As my strength and stamina are having to be rebuilt slowly and my ability to set reasonable boundaries is having to be established, I am daily reminding myself of who I am and what I am and what I can and cannot do. Today, especially though, I am feeling a great sense of pressure (which I'm sure is self-inflicted) and guilt still because I get the impression that I am letting down those around me. I know that it shouldn't matter as long as I am trying my hardest to do what I need to do to get healthy, but people who I have in my corner and who smile and nod and say "of course, I understand things take longer and you are not what you used to be" are expressing disappointment and frustration. Not through their words, but through their actions and lack of words. This is something that I have to work through. Part of me wants to yell, "DEAL WITH IT" at the top of my lungs in certain instances and yet, for some reason I sadly am having trouble cutting the cord to the people pleasing monster.
Is it my fault that I had a stroke? Nope. But, because I did have a stroke, it therefore led to my stores not being stocked like they should/could be....and some customers not being happy and store owners not having their stores look the very best that they can in my area, but ya know what? Unfortunately, I cannot control how they CHOOSE to react to these situations. I am disappointed too because I don't like being out of commission. I don't like things taking me two and three times the normal amount of time to complete. Ever folded a basket of laundry? Not a big basket. Just enough in the basket to constitute underclothes for two people for a week. Shouldn't take long, right? It takes me a good half hour or more, at least. And no, I am not multi-tasking. I don't even have the television on when I am doing it. But we have clean undies when I'm done.
I am OWNING that disappoinment and dislike and realizing that it is ok, though. My prayer today is really asking God WHERE He wants me to be. I have always allowed my customers to control which stores I am in and the amount of potential revenue to control my decisions on where I set up and where I didn't. Those are no longer my guiding factors. As I mentioned yesterday, that will come....IF I am where I am SUPPOSED to be.
It's a hard question and a scary question because where I am is sort of like a security blanket. I know the places well, I, for the most part, love the places. What if God doesn't want me to stay there? What if He chooses to take my blankie away? I know He wouldn't do anything that would hurt me, but what if.....What if, what if, what if....I disappoint people when I have the answer? What if I may not agree with the answer right now? I'm also begging God to tell me that when he gives me the answers that He gives me the peace and the power to make the appropriate moves that He needs me to make. In the meantime, it is taking all of my power to not yell "DEAL WITH IT"....and to focus that energy instead on the positive.
Showing posts with label small business owner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label small business owner. Show all posts
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Monday, July 28, 2014
Firing my Pink Boss...
I used to live in the corporate world. If you recall back at the beginning I mentioned how I (we) made the decision for me to tackle the world of small business ownership in the middle of 2010 full-time. Prior to that, we had a person come in once every week or two to help clean up the place. Do the heavy cleaning. I mean, I had a small business I was trying to run in the late evening/nighttime and a corporate job and Tommy had a full-time job and so it helped to have a third person helping out. When I jumped into being my own boss, we let that person go because I had visions (although they were sugar-coated and probably sleep-deprivation hallucinations) of running this business that I had been doing in the wee hours of the morning during the actual daylight hours, and since I had been doing so much from 9pm to 2am or so, I could just imagine what I could accomplish with an entire 24 hours!! I could keep a clean house, cook a great meal (so no more fast food drive-thrus on the way home from corp job), and STILL get my business work done. Right? WRONG.
I tried really hard to do that juggling for a few months. And for a few months (maybe May through August of that first year) I did okay. But then the fall came and that is my super duper busy time. So in September things started slacking a bit. No big deal, Tommy understood. And by the time January and my busy season was over he had tax season and a plethora of work projects of his own, and I had a big show coming up in February so we'd catch up in March. Needless to say, by the time we got a second to get "caught up" on everything, we had created a nice little hoarders paradise. Or the beginnings of one anyway. Nothing horrible. I mean, our house was still functional. We just had a pile of this or that in that corner or on the end of that table, or whatever and predominantly it was stuff related to my business because it had taken off like a jack rabbit on steroids and seemed to explode in those first 6 to 8 months of my full-time focus. Which was good, right? That's what you want a small business to do.
The thing was, neither of us had our priorities or time budgeted properly. In fact, it is a brand new concept to me, honestly. I have always lived by the power of the DayRunner (in my corporate days I can't even begin to count the number of classes or seminars I had attended on planning and time management...but none of them like I'm learning now). I have an awesome pink leather 3 inch thick monster of management that has the crazy color coded tabs and notes sections and what have you. If it isn't in my dayrunner then it isn't happening. To give you an idea of what a typical day in my dayrunner looks like, I will tell you that I have been planning for 3 very large shows this fall. So in April, I sat down with my pretty pink boss and listed out every single thing that I would do starting May 1 through mid-September...every day. How many of each item I would make, what designs, and so forth. I even could tell you what days I would be at which of my stores to restock and clean and what days I was planning on making deliveries, if needed. I had my plans and my marching orders and this is what was going to make it a successful, stress-free fall. Or so I thought.
What I didn't allow for was time for rest, time for domestic duties, time for health and wellness, time for creativity and fun, and time for church and family and all the other things that needed to be at the very top of the list to keep going. I know I said it before and I'm going to say it again, God allowed 2 strokes to occur in my life. This second stroke, I was still a bit unsure as to the lesson in it, but I knew there was one. As I am slowly exiting the physical therapy section of my rehab and entering more of the mental and emotional rehab portion of it, I'm now seeing the lesson. It's still very fuzzy, but for the first time I was told to get rid of my lovely pink dayrunner and all of the lists and get a very basic calendar without all of the bells and whistles. That was almost cause for a heart attack in and of itself. I remember having to remind myself to breathe when I was told that.
So, I've tucked my beloved master of time and lists into the back of my filing cabinet where it will take a very extended sabbatical and I've purchased the simplest calendar that I can find (just wish it came in hardbound form instead of a soft-cover) that will still fit the current situation. All of this causes great anxiety and concern because this is not how I was "trained" to effectively budget time and projects. I mean, I've been through the classes and seminars and I am certified in Priority One planning. This is NOT how it is done. The only thing is, I was certified to be a business planner, a project planner, a corporate planner. None of that, even though they roughly touch on "your outside life" in those classes and seminars covers life. Real life.
We used to do the mad-dash cleaning when we caught wind that somebody is coming over. Everybody has done it at some point in their life and you are lying if you say you haven't. Grab as much stuff out of the common areas as possible and throw it in a room with a door that can be closed and not visited and then pray the guests don't stay long. No more. You are welcome into any room in my home. There is one room (the storage room for the business) that is still lacking, but you are welcome there if you so choose. Just don't expect it to be comfortable and peaceful yet.
What I am finding though, with my pink beast quieted, is that my creativity is coming back. Through Art Therapy I'm starting to explore new ways of creating and finding those things that were tucked back in the corners of my brain are coming forward. For 3 years I had a winning formula and set colors and designs and would just repeat the same stuff over and over because it was working.
Now I'm starting down a different, new, untraveled path. It's exciting, it's curious and it's scary but it is also controlled with boundaries. Safe boundaries. And these boundaries are going to slowly be implemented across my entire life in all of the caveats that I had neglected previously. People, some of them customers, some of them family, and some of them strangers, will be upset with these boundaries. And that is okay. That is their issue to deal with, not mine or Tommy's. The first phase of the boundaries have been set in place, and I will say, our house is much neater, more stress-free and peaceful. It has not been easy. It has been very hard. And it will be very hard. I'm a people pleaser and I don't like to say "no' or 'I can't/won't". But I will learn how. I HAVE to learn how.
I tried really hard to do that juggling for a few months. And for a few months (maybe May through August of that first year) I did okay. But then the fall came and that is my super duper busy time. So in September things started slacking a bit. No big deal, Tommy understood. And by the time January and my busy season was over he had tax season and a plethora of work projects of his own, and I had a big show coming up in February so we'd catch up in March. Needless to say, by the time we got a second to get "caught up" on everything, we had created a nice little hoarders paradise. Or the beginnings of one anyway. Nothing horrible. I mean, our house was still functional. We just had a pile of this or that in that corner or on the end of that table, or whatever and predominantly it was stuff related to my business because it had taken off like a jack rabbit on steroids and seemed to explode in those first 6 to 8 months of my full-time focus. Which was good, right? That's what you want a small business to do.
The thing was, neither of us had our priorities or time budgeted properly. In fact, it is a brand new concept to me, honestly. I have always lived by the power of the DayRunner (in my corporate days I can't even begin to count the number of classes or seminars I had attended on planning and time management...but none of them like I'm learning now). I have an awesome pink leather 3 inch thick monster of management that has the crazy color coded tabs and notes sections and what have you. If it isn't in my dayrunner then it isn't happening. To give you an idea of what a typical day in my dayrunner looks like, I will tell you that I have been planning for 3 very large shows this fall. So in April, I sat down with my pretty pink boss and listed out every single thing that I would do starting May 1 through mid-September...every day. How many of each item I would make, what designs, and so forth. I even could tell you what days I would be at which of my stores to restock and clean and what days I was planning on making deliveries, if needed. I had my plans and my marching orders and this is what was going to make it a successful, stress-free fall. Or so I thought.
What I didn't allow for was time for rest, time for domestic duties, time for health and wellness, time for creativity and fun, and time for church and family and all the other things that needed to be at the very top of the list to keep going. I know I said it before and I'm going to say it again, God allowed 2 strokes to occur in my life. This second stroke, I was still a bit unsure as to the lesson in it, but I knew there was one. As I am slowly exiting the physical therapy section of my rehab and entering more of the mental and emotional rehab portion of it, I'm now seeing the lesson. It's still very fuzzy, but for the first time I was told to get rid of my lovely pink dayrunner and all of the lists and get a very basic calendar without all of the bells and whistles. That was almost cause for a heart attack in and of itself. I remember having to remind myself to breathe when I was told that.
So, I've tucked my beloved master of time and lists into the back of my filing cabinet where it will take a very extended sabbatical and I've purchased the simplest calendar that I can find (just wish it came in hardbound form instead of a soft-cover) that will still fit the current situation. All of this causes great anxiety and concern because this is not how I was "trained" to effectively budget time and projects. I mean, I've been through the classes and seminars and I am certified in Priority One planning. This is NOT how it is done. The only thing is, I was certified to be a business planner, a project planner, a corporate planner. None of that, even though they roughly touch on "your outside life" in those classes and seminars covers life. Real life.
We used to do the mad-dash cleaning when we caught wind that somebody is coming over. Everybody has done it at some point in their life and you are lying if you say you haven't. Grab as much stuff out of the common areas as possible and throw it in a room with a door that can be closed and not visited and then pray the guests don't stay long. No more. You are welcome into any room in my home. There is one room (the storage room for the business) that is still lacking, but you are welcome there if you so choose. Just don't expect it to be comfortable and peaceful yet.
What I am finding though, with my pink beast quieted, is that my creativity is coming back. Through Art Therapy I'm starting to explore new ways of creating and finding those things that were tucked back in the corners of my brain are coming forward. For 3 years I had a winning formula and set colors and designs and would just repeat the same stuff over and over because it was working.
Now I'm starting down a different, new, untraveled path. It's exciting, it's curious and it's scary but it is also controlled with boundaries. Safe boundaries. And these boundaries are going to slowly be implemented across my entire life in all of the caveats that I had neglected previously. People, some of them customers, some of them family, and some of them strangers, will be upset with these boundaries. And that is okay. That is their issue to deal with, not mine or Tommy's. The first phase of the boundaries have been set in place, and I will say, our house is much neater, more stress-free and peaceful. It has not been easy. It has been very hard. And it will be very hard. I'm a people pleaser and I don't like to say "no' or 'I can't/won't". But I will learn how. I HAVE to learn how.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Do the Kangaroo Hop.....
Physical Therapy is going well. I'm feeling good. Still not 100% and they say it'll be a while before I'm back to the way I was pre-stroke but in some ways I'm better than I was pre-stroke. I rest more. I am learning my limitations (a lesson I think that will take a really long time). Tommy, as he has always been, is super helpful throughout this entire process. We've started taking nightly walks around our neighborhood with Shadow to help build endurance. Me wearing my bright pink heart monitor and us taking readings every block or so to make sure that my ticker isn't running overtime and Shadow rabbit hunting.
When I say rabbit hunting, she is not really hunting them, to catch and kill. We have her on a harness and leash and she is the funniest thing to watch because as we are walking in a straight (or as straight as two uncoordinated people can walk) line down the street she is "on patrol" checking the yards on BOTH sides of the street to see if there is any living animal she might be interested in "going after". I call it the drunk prance because it is in no way similar to the way she normally walks. She is on full alert and on her tip toes it seems and she is maneuvering back and forth from side to side looking at both sides.
She LOVES to rabbit hunt. When she spots one, she will immediately stop and stare. Then for a long few seconds/minutes, she will stare down the spot, which is good because half the time it takes Tommy and I that long to figure out what it is that she has spotted and locked in on. Then starts her slow creep. Tommy usually humors her and with his super strong grip (Shadow is the strongest dog I've ever felt on a leash when she is after something so he has to hold her leash when we walk.) will give her some leeway. Which usually means he lets her get from the street up to the sidewalk but not into the actual yard. So she creeps quietly towards her rabbit. And then its as if she knows she is almost at the end of her leash and when she gets there she tries to lunge at the rabbit but it turns into this really funny kangaroo hopping that makes me laugh so hard. She hops a few times and then circles back to us with the saddest, begging eyes as if to plead with us to go play some more with her new friend. By this time the poor rabbit has darted off and we continue our walk.
We also play catch a lot at our house. I know it sounds silly but we have a kids bouncey-ball (about 10" around, just smaller than a basketball) and a couple tennis balls. We play catch a lot. Shadow is really good at fetching too so she even helps me. I throw the tennis ball with my left arm and hand (helps so many muscles) and she will fetch it and return it to me. Then I throw again and we repeat the process.
My arms are getting stronger but they have even further to go still than my legs to get back to pre-stroke condition. I have gone from lifting the 3 pound dumbbells at OT to the 6 pound dumbbells. It wasn't an overnight change, we've been working our way up. I laugh every time because again I keep imagining my 5 foot nothing super-strong cousin as she lifts her 25+ pound weights. Here I am, I have a good 6 to 8 inches on her and I can't even do a quarter of the weight she does. It's all about perspective. Just because you are bigger, doesn't mean you are stronger or better. It just means you are not there, yet.
When I say rabbit hunting, she is not really hunting them, to catch and kill. We have her on a harness and leash and she is the funniest thing to watch because as we are walking in a straight (or as straight as two uncoordinated people can walk) line down the street she is "on patrol" checking the yards on BOTH sides of the street to see if there is any living animal she might be interested in "going after". I call it the drunk prance because it is in no way similar to the way she normally walks. She is on full alert and on her tip toes it seems and she is maneuvering back and forth from side to side looking at both sides.
She LOVES to rabbit hunt. When she spots one, she will immediately stop and stare. Then for a long few seconds/minutes, she will stare down the spot, which is good because half the time it takes Tommy and I that long to figure out what it is that she has spotted and locked in on. Then starts her slow creep. Tommy usually humors her and with his super strong grip (Shadow is the strongest dog I've ever felt on a leash when she is after something so he has to hold her leash when we walk.) will give her some leeway. Which usually means he lets her get from the street up to the sidewalk but not into the actual yard. So she creeps quietly towards her rabbit. And then its as if she knows she is almost at the end of her leash and when she gets there she tries to lunge at the rabbit but it turns into this really funny kangaroo hopping that makes me laugh so hard. She hops a few times and then circles back to us with the saddest, begging eyes as if to plead with us to go play some more with her new friend. By this time the poor rabbit has darted off and we continue our walk.
We also play catch a lot at our house. I know it sounds silly but we have a kids bouncey-ball (about 10" around, just smaller than a basketball) and a couple tennis balls. We play catch a lot. Shadow is really good at fetching too so she even helps me. I throw the tennis ball with my left arm and hand (helps so many muscles) and she will fetch it and return it to me. Then I throw again and we repeat the process.
My arms are getting stronger but they have even further to go still than my legs to get back to pre-stroke condition. I have gone from lifting the 3 pound dumbbells at OT to the 6 pound dumbbells. It wasn't an overnight change, we've been working our way up. I laugh every time because again I keep imagining my 5 foot nothing super-strong cousin as she lifts her 25+ pound weights. Here I am, I have a good 6 to 8 inches on her and I can't even do a quarter of the weight she does. It's all about perspective. Just because you are bigger, doesn't mean you are stronger or better. It just means you are not there, yet.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
That's Fair....
