Chronic Pain? Redux-it!

     Any of us with chronic pain knows that there is not one "cure all" out there.  We use many different forms of pain relief products to ease our ailments.  

     Rarely do I use prescription medication for reprieve, but sometimes it is just a necessity to stay ahead of the heavy discomfort before it turns to agony.  


 I will never, ever stop using my Medicine Springs Mineral Therapy to soak my arthritic body.  It is good stuff!  This is especially beneficial to me in the cold, winter months when my body seizes up.  A good hot soak in the tub can lighten the aches enough to bring me back from the edge and it's producers are pretty fun folks to be around also!

     Always searching for natural alleviation because I do not want my body riddled with the toxins of other products, I came across this cream on Instagram. Redux-It 
If I may speak honestly, I was pessimistic about trying another cream or ointment.  When you have severe daily pain, you need a product that works and not just claims to work or works on a level of pain that is not the norm.  

     Looking at the ingredients and reviews, I actually approached this company for more information.  They offered to send me a jar for trial.  Not wanting to pass on a product that I hadn't given an adequate amount of time using, I opted to use for an entire month before giving my opinion.  

     I didn't need that long to make a confirmation, but I stuck to my guns to see what extended use would result in.  This is cream is the BOMB!  With any cream, you cannot be stingy with application and follow. the. directions!  

     I did just that and exactly like the Mineral Therapy,
 my face before looked like this : 


and as I felt it's effects work their
magic, my face became a pleasant 
surprise of: Ohhhhhh, that's niiiiicce! 

    It wasn't long before I was back to my old self enough that I could than have an emoji like this:

     I realize I enjoy putting a humorous effect in my writing, but I would never pass on a product to you that I did not believe in or does not work for my situation. 

     Most of you understand how significant the trauma to my body is and the significant amount of pain that I try to decrease on a daily basis, so if I say it works, I truly mean it. 

     I keep a jar of Redux-It in my purse to use in place of popping another pill and obviously I can't just take a bath in Mineral Therapy  salts at one of my kids sporting events, so this is a great alternative to normal toxic pain relievers. 

       Both of these products are not just for health issue pain alleviation.  Use them for soreness from playing sports, working out or if you woke up with a stiff neck or back.  Or like Julie, cut an entire truck load of wood!

Just in time for my blog post, Redux-it is offering a coupon that lasts through Friday! Don't miss out!  If this is ever a time to give a new product a try at a huge discount, this is it.  Click on any of the links in this blog or below to their direct website!

Redux-It Website

Losing Out on Four Years of Front Yard Ball

    Losing and gaining many opportunities during this experience of mine has been ambiguous at times.  I have lost a great amount of my memories over this period of recovery, yet have gained an equally great appreciation of my life because of it.

     Having my physical ability taken away from me has been a vast frustration.  Today's blog is about my son and our lost time together.

     My little man was at the end of his eighth year of life when his sisters and I were hit by a drunk driver.  Still an innocent boy who enjoyed his Mother's company and was invariably thrilled at practicing baseball skills in the front yard with me.

     Late evenings were spent with me throwing the ball any way I could possibly think of for him to catch.  Even more gratifying than that, is if I made him dive or roll in some exaggerated effort and he came up with the ball in his glove and a huge smile on his face.  "Do that again Mom, that was awesome!"

     Then came hitting practice with baseballs hit over the fence into the cow pasture.  At that time I could roll under the barbed wire with him to retrieve those symbols of an American past time.  Today I have no problem falling down, but it takes a considerable amount of time and a crane to return to a standing position.  
 
     For one season, he was obsessed with Albert Pujols batting stance.   Drove me nuts!   That extra wide squat was ridiculous, but I pitched relentlessly until that phase passed. 

     During my second summer of recovery, I stood on my front lawn in a desperate attempt to gain some of that cherished time with my ball player.  Wearing shin guards and a leather glove, I stood for four-six minutes at a time, tossing the ball back and forth with my beaming offspring.  Not being able to move in any direction made him fantastic at throwing the ball at my chest every single time.  But it just wasn't feasible to continue.  Too much pain, continuously stopping so I could take a break, I think I was more frustrated than he was.

