I "Get" to Versus I "Have" To

     Life's happiness is all about our perspective.  Our point of view.  Our attitude towards something.  Perspective is our interpretation about life's confrontations.

     After a physically draining week, I took my hormonal children on a short road trip on Mother's Day.  Needing a day to ourselves that was not hurried nor on a timed schedule, felt like a great way to loosen the constraints of hectic lives.

     A two hour drive gave me plenty of time to reflect on the last ten years.  Between the car sick sighs of my daughter and the "Boo Yahs" of my son defeating his Kindle game, I cast back at how we have grown  during this time.  Our collision has definitely changed our family and in viewing us, we have done a good job at not letting it define who we are.  Times have assuredly been hard as our sea of challenges are gradually receding.  We have battled through the storms and the wonderfully gratifying aspect is that we've done it together.  We as a whole refused to allow life's circumstances to rip our family apart.

       Before our tragedy our lives were terribly rushed.  Working overtime, carting kids to practices and events, many of those overlapping each other.  Hugs and kisses were quick as I vaulted one child out the car door to run the other child across town, then to run the three errands I needed before the first one had to be picked up again.   Uniforms to wash, dinner to cook, homework that I didn't understand myself.  Thinking back, I recall hearing myself talk of the tasks I have to do.  I never remember speaking of them as tasks I get to do.  I didn't resent them, there were just so many with so little time that I didn't feel privileged to them anymore.

     My husband and I would often high five in the hallway shouting encouragement to each other.  Our life was happy, but I desired a better quality of time with those that I loved.  I begged myself to find a way to slow down, to be able to hold my children's hand while strolling, not dragging them along because they were walking too slow.  I wanted to flirt with my husband and maybe take a few hours for myself, doing some hobby that I hadn't had time to think about yet.  I wanted time to look at life, remember and enjoy it.

    Now, I asked myself to slow life down, not come to a complete halt. What I could not accomplish on my own had just been handed to me in a frumpy package.  Not exactly how I would have done it, but I suppose I was not specific enough in my prayers.  Beggar's can't be choosers, I suppose. 

     When I began to recover and start tending to my family again, everything I took for granted was blatantly clear.  I had never felt anything like it in my life.  I had searched for this clarity for years.  It took a one ton truck smacking me up the side of my head to give me what I desired.  How selfish of me.  How indebted I am because of it.  

     I have been a glass half full kind of gal instead of a glass half empty, but what if the glass is just twice as big as it needs to be?  That is how my perception has changed.

     I began watching my kids in all of their activities with nothing on my mind except them.  Ingraining every moment into my permanent memory.  I didn't care what else I should be doing or who else wanted my attention. They had all of me.  I hold their gazes and smile, just because I can. 

      I am grateful that I get to hear my children's heckling of each other, I get to see their pouts after being told, "no", I get their smiles as I sit in the stands after they made a great performance, I am even grateful I get to sit through.................Middle School Choir Concerts.    Putting a twist on perspective is that I only have a few more years that I get to deal with raging hormones from three teenage girls and a pre-teen boy.  I know, even this, I will be grateful for, it just may take me a little longer to get to that one. 

     We spend so much time viewing others lives, but how do we view our own?  When we break it down, is it really as dramatic as we think it is?  I say no.   

      KISS.  Keep It Simple Stupid.  Words to implement.  It really is easy if we continue making the effort to keep it so.  Life is wonderful, there is kindness, there is simplicity if you choose to view it as such.

     I am going to steal a quote from Mr. Abraham Lincoln that I would like us all to break down and give thought to.

"We can complain because rose bushes have thorns or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses."   

Getting Back in the Saddle:Don't Give Up

     "If you fall off your horse, get back in the saddle."

     How many of us have heard that quote or it has been expressed to us in a certain situation we are experiencing?

     I know I have.  Both literally and figuratively.  I've grown up riding horses and as a child I have been thrown from my saddle a couple of times.  My Father, ordering me to get back on my horse as I stare at him with a look of dismay, then angry pouting as I put one foot in the stirrup, grab the reins and head back to the barn, because I was done riding at that point. 

Writing this 3 1/2 years into my recovery from a tragic car crash, my heart wanted so badly to get back to my horseback riding. We didn't know if I ever would do to the damage of my legs and the pain they endured because of those injuries.  Walk with me as I relay what a wonderful day my first ride was. 

