Scooter Girl

Merry Month of May

2011-05-16T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's May. It's May. I can't believe it. Where has 2011 gone? Just a quick recap for me: I adopted a dog - a cute little 14 month old Maltese. I never thought of myself as a "purse" dog owner. I've always loved pugs and big dogs like Boxers and German Shepards. There was something really sweet and special about this little puppy, though. She has brought me lots of laughter and love in the last few months. No regrets here!

Haven't done any traveling. It's been really nice staying close to home base. Have a few trips coming up in the next couple of months. Good thing my puppy is so tiny, she can come with me on the shorter trips, I'll drop her off at my sister's on the longer journeys.

My leg has been the same. No great changes, pretty much the same pain, different day. I did get a hell of a spider bite on my right leg. It was icky and gross. Now in the final stages of redness and black bruising around the bite area.

And now for something else: I'll be 48 next week. 48. I write that with pride and happiness. Every year is phht! to what might have been but it was a good thing it didn't.

I do have a few stories to tell but it's time to wrap it up. My puppy is calling me to bed; she lets me know when it is getting late - finding it cute right now, probably will be annoying within a week, so I'm riding the adorable factor right now. Doctor tomorrow (part of my story) and I promise I'll have something posted this week. Happy Monday!!

Is it April already?

2011-04-17T00:25:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't written on my blog page for awhile, but I didn't think the last entry was back in January! Where did the time go? My days have been filled only I can't remember with what events. I've travelled a little bit; more on that later.

Preparing my next entry. I'm planning to have it posted before the week is over. Hope your taxes are all finished and sent away to the IRS - and that you are in line to receive a nice refund.

Happy Sunday!

Addicted

2011-01-20T20:38:00.000-08:00

Did you know that Judge Judy is on for more than 3 hours PER DAY? Not all at once, scattered enough throughout the day so as to satisfy those that love the curmudgeony judicial official that is all things Judy.

Judge Judy is Senior Crack. Meth. Heroin. If you are over 60, at least in my family, Judge Judy is IT. All must stop when Judy speaks. Nothing else is on nor will anything else be watched. Even in my house. Example:

Me: Parental Unit (P.U.), would you please change the channel to 8?

P.U.: WHY?

Me: Uhhh, because I want to watch something.

P.U.: Can't you watch in your bedroom? Judge Judy is on now!

Me: Don't you have your own home and TV to control? (I said to myself...in my head)

Sigh. JJ, as I call her fondly, is now blaring in my living room while I am relegated to my bedroom. In my own house.

Sigh.

That's what friends are for, dummy!

2011-01-13T23:28:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow I'm lunching with the Missys. It's a lunch I'm calling, "I'm sorry I scared you guys but I don't have the cancer and I'm going back to work, I've lost my freedom" - kind of a celebratory/commiseratory thing.

A week ago one of the Missys told us, "it came back and I have the cancer." Okay, wait. Let me stop here by saying that I'm not making light of the situation or trying to take away from the seriousness of what was happening at that moment...but there is a story and it all makes sense. Of course we were worried and scared. Of course we mentally held hands and sang kumbaya. Of course we prayed and hoped the cancer would be a misdiagnosis. Which it was, thank goodness. Um, because when the announcement was made that she "had the cancer" we naturally assumed that Missy had been told by her doctor it was so. We naturally assumed that Missy had received a confirmed medical diagnosis via her biopsy results. We naturally assumed that Missy had seen written confirmation. You know, all the things that logically make sense in such a scary situation.

Not.

Since Missy had had a similar cancer scare before and her doctor contacted her so soon after her biopsy to see a specialist, Missy jumped from Point A to Point Cancer. Which, when you think about it, is not a far leap when you're worried and scared. But no one said to her specifically, "CANCER".

So when that call came from Missy saying, "I don't have the cancer!" color me a little confused. Had we not just been making plans on how supportive we were going to be? Weren't we saying how our rallying cry would be upbeat and positive, none of this lying around and feeling sorry for myself kind of thing? But how did they diagnose/change the diagnosis so quickly?

Ahhh...Missy admitted she self diagnosed. Which has led to a new pact in our friendship. An addendum to prevent future self diagnosed medical calamities:

* No self diagnosis allowed. Written confirmation or verbal confirmation via a known medical source, i.e., doctor, nurse, specialist, is absolutely necessary when sharing major medical announcements. (You will be mocked if said addendum is violated. Be prepared, it's not going to be pretty.)

Our friendship is based on love, an understanding of each other's foibles, humor and an odd kind of respect. We're a weird bunch, the Missys and I. We might be slow to show our emotions but we feel deeply. We mask our pain with a smile. You won't catch us crying publicly unless we've finally reached emotional empty and even that is rare. Those are some of the many reasons we are such great friends; but mostly it is because we laugh together and often. We laugh at ourselves, our families, our lives - everything and anything. Never malicious but always delicious fun. That's why Missy is in for a hell of a time tomorrow. I'm thankful she is healthy and doesn't have "the cancer'...but she has to pay for being silly and subjecting herself to days of torment and worry for nothing. We're going to share in laughing at herself and with us. Celebrate life.

Oh, the other Missy is going back to work. No big deal. Congratulations!!

Christmas Ipecac

2010-12-02T15:22:00.000-08:00

It's official. Christmas has vomited all over my living room. Decorations are spilling out of cartons and boxes, the tree has half the lights on while we search for the rest...and it's wonderful.

My first Christmas tree in my new(ish) home. House smells like fresh pine. I'm totally in the holiday spirit. Then again, I haven't been to the malls yet. Check back.

You gotta nerve!

2010-11-18T10:49:00.000-08:00

Blah. The weather in America's Finest City has been unstable, which is being kind. Not two weeks ago, we had a thirty degree change in weather - overnight. Temperature went from a chilly 65 degrees to a Kalahari hot 101 degrees. Then back to a balmy 80 degrees, and next we seesawed to 70 degrees. Now it's cold, damp, foggy and cloudy...and my leg is on fire. The nerves were doing the mambo on my leg all night.

I've learned to deal with the nerve pain, most days. But this constant up and down of the weather makes it really difficult for me to have a day to even out. Too many days of the yoyo and I'm spending more time in bed. Today I had to cancel, again, on the Missys because I only had three hours sleep. My family was surprised to hear that I backed out of an outing with the Missys.

Sometimes I get the feeling that it is difficult for others to understand how really painful it is for me. I try not to be a martyr, nor do I want to constantly discuss how bad my pain is at any given moment. But I can hear it in the tone of a voice or the question of, "Why don't you take something for the pain?" that makes me sense a lack of understanding. Not in an unkind way or an implied "you're faking it" tone; I think it's hard to grasp that I'm on a 24/7 roller coaster of pain and I never get to stop. The pain doesn't go away with meditation, chanting or positive thoughts. It is impervious to anything or anyone. It has no feelings and no goal. The pain simply exists.

It would be easy to take pills for pain; thing is, they do nothing for the pain. They make me slow, stupid and sleepy (my three favorite dwarfs!) and the nerves are still picking away at my leg. Surgery is yet another option. I get questioned as to why I'm choosing not to take this route. It's quite simple, really. I know this pain. I've come to regard the pain as an esteemed adversary worthy of grudging respect, admiration even, at its persistence. If I have surgery and go thru with the amputation, what new road will bring the pain? At least two years of recuperating and adjusting to a prosthesis. Ghost/phantom pain. I have that now and my leg is still attached.

I don't know. There aren't any easy answers. I have to go back to bed.

October's Full Moon

2010-11-07T22:38:00.000-08:00

October and November were supposed to be incredible months of international travel. Fly to the Philippines then off on a tour of China, South Korea, Japan, Hong Kong and Singapore. Six weeks of Asian fun and history. Unfortunately, it didn't work out.

Mom's brother passed away, delaying our outbound flight which meant that we would miss the start of our travels, throwing schedules all off. It was too much coordinating to adjust so quickly and so, our Asian crawl was canceled. Beyond disappointed. Had a health scare with the Broham (turned out to be less serious than the doctors originally thought) and because sometimes I can be a little superstitious, I decided these were "signs" (yea, yea I know) that I shouldn't go on a trip. The parental units said, "See ya!" knowing I had the Niece, Girlies and Broham here to take care of me. (Note: It was sad that Uncle passed away but none of us were really close to him. He chose to live outside the family unit and we had sporadic contact. At least Mom was able to see him before he passed away).

The first week the folks were gone? There was a crash outside of the house and the windows shook - really gets your heart pounding at 2:30am. Since the alarms didn't go off, figured I didn't need to roll around the house screeching, "INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! PERIMETER BREACH! PERIMETER BREACH!" (for those of you who know me, this scenario is totally believable and would have happened if I felt the least bit threatened. If Missy K. had been here, she would have been screeching louder than me)...it could wait till the next morning. Besides, it was raining and no one wants to get cold and wet that late at night unless there's some kind of fun involved.

Next morning, Missy R. took a look - my rain gutters had fallen down. See? Not mocking my "signs" theory so much anymore, are you? Cost of repair? $700 between parts and labor, plus it took two days since the entire front and side had to be replaced.

It has been a relatively uneventful month. The days sort of blend into one another. Only thing worth mentioning is my sudden physical response to the sun. I'm reacting to sunshine now. No, not like I've been officially welcomed into the Cullen clan (thank goodness because I'm so not Team Edward) but more of an allergic reaction. Yup, go figure. I get itchy, angry welts - started when Missy K. was here. Even if I'm wearing long sleeves, which I do most days since I'm always cold - even if it is 90 outside, my internal temperature feels like it hovers around 70 degrees - and my eyes are super sensitive to the sun. The other day it was as if my vision was a photo negative. Creepy, right? (just to be safe, I looked for side-by-side bite marks, couldn't find any, and garlic doesn't make me nauseous, so I think I'm good). Back to the doctor for me!

Halloween was interesting. I've only lived in my house for two seasons and the turnout has been slow but this year - woo hoo! At least 30 kids, one even told me my costume was "cool and he loved the scars on my leg!" I forgot to roll down my pants when I answered the door and my leg was exposed in its natural grossness for all to see. Didn't even bug me and left it out for the rest of the evening.

Here's hoping November slides along just as nicely. Can't believe the holiday season is here and the year almost over. December is five years since my accident. Five years of the wheelchair. Five years and I'm almost whole again. Full circle. More later.

Fantasyland no more

2010-10-01T00:02:00.000-07:00

Is it because I don't have anything obviously wrong with me that causes people to stare? More and more I've become aware of the longer glances, the less than discreet body scan to check out why I might be in a wheelchair. At first, it was amusing - now, not so much.

What really slammed it home for me was while Missy K. was here visiting and we went to Disneyland. (Sidebar: Why oh why do I insist on going to places I know will be filled with crowds and children?) While at Disneyland, we developed the three step rule to get people to move/notice me: 1. Ask nicely and politely (Missy K. lives in the South now and has sweetness injected in her veins. It sends her into shock if she has to be even mildly rude. Charming, but ineffective in getting someone out of your way. Love you anyway, honey); 2. A decibel tone louder, "Excuse me, please", which again, did not evoke any response. (At this point Missy K. would try her best to find a way around the people stopped right in front of us but with the crowds, this was mostly impossible); 3. I merely suggested loudly, "EXCUSE ME, PLEASE MOVE!" or my favorite, "HEY!!" (Missy K. scolded me a few times for being rude but, really, I can't help it. Why do I have to sit there while a family of seven, in matching khaki shorts, white legs and colored polo shirts, walks akimbo across the pathway? Even the animals boarded the ark in twos. C'mon people, get with the program!).

Anyway, the final straw was Peter Pan's flying ride. I love all things in Fantasyland. But that operator ruined it for me. Look, I get that people are going to cheat and sit in a wheelchair to use the shorter line privilege. But this guy told Missy K. as the ship came towards us, "Tell her to stand up and get ready to walk. Tell her to stand up and get ready. Here comes the ship!" I'm paraphrasing but basically the dude expected me stand up and walk to the waiting ship. I kept saying, "I can't walk, I can't walk. I have to wheel up to the ride." He upset me so much I couldn't enjoy myself. Missy K. did her best to try to calm me down but I couldn't forget what that man said. When we stopped, the ride operator was much nicer only it was too late for me. I lasted a few hours more but I was less than happy in the World's Happiest Place.

I've wrote about this before. It's nothing new and it's something that I'm still learning to deal with five years after my accident. Honestly? I don't know if I'll ever get use to it. I have to remind myself not to be rude, I feel the sourness seeping out of my pores if I'm not careful. I don't want to become that person - that bitter old lady that snarls at anyone in her path. I'm afraid if I look in my personal rear view mirror, I won't like what I'm leaving behind. Remember those cool bracelets that Wonder Woman wears? When a bullet is fired she deflects it with a graceful flick of her wrist? Maybe the Amazons from Paradise Island can make me a set and adjust them so that when I feel rudeness coming at me or from within myself, I can move my wrists, Wonder Woman style ("shrroom shrroom" noises here) and move it away. Sigh.

Maybe not. For now, no more Disneyland...I haven't been to Sea World in years...

July Days and August Phase

2010-08-02T00:06:00.000-07:00

It's already August. Only four months until the year is over - can you believe it? Not too much going on in my world. Normal, mundane stuff. Oh, I went to the movies (twice) for the first time since the accident!!

When did movie tickets get so expensive? $40 for three of us? For another $30 bucks I could buy a one way ticket to Las Vegas! We even went to a matinee - okay, fine, the movie was in 3-D but the non 3-D version was only a few dollars less per person.

Not much else to say tonight. Hope you had a great weekend. More later. Happy August!

Nothing exciting to report

2010-07-22T01:06:00.000-07:00

Besides blogging, I also have one other (or as a former boss repeatedly told me, "It is AN OTHER, Scooter Girl. You Americans do not speak proper English." It was always my secret wet dream to tell him sweetly, "Bite me, Frenchy" but I never did because I didn't have the cajones back then) internet social site. Sometimes on this site I'll do a brief "thought" to share with my online friends.

Yesterday, I commented on how I wanted to retrieve some files from the garage. Took a lot of mental preparation and visualization before I even attempted to leave the safety of my wheelchair. It is less than twenty feet from the house to the garage and to my files but it might as well be twenty miles for me. If it were pre-accident me, I could have finished the task in less than five minutes. For post-accident me, it took a good forty-five minutes from start to finish.

I didn't do anything that would have harmed me, unless I fell or dropped something on my foot. I was careful and slower than slow. I carried two different phones; one tucked away in my bra, one in my pocket. It hurt to walk and I had to stop for a few breaks which is why it took so long. I found the files and was able to get back to my wheelchair.

Of course, I had to lay down and elevate my foot for three hours. I had no strength left by the time I made it to bed. I did it, though. It felt really, really good to know that I could do something for myself.

After that little adventure, I had such a feeling of accomplishment. Kind of like when I wiped my ass for the first time after months of having my parents clean me up, post surgery. It's the little things in life that make it sweet, right? Savor the moment, indeed.

Don't bring the kindling, this fire is out

2010-07-15T23:51:00.000-07:00

The guy that called me earlier this week was someone I was once obssessed with - completely and totally. It was a great relationship - in my mind. In his, not too much. I drove friends crazy talking about him all the time. And all the time, I didn't mean that much to him.

I admit there is something about this guy that speaks to me in a way that sets him apart from most of the men I've met. Finally, after all these years, I've managed to shake him, kind of Etch-a-Sketch style.

Still find him charming and funny. Do I want to try and draw this out - maybe start a new whatever? Nah.

Karmic subpoena

2010-07-12T23:53:00.000-07:00

My Internet stalking must have put out some kind of karmic bitch slap because the universe served me with a call from a former flame.

Enough said, I think. More tomorrow.

Night Stalker

2010-07-12T00:40:00.001-07:00

It's almost 1am here in America's Finest City. I just finished stalking an ex-boyfriend on the Internet. WHAT? I was bored. Oh c'mon, we've all done it in some form or another. Despite what Trekkie of Avenue Q says, the Internet isn't always for PORN. Sometimes it's for, um, searching out old acquaintances because you want to reconnect...or, as in my case, I'm simply nosy. Truly, I don't really care about this other person's life, I merely want to see what he's accomplished since we were together.

Did I find out anything interesting? Not really. Married. Kids. Seems like he's a success in his chosen profession. Good for him. Was I disappointed nothing scandalous was lurking in his past? Honestly, maybe a little. Because sometimes, at 1am, you're curious to know that the person you once cared about and even dreamed of a possible future together, might not be so happy without you. I know, I know. No one needs to tell me how wrong this sounds...and how egotistical either. I didn't say my thought process was logical, it's 1am - I'm calling it an Internet Booty Call without any real booty.

I know I'm not the only girl in town that has this habit. Some of my closest friends are admitted practitioners...hmmm...perhaps that's why they're my friends. I can even name a few guys that have Internet stalked their exes. At least I'm not calling and hanging up once he answers his phone (this is so 1990's - before caller ID) or sitting outside his apartment building waiting for him to get back from his date (you know who you are); or pretending to "bump" into him at the grocery store with a cart filled with what looks like stuff for a romantic dinner date at home...uh, not that I've ever done that, I heard of a friend of a friend that pulled that stunt. By the way, it didn't even register on his radar. He couldn't get away fast enough. At least, that's what I heard.

I don't want to meet my ex and catch-up on our lives. There's not even the remotest possibility of any flames being rekindled. Not carrying any torches. No fire in my belly that needs quenching. It's 1am and I can't sleep. This is safer than Internet shopping or porn, right?

I think a lot of people Internet stalk their exes and would prefer not to admit it. That's why we do it late at night when everyone else is asleep. Because it feels kind of sleazy, naughty and fun all rolled into one.

I wonder what my 4th grade boyfriend is doing now...

High Seas Jinx

2010-06-25T23:57:00.000-07:00

June is almost over. It's been quite a month for me.

Parents celebrated their 48th Anniversary. Can you believe it? Not too many couples make it to that marker anymore. The family took a trip to Seattle and an Alaskan cruise in honor of their years together - how brave were we?

Seattle is a gorgeous city. Sis and family lived there for a few years; it was nice to return to such a vibrant city. First day was lovely - some serious shopping at the fabulous Nordstrom rack. Great dinner at Blue Acres seafood and oyster bar. Second day was pretty much the same. Third day we boarded our ship. I've cruised before so I know the drill, as did everyone else except my Dad and Niece. Dad assumed everything would be just like it was when he was in the Navy - which he left over 30 years ago - and retired after 20 years of service. So, imagine his shock that nothing was like it was suppose to be!! He felt better after he saw the buffet. Sidebar: what is it with people and buffets? Do people really think the food is going to run out and that they must fill up their plates, piling it so high that they can't tell what food group is what? Or my favorite, the two plater, because they simply can not be bothered to get up and go for seconds. Geez.

Anyway, let's just say the first day was fun. The second day, not so much. We hit a late storm and we felt it. I don't care what anyone says about big ships and less motion, when the waves are that high and rolly, you feel it...and feel it...and feeeeeel it. In the pit of your stomach. Yuck. Barf bags were made handy all over the ship. Half the crew and passengers couldn't leave their staterooms. I wasn't able to stand without someone helping me because I would pitch around, depending on which way the ship was going; a trip to the restroom was a very family affair. Ironically, Mom and Sis, who suffer the worst motion sickness (turning their heads too fast makes them dizzy) were the sole survivors in our group. They went upstairs to the buffet where dishes were falling onto the floor, fellow passengers were slamming into the walls or food counters, Mom almost had hot food thrown on her by another passenger when he lost his balance - not fun. I was nauseous but not sick until Mom brought the most foul smelling dish into the room (honestly, it was probably a very lovely plate of something but it was, at that moment, like rotting flesh) and I was done. I rolled into the restroom where I quietly looked for a barf bag, finding none (Dad was hoarding) I very delicately screamed, "MOMMY!!! I NEED A BARF BAG!" and promptly lost the contents of my lunch. Sidebar: Feta cheese does not have the same richness of flavor when recycled. Enough said.

So, while I'm busy retching up every bit of liquid or solid waste in my stomach, my Dad is offering his support by yelling from the living quarters, "I CAN'T LISTEN TO YOU BARF OR I'LL HAVE TO THROW UP TOO!!" Over and over he repeats this phrase, until I roll out of the restroom and find him hiding his face under a pillow, fists clenched on top. "It's safe to come out now, Dad. Thanks for asking if I'm okay".

Next day, Juneau. More on that later. Glad to be home for a few months. Next travel is concert trifecta in August - Las Vegas style!!

Mrs. Kravitz and the Case of the (In) Disposed Mattress

2010-05-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

Mom's been staying with me while Niece is visiting her parents for 10 days. Normally would not require Mom to stay with me full time but because my leg is so wonky lately, I have requested she spend more time with me. I know I'm on shaky ground here because so many boundaries will get blurred but me? I'm emotionally fragile right now. That little tumble in the tub upset more than just my physical equilibrium. Any little wobble on my walker has me freaked out. If I'm taking a shower (even though my shower is completely handicap accessible) I need to make sure someone is near enough to help me, in case I fall again. Hoping this phase will pass quickly.

I live in a cul-de-sac. From my front windows, you can see everything going on in the neighborhood. Mom, aka Mrs. Kravitz, enjoys this viewpoint. Most cars are scrutinized or I'm asked, "Who's that car belong to?" as if I know what my neighbors drive. If there's someone walking by the house, "Who are they? What are they doing?" You get the idea. Anyway, today, one of my neighbors put something of great interest outside their door.

Couldn't understand why Mom was hopping back and forth between the shutters on the front windows. She kept adjusting the width of the shutter openings for a better view of...something. I asked her, "Hey Gladys, what's caught your attention now?" Mom replied quite seriously, "The neighbors have put out a refrigerator on the front porch. Why do you suppose they've done that? Are they dusting it?"

Dusting a refrigerator? What the hell is that all about? "Maybe they're just cleaning it and then they'll bring it inside. Or maybe they're going to donate it - oh I know, today is the Veteran's Donation pick-up. I bet they're donating the fridge!!" Mom crowed triumphantly that she'd figured it out. She looked out the window one more time. "Huh. That doesn't look like a fridge. Huh. What is it? Oh, wait, I was wrong. It's a MATTRESS!!"

Mom has a habit of mis-identifying objects. Reminds me of the time we were on a cruise and Mom, in quite a state, kept saying loudly, "OH MY GOD!! IT'S A SURFER!! WHAT'S A SURFER DOING OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN!! OH MY GOD!!!! A SURFER!!! IN THE OCEAN!!!" Now, it was just a little bit past sunrise so Mom's vision was obscured. "OH MY GOD!!! THE SURFER!! IT'S A...WAIT...THAT'S NOT A SURFER!! WHAT IS IT?!!! IT'S, IT'S...OH, never mind. it's a piece of trash. go back to sleep."

Turns out, the neighbors were simply moving furniture around. Case solved.

