  I quickly found out that I was wrong about this since all movements of my arm, wrist, hand, and fingers were compromised by the surgery and immobilization.  Intellectually, I understood this.  Practically, I was devastated that I had lost so much movement in such a short time.  Before surgery, I had pretty much full use of my arm, wrist and hand.  I learned to do things in weird ways to compensate for lack of pincer grasp.  Complete and utter devastation.  I felt like I was going to throw up while trying to do the exercises.  Remember, how I said I stopped the Percocet?  This was the wrong thing to do because the pain medication is absolutely necessary to get through the movements.

My doctor gave me a prescription for Tylenol with codeine, as it was stronger than the plain Tylenol and not as strong as the Percocet.  It literally felt like my hand was ripping apart inside.  My therapist said there was nothing I could do to damage it as long as I moved my index finger only with it’s own muscles,  with no moving it with my right hand.  Many questions were asked so that I was crystal clear about how to find the line between appropriate effort and “too much.”  My plan was and is to go right to the line every time.

Trying to do my first set of exercises at home was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life to date.  Sending the signal to my fingers to move and having absolutely nothing happen was terrible.  Then I started to get angry.  I kept at it though with beads of sweat appearing on my forehead and gulping glasses of water.  How can this be so much freaking work when nothing is happening?  In my head, I was hearing Jim Valvano’s voice, “Don’t give up, don’t ever give up” from his ESPY award speech.  This is the clip shown often with the Jimmy V Classic basketball tournament to raise money for cancer research. I was utterly exhausted and didn’t do any more sets that day.  I figured the exercises at the office counted, plus my prescription wasn’t filled until later that day. That’s the only time I’ve skipped exercises.

I decided that I needed to work smarter, not harder during the exercises by applying what I’ve learned about how bodies are designed to work through my Andover Educator training, as well as information I’ve learned through Alexander Technique and Feldenkrais.  My mantra has become “I will not be denied.”  I will get this done and get back to flying.

My Steps to Working Smarter

Step 1:  The first thing was to find out exactly which muscle(s) should be working for each exercise,  as well as which muscle(s) should not be trying to help.  Muscles are usually found in pairs, when one contracts, the other releases into length.  I used the Visible Body Muscles 3D app on my iPad as well as Trail Guide to the Body by Andrew Biel and Anatomy of Movement by Blandine Germain-Calais.  I went through each exercise and wrote on instruction sheet the name of the muscle, its origin and insertion points.  A ha…. there’s a reason that wrist adduction/abduction was difficult.  Flexor carpi radialis attaches to the base of the index finger!  And so on… the revelations just kept coming.  I’ve studied hands and arms a lot, but I guess I never needed to know with this much accuracy and detail.   Body maps can be continually refined and knowledge is power.

Step 2:  When doing the exercises, I looked at the page in the Trail Guide that shows synergists… all the muscles that work together to execute a  movement.  Visually, I was able to direct my focus to where the muscle in question was supposed to be moving.  Even if there is no movement at the finger tip, the muscle can still be working.

Step 3:  I reminded myself continually that these exercises are whole body movements, not just finger or hand movements, and that I always needed to keep the part within the context of the whole.  I forced myself to have feet on the floor, butt firmly in the seat balanced on rocker bone, leading movement with my head.  I didn’t allow myself to hold my breath.

Step 4:  Accepting the nasty, swollen, stitched, discolored, gross, disfigured finger/hand as part of my whole body was absolutely essential. Again, it was a return to emphasis of the part within the context of the whole.  It wasn’t my finger’s fault that it’s been through trauma and it’s no happier about the situation than the rest of me.

Step 5:  Once I was able to remove all pieces/parts of my dressing, I was able to do much better with the exercises. Just being able to visually see the joints and the movement (or lack thereof) was tremendously helpful. The pain meds blocked the pain, but also blocked kinesthetic awareness, at least for me.