I've learned a new medical term over the course of this rehab. It's a magical set of words. I think they teach it in some class like "beginning anatomy" or "intro to the human body" or some other human-related, non-liberal arts, science department course because EVERY medical professional that I have on my team has used this word with me at some point since Stroke2 occurred.
Mama uses the phrase constantly. Dr. M has used the phrase a handful of times. Oz has used the term. Wheelie has used it. All of them. And then today when Dr. S used the term, I had the light bulb moment that this truly was a medical phrase. The phrase could have a number of meanings but I've never heard any other professionals in other fields use it as consistently as in the medical field. Are you ready for the phrase?
"That's Fair"....now when I think of the word fair, I think of the county fair. The carneys that come rolling into town and the animal barns with all of the manure stinking up the place and the ferris wheel that you don't dare ride even though the department of public safety has issued their big "it's ok today" certification to it. Building after building of Miss So & So's homemade rhubarb pie and her neighbors handmade quilts. All with shiny ribbons hanging on them. That's what a fair is to me. But when the medical team uses it, they use it in a different way. Not to be a noun. But as an adjective. (Didn't know you were going to get an English lesson today, did you?)
Usually when Mama asks me how a certain exercise is affecting me and I respond, she will say, "That's Fair." Because it is. It's unbiased. It's candid. It's sincere. When Dr. M asks me how I'm sleeping or doing or whatever and I respond, she will say "That's Fair." Because it is. It's straightforward. It's reasonable. When Oz or Wheelie ask me how my medications are working or if I've experienced certain side effects and I describe what's going on, they respond, "That's Fair". Because it is. It's frank. It's Honest. It's Legitimate. And today when Dr. S asked me how I was doing on thinking about what we discussed last week and how I felt we should start with the implementation of the plan and I responded, he said, "That's Fair." Because it is. It's Objective. It's Praiseworthy. It's Respectable.
My life as I knew it has changed. And That's Fair. My life moving forward is going to be amazing. And That's Fair. It will not happen overnight and I have to understand that. That's Fair. It's Sincere. It's Good. It's Trustworthy. And it's Fair.
Mama uses the phrase constantly. Dr. M has used the phrase a handful of times. Oz has used the term. Wheelie has used it. All of them. And then today when Dr. S used the term, I had the light bulb moment that this truly was a medical phrase. The phrase could have a number of meanings but I've never heard any other professionals in other fields use it as consistently as in the medical field. Are you ready for the phrase?
"That's Fair"....now when I think of the word fair, I think of the county fair. The carneys that come rolling into town and the animal barns with all of the manure stinking up the place and the ferris wheel that you don't dare ride even though the department of public safety has issued their big "it's ok today" certification to it. Building after building of Miss So & So's homemade rhubarb pie and her neighbors handmade quilts. All with shiny ribbons hanging on them. That's what a fair is to me. But when the medical team uses it, they use it in a different way. Not to be a noun. But as an adjective. (Didn't know you were going to get an English lesson today, did you?)
Usually when Mama asks me how a certain exercise is affecting me and I respond, she will say, "That's Fair." Because it is. It's unbiased. It's candid. It's sincere. When Dr. M asks me how I'm sleeping or doing or whatever and I respond, she will say "That's Fair." Because it is. It's straightforward. It's reasonable. When Oz or Wheelie ask me how my medications are working or if I've experienced certain side effects and I describe what's going on, they respond, "That's Fair". Because it is. It's frank. It's Honest. It's Legitimate. And today when Dr. S asked me how I was doing on thinking about what we discussed last week and how I felt we should start with the implementation of the plan and I responded, he said, "That's Fair." Because it is. It's Objective. It's Praiseworthy. It's Respectable.
My life as I knew it has changed. And That's Fair. My life moving forward is going to be amazing. And That's Fair. It will not happen overnight and I have to understand that. That's Fair. It's Sincere. It's Good. It's Trustworthy. And it's Fair.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
The Ten Commandments of Self....
Today's post I am borrowing from a friend, with permission, Mary Costanza wrote the Ten Commandments of Self and she says it so much better than I could ever say it. However, my commentary is in the italics under each one.
I'm all for being transparent. I've tried my best to be that way here. I will always show the whole side of everything, the good, bad, and ugly.
3. I shall not speak words of negativity about myself. I am whole, and yes, life may have wounded me, but I am whole. The wounds need time to heal, I shall be patient with myself during this process, and give myself as much time as I need.
This one is super hard for me. I have a lot of frustration with myself daily. Minute-by-minute is a new journey. But it is one that I am taking. I will not just say, "well, strokes suck, time to curl up and die now."
4. I shall speak words only of kindness, words that empower, words of compassion and love to myself daily, even on the toughest day when I am angry at myself. I shall have unconditional love for myself.
Another super tough one. Mary really is pushing my limits here. I mean, I just agreed to be positive and now she wants me to be kind and show myself unconditional love. I have had a talk with her and think that she may be asking a bit much on this one, but I will try.
5. I shall nurture my heart, mind, body and soul. I shall create an environment both inside and out that is supportive, loving and no judgmental. I will feed my heart and soul with love, and fuel my body with nutritious foods , and exercise it daily. I shall feed my mind only with thoughts that provoke curiosity and wonder and strive to seek the answers.
I'm learning to do this. It is definitely easier said than done. But, let's just say I have the provoking curiosity and striving for answers part down pretty well.
6. I shall not take the negativity that others say so personally, everyone has an opinion about me, but that opinion does not define who I am.
Ouch. This one is super duper hard. I think that Mary may be overstepping the line here. But, I'm willing to give it a try. After all, I'm a people pleaser. How can I not take opinions personally.
7. I shall give myself rest, forgiveness, and attention.
Rest. Okay, I got this one. Trust me, my pillow and I have become close friends over the past several weeks. Forgiveness. Yeah, we'll glide over that one. I have a lot of screw ups. Attention...okay Mary, really? Attention. no thanks.
8. I shall learn my limits and say “No” when feeling overwhelmed, without guilt and shame.
Well, this one, dear friends, is going to happen whether I like it or not. The Warden will make the "saying NO" part happen even if I don't/can't. The without guilt and shame part is a different story but Dr. S and I are working on this one so that The Warden doesn't have to step in and so that I can do it all by myself.
9. I shall not allow others to dictate my decisions; I am strong enough to make my own.
This kind of goes in line with #8. Dr. S and I are working on it. I am very strong but I cave in to guilt trips a lot and those are vacations that I don't want to, nor need to take any longer.
10. I shall no longer beat myself up about past decisions, choices and mistakes that I have made, because now I realize they were lessons that had to be learned. I shall have no regrets.
God has an interesting way of using the very last one. I am still learning. This whole journey has been a lesson that I am not sure I will graduate from any time soon. But, for today, I will accept it. And that's really all I can do. Just today. Tomorrow, however, is a different story. ;)
The Ten Commandments Of Self
1. I shall not hide, be ashamed or embarrassed of who I am. I shall embrace everything about me. My imperfections, age, beauty, talents, intelligence, all of it.
1. I shall not hide, be ashamed or embarrassed of who I am. I shall embrace everything about me. My imperfections, age, beauty, talents, intelligence, all of it.
This includes the times when I am tired and start to stutter, and when I feel like that girl on the tv commercial that says, "Use Your Words" to the door-to-door salesman. I would love to use my words sometimes, but they just wont come out. It also includes the times when I have to go slower. Slower than I normally would because this is the new way that I operate. I'm no longer in the fast lane. Call me a slowpoke or whatever, but my body doesn't go that fast anymore.
2. I shall not hide the pain that I have experienced, I will acknowledge it, work on it, and learn from it and let go. I shall not keep it buried deep down inside of me anymore.
2. I shall not hide the pain that I have experienced, I will acknowledge it, work on it, and learn from it and let go. I shall not keep it buried deep down inside of me anymore.
I'm all for being transparent. I've tried my best to be that way here. I will always show the whole side of everything, the good, bad, and ugly.
3. I shall not speak words of negativity about myself. I am whole, and yes, life may have wounded me, but I am whole. The wounds need time to heal, I shall be patient with myself during this process, and give myself as much time as I need.
This one is super hard for me. I have a lot of frustration with myself daily. Minute-by-minute is a new journey. But it is one that I am taking. I will not just say, "well, strokes suck, time to curl up and die now."
4. I shall speak words only of kindness, words that empower, words of compassion and love to myself daily, even on the toughest day when I am angry at myself. I shall have unconditional love for myself.
Another super tough one. Mary really is pushing my limits here. I mean, I just agreed to be positive and now she wants me to be kind and show myself unconditional love. I have had a talk with her and think that she may be asking a bit much on this one, but I will try.
5. I shall nurture my heart, mind, body and soul. I shall create an environment both inside and out that is supportive, loving and no judgmental. I will feed my heart and soul with love, and fuel my body with nutritious foods , and exercise it daily. I shall feed my mind only with thoughts that provoke curiosity and wonder and strive to seek the answers.
I'm learning to do this. It is definitely easier said than done. But, let's just say I have the provoking curiosity and striving for answers part down pretty well.
6. I shall not take the negativity that others say so personally, everyone has an opinion about me, but that opinion does not define who I am.
Ouch. This one is super duper hard. I think that Mary may be overstepping the line here. But, I'm willing to give it a try. After all, I'm a people pleaser. How can I not take opinions personally.
7. I shall give myself rest, forgiveness, and attention.
Rest. Okay, I got this one. Trust me, my pillow and I have become close friends over the past several weeks. Forgiveness. Yeah, we'll glide over that one. I have a lot of screw ups. Attention...okay Mary, really? Attention. no thanks.
8. I shall learn my limits and say “No” when feeling overwhelmed, without guilt and shame.
Well, this one, dear friends, is going to happen whether I like it or not. The Warden will make the "saying NO" part happen even if I don't/can't. The without guilt and shame part is a different story but Dr. S and I are working on this one so that The Warden doesn't have to step in and so that I can do it all by myself.
9. I shall not allow others to dictate my decisions; I am strong enough to make my own.
This kind of goes in line with #8. Dr. S and I are working on it. I am very strong but I cave in to guilt trips a lot and those are vacations that I don't want to, nor need to take any longer.
10. I shall no longer beat myself up about past decisions, choices and mistakes that I have made, because now I realize they were lessons that had to be learned. I shall have no regrets.
God has an interesting way of using the very last one. I am still learning. This whole journey has been a lesson that I am not sure I will graduate from any time soon. But, for today, I will accept it. And that's really all I can do. Just today. Tomorrow, however, is a different story. ;)
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Teeter Totters will never be the same
I absolutely love my therapists and doctors. I know I've said that before, but this group of folks all working together to make my world complete again are just beyond remarkable (and its a good remarkable). I'm also convinced that after having a stroke, you pretty much revert back to preschool and kindergarten days in some ways because everything has to be very basic. Today at therapy is no different.
Some of you will remember the little plastic turtles that we rode in the gym in kindergarten. We had to maneuver our butt and our feet and hold onto the handlebars to get them to wiggle us across the room. We would fly across that gym floor like little maniacs laughing our silly heads off. We have something similar at PT. We have scooter races. Only these are on black stools. Usually it is a patient racing against one of the therapist in a big lap around the room. As silly as it sounds, it truly does work your legs. My hamstring on my left side is not quite strong enough to the point that I can successfully beat Rabbi at this game (without cheating), but it's getting there. I at least mostly finish the lap around without hitting too many things. But we do laugh our silly heads off.
I was also introduced to this thing called the SportKat today. Imagine, if you will, a huge beach ball. Then, cut the ball in half and stick a thick plastic board straight across the middle. So you are looking at a half circle with a lid on it. This thing is able to have the tension released or added by the push of a button. Mama and Rabbi put me between the parallel bars again (for safety) and set the SportKat in the center in front of me. I had to step on the top of it and get my balance. Then they adjusted the tension accordingly. It reminded me of when we were younger and even though we were told NOT to do it, we would stand in the middle of the teeter totter and try to even it out and balance. THIS is very similar. Once I had my balance and was pretty confident in standing there, Mama and Rabbi added a twist. They started throwing a ball at me. What the stink? I'm barely standing on this crazy, moving board and now you want me to catch a ball and throw it back to you?!?! We were playing a goofy version of catch. Starting out it was a simple, straight forward toss to me and I'd toss it right back. Then they decided to up the ante a bit and they started throwing it further left and further right. It was all in the name of gaining balance and working reflexes but goodness it sure does give you a cardio workout as well. Who knew that a dollar tree ball and a teeter totter could be so intense?
I think it's fair to say at this point that mine and the Warden's routines are starting to take shape and becoming more solidified. I am able to stay on my own throughout the day (not like I can go anywhere anyway since I can't drive) but I have to text him every hour to check in. I forget sometimes and he immediately calls me, so I have to set my alarm on my phone to go off every hour so I remember. I don't want him to send in the calvary because he thinks something horrible has happened, when in reality I'm just busy playing Pet Rescue Saga on Facebook and got sidetracked or fell asleep reading a book.
Speaking of Facebook games...I know that most people find them horrible wastes of time (and they are), but I've found that surprising they truly are great for people that have had a stroke (or two) because it is causing me to problem solve and focus and think about these things (I realized the first few days that not only do you have to match up jewels of a certain color, but you have to match up ENOUGH of them to get the game to proceed). So I apologize now if I have accidentally inundated anybody with game requests that didn't want them. I'm just working on my cognitive thinking skills.
Tomorrow I have to visit a new rheumatologist and I'm a little unsure of all of that. I have had the same one for 19 years but he is moving more into the research arena and so is tapering off from his patients and Dr. M thinks its just as good a time as any to do a switch and get a fresh pair of eyes on my medical issues. So, here goes nothing....
Some of you will remember the little plastic turtles that we rode in the gym in kindergarten. We had to maneuver our butt and our feet and hold onto the handlebars to get them to wiggle us across the room. We would fly across that gym floor like little maniacs laughing our silly heads off. We have something similar at PT. We have scooter races. Only these are on black stools. Usually it is a patient racing against one of the therapist in a big lap around the room. As silly as it sounds, it truly does work your legs. My hamstring on my left side is not quite strong enough to the point that I can successfully beat Rabbi at this game (without cheating), but it's getting there. I at least mostly finish the lap around without hitting too many things. But we do laugh our silly heads off.
I was also introduced to this thing called the SportKat today. Imagine, if you will, a huge beach ball. Then, cut the ball in half and stick a thick plastic board straight across the middle. So you are looking at a half circle with a lid on it. This thing is able to have the tension released or added by the push of a button. Mama and Rabbi put me between the parallel bars again (for safety) and set the SportKat in the center in front of me. I had to step on the top of it and get my balance. Then they adjusted the tension accordingly. It reminded me of when we were younger and even though we were told NOT to do it, we would stand in the middle of the teeter totter and try to even it out and balance. THIS is very similar. Once I had my balance and was pretty confident in standing there, Mama and Rabbi added a twist. They started throwing a ball at me. What the stink? I'm barely standing on this crazy, moving board and now you want me to catch a ball and throw it back to you?!?! We were playing a goofy version of catch. Starting out it was a simple, straight forward toss to me and I'd toss it right back. Then they decided to up the ante a bit and they started throwing it further left and further right. It was all in the name of gaining balance and working reflexes but goodness it sure does give you a cardio workout as well. Who knew that a dollar tree ball and a teeter totter could be so intense?
I think it's fair to say at this point that mine and the Warden's routines are starting to take shape and becoming more solidified. I am able to stay on my own throughout the day (not like I can go anywhere anyway since I can't drive) but I have to text him every hour to check in. I forget sometimes and he immediately calls me, so I have to set my alarm on my phone to go off every hour so I remember. I don't want him to send in the calvary because he thinks something horrible has happened, when in reality I'm just busy playing Pet Rescue Saga on Facebook and got sidetracked or fell asleep reading a book.
Speaking of Facebook games...I know that most people find them horrible wastes of time (and they are), but I've found that surprising they truly are great for people that have had a stroke (or two) because it is causing me to problem solve and focus and think about these things (I realized the first few days that not only do you have to match up jewels of a certain color, but you have to match up ENOUGH of them to get the game to proceed). So I apologize now if I have accidentally inundated anybody with game requests that didn't want them. I'm just working on my cognitive thinking skills.
