Bringing It All Back to the Surface-On Starting PT Yet Again
I remember my first day of physical therapy so clearly. It was days after my initial knee injury and I could barely form words. Knots that felt like rocks formed in my throat and threatened to explode into torrents of tears. I was miserable. I remember the PT asking me why I was there and I blurted out in waves of tears that I just wanted to be able to carry my baby around again. I was never quite so miserable. People stared at me while trying to appear that they weren't staring at me. . . the silly girl crying in the chair, confined to it because her crutches were several feet away. The PT quietly set a box of tissues beside me. That made me cry harder. It was downright awful.
I remember my first day of PT post-surgery. A familiar face and smile greeted a very unkempt me as I crutched my way into the office, embarrassed at my appearance but unable to do a thing about it. I wore my husband's scrubs, a soft t-shirt and a big sweatshirt over top. I didn't match at all. I didn't care one bit. My hair was knotted in the back from restlessly moving my head side to side through the night as I tried to find any way to get comfortable. There was no way to get comfortable. I don't even think I bothered to comb my hair before going. My PT smiled at me and it eased some of the hurt because I knew he was there to help me. If he could make me feel better, he would.
The day I left PT, after almost eight months of therapy, I gave him a giant hug and thanked him for helping me get better. We had been partners in my recovery; and we had become good friends.
This week, I started PT with someone new. I walked in feeling awkward and out of place. The "regulars" were doing their routines and I was the newbie. . . once again. My new PT spent time stretching my leg. He kept telling me to relax. I didn't. He gave me exercises to do and I did them. His helper gave me exercises and stretches to do. I did them, but I forgot how tough PT can be when you are faced with the reality that your muscles are gone and you're completely out of shape thanks to doctor's orders to do nothing and an immobilizer brace that is the equivalent of a muscle-eater.
I left, after an hour and a half of what could only be described as near torture. I miss the comfort my previous PT brought me. It's difficult learning a new dance with someone else. He's certainly nice enough, but he's not my PT.
So I'm stuck, three times a week for now, with a new routine that makes my hip hurt and my leg feel tired and miserable. I know it will get better. Deep inside, I really know this. I want to get my muscles back and get back to doing the things I love to do; but for now, I have yet another obstacle to overcome and I'm fresh out of positive attitudes.
A Visit from my Grammom
Yesterday I was busy cooking lobster macaroni & cheese for our guests who were coming later in the day. Earlier in the day, I had been in the grocery store choosing my cheeses. I needed extra sharp cheddar and started reaching for the yellow block of cheese. Then something inside me stopped my hand and I grabbed the white cheese.
"Grammom always used the white cheese," I thought to myself.
I came home and was busy making several courses. I had my pasta boiling and had just drizzled some olive oil in the water. I placed the cap back on the olive oil that was on my counter several inches from the edge. I went back to shredding my cheese. I had a lot of cheese to shred and I forgot about my pasta that I only wanted to have boil for about six or seven minutes.
The girls were busy upstairs and no one else was in the house with me. No breeze blew through the kitchen, but all of a sudden the cap from the olive oil was hitting the floor far from the counter where the bottle sat. It didn't bounce straight either. It went on an angle and crossed the kitchen to where I was standing. I spun around and all at once, this wave of warmth washed through me.
"You don't want your pasta to be too soft!" I heard in my head. It was my Grammom's voice and suddenly I was surrounded by her. It was like she had walked right into my kitchen and put her arms around me. Instead of getting upset that she's physically gone, I smiled and turned off my pasta.
I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday my Grammom paid me a visit. And because of it, I know she's ok and that she's watching over me. At the very least, she's watching over my macaroni and cheese.
Ke$ha Style Revenge at the Post-Op
I'll admit it. My pet peeves are plenty. But if there is one thing that absolutely drives me insane, it's waiting in a tiny room for a doctor forEVER. Today, my appointment with my ortho surgeon was at 1:45. I was the only person in the waiting room. The office staff was just back from lunch. There was no backlog of patients waiting to be seen. No emergencies busted in before me. And yet there I was, 20 minutes after my scheduled appointment, still waiting for a room.