      Like anyone I would never want to admit my parent was right about anything as an adolescent, but now as an adult, it's clear as parents, we adopt situations as learning lessons.  We use these for our children's betterment and our aspiration is that at a juncture in their lives they will use it themselves.  They will smile as they repeat the words we said to them in their younger years and they will exclaim, " Oh my, I sound like my Mom/Dad!".

     This original quote feels true to myself as I have had to get back on that horse several times in the last three years.  My trauma surgeon informed me in no uncertain terms that I could  lay in a hospital bed, in my living room and never get out of the wheelchair that awaited me.  My other option was to conquer my anxiety, work long and hard and take the chance that my body might fail. 

      But what if I succeeded?

     Choosing to get back in that saddle was the only option for me.  I am fortunate that is my natural response, whether it comes from deep within me or from my upbringing, I don't care.  Succeeding requires this mental attitude.  

     Physically I haven't accomplished activities as I would have before my injuries.  I have learned great patience and creativity.  Looking at the situation and adapting has been my greatest achievement.  The lessons I have cultivated from my tragedy are appreciated.  I have an improved sense of myself because of them.

     It is now not enough to know how to ride, I must know how to fall.  There is an art of keeping a horse between you and the ground.  There is a discipline to recovering.  I must always be thinking ahead,  preparation is key and sometimes I just have to take a risk by sitting in that saddle and say, "Well, let's see what happens."  

     Taking this lesson literally today, I had my husband saddle my horse for me. (it was his horse until I stole it from him)   Three and a half years have passed since I've truly ridden a horse comfortably.  I have a special horse named Jack.

     He stands at 14.2 hands and is a perfect gentleman to me.  Having my pelvis and both ankles fused with loads of metal covering my bones does not make it easy to stretch your leg up to a 15 or 16 hand horse.  Today I was able to mount him unassisted, my first accomplishment, then I was able to insert my right toe into my stirrup for the first time since my fourth ankle surgery, a year and a half ago. 

     I decided to attack this challenge the same way as I had to relearn my physical activities.  One step at a time.  I prepared. 
 I had a special horse.  Special stirrups.

 

Special braces.

(I realize lace up boots are not cool anymore and this is not the epitome of sexiness, but they are necessary.  Don't judge my boots.)

     Jack and I walked for fifteen minutes, so far everything is

 A- Okay.

     Jack is as excited as I am and we are both chomping at the bit to try a trot.  He's a smooth dancing guy, I have to say.  There was just a slight  'tork' on the outside of my right ankle as we progressed. Still going splendidly.  I then realized, 

We are in a Wide. Open. Field.

Oh Yes, I did!

     A slow canter, a faster gallop, then a flat out run!  Jack's mane was whipping in the wind as my spirit soared to new heights.  Waiting and wondering for three and a half years if I would ever be able to experience that feeling again has finally ended.  My smile covered the entire county as I laughed and a tear of happy relief raced from the corner of my right eye.  I don't even know who I whispered, 'Thank You' to, but I am truly thankful.  

      I had a little swag in my hip movement as I rode back to the barn to relay the details of my adventure to my husband.  I should give that credit to Jack though as he was the one who was actually prancing up the drive way creating my swag.

     My heart leaps, knowing that greener pastures are on my horizon and I cannot wait to see what new freedoms I will unlock just by giving it a try.

     By getting back in the saddle, I may encounter failures, 

but what if I Succeed?

 

    

     

Deviled Egg Chicks

     I love my deviled eggs and was looking for a different way to make them for this holiday weekend and I found the idea online.

     I don't want to change my filling recipe so I just used the idea and kept my original ingredient list the same.

     Deviled Egg Chicks:

• 1 dozen hard boiled eggs
• 1 Tbsp yellow mustard
• 2 Tbsp white vinegar
• 1 Tbsp white sugar
• 3 Tbsp Miracle Whip
• 2-3 Chopped sweet pickles or 2 Tbsp pickle relish 
• 1-baby carrot
• 3-black olive slices
• Salt and Pepper to taste

1-Boil the eggs, then cool before peeling(I put 1/4 c. baking soda in my water for easy peeling)

2- Cut off the top 1/4 of the pointed end of the egg and put hard yolk in separate bowl

3-Dice the pickles and add all ingredients to yolks and mash together with a fork(I use pickles because I don't like all of the juice from pickle relish)

4-Cut carrot into small pieces to act as the nose and slice black olives to make the eyes

5-Refill the larger portion of the egg to overflowing and add the small top portion of the egg as the cap.  Add the nose and eyes to the filling.

