Pain

Pain

So, I just read read this blog post, "6 Things About Chronic Pain You Didn't Know You Knew" and I felt I had to respond.  I agree and can identify with most of what this post talks about.  For the past two and half years pain has been my constant companion in one form or another(or both), and realistically that's not going to change any time soon.  The descriptions and points made about the first 3 topics are pretty good, but I take exception to the tone of the last 3.

1. Pain is exhausting- Oh, this is sooooo true!  It's always there and you're always trying not to let it get in the way. But, the question I ask is, is it any more exhausting than a million other things people deal with on a daily basis? Small children for example, caring for them is exhausting.  Older children, worrying about them is exhausting. Homework, Relationships, Parents, Bills, Work, you get the point, anything that is constantly in the back of your mind is exhausting.  

2. Pain causes poor sleep - This is also true.  In fact, about the only times I break down completely are when the pain wakes me up at 2:00 a.m. and won't let me get back to sleep.  But again, substitute the word Pain in that sentence with any of the ones I listed above, or a myriad of others, and you get the same result. 

3. Pain makes you cranky. So does lack of sleep, hunger, hang-overs, people who don't use their turn signals, you get the picture. Deal with it!

4. Pain kills your concentration. Short, unexpected bursts of pain, yes (and anyone who has to deal with nerve pain can relate to this, but then so can the guy who hit his thumb with a hammer), otherwise NO!  Paying too much attention to my pain can kill my concentration.  This is where, at least for me, it's mind over pain.  I do not choose to be controlled by my pain, I could be, but I choose not to be.

5. Pain damages your self esteem. Sometimes, sure, but so does telling me I look fat in those pants.  What damages my self esteem is ME.  I start to feel sorry for myself because I can no longer trip the light fantastic with my dear husband, but then I remember we can still slow dance and I can boogie in place. My daughter doesn't care if I can't Jump to the Left, as long as I'm doing the Time Warp with her, and having fun, that's all that matters!

6. Pain causes isolation. No, focusing on pain causes isolation.  If I want to be social I have to suck it up, plan ahead and make allowances for myself.  Guess what, so does everyone else!  We all have our demons: pain, food allergies, shyness, kids, work schedules, etc., that can make socializing a challenge. 

I guess the point I'm trying to make here is, I'm not special because I have pain, I'm just human.  We ALL have our challenges, seen and unseen.  It is the attitude with which you choose to accept these challenges that is the key. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint.  I bitch and moan and cry just like everyone else.  What I won't do is let my challenges define me or how those around me interact with me. 

It is important for people to remember that everyone has challenges and that yours may not be the same as mine, but I also think it's important to face those challenges with positivity and grace. I strive to make the world and those around me feel good about being with me and not worried about my struggles.

Thanksgiving

Today I am Thankful.  I am Thankful everyday actually.  The last 14 months have been harder than months in years past, but they have made me what I am today.  There is still a lot to go through, I just found out I will have to have more surgery in the new year, but I have not had to walk alone, ever.

There are so very many things to complain about, but I'd really much rather think about the good things:

• my family and my friends who all lend me strength on a regular basis
• my German son who has been a joy to get to know
• watching my son and daughter continue to grow into amazing people
• my job - which I never had to worry about losing - that challenges me and reminds me how much I like to use my brain!

All of this and so much more!

This morning my husband posted a Facebook status that made me cry. I am so blessed to have a man in my life who loves me so much!  There are no problems we cannot overcome, together.  I am so incredibly Thankful for him, there are no words.  I am Thankful for everything that he did to keep our family together when I could not be there and I am Thankful for everything he does everyday to let us know how much he cares.

I am Thankful that I am reminded often how good I have it.  There is nothing to get you out of a well of self pity like helping other people.  Recently I had the opportunity to serve drinks at a lunch benefit our church had for another member.  You have no idea how good it felt to be paying it forward! I know it was a simple act, but many simple acts put together make a huge impact, I know, I've felt that impact.  I will always contribute my simple acts as long and as often as I can.

I am Thankful to have the means to cook a Thanksgiving meal for my family and buy Christmas presents this year.  It's huge, really.

I am Thankful for each and every day, even though I may not always show it.  Thank you for being part of my life, no matter how large or small, you have helped to make my life what it is and for that I Thank YOU!

Nurses

This morning a friend posted a homework question to Facebook: "What do Nurses do?". The immediate response of most people is, EVERYTHING! I agree completely with that, but it got me to thinking about all of the incredible nurses, CNAs and therapists we have encountered over the last year and everything they have done for us.

