Right to Die?

It's one thing to sit in the living room and debate living wills, assisted suicide, and medical treatment at the end of life.

It's one thing to recognize that medical technology can extend life when it ought not do so.

But how do we avoid "assisted suicide" (aka, murder) while also avoiding unnecessarily prolonging the life of someone who is suffering and dying?  Sometimes it's very hard for those who value life to make sense of when to stop providing life-prolonging treatment for a loved one.

Lutherans for Life has a page about "advance directives."  One statement is especially helpful:

The problem we see in the so-called "right to die" movement is that there is a shift in the discussion.  Instead of discussing whether a treatment is excessively burdensome to a person -- that is, whether it is doing more harm than good -- more and more people are discussing whether the person is a burden.  They advocate removing or stopping treatment with the intent of killing the person.

That's the crux of it.
Is the treatment excessively burdensome to the patient?
Or is the patient a burden to the caregivers and society?

Furthermore, "burdensome to the patient" is not about quality of life so much as it is about whether the treatment "does more harm than good."

Brain Aneurysm Foundation

Gary tuned the radio to the ball game last night.  As I was falling asleep, a commercial grabbed my attention.  "Gary, did you hear that?  There's a Brain Aneurysm Foundation!  I never knew that."  Well, he did.  He said he used the website a lot in my ICU days.

I grabbed his iPad and started reading.  I was up far too late.  But reading the stories -- it was so compelling.  I told myself that I was just reading to see if any of the stories mentioned arachnoiditis.  But had I not given myself that excuse, I still probably would've kept reading far into the night.  Or morning....

The statistics page tells me that I'm in a small group of those who have only a small impairment.

Most people who seek help for aneurysms do so because of terrible headaches.  If people have "the most horrible headache of their life" that may be reason to seek help in ER.  On the other hand, many people have no warning signs of aneurysm.  While in the hospital, I thought (based on questions from doctors) that I had had no warning signs.  I hadn't suffered from freaky-bad headaches.  I didn't smoke.  My blood pressure was beautiful.  I didn't have the normal signs of stroke: weakness in a limb, uneven smile, blurred vision, slurred speech.  But it turns out that pain above or behind the eye is a sign of aneurysm.  That had been going on for more than half a year, and I hadn't recognized it as anything serious.  I was concerned about glaucoma and went for an eye exam.  Of course it turned out my eyeball was fine.  So I ignored the occasional pain.



Reading people's stories -- oh, how those resonated with me!

People talked about fear whenever a headache started.  "Is this going to be another humongous thing?  Will my brain explode again?"

People talked about how life is divided into the "before aneurysm" and "after aneurysm" times.

Robin wrote, "No matter how normal we may seem, believe us when we say we don't feel normal."

It's helped to read about how others mourned and grieved over the loss of "the old me." 

People mentioned how they run their finger over the scar.  It seems weird to me to touch the incision site, to feel the dent in my skull.  But I do it nearly every day.

Nobody mentioned arachnoiditis.  One man did mention a spinal tap to relieve the problem of blood pooling and contaminating the cerebral spinal fluid.  

One survivor wrote about "flat affect."  She said the doctor told her that she was likely to feel uncaring, to feel emotionally unresponsive.  I've experienced that.  Gary was so glad when my eyes teared for joy when Paul and Mandy announced they were expecting a baby.  Emotions are beginning to return.

People talked about having unrealistic expectations of themselves.  They would try to do what they used to be able to do, thinking they could (or should) be able to accomplish what used to be easy.  But they couldn't.

Survivors talked about memory lapses.  They said they'd stop in the middle of sentences to search for a lost word.  (And yes, I know that's part of aging and we all deal with it.  This is more, though.)  People talked about slower processing, and how reading or listening must be slower for me to be able to understand.  (I noticed that online training at work took me a lot longer this year than it did pre-stroke.)

Patients reflected on whether they wanted other people to know about the brain trauma.  On the one hand, sometimes people know about it and treat you differently.  Some patients don't want that stigma hanging over them: Brain-Injured Person.  On the other hand, when people around you don't know about the brain trauma, the patient so often feels compelled to explain ... to apologize for being "the post-stroke me" who is not as efficient or strong or smart or witty as I was previously.

