When Cancer Strikes, It’s Time To ‘Wiggle Your Big Toe’
Back in 2003, when I was just starting college, Kill Bill was one of my favorite movies. I loved watching Uma Thurman put mind over matter and tackle the seemingly impossible by willing herself to wiggle her big toe.
When times get tough, I say the same mantra. Can’t move my leg? “Wiggle your big toe.” Can’t maneuver myself out of bed? “Wiggle your big toe.” I’ve found no task is impossible if I put my mind to it and focus hard enough.
After my cancer diagnosis, when I thought I’d hit rock bottom, a complication was on the way to make life exponentially harder. I was scheduled for surgery to remove the tumor in my leg bone when the one thing my doctor had warned me to avoid happened. I was getting up from my hospital bed with the assistance of a nurse when I felt and heard a crack. I hadn’t put any pressure on the weak leg, but it was so fragile, it just broke.
As soon as I told my orthopedist what happened, he rushed me downstairs to get x-rays. I was crying so hard because I knew that breaking my leg had other implications. The x-rays were excruciating and confirmed my femur had fractured at the site of the tumor.
The surgery scheduled for later that day had to be cancelled. Instead of removing the tumor, we would wait for my leg to heal and start chemotherapy treatments first. It actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise because breaking my leg on the operating table would have been much worse.
The Worst Pain Ever
I’ve never given birth before, but I’ve learned that when medical professionals measure pain, they use a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being child birth. The worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life — my 10 — was getting a cast put on my broken leg. A team of doctors worked as quickly as possible while I screamed expletives in one breath and asked Jesus to save me in the next. Everyone on the orthopedic floor of the hospital knew I was in pain that day.
Now I have a rock-hard cast stretching from my upper thigh down to my toes. The persistent pain has been replaced by medication that allows me to manage day to day. Doctors routinely ask me to wiggle my toes. As long as I can move them, I know my leg is still alive under the cast and can be restored one day. I may never be able to run a marathon, but in the best case scenario I’ll be able to walk again. In the meantime, I pray.
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