Personal story – Page 6 – Tell Me Your Story

Run No More

“Will I be able to run anymore?”, I asked the orthopedic surgeon. He gave me a look and said, “What do you think?”. I had just been informed that I had (still have) severe arthritis behind each knee cap. Just another ending, I thought. Another thing to mourn. I ran for 33 years. I was not old, just 51, but I knew for years it was just a matter of time before my knees could take so much

Growing up, I was aware that my father ran almost every day. He typically went out mid day, so I only saw him go out for a jog when I was home. I was born a swimmer. Eventually I followed my fathers lead and began to run. I started in college. On my first or second day of my freshman year in college I was asked if I ran. I said, “No, but I probably could”. We formed a running group. A few days a week we would all run together. Thus, began my love of running.

Me, running with my youngest daughter (not pictured) in Girls on the Run, December 2017. I had not been running for two months due to tearing my ulnar collateral ligament in early October.

Over the years I was in many races: sprint triathlons, 5ks, 10ks, half marathons….

The run, in the picture to the left, was a month post surgery. If you look closely at my right hand you can see that I am still wearing this wrap.

When my eldest child was in high school, I had the pleasure of watching her run cross-country and track. As I watched other runners, I came to realize that some people are born runners and some are self-made runners. The born runners seemed to have perfect form, a long stride and run with little effort. The self made runners were those people who have taken up running not because they were born to run, but because they wanted to run. I was a self-made runner.

My favorite photo from my daughter’s first year running track.

As I approached my 30th year of running, I began to question why I called myself a runner. I did not have great form and I always ran middle of the pack when I raced. Once, I read something about how you know you are a runner. Many of the things it said hit home, but this line summed it up for me: ” your are just not yourself when you don’t run”.

Running became a part of who I was. I was proud when someone said “you look like a runner”. People asked why I ran. “It puts so much stress on your body”, they’d say. Everyone knows that running puts stress on your joints. But running is so much more than that. It helped me to think. It helped me to sleep soundly. It helped me to see the world around me. I could lace up my shoes and run out the front door. Most importantly, running helped me get through many of my darkest times: the times that I felt I could not breathe, running helped me to breathe again

2018 dawned bright with promise. My eldest was accepted at the college of her dreams. My mom took us on a cruise to Alaska to celebrate my daughter turning 18, her graduation and my 50th birthday. I was training for my first half marathon in several years. When we arrived back from Alaska and were settling in for a relaxing summer, our world came tumbling down. Still I ran.

Participation medal from a 5k i went in with my youngest child.

I ran through fall and winter with a heart so heavy I felt like I would implode. I practiced yoga several days a week and used that space to cry on my mat. I ran another half marathon in the spring of 2019, little did I know it would be my last. My running was slower, often I would walk up the hills. My knees did not hurt too much. On I ran.

A year had passed after our life caved in. We were in full crises mode. In the summer of 2019, I ran next to the jasmine scented hills of California.

I jogged through the wood laden roads of Muskoka Ontario.

That summer, in Ontario, I taught myself how to water run properly. I still cried on my yoga mat. By then, my knees were making an audible sound; when I went into warrior II pose, those practicing yoga beside me could also hear my knees rubbing together.

The fall came. I had been slowly working through the pain in my soul. By October my knees were hurting, so I took a break from running. Visiting my daughter in Boston that month, I had plans to do some elaborate walks while she was in class. My first day there, after having breakfast with my eldest, I intended to go on a five mile walk. I started out walking, through neighborhoods I did not know, when my knee went out. All I could do was drop to the sidewalk. I did not run.

I was not able to run to an old age like I wanted. Maybe when I when I became emotionally at peace with everything that was going on in my present, as well as the trauma of my past, I no longer needed my knees to carry me. My running shoes have turned into walking shoes. I go to a pool almost every day. I swim and I run the only way I can: in the water.

MARCH 2021 /March2022

Deanne Burch Alaska February 27, 2022 8 Minutes

When I started writing this story, I could not have envisioned the tragedy that is happening in the Ukraine right now. I was feeling bright with hope. The world was beginning to open up after almost two years of people being isolated from each other. Have we learned nothing as humans, after two years of semi-isolation, about how to treat our neighbors with dignity and respect? I think not and this is very sad! As I go to publish my blog and muse on what last March brought for me, I wonder what this March has to bring for the world…..

A year ago, my birthday coincided with the publication of my memoir: Journey Through Fire and Ice*. Covid gave me the opportunity to launch my book. However, the virus extinguished the celebration of my significant birthday. Starting last March, many of us were slowly able to be vaccinated against Covid, hoping to regain some normalcy to our lives; to some of us it meant being able to travel again. For me, the vaccine, simply meant I could see some family. My older daughter and grandson flew in from California in July. During her visit, Trudeau announced that on August 9, all vaccinated people could cross the Canadian border. My younger daughter, youngest granddaughter and I went to Canada in mid-August for three glorious weeks. It was a joy to be up there! I was overwhelmed when my two brothers and their wives graciously hosted a delayed “Big Birthday” and happy to celebrate with family and old friends.

