61 2x. American Folk Hero: it’s Paul Bunyan, Johnny Appleseed…and Gabby!

See? I told you I had a lot of hair in the hospital. There was so much hair I had bad dreams about all the strange braiding and pig-tailing that was going on.

I saw a recent Time Magazine cover w/ Gabby Giffords on it and she has a lovely mid-length halo of blonde/honey-colored curls (the photo was b/w so I can’t be sure of the color).  Her hair has grown back so nicely, although it was also very pretty when it was in the “pixie” stage.  Growing hair takes time, and the fact that GG no longer has the close-cropped hair that marks a brain injury patient is a reason to celebrate.  

FYI, My family/friends didn’t know what to expect when they first saw me in the hospital – would my hair be all gone?  No, they only shaved the back/left side.  It took about a year for it to grow out.  But when we first got home I tried to get Mommy and my sisters to shave my head entirely.  I thought it would be easier for Mommy while I recovered, and I fully intended to go to Africa, so I thought it would be easy for me to deal with there, too.  While I was visiting, JCJ pointed out the salon I could go to to get my hair done.  It was unfortunately named, “The Raccoon.”  I don’t like raccoons and opted to shave my head instead.  Mommy/my sisters refused to oblige and now my window of opportunity (for credibly short hair) is closed.

A few weeks ago I heard on the radio (we listen to WTOP in the car) that former Congresswoman Gabby Giffords was going to appear in court at the sentencing of the man who shot up a supermarket in Arizona, debilitating her and killing several others. Her husband, Mark Kelly, read a statement for the both of them.  I forget the bulk of what he said, but what is seared in my memory is that he told the shooter, After this day we’re never going to think of you again.

Ooooh, I thought.  How cutting.  That was a real zinger.  Because I suppose the primary driver for anyone to do such a heinously violent thing would be to gain significance, even if it’s infamy.  But it didn’t work.  That man was willing to kill people to make the world notice, but I can’t even remember his name. His actions elevated Gabby Giffords from “Extremely Accomplished Woman” to “American Folk Hero,” but he’s just “that guy at the supermarket.”

That man altered the course of her life, but what people focus on is not what he did, but how she responded to it.  I saw an episode of 20/20 about her and I cried my eyes out when she cried out of frustration during Therapy.  It was looking a little too familiar.  But she’s moving and speaking really well right now, and my other takeaway from the show was that she appears to have selected a real winner as a partner in the race of life in Cmmdr. Kelly.  Meanwhile, as the world waits to see what she’s going to do next as she continues on the upward trajectory of recovery, the chapter is closed on the man who shot her at point blank range.  I can’t even remember what his sentence was.

On to happier thoughts:  It’s part of the human experience to search for significance.  Some people are so desperate that they embrace violence in order to get people to notice them.  This is wholly unnecessary, though, since everyone matters to God.  One way parents teach their kids about this is the simple celebration of significance known as The Birthday Party.

Ezra had his 3^rd birthday bash this weekend.  His actual birthday is a little later on, but I’m glad we celebrated early so he got a special day that was not mixed up with the arrival of his little brother.  We celebrated with a bunch of his friends by taking a train ride.  All of my PT experience culminated in my ability to get myself into and out of the little red caboose.  We should have taken pictures, but we didn’t, since my family was busy spotting me as I climbed the big ladder/steps.   But it was entertaining, I assure you.

Ezzie was a little nervous at first and parked himself next to Grammo (Mommy) and looked out the window.  He felt a little better when it was lunchtime and Ruth came to ask him about his menu selection.   Then Ernie took him “upstairs” to the little cubby where there is a small bench and a window.    Big sister Karine was immediately comfortable in these little cubbies but Ez needed some warm up time.  He later sat there and ate a special dinosaur cookie with Grampo (Dad).  I think the time with Ernie and Dad sealed the deal for him and made Ezra comfortable in his train ride party.  By the time Ruthie lit the candles on his celebratory cupcake, he was smiling.

I was so pleased to be able to join the party on the train.  It was a little rustic but a fun experience, and after all, you only turn 3 once.  I am so glad we were able to make a special day just for “my son,” since we will all be bustling around a new baby soon.  But that day, with the juice boxes, “Tommy Choo Choo” napkins and dairy-free cupcakes was all for Ezra since that boy is hugely significant in our lives and we wanted to celebrate it.

