Tag: optimism

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SCI and The Law of Possibility

At one time or another, most of us have used a crutch or have used something as a ‘crutch.’ Whether as a prop or for support, I think when our lives are newly interrupted by disability, denial is as good a crutch as a crutch.

In the beginning—the first ten years—I used it (denial) to my advantage. I wasn’t going to be in a wheelchair the rest of my life and tried to live as if I were still able-bodied; but, obviously, needed help because of my disability. Others telling me how I inspired them wasn’t a help. My wake-up call, out of denial’s slumber, was realizing my pride and stubbornness.

Yes, I charged back into work, and being independent, but I look back at the foolishness of thinking I was more capable than I was, putting myself, and others, at risk.

There were several falls: a back flip off the toilet, a nose-plant onto my pantry floor, a “…tilt me over and pour me out” in my carport, and a semi-twirl off my back porch. The law of universal gravitation is especially cruel to those of us with effected muscular function/responses. Dead weight falls hard. Why hasn’t someone invented an ‘Iron Man’-like rocket boost for wheelchairs?

Anyway, the most dangerous denial was ignoring signs of autonomic dysreflexia (also known as hyperreflexia). http://calder.med.miami.edu/pointis/automatic.html

Autonomic dysreflexia in the SCI has numerous stimuli but most commonly results from an extended bladder or UTI (urinary tract infection), over-exposure in hot weather, constipation, and pain. I would ignore symptoms until a rocketing blood pressure-induced migraine escalated into distorted s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n speech, always requiring emergency assistance. If not treated, stroke, coma, and death can result.

Time, experience, and gained confidence work out the need for ‘crutches,’ but facing the truth on the wings of hope deals with denial.

Whether we improve physically or not, emotionally we can get better, day by day. If you lean on a crutch in the transition, that’s okay. If you’re honestly seeking to fit the puzzle pieces together for adjustment, this fellow SCI even recommends it. A little propping up, a little assistive support, goes a long way on the flight of optimism.
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After all these years, those initial ailments have either changed or improved. More importantly, I’ve become wiser dealing with new ones.

I’ve learned: that opportunities are peeking out from under every weight of limitation, and that some things are “in our head:” Possibilities.

“The Law of Possibility:” the unaffected space of weightlessness in the aerodynamic mind where possibilities abound, and gravity has no influence!

 

 

 

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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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Make My Day

I have lived happily, independently, and triumphantly from my chariot (wheelchair) for thirty-six years now. I have worked as a speech and language pathologist with special children, dabbled in interior design, designed and built my wonderfully accessible home, hosted a multitude of international exchange students (You can read about them in the “Bless This Home” chapter of my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html.), counseled teens and young women in a life coach capacity (as well as boosting their self-confidence through make-over workshops), ran an antiques home gallery, and design(ed) jewelry.

When it comes to entertainment, beauty, and joy, I’m a low-maintenance kind-of-girl. I am entertained by a good book, an old movie, or stimulating conversations. I find beauty in the simple yet magnificent pleasures–all my little sanctuary’s animal, mineral and vegetable gifts, nature’s seasonal raiment, and sunshine. I live a blessed life.

Routinely, the first delight of my day begins by feeding and loving on my 3 cats. Everyone is hungry, wants to play, be brushed, and have one-on-one time.

Once satisfied, the boys–Fred Astaire and Laptop–scamper onto the screened-in porch to relish nature’s activities. Before hitting the office to write and research, or whatever else is on the day’s agenda, I have my espresso and spend more time with Ciati, my only female feline. (Picture in memory. Ciati transitioned to Heaven’s rosemary fields–her favorite–at 22 years spry)

Then, there are the occasional days my body requires extra TLC (with my Young Living essential oils) from over-worked muscles. On such a day this week, a monstrous house spider (Sorry, God. I do not, not, NOT like spiders.) blatantly crept into my kitchen.

I’m OCD about spiders. I know they are uninvited pests in everyone’s home. I’m fine with “out-of-sight…” Though, when I do see one, I do not allow it out of my sight until I have read its rights…or, I’ll just say, “The last thing on its mind is reading material.”

With focused contempt, I scanned the room for a book or magazine to drop on it, which is exactly what I did. SPLAT!
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Whether with a bow-and-arrow, shotgun, handgun, or horseshoes, I was an excellent shot. I may not manually hold any of the above at this time, but I can still  judge speed and distance.

It requires skill and strategy to heave the written word in such a way that it lands horizontally on a scurrying target. This takes the printing “press” to a whole ‘nother level. Agree?

Even though I wasn’t up to par, and that spider stealthily deliberated its exodus, I assuredly dared, with squinted eyes and a frown, “Make my day.”

It did! I felt much better.

 

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Living With A Disability

How do you, live with a disability? I think we live as any regular person lives, though a little differently.

I advanced my education after my car wreck. Instead of walking, I rolled to my classes. Later, I was hired as a speech and language pathologist in a school for special children. Due to the diversity of speech and language disorders, I scheduled much of my caseload in individual sessions, or as one-on-ones.

On a particular day, this seven year old, who didn’t want to be in school, decided his session was over. I saw it coming; he had previously used me as target practice with a metal toy truck (one of several vehicles) I was using to teach vocabulary for modes of transportation.

Seated across the table in front of me, he rose from his chair—wearing the face I knew so well—and backed across the room until he reached the wall, never once breaking eye contact with me or even acknowledging my request to return to his seat. Challenging me, he stood firm.

I backed from under the table and wheeled left toward its end. Before I could round the table to guide him back to his seat, he ran to the table’s right end. I backed up and headed toward the right end. He scurried back to the left, never taking his eyes off me.

I knew I could not win this stand-off. I rolled over to the intercom, buzzed the principal’s office, and requested his audience, by name. Instantaneously, David had a change of heart, breaking the sound barrier to get into his chair. After that incident, I was assigned an aide for a couple of my unruly students.

With this one exception, children have always shown a compassionate understanding of my disability. I never had children, but I sat for everyone else’s.
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When I requested that they not go upstairs, outside, or anywhere that I couldn’t be with them, they complied. Since I couldn’t pick them up, I taught them the two-step-climb up into my lap. This was a multi-purpose skill, not only for reading stories, or to love on them, but also to assist them onto my dining room table to change a dirty diaper. Yes, it’s a little unorthodox (I always sterilized the table surface afterward.), but the joy was the same, and the job was accomplished.

With children, here are two perks of having a parent, sibling, or friend, living with a disability. The first is: They can develop early language skills because we talk them through most developmental tasks, i.e., learning to dress, and give directions for performance abilities (keeping their rooms straight and floors clear of toys; if not, we can’t step over things to put them to bed.).

The second is: Their confidence and independence—doing things for themselves, and us—set them up for success, as well as nourishing a sensitivity and consideration for all others.

I think we do rather well living with a disability, thank you very much.

Remember, R.S.V.P.