     I followed him from game to game with a blue walker that had a Yamaha sticker on the front.  Equipped with wheels and a seat, either him or his sister would end up rolling me to our next location. 

     The pain and swelling of my legs was relentless those first two years.  I napped and iced my ankles between games, but never missed an opportunity to watch my son's passion for running those bases.

     Never had I been so indebted for still being alive to enjoy the simplicity of a hot day in the stands, cheering til my throat was hoarse and excitedly going over in detail every play my now nine year old boy relived.  

     Now that I am speaking publicly about many of those struggles, every now and then I get caught with a question that causes my throat to become swollen with emotion.  

     One such time happened this Spring.  Seven presentations in a row, in a classroom setting had me sensitive to deep inquiries.  A high school senior asked me about my son and I worked that into the end of my speaking production.

     I had not spoken of this before which made it difficult to keep my composure because of how close it is to my heart.  The time I lost with him saddens me.  I feel we were both cheated of those precious moments and I am too often trying to encourage my now thirteen year old man into any activity that includes him and I.  
                        


     Unable to change the past is obvious, I only have the ability to ensure that the present and future are full of as many adventures as my teenage son will allow me.  Cherishing each one and committing it to long term memory, I can look back and feel confident that I am spending my time the way I should be. 

     

  "Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future, but today is a gift.  That's why it's called the present." -Bil Keane

Four Years in the Making

     Never has four years moved so slow and so fast at the same time.  Turning around to look back at my life during those years, it has sped by.  How can four years have passed so quickly?  Breaking the years down into each of eleven surgeries, those days passed at a crawl.

      Reflecting often during my days working on the farm, I ask myself, " Now that you are at the end of your recovery, what would you change regarding your experience?"  This is not a quick answer to be spat out, it requires digging deep within, to a place usually reserved for those few times in our lives when something rocks us to our core.  So I sit and get real with myself.  

     Would I change anything?   Of course I wish the collision would not have happened, but that was not in my control.  I am well educated in pain, but it keeps me humble.  The journey was long and hard, but look at the life lessons I have reaped.   My family has endured this time with me as I healed my broken body, but they have learned how to pull together when times are tough.  This one single event has caused incredible amounts of pain for many, but for myself,  it has given me a better home in life.  

      Physically I am handicapped, but emotionally and spiritually, I am in a area that I have never been before.  God is not one to pass up opportunity.  He has given us freedom to choose so he could not stop the collision, but he took the time to present to me an opportunity to work on myself, my relationship with others and my relationship with Him.  Again, it was my choice to accept this convenience, but I know He tugged at me diligently to walk in His direction.  

     The year has closed and a new year has just begun.  I have no idea how I will write this next segment of my life and for once I am not going to plan it out.  I will live and learn as I go.  I will appreciate the gift of my own life and I will believe in myself.  Not having an outline will be a contrast for me as I am letting Him lead me, but I do feel a bit of excitement at the unknown.  With Him as my escort, I am no longer afraid.  I guess my answer is, no.  Even I shake my head at that conclusion, but this is what I feel.

      Although I have never asked the question, "Why?" this happened to me, while recovering I did not understand why the path had to be so difficult.  Until now.   

We would never listen unless it was.

Acceptance is the Key to my Happiness

I Can't?

     The absurdity of the words, "I can't walk", emanating from myself felt foreign.  Rarely have I ever spoken words of that nature.  Not being able to stomach that phrase, it soon became,

 "I can't yet"

  

   Teaming with two surgeons, I began a quest of moving forward with a philosophy of "Let's see how much of my life I can get back."  It has been a long road to my best recovery from that car collision. We are just a month shy of four years since our world has been rocked.  Four years of frustration, tears, lost memories, living in slow motion and sheer joy at the most trivial advancements. That brings us to the splitting of tracks.  I have envisioned myself the small but mighty engine that may not be able to pull the largest of loads anymore, I may have to be more creative about which route I must take, but I am persistent and always make it to my next station.  