81 2x. Blue Pools of Serenity

Here’s another Business School pic – this is Je’s handwriting (isn’t it nice?) I think she scanned part of our group homework from one of Prof. H‘s quant-heavy marketing classes, and we were fortunate to also snag E|B, [I] and MT to work with us. We were happy to finally all get placed in the same section since that meant [I] could join our group. If he was appalled by our antics during working sessions he hid it well. 🙂

I just got an email via my website from my friend, [I], from Business School. I was so pleased to hear from him – he’s the one who originally told me about the accessibility options on the computer. I was also corresponding with him right before I went to Africa. I think the last email I wrote him was about me wanting to go and visit. And he was like, [blink], yeah, maybe it would be good to go check it out before packing up and moving. He was in my cohort – or maybe we just met in our electives – but [I] was definitely in my speech class and it was his responsibility to provide the peer-critique write-up we all had to do for our partners. This was the speech he was assigned to critique.

I was lamenting my lack of stamina a couple of weeks ago when my family was all gathered at E&R’s house. Ai Ai was washing dishes and she turned around to tell me not to be discouraged. After all, she pointed out, You’ve always been kind of sleepy. It’s part of being a Tan, she continued – sometimes we just need to go lie down.

I had to agree. When Hannah was a toddler and I was supposed to be babysitting I’d invariably fall asleep on the sofa and Hannah would come over and tell me, “Aunty Ning Ning – wake up!” So sleepiness is not unfamiliar territory for me, although I seem to be exploring it at new levels now.

The first speech I gave in my Management Communication class was on how to handle a job fair if you’re an introvert. If you have never been to a job fair, let me explain. They were these crazy events we all felt obliged to attend during Business School if we ever wanted to be employed. A bzillion people would usually be in attendance and I’d stand there, appropriately suited up and with my nametag fastened to my lapel, tentatively handing out cards asking, You wanna give me a job? How ‘bout you? This kind of event was horrifying to me but as I said, I felt obliged to go to job fairs so I could eventually be employed. (Side note: I did get my job through a fair. Intel saw my resume posted on a preview site and they called me before the fair to say “hi.” I dutifully haunted their booth at the fair the next day and met every last one of the staffers there.)

I began my speech by identifying the problem: energy depletion. My class was populated by a mix of personality types so I explained what it’s like to be an introvert so we were all on the same page. I showed them my faux “graph” (see picture above) and told them to imagine that I went to the Winter Formal and one of our classmates (a known extrovert who obligingly let me use him as an example) attended the same event. We both arrived at 8pm (time is on the x-axis) but whereas my classmate’s energy levels grew throughout the evening as he interacted with others, mine declined. By 9pm my contacts would have dried out and by midnight it would be time for me to turn into a pumpkin.

Now the timeline has moved up by about 3-5 hours, but the problem is largely the same. So is the solution:

I asked my classmates to imagine that they now had to attend a Career Fair that started at 8am. The key was to carve out times in your schedule where you could go “hide” from the public and recharge. I told them to think of those big blue arrows as “blue pools of serenity.” I was completely serious. That’s exactly what I used to do – take a time out in the coffee shop, go wash my hands in the Ladies’, look out the window in a quiet hallway – anything for a few minutes of solitude. My friend E|B, who “drove” my slides for me that day, once caught me hiding in the computer lab during a networking event. We both laughed hard at catching each other trying to do the same thing.

These days I’ve been trying to protect my energy even more fiercely than before. The problem is that my desire to be laughing/eating/talking with my friends is also stronger than ever. For instance, today is a special day – J==>G is holding a housewarming party. I was so pleased to learn of this gathering but decided that the prudent thing to do was to spend a quiet day at home. I have found that if I have too much fun on Friday or Saturday then Sunday is really hard. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there. Instead of sending George, my social proxy, I’ve asked K to keep her sense of good décor on alert so she can help me choose something appropriate to make J==>G’s house into a home.

Update:  I based the ideas for my introvert at a job fair presentation on a book introduced to me by my career advisor.  (The faux graphs are originals by me from my school archive.) It’s called The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney.  I recalled this after some people told me that those concepts resonated with them.  It feels like I’ve thought like this all along since I read the book a few years ago and immediately recognized how I’m wired in its pages.  I remembered, though, that those ideas were actually external so I wanted to acknowledge that.

18 x2. Dad, tell me that thing again…

The “Spine Place” at Planet Rehab – note the fun spine artwork.

