Category Archives: Uncategorized

October 7, 2014 · 9:13 pm

Plum or Pumpkin?

It was my first outing since eye surgery. Just an afternoon with Mom and Marcia looking in different stores for items on our lists of needs, ending with Target, which is where all my shopping took place. I usually grab a basket, place it on top of my walker and push it like a cart. But I needed grocery items this trip a well, so after getting me a regular cart, Mom just took my walker back to the car. All set with my list, I headed towards the pharmacy and food section feeling pretty confident. Shopping would be fast, because without glasses, I have no reason to stand and contemplate on all my options; I had what I wanted in mind and figured I should just stick to that until I could see better.

All excited, I come to the produce section. As I pass by a refrigerated section on my way to get fresh veggies, I notice there is coffee creamier in the case; not in its usual section, I scoot my cart back over for a glance. It’s the seasonal selection! Intrigued, I stopped to contemplate. They had Peppermint Mocha–too early, I save it for after Thanksgiving. There were three others: Pumpkin Butter, Pumpkin Spice and one that I read as Plum Cake. Between the two pumpkin flavors, I decided Pumpkin Butter sounded too sweet, so I grabbed the other. Finding Plum Cake an interesting flavor, I added it my cart, along with a regular Sweet Cream for when we use flavored coffee beans.

I finish my list efficiently, considering my eye was still only fluttering half-open most of the time and when I finished the food section, I make my way back towards the front. I only needed a new trash can for my bathroom, and to my surprise,, managed to meet Mom on the isle leading to that section. “Find everything?” she asks. I comment the need for the trash can, then excitedly tell her of my creamier findings: “Look at this flavor! Plum cake!”  Glancing at where I am pointing, Mom gives a sympathetic smile and reports, “Oh. It’s Rum Cake.” Bummer. I bought it anyway. 🙂 Thinking now, Plum Cake creamier would probably be disgusting. Besides, according to Mother Goose, Little Jack Horner sat in a corner eating a plum pie–not plum cake. So much for contemplating.

. . .

Yesterday, I painted. I painted a pumpkin since my hands cannot carve a pumpkin. It was a very interesting experience and gave me an appreciation for those who spend quality time painting their dried gourds. I can’t say I have the desire to paint any more veggies, but it was new and different. And looks like a plum.

IMG_5747

 

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October 5, 2014 · 7:33 pm

Chill Winds

It seems to have changed overnight. We went from mid-70’s, shorts and tee-shirt attire to pants, sweaters, and scarves all in one weekend. Suddenly, Mom is pulling the remainder of her tomatoes from the garden before frost sets and soup is now a comfort food…it fits the atmosphere, the season, like a cup of tea in the evening…there are good things in every season. I just have to see them with a better attitude.

I haven’t seen it here–which has surprised me: birds migrating. I saw flocks of birds migrating south to warmer weather in Colorado. As the weather suddenly changed here, I thought of the migrations…the flight–almost escape–from the present condition to warmer, winter luxury days. I almost envied it, because I have no escape from my present condition, no luxury of easy days ahead.

And the thought came to mind: “So this is it. This is what it is.” I knew the right eye surgery would not fix everything, but maybe I was hoping for more. It seems that my entire body took a sudden change, like the weather–it just did with no warning and now it is different. I was trying to retrieve a small container of trail mix from the pantry the other evening and was having problems gripping the container while balancing, practically dropping it all to the floor. It is a common sight. But as I turned to grab my walker handles, Mom was behind me. Already having a frustrating day, I mumbled, “If this is what it is going to be like for the rest of my life, it stinks.”

The next day I was typing a letter to my cousin who, at age fourteen, said a few ideas about what she wanted to be when she grew up, but wasn’t sure. I sat contemplating thoughts, because I am still at that stage in my own life…not necessarily what I want to be (I have plenty of those old dreams), but what God needs me to be. What am I supposed to be doing with my life, because the world around me is moving and people’s lives seem migrating from one thing to the next and I feel I often just sit missing something.

