How To Fung Shui A Miracle

I have so much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving, even if the road I'm on is taking its various turns. This journey may never end, but who lives for the end of things? Yesterday, an X-Ray showed the shifting of the leads in my spinal stimulator. If re-programming is not effective, if I do not become the cyborg I am meant to be, I may be looking at another surgery. The shifting of the leads in my epidural space can happen due to a combination of factors. It doesn't matter 'why' to me, but is a reminder that my journey is on-going. Nothing is cut and dried except for my addiction to sweet potato soufflé. So now that I am experiencing what might be a set-back, how do reframe life's challenges into blessings?

"You have to Fung Shui your life." My pain therapist settled further into in her large leather chair. The sofa hugged my hips. Thoughts pranced in the air before my face, taunting my lips to speak. Which ones to select? How did I feel about this analogy that my life has transformed - in her words - from Victorian clutter, to a simplistic modern?

My pain therapist has a way of putting a garbled concept into a clarity so crisp, life crackles when she speaks. I had not thought of my simplified life as a cleansing, but in many ways, it has been the most purifying experience of my life.

Right now, life is about acknowledging my remaining physical limitations. She warned me not to get too excited when I took my first steps, but the optimist in me was deaf to her pleas. Once I launched into my rhythmic prance of plopping legs I could see nothing but my body running down my street, at the same time learning about the damage that has been done to nerves that may not be retrieved.

The question now is, how do I accept new information? The answer is, with a temporary grace. And a gratitude for all that is still right in it all.

I am so grateful for how far I have come. I can live my life outside of bed and Bravo marathons. My pain levels are manageable, except for when Kenya on Real Housewives of Atlanta says she's fabulous. This always offers a setback incompatible with life.

I thank God I can make my way around our home, dragging my left leg with gratitude that I can mobilize on my own at all.

Reality gobbles when I exit the house, and try to mobilize outside of my chair. This is where ego comes in. Because I can get from A to B inside my home, why can't I get from C to Z in the outside world? The simplification of my life is now limited to the walls of my house. How do I Fung Shui the rest of the world?

The answer is, I don't Fung Shui the world outside, so now I must do so in my mind. How do I reframe reality to fit my needs?

I never thought I'd have an ego - about walking. The ability to move my legs again is nothing short of a miracle. By accepting the beauty it holds, and accepting it for all it is - without judgment or wishing it were something more perfect than it is, is the key.

To me, my legs are blessings, even if they don't work as well as before. My foot is a gift even though it won't lift off the floor. I will not complain about the pain that continues in my spine. Because now it is a reminder that I am still alive. When every move I make is slow, at least I remember the smallest details now of every place I go. When I have to use my wheelchair outside in the world, it will be a chance to be on my own and not live like a little girl. I will tell my ego it's not the time, with a second glance from passers-by. A miracle can be a test from above to see if you are still left wanting more. So this Thanksgiving I have made the choice to view my life as more meaningful than before. Because it is. In all its crackling glory, life is more clear than it has ever been. Even if it is a journey - without having an end.

Happy Thanksgiving to All!

Thank You For Serving Thanksgiving - To Our Troops

Thank you for serving Thanksgiving for me
For signing your life for our country's belief
That only through sacrifice can we truly be free
Thank you for serving Thanksgiving for me.

All through the year we try to support
Our troops and their families
And the lives they fight for
But no matter how many holidays are red, white and blue
It's never enough - so this year, Thanksgiving's for you.

Thank you for leaving your families behind
For living without comforts to keep you alive
Thank you for knowing tomorrow you could die
So our children can hear hope in your battle cry.

Thanksgiving is for taking a moment to pray
For uniting our families and friends on this day
But the one thing we need to remember is clear
There are heroes serving Thanksgiving this year.

Only through your sacrifice can we truly be free
Thank you for serving Thanksgiving for me.

Little White Lights

I love little white lights. I would put them up at Easter, the Fourth of July, and Halloween if I could. I will even eat at a restaurant simply because it has little white lights in ficus plants. Even fake ficus plants. I can't help it. It was planted in my blood at birth. The moment I popped out and saw the lamp above my doctor's head. Lights were good. Lights brought life, and breath, and peace. And so it was.

So why in the world would anyone begrudge the happiness that little white lights bring to a holiday season that symbolizes a period of bringing peace and joy to others?

My excitement over our holiday lights going up today was met by some with hesitation and bewilderment as to how we could possibly be putting lights up before Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is about being grateful. Grateful for the freedom to put up lights all year round if we wish. It is about appreciating that some of my friends this year will be gifting on Hanukkah - on the same day we'll be saying grace. Thanksgiving is a part of the holiday season. It is a moment to gather with loved ones to remind us of all that is good in this world. Good that illuminated in the hearts of passers-by when they capture a glance of a house in white lights.

So I apologize if anyone is disturbed by my lights, the ones going up a week earlier than most. I am sorry if they bother or anger those who are not ready to be a holiday host. But please, I implore you, to allow me to rejoice, with my little white lights for when peace has a voice. And save your anger for things that deserve such a noise.

