Category: SCI

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Sails of Optimism

There’s plenty of research correlating that our bodies, able-bodied and disabled, respond to what we think and believe. (I talk more of how I learned, and continue to practice, this in my book, HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU, in “As A Man Thinketh.” http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html) In addition, I believe that our bodies not only “eavesdrop” (Chopra Deepak) on our thoughts but also believe them, negative or positive; so, I choose to see/envision what I want to believe will happen.

Since my brain, eyes, and heart co-habit one body, my heart’s desire is to see what I believe. I watch, in my mind’s eye, my nerves innervating whatever muscle I’m struggling to move since becoming disabled, as I progress through my day or as I exercise. Whether I feel defeated or have almost fallen, some days I even watch myself stand up and walk.

Any way you look at it, whether it’s physical return or emotional adjustment, time heals. If you’re a new SCI, caregiver, or friend, give yourself/patient/friend a two-year post injury pass to accumulate answers to impatient questionings. Continue therapy, positive thinking, and planning for the future—like it will turn out as you hope; tweak as you go.

After the second year, introduce yourself to the new you, happily making your acquaintance. By then, you’ll have a good perspective of your abilities and will have gained a new respect for the champion you’ve become, no matter what.

Although there are occasional setbacks with any SCI, my body’s sensation level took another leap after 36 years. I barely had any sensation the first two years post injury; it’s improved slowly but surely, as have my confidence and problem-solving skills dealing with and eliminating the occasional curve balls life with SCI tends to throw.
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sailboat on water Just remember: acceptance doesn’t mean dropping your anchor wherever you are in your recovery today. It means embracing where you are, in case you’ve reached your physical plateau, but keeping your optimistic sails open, not to miss even the gentlest breeze of progression.

While my body hasn’t fully evidenced what I’m believing, I’ll continue working toward it, believing that I’ll see it…with a finger up in the wind!

 

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Happiness Is A Choice

It’s no secret; I’m as much of a shut-in as you can be. Not as in being a hermit, because I love having friends and family come for visits in my home, but predominately from repercussions of disability. In light of my circumstances, someone recently asked what keeps me happy; what brings me happiness?

There are a myriad of things that bring me happiness. (You can enjoy many of my other delights in Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html .) But today’s happy topic is my cats.

I’ve had all three of my cats since my SCI, so they think it’s totally normal to live from a wheelchair; although, only two of them take advantage of 24/7 lap privilege.

They make me laugh many times a day at their crazy antics, cute faces, quirky behaviors, and expected responses. They are so-o-o predictable. Aside from the mere joys of having a pet, they’re also good for my health. Laughter is always good for what ails me, and stroking my pets lowers blood pressure.

Did you know that animals provide us with similar social support as people do? Although just like people, my cats sometimes make me cuss!

I know. I know. I’m trying to quit. But I promise I’m making progress. Recently, I was telling my sister about something frustrating that had happened. I don’t remember if it was something I had dropped, broken, or spilled OR if it was the day my 21½ year old female feline pranced, with intention, into my bedroom, raised her fluffy tail, and peed on an antique oriental rug.

Anyway, as a response to my dismay, she asked if I cussed. When I proudly remembered that I hadn’t, she said, “Wow, that would have been the right time to.” So much for my support system!

In my sixty-odd years of loving and observing animals, I know they have the capacity to understand and obey instruction (and disobey), retain good and bad memories thus, make associations, communicate with each other and us, if we choose to listen and observe.

For example, one day when all three of my felines were in the same room with me, I said something to Ciati, my only female. She looked at me, as usual, but the boys looked at her. I already knew that each knew their own name, but I hadn’t witnessed them knowing each others’ name. This new data called for a name-recognition survey.

I addressed Fred by name and said what a good boy he was. As usual, Fred looked up at me then, Ciati and Laptop looked at him. Oh-h-h!
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I took my experiment all the way. I called Laptop by name and told him he was also a good boy. Laptop looked at me, and Fred and Ciati looked at him. So-o-o cute! How smart! But then, why shouldn’t they know each other’s name. I call them by name a dozen times a day:

“My boy, Fred.” “Fred’s a handsome boy.” “Fred Astaire!”

“I love my Laptop.” “Laptop’s a good boy.” “Bad behavior, Laptop!”

“Ciati’s a pretty girl.” “Ciati’s my best girl.” “Ciati!”