Gabriele wrote about this apologizing, realizing that sometimes she was ashamed of the "after-me."  She wrote about needing to take more notes, make more lists, slow down, and ask for help.  It was interesting to read this after yesterday's Bible class, where Pastor talked about our tendency to long for olden days, "better days."  But the Christian life is in receiving and giving -- in that order.   We always want to be the ones giving/doing.  But sometimes we need to be in the position of having others help us, others give to us, as they serve Christ by caring for us.  Gabriele wrote about a Lent-2 sermon (Gen 12) which referred to Abram's being "banished to the promise."  We usually think that banishment is from.  But she talked about being banished to God's mercy.  That fits with what Pastor talked about, how we are not to repristinate bygone days, but live where we are, today, receiving God's mercy and His gifts, and living in love toward the neighbor that we have today. 

Lobotomy

My brain changed. 

Gary and I have noticed that, since my brain injury, I've been less emotional.  I don't cry anymore.  Well, let's say I don't blubber anymore. There have been occasional times where a tear or two might be shed.  This is weird, although not exactly unwelcome.

Last night he showed me a website with optical illusions.  For one trick, you stare at a picture's negative for 15 seconds, and then the positive image appears next to it.  It didn't work for me.  I did try a colored one this morning -- one that's in our set of old-fashioned encyclopedias (book form instead of Wiki).  That illusion worked, but not as well as it used to.

There was another illusion that Gary thought was mega-cool.  He showed it to me.  It was nifty and sparkly and kind of freaked you out how it worked.  But after a few seconds, there was a sharp, stabbing pain in my brain. 

Last year I could not watch the fireworks in summer.  After the first one went off, I had to get away immediately; the pain was intense and I thought my head would explode.  I don't know how much healing I've had and what this summer's firework displays will do to my brain.

Maggie and I decided my "Test of Tears" will be when I watch Something the Lord Made.  If I can watch that with only a few tears, we will have proof positive that my aneurysm blow-up was also a lobotomy.

Anniversary

The doctor has been telling me all along, "You're still healing.  You have to give yourself a full year."

Okay.  It's been a year now.

Changes to learn to live with:
~ sciatica
~ need for an extra two hours of sleep per night
~ headaches when I overdo
~ a perpetual infection that needs to be kept to a minimum
~ introversion has been greatly magnified
~ walking slower 
~ easier to get rashes and sunburn
~ fuzzy-brainedness (that irritates Gary when I complain of it because he says I still have a better memory and thinking ability than most people ... which doesn't make it any easier for me to adjust to)

BUT ...
I'm talking, driving, going to work, and able to do pretty much whatever I did before (except that I must do So Much Less of it.)

Mom's Escapades

When a frail woman's walker meets a snag on the parking lot, at the same time a gust of wind pushes at her, the results are not happy. 

My mom fell last week.  She was unresponsive.  The trauma team's first concern was the bleeding in her head.  Second concern was getting her on dialysis.  They finally got around to a feeding tube, both for nutrition and some critical daily medicine that's available orally but not for IV's.  For the first few days there were some brief periods of mumbled speech and quasi-awareness.  But after three days she finally began to wake up.  That's also how long it took us to convince the doctors to take x-rays to check for a broken hip. "Our first concern is the head trauma."  Right, guys.  And that's been stabilized, so quit poo-pooing her excruciating pain and check for broken bones.

After two days of her "being here" again, delirium set in.  My brother finally convinced the doctors to treat the infection she had begun prior to the fall, the infection which was the reason for taking Mom out to the doctor last week, which was when she fell. 

Mom is lucid again and has improved enough to leave ICU.


At one point last week, when she was first beginning to wake up and there was great pain from being repositioned, Mom said, "Jesus died for me.  That's all that matters.  He died for me.  That's the big thing."  Yes.

And when I was remarking on her doozy of a black eye, I suggested that she looked like she'd been in a fight.  "A fight with the sidewalk," she mumbled.  Yes.  I agreed.  Mom quipped, "The sidewalk won."  Ah, a sense of humor peeking out from behind all those injuries!