Update 2.26:  I had to post this one again since it makes me laugh SO hard!  I’m so naughty – but no one knew – not even Mommy.  But it all came out when I got sick!  Last Tuesday after PT I automatically walked back to the pool, got changed and showered etc, and when Leo the Cane and I appeared poolside I found out I didn’t even have Pool Therapy that day!  P(38) was so nice, though (of course).  I was like, “Maybe I should start looking at my schedule.”

At RIO (3rd Hospital, aka Therapy Boot Camp), I would just sit in my chair and wait for someone to come get me if I had a treatment session.  It happened several times that I had been dropped off in my room by the previous therapist and I was just hanging around or whatever, and an aide/tech would walk in and tell me I had Occupational or something, so off we’d go!  One morning Mommy came to find me in the gym downstairs and told me, “I found new evidence of your naughtiness.”  “What?” I queried interestedly.  And she just handed me the crumpled up schedule I had received that morning.  “I found it under your bed,” she informed me.  I explained to her that I was having trouble with my eyes and I didn’t want to try hard to read the schedule anyway, since I dreaded all the double-headers listed on it, and I had tried to carry the schedule with me, but didn’t know how.  I often stuffed paper under my right leg but it often (like my schedule that morning) flew off of my chair and ended up in weird places (like under my bed).  

Even though my discarding of the schedule was unintentional, that’s still one of my favorite stories since I only wish I had the motor skills etc. to do such a thing at the time.  I protested loudly in my head, though.   

***********************

I went for a nice walk with PT37 in the Therapeutic Garden at Planet Rehab on Thursday.  Leo the Cane stayed behind in the gym since one of my goals is to walk sans assistive device, so we’re practicing.  Now I know I said it was a goal but I kind of assumed we were going to work up to it.  Mommy, however, has allied herself with PT37 and now just hands her Leo when we meet in the waiting room before Therapy.  Anyway, the weather was so beautiful and there were nice long pathways that were also wide – perfect for fitting a wheelchair or two people (one with an abnormally wide stance, like me).  After a long downward slope we came to an outdoor staircase.  It was actually more like 4 mini-flights and PT37 just said three words:  “Up the middle.”  I tried to hide my horror, but I think she sensed it since she assured me that she was right beside me, and I could feel her holding the gait belt firmly in back of me, so there really was nothing for me to do except follow instructions.

If I ever hesitated at The Place I’d hear PT6 start talking and I’d look at him out of the corner of my eye since turning my head entirely is risky in that if I’m not looking where I’m going the likelihood of falling increases exponentially.  “I’m still with you,” he’d say, or some variation thereof, but the rough translation was always, “Get a move on because I won’t let you fall.”  I could usually sense the couple of fingers PT6 kept on the back of my gait belt, but if I couldn’t I’d peer into any reflective surface we passed to verify his location.

I once heard OT6 coaxing a patient out of his wheelchair.  His session was after mine and I could see what was going on from my vantage point on the recumbent bike.  He was sitting back in his chair, refusing to budge, and OT6 told him with great conviction, “I promise:  I will not let you fall.”  I think twenty years of experience lent her voice credibility and pretty soon that man was out of his chair, pushing that giant shopping cart across the gym like I used to do.

So the promise of fall-prevention, or just the mere knowledge that a licensed professional is standing next to me has been enough to get me to do all sorts of things in Therapy I’d never do otherwise.  This pattern became more prevalent when I became an outpatient.  As an inpatient I think fall-prevention was more implied than spoken, plus I didn’t really care at that point – I just did as I was told.   We were busy doing things like sitting, standing, and steering a walker while keeping it on the floor, so the risk factor was lower in general.  When I returned to Therapy at The New Place in August one of the evaluation tasks was a “Dynamic Gait Test.”  This included walking and then turning my head left/right/up/down when PT30 said so.  When she explained the instructions to me my face must have been like, Ummm…I think you’re insane – because PT29 immediately put her clipboard down and told me she’d hold my belt while I did this.  That was all I needed to hear, and I immediately focused on walking down the hall without any further ado.

I haven’t felt fear like what I felt about learning how to walk, or how to climb stairs without holding on to anything, since I woke up in the 2^nd Hospital.  I wasn’t lucid at that point and I had no recollection of Mommy telling me what happened for the past month+ so when I woke up I was really confused.  I was so scared I’d say anything to delay my parents’ departure for the night.  Once I said, “Dad, tell me that thing again about ‘Immanuel, God with us.’”  I knew Dad had been enjoying a meditation on this subject and had shared it with me the day before in an attempt to show me how I didn’t need to be afraid.  Tanpo drew a chair up to my bedside and settled in and I triumphantly rested in the fact that I had gained an extra 10-15 minutes.  (Side note:  Mom says she had no idea how naughty I was until I got sick.  I’ve always known my capacity for naughtiness.  I think it took some skill to hide it from my own mother for 30 years!)