After much thought and looking at my own heart, I responded:

You said you don’t know what you want to be when you grow up and that is okay. I am 12 years older than you and find myself out of the “world of work” not knowing what I am supposed to be doing and often get frustrated or antsy that I have what I see as limitations. It is not easy, but I am learning to see that there is so much work we can do every day for God if I let go of what I had always dreamed for myself of a future.

It is one of the fine lines of faith I walk daily. And usually the frustrations win. As I re-started Francis Chan’s book, Crazy Love, this morning, I was reminded of the importance of standing in awe, complete awe, of God. I don’t often do that, if at all…too many distractions, too many wishful migrating thoughts. It is terribly difficult to even look or think of my body with an awe of seeing it as God’s creation, perfectly woven from before birth. The physical I now live is not what I may want, but in every season, there is good. I just need to live it in a better attitude, full of awe of God’s Goodness.

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Colossians 3:17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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October 3, 2014 · 5:53 pm

Hello, my name is…

I’m horrible at introductions. People say their names and, most often, by the time I say, “I’m Mel. It’s nice to meet you,” I have entirely forgotten their name or never fully understood it in the first place. Introductions would be a way for me to practice assertiveness in just simply asking for clarification or repeating of the name. But I never do, unless my family is present with me, in which one comes to my rescue and will finger spell and lip-read until I get the name and/or pronunciation correct. Even after all this, I still stumble to remember. Names.

Names are special–even nicknames. “Mel” was never even mentioned while growing up. My high school friends called me “Minda” and Dad has always loved his for me–“Minder.” 🙂 It wasn’t until my freshman year at CCU that Mel came to existence. I think it started as a mix of decorating our dorm room, “Cal and Mel’s Room,” along with the street church kids. Our leader had an abbreviated name as well and the kids just took Mel and that is who they came to call me. Between friends, roommates and street church–Mel fit. I liked Mel. I think my full name–Melinda–is a beautiful name, but for me, Mel fits. 🙂

It was also in college that I came to use sign language and interpreters for hearing needs in the classroom. My sophomore year, a deaf man transferred to finish his degree and we had one class together that Spring. As I got to know him over the next year, he gave me my signing name. In the Deaf culture, one must be deaf to give another a signing name (unless you are going into interpreting or such.) I am not sure why this is,but I remember my ASL teacher, who was born deaf, telling us about different deaf culture things. Another one that I found funny, but now that I am deaf myself, can see how it makes sense: if two deaf people are talking or even just a deaf person signing to another hearing person, it is considered rude for a third person passing through to duck or lip an, “excuse me,” because it is actually more of a distraction to the conversation than if the person just quickly passes. A complete opposite of the hearing world conversation.

Conversations, like names, can get confusing when watching me. Because I was born hearing and didn’t go fully deaf until this year, my speech–though soft–is good. I do struggle with different pronunciation aspects, but then again, like a history of falling, I have a history of funny word mishaps and pronunciations even before I got declining hearing. Contrast, my deaf friend at CCU was born deaf and taught himself to speak; he too had a soft voice, but his pronunciation of words was remarkable! Unless I am using an interpreter, I lip-read; as I mentioned, my hands and sign language don’t agree anymore, especially in finger spelling…which is probably why I dread introductions with interpreters, because it is proper to first finger spell your name and then show your signing name. So much for manners–I skip the finger spelling completely and just show my signing name. 🙂

Before we graduated, my friend gave me my signing name. It is an “M” brushed by the side of the cheek, starting close to the mouth. He said he chose this, because of my smile. I think it is a very special signing name and even though I have now lost contact with him since moving here, I think of him when I use my name. I have been thinking about signing names for many months now, because I have the honor of giving my family signing names…which will also cut the finger spelling time and questions in conversations if I need clarification of the name. I want, like my signing name, the signs to be special. My problem is that there are 4 “M’s” in the midst of being creative, but I haven’t stopped in search of their names yet.