     My upcoming visit with my surgeon in December should be my release into the real world.  Providing all goes well, I am free of surgeries and free to live as I want to live until the day arrives that "I can't" anymore.  Enthusiasm envelops me at the thought that no one but myself has authority to tell me what I can and cannot physically do.  The other side of the sword is that this truly means I am at my peak.  There is no getting better anymore and that is all that it has been for four years.  This is as good as it gets.  I have worked hard and my family and I have practiced extreme patience with my trials and I believe we are all proud to have this moment upon us.  But this means, I must now accept that this is where I will stay.  So I must swallow those bitter words of "I can't" and accept that there are some physical activities that I just will not be able to achieve.  

     Entering into a small shop I chose a gift for my daughter.  Walking into a back room, the owner wrapped that gift with care as she asked, "Carey, how do you do it?"  "What is that exactly?" I inquired.  "When you have tried everything you know how to do and you know you will not get any better", she spoke.  Thankful that her glance was cast down as my eyes darted to her face, I felt my lips part in astonishment.  Did she know?  How could she know?  Tears sting my eyes as I perceive that it was a honest inquiry and that she has no idea that question has been slowing invading my thoughts as I near the end of my own recovery.  She was speaking of her own trials. 

      As my emotions released their hold on the lump they had placed in my throat, I admonished,   "When I know that I have done all that I can do, that I have put one hundred percent into the effort and feel proud of that effort, then I accept.  Actually, acceptance is the key to my happiness." 

     Hearing my own words, I softly smiled.  I also smirked at God because He knows I now listen.  He has a way of working through people.  This shop owner helped me take my own advice that day and maybe my words helped her through the next step of her own journey.  She does not know how that short visit affected me or that it nudged me out of that rut of vulnerability.  

     Recovery is as much mental as it is a physical.   My husband has cited a pledge to me many times over our almost ten year liaison, especially this last four.  A great friend passed it to him, he has passed it to me and I will pass it to you.  I altered it a bit to tailor to my situation, but in the end we receive the same message. 

Acceptance is the key to my happiness.  When I am disturbed, it is because I find -- some fact of my life -- unacceptable to me, and I can find no happiness until I accept that situation as being 

exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.

Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God's world by mistake.  

 I must accept life completely on life's terms or I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in 

me and in my attitudes.

   My happiness does not hinge on what was thrust upon me.  My happiness does not hinge on my ability to walk.  My happiness clings onto my attitude, that if I cannot change my circumstances then, I make peace with it by accepting that this is how life is supposed to be a this moment.

Twitter
LinkedIn

Tough Times Don't Last, Tough People Do

     I recently acquired copies of some of my x-rays and came across the ones of my pelvis.   Three surgeries on my pelvis have been performed with the first occurring four weeks after the collision.  External fixators had already been placed in both of my lower legs.  The trauma surgeon had tried to piece my right fibula back together and he set my dislocated left ankle back in it's correct position, while screwing those pieces back together as well.   So I had already had a few surgeries before this first pelvic one.   Viewing these x-rays brought back the memories of that surgery because it was the first surgery that I remember.   I'm saying I don't have even a snippet of the first surgeries of my ankles in my memory.  None.  

     Apparently that was a blessing for myself.  Reconnecting my bones, tendons and nerves bore a pain so barbaric that my conscious has blocked it out.   The high and thick wall of Dilaudid was not enough to overcome the waves of torment that crashed into my body relentlessly those first few operations. But, let me tell you, that first pelvic surgery was combined with another surgery on my right ankle and I was blasted away by the severity of the pain.  

     We hadn't anticipated  a pelvic surgery at all because only 3-5% of the type of pelvic fracture that I have, doesn't heal themselves.  Well that was not the last time during my recovery I would enter into that narrow margin.  Just trying to write my own text book instead of following the one already written, I suppose. 