Step 6:  I started doing the exercises with both hands, mirroring each other. I remember one of my teachers telling me to use the good side to teach the bad side. It is amazing how much my gimpy left hand movement in general, as well as fluidity of said movement improves with the help from right hand.

Step 7:  One day, it occurred to me that I’ve spent many hours of my life in gyms…. Medina Rec. Center, OSU weight room, Baldwin-Wallace weight room, various garages of homes I’ve lived in and the living rooms of my various apartment and I’ve never worked out without loud, pounding rock music.  I cranked some up vintage Van Halen on the trusty iPod and got to work.  Sounds stupid, but it helped and I was open for every bit of help from anywhere.

Step 8:  I borrowed from my weight training experience again – you should exhale on the hardest part of the movement and inhale on the easy part.  So for a bench press, inhale when the bar is moving towards your chest and exhale when you’re pushing the bar back up.  For me, this translates to exhaling when trying to bring my index finger back up straight to full extension.  Right now, it feels like my whole hand is ripping apart inside when  do this, 14 exercises x 10 reps x 4 sets =  560 times per day.  Reminding myself to channel my inner Adrian Peterson – fight, grind, work.  See previous post for more about this guy.

Step 9:  Warning — geeky music statement coming up.  I figured out that I can keep track of what I’m doing when I count in triple meter.  I’m supposed to hold each movement for 5, so here’s what I’m thinking “1-2-3 4-5-6, Up-2-3- 4-5-down;  2-2-3 4-5-6, Up-2-3- 4-5-down etc.  The movement happen on 6.  Sometimes this is a mental challenge to do with the music cranking out of the stereo.  Counting out loud helps.  Keeping a steady pulse helps.  Counting the repetitions the same way musicians count rests helps (1-2-3-4, 2-2-3-4, 3-2-3-4, et.).

For this whole first week, my exercises were taking around 1 hour and 15 minutes per set, including ice time.  My schedule was to take the pain med, wait 45 minutes, then start.  Rinse and repeat.  Yes, do the math and it was taking 5 hours per day.  But there was no short cut.

I was exhausted.  There was not much energy left over for anything else when it’s all going into healing a certain area.  My first acupuncture treatment at 8 days post-op was fantastic.  The amount of pain relief was amazing.  I also had a chiropractor appointment on the same day and head, elbow and SI joints were now happily aligned.  My father is a Reiki practitioner and I had that too.  As I said, I was happy to take any help offered.  These three events happened on a Friday and on the following Saturday morning, it was like having a new hand!  The swelling was down so much overnight.  Simply incredible how much more movement there is when the swelling isn’t around to interfere.

There was and continues to be a brain fog that goes along with the narcotic use.  For example, my husband asked where my expenses were for the taxes, since he only had the income.  My reply, “Uhhh… what?  Huh????”  Any other day, I would have known exactly where the computer file was that contained this information.  The constant disorientation was and still is reminiscent of the mental state of mothers nursing newborns every two hours and wondering if they’ll ever sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time.  Driving isn’t allowed while on the narcotics either.  At this point, it was a non-issue since both of our cars are manual transmission and I couldn’t grip the steering wheel with my left hand, yet.  Another instance of having my wings clipped, I haven’t had to depend on another driver since I got my driver’s license.

I had some new goals for OT:  1) learn to tie my own shoes so I can go running once the throbbing subsides, 2) learn to floss my teeth without having to use those stupid plastic flossers, and 3) safely shave my right arm pit.  Interesting revisions since, when asked by my therapist what my goal was, I said “to return to full time flute playing without limitation.”  No question about that being the long-term goal, but there are many other things that must be accomplished before that’s even in the realm of possibility.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013, rolled around and it was time for OT#2 with my hand therapist.  She asked “How are you doing?”  My reply, “I feel better, but I don’t know if I’m making the kind of progress that’s expected since I have no point of reference.”  To make a long story short, I hit it out of the park!  She said, “You’re a hand therapy rock star!”  All 3 therapists and surgeon were thrilled with my progress.  Apparently, at 13 days, I had the range of motion of somebody 4 weeks out.  Too bad, I didn’t have the reduction in pain that goes along with that.  Every other suture was taken out, because the incision area is under constant stress with the movements.  The thread wasn’t cotton, it’s a plastic synthetic black thing and itched like crazy.  Definitely more movement and less pulling with half of them out and I can’t wait for them all to be history.  Interesting fact I learned:  the therapists can tell which doctor put the sutures in by looking. Apparently each has his or her own signature stitch.  Who knew?