Birthday Greetings

2010-05-23T17:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday! I'm 47 years old - quite proud of it, too. I had a lovely afternoon with Missy R. and her Hubby. Bittersweet, though. Earlier in the morning they had to put down their dog, K.B. We called our lunch, "The Circle of Life" and talked about K.B.'s years with them. Loved that little puppy. She was sweet and smart, sometimes too smart.

All in all it was a quiet birthday. The years of wanting stuff and making a big deal out of my day are past me, I think. I would have demanded a tiara (or two), cape and scepter (which my friends provided) and I would have worn it proudly the entire day. At work. In a restaurant. Or bar. Didn't matter. I was the Queen. (I'm making shouty noises in my head, "Bow down to the Queen!! Bow down to the Birthday Queen!!) because I think I might have even said that to total strangers before. Not the first time, either.

I spent the morning with my Mom and Dad; an afternoon with some great friends, and an evening, by myself, to think about my life. By my account, it truly was a great day. Happy Birthday, Scooter Girl!!

Starbucks and your local crackwhore

2010-05-20T14:04:00.000-07:00

Starbucks in Barnes and Noble (love that convenience) - rolling up to the counter. Woman dressed (I'm being generous when I say "dressed", it was more of a "I'm wearing my pajamas" ensemble) in a do-rag, long sleeved sweatshirt over a tshirt, baggy sweats and tennis shoes. I'm smiling because it truly is a gorgeous day in America's Finest City. As I stop in front of the counter, I look at the Starbucks lady and the crackwhore in line (well, she looked like one and besides, it's 80 degrees outside. Even with my cold blood it was nice and warm) and I hear the pajama wearing bitch say, "Maybe if you lost some weight you could get out of that wheelchair".

OH. YES. SHE. DID!!

Now, you would expect me to say something in the way of, "Listen Miss Crackwhore, what do you know? I mean besides the street price of selling your puntang to anyone stupid enough to come near your disease ridden body. You don't hear me telling you that I can smell your stank all the way in the clearance aisle, do you? You don't see me pointing out to you that maybe brushing your teeth might save the two left in your "I'm going to die alone in some ditch" mouth. And I certainly won't mention that covering up your hair with that less than fashionable do-rag doesn't hide the dirt, twigs and most probably 7 or 8 kind of insects living there."

But I didn't do anything.

I just smiled at her. Really. Because in that second after she insulted me, I didn't care. If she's so far gone from humanity that she had to attack a stranger in a wheelchair, then nothing I said would make a difference. Besides, it was too pretty a day to deal with the likes of her. Doesn't mean in my mind I wasn't running over her again and again in my wheelchair screaming, "Betcha you wish I HAD lost some weight, right, crackwhore bitch?" Sigh. Thankfully, nothing made it out of my mouth.

Sometimes it's not worth the effort to get mad at people. While I sit here and type this, I still don't feel any anger or mortification that some crackwhore (okaaaay, maybe I'm a little peeved) called me out on my weight gain. In the words of Suzanne Sugarbaker, "Big Woo!"

P.S. I haven't put on so much weight I'm a hideous beast and look like I need a wheelchair because I can't walk. I still wear clothes from regular stores and guess what? They have zippers, buttons and belts. The Blob I am not.

The hits keep coming...

2010-05-19T00:01:00.001-07:00

I've complained lately that there's a new pain in my left leg. Centered around my ankle bone and not unlike a burning screwdriver thrust inside the soft tissue (I'm imagining this since I prefer never to feel the real thing) then spun around the ankle bone, toes and calf muscles for extra "flavor".

Ick. Had a scheduled appointment to see my orthopaedic surgeon on Monday. I told him about the new and fun pain. When he asked if anything had happened that might be related to the pain, I casually mentioned my fall in the bathtub last month. He grabbed my foot and started touching different areas asking about pain. I don't have much topical sensation so I didn't react - until he pressed his devil thumbs in the soft tissue around my ankle bone. I rolled backwards so fast my foot did a little twirl before hitting my wheelchair. All I could say to him was, "I DON'T LIKE THAT!" Guess something really is wrong.

Yup. I have a pulled ligament. Doc said it would have been easier if I broke a bone because medically speaking, ligaments take longer to heal. Considering my history, it would probably take longer. 4-6 weeks if I'm lucky. Maybe 5 months, possibly a year.

Oh. Did I mention the cuts on my leg? Little skin breaks that keep growing. Plus little white bumps and red squiggly lines running from the top of my foot to the middle of my ankle. Inneresting. Infectious diseases here I come!

Sigh. Guess the vacay from my foot is over.

And Mother Nature Sneezed...

2010-05-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

Hmph. Our European Vacay didn't quite happen the way we planned. My niece and I made it to Zurich but then Mt. "SinceIcan'tpronounceitwhyspellitright?" volcano blew up the day we arrived. I contemplated changing our flight to Lisbon right away but decided not to worry about it - we were leaving in a day, what could possibly happen?

HA! Mother Nature sneezed.

Trapped in Zurich. I know, I know, sounds exciting and romantic, doesn't it? Except we were trapped in one of the most expensive cities in Europe and c'mon, I was stuck with MY NIECE - who could not appreciate our circumstances. It's hard to accept that the trip you've been waiting and planning for a year is over that quickly.

Missy J. says our trip was doomed from the start. Upgraded seats in business class but row 13. My TV/electronic entertainment system didn't work. Driver in Zurich was an asshole and made Missy J. load up the car. Sheraton Zurich was lovely but the staff was not familiar with the motorized ramp and I spent a lot of time sitting on that ramp watching buttons and controls being pushed; also, my niece displayed varied stages of impatience watching the staff - she had it figured out after the first attempt.

I fell down in the bathroom the first morning.

Oh, yes. I fell down in the bathroom. First time in five years. I asked for a shower chair and in Europe, shower chairs are not even close to what is required in the States. European version? Plastic stool, no bathmats (travelling with my own from now on - lesson learned) and marble tubs. Pretty pretty but pretty slippery. I knew it wasn't completely safe but I stupidly thought I could handle it. Yeah. I shifted a little to my left and I felt the chair go out from under me. I slammed backwards into the faucet and all I could think as I flew up then slammed down into the tub, "Protect the foot! Protect the foot! Hey, I'm lying down in a tub!" Yes, the mind settles on the least painful part instantly - at least mine does. I heard my niece shout, "Auntie? AUNTIE?!" followed by her running into the bathroom to find me lying naked (my cash and prizes laid out for her to see) sideways in the tub, shaking violently. Luckily I wasn't hurt. It wasn't fun for either one of us in the next ten minutes. I flashed my niece all kinds of naked (my cash and prizes had no shame) while we figured out how to turn me around without breaking my foot. After that I refused to shower without my niece helping me. Poor kid. Again, on the plus side - I was able to lay down in a tub for the first time in five years!!

On the fifth day, our hotel kicked us out because they were overbooked. The only handicap accessible hotel available was (and typing this is so difficult) $1300 per night. Yes folks, $1300 per night.

Before I forget, let me talk about the food in Zurich. Ate a lot of grilled sausage. At the Wolfe Beerhaus, Missy J. returned from the restroom and told me that there were vending machines selling various adult toys - vibrators, c*ck rings, lube, condoms...so I made her go back and buy Missy R. a vibrator. A gag (HA!) gift - I knew she'd appreciate the gesture. BTW, that little sucker is loud! There are three watch batteries that power it up. But I digress...everything is expensive in Zurich. Bottled water ranged from $8 to $15; most meals averaged around $80.

Luckily we were able to leave when the airports opened up, seven days later. Missed our cruise but still headed to Lisbon to check out the city. Had a lot of fun seeing the historical sites, ate some great seafood and finally, after three days, found a flight back to the States via JFK. Two days spent travelling out of Europe and completely over budget, we were back in sunny Southern CA.

I don't regret one moment of this trip. While there were many, okay, too many, reasons to stress out during our adventure, it was still an adventure in Europe. One day my niece will appreciate our journey instead of viewing it as a curse.

Oh, and Mother Nature? Next time? Use a Kleenex.

Auntie Pain

2010-05-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

Just one day without pain. What I wouldn't almost give for one day without pain. Four and a half years of non-stop pain. If I slow down and think about it too much, as I am today, it drives me a little bat shit crazy.

Frankly, I don't know how I do it. I mean, I should be addicted to pain killers by now or maybe even the illegal stuff. I'm not complimenting my stamina, I'm simply amazed at how I cope. Because now that I'm thinking about it, I can't figure it out.

Pain is relative, as the saying goes. Earlier last week, Missy R. and I had lunch with a former co-worker. At one point, the co-worker said, "Scooter Girl, you don't know how much pain I'm in - it's terrible. You can't even imagine." I almost fell out of my seat. Then I remembered that I'm not the only one suffering. I forget sometimes that it's not all about me. Seriously. I focus on me so much everyone else is kinda fuzzy. I don't think in a bad way but more of a "it's all about me so why bother?" kind of way.

Today is an exceptionally horrible day for me. Off the chart, can't be measured, just cut my leg off already, sort of pain. I know that I've trained myself to ignore pain as much as I can but this is waaaay worse than normal. If I could gnaw my leg off, canine style, I would seriously consider that option.

Are there great rewards in the next life for enduring excruciating pain in this life? If there is, I'd like to submit my list of demands (I can demand, can't I?):

Two good legs (to be precise, all extremities should be in working order)
Matching shoes: pretty, pretty matching shoes. Left and right.
Places to walk and wander for hours. Lots of flowers and grass.
Stairs to climb. Not many, enough to prove that I can do it.
No pain of any kind. That's all.

There is probably a long line of people ahead of me, each one thinking the same thing - just one day. Just one day without pain.

Anchors A-Weigh

2010-04-06T01:58:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I received a phone call from my travel agent. Apparently, the cruise line I'm taking is requesting my weight in the wheelchair, for any excursion I might take. I keep asking myself why this would even be necessary - I'm assuming it's for the lift. Wouldn't it be a kinder and gentler way to ask if a person's anatomical mass is larger than say, 350 pds, you can not take the lift?

Listen, even if I weighed 115 pds (which I haven't seen on a scale since I was 18) I wouldn't want to disclose my weight. It's hard enough to hop on one of those little monsters when I'm alone, now I have to tell my travel agent, who will then record it on a document to be faxed to a complete stranger in a HUGE company - and then what? Where does it go from there? Am I going to have people pointing at me and whisper as they turn away in disgust, "There she is - there's the beast!!" I know I'm exaggerating but what can I do?

Ummm, I sent an email to my travel agent. Here's what I wrote:

Hey Mary -

Sorry I didn't get back with you earlier. I started taking a new medication and it knocked me out today; plus gave me some icky bathroom side effects which I won't go into but guess what? When you're woozy, in a wheelchair and have to potty? Sometimes you DO wish for a diaper - but only for a second. On the positive side, I'm hoping that I might weigh a few pounds lighter after today's escapades. I doubt it but a girl can hope.

I'll get to the weigh in tomorrow. Sooooo looking forward to yet another reminder about how much weight I've gained since this all happened to me. It's not enough that I'm looking at a possible future of elastic waistbands and oversized t-shirts; now I have to record my weight for a company of strangers to look at for "their records". Sigh. At least I get to travel - fat but I'm travelling.

Anyhooo, I'm going back to business. Apparently the meds have not finished wringing every last drop of food and water left in my body. Betcha once they're finished the meds will then cause me to retain water. It always happens. A brief shining moment of "ooh, my pants are loose" to "oof, I can't get my foot in my shoe. What the hell!!" Such is my life. Gotta love it.

Talk to you in the morning. If I sound echo-y, you'll know that I'm near a big, porcelain receptacle. Do not be alarmed.

Jess

p.s. This msg was brought to you by a very tired, very woozy Scooter Girl - me. Hope I didn't offend but I'm owning it.

p.s.s. Just who are the buzzkills that want to know a person's weight? Don't they realize that asking a woman this question could lead to justifiable assault with a Twinkie? Or a big messy sandwich? Phhht to those nosy Europeans.

Hospital Revisited

2010-04-01T04:02:00.000-07:00

It seems that my body has decided that our "rest period" is over. The last few weeks has been an array of doctor visits. Who knew there were so many "ologists" in the medical field? Nephrologist, Endocrinologist, Urologist, Neurologist...I've been back to the hospital so many times that I've reestablished my first name basis with a lot of the hospital staff. Kinda sad/funny when the parking valet, security guard and Artie, the custodial guy in Radiology remembers me. I'd like to believe it's because I'm so unforgettable but it's more likely because I'm the girl in the wheelchair making "vroom vroom" noises as I race across the parking lot or slide over the hospital floors. Been caught a few times dancing in my wheelchair by other staff members. What can I say? I'm easily amused.

Unfortunately, these visits to the hospital also means blood draws. Lots and LOTS of blood draws. Every day this week and some last week. Not one or two vials, more like eight, nine or ten - and the big vials (gold tops, in lab lingo) followed by other personal fluids. Yuck. I have very small veins that like to duck and roll. Some of the lab techs have figured out that sneaking up on the side of the vein instead of the normal "missionary" style works best. But with all the blood draws, my veins have given out. I started giggling when the lab tech stuck my left arm, had a blood flash return, then nothing. Stopped giggling when he had to stick me a second time. I was passed off to three techs before the final one got lucky and hit the top of my forearm. By the way, not my favorite place for a needle. Stings. I officially have no more places to stick on either arm. It's break time for a few days. My vein agreed when it trickled and then stopped giving blood at the 8th vial. It simply stopped; no amount of pushing in the needle and spinning it around (always so much fun for me!)would make it give out more. I had to tell the tech that I'd had enough and it was time to stop.

But the best part? I'm getting ready to go back to Europe with my Niece. We'll only be away for a few weeks (thanks to Missy R for taking care of my house) and I'm so excited. Springtime in Paris. Seeing the tulips of Amsterdam in full bloom. Having a warm beer in Brugges. Floating along the fjords of Norway. The mountains of Switzerland. Cheeses, wonderful cheeses from all these places. Can't wait.

Later this summer, off for an Alaskan cruise with my clan. THAT should be a whole lot of fun...

So instead of a lollipop or a colorful bandaid, I'm getting a trip to Europe as my prize for being a good girl and not crying. Seems like a fair trade to me. More later before I leave. Happy Easter!!

My travellin' red shoe

2010-02-13T23:11:00.000-08:00

Home again, home again.

Wow, what a ride! The past three months have been an incredible experience. Here are a few of my standout memories:

1. Discovering that Mom had to fall down in EVERY city we visited. In Hawaii, she fell down the stairs at my sister's home. Nothing gets your heart racing more than hearing your Mom walking down the stairs at 2am followed by a thumping and thudding sound...then silence. As I raced out of my room I wasn't prepared for the sight of my Mom lying on her side facing away from me - on the floor about two feet from the bottom of the stairs. Then my heart stopped when she didn't answer me for about thirty seconds. Mom was fine, just stunned because she missed the bottom step and tumbled. She had a doozy of a bruise on her hip and it hurt to walk for a few days.

1a. Mom tripped in the living room at my Grandmother's and almost flew headfirst into the wall - twice.

1b. This is a long one. In Hong Kong, we rode the MTR (Mass Transit Railway) where ever we wanted. Sidebar: I RODE THE TRAIN!! YEA ME!! We were on our way to Disneyland and as we entered the car, Mom sat down, my cousin and I rolled over to the disabled section. Mom was busy talking to us and didn't seem to be paying attention to the three warning bells followed by a loud voice over the speaker saying, "Please step back from the yellow line. The train doors are closing. Prepare for departure." The voice repeated the warning in Hong Kongnese and Chinese, neither of which we understood but there was an urgency in the tone. The announcement was again followed by three loud bells. Mom decided at this moment to change seats since we didn't move to where she wanted. Precisely when the doors shut and the train took off. Mom gave the eleven year old boy to her right a lap dance I'm sure he'll never forget; hopped over to his sister and butt slammed her face then fell sideways across the mother, sister and brother. As the mother tossed my Mom onto the empty seat beside her, my Mom said in fractured English (because as everyone knows, this is the best way to converse with non-English speakers) "Me not prepared for train go fast. Me not used to this". The mother looked at my Mom and said in a perfect New York accent, "We're not either."

2. Disneyland in Hong Kong is nothing like Disney in the U.S. People in HK dress up to go to the happiest place on earth. High heels, suits, miniskirts, designer purses, fur coats - they do it differently there. Merlin can't say his l's - "Aracazam!" - and the crowd shouts back, "Aracazam!" Disney dancers are, um, "happier" in HK. Nothing like having a green toy soldier hip thrust into your surprised face. As did Goofy, some spaceman, and Sneezy.

3. Eating the unknown. Fish lips. Weird sea veggies. Stinky fruit. Part of a cow I didn't want anyone to say out loud. Same thing for a pig. And a chicken. If it was put on a plate in front of me, I tried it. Iron cast stomach, it's all the hot stuff I eat. Burns right through anything.

4. Family. Lots and lots of family. I'll include shopping here.

5. Seeing different parts of Manila, both the rich and poor sides. Standing in awe of the gorgeous sunsets. The constant stream of noise. The friendly people, so helpful. The history of the Philippines shown in the local architecture and varied international foods.

6. Village life. Our family compound is in the Cavite province. Dirt roads, wild dogs and cats, half-dressed children playing in the streets. All kinds of vendors selling freshly baked pandesal, fresh veggies, fish and meats, tofu, rice, ice cream - all starting at 6am, ringing their bells and singing out about their wares. Where you can get McDonald's (McD's) delivered 24/7, Pizza Hut too. I didn't watch TV or listen to a radio. Used my computer when I was able to find a wireless signal to piggyback off of; mostly visited with my family and relaxed. Living simply is pretty fantastic.

7. Discovering that my Grandfather was asked to help the wives of some American officers escape the Japanese in Bataan. They travelled for three months through the jungles. After my Grandfather was successful in his mission, he had to continue hiding. He told my Aunt about seeing the dead bodies of soldiers from both sides, the hunger and desperation leading him to do things he couldn't speak of in detail, the things that happen in war - he survived it all. When he was able to make it past the Japanese snipers in our village and tried to enter the family compound, no one recognized him. Grandpa came back a changed man.

8. Seeing my family grow. One new baby was born while I was there, another will be born in May. Both are boys - we only have three girls in the next generation of our family.

9. Staying with my Sis in Hawaii. Da islands have changed since '76! Drove by my old catholic school, ate Leonard's malasadas, visited with my Sis and Nephew.

10. Oh, the bugs. YUCK. Roaches the size of a half dollar. Same with spiders. The mosquitoes used me as a buffet bar. Ants. YUCK YUCK YUCK. Beautiful tropics bring plentiful bugs. YUCK. I had a roach crawling on me in bed (not my preferred bedmate), killed it. Spider too. Killed it. The general rule is - don't invade my space and I won't kill you. YUCK.

There's more stories to be told but I'll stop now. I'm glad to be home. I've missed being here. Dorothy had it right, "there's no place like home."

Ride the wind!!

2010-01-09T02:12:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in a hotel in Makati, PI and waiting for my parents to get back from their adventures in Palawan. They took a senior citizen tour and brought my cousin along for an escort. Hope they had a good time.

Finally had some real alone time since this vacation started. Lying in bed with a foot that hurts (it's obvious that my foot doesn't recognize international time/date/geographical lines) rained a bit on my parade, as Miss Barbra would sing. That's okay, though. It has been a terrific two months of vacation with family. I went to Hawaii, Philippines, Hong Kong - I visited places, met people and explored cultures I never thought I would ever, in my lifetime, have the opportunity to do. And I've done it with a bum leg and stuck in a wheelchair.

I am truly and absolutely a very lucky person. Everyday is an adventure. Every moment is a chance to do something new and exciting.

The past two months have been a whirlwind. Loving every second of my life.

More later...

Asian Crawl 2010

2009-11-14T00:02:00.000-08:00

Aloha folks! So begins my Asian Crawl 2010. I'm visiting my Sister and family in Hawaii for a few weeks, then on to the Philippines. Mom (who is my primary caregiver) is traveling with me. Since we've done the airplane thing a few times now, there really aren't very many surprises.

Hawaii is lovely. Haven't been here for 30 years. Don't know why I waited so long. The people are friendly. There really is a true Hawaiian spirit of hospitality that is inviting. Example? My temporary ramp. I bought and shipped over this temporary ramp because my Sister has a plantation style house with steep steps. The house is about 100 years old. Total Hawaiian Preservation Society and everything that comes with it.

Anyway, my ramp was unstable on the steps. Sis and Mom were outside Thursday morning discussing how to make it stable because I was freaking out when I walked up - I wobbled. Bad enough that my balance is off but it was like a rocking ship. No fun. The house next door is being renovated and one of the contractors waved at my Mom. She waved back and he walked over, asked what was going on and before we knew it, the guys were stabilizing my ramp with wood and screws. Isn't that the nicest thing?

Oh, and the Hawaiian accent is sweet. My Sis told me I'm already doing the rhythmic cadence. When we moved to the Mainland from Hawaii 30 years ago, classmates teased Sis and I about our accents. We worked hard to lose it and within one day, it's back!!

If my leg doesn't bug me too much, I plan on visiting Hong Kong, Singapore and China. Maybe Vietnam, Thailand or Malaysia. We'll see. After the Philippines, back to Hawaii for a few weeks. Sister and I will island hop for a week. Then it's home and no traveling for a few months.

More later on my travels. Have a great weekend!

Ladies who lunch and the jerks they encounter

2009-11-03T00:30:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, after lunch with the Missy's, we decided to go to the local mall for some frozen yogurt (it's this year's bobalicious, you know, the drink with the tapioca balls that was everywhere a few years ago? Now it's frozen yogurt. Go to your local malls, you'll find them sprouting up)...uh, where was I? Right, the mall. So, we've pulled into the handicap space and the hatch marked spot is on the passenger side so I can open my door and wait for the wheelchair. This stupid man in a "I have a small penis so look at my big muscle car" which, by the way, was a f*ckin' HONDA, tries to cut through the parking lot by driving thru the handicap space. And can't because I'm standing there with my car door open. Clearly, it's an Asian stand-off. I can't move because, well, I can't. He won't move because he's an asshole. So what does he do? He gives me the stink-eye. I merely shrug but now the Missy's have noticed him and it's ON. Missy R. is looking at him with that glare while Missy P. is gearing up to shoot him one of her non-combative insults (you a-hole!!) when the douchebag driver drives right past me in a reverse C formation. So he can go the wrong way up the down aisle (one of my biggest parking lot annoyances is that some drivers insist on ignoring the arrows painted on the ground) - but the little butthole does something even more heinous - he shoots me the nastiest look! Imagine - he's in a car and I'M the one that has to move for him. Oh, and he continues to look backwards while he walks to the ATM. Missy R. said (and I'm paraphrasing), "Did that f*cking asshole just shoot us a dirty look?" I was all for rolling over and keying his car.