Walaaaa, you have Chicks!

On a side note:  If you must travel with these eggs, I would recommend slicing off the bottom of the eggs to make an even surface so they will still be standing upright and not laying down taking an early nap before their big debut. ;)

Don't Look, Mom's Poopin'- It Works!

     Okay, this is my first product promotion.  I am not a distributor, but believe in this product enough that I would like to share and encourage you to look into it.  Many of you may not know me well enough to read the words I later write in this blog.  Without your permission, I am taking our friendship to a different level.  After today's blog we are going to be like this:

     Using this product, proceeding my surgeries and anytime I am on pain medicine has been essential in my recovery.  I now, use this in my daily health routine.  Let me explain my reasoning.  

     Having, I believe, six surgeries that first year was toxic to my system.  Falling under anesthesia and dependent on pain killers deteriorates your health quickly when you do either in excess, much less both at the same time.  My hair became brittle, my skin ashen and blemished.  My body felt "heavy", like I couldn't rid myself of the aftereffects.  

     Here's the worst part.  I moved very little during that first year and a half of recovery, took a narcotic every 2-4 hours, was left with the effects of anesthesia swimming around in my carcass.  All of this creates uncomfortable side effects.  Among many side effects there is one that can develop atrocious pain and health issues.  A side effect no one ever talks about, but I sure wish someone would have warned me about before it became an ISSUE.   Want to take a guess?

     CONSTIPATION!  IF you do not understand this word, it means, You Cannot Poop!  At. All.   Not even a little pebble.  I would not bring this up if it wasn't such an ordeal to live through.  Somehow these episodes have made it to my long term memory where more enjoyable ones have not.  During the most dramatic events, I asked myself if the crushing of my bones was worse than attempting to push bricks through my bowels.  

     I also had to attempt the evacuation of those bricks while sitting on a commode in the middle of my living room.  Believe me when the urge hits, you cannot pass up that opportunity, even with four children passing through.  In that instance, I would grab a blanket, situate myself on my throne, let someone in the house know what was about to transpire and that it might take a while.  Much of the time that someone was my nine year old son who then skipped down the hall announcing to everyone in the house, "Don't look, Mom's poopin'!"  Thank you for that Drew.  I lay my head in my hands as sweat beads popped out all over my body from the amount of work and concentration that I was about to tackle.   Eventually it all worked itself out, but not before my small gorge felt like it split into the Grand Canyon.


    This company calls itself,  It Works!
 

  It has become quite popular in the last few years.  You cannot purchase these items in a retail location.  You may order online or better yet, finding a personal distributor to discuss your interest is best.  

     The product that I cannot live without are the Greens.  Orange or Berry Flavor powder is what I started with.

 

Currently the company has offered a Chewable.  This is my preference now.

 

The Greens detoxify, alkalize, and promote pH balance within the body.  I needed an agent to remove the toxins left over  from narcotics, especially.  The public has become more aware of the need to detox our bodies and this is a natural, safe and healthy way to accomplish that.

Understand that my case was extreme and took weeks to completely convert to the prior state and maintain.   Trust me, when it worked, my bottom was transformed into a machine gun, shooting out bullets the size of pool balls.

Let's end there.

We are Free at the Moment We Wish to Be

     This was a day when I thought  I was going to be released from my last surgery after my car crash. 

Tuesday was the day.  The early morning sun hit my face as it shone through the windshield of my car forcing me to slip my sunglasses on.  A welcome action since this winter doesn't want to end.  

     Loving the excitement that was working it's way through my anatomy, bursting into a cheeky grin as I eagerly passed each small town heading to my surgeon's office.   All should go well this day  and I should be able to remove my air boot and slip on the custom brace made for my left ankle.  The elation emanating from me is creating my body to sit straight up in my seat, you wouldn't think I was at all relaxed.  I flash each driver that  passes me a
   sign and then add a wink on top of it, effectively insinuating that I am a complete halfwit. When in truth, I am so full of positive energy that I am like a soda that has been shaken up and if you pop the top, I am likely to explode and spew happiness all over you.

    Swinging the metal door open to the clinic foyer, I face the elevators and give the button an unceremoniously tap.  Looking to my right, I throw one of those too large, toothy grins to the woman who will accompany me on the ride up one floor.  Smiling is contagious.  I was like the baby you saw in the grocery cart that would melt the hardest of hearts, I wore my smile so large that no one dared frown at me.  They were probably afraid I would vomit a rainbow on them.