My nurses were my advocates when I could not speak, fiercely so.

• One of my ICU nurses almost physically removed a sono tech from my room because she was so unreasonable (she wanted me to roll over and could not understand why that was physically impossible). 
• One of my hospital nurses removed a teaching nurse and her student from my room because they were so involved in their instruction they forgot their patient was a human being. That was the last instructor/student to come into my room during my stay, I never had to say a thing.
• One of my nursing home nurses refused to remove my pick line a day before I was to have surgery because she knew I'd be getting an IV the next day and didn't want me to get stuck again.  She caught hell for that and never regretted her decision for a moment.
• The Physician's Assistants I had at the hospital listened to me carefully and with great respect and helped me manage my pain and sanity with grace and dignity.

My nurses made me feel human.

• One of my hospital nurses shaved my legs for me.  She did not ask someone else to do it for her, she did it herself.  As she was doing it she told me she'd never shaved anyone else's legs before.  She was very careful and did a great job.  She helped me to feel more like myself.
• Some of my nurses prayed for me, over me and with me.  One even called me on her day off to find out what time my surgery was set for so she could pray for me.
• One of my nursing home nurses helped me through several truly humiliating situations without batting an eye and without every making me feel embarrassed. Afterwards she would talk to me and tell me it was already forgotten and that I had nothing to feel embarrassed about (oh, but I did, any self respecting person would).  She downplayed it so much I felt better immediately.  I never worried that she ever said a word to anyone. She is amazing.
• I had a patient advocate who worked with the hospital to coordinate my transfers back and forth to the nursing home.  I mentioned that I wished I could wash my hair.  She found an inflatable tub designed to wash a patients hair while they are in bed, got shampoo and washed my hair herself.  This woman's main job was paperwork and she took the time to do that for me! 
• My CNAs at the nursing home, there simply aren't words!  They washed me, shaved me, wiped me, showered me, clothed me and fed me.  They transferred me from my bed by physically lifting me, used a hoyer lift or helped me slide over when I was strong enough.  They listened to me, respected me and treated me as their friend or family.  
• At first, transfers were very difficult and painful.  I remember one young woman who cried when she thought she caused me pain during a transfer.  I wanted to hug her.  I told her I knew she would never intentionally cause me pain and that I knew how much she cared for me.

They cared for my family

• At the nursing home they brought a cot into my room so that my daughter could spend the night with me whenever she wanted.  The nurses made her bed, fed her and made her feel at home.
• They all asked about my family, kept my husband up to date and accommodated us in every way possible.
• At the nursing home they even cared about my dogs and were thrilled when they would come to visit. By the way, I have two German Shepherds.
• They transported me to the High School so that I could see my son run the last cross country meet of his high school career.  They stayed with me to make sure I was safe and cheered him on.
• They took pictures of my daughter when she came with her school to sing for us and play Christmas Carols.

My Therapists

• Had more faith in me than I had in myself.
• They prepared me for my future.  They made it possible for me to sit, shower, stand and walk.
• They were always positive but tough, were always thinking about what I needed to do next and how they could get me there. 
• Helped to heal my mind and soul as much as my body and spirit.

The day I had my fixator removed, the therapists at the hospital came in to see how I was doing. They first had me sit up on the side of the bed.  This was something I had been doing with the help of my Therapists at the nursing home.  I was able to do that so well, they decided to see if I could stand.  I could, for the first time in 4 months.  Then, she told me to take a step. I did.  I looked up and everyone in the room was crying.  I had never met these women before and they were crying for me.  My nurse had to leave the room before she had a breakdown. 

 

I owe it all to the constant and dedicated work of my entire support team: from, God, to my family, to the doctors and surgeons to all of the nurses, therapists and CNAs to the Paramedics to transported me first to the hospital and then back and forth to my many appointments to all of my friends and my community, I say Thank You and again, Thank You!

I could write about this forever.  These people cheered for me, cried with me and held me up when I could not walk.  They are the reason I am here today.  I will never be able to thank them enough.

Miracle or Luck? You Be the Judge

• I survived a terrible accident

• My husband was there to comfort me.

• The first person on the scene was a nurse from my church.

• The ambulance arrived within moments of the call (we heard the sirens as soon as the 911 dispatcher said they had called for an ambulance).

• One of the responding paramedics is the most experienced and respected paramedic in Central Illinois.

• That same paramedic was one of the ones who transported me out of the hospital and to the nursing home. I got to thank him. It was his birthday.