Key things I learned during this stage of my journey:

1)  The value of working smarter, not harder.  See previous list.

2)  I developed a healthy respect, admiration, and wonder for this thing called a hand.  What a fascinating and marvelous design!

3)  My fantastic results this week didn’t happen by accident.  It was a team effort involving a good surgeon, acupuncturist/naturopath doctor, chiropractor, Reiki practitioner, appropriate extra vitamin supplements, support at home, and maximum attention and effort by me to complete the exercises assigned by my hand therapist.

4)  It’s humbling to teach a child to open a child-proof medicine bottle since you need the pain med, you can’t open the bottle yourself, and you’re the only adult home at the time.

Hospital View

Surgery: March 28, 2013

The following quote by legendary UCLA coach John Wooden is one of my favorites:  “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” – Coach Wooden led the UCLA men’s basketball team to an unprecedented and, so far, unrepeated 10 NCAA championships.  I’m a college basketball junkie, both men’s and women’s teams, and loved coaching my own team, even though it was seventh grade.

The big day, March 28, 2013, finally arrived and I was feeling good about my preparation.  My twin sister came help with child care person for our girls, ages 5 and 8.  I had spent the previous 3 days cleaning our house like a maniac since I didn’t want guests sleeping on the basement futon in the midst of spiderwebs, colossal dust bunnies and general kid junk.  I even vacuumed out the nasty stuff that had accumulated on the bottom of the wire shoe rack in my bedroom closet.  Who cares?  Me…  probably only me since my husband and children don’t ever notice.  Grocery shopping was done, laundry caught up, calendars were made showing kid activities and directions for a driver other than me.  The giant pile of papers and “stuff with no official home” was cleaned off of my desk.  My surgery day was the last day of school before 11 days off for spring break and I knew I’d need to schedule things for my girls to do to prevent behavior problems due to boredom.

Part of my preparation involved acupuncture treatments and a pre-surgical protocol of vitamins and supplements given to me by my acupuncturist, who is also a naturopath.  The purpose of the protocol was to increase the rate of healing following surgery and to minimize scar and adhesion formation.  Beginning 3 weeks before surgery, I started taking vitamin C (1000 mg 3 times a day), Zinc picolinate (30 mg a day), copper (2-3 mg a day), citrus bioflavonoids (1,000 mg 2 times a day) in addition to my high-potency multi-vitamin and giant dose of probiotics.  I also started a supplement called EZ Flex which contained high doses of B vitamins and tumeric.  My surgeon is a big fan of huge doses of vitamin D, so I was already taking 2500 mg daily.  I also visit a chiropractor regularly and had weekly treatments before surgery.

I googled Minnesota Vikings running back Adrian Peterson’s recovery from his knee injury extensively, reading everything I could find about what he did with his rehab.  Peterson tore his ACL and MCL in December 2011 and was expected to miss the 2012 season.  Well, Mr. Peterson worked his butt off and was named the NFL MVP for 2012.  He played his first  game 8 1/2 months after surgery.  His recovery is amazing and almost a freak of nature.  Obviously, he had the advantage of all the physical therapy and medical attention that professional athletes get in our society, but the bottom line is he pushed himself to the limit day in and day out.  “The things you guys don’t see is how much I work and grind and fought through different situations to get back,” Peterson said. “Mentally, I was able to push through when I was tired and didn’t want to do anything.” He acknowledges that “90 percent” of the rehabilitation process was mental.  He also mentioned the time it takes for muscles to learn to work in coordination again, in addition to regaining strength and flexibility.