     X-rays were taken, my surgeon is as passionate about this day of mine as I am and my new brace is slipped around my left ankle.  "See you in eight weeks!"  she says.  Thumbs up, wink.  ;)

     Walking proudly, confidently out of the waiting room, holding my large, gray, farm dirty air cast boot in front of me, to be envied by those still wearing theirs, I finally feel freedom.  This time when I leave the orthopedics office, it's different.  This time, there are no more surgeries hanging over my head.  This time, there are no more needles waiting to puncture my veins.  This time, there are no more pill bottles waiting to steal my memories.  This time, it's me and my tenacity.  By God, I am winning.

     I stand poised on the concrete curb, allowing the warmth of the suns rays to embellish my pale face for a little longer than necessary, then walk to my car as I feel the pair of braces confining my ankles.  I sit and crack the windows so I may enjoy the Spring breeze and raise both my arms, with my fists at my ears and scream, " Waaaa Hooooo!!!!"  I am in control, my recovery is not controlling me anymore.

     As I turn to the Sirius radio, there is only one station that will match my dynamic mood.  It's a 'HairNation' kind of day!






   

  I am free friends, I am free.

*Find those moments of success and accomplishment and hold on to them.  Use them and enjoy them.*

We Don't Call it Torture Anymore-it's Called Physical Therapy

     As physical therapy sessions approach again, flashbacks of my first session flood to my mind.  April was the month I began my first voluntary torture showdown.   Me versus induced pain.  It was a crap shoot which one was to win on those first visits.  Never having experienced physical therapy before, I had no expectations.  My bag of bones was petrified into the shape of a chair position.  Barely moving for over three months, muscle atrophy and inflexibility scolded my frail, skinny frame.  I had in this position since my car crash.   

     Pure terror consumed my mind over a stranger touching my ankles.  Unable to bear the thought of multiple strangers working on me, I asked to be scheduled with one therapist only.  Trust was essential in my participation.  As I sat in that cheap, blue contraption known as a wheelchair, my therapist asked what I wanted to achieve from therapy.  My desperate answer, " I want you to challenge and push me.  I want to live as closely to my previous activity as possible.  I want to walk," I declared.  Examining my x-rays and listening to me reveal my last three months made us both sigh.  "What is he going to do with me?" I speculated.  "What am I going to do with her?" he reciprocated in his own mind.  (he later divulged this to me)

     Transferring to a cot that butted up against a concrete wall, I was advised to lie on my back.  "Flat?" I asked incredulously.  My waist and pelvis were rebelling against the action.  Each part of my anatomy liked the position it was in, they didn't moved independently anymore.  Leaving my knees bent and lowering myself down to my left side, I met the white cot with my shoulder and rolled to my back.  I'm sweating.  My 'inducer of pain'  pushed my knees to the mattress and my lower back revolted by awkwardly arching upward. 

      "Roll to your stomach," was his next instruction.  My face went blank as if I didn't understand what he was saying.  "On my stomach?", I am appalled.  First off, my legs are in braces, I haven't rolled anywhere in months, my pelvis and lower back pain is atrocious and he wants me to roll over?  Terrible, just terrible is what this movement was.  To make it worse he asked me to then push up on my elbows.  He measured the angle my torso was able to bend.  I had barely moved. 

      "Are we done yet?", I prayed.   Perspiration rolled in droplets down my spine.  Plank like, I rolled to my back again and he announced he was going to stretch my ankles.  Like hell!  Oh no.  NO, NO NO NO and NO.  Don't go there.  Stay away, don't touch them.  Don't even look at them.  No. 

      "Okay," I sulked instead.  Just removing my socks was a time consuming chore as he stared at the damage.  As I sat upright with my legs stretched out to the end of the cot, he spelled out that he needed to extend my ankles downward.  Pushing down on the tops of my feet was the only way to regain movement.  I am panicked.  I don't want to do this, My God, I don't want to do this.  "Let's do this,"  I state with false enthusiasm.   

     My eyes squeezed shut as hot pain seared from my ankles up to my lower legs at the lightest push.  His hands shifted my feet downward even more.  My palm met the concrete wall to my right with a smack, sweaty with fingers splayed apart.  "Dear God!" I screamed inside.  The sound of my bones moving was nauseating as if they were breaking apart all over again.  Reciting internally that I could handle this was the only thing I could do to keep from sobbing. I wanted to sob, it was right there ready to bellow out.
 