      During my first check up with my surgeon, Greg reminded me about the most important complaint I'd had.  How could I have forgotten?  Relaying to my surgeon that my pubic bone had been "popping" for the last week was imperative.  It gave a pretty big wallop, one that Greg could hear and if he was carrying me, he could feel.   My surgeon stopped walking and talking instantly.  I did not enjoy the look on his face.  After a few questions, he immediately scheduled me for some x-rays and a CT of my pelvis.  He dropped the bomb on us that my pelvic fracture did not heal as expected.  The surgeon must put two bolts in my left posterior pelvis and a plate and screws on my pubic bone to hold my pelvis together.  Had I known, how many more surgeries I would have to recover from, I probably would not have taken this unplanned surgery so hard.

     Fast forward to the surgery date,  as Greg and I entered the pre-op room, some of the hospital staff had recognized us because I had already been there three times in a matter of weeks.   I was baffled since none of these smiling faces were recognizable to me.

       It seemed the next minute I was lifting my eyelids open and knew instantly I was leaving the operating room. I awoke to the huge lights moving above me and noticed the door thresh hold as we passed through it.   Nursing staff were wheeling me to Recovery and only seconds had passed when an atrocious pain began to radiate from my lower abdomen.  Within moments it was unbearable.  I asked the nurse where I was and why I was feeling so much pain.     A male nurse stated that I wasn't supposed to be awake yet.  He  informed me that I was at Barnes Hospital.  I truly did not believe him.   My teeth started chattering violently, I had no control over my body as I began to shake.  He asked me if I was cold or if I was in pain.  I told him it was horrible and pleaded with him to make it stop.  As soon as we made it to Recovery I was given Morphine, but the pain would not lessen.  This was not any different than the other surgeries, the only difference was that this time, I was remembering the experience.  The nursing staff could not give me anymore morphine as it slowed my heart to only four beats per minute.  I was transferred to the Orthopaedic floor where I could be injected with Dilaudid and finally I slept.  

       The last morning of my stay the Physical Therapist announced that I would have to start rolling to each side if I wanted to leave the hospital.  I can't describe how badly I did not want this order.  I was in anguish laying flat on the bed and NOT moving as much as possible.  They also announced that I did not have a choice. 

      It took several nurses along with PT to accomplish this exercise.   The staff positioned pillows and pulled up sheets as they rolled me to my left side.  Uncontrollable, horrible groans involuntarily rushed past my lips and grazed hard against my teeth as it felt like muscles were being torn from my bones themselves.  My God, how much more, just how much more pain?  I wanted to sob and tell them to leave me!  They were patting me softly as they told me what a great job I had done and that they would be back in a few hours to roll me to the right side.  I mentally groaned as I thanked them for their unwelcome torture.

       The right side movement wasn't as terrible as the left roll, but the last feat I had to accomplish was sitting up.  This is killing me.  I must have given that poor physical therapist a look of,  "Are you flippin'  kidding me?"  because she snickered and told me that I could do it.  I knew I could do it, I just didn't want to!  She was patient as I was moving at the speed of a slug.  It was absurd how difficult this was.  I had finally sat up and she let me rest a mere  moment before exclaiming, " Okay, now into the wheelchair!"  For the love of Pete, just smack me with a two by four and put me out of my misery!  I knew of course I had to move or I would not be leaving.   I also realized she was correct when she told me the more I moved the better I would feel, so I obliged.

     Two bolts and four very long screws were installed that day.   Yes, we estimated maybe they were a little too long in length for my anatomy.  Six months later the plate and screws were removed, only to allow my pubic bone to start popping again.   This meant that one side of my pubic bone was overlapping the other and when I moved, it popped or scraped against each other to return to it's original position.  Not great.  Four months later  a plate and six screws were reinstalled and this is how I will always stay.

        Things do have a tendency to "catch".  At that time I stop and move around until movements are attainable again.  I cannot move fast and cannot perform some actions at all.  Exercising is a trial and error process.   My sanity is modification, being creative with my thought process.  I do develop frustration at times and I also develop patience and gratitude for the lessons that these injuries teach me. 