Today I saw a woman pull her huge red truck into a handicap parking space and sprint towards the mall. Because I always check for handicap placards (hey, you'd be surprised at how many people park in handicap spaces without a placard and it's become a weird obsession thingy for me. I think it's some kind of self-righteous issue and for now it amuses me), it was easy to see she didn't have a handicap placard or license. It's the same thing when someone parks in the "Fifteen Minutes" parking spot and is there for hours. It's marked for a reason, bozo. I asked the security guard at the mall what the policy was for cars parking in the handicap space without a placard and he said that they couldn't issue tickets, only call the police.

Really. Did you know the minimum fine for parking illegally in a handicap space starts at $350 and goes as high as $3500? If you can walk, why risk the fine? I don't get it. Sigh. Again I ask, when did we become a nation of "Me firsts?" More and more I notice the slow decline of consideration and courtesy. The biggest offenders? People my own age, the mid-30's to early 50's age group. Great example we're setting for the younger set, aren't we? Does anyone know what happened to our generation? My parents raised me to be considerate and respectful of others but it's hard to mind your manners when you come across, more and more, people with none. I'm not saying that there's a lack of considerate and kind people, I'm saying that it's easier to spot the rude people. That's why when someone holds a door open, or offers to reach an item on a shelf for me, I appreciate it. Nice gestures are lovely.

By the end of our yogurt treat, the small penis man and his muscle car had left the parking lot. The Missy's and I were able to laugh at the whole situation and our reactions. Still, my urge to key his car or roll over his toes remained strong...I'll get him next time!!

Happy day after Halloween...

2009-11-01T23:44:00.000-08:00

This has been a great week. I haven't spent more time with Missy's R. and P. since our Shameless Tourist Trip to San Francisco in May. Missy P's birthday on Wednesday started our time together. Again, sharing a meal and drinks with really good friends elevates my mood so much. Laughing, rehashing old stories, eating from each other's plate - that was a wonderful lunch. After stuffing ourselves, we still felt the urge to be gluttons because everyone knows that calories don't count when you are celebrating a close friend's bday. So off we went to a dessert shop and a box of goodies later...we decided to head south to buy coconut bread. Yes, it was a day of good eats.

After all that food, clearly the next thing to do was shop. So we did.

We decided to meet for lunch on Friday and then dinner on Saturday to celebrate the anniversary of one of the Missy's. That was an interesting meal. It was like speed dating. We were done with our meal and outta the restaurant in about 75 minutes. Amazing. We stood in the parking lot laughing. When did we get so old? Gotta get home to the dogs, we've got a 35 minute drive home, my leg hurts, I'm tired....

I love my friends. I can't and probably won't say that enough in my lifetime. Hope you all had a great Halloween!!

That's Life

2009-10-27T00:08:00.000-07:00

I was watching a movie on PBS tonight titled, "Fighting for Life" which tells the story of soldiers and the medical personnel that treat them after their war injuries. It's about courage, survival, pain, the dedication and compassion from the medical teams - all this comes together in a moving portrayal of life and war.

It disturbed me to see the amputees. I admit I even screeched a bit when I saw some of the injuries. So many soldiers and civilians hurt. Watching the movie brought out all the anxiety and sadness I have about my leg...and what I need to decide about my own amputation. Honestly, my first reaction is to vomit, shake my head and then vomit once more in case there was any debate about my feelings on the amputation. I don't want to do it. It's not like my surgical track record is smooth. Well, okay, I'm alive which is the best case scenario but getting here wasn't easy. I don't know if I'm ready to go through all of that again. "Fighting for Life" hit me hard. Realized that if I go through with the amputation, then I'll experience what those soldiers experienced. Uh, and none of them made it look easy or painless. Some of them had similar nerve and skin damage, in fact, one soldier's arms and legs looked a lot like mine.

I'd like to think I was brave and strong like the men and women in the movie. Some of them are determined to go back and finish the fight they started. Wish I could be as single-minded. I have more fear now then I did before. Fear can make you stronger, it's true, but fear can cut you in half. My family says the decision about amputation is mine but they remind me with a prosthesis I will walk again. My response? At what cost the pain? The unknown scares the s.h.i.t. outta me. The pain is barely tolerable now, what is it going to be like after the surgery? Doctor's answer? Doesn't know. Not good enough. The amount of uncertainty I've had in the last four years demands more than that for an answer. I'd prefer some kind of guarantee - which is impossible, I know.

When my orthopedic surgeon mentioned the amputation again, I swear every orifice in my body contracted - EVERY ORIFICE. It was as if they all took a great big collective inhale, held it and then exhaled one loud, "NO WAY!!" My skin crawled and my vision dimmed. I'm not lying - I thought I was going to faint. Guess that's a pretty definitive answer as to what my mind and body think about amputation, right?

If you get the chance, watch this movie. The human spirit is amazing. I love what one medical team member said to the Iraqi soldier who'd just found out he'd never walk again. You could tell he was a career military man. He kept asking the medical person, Leslie, to help end his life. As she held him in her arms, they cried together and then she said to him, "I know it's not the life you envisioned, but it's life."

It's friendship, friendship, just the perfect blendship...

2009-10-10T00:43:00.001-07:00

So, with the Internet, Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter technology, it's very easy to find old friends...or, as it sometimes happens, they may find you.

I am not one of those people that can go for years without talking to a supposed dear, close friend and then by coincidence or fate (sometimes both) pick up the thread of conversation as if those almost thirty years has never passed. I am a firm believer in contact and conversation. Friendships might have moments of silences, not empty caverns that echo with no sound. I don't much buy into the "my life has been so busy I forgot to call" excuse. Sometimes there are reasons friendships slowly die. People change and the relationship can not. That's okay, it happens.

I have been blessed to experience the vast array of friendship menu selections: the childhood friend that you lose contact with when one of you moves away or you grow apart; the high school friend you could talk to for hours, giggle with about boys, talk about anything - that disappears with the start of adult life; the college friend you thought would be in your life forever that isn't there one day; the work friend you could exchange stories with that never returns your call after you leave the company...

My girlfriends and my boyfriends (not the lover kind, silly), are special. I've talked about the Missys before and probably always will in this blog. Without getting too sappy, these women represent all the best parts of me and to give them credit, the men do too but in a smaller way. I don't worry about losing contact with any of them because I know their friendship is solid. We might annoy each other at times but that's a good thing. Gotta keep things fresh, right?

I was thinking about this earlier because I was contacted by some old high school friends on a social site. I debated for awhile but then decided that there really wasn't any point in responding. Part of me wanted to know what had been going on in their lives but honestly, when I sat down and thought about it, what did it matter to me?

I have fond memories of them and will always smile when I think about our high school adventures. Whenever I come across an old picture it brings me right back to that moment when the picture was taken. That's all I feel, though. A lovely, warm memory that is going to stay right where it is - in the past.

Naked Daze

2009-09-15T01:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my computer naked, typing. I'm having a naked evening in my bedroom. Sometimes it's nice to simply doff all clothing and let my body breathe.

I'm certainly not as modest as I know my Dad would like me to be. There are times I find no compelling reason to wear pants in the house. I mean, I'm wearing a long t-shirt and I'm sitting in a wheelchair, so it's not as if I'm flashing my cash and prizes to all that can see me. Do you know how hot it is to sit all the time? I gave up underwear four years ago - it's just another layer to trap heat. I stand up every 1/2 hour, as I was instructed to do while in rehab. Keeps the circulation moving in your body. I do it because it airs out my ass. It gets hot sitting down, especially on a gel pad. It captures all my body heat and it is as if I'm sitting on a burner, which if you think about it, I am. It can be downright uncomfortable.

When I see my fellow Scooters I'm tempted to ask if they too suffer from hot ass or if I'm just special. During our recent heatwave here in America's Finest City, I was so frickin' uncomfortable. I felt like I was on simmer all day long. Nothing like sitting in your own pool of sweat. Ick. Thus, I have naked days or evenings, depending on who is staying with me.

Mom rolls her eyes at me. My poor nephew once asked me to, "Please, please, put on some underwear." Poor baby. He came downstairs one morning (I was still living in my parents home, bed stationed in the dining room) and saw me spreadeagled, in all my glory. He was nine. I don't think I traumatized him too much because he still likes girls.

My sister, well, I don't pay attention to what she says about my non-under wearing. As long as I don't have a repeat performance and scar my nephew for life, I think she tolerates me. It does bother her when I roll around wrapped toga style in my towel, fresh from the shower. Ah well, can't please everyone I suppose.

I'll explain it simply as this: When you spend three months splayed out on a hospital bed, left leg bandaged and propped up high on pillows wearing a gown that doesn't close in the back, well, modesty is lost. Top it off with many doctors, nurses, CNAs, nursing students, various hospital staff coming into the room unannounced, I flashed a lot of people.

Case in point: Around the seventh week in the hospital I needed to have my left leg aspirated. Yes, it is every bit as painful as it sounds. Anyway, I needed to be transferred to a special bed but my room couldn't accommodate the two beds and all my pretty IV lines, etc. After much discussion, it was decided to complete the transfer in the HALLWAY. You see where this is going? Oh yes, but not just in the hallway, they had to do it in the hallway IN FRONT OF THE ELEVATORS and nursing station. I put this in capitol letters because it was that mortifying. At one point, the orderlies had rolled me onto my side with my ass FACING the elevators, and then "bing" the door opens and I don't know how many people come out but it felt like forever before the doors shut. I, in an effort to contain my embarrassment, shouted to anyone within hearing range, "Hey, I normally charge $5 for that view, leave the money on the bed!!" Made people laugh but I wanted to cry.

Anyway, that's the big reason I lack modesty about my nakedness. I'm not going to parade around in front of others (unless you wave that money, honey) but in the comfort of my own home, I think my ass deserves a break.

All the king's horses and all the king's men...

2009-08-11T23:16:00.000-07:00

I've been experiencing much more pain in my leg. During our trip I tried my best to ignore the pain - I was in Europe, after all!! But there were those days (okay, 4) that I spent mostly in bed. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe - hell, it hurt!!

Since I've been back, I've played possum again with my friends. I can't fake it for very long, the girlies know me too well. I'm good for about 3-4 hours before I'm not able to move without either making my lovely grunting noises or tapping my foot so hard against the ground that my entire wheelchair shakes. When Missy K. was here there were several times I wheeled straight to bed because I needed a break.

When my leg hurts this bad, it's impossible to ignore it. It's hard to sleep and function normally. If I'm lucky to fall asleep, the leg pain will wake me up and finding a comfortable position to sleep again is not easy. The past two weeks have become a marathon of twenty hour days.

One of the unfortunate side effects lack of sleep spits out is emotional rawness. I have been skewered with pain. I cry when I'm alone - this is not hormonal, believe me. I hurt from the tightness in my scalp to the numbness in my toes. My emotional innards have been twisted, wrung out and stretched. I don't feel hopeless, just tired and empty. Not depressed, just flat and colorless.

Sleeping pills don't work. Painkillers don't work. I'm not wallowing in self-pity, either. This is yet another chapter in my recovery that is thicker than those in the past. I know I will push through but right now, I feel broken.

Spring bungee cord

2009-08-11T00:39:00.000-07:00

I started writing this post in March and forgot to hit "publish". There seems to be a pattern to my ever increasing funk. Hmmm....need to think about this turn of events....

Spring is here, can you believe it? Air is fresh and clean, the flowers are blooming, wind gently caresses my hair...sigh...bah humbug.

Don't get me wrong. I am always in awe of Mother Nature. I'm simply not feeling it - you know, the "spring" in my step, the "woo hoo" to my brain. I'm kinda in a funk. I've so much more to do in my house and yet I'm perfectly content to let the boxes pile up. As long as I can scoot around 'em, I don't care. It's not that I'm unhappy, it's just that I'm not happy. I'm in the 'tweens of happy and disgruntled.

For the first time since this all happened to me, I'm starting to really feel cheated. I mean, I'm grateful to be alive. Given the way things could have gone, it was very possible I might have been a shell of me, lying in a bed. I'm grateful that I can do things I never thought I could do again - yet there's still a gnawing feeling in my gut. It's that want for things I won't be able to have again. I've had these feelings before but they've been more of an annoyance (think mosquito-like); now it's as if a swarm of bees are constantly doing their buzz buzzing in my brain Believe me, that's the last thing I need twirling around in my head right now. My thoughts, if brought to life, would be pretty close to that scene in Poltergeist, when they open the door to the kid's room and all the toys are swirling about in some crazy, dancing out of control merry-go-round. That's dangerous in my head because I definitely somebody to be in charge of crowd control...or else stuff starts spilling out of me. I already have an edit button problem, I don't need the sewer from my brain to open up and spew things out of my mouth. Nobody wants that, believe me.

While I was visiting in the Philippines, I started saying things (for the life of me I can't recall a single comment, you'll have to take my word for it) that were not very kind. More sarcastic. Definitely not complimentary to some people and most certainly not to the general Philippine population closest to me. My cousins, not having been exposed to such behaviour from me, took my comments to be "cute" and "silly" and "funny". Riiiiiight. Because that's what I am folks. Cute and silly and funny. I. AM. NOT. ANY. OF. THOSE. THINGS. I can "be" cute or "be" silly, or even "be" funny but I it would be an untruth to say that those qualities lie deep within my soul. I'm a bitch. But because I say things with a smile, people think it's cute. Or if I giggle, I'm being silly. Better yet, if I shrug my shoulders, smile and giggle all at once, I'm FUNNY. Most people like it packaged and ready to assimilate. Cover equals book - judgement successful.

Anyway, back to my original grouse - I'm discombobulated. While the pendulum is swinging up in my life, I still feel the tug back down to zero. I need to figure out what's pulling me down when there's so much to enjoy. Is it possible that all those feelings of helplessness and rage that I've mercilessly squashed down in order to survive are springing back up? Uh oh.

Scooter Girl does Europe

2009-07-12T01:59:00.000-07:00

I returned to the US Friday night after a lovely trip to Europe - Spain, France, Italy, Greece and Turkey. More to write later.

Missy K. will be here in less than 2 weeks!! Woo Hoo!!

The Evening Muse

2009-06-18T00:04:00.000-07:00

Is there a point in our lives where we have to toss away all the dreams - the silly and the serious - of our youth?

When real life and real responsibilities overshadow the idealistic dreams we see for ourselves, do we put the dreams high away on some inner filing cabinet or do we shove them down into our mental shredder and never think of it again? I've been trying to remember what great dreams I envisioned for myself as an 18 yr. old young woman, with open personal horizons and expectations for my life ahead. You know what? I don't remember thinking beyond the next few weeks. I didn't plan for my professional future. I didn't have a clue what I "wanted to be be when I grew up". Most of my friends did - mathematicians, teachers, wives, parents, architects, writers - me? Nothing. Or at least, nothing that has stuck with me.

I talked about being a nurse, a doctor, something in the medical field but those were my parents dream for me, not mine. I somehow got caught up in the superficiality of wearing pretty clothes, getting my nails done and hanging out with the popular crowd in college. I dated men that I thought were really creative and sensitive - they just turned out to be gay (see my previous posts, I'm sure I've mentioned it before)...and not just one guy, how about three in a row? I was as uncommitted in my personal relationships as I was in my own personal growth.

I was selfish, insensitive and uncaring of anyone's needs except for my own. But hey, that describes most early twentysomethings. I eventually grew out of that type of behaviour - and the gay men*, thank goodness!! - and here's my life now. I wonder what dreams I dreamed for myself because when I look at my life now, I know something is missing. I like the person I have become, I'm proud of myself for enduring the past few years with grace and humor - but I'm not anymore special than most people. We're all survivors of some personal tragedy. So, what's the plan for my future? What do I want to do? What do I want to be now that I'm all grown up?

Is there an expiration date on dreams? Did I put my dreams so far up on that shelf I can't even see them anymore - and now they're completely out of my reach? Did I, in some incredible moment of stupidity - place them down that mental shredder? Is it too late to figure it all out? Ack!! Too much introspection!!

I need chocolate, a pen and some paper. Maybe it's time to write a new list of dreams.

*okay, I don't date obviously gay men, merely ambiguously gay guys. Baby steps, baby steps.

A Good Dump

2009-06-15T23:24:00.000-07:00

Aha!! Did you think I was talking in bathroom terminology? In some ways, I guess what happened to me last night might parallel that type of expelling, but no, I was referring to more of the emotional dump.

Last night was emotionally strange for me. Since my "accident", my hormones have pretty much shut down, closed up shop, for lack of a better phrase, dried up. Doctors have said it is because of all the trauma (yea, that would be the part where they lifted my innards outta my body while they searched for the cut vein) and blood transfusions that I've gone into early menopause. Okay, I know I don't normally talk about "female" stuff but this all ties into my emotional state. If I didn't know better, I'd say I had one of the PMS type breakdowns last night.

Seriously. I'm watching some mind dumbing (or numbing, whichever you prefer) comedy show and I start to cry. And cry. And cry. No reason. There was a laugh track encouraging me to laugh and find humor with the TV show star's antics. But my hormones were having none of it. Twenty minutes of boo hooing into my nightgown.

I'm hoping I'm not going to have a reccurring episode every month. While I'm happy my body is getting back to "normal" (not as many infections) I think the only fair thing is that my body not to return to all "normal" functions. After all I've been through; without complaints, without tears or tantrums, remaining as positive as possible - you think the universe could cut me a break and not return everything? Is that too much to ask? I've discussed this with some of my girlfriends, they agree that this is a fair trade.

So, again, to throw this out into the universe, I'm okay without this monthly function, really. I don't feel cheated as a woman. I can do without the monthly hormonal rages, the pimply breakouts, the unexplained tiredness, the insomnia (like I need any of this crap - oh, another dump reference, I'm good!!) the whole lot of it - I don't want it.

Here's hoping tonight I might fall asleep and dream happily.

As an added bonus: For the love of Dick

2009-06-13T11:14:00.000-07:00

A footnote to my previous entry about my niece's graduation:

(They put me in an alcove because I refused to sit in one of the chairs and have people step all over me. It echoed in that alcove. Remember this later on in my story, okay?)

Normally, commencement speakers at graduations are, for the most part, pretty boring. The speakers at my niece's graduation were total yawners. Honestly, why do people behave so formally at these events? I was subjected to 2 long winded speeches of how great this professor was or how this teacher changed the course of her studies. Boo hoo! Give me something different, give me something that catches my attention, give me...Dick.

Oh yea, baby. The guest speaker was Mr. William B. But before he spoke, the Dean, the DEAN of Faculty stood before his 2009 graduating class, their families and began his introductory speech...

"I bet most of you didn't know that Dick was born in Canada" (Really? I didn't know that factoid.) I snickered. My sister whipped her head around and glanced in my general direction. "Dick is great." (Oh MY GOD!! This guy is killing me!!) I snickered louder. "I bet you didn't know that Dick played minor league baseball with Willie Stargil. That's right, Dick played ball with Willie!!" (ACK!! HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!! WHERE'S MY PHONE, I HAVE TO TYPE THESE NUGGETS FOR LATER!) I snickered even louder, noticed that no one else was laughing. Was it just me? "I can't go anywhere with Dick without someone coming up to us and telling us how much Dick has meant in their lives." (AHHHH!! IS THIS GUY FOR REAL? HE HAS TO REALIZE WHAT HE'S SAYING!!) Notice that audience has FINALLY caught on. Geez. "Dick is going to be inducted into the Hall of Fame for all his contributions for his great style in ball playing." (NOOOO....STOP!!! I'M DYING!!!) Audience is beginning to cover mouths with hands. That's right, my minions, laugh with me, laugh with me..."Dick has touched many lives." (THAT'S IT!!! DING DING DING!! I'M DONE. STOP NOW!!!) I'm moving back and forth in my wheelchair. I can't stand it anymore. "Blah blah blah, everyone here who's had some special moment with Dick, raise your hands." (OH NO HE DIDN'T!!) I hope to God someone is recording this, it has to go to YouTube. "Okay, folks, enough talk from me about Dick, how about we hear it straight from Dick?" (I AM GOING TO HELL. I AM A BAD PERSON. THIS IS A NICE OLDER MAN...WAIT, WHAT DID HE SAY?) "Good evening, folks. I'm sure you've heard enough about Dick tonight..." (I LOVE DICK).

I'm not lying. It really went that way, we talked about it all night long and in those few moments in the drive home when we were friendly, we joked about Dick. I still have several quotes saved to my cell phone. I will NEVER delete them. Whenever I'm feeling down, believe you me, I'm bringing out Dick. It's all about the love of Dick.

"I'm on the road to no where..."

2009-06-13T00:05:00.000-07:00

Remember when you misbehaved as a child and one of your parents would say to you, "I just hope that your children never behave the way that you do!" Does it count when your parents are the ones behaving as children?

My sister, my parents and I (my brother-in-law wisely chose to stay at home because he had "work" to do - read: I'M NOT GOING TO BE TRAPPED IN A CAR FOR 6 HOURS WITH YOUR CRAZY FAMILY!!) were driving 6 hours north to attend my niece's college graduation. We've travelled together before so we knew what to expect...or did we?

First off, let me explain something about my family. We're a bunch of control freaks. I could spin it in many ways but the bottle still points to control freaks. And we were travelling together. In a locked, speeding car. With the folks in the backseat. For 6 hours, sans potty breaks (more on that later).

As with any other road trip, we had to stop for breakfast (why eat at home when you can go through a drive-thru and really live?). That led to the first potty break...and the second...10 minutes from our house...in the same drive-thru restaurant. Nervous bladder? Perhaps but I believe it to be more of a parental torture to make up for all the years of car trip agony we poured on their heads. My sister and I became the road trip bathroom tour guides, "...and on your left is a lovely burger joint where we might stop...on your right, a shopping mall with many bathroom choices. Please be aware that after this exit, there will be no more stops for 45 minutes."

Dad is the ultimate driving control freak with Mom as his co-pilot. "Why do we have to always change lanes? Can't we stay behind the truck? He's going a steady 60mph, that's good enough." That would have been fine except one of us (uh, me) had to say, "Sure, if we want to get there next Tuesday." Which led to, "I won't say anything anymore (oh, if that were true) I'll just let you drive." Oh, Daddy, you poor man. Trapped like a rat with a bunch of clucking hens...his words, not mine. Mom was more direct, "You can change lanes now." To which my sister would reply, "I wasn't planning on it, but thanks, Mom." My poor sister, who in the past, had the roles reversed. She would be the passenger that feigned sleep to escape while I, the driver, was forced to listen to my parents thoughts on my driving, my hand positioning on the steering wheel, my constant fiddling with switches...now it was I who blissfully drifted off and drowned out the voices.

Another potty break. Hey, a record! It's been an hour! Woo hoo!! More merging instructions, comment on the speed of the automobile, "Why are you letting go of the gas? How come I feel the car slowing down and speeding up?" Reply,"Well, that would be because the cars around me are braking for traffic and speeding up when it clears." Ahh, there was no correct answer to be given. My Dad, so frustrated at one point, clapped his hands to silence the bickering. The stunned silence only lasted about 2 minutes before we were all at it again. Don't misunderstand my family. We love each other very much but that love is balanced by that control freak thing I mentioned. We all like to be right. And we all like to be right OUR way. We can argue but we forgive...