I have had 4 broken fingers (all through playing high school sports), have had bunion surgery on both feet, ripped a toenail completely off which required stitches all down the side of the toe, and have given birth to two healthy baby girls.  I love to run and work out with weights, kettle bells, Tae Bo type things.  I played varsity basketball and soccer in high school and have run in 5K and 10K races.  I understand about playing through pain and was anxious to get to a stage where I could actually do something to get better, instead of just sitting around waiting.  At this stage, I was looking forward to the pain because it was necessary to for healing. Bring it on!

The surgery itself was uneventful.  My room at Lutheran Hospital had a great view of Cleveland landmarks:  Lake Erie, Browns stadium, the Jake (now known as home of the Cleveland Indians Progressive Field, but I liked Jacobs Field better), the Carnegie bridge and the historic buildings of Ohio City.  It was interesting that the restaurant where my husband and I had our first date and the Great Lakes Brewery, where we had our wedding rehearsal dinner,  were just one block away.  I told him that he could go have a beer while I was on the table.  I was anxious about having a senior anesthesiologist, rather than some kid fresh out of medical school.  I picked the best hand surgeon to be working on my hand, so why shouldn’t I have the best person putting my arm to sleep?  I had a great anesthesiologist who did a fantastic nerve block.  I had a regional nerve block, which involves lots of shots into your arm pit, and wasn’t really that bad since I already had some sedating meds going through the I.V.  Off I went to the O.R.  Next thing I know, I’m in recovery.  The person on the other side of the curtain was whining her head off about pain.  I supposed I should have been sympathetic, but I wasn’t.  I only wanted her to stop.  I was feeling no pain because of the fabulous nerve block.  I remember thinking that my left arm was on my stomach, same as the right arm.  When I finally was coherent enough to peek under the blankets, I only saw one arm.  I asked my nurse, “Where’d my arm go?”  She said, “It’s right here, honey, don’t worry” and pulled the blanket back so I could see it right there next to my body.  I also asked her when the nerve block wears off and she replied, “Well, honestly it’ll go from feeling just fine to ‘holy shit”’in about 30 seconds.”  I appreciated her honesty.  I was taken back up to my room and discharged after an hour or so. I had a bulky dressing, which is a plaster cast on the outside of my arm and dressings on the inside, that went from elbow to fingertips.  I had to wear a sling for the first day since the nerve block was still in effect and I had no idea what my arm was doing.

I listened to my doctor talk with my husband after the surgery, but don’t remember much of the discussion.  I asked my husband to use the voice memo app on his phone and record the whole thing.  The surgeon was expecting to have to reconstruct the radial collateral ligament using a piece of tissue from my forearm and bone anchors.  Surprisingly, this ligament was actually intact, but very loose.  He tightened it, using the same technique as face lifts.  The sagittal band was “a mess”, but he was able to sew it all back together.  No extra hardware or parts necessary.  This was the best possible scenario.

Arriving home from the hospital, my 5 year old was scared to be in the same room as me.  She was afraid of the cast and the sling.  Sad for me, but not totally unexpected. For the rest of the day, the the worst pain all day was hitting myself twice in the lip, twice in the forehead and once on the bow of my glasses with my cast!  I thought my arm was on the table or pillow stack and didn’t realize it was moving until impact. Loved that nerve block!

About midnight, the nerve block wore off and I quickly learned to love the Percocet for pain control. I concurred with the recovery room nurse’s professional opinion, “holy shit” was accurate.  For the next week, I surfaced from my Percocet haze to have my ice bag refilled (I had ice on my arm 24/7 for the entire week), take my medicine and vitamins, push some food around my plate, visit the bathroom and drink water.  Luckily for me, my team was in place.  My husband and family took care of everything else that needed to be done, mostly with a smile on their faces and not too much grumbling.  Our old TV was brought upstairs and hooked up so that I could watch the NCAA basketball semifinals and I didn’t miss a game!  Although, I couldn’t follow the action like I usually do.  Without narcotics, I can keep track of how many timeouts are left, which players have how many fouls, which direction the alternating possession arrow is going, etc.  This time around, not so much.  My trusty iPhone timer was set every 4 hours so I wouldn’t miss the pain meds, which really wasn’t all that necessary as my hand had it’s own time schedule of when the medicine was due!