 Especially that

Pilates: A Tool to Help Me Keep Walking

     For the three years that I have been recovering, I've heard from my surgeons and physical therapists, "Core and glutes, Carey, core and glutes."   Meaning, I  needed to strengthen these muscle groups in order to walk and stay walking.  There has been one big problem with that.  By the time I have been released to start working on this after each surgery, I had to gear up for the next one. 

     Irregardless, I would always try.

     I spent the majority of the first sixteen months after my collision in a wheelchair and many months of the second year using a walker or a cane.   It was no small feat relaxing my body from the wheelchair shape it became accustomed to.  My surgeon also relinquished the information that if I gained thirty pounds, I would be sitting back in the seat of my metal friend that rolled me around.  No pressure there, right?  Luckily my parents blessed me with good  genetics and so far I have not had to work on the weight issue.  The nausea that comes with my medications adds to that factor as well.  

      Realizing that many of the exercises my therapists were giving me were Pilates, I purchased a few DVDs for home use.  To this day I still cannot perform many exercises standing, so I prefer Pilates on the Mat.  Although I need to gain muscle strength around my injuries, bulking up with it is not an option for me.  Muscle is heavy and adding too much would get me closer to that thirty pounds I do not want to see.

     Difficulty is an understatement to how hard it is to stretch my body back out after each surgery.  The first year of therapy trying to accomplish this was impossible and as I recall, painful.  To the confusion of my therapist, I would  expel a laugh/sob sound as he torqued my body into positions it clearly did not relish.

     I am not one to wait on progress so using the DVDs at home helped propel me forward at a faster pace.  Each of the DVD sets I purchased came with three sessions.  Beginner, Intermediate and Advanced.   For the first time in my life, I was a Beginner.  Physically, I could do anything I wanted before my injuries.  I, now, have many limitations.  Mentally, this has been a huge challenge and acceptance issue for myself. 

     Pilates builds strength without excess bulk.  Long term use creates a sleek, toned body.   It improves flexibility, agility and economy of motion.  It can even help alleviate back pain.  This has been an obvious innovative and safe choice for me.  
                                                         Body Wisdom
     Now that I have been blessed with what is hopefully my last surgery for quite some time, I have been released to start engaging in physical activity.  Pulling out the DVDs, I participate in 30-50 minutes of Pilate's each morning.  After the first two weeks, the pain of stretching out my muscles decreases and I start feeling the benefits.  It's pretty rough at the start, but having been through this on multiple occasions, I ascertain that I must push through if I want a certain percentage of mobility.  At least up to my standards.
 Windsor Pilates
     Admittedly, I was mentally frustrated with Pilates at the start of my recovery.  The types of exercise that I engaged in BEFORE, were high impact and very physical.  No longer able to jump, squat, run or even walk fast made the Pilates decision easy.  Moving beyond the beginners phase and into the intermediate and even short advanced sessions, I comprehend that Pilates can kick my butt just as much as that P90x DVD.  

     If I continue to live a healthy lifestyle and preserve my body strength, then I will enjoy 8-10 more years before I must consider another surgery or handicapped apparatus.  It sucks a little bit to think about or maybe it sucks a lot, but we are finally talking in years instead of months.  

     Working hard is ingrained in my personal being, along with persistence and perseverance.  Knowing I will never have it easy keeps me in my place.  Apparently it is going to keep me healthy as well!  Exercise has become as much a mental thanksgiving as physical.  If you happen to see me working out on the playground equipment near my child's sporting practice or riding my bike around town, I am not only creating natural muscle but mental as well. 
LinkedIn     

Lessons: Constantly Humbled

Humbled

     As we race through our lives we tend to get ahead of ourselves.  We are sometimes too confident, don't take the time to show the respect others deserve or feel jealousy about something  that is really insignificant. 