Tomorrow I have to visit a new rheumatologist and I'm a little unsure of all of that. I have had the same one for 19 years but he is moving more into the research arena and so is tapering off from his patients and Dr. M thinks its just as good a time as any to do a switch and get a fresh pair of eyes on my medical issues. So, here goes nothing....
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Black Jack meets Epcot
Up to this point I have been using my handy dandy walker, Charlie, to get around. And when I am at PT, I have Rabbi on a leash making sure I don't fall. I've never really been afraid of falling before the stroke. I am very afraid of falling now. It's a weird mindshift that happens when you realize that you COULD fall, quite easily. The Warden has threatened me with a Life Alert attachment. Sadly, several of my physicians have agreed that it is probably a good investment since I am alone throughout the day when I work. I've already been trying to figure out how to make it look better. If one of these clunky attachments claims me as its new owner I'm gonna have to bedazzle the thing or something because for the love of Mary & Joseph I hate the thought of wearing a garage door opener around my neck straight out of the box.
Charlie and I get along just fine. Shadow has taken a liking to him and often kisses him and doesn't scamper away anymore when she sees Charlie escorting me across the floor. So, you can imagine my surprise when Mama brings out Charlie's counterpart at PT the next day. In comes Jack. Jack is a quad cane, the kind of cane that has the four feet on the bottom. Going from being encased by the circle of safety that was Charlie to relying on Jack for balance and some support was a HUGE leap. It's like trying to get Woody to put on Buzz's costume and fly to Infinity and Beyond. I will admit it was nice to finally "graduate" away from Charlie, but it was cause for some anxiety since I had not, to this point, walked without Charlie or the assistance of another person in well over a month. My grandmother had a Jack (but she called hers Charlie...follow that twisted line of naming, lol). Hers was gray. My Jack is Black. It makes me laugh when I say that or think of it. I have a BLACK JACK! Take me to a casino, I'm ready. But as we all know, canes are boring. They really are. So I really wanted to Wagsify Jack. I dressed Jack up in leopard print. A very fancy gray and black leopard print. Very slimming. Little Bit and Mama thinks it is funny. I think it is at least different than every other cane being used.
One of the nice things about Jack is that I can carry small, light items, in my left hand when I am walking from one point to another. With Charlie, I was learning to wear clothes with big pockets, or tuck things in my waist band of my shorts, or however I could manage to get around best. Jack has allowed me a bit more freedom in this sense. And most importantly, he has allowed me to get drinks on my own. I still have my 28 ounce plastic mug from McGruff that I'm dutifully visiting on a daily basis ( however, I still hear her voice in the back of my head saying, "you're not drinking enough water!") but I also have managed to drink one Dr. Pepper (with good ice) in my Epcot mug each day.
Let me explain something about Epcot. My parents took my siblings and I to Walt Disney World in 1995. It was their "vacation of a lifetime" to us. The five of us taking on Disney. I was in college and living on my own at the time but came back home for the trip. When we were there, I purchased a souvenir. A 22 ounce plastic mug with Mickey and the Epcot Flags of the World on both sides. I refer to it as Epcot when I'm rifling like a crazy woman through the dishwasher trying to find it, or in the cabinet. I drink out of it almost every day. It is comfortable. I know exactly where to fill up the ice to make it the perfect mix of ice and drink. I've even trained Tommy where to fill the ice up to. So, Epcot is my security blanket of sorts. Now back on track...Jack gives me the freedom to move around without having to totally rely on somebody else to bring everything to me, just MOST things. So now that I have Jack, I feel like I should be able to conquer the world. Did I mention that my ability to sense boundaries and limits is skewed still?
My typical day at this point in the process looks something like this. I manage to wrangle myself out of bed and to the kitchen table where I go through my morning ritual of taking blood pressure (I think our machine is possessed, by the way), recording it, downing the first batch of medication, and then making any phone calls (refill prescriptions, verify doctor's appointments, and the like) or doing any mailings that I need to do (bills, letters, cards, etc...). These usually take me a good couple hours, if not longer. Remember everything takes me so much longer. By then I need to start thinking about getting ready for therapy in the afternoon. Throw in a couple minutes to read a few pages in a book and that's my day. Its a far cry from my typical day just 2 months ago and this is what makes me anxious to get back full force. Nowadays I don't feel like I'm doing anything (in reality I'm doing a 2 hour workout every afternoon at therapy that I wasn't previously doing) and that I'm just letting time slip by that could be used on something productive....anything productive. Again, in retrospect I see the skewed sense of things as I sit here but when I'm actually in the moment, it seems like nothing.
Rehab tomorrow should be fun. We're doing higher hurdles and something called the SportKat. Not sure what it is, but it sounds interesting.
Charlie and I get along just fine. Shadow has taken a liking to him and often kisses him and doesn't scamper away anymore when she sees Charlie escorting me across the floor. So, you can imagine my surprise when Mama brings out Charlie's counterpart at PT the next day. In comes Jack. Jack is a quad cane, the kind of cane that has the four feet on the bottom. Going from being encased by the circle of safety that was Charlie to relying on Jack for balance and some support was a HUGE leap. It's like trying to get Woody to put on Buzz's costume and fly to Infinity and Beyond. I will admit it was nice to finally "graduate" away from Charlie, but it was cause for some anxiety since I had not, to this point, walked without Charlie or the assistance of another person in well over a month. My grandmother had a Jack (but she called hers Charlie...follow that twisted line of naming, lol). Hers was gray. My Jack is Black. It makes me laugh when I say that or think of it. I have a BLACK JACK! Take me to a casino, I'm ready. But as we all know, canes are boring. They really are. So I really wanted to Wagsify Jack. I dressed Jack up in leopard print. A very fancy gray and black leopard print. Very slimming. Little Bit and Mama thinks it is funny. I think it is at least different than every other cane being used.
One of the nice things about Jack is that I can carry small, light items, in my left hand when I am walking from one point to another. With Charlie, I was learning to wear clothes with big pockets, or tuck things in my waist band of my shorts, or however I could manage to get around best. Jack has allowed me a bit more freedom in this sense. And most importantly, he has allowed me to get drinks on my own. I still have my 28 ounce plastic mug from McGruff that I'm dutifully visiting on a daily basis ( however, I still hear her voice in the back of my head saying, "you're not drinking enough water!") but I also have managed to drink one Dr. Pepper (with good ice) in my Epcot mug each day.
Let me explain something about Epcot. My parents took my siblings and I to Walt Disney World in 1995. It was their "vacation of a lifetime" to us. The five of us taking on Disney. I was in college and living on my own at the time but came back home for the trip. When we were there, I purchased a souvenir. A 22 ounce plastic mug with Mickey and the Epcot Flags of the World on both sides. I refer to it as Epcot when I'm rifling like a crazy woman through the dishwasher trying to find it, or in the cabinet. I drink out of it almost every day. It is comfortable. I know exactly where to fill up the ice to make it the perfect mix of ice and drink. I've even trained Tommy where to fill the ice up to. So, Epcot is my security blanket of sorts. Now back on track...Jack gives me the freedom to move around without having to totally rely on somebody else to bring everything to me, just MOST things. So now that I have Jack, I feel like I should be able to conquer the world. Did I mention that my ability to sense boundaries and limits is skewed still?
My typical day at this point in the process looks something like this. I manage to wrangle myself out of bed and to the kitchen table where I go through my morning ritual of taking blood pressure (I think our machine is possessed, by the way), recording it, downing the first batch of medication, and then making any phone calls (refill prescriptions, verify doctor's appointments, and the like) or doing any mailings that I need to do (bills, letters, cards, etc...). These usually take me a good couple hours, if not longer. Remember everything takes me so much longer. By then I need to start thinking about getting ready for therapy in the afternoon. Throw in a couple minutes to read a few pages in a book and that's my day. Its a far cry from my typical day just 2 months ago and this is what makes me anxious to get back full force. Nowadays I don't feel like I'm doing anything (in reality I'm doing a 2 hour workout every afternoon at therapy that I wasn't previously doing) and that I'm just letting time slip by that could be used on something productive....anything productive. Again, in retrospect I see the skewed sense of things as I sit here but when I'm actually in the moment, it seems like nothing.
Rehab tomorrow should be fun. We're doing higher hurdles and something called the SportKat. Not sure what it is, but it sounds interesting.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
A walk (or Bungee ride) on the Dark Side
A couple things that have to be told at this point, because as much as I love trying to keep a lighter side of things, after having 2 strokes in such a short timeframe, it sometimes has to be a little serious. Number one, I feel like I'm falling into a depression of sorts and I don't know how to get out of it. I have little motivation to read, play with Shadow or pretty much any of the things that I had been doing on a regular basis. I am not sleeping well so I'm constantly tired. My brain has started running in overdrive all the waking time again and even attempting to read or do a singular activity is not calming it down. I'm attempting to create things but I get angry (which is truly the only word that I can think of to properly fit the feeling) when I can't do everything to the project that I want to do or could used to do and it takes me much much longer than ever before to do the simplest of tasks.
Number two, I am scared most of the time. I know, hard to believe that I'm afraid or scared of anything, but at this point, I am. I am afraid of having a third stroke, especially since they don't know what is causing them. I'm afraid if I was to have a third stroke that it would be even worse than this one. I'm afraid that all the kinks in my body and brain wont get worked out completely so I wont ever return back to the person that I was (or a resemblance of that person). I am afraid that my business is taking a fatal blow that it will not be able to rebound from after having been closed for so long. I know that all of these things are crazy to be afraid of, but it's what is in my heart. I am trying each day to thank God for the day and the small victories (because there are truly a lot of those) and trust that He will take care of everything and make me into what the new me is supposed to be. But lets face it. How many of us, especially women, have handed stuff to God first thing in the morning and then by noon said, "Ya know what God, I'm just gonna take this one little thing out of your inbox because I see how busy you are and I will just deal with it so you don't have to." I've caught myself doing this on a regular basis. I need to quit doing it, but its so hard.
My super awesome Warden husband has taken the brunt of all of this and kept on smiling. For that I feel horrible. He shouldn't have to deal with all of this too. He has so much on his plate already that dealing with my crappy attitude and insecurities should not have to be a focus of his right now.
And then there is always PT and Speech Therapy....
I saw Ace again a few days later. The first activity she had me do was look at a piece of paper, like a quiz or worksheet that an elementary child would be given, maybe 3rd or 4th grade. There were about 20 to 25 lines on it. A descriptive phrase was written on the left side of the paper and then on the right side of the paper was a fill in the blank. But all of the blanks had two letters already filled in. The answers all had the letters I and T in it somewhere. I should be able to cruise through this I thought. Examples were things like, "an inhabitant of Italy" and the fill in had an I T and then 5 blank lines so I could spell out Italian. I was okay for most of them and got them relatively quickly. Except 2 or 3. One of them, I could not for the life of me figure out and it was making me angry looking at the paper. It was "a worthy quality; virtue" with blanks of __ ___ ___ I T. I was lost. Not a clue. The second one that I kept looking at over and over again...and even read out loud (which is where I realized my big mistake was) said this, "a garment worn on the hand" with blanks of ___ I T ___ ___ ____. But when I read it, 5 or 6 times, mind you, I read it as "a garment worn on the head". And that's how I read it out loud. For whatever reason I could not figure it out. I was thinking of hats, scarves, trying to figure out if a foreign hat of some kind was called something with an I and T in it. Then Ace asked me to read it to her again, slowly. That's when we all realized I was exchanging the word head for hand. Not sure why my brain did that flipflop. I got the answer immediately after I realized the mistaken word. Man, that made me feel dumb. I kept asking myself (in my head) how on earth I could have gotten those two words mixed up. I mean, I KNOW the difference in the words. I can spell. Why do strokes cause things like that?
Then because my Mastiff characteristics still had not totally subsided and I was like a teething toddler, Ace showed the Warden and I some exercises to do with my cheeks and mouth to help strengthen the area so it could regain strength and muscle and full use. I felt like a perverted version of Jim Carey's Pet Detective. Just put the mask on me and watch my face twitch and twist! I've never had so many tongue depressers/wooden sticks in my mouth in a single day. Now, if they only had popsicles on the other end, I would have been a much happier patient (and messier because I can only imagine the mess I would have made with them).
After working with Ace, it was off to see Mama and the Rabbi. I had been regularly walking the Rabbi and moving the Duck around the room. I had gotten proficient at the ladder and a small version of foursquare (reminded me of square dancing in the fifth grade) and the hurdles. Today, though, they had a new task for me. The Bungee. Imagine if you will, a big 4 inch thick heavily padded belt wrapped around your waist. Then, realize that it is hooked to an industrial strength bungee cord that weighs several pounds and is hooked to an 8 foot long board with eye hooks coming out of the wall. The goal: to walk as far forward as you can possibly go in a controlled manner and once you are there, slowly walk backwards in a controlled manner. The walking forward part is easy to a point and then when you start feeling the resistance it becomes harder and harder. Mama told me to keep going until I couldn't possibly go any further. I pulled the bungee probably about 20 feet from the wall, give or take. The backwards part...not so easy. Because by the time I had so much tension in the bungee, if I was to let it, it would have immediately pulled me backwards and flat on my butt. This was so much harder than it looked. The Warden commented on how it looked fun. I asked Mama if Tommy could try it out. He had been a good sport to this point and was willing to try all of the tasks that I was given so that he'd understand at least a small portion of what I was doing. The Rabbi hooked him up to the bungee when I was done and he was off. He thought the going forward was harder than the going backward. I guess the Bungee was a good stopping point for the day because it was a perfect analogy to keep going forward and fight the urge to be thrown backwards. But I was getting ready to travel a million light years away from where I was, I just didn't know it yet.
Number two, I am scared most of the time. I know, hard to believe that I'm afraid or scared of anything, but at this point, I am. I am afraid of having a third stroke, especially since they don't know what is causing them. I'm afraid if I was to have a third stroke that it would be even worse than this one. I'm afraid that all the kinks in my body and brain wont get worked out completely so I wont ever return back to the person that I was (or a resemblance of that person). I am afraid that my business is taking a fatal blow that it will not be able to rebound from after having been closed for so long. I know that all of these things are crazy to be afraid of, but it's what is in my heart. I am trying each day to thank God for the day and the small victories (because there are truly a lot of those) and trust that He will take care of everything and make me into what the new me is supposed to be. But lets face it. How many of us, especially women, have handed stuff to God first thing in the morning and then by noon said, "Ya know what God, I'm just gonna take this one little thing out of your inbox because I see how busy you are and I will just deal with it so you don't have to." I've caught myself doing this on a regular basis. I need to quit doing it, but its so hard.
My super awesome Warden husband has taken the brunt of all of this and kept on smiling. For that I feel horrible. He shouldn't have to deal with all of this too. He has so much on his plate already that dealing with my crappy attitude and insecurities should not have to be a focus of his right now.
And then there is always PT and Speech Therapy....
I saw Ace again a few days later. The first activity she had me do was look at a piece of paper, like a quiz or worksheet that an elementary child would be given, maybe 3rd or 4th grade. There were about 20 to 25 lines on it. A descriptive phrase was written on the left side of the paper and then on the right side of the paper was a fill in the blank. But all of the blanks had two letters already filled in. The answers all had the letters I and T in it somewhere. I should be able to cruise through this I thought. Examples were things like, "an inhabitant of Italy" and the fill in had an I T and then 5 blank lines so I could spell out Italian. I was okay for most of them and got them relatively quickly. Except 2 or 3. One of them, I could not for the life of me figure out and it was making me angry looking at the paper. It was "a worthy quality; virtue" with blanks of __ ___ ___ I T. I was lost. Not a clue. The second one that I kept looking at over and over again...and even read out loud (which is where I realized my big mistake was) said this, "a garment worn on the hand" with blanks of ___ I T ___ ___ ____. But when I read it, 5 or 6 times, mind you, I read it as "a garment worn on the head". And that's how I read it out loud. For whatever reason I could not figure it out. I was thinking of hats, scarves, trying to figure out if a foreign hat of some kind was called something with an I and T in it. Then Ace asked me to read it to her again, slowly. That's when we all realized I was exchanging the word head for hand. Not sure why my brain did that flipflop. I got the answer immediately after I realized the mistaken word. Man, that made me feel dumb. I kept asking myself (in my head) how on earth I could have gotten those two words mixed up. I mean, I KNOW the difference in the words. I can spell. Why do strokes cause things like that?