When I was finally taken back to the room (with both girls in tow), I figured I'd be seen quickly. I figured wrong. At the 35 minute point, post appointment, I decided that if Lil C wanted to sing her heart out I was going to be ok with that. In fact, if Big I wanted to join her and if the two of them wanted to dance around, stomping like elephants, that would be cool too.
At 40 minutes post appointment time, the exam room concert began. Lil C started by standing in the center of the teeny room and clearing her throat. She then broke out in a near perfect version of Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold." When she forgot the rest of the words, she switched to her tried and true, Ke$ha's "Tik Tok." She knows every word to that song; she also knows that brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack is a bad idea. She has motions to go with each line. At the end of every other line, she threw up some crazy side kick/roundhouse business. It was loud and it was awesome.
I sat on the exam table bopping my head to the beat. I encouraged her to continue singing and louder. Any doctor who's going to make me wait that long should have his office graced with little girl concert. It's called the patient's revenge and it's my right as a human being.
When he finally entered the room about 10 minutes later, Lil C was on her 6th round of "Tik Tok" and she was getting more and more energetic with each round. He walked in the room, and she backed up into the chair, crossed her arms and said, "You took WAY too long." This is the second time she has scolded him; and it is times like this that I swear that kid and I have a mental connection. I think it; she says it.
A few minutes later, as he was consulting my surgical notes, Lil C leaned forward in her chair and said, "Ok, ok, ok, so I have to know something. Can Mommy swim now or what?" Once again, mental connection. What I love about this surgeon is that he totally gets my kid. He turned to me and asked me if this drama was the norm for her. I nodded that it was and he told her that I was going to have to call my plastic surgeon to get the swimming answer for her. She didn't like that one bit.
I also didn't like being told that I have to wait two more weeks to do anything. In addition, I have to start going to physical therapy again next week. Until my flexion is back to normal, I'm not allowed to do any treadmill walking or running. I'm at about 75% of where I should be, but it's the last 25% that is always bite-your-pillow-and-swear-a-lot killer. I need to be going to PT appointments three times a week like I need a hole in the head. I just don't.
Once I'm allowed to exercise again, I have to be careful so as not to get a stress fracture right through my bone thanks to the huge hole the screw being removed left. He said I have a Level 1 PCL sprain still happening. So, no knee extensions, no squats, no breast stroke (Ugh-how does he think I can survive???). Once I can go back to the gym, I'm going to find a good trainer and get this atrophied leg whipped back into shape. The problem is that there are so many limitations.
Here's the good news though. My surgeon had me sit on the table with my legs hanging over the side. He grabbed my left leg, twisted it a bit and held it tight and asked me to pull it back towards the table. This has always caused me a ton of pain. Today, he grabbed the leg and watched my face for the grimace I've had each and every time I'm there. Today, there was nothing. The screw is gone and so is the pain associated with it. I just need some more time to heal. I am starting to believe I will really be better. . . finally.
And that feels almost as good as the Ke$ha revenge.
Today, I am speaking out at Violence Unsilenced. Check it out. There are also some great winning opportunities on The BBM Review. Check them out too!
Facebook and Mustard: The Answer Revealed
Today I got a call from a student on my cell phone, given to him by the registrar, I assume. First of all, he called me by my first name. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I normally go by in the classroom. Sure, there are plenty of people who use their first names in the classroom. However, I don't. Maybe it's the few years of teaching high school, but my students call me "Mrs. B." He should have assumed the more formal alternative. Right away, he went to the first name. Dude, we are not on a first name basis.
He then proceeded to tell me that he will miss the first week of class because he is going on vacation. He wanted to know, and I quote, if "I'll miss anything." Um, yeah, buddy, you're going to miss the first week of class. The first week of class is crucial. It's where I lay down the law, drive all that info on the syllabus into your head and then we get down to business and start working on first speeches. Yes, the first week. That's how I roll.
This reminds me of the student I had last year. In the middle of discussing my strict attendance policy, she shot her hand up in the air and said, "Um, yeah, I'm from far away. And if someone in my family gets sick or dies or something, I might not be here for like a whole week."
I'm not a fan of people who interrupt me to tell me their personal business, business that can be taken care of AFTER class, not during when it's wasting everyone's time including my own. I asked her if she had any sick and/or dying family members or friends. She said, "no." And then I told her that we should just go on and assume that everyone is going to stay healthy for now and that we'll deal with it, if and when that time comes.