March of 2022 marks the one year anniversary of my book. For me, writing this memoir, was a journey that was several years in the making. I started writing it after my husband died, not sure if I would ever publish it or even if I wanted to. When the book was finished, I knew I wanted to publish it. I felt women should learn they could deal with a life that was very different than the life they were brought up in. My life in Alaska would show others an example of how to adapt to the triumphs and tragedies that happen along the journey called life.

Publishing was more difficult than I expected. I had sent the memoir out to a few agents with little response. About two years ago, my brother called and said “Deanne, life is short, you really need to get this published”. In the end, I took the self-publishing route, hiring Authority Publishing, a non-fiction company to publish the book for me. They helped me all the way through the publishing process. On March 1, 2021, I had a copy of my book in my hands. It was an exhilarating moment! Of course marketing a book is never easy…I had a social media expert, Cheryl Callaghan, help me as well as a PR agency. This has led to radio interviews and podcasts which were interesting for me, and I hope for others as well.

*Woman on right is one I correspond with*.
*She is now in her seventies*

*parka made for me by one of Facebook Friends:Sonja Barger*

Since writing the book, many of the Inupiaqs who live in Kivalina have been in touch with me and are friends of mine on Facebook. This has been the greatest benefit of all. I often wondered what happened to the people I knew and loved when I lived there. Most of them are deceased but their children and grandchildren are still living in Kivalina. I live their life through their posts and photos on Facebook. When we lived there the population was 150 people and it has exploded now to 450. However climate change is forcing this village to move upriver. By 2025, the island of Kivalina will be underwater.

For those of you who have not read Journey Through Fire and Ice, it takes place in 1964-1965 and is a short period in my life. Kivalina is a place where I learned that life is not a fairy tale. At the time, I had to live with a different culture, in a village with no plumbing, electricity or running water. My life, on a small island 83 miles above the Arctic Circle, was different than anything I could have ever dreamt of: a white city girl cutting up seals, living under the midnight sun and suffering through the minus 30 below weather when darkness set in. I became the woman I am today because of the triumphs and tragedies during my life there. If you haven’t read my memoir, come and take the journey with me and you will understand why Kivalina will live in my heart forever. This memoir is only part of my story.

Writing this blog, I never intended to end this as wish for peace. Today all eyes are on Russia and Putin’s takeover of the Ukraine. I wonder how our country can just stand by and do little to help this proud country. The sunflower, a flower full of happiness is the national flower of the

Ukraine. For those of us who are on Facebook, please post photos of sunflowers in support of and prayers for this country. They never asked for this war and don’t deserve the horrible act of aggression that is taking place now.

* Authors Note: This coming month, to celebrate the one year anniversary of publication, the kindle version of the memoir will be selling on Amazon for $4.99 instead of the regular $9.99 so if you have friends who haven’t read it or if you haven’t read it, I hope you will consider buying it. I have been happy with the reviews and have been surprised to find that although I thought my market was primarily women, men enjoyed it as well. Reviews are very important and I appreciate all of you who have taken the time to write a review for me.

My Daughter’s Choices: A Mother’s Perspective

By Deanne Burch

It is the beginning of August, 1983 and I am sitting on the dock watching my fifteen year old daughter swimming. Sarah has always been my water baby, learning to swim at the age of two, and starting to compete at the age of six. She was always last off the block but seemed to catch up and win each race that she went in. Today, as I watch her, I realize that her days of competition have come to an end and tears come to my eyes as I know what lies ahead of her.

Earlier this year she was diagnosed with a severe curvature of the spine. She had the choice of wearing a brace for four years and at the end of this time she may or may not need an operation. In addition to this, the doctors told us that she would probably need counseling because she would probably hate her body during this time. The brace would be uncomfortable and she would be limited in her activities. The other alternative was to have an operation to straighten the curve. It would involve putting a rod in her spine to straighten it.

She was only fourteen and yet my husband and I let her decide what she wanted to do. She chose the operation knowing the side effects that could possibly happen.

As I watch Sarah, she is doing duck dives and ballet legs and I wonder “will she ever be able to do these things again.” I know there is a possibility that she might die during surgery. I nearly lost her once. I know I could not bear to lose her because of the choice she made. Will she end up as a paraplegic? That might happen as well. Now the tears are running down my cheeks and I wonder if this decision is right for her.

August 17^th, she is taken into surgery; it is the longest day that Tiger and I have ever spent, waiting to find out if she will be okay and if the operation has been a success. Neither of us has talked at all to each other, too afraid of what might lie ahead. We sit silently until the doctor comes . Seeing him smiling, we know the operation was a success. Sarah will have many days of pain ahead of her and she will have to be in a brace for several months; all that seems insignificant now, because her future looks brighter than before.