So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.

~Helen Keller

 

 

 

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October 1, 2014 · 12:33 pm

Rugby Church

Rugby is a strange and fascinating sport. It actually reminds me a bit of the way Calvin and Hobbes play Calvinball in Bill Watterson’s comic strip–the set up structures and plays always shifting to what seems like a new sport. Saturday night, I found myself relaxing and since I had finished a book the night before, I wanted a change of atmosphere and decided to browse Netflix on my Nook instead. As I scanned some of the movies already pre-selected from earlier this summer, I found a few that seemed funny but ended switching three times until I found a movie that seemed a solid, not just a movie, sort of story. The movie: Forever Strong.

Forever Strong is a story based off true events. The main character, Rick Penning, is a 17-year old Rugby star on his father’s rugby team. Living a party and wild life off the field, Rick gets his second DUI and is sent to a juvenile detention center where his relationship with his father is scattered and Rick is anything but skeptical about life change. At first. A counselor at the detention center was the first to notice Rick teaching a group of other detention boys the fundamentals of the sport,

Rick: Now, if you get tackled and you go down, you must release the ball back to one of your own guys. Then he takes it and goes. We don’t stop. There’s no huddles, no time-outs.

Detention boy: So, it’s kinda like football and soccer?

Rick: It’s kinda like Rugby.

As time continues towards Rick’s 18th  birthday, if he does not turn his life around, he could end in a state prison. But a rival rugby team’s head coach, Coach Larry Gelwix, sees potential for the better in Rick and offers him a chance and playing position on his team. It is not the field and wins that essentially matter to Coach Gelwix, but first, the player as a person off the field…the lives of his young men and who they become are what he puts as top priority. For Rick, this is a new philosophy. Over the course of his detention time, he learns life change…a better change. Tears, sweat, laughter, sacrifice, pain, hope…Rick’s once rival team, became more than just a rugby team on the field. They became brothers, bonded by a desire to be better in life, to get back on their feet even when they didn’t think it was possible.

As I watched the field action, the ruthlessness of the sport made me think of one thing: where on earth are the helmets and shoulder pads and protective gear? All they had was a mouth piece that looked much like a night retainer you wear when sleeping. Soccer can get crazy, but they don’t simultaneously tackle like football players either. I now have a greater respect for rugby, even if I don’t fully understand the rules and plays of the game.

Like Rick explained in his rugby fundamentals, life rarely gives time-outs. If any at all. It can be ruthless, being knocked down again and again. As I somewhat marveled at the players determination against the rivals and the pain, I thought of my own protective gear. In Ephesians 6:10-19, Paul urges the brothers and sisters in faith to put on the full armor of God, “ For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” (v. 12). My own armor of God is always there, but lately, I have been living days where I don’t take time or effort to fully put it on, guarding myself…leaving myself prone to the “flaming darts of the evil one,” (v.16). 

I have been given the strength to stand, again and again. And I will continue to be knocked down, again and again. Who would have known that a simple sport movie would remind me of what is important, what comes first as top priority in life…who I am in Jesus Christ. I still and will have my days, like the frustrations of the hands that I recently posted, but it is part of the getting up, continuing on, living life to the full.

…

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0840322/

http://highlandrugby.net/index.php/11-coaches/6-larry-gelwix

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September 28, 2014 · 11:09 pm

Novelties not Written

Much like my right eye,  I depend greatly on my right hand–because I am a natural right-handed person. It wasn’t until this February that the numbness started to rapidly increase, causing my fingers to curl inward like the left hand. There were several factors in my decision to stop driving at the end of March, and the right hand was one of them. Weakness has been a problem more in the left hand, but now, I often feel that even though my left hand is the weaker hand, the grip is better than the right just because the numbness is not as heavy. It gets confusing. Another mind game.