"Because You're Feeble"

I took something to work today, something that is a little heavy and a little clumsy-to-carry.  One of my co-workers said, "Don't you carry that upstairs!"  I asked why not.  "Because you're ... well ... feeble."  I laughed.  I carried it upstairs.  But the comment touched my heart.

I guess I put on a good front as far as healing.  Friends see me go to church.  They know I go to work.  Apparently I look "good as new."  But I'm not.  I'm limited.  I must rest.  It's easy for me to overdo and then end up with repercussions.  Sometimes I am frustrated by offers of "help" to accomplish something, when the Real Help would be a simple acceptance of my "No, I cannot do that."  I have to beat myself up quite enough to say no to commitments (work or fun!); when people question my "no" it's so much harder to stick to my guns about what's necessary for my health.

So it's all warm-&-fuzzy when people at work make allowances, when they occasionally offer to let me do some sit-down work while they stand and wait on customers, when they try to intercept me before I do something that they think might be too much for me.  Mushy though it be, these simple acts make my heart swell with joy and thankfulness!

Doctors and therapists said to give myself at

least a year before I could even begin to expect

be back-to-normal.  And it hasn't been a year yet.

 

Besides, as I learned in September, it's  important

to allow for "margin."  If I hover Just This Side of

"too much," one mishap shoves me over the edge.

  And that results in pain and illness that I really

don't want to deal with.

Hooray for Antibiotics!

Avoiding doctors and hospitals is high on my priority list.  If I can cure something with sleep and herbs and garlic instead of with a bottle-of-something-from-Walgreens, I'm gonna try. 

That said, doctors and modern medicine can do aMAZing things!! If it weren't for her surgeons, Maggie wouldn't be alive. If it weren't for my surgeons last spring, I wouldn't be walking, talking, driving, and going to work any more. And just this past week, a granddaughter ended up in the hospital. From a splinter. A lousy little splinter that appeared to been removed easily and cleaned up just fine at the time. A century ago, kiddo may have died from that splinter and ensuing infection and how it was trying to spread. But in 2015, it's [cough] "no big deal." A bit o' minor surgery to clean the wound. Antibiotics pumped straight into her blood. Just one night as an in-patient. And thus Jesus cures her!

Update

Gary worked on the garage floor, cleaning it, filling in the rotting cement so that it just begins to smooth out a bit, and painting the floor.  A few more years of diligent upkeep and we might remedy the pitiful state the floor was in when we bought the house.  It looks SO much better already.


Can't seem to get the house cleaned.  Garden isn't put to bed either.

Maggie and I keep plugging away at some schoolwork.  I haven't gotten her to a second volunteer-job yet, though, which was high on the priority-list for this school year.

I was ill last week.  Now that I'm off the antibiotics, I suspect the problem may be returning.  I'm trying to do everything I can to fight it.  But I suspect my immune system is more compromised than I thought.  It may be a long, vitamin-C-filled, achy, garlicky, lazy winter.  It's so hard to know when you should plow stolidly ahead and when you should cry "uncle" and just stop and rest. 

Everybody thinks I've recovered better than I have.  I hate saying "no," especially when I want to assist with the projects that need to be done.   I guess I'm faking Adequacy well enough that people expect me to be back to normal.

Three new babies this week for friends.  And an engagement.  And a friend released from the hospital.  So much happy news out there!

Now that sunset is earlier, the huge glass windows at work have become mirror-like at the end of the day.  I didn't realize until yesterday how much I'd been avoiding looking in mirrors.  So many people have complimented my short haircut.  I've been told that it's chic, trendy, cute, becoming, and a bevy of other nice adjectives.  Nevertheless, I still don't like it.  But that's been okay because I seldom see myself.  Now at work, I can't avoid facing up to my super-short haircut. 

I started watching the series "Doc Martin."  LUVving it!   Thanks to Lora for recommending it!

Right now I'm reading a biography of a guy who suffered a brain injury and became a synesthete.  For some reason, the book is beginning to creep me out.  I can't figure out why, but it really bothers me that he insists there is no such thing as a circle; he sees everything as angles, squares, triangles.  He pretty much sees everything as pixelated.  And I believe there are circles.  It seems theological to me, and I can't pin down why.  I'm glad Maggie and I are still enjoying the joy of Anne books, and that I'm still not done with the Mitford books.  Katie suggested that I'm spoiled by the lovely books and don't have patience with most of what's available these days.  She's right.

