Graduating Supervised Aquatic Physical Therapy

Last Thursday was the day from hell in terms of what needed to get done.  In the chaos I unintentionally missed my re-evaluation with my land physical therapist, Debbie, and my aquatic physical therapy appointment.  The problem was this; I typically go to my aquatic PT the same time twice a week in the evenings.  However, due to my re-eval I was scheduled during the day and completely forgot.

I showed up at my usual time in the evening on Thursday for aquatic PT and the first thing they said to me was, “I knew you wouldn’t no-show.”

What? No-show? Then it was exlained to me the blunder I had made.  They, being the wonderful people they are, let me in the pool anyway.  I was doing my warm-up exercises, which in and of themselves are a workout, and my fabulous and sweet aquatic physical therapist, AnneMarie, came and sat on the edge of the pool.

She looked up my notes from the missed appointment with Debbie and explained that she and Debbie had spoken and I met all my goals!  I graduated the program and this was my last official appointment. 

Good thing I was in the pool because I would have fallen over!  She went through my goals, my new ones from the last re-eval, and I had surpassed them tremendously.

Wow.  She went over my starting abilities and my abilities now, and I have to say I was impressed.

Now, I will move onto a transitional program at the rehab, which allows me to continue to attend group aquatic PT twice a week.  My appointments have overlapped the group PT sessions since I began at the rehab, except for those damn daytime appointments I can’t seem to remember.  Basically, everyone is in the pool together but each individual is working his or her own individualized therapy program.  All the same staff will be there and available for questions or advice.

Having said that, I feel much the same way as I did graduating college, I need to grow up now and do it on my own.  This is indeed a mixed bag of feelings.  Pride of course, but also fear and apprehension about taking control of my PT program. 

The other fearful aspect involves self-motivation.  There will no longer be appointments, nor staff scheduled to work with me, nor tracking of data and progress, no one else to be accountable to for showing up to PT.  It is all on me now, I am only accountable to myself and my progress is now solely on my shoulders. 

I have little doubt that I will be able to continue to work hard and attend my sessions, because I have learned a valuable lesson in life that applies here.    Sometimes we struggle to believe in ourselves, but if we trust those we love and respect, their belief in us can carry us through.  I know that I have many people in my life who believe in me and in what I can accomplish, for now I will just have to trust in them.

I start the new program next Tuesday; I will push through my fear of “flying solo” by just showing up.  I have learned that just showing up in life is the first, and biggest, step you can take toward adapting to change.

Stage Two: Anger

The five stages of grief and loss (the Kübler-Ross model); denial, anger, bargaining, depression and then acceptance, are by no means linear.  We move in and out of these stages throughout the process and I have been finding myself returning to the second stage; anger quite often lately.  I am told this is actually a good sign, that among other things it indicates that my self-esteem is still intact.

However, anger is not a good feeling to experience, yet I understand that it is fuel for my fire.  Essentially I need to experience a feeling of justice; I need the entity responsible for my situation, life in a wheelchair at age 40, to not be me anymore. 

The response I got from Comcast was a letter dated December 29, 2011, included some of the following statements, “As a result of late notification of the incident, it is impossible at this point for Comcast to conduct an investigation…” and “…the other vehicle was not owned by Comcast, but rather by Merchants Rent-A-Car.”  The worst statement, “…based upon your failure to report this incident in a timely manner…”

Just as a reminder for those who have not been following my story, in 2005 a Comcast truck, a large vehicle with the logo Comcast on all visible surfaces, hit me from behind.  However, the registration information indicated that the owner of the vehicle was Merchants and that Comcast leased vehicles from them.  I am very familiar with this process as while I was managing a group home, the vans we used for the programs were leased through Merchants as well.  This leaves me with the question, is this a way for Comcast to protect themselves from being sued?

Angrier than ever I must find a way to achieve some form of justice.  At this point I am not real clear on how to accomplish this goal.  I know what I cannot do.  I cannot sue them for monetary damages.  I cannot break the law to obtain my justice, not that this didn’t cross my mind briefly.  I cannot count on the Ambassador for Humanity Award recipient for 2011, the Comcast CEO, to express any humanity toward me based on the letter I received from them.

My current thoughts include:

~Is there really something to investigate regarding the use of rental services, or possibly subcontractors, to protect Comcast from being sued?  Or is this my mind reaching for alternative routes toward justice?

~Could I lobby for changes to the discovery rule as it applies to torts in Massachusetts and statutes of limitations in order to protect future individuals who find themselves in similar situations such as mine?  This would be hard to say the least and does not present high hopes for success either.

~Could I stage a “sit-in” to bring light to the truth of my story?  I can sit very well.

