Another Sneak Peek! The Fire I Couldn’t Put Out

Here’s a break from filling your feeds with shopping and gift suggestions, but we’ll be back to that soon.

Last month, I shared a monologue from the crime novel I’m writing. Today, I’m sharing a peek into another project - my memoir about my leg. Kind of weird to put it like that, but it’s about how I got hurt and how I ended up where I am now, and everything in between. Working title is “The Fire I Couldn’t Put Out.”

Without further ado…

I never thought I would want to have my leg amputated. I never thought something like that could even cross my mind, ever, let alone an actual want. 

But a person can only go on living with debilitating, severe pain before they get desperate. And desperate is me. 

All of this started in 2018. To be honest, in some ways, it’s a jumble in my mind. I’ve been told it is a story worth telling. It’s definitely crazy to think about. All I wanted to do was run a half-marathon. It started with a simple goal: Become a better firefighter. To do that, I was focused on improving my cardio fitness. I was struggling with mental health as well, and this was good for me. Running cleared my head. Following a training plan with a specific goal gave me something to work towards. Sure, there were plenty of ways it could go wrong. Setbacks could be expected. 

I so wanted that picture of me at the race’s end, holding the medal. I knew it would be a moment I would never forget.

It never came. It never will come. The 26-year-old who was training for a half-marathon is now a 33-year-old who occasionally uses a cane. I’m no longer a firefighter or EMT.

There are moments I’ll never forget from this. One surgeon who told me, essentially, tough luck and that there was no more he could do. Another doctor who confirmed that it didn’t look like there’d be any way I could go back to firefighting. And the other surgeon who gave me a new diagnosis, said he had a solution, and also told me there was no good reason to run 26 miles. 

The worst part is I don’t think I’ll ever understand how it got this bad. One surgery should’ve corrected it. I had three. And then it got so bad I couldn’t tolerate wearing a shoe. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I crossed one diagnosis into the other. 

What I do know is that there hasn’t been a single day in this decade when I haven’t had leg pain.

All I know is pain.

As bad as it might be to lose my leg, I can’t imagine that it’ll be worse than what I already live with. 

I know it’s crazy. I wish I didn’t have a leg. 

This is my story. It’s not just how it all happened. I’m including blog posts and other writings that have been part of this journey. It’s my hopes, my fears, and my pain. 

I’m always burning.

Ironically, this is the fire I couldn’t put out.

Stay tuned!