• I had a 16mm tear in my aorta and didn't bleed out.

• I survived a surgery that has less than a 10% survival rate. 

• I got the best cardiac and orthopedic trauma surgeons in the area, and didn't get to choose any of them.

• I have no brain damage whatsoever.

• I wore all of my motorcycle gear because the weather in August was cool.

• I got to attend my son's Senior Night for Fall Sports - even though I later had to have the fixator put back on.

• I can walk. In fact, I walked the very day they removed my fixator for good.

• My family is totally amazing!

• My community and friends came together to support my family in ways we will never be able to repay.

• There were close to 30 people in the ER waiting room to support my family.

• I never had to worry about my job.

• We received almost the exact amount of money we needed to get through this adventure so far. 

• I was able to stay in a nursing home that was just down the street from my house.  My family, and dogs, could visit whenever they wanted.

• I was home and strong enough to see my son graduate from High School and my daughter graduate from 8th grade.

• To this day, I meet people I never knew before who have been praying for me all this time.

• I never felt like I was going to die.

These are the things I can remember.  It doesn't include all of the amazing support I got from nurses and therapists that helped to make all of this possible. If you know of something I missed, please add it.  I'd like to remember as much as possible.

The Day My Life Changed

It's been almost a year, in fact it's been 363 days. I think it's time to start writing about it.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011 - A beautiful summer day.  It was a bit cool, odd for August in Illinois.  Deane had to stay in town late that day to attend his gaming session so we could not drive to work together.  It was a perfect day to ride my motorcycle.  As I was getting ready to leave, something made me decide to wear my full face helmet instead of the snazzy new half-helm I had just bought.  I was already wearing jeans and my harness boots, I pretty much always ware those when I ride.  I put on my leather jacket and decided to wear my gloves too, as I said, it was a chilly morning.

We headed out the door at about 7am.  Deane was driving our Vibe and I was following him on my bike.  We took I-57.  As we approached Rantoul, traffic picked up and we both moved to the left lane to avoid the merging traffic from 136.  Suddenly, Deane pulled over to the left shoulder, I looked up and realized that the construction truck in front of me was not moving.  I had a moment of clarity when I knew I was going to hit the truck.  I was totally calm.

I heard my helmet hit the windshield of my bike.
I was on my back on the back of the truck.
I moved my fingers and my toes.
I never lost consciousness.
I was still calm.
I heard someone running around screaming "Oh my God!" over and over again.
I wondered what was taking Deane so long to get to me.
I heard the driver of the truck get out and say "Did you hit me?" to Deane.
Deane was there, standing over me and telling me not to move.
I begged him to get me down off the truck.  I felt like a bug stuck on my back.
He moved me to the ground.

I could feel the cars in the right lane speeding past us.  Deane was running around frantic.  I was afraid he was going to get hit.  I reached up with my left hand and grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him down to me.  I couldn't really speak, but I looked him in the eyes.  He calmed down and called 911.

Someone had stopped and she came over to help.  She said she was a nurse, then she recognized us.  She told me she went to church with me.  She helped get my helmet off. I remember she said she had small hands and that might make it easier to get it off. It was a huge relief to get it off.

The ambulance was there.  They were cutting off my clothes and asking me where I hurt. Just my lower back.  I wanted to roll onto my stomach, but that wasn't going to happen. One of the paramedics told me his name was Howard.  He held my hand all the way to the hospital.

Deane couldn't ride with me. I told him I loved him, to take care of the kids and call work to tell them I wouldn't be in.

I was still calm.

I don't remember much about the ER. I know my Pastor was there with Deane and our dear friend Dave B.
I remember getting very cold and knowing that meant I was going into shock. My back really hurt. I remember going in for a CT scan, then nothing.

I woke up in ICU. Deane was there, that meant I was ok.  I couldn't talk, there was a tube in my throat. I don't know what time or day it was. I was on my back and I couldn't move, but I wasn't in pain.
I woke again later and the kids were there. I was so glad to see them, but I didn't want them to be scared.
The next time I woke up they took the tube out of my throat.  I could talk. The nurses left us alone and I could finally ask Deane what was wrong with me.

My Son Gets His Drivers License

This August my son turned 16.

We had purchased a 1997 white Mercury Marquis for him back in January so he'd had plenty of time to get used to "his" car. I love this car, it has everything a mom could want in a first car for their kid (except for the huge back seat, but we won't go there), it's big, white and has air bags and it doesn't get good gas mileage so he won't go far.