 I can describe the feeling only as if my ankles were encased on old, crumbling concrete for a decade.  Now they were being removed from this unforgiving home.  Popping, grinding and my own gasps engulfed me.  Taking myself back to the pain that fateful night as I awoke in the car, I thought that surely today's anguish couldn't be as dreadful.  Could it?

     My nose began to run with tears that I refused to let fall.  A half sob, half laugh escaped me as my fingers clawed at the cold, beige  wall while he held my stretched ankles down for ages.  "That's enough for today," he admonished.  Air rushed out of my lungs as I sighed with relief.  My shoulders slumped and my head leaned against the wall as he strapped my braces back to my legs.  Throwing a narrow side glance his direction as he asked how my first visit went, said as much as if I had uttered the words aloud.  

     Leaving with sheets of exercises to perform at home, I started making my goals list as Mom wheeled me to the truck.  Determination set it's long talons inside of me right then.  Today, I have stopped surviving this trauma and started recovering from it.
Let's do this!

 #PCRMC Success Story!

Carey Portell 2011

My accident occurred on December 29, 2010.  I was hit by a drunk driver that luckily only left me with severe bone injuries.  The most severe were a pelvic ring fracture and severe bilateral ankle fractures.

All bones in my left ankle were broken and dislocated, causing the nerves to tear.  This left no feeling from the ankle down.

I had an open tibia/fibula fracture and all bones were crushed so severely in my right ankle that the physicians could not save all of the splinters.  I still have gaps that are trying to grow back in.

After many surgeries and lots of metal installed, I was put back together and able to start therapy.  With the help of my therapist, I was able to start stretching out my body from being in a wheelchair for so long.  Most exciting was learning to walk again.  Just to stand on my own two feet was exhilarating.

My choice of coming here for therapy is a confident one. The therapists have not just helped me physically, but mentally as well.  Some days are a challenge and you just need to hear someone else tell you that you can do this, then show you that you can.  I am in pain every day, but look forward to therapy days because I know I will be met with a smile from every staff member & I will be challenged to progress in my #recovery.  I leave with a feeling of accomplishment & that I can win this fight. 

 

AMAZING!!! German Chocolate Pecan Pie Bars

     My husband smiles as he is grabbing one of these from the container(again), he states, "This has got to be what being addicted to crack feels like."  I am going to accept that as an extreme compliment that he adores the dessert I made this weekend.  He doesn't even like coconut!

     Dropping these off at a fundraiser this weekend, I chastise myself that I have a habit of preparing food items I have never tested on my family first and taking them to important events.
  But these Rock!

     If you are a fan of German chocolate cake and pecan pie, this is a perfect combination of heaven.  You may just fall over from the immense pleasure of consuming this.

German Chocolate Pecan Pie Bars:

• • 3 cups pecan halves
  • 1 & 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 cup confectioners' sugar
  • 3/4 cup cold butter, cubed
  • 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa
  • 1 & 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
  • 3 large eggs
  • 3/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
  • 3/4 cup light corn syrup
  • 1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
  • 1 cup sweetened flaked coconut
   
• Instructions
  Preheat oven to 350°.
  Arrange pecans in a single layer of a shallow baking pan. Bake 8-10 minutes or until lightly toasted.
  
  
  
  Spray baking dish with oil.
  
  
  Combine together flour, confectioners' sugar, and cocoa. Add cold butter.  Mix together.(I mixed mine in my Kitchen Aid mixer with the paddle attachment)   Press mixture into bottom and about 3/4-inch up sides of prepared pan. 
  
  
  Bake crust for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and immediately sprinkle chocolate chips evenly over crust. Allow to cool on a wire rack at least 30 minutes. 
  
  
  
  
  
  Place eggs in a large mixing bowl, and beat lightly. Add brown sugar, corn syrup, and melted butter. Combine together until smooth. Stir in coconut and pecans.(still used paddle attachment) Pour evenly over partially baked crust.   
  
  
  Bake 30 minutes or until edges are golden and filling has set.
  
  
  Refrigerate 1 hour before serving or let this set on it's own like a pecan pie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now dig in!!!  
  
   

Lent: Why do Catholics Eat Fish on Fridays?

    Being a Catholic, myself, I have been asked this question many times.  I have never went into as much detail explaining it as I am today though.
 
   Let's start of with the definition of Lent.  