On Monday night (day 5), I experienced a panic attack directly related to the Percocet.  My heart was pounding, I was hyperventilating, and couldn’t stop thinking “I have to get this damn thing off my arm because it’s too tight.”  It was not too tight, since my surgeon showed us how to check this.  I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn’t help it.  I felt so out of control, it’s a terrible way to feel.  I stopped taking the Percocet and went to plain old Tylenol, which didn’t do much for the pain.  In my mind, I’d rather have it hurt than deal with the irrational panic.  I found myself wondering if my grandmother felt like this when she suffered through the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease and felt chagrined that I should have felt more compassionate rather than annoyed with her.

Key things I learned during this stage of my journey:

1)  I can’t do this alone.  Feeling completely helpless is no fun for anyone.  Feeling completely helpless as a parent is even less fun.  I couldn’t cut my own food, fill up the damn ice bag, replace the toilet paper in the bathroom, get the top off the toothpaste or shave my own armpit.  I found a pink Disney tooth flosser that one of the girls got from the dentist and decided to use it.  I promptly got it stuck in my back teeth and had to have my husband yank it out.  My sister had to chop the arms off of some shirts for me to wear and then had to guide the arm hole over the cast.

2)  The value of saying “thank you” when people are helping or trying to help.

3)  Pain medication is prescribed for a reason – take it sooner rather than later.  My experience was that I needed to stay on time and ahead of the pain.  Once I missed a dose and it’s very hard to get the pain back under control.

Closeup hand splint

My Injury: August-November 2013

The events leading up to my injury started with a new flute.  I finally bought the flute I wanted to have, as opposed to what I could afford at the time.  My old flute served me well through my undergraduate degree at Baldwin-Wallace where I studied with Mary Kay Fink, my graduate degree at the Ohio State University where I studied with Katherine Borst Jones, nine years of teaching in the Wooster City Schools in Wooster, OH, and my years of study leading up to licensure as an Andover Educator.  While performing and presenting at the 2012 NFA Convention in Las Vegas, I bought the flute of my dreams.  I decided to go with an offset G on the new flute because I’d read a lot about how it’s helpful for those with small hands as they age.  For non-flutists, an offset key puts the G and A keys farther out on the tube, so that ring and middle finger don’t need to reach as far.  With the benefit of hindsight, this was a big mistake.  I’d successfully played flutes with inline G for 31 years with no pain or problem whatsoever.  Note to self:  why fix it when it isn’t broken? The problems started after I got the new flute home.  I started to have pain at the base of my left index finger after practicing.  Granted, I didn’t ease into it slowly.  I went full steam ahead, retraining my fingers how to cover the holes with an off-set G.  Preparations were underway for a debut flute duo recital in October with flutist Denise Rotavera-Krain.  We’d been wanting to start a professional duo for years but raising our girls conspired to put this project on the back burner.  As a teacher of Body Mapping, I knew how my arm and hands are structured and was studying my own use to see if I was doing something weird to cause the pain.  I couldn’t find anything physically wrong with what I was doing, but the pain continued.  I noticed that the offset G put my hand in a slightly more ulnar deviated position, which means my hand was moving out of neutral alignment. My thumb was more inline with my forearm than my pinky.  With the size and shape of my hand, this slight adjustment delivered weight to the side of the base of my index finger, not the palm side.  Fortunately for me, Alexa Still now teaches at Oberlin, 45 minutes from my house.  She’s an fantastic teacher and custom makes cork thumb and finger supports for her students.  I watched her make two of these thumb thingees at her summer workshop and subsequently had her make one for my alto flute.   I consulted with her about the new flute hand problem and we tried a finger extension, a slightly different hand position, a right hand thumb support to take weight of left index finger, clear water hose to make the tube wider and Dr. Scholl’s corn pads stuck on the flute as a cushion.  None of these solved the problem.  One day while driving my youngest daughter to preschool I realized that my hand was hurting while grabbing the steering wheel and that the new flute simply had to go.  I had been trying so hard to make this flute work, since I was told by the flute company that there was no refund or exchange possible.  What followed was a long complicated process, but, as of December 2012, I now have a beautiful new flute with inline G, patiently waiting for me in its case and hopefully the gorgeous off-set G flute has a new home with another flutist.  I went back to playing the old flute with a Dr. Scholl’s corn pad as cushioning for the base of my left index finger.  The recital on October 20, 2012 was fantastic and I then decided to take one month off to let my hand heal and rest.

