An overdue homage to The Get Up Kids!

Something to Write Home About was the record that defined my teen angst. It spoke to me. Matt Pryor had somehow extracted all of my feelings, all of my ideas, and managed to transform them into sweet serenades that accompanied break-ups, triumphs and catastrophes. So when Joe bought me tickets to see The Get Up Kids at the Paradise on March 6th for Christmas, I was beyond excited.

And then, two weeks before the show, I broke my stupid leg. Joe called the venue and was told that they would be able to make accommodations for the wheelchair and we were really pumped we would be able to see the show. I assumed they would have a little area towards the back or the side of the room, roped off, so I wouldn't be in the way. I couldn't have been more wrong.

We got to Allston and found parking relatively close by. Joe wheeled me in and we were escorted behind the crowd all the way to the other side of the room. I assumed we were heading towards the back, as I had originally thought, but instead we started working our way up towards the front.  

Our escort brought us directly to the stage, next to stage left. The crowd was behind a barricade, which we were in front of, and about 6 inches to my right were the stairs to get onto the stage. Joe was given a VIP sticker and there we were. I was pretty much in shock. I had no idea we would be actually closer than the "front" row. 

The opening band was fun but nothing prepared me for the awe-struck, crazy fan euphoria that would hit me when The Get Up Kids came on stage. They played an amazing mix of old, newer and newest songs off all their records. They still had the same charisma and charm that they had when I was 16. Le sigh.

After their amazing set (I swear I'm not biased), Matt Pryor walked off stage and handed me his set list. Like, actually handed it directly to me. I probably looked like an idiot - sitting there in a wheel-chair, mouth agape and practically drooling. I think I said thank you? I hope I said thank you.

I have since framed that set-list and will never forget the night I spent only a few feet away from those guys. I suppose this broken leg is good for something, because that was definitely a red letter day.

I get by with a little help.

Dislocation.

I'm still standing. Albeit only on one leg, but I'm still standing. Here's a brief synopsis of the past few weeks:

Tuesday February 22nd 

3-D CT Scan Images.

Initial Appointment with the Trauma Surgeon

• Saw the x-rays and ct scan that were taken during my visit to the emergency room. Brutal.
• Doctor tells us surgery is the only option. He's actually never seen a break quite like this. Hmmmm.
• I won't be able to put any weight on my leg for 8-12 weeks. Excuse me? 

Thursday February 24th 
Surgery Day - Hooray!

• Doctors, nurses, anesthesiologist, candy stripers, etc. were all extraordinarily comforting. A huge departure from the ER doc I kindly likened to a piece of furniture.
• Surgery was a success! Two metal plates and a bunch of screws later I'm admitted to my own room a few floors up.
• Little did I know I was on the "Women's" floor...aka Labor and Delivery. Are you joking? When I was awakened by a woman screaming bloody hell followed by a baby crying, I quickly realized it was no joke.
• Two days, a bunch of meds and a lot of pain later, I was released.

Friday March 4th 
Post-Op Appointment

The big incision. 

• Dressing was removed (which was absolute bliss) and replaced and some of the staples were removed as well. Joe couldn't watch that part, but I thought it was pretty sweet.
• More x-rays were taken. Let's just say I won't be getting through security at Logan anytime soon.
• Doc confirmed the not so awesome news - minimum 8 weeks off my leg. "Off" as in absolutely no weight. BUT he did say that for a week after surgery I was looking pretty good.
• Rented a wheel-chair. Just because I can't technically "walk" doesn't mean I won't be rolling around. Haha. Rolling around! Plus my arms are going to be nice and toned for the summer. No complaints about that.
• Still have to keep it elevated. All day. Every day. Ugh.

Swollen much?

So, I haven’t blogged at all the past two weeks. My excuse? That the pain was pretty intense and the medication made me a little loopy. But to be honest, the real reason was that the whole ordeal made more emotional that I had expected.

Physically and mentally I felt defeated, despite my initial optimism immediately following the accident. Seeing my body broken and bruised was scary. Not being able to do things on my own that I readily take for granted, like walking my dog or taking a shower, was a jarring. It still is. But it also brought me to a harsh realization.

I’m only mortal. I’m not bullet-proof (or ice-proof). Despite my extremely independent nature, I’ve realized it is ok to ask for help. In order to get healthy and stay sane, I have to. And how lucky am I to have an unbelievable support system that I can turn to?

So the defeatist attitude is out.  And Kelly is back…with a little help from my friends.