Then because my Mastiff characteristics still had not totally subsided and I was like a teething toddler, Ace showed the Warden and I some exercises to do with my cheeks and mouth to help strengthen the area so it could regain strength and muscle and full use. I felt like a perverted version of Jim Carey's Pet Detective. Just put the mask on me and watch my face twitch and twist! I've never had so many tongue depressers/wooden sticks in my mouth in a single day. Now, if they only had popsicles on the other end, I would have been a much happier patient (and messier because I can only imagine the mess I would have made with them).
After working with Ace, it was off to see Mama and the Rabbi. I had been regularly walking the Rabbi and moving the Duck around the room. I had gotten proficient at the ladder and a small version of foursquare (reminded me of square dancing in the fifth grade) and the hurdles. Today, though, they had a new task for me. The Bungee. Imagine if you will, a big 4 inch thick heavily padded belt wrapped around your waist. Then, realize that it is hooked to an industrial strength bungee cord that weighs several pounds and is hooked to an 8 foot long board with eye hooks coming out of the wall. The goal: to walk as far forward as you can possibly go in a controlled manner and once you are there, slowly walk backwards in a controlled manner. The walking forward part is easy to a point and then when you start feeling the resistance it becomes harder and harder. Mama told me to keep going until I couldn't possibly go any further. I pulled the bungee probably about 20 feet from the wall, give or take. The backwards part...not so easy. Because by the time I had so much tension in the bungee, if I was to let it, it would have immediately pulled me backwards and flat on my butt. This was so much harder than it looked. The Warden commented on how it looked fun. I asked Mama if Tommy could try it out. He had been a good sport to this point and was willing to try all of the tasks that I was given so that he'd understand at least a small portion of what I was doing. The Rabbi hooked him up to the bungee when I was done and he was off. He thought the going forward was harder than the going backward. I guess the Bungee was a good stopping point for the day because it was a perfect analogy to keep going forward and fight the urge to be thrown backwards. But I was getting ready to travel a million light years away from where I was, I just didn't know it yet.
Friday, June 27, 2014
The Duck Whisperer...
Mama and Rabbi work really hard to keep PT interesting and helpful and fun. I truthfully could not ask for a better group of people to help me through this time of strengthening. The entire staff at the Rehab facility is like one big family. Constantly cheering all the patients on with their successes and lifting them up when they are struggling. And it's not just Mama, Rabbi, and Mr Miyagi that I'm talking about either. There's DuckLady, LittleBit, Irish, Ace, and N.
As promised, Mama and Rabbi added new things to my session during our next visit. Mama had been on my business fb page to get an idea of what types of things I work with on a daily basis and they coordinated my rehab around that. So after walking with the Rabbi (our walks are getting smoother and quicker but I'm still afraid some of the time because even though I'm moving my feet and legs the way they are telling me to and it's moving me forward, it does not feel natural and I have to use a ton of concentration), he told me to stop at this one spot near a bunch of equipment that was in holders on the wall. These are all weighted lengths of multi-colored pipes. Starting at ones as light as a twig and going up to 5 pounds. But they aren't just weights. These are all in various lengths from about 2 feet long to 4 feet long. I was told that my task was to take them down out of their holders first. Once I had done this, I was told to hold them all. Fortunately I could bear hug them. Then we walked some more. Me holding onto this crazy mix of long and shorts rods in various weights and Rabbi holding onto my leash. Truth be told, I really just wanted to drop all but the longest one and then start twirling that one like I was back in color guard. After all, I was glide stepping...I might as well finish out the halftime performance, right?
After we had made a lap and a half like this I was told to take them back and put them in their holders. I kinda sucked at this. The holders weren't labelled so I just had to figure out where each one went. It was like a bad game of Memory. Then we walked some more. I was starting to think we were just gonna walk the whole time but then I got another surprise. They brought out this huge 2 foot stuffed white duck (DuckLady had won it at a conference) and I got to practice picking it up (to simulate picking up soft items without defined handles) and then carrying it around a couple laps. Did I mention the duck squeaked Aflac when it was squeezed? This was great fun! I loved this crazy spin on things. But as much fun as it was I do have to be honest here and admit that both carrying the rods and carrying the duck were extremely difficult. At this point in my recovery I was having to concentrate on moving my feet and legs properly and that was a challenge. Throwing in additional items (balancing extra, uneven weight) while I walked without dropping them was extremely difficult.
LittleBit is another one of the physical therapists that works at this facility, but not necessarily with me. However, she is a great cheerleader and always smiling and offering support. I found out that she had battled Hodgkins Lymphoma just 2 years prior and was now cancer free. I think her great faith and having been on the side of a patient needing lots of support and positivity allows her to bring that added exuberance to work and to the folks going through rehab. I desperately needed that right now.
After PT, I had speech therapy with Ace. even though I seem to be talking better, it still wasn't my usual ninety-for-nothing pace that I had previously had and my inflection and tone were off. Not to mention the weird cottonmouth affect that sometimes came over my voice as if I was just leaving the dentist after having novocaine. Besides I still couldn't feel around my lower left lip and was drooling like an English Mastiff most of the time. Hopefully Ace could help me overcome these things.
The first thing we did was I had to talk to her. I don't like talking now. Can I text or sign language? Perhaps I can write a note. Anything but talk. It's awkward and hard and frankly I dont like it. (by the way, anybody that knew me pre-stroke should mark that on a calendar. The first time I haven't wanted to talk. It may become a national holiday.). So I talked to her and answered her questions.
Then she read some article to me that reminded me of the Achievement Tests that we used to take back in elementary school. You know the ones that are a couple paragraphs of some scientific something or other that is supposed to be interesting but it's written so you just want to poke your eye out with a crayola and move on? Yeah, that kind of article. It transported me straight back to Mrs.
S's third grade class. After she read this article on hydroponic something or other, I had to answer some equally mundane questions about it. Next I had to read a different article to her. I hoped she was going to have to answer the questions this time but there were no questions. We went through a variety of other reading and comprehension questions during this session and she finally agreed that I might only need a couple more sessions and then the rest of the speech therapy could be done on my own at home. I was super excited when I heard that. I needed to get my old voice back, I had people to talk to and things to say...besides, our anniversary was coming up and I didn't want to tell The Warden "Happy Anniversary" in my choppy, 5 year old garbled voice. I had to get this voice thing figured out as soon as possible.
As promised, Mama and Rabbi added new things to my session during our next visit. Mama had been on my business fb page to get an idea of what types of things I work with on a daily basis and they coordinated my rehab around that. So after walking with the Rabbi (our walks are getting smoother and quicker but I'm still afraid some of the time because even though I'm moving my feet and legs the way they are telling me to and it's moving me forward, it does not feel natural and I have to use a ton of concentration), he told me to stop at this one spot near a bunch of equipment that was in holders on the wall. These are all weighted lengths of multi-colored pipes. Starting at ones as light as a twig and going up to 5 pounds. But they aren't just weights. These are all in various lengths from about 2 feet long to 4 feet long. I was told that my task was to take them down out of their holders first. Once I had done this, I was told to hold them all. Fortunately I could bear hug them. Then we walked some more. Me holding onto this crazy mix of long and shorts rods in various weights and Rabbi holding onto my leash. Truth be told, I really just wanted to drop all but the longest one and then start twirling that one like I was back in color guard. After all, I was glide stepping...I might as well finish out the halftime performance, right?
After we had made a lap and a half like this I was told to take them back and put them in their holders. I kinda sucked at this. The holders weren't labelled so I just had to figure out where each one went. It was like a bad game of Memory. Then we walked some more. I was starting to think we were just gonna walk the whole time but then I got another surprise. They brought out this huge 2 foot stuffed white duck (DuckLady had won it at a conference) and I got to practice picking it up (to simulate picking up soft items without defined handles) and then carrying it around a couple laps. Did I mention the duck squeaked Aflac when it was squeezed? This was great fun! I loved this crazy spin on things. But as much fun as it was I do have to be honest here and admit that both carrying the rods and carrying the duck were extremely difficult. At this point in my recovery I was having to concentrate on moving my feet and legs properly and that was a challenge. Throwing in additional items (balancing extra, uneven weight) while I walked without dropping them was extremely difficult.
LittleBit is another one of the physical therapists that works at this facility, but not necessarily with me. However, she is a great cheerleader and always smiling and offering support. I found out that she had battled Hodgkins Lymphoma just 2 years prior and was now cancer free. I think her great faith and having been on the side of a patient needing lots of support and positivity allows her to bring that added exuberance to work and to the folks going through rehab. I desperately needed that right now.
After PT, I had speech therapy with Ace. even though I seem to be talking better, it still wasn't my usual ninety-for-nothing pace that I had previously had and my inflection and tone were off. Not to mention the weird cottonmouth affect that sometimes came over my voice as if I was just leaving the dentist after having novocaine. Besides I still couldn't feel around my lower left lip and was drooling like an English Mastiff most of the time. Hopefully Ace could help me overcome these things.
The first thing we did was I had to talk to her. I don't like talking now. Can I text or sign language? Perhaps I can write a note. Anything but talk. It's awkward and hard and frankly I dont like it. (by the way, anybody that knew me pre-stroke should mark that on a calendar. The first time I haven't wanted to talk. It may become a national holiday.). So I talked to her and answered her questions.
Then she read some article to me that reminded me of the Achievement Tests that we used to take back in elementary school. You know the ones that are a couple paragraphs of some scientific something or other that is supposed to be interesting but it's written so you just want to poke your eye out with a crayola and move on? Yeah, that kind of article. It transported me straight back to Mrs.
S's third grade class. After she read this article on hydroponic something or other, I had to answer some equally mundane questions about it. Next I had to read a different article to her. I hoped she was going to have to answer the questions this time but there were no questions. We went through a variety of other reading and comprehension questions during this session and she finally agreed that I might only need a couple more sessions and then the rest of the speech therapy could be done on my own at home. I was super excited when I heard that. I needed to get my old voice back, I had people to talk to and things to say...besides, our anniversary was coming up and I didn't want to tell The Warden "Happy Anniversary" in my choppy, 5 year old garbled voice. I had to get this voice thing figured out as soon as possible.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
You Can NEVER Quit Your Job...ever....but I love you.
Other than letting my mind rest, the doctors keep preaching about Reducing Stress. They (the doctors) are funny creatures, aren't they? How on earth do you reduce stress as a female small business owner in the America that we live in currently? But I won't chase that rabbit down that hole, so on with the point. I blame the doctors for a large chunk of the stress I'm feeling lately. After all, I went to the Emergency Room. Wouldn't it be easier if I got a bill from The Emergency Room? Not separate bills from EMSA, Dr. F, Wheelie, the lab, the MRI, and so on and so forth. Goodness it is overwhelming. We are very fortunate to have extremely good health insurance. For that I thank the Lord and remind Tommy that he can NEVER quit working at his job.
Just the other day the mail arrived and we had one of those bigger than usual envelopes in it that is the Explanation of Benefits for the insurance. We have been getting a couple a week now since I've been home and I just have to wait until we get the medical bill that goes with it, match them up and then pay it. I learned the hard way after last year's stroke to wait until I have both items in hand before paying. I got overzealous in my attempt to stay current on things in 2013 and paid a bill before the EOB showed up and they did not match, I overpaid and getting the excess back was like breaking out of Alcatraz with a spoon. Virtually impossible. Being the good wife of an analystic accountant, we have a worksheet set up now. Complete with columns for "service provided", EOB received/amount, bill received/amount, and paid date. Then it gets filed into the accordion folder in the EOBs received awaiting Bill section.
So when this EOB envelope came in the mail, I got the worksheet out and set up to log it in. What I did instead, was, I am sure, cause my heart monitor to go into overdrive. I opened that envelope up and slid the EOB out of its bright white encasement and carefully unfolded it. THIS was the BIG one. It was for the hospital stay...coded politely as Accomodations and Board. The establishment had charged $118,000 for that stay at the ICU resort and spa. I looked at the number again and had to count where the decimal point was and where the commas were out loud to make sure I was reading it correctly. I'm sure Shadow thought I was insane when I let out the gasp.
Now this is where I am so grateful to God for allowing my husband to have an amazing job that provides the outstanding insurance that we have. I honestly cannot imagine living through these 2 strokes without insurance. Heck, I can't imagine living my daily life without it since one of my RA drugs is $4000+ each month (without insurance). I pray continuously for the folks that do live without insurance. When I see bills similar to this, I understand full well why they say that a bulk majority of the bankruptcies in America are due to medical bills. It's mind boggling, really.
Reading the EOB closer, I see that they did, indeed, bill the insurance for $118,000+. However, there is always that column on the explanation that the insurance can fire back and say, "hey, you cracksmokers, quit being greedy. We aren't paying that amount so you have to write off THIS much." The write-off amount was roughly $87,000. Leaving a payment from the insurance company of about $30,000 and some change. Now $30,000 seems more reasonable for a hospital bill but it is still CRAZY EXPENSIVE to me...either that, or I'm really a bigger tightwad than I have ever realized. Which meant we were going to be getting a bill for $996.09. (of which we already paid a $100 as a co-pay when we rolled into the ER because God forbid we forget to pay that RIGHT NOW...not like we weren't gonna be there for a while, but that intake person was very efficient at getting that payment from us.
Somehow I don't see how dealing with the avalanche of paperwork, multiple streams of billing and everything is supposed to be easier, more helpful, or less stressful, but this is just one of the crazy battles being fought on the road to recovery. Tomorrow I hear that we are adding new fun-loving events at PT, so maybe that will help reduce stress.
Just the other day the mail arrived and we had one of those bigger than usual envelopes in it that is the Explanation of Benefits for the insurance. We have been getting a couple a week now since I've been home and I just have to wait until we get the medical bill that goes with it, match them up and then pay it. I learned the hard way after last year's stroke to wait until I have both items in hand before paying. I got overzealous in my attempt to stay current on things in 2013 and paid a bill before the EOB showed up and they did not match, I overpaid and getting the excess back was like breaking out of Alcatraz with a spoon. Virtually impossible. Being the good wife of an anal
So when this EOB envelope came in the mail, I got the worksheet out and set up to log it in. What I did instead, was, I am sure, cause my heart monitor to go into overdrive. I opened that envelope up and slid the EOB out of its bright white encasement and carefully unfolded it. THIS was the BIG one. It was for the hospital stay...coded politely as Accomodations and Board. The establishment had charged $118,000 for that stay at the ICU resort and spa. I looked at the number again and had to count where the decimal point was and where the commas were out loud to make sure I was reading it correctly. I'm sure Shadow thought I was insane when I let out the gasp.
Now this is where I am so grateful to God for allowing my husband to have an amazing job that provides the outstanding insurance that we have. I honestly cannot imagine living through these 2 strokes without insurance. Heck, I can't imagine living my daily life without it since one of my RA drugs is $4000+ each month (without insurance). I pray continuously for the folks that do live without insurance. When I see bills similar to this, I understand full well why they say that a bulk majority of the bankruptcies in America are due to medical bills. It's mind boggling, really.
Reading the EOB closer, I see that they did, indeed, bill the insurance for $118,000+. However, there is always that column on the explanation that the insurance can fire back and say, "hey, you cracksmokers, quit being greedy. We aren't paying that amount so you have to write off THIS much." The write-off amount was roughly $87,000. Leaving a payment from the insurance company of about $30,000 and some change. Now $30,000 seems more reasonable for a hospital bill but it is still CRAZY EXPENSIVE to me...either that, or I'm really a bigger tightwad than I have ever realized. Which meant we were going to be getting a bill for $996.09. (of which we already paid a $100 as a co-pay when we rolled into the ER because God forbid we forget to pay that RIGHT NOW...not like we weren't gonna be there for a while, but that intake person was very efficient at getting that payment from us.
Somehow I don't see how dealing with the avalanche of paperwork, multiple streams of billing and everything is supposed to be easier, more helpful, or less stressful, but this is just one of the crazy battles being fought on the road to recovery. Tomorrow I hear that we are adding new fun-loving events at PT, so maybe that will help reduce stress.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Praise the Lord and Pass the Pizza
Dogs are amazing aren't they? Shadow, who after last year's stroke became even more loving and protective of me than she had been previously, has been on ultra high alert this year with me since I've been home. The first couple days of being home she would crawl up next to me wherever I was and sniff my chest in the area of the heart monitor and then lay her head right on top of it. It became our resting position. And she's started barking more at the people that come into our home. She used to never bark, but after this stroke, there have been more folks in and out of our home, bringing food, helping Tommy with this or that, delivering things for us, just general daily helpers. Shadow does not care for the intrusion but she's warmed up to a handful of them. The rest she uses her ugly, BIG DOG bark to greet.