Now that I’ve moved beyond that early stage of fear and disorientation I’ve realized that aloneness is still an anxiety-trigger for me, but knowing someone’s got your back is a powerful antidote.  If I ever lift the curtain (even just a little) on how painful it is for me to watch life pass me by while I clutch my stuffed horse (no offense, Ed), even the people nearest to my heart don’t know what to say.  I don’t blame them at all – I certainly wouldn’t know what to say, and I’m not sure if there’s anything really to be said in a situation like this.  I’m just grateful for their presence and their willingness to play my game of, “Let’s pretend nothing happened!”  So yes, this situation has been incredibly isolating, but I just have to remind myself that I’m not alone.

Matthew 28.20 “…and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

 

Photo of the day:  Joshie’s first haircut.  He wasn’t quite talking yet, but that day he was yelling, “All done!!” with extreme clarity. (That’s how I felt during most of my inpatient life…and some of my outpatient life, too.) His barber worked very fast and the trauma was over lickety split.  

31 2x. It’s Monday Morning!…Meeting Rules

Today is Monday and I’m going on vacation.  I know, I know – it’s the start of a new work week, so why am I taking a vacation?  Because my weekend was way too much fun and I’m all kinds of tuckered out.  Now you might not be tired, but it takes a lot more energy to just sit in a chair now than it used to, so I’m not too surprised that my resting heart rate is higher than the norm.  Did you see me on the balance board – the picture or the video?  I realized it seems that there’s not much going on as I teeter desperately, trying to find midline.  But the thing is that I was exhausted after trying to balance for a few minutes.  I’ve been kind of tired for a while now – a couple of weeks ago M(37) felt so sorry for me at PT that she let me lie down (briefly)!  It was a dream come true.  FYI the only time I ever got to lie down at The Place was when A(6) made me practice floor transfers (when you pretend like you fell on the ground and then use the nearest chair to get up).

The frustrating thing is that I’ve got lots of posts swimming around in my head, but getting my ideas translated into an electronic format that’s bloggable is too much for me to handle right now.  This is what I mean when I say I’m cognitively intact but physically impaired – the disparity between what I want to do and what I am physically able to do is ridiculous to me, but this sort of thing is not like a cold that you can just “muscle-through” and do what you need to do.  

So I decided to re-post some posts that you might have not seen yet, but that I thoroughly enjoy and want you to enjoy, too.  Meanwhile, I’m going to go put my game face on so I can go to acupuncture and VT.   Happy Monday!

This is the picture I originally intended to pair with 101. I eating chicken!  but I forgot.  I still wanted to share it since it makes me laugh.  Note Ezra’s double-fist nugget technique.  To view the pictures that actually go with this post, click here.  

Since OD3 instructed me to drink oodles and oodles of water I’ve become more thirsty, so I usually take a water break during the first meeting on Sunday morning, sit in the foyer for a few minutes and sip my travel mug of warm water.  I refuse to drink in the auditorium where the Lord’s Supper is going on since I got in big trouble when I was 4 for eating cookies during meeting.  (FYI to “go to meeting” is short-hand speak for attending a church service.)  I already wear sneakers and sit in the baby row at church – I’m not going to rock the boat by adding an eating/drinking infraction to the list.

It’s funny how the rules we grow up with stay with us as adults.  If I had a family I’m sure I’d make my children practice some of these behaviors, but I don’t so it’s up to my siblings to inform the next generation…Lemme know how that goes, guys :).   Example:   We grew up with a very healthy and serious respect for the Word of God.  I read an old storybook as a child that indicates this kind of respect was actually more common in America’s younger years, but regardless of the date, solicitousness for the leather-bound volume with the mix of black and red words in it was always (and emphatically) observed by our family.  Specifically, you never rested a Bible on the floor at our house.  To do so was unthinkable. And if you put your Bible on the coffee table thinking that was a safe place, think again.  The coffee table is also a common place for people to rest their feet, so we were very careful to put our Bibles on the far end of the table if we rested them there at all.