Except if it's about politics. Did I mention I was the only Democrat in a car full of Republicans? Oy. That's all I'm going to say on that subject.

It was a loooong trip up and even longer trip back. My folks had too much excitement, too much sugar and not enough sleep. There was no goodwill left on the return trip. We were singing songs one moment and the next, bam! We would start arguing. Even silence wasn't an acceptable answer. Too much togetherness? Probably. We argue loudly but the love is strong. Good thing, too. Because next time? The folks are taking the train.

I heart San Francisco

2009-06-12T21:25:00.000-07:00

Where to start, where to start. Last month I turned 46. Celebrated in style, too. Went to San Francisco with Missys R., S., and P. Five glorious days with three of my favorite women (Missy K. will be here next month, so you KNOW that's going to be a fun week!). From the moment we arrived in SF, it was giggles and give-me-a-belly-ache laughter.

As I've said before, the energy between the four of us is amazing. We've been friends for over fifteen years now and as we've matured, I'd like to say our humor has with us but um, nope. We do have the maturity level of a 13 yr. old boy. Dirty, dirty, dirty. I'll just hi-lite a few of my favorite moments:

Missy R. arranged for two days of private tours. Wow! What a treat for us. Our driver, Arnold (you can call him Arn but not Arnie, which of course, we immediately wanted to do) was the perfect choice to drive us around. Being trapped in a car with four women over forty with lots of inside jokes, constant teasing, veiled insults - it's not easy. Arnold joined right in and added a few jokes of his own. He even suggested a place in Yountville where I could finally find my precious - brioche bread - and we added that to our Napa tour. I was kind of a baby on that tour, I admit. The constant in and out of the big GMC was hurting me, I hadn't fully recovered from the plane ride, I was up more than I should have been (I HATE having to stop the fun while I elevate my leg) - well, it was too much for me. So instead of getting to visit a few more wineries, I chose to do a driving tour. The girlies are such good sports that no one pointed out that a Napa tour should involve visiting more than one winery. And that's why I love these girls. They let it be about me - which, of course, is that way it should be since it was my birthday week but still, that was a very nice thing for them to do for me. By the way, did you know when you call those automated direction things on your cell phone and put it on speaker, that if one of your passengers yells "HOLY CRAP!" at the exact moment the automated directional thingy is speaking, it will actually respond with, "I'm sorry, will you please repeat the city name?" We didn't either, but it does because we did.

We had lunch at Tra Vigne. The food was fantastic and we all shared - well, except Missy P., since she doesn't "do meat" anymore. Missy S. ordered this fantastic braised rabbit and I thought Missy P. was going to fall over. "You're going to eat a bunny? Really?" Missy S. was calm and said, "YES. That's what it's bred to do - feed me." Or words to that effect. Missy P. still eats fish and shellfish. What's that called, a pescitarian? I don't understand all the different levels of vegetarianism. It's like a video game. Level one, no red meat. Level two, no chicken. Level three...you get the idea. At least Missy P. is the first one in line to eat desserts. I love that about her - whenever I shout "chocolate" she goes, "Where?!" We bought (okay, Missy R. did) some lovely baked goods at Bouchon Bakery in Yountville. To quote another Arnold, "I'll be back!"

When the four of us are together, the biggest problem is that we act as if food is not available to us in our home towns so we must hunt and gather as much grub as possible. Example, Patrick, our driver from the airport, pointed to an area where on Saturdays they have a gourmet farmers market. We all perked up and someone said, very excitedly, "A farmers market!!" I know, like we don't have fresh fruit at home. What's even more perplexing is that we still insist on buying food and bringing it back to the hotel - so we can snack later. We never eat as much as we buy and end up feeling guilty for throwing it away. This trip, however, we did gather up the leftover food and drink that was still edible and packed it. I brought mine home and said, "Look Mom! Bread from a bakery in Yountville! It's so good!" I found a way to bring home leftovers and turn them into presents!!

We've been friends for so long that discussing our bio breaks (a new phrase courtesy of Arnold) is casually brought up in any conversation. There are no rules anymore, no boundaries. Farting, snoring, drooling - all were discussed many times during the trip. At one point, Missy R. and I silently applauded when one of the other Missys (I'm not telling which one) went into the guest bathroom and farted REALLY loudly. Missy R. and I didn't even flinch - just looked at each other, raised our eyebrows and applauded. Now THAT's sisterly love!

There were a lot of things that happened on this trip but I think I'll keep them where they belong: as treasured memories. Some things need to be kept close to the heart, you know? These three women: Missys P., R., and S., hold a special place in my life. I am truly blessed to call them my friends.

(Oh, Missys P. and S., I have LOTS of pictures of the "so you think you can dance-off" and Missy R. has video. I will be saving those for future gatherings - we can all laugh and remember what a great time we had in SF. And I'm not above a little blackmail...)

Tick Tock

2009-04-04T00:20:00.000-07:00

Trader Joe's Mango Sorbet. If you can try it, buy it. My folks and I love the flavor. Not as good as the mangoes we ate during my visit abroad but damn fine. Fruity, sweet with a tart finish and melty as you swallow it...yummmmm.

Not much to say today. Spent the day opening boxes filled with my card collection. I've been collecting greeting cards since the 80's. Haven't mailed them, simply enjoy taking them out of their boxes and reading. I truly mourn the loss of the mailed letter or card. The Internet is so much more convenient, true, but much more impersonal. I love the excitement of seeing an envelope with my name (as long as it's not a bill), realizing which friend sent it (usually Missy K.) and opening it. The thought the other person put into buying the card, writing a little note, then mailing the card/letter itself - well, it makes me feel so special. Now we have Internet cards; you shop, you fill in the little box and presto! the program writes out your note and sends it off. Big woo. Give me a mailed letter or card any day.

Watched Moulin Rouge. While I don't really like Nicole Kidman, I love this movie.

Okay, so there you have it. A brief summary of my day. Exciting, wasn't it?

Red and Gray

2009-04-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon shopping online for stuff. Patio furniture, corner TV unit, ottomans, pictures, mirrors...little things to finish up my house. I suppose you could say I was successful in purchasing a few things but my credit card certainly was screaming for it to all stop.

Having my own home is something I never thought I would do - the implied and real responsibility is very scary for someone like me. Commitment is not something I do with any measured success. I tend to get bored and when that happens I fall off the track. Since my accident I'm more aware of this bad habit and I've made some progress with the "stick to itness"...and some days it ain't any fun.

I've had a few relationships that have lasted the test of time: Missys K., R., P., and S. to name a few. It didn't ever feel like I was making an effort to stay in the relationship. Now why is it that with the men in my life, I've always had problems? Either the drama is there or I make it happen. Because I'm bored. Because I find them irritating. Sigh. There is no pleasing me I suppose.

From the time I was 13 through about 40 years old, I read romance books obsessively. After my accident, I dropped the urge to read about romance. It seemed like such a waste of time. In real life, it doesn't always work out, you know?

It's been a cloudy day here in "sunny" Southern CA. Perhaps that's why I feel a bit blah. Usually I relish days like this - sharp, cool breezes, gray skies, that little cold snap in the air when you take a deep breath - today, instead of invigorating me, it made me want to climb back into bed and pull the covers up. So I did. As Scarlett said, "Tomorrow is another day!"

Jester Me Not

2009-04-01T23:59:00.000-07:00

April Fool's Day. Did I get any pranks pulled on me? No, thank goodness. I stayed in bed until 11am (sounds good but I didn't fall asleep until 6am so, no, it wasn't a sleep-in), didn't change out of my pajamas until 3pm, and to top it all off, I didn't shower today. I didn't read a book. I didn't watch TV. I didn't go outside and I didn't enjoy my garden. I did spend most of the day on the computer, wasting the day away.

Perhaps I am the April Fool.

The Spa Guy Cometh

2009-03-31T23:59:00.000-07:00

Nothing special to talk about today. Oh, except for the exceptionally cute spa repair guy that arrived to perform a diagnostic on my spa. Cue the "bow chica wow wow" 70's metal porn guitar sound. Bring on the dirty jokes, "He can use his chemical stick to check my PH balance anytime!" Look for it, look for it...there it is...the lascivious thoughts, the giggles, the quick flirty glances...too bad he was young enough to be my son. Sigh. He was the quintessential California golden boy cute.

It's not my fault I kept drooling. He insisted on gazing into my eyes with his piercing blue eyes while he explained the spa was working fine. I only perked up when he said the service call was good for a month and I should call him as quickly as possible if something should happen. Really? Did he feel as drawn to me as I to him? Honestly, I think he was flirting with me.

Yeah, right. He was a nice guy. Too young and too aware of his own charms. It was a nice 20 minutes, though. I almost, almost felt guilty when I handed over the $75 check for his visit. I was a naughty girl since I'd been having all those NC-17 thoughts about the spa guy. Bow chica wow wow!!

A Stinkin' Rose

2009-03-31T01:33:00.000-07:00

Shhh. I'm hiding from myself. Today was another one of those days when I looked at myself in the mirror and said, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you a grown woman with her own opinions or are you a big, waa waa baby?" Um, today, I was a BIG waa waa baby.

It started out as a normal outing with my folks. Shopping at S Mart ("..shop smart, shop S MART"* (can you guess the movie?)) for a few garden items. Dad and I perused the various succulents, the odoriferous herbs, the vibrant florals...and there I saw them...English Daises. Delicate, petite flowers with a burst of golden yellow in the middle surrounded by rich, velvety colours of deep maroon, baby pink; with stripes of ruby so red, it was almost black. In short, them was some purty flowers.

I told my Dad, "Hey, I like those. They'd look great in planters beside the patio furniture. Let me grab 3 or 4 of them." My Dad looked at me, looked at the plants, and said simply, "No." He attempted to push my wheelchair forward but I, in total shock at being denied my precious flowers, threw what could only be called a tantrum in the most astonishing style...As I shook my head rapidly from side to side, chanting , "...I want them, I want them...give me my pretty flowers!" (oh, I kid you not, this was definitely a moment that disproved I was an adult) my body, in rhythmic tandem, shook in some epileptic dance; my hands moving up and down, my legs flailing in crazy synchronicity. Ahhh...my poor Mom, who had a front row view of my tamtrum, was in a word, stunned. She slowly moved her head to face away from me, then pushed her cart as far from me as she could. I saw her shoulders shaking and thought I'd made her cry. It wasn't until I heard strange snorting noises from behind me did I realize my parents were laughing at me - hysterically.

Mom turned her cart back towards Dad and I, still laughing. "Guess you want those plants pretty badly, huh?" she asked me, trying to catch her breath. Dad said, "Do ya think they have security cameras out here and maybe we could get a copy of the tape?" I asked them both (quite innocently, I thought), "Why? Did I look funny?" Before they could answer, an older gentlemen in the aisle beside us said very quietly, "Yes." OH. NO. Mortification set in, then raucous laughter. I could not stop laughing at myself. I don't know if it was pent-up tension that needed releasing or frustration at being told "no" as if I were a child that well, made me act like one.

Dad loaded up six of the plants, taking care to pick only the healthiest to bring home to become part of my lovely garden. I don't advocate my behavior but there is something to be said of the effectiveness of a good, ol' fashioned hissy fit.

*10 points if you guessed this line from Army of Darkness. Go Bruce Campbell!!

Chasing windmills

2009-03-30T01:43:00.000-07:00

My 46th birthday is about two months away. 46. Wow. The downside of 45, sliding into 50. 50! Ack!! Where did the years go? I mean, I can look at an article of clothing, a purse or a pair of shoes and can almost pinpoint the moment I bought it and took my prize home. But time? It's been whirling past me.

Remember that indestructible feeling between 18 and 23? You knew everything and anything about life. No one could tell you what to do - because you had all the answers. And that period from 25 - 30 when you finally settled into the thought of being a responsible adult. The 30's was the time to make a whole new set of mistakes. Bad hair, bad shoes, bad relationship choices...but it was okay because we rebounded faster. We were more confident, sure in our knowledge that the right guy wasn't too far out of reach. (By the way, I'm talking to the ladies that didn't marry young, like my sister. She was 21 when she fell in love, married with a baby at 22. Her opinions about dating, when she offers them, are constantly laughed off. She found her true love at a young age. They're still married, even happier, and while they have their problems, they're in for the long haul.) I remember when I turned 35 and realized that I had invested so much time into making a career for myself that I hadn't dated anyone in a long time. It was a big surprise. One day I looked up and bam! 35 and single. With no prospects. I didn't panic but it was the first time I thought that maybe I wasn't going to find my forever love. That was a pretty sobering experience.

Now, here I am at almost 46 and my situation is even more complicated. I wonder if I will ever find someone that will look past the wheelchair, the scars and all the baggage that comes with this injury and see me. I've talked about it before, I know, only this time it's hitting me differently. I'm not talking about finding my forever love, how about my right now love? I find myself wanting more for me. And it's not anymore different than what so many other people out there are looking for in life.

So, 46 and single. Whooda thunkit? Certainly not me. I guess the 40's are when you put together a whole new set of dreams...and balance them with the reality of your life. I mean, I don't feel like Don Quixote or anything. I'm not chasing an impossible dream; at least, I don't think so.

Pucker up

2009-03-29T01:37:00.001-07:00

Some days the lemon popsicle represents all that is perfect in life. Sweet, tart, icy cold, invigorating and satisfying.

Dreyer's lemon fruit bars - Perfect ending to a lovely day.

U Turn

2009-03-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

Since I returned from my holiday travels, my leg has been fired up - and not in a good way. I've been to see my doctors a few times and the general consensus is that my subcutaneous nerves are waking up. A long 3 1/2 year nap and the damn things are letting it known that they are not happy. I'm actually longing for the incredibly mind numbing coma of the pain killers I had a few years ago. I only want those babies for their ability to make me sleep - and not wake up until I've rested a good 10 hours. Lately, I'm lucky if I can squeeze in 3-4 hours of sleep. I'm whining, I know. What's been worrying me is that the doctors told me this could last anywhere from 8 months to a year, plus my leg was so damaged, it could take longer. Sigh. Oh, and did I mention that my nerves might stay at their present hot poker, ants on fire, jab jab jab fun box?

I haven't felt the urge to write because I've been focusing all my energy into dealing with the pain. It's different than what I've been experiencing in the past few years, so I'm having to adjust. Not easy. I make sure that I keep to my schedules, get out as much as I can, and exercise. I have spent more days in bed, though. Only two weeks ago I stayed in bed for 3 days. It hurt too much to move.

Have you ever heard about the Roman god Janus? He represents beginnings and endings; he has two faces: one looking back to the past, the other facing forward, to the future. Does that make it easier to understand if I say that I've got a Janus on my back? I've had to remember the pain in the past to help me deal with my current, and future pain. Ack.

Through it all, though, life is good. I've said this several times: my journey is bittersweet. There are many things that I can no longer do but there are many more things I'm able to do now. I spend more time with my family and friends; I value every second I am with them. Sure, they can irritate the hell out of me but that's okay; for every irritation is balanced with a lovely moment. I'm much more calmer, I don't feel the need for drama, I enjoy my solitude - I don't need to fill in all my minutes with things to do, people to see or endless wasted hours babbling on the phone. I love to just sit in my backyard and listen. I never made time for anything like that before. My folks have been working on my garden, now when I throw open the curtains in the morning, the first thing I see are the gorgeous flowers they've planted all over my patio and yard.

So yes, I've had to look back for me to see the future...and I think I like it that way.

Scooter Girl goes global

2009-02-11T18:58:00.000-08:00

Where to begin...

Belated Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, Merrry Christmas and Happy New Year! I missed a lot of holidays, folks. I didn't miss out on much of anything else, though. Life is and has been frenetic and wonderful. My new, "handicap" accessible home is almost finished (details, it's always the details), visited the Philippines and Singapore (more on that later)...ack, I'll just talk about it as the memory strikes me.

First off, let me tell you about international travelling. I thought I had it all knocked out flying domestic. Uh uh. International means just that - people from another country. I was flying on the airline of my people. I'm going to skip to check in at LAX. I purchased upgraded tickets because I mistakenly thought customer service was better. Nope. They had "thoughtfully" separated my parents and I on the plane. In fact, they put my mother on the upper deck and my dad two rows ahead of me. I explained that I needed both my parents nearby so that if I had to use the restroom (a no brainer given that it was a frickin' 15 hour flight), someone was going to have to help me and I didn't think the flight attendant's credo included wiping my ass...okay, I didn't say it quite so graphically but yeah, that was the point I made. My mother, in a bid to help, said, "Would it make a difference if she showed you her leg?" What? Like the ticket agent was going to turn that freak show down? Okay, picture this...LAX International. 6pm. 250+ people waiting impatiently to check in...and there I am, pulling up my pant leg for all to see. I have to say, without any exaggeration, you could hear several people gasp or inhale, a few, "oh my god" and the agent, with his close-up, saying, "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?!" I let mom and dad explain while I pulled down my pant leg and silently rolled away, very conscious of the eyes upon me. Sigh. We were assigned seats together, though. Payment for the show.

So, time to board the plane. We're giving our tickets to the agent and he says, "You can't take your walker on board the plane" I shot out of my mouth, "Um, excuse me sir, I can't walk without it and how am I suppose to get to the bathroom?" His reply? "It's against airline policy" Oh, I see. I'm gonna have to pee and take a dump in my pants. How lovely for everyone around me. Or better yet, I'll call the attendant and ask for a really large bowl to do my business in. I can already see it. My dad starts spewing, "I want to talk to the supervisor! You guys are a bunch of idiots!! Who's running this goddamn airline?" I'm so frustrated I tell my folks to let it go till we get to the plane. We get down there and poof! I have no way to board because they wouldn't let me take my walker! And then I get this airline idiot tell me I "should have made arrangements for an aisle (Barbie) chair" because now I have to sit and wait until they get one. Oh my. I thought my dad's head was going to spin around and pop off!! I just sat there and closed my eyes until Mike and Ike, as I calls 'em, rolled up with the Barbie chair. You know, I'm no lightweight but I certainly didn't need a pair of weightlifters to get me on board. What I got, however, was Mike - older than my father and maybe 105 pounds - wet. Then there was Ike, a younger version in his 50's weighing in at about 140. These two clowns strapped me in and when they tilted my chair backwards, I almost hit the ground. I could see their arms shaking and hear my Dad yelling, "Don't drop her! Be careful!" I needed at least one strong person on my team and I had been assigned two members of the "Under 70 and 150 pounds" club. These two bozos could barely get me over the step and down the aisle. All the way to my seat I heard my father muttering about the "lousy, stinkin' airline" and all its faults. I saw the people staring. It was all I could do not to cry. Nice way to start my trip, huh? But give me a glass of wine and a hot, steamy towel before takeoff and I'm fine. My adventure had begun in true Scooter Girl style.

Tarnished

2009-02-10T23:34:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, it's been awhile. I've been working on several posts but I needed to do this post first.

Ladies, what is it about the bad boys that keeps us interested? I'm not talking about the commit a crime, have a drug habit, run with the mob, bad boy, either. I'm talking about the kind of boy we know we shouldn't be with but we choose him anyway. There's something about this kind of boy that makes him more interesting, more spark-e-ly than other guys.

I have so many girlfriends that can point to at least one guy in their past where they will say, "What the hell was I thinking?" We think we can change the guy, that our love will show him how to be a better person; that by example, he too can learn to be more open with his emotions. I call bull-shit. It is a hard-learned, time tested lesson with the same result: the guy isn't going to change unless HE wants to - nothing that the woman does or says makes a difference. Usually, the man never changes, just moves on to the next woman that thinks she's going to be the one that "makes a difference".

If we are smart enough to realize that he is never going to be the "forever" we need, we break up. But, as it often happens, we start having second thoughts. The fun times overshadow the reasons we left the guy. We start thinking that maybe this time will be different, that we'll "work it out". Ugh. Ladies, raise your hand if you've said that one before. Riiiight.

Case in point. I have a girlfriend who scheduled minor surgery. Nothing life threatening. Scheduled it several weeks in advance so that her boyfriend could be with her. She should have checked with him first because he was "too busy at work" to be there for her. Wow. I want his abilities to see into the future! My girlfriend had to ask someone else to take her to the doctor's office and stay with her for a few days until she was well. Oh, did I mention that she LIVED with her boyfriend? But he was still, "too tired" to help out. I asked why she would put up with this selfish and thoughtless man. Her response? He, "wasn't always like that". Can you hear me retching, ladies? The best part? Their lease is up so they've decided to move...but closer to his office so that his commute isn't so bad. SHE now has to drive 45 minutes to get to her job downtown. How's that for a big crystal ball look into their future?

I'm not saying I haven't made the same mistakes. Hey, I raised my hand. So when you see someone close to you making excuses for the human "ucktard that is her significant other, you want to bitch slap the girl. I recently told someone that the true character of a person comes out in times of crisis. Some people run scared, others get angry and can't deal, most people are able to stand up and handle the situation. But in a crisis, if your man uses excuses as to why he can't be there for you, doesn't spend every moment he can with you, and allows others to take care of you when you know he should be doing so, there is something wrong. And yet, many women will excuse that behavior, even knowing just how horribly her man let her down. It is as if you were both standing at a crumbling cliff and he took a step back, watched you fall...and you, even free falling to the ground, shout out to him, "It's okay, only one of us should hurt".

Honestly, ladies, why oh why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we continue to put ourselves in the backseat? Why do we think it's okay to accept this type of inconsiderate, selfish behavior instead of saying, "NO! I deserve better. I deserve someone who will love and support me through the good and the bad, not just the convenient. This man can bring me only flashes of happiness instead of a strong, steady glow. He cannot love me the way I should be loved. I quit him." Okay, maybe not so dramatic but you get the idea. Yea, it's hard but why shouldn't we demand the best for ourselves? We get angry at store clerks when we feel we're being ripped off, we yell at the inconsiderate guy that cuts us off in traffic, we write angry emails when we feel our basic rights have been trampled...and yet, when the man who professes to love us refuses to walk across the street to buy dog food for your dog, you roll over meekly.

Sorry that I sound as if I'm lecturing. I don't often do this but sometimes the spirit moves me. Love doesn't conquer all - sometimes we have to do battle ourselves. Love, however, is the ultimate prize.

Is he gay?

2008-10-22T23:27:00.000-07:00

I was talking with one of my girlfriends yesterday and she told me she thought the guy she was dating might be gay. I asked her why and here is a brief list of her reasons: 1. He hasn't made a serious move on her though they've been on several dates. 2. His voice is "kinda" effeminate 3. He likes to cook 4. He has a close male friend and they hang out a lot.

Okay, I can see on the surface how these points listed together might make a girl a bit suspicious but these do not a gay boyfriend make. Take it from me, girlie. I use to call myself "the last reststop on the road to gayville" because I had THREE boyfriends come out of the closet while dating me - thus sending me straight to the waiting couch of my psychiatrist. I dated one right after the other so it was easy to see why I had very low self-esteem.

