I hate that I broke my ankle in the most
foolish and preventable accident in the history of foolish preventable
accidents.
However, as I struggle alone to recuperate,
the kindnesses of complete strangers has never been more evident. As I
labor along trying to carry a bag or push myself up a ramp with the
worlds most unwieldy wheelchair- there is always someone ready to leap
to assist me; hold my bag, push me up the ramp, pull my wheelchair from
the trunk, put my wheelchair back into the trunk.
There are even people
who offer to "spot" me when going up stairs on crutches is unavoidable.
Sometimes they wrap their arms around my waist while holding my crutches
in their other hand, and allow me to lean on them as I hop precariously
upwards. Still other times they stand behind me in case I should fall,
or they offer an arm to cling to. They rearrange seats to accommodate
me, they hold doors and push me down hallways.
Even my grouchy neighbors
rushed forward to pick me up off the floor one night after I fell, when
they could have easily pretended not to see me in the dark. The harder
and more apparent my struggle, the more people veer in my direction.
Today, a woman driving by at school actually stopped her car and got out
to help me. When my crutches defected and began sliding on smooth surfaces, a woman walked with me every step, gripping my arm to prevent a fall. And it was slow going. A random man went into the pharmacy and purchased new crutches tips for me. Still others pump my gas.
It is amazing what people will do for the disabilities they can SEE.
The disabilities they can understand. I wonder how different the face of
the world would look if people suffering from a mental illness or
disability received even a crumb of the considerations I have received
as a result of my temporary disability. Would there be one less suicide somewhere in the world?
One less unhappy heart because someone offered a smile or held a door
or made another person feel seen and wanted, just because they knew that
person was having a rough time?
It just makes me wonder.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
It's still dirty
Lucille told me today that she's so glad they found me, because Shea just
loves me and we are developing a bond that is "just ours" and not the
same as the one he has with her and his father, that he is so excited
when I am coming over and just bursting with anticipation.
This is contrasted with the times that he randomly blurts out, "Marnie, you're the bad guy, bad guy, bad guy! The bad guy needs to go home right now!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. Sometimes I'm afraid he hates me, and I wonder what his therapist father thinks of these interactions.
Before I picked him up from school on Thursday, I warned him on Wednesday that I was coming, to head off any unpleasant tantrums, because this child HATES change with a passion. Hates it so much that he pulls his quilt over his head to block his eyes from the offensive material if Dora changes her clothes on the tv- If she is not wearing her traditional outfit with her traditional backpack, he has a meltdown until the repugnant outfit change has gone away. He refuses to watch the Chuggington I downloaded for him, because some of them are British versions and they speak with British accents. Just hearing the accented theme song will send him fleeing down the hallway screaming "that's not it either, take it away, take it away!!!"
Those versions have since been retired. The day I picked him up from school, his eyes grew wider when I hobbled into the room on my crutches. He did not run to hug me, but instead reached for Booger the stuffed dog (who was of course nearby), and came steadily closer, chanting "Marnie, Marnie, Marnie, my Marnie."
He came close enough to lean lightly against me and let me ruffle his hair before going to get his things and leaving with me without any hesitations or theatrics. He did, however, in all his four year old wisdom, climb into my backseat and immediately spot a red gatorade stain on the carpet (courtesy of previous owner), and the shattered unreachable remnants of two broken windows under my car seat, and boldly informed me that my car was still dirty, and I needed to clean it better, especially because a bird pooped on the outside and the bottom of my crutches should not be touching the ceiling because it would get dirty and why are my teddy bears sitting in my backseat?
On the way home, I turned into the 711 parking lot to get us a slurpee, and his anxiety flared, wanting to know where we were going, home was the other way, he wanted to go home. I asked if he wanted a slurpee, to which he replied, "No, no I do not, I do not like those." Since I suspected he had never had one, this response made me feel akin to "Dr. Seuss' Sam I Am. I told him he didn't have to have one, we could just go and look at other people getting them, and then he could decide if it looked good to him. Surprisingly enough he agreed to this. He was fascinated by all of the options, and chose based on color (purple), and was surprised by the icy vanilla flavor, and was guzzling it before I could pay for it. I give the kid kudos for opening himself up to new experiences and taking it like a champ.