Speaking of helpers, if you remember I was moving my storage unit when Act 2 occurred. It was still half-moved. The manager at the storage facility had told me when I told her that I wanted the larger unit (back in April) to just wait and pay for the month of May when I had moved everything over, so I hadn't yet paid for any storage for May. She was there the day the ambulance hauled me off. She had even told my friend's husband that I WASN'T there (fortunately he insisted on looking for himself) and so she had granted not only him, but the firefighters, the ambulance and my husband access to the area. She was aware of the situation. Shortly after we returned home from the hospital, Tommy had to go up to storage and grab something that I had promised to a friend for her to use during her daughter's graduation party. When he got to the gate at the storage facility and entered the code, it said in its ominous green letters ACCESS DENIED.
He went into the office and asked the manager about it and she said, "I wasn't sure what you were doing so I put it on lockdown." Excuse me? What we were doing? Well, Shadow and I are napping and playing tiddlywinks...FILTER, FILTER, FILTER...Tommy reminded her of the situation, of which she seemed totally clueless. Guess the blonde doesn't come from a bottle after all in her case. She granted him access but during the conversation it was somehow deemed that the old unit needed to be vacated the upcoming weekend and that Tommy could then come back in on Monday and pay the prorated amount for the new unit and whatever was due on the old unit.
Since there was a considerable amount of stuff to move and it was more than Tommy could do on his own, he sent a text out to 7 of his friends who had called recently (when they heard about the stroke) and asked if we needed anything or if there was anything they could do to help. (Be careful what you ask or volunteer, my husband will take you up on it!). He simply asked if anybody would be available to help him move the unit on Saturday afternoon. He'd provide pizza and soda after the work was done. We figured maybe 2 or 3, at most, would be available. We are extremely blessed. We had 5 of the 7 confirm that they would be there and could help. Tommy arranged for Big Sis to come over and babysit me while the guys went and moved storage.
I should admit that I'm a little bit OCD when it comes to my supplies and stuff. I have, in my head, a vision of how it all is displayed, stored, used, and so forth. So of course I had a definite idea of how things should be put into the new storage space. I drew a map. On gridpaper. Complete with a legend and measurements and detailed instructions on how it should all be put away. I wasn't holding my breath that it would happen this way though. But a girl can hope, can't she?
Saturday came around and the guys showed up right on time. There was an accountant, a financial planner, a dental manager, a dentist, an insurance rep, and a state worker. This was a motley crew for sure. I gave Tommy the map and asked him to please use it. Big Sis and I hung out at the house waiting for the pizza to arrive (we had pre-ordered it online) and just chatted (my speech was beginning to come back the more I talked so I was forcing myself to talk more and more, but I really preferred to stay silent. And if you know me, THAT is a miracle in and of itself!).
I knew how much HEAVY stuff there was in storage and just the plain abundance of stuff. I figured it would take them a good 2 hours to get it all moved IF they paid attention to what they were doing and didn't just throw it in the new unit like a lot of people do when placing items in storage. 50 minutes later, the whole crew of them pull back in the driveway. How on earth could this be? I told Big Sis that they probably had to use the bathroom or something. Nope, they came rambling into the house and informed us that the entire unit, all 100+ pieces of gridwall, all of the cabinets, and supplies and furniture had been moved to the new unit. They even alluded to the "map" and said they casually glanced at it but may have made a few adjustments. This made me nervous but I knew this group, or at least hoped that I did, and prayed that their adjustments were not too drastic. I'd just have to wait and see.
Speaking of helpers, if you remember I was moving my storage unit when Act 2 occurred. It was still half-moved. The manager at the storage facility had told me when I told her that I wanted the larger unit (back in April) to just wait and pay for the month of May when I had moved everything over, so I hadn't yet paid for any storage for May. She was there the day the ambulance hauled me off. She had even told my friend's husband that I WASN'T there (fortunately he insisted on looking for himself) and so she had granted not only him, but the firefighters, the ambulance and my husband access to the area. She was aware of the situation. Shortly after we returned home from the hospital, Tommy had to go up to storage and grab something that I had promised to a friend for her to use during her daughter's graduation party. When he got to the gate at the storage facility and entered the code, it said in its ominous green letters ACCESS DENIED.
He went into the office and asked the manager about it and she said, "I wasn't sure what you were doing so I put it on lockdown." Excuse me? What we were doing? Well, Shadow and I are napping and playing tiddlywinks...FILTER, FILTER, FILTER...Tommy reminded her of the situation, of which she seemed totally clueless. Guess the blonde doesn't come from a bottle after all in her case. She granted him access but during the conversation it was somehow deemed that the old unit needed to be vacated the upcoming weekend and that Tommy could then come back in on Monday and pay the prorated amount for the new unit and whatever was due on the old unit.
Since there was a considerable amount of stuff to move and it was more than Tommy could do on his own, he sent a text out to 7 of his friends who had called recently (when they heard about the stroke) and asked if we needed anything or if there was anything they could do to help. (Be careful what you ask or volunteer, my husband will take you up on it!). He simply asked if anybody would be available to help him move the unit on Saturday afternoon. He'd provide pizza and soda after the work was done. We figured maybe 2 or 3, at most, would be available. We are extremely blessed. We had 5 of the 7 confirm that they would be there and could help. Tommy arranged for Big Sis to come over and babysit me while the guys went and moved storage.
I should admit that I'm a little bit OCD when it comes to my supplies and stuff. I have, in my head, a vision of how it all is displayed, stored, used, and so forth. So of course I had a definite idea of how things should be put into the new storage space. I drew a map. On gridpaper. Complete with a legend and measurements and detailed instructions on how it should all be put away. I wasn't holding my breath that it would happen this way though. But a girl can hope, can't she?
Saturday came around and the guys showed up right on time. There was an accountant, a financial planner, a dental manager, a dentist, an insurance rep, and a state worker. This was a motley crew for sure. I gave Tommy the map and asked him to please use it. Big Sis and I hung out at the house waiting for the pizza to arrive (we had pre-ordered it online) and just chatted (my speech was beginning to come back the more I talked so I was forcing myself to talk more and more, but I really preferred to stay silent. And if you know me, THAT is a miracle in and of itself!).
I knew how much HEAVY stuff there was in storage and just the plain abundance of stuff. I figured it would take them a good 2 hours to get it all moved IF they paid attention to what they were doing and didn't just throw it in the new unit like a lot of people do when placing items in storage. 50 minutes later, the whole crew of them pull back in the driveway. How on earth could this be? I told Big Sis that they probably had to use the bathroom or something. Nope, they came rambling into the house and informed us that the entire unit, all 100+ pieces of gridwall, all of the cabinets, and supplies and furniture had been moved to the new unit. They even alluded to the "map" and said they casually glanced at it but may have made a few adjustments. This made me nervous but I knew this group, or at least hoped that I did, and prayed that their adjustments were not too drastic. I'd just have to wait and see.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Operation Rest Your Mind....
Mama and Rabbi announced that we were going to do a few new things the next day at PT in addition to all of the things we had done the previous day. So after I was walked by Rabbi, they added hurdles!! Yes, my Olympic track dreams were still alive. Positioned back between the parallel bars with my leash on, they had set up these yellow hurdles every foot or so apart. Cue the Chariots of Fire music because I was gonna breeze through these. They were 8 inches high. woohoo. Go me. Actually 8 inches was a LONG way to lift my left leg. Felt like I was trying to step over a mountain. Most normal, average, everyday people when they see something like this, just automatically lift their leg and step. No big deal. I had to concentrate and tell my mind when to lift. It was not automatic. So when I did step, it was this weird, clunky, gripping the parallel bars for dear life, knees pointing this way and that, flamingo-walk type step. Down and back 5 times. Might wanna turn the music down a bit, I guess I'm not quite at full beach-running mode just yet.
The other new thing they introduced was THE LADDER. It isn't a vertical ladder like most people envision. It's a plastic fold up ladder laid flat on the ground. It kind of reminded me of the thing that you see on ESPN that football players are running through at the combine. Schweet! I was gonna go all NFL on this bad-boy. Well, as NFL as I could go with a leash on anyway. It turned into more of a strange dance-type thing. I had to start on one side and step into the center square (between the rungs) one foot at a time and then out at a diagonal on the opposite side. Then go back the other way until I had made a zig zag pattern working my way "up" the ladder and back down. Doesn't sound hard, but my left leg still wanted to drag, especially when I get tired, and by this point in the therapy session it was TIRED. So, it truly was hard work (and I don't mean like the Gatorade commercials).
PT and OT wear me clean out, as a general rule...drained, physically exhausted. But this horrible thing called insomnia has been plaguing me lately too. So, my body is tired, my eyes are tired but my brain will not shut off long enough to allow me to fall asleep. If I do happen to doze off, the dreams are of a quality that only the best movie theaters would produce and promote. They are in color, highly detailed and very action packed and generally I can tell you about my dreams days after they occur. So even if I am asleep, I wake up not feeling rested because I've had an adventurous "rest".
When I was working constantly (pre-stroke), I would listen to books on CD as I worked. After all, who really has time to sit down and read a book? At least that was my belief. I saw pretty much any type of activity that was sitting AND not working on something in conjunction to the sitting, as a waste of my time. So I was "up" on several authors just from listening to them. Post-stroke I had a couple books to listen to, but since my cd player was in my work room, and I wasn't allowed to work/couldn't work (the Warden's rules and my body's inability) it made no sense to me at all to sit back there in my work room just to listen to a book. So Tommy tried to help me out by bringing the cd player into the living room. That was horrible. Now I felt even lazier. I was just sitting and listening to a book but not doing anything. THAT, in my opinion, was worse than actually sitting down and reading a book and not working. So, he lovingly went to the public library and checked out some books for me. Actual, physical books. The first day he brought home 3 or 4 books from my favorite authors and I was going to attempt to read them instead of listening to the CDs. Operation Rest Your Mind was about to get started.
Now keep in mind, I have a Master's Degree in English. I CAN read. I USED to read constantly. I just replaced reading with other activities several years ago and have never gone back. The first day, Tommy got me situated on the sofa (we have the most comfortable sofa in the world) with a book, my phone and charger, my 28 oz mug of water (McGruff would be so happy that I'm continuing to drink water), and a book. I was really apprehensive about this. But I obliged and went along with it. Amazingly, it worked! I found that when I was physically holding the book and reading it, I had to concentrate on what I was reading so the rest of my brain shut off. It no longer went a million miles an hour while I was reading. I don't know if my brain has always worked like this or if it is just post-stroke brain having to remember what each word is and such, but I actually could concentrate on Just One Thing. Within the past two weeks I have read 38 books. I put books on hold using the Library's website and as soon as we get the notice that they are available, Tommy picks them up. I've read practically every James Patterson, Stuart Woods, and John Sanford book the Metropolitan Library System has in its distribution list. Starting on a few new authors now. I think the library workers are starting to wonder what Tommy is doing with all of these books every few days. One day I read 2.5 books from the time he went to work until dinner time. I still feel like I'm wasting time. This is not acceptable.
The other new thing they introduced was THE LADDER. It isn't a vertical ladder like most people envision. It's a plastic fold up ladder laid flat on the ground. It kind of reminded me of the thing that you see on ESPN that football players are running through at the combine. Schweet! I was gonna go all NFL on this bad-boy. Well, as NFL as I could go with a leash on anyway. It turned into more of a strange dance-type thing. I had to start on one side and step into the center square (between the rungs) one foot at a time and then out at a diagonal on the opposite side. Then go back the other way until I had made a zig zag pattern working my way "up" the ladder and back down. Doesn't sound hard, but my left leg still wanted to drag, especially when I get tired, and by this point in the therapy session it was TIRED. So, it truly was hard work (and I don't mean like the Gatorade commercials).
PT and OT wear me clean out, as a general rule...drained, physically exhausted. But this horrible thing called insomnia has been plaguing me lately too. So, my body is tired, my eyes are tired but my brain will not shut off long enough to allow me to fall asleep. If I do happen to doze off, the dreams are of a quality that only the best movie theaters would produce and promote. They are in color, highly detailed and very action packed and generally I can tell you about my dreams days after they occur. So even if I am asleep, I wake up not feeling rested because I've had an adventurous "rest".
When I was working constantly (pre-stroke), I would listen to books on CD as I worked. After all, who really has time to sit down and read a book? At least that was my belief. I saw pretty much any type of activity that was sitting AND not working on something in conjunction to the sitting, as a waste of my time. So I was "up" on several authors just from listening to them. Post-stroke I had a couple books to listen to, but since my cd player was in my work room, and I wasn't allowed to work/couldn't work (the Warden's rules and my body's inability) it made no sense to me at all to sit back there in my work room just to listen to a book. So Tommy tried to help me out by bringing the cd player into the living room. That was horrible. Now I felt even lazier. I was just sitting and listening to a book but not doing anything. THAT, in my opinion, was worse than actually sitting down and reading a book and not working. So, he lovingly went to the public library and checked out some books for me. Actual, physical books. The first day he brought home 3 or 4 books from my favorite authors and I was going to attempt to read them instead of listening to the CDs. Operation Rest Your Mind was about to get started.
Now keep in mind, I have a Master's Degree in English. I CAN read. I USED to read constantly. I just replaced reading with other activities several years ago and have never gone back. The first day, Tommy got me situated on the sofa (we have the most comfortable sofa in the world) with a book, my phone and charger, my 28 oz mug of water (McGruff would be so happy that I'm continuing to drink water), and a book. I was really apprehensive about this. But I obliged and went along with it. Amazingly, it worked! I found that when I was physically holding the book and reading it, I had to concentrate on what I was reading so the rest of my brain shut off. It no longer went a million miles an hour while I was reading. I don't know if my brain has always worked like this or if it is just post-stroke brain having to remember what each word is and such, but I actually could concentrate on Just One Thing. Within the past two weeks I have read 38 books. I put books on hold using the Library's website and as soon as we get the notice that they are available, Tommy picks them up. I've read practically every James Patterson, Stuart Woods, and John Sanford book the Metropolitan Library System has in its distribution list. Starting on a few new authors now. I think the library workers are starting to wonder what Tommy is doing with all of these books every few days. One day I read 2.5 books from the time he went to work until dinner time. I still feel like I'm wasting time. This is not acceptable.
Monday, June 23, 2014
The Warden battles Chewbacca...
My schedule was set that I would have Physical Therapy 3 days a week and Occupational Therapy 2 days a week. On OT days, that means a really long day because they are back to back. I equate it to going to the gym for a 2 hour work out on those days.
The official OT sessions started with resting my hand on a padded incline and using a 2 pound weight, lifting the weight by moving only my wrist. Imagine palm down and lift up...palm up and lift up...then sideways. Each direction 10 times each...do 2 sets while holding the weight. Now, that doesn't seem like a lot, but you have to keep in mind that #1, I have rheumatoid arthritis and my wrists and hands are weaker than most anyway, and #2 Just 2 weeks ago I couldn't even lift my arm up more than about 12 inches by itself for more than 10 seconds. So, 2 pounds felt like I was training for The World's Strongest Man contest.
Then we had to take the 2 pound weights and do bicep curls. The whole time I was doing these I kept thinking of my cousin whose husband recently returned from deployment and while he was gone she got totally ripped and now looks like something out of the Iron Man magazine. I keep laughing to myself because I know that she didn't start with 2 pound weights, but everybody has to start somewhere. So if you guys see me in 10 months and I'm ripped, just know, it started with these 2 pound weights.
And of course it wouldn't be OT without the Wax On/Wax Off exercises. These really do work the shoulders and upper arms. There are other exercises and stuff in there that I'm forgetting but I'll get to them another day. But the session ends with a fun little game that really is a game. It's this pegboard thing. Not like the one at Cracker Barrel or that we had at Grandma's house, but I really believe that those "trained" me for this game. Keep in mind EVERYTHING is done with the left hand. But this game is a plastic board that has little bitty holes drilled in it in 2 rows. Then, there are 3 cups. One for little rods (like when I say little, I mean maybe 1/8 inch wide x 3 inches long), one for washers (that barely fit over the little rods) and one for nuts. You have to take the rod and put it in the little hole, then put a single washer, then a nut, then another washer on it...then move to the next one. And repeat. Seeing how many you can do before the timer goes off. My first day, I got 7.