A secondary reason for my happiness is from a choice to forget offenses, forgive, and look for rainbows during the rain. Sure, there are occasional disability downers, but they pass. I don’t let bad memories spoil my happiness. I’ve chosen to cast them to the wind. In fact, I’m a firm believer that Saturn’s rings comprise bad memories, the other sock, and ALL my unintentionally deleted emails, articles, messages, and manuscripts. I’m a very, very, VERY happy girl!

What’s your ‘happy pill?’

 

 

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Conditional Pause

Well, pressure mapping has taken a back seat for a more pressing de-tail. (I’m holding up my LAUGHTER card.)

Ever hear of someone wit SCI bending their coccyx while seated? Now, you have. That’s what I did. After sitting in a wheelchair for 36+ years with osteoporosis, it was found that the stress pressure on my spine had bowed my coccyx, making a posterior misalignment. Then, when getting into bed the evening after being bumped and slung around in a transport van to a doctor’s appointment, I felt my tailbone move further out of line, to the left, to the left (as Beyoncé sings); and it bulged. Ouch!

Although my SCI doctor suspected a stress fracture, the previous week’s x rays had shown no spinal breaks. Now, with the pain from a new issue, she advised me to get a cat scan which would definitely show even the least fracture, and the condition of my tailbone. In addition, I had my sister take pictures of my out-standing coccyx to send to my doctor. (My doctor’s nurse and I have become really close.) Thus, began a week’s bed rest for a suspected deep tissue breakdown that she (my doctor) miraculously spotted on my fanny pic! There were 2 problems with the doctor’s orders.

The first problem was: I couldn’t sit up; much less get into a car! The only solution to have my condition checked was to call an ambulance for a non-emergency transport.

The second problem was: no insurance. Digging deep wasn’t going to help. This non- emergency screamed, “Emergency plastic card!” $714.86 worth! Again, OUCH! But, there was a silver lining in this cloud.

Our local ambulance is through Northstar Paramedic Services or Northstar Emergency Medical Services (NEMS). Weston Bolen, an AEMT, and Ben Patrick, an EMT, arrived in the Basic Life Support (BLS) ambulance. (To forestall assumptions of doom and gloom, I had already called my nearest neighbors to inform them that it was merely a matter with my butt, bû-tá, derriére, badonkadonk, arse.)

Anyway, these two young men could not have been more professional. They were compassionate and understanding of my directions to circumvent added pain from my disability, gentle in the lifts, transfers, and rolling transports on the Ferno stretcher, while being patient and congenial during the wait.

I enjoyed them so much that I wanted to invite them in for dinner, but I couldn’t sit up, and they were still on duty. Wes and Ben, thank you!
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The bad news is: the cat scan showed nothing different than the previous xrays showed. AND, after 2 ½ weeks of bed rest, my coccyx bowed further. How can that be!

Pressure mapping has been delayed until March.

Wondering what condition my condition is in?

It’s conditional.

Has anyone else experienced this?

R.S.V.P.

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Wheelchair Combat

In its 10th year, I’m highlighting the best SCI site ever: Apparelyzed! (I have it listed under my Blogroll as “SCI Specific,” and its link will always be included in my Wednesday Weekly newsletter, “Chariot Notes.” A click will take you there.) With its 19,000+ worldwide membership, every nationality, religion or not, profession, orientation, and mentality is represented in its diversity. Simon, the creator and mastermind, ROCKS and rolls, like the rest of us.

I am a fairly new member. If you, a family member or friend have any type spinal cord injury (SCI), you will want to take a look at its offerings: varied forums to exchange pertinent aspects of SCI, personal discussions on the emotional and physical frustrations of living with a SCI, current research for a cure, explanations/definitions of SCI involvement, and just an understanding place to vent. You can also send private messages to other members or go to the chat room. It’s free and moderated daily.

I have met a lot of talented writers and bloggers there. Along with a few member’s blogs, today’s post is a short excerpt from Big D, a disturbed mind compiling his twisted-sci-fi-wheelchair-combat-post-epocalyptic-world-still-evolving short story. Brace yourself!

“Due to globalization and a deadly contagion that quickly spread out of control, billions of humans have died, and earth is now a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Very few humans are left, and the ones that are have been afflicted with a spinal virus that paralyzes anywhere from the neck down. The only remaining humans are all in wheelchairs. Some are paras, some are quads, and resources are scarce.

These survivors exist in two different colonies, and war has begun using power chairs equipped with treads and machine guns…sip and puff missile launchers…armored chairs and Kevlar backrests…wheels with flamethrowers on them…handicap accessible fortresses, and towers with elevators…suicide bombing service dogs…catheter rations…oxycodone by the thousands…electric chairs for torture/interrogation…gillie chairs for camouflage with sniper rifles attached to the side guards; an evolving breed of wheelchair ninjas.”