Anygay, I explained that perhaps he hadn't made a serious move on her because he was respectful. I know, hard to believe in our current casual sex environment. As for the voice, two words - Tom Selleck. Okay, two more, David Beckham. Excellent choices for smokin' bodies and choir boy pitched voices. It doesn't make sense but here it is, folks. Sometimes the pitch doesn't go with the pecs. Cooking? There are lots of guys that can cook - both in and out of the kitchen...ordering a pizza for dinner doesn't make a man manly, just lazy. I'll take a home cooked meal from my date any day. If he can cook a great dinner, it leaves me happily guessing what might be for breakfast, you know? So he has a close male friend - a bromance, if you please. Good for him for having enough confidence to have a really close male friend versus many casual friends. It means that he's capable of intimacy (not physical, silly), emotional intimacy, with a male friend. Which means that he has someone to turn to for advice, not just an old copy of Playboy or a quick play of "Knocked Up". It takes work to have a close friendship, if he can do it with a male friend, it makes it even sweeter for you, his girlfriend.

In our technical age it is easy to "hook up", it's not so easy to realize what we've hooked, particularly if it's a good thing. We spend so much time analyzing instead of enjoying the moment. I say - go for it, girlie! The worst he's gonna do is say, "get away from me, girl cooties!!" and the best he will say is, "ohhh, girl cooties. Come here." I hope he proves me right and shows my girlfriend he was worth the wait.

Missy K. left today...

2008-10-21T23:33:00.000-07:00

It was a great 10 days. We've been friends for 30 years and still act like teenagers. Too bad our bodies reminded us we were several decades past our teen years!! Too much fun, food, and gabfests. I miss her already.

Simmering

2008-10-20T01:06:00.000-07:00

What is it about low expectations that allows a person to cheat everyone around him/her? Is a lifetime of excuses and laziness the rationale used for current digressions? Is it okay for a parent to say to the fed-up siblings, "...look, it's always been this way. Why do you expect more? He/she is trying his/her best." At what point are the siblings able to say, "I CALL BULLSHIT!" without hurting the parents? Is there ever a right time?

Obviously, by the time a person has reached 30+ years on this earth, his/her character is pretty well forged. It would take a lot of self discipline and desire to change - for the better or worse. But if the bar has always been set at 3, why try for 10? or 7? or even 5? If the minimum effort is acceptable, even embraced, why do more? Frankly, I'm tired of hearing about how "trying" is good enough. What ever happened to just "do it" and grow a spine, set of balls or sense of responsibility? Why is it okay to excuse behavior in some while finding the same behavior in others lacking?

Case in point. Take out the trash. Good. Now logic would mean that if you REMOVE the trash bag you should REPLACE it with a new one, right? Apparently, not always. It's good that the trash was even remembered - that is a victory for the team!! How's that for accepting a mediocre performance and applauding it? I don't think so. Take the last bottle of cold water? Well, replace it and while you're at it, put some more in there for the rest of us. It's called shared responsibility. We could all use a lesson in it with everything that's going on around us today.

Another point - thanks for washing your dishes; now how about putting them away? Did you enjoy the food I provided for you? How about leaving some for me? Yea, I know. I sound pissy...it's because I am. I'm tired of being sensitive about certain issues. I'm getting too old to tiptoe around other people's feelings when it's obvious there's a problem which no one wants to address. Hello. You see that elephant standing in front of you? Acknowledge it. Don't put a dress on it and call it your Auntie Helen! There's no way to make it pretty. Sigh. I'm probably not making sense.

I started this post late last night and I'm finishing it up tonight. I thought perhaps cooling down might make me see things less emotionally. Funny, sleeping on it for 24 hours has actually made more sense for me since the reasons why I wrote this post haven't changed overnight either.

MISSY K. IS HERE TOMORROW!!!

2008-10-09T17:14:00.000-07:00

YEA!!!

Drink that political Flavor-Aid, lemming!

2008-10-06T23:06:00.000-07:00

Humph. A friend is staying with me for a few days while my parents are taking a well deserved break. It's nice to sit and talk but inevitably, the conversation turned to the current political climate.

Look, I respect one's right to choose his/her candidate and political party. That is what makes our country great. What I can't understand is how people are willing to parrot what they hear, watch or read without looking up the facts. And it really frosts my cookies when I'm forced to listen to crap that is wrapped up in political fodder - gift-wrapped crap, if you please. As our conversation ends, I'm shot with the zinger, "Just drink the kool-aid, Scooter Girl, that's what they're giving you. Drink the kool-aid." What the hell is that all about? Is that a Jim Jones reference where all his followers were killed with cyanide laced grape Flavor-aid? Is my party a bunch of lemmings willing to follow our leader to a sure political defeat? Puhleeze. I think change is scary, especially with our economy, world relations, energy problems...but we need to change. I don't believe that the path we are on is what is best for America. There are no "mavericks" for the other party, just a tired old hero and his cheerleader. Don't jump all over me for my personal political beliefs, they are mine and I own them. I don't want to hear how I'm wrong, though. That would mean my beliefs are of no consequence and that the other person feels their beliefs are superior to mine. That's not the way it works. I get to vote for whom I want - so do you. I'm not going to yell, cajole, or whine you into changing your mind. If you have facts to present, then do so but only if you have the correct facts.

For the record, Obama doesn't pal around with terrorists, he's not a Muslim (when he was very young, maybe, as an adult that understands his religious choices, NO), and big deal if his middle name is Hussein. Both his father and stepfather were Muslims. Does that mean all Muslims are evil and want to destroy the world? If that's your logic, then you need to go in the corner and put on your stupid hat (you first, Sarah). Really. Because if that's your logic then Americans are all a bunch of white trash, ill-mannered douche bags. That's the way other countries think of us because of a few white trash, ill-mannered douche bags that were tourists in their country. The apples to oranges logic doesn't work. That doesn't mean I think my candidate is perfect. Neither candidate is perfect. I respectfully choose to vote for whom I think would be the better President. It's my choice. Don't pour me a glass of that purple stuff. I'm not that stupid.

Oh, carbs, I know thee well...

2008-10-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

I was feeling frustrated today and I reacted in a very assertive fashion - I ate something. Not just anything, what I craved was a slice of Starbucks pumpkin loaf. The very thought of that soft, chewy, nutmeg and allspice flavored bread makes my heart go pitter patter. There's nothing batter - oh, hell, better (it doesn't sound quite so rhymey though) during the fall and winter months. Before all you "oh, you're just emotional eating and that's never good" elitists start twittering at me, duh, I get it. Having been fat - there I said it - not heavy, not chubby, not zaftig (what?! we ran out of descriptions and switched to another language to mask the word, FAT?) not big-boned, just plain old, ordinary, run of the mill, FAT. Big deal. HA!!

In the past, my weight did bother me. That was before, when I thought I had a remote chance of dating or having an active social life. I'm not saying I want to be like that guy who had to be driven by a tractor, in his bed, through town to get to the doctor; I simply, of late, don't care. There's no vanity, no ego involved, just don't care. I will later, like I always do and will lose the weight. In fact, I'm almost there. For health reasons, I do need to stay in manageable weight range. Oh, can we go back for a sec? Driven through town by a tractor? Hell, you know I'd pretend it was a parade and wave at my minions. No throwing roses, either. Donuts, preferably glazed buttermilk. Or muffins, probably apple spice. See? It's in the details...

Anyfatty, I know that the weight has piled on because of the wheelchair. For the first few months I was home, I needed to gain weight, my blood iron was low and I had little energy. Unfortunately, I've never been a half-way there kind of gal. I ate with gusto, putting all my emotional angst into my food. Inevitably, the pounds crept upwards. Put that together with my inability to exercise the first two years because of open wounds, and well, it makes for some poundage. Hopefully, in the next few months, my exercise level will increase. I'll have access to a therapy pool where I will be able to walk/swim for an hour a day. I'll be weightless in the water. I can't weight - wait - to walk without a walker. Sigh. It's been almost three years since I've had that freedom. I miss it terribly. Sometimes it hurts so bad that I can't walk, I'm overcome with grief. What relieves grief the best? Carbs. Lots of carbs.

I know, I know. I recognize my problem, only it's not that easy. I'm still coming to grips with my situation in many ways and when I feel overwhelmed, I want to eat. I've mentioned before that eating didn't work, that shopping was my panacea. Well, eating won out. It's cheaper and I have more access to carbs. No more. I made a promise to myself that this behavior would stop. No more irrational eating. After today, that is...

Emotional Succubus

2008-10-04T00:12:00.000-07:00

Once again, I'm surprised at how long I've been away. Did ya miss me? To be honest, I didn't even think about my blog for the past few weeks. I've been so swamped with my home project that time slipped away.

Now, let's dish. I have to tell you guys that it is always fascinating to me when someone I know changes. For better or worse, I like to watch the show. A few years back I worked with a young woman who seemed normal (notice I used the word "seemed")and seemed (again!) to have her act together. We were casual friends, didn't really hang out but talked during work hours. Then my "accident" happened and our friendship shifted. I blame all the drugs I was taking for my blurred reaction to her personality morph. Or maybe she was always like that but because I really needed all the support I could suck in, I got suckered. But once the drugs stopped, the freak show curtains were lifted and I had the only front row seat.

Emotional meltdowns, irrational acting out, too much "Eeyore" and not enough "Tigger". With everything that has happened to me, I certainly don't have the patience to listen to someone whine about how she is the victim of tyranny, or, as she puts it, "abuse". Riiiight. No matter how many hours (believe me, it was HOURS) I tried talking her down from the ledge, nothing worked. Then it hit me - she LIKED the ledge. She ENJOYED the drama. If everything in her life was smooth, she needed to create a hailstorm, with her at the center, taking all the stones. She can't appreciate the good stuff and has to lament the bad - and never is life simply good. The worst part is that she refuses to see that she creates her own drama. She thinks that she has every right to react emotionally, lash out and then claim the other person deserved it because their behaviour was wrongly directed at her. I don't know if this is an official diagnosis but she has what I term, "Junior Police Officer" syndrome. She wants to correct a stranger's mistake and teach them a lesson. Really? Who voted her Hall Monitor?

How do you deal with the black emotional hellhole that she has created? I can't dump her because, frankly, I'm scared to do it for fear of stalking. Believe me, it's happening now. How many times in a single day does a person need to call, email and text me? I'm waiting for her to show up at my parent's doorstep. She does know where I live. I need to disconnect from her. Each time we talk, unless I can keep the conversation to a "stroke her ego" conversation, I hang up the phone emotionally drained. Again, in my defense, I was so doped up I didn't even notice before. Frankly, I think half the time I was completely stoned and let her ramble aimlessly into her emotional forest of dead trees. Seriously. If there's life in there, it's choking.

Wow. Did I need to vent or what? I have to stop before she drags me completely under. By the way, I've suggested counseling, drugs and exercise. The doctor recommended drugs - nope. Counseling - nope. Exercise, eh, we'll see. How can you help someone who won't help herself?

Anyway, life for me is good. I'm in a great place. Health is steady, lots of activities planned, trips are booked - I'm moving forward. Have a great weekend!

Life List

2008-08-30T23:40:00.001-07:00

Did you read the story about the guy who wrote the book, "100 things to do before you die" died? Yikes!! I thought about it and started making a list of things I want to do before I die...

1. Smile, giggle and laugh more 2. Take that world cruise 3. Adopt another dog
4. Feel the grass between my toes every day - make sure the dogs haven't used the spot first 5. Pay someone a genuine compliment daily 6. Donate money instead of buying that fancy cup of coffee 7. Learn to speak French 8. Bungee jump 9. Hug someone I love daily 10. Take a few steps without my walker 11. Plant a garden 12. Sing 13. Drive a car again 14. Go to the beach more and simply breathe 15. Take a road trip with the Missy's 16. Talk slower (HA!!) 17. Walk faster 18. Watch a movie in the theatre (scary) 19. Accept gracefully 20. Challenge myself more - cooking, cleaning, chores 21. Finish my degree 22. Let myself be angry, sad or depressed and not feel guilty 23. Say "no" more and not feel guilty 24. Stop feeling guilty 25. Not talk so much - that's gonna be a tough one 26. Create a shoe and purse display 27. Be healthy 28. Ride a bike again 29. Take a cross country trip 30. Watch great Broadway shows 31. Meet a great guy and fall in love 32. Learn to make a souffle

There's more, I know but I have to stop now. I started a list while I was in the hospital the first time, I need to find it and compare.

Hope you're having a great long weekend!!

UPDATE: 33. Go to the Los Angeles zoo 34. Go to Disneyland (in the works!)35. Learn to use my IPOD

Wicked Ways

2008-08-19T00:36:00.000-07:00

Is it really the last two weeks of August? Where have the summer days gone? I promised myself that I would accomplish several things and I don't think I've come close to reaching those goals. Didn't lose any weight - found some, though. On my face, butt and belly. (Why not the boobs, why not the boobs?) Didn't have surgery..we'll put a plus in the finished column for that one! Did some travelling and planned a few small trips in the future. That's a good thing! Didn't find a cute, chic shoe for my left foot - I'm left with this brutish black velco monster. Sigh. Hideously grotesque...Frankenstein footwear. Still haven't gone to a movie since the surgery in December 2005. Silly mental block. I guess it has something to do with being in a dark room with lots of steps around me. Okay, that and the fact they put the wheelchairs really close to the screen. Haven't been able to walk without my walker. Oh well, don't think that's going to change, either.

Heading to LA this weekend. Going to see Wicked...a year late but I'm going! Last year I was so sick from my surgery in August (leaky stuff out of my back)that I was unable to go. Missy R. and Mr. Hubby R. raved about the show. Can't wait to see it!!

The biggest thing for me this summer? Letting go and living. I was so afraid to plan for the future because I didn't know what would be there. The past few months I've been feeling more positive about my abilities, how well I've been able to adapt to different situations without panicking - believe me, you do. When you're an upright, it's easy to climb those stairs, hop on the escalator or step up onto the curb. On four wheels, it's all about the planning and patience...lots and lots of patience. It's still a bit irritating when I see obviously healthy people being lazy and taking the elevator, leaving me unable to fit inside. Big sigh. What can you do? Anyway, adjusting to new situations, finding creative ways to solve issues, and laughing instead of bitching. That's really important. Bitching makes you madder and more frustrated, not to mention those with you become the same through mood osmosis. Smiling and laughing diffuses the tense feeling. I feel lighter (too bad it's only in spirit and not actual poundage!) and I guess the word is, peaceful. One deep breath and it ain't so bad. Two deep breaths and I feel the smile. Wow, this has been one long ramblin' blog to nowhere.

Today I read an obituary on another blog. The obituary was written by a family member. Remember my entry where I wrote about leaving memory footprints? This lady left nothing but holes. What kind of legacy is that for the future? Here's a small part of what was written: "Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM."

Isn't that horrible? What destruction she left behind. Tonight, go outside and look at the sky. Take a deep breath, exhale slowly. Life in its smallest details are sometimes the sweetest and easiest to enjoy. Poor Dolores, she probably couldn't find that sweetness and became an embittered old woman. Whenever I feel myself tensing and the bitchy coming on, I'll remember Dolores and her wicked ways. That will bring me back from the dark side. So, maybe I've found something positive Dolores left behind. Told you I've been silver lining everything!! Happy week, folks!!

Fine living is the life for me...I just enjoy a penthouse view, darling I love you but give me Park Avenue...

2008-08-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

We just returned from an overnight trek to an Indian Casino. Mom, Dad, my nephew and I made the pilgrimage to treat ourselves to a Grande Suite and concert tickets to...Engelbert Humperdink (Humperdink! Humperdink!), another senior singer I adore.

We were quite surprised by the room - it was fabulous. The whole floor was non-smoking, too. Had an incredible view of the outdoor concert (more on that below) and the lovely mountains in the distance. Robes, slippers, jacuzzi bathtub, large shower with THREE body sprays. We ordered room service for everything because not only was it conveniently 24 hours but the food was yummy. This casino spoiled us rotten. Ahhh, that's the life!!!

Of course, every journey is not without its glitches. The only problem we ran into was that the casino LOST our concert tickets...they compensated with 9th row center, aisle, so Engelbert was right there in front of us. It was sooooo cool. Now, my Dad and nephew didn't want to go but from our rooms they were able to see the stage clearly and listen to the entire concert. They wore their spa robes and slippers, ordered room service and kicked back on the comfortable chairs. It truly was a treat for everyone. Engelbert reminded me a lot of Sir Tom Jones. His voice was smooth, rich and with the trees swaying in the cool breeze, the sky changing hues, the mountains turning purple in the background, well, it was worth every dollar. I want to do this trip again. Hey, Poison's coming to town, anyone feel like rockin' out to "Cherry Pie?"

My sister is in town this weekend. I'm looking forward to seeing her. Have a great weekend!!

It's a long road to the end, my friend, and I'm not just talking about my post!

2008-07-31T00:52:00.000-07:00

Has it really been a month since I've been gone? I'd like to tell you I've had a busy month - I have, but nothing major happened, simple normal life stuff. The most exciting thing that occurred was Dr. B said it wasn't necessary for me to have another surgery any time soon!!! Well, most of it was good news. He also said my foot was set at a dropped curve and that's pretty much where it's going to stay. I can live with that answer, actually. Funny, 2 1/2 years ago (I know, can you believe it?) I couldn't have imagined my life would be where it is today. I mean, when you think in terms of the future, most of us don't think, "Two years from now I'll have a dropped left foot, I'll use a walker and wheelchair, oh, and I'll be legally blind." See? Doesn't read like a fortune cookie, does it? What's ironic is that I'm okay with my present, despite the obvious "no way, how the hell did my life take such a freakazoid turn?" Goes to show that we're all able to adapt if we're willing to accept what can not be controlled. Don't I sound so very zen?

This month brought a lot of introspection. Randy Pausch died. Have you heard of him? He was the Carnegie Mellon Professor who did "The Last Lecture". Saw the video in February and watch it whenever I feel the "pity me party" blues starting up. If you haven't seen the video, block off 1 1/2 hours and go to YouTube. It's worth it if you're willing to listen to his message. It's very simple, really. I'm not going to say much more because you should hear him speak. And by the way, I'm a Tigger. I always have been but after watching Randy's video, it reminded me that I've never been a "glass half empty" kind of gal (that would be an Eeyore) and these past 2 1/2 years have proved that to me.

More importantly, I want to make sure that I leave some kind of footprint in life. I want to make sure that all my friends know how very much I love them; how much the laughter they've brought to my life has lifted me up so many times. I want my family to know that without them I might have become bitter and angry these last few years. Their love and support has kept me centered (most days); I'm so very grateful that they've been the force behind me to push when I thought I couldn't push forward anymore. I try to remember that words are easy but actions are what matter most - and the hardest to do, sometimes.

I guess this post is about distance. How far I've come and how very much farther I have to go. I wouldn't be where I'm at, however, if my friends and family weren't there for me. So, about distance:

Travelling. I'm going to travel a lot in the next few years. I'm flying to parts of Asia this winter. I'll be gone from Christmas Day till the end of January. After that, Europe. I've always talked about doing these things, now is the time for action, dammit. Time to put some miles on my walker and wheelchair. If I'm going to overcome stuff, why not do it while in England? China? Austria? My nephew has been staying with us for the past two weeks and I realized how great it would be to show him the world. What incredible memories we would create, memories that would be shared for years. Missy K. is flying here in October and we're going to do Disneyland in style. Who cares if I'm in a wheelchair? We'll figure it out - and have fun while trying. Another memory for the future. There's still many adventures for me, Missy's R., P., and S., too.

I'm able to do things I didn't think would be possible. When this all happened to me, it was shocking to realize how much my life would change. Look at me now!! I'm not saying that I've totally embraced the way things happened to me, but - and here's a word I NEVER thought I would say, I've ACCEPTED that my life is what it is. It's okay to do this - I thought that if I did, I would be admitting defeat. It's not defeat, it's my ticket to move forward. I can't ever forget what led me to this point in my life but I'm actually okay with everything that happened. My life is, well, it's my life...and I'm damn lucky to have it.

Spin the color wheel, hotshot!

2008-06-26T00:05:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling magenta, again. Not the sad blues, the angry reds, or even the depressed grays. I'm just magenta.

It's been a rough few days. My leg started acting up again. I guess I forgot about it so it decided to get my attention. It did the beet-red, seventh circle of hell hot, jumpy wormy thing again. Took to my bed for a few days then called the doctor.

I'm off the antibiotic I've been on since last July - can you believe it?!! But to attack whatever staph/strep/Fred (dammit, he's still around!) is lingering, Dr. H. gave me the most icky antibiotic. I don't respond to this drug very well. Spent the weekend, Monday and most of Tuesday sick in bed. Isn't a pill suppose to make you feel better, not sicker?

I seriously thought I was going to upchuck in Costco today. I made sure to mark the distance to each trashcan. On a quick digression, my Dad loves Costco. Even though he'd just had lunch, whenever he saw a sample table, his response was the same, "Ohhhh...a sample table!! What do you suppose they're giving away?! Let's go!!" Since Dad was pushing me, I too ended up at every sample table. I didn't eat like he did but I was forced to listen to his "sample table" conversation. "So, what can you tell me about this product? I like it but I'm not sure. Is it possible for me to get a larger sample?" My Dad was at his most charming and he scored big. No chicken tidbit for him. Nope, it was a whole chicken breast!! And look, his own tube of Gogurt!! Not a teaspoon like all the other losers!! Ahh...Costco, always an adventure with my Dad!

Anyway, I called in to Dr. H. about the side effects from the antibiotic. I'm off of all antibiotics!! Yea!! Okay, I'm a little nervous. This is a critical time for me. If my back doesn't do that gross bursting thing again, it should be the end of all infections in my back. Oh my!!

Next month I see Dr. B. to decide about the next surgical step (ha!) for my leg. I'm not feeling the love for another surgery. If you know my complete medical history and experience, then it won't be a surprise that every time I was suppose to have surgery on my leg, something happened to delay the surgery. Maybe I'm grasping at "signs" but hey, that's fine with me. Once is noted, twice is a "Hey, that's weird", third is a "Damn! What's going on?!", fourth and fifth are a "uh uh. Nope. Not doing it." That's five times too many. Maybe I'm suppose to keep the leg because something better is coming.

Speaking of which, I have some feeling on the sides and bottom of my foot!! Not just heat prickles that go to my belly, ow, but more of a, "Wow, that's Dad's fingernail! Ow, that hurts!!" Incredible, isn't it? I'm not sure what it means but I read that peripheral nerves can rejuvenate. Now if I could just train my toes to bend at will. Sigh. I'll take what I get - and this is good.

