Summer has gone and past

This summer was difficult on many levels. I was aging out of an activity that I have watched or participated in for a long time. It was my last time to do it, and I couldn’t participate in the way I wanted to. My knee was not going to let me march in the color guard, and I was given the opportunity to backfield conduct whenever needed. So I stepped into another role – one that was entirely foreign to me. Most of the members didn’t know my history, one that was full of color guard and not being a drum major. They were unforgiving, usually frustratingly so, and there were times I wish I was just watching from the sidelines instead of waving my arms around, trying to keep time. But in the end I was told that I did a fabulous job, and somehow all the other frustrations melted away.

While I was away playing bando for the last time, Jennifer got sick. She had a lump on her thyroid that was biopsied and deemed pre-cancerous. Somehow during meetings with countless doctors, it was decided her thyroid needed to come out. After surgery, the surgeon told her parents that it was most likely cancer, and a test would truly determine it in a few days. Sure enough, it had been cancer. The most used treatment for thyroid cancer was removal of the thyroid, which had just occurred. She still will undergo a radiation treatment just to make sure it is really all gone, but the prognosis is good. However, being apart from her during all this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. She is my sister, and I couldn’t stand being away from her. I have never wanted to leave drum corps so badly. I did take a half-day once we were back in the area to go see her, and I needed that badly.

And while there were times this summer that I either was ready to give it all up or really excited that this was the last year (think: four days of practice in Oklahoma in July), anyone in the corps can tell you I cried the entire last day. On finals day, I cried in horn arc during practice, during the final run, on the bus to warm-up, during warm-up, on the bus to the dome, in the tunnel, during the pre-show, during the ballad, during the Old Man River hit at the end, marching off, during the Jolesch picture, during retreat, on the bus back to the housing site, and finally during the last playing of the Tennessee Waltz by the 2010 MCDC hornline. And while my eyes were swollen the rest of the night, I didn’t cry anymore. It could have been dehydration, but looking back, I think I was just really happy to spend time with those people for one last evening.

Now I’ve spent six straight days on the couch, recovering from knee surgery #5 (five is a lucky number, right?). There was a mess of scarred tissue and my kneecap was tracking incorrectly, so the doctor went in and fixed it all. While surgery itself went well, the aftermath was a bit of a nightmare. I have fully body tremors when I come out of anesthesia, so they gave me Demerol to combat those. Lots of Demerol. And morphine. And hydrocodone. Well, Demerol makes me sick, so after they had managed to get my drugged self in a wheel chair, I managed to throw up in a wheel chair wedged in a sliding door. My mother promptly drove me home (pulling over whenever I yelled that I was going to be sick) and I passed out on the couch. Yesterday I actually went out into society (doctor’s appointment, CVS, and a high school soccer game) and was sore and exhausted last night. So today was an easy day – just the dentist. However, tomorrow I will be going to physical therapy and band practice (finally).

And once again, I am riding solo (this is the newest catch phrase of the latest rappers). This came as a bit of a surprise, but I’ve learned recently that if I just roll with the punches of life and stop complaining, everything tends to work out for the best. So hopefully that’s the case this time too.

My plan once I become slightly more mobile and can drive myself around again (I hate needing a taxi family member) is to get a job – any sort of job. My loan payments start in November, and I don’t want to dip into my measly savings account to pay on those. Plus, I wouldn’t mind something not so serious (read: not a desk job) as I would like to continue teaching my girls at Franklin. Again, I’m trying to roll with the punches. We’ll see how long that lasts.