Aren’t you glad to be alive NOW! Can you imagine these futuristic encampments with turbo-boosted wheelchair convoys lead by Terminator, Ironman, Rambo, and GI Jane? Get me out of there; unless they’re protecting me!

What a concept! What an imagination!

Here are a few varied-themed blogs from the APPARELYZED site:

http://www.basketcasecomix.com  Kelly’s comics/art

http://joesstone.blogsport.com/ Joe’s active activities

http://www.rollingphotography.us Doug’s amazing photography
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http://www.shakacost…aptive-surfing/ surfing camp in Costa Rico for disabled children

http://shootingwithstillfingers.blogspot.com/ ocean lover’s musings

tingletetra.blogspot.co.uk  Her perspectives on SCI

http://vjm1980.blogspot.com/?m=1 Vicky’s quirky ramblings on life with a SCI

Take a click.

P.S. In next Friday’s post “Conditional Pause,” I’ll catch you up on my AWOL.

 

 

 

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AWOL for a bit

I’m preoccupied with W-A-Y overdue SCI physical examinations and pressure mapping for the best cushion and wheelchair for whatever ails me, as well as getting this website completed. Minimally, I got it up-and-running for weekly posts; now, I’m putting on the finishing touches for you.
I may be silent for a bit, but will be back with a nibble from a crazy friend’s sci-fi novel of a wheelchair revolution, along with a few other blogs you may enjoy!
For now, click around my musings for something that interests you, and tell me what you’re thinking.
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Until…

 

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I Can Hear With My Eyes Closed

Although it sounds like one, this title is not a “Yogi-ism.” Periodically, don’t we all think like this: that we know more than we do because we’re blind to our offensive behaviors; especially when in the throes of a disabling adjustment?  Where is the disconnect?

I think we can be so self-deluded that we perceive our weaknesses as strengths and our ignorance as wisdom. You don’t know what you don’t know, right? These are our blind spots.

For example: When I moved to Alabama after my SCI, I believed my arrogance was confidence.  It took a friend to tell me, “Cynthia, you think you are God’s gift to Tuscaloosa, but you’re the turd in the punch bowl.” OUCH!

Here me now: If you don’t learn humility, you will be the burr under someone’s saddle and a lot of buckin’ will be goin’ on! Relationships get broken by this rodeo habit.

Un-deniably, our families and long-time friends see us through glasses of our past encumbrances, and hear our weaknesses through ear trumpets[1] (or Bluetooth if you’re technologically current), blind and deaf to the positive progressive changes.

Why? Because they’ve been there observing us through our childhood and adolescent stupidities, poor decisions, irresponsible words, and adult hang-ups.

It takes seven positives to negate one negative. That takes a lot of work; for what?  A family member to ask accusatively concerning positive change in your life, “When did YOU start blah-blah-blahing?” You know, as well as I do, that family suffers short-term memory loss but are champions of long-term memories. Just sayin’….

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It’s difficult enough keeping open communication and trying not to offend in a “normal” relationship. So, what to do when tragedy strikes you or one you love, specifically with SCI?

It isn’t easy and it isn’t simple. It may be complex but it shouldn’t be complicated. (Go to Webster for definitions if you’re puzzled.) When things start to become complicated in my life, I re-evaluate my plan, my intention, and/or my motivation.

Since “it takes a village” for me to independently live my life, if someone who volunteers to help in some capacity has a conflict, or arrangements aren’t squaring up, or I judge that something isn’t important enough to do at that time, I cancel the plan. My wants do not trump another’s ease of living. Too much inconvenience is TOO MUCH.

There are always considerations when living with a disability. Keep your eyes and ears open. Like the title implies, many times there are discrepancies between what we THINK we see and what we THINK we hear.

Open your eyes. It facilitates hearing the truth.

[1] Ear trumpets showed up in the 17th century. (Beethoven used them in his hearing decline.) Because of the stigma associated to old age, they were hidden in fans, walking sticks, and even camouflaged in jewelry.

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When Reality Bites

I’m a dreamer and a visionary. Some call me unrealistic; I’m creative and think out-of-the-box. Some say I’m too particular. I’m an unrelenting doer aka stubborn; and a rebel, because I’m not tied to the status quo.  Since living with a SCI, my body also has a mind of its own.

There are days that my fingers rebel–they don’t want to bend, grip, or squeeze. For those times, I’m realistic. I keep plastic glasses and unbreakable dishes, go without make-up, dress in something that goes over my head, struggle with hygiene issues, and drop LOTS of things.