In the beginning of November, my hand was feeling great.  No pain, no problems, definitely getting better.  On the night of November 8, 2012,  it was bath time for my 4 year old.  I was kneeling at the side of my tub, put my right hand on the edge of the tub, and reached up to put the tubbie toys away, a movement I’ve done thousands of times with 2 kids who love their baths.  I failed to notice that my right hand was in water until I fell forward into the tub.  I dropped the toys with my left hand and threw my hand out to avoid falling directly onto my child.  My left hand contacted the bottom curve of the tub with fingers hyperextended, took the whole weight of my body,  and the main point of contact was the base of my left index finger.  Something went “pop” inside my hand.  Of course, where else would it be other than the site of the healing injury?  My daughter thought it was great because there was a giant splash and Mommy’s clothes were soaked.  It probably was fantastic from her point of view!

What followed was a long, frustrating journey through the our medical system.  I am extremely lucky that I live close to the Cleveland Clinic, which does have a number of doctors who are part of PAMA (Performing Arts Medical Association).  I went through four doctors before I could get a definitive diagnosis.  If I followed the first doctor’s advice, I’d have gotten a cortisone injection which would have done nothing to heal the tear.  The first three doctors (two of which are big names and very well respected in their fields) all said “hmm.. there’s something going on in this area and it’s a soft tissue problem.”  The 3rd doctor put me in a splint to restrict the movement of my MCP joint to allow the area to heal on 11/30/12.  It was fantastic to watch the hand therapist custom make this splint for me.  Little did I know then that I would come to depend so much on the skill of my hand therapists.

After three weeks, I followed up with the 4th doctor, another orthopedic specialist who works with musicians’ hand.  He was finally able to diagnose me with a partial  tear in my radial sagittal band on the MCP joint of my left index finger within a few minutes by looking at my hand.  The MCP joint is the metacarpophalangeal joint or the big knuckle where the finger meets the hand.  The sagittal band is connective tissue that’s part of the extensor complex, goes around the joint capsule and keeps the extensor tendons tracking over the middle of the knuckle when you make a fist.  The extensor tendons are the ropy things you see on the top of your hand when you make a fist. They should be centered over the knuckles.  In my case, the extensor tendon of my index finger was pulling towards the valley between index and middle fingers, “the valley of doom” according to my doctor.  My diagnosis was a bit of a challenge.  At that time, he didn’t think it would require surgery and the conservative treatment was another 8 weeks in the splint.

This doctor, who is also now my surgeon, knew the difference between an offset and inline flute without me explaining it!  He was also able to explain how  playing the offset flute probably caused this partial tear, which was healing on its own, and then was further traumatized by a fall on the same area.  There’s a little bony projection on the bottom of my finger bone at this joint in my left index finger, just an individual difference.  Normally not a big deal, but with the slight adjustment to the offset flute, this little bony projection was acting like a saw blade under the sagittal band.  It was a relief to know that there was a structural cause to this whole thing, rather than just a black hole of self doubt, as in “did I do this to myself?”