One of those serendipitous homeschooling things:  Maggie and I have a few different things going for school right now that hit on worldviews and how macro-evolution has affected so much in academia.  We keep bumping into the same thing from different perspectives.  That probably adds to my impatience with waste-o-time books and movies.  There's so much in the world that is good and beautiful -- let's enjoy them instead of [ahem] facing reality. 

Signed,
the ostrich

Arachnoiditis

When a brain aneurysm ruptures, blood mixes with the cerebrospinal fluid.  Your brain doesn't like that.  Neither do your nerves.  That nice, clean fluid is supposed to protect your nervous system, and blood pollutes it.  This can bring on arachnoiditis.

After my little aneurysm problem, I had debilitating pain in my lower back and my legs.  Once the doctors figured out the cause of my pain, they knew that the best solution was for the blood to be re-absorbed by the body so that it would be away from the nerves.  That meant my getting up to sit and even walk.  It also meant lots of pain meds to make it possible for me to sit or stand. 

Thinking about how arnica gel had helped so much in healing my bruises (where blood leaked and has to be re-absorbed) I asked my family to bring arnica to the hospital.  I can't say for sure that it helped.  But I sure felt better when I used it on the sore spots.  Of course, the improvement may have been caused by the doctors' treatments, or time, or a combination of many things. 

With some recent flare-ups, I'm trying arnica again.  I doubt it will help.  It doesn't seem reasonable to try, as pain now is residual nerve pain, and not pain from blood currently polluting my CSF.  But what would it hurt?

Brain Recovery

There were weird things that happened in the wake of the stroke.  For one, my skin is more sensitive.  Last week I picked three pumpkins and two tomatoes and soon had another rash.  There is no poison ivy mixed in with my pumpkin vines and tomato plants.  There isn't!  I'm not good at recognizing poison ivy and all its other poison-forms, but I do know pumpkin and tomato vines for what they are.  Then in a separate incident, I got a rash from a Tegaderm covering.  When the itching forced me to remove that (about 1 whole minute after the time-limit of the doctor's orders) I used a regular Bandaid.  Guess what?  Another rash.

Recent tests showed that the aneurysm mostly healed, but not all-the-way as we had hoped.  If you can picture an aneurysm sort of like a balloon, the bubble of the balloon is filled and clotted and healed.  The neck of the balloon is not.  That means more monitoring than would've probably been necessary otherwise.  But overall, it appears rather safe, quite unlikely to go and bleed (just as a balloon's neck isn't likely to pop).

I've been back at work for five weeks, doing mini-shifts three days a week.  Now that the doctor's had a chance to take pictures of the inside of my brain, I intend to ask him to lengthen the number of hours I'm allowed to work.  After a few weeks of longer part-time days, maybe he'll let me step up to a full-day with my half-days.  On the one hand, I'm anxious to get back to being helpful at work and getting my income back to where it was.  On the other hand, I sure am liking my mornings at home with Maggie, doing schoolwork and chores ... and not overtiring myself.

Oh, and it is absolutely maaaahrvelous, darling, to have car keys and a drivers license again!

It's Kind of Peaceful Being Grounded

This evening I get to drive to church, under Gary's supervision.  I have SO been looking forward to being able to drive again!  I will be able to take myself to work and to church and to the grocery store. 

And yet ...
yesterday and this morning ...
I keep thinking that it's kind of been nice not going anywhere.  I hate running errands.  Introverts love to hole-up at home.  For the last couple of months, when I get up in the morning, I've not had to decide which errands to run, which places to go.  I've been stuck at home, except for the times my family has graciously chauffeured me to church or to doctors or to those occasional errands which managed to pile up enormously. 

As of tomorrow, it's back to normal -- deciding which errands musts be crammed into the day along with all the other responsibilities.

As anxiously as I've been awaiting the return of my driver's license, I'm surprised by the sense that I'll also be losing quietness and calmness.