I am fully aware that college students experience the death of a grandparent at least once per semester, every semester throughout their time at the university. But let's just deal with that when it happens. I can also now add that on the morning of my Grammon's funeral, I came and taught my class before going to the funeral.
Needless to say, I am a bit concerned about my students this semester. Each year I am a bit older and less tolerable. I always have some awesome kids; but the non-awesome ones can really overshadow those bright and shiny ones sometimes.
But, I've left you hanging enough. Here is how Facebook is like mustard. . .
"Yet it is paramount to understand that everything has its own pros and cons. Take mustard, for instance. It has barely any calories but that doesn't mean every dieter will find it delectable. While mustard is almost completely different from Facebook, my point remains solid. Facebook isn't for everyone."
I can't even begin to tell you how badly I want this student in my class. It is out of the box thinking like this that makes me think that there is hope. Bright, shiny, mustard-colored Facebooky hope.
How close were you to the right answer? I have to say, those ketchup responses were pretty funny.
Facebook is Like Mustard and Other Reasons I’m Not Ready for Fall Semester
I need to get my syllabus ready for the fall semester and I haven't done it yet. Procrastination becomes me. Here's the thing though. I have good reason for procrastinating and being a little bit scared of what's to come this semester.
Each summer, I spend several days during freshman orientation, reading abysmal essays that make me want to laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously. The good ones are few and far between. It's amazing how clueless students can be without an open word doc in front of them. Some of them have such horrible handwriting that it's not even possible to give the essay an accurate read. But I always leave each reading session with a list of "greatest hits" and I'd like to share some of them with you.
This year, students were asked to respond to one of three questions. One asked students to discuss Facebook and whether or not they feel Facebook needs a new code of conduct. Another question inquired about how students think the oil spill should be dealt with and handled by corporations. The last question asked students to discuss standardized testing and whether or not they feel tests are good representations of intelligence.
As I'm sure you can guess, most of our essays were about Facebook. We actually got to the point, during our third session, where we divided up the essays and tortured ourselves with the Facebook ones first. They lacked critical thinking; in fact, most lacked any and all semblance of thinking. Here are some of the "best of" examples:
Best use of two words that are not the actual words intended: "I was up hauled that Facebook didn't have a better code of conduct." Um-hmm, that would be appalled.
Best use of a misspelled rock: "Don't take anything for granit."
Best example of logical thinking: "One of the biggest dangers of online activity is that you might encounter some "unfriendly stalkers." Yeah, you don't really need to worry about the friendly stalkers, just those pesky unfriendly ones.
Best use of food to get point across: "I donut know how I feel about this issue." Someone was hungry.
Best invention of new time period: "I can't stand it when people act like a pre-Madonna." Hey, at least this student knew to capitalize Madonna. And for all of you who were not certain before, we have BC, AD and now PM (pre-Madonna) time periods.
Most startling revelation:"If Facebook were banned, people would have no way to connect with friends." True enough, because we don't have anything like phones or mailboxes where people could connect. And interaction in person? Nah, that wouldn't work.
Best first sentence: "To begin with, I am choosing essay number 3." The essays were lettered.
Best use of patriotism: "The attacks on 9/11 couldn't break our seals. Us Americans came together." Yep, our seals are patriotic animal folk. They rose above and helped "us Americans" by clapping those silly little flippers and barking us right back to normal.
Best person to write a new code of conduct for Facebook: "Facebook should make you don't write no threats." For real people.
Best way to get put in remedial English: Write a killer good essay and then on the front of your booklet, fill in where it says "subject" with the word: "writting."
Best invention of new words: nototion and vestate. Huh?
Best phonetic spelling (or something): suppost (supposed), sorce (source), awial (awhile), and pedafiles (pedophiles), precousious (precautious), oppurinity (opportunity). There were just too many awesome examples to choose only one.
Best combination of words: "everywhichway"
Best new inventive use for a word: "Facebook allows you to meet new people to a certain decent."
I have to say though, that my favorite essay of the entire summer, took a giant risk by comparing Facebook to mustard. Anyone want to guess how those two are alike? Go for it. Think like an incoming freshman and knock my socks off.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