On January 11, 2013,  I followed my hand therapist’s advice and played for 5 minutes.  I was instructed to play for the 5 days preceding my appointment and see what happened.  Day #1 was fine.  Day #2 was fine.  Day #3 was hell, and I stopped after 30 seconds.  The therapist was sufficiently concerned at my next appointment to request an informal consult with the doctor.  He said more time in the splint because this joint is very hard to heal because it’s difficult to fully restrict the movement and there’s not much blood supply there to promote healing.  So, back in the splint – still no flute.

On February 13, 2013, I met again with my doctor.  At this point, the conservative treatment had failed.  There was some structural issue that was not going to heal itself, leaving me with no other option to reconstructive surgery.  Upon manual examination, it was clear that there was some issue with the radial collateral ligament (holds the finger bone to the hand bone at the joint and prevents lateral movement) as well as the sagittal band.  I was scheduled for surgery and an MRI.  Up to this point, I had not spent much time considering my emotional reaction to all of this.  I walled it off and refused to think about it because I was going to get better with time.  Once the surgeon said “there are no more options”, then I realized that I couldn’t ignore this anymore.  I ended up sitting in the parking lot of a local organic grocery store, crying my eyes out.  I needed to compose myself before driving home, having to function as Mommy for two girls, and going to talent show dress rehearsal for my oldest daughter.

I continue to try to figure out “How can I use what’s happening now to make me a better teacher?”  I realized that the mental and emotional aspects of an injury can be just as debilitating, if not more so, than the physical aspects.  This isn’t a new idea, we all know this, at some level.  But now I KNOW this.  My perspective has changed, since I never experienced an injury that necessitated a complete halt to flute playing, piano playing and my ability to make music in some form.

Emotional/Mental issues that I’ve been experiencing:

Devastation – I’ve spent years and years learning my art form and now I can’t do it all for an indefinite period of time?

Guilt – Why should this injury be such a “Big Deal” to me when I have friends, relatives, and colleagues dealing with chronic health issues like cancer?

Anger – Why is the universe conspiring against me?

Lack of trust – So I did what the doctor and therapist said, 100% compliance with all instructions, and now I’m worse?  Is the diagnosis right?  Do these people know what they’re doing?

Frustration –  So there’s really nothing I can do except wait?

Disappointment – Having to turn down and cancel professional engagements is hard.  Accidents happen and people get hurt; however, we all work hard to get the gigs and who wants to have to cancel?  When will the next opportunity come around?

Financial stress – Luckily for me, my ability to feed and clothe my family doesn’t depend on my ability to generate an income.  This is not so for other musicians.

Self map issues – If I’ve mapped my self as a flutist, what I am without the flute?  If I’m a band director, what am I without a band?  How can I be a musician who can’t make any music?

Impatience – I know how to regain my playing skills, once the _____________ (insert injury) heals.  Come on, already!

Lack of trust in my own judgment – How can I teach other musicians how their bodies work when I hurt myself on my own stupid flute?

So, what do we do when students, colleagues, or friends talk with us about similar issues?  I’m not a psychologist or a medical professional.  What we can do is validate other people’s experience.  We obviously can’t say, “I know how you’re feeling.”  How insulting, to presume that you know what somebody else is experiencing!  Perhaps just acknowledging the feelings takes away their power and then we’re free to choose to focus on something different.

I had an MRI done on February 26, 2013 which was bungled by the MRI tech.  Let’s just say that one of the many problems was that she dropped the lid of the coil on top of the injured hand.  At my pre-surgical appointment on February 27th, my daughter’s 5th birthday, my surgeon agreed that the MRI was poorly done.  It didn’t show the either of the structures in question, but was helpful since it didn’t show any weird bony masses or anything else wrong with the joint itself.  At this appointment, I had a list of 21 questions for my surgeon.  I do my homework and wanted lots of information.  When I asked, “You’ve done this before for musicians, right?”  He giggled, in his surgeon-sort of way, and said that he’s done it for professional musicians, musicians who are also surgeons and surgeons on their dominant surgery hand.  I can’t think of a more high maintenance group of patients than other surgeons, so I thought that this is definitely the guy I want to be cutting up my hand.  Surgery was scheduled for March 28, 2013.