Compared to the rest of the present happenings of the body, I don’t talk much to anyone about my hands past the typical comments that they’re cold or my bad (really declined) penmanship, finger-poking computer times or asking for help opening things. Others are just obvious and a bit embarrassing, especially when it comes to eating…sometime even just around my family. I’ll comment how I miss taking a notebook and pen outside and just write,, but I don’t say much how I often miss just pampering myself…putting my hair in a ponytail or up fancy with cute bobby-pins, adding a little make-up and wear my Promise ring. I don’t like to comment how much I feel like a kid when I can’t buckle my seatbelt or punch my PIN number at the store; how frustrating it is not to be able to hold my books or almost drop my shower head while rinsing my hair or how long it takes to get dressed some mornings or hardly being able to set my alarm or punch the buttons on the microwave. And now that we are incorporating more sign language in the family, my hands struggle…the signs barely visible, if any at all.

Things, things, things…everyday. I usually just adapt–because I have to–and just don’t say these things. I think I let it build this past week, silently, after all the PT/OT and other personals gave me the “strength tests”: Squeeze my fingers, don’t let me push your arms down, and such. My doctors at Children’s do the same, but they always end withe the same question: “Can you still hold a paintbrush?” As if nothing else I wish I could still do is essentially important, because they know my paintings…they know my story and how painting brings me joy as I share it with others. I may have the penmanship of a seven year old and finger-poke in typing, but I can hold a paintbrush. There is almost a sense of freedom and I forget my woes of hands, if only for a moment. My stubborn and numb and curly and weak hand.

Fear not, for I am with you;
be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

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September 25, 2014 · 10:27 pm

The Stair

The stair. It’s staring back at me. Like it knows, the first step is the hardest and so it stares at me…waiting.

Even before finishing the typical first session questions and personal history analysis, I had already claimed my ultimate goal for this series of Physical therapy. In a word: stairs. Even before my major eye corrections, and no glasses since July, the tendency to be nervous around stairs started earlier in the spring when my balance began to again decline. By summer, I was no longer trekking the stairs alone and even getting myself down one and a half steps outside the back patio door–grasping the side handle–seemed dangerous enough for me to stop doing that altogether as well. Without help, I am not able to meander outside or get to the basement. My life is the first floor.

My PT thought this was a good goal–but I also need to rebuild strength in the other everyday movements as well…even simple exercises of properly standing from my chair was enough to leave me heaving in large breaths. I am still needing to be mindful of my posture. After the workout and instructions on which exercises I am to daily repeat until she returns next week, she asked if I wanted to try the basement stairs.

When she had first arrived in the morning, I was seated at the dining room table organizing my new “care kit” container for the inside of my walker; a little compartment to hold a few items I use often, such as, safety scissors, a notepad and pen, my phone and ChapStick and a few snacks. Marcia recommended the idea to me after my OT session, partly because she saw my sincere struggle to open a zip-lock bag to retrieve my muffin the day before. I could have stood from the table and retrieved a pair of scissors from the other side of the kitchen, but I decided to do it the hard way.

Off to the side of my “care kit,” I was finishing my morning coffee in my thermos, all decor in the Denver Broncos logo. As PT first began, we talked about getting my stitches out and how my leg felt overall and I brought up the stairs again, as I also pointed out my thermos with a bit of anticipation: “It doesn’t matter to my family, but the NFL season has started and I have not even been able to watch any games. I mean, I even missed the opening Broncos versus Colts game!” My hands flying in the air as I make my point–entertainment is downstairs. It isn’t just football, but painting as well. So when she finally asked if I was ready to try, my achy body re-surged and I gave a few victory pumps of the arms in the air and said, “Yep!”