His birthday was on a Wednesday, which meant he could go and get his license that day. That morning we prepared to make the trip to the DMV. We gathered all of the documents he would need and grabbed the checkbook. My husband drove our car and I rode with J the 10 miles to the small town where he'd take his test. The plan was he would pass and drive himself back to our town and go to band camp and we would head on to work.

We got to the DMV just as it was opening and were the second people in line. Shortly they called our number and J headed up to the counter, paperwork in hand. The next thing we knew he was headed out on his driving test, leaving us to sit and wait trying to hide our anxiety. About 15 mins. later J returns with the instructor. He walks right past us and heads back up to the counter. The instructor gave us "the nod", whew, he had passed!

My husband went up and signed the checks and we waited for J's photo to be processed and for him to get his hot little laminated license. He was very pleased with himself!

The three of us then headed out to the parking lot where my husband and I proceeded to climb into our car while we watched J get into his, alone!

We both pulled out of the lot and headed for the interstate.

We took the south bound ramp while J took the northbound. As we were rounding the "clover" I looked over and saw J in his big, safe, white car merging onto the interstate.

I started bawling! I'm nout usually "that" kind of mom.

My husband just patted me on the back and said it was very endearing.

This motherhood thing is tough!

Motorcycle Mama

No, I'm not having a mid life crisis, I have always wanted to get my motorcycle license and now, at 42 I finally have decided to go for it.

My husband has had a motorcycle most of the time I've known him (22 years in case you're curious). I enjoy riding on the back, but I'm a take charge kind of girl and really wanted to be able to drive.

The University offers a very good motorcycle riding course and I was actually able to get into a session a couple of weeks ago. The sessions fill up very fast and some folks wait a year or more to get in. I was lucky enough to hit the site the day registration opened for this year and got in.

The course was Monday-Friday from 5pm-9pm which made for a VERY long day for me. It also meant that my husband would essentially be a single parent for the week. He's also dealing with the busiest part of the year in terms of his day job, but he sent me off to class with his blessing. I think he was excited that this would become another shared interest for us.

Now, I rode a scooter in college, some 20 years ago, but other than a few jaunts on a 4 wheeler, had no official motorcycle experience. I get to class and am relieved to find that out of the 12 students, 5 of us were female, and 2 of them were close to my age, (as opposed to college co-eds) and several of us had little to no riding experience.

Monday was very cold and we were glad to discover that we would be in the classroom the whole night and not hit the course until Tuesday. We were informed that we'd be riding in the rain (should it rain) unless there was lightening. I think we all prayed all week for dry weather!

Tuesday we start out at the riding course, a blocked off section of parking lot. After donning all of our gear (boots, jeans, long sleeves, gloves and helmet) we pick out our bikes. In case you don't know, I'm short, seriously short, 4' 12" to be exact. The only bike available to me was a Kawasaki Eliminator (sounds impressive but it's only 125cc). The instructors tell me to go ahead and ride it for that day and they'll get me a bigger bike for Wednesday. In order to get the "M" classification on my license I need to take the test on something that is 250cc or higher. OK, I trust you, my young tattooed instructor, you seem nice and I really have no choice :).

We start out slow, just starting up the bikes and then riding around the parking lot in first gear. It's not so bad until we have to shift. The only boots I own have heels (remember, I'm short), my feet are not long enough for me to hook my heel over the peg and have my toes reach the shifter. This sucks! I am not successful at shifting and begin to wonder what the heck was I thinking! I find myself riding circles around a parking lot chanting "I can do this" over and over.

Finally it's time to head to the classroom for more book work. We line up in two straight lines (Madeline anyone?), are told to dismount and walk our bikes forward so they can load them into the trailer. I drop my bike. I'm not riding any more, but lose my balance trying to walk next to the bike and fall on my a**. A fellow student very nicely picks up the bike while the instructors run over to make sure I'm OK. Yeah, I'm fine, I feel like an idiot, but physically I will make it. I actually said, right after dropping the bike, "Someone had to do it!" because of course, no one had dropped their bike or fallen all evening.

Get in the car, deep breaths, I'm OK, this stuff happens all the time. I am surprised at how physically exhausted I am. This motorcycle riding stuff is hard work!

I get home and tell my husband how hard it was for me to shift in those stupid boots, I have to buy something else. I'm going to go by Walmart in the morning and see if I can find anything (as my son's work boots are WAY too big for me). I have a conference for work all day on Wednesday, if I can't find boots on my way to work in the morning I am in deep doo doo.