These past few days keep reminding me of that song by Dead or Alive. Yea, yea, I'm dating myself but I don't give a damn. You know, "you spin me right round baby, right, round, like a record baby, right round, right round. You spin me..." Health-wise, I feel as if my life is kind of in a loop. The rest of my life is pretty great...which could lead to the other song, "What I really need to do is find myself a brand new lover..." Ooohkay, I'm signing off for now. Hope your week is filled with fun...it's summertime, baby!

Independence Wars, a Bedtime Story

2008-06-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

In a galaxy far, far away...nah, in a normal house, in a normal neighborhood, lived a semi-normal girl who was very loved by her parents. She was very sick for a very long time, and her parents took very good care of her. When she started getting better, the girl began to realize that while her parents loved her very much, they tried to control many aspects of her life. What was she to do? She loved her parents and didn't want to upset them by seeming ungrateful...but she wanted to make her own decisions and her parents were having a hard time letting go. The girl was sad and angry - and more than a little resentful. Little things that should have stayed little things became the subject of heated discussions. One of the girl's parents liked to remind her, sometimes several times an hour, of what she should be doing. One of the girl's parents liked to remind her, several times at any given moment, that she didn't need that object or questioned the need for so many shoes and purses.

Gentle readers, do not get the idea that the girl's parents were bad, selfish and mean people. The girl understood that they had undergone a very traumatic time while she was sick for so long. Now the time had come to let go and her parents wouldn't, couldn't let go for very long or very far.

The girl wanted to move to her own normal house, in her own normal neighborhood. She thought if she found something close to her parents they would be content in visiting her in her own home. Alas, her parents were scared to let her be free. Not free from them but free to try and live her normal life, in her normal house, in her normal neighborhood. There were endless discussions on what to do to her normal house, in her normal neighborhood. They battled over floor tile, plumbing fixtures, appliances, kitchen cabinetry - any decision was a tug of war of control. The girl wielded what veto power she had but still had to listen to reasons why her parents disagreed with her decisions.

The girl dreamed of her first night in her normal house, in her normal neighborhood. Imagine her despair upon learning that her parents had worked out a system whereby one of them would always be with her - until they felt comfortable enough to let her have her solitude. The girl wondered what was the point in getting her own normal house, in her own normal neighborhood if her parents were going to be living with her?

The girl understood fear. She knew that moving to her own normal house, in her own normal neighborhood was a big step. A huge leap into the unknown. She was not afraid of the unknown - she was ready to be an adult again. The girl knew that her parents wanted to keep her as their girl because they felt they needed to protect her, to fight what battles they could for her, to make sure they were a part of her life, always...they would not, could not lose her now after almost losing her so many times before.

I don't know how the story ends, readers. It unfolds constantly with each new page. Hopefully, the girl's parents will realize that without letting her try to live her own normal life, in her own normal house, in her own normal neighborhood, the girl has already failed. The girl doesn't need to be rescued anymore.

Home again, home again

2008-06-18T09:33:00.000-07:00

I didn't realize that it's been almost a month between posts. The last month has certainly been quick!

My flight home was uneventful. The airline was prepared for me, my walker wasn't broken, the staff was very nice...all in all, a very quiet ending to an eventful month.

For my birthday (woo hoo!!) I flew to Las Vegas to meet Missy R and Missy P. Now that was an adventure. 30 minutes before leaving for the airport, my flight was canceled. ACK!! The airport location I was leaving from was small, so flight choices were even smaller. I managed to book a flight that would leave an hour later than my canceled flight, which was good. When I got to the airport, the flight was delayed for almost two hours because of high winds. Oh, I did get to see the guy who played "Jaws" in the Bond movies. Geez, he has a loud voice. He was passing out autographed pictures of himself. I didn't get one. Anyway, remember how I told you the plane was small when I flew out to visit my sister? Well, that was a 747 compared to the toy plane I boarded for Vegas!! I didn't know you could fly propeller planes commercially!! PROPELLERS!! Sardine can, practically sitting in your seat mate's lap, breathe in his stenchy exhale, see every ear hair, close. On the bright side, we flew at a lower altitude so I was able to see below more clearly. I prayed and did my mantra (We will not crash, we will no - sh*t! what was that?! Oh my god, we're going to die!) the entire hour to Vegas. Once we landed, I turned on my cell phone. Missy R was texting me messages of concern, "Where the hell are you, beyotch?" So nice to be loved.

For my birthday, we saw Sir Tom Jones. So the man's well into his 60's. He can't shake his hips or thrust them suggestively like he did in his younger days, but that man puts on a show. Much younger entertainers will take costume breaks or maybe there will be a lull in the show so the entertainer can go potty. Not Sir Tom. He never left the stage for 1 1/2 hours. Sang beautifully. If you've not heard him sing "20O pounds of Heavenly Joy" or "Git Me Some" you're missing out on some very sexxxy songs.

I'm glad to be home. There's much to do and finish this summer. It feels incredible to get out and capture life again. As each day passes I realize how much I lost of the old me - Jessica Part 1, and how much I'm appreciating the new Jessica Part 2. I'm blessed to have wonderful, supportive friends and family. I still grieve for what my life could have been but I'm excited to know what my life could be now. I will always carry the pain, the knowledge that I probably won't walk normally again, that my life path is forever changed - I'm grateful that every morning I wake to feel the sunshine and fresh air on my face. It's a hell of a lot better than being six feet under with dirt as my blanket. I'll take life, this life, every day and every chance I'm given.

Down the rabbit hole, Alice....

2008-05-20T00:53:00.000-07:00

Geez, where to start. Okay, so the plane ride up here? HA!! Let's just say that I did not fly the friendly skies. As many of my friends will attest, I have become hyper focused and weird about certain things. While I was on pain meds, I constantly asked the same question three times or said the same inane comment in triplicate. Don't know why, just did. So you can imagine before I took this flight I was VERY careful.

When I made the reservations I said I was disabled and needed help - that's why they told me I would be "carried" on board. When my family had to pick up my Dad at the airport three days before I left, I went to the ticket counter and reminded the agent of my disability - hell, I was in a wheelchair, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out....or did it?

The day of my flight, I reminded the agent that I needed assistance to board the plane - I told her I couldn't walk up the ramp steps. Since the flight was a small commuter plane, we boarded old school style, from the tarmac. Anyway, while the ground crew guy is pushing me to the airplane he said, "So, how do I help you up the steps?" Naturally I exclaimed in a very surprised but sweetly dulcet tone, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HELP ME UP THE STEPS? I CAN'T WALK UP STEPS!! YOU PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSE TO CARRY ME ON BOARD!!' He looks at me and grabs his radio and says, "I just found out she needs to be loaded onto the plane. We need to get the special ramp out." I looked at him (I'm sure my eyes were rolling back in my head) and said (in the same sweet and dulcet tones, "I TOLD THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE I NEEDED HELP!! WHAT'S GOING ON?" He, so not wisely says into his radio again, "She SAYS she told three people prior to boarding. That's what she SAYS."

We get to the plane and the ground crew is pulling back the ramp and pulling in some kind of contraption - a seat with a pulley kind of thingy. I looked at it and then at them and said, "My ass is so not fitting on that Barbie seat. Don't you have anything bigger?" Oh, it gets better. Apparently, the sides lift up into a cage type, seat with a pulley kind of thingy. And then the real fun began. They strapped me into the cage type, seat with a pulley kind of thingy and caged me in. I was so busy watching what was going on that I hadn't noticed that the rest of the passengers were now on the tarmac - and I was the sideshow freak. Yup, cheap airfare and a day at the circus. Didn't they score? The cage type, seat with a pulley kind of thingy was manual, folks, manual. That's right. Millions of dollars of equipment and those bastards have a hand crank. It was beyond humiliating. Not only am I holding up the flight, through no fault of my own, but now everyone on the flight gets to see not one, but TWO ground crew members struggling to crank me onto the plane. I apologized to everyone, why, I don't know but I felt it was all my fault. Then, this Barbie seat gets pulled out of the cage type, seat with a pulley thingy and I get pushed down a very narrow aisle to my seat in the second row. I was tired. I was angry. I wanted to cry. No matter how much I prepped, those bastards still managed to mess up my flight.

There's more. I travel with my walker. I tried to keep it in the cabin with me - the flight wasn't even half full so there was lots of overhead space. Both the flight attendant and the ground crew staff made me give up my walker. BIG MISTAKE. When we landed, we did the whole loading me up in the Barbie chair (you know I named it that because only Barbie's ass could possibly fit in it) and wheeled me out the plane. The arriving airport was civilized and deplaned us directly into the airport. The ground crew guy handed me my walker and I looked at it, then at him. They had broken my walker. Bent the screws, stripped the socket. How was I going to walk? Stand? Of course, Mr. Brainiac didn't have any answers. Hell, he didn't even offer to push me to baggage claim. It was me, my huge carry on and my broken walker, all powering down the hallway, with me using my right foot to move me along. Many baggage handlers walked past me, not one offered assistance. Finally, this savior, this wonderful man - TSA Dude, took pity and pushed me the remaining 200 feet to my waiting sister.

That was my flight experience. No oily, half-dressed (or half-undressed) muscly men carrying me onto the plane, pasha style. Just me, my wonky walker, and a trip down the rabbit hole.

And I'm off again!!

2008-05-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

I haven't even finished writing about Phoenix and now I'm off to visit my sister! Getting on this plane will be most interesting...it's the flight where they are going to "carry" me onto the plane. Woo hoo!! I'll let you know how everything went down - hopefully not me!!

Have a great weekend - Scooter Girl

Fondue-me, baby!

2008-04-27T23:23:00.001-07:00

Adventures of Scooter Girl - Phoenix - Day 2

Spa'd for most of the morning. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Afterwards, Missy S. and I went shopping while Missy R. relaxed in our rooms. I didn't realize how rich some people are in Scottsdale. I figured it out when we entered the mall and most of the stores were designer names: Kate Spade, Louis Vuitton, Jimmy Choo (oh yes, Jimmy Choo), Neiman Marcus...it became a little overwhelming after a few hours. I actually was shopped out. Too much to process.

Anyway, that night we had dinner with two of Missy S.'s "Phoenix friends" - she differentiates. Kinda cute, isn't it? Missy R. and I are her "finest city friends". It was lovely to meet Missy J. and Missy A. We ate at the Melting Pot. Fondue. Nothing like bonding over dripping, cheesey foods. And chocolate. Lots and lots of melting chocolate. Sometimes I feel sorry for men because they miss out on the bonding experience that women have over food and laughter. Most guys try to bond over beers and sports or beers and strippers or beers and some free food at happy hour. Women are serious when we bond. It can take hours. And it did. And it was totally worth it. Made new friends.

There were two weddings at the hotel where we stayed. We didn't actually get to watch them because our view was of the lovely pool pump. But, if we squinted our eyes (like Renee Zellwegger) and looked around the corner of the pool pump, we could see chairs. Sometimes people sitting in those chairs. At night, the hotel lit up their many fire pits scattered about the property. I never took part in the fire pit experience. I should have, though. I admit, I was pretty tired each night. My stamina is good but not as good as it was before. I tire easily if I'm active two days consecutively. The first night, Missy S. and I went to bed early while Missy R. relaxed in front of the tv. The next night, Missy R. and I went to bed while Missy S. played near the fire pits. Around 1am, Missy S. came flouncing in the bedroom and plopped next to Missy R. She said, "Look at my MUDD shoes. They are so..." I don't remember the exact words she used because I was almost asleep. When Missy S. pranced out of the room, Missy R. said (face down into her pillow), "If she comes back in the room, I'm gonna smack her with my pillow!" (okay, I'm paraphrasing but the spirit of intent is correct.)

Day Two was fun. Leg and pain unchanged. I guess this is the level of pain I'm going to be stuck at for now. Bummer.

Adventures of Scooter Girl - Phoenix trip

2008-04-26T14:53:00.000-07:00

Whew...so much to say, so much to say...don't know where to start. Okay, I took my first plane ride (woo hoo!!) since my accident in 2005. Wow, air travel is completely different when you're in a wheelchair. Much to my dismay I had to buy a first class ticket (I know, I know, you feel my pain) because I didn't know how it would all work for me. Missy R. was shocked at the price from our finest city to Phoenix. Yes, I know it was a complete ripoff but it had to be done.

Packing for the trip was a wrestling match for control. Mom insisted on ironing any clothing that would wrinkle or had the slightest chance of wrinkling while in my suitcase. That meant ironing mostly everything. Dad fretted that the airline would damage my wheelchair. As I've said before, I love my folks. Couldn't be where I'm at if it wasn't for their loving care and concern. (Oh, Mom won, of course. She repacked most of my suitcase after I had already packed it.)

Missy R. and I were flying out to visit Missy S. Missy P. was at some hoity toity spa along the coast with her mother-in-law (no good deed goes unpunished)and couldn't join us for our very special spa weekend in Phoenix.

I had my own personal pat down with airport security. Right there in front of everyone. They asked me if I wanted a private room and I said no. Next time I plan on answering, "HELL YES!!" Nothing like having plastic gloved hands gliding over your backside and bosom. However polite these ladies are, there ain't no way it's happening again with me as a public spectacle. I'm the only thing to watch while the other people were putting on their shoes and gathering their crap! On the positive side, that's the most action I've had in two years!! Come on, hospital staff doesn't count!

Boarding the plane proved uneventful. Missy R. and I were able to board before most of the passengers which was a good thing because I didn't remember the plane aisles being so narrow. If I were seated in any other row but the first one I don't think I could have made it down the aisle. My walker barely fit in the space between the seat and the aisle. God help me if I have to go the restroom on a plane. I think I'm going to have to consider either dehydration or a catheter before a trip. Ohhhh...adult diapers. I read on one of my disabled traveling sites that many disabled use the diapers during airline travel because of the small restrooms. Ewwww, I can barely stand it when I have to sit in my own farts, I don't think sitting in my own stink would be acceptable. It's bringing me flashes of the nasty bedpan days!! I'll have to think about this because I'm planning to travel internationally and even I (self-proclaimed human camel) can't hold it that long.

While it's great being the first to board the plane, you are always the last to exit. I starting joining in with the attendants as they said, "Bye, thanks for flying with us." "Bye, have a great weekend!" "Bye, don't trip on your way out!" (that one was me after a guy tripped over the suitcase in front of him.)

The Phoenix airport is huge. HUGE, I tell you. Missy R. and I finally dragged me, our two suitcases and purses out the door to find a taxi. Instead, we found Thomas. Ahh, Thomas. Whattaguy. Taxi in the shape of a limo. Limo ride in the form of a lecture about conspiracy theories, how and when to buy a home, the terrible state our government is in...like Alice in Wonderland's Mr. Toad's Wild Ride...

Had a great time that first day. My leg didn't do anything stupid (I know!!) and the pain was as it always is. My constant companion.

Stinky Cheese

2008-04-12T22:28:00.000-07:00

Stinky cheese. That's what I felt like today. It was so blasted hot - record temperatures in some parts of the county. My body reacts to extreme changes in temperature, as I've said before, and today was a whammy!! My leg looked similar to my leg of a few months ago. Swollen, red, shiny (from the edema), skin all dried and stretchy looking. Then to start the pain parade I was greeted by my non-favorite hot jabs of the ol' iron poker whirling about my calf. My leg jerked so hard at one point my Mom heard my knee click and saw my leg stick straight out - all on its own. It's something to see - and nothing you'll ever want to see again. Add to that I yelped pretty loudly as I was caught off guard. If you're bored some hot afternoon this summer, come over and watch my leg. It's bound to provide some kind of morbid entertainment.

Stinky cheeses are those cheeses you find wrapped up really tight. You don't know what's inside and the wrapper doesn't hint at what you'll find until you open it up. Then the smell drives right up your nostrils and it's a scent you're not likely to forget anytime soon. Whenever you catch a whiff of that familiar scent, you flinch, ever so slightly. That's my leg - stinky cheese.

Crystal balling

2008-04-04T00:37:00.001-07:00

I haven't had that much to write about for the past 10 days. Sometimes the thoughts muddle together and I have a difficult time articulating.

I've been overwhelmed because one of the main issues regarding my injuries is finally coming to an end. Closure. A chance to let go of the old hurt and make a whole new set of choices and mistakes. The thought is mind-boggling. I don't know what to do - for the last 18 months I've spent so much energy in getting this to end and now I've reached my goal.

The one thing I've been able to do is plan some trips - remember I mentioned them in another post. Bought some tickets, made the hotel reservations - and poof - it's as if my life is normal again. The only difference is I have to call and speak with a reservation agent to explain my disability. Oh, when I called this particular airline, I was told that I would be "carried aboard the plane" - WHAT WHAT WHAT???!!!! I don't think so. Of course, my first mental picture was of my being lifted onto the plane in a Cleopatra-like fashion, six strapping, glisteny oiled, half-dressed (or is that mostly undressed?) men carrying me about...sigh. It's a whole new way of traveling!

So, I'm one foot into my new future. It's scary but even without the crystal ball, it's about damn time I'm able to get some control of my life.

Sympathy my ass!!

2008-03-26T23:24:00.000-07:00

I think my body is turning into a circus (cue the circus themed music)...

I went to get fitted for my left leg's compression stocking. You see these all the time on older citizens, you know, it's flesh colored and shiny. Thick, verrrry smooth looking (for the vain ones) and tight. Once my ankle and calf measurements were taken, I was presented with my very first set of compression stockings!! Joy, joy, joy!! Yowza - these suckers are tight!! You have to don special $5 gloves, though they may look like the kind you buy to wash dishes (for $3), apparently, they are not the same. They're not comfortable, but then, they are not meant to be (can you tell I'm quoting the therapy specialist that fitted me? Kinda wanted to smack her, in a gentle, teasing, hurts so good way...) Like the lymphedema therapy wrappings, the compression stocking is a more permanent way for me to control my leg swelling. So, I think I'm all set and the therapist raises my right pant leg, I'm assuming for shits and giggles...

She looks at my right leg and then at me. "You have what I believe to be sympathetic dystrophy (S.D.) in your right leg. Do you know what S.D. is?" I nod my head in agreement but my Mom chimes in with a, "Can you please explain" kind of question. To put it in a few words, my right leg is feeling sorry for my left leg and is now having sympathy symptoms. Yup, my right leg pities my left leg sooooo much that it wants to share its pain. Damn. I might conclude that my right leg is jealous of all the attention the left leg has received the past two years but I don't wanna for fear it kinda sorta might be true knowing my perverse body and it's strange, strange ways. It really is a case of the right side knowing the left side. D.S. is not uncommon, of course, but puleeeze, couldn't this one have skirted around me? My parents and I have noticed the red discoloration around my ankle and lower calf (like my left leg) and the swelling of my calf (like my left leg) and I've been complaining of that "foot is asleep" feeling on and off for a few months. Long story short, my right leg has its own matching compression stocking now. Oh joy, joy, joy!! I have officially joined the ranks of the old and infirmed. I was pretty close anyway, but now I'm dressing like 'em!! Pretty soon I'm going to break out the mothballs and stale rose-scented perfume. That's what I think an old lady smells like, anyway. Okay, nothing against the older set. I'm venting and frustrated - I'm sure there are lots of elder women out there that can kick my ass in most anything physical - oh - and they can drive!!! More than I can do, nowadays.

Every time I say sympathetic dystrophy I giggle. Once again, I'm reduced to laughter because my body doesn't know when to stop. I should start selling tickets to this circus!!

Welcome to my world

2008-03-25T22:43:00.000-07:00

One of the most unpleasant side-effects of this whole thing happening to me has been the weight gain. I've always had a problem with controlling my weight, or rather, I liked being able to control something that no one else could. Basic psychology. When I turned 40, I realized I had to change my outlook and I lost 60 pounds. Yup, 60 pounds. I worked so hard at losing that weight, exercised and generally drove some my friends crazy with my weird eating habits, talking about dieting all the time or my sudden interest in name-brand clothing. Hey - when all you can fit in are "Women's World" clothes its so intoxicating when you can walk up to any clothing store and fit in most of the clothes hanging up on the racks.

Anyway, when I got home from the hospital I was skinnier than I'd ever been. It didn't really hit me how much thinner I was until I tried on my clothes and NOTHING fit me. They were all too big!! The knowledge was bittersweet because while most of my body was tinier, my left leg and stomach were big from the injuries. Oh, more on my abdomen stuff at a later time.

Lately, whenever I go out with my folks, my Dad, bless his grouchy old man grousing, complains about how heavy I am to push compared to last year. That even from the prior month I'm heavier. Look, I know I've put on more weight than I'm comfortable with but it's been a real struggle. Nothing is moving the weight off of me. It would have been helpful if I had been taught prior to coming home how to eat more healthy with fewer calories and an even lower activity level. I've been told the meds I'm taking coupled with a change in my metabolism from all the trauma has added to my weight problems. The constant infections and antibiotics added to the weight gain. The many, many pain pills added weight - one damn pill helped me put on 20 pounds in 6 weeks. My Dad had me on a limited protein, soup and salad diet so we knew it wasn't poor eating habits. Sigh.

Now that I'm healthier, I'm trying different options. I'd like to be more active but that's going to come later when my back and leg are stronger. So, in the meantime, I'm back to Woman's World. Yeeeech. I didn't miss this at all.

Happy Easter

2008-03-23T23:41:00.001-07:00

Hope you had a lovely holiday weekend. Today was really warm here in Sunny...CA. Nothing like summer weather in March!!

Have a great week!

The Wacky Duck

2008-03-22T23:46:00.001-07:00

Humph. What is it with guys? You think you've got it figured out and then, plop! something drops in front of you and what are you suppose to do? It's not that dramatic, it's more confusing than anything else. Remember the guy I mentioned in my post about letting go? We had been friends for ages and then he kissed me (I didn't make the move) and things kinda shifted. He was into it for awhile and then nothing. Well, a few months ago I asked him if he wanted to explore into whatever we were doing. I didn't say I wanted to be his girlfriend, I didn't ask to spend more time with him, I didn't start talking about china patterns. I simply asked, "...do you wanna explore this thing we've got?" (sounds like we both had the pox or something, doesn't it?). His response? The typical male non-response. "I like you, you're totally cool, I have fun with you, blah blah blah. I'm not ready for a relationship, I've got too much on my plate, it's not you, it's me". Pooperhead! A simple, "I like you but this is as far as it goes for me" would have been sufficient...and less ego damaging. When a guy can't come up with an original thought and has to resort to trite phrases, well, to me, that shows I'm not worth the effort. At least with the direct route, I would know he tried and it wasn't working for him. Fine. You still lose but thanks for the honesty. Because, guys, when you say those stupid always said phrases - we KNOW it IS about us, and you DON'T want to have a relationship with ME.