Back to Work

A full year to recuperate.  That's what the doctors and therapists kept telling me as I progressed speedily in my abilities. "Slow down; don't overdo," they kept reminding.  Although I can do almost everything I could do before, I now realize I can't do very much of any of those things.  I wear out easily.  I slept 10.5 hours last night.  When Katie dropped by today, she was surprised by how clean the house was and that the laundry was caught up.  [light bulb click]  No wonder I was too tired to accomplish anything the last couple of days; I was worn out from the first half of the week.

When I found out that another part-time position would be opening at work, I adjusted my mind to taking that position while my boss filled my position.  That would've meant I had until late September before I had to be ready to work.  Recently that goal seemed perfectly doable; probably in mid-September it would've seemed intimidating.  After talking with bosses this week, it looks like I'll be returning to my job much sooner.  As in, a week or so.  For now, it will be only half-days.  And my boss made it very plain that he doesn't want me to get worn out so that the job interferes with my healing ... or even that it makes me consider quitting.  They are bending over backwards to help me keep my job.

And I'm terribly grateful.
Especially because I much prefer my current schedule to the other option.

But right now I'm also a bit hesitant about going back to work already.

It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.
It'll be fine.

I just have to readjust my mind away from all those books Maggie and I were going to read, and movies I was going to watch, and piddly projects I was going to tick off the list, over the next 2-3 months.  Sleep, however, will stay near the top of the Priorities List.


(PS to kids: I'm going to need some chauffeuring for a few weeks.  Andrew can take the first week.  But I'll need at least two more weeks of rides before I'm eligible to drive.)

Such an Obedient Wife!

They're telling me stories of things that happened in the hospital -- things I do not remember.

They tell me that when the medical staff removed my breathing tube, I didn't exactly remember to breathe.  The machine had been doing the work for me.  I was weak.  Breathing wasn't on the top of my priority list.

So Gary would notice me go 20 or 30 seconds without a breath.  My oxygen level would go down.  "Susan!  Breathe!"

So I would.

Apparently, after one of these big breaths, I pointed out to him that I was a Very Obedient And Submissive Wife.  I breathed when he told me to!

Hey, I figured he should appreciate the "obedience" for those brief moments.

Hallucinations

A friend asked recently, "So what did you experience when you collapsed from the aneurysm?"

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The book/movie "Heaven Is For Real" has been popular.  Nearly all my life I've heard stories of near-death experiences.  So what did I experience?  Nothing.

Maybe I wasn't that near death?

Or maybe it was something else?

My pastor is diligent to visit those in the hospital in serious condition.  Coma?  The guy needs to be visited frequently!  Surgeries, drugs, and breathing tubes?  Pastor is there a lot!  He says such times of weakness (especially with the drugs and anesthesia) are prime opportunities for Satan to wreak havoc in a Christian's life.  It's critical that the person be receiving the Gospel ... even if the person isn't intellectually comprehending the words.  It's a battle of God's angels versus Satan's angels.

I've heard stories of horrible hallucinations while people were on narcotics.  Even though I did hallucinate, it wasn't ugly.  I remember having an argument with myself about talking to one of the people in my room -- a person I knew full-well was NOT there.  But that person-who-wasn't-there was talking to me, and it would've been rude not to answer.  I remember reaching out to brush away stuff that was hanging too close to the hospital bed -- stuff that wasn't there.  I remember reaching for a pair of scissors (who knows why?!) that I just couldn't get a good grip on ... merely because they weren't there.  I hated the narcotics and the unreality it foisted on my mind.  But looking back, I'm realizing that nothing was horrible.  Monsters did not chase me.  Nobody threatened my life.  And best of all, there were no demons. 

And I wonder if any of this plays into the lack of "near-death experience."

Death cannot destroy forever.
From our fears, care, and tears
it will us deliver.
It will close life's mournful story,
make a way that we may
enter heavenly glory.

Lord, my shepherd, take me to Thee.
Thou art mine.
I was Thine even e'er I knew Thee.
I am Thine for Thou hast bought me.
Lost I stood,
but Thy blood free salvation brought me.

Katie's Kloset

What do you do with used medical equipment when Grandma or your dad no longer needs a walker or a shower-chair or a Cpap or whatever?  In Waukesha County, people can donate medical supplies to Katie's Kloset.  If you're in need of medical supplies, you can borrow it from Katie's Kloset (assuming the item you need is currently available). 