My sister told me once about a conversation she had with Hannah when she was just a baby.  They were rehearsing the “Meeting Rules,” and Hannah would lisp things like, “We use our inside voices to whisper during meeting,” but my favorite was, “We do not run away during meeting.”  Running away appeared to have been an issue.

There are also rules kids learn regardless of environment.  Think, “Stop, Drop & Roll” or “Don’t talk to strangers.”  Since it’s Monday morning and most of you are rushing off to work I’ve been thinking of the time I broke the “Don’t talk to strangers” rule when I first started working.  This story has also been referred to as the time “I gave a homeless man my umbrella but made him give it back,” (thanks, J :)) so I would like to elaborate further on the circumstances of that incident.

His name was Robert.  I used to ride the Metro to Farragut North before I started driving downtown, and Robert was there almost every morning, sitting in his wheelchair.  He was not panhandling or anything – he just sat in his chair and greeted the hoards of people stalking by with a very courteous “Good morning.”  At that time I was still adjusting from the freedom of my student/unemployed person’s schedule to having to show up in an office all day every day, and Robert’s morning greeting was a welcome salve in two little words.

He was so nice I broke the talking to strangers rule and we struck up a friendship.  He called me “Nina” and I went with it.  Pretty soon Mom would slip a bag of cookies or something into my purse and say “for Robert,” as she sent me out the door.  Other times I’d grab a banana for him.  When I gave him these things he’d thank me and slip them into the prosthetic leg that was unattached to him and just sitting by his wheelchair,  “Savin’ that for later, huh, Robert?” I’d say.

One day it was snowing and as I stepped off the escalator I immediately noticed that Robert was sitting in his usual spot, utterly exposed to the elements, greeting people in the same calm and kind voice.  “Robert, you don’t have an umbrella!” I observed lamely.  “Well now, no I don’t,” he observed mildly.  “Here, take mine,” I told him, and held out my umbrella in front of his face so he didn’t have much of a choice but to take it.

I had no idea then what being in a wheelchair was like, but anyone could see that to sit in a chair and get snowed on is an unpleasant experience.  If your chair is manual, you need both hands to “drive,” but if it’s stationary you can use one hand to hold an umbrella.  This appeared to be a good option to me since I had the freedom of hustling down K Street to my dry and warm office building, but Robert didn’t.

There was one hitch in my plan, though, so I told my dilemma to Robert.  I had already lost 2 umbrellas that week, and Mommy would NOT be pleased if I lost yet another, so I told Robert I needed this one back.  He readily consented, and the next time I saw him – it was a nice sunny day – he had the umbrella resting beside him and eagerly gave it back to me so I wouldn’t get in trouble.  Let the record show that I gave him a little travel umbrella I had purchased myself and was free to give away, in exchange.  Let the record also show that Robert kept his promise, and I respect that.

So as you head off to face a new work week I hope this story made you laugh.  Even if it didn’t let me take a page from Robert’s book and wish you a “Good morning!”

114. PBBCC Quinoa/Oatmeal

I had Friday morning “off” so I took the opportunity to make something nice for breakfast.  Now, my “nice” may not be your “nice.”  It’s like how I wrote to A (PT6) after we both left The Place so I scribbled a note saying congratulations on the new gig, thanks for teaching me how to walk, and BTW, your “seconds” (e.g. do X and hold that position for 30 sec) are longer than normal people seconds.  I just thought he should be aware.  The discrepancy only occurred when he was not looking at his watch or the clock.  Okay, fine – maybe the discrepancy was only in my head.  But still.

Anyhoo, I think this baked quinoa/oatmeal is delicious.  But then again, I’m me.  I also think the chocolate chia pudding waiting for me downstairs is delicious.  I’ll subject you to that another time.  But now, it’s time for PBCC Quoatmeal.

Note:  This recipe was based on Chocolate Covered Katie’s Boatmeal.  Also, I often do not measure since I’d rather eyeball it than walk around more and get the appropriate instruments, so I apologize for my vague “spoonfuls” etc. in advance.  FYI, “PBBCC” = peanut butter, banana, chocolate chip.