My first real PT session was just as grueling. First thing they do is tie a leash around your waist (in the name of safety) and the Rabbi holds on to one end. I now know what Shadow feels like when she wants to run and play and we have her leashed. This sucked! Of course I couldn't run and play anyway...unless you count falling and not being able to get back up as running and playing. First part of the session I got to "walk" around the facility. By walk I mean, wear my leash and push my walker in a circle around the room with my Rabbi following closely behind with leash in hand. Also, by "walk" I really mean, glide step...for the band nerds reading this (of which I am one). My body's natural tendency was to point my toes out and to slightly drag my left foot (to help stabilize and balance) but Mama told me I had to learn to walk, heal to toe, rolling my foot. Both feet. even though my left side was the one that was hurt, my right side had taken up some bad habits to compensate for the left side being down.
After walking I was pretty excited because I had visions of being a world class gymnast. NOT. I was put between two parallel bars (for safety) and had to stand on a squishy thick gym mat thing without holding on. Didn't happen. I had to hold onto those bars. Then, the funny people that Mama and Rabbi are, asked me to stand on my left leg only, ON the squishy thick gym mat, without holding on to the bars. Didn't happen. But I was able to stand on my left leg for a little bit..I just held on to those bars with the Fear of God in my hands because I honestly didn't trust that leg. It felt horribly shakey. But my visions of world class gymnastics didn't end just yet. THEN they put a squishy thick mat that was really long like a balance beam between the parallel bars and asked me to walk, one foot in front of the other, on it. Down and back 5 times. Woo-Hoo! Watch out Team USA.
The Warden during this time was dutifully standing on the sidelines cheering me on. Honestly, he has been a godsend. I know when folks get married, they take the "for better or for worse" vow but man, he's sure getting a lot of "for worse" and he rolls with it like it's no big deal. I worry that he needs rest. After all, he's been keeping up the house, taking care of Shadow and I, going to work at his job, keeping track of and making sure that I make it to all of my doctor's appointments. He's gotta be tired. But when I ask him he says, "I'm fine"....and right now, because I don't have the strength or ability to push that envelope, I have to accept that he truly is fine.
One of the many things that The Warden does for me is to help me in the shower. At this point, my balance still sucks, is non-existent, lacking...however it is phrased, it means I'd fall flat on my butt if I tried anything. Our house, remember, was built when builders were streamlining and putting up a bazillion houses at a time in the mid-80s. So we have the standard bathtub and no walk-in shower. I frankly will likely never be able to sit down in our bathtub again and enjoy a nice hot bubble bath. I had a hard enough time before the stroke because it was too hard for me to get up out of because it sits so low and there is nothing to help me grasp ahold of when I try to get out to help pull me up. Knowing that that was the case pre-stroke, bathing post-stroke would have to definitely be modified. A friend of ours loaned us a shower seat (one of those plastic chairs that you sit in the bathtub to sit on when you take a shower), but still reaching up to wash my hair was a challenge my arm hadn't completely reached yet and don't even think that I could wash my back on my own, or have the stability and balance to bend over to wash my legs without falling completely over head first. The Warden put on his swimsuit and climbed into the shower and helped me. I even got my legs shaved for the first time in several weeks...I was starting to look and feel like Chewbacca!
For Better or For Worse...and until tomorrow...
The official OT sessions started with resting my hand on a padded incline and using a 2 pound weight, lifting the weight by moving only my wrist. Imagine palm down and lift up...palm up and lift up...then sideways. Each direction 10 times each...do 2 sets while holding the weight. Now, that doesn't seem like a lot, but you have to keep in mind that #1, I have rheumatoid arthritis and my wrists and hands are weaker than most anyway, and #2 Just 2 weeks ago I couldn't even lift my arm up more than about 12 inches by itself for more than 10 seconds. So, 2 pounds felt like I was training for The World's Strongest Man contest.
Then we had to take the 2 pound weights and do bicep curls. The whole time I was doing these I kept thinking of my cousin whose husband recently returned from deployment and while he was gone she got totally ripped and now looks like something out of the Iron Man magazine. I keep laughing to myself because I know that she didn't start with 2 pound weights, but everybody has to start somewhere. So if you guys see me in 10 months and I'm ripped, just know, it started with these 2 pound weights.
And of course it wouldn't be OT without the Wax On/Wax Off exercises. These really do work the shoulders and upper arms. There are other exercises and stuff in there that I'm forgetting but I'll get to them another day. But the session ends with a fun little game that really is a game. It's this pegboard thing. Not like the one at Cracker Barrel or that we had at Grandma's house, but I really believe that those "trained" me for this game. Keep in mind EVERYTHING is done with the left hand. But this game is a plastic board that has little bitty holes drilled in it in 2 rows. Then, there are 3 cups. One for little rods (like when I say little, I mean maybe 1/8 inch wide x 3 inches long), one for washers (that barely fit over the little rods) and one for nuts. You have to take the rod and put it in the little hole, then put a single washer, then a nut, then another washer on it...then move to the next one. And repeat. Seeing how many you can do before the timer goes off. My first day, I got 7.
My first real PT session was just as grueling. First thing they do is tie a leash around your waist (in the name of safety) and the Rabbi holds on to one end. I now know what Shadow feels like when she wants to run and play and we have her leashed. This sucked! Of course I couldn't run and play anyway...unless you count falling and not being able to get back up as running and playing. First part of the session I got to "walk" around the facility. By walk I mean, wear my leash and push my walker in a circle around the room with my Rabbi following closely behind with leash in hand. Also, by "walk" I really mean, glide step...for the band nerds reading this (of which I am one). My body's natural tendency was to point my toes out and to slightly drag my left foot (to help stabilize and balance) but Mama told me I had to learn to walk, heal to toe, rolling my foot. Both feet. even though my left side was the one that was hurt, my right side had taken up some bad habits to compensate for the left side being down.
After walking I was pretty excited because I had visions of being a world class gymnast. NOT. I was put between two parallel bars (for safety) and had to stand on a squishy thick gym mat thing without holding on. Didn't happen. I had to hold onto those bars. Then, the funny people that Mama and Rabbi are, asked me to stand on my left leg only, ON the squishy thick gym mat, without holding on to the bars. Didn't happen. But I was able to stand on my left leg for a little bit..I just held on to those bars with the Fear of God in my hands because I honestly didn't trust that leg. It felt horribly shakey. But my visions of world class gymnastics didn't end just yet. THEN they put a squishy thick mat that was really long like a balance beam between the parallel bars and asked me to walk, one foot in front of the other, on it. Down and back 5 times. Woo-Hoo! Watch out Team USA.
The Warden during this time was dutifully standing on the sidelines cheering me on. Honestly, he has been a godsend. I know when folks get married, they take the "for better or for worse" vow but man, he's sure getting a lot of "for worse" and he rolls with it like it's no big deal. I worry that he needs rest. After all, he's been keeping up the house, taking care of Shadow and I, going to work at his job, keeping track of and making sure that I make it to all of my doctor's appointments. He's gotta be tired. But when I ask him he says, "I'm fine"....and right now, because I don't have the strength or ability to push that envelope, I have to accept that he truly is fine.
One of the many things that The Warden does for me is to help me in the shower. At this point, my balance still sucks, is non-existent, lacking...however it is phrased, it means I'd fall flat on my butt if I tried anything. Our house, remember, was built when builders were streamlining and putting up a bazillion houses at a time in the mid-80s. So we have the standard bathtub and no walk-in shower. I frankly will likely never be able to sit down in our bathtub again and enjoy a nice hot bubble bath. I had a hard enough time before the stroke because it was too hard for me to get up out of because it sits so low and there is nothing to help me grasp ahold of when I try to get out to help pull me up. Knowing that that was the case pre-stroke, bathing post-stroke would have to definitely be modified. A friend of ours loaned us a shower seat (one of those plastic chairs that you sit in the bathtub to sit on when you take a shower), but still reaching up to wash my hair was a challenge my arm hadn't completely reached yet and don't even think that I could wash my back on my own, or have the stability and balance to bend over to wash my legs without falling completely over head first. The Warden put on his swimsuit and climbed into the shower and helped me. I even got my legs shaved for the first time in several weeks...I was starting to look and feel like Chewbacca!
For Better or For Worse...and until tomorrow...
Friday, June 20, 2014
Doogie, Mama, the Rabbi and Mr. Miyagi...
We finally got to go see Doogie (my cardiologist) for the follow up appointment and let me just say, I am, at this point, convinced that there is a general rule among doctors that specialize that they DO NOT talk to each other. They may very easily share an office, share a receptionist, but God forbid they actual share the same air and speak to each other. Dr. Pooh Bear had done the TEE and implanted the heart monitor when I was in the hospital and here I am 3 weeks later in Doogie's office, an office that he shares with Dr. Pooh Bear, and he comes in and the first thing he says to me is, "Another stroke? Really?" Yes, really. Not my first choice of post-Cinco De Mayo activities, but it seemed to fit, so why not? (I was told by Dr. M that the stroke affected the part of my brain that controls my "filter". It has been extremely difficult to keep some things unsaid. I think my Warden is working overtime sometimes because I will open my mouth to say something and get The Look--parents know what look it is. The one that you give your kids in "grown up company" or at church. The look that says, Shut up or you will be forever grounded!--and close my mouth again without speaking. But man it would really feel good to get all of this out.)
Then Doogie starts looking at the chart and asked, "Where was I? Why didn't they call me over to the hospital? Was I on vacation?" Again, my Warden had to give The Look because I really wanted to say, "Gee Doc, I don't know. Where were you? Didn't see ya at all during the whole stay even though we were just right over there next door..you could've walked over, even...and we told them who my cardiologist is." But The Look told me to shut up and just let The Warden talk. We informed him about the heart monitor implantation and he looked puzzled and said, "Well, I'm gonna have to figure out how to get the data from it." My first thought was, "uh, yeah, that'd be nice." I just smiled and nodded instead. Doogie did have nice socks on though. They were a cool Notre Dame navy and gold argyle pattern.
We left Doogie's with a new prescription and orders to wait for the Pacemaker Group to call us about the Heart Monitor. At this point, I was starting to feel a little unsure of what I had implanted in me, which just went back to the New World Order microchipping theory I had held previously.
The next day we got to actually go to Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy at the Jim Thorpe Rehab facility in Edmond. We had no idea at all what to expect. What exactly was Occupational Therapy anyway? But, we got there and our first appointment was with the Occupational Therapist. Mr Miyagi tested my strength in my hands and fingers and the sense of feeling in my hands and the strength in my arms. I thought I was rocking awesome up to this point. After all, I had been working hard at home for the past 2 weeks on the exercises they gave me at the hospital. Nope. I still sucked.
There's this machine, its called a handgrip dynamometer, that you squeeze and it measures, hand grip strength. They also are used to give a general index of a person's overall body strength. Hand dynamometers are also used to test comparative strength in the left and right arms. My right hand gripped 68 pounds. My left hand...10 pounds. Yep. I was super weak. (Did I mention that my left hand should have been able to do at least 50-55 pounds since it was my non-dominant hand?) After the testing and measuring to get Baseline measurements, I was put through a series of upper body workouts. The one I absolutely hated was the Wax On/Wax Off. I still hate this task, and I'm still forced to do it every time. I'm sure that it is beneficial, but I don't like it. Imagine a large, 10" or so bouncy ball from Dollar Tree. Now put the weak arm up as you are facing a wall and hold the ball with your palm flat against the ball and hold the ball against a wall, keeping your arm straight but not locking your elbow. Now move your shoulder and upper arm slightly so that you are making the ball move in a clockwise position. Do this for 2 minutes. Just like the Wax On part of The Karate Kid. Then change and do counterclockwise. Wax Off. Then change so you are facing with your body facing 90 degrees away from the wall but your arm is stretched out straight and repeat the whole process. It is 8 minutes of pure agony! My arm hates me when I'm done. I'm sure I didn't use those muscles before the stroke, but man, they are gonna be ready to be used when this is all done.
So, after Mr Miyagi gets done abusing me, I get handed off to Mama and the Rabbi for Physical Therapy. I was definitely not sure what to expect from this dynamic duo either. I found out that Mama had just recently returned from having an adorable little boy and that the guy following her around and being her helper (the Rabbi) was from a local university and was "paying his dues" so to speak in this facility. I don't know if he is or is not Jewish, he is just a great scholar (always pulling out unknown terms for things that nobody has ever heard of) and looks like (I know, I'm profiling) he should be wearing a kippah. They quickly set about starting their testing and measurements. Now remember, I've been working at home for 2 weeks, surely I'll be able to do whatever it is that they want me to do with flying colors, right? WRONG...again.
One of the tests that they did required me to sit in a chair, get up, walk 10 feet. Turn around, come back and sit back down in the chair. No problem. I got this. Charlie (my walker) and I had been zooming around our house for several days...what's 10 feet? Well...it was 30 seconds is what it was. It should have been 10 seconds or less, unassisted. Charlie was offended, I think. Then, they asked me to stand on my left leg only and just stand there for 5 seconds. I'm sure they had smoked some of that wacky weed at lunch because my left leg didn't feel like cooperating. I just kinda held hands with Mama and attempted this one. (by the way, I'm not supposed to hold on during this little game). I barely made the 5 seconds, holding on to somebody else. Yep. I sucked at this too. After they got all of their measurements and baseline gobbedly-gook that they needed for their reports, I was finally allowed to go home. I'd have to come back the next day though for more therapy (actual therapy, not testing and measurements). That evening I was exhausted. Just doing those few random things wore me out. After a 4 hour nap, I got up, ate dinner and went back to bed. Strokes suck. But there's always tomorrow..That's when the REAL therapy begins.
Then Doogie starts looking at the chart and asked, "Where was I? Why didn't they call me over to the hospital? Was I on vacation?" Again, my Warden had to give The Look because I really wanted to say, "Gee Doc, I don't know. Where were you? Didn't see ya at all during the whole stay even though we were just right over there next door..you could've walked over, even...and we told them who my cardiologist is." But The Look told me to shut up and just let The Warden talk. We informed him about the heart monitor implantation and he looked puzzled and said, "Well, I'm gonna have to figure out how to get the data from it." My first thought was, "uh, yeah, that'd be nice." I just smiled and nodded instead. Doogie did have nice socks on though. They were a cool Notre Dame navy and gold argyle pattern.
We left Doogie's with a new prescription and orders to wait for the Pacemaker Group to call us about the Heart Monitor. At this point, I was starting to feel a little unsure of what I had implanted in me, which just went back to the New World Order microchipping theory I had held previously.
The next day we got to actually go to Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy at the Jim Thorpe Rehab facility in Edmond. We had no idea at all what to expect. What exactly was Occupational Therapy anyway? But, we got there and our first appointment was with the Occupational Therapist. Mr Miyagi tested my strength in my hands and fingers and the sense of feeling in my hands and the strength in my arms. I thought I was rocking awesome up to this point. After all, I had been working hard at home for the past 2 weeks on the exercises they gave me at the hospital. Nope. I still sucked.
There's this machine, its called a handgrip dynamometer, that you squeeze and it measures, hand grip strength. They also are used to give a general index of a person's overall body strength. Hand dynamometers are also used to test comparative strength in the left and right arms. My right hand gripped 68 pounds. My left hand...10 pounds. Yep. I was super weak. (Did I mention that my left hand should have been able to do at least 50-55 pounds since it was my non-dominant hand?) After the testing and measuring to get Baseline measurements, I was put through a series of upper body workouts. The one I absolutely hated was the Wax On/Wax Off. I still hate this task, and I'm still forced to do it every time. I'm sure that it is beneficial, but I don't like it. Imagine a large, 10" or so bouncy ball from Dollar Tree. Now put the weak arm up as you are facing a wall and hold the ball with your palm flat against the ball and hold the ball against a wall, keeping your arm straight but not locking your elbow. Now move your shoulder and upper arm slightly so that you are making the ball move in a clockwise position. Do this for 2 minutes. Just like the Wax On part of The Karate Kid. Then change and do counterclockwise. Wax Off. Then change so you are facing with your body facing 90 degrees away from the wall but your arm is stretched out straight and repeat the whole process. It is 8 minutes of pure agony! My arm hates me when I'm done. I'm sure I didn't use those muscles before the stroke, but man, they are gonna be ready to be used when this is all done.