     It's then an occurrence happens that puts us in our place.  It may be tragedy or a moment that makes us slow down enough to think about how we are truly spending our time or how we treat others.  How long we stay there is up to us.  Life gets busy again and things are going great.  We don't want to think about reality, let's just have fun!  Then at some point we are right back in the spot we left, until another humbling experience afflicts us again.

     If each experience affects us that greatly then why do we need constant reminders?  

     The answer is because we are human.  We allow ourselves to become overwhelmed.  We try to be everything to everyone at the same time.  We get bogged down with every day nuisances and tend to forget the larger picture of who we really are and what it is we are supposed to be accomplishing in our lives. 

     Being reminded myself many times in my life that I am merely a human being and not invincible,  I tend to ask myself that same question each time.   Why can't I just remember to be humble at all times?    We consume ourselves with, "I want, I want, I want", instead of "look what I have", "look what I can give" and a larger one, "Thank You".

     Almost two years ago, a wonderful friend took time out of her schedule to take me on a date.  I believe I had endured eight surgeries by then, so I could walk, but with difficulty.  Divulging that we would be attending a concert had me eager to enjoy the evening.  Feeling quite unappealing by this point in my recovery, I wanted desperately to look cute for just a night.  

     My ankle braces would not fit into my boots, therefore I wrapped them with ace bandages for support.  We were able to park in the handicapped parking, but we must still stand in line and travel to our seats.   Up until this point I literally estimated my steps every time I walked.  Each endeavor my same thoughts would be, "How far is it and will I be able to make it back?  I can only make a few trips a day at that distance.  Is the ground flat or will there be a place to sit if it's too far for me"?

     Just standing in the line waiting for the gates to open was enough to make my ankles bark.   As we passed through to the walkway, I spent most of my time looking at the ground to ensure my steps would make favorable contact with the pavement.   Having balance issues, my next efforts were to assure myself that no one would come into contact with me!   Having fallen many times alone, I did not relish falling with an audience that I did not recognize.

     Making our way to our seats, I immediately pulled my legs from my boots for relief.  The energy from the concert was contagious.  Laughter, screaming, song from every voice was filling the amphitheater.  Those moments where the excitement entangles with your body and you must stand up to express it came to me often that glorious summer twilight.  Again I had to consider that if I stood for any length of time, I would not make it back to the car.  So I sat and clapped and sang and laughed and sat some more.  

     I did have a great time, but there are occasions that I would like to express the only form of sign language that I know about my situation.    I would like to scream, rant and stomp my feet like a child, but that would only inflict more pain, so I ascertain that this is a silly notion. 

     My ankles are on fire by the time we reach our ride home.   They are screaming at me for trying too hard.  I'm on my way to a self made pity party.  A hint of disappointment enters my mind of the pain my body feels each day and that I couldn't just simply walk to and from our seats without difficulty. 

   
  It was at this particular minute a woman passes in front of our headlights and looked to be having a tremendous amount more difficulty than I.    It also looked to be permanent.  I was finally out of the wheelchair and was not using a walker or cane.   Although I had considerable pain and difficulty, I could now walk on my own.

  
   My eyelids closed tightly as I sighed and felt the tears wet my eyelashes and I silently whispered, " Thank you Lord for saving my children and I and for giving me the ability and determination to walk and stay walking.   My life can always be worse and I am grateful for what I Can do and the people who surround me."

     Definitely the instant this all transpired could have been mere coincidence, but rather I believe this was my reminder of how far I had come, how fortunate I am and what an outstanding support group I have.  Again I had been humbled and rightfully so.

     I do not believe I confided all of these details to my friend, Melissa Albright, or how indebted I am to her for one of the few fun evenings out I've had the past three years.  I will keep her in my life and give her the respect she deserves for showing exceptional friendship, regardless of her busy schedule.  

     Great lessons I have learned in those stages of chagrin.   I trust that I can achieve great things by living simply and apologetically.  Surely if I couple this with determination and integrity, I will pass over this soaring mountain and come over holding the hands of my supporters, creating my own Tower of Strength.

     
Pinterest 
  Instagram