Baked PBBCC Quinoa Oatmeal 

serves 1

Preheat Oven to 375; Grease ramekin(s) – I used 2 silicon muffin things, a mini loaf pan, anything small and oven safe

• 1/4 c rolled oats (uncooked)
• 1/4 c quinoa (cooked – Mommy makes a bunch in the rice cooker and keeps it in the fridge for me)
• handfull of chocolate chips
• 1/2 a banana
• 1/4 c coconut milk (I had this on hand, and I wanted to include the fat content therein, but you could use whatever you like)
• splash of vanilla
• pinch of salt
• 1 spoonful of PB2, or you could try regular peanut butter
• 1 spoonful of stevia
• sprinkle of cinnamon

Blend everything except the quinoa, oatmeal and chocolate chips.  I used the immersion blender, but you could try just mashing up the banana and stirring everything vigorously.  Add in the quinoa, oatmeal and chocolate chips and stir until combined.  Pour into your baking dish and bake at 375 for 20 minutes.  Then broil for an additional 3-5 minutes until it’s as brown as you like.

Enjoy your breakfast!

2 Things…

 

2 things I forgot to say this morning:

1) I was going to ask for more “Learning How… to [fill in the blank]” suggestions on FB, but only needed one – D’s suggestion of “Learning How to Hope.”  I don’t think anyone’s going to top this one – it is independent of my circumstances, and fits in with the parts I’ve already written in my head.  Thanks, D!  Now I just have to wait for the plot to thicken circumstantially.

2) A couple friends have asked, and I’m sure more have wondered, what “Po Fro” means.  “Po” is short for “poor.” Obviously, I am “poor and needy,” but my family actually started calling me “Po(or)” since I had some cash flow issues as a student and pathetic things have often happened to me – e.g. one day as an undergrad I was walking to class on a path lined with lovely trees.  At that exact moment, a squirrel in one of those trees chose the second I was walking underneath to relieve himself.  YUCK.  “Fro” is short for “friend” – I think, I’m not sure.  I’ll have to ask Boo Boo.  It also rhymes with “Po” like “fro yo.”

My dizziness is bothering me today, so I’m going to go relax now.  Tomorrow is correspondence day!  Goodnight :).

Ed says, “Does this thing go any faster?…”

“…because I have a need for speed.”

This is Ed riding in Jack, my transport chair.  Joe Joe is “pushing” it.  Joe Joe is my “Tackle Buddy” – he’s the boppy doll I hit while riding on my recumbent bike.  He is named for Joe Theismann and Joe Gibbs, and also the name of those fabulous chocolate-covered peppermint cookies TJ’s sells during Christmas.  I just remembered – they called french fries “Joe Joes” at RIO.

113. Going Backwards

This is me at the Ortho Doctor’s Office. I tend to look away from the camera bc of the crooked smirk (facial weakness).

On one of my first PT sessions at The Place, I met A (PT6) and T(7, his equally hardcore intern). I think Mom took this picture on that day. I was in the parallel bars and T said, Okay, now walk backwards. I was like, “For real?” That was my way of saying, “I’m scared.” But A and T were quite serious about walking backwards and I was allowed to hold on to the bars without restriction – it was just that I had never done such a thing, so I was nervous. I mean, I could barely walk forward in the bars, and now T was casually mentioning walking backwards like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I am much more comfortable walking backwards now. I never thought about it, but I take a few backwards steps all the time, e.g. When taking something out of the fridge and moving to put it down on the counter behind me, or to get in position to talk to someone. I am still very uncomfortable when I hear of other people moving backwards, though.

When I got discharged from The Place, A told me to come back if things got easier or harder. When he told me this, I informed him that “regression is not an option” and I fully intended to return under circumstances that were favorable to my recovery.

That’s not how things panned out. Things got both better (I could walk faster) and worse (my left leg’s condition went downhill). I couldn’t go back to Therapy since it was all I could manage to limp to all my appointments as I called in the cavalry to examine my leg. I got the whole enchilada – poked, scanned, shocked, etc. but the consensus was that my left leg was perfectly sound. I accepted this pronouncement as code for “get used to it.”

I was incredibly frustrated, though, because I was being confronted with yet another path I had not chosen to take. There’s a saying that “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” – but this was not true in my case. I’ve got plenty of will(fullness), and a lot of faith – I fully expected overnight healing and used to put my hand out every morning to check if the tremor was still there when we first came home. But it does not appear to be God’s will to heal me like I know He can. And that’s true for a lot of people.

I’ve come to terms (sort of – I actually choose to be okay with it several times a day) with my own condition, but am truly grieved when I learn of others who are impaired and especially if their condition worsens. My own experience with “worsening” was relatively mild – and I am privileged to refer to it in the past tense. But it made me more conscious of just how hard it can be to do everyday things sometimes (e.g. I drank as little as possible for a while since I was afraid of walking to the bathroom), and acknowledge the fact that while I thought I had already lost a lot, it was possible to lose more.

