Put Your Back Into It

Weeks have gone by, and much has changed.  I'll write more later about the changes.

Today, I had one of those moments, the kind where the light bulb illuminates mental blockage and provides clarity.  It's the less dramatic version of the "Ah ha!" moment.

I just spent a few weeks thinking about life and relationships and so on and came to a conclusion tonight.  

Expand on what you know you have.

I was worried about what hasn't happened, what might not happen.  I was caught up with the "what abouts" and "what ifs".  And while watching a show about singing, I remembered.  I love to sing.  That's what's always made me happy and I'll just keep on singing.  It's where I let go (whether I sound horrible or not), it's where I meet the Lord.  And then all is right again.  Singing is the way I pray, it's the way I converse, it's the way I cry, express joy, love, hate, it's where I'm free.

This new found awareness said, "Now you have to dig.  Put your back into it", figuratively speaking that is.

God was telling me to keep trucking along in order to see all of the things that were in store for me.  You don't win the game if you don't play, right?

So whatever you're going through, remember that you've already won, the sun's always shining above the clouds, and there's plenty of "Ah ha!" moments ahead of you that will keep you going.

Drugs, Hugs, and Ughs.

Like many of my friends, I too have slowed down significantly with blogging.  I've got a few ideas jotted down and several blogs started.  I realize that if I don't write at the point of thought, that the blog tends to get sidelined until the "feeling" returns.

I did however want to keep updated with my progression.  I spoke to a girlfriend the other day who blogs a ridiculous amount of material, but it's because she has so much to talk about, child abuse, sexual abuse, neglect, and all of these topics in raw uncensored format.  We agreed that blogging helps to soothe a savage beast that's just dying to get out.  In fact, it prevents it from growing, keeps it in a non-morphing state, manageable.  If you've got a monster growing, I suggest you write, and if you don't have one, write about your journey.

A few weeks ago, I had a long day.  After a long day at work and a productive time at the SCI support group on Thursdays I called my brother so that he could pick me up from the hospital where the group is held at.   After a series of miss-communications, his girlfriend shows up with their dog instead of him.  I'm not quite comfortable with her yet, well most people in general.  There are a few people I'm comfortable with as far as car transfers go and though she says she's comfortable with me, the feeling is not yet reciprocal.  I love their dog as much as they do, but get a little peeved when they bring it with them to pick me up.  I let the dog sit on my lap because I love her, but it's damn annoying when I'm covered with dog hair and no one helps me to remove the hair.  I mean I can't leave dog hair all over me, esp. because I can't show up to work like that.  And yes, even a simple task like removing dog hair from my clothing takes much longer than usual.

To add insult to injury, my brother's gf offers to help me up the driveway of our home and starts pushing me.....on my back.  I almost fall out of the chair and don't think I've ever used profanity like that in front of her before.  I think I uttered something like "STOP STOP NONONONON...STOPSTOP!  JFC STOP!". ( I hate how you can't take words back.  I repented quickly.lol)  So I had to take a breather and educate her.  (F.Y.I., if you help push someone in a wheelchair, push the CHAIR, not the person. ugh.)

Upon reading my mail once inside, it was like, uh oh, here it comes.  I received a letter from the CA State Board of Pharmacy, a "Letter of Admonishment".  You know it's not good when you get registered mail from a State office. I panicked upon reading the letter, thinking to myself, " I can't lose my job, it's the only income I have".  With a contained panic, I looked up "admonishment" per the online dictionary to be clear on what they were telling me and basically, it's a written form of a scarlet letter stating that they're slapping me on the wrists and that I need to have the letter readily available at all times for 3 years.  REALLY?  I think I'll just scan it and download it to my phone...technology, eh?  This D.U.I. is just a never ending nightmare.

I was going through all the emotions in the rainbow that day.  