The Rose

I have been a little cocky lately. It happens I guess when you don't walk for a year and your legs are returned. I prefer to think of this phase as a reminder, not a set-back. A reminder that life is not about how quickly you reach the rose, but that you bother to smell it at all.

I make my way through the house like a little old lady with hope. Shuffling my left foot to keep up with the adolescence of my right. They bicker, my feet. One goes too fast, the other has a hangover from an eleven month bender. So why should I be frustrated at all? I should be proud at my legs' ability to fall of a wagon that moved so quickly my life was a blur. As soon as it came to a screeching halt, the landscape became excruciatingly clear. What good are legs if they never stop, so you can take in the why of it all. What good is speed if it blurs the lines that guide the road on a journey you had hoped to see. And who cares how toned their muscles are if they strip your strength to say no to the madness they carry within.

So, now that I can walk at home - in whatever fashion this walking may take - I am now becoming aware of limitations that still tie me to my chair. When I am out, my legs will seize, my back will scream, and I am reminded of what is not yet to be. But I take this with acceptance that this is not a sprint, but a marathon I have to pace. And if everything worked like I hoped right away, there would be worse things that I'd have to face. Like forgetting how powerful it is to be stripped of speed; How much a slower race can mean. I might forget to breathe in the white rose by my front door that aches each day to be seen. What good is its beauty, its pedals arched in pregnant pause as though it too had lost its legs.
There is a beauty in all that surrounds us, I don't want to miss a thing. So if this recovery takes longer than I thought it might, I'm grateful for all this journey will continue to bring. Like the rose that can only be smelled when its pedals are truly seen.

What Is To Be

Realizing limitations in my legs. Whatever will be, I am at peace with how far I have come. How a life can be spun from thorns into gold. How the hint of death can morph into an angel's nod because of a stranger's prayer. This road may be slow, but it is paved with stones thrown into ponds with a wish. My new normal is still not; Each moment is richer than before. The sweet smell of dew now clings to my touch - when before I was numb to its plea. Holiday hymns are a reminder of a time I once thought I would not be here see. So when I wonder why I still can't run in the grass that speaks to me. Or why dancing eludes when a song expands my heart. I remember the journey that brought me here, and the lessons learned so far. Lessons in each drop of dew, each stone a stranger threw. I thank God for what's inside a life when it is still. Ideas plastered on its walls of what its world can be. And I take it easy on myself - because it is a magnificent life to be.

I Gave Up

Like most people, I have a story. The only thing with mine, is that I really screwed up the ending. You see, I had given up. So how did I end up walking again?

It's not that I wanted to be in a wheelchair. I had simply given up.

I was so scared of my dream not coming true, that I gave up, to God.

Everyone said I would do it. My family, my friends, even my doctor said he'd seen miracles happen with Ketamine infusions and their rehabilitation program. But my legs were so dead to me. They would not respond to screams inside my head. Asking my knees to lift was like talking to a wall. Every day I asked, demanded they work.

I demanded. I tried. I sweat. I cried. But I had to give up to believe.

All of the prayers, with modern medicine and a rehabilitation protocol that almost killed my spirit, drew together in a perfect storm. And I was blown away.

It has been two years of agony. A life I never though I would lead. But never again will I lead a life in which I don't believe.

I will believe that darkness is hiding a light. That the impossible is always flawed. I will listen to others who say I can do it, even when my spirit is raw. Because that was my failing. I was so tired and defeated that the only thing I could do was give up. This has been the greatest lesson of my life.

I had become so tired of the fight, that I gave up - to God. I gave up my faith to what He had planned. I gave up my struggle to His hands. I gave up everything I believed because in the end I had faith His will would be. So yes, in the end, I gave up everything that I was taught to believe.

The road ahead will be filled with days slower than before. Every moment is cherished because I can get up to answer the door. There are muscles to build and steps to take that will bring me closer to God. But it all came about because I gave it all up, for an impossible with a flaw.

A Request For Tom Cruise This Veterans Day

Gotta say, I know production crews work hard. I've seen Don at the end of twenty hour days so I don't take anything away from crews. But I challenge Tom Cruise to live on an outpost with random fire every day. With no connection to loved ones or private jets to whisk him away.

I look at our warriors who have lost their limbs - When no one paid them the arm or the leg to stand amongst real men.

Tom Cruise. You live in a world not worthy of those who stand guard to protect your rights. It is a world bathed in mirrors, where you can see only yourself in the eyes of others. Where battles are with tabloids and small minds. You live in a world so small there is no room for valor or Purple Hearts that beat when lives are crushed. It is a place run by machines with dollar signs, and the fleeting reality that what you accomplish each day will be forgotten with the next flippant slight.

Real men leave marks. They march to protect so others have the right to see the moments you say you die for each day on the screen.

I do not know you. But I know you are human, and the words you spoke may have slipped. But in a hero's world there is no room for err. No lawyers to catch their words as they fall on bombs beneath their feet. There is no team to deflect fear from their child's sleep. And when they return from a war that is real, the bombs still burst when your war has turned to tea.

Real men cannot see their families for months to years on end. They miss births and deaths and all of the things you can schedule your war around. I am sure you mis-spoke, this is just a request to return to solid ground.