Back at home, he drank his slurpee (and surreptitiously drained mine as well), before shrieking "hello goodbye hello goodbye" quite abruptly before collapsing into giggles. I told him he was my silly boy and kissed the top of his head, to which he responded by kissing my hands and forehead and telling me that I'm cute and I love him too much. (I count myself lucky that I escaped with kisses instead of licks, since he will do both with equal slimy abandon.)
He is beginning to grow on me, and I think I am growing on him too, because now he does what he did not before; sit on my lap to read a book or watch a movie, just lounging. Yesterday he rubbed my ear while watching Dora, today he played with my toes (I think toe socks must be very appealing, even to little people), at first not noticing what he was doing. When he did notice, his face lit up and he exclaimed "I got your toes, they're mine!" before trying to tickle me to death. Lately, whenever I wince because my ankle hurts, he lays his hand lightly on my cast and pats it gently. (Conversely when it is time for me to leave he tries to tangle himself in my feet or he pushes at the back of my knee or at the cast itself; these incidents always occur when mom is around. I do not understand them).
He is becoming increasingly affectionate and it makes me wonder how much his parents physically play with him and touch him. I think the only reason he is so excited when I come over is not for me, but because with me he gets to play and have all eyes on him and only him and be loved too much and kissed on the top of the head just because he is a smart handsome boy and for no other reason.
This is contrasted with the times that he randomly blurts out, "Marnie, you're the bad guy, bad guy, bad guy! The bad guy needs to go home right now!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. Sometimes I'm afraid he hates me, and I wonder what his therapist father thinks of these interactions.
Before I picked him up from school on Thursday, I warned him on Wednesday that I was coming, to head off any unpleasant tantrums, because this child HATES change with a passion. Hates it so much that he pulls his quilt over his head to block his eyes from the offensive material if Dora changes her clothes on the tv- If she is not wearing her traditional outfit with her traditional backpack, he has a meltdown until the repugnant outfit change has gone away. He refuses to watch the Chuggington I downloaded for him, because some of them are British versions and they speak with British accents. Just hearing the accented theme song will send him fleeing down the hallway screaming "that's not it either, take it away, take it away!!!"
Those versions have since been retired. The day I picked him up from school, his eyes grew wider when I hobbled into the room on my crutches. He did not run to hug me, but instead reached for Booger the stuffed dog (who was of course nearby), and came steadily closer, chanting "Marnie, Marnie, Marnie, my Marnie."
He came close enough to lean lightly against me and let me ruffle his hair before going to get his things and leaving with me without any hesitations or theatrics. He did, however, in all his four year old wisdom, climb into my backseat and immediately spot a red gatorade stain on the carpet (courtesy of previous owner), and the shattered unreachable remnants of two broken windows under my car seat, and boldly informed me that my car was still dirty, and I needed to clean it better, especially because a bird pooped on the outside and the bottom of my crutches should not be touching the ceiling because it would get dirty and why are my teddy bears sitting in my backseat?
On the way home, I turned into the 711 parking lot to get us a slurpee, and his anxiety flared, wanting to know where we were going, home was the other way, he wanted to go home. I asked if he wanted a slurpee, to which he replied, "No, no I do not, I do not like those." Since I suspected he had never had one, this response made me feel akin to "Dr. Seuss' Sam I Am. I told him he didn't have to have one, we could just go and look at other people getting them, and then he could decide if it looked good to him. Surprisingly enough he agreed to this. He was fascinated by all of the options, and chose based on color (purple), and was surprised by the icy vanilla flavor, and was guzzling it before I could pay for it. I give the kid kudos for opening himself up to new experiences and taking it like a champ.