   Lent is the season of approximately 40 days set aside by the Church in order for the faithful to prepare for the celebration of the Lord’s Passion, Death and Resurrection.  It is to enable us to make a small sacrifice for the incredible sacrifice He made for our salvation.  Church members prepare for Easter by a recalling of Baptism and penance, that is, prayer, fasting and almsgiving.(assist the needy)

     Why forty days?   Jesus fasted for 40 days, Noah was in the Ark for 40 days, Moses received the ten commandments for 40 days and the Israelites wandered the desert for 40 years.   Think about it also, that a woman carries her child in her womb for how long?  40 weeks!  So, it seems that the number forty has a certain prelude for something better to come. 

     It kick starts with Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.  Our foreheads are marked with ashes to humble our hearts and reminds us that life passes away on Earth.  The ashes are made by burning the previous year's blessed palms.  We remember this when we are told, 

          "Remember, Man is dust, and unto dust you shall return."

     For the next forty days, those willing, submit to fasting and self-denial in imitation of Our Lord’s forty-day fast in the desert and it ends with Passion Sunday.  

You may hear the question, "What did you give up for Lent?"  We give up something we really enjoy, maybe foods, social media or promise to do something special for others during those six weeks.

     Friday is a day of abstinence from meat for Catholics in order to remind us that we all sin and this little sacrifice is a show of repentance and satisfaction for our sins.  Why, is fish allowed? The drawing of a symbolic fish in the dirt was a way that the early Christians knew each other when it was dangerous to admit in public that one was Christian. Our Lord cooked fish for His Apostles after His Resurrection, and most of these men were fishermen. After He established His Church, these fishermen became “fishers of men” for the Kingdom of God.  Hence, the little fish symbol some have on the back of their cars, with the name Jesus in the center of it.  



     For those who don't participate in Lent, don't tell me that you don't love those Friday night church fish dinners!  All Catholics, age 14 and older participate. (certain situations are forgiven)    Now we all have cheated, at some point, I'm sure, right?  Okay, I know I have in the past and I do not believe you will be sent down to the flames for it.  I do believe it is a great gesture on our part, that we can accomplish once a year to remind ourselves of the sacrifice He made for us, to have freedom of choice and to live on this earth with sin. 

      We all know, Sunday, is supposed to be the day of rest, so we can  indulge Today!!!

Narcotics: "Who Ate My Sandwich?"

   "Someone stole your sandwich?" you ask.   "Why, yes, someone did steal my sandwich." I say pitifully.  

    I was the only one not confused by my statement.  I do have an excuse and it goes like this:  Drugs.  Prescription drugs.

     I am not kidding when I say that I was sent home from the hospital with a plethora of narcotics.  So many, in fact, that my husband produced a spreadsheet just to keep track.  Every two hours I would swallow pills that delved me back into some world where only I and a few other characters lived.  Back in real life, my family members would pass by my bedside in a blur, at least through my vision.  No one was moving fast, my perception was just distorted by Oxycontin, Percocet, Nor-Co and on and on.

     For nearly three months I existed in this state of delirium.  Most of the memories that were created around me disappeared as the next round of pills hit my stomach.  Having no idea of the conversations I had with my children or husband saddens me.  While their lives moved forward I had no choice but to exist in my current state.

     Although much of my recovery has had to be taken in all seriousness, I have been able to appreciate the humor that can develop due to the uncommon scenes  my family and I have faced.

     Many months later, after decreasing the pain meds, hearing my family disclose versions of adventures that apparently I was the only participant of, left me gaping at their amused expressions.  Obviously this was completely out of character for myself and particularly engaging for my audience.  

     Our four children were watching over me one day and evidently it must have been around lunch time.  Or maybe I just speculated it was lunch time.  "Who ate my sandwich?", I asked.  My children stood dumbfounded in silence.  "Which one of you stole my sandwich?", I beckoned again.  
" I don't think you had a sandwich, Mom." my child answered.
  "I know one of you took it, give it back.", I said frustrated. 

      I don't know how this story ends and I have never asked.  Maybe they produced another sandwich to satisfy my distress  over the missing, feign one, but more honestly, I probably found another adventure in my mind to attend. 

     They have relinquished this story a couple of times in my presence and I sit by, in disbelief, but snickering.  I have always had control of myself and my memories, so it still causes me to shake my head that I cannot elicit even a vague recollection of this episode.

     When my children finish reliving this comedy, I inquire of them, "What is the moral of this story, kids?"  
There is shrugging of their shoulders. 

 I burst out, "Don't Do Drugs!!!"

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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. 
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