Keep telling myself that I will know what to do when the time comes to do something.  Right now I am realizing I have no idea where this journey is taking me.  My body is broken, that is a fact, but what my brain is capable of in order to solve the justice puzzle, is the variable of focus at this point.

With a Little Help from My Friends

When you are broken and down-and-out pushing through can be very difficult due to a variety of reasons.  All aspects of ourselves become involved, our bodies, minds and spirit, unfortunately, when one suffers they all suffer. 

If there were ever someone prepared for dealing with issues related to mental illness, it would have been me.  I started my career in serving the mentally ill back in 1995 at Bridgewater State Hospital, BSH, when I was twenty-three. For those of you who do not know, BSH is a maximum-security prison surrounded by razor wire fencing and a tower with a sharpshooter, designed for housing the criminally insane.  The facility holds both those under observation (to determine if they are insane, which is a legal term not a psychological term) and those who have been deemed appropriate for BSH rather than typical correctional facilities.  As a mental health worker I was direct line staff and had responsibilities to interact with the patients in groups and individually.  This required developing a thick skin and the ability to show no fear.  After pretending for quite awhile I did eventually develop these skills.  This is when I learned that no matter how exhausted I was, I had to dig deep and push forward and never let my guard down.  Ironically, BSH was the safest place I ever worked, surrounded by Correction Officers, and a full two weeks of intensive training.  During the training process they told us they do not negotiate in hostage situations, comforting.  However, they did teach you several ways to save your life and take down even the largest of men.  It was something like self-defense on crack.

From there I went to working in the community, I had made the decision that my place in the system was trying to prevent the mentally ill from ending up in places like BSH, as in most cases at BSH their crimes could have been prevented through proper treatment, including antipsychotic medications.  In the community the atmosphere was completely different.  The overall goal of community-based mental health services is to guide an individual to their maximum functioning level possible.  For some this is simply not being in a locked facility but still requiring twenty-four hour care, where as with others it may be checking in with them once a month because they have achieved the level of functioning in their own apartment.  Working in the community I held several positions and continued my education.  I started as direct care staff, held a variety of supervisory positions and ended developing trainings and teaching community staff about a variety of mental health topics.  Ironically one of the last trainings I wrote and presented was on grief and loss, the five stages include denial, anger, bargaining, depression and then acceptance (the Kübler-Ross model).  In my training I explained that this process does not occur exclusively when there is a death.  I used the example of an individual who suddenly requires a wheelchair and that this individual will need to go through the process of grief and loss.  The conclusion of the training offered suggestions for resources and suggestion for working with individuals going through the process.

Needless to say, it is very hard to be objective when you are the subject.  Therefore, it is essential to avoid seclusion and avoidance of others.  I was continuously aware of this behavior with particular clients over the years.  This was a sign that their symptoms were increasing and become difficult to tolerate.  Luckily for me, a few friends had their radar up watching for this behavior in me, as I go through the grief/loss process.  For those of you who have never experienced depression, the last thing you want to do is get out of bed and be social.  Therefore, my friends have been using a technique I often used with others, the surprise visit with coffee in hand.  The coffee gets you in the door and the rest comes naturally. 

It is very strange being on this side of the situation and I recognize techniques people use, not even realizing they are clinically tested and recommended; it just comes naturally to them.  This support from friends is far more essential than I realized when adding this to a client’s treatment plan.  Being the client, I better understand why our techniques work in the community, but only through hindsight.  Prior to that my friends come to the rescue and guide me through until I make it through my funk, as I call them.  These are the people who keep me grounded and able to get through the day.  It doesn’t hurt that my husband works in the field and has a great technique for keeping me off the “pity-pot” which includes the use of words like “you’re a Mom”, “your kids need you” and “get over it!”  He has the ability to say the tough stuff; the stuff people don’t want to hear but it needs to be said for progress to be made.  My Girls just seem to know what I need and when I need it, they make the bad days tolerable and the good days are simply better when I am with them.

Take away reminders:

ü  When feeling depressed do not isolate yourself from others.

ü  Your friends have the ability to be essential and critical aspects of your recovery.

ü  You cannot run away from the grief/loss process you have to go through it to get to the other side of it all.

ü  When your husband is offensive and disagreeable, it is not always a bad thing.

Resource:

http://grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief/

Picking out my new chair.

Meeting with the technician to pick out and design my new wheelchair was very exciting; I could not wait for the day to come.  Like a little kid on Christmas I checked out the sample he brought, I test drove it and was like the Cadillac of wheelchairs.

First, you really need to get an image of the chair I currently use.  Picture a scary movie set in an old and long closed mental asylum, and the camera pans down the hallway and this decrepit old wheelchair slowly starts to move on its own; that is my chair.  The wheels have spokes, it squeaks as I roll and the breaks are iffy.