Tom Cruise, you have an image that flickers in my mind. I remember when you danced in underwear when I was only nine. It's good to see you have grown into a man with children of your own to lead. But please Tom Cruise, leave the real war to the ones who truly bleed.

The Step

As of today I have been in treatment for five weeks. My world has been shaken, stirred and dumped into the lap of my pain therapist. Bits and pieces have scattered to my physical therapist, pain management doctor and neuro-feedback specialist. Other bits have dropped through cracks of light to my friends and family who have stayed with me throughout these past weeks to take me to appointments from morning to night. Some days have been easier that others, but this past week was the toughest so far.

With each step, my perky got perked. by the reality of where I am. Which is - not at home.

As a mother and wife, the hardest thing to do is take care of yourself. In retrospect, I don't know how I ever parented or wived at all without knowing what it feels like to nurture my self. So I have had to accept that these steps I am taking in treatment are the most important of my life.

Part of my treatment is releasing past traumas. Retraining my brain to operate optimally under my circumstance. Learning to walk again in my mind, then transferring this to real world practice. I am peeling layers away from who I am to discover the potential in who I am to be. Will I be a mother, a wife, in a wheelchair? Or is this just for now? I am learning to live hour by hour when I used to think day by day was enough. But it looks like the hour has come that is shedding light in what has been the darkest of times.

A different kind of step. Physical Therapy is trying to retrain my legs to walk. I am placed in a harness suspended from the ceiling as I practice walking with aides lifting my legs and feet as I go. We discovered this week that I have hip flexion and can begin to raise my knee while vertical! When I am sitting, I can move my toes, pulling my feet up and then pointing my toes down. The issue is - when I stand and try to walk, something changes. My toes feel drilled into the floor. I can raise my heel but my leg won't pull off the ground. So this is where I am at.

Now my therapist, Jim, devised a brilliant exercise of tying my toes to my shin with a therapy band so my toes are pulled up as my legs move to walk. As long as I don't have to raise my toes myself, it looks like I could maneuver. But the key is can I get this movement back naturally or would I need leg braces to work this world?

We will see. Until we know, I will work harder than ever before to relearn the most basic of chores. The step. The step to being who I was, from who I have learned to be.

The Need

I gave up this morning. Just for a minute. I hit a wall so hard the sky began to shake and God looked down at me. I felt badly. I had people waiting, a two hour PT appointment then nutrition and more. But I could not move my self. The world had spun so fast for so long that the gravity sucked me into the covers of my bed.

Not since I was a child who couldn't face a day at school have I felt so defiant - that obligations could not win. I had to cancel my day. I had to stop. As strong as I have become because of all I have done, my body quit on me. And my mind swiftly followed into the grey.

My friend Susan stared in awe from her side of the room. Bewildered as to how I stopped the ride we were on. The trip she made to help me stuttered in its purpose. She was here to take me to appointments. The appointments I could not raise my head to make.

Sometimes decisions are made with no logic in tow. When every ounce of your being says no. I could not explain to my friend except to cry in my hands. I was done in that moment in time. And the best thing I did was accept my own defeat and do what was best for me.

I am now home for the weekend. The sofa coils my legs as Reggie's neck blankets my feet. The world did not collapse. It still spun to the rhythm of too many wheels turning in minds too busy to slow.

Next week I will near the end of this portion of my recovery. The pain is just about managed. Now we will focus on mobility and the why behind it all. But for this weekend I press the pause. I will breathe in my children's chaos and marvel at my husband's new handle bar mustache. At how I am not the only one enduring change. He will wrap me in his arms, kneeling down to me. I am getting better at loving him from my chair. And he is getting used to seeing me as though it isn't there. And I realize as time marches on, even though this is not the life we chose to lead, it will be worth the days like today when I thought I could not go on. Because today I chose to listen when my body had a need.

How Am I Doing

How am I doing?

I attend my appointments each day between eight and four. Lifting my body from the passenger door to a chair I cannot believe is mine. My friends suspend their lives to drive me - so I can be alive. I wheel my way from elevator to doors too heavy to open alone. Twisting my frame and muttering words that resemble a guttural groan.

I have realized the world is different now even though it is still the same. Cracks that swallow my wheels and throw my body out of place.

I have learned the world is no longer meant for those like me. I must change the way I follow God to accept the change I see.

It is as though everything I learned throughout my life has been thrown into the air. Now I must search for missing pieces from the seat of my new chair.

They don't know if I will walk again so we work on what we can. Moving my muscles in therapy with the work of gentle hands.

My dog is the one who sees it all and can tell I'm not the same. But he doesn't care, he just rests his head on the seat of my silver frame.

So how am I doing? I'm rolling along on a ride that has challenged me whole. There is nothing left of who I am when the day comes to a fold. But the good news is I am half way through and in two weeks I will be home; With tools to use and a body stronger than when I began two weeks ago.

So bare with me if I can't explain what is happening each day. It is too difficult to find the words to express what I need to say.

I love each of my friends and family with a force only God could know. My mom my dad my brother my husband my children I love you so.

The night brings relief. I sink into its gift of reprieve. To begin again tomorrow, because you believe in me.