It's April in Central Illinois, Walmart does not have anything that remotely resembles a boot that will fit a female size 6.5 foot. Period. I am not happy.

My husband texts me at my conference, he's found me a pair of tactical boots in a size 7, will that work? I want to kiss the phone! This dear man has taken a large portion of time out of his very busy day (he's currently trying to work two 8 hour a day jobs during the same 8 hour period on opposite sides of town) to track down a pair of boots for me so I don't totally fail my class. God I love him!

Wednesday evening I hit the course (still riding the KOW) in my spiffy new boots. I can shift! It's a miracle!
"Hey" says my young, tattooed instructor, "you're not having any trouble shifting! What's different?"
"My shoes!" I reply and show him my snazzy new boots.
"Those are really good boots!" he says.
I have scored points! I have shown him, and myself, that I am taking this class seriously and will do what it takes to learn how to do this. I do not drop the bike this day and finish that evening feeling more confident. I am a bit worried that I am still not riding my "test taking" bike, but am assured again that will be fixed the following day. I go home and kiss my husband.

Thursday, we are down to 10 students. A father / son team doesn't show up for class. We are starting to feel the pressure, tomorrow is test day. If we pass the riding and written tests, we will qualify for our license. Although it has been a very long week, it seems very short in terms of how quickly the test is approaching. I am now riding a Suzuki GZ 250. This is the bike I will test on. It fits me pretty well, though I still can't stand flat footed (even with the cool boots). We practice turns, short stops and weaving.

I'm doing fairly well, then I drop the bike again, while standing in line, again. Crap! OK, get up and get back on. No problem. My other instructor (there are 2, both young men who are both very good at what they do), we'll call him Under Armor man as he's worn a different Under Armor shirt each day, is visibly unimpressed with my abilities and it makes me feel insecure. Tattooed instructor calls me over to his side of the course and takes some extra time to explain things to me and build my confidence back up. He rocks! I find out later, while talking with the other women in the class, that we all feel Under Armor man doesn't like us. It must just be his personality, that makes me feel better.

By the end of our riding time on Thursday, I am absolutely exhausted, physically and mentally. So, what do I do? Why I drop the bike again of course! What is it with me and standing in line? At least I don't fall while I'm moving, only when I'm in line. Still, it sucks! Tattooed instructor puts his arm around me and asks what's going on, as Under Armor man picks up my bike and puts it away. I tell him I'm exhausted and he nods his head. You're OK, you'll do fine. I get in the car to head over to the classroom and have a good cry on the way. I'm such a girl! I can do this, I know I can, but I am scared now that I won't pass the test.

By now, of course, I have told everyone who will listen that I'm taking this class. If I fail I will not only be terribly disappointed in myself, I will also have a lot of humble pie to eat!

Friday, test day. We are all terribly nervous. I am also sporting some rather impressive bruises on my hands and legs from Thursday's mishaps. We start out with some warm up exercises riding around the course. Then it's time. We are told the order in which we will ride and what the first exercise will be. Thankfully, I'm in the middle of the pack. If we don't finish the test, we fail. If we drop our bike, we fail. GAK! I have to share my GZ with another woman in the class. This means that after each exercise, I must dismount and then reclaim my bike once she is done. I must WALK the bike back to my place in LINE each time! Crap! I can do this. I do it. I don't drop the bike. Once it's done, I don't even care anymore, I'm just so glad it's over.

We go back to the classroom to take the written portion of the test. This part doesn't worry me, it's multiple choice and I've read the book a half dozen times by now. Once we finish the written test, we turn it in and go outside to find out how we did on the riding portion. One by one, we go over to Tattooed instructor to find out if we passed or not. He asks me how I think I did, I say I know it wasn't perfect but I thought I did OK.
"Well" he says "perfect is subjective isn't it? You passed."
"Thank God!"

I am so happy and so relieved. I haven't felt this much stress over anything in a very long time. I can't remember the last time I've tried to learn an entirely new skill. It was so hard, but I did it and am very proud of myself. At least 2 of my classmate did not pass the test. I feel really bad for one (one of the other women my age), not so much for the other (a college age man with attitude). This really and truly is the hardest thing I've done in a very long time. I send a text to my husband who is camping with the Boy Scouts in the middle of no where. It says simply
"I am a motorcycle mama!"

A week later I am the proud owner of my own motorcycle, a 2001 Honda Rebel. Now I just need to practice, practice, practice!