My sadness found an outlet in the 2^nd part of my “Memoirs.” To clarify: Volume 1 is comprised of 2 parts: 1)LH to Walk, and 2) LH to Wait. I would love to write Volume 2, but I have to get better and wait for more stuff to happen. If you have any suggestions on the title of the next installments, I’d love to hear them: e.g. “Learning How…to [fill in the blank].” Meanwhile, here’s a relevant excerpt:

The last part of Learning How to Wait:

…This whole thing was a game-changer for me. I understand that life goes on, and people keep on living and working while I’m relegated to the sideline, but getting sick meant everything to me, and there have been moments when I’ve really wondered whether or not I was going to make it. I really didn’t want to write this installment as “Learning How to Wait.” I was hoping to write “Learning How to Run” or “Learning How to Wear Very High Heels.” I have been advised, though, that it would probably be good to learn how to walk better first, so I guess I’ll prioritize working on that. This story isn’t over yet, though, so stay tuned.

FYI, I think if the Lord has given you a really tough situation, it’s up to Him to give you the grace to handle it, and also up to Him to work out all of the attendant logistics. At least that’s the understanding I’m working on. Also, let me just say again that waiting is something the scriptures never apologize for. Yes, it makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t see the whole picture, and I’m not the one in charge anyway. All I need to know is that I (and everyone else who is waiting on Him while going through some tough circumstances) will not be disappointed.

Psalm 34.5 “They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces were not ashamed.”

221. Radiant – click for free printable

112. I’m not hating…

I took this picture at the 2010 Labor Day Conference. I had taken the red-eye from Portland to DC so I could have a long talk with Mom and Dad about going to visit Africa. We then drove to the conference. As soon as I was alone with either sibling, they were like, So…what happened? <inquiring minds want to know>

“Hate” is a strong word. It is actually on the list of words my sister’s family does not use (incl. “ugly” and “fat”) since the idea is that whatever you’re saying should not require the use of a word like that, ever. Well, I’m using it in the modern vernacular, e.g., “Don’t be a hater.”

We had a mini family reunion at the GWH Labor Day Conference and we were very pleased to see each other and the kids were especially happy to be together. One day at lunch I was sitting next to my sister and I was like, Ai Ai, why is it that [a couple of our old friends] actually look younger and fitter than when we met them like 15+ years ago? “I’m not hating,” I added quickly. “Oh, no,” Ai Ai confirmed that she hadn’t thought I was doing such a thing, “You’re just observing.” Mmm hmm. Younger. And fitter. And I think they’ve had kids (plural) in the interim.

Sigh. I do not look younger or fitter. But the twinge of regret I feel is not the sort of caustic envy that would suck the life out of me. It’s the same longing I feel for the kind of life that isn’t mine right now. Although I am imperfectly happy for others at this point, I do try to be an encourager as I can. One of my favorite examples of this is something that happened at the end of my inpatient career.

There are certain stories I liked to tell people when I first got home, and many of these stories have made it into my “Memoirs” and I don’t mention them here. I know what you’re thinking – she has more to say? I know – it surprises me too. Anyway, this story is NOT one of my standard tales. I don’t talk about it because every time I think about it I still cry, but I’m trying to toughen up so I’m going to write about it now.

At RIO (3^rd Hospital) they had something called “gym rounds” – it’s when you’d go to PT and your doctor would come observe for a few minutes to see how you were doing. I was ready to be discharged in a few days, so my entire team gathered for my final “gym rounds” to look at how I was moving and make sure they all agreed I was ready to fly home. I was sitting in the waiting area with C (OT3)*, waiting for my turn. She took the opportunity to clean my glasses for me since we had a couple of minutes. The talk turned to goals.

I told her I wanted to be able to stand at the sink and wash my face. I thought the ability to do this would mean less work for Mommy since I never used a washcloth in my old life, and needed Mommy’s help to wash my face now, or at least I produced a lot of laundry with my new washcloth technique. I also told C that I wanted to walk.

At that point, a man came out of the small gym. He was walking with his red rollator and proving he was fit to go home. I recognized his face from my time in the waiting area over the previous month and had heard he was getting ready to be discharged. He was walking really well, and I gestured to him, telling C, “Look at that guy – he’s cruising.” And then I addressed him directly: “Way to go, buddy.”

