Jenny's Gift

I couldn’t sleep last night, like at all. Zero. I got up before my 5am alarm had a chance to wake my husband. I closed our bedroom door behind me. Put on the running clothes I’d set up in the hall the night before. Crept downstairs, avoiding the squeaky step. Those things aren’t unusual, even though today is . . . uh, “highly unusual” would be putting it lightly. 

My eyes got wet as I laced up my sneakers. I sniffed and huffed and rubbed my face vigorously. Enough of that. Enough with the theatrics! Sentimental nonsense. You don’t cry over spilt milk; You don’t cry over lost limbs. I’m not judging -- nothing wrong with tears, if that’s your route of choice. But not today, not for me. Nope. Not this morning. Because I’d be running again soon. Well, “soon” in a few months, hopefully. 

You see, today at 9am I have to go to the hospital to have my leg amputated below the knee. It doesn’t matter why and I’m tired of talking about it or trying to figure out how to fix it. It just is, so move on. Run, run, run!

Jeff (that’s my husband) is driving me. They tell us the typical in-hospital recovery time is a week or two before I can go home. In that time, I’ll also meet with a physiotherapist and a prosthetist to get fitted for my new appendage. Rehab starts almost immediately only a day or two after surgery. Good. I’ll want to get on with it, already. With advancements in prostheses technology, I’ve been assured that I will be surprised at my newfound ability to run farther and faster than I previously thought possible. Then, heck, take both legs, right?! Ha.

To be honest, I’m not sure I have enough time for more running. I already run twenty miles every week, including one weekend a month where I run a half-marathon with my sister. That’s about my sweet spot. A full marathon takes too long, it’s too hard on my body. But with a new cyber-leg and a fancy piston, maybe I’ll feel more like trying the longer distance. I’ve never really wanted to try an ultra-marathon either, but heck -- why not?

I slipped my earbuds in and cranked up the music. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, perfect. As soon as I strapped on those shoes, my body got excited. Like taking out the leash in front of the dog. Time to go outside. Time to stretch those muscles and get that heart pumping fresh oxygen through my veins, big lungfuls of air making my body come alive.

I love running. Especially in the morning when the world is not quite up yet. A few other runners, maybe. Often no one. Today it was cold, but not too cold. Thirty-two, so right on the cusp. I had on my leggings, but I already knew I’d be wanting my shorts by the time I got back home all sweaty.

Outside, the chill nibbled at my nose so I got moving right away. Clicked on the watch monitor as I was taking my first steps. Seven miles today. Not a lot, but more than I’d normally do on a Tuesday. Again, this was not a normal day. Shush, you. Get into the zen. Be here now, I told myself. Feet slapping the pavement. The electronic music filling my skull. The frost in the air as it goes down to the alveoli, the little clouds I breathe out. In. Step. Step. Out. Step. Step. In. Step. Step. Out. Mommy is on a break.

Ain’t nothin’ gonna slow me down. I’ll kick that physical therapist’s ass with my new prosthetic foot faster than anyone he’s ever seen. Life is good, I was telling myself. Healthy family. Healthy me, all things considered. Roof over our heads. Food in our bellies. Everything is fine. Everything. Is. Fine.

I wasn’t paying attention. I think I even had my eyes closed. So, I didn’t see the car with its headlights turned off. Which is ironic since it was an electric car. How is that even possible to turn those off? The ones that run silent. I didn’t hear it. I didn’t see it. And she didn’t see me, obviously.

She hit me right on the bum leg, which is also hell of ironic. It cracked my fibula -- the smaller of the two bones below the knee. I kid you not. It’s true. On the day I am to get my lower leg amputated, while out on a last run with the old girl, I get hit by a car and it breaks that same blasted leg. Can you believe that? What is the universe trying to tell me here?

I’m lying in bed in the emergency room now, writing this on my phone because I want to remember it before I’m all drugged up and wheeled into the OR. What a crazy day!

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This is Jeff and I feel the need to close out what happened here for the sake of the archive Jenny wanted this to be. For our children who will read this someday. Jenny was ever the optimist. Yes, that car accident shattered her fibula, but she also hit her head on the windshield which caused a contusion and some bleeding in her brain. It seemed relatively minor and the doctors weren’t too worried. As you can see, she was still coherent enough to write this journal entry. But during the operation to relieve the pressure in her skull -- a preventative, simple procedure I was told -- something went wrong and Jenny didn’t make it. I will be pursuing malpractice legal action, but of course that doesn’t bring Jenny back to us.

Jenny -- the loving, giving person that we all know -- was, of course, an organ donor. And, as fate would have it, there happened to be a young adult who needed a new heart in the same hospital. That child will live because of Jenny’s gift.

I hear he’s a runner.