We locked my walker by the stairs and I sat on the seat watching as my PT showed me a new way to try going down the stairs, instead of the typical–hold he rail with right hand and brace myself with the wall on the left.  I am one, whether going to sit, stand, or stairs, to grip with both hands. It makes me feel more secure, because often I don’t feel how I am griping the handles or rails. Often, I recheck the position of my curled fingers to make sure my grasp is as accurate as possible. Because the basement stairs only has the one rail, she wanted me to try going sideways, holding the railing with both hands. I position myself and she is right there with me. I move my foot closer to the edge and gaze down. It’s just one step and it is staring at me. In that moment, I begin to shake and tears come. She helped me sit back down and when I was ready, we did the stairs in the garage.

I am not sure why it is just the basement stairs…why I almost fear them. My PT said we’ll continue working on ideas and building my confidence to take that first step, because once I do, there is no turning back.

Cause I’m not who I was
When I took my first step
And I’m clinging to the promise
You’re not through with me yet
So if all of these trials bring me closer to You
I will go through the fire
If You want me to

~Ginny Owens, “If You Want Me To”

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September 25, 2014 · 6:30 pm

Making Progress

“Can I have a cup of cold water, please?” I am standing at the table clutching my walker handles, yet just about to transfer to the chair. Marcia is heating the pizza left-overs in the microwave and turns towards me. Said very matter-in-fact, “Why don’t you get it yourself?” I stand speechless as my brain processes the statement; then I come back to reality: YES! I can get my own cup of water. So I did.

They say you form a new habit in twenty-one days. I beg to differ a new  number, based off these latest life events, and give it less than fourteen. Of course, the need and dependency on others for even a cup of cold water played the lead role in this habit, but still, a habit formed and now is in process of returning to the more “normal” Mel–just as the rest of the body after sitting for two weeks. It’s a mind and body game of recovery.

Monday, after my first session of Physical Therapy, a motto was formulated: “Making progress!” There have been times of major moments and minor detailed ones. I got my stitches out on Tuesday, had Occupational Therapy and another PT session today. I can get myself out of chairs and bed without assistance, bonus being able to just roll over in my sleep now that the brace is gone. I can dress myself, somewhat make my bed (it used to look better), get my food from the pantry or utensils from the cupboard and wheel them on my walker to the table. I can get a cup of cold water.

But it is still only the start of regaining strength. After today’s session of repetition PT exercises, I felt the muscles ache and wanted just to sit again. But where would that lead in making progress? If I ran (not literally) from every obstacle in life, where is the endurance? The hope in suffering–my weakness is His strength.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:9-11

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September 21, 2014 · 5:57 pm

Changeless

I suppose that I have been scientifically incorrect all day, as I have been saying “Happy First Day of Fall,” first to Marcia as she helped me get breakfast and then in written email form to my friends. I guess I should have double checked the calendar on the wall, because according to my Google search, I am a few days ahead of schedule. Not in my mind to be a big deal, as I am readily excited for the season change, however, according to the National Weather Service  website, the official time the Autumnal Equinox begins is Tuesday, September 22nd at 10:29 EST. (http://www.crh.noaa.gov/lbf/?n=firstdayfall).

I don’t believe that my physical change are purposefully targeted to happen around the weather. Yet, if that is truly what God intends–maybe to teach me a new lesson of faith–then it sure seems to happen in this way more often. These past few weeks have brought many changes, not just for myself, but my family too. It is situations I cannot do on my own; it is situations my family cannot do on their own.

Because I have to sit almost all day at the present times, I get to think, read and do a lot of looking out the window when no one is around. I first got home from eye surgery, I was in complete sleep zone, but now that I am awake and more alert, I have noticed the leaves changing colors. Starting small at first, now they are clumping together to more brighter show. I have been thinking of this in terms of how much love, prayers and support are shown to me and my family during these times. The love of God starts spreading, like new colors on the leaves making a beautiful picture to behold.

The oxymoron: change is constant. Seasons are short. Even as Autumn begins, it will end. In an Andy Griffith episode titled, “The Loaded Goat,” the town of Mayberry finds themselves in a bit of change for a day as well. As construction workers blast near the highway for an underpass, a local farmer brings his goat, Jimmy, to town. Understand, Jimmy “has a very healthy appetite.” After chewing his rope and freeing himself from the bench, Jimmy wanders around town and gets himself into predicaments with the town drunk, Otis, and eats some of the dynamite found stored in a shed for the bypass work.