When my fingers are cooperative, my hands decide to drop what my fingers want to hold, like my litter scooper. That’s when it’s easier waiting 24 hours to, literally, “pick up” hardened clumps of litter from the litter box than to scoop them.

On any of these given days when my reality bites (ramifications of disability), or the day thereafter, you will find one or more of the following items strewn on the floor throughout my home: magazines, books, pens with their to-do list or notebook, pillows, dental picks, my hair brush, my cat groomer, broken glass, scattered espresso grounds with brown streaks of espresso running down my cabinet (and brown wheelchair tracks when I forget they are there); even a meal, partially dried and thoroughly stuck to the floor under my oven. C’est la vie! (That’s life!) Or, that’s (only a SMALL part of) my life.

To add insult to injury, I used to be a neat freak; still am, somewhat. To keep my sanity, and sense of humor, I’ve learned to let go (pun intended) of what I can’t control. That doesn’t mean that I don’t cuss, cry, or throw something in frustration. It simply means: I push on. Quitting isn’t an option. (Read the “I quit. No, wait. Never mind.” chapter in my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , for expensive frustrations!)

You can call me unrealistic, particular, stubborn, and/or a rebel. I don’t mind; you’ve a right to your opinion. But…

I KNOW: Thinking out-of-the-box to solve daily limitations and their frustrations instead of complaining about my circumstance, has brought me contentment and peace.
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I KNOW: Being persistent and determined to live as independently as possible instead of expecting someone else to take care of me, has given me that independence. I’m grateful for it.

I KNOW: In respecting my life and well-being more than fearing other’s judgement of how I live it, I am gratefully responsible for, and happily free to reach, my potential.

I KNOW: As a result of dreaming and believing in my abilities instead of succumbing to a disability, I’m living my purpose.

Are you?

When reality bites, bite back…with a bulldog grip!

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Dear Family,

I don’t have many disabled friends, although time and again, friends and friends-of-friends give me numbers to call of people adjusting to a disability, disease, or illness. In addition to living with a disability, my counseling experience seems the perfect fit. I can listen with an empathetic ear, answer personal questions, and offer practical solutions for daily living. Before moving away, one of these women became a dear friend.

She was a go-getter. Obstacles were met with determination. She thought of tomorrow as the result of what she made of today. She was, and I’m sure she still is, a trooper. We lost touch after she and her husband moved. It was fun with the both of us rolling around together in our homes. I hadn’t been in a room full of wheelchairs since rehab!

From all the conversations getting to know my comrades-on-wheels, with the exclusion of my friend Julie, this is what I’ve found: Most succumbed to disability.

Understandably, they were faced with the drastic lifestyle change. And, the added stress of dashed dreams, the uncertainty of tomorrow, and pressure to adjust before the impact of the new reality had sunk in, brought an emotional tailspin—depression. This is when family is most important, although it was their families that seemed to be the insurmountable barrier to their emotional freedom and physical independence.

Caustic remarks fueled emotional eruptions. Innuendos, hints, and sarcastic tones of unspoken resentments from care-giving family members were destructive to all; particularly, the ones with broken wings. They couldn’t fly away to safety, and healing. They were sentenced to flop around and be pecked by unkindnesses.

The saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” is untrue. Words wound, as well.

Family should be a safe environment nurturing us back into a productive life. Even so, it’s difficult for you who love us to stand back and watch the struggle—dressing, feeding, wheeling ourselves—when you could easily do it for us. But, we must be allowed the struggles. This not only increases our endurance but also our confidence toward independence.
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Independence requires we care for ourselves, apply make-up, or shave. Adjustment asks for time for our doubts and confusion to settle. In time, we gain confidence on the slippery slope of acceptance toward a healthy adjustment. Please encourage us to hope, to make plans for a new future. When the time comes, we will have learned we will be okay on our own. After all, this is true for anyone.

We don’t like feeling helpless. We don’t like feeling we’re a burden. Help us be neither.

We are aware that it’s a difficult adjustment for you. We do know you’re suffering, as well. Your dreams for and with us have been altered. You miss the way we were. You feel guilty because you do. It’s natural. It’s okay. You have your own adjustment. Together, we can do it.

Once we gain emotional freedom, prove our independence, and begin to laugh again, you can push us around.  We’ll accept a freebie, any day.

THANK YOU!