There were good things that happened during this time. Perhaps, these gifts that my friend encouraged me to find.

Key things I learned during this stage of my journey:

1)  I successfully taught a 2 day WEM workshop for students at Ashland University without playing a note on the flute.  It was frustrating to not be able to demonstrate the concepts, but it’s always good to add more ways of teaching a concept to your teacher’s tool box.

2)  Thinking outside the box – I learned to modify my old flute so I could play a few notes to successfully teach a workshop on extended technique for a student flute festival where I was the guest artist. I was unable to perform my solo piece, The Great Train Race by Ian Clarke.  So I played the composer’s own recording on a CD for the students, and then was able to demonstrate each technique found in the piece.  With my splint, I couldn’t even hold the flute properly.  For flutists out there, flute modifications that I made were 1) putting cork wedges under the foot for the C key and the thumb key, so they were closed by default, 2) putting plugs in the open holes, 3) plopping the whole thing on top of the splint,  and 4 ) carefully choosing notes to play that didn’t require left hand thumb or 1st finger keys to be open.

3)  I learned to appreciate the power of the pincer grip of first finger and thumb.  It’s not so easy to do things with middle or ring finger and thumb.  I was fortunate that I had almost full use of all fingers, except index finger, and thumb, as well as almost full wrist and arm movement.  However, restricting movement in one joint led to a whole series of compensations made by the whole arm and whole body.

4)  It was made clear to me through conversation with one of my former teachers that I did not fail myself as a Body Mapping teacher.  I knew something was wrong and did everything I did to fix it, including giving up that specific instrument.  I went to others for help and decided that I needed to make a change.  She wrote to me said to me, “I feel certain, and it seems that you do, too, that you would have solved this and be fine now if you had not fallen, so there is a lot for you to be proud of in how you handled the problem of choosing the wrong new flute. Also, you didn’t fall on your child in the tub!” Even musicians fall down.

5)  Do not stop looking for answers to a medical problem when you don’t get a definitive answer.  Keep asking questions.  Sometimes, it’s a matter of finding the right medical professional.

Why write this blog? – April 15, 2013

I am a professional flutist, teacher and Licensed Andover Educator taking beginning steps on the long journey to recovery from reconstructive hand surgery.  A good friend of mine recently told me that it takes time to find the gifts in things that happen to us.  After pondering this for a while, I came to the conclusion that one gift I’ve received is the time to ponder all physical, mental, and emotional challenges aspects of my injury and recovery.  I takes a team of people to help deal with an injury – doctors, nurses, therapists, family, friends, but at the same time, it’s a terribly lonely place to be.  Nobody else can to work that getting betters requires.  Hopefully, sharing my experience with other musicians recovering from career-halting injuries will help them to know that they are not alone.  Another friend loaned me a book titled “The Hand” by Frank R. Wilson, a neurologist.  Dr. Wilson writes “when personal desire prompts anyone to learn to do something well with the hands, an extremely complicated process is initiated that endows the work with a powerful emotional charge.”  I burst into tears when reading this because it confirmed for me that other musicians experience emotional trauma along with physical injury and that I was not going crazy!  On the next page, he writes “The musician in full flight is an ecstatic creature, and the same person with wings clipped is unexploded dynamite with the fuse lit.”  Again, he captures exactly how I am feeling now.  As I look out my windows in the beginning of spring in Northeast Ohio, red-winged blackbirds, a cowbird, a goldfinch, sparrows, nuthatches, cardinals, purple finches, downy woodpeckers and our regular red headed woodpecker all fly around near our feeder with reckless abandon.  They don’t worry about what could happen to their wings, they just go, seemingly without effort, just intent.  So many different bird shapes, all with different patterns of flight.  An injured wing would very likely be fatal for any of these creatures, especially if wounded and confined to the ground with outside cats and coyotes in our area.  For me, my injured wing is not fatal, but merely temporary and I will fly again.


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