At the support group, we talked about "touch" for a while.  I have to tell you that I miss hugs.  Great big bear hugs where someone at some point gets lifted off the ground or gasps for air, lol.  Now, I get awkward hugs because people are afraid to hurt me or just don't know where to place their arms.  And inevitably, someone tends to get my makeup on their clothing.  (Sorry if you're one of the lucky few)

Lack of sensation below the waist also means that there's no sexual urges either.  Sex is all mental now and has to be reprocessed through different regions of the body because the sensation/stimulation points change once you mess with the nerves.  It also has added to the warped sense of humour that I have because you're almost forced to think about it creatively, and me having a wild imagination????  It makes me wonder how perverse a person can really be.  It's like getting a free ticket to think like a freak.  Picture having sex with someone without having your genitals, you'll come up with some strange ideas.  Living in So. Cal, and having cable make it hard to think about sex in a way that's not traditional.  We've barely skimmed the surface in group about sexual intercourse, but people (usually the guys) are more functional than women.  Everyone's different.  Anyhow I'll expand on that later.  But for now, we'll stay with touch.  Someone suggested swimming.  People with Spinal Cord Injuries (SCI) are always placed in warm water to help stimulate circulation, while others with paralysis due to degenerative diseases are placed in cold water.  The warm water is said to be stimulating.  If you think about it, our skins is one of the major sex organs, right?

Well, I'll wrap this up since it's just after 11 p.m.  I get up for work around 4 a.m.   My kingdom for sleep.  G'nite.

Sit, Stay, Good Boy....I love you. Yes I do.

Life has come and gone again in our home.

This morning I could've sworn I heard Action, my dog, barking.  He greeted me every morning when I opened the vertical blinds that line the sliding door by my bed.  He was trained to be an outdoor dog and because of his breed, an American Eskimo, he preferred it that way.  The house was his to guard and his bark always let us know when our friends, delivery people, and other "nuisances" were nearby.  Even after going completely deaf, he could smell when people were close, but he always knew our family. 

Action was given to me in 1994 by a friend when we graduated from Pharmacy Tech School together.  He was the cutest thing I ever did see, I tell you.  Three months old, as big as a mini loaf of bread, all white fur (even his lashes), and a little black nose.  My parents were completely against it until they fell in love with him too, especially my dad.  In my opinion, he broke up the tension in the house sometimes and softened angry hearts.  How could you get mad?

As he grew older, he gave us some grief as most pets do when you're unfamiliar with what to do with them.  (Soap Box announcement:  get educated before you get pets for you or your kids.  They require a lot of work, money, insurance, exercise, and most of all your time & love....end announcement)   Our dog was extremely smart and proved it by causing havoc in the park across the street from our house.  Unknowingly (and frequently), our dog would hop over the back wall, run around the block, go to the park and have a good run.  When all was done, he would return the same way, in the same manner and greet us at the back door with a wag and a smile.  Til one day, he went during the park's kids' soccer season.  He got so excited and chased a kid, and eventually bit him.  (Dog rider on the house insurance = more $$)

One time on his way home from one of his morning jogs, he got hit by a car but came away with only scrapes and bruises.  We found out when the driver came to our house to ask us if we had a white dog.  We confirmed that we did and  he explained to us what had happened.  I checked the back yard and wouldn't you know it, he had returned before we could notice.  We checked him out and confirmed that it was true, especially when Action started barking like crazy at the man, but he was alright.  Just some First Aid, and TLC, and he was fine.

So we really had to watch him and put him on a really long leash so that he could still run around but not far enough to get out.  Poor guy.

Obedience school was one of the funnier times we shared together, like "Mommy & Me" for pets and their owners.  One funny memory is of us having a good day at school.  We finished and hopped into my Impala.(He loved riding with me.)  We exited the parking lot, and with the leash around my wrist, he jumped out of the window before I could accelerate into the street.  I had to slam the breaks on and get him back inside. Oy Vey!  Picture me, someone really short, in a huge car trying to get this dog back inside. There was a lot of crawling across that huge bench seat going on.

He also loved to dig holes.  Holes big enough for his body to shelter him in cold weather.  Instinct.  Imagine our surprise the first time we saw his tail wagging from the hill without a body present.  Pretty funny, but we couldn't stop him from doing it and ended up filling a lot of holes till he couldn't climb up anymore.

We named him Action because he was so fast and could outrun most dogs in the park.  I used to work graveyard shifts and would walk him in the morning.  My version of walking him was me taking him to the park hungry, letting him run around with other dogs, then calling him back with snacks in hand.  It always worked.  Other dogs seemed to get snacks too.  They'd smell them in my pockets and come and jump in my lap.  I spent a lot of money on snacks, lol.

Action would've been 16 years old next month.  In his old age, he'd gone deaf and had failing eyesight.  His hips were getting weak and getting up and down the steps was becoming a chore.  He still had a great loud bark that annoyed the heck out of our neighbors, but that's how he loved us, by protecting us.