So, after Mr Miyagi gets done abusing me, I get handed off to Mama and the Rabbi for Physical Therapy. I was definitely not sure what to expect from this dynamic duo either. I found out that Mama had just recently returned from having an adorable little boy and that the guy following her around and being her helper (the Rabbi) was from a local university and was "paying his dues" so to speak in this facility. I don't know if he is or is not Jewish, he is just a great scholar (always pulling out unknown terms for things that nobody has ever heard of) and looks like (I know, I'm profiling) he should be wearing a kippah. They quickly set about starting their testing and measurements. Now remember, I've been working at home for 2 weeks, surely I'll be able to do whatever it is that they want me to do with flying colors, right? WRONG...again.
One of the tests that they did required me to sit in a chair, get up, walk 10 feet. Turn around, come back and sit back down in the chair. No problem. I got this. Charlie (my walker) and I had been zooming around our house for several days...what's 10 feet? Well...it was 30 seconds is what it was. It should have been 10 seconds or less, unassisted. Charlie was offended, I think. Then, they asked me to stand on my left leg only and just stand there for 5 seconds. I'm sure they had smoked some of that wacky weed at lunch because my left leg didn't feel like cooperating. I just kinda held hands with Mama and attempted this one. (by the way, I'm not supposed to hold on during this little game). I barely made the 5 seconds, holding on to somebody else. Yep. I sucked at this too. After they got all of their measurements and baseline gobbedly-gook that they needed for their reports, I was finally allowed to go home. I'd have to come back the next day though for more therapy (actual therapy, not testing and measurements). That evening I was exhausted. Just doing those few random things wore me out. After a 4 hour nap, I got up, ate dinner and went back to bed. Strokes suck. But there's always tomorrow..That's when the REAL therapy begins.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
The Customer is NOT always right...
The phrase the Customer is Always Right has been floating around since the early 1900s. It supposedly makes people feel like they are going to be treated better because they can carry that banner around and flaunt it as they wish. I have built my business on pleasing customers and people; often times at the detriment of myself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my customers. I adore them. And many of the "monsters" have been created because I was too afraid to say NO early on. I am a small business owner.
When I first started out, I bent over backwards sometimes to make customers happy. I've been known, quite often, to deliver stuff to kalamazoo and the boondocks for customers because they didn't want to pay shipping or come pick it up. I did all of this in the name of Customer Service. And my customers loved it...and some, started taking it for granted that I would jump at every whim they had. But the past several years in small business has been tough, it finally has started making a turnaround, but I felt like I couldn't say "no" to anybody for fear of losing the sale and the business.
Looking back I realize I was not doing anybody a service at all. I was doing a huge disservice. I was tired. I was ran down. I was stressed. I was hurried to get tons of orders done. At one point a couple years ago I was so extremely sick during the holiday season. The doctors weren't sure what was going on and I was getting sicker and sicker. They were testing for tuberculosis and whooping cough and everything under the sun because they couldn't figure it out. I was just sick. But I had 184 orders to get out for holiday gifts and business could not slow down. Did I mention that I am a ONE PERSON small business? I handle everything. The creating, the supply-buying, the marketing, the stocking of the stores, the shows (I do have a couple helpers at the shows, but preparing for them I don't), the correspondence...all of it.
I think that's when God decided that He was really gonna take the controls back from me and make me realize that He was in control of this and I would slow down. I fully believe that the stroke in 2013, the first stroke, was His way of forcing me to slow down. I did, as I mentioned in an earlier post, slow down. For a bit. But I still had not learned the hard lessons that I needed to learn. And stroke #2 a year later is forcing me to learn them, like it or not.
Tommy had posted on the business FB page that we were closed due to a stroke. There were tons of outpourings of prayers and good wishes. But what wasn't seen by everybody was the messages and texts pouring in from the other side.
One particular customer kept inquiring about when I'd have more "every day" wreaths in one of my booths. I had told the woman in late April that I was going to try to get stocked up on them for Mother's Day. Then I had a stroke. The woman didn't seem to understand that having a stroke kinda knocked me out of commission. I mean, really? Can you imagine if I'd have tried to drag everything into ICU to start making wreaths?!?! Don't worry Doc, I'm just making wreaths for the persistent lady that will hopefully like one of them well enough to buy it. Nothing to see here. You can keep on with your testing and rounds. Can you imagine McGruff's reaction? Oh good grief it'd have been a nightmare. IF I had even been physically able to do it. Every other day though, at least, she was texting asking if I knew when I would have them. When she texted the first time, I was still in ICU. Tommy responded back with this, "I'm sorry Susan has had a stroke and is currently in ICU. I don't currently know when she will be able to do this as I have had to close Wags until she is better." And yet, I got 5 more texts on different days asking the same thing. I know she saw the FB post that Tommy made because she was one of the folks that "liked" his update. I know that she read the texts back because we got the read receipt. She just was persistent. And I was worried that I'd lose her as a customer because after all, I had said that I was gonna get them in the booths before Mother's Day.
Another customer had contacted me back in March inquiring about possibly getting a custom (painted to match bedding) growth chart done for a gift. I LOVE doing custom growth charts!! I told her that it would be no problem as long as I had about 2 weeks to paint it because this time of year was generally slower in the custom order department. I never heard back. Then early last week, I hear from the woman. She tells me what she needs and that she needs it to be done and shipped to Fort Worth by June 20th. First off, when I quoted her the 2 week turnaround, there was no mention of shipping. That takes at least an extra 4-5 days. And second off, I am closed. I explained, very politely (I know it's hard to believe that I can be polite AND politically correct when I need to be) that I was sorry that I had had a stroke and was unfortunately closed for the time being and would not be able to meet her deadline. I thanked her for the opportunity to do the order and even sent her a 20% off coupon to be used when we reopen. Her response was less than understanding. She told me that my "customer service is deplorable. You told me you could do it and now you are backing out. I will let everybody know that you are unreliable and lie to your customers." It upset me for several days that she was so angry. I think dealing with her was one of those lessons that God put in front of me. I had to tell a customer "no". And it sucked.
Remember I mentioned that I had started a little thing called The Wreath of the Month club? It is great fun creating all the different wreaths and seeing everybody's faces when they get theirs every month or send me pictures of them on their front doors. Shortly after Tommy posted that we would have to be closed indefinitely, I had one member of the club message me and ask if this meant that her June wreath was going to be late. It was mid-May. I was hopeful. I told her I'd have to see, but I couldn't make any promises at this time. When I finally got home and was realizing my capabilities, or lack thereof, I sent messages to all of the club members explaining that unfortunately I would be unable to do the June wreaths and was hoping for a July wreath, but at that time didn't want to promise it, but I'd definitely let them know when we were starting back up and that I'd make it up to them. Every single member was very supportive in their responses and totally understood. No rush. But the lady that was worried about her June wreath being late responded back with, "Cancel my membership. I signed up for a wreath every month. Not when it was convenient." Ouch, that sure stung me a bit. But then I got angry!! Does she really think it was convenient for me to have a stroke?
I truly love my business. I adore my customers. When things get ugly, it hurts me. I feel like I have failed, not only the customers, but the business. However, through all of this I now realize that there are some people who are just bullies. It is NOT okay for people to be rude. It is NOT okay for people to throw tantrums. And it is okay for me to say, "no thank you." Some people are going to be sadly surprised when we do reopen because I am being forced to make some drastic changes. They are all good changes, but they are different than the way we used to do things. The changes will result in a better product...more unique and customized. But I will be forced to say, No to some things. But it will make all of the Yes things even better.
After this second stroke, I had no choice. I was closed. Indefinitely. And it really sucked. It still sucks. I will come back. But when I do, I have learned some of those hard lessons. I just hope my customers appreciate them. And those that don't, well, in the words of Herb Kelleher (CEO of Southwest Airlines) to one particularly cranky customer, "Dear Mrs. Crabapple, We will miss you. Love Herb"
When I first started out, I bent over backwards sometimes to make customers happy. I've been known, quite often, to deliver stuff to kalamazoo and the boondocks for customers because they didn't want to pay shipping or come pick it up. I did all of this in the name of Customer Service. And my customers loved it...and some, started taking it for granted that I would jump at every whim they had. But the past several years in small business has been tough, it finally has started making a turnaround, but I felt like I couldn't say "no" to anybody for fear of losing the sale and the business.
Looking back I realize I was not doing anybody a service at all. I was doing a huge disservice. I was tired. I was ran down. I was stressed. I was hurried to get tons of orders done. At one point a couple years ago I was so extremely sick during the holiday season. The doctors weren't sure what was going on and I was getting sicker and sicker. They were testing for tuberculosis and whooping cough and everything under the sun because they couldn't figure it out. I was just sick. But I had 184 orders to get out for holiday gifts and business could not slow down. Did I mention that I am a ONE PERSON small business? I handle everything. The creating, the supply-buying, the marketing, the stocking of the stores, the shows (I do have a couple helpers at the shows, but preparing for them I don't), the correspondence...all of it.
I think that's when God decided that He was really gonna take the controls back from me and make me realize that He was in control of this and I would slow down. I fully believe that the stroke in 2013, the first stroke, was His way of forcing me to slow down. I did, as I mentioned in an earlier post, slow down. For a bit. But I still had not learned the hard lessons that I needed to learn. And stroke #2 a year later is forcing me to learn them, like it or not.
Tommy had posted on the business FB page that we were closed due to a stroke. There were tons of outpourings of prayers and good wishes. But what wasn't seen by everybody was the messages and texts pouring in from the other side.
One particular customer kept inquiring about when I'd have more "every day" wreaths in one of my booths. I had told the woman in late April that I was going to try to get stocked up on them for Mother's Day. Then I had a stroke. The woman didn't seem to understand that having a stroke kinda knocked me out of commission. I mean, really? Can you imagine if I'd have tried to drag everything into ICU to start making wreaths?!?! Don't worry Doc, I'm just making wreaths for the persistent lady that will hopefully like one of them well enough to buy it. Nothing to see here. You can keep on with your testing and rounds. Can you imagine McGruff's reaction? Oh good grief it'd have been a nightmare. IF I had even been physically able to do it. Every other day though, at least, she was texting asking if I knew when I would have them. When she texted the first time, I was still in ICU. Tommy responded back with this, "I'm sorry Susan has had a stroke and is currently in ICU. I don't currently know when she will be able to do this as I have had to close Wags until she is better." And yet, I got 5 more texts on different days asking the same thing. I know she saw the FB post that Tommy made because she was one of the folks that "liked" his update. I know that she read the texts back because we got the read receipt. She just was persistent. And I was worried that I'd lose her as a customer because after all, I had said that I was gonna get them in the booths before Mother's Day.
Another customer had contacted me back in March inquiring about possibly getting a custom (painted to match bedding) growth chart done for a gift. I LOVE doing custom growth charts!! I told her that it would be no problem as long as I had about 2 weeks to paint it because this time of year was generally slower in the custom order department. I never heard back. Then early last week, I hear from the woman. She tells me what she needs and that she needs it to be done and shipped to Fort Worth by June 20th. First off, when I quoted her the 2 week turnaround, there was no mention of shipping. That takes at least an extra 4-5 days. And second off, I am closed. I explained, very politely (I know it's hard to believe that I can be polite AND politically correct when I need to be) that I was sorry that I had had a stroke and was unfortunately closed for the time being and would not be able to meet her deadline. I thanked her for the opportunity to do the order and even sent her a 20% off coupon to be used when we reopen. Her response was less than understanding. She told me that my "customer service is deplorable. You told me you could do it and now you are backing out. I will let everybody know that you are unreliable and lie to your customers." It upset me for several days that she was so angry. I think dealing with her was one of those lessons that God put in front of me. I had to tell a customer "no". And it sucked.
Remember I mentioned that I had started a little thing called The Wreath of the Month club? It is great fun creating all the different wreaths and seeing everybody's faces when they get theirs every month or send me pictures of them on their front doors. Shortly after Tommy posted that we would have to be closed indefinitely, I had one member of the club message me and ask if this meant that her June wreath was going to be late. It was mid-May. I was hopeful. I told her I'd have to see, but I couldn't make any promises at this time. When I finally got home and was realizing my capabilities, or lack thereof, I sent messages to all of the club members explaining that unfortunately I would be unable to do the June wreaths and was hoping for a July wreath, but at that time didn't want to promise it, but I'd definitely let them know when we were starting back up and that I'd make it up to them. Every single member was very supportive in their responses and totally understood. No rush. But the lady that was worried about her June wreath being late responded back with, "Cancel my membership. I signed up for a wreath every month. Not when it was convenient." Ouch, that sure stung me a bit. But then I got angry!! Does she really think it was convenient for me to have a stroke?
I truly love my business. I adore my customers. When things get ugly, it hurts me. I feel like I have failed, not only the customers, but the business. However, through all of this I now realize that there are some people who are just bullies. It is NOT okay for people to be rude. It is NOT okay for people to throw tantrums. And it is okay for me to say, "no thank you." Some people are going to be sadly surprised when we do reopen because I am being forced to make some drastic changes. They are all good changes, but they are different than the way we used to do things. The changes will result in a better product...more unique and customized. But I will be forced to say, No to some things. But it will make all of the Yes things even better.
After this second stroke, I had no choice. I was closed. Indefinitely. And it really sucked. It still sucks. I will come back. But when I do, I have learned some of those hard lessons. I just hope my customers appreciate them. And those that don't, well, in the words of Herb Kelleher (CEO of Southwest Airlines) to one particularly cranky customer, "Dear Mrs. Crabapple, We will miss you. Love Herb"
Now off to Rehab...
The Warden and the new job....
Monday arrived and so did the laundry list of Must-Dos and Need-To-Dos. The first thing on the agenda was to call and get follow up appointments with everybody that was needed according to the discharge paperwork the social worker at the hospital gave us.
Tommy, aka The Warden, by this point in the journey was not allowing me to do diddlysquat. Sit at the kitchen table and work on my exercises. My mind really wanted to get back into my work room and start creating some stuff that had come to me while I was resting (laying quietly in the hospital). But NO! No work for me. Not happening. The Warden gave me a new job description. Rest and work on getting better. "That job sucks", I told him. "I am no good at it. Fire me now." Seems as if I was stuck with it. In reality, I couldn't have done the work that I wanted anyway now looking back, but dadgummit, I thought I could.
While I was busy working on my exercises, I can squeeze that Play Doh with the best of them now, Tommy started making the calls to the doctors for the appointments. The discharge paperwork said to see the neurologist within a month. Have you ever tried to make an appointment with a neurologist? It's like trying to find Big Foot in the desert. He called the number on the paper and got the doctor's receptionist and told her that Wheelie had seen us in the hospital last week and wanted to see us for a follow-up within a month. (Keep in mind, this is early part of May.) She tells him that we can come in on June 30th. He was like, "uh, that's longer than a month. Don't you keep a block of appointments open for folks that he's seen in the hospital and ER?" I guess the answer was no, because we are going on June 30th. However, and here's the tip of the day, it seems if you request to be put on the "first available" (must say those words) they will call you when they have a cancellation or something. I found this out by calling back a week and a half later to see if they had anything sooner come open and the lady said, "did you ask to be put on the First Available list?" I told her I was sure that we didn't know that the list existed. She said, "Well if you ask for that list, then we immediately call when there are openings. Wish you would have called a couple days ago, we had one open yesterday." Are you kidding me? So we are holding strong on the June 30th meeting with Wheelie.
The next call was to the cardiologist for the follow up. Again, the notes were within a month. We got in within that time frame. The rest of the calls weren't as easy. The calls to set up physical therapy were like watching the Keystone Cops! Tommy called the Rehab facility and was told that he would need a prescription from the doctor. He called Dr F's office (since she was the one that saw us in the hospital) and was told that we would need to get that paperwork from our family physician. The family physician was under the assumption that they would have given it to us at the hospital. It was a nightmare. Back and forth and back and forth. Nobody seemed to know what the stink was going on and who was doing what. All we knew was that we were supposed to go to physical and speech therapy at the Edmond location and nobody seemed to understand this. It took 2 weeks for everybody to get things straightened out. Yep, I played with Play Doh and stress balls at my house for 2 weeks before we actually got the chance to even set foot into the Rehab facility. By that time, Shadow and I were walking with Charlie (the walker) around the house pretty well.