After a minute, he passed by close enough for me to tell him, “Have fun at home.” I didn’t think he heard me, but I was mistaken. He locked his walker (which you’re always supposed to do if you stop moving, FYI) and came over to give me a hug. “I’m going to miss you,” he said. That was the one and only time I cried openly in front of my team. S (ST2) brought me a tissue.

I cried because I didn’t/don’t even know his name. But he was nice to me, and I really needed some kindness right then. He was uniformly nice throughout my stay at RIO – so nice that I thought his pleasant demeanor was evidence of the non-reality of the entire scenario since No one’s that nice. Well, he was, and I’m glad I got a little word of encouragement in before he gave me one of the best memories I’ll ever have.

*Note: As part of my effort to toughen up, I’m taking a break from the numbering system. For the record, we’re around 46 or 47, but I can’t quite remember, which is another good reason to take a break.

111. “Hi, Po Fro!”

This summer I ventured into the pool at Ai Ai and Tim’s house. I was minding my own business, hanging on to a fun noodle per my sister’s instructions, and my niece Hannah popped up from out of nowhere and chirped, “Hi, Po Fro!” (“Po Fro” is one of my nicknames.) Ai Ai heard this and said, “That’s Aunty Po Fro, to you!” Karine just came to visit me and said, “Hi, Po Fro,” as she walked in. I feel like we have passed a significant milestone – akin to but obviously not as distressing as when your child stops calling you “Mommy” and just says, “Mom.” Or when your child refuses to hold hands in public with you anymore. Has this happened to you?

The reverse has happened to my parents. I cannot recall referring to them as “Mommy” and “Daddy” when I was a child, but ever since I was well enough to talk after my injury, I have consistently referred to them with “y’s.” I also hold hands with them whenever we’re in public, and sometimes when we’re just at home. The only person to refuse holding hands with me is PT37, on the day we walked in the Therapeutic Garden. I had never walked outside without Leo the Cane, so we went for a stroll (no hand-holding allowed; she just kept tabs on my gait belt). BTW, I’m looking forward to warmer weather since we’ll be able to go on more garden strolls.

Do you remember when I said I can’t really help people anymore? Well, we passed a significant milestone last week. There was a gentleman who was very brave and went to his first session of Pool Therapy. It was a real effort for him to move around with his walker, but he managed to go change and do what he needed to do to participate in HydroT. As he was leaving, I was walking to the ladies’ dressing room, which is on the way out, so I was able to open the door for him (via the automatic/handicapped button) and tell him he was doing really well (which he was). When I was moving like that, I was still sitting in a wheelchair most of the time and being rehabilitated under protest.

Mommy also told me of another significant occurrence that day. She saw someone walking very slowly with a walker, with someone following close behind with a wheelchair. When I was an inpatient, Mommy almost always followed behind me with the chair if my PT and I attempted any walking. Seeing someone else doing the same thing made her think of all those walks, and all the time that has passed as I’ve healed and gotten better.

For a long time – until around ~5 months ago – I figuratively held my breath while I tried to press my doctors to give me a timeline for recovery. For example, a question I rehearsed mentally but never asked was, “So at what point in time do you become concerned…” I meant to ask if there was a point in recovery when I would have regained whatever I was going to regain. I never asked point blank since I was afraid of hearing the answer. After the 1-year mark I understood that after that point, the bulk of recovery and the most dramatic gains were likely passed, but I decided not to worry about timelines anymore since we’re kind of in “wait-and see” mode. My life has been full of surprises thus far, and I’m okay with not knowing the outcome of all this right now. Don’t get me wrong – I’d LOVE to be privy to certain details, but I’m on a need-to-know basis, and I actually don’t need to know all that stuff about my future.

What I do know, though, is that I have gotten better in the ~22 months that have passed since my brain bled. I also know that it takes guts to get up and out of the house while you lean on your walker when you’re used to wheeling around in a chair. It also takes guts to go anywhere while you’re in a chair, too – e.g. you’re not sure if there will be steps or a ramp, and I can’t tell you how many times I got stuck in my own bathroom since if I didn’t angle my chair just so I couldn’t turn around. Okay, in that last example I didn’t actually go anywhere – I was in my own house…but you can imagine that the fear increased exponentially when we ventured into public. I went home after the 1st meeting at church for a couple of months since I wasn’t sure if my wheelchair would fit into our bathrooms. So to all those people I see at rehab – you have a choice, and you’ve chosen to get up and move when you’d probably prefer to stay in bed (I know I would). My hat’s off to you.