Hilarious adventures follow, as Barney and Andy determine the best way to resolve getting the goat safely out of town. Andy sends for the construction crew’s blast engineer for advice. Never having seen anything such as this in his prior twenty years on the job, his knowledge of the situation was simple: “There is only one thing you can be sure of, and that there is nothing you can be sure of.”

I am sure Moses felt this way too, as God spoke to him through the burning bush. Moses, being called to enter a new season of change, wanted to know what to tell the people when they asked for His name,

Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?”

God said to Moses, “I AM who I AM.” And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel, ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”

Exodus 3:13-14

Changeless. And as I often sit gazing out the same window, the truth that God remains, never changing, shows me how small and fragile my faith can become when I trust myself in an ever-changing world. Even while sitting, I can fully stand on the promises of God.

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September 17, 2014 · 11:01 pm

Falling, it’s Trust

“You’re not going to let me fall?” “I’m not going to fall, am I?” Each question, each answer the same: “”No, I will not let you fall.” Not fully reassuring my fears, I had but no choice to place full trust in those helping me. Because I fell and it left me, in a moment, in full dependence on others. I fear falling.

I have a history in falling. By the time I was baby walking, I never seemed to grow out of it. My parents tell the stories of our family walks when I was around maybe five years old or so. I would trip on the sidewalk resulting in meeting new people around the block, as we would have to get to the nearest house for paper towels and a possible bandage. My bathroom drawer is stocked with Band Aides; I carry different sizes too in my wallet. Best to be prepared.

I was not, however, at all prepared for what happened last week. After getting home Tuesday evening, I went to bed. I did nothing Wednesday, except struggle to write a quick Facebook post that I was home and talk for a few minutes to a lady friend from town who brought pretty Get-Well flowers. I slept at all other times, even just going to bed by 9PM. I was told rest was good.

Around 5AM or so, I got up to use the restroom. As my right foot reached the line where the carpet meets tile, my natural curve hit the tile and my foot dug in the carpet, stubbing my baby toes and sending me off balance…plus my eye is completely swollen shut, so I am blind on that side. My bathroom has two sets of lights and Mom, in genius thinking, had left the light on that is above the toilet which just so happens to be the first tthing on the right when you walk in the door.

I am a known sleep-walker, but in this case, I know I was awake. Yet even the light didn’t help me see much as I started downwards–first ramming my right ribs on the door frame and then aimed for the toilet bowl. I am glad God created us with elbows and armpits, because those are what saved me from landing face first in the toilet bowl. My armpit caught the side of the seat and the elbow came withing inches of the water.

By this time, I am crying and breathing hard due to my ribs; as I pull my face up, I sit up and see a pool of blood. My left leg had been gashed right above the knee by the metal part of the brake on my walker wheel. I started hyperventilating. Mom was in the bathroom in less than a minute and wasted no time getting an ambulance. In the ER, I get a few CAT scans and x-rays to be certain of no inner damage. After 8 stitches in the wound, I get discharged with my leg in a brace to keep my knee from bending. We got home around 10:30AM. I just went back to bed.

There were some good things the rest of Friday, but by that night I was feeling sick; Saturday, the headaches increased with loss of appetite and I felt sick, Plain sick. As Mom helped me get myself ready to go back to the ER, I just said that too: “I feel sick. Everything is so wrong!” And it is. My body is wrong, because I live in a fallen world.

But the story doesn’t end there. My story doesn’t end there. Because I have been saved and even when I fall, He is right beside me. My friend was over today nd we were discussing things. I told her how it takes looking back in times like this to see the Goodness. My eye was never touched even though my face flew a mere inch from the toilet handle bar. My Lifeline was not connected properly that evening, because the phone line was down and my phone had been pushed away when my walker skidded across the bathroom floor. My own calls for help would have been useless. Yet God had awoken Mom at the timing of it all.