Sitting in the sample chair I looked up and the tech was scribbling on his tablet like crazy, taking measurements, asking me all types of questions and then he passed me the card.  The card was like a menu of sorts; I could choose my own color and design.  I was tempted by the American flag design, but decided that should be reserved for vets.  I deliberated as my eyes danced around the card, leopard print was not an option and therefore I chose Candy Apple Red.

It will take a couple of months for me to actually get the chair, but certain I will not be disappointed.

Turning Forty: A Summary of a Week of Daily Journaling

Turning Forty: A Summary of a Week of Daily Journaling

This picture seemed appropriate as I go into my forties with mixed emotion.  Time flies and half my life is now behind me, yet the next half does look somewhat promising.  As I reflect back on the days of my boys being little babies, a tear comes to my eye.  It seems like just yesterday that I held them in my arms keeping them safe from harm.  Now despite my resistance, they are growing up and becoming wonderful young men.  This is a bittersweet emotion.  I miss being able to keep them close, however, I could not be more proud of who they are as individuals.

Well the clock hit midnight and I am forty.  Nothing.  I looked up and to my left was a friend of more than thirty-five years and to my right, my adoring husband.  It was peaceful and a moment I will remember with an association of love and admiration.

What is the fear of forty? One day your not the next you are, where is the danger, fear and loss.  After careful introspection and reflection I solved the mystery.  When we are teens we are free to be narcissistic, when we are in our twenties we are free to explore, when we are in our thirties we are solidifying and surviving the present, once we hit forty we must commit to thinking about preparing for our future.  This future includes our children growing up and leaving to start their own lives, a budget that is tighter than it is now, and days on end of work with little room to grow because we have already climbed the ladder.
The solution to the equation:
1. GRANDCHILDREN.
2. Sell the house and get a cheap condo in Florida.
3. Look down the ladder and be proud of how far we have climbed.

Now that I have solved the mystery, how will that translate into my planning for the future?  I must say there are dark moments as I consider what my future holds.  However, the looming fear of one day needing a wheelchair is a depressing heaviness I will no longer have to carry.  This anxiety is now a chapter I can close; Sentenced to the Chair is officially closed.
There is a freedom that comes with closing a chapter in our lives, a freedom that only comes from facing our fears and coming out alive, still standing and exhausted at the other end.  Now as I close this chapter and move on to the next I must carefully consider what do I want to come next?

I feel I have a little more control over how the next chapters of my life will be written; I have learned I can influence how my story unfolds.  That being said, I had to really think about how to operate my newfound power (empowerment) and how to soak it for all it was worth.
I have no control over my condition, nor did I have control over the circumstances that brought me to this physically disabled state, but I do have the freedom to determine that I still have a life worth living!  The freedom to decide if I was going to hit this head-on and fight, to fight for the best life possible for my family and myself.

My Nana was famous for her enormous heart, her gift of touching the lives of everyone she met, her great sense of humor and her words of wisdom.  She had such a love for life.  She had endured the hardest of times, born in 1903; she faced several barriers and suffered more than her fair share of tragedies.  Yet, in spite of life’s challenges, which included cancer, she had the ability to experience true joy.  She is the standard to which I judge my actions each.  I wish I could say that I meet the benchmark often, but truth is I am definitely still a work-in-progress.    


The Nanaisms in the forefront of my mind are:

• “You have to work hard for anything worth getting.”
• “Your as strong as you think you are.”
• “You are only as old as you feel.”
• “You can do anything you set your mind to.”
• “Quit talking, start doing.”
• “You can make it work.”

Nevertheless I believe her “advice” to me rings the loudest.  As mentioned she is my measure in life, therefore I had to ask myself the question what would Nana tell me?
The following came to mind, and in this order:
“Make sure them Deery boys make that doohickey to get you over to the beach.  Get that hot tub thingy over here, and enjoy the HECK out of it!  Don’t let anyone stand in your way, and if they do roll ‘em over!”




                           

                           ~Look out here I come!

Showering Gone Wrong... :)

I can recall back at the start of the summer when my friends decided my hair was dreadful and I was frumpy!  Sadly it was true.  Since I was no longer working my wardrobe consisted of sweats, T-shirts, leggings, my husband’s socks and sneakers.  Essentially, I was wearing my pajamas around town… had I heard of pajama jeans maybe I could have pulled off a more classy look J

But it was my hair that really drove one friend crazy, she does hair on Newbury Street in Boston!  So basically I looked like Pocahontas, but without the shine or clean part, and in its place split-ends and lack of any style at all.

After “my intervention” I let the girls have at me…  J

  

What freedom! I was in and out of the shower in record time when I didn’t have all that hair to deal with…but that was then.