****

It is now late August, 1988. I am sitting at the Harrisburg airport with Sarah and my mother- in- law. Sarah is going to London to spend a semester with the Syracuse University program abroad. I am excited for her. Tiger and I are planning on going to see her sometime this fall and she promises that she’ll be home after Christmas, before the start of second semester. She’ll have so many stories to tell us then and I can’t imagine Christmas without her. Going home, I feel the silence in the house. David is God knows where and Karen is in Boston. Tiger is traveling. All I have are the dogs. Christmas is only three months away and the house will be filled with laughter and joy. Three months is not a long time to wait to have most of the family together again.

Sarah has been gone now for a month and I get a letter saying how much she loves it there. With our permission, she has decided to stay for another semester. I am not happy with this turn of events but we gave her roots to grow and wings to fly. She is surely going to fly when she is in London.

Now it is December 21, the longest night of the year. Karen will be home tonight and Tiger and I are sipping a glass of wine when the phone rings. It’s my friend, Anne telling me there has been a plane crash over Lockerbie Scotland and there are no survivors. I wonder for a minute why she is telling me this when she suddenly says “Many of the passengers on board were from the Syracuse program abroad.”

Sarah is safe. I know she is….or is she? I start to worry. What if she decided not to travel and to come home to surprise us? I can’t get this thought out of my mind. By the time we pick up Karen from the airport, I am consumed with fear. The first words out of my mouth are “Was Sarah on that plane.?“ I knew Sarah would tell Karen if she was going to surprise us.

Karen didn’t know the answer. Suddenly I can’t believe that I didn’t greet her with a hug and kiss. After all she is my daughter too and I am overjoyed to see her.

We spend the night hoping, praying that Sarah is safe and not knowing. I toss and turn all night. It is the morning of December 22. The phone rings and I’m afraid to pick it up. Sarah is on the phone, calling from a distant phone booth someplace in Europe. We both start to cry knowing that had she not decided to travel over the holidays, she would have been on the plane that exploded. That was the flight that carried the students she had traveled with on her way to London. I thanked God that she was safe because of the choice she had made.

Sometimes I wonder if Sarah had a guardian angel watching over her. The choices she made changed her life forever and I am so grateful that the decisions she made were the right ones for her.

My Choice

“Mom, how did you improve your posture?”, my eldest daughter asked me last week. I looked at her and smiled, questioning, “Did I improve my posture?”. She said, “I don’t know, but I know you have tried over the years; improving my posture is my New year’s resolution.” “Oh,” I said, slightly chuckling to myself. For over 38 years I have been trying to improve my rounded shoulders, a bad habit, that I may have started because of a choice I made.

When I was eleven, my pediatrician discovered I had scoliosis; this is a medical condition in which a person’s spine curves sideways. Often people with scoliosis are put in a back brace. My parents took me to an orthopedic surgeon who did not feel that the curve in my spine was significant enough for me to wear a brace. Over the next three years I went to a few different doctors about my scoliosis. By February of 1983, when I was 3 months shy of my 15th birthday, I was told I would definitely have to wear a back brace and possibly have an operation.

The last doctor we went to, Dr. Harrison, recommended two methods for straightening my spine. The method he felt would be most effective was a spinal fusion; a stainless steel rod would be placed along my spine and fuse my spine in a straighter position. If I chose the spinal fusion with the Harrington rod, I would be in the hospital for ten days, wear a back brace for three months, and be out of all sports for six to ten months.

The second method Dr. Harrison recommended was a Milwaukee Brace. This brace would extend from my hips to my chest, with a neck brace that would extend up the back brace (think of the girl that Joan Cusak played in Sixteen Candles). There was one catch to the second method : I would have to wear the brace for four years. At the end of the four years of wearing the Milwaukee brace, there was a good possibility I might still need an operation.

My parents allowed me to make the choice between the two methods. In 9th grade, this was the hardest decision I had ever made. Giving me the ability to make my own decision was a very empowering gift. I chose the surgery.

On August 17, 1983 I had the surgery to correct my spine. I am told I was in a lot of pain. I remember none it, except when the nurses stood me up for the first time, and also when I was sick on the morphine I was given for pain. After eight days in the hospital, my back brace was put on. I went home the next day.

I wore the back brace for three months. I think this was the hardest part of the whole process. Having always been a stomach sleeper, I had a hard time sleeping for the first few weeks. The brace, made of leather and steel made my body immobile from under my arms to my hips. the only part of my torso I could relax were my shoulders, thus creating a very bad habit that I am still trying to break.

“My Cage”
This is the back brace I wore for three months

Unfortunately, the brace was screwed on. I, who was used to taking one to two showers daily, was limited to one shower a week. Every weekend, my father would unscrew the brace, and I was allowed out of it for one hour. I was very fortunate because many people (at the time) who had my type of surgery were not able to have their back braces off for showers. Some people had to wear their brace for six months.

Having been a competitive swimmer from age six to age fourteen, I was not used to being inactive. After the surgery, I was not able to do any physical activity, except walking, until February 1984. At that point Dr. Harrison said I would be able to ride a bike and swim, but “I was not to get too tired”. By June, a month after my 16th birthday, I was given the go ahead participate in everything I enjoyed.

I will never regret the decision I made. Having been given permission to make my own choice helped me grow into the person I have become.