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My Pearl

I want to take you on an historic walk along the scenic ocean shore. Please, bear with my analogies. (I could have said “Bare with…” which means “get naked”…do what you will to get in the mood:))

It has never been my thing to talk a lot, particularly about myself. Solitude is, and has been, my oyster shell. Solitude remains a harboring place and cultivating bay for me.

 

Still waters

The sands of time have rudely, but mercifully, exfoliated the overgrowth of barnacles and parasites that have tried to infect the pearl God so caringly implanted inside me. In spite of or because of these rhythmic disturbances in my cultivation, my pearl has finally been harvested. It remains in the polishing stage, but its color and luster are appearing.

My voice, silenced since childhood, is my pearl. And like a ventriloquist, I talk with my hands; more specifically, my middle finger. NO, I’m not talking birds; I type with my middle finger.

I’m a slow southern talker of about 8 words a minute. I’ve been talking steadily for a while now but am still treading water in this social media thing. My cyber synapses are sparking to catch up with my speedy Gonzales fingers. ARRIBA!
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My first book has been out since June, and I’m tweaking my second. My first children’s book will be out late winter or first of the year. I post each Friday on this blog, AND the first week of each month, I update at www.facebook.com/ConversationsWithCynthia. I’m going to talk your eyes out of your head.

Of course, you can’t “like” my first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, until you actually read it. You can PURCHASE it at http://booklocker.com/books/6235.htmlthen, let’s talk.

Please leave me a comment or review after my June 21, 2012 article, “Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity IS HERE!”

Talk to you soon.

 

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Soul Soaring

What weighs 110-115 deadweight pounds and is shackled to the earth by 30 pounds of metal? ME!

I used to love leg wrestling; and I was good, weighing in at only 105 pounds. I never studied or was trained in wrestling techniques; I just knew how to take another off-balance. It’s at the waist—the center of gravity. As long as I could get one of their legs from under their center of gravity, it was my match. Whether scuffling in the yard or in water (pool, ocean, lake, or swimming hole), it made no difference, except for the landing; which brings me back to deadweight.

Thefreedictionary.com defines deadweight as, “The unrelieved weight of a heavy, motionless mass.” Yes. Motionless? Yeah, except for my Scream 5-ish open-mouth/empty eyes, ghostly white face go-i-n-g  d-o-w-n. THUD! Early on, I even did a “motionless” face-plant into my dinner plate, stimulated from a back spasm. I’m sure a couple of you resemble that.

Let’s, for a minute, cast our deadweight aside, lift-off in our weightless imaginations, and go soul-soaring. Let’s

…silently hang glide with eagles aloft cool mountain currents over verdant valleys below. Listen to the whistling wind as it strokes your hair and kisses your face.

…swish down steep powder trails on air-spring knees with ski-pole’s rhythmic propulsion and metronome timing as silent ice crystals melt on your face and crown your toboggan.

…glide silently beneath the frigid water’s surface gently tossed in its oscillating ebb and flow. Soak in voyeuristic vistas of fish’s synchronized movements as you fluidly float among them, hearing only your Darth Vader-ish breathe in surround-sound.

…with tight grip, slalom on a tranquil mornings’ smooth-as-glass cool lake waters, whose only ripple is the boat’s wake.

…take a running leap off a crusty lichen-covered boulder into the still lake thirty feet below, dropping deep, and deeper into its black abyss. Feel your chest swell as you pull the waters down to propel your body up. When you finally burst through the liquid cocoon’s surface, you gasp in depleted air!

…rise up from sweltering beach towel sunbathing to bolt across blistering foot-scorching sands. Dive into the shimmering ocean’s cooling waters.

…meditatively sit on a smooth protruding rock along the seashore. Close your eyes as crashing waves explode their exfoliating salt on your already sticky skin. Tune in to squawking seagulls soaring above the ocean’s roar. Open your eyes. Watch as they dive-bomb through the water’s surface for their favorite fare.

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…lay back on a fallen tree trunk within an autumn leaves-blanketed wood. Shhh! Listen to the rustlings of scampering squirrels playing chase, the distant call of a hawk for its mate, and the watchful doe with her fawn.

Or, feel

…the heat of summer’s sun on your skin,

…the soothing warmth of bath water or its sting on your sun-burned skin,

…melting ice cool your overheated body,

…chill-bumps,

…a mosquito bite.

Now, go back to one of these never experienced sports, a long forgotten sensation, or your favorite activity. In your mind, dwell there for an expanse of time, as the morning sun rises or evening’s sun sets, in your favorite season, alone or with a special someone. It’s your story. You’re the writer, director, cinematographer, and star.

Let your soul soar, often. It’s good for you.