Anyway, Dumbass, as I affectionately call him, sent me a package today (I could do the innuendo thing but why bother?) and I couldn't figure out why. It's not my birthday, I didn't ask for anything, I didn't talk about any purse I really, really, had to have. Imagine my surprise when I pulled out a Hallmark Wacky Doodle Dandy Duck, an Easter present!! Wacky Duck dances to the Chicken Dance when you press his leg. He flaps his wings, he sings...faster and faster in a Wacky Doodle Ducky Dance!! And I got an Easter card, too!! What a sweet thing to do, really. I like that he showed he was thinking of me (even though he works 16 hour days and remembered to buy this for me while he was doing whatever he was doing in Hallmark), I like that he took the time to go to the Post Office, stand in line and mail this to me (I don't know what else he was mailing), I'm happy he thought I would get a laugh out of this - because I do, it's soooo me!!

Humph. None of my other guy friends sent me an Easter present. Hell, I didn't even get an Easter card from most of my girlfriends. One of my girlfriends asked if we were doing "our thing" again. "No", I said. "We're just friends." She said, "That's not really something a guy friend would do, you know." Whatever. I'm not going to over analyze my Wacky Doodle Dandy Duck. But I gotta say it. Why is it sometimes so clear to everyone else but the guy doing the driving? Dumbass.

Escandalo!!

2008-03-21T23:39:00.000-07:00

I've been busy this week - still have the normal PT, lymphedema treatments, blood sucking, doctor appointments - added to that, I've been fascinated by this blog about DJ Montano II. He's from the Philippines and an alleged scam artist. His ex, an Australian cutie patootie named Brian, was allegedly cheated out of $70,000AUS dollars. DJ allegedly conned Brian into thinking the money he (Brian) sent would be used for their restaurant. Brian would move to the Philippines and live happily ever after with DJ. Brian found out that DJ was scamming him, there was an altercation in a ritzy hotel and Brian was arrested on assault charges (dragged through the hotel lobby, screaming and crying, in his underwear - ESCANDALO!!) but later released for lack of evidence. Additionally, Brian is claiming that DJ's closest friends knew all about the scam but did nothing. These friends all belong to an elitist group of wanna-be social snobs.

Anyway, Brian left broken-hearted. Went home to Australia, tried to recoup his lost $$$ and was laughed at. See, the way it works for many of us girls is if you break my heart, I'll be sad and blue. Break my heart and then laugh at me - that's it, I'm pissed and you're forever f*cked. And there's nothing like a wronged, broken-hearted bitch on the loose. Sigh. It's reality blogging. I'm hooked and it's taking up hours of my life I can't get back and I don't care. I feel sorry for this Brian. He was fooled and foolish with his heart and his money. He's become a blog sensation in the Philippines and parts of Asia. The anger of an angry ex knows no boundaries!

I think Brian was hopefully eager - I don't like the word desperate - for love and companionship (Brian is openly HIV positive). DJ was able to sniff that scent and pounce. I guess part of my fascination with this particular blog is that I feel a bit like Brian might have felt and yes, I know, I'm projecting. Wondering if he would ever be in a loving relationship again. The first blush of attraction. The butterflies fluttering in the lower belly when he touches you. Look what happened to Brian when he thought he found love - I don't want to be foolish and fooled! (I hope that Brian gets his money from DJ and the satisfaction of knowing he showed the blogger world what a jerk DJ Montano is and that he's a heartless bastard as well. I know, I know, I'm totally sucked up in this drama!)

Recently, I signed up with a disabled dating site just to check out the people and the scene. Wow, I guess it doesn't matter if you're on two feet or four wheels...we all want love, acceptance and sex...and not necessarily in that order! I've been hounded by men who want to drive to my neck of the woods for a date and "whatever else happens"...hey, that's internet innuendo for SEX. One guy said that he could tell by looking at my picture I was, "intelligent and cute". Right. Because my picture really does speak a thousand words, dude. There was a chat room started by this gal who claimed she found "the one" because of what he wrote to her in an e-mail. She was arguing with several different women until two of them posted the same e-mail he sent to them. See? At some point in our lives we're all eager for love. And if we're not careful, some "DJ" is going to waltz in and break our hearts. Too bad no one has invented a heart filter for emotions. It would be a top seller.

DIC head

2008-03-17T20:22:00.001-07:00

I'm on my knees (only in my head, and not giving...get your head outta...well, okay) with joy!! Disability Insurance Company (now known forever as DIC, that's pronounced DICK) has told me that yes, indeed, I am disabled! What great news! I'm disabled - wooo hooo! Thanks for telling me, DIC. At least now I don't have to kneel (again, metaphorically) at your feet, DIC and constantly suck up to whomever is wielding the big stick of authority. Two years until the next review. It's so reassuring that DIC has agreed with the SS SHIT (Social Security's supreme, heartless, inefficient, taxing) machine's decision, even though DIC has been lobbying for two years to prove I'm disabled to the SS SHIT machine. Whatever.

It was a good day. Hope your Monday started out as well.

I got laid on the floor...

2008-03-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

Not what you're thinking, potty brain!! In PT today, I knelt down then laid on the floor for the first time in TWO years. YEA!! Did it once then had to do it again to prove to myself it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't but it hurts and I'm still feeling the throbbing in my left foot.

See, the way you do it is: Find a good sturdy chair. Put your walker beside you, lean forward and grab the chair arms. Move your hands to the chair cushion and slowly lower your left leg, keeping it bent behind you (keep in mind that my foot points down so I have to deal with an automatic stop and still keep going) once your left knee touches the floor, slowly lower your right knee until you're in a kneeling position. From here, place your right hand on the floor to your side as you slowly lean to the right, swing your legs to the side and straighten them as you lean on your right arm and voila!! you're on your side. Reverse to stand up again. It's not easy and takes concentration because while most of my strength is in my arms, that's offset because of my poor balance skills. I was pretty beat afterwards. I asked my physical therapist if we could start floor exercises soon.

Having my back closed and healed has definitely helped my recovery. I'm more confident, eager to try new exercises and feel bouncy. Do you get what I mean when I say bouncy? Now, if I could only get laid on the floor...

Walkers in Rhythm

2008-03-13T01:24:00.000-07:00

Short post. Dad hurt his back on Sunday when he lifted a 60 pound plant. It was too heavy. Dad's returned to his sickbed/couch and he's making me laugh. Wednesday morning, while Mom and I were rushing around before leaving for PT, Dad asked my Mom in the most plaintive tone, "Honey, do you have time to massage my back? It really hurts!" Listen, I don't want to be bitchy but I am going to be - men can be such babies! I didn't laugh until I was in the car. Mom looked at me and said, "I love your father, you know?" as she gave me a small smile. Mom didn't have to say anything else.

Dad is now using one of my walkers to move about the house. This afternoon we were out front trying to do a little dance number, as seen in The Producers. It didn't work, of course, but I was laughing. Dad moves slowly and it's a nice change for me to move faster than somebody, anybody else. I love my Dad, you know?

Well....hell

2008-03-12T00:43:00.000-07:00

Well...hell. It deserves to be said twice. I went to see my orthopaedic surgeon. Wait, first let me break down some other news. One of the clots in my leg has dissolved! When the clots were discovered and I was put on all these really gross blood thinners, (have I mentioned I'm allergic to Heparin and didn't know it until AFTER it was given to me for a few days?) I was told that the clots should dissolve within a few months to a year. It took a little longer but I got rid of one of the suckers!! The other clots are not as wide and the lengths haven't changed. I'll take the loss of a clot - who knew that one day I would be celebrating such medical news? Before surgeries (BS) I celebrated scoring a great deal on an outfit, some new makeup or fragrance. Now, clot gone? SCORE!!

The visit with the orthopaedic surgeon was more stressful. We arrived early, since a 7:30pm appt. means arriving at 6:00pm. We were told the doctor only had three patients ahead of us so we probably would get in early. HAHAHAHAHA!! He saw us at 8:15pm. Anyway, he wanted to schedule surgery in three weeks. Oh, if you could have seen my face. I'm sure I looked like I was taking a huge dump - because I was. He scared me. I actually yelled out that I wasn't having any surgeries for a year - nothing until at least July 08. He looked kinda surprised and a little taken aback (good, I owed him for the surgery thingy) but agreed with my decision, okay, hysterical outburst. Freaked the shit outta me. So, obviously, I'm not as mentally prepared as I need to be. Then he told me the options in surgery, which unsurprisingly, all circled back to "if things go wrong, amputation"; "if your blood vessels are compromised and blood flow is restricted, amputation"; "if infection sets in, amputation"...okaaaaay, I can follow. Amputation. Got it. He also said that he wanted to do a lot of tests, including tissue sampling. HUH? Apparently, he's going in a few weeks before surgery, after taking me off the antibiotics for a week, and helping himself to some leg tissue. Um, I don't have much left, where the hell does he think he's gonna get it from? More importantly, how much is that gonna hurt and do I need to be under anesthesia? Then he mentioned I would most likely need skin grafting because my skin was probably too thin and compromised by infections. Crap. Skin grafting? I haven't really talked about it because I'm still trying to forget my first experience. Have to say, skin grafting is a bitch. It hurts like, well, dammit, it frickin' hurts. My entire upper left thigh was a donor site, now, my right upper thigh is the new area for redevelopment. My plastic surgeon showed me the tool he used for getting the donor skin. Kinda looks like a cheese grater with spikes. He said the skin lifts off similar to shaved cheese. Haven't been able to eat freshly shaved Parmesan cheese since then. Makes me wanna puke.

Life is still good, though. Being much more healthy has a lot to do with my outlook. But, come on, skin grafting? Well...hell.

Walking on sunshine, yea yea

2008-03-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

Life is so sweet right now. My leg looks like a leg again - well, except for the missing tissue, scars, redness...but it's a leg again!! I'm cautiously optimistic. I know with my medical history that weird things happen out of nowhere (remember the leaky leg incident of April 07?) so I'm moving forward slowly.

It helps that I spent Sunday with Missy R. and Missy P. Can't help but laugh most of the day when I'm with them. Thinking of how we spent the day brings a smile to my face.

You read stories about how people's lives are changed for the better or worse, depending on how that person deals with the event(s) that did the changing. Can I say, without sounding too arrogant, that I've handled all of this crap pretty damn well? I didn't turn into a sloppy, blubbery mess. I didn't become a pill popping, drinking myself stupid victim. I didn't fall into a dark pool of bullshit, acting like an angry, vindictive bitch (mostly not, anyway). I'm still me, only with the volume turned down and the color much sharper. Oh, I'm still loud - just not frantically loud. Not venti mocha frappucino with extra chocolate loud. More skinny vanilla latte, tall loud. I'm mellower. I can accept things easier. I've learned to compromise gracefully without too much of a tantrum - hey, I'm still me. I don't like giving up, remember? But I've learned that sometimes bowing out doesn't mean I'm giving up, I'm merely reevaluating my options.

So, life is good. I feel, for the first time in a very long time, possibility. That maybe, just maybe, things have taken an upswing. I'm seeing my orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow night to talk about surgical operations. Probably in August or September. It's time to take a step into the future.

Fast forward

2008-03-05T00:13:00.000-08:00

I'll keep this post as brief as possible. Lymphatic treatment is working - even my foot is cooperating. My toes look like toes again - not fat, squat, ugly boiled sausages! Hooray!! I lost 4 INCHES around my thigh, that's a whole lotta water. Full day at the hospital tomorrow. Infectious Diseases, PT, lymphatic treatment, and finally, a sonogram of my clots. Geez, we'll be at the hospital from 9am - 5pm. They really should just give us a room or at the very least, pay us an hourly salary.

Since my edema is better and if my clots look improved, I'll finally get the okay to travel via air again. Drumroll please...I'll be able to visit Missy S. in Phoenix next month. Yeah!! I have plans to visit my sister, Missy K. in the early summer and I'm planning a trip to New York. To quote Mr. James Brown, "I feeeel good..."

Conjunction, junction, what's your function?

2008-03-01T22:18:00.000-08:00

Remember those great Schoolhouse Rock cartoons? I knew that they were trying to teach me something but I didn't care because the songs were fun to sing. My lymphedema treatment reminds me of those days. Well, not completely because there aren't any songs to sing and it's not always fun but the message is still there.

For the past week we've been trying to ease my lymphatic system back into working more efficiently in my foot and leg. The leg is doing well, the edema has really gone down. The problem is my ankle and foot - my conjunction junction isn't getting into the spirit of the treatment. While the swelling has gone down, a few hours after the bandages come off, the foot begins to swell again. My lymphatic therapist is telling me I might have to wear bandages all the time to combat the swelling. Oh, you should have seen her face when I mentioned I was still considering amputation, "Why are we doing all this work if you're going to chop your leg off?!" I have to admit I mentioned amputation in retaliation for her belly comment. I asked if lymphatic massage should be started because it might help the lymphatic flow, as I pointed to my stomach and chest area. "Honey, I have to tell you something. That isn't lymphatic fluid. That's just plain old belly fat." Wow, thanks, lady. It's not like I'm carrying around a 12 pound ball of fat in my belly. I honestly thought that coaxing the lymphatic freeway, as it's called in technical terms, to flow better through other parts of my body, that maybe it would help. I wasn't bargaining for the belly fat comment.

I have another week of treatment then we'll see what happens. On another note, my Dad has recovered quite well since Mom returned home. I'm almost over a bad cough. I saw a wooden sign today that said, "One shoe can change your entire life"... Cinderella

Lymphedema, anyone?

2008-02-26T14:37:00.000-08:00

I started lymphatic treatment yesterday. It's, um, interesting. The hope is that by applying special compression bandages to the swelling in my leg, the fluids will reduce, or even better, leave completely and I'll have a semi-normal sized leg. In the meantime, the bandages make my leg huuuuge - almost as big as it was in March 2006. The other goal is to restart my lymphatic system, make it work more efficiently than it has in the last two years.

When the bandages came off my foot and leg it looked so much better. The reduction in swelling also shows how much damage has been done to it. Without all the swelling it is easy to see the scars, bumps, and missing muscle. Yech. Still call my leg "it" and "her" and probably always will.

I have to ask my lymphatic specialist an interesting question - where does all the fluid go? Is it being expelled? Am I retaining water in different parts of my body (which will be in either my face, butt or stomach, never somewhere lucky like my boobs) and have to deal with that at a later time? Compelling questions, I know. I'm all about the peeing and the pooping. It's what makes life regular.

Off to have the bandages removed. I've been thinking of posting pictures, will have to learn how to do that soon.

Sickbed Diva

2008-02-25T22:32:00.001-08:00

I'm done with the self-pity thing. I read back over my last post, cringed a bit and moved on. With Mom home, things are getting back to normal. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that Dad added a little drama to his sick self. He wasn't looking so listless or sounding so pitiful before Mom got home. The whole time he was sick, Dad never used his blood pressure cuff but the minute he heard the car doors slamming, that sucker was out of the box and on his arm. He whispered faintly from his couch/bed, "Hi Hon, glad you're home. Sorry I can't get up to hug you." Cue violins in background, soft start with slow movement to crescendo..."I was feeling dizzy and had to take my blood pressure." Music swells as Dad lays his head back on the pillow, sighing heavily, eyes closing wearily. "I just don't feel well. My whole body aches, I feel like my joints are disconnected. Sorry the house is dirty." Cymbals crash, music begins to fade. End scene.

Yup. Got my sense of humor back. Amazing what clearing the sinuses can do for mood lifting. You know what's totally unfair? Dad gets sick for a week and loses 8 pounds! If I eat only salads and a handful of protein for a month, I can't lose 8 pounds. Phht.

Okay, off to bed. Still have to baby my cold. Hope you had a great weekend!

Bitter Pill

2008-02-23T22:36:00.000-08:00

Well, with Dad sick and Mom away, it has really brought up the issue that I need a caretaker. You don't know how incredibly difficult that is to accept. I'm getting angry with my father because he's not able to take care of me, I'm angry at myself for being so dependent...this completely and absolutely sucks. I can't find the words other than this sucks.

My Dad hasn't left the couch all day except to go to the restroom, get food, or feed the dogs. In between all that, he leaves plates on the counter, juice containers on the table, the toaster out on the counter, the trash can is full, the house is dirty, my commode needs to be emptied, my spare wheelchair needs to go in the trunk of my car, there are cardboard boxes that need breaking down and put in the recycle bin, the recycle trash bin needs dumping...the list seems endless. I tried cleaning the counters, sweeping (ha! that was interesting), tidying up as much as I could.

There's such a bad taste in my mouth. Getting angry with my Dad is ridiculous but when you're almost completely dependent on another person to care for you, you need that person. I know I'm not really angry at him, that it's all coming from my own frustrations, only it doesn't matter because I feel so helpless. I know it's irrational. Duh, I know I sound like a self-centered spoilt brat, but that's the way I feel right now - however misplaced or misguided my anger might be.

I'm trying to do as much as I can but let's be honest here, there's not much I can do - and this whole sick thing just pushes me harder to the realization that my abilities are limited. Pish posh, I know there are other disabled people out there that can do more for themselves - I'm not there yet so I'm venting. Still, there's no denying when you need someone to reach for your shoe which slid underneath your bed and he can't get up from the couch because he doesn't feel well and you can't walk without your shoe, well, you have a problem.

So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. Big deal. I'll get over it like I always do but until then, waaa waaa waaa. This is a situation I never planned for or thought I would be in. Take that and try swallowing it down. It's not easy and I suspect there are times when it will be even harder.

Sick log

2008-02-23T08:25:00.000-08:00

My Dad is now officially named "Typhoid Harry" - he is toxic. I've spent the last three days in a limbo between getting sick and fighting the ick off. This is not a pleasant place to be...you're almost sick...you're almost well....no...wait...you're almost sick...this is one strong bug. It doesn't want to let go. Dad has been sick for a full week as of today and he's feeling a little bit better but is still stationed on the couch. I feel like I need to stick a Brillo pad down my throat to take away the itch. I have to apologize to Missy R., when she was here yesterday with yet another delivery, it was obvious she had caught the ick. She claims it came from the others at her office, nonetheless, Dad's sorry if he contributed.

It's looking like a beautiful morning. The sun is shining, nice change from all the rain we've had this week. Tomorrow is bringing 20 ft. swells - can you even imagine how huge those waves are going to be - and how many idiots are going to be out there taking pictures? My plan is to sit in the car, far enough away from the water and the waves, yet still close enough to feel the salty spray on my face.

Okay, I'm outta here. Cup of chamomile tea sounds lovely. Stay healthy!!

Sick Daze Update

2008-02-21T23:58:00.000-08:00

Ugh. Dad was up last night/early this morning with an upset tummy. He came dragging down the stairs at 1:30am looking for food but everything in the fridge and cupboards elicited a "yuck" but he finally settled on one of my diet granola bars. BIG mistake. He couldn't hold it down and was up again at 3:30am formally announcing his upset stomach...loudly. Why can't we vomit quietly? If there's someone that knows someone that can vomit quietly and all delicate-like, please introduce me to that person so that I may learn their secret. Even my dogs make a horrible sound when they're retching. Hmmm...there's no pretty word for it, is there? Upchucking, shooting nuggets, regurgitating (my personal fav)...nope, not pretty at all.

Dad was really fussy today. Usually a sign of getting better but I think he's simply tired of being sick. He's making me tired of him being sick, too... argumentative, know-it-all self-diagnoser, whiner - wait, that's me, dealing with Dad. Now I'm feeling a little run down which is funny. After everything I've been through, a little flu bug or cold virus is not going to get me down. I'm loaded with all kinds of antibiotics, one of those suckers should be able to zap the bug or virus dead.

When I woke up this morning, Dad didn't wait more than 1/2 hour before he was asking what we were going to eat. He'd already run through all the fresh food, was out of bread, no bananas, low on juice...uh huh, yet another reason his earlier "no new food" edict was completely banished. I called Missy R. and she did yet another food run for us. Thanks again!! Dad fell on the food as soon as he opened the front door. Much better than canned soup and frozen veggies.

Mom arrives Saturday night. Too bad the house is going to be messy and nothing has been done all week. Dad and I are hoping to get something done on Saturday afternoon or we'll just open the front door and welcome Mom into the sick house. I'm so happy she's coming home. Happy Friday!!

Sick Days

2008-02-19T23:03:00.000-08:00

Oh, the irony. Dad is sick with the flu and I'm taking care of him. Mom is out of the country and my brother is of no help (sad but true) so Dad is stuck with me. We make quite the pair, Dad and I. He's been lying on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, coughing and fighting his fever. I keep trying to help but, well, it's not that easy. I can't fetch and carry, I can't cook, and I can't do much of anything. Fine, I can nag him to take his medicine, which I do very well but that's about it.

Thank goodness Missy R. brought food and Tylenol yesterday. See, when Mom left three weeks ago, Dad made a pronouncement that we would "...eat all the food in the house before buying anything new." Yea, that's a good policy. I figure if something has been in the fridge, in the freezer or on a shelf for over four months, chances are it ain't gonna get eaten. Dad had already tired of all the canned soup so the fresh delivery of food was most welcome, even if Dad will never admit his earlier decree was now null and void. He's already finished a huge container of noodle soup, a seafood dish and some rice. I bought him bread while I was out Saturday and he's been polishing that off, all the while telling me to stop buying him food.

It hurts that I can't take care of my Dad. Even the simple task of bringing him a glass of water and Tylenol is out of reach for me. I'm not able to hold the items in my hands and use my walker or wheelchair. Sometimes when my limitations are so glaringly obvious, it's hard for me to acknowledge. Even worse, if my limitations are stopping me from helping someone I love, it's painful to acknowledge and know that I might be a burden. Not only does my Dad have his own health to deal with, he still has to take of me, too.

Happy Whatever

2008-02-14T21:17:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, I haven't written in awhile. It's not that I don't have anything to say, I was too damn lazy to write. So, let's see...

Nothing new on the leg. Same old, same old. I have a colonized infection on my leg - yup, it's finally happened. The bacteria has planted their flag on my leg and made it their own country, kinda like what Kosovo did this past week. I have named it "Fred". Fred is a small country settled in the lower regions of my calf, sometimes erupting in oozing fluid (am I sounding like a travel guide?)that, while not harmful, is quite irritating. Apparently, Fred has decided that he/they are not leaving and have set up shop. I have another colonization on my back but I'm not naming it yet. It's only been there for seven months, it's still too early. Fred is here to stay, tbough. No antibiotics will make he/they leave.

Hope you had a Happy Valentine's Day. It's not high up on my holiday list but I do like baking so I made cupcakes for my physical therapy office. Coconut laden vanilla cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. I decorated using Martha Stewart's sugar crystals which are so shimmery. I dusted the tops of the cupcakes with more coconut and a sprinkling of the sugar - fabulous!! Almost too pretty to eat.

Not much else to say today. Have a lot on my mind and haven't figured out yet the right way to put it to words. Normally I can sit at the computer and my fingers fly over the keyboard but the past few days have been so, oh I don't know, weird. More on that later.

Hope you're having a good long weekend break!

Cupcake upgrade

2008-02-01T23:33:00.000-08:00

Apparently, my left leg is not liking my newfound resolve to be more active. It's not as though I'm training for a marathon, I'm simply trying to walk more than 15 steps, be on my feet for longer than 2-3 hours at a time without having to elevate my leg and be more independent. Nooooo, that's not gonna happen.