It's a great way to clear unused supplies out of your home and get them into the hands of people who need them!

It's a great way to save money if you need an item for only a few weeks or a couple of months!



A year or so ago, I was wishing there were a way for our congregation to set up something like this, but the space just isn't available.  And now I find out that there's no need, because somebody else in the county is already providing this match-making service.

Hair Growth

7 weeks after the surgeons shaved it bare

17 days after surgery

It's growing.  Slowly.

I was mistaken for a man (by a friend!) last week.  And someone told me on Sunday that he much preferred the "babushka look" to the ... uh ... the "other." 

Yes!  Me too!

It's nice that Alia no longer seems afraid of me with my "boy hair."

Gary has encouraged me to take weekly pictures of the hair growth.  Because I have been frustrated by the changes in my hair as I age, he figured that evening out a huge bald patch on my scalp would be the perfect time to see what my hair did at different lengths.  When I came home from the hospital, Rachel cut my longer hair to match the fuzz over the surgery site.  When I'm in public, I usually wear a scarf or a baseball cap. 

The fact that I'm blogging about this probably betrays way more vanity in me than I want to own up to.

The scar site on my scalp doesn't show any more.  I think (I hope!) that my hair is long enough now to protect the scar from sunburn.  But I'm still being careful during midday; Pam warned me to watch out for sun on the scar tissue.

I do not think my hair will be long enough by the time of the wedding [just one month!] to go bare-headed yet.  Andrew asked Gary to keep his beard, even though it's summer, so that Gary would "look like Dad" in the wedding pictures.  Well, that lady ain't gonna "look like Mom."  But what are you going to do?!  LOL.

Dear Diary ...

Discharged from outpatient speech therapy last week.
Discharged from outpatient physical therapy yesterday.

Borrowed Maggie's bike yesterday and rode back and forth in front of the house for two or three whole minutes, in yet another attempt to put a smidgeon of muscle back into my legs.  I did not topple over.  I did, however, get off the bike and walk it up the steeper inclines. 

The therapists warned me against overdoing; they said I must do a lot of "nothing."  They said that's when my brain does its healing.  I don't know how to do nothing.  I watch tv and read and do Sudoku's.  I drag myself through an easy chore or two.  I'm to the point of needing naps only when I overdo a bit. 

I've been watching Call the Midwife.  So many friends have raved about the series.  I have mixed feelings.  At the beginning, it seemed like the longest one-hour show I'd ever watched.  But after we got to know the characters and the setting, that aspect improved.  Overall, I get to liking the show, and then an episode pops up that infuriates me.  It's one thing to have a story about a brother and sister committing adultery, and then her committing suicide.  It's another thing altogether to have this relationship extolled as the right kind of love and passion and fulfillment.  Similarly, I can understand the reason why this series would set forth a story about a woman with "too many children" and her attempts to abort the next baby.  But that story takes on a completely different aspect when the narrator bookends the story with commentary on the Pill and the need for safe abortion to protect women from the Burdens Of Childbearing.  Then, when I've calmed down, I decide to give the series "one more chance" and the next episode gets me hooked again.

Andrew drove me to therapy the other day.  A soap opera was playing in the waiting room.  He was reading, but he caught glimpses of his first soap.  On the way home, he commented on the vengeance and hatred.  At my last haircut [no, I mean, the last regular haircut, y'know, in the salon, not the post-surgery head-shaving] I was sickened to see what was on soap operas today.  I remember people telling me when I was in college that they were inappropriate for Christians (or even decent people) to watch.  I thought that was overly legalistic.  I don't know if I've changed or if soap operas have worsened that much.  But now I'm inclined to agree: watching soaps today is submitting to the brainwashing of the culture.  (Oh, man, I'm gonna get hate-mail now....)

The strawberries are coming in abundantly.  I think we should replant healthy babies again this year, late in summer.  The difference in berry-size is significant.  And last fall it looked like those spindly, frail starters couldn't possibly produce anything.  I had to freeze some berries because we're bringing in more than we can eat ... and jam-making seems too risky right now with my brain-scrambles and my lack of physical strength.