Last night when mom went out to feed him, she found him on the side of the house lying down and permanently asleep.  His teeth were getting bad and he was having trouble chewing kibble.  We think he choked on a piece and might've had a heart attack in the process of coughing up the food or maybe a fur ball ( our dog had A LOT of hair )  The exertion was just too much for him.  I know he's happy wherever he is, running around and digging holes.  I miss him, I even looked outside to see if he was outside this morning, he wasn't.

I woke up and saw the last 5 minutes of Marley & Me, and caught the part that wasn't sad, but the part where it reminds you that this one little guy made you feel completely special, completely loved, and one of a kind.  That was a gift.  And when I looked out at the hill in our backyard where he loved to dig those enormous holes, I saw one beautiful flower that had blossomed as if to remind me that he would always be home.

 

I love you Action.  Sit.  Stay. Good Boy.

The 3rd Mile

Mile 1: Surviving physical & emotional tragedy

Mile 2: Completing Rehabilitation

Mile 3:  Reconnecting with the world

I feel as if I'd made a food dish without love, passion.  I've added all of the right ingredients,followed every step of preparation, employed all the right methods, temperatures, and proportions, but because it was something just "put together", it doesn't feel right.  The desire and excitement aren't proportionally right and I think I just need to scrap the dish and start over.

Take a breath.

I started work on January 18th, 2010.

Though this (to me) isn't a huge deal, it was.  I hate the spotlight being on me whether it be photos, attention, special treatment....I don't know why, but it embarrasses me. 

Ironically, I like people to know who I am.  I like to be a presence in all of your lives.  Who doesn't want to be known or heard for something good?

I did everything right as far as paperwork, e-mails, phone calls go, but something felt off.  Thankfully the transition was seamless, the work was easy, and oddly enough it was the rest of the day that was off.

The women's restroom on our floor has a VERY heavy door.  There's a small 1/2 inch lip in front of the door.  Going from a dead stop to rolling over an object requires a lot of strength, opposed to just being able to roll over with momentum as your strength.  I open the door and let the bolt , that locks the door in place, rest on the frame so that I can pop a wheelie and charge at the door to open it.  Sorry door.  Once I'm in, I usually get chewed up by the door's weight and have to maneuver carefully using both arms in order to prevent injury (more injury I should say) to my hands, arms, and chair.  After that obstacle I proceed through the interstitial area to another door which thankfully swings open.

Then comes the social interaction, the stares, the awkward meetings with the other women in the restroom.  In life you tend to be insensitive towards situations until you're forced to engage them.  In the first month back at work I've encountered 3 separate women who purposely used the Handicap Restroom while I was in there.  Once while washing my hands prior to going to the restroom a woman passed me up while doing the "pee pee" dance and rushed into the handicap stall, bypassing the 2 regular stalls.  She spent 5 minutes in the restroom, 4 of which she repeatedly blew her nose and flushed the toilet, about 8 times I'd say, until I just couldn't stand it.  With a stern voice I said, "Excuse me, are you done in there because I'm in a wheelchair.".  She assumed I was done and about to leave because she saw me washing my hands.  EEHHR ::game show buzzer::   WRONG ANSWER!

I get it, maybe you like having elbow room or maybe you like feeling elite by using the biggest stall in all of Wonderland.  I confess, I've used the handicap stall myself prior to injury, but if you're going to use "that" stall, please be quick and don't assume that someone is done because they're not in the stall.  For heaven's sake, just open your mouth and ask!

Common sense, I know, but for some reason, a specific group of people in high management positions seem to lack it.

As for the door situation, I've contacted the building's management office and was told by some intern or desk assistant that the building's policies were to have the doors shut that hard in order to prevent "peeping" into the women's restroom.  Even after explaining  that there was an interstitial area, the parrot echoed that it was policy.  I doubt he passed the message on so I have to follow up.  I don't want to get ugly, nasty, manipulative, I don't want to pull out trump cards like "worker's comp", but if I have to, I will.

One thing I've learned through the last year was how to advocate for myself.  I will call back again and again until it gets done, even if I have to pull a few strings.  Two snaps and a swivel of the neck, THAT'S RIGHT!!!

So, I guess frustration seems to be the wrong ingredient in my dish, yet perseverance seems to correct the situation.

I've received all of your prayers and well-wishes and am grateful to know that a motley little crew that I call friends are there to encourage, push, and wish me onto better things.  :)