I went to my primary care doctor to have her complete another set of documents to prove I'm disabled - yes, DIC (disability insurance company now forever known as DIC, that's pronounced DICK) is still around. DIC is everywhere. DIC is still up my ass demanding me to prove how disabled I am, when I can go back to work (HA!), and asking my daily living activities...let's see...I wake up, my parents help me wash my hair and body, my parents prepare my breakfast, help me dress, drive me to whichever doctor's appointment or physical therapy I have scheduled...I wouldn't call those activities but that's what I do. Anyway, Dr. K. looked at my leg and said it, "...looked brawny." What? My leg's been described many ugly things but brawny? I immediately thought of the papertowel roll only I knew that wasn't what she meant -which was that my leg looked swollen and hard. Duh. So off I went to Infectious Diseases (I.D.).

I love my doctors. I feel sorry for my doctors. Here's Dr. H., my I.D. guy and he's telling me that this is simply the nature of my leg. Not much more he can do, no more antibiotics he can prescribe because there aren't any that will help. Plus, I've been on antibiotics for so long my system might become resistant. Yea, that's comforting. So, his diagnosis? That I'm working my leg too much and I need to take a break. Bed rest for a week. F*CK!! Keep my leg elevated and try not to use it too much.

Most people look at their bed as a place to rest, rejuvenate and relax. My bed has become an irritant. I don't want to lie down, I don't want to rest, I don't want to elevate my leg. If I could stomp a foot in frustration I would; a real stomp with my arms crossed, no walker and a really pouty face. I'm trying not to whine but dammit!! Can I catch a freakin' break? Two positive steps forward and then one big bitchy push backwards. I'm doing what I'm told but I don't like it at all. You know that cupcake I mentioned in my last post? I think someone needs to bring me a whole chocolate cake and fast.

Gimme some sugar, baby

2008-01-30T00:31:00.000-08:00

I try not to watch "reality" television because most of it isn't real. Oh, and the people are so irritating I want to bitch slap them many, many times...with a heavy object. Unfortunately, I was sucked into the cesspool called "Celebrity Detox". Yowza, what happened to Jeff Conaway? He's become my poster boy for everything I never want to be - pain meds are scary stuff. He's convinced me that I don't need to climb the pain medication ladder to the OxyContin top rung. I think I'll stay here on the first two steps with Neurontin and be happy. Some of the other freaks from "Celebrity Detox" I've seen on teasers for different reality shows in the past. They don't interest me. Only Jeff does.

The thing with pain meds is that when you have chronic pain, you really need the meds to take the edge off. Chronic pain is so difficult to control, though. It's like a seesaw - trying to find the perfect balance so that you don't become a blithering idiot like Jeff.

I spent most of last year completely medicated. I slurred my words, said the same thing (always in 3's), forgot words, slept the day away - but I didn't feel the pain. It was still there only I didn't give a shit because I was in lala land. It was a good visit but my visa expired in July '07 and I don't think I'm going to go back. If I have to feel pain, so be it. I'd rather be in pain then totally out of it - and peeing on myself...or vomiting everywhere...or screaming for pills...or having a seizure...no, thanks. I'll take a chocolate cupcake and go whimper in the corner.

Friends and a food frenzy

2008-01-27T12:00:00.000-08:00

This weekend has been such a blast. Met with two of my favorite girlfriends (Karen is too far away!!) for lunch and yakking. If I'm in a mood, these two can always lift me up and bring on the laughs.

Had lunch at a local Persian restaurant and fell in love with their imported feta cheese - so I had to find it (that's the glutton in me). Next door to the restaurant is a small middle eastern shop and from there it snowballed...

One of the more amusing parts of the day was when I was using my walker to get to my wheelchair. Missy P. was in charge of holding it, only she kept backing up every time I tried to sit. The more Missy P. backed up, the louder I stomped my walker. It was like that car game so many of us have played. You know, a friend is trying to get in your car and you move up just far enough out of reach. Well, Miss P. must have moved my damn wheelchair back about a foot before Miss. R. asked what the hell she was doing! We all burst out laughing - it really was funny, guess you had to be there. Thanks for that, ladies!!

Since my back has closed and healed, I'm so much stronger. Even my girlfriends noticed how much more I can do. My need for independence keeps getting stronger too. I'm still learning that I can't do everything. My girlfriends allow me to find out that I can't do something and are right there when I ask for help - and they don't say, "I told you so"...well, most of the time and usually not in a polite manner, except for Missy P. who is always polite even in cursing. Her "you ahole!!" is about the raunchiest I've gotten out of her. Always the lady. Missy R. and I revel in our potty mouths. We usually spew all the best words in the first thirty minutes we're together.

Found my feta cheese - and just about everything else I never wanted or needed but bought it anyway. Turkish delights, dates, lavash, Iranian noodle soup - did I need it? Nope, but I wanted it. What a wonderful place to discover new foodie items. I know the girls will have to bring me back in a few weeks. The gentleman that ran the store was very aware of my wheelchair and helped us. He also sniffed out that I was in a frenzy and kept bringing me items to try - and buy.

We bought more food at this great Chinese restaurant and coconut bread from the bakery next door. Missy P. ripped into that coconut bread and the aroma of freshly baked dough and coconut filled the car. The tantalizing smells of the Chinese food made me drool. We sat in the car for a moment and laughed about our day - and all the food we had with us.

Friends, food and laughter. What could be better than that?

glutton, glutton, who's got the glutton?

2008-01-25T00:45:00.000-08:00

I am a glutton and I don't deny it. I always seem to overdo when it's not necessary. It leads to all kinds of problems, you know. It's not that the gluttony bug is activated all the time, either. Usually I start to get that twitchy feeling when I'm super stressed, which I am right now. My normal response would be to grab the biggest bag of chips and not stop until I hit bottom - of the bag, that is. Sometimes, to stop the mental shakes, I would shop...okay, I prefer shopping. The results are just as instantaneous as eating with none of the bloated tummy in the morning. With shopping the only thing bloated is either my credit card or my overdraft protection. As I get older, and maybe a little smarter, eating doesn't work. Shopping works less but still manages to take the edge off.

I tried exercise. All I did was think about what was bugging me while I walked on the treadmill like a hamster going nowhere. Plus, I sweated, which I'm not fond of at all. Read self-help books, recognized the problem - I said right off that I am a glutton.

I think that in a very Twilight Zone kind of way I've been slapped by the glutton superbug. Think about it. I've had two years of excessive health issues. Let's do a recap: 10 surgeries the first week in the hospital, 25 dialysis treatments, 20 blood transfusions, 18 months of open wounds, 12 infections, 86 days in the hospital (the first time around), 9 different kinds of antibiotics, 5 pain medications...it's a warped Twelve Days of Christmas song!!

I hear the siren call of a chocolate cupcake, the seductive tease of my credit cards...luring me to go forth and be a glutton. Maybe it's time to squash this bug under the heal (get it?) of a new shoe.

Baking therapy

2008-01-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

I almost titled this, "Someone left the cake out in the rain" but there are some that might not remember that disco classic. Anyway, I baked a cake yesterday. My parents had to bring all the ingredients to the table but from there, I did the real work. My mind calms down when I'm measuring, cracking eggs, and whisking. The hum of the mixer, the liquid sounds of dry and wet ingredients blending, the sweet smells of vanilla and chocolate are a soothing narcotic for my emotions. It's very satisfying to pull out a perfectly moist, golden cake from the oven. You know when it's ready even before the timer because the aroma of vanilla goodness warms the air. Don't forget the frosting! Luscious chocolate smoothly swirled all around that yummy cake. Sprinkle some coconut and crushed macadamias on the sides and presto! Pretty cake! And for me, three hours put to good use. After the week I've had, I needed it.

Tonight I'm going to an art gallery opening. The floors of these places and art museums are so smooth I feel like I'm gliding. It's a great sensation. Have to be careful, though. I tend to build up speed, wouldn't want to take down an expensive art piece because I'm being Ricky Racer.

Tomorrow are football playoffs and I can't wait to watch the game. GO CHARGERS!! Have a great weekend!

Pieces of me

2008-01-17T23:50:00.000-08:00

This past week has managed to unhinge me a little bit more than I'd like. Before surgery (BS) I had so much energy. After surgery (AS) my energy level fluctuates. AS this past July, I was tired all the time. Gradually my energy has returned but not to the level I had BS 1 and 2. Now I'm discovering my emotional energy is not as solid as before.

It was bound to happen. The past two years have been about surviving more than anything else. This year, and it has only been 17 days into it, seems to be starting off more as an emotional awakening. As I find out what really happened to me AS, the strongholds on my emotions aren't so strong. What I truly believed AS is not true, the more I find out, the more I tailspin. It's a different kind of whirlwind. Anger, sadness, violation, disbelief - I can't even find the words to describe how horrible it is right now. I had put together a scenario that I could live with and now I'm forced to realize that what I needed to believe to be true was, in fact, nowhere remotely close to what happened those early days in December.

As I sit and slowly read the different versions of what transpired, one thing is clear - while these men talk about what happened in their version of the truth, I am the only one stuck living the real truth every day. I'm trying desperately to gather my emotional blanket around me. I may have lost most of my physical ability to stand on my two feet but I won't give up my emotional steadiness. I'll just have to wait out this storm and come out stronger on the other side. I only hope it doesn't take too long.

Prickly feeling

2008-01-15T22:21:00.000-08:00

It's been a long few days. It took me until late yesterday evening to fill out that damn questionnaire. In the old days, BS (before surgery) I probably could have answered the number of questions asked in an hour or two depending on my attention span. Now, AS (after surgery)it takes me longer because I can't focus on the pages too long, and my writing has never returned to what it was BS.

Anyway, in between all that lovely stuff, I've had appointments. In particular, I had an independent medical exam. Usually these doctors, and I give these people the title very reluctantly, are hired by insurance companies to prove you're not as disabled as you claim. Again, it's about the bottom line.

For three hours I answered this guy's questions. For three hours we played the, "no matter how many times you rephrase the question, my answer is not going to change" game. Seriously. If I tell you I can only see forward, I mean only straight in front of me. No, not a circle, no, not a rectangle. Straight. No top, no bottoms, no sides. Front and center. He must have asked me three or four times, "...you mean like a circle?" Or if he didn't say circle, he would make a circle with his hands around his eyes and say, "so your vision is like this?", hoping I would say yes and he could then claim my vision was more than I had previously stated. ARGH!! I just wanted to tell him to f*ck off!! But I didn't because I'm really working on not being a bitch. Even if it's justifiable bitchiness. Dammit.

After he subjected me to over two hours of torture - the real fun stuff started. By the way, not to make light of the whole water torture thing but maybe we should hire some of these doctors for our interrogation process of war prisoners. This guy was that good, as much as I hate to give him any kudos. I was getting to the point of saying whatever he wanted me to say just to make him stop asking me question after question - 20 pages at my last count!!

Okay, so the fun stuff. Physical exam. Hah!! What a joke. When he opened up his briefcase he started pulling out items I recognized: stethoscope, reflex thingy, blood pressure cuff and then he took out a tin cigarette case. He opened it up and out popped some safety pins. I asked him what he thought he was going to do with those pins. It wasn't a question, really. It was more of a belligerent statement. I told him if he thought he was going to poke me with those suckers (yea, I know, but I used those words) he was highly mistaken. Anyway, he put them away and proceeded to humiliate me in other ways. My mother said that because the conference room where we were having the exam did not have blinds on the glass door, anyone passing by was able to see me, my lifted shirt, bra, belly...you name it. Maybe I should have let the guy prick me with his pins instead.

Otherwise known as DIC (that's DICK)

2008-01-12T08:21:00.000-08:00

The sun's out. It's going to be a warm sunny day here. I woke up early because I have to finish this questionnaire I received from my disability insurance company. It's almost two years since the disability insurance company (now known forever as "DIC", please pronounce as DICK) began paying me.

Here's how it works: Once you're disabled, you contact your DIC and let them know. You fill out inches of paperwork and have your doctors do the same. The upside for me is that I have really great insurance. My employer has continued to pay for the premiums even though I haven't worked since December 2005. Unfortunately, this stops in March. That's why I have these forms to fill out.

I also applied for Social Security (now known forever as "SS", pronounced as SSSSSSSSS) when this all started but was denied because I was not disabled enough. I appealed and was denied again. At this point, DIC intervened and said that they had hired a company that specializes in dealing with SS claims (let's call them SSC, pronounced as SICK). For the next YEAR I filled out forms, answered questions, my doctors filled out forms - anything that changed in my medical life, I had to inform SSC and DIC, who would then inform SS. Finally, after 20 months, SS believed SSC and declared me disabled. Oh happy day!! To be acknowledged by the supreme, heartless, inefficient, taxing (now known forever as "SHIT" pronounced as shit) government machine!!

Anyway, right after Christmas I received a thick envelope from DIC that looked ominously familiar. Inside, DIC informed me that I had to prove to THEM I was disabled or my benefit checks would stop. Wait a minute - didn't DIC hire SSC to prove to the SS SHIT machine that I was disabled? Huh? What the hell!! If the SHIT machine said I was disabled, then I was disabled because it is practically impossible to collect SHIT benefits right away. So why do I need to get down on my knees and provide DIC with the same earnest applications that I applied to SHIT? Because of money. That's right, it comes down to the bottom line. Or rather, my bottom is on the line.

So here it is, folks. I'll be at my desk this fine morning, filling out paperwork because DIC wants my ass, even though SHIT has been all over it for almost two years. Doesn't matter that DIC hired SSC to bring SHIT into the picture and prove that I am diabled. DIC needs to find out for itself. I have the feeling that I'm going to get screwed.

Mirror, mirror

2008-01-11T00:07:00.000-08:00

I did what I sneered at in the past. I committed a disabled person no-no.

We were standing in line at the local buy in bulk store. I was chatting with my Mom when I noticed the guy waiting in line after us. It wasn't that he was cute (horrors! I missed that!) because what attracted me was the brace on his leg. I couldn't stop staring at it. He was wearing the kind of brace that my doctors are suggesting I use after my tendon release. By the way, girls, it is fugly. No way around it. Instead of my little black velcro crap, the brace is knee high and covered in velcro straps. It is a velcro monster. We all know how much I love velcro!!

So, I wheeled up to him and said (with my cheerleader pom poms waving metaphorically in the air), "Did you have a foot release? Is that the brace they gave you after surgery?" Can you see me CRINGING as I write this down? I didn't even say, "hello, excuse me, pardon me for being an ignorant bitch..." and then I made it worse. He kindly said that,"...the brace was to help him walk. He had suffered a bad infection and his leg wouldn't last." I, ever chirpily, replied, "oh, good for you!" He looked at me like I had eaten a bowl of shit (which I really did this time) and said to me, "No, they're cutting it off" as he gestured with a slicing motion to below his knee. Again. I. did. not. get. it. I replied, "Oh, me too! Mine is coming off also!!" I practically sang it out for anyone in line to hear. I sounded excited. This guy was not amused. I swear, I thought my face was on fire it was so hot. I'm not one to embarrass easily, but when I do it to myself, what can I say? I smiled and told him good luck, he just turned away. If I could have slinked away, I would have slunked as low as I could...because that's the way I felt.

I forget that other people facing amputation might not be as adapted to the idea as I have become. Sometimes I get so high up on my soapbox about all the inconsiderate people I run into, I forget that one clumsy misstep and there I fall. I fell fast and hard. I deserved it. I forgot, in my excitement, that perhaps he, like me, didn't want to be reminded by a total stranger about his own disability.

Mister - if you're out there, I'm sorry. I opened my mouth and swallowed my left foot - it's bigger so I figured that's the one I should insert. Nothing like a big bitch slap of humility to take me down a notch. Sigh.

As the pee turns...

2008-01-08T19:33:00.000-08:00

The newest, and possibly oddest, turn of events is that my pee is dark brown. Oh, I know, I share too much but I already told you the story of my ass wiping so don't get all girlyman on me now. It's from the strong antibiotics I'm taking, was taking. I called my infectious diseases doctor and he told me to stop taking the pills for three days then resume the twice daily schedule. This would help him decide if the meds were the cause of my nutty brown expelled fluid. What else could it be?

My parents are on a ridiculous pee watch. I can't pee unless one of them inspects the color - remember how I told you about my Dad making comments about my poop? Well, he's added another to his repertoire. "Hmmm...not too dark, a latte kind of color, not the nut brown we saw yesterday." Additionally, I now carry sterile urine sample cups in case I'm not home and need to urinate. It's a tragically funny world I live in, people. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

We all knew that taking antibiotics for almost 13 months would have an effect on my body. I thought in more obscure terms - growing fungus on my chest, oh wait - I had a fungal infection on my neck in the hospital. Perhaps a yeast infection - that too, only on my tongue. Those have all cleared up - wipe that disgusted look off of your faces. I told you, the body does strange, strange things when it thinks you aren't paying attention.

So we wait. Get some blood tests done. Have my urine tested too. It's possible that my kidneys or liver have been damaged. Duh. I've had renal failure twice, dialysis and blood transfusions. Not to mention my lungs failed and I was on life support for three weeks. I think I'm doing pretty damn well for all of that to have happened. A little bit of brown pee doesn't scare me - much.

It's raining men...

2008-01-07T06:47:00.001-08:00

Ha! I wish but it's only rain. The wind and rain have been so strong at times during the night that I woke up. For me, there's nothing better than being all snuggley warm in my bed while the wind howls and the rain bangs against the windows.

Yesterday I stayed in my pajamas all day. Here in my house we call it "Jamama Day", because my young nephew, at the time three years old, could not say "pajama". I think there is something so very therapeutic about staying indoors, in your pajamas on dark, rainy days. Keeping your pajamas on is a lovely reason to keep crawling back into bed - no need to change! The bed constantly beckoned to me, which is a bonus since my bedroom is in the living room.

My leg, however, doesn't appreciate the finer points of rain. Something about the atmospheric pressure or the cold or the damp, maybe a combination of all three. Whatever the reason, my leg lets me know it is not happy. The jerking movement increases, as does the swelling and the sharp jabs of hot pain. The rain is almost enough to distract me, almost.

From the lovely cacophony of rain and wind outside my door, it sounds as if today is going to be just like yesterday. Yea! Ouch! The night darkness is slowly creeping away and the day is beginning. I suppose I'll change into new pajamas today since it's obvious another Jamama Day is here again. I woke up about 5am when the wind and rain were at their loudest and I think it's time to roll back to bed.

Dinner at the OK Corral

2008-01-06T08:43:00.000-08:00

To celebrate one of my dear (see? I didn't call you "best") friend's birthday, a group of us went to Ruth Chris' Steakhouse. This place is known for great steaks, side dishes and for dinner, it looked a little romantic. The lights were set at low, our table was in a corner overlooking the freeway. It doesn't sound as nice but it really was a lovely place to eat.

I love having dinner with my friends. We are never at a loss for words, we jump from subject to subject and there is nothing better than sharing a good laugh over good food. Too bad the food wasn't as good as the company.

It started out promising. Appetizers were good. We shared the BBQ shrimp and calamari, oh, and the house bread they bring out is yummy, too! Salads and soup next. The lobster bisque is superb, according to the Bday Girl's hubby, as are the following salads: Caesar (made with Parmesan crisps), tomato, onion and blue cheese, and baby arugula with spinach, bacon, eggs and red onion. The portions were generous. As the Bday Girl stated, "..we should have stopped at the appetizers..."

When the steaks came out in their famous butter sizzle, I could hardly wait to cut into my rib eye, rare. It was tough despite all the fat surrounding the meat. Yes, rib eyes are fattier cuts but this had to have been a porker cow. There was gristle in the middle, too. The ends were a tad overdone, which I suppose I could have overlooked if the steak itself hadn't been a tough tire ringed in fat. The Bday Girl didn't fare much better. Her medium rare was medium well on the ends and medium in the middle. The server told us this happens when cooking the steaks sometimes but I didn't think we should have to buy that bull. For $50 dollar steaks, it should be cooked as we like since the price is premium. I guess the rest of the table had acceptable steaks but no one was raving. In fact, my other girlfriend said that the quality of the steak had gone down. Maybe we simply had a bad cow but for a dinner price tag of $400, that is not acceptable. The fresh veggie side dishes were good. The mashed potatoes barely tasted of garlic and the scalloped potatoes weren't thrilling either.

The manager took my steak off the bill after he told me that, "... he wished I'd told him sooner so he could replace my steak." Well, I didn't know my ENTIRE $50 steak was going to be crap. I kept hoping as I sawed away that it would improve, really I did.

Two things to point out, though. The busboy, Scott, was most excellent and helpful. He cleared a path for Scooter Girl as we left the restaurant. Nothing worse than having to dodge diners in the middle of their meal. The wines the server selected were nicely paired with the food.

P.S. I forgot to mention the cake! From KonaKakes - a mouthwatering confection of cake and frosting. We ordered the butter cake with hazelnut and macadamia, drizzled in homemade fresh caramel. It was the perfect ending to the evening. I had an evening full of shared laughter and fun with my good friends.

Incident at the elevator

2008-01-03T23:43:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm not always the most patient of people - I'm more patient now than prior to all this happening to me but that's not saying much.

Today my parents and I had to go back to the mall. Yes, we are brave souls. At this particular outdoor mall, the elevator to go between the three floors is sluggish, which is being kind. I'm talking to my parents as we wait for the elevator and we hear the ding. Stepping out is a woman with two children, both girls, and one of them is having a screaming hissy. In the doorway of the elevator. Just enough so that we can't reach around them to stop the doors from closing, and just enough so we can't push past them to get on the elevator. The kid is pissy because she "...wanted to ride the escalator and she wanted to go back on the elevator and do it right"...her words, not mine. I thought that for a little ankle biter she was damn articulate about what she wanted.

We missed the elevator. I was about to have an even bigger pissy hissy fit than the bratty kid. Then, the mother shook her daughter's hand and said while looking at me, "Now look what you did, Alyssia. You made the nice lady in the wheelchair miss her elevator. She needed to take that elevator because she's handicapped and can't ride the escalator like you want to." Dead silence. How do you even begin to react to that kind of stupidity? I know, I know, she was trying to reason with her child. But honestly, did she need to point out TWICE that I'm different than everyone else? Am I being sensitive? Probably, but understandably.

I would have grabbed the screechy kid off of the elevator and taken her to a quiet corner then spanked her butt for being a brat, being rude and disrespectful. That's the way I grew up and I learned my boundaries. I don't ever remember my parents pointing someone out and stating their differences. I would be horrified if some young child came up to me and said, "My mommy says you're handicapped and that's why you're in a wheelchair." I'm sure the first thing that would come out of my mouth would be, "Well, little girl, your mother's an ignorant bitch." Yea, I know, but I'd say it ever so sweetly. Really.

So the mother and daughters walked away. My parents and I waited another few minutes for the slow elevator to return. We didn't talk for awhile. There wasn't anything to say.