God is certainly doing my garden-watering for me.  I did not get around to pruning the grapes, the cherries, or the apples.  Right now, the grapes vines look to be producing plenty of fruit and jam and juice.   The apples trees --which produced NOTHING the last three summers-- have baby apples.  I must have been pruning the wrong twigs in previous years.  Now, how do I figure out what I did wrong so that I don't repeat my mistake ... because these trees desperately need pruning as soon as fall's cool weather sets in.

I have not touched a lawn-mower since before my crash.  Gary has borne the brunt of that chore, with some help from Rachel.  We are deeply thankful that the neighbors have helped mow, and one has offered to loan his riding lawnmower to Gary occasionally!

Gary drove Maggie and me to the library last night.  First trip since my crash.  The library had notices about a town meeting that would deeply impact that future of the library.  Turned out the meeting was due to start just a few minutes before we left the library.  We drove straight over to town hall.  Both Gary and I ended up testifying briefly.  I'm glad we went.  Most of the citizens there were of the opposite viewpoint.  I think it was encouraging to the town board to hear us few taxpayers/voters in agreement with them.  It's probably also good that ALL the citizens attending were not of the one opinion, but that some of us agreed with the board's decision.  (I'm kind of scared to see how the local weekly paper quotes me: it's not exactly the most accurate news-reporting I've ever seen.)

We have lots of new members at church.  It is such an encouragement to see them arrive to visit, and revel in the liturgy and the preached gospel, to see their eager attendance at Bible class.  And they come back and bring friends.  Lovely!

You know what?  If you don't dust for long enough, you can't dust.  You have to use a wet, soapy cloth to scrub dirt off the furniture.  Each day I tell myself that I'm going to do a little housecleaning.  Just a little.  And it's harder to clean stuff than I expect.  Partly because I'm weak.  Partly because the dirt is thicker.  Ick.  (Thing is, before my daughters get any bright ideas to come over and help, I have to sort and file and toss and eliminate ... so that cleaners can find the horizontal surfaces in need of cleaning.)

At symposium last week, I found myself boasting to out-of-towners about the people at church.  We have done very little cooking since I arrived home from the hospital.  Our fellow-saints are preparing meals and bringing them to us.  I am absolutely overwhelmed by the generosity.  And the delicious cooking. 

I began weaning off the shingles drug (the one for nerve pain, aka my arachnoiditis).  Going from 3 pills daily to 2 was okay.  Going from 2 to 1 pill has been a bit much.  I thought I'd be weaned off the drug entirely before seeing the neurologist for my follow-up visit.  I doubt it now.  I'm too whiny about the nerve pain again.  I look like a dope, carrying a pillow around with me, so I don't have to sit on a hard pew or chair at church.  Too bad.  Dopey-looking is better than whiny and suffering.

That's enough update. 
I have all these scribbled notes for things I want to put on my blog/diary.
But there's only so much sitting at the computer that my body can take. 
So now I'm stopping and heading off to find a pain-pill.  
Have a happy day!

More Brain Recovery

Speech therapist and physical therapist told me last Friday that I had "met all the goals" which had been set for me in the hospital.  I'm still in need of plenty of work: strength, endurance, speed.  While my legs still look spindly, we can now feel that there's something in my calves besides bone and skin-cover.  Although I appear to be building up some small amount of muscle, I still have not regained any of the weight lost during the hospital stay.  (Now, the flabby stuff on my belly which disappeared?  It can just stay gone!   The muscles in my legs --puny though they were-- need to come back, please!)

I am allowed to do light housework now.  Problem is, I can only tackle one thing per day.  Today it was picking strawberries and lettuce from our small garden.  Yesterday it was out-patient therapy and a short trip to the grocery store.  Day before was church and a bit of time with the kids.  Tomorrow is laundry and therapy and evening church; this will definitely require in-between napping.  I don't know when the vacuum cleaner and I will ever become reacquainted.

I've been given permission to begin weaning myself off the nerve-pain medicine.  I think I'll be off that drug prior to my follow-up visit with the neurologist.  I've bent the ear of two doctors, two therapists, and one nurse.  Nobody will budge on beginning to wean off the anti-seizure drug.  Thing is, I am really getting annoyed by its side-effects.  The neurologist suggested that the side-effects should lessen as I get rid of the other med. 