Now, although still grateful for the time saved on my hair, it takes me FOREVER to get through the shower.  Those of you who have, or have ever experienced, having to take a shower when your body is broken know it is a challenge.  Today, was too comical not to share…

So my bathroom is all tricked out for the disabled, safety bars, shower seat, showerhead with a hose, and baskets in the shower at seated level.  Well some days even with all these treasures it can be bedlam.

So my wheelchair doesn’t fit through the doorway into the bathroom, but I have a huge vanity that runs the length of the bath over to the toilet.  So I get out of the chair at the door and using the vanity for stability I get to the shower, pivoting to grab the other wall.  I then sit on the edge of the tub and adjust the temp, etc.  Then I reach out and grab the vanity again stand up and pivot to the toilet.  There I disrobe, move my towels from the vanity to on top of the hamper.  I move the hamper over closer to the tub, pivot using the vanity back over to the edge of the tub.  I check the temp and grabbing the bar in the shower I pull up and slap my butt onto the wet plastic seat- sounds something like a whale using his blowhole J

I have a swivel seat, however, I also have a very narrow tub so in order to “swivel” I have to grab the safety bar, raise my legs up into the air and spin my ass around.  Lets just say it is NOT pretty!  We “resolved” that problem by moving the supply baskets to the opposite wall so everything is within my reach. 

Well today it wasn’t until after I was in my seat and just looking forward to a long hot shower because PT really kicked my ass this week, that I discover someone left the shampoo on the inside edge of the tub BEHIND me!  “Shit!”

Okay, so I have 3 choices.  The first being “the pole dance”…”just can’t do it.”

Second, I could just not wash my hair…”not an option, 2 appointments today.”

OR, I could try to think of something new… “I could try grabbing the bar with my left hand, doing a backbend sort of move and grabbing the shampoo with my right hand…”

You are ABSOLUTELY right…Not a good idea.  But I did it anyway.

So I think it through a few times, try leaning back without going too far to see if I can hold my weight with one hand, I take a deep breath and go for it.

Well, remember that slap down on the seat…yup I was stuck to the seat, no give what so ever! The front leg starts to raise, “Oh shit I’m going down!”  My worst fear…being found “fallen and I can’t get up” NAKED!!

I quick do a full raise sit-up and level off…first thought, “Damn girl you got abs!”

Second thought, “You friggin’ idiot!” And finally, “the world will just have to deal with my dirty hair… at least it is a cute cut”   J

I left it ALL on the dance floor….

Those of you who know me well know I was always painfully shy growing up.  I know this is very hard to believe for many of you given the fact that I never shut up now  J    But I assure you I was.  In fact, I ate lunch by myself in the stairwell during high school.  So shy that when I went to my 20 year-reunion, I regressed and became mute again!  It was so embarrassing I was too shy to talk to people, “What the hell is wrong with me!  I am not this person anymore; I stand in front of groups of professionals conducting trainings!  HELL I teach them how to engage others… SHAKR it off!”

By chance I aligned myself with a few very outgoing and gregarious people as I grew up, and I was satisfied being the “sidekick” and hanging in the background (I know, I know…me?)

One memory stands out do to the enormity of its embarrassment. 

As a freshman in high school I caught the eye of a popular and well-liked junior.  He was a football player and had many good friends.  Due to the fact I was so shy I had few friends to speak of and easily assimilated into his life, and his friends.  They were all great and worked hard to break me out of my shell.

Well, this particular time it was at Homecoming Dance.  Being the awkward and insecure little girl that I was I tried to just sit and watch everyone dance.  I was happy with that I could watch them and dance a little in my seat. However, this was not satisfactory to my new friends.  They tried and tried, and I dodged and dodged, until they decided this just was not going to work for them.  They picked up my chair and brought me right out onto the dance floor!!!!   All I could do was laugh and just let go…NOT of the chair, but my insecurities J

Well this time, no one needed to pick up my chair to get me on the floor…I rolled myself out there!  I have to admit there were a few moments in which I did consider how ridiculous I must look out there in my chair.  But this time they were far easier to let go of… a simple pirouette and I owned that floor J

I have to say I was surprised at the level of energy it takes to dance even when you are sitting down. I was sweating up a storm with everyone else.

My favorite part of the night was when Joel held me up, my arms wrapped tightly and resting on his shoulders, as he danced me back and forth… “I was dancing just like everyone else…I was whole in that moment.”

Of course followed-up by my crazy-ass man dancing up a storm with me in my chair… dancing low as he could without falling on his ass J

If the party leading up to the New Year is a sign of what is to come… then I predict I will be crowned THE “Dancing Queen” of 2012!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!