As frustrating as the waiting was, it seemed that this whole experience was a bunch of waiting, I kept having this verse in my head. I don't know if somebody had said it to me in the hospital or if I heard it on a late night program as I was cruising the channels on the non-HD tv in ICU one night when I couldn't sleep or what, but I'm choosing to believe that the ladybug brought it to me.
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! Psalm 27:14. I just knew that things were going to be ok. Not when I wanted them to be, obviously, but in due time. In God's time, they would be. I just had to wait. Now if only my customers would understand this.
Tommy, aka The Warden, by this point in the journey was not allowing me to do diddlysquat. Sit at the kitchen table and work on my exercises. My mind really wanted to get back into my work room and start creating some stuff that had come to me while I was resting (laying quietly in the hospital). But NO! No work for me. Not happening. The Warden gave me a new job description. Rest and work on getting better. "That job sucks", I told him. "I am no good at it. Fire me now." Seems as if I was stuck with it. In reality, I couldn't have done the work that I wanted anyway now looking back, but dadgummit, I thought I could.
While I was busy working on my exercises, I can squeeze that Play Doh with the best of them now, Tommy started making the calls to the doctors for the appointments. The discharge paperwork said to see the neurologist within a month. Have you ever tried to make an appointment with a neurologist? It's like trying to find Big Foot in the desert. He called the number on the paper and got the doctor's receptionist and told her that Wheelie had seen us in the hospital last week and wanted to see us for a follow-up within a month. (Keep in mind, this is early part of May.) She tells him that we can come in on June 30th. He was like, "uh, that's longer than a month. Don't you keep a block of appointments open for folks that he's seen in the hospital and ER?" I guess the answer was no, because we are going on June 30th. However, and here's the tip of the day, it seems if you request to be put on the "first available" (must say those words) they will call you when they have a cancellation or something. I found this out by calling back a week and a half later to see if they had anything sooner come open and the lady said, "did you ask to be put on the First Available list?" I told her I was sure that we didn't know that the list existed. She said, "Well if you ask for that list, then we immediately call when there are openings. Wish you would have called a couple days ago, we had one open yesterday." Are you kidding me? So we are holding strong on the June 30th meeting with Wheelie.
The next call was to the cardiologist for the follow up. Again, the notes were within a month. We got in within that time frame. The rest of the calls weren't as easy. The calls to set up physical therapy were like watching the Keystone Cops! Tommy called the Rehab facility and was told that he would need a prescription from the doctor. He called Dr F's office (since she was the one that saw us in the hospital) and was told that we would need to get that paperwork from our family physician. The family physician was under the assumption that they would have given it to us at the hospital. It was a nightmare. Back and forth and back and forth. Nobody seemed to know what the stink was going on and who was doing what. All we knew was that we were supposed to go to physical and speech therapy at the Edmond location and nobody seemed to understand this. It took 2 weeks for everybody to get things straightened out. Yep, I played with Play Doh and stress balls at my house for 2 weeks before we actually got the chance to even set foot into the Rehab facility. By that time, Shadow and I were walking with Charlie (the walker) around the house pretty well.
As frustrating as the waiting was, it seemed that this whole experience was a bunch of waiting, I kept having this verse in my head. I don't know if somebody had said it to me in the hospital or if I heard it on a late night program as I was cruising the channels on the non-HD tv in ICU one night when I couldn't sleep or what, but I'm choosing to believe that the ladybug brought it to me.
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! Psalm 27:14. I just knew that things were going to be ok. Not when I wanted them to be, obviously, but in due time. In God's time, they would be. I just had to wait. Now if only my customers would understand this.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
When inches matter most....
I generally like our house. I call it The Doghouse (because my business is Wag's Creations, so it kinda fits). It's homey and it is also where I run my business which is quite obvious as it often overflows into the main parts of our dwelling rather than staying contained in the back 2 bedrooms and garage. Coming home to the familiarity of the mess that I've created was comforting. But not realistic. As a general every day rule, I often have boards for various projects leaned against the wall in our hallway drying after a first coat of paint, or frames for the little kids tables and chair sets in the living room leaned against the end of the sofa waiting to go to the paint shop, or customer's orders sitting on top of the dog crate waiting to be delivered and any number of a million other projects scattered throughout the space. I'm a messy creator. I've tried over the years to be more streamlined and I have improved on it, but just not completely accomplished in this area yet. I think it is because my brain goes so quickly from one project to another and I always have several projects going at once that causes me to spread things out (and now in retrospect, spread myself too thin). Whatever the reason for my enterprise to take over our home, it was unacceptable and definitely not ADA compliant! Tommy has always been a packrat so it doesn't phase him. He just piles his stuff wherever he wants and we are two messy, hoarding ragamuffins living in harmony.
So, when I came home and my mobility was limited to moving with a walker, it was time to change the freestyle organization techniques that we had grown accustomed to. Tommy busied himself that Saturday morning with cleaning and moving and picking up laundry and reassigning Wags to its proper place in the backrooms and making our house accessible to me. He did a great job in a little amount of time. But there was one area he could not fix. The bathroom. Whoever designed houses in the mid-80s (when ours was built) must have been smoking some pretty serious stuff because the hallucinations of the well-designed home I'm sure they thought they were creating missed the mark.
Our master bedroom adjoins to our master bath. The doorway from the bedroom to the bathroom is an acceptable size and leads into a dressing and sink area that is about 10 feet long. Then, you have to enter another door to get to the toilet and tub area. The most important area. The first time I had to use the bathroom, I traversed the great distance from our bedroom to the bathroom. (Did I mention that when you have a stroke you may need to anticipate things like bathroom trips because when the urge hits, you are not gonna get there any time soon?) Cleared the first doorway, no big deal. Negotiated the 10 feet through the dressing area to the inner sanctuary and was stuck. Yep. Seems as if the cracksmokers that built the house made this doorway about 6 to 8 inches narrower than the other one. I was not going anywhere on my own. Seriously? What is the purpose of this? So my dear husband had to come help me make the journey the last 5 feet to the toilet for the first several days. But that's not where the fun and games ended.
3" to 4" makes an amazing difference. I know some of you are going to run that straight into the gutter...go wherever you want with it. I'm taking it straight to the toilet. You see, regular height toilets are between 14" and 16" tall. Ours at our house are 14" tall. A regular handicap toilet is about 17" to 19" in height. As weak as my legs are, getting down to that 14" level was extremely difficult. But the law of gravity helped me because once I started to sit down, my butt was pulling me the rest of the way. So getting down was not the issue. It was the getting up part that made it nearly impossible. And don't think we have the lovely assistance bars on our walls, or even a cabinet or countertop ANYWHERE near the toilet to aid in this process. Nope, we have to have a quacky house with the toilet sitting over in the Siberia area of the bathroom while all other fixtures are mounted in a sane and totally acceptable position. Poor Tommy had to help me up every time. I am sure he was thinking, "for the love of Pete, what did I do to deserve this punishment?" We'd conquer the shower another time. It was just too much to deal with at the current time.
After making our house as accessible as possible that morning, it was finally time to go get Shadow. I couldn't wait! She came running out, pulling the leash like a crazy dog and hopped up in the window to give me a ton of kisses. We missed each other so much. But she loves daycare and "camp" so I'm sure she didn't miss me while she was there.
Back at The Doghouse, the yard still needed mowing and laundry and dishes needed done (I was planning on doing the Monday night dishes when I finished at storage on Tuesday so they had just been rinsed and were sitting in the sink.). I really really really (yes it needs 3 of them) wanted to be able to help do some of these things. Our house had a stale, musty smell. Like when you come home from vacation and its been closed up too long. Unfortunately I just couldn't do any of these things. I had no strength, no stamina, and frankly, I was doing a great fete of balancing well enough to walk with the walker. Tommy relegated me to sitting at the kitchen table (I didn't dare sit in one of our living room chairs, I'd sink down into it and they'd still be trying to pull me out of one of those things, and I hadn't worked up to our super cushy sofa yet) and working on the hand and arm exercises they had given me when I was discharged. He needed to do yardwork but he was afraid to leave me alone. They still had not determined what had caused either of the strokes and he was just fearful a third stroke would occur, or that I'd try to get up and fall or who knows what goes through a guy's mind. Needless to say, I wasn't even gonna stay inside by myself while he was doing yardwork. So his buddy, Slim, came over to babysit me.
Slim is honestly at least 6.5 feet tall, I think, and I swear you could read the Sunday comics through him because he's so thin. He came over and watched golf and played with Shadow while Tommy started working on the yard. Slim isn't very talkative for the most part, which was fine with me, because I still couldn't talk very well and wasn't sure what I'd say to him if he did want to talk. So we sat in silence. Me at the kitchen table playing with Play Doh (it's what they suggested I use since nobody in the metro area seemed to have TheraPutty) and him in the recliner watching golf. About an hour into the babysitting (our yard honestly takes at least 2 to 3 hours to do from start to finish since we live on a corner lot and if you are running the weedeater too), Slim had to leave and he was relieved of his babysitting duties by BigSis. She's another of Tommy's friends that if I had an older sister, I think she is what I'd imagine her as. She's smart with numbers like Tommy, but she has a personality too. Some of the smart numbers people are b-o-r-I-n-g! She was NOT going to sit there and watch golf. Nope. Not happening.
She immediately started doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. Tommy came in and told her to stop because it would make me feel uncomfortable for somebody else to clean. And normally it would have made me very self-conscience and upset that an outsider was seeing our mess, let alone cleaning it up...but ya know what? I think that went away when they stripped me of my clothes in the ER. I have had to accept over the past week that I cannot do things on my own and that it is okay to ask for help. And that people truly WANT to help (or most of them do). I have long lived with the thought that I need to do it all on my own because asking other's shows a sign of weakness. Besides, why should somebody else be bothered with my crap? BigSis knocked those dishes out in no time flat and had the kitchen looking pretty clean. I was impressed. And I'm just as impressed that Tommy & I have managed to keep it that way for the most part.
With the yardwork done, the dog happily back at home, and the kitchen cleaned up, the weekend wasn't turning out too bad. Except now we had to figure out what to eat. I hadn't been grocery shopping before the stroke and Tommy was so busy with everything else that it was all he could do to get the minimum done, so he had no time for the store or cooking a complete meal. So it was pizza. PapaJohns to the rescue. They were running a special on their large pizzas so we ordered 2 large pizzas thinking we'd have leftovers. And we did...for the next 4 meals. The next day was spent eating pizza, doing hand and arm exercises, and loving on Shadow. Monday would start the great rehab advernture. So we thought.
So, when I came home and my mobility was limited to moving with a walker, it was time to change the freestyle organization techniques that we had grown accustomed to. Tommy busied himself that Saturday morning with cleaning and moving and picking up laundry and reassigning Wags to its proper place in the backrooms and making our house accessible to me. He did a great job in a little amount of time. But there was one area he could not fix. The bathroom. Whoever designed houses in the mid-80s (when ours was built) must have been smoking some pretty serious stuff because the hallucinations of the well-designed home I'm sure they thought they were creating missed the mark.
Our master bedroom adjoins to our master bath. The doorway from the bedroom to the bathroom is an acceptable size and leads into a dressing and sink area that is about 10 feet long. Then, you have to enter another door to get to the toilet and tub area. The most important area. The first time I had to use the bathroom, I traversed the great distance from our bedroom to the bathroom. (Did I mention that when you have a stroke you may need to anticipate things like bathroom trips because when the urge hits, you are not gonna get there any time soon?) Cleared the first doorway, no big deal. Negotiated the 10 feet through the dressing area to the inner sanctuary and was stuck. Yep. Seems as if the cracksmokers that built the house made this doorway about 6 to 8 inches narrower than the other one. I was not going anywhere on my own. Seriously? What is the purpose of this? So my dear husband had to come help me make the journey the last 5 feet to the toilet for the first several days. But that's not where the fun and games ended.
3" to 4" makes an amazing difference. I know some of you are going to run that straight into the gutter...go wherever you want with it. I'm taking it straight to the toilet. You see, regular height toilets are between 14" and 16" tall. Ours at our house are 14" tall. A regular handicap toilet is about 17" to 19" in height. As weak as my legs are, getting down to that 14" level was extremely difficult. But the law of gravity helped me because once I started to sit down, my butt was pulling me the rest of the way. So getting down was not the issue. It was the getting up part that made it nearly impossible. And don't think we have the lovely assistance bars on our walls, or even a cabinet or countertop ANYWHERE near the toilet to aid in this process. Nope, we have to have a quacky house with the toilet sitting over in the Siberia area of the bathroom while all other fixtures are mounted in a sane and totally acceptable position. Poor Tommy had to help me up every time. I am sure he was thinking, "for the love of Pete, what did I do to deserve this punishment?" We'd conquer the shower another time. It was just too much to deal with at the current time.
After making our house as accessible as possible that morning, it was finally time to go get Shadow. I couldn't wait! She came running out, pulling the leash like a crazy dog and hopped up in the window to give me a ton of kisses. We missed each other so much. But she loves daycare and "camp" so I'm sure she didn't miss me while she was there.
Back at The Doghouse, the yard still needed mowing and laundry and dishes needed done (I was planning on doing the Monday night dishes when I finished at storage on Tuesday so they had just been rinsed and were sitting in the sink.). I really really really (yes it needs 3 of them) wanted to be able to help do some of these things. Our house had a stale, musty smell. Like when you come home from vacation and its been closed up too long. Unfortunately I just couldn't do any of these things. I had no strength, no stamina, and frankly, I was doing a great fete of balancing well enough to walk with the walker. Tommy relegated me to sitting at the kitchen table (I didn't dare sit in one of our living room chairs, I'd sink down into it and they'd still be trying to pull me out of one of those things, and I hadn't worked up to our super cushy sofa yet) and working on the hand and arm exercises they had given me when I was discharged. He needed to do yardwork but he was afraid to leave me alone. They still had not determined what had caused either of the strokes and he was just fearful a third stroke would occur, or that I'd try to get up and fall or who knows what goes through a guy's mind. Needless to say, I wasn't even gonna stay inside by myself while he was doing yardwork. So his buddy, Slim, came over to babysit me.
Slim is honestly at least 6.5 feet tall, I think, and I swear you could read the Sunday comics through him because he's so thin. He came over and watched golf and played with Shadow while Tommy started working on the yard. Slim isn't very talkative for the most part, which was fine with me, because I still couldn't talk very well and wasn't sure what I'd say to him if he did want to talk. So we sat in silence. Me at the kitchen table playing with Play Doh (it's what they suggested I use since nobody in the metro area seemed to have TheraPutty) and him in the recliner watching golf. About an hour into the babysitting (our yard honestly takes at least 2 to 3 hours to do from start to finish since we live on a corner lot and if you are running the weedeater too), Slim had to leave and he was relieved of his babysitting duties by BigSis. She's another of Tommy's friends that if I had an older sister, I think she is what I'd imagine her as. She's smart with numbers like Tommy, but she has a personality too. Some of the smart numbers people are b-o-r-I-n-g! She was NOT going to sit there and watch golf. Nope. Not happening.
She immediately started doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. Tommy came in and told her to stop because it would make me feel uncomfortable for somebody else to clean. And normally it would have made me very self-conscience and upset that an outsider was seeing our mess, let alone cleaning it up...but ya know what? I think that went away when they stripped me of my clothes in the ER. I have had to accept over the past week that I cannot do things on my own and that it is okay to ask for help. And that people truly WANT to help (or most of them do). I have long lived with the thought that I need to do it all on my own because asking other's shows a sign of weakness. Besides, why should somebody else be bothered with my crap? BigSis knocked those dishes out in no time flat and had the kitchen looking pretty clean. I was impressed. And I'm just as impressed that Tommy & I have managed to keep it that way for the most part.
With the yardwork done, the dog happily back at home, and the kitchen cleaned up, the weekend wasn't turning out too bad. Except now we had to figure out what to eat. I hadn't been grocery shopping before the stroke and Tommy was so busy with everything else that it was all he could do to get the minimum done, so he had no time for the store or cooking a complete meal. So it was pizza. PapaJohns to the rescue. They were running a special on their large pizzas so we ordered 2 large pizzas thinking we'd have leftovers. And we did...for the next 4 meals. The next day was spent eating pizza, doing hand and arm exercises, and loving on Shadow. Monday would start the great rehab advernture. So we thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)