Losing my independence, though temporary, has been humbling. It has given me a chance to sit and rest. Sit and think. Sit and read. Sit and talk to God. I can’t say I will miss being dependent when this stage passes, but I might miss these moments (minus the painstiffy!) But in this experience, I have seen my life–my full need of dependence on God. Without Him, I am nothing.

Take my body and build it up
May it be broken as an offering of love
For I have nothing, I have nothing without You

All my soul needs
Is all Your love to cover me
So all the world will see
That I have nothing
But I love You

*Bebbo Norman. “Nothing Without You.”

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September 16, 2014 · 5:46 pm

Update on my Eye

Last week, if you recall, was the surgery for the right eye to see if by releasing the pressure of the swollen sheath surrounding the nerve, due to tumor growth, that it might help my fading vision and even the left eye. The morning of, I only had one pre,surgery rule: eat a light breakfast before 8AM. I never start my week of having breakfast with my dad, but there we were eating together before he set off to work, before joining us later.

After my bowl of blueberry Frosted Mini-wheats and a cup of coffee, I think I started to get more nervous about that evening, because I started getting the jitters (so to speak.) Having already accidentally dropped a new roll of toilet paper in clean bowl water, I also broke a mug and dropped a pill that just so happened to land on the tip-toe of my slipper. We laughed at that one!

We get to the hospital on time, but since one appointment before me was cancelled that morning, as soon as I signed in, I was ushered for preparations. After getting prepared, I met my anesthesiologists, and saw the surgeon for a quick moment. I still did not feel prepared enough mentally, but went under anyway. I don’t remember too much at first when they woke me up–and since it was a later surgery, they wanted to observe me overnight. Dad left for home for work the next day and Mom stayed in my room.

That night’s rest was off and on. Between getting vitals checked and a few chats with Mom, I also suffered a severe migraine. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I remember my Mom sitting on one side stroking my hair and my nurse on the other holding my hand. And after being checked in on by an ER doctor who was finishing his rounds (around 5AM), I truly had a greater appreciation and thankfulness for what these professionals do for their patients. It made me see things from the past, growing up, in new light that I had never experienced before…little things…because each hospital visit, there is always something. 🙂

I finally got some good sleep and when Mom woke me, someone had ordered me breakfast. I guess they thought I had a hearty appetite that morning as I was served two slices of French toast, two strips of bacon, juice and a nice size mug of good coffee. I ate maybe a fourth of the toast, a little bacon and all the coffee. Mom had my juice.

I got discharged around noon, rushed to change back to my regular clothes and then we headed to Children’s for my Wound Care appointment, concerning my left leg. Everyone thought it was because of my swollen shut, puffy and pretty purple eye. I was so tired from the surgery and had a headache, by the time I get in my appointment, I am pretty grumpy and basically fall asleep. Mom was everything that day and when I got home, I basically just went to bed. But it was my bed!

Last week was a blur, really, but as the days went passing, my purpleness faded and the eye started to flicker. Sunday it opened fully for the first time, but didn’t want to stay open long. Yesterday it stayed open for longer periods of time, but most often the eyelid likes to stay half shut; it is still weak. I also let the eye get lazy for that last few weeks prior surgery, it will take time to get my brain re-thinking to have the eyes work together. My right eye is blurry, but I do notice colors seem to be a bit more normal, although it is still sensitive to bright lights.

I have been asked if I think surgery worked, if it was successful. I honestly can’t say yet; it takes a possible up to a month for full recovery. I see my surgeon this Thursday for a follow-up appointment. Thank you for you prayers for this surgery: the peace, for my family and for the surgeons and other staff. Your prayers were heard.

I lift my eyes to the hills,

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

Maker of Heaven and Earth.

Psalm 121: 1-2

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