My boss is still patiently waiting to hear from the neurologist about my follow-up visit.  Turns out my employer was required by law to hold my position for me for only two weeks.  They have been more than generous in finding substitutes for me on the work-schedule.  They do want me back if at all possible.  It's so awesome to have a good employer that acts according to the Table of Duties' "To Masters" section.

When I talked to the neurologist last time, I gained a little more hope for returning to driving.  He said it makes a difference that I had a "provoked seizure" instead of a seizure that my body came up with on its own.  I guess if you go poking around in somebody's brain, sending her into a seizure doesn't mean she's going to have her own seizures later. 

I'm beginning to see what I suspect are side effects of not drinking my kombucha.  Today I talked to our doctor about the chin rash and the lower back pain.  Nothing to do but treat the symptoms.  I keep thinking that some of these things would resolve themselves if I could get back to my kombucha and my supplements and off the drugs.  But I am, so far, managing to be an obedient patient.

Still exhausted.  The doctors and therapists insist that "When You're Doing NOTHING Is When Your Brain Is Healing.  So do a lot of nothing."  No fear.  I am still quite the lazy slug.  Naps are my friend.

Okay, I think that's pretty much all the news for those of you who are asking how I'm doing. 
:-)

"We Don't Like Show-offs Around Here"

I signed up for Curves primarily because Maggie needed exercise.  We went together.  It's not the toughest, most strenuous workout.  I try to get more out of the gym-time by pushing harder on the cardio segments, swinging my arms, jogging with my knees higher, or whatever can push me to maybe (?) break a sweat.  A few times, an elderly woman has said to me, "Hey, we don't like show-offs around here."

I don't know if it's the same woman who's said it several times, or different women.  I don't know if it's a weird, back-handed compliment or if it's a genuine complaint.  I don't know if it's a clumsy but well-meaning way to try to initiate conversation with a new-comer. 

I have no idea how to respond to that comment, so I usually don't.  I usually act as if I didn't hear.  But it always leave me in a quandary: Do I take a lazy approach to working out so that I don't offend those who cannot expend as much effort as I do used to?  Do I work as hard as before, and try to explain? 

Someone said it to me again last month.  One or two minutes before my brain aneurysm ruptured.

I've wondered several times what she thought when I collapsed and they called 911 and the paramedics rushed up with the ambulance.  Was she horrified at her comment?  Did she think, "Serves her right, the show-off"? 

Maybe God in His grace caused her to not even remember that she said it.

Brain Recovery

Been home from the hospital for two weeks now.

This morning virtually all the kids left for a marvelous family reunion.  It's just Gary and me at home.  Doctors said I couldn't make the trip.  My body confirms the fact that I am grounded.  Bummers.


However, ...

Yesterday my physical therapist lifted my restriction of needing 24-hour supervision.
And she told me that, most of the time, I should not be using the walker.
And she told me I could use the stairs.  (I saw the basement today for the first time post-crash.  It was still there, and thanks to Maggie's hard work, the laundry was done.)

Hair has grown to maybe a half-inch.  I still think I'm bald, but Gary thinks he's the one who's actually bald.

I'm off all the narcotics.  Boy, withdrawal is nasty.  I guess I can see why people might want to keep taking the medicine when they don't need it ... if it relieves the withdrawal symptoms.  But to dive into taking these pills for "fun"??  [shudder]

I finally approached the stove.  I cooked a fried egg yesterday and heated some soup today.  Nothing exploded or caught fire.  But for the most part, dear friends and church-members are preparing most of our meals.

Maggie and I planted two tomatoes in the raised bed I had prepped the day before my crash.  Because of the prior physical labor, it wasn't hard to get some tomato plants in the dirt, especially with Mag's help.  And, oh!!, the wondiferous smell of tomato leaves!  Also, the strawberries have just begun to turn red.  Alia ate the first one yesterday and highly approved.  Gary picked four today.  Mmmmm.

I'm yearning for a bottle of kombucha or a beer.  And it's four whole weeks more until I see the neurologist and can even ask about moving in that direction.