Back at home, he drank his slurpee (and surreptitiously drained mine as well), before shrieking "hello goodbye hello goodbye" quite abruptly before collapsing into giggles. I told him he was my silly boy and kissed the top of his head, to which he responded by kissing my hands and forehead and telling me that I'm cute and I love him too much. (I count myself lucky that I escaped with kisses instead of licks, since he will do both with equal slimy abandon.)
He is beginning to grow on me, and I think I am growing on him too, because now he does what he did not before; sit on my lap to read a book or watch a movie, just lounging. Yesterday he rubbed my ear while watching Dora, today he played with my toes (I think toe socks must be very appealing, even to little people), at first not noticing what he was doing. When he did notice, his face lit up and he exclaimed "I got your toes, they're mine!" before trying to tickle me to death. Lately, whenever I wince because my ankle hurts, he lays his hand lightly on my cast and pats it gently. (Conversely when it is time for me to leave he tries to tangle himself in my feet or he pushes at the back of my knee or at the cast itself; these incidents always occur when mom is around. I do not understand them).
He is becoming increasingly affectionate and it makes me wonder how much his parents physically play with him and touch him. I think the only reason he is so excited when I come over is not for me, but because with me he gets to play and have all eyes on him and only him and be loved too much and kissed on the top of the head just because he is a smart handsome boy and for no other reason.
Fear
I am in pain from a badly broken bone. I am on pain killers. They allow me to get sleep I would not otherwise get. But I find myself fighting the seductive lull of these medications in bursts of panic as I realize they are snatching my consciousness away from me. If I am not conscious, anything could happen to me, I could be hurt. Panic panic panic. I am afraid, but if I do not take them I won't be able to sleep.
I want just one night of sleep that does not involve a panic attack or substantial fear with no apparent cause. My anxiety is strangling and I cannot stop the tears.I am struggling to hang on to the pieces of myself but it is so hard.This is the time when I would compose a long rambling email to my therapist. but I am trying to stop. She says she reads them, but when I bring up bits of them in session she is blank, having obviously not read them. And she no longer replies. There's no point in putting my heart into something that will just disappear into cyberspace garbage.
But I miss my therapist.
I want just one night of sleep that does not involve a panic attack or substantial fear with no apparent cause. My anxiety is strangling and I cannot stop the tears.I am struggling to hang on to the pieces of myself but it is so hard.This is the time when I would compose a long rambling email to my therapist. but I am trying to stop. She says she reads them, but when I bring up bits of them in session she is blank, having obviously not read them. And she no longer replies. There's no point in putting my heart into something that will just disappear into cyberspace garbage.
But I miss my therapist.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
I'm back...
So, I've finally done it. Re-entered the world of online journaling; anonymously, this time. I found myself both triggered and inspired by Campbell's Percolated Paradox blog.When I first found her journal I was feeling so lost, and reading her words felt like reading my own words out of someone else's mouth. I just wanted to reach out to her, connect with her.
That didn't happen, but in the intervening weeks I have stopped back by and found myself inspired to write again; my writing is the only good thing to come out of so much hurting. I suppose I have been writing all along, but they are all being directed into my therapists inbox.
When I made the decision to start another online journal, I was overcome with emotion and sobbing into my pillow while clutching a teddy bear given to me by by therapist, Dr. B. Now that the fog of grief is no longer clouding my mind, I am not sure what to write. My words are all fueled by my pain.
That didn't happen, but in the intervening weeks I have stopped back by and found myself inspired to write again; my writing is the only good thing to come out of so much hurting. I suppose I have been writing all along, but they are all being directed into my therapists inbox.
When I made the decision to start another online journal, I was overcome with emotion and sobbing into my pillow while clutching a teddy bear given to me by by therapist, Dr. B. Now that the fog of grief is no longer clouding my mind, I am not sure what to write. My words are all fueled by my pain.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)