A Message from Rehab

Yay! I can type. I’m taking a lot longer than usual, but I have use of my fingers, so I am grateful. No, I don’t have internet access, but I plan on having Tony help me out by posting this. If you can read this, Tony came through for me. Thanks, Hubby.

Well, since I haven’t blogged about any of this, I’ll start the story from the beginning. I was working down at the church trying to get things ready for the garage sale, when I started to feel awful. Now, Becca had the flu, so that was probably the reason why I felt bad. I figured I just needed to finish some things up, and then get out of there and go home. Tony was there, and he was feeling kinda yucky too. Well, I sat down to rest, knowing that while I wanted to finish, getting tired wasn’t an option for me. That’s when it began.

Tingles in my legs, then my left leg went numb from the thigh down. I tried to move it. It didn’t work. I’m freaking out. By this time my mom had arrived from work to help out, and she was just outside the room. I waited a few minutes to see if it was just temporary, then called to my mom. My mom ended up taking me to the hospital.

Yes, Tony was there. I feel the need to explain that Tony doesn’t actually have to be by my side in a hospital visit. It doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is when people look down on him for not being there for me. He is being there for me. He’s taking care of my kids, and generally getting things done that need to be done. Sitting with me in the emergency room would just drive us both nuts. It’s how our relationship works. Tony doesn’t like hospitals, and while he would be there for me if I asked him to, I’m just not putting either of us through that. He can’t sit still. It’s not in his nature, and I just don’t want to change him. Especially when my mom is there and so very good at sitting through this kind of stuff.

But I digress.

So I went into the urgent care (because it’s cheaper than an emergency room visit, so we start there…not that it helped), and while I was waiting, my hands begin to tingle. Not cool. Before long they are not working, either.

I’m still sitting in the waiting room for a little bit when I begin to feel more nauseous. The flu is still there. I show it to the waiting room which begins to clear around me, if you know what I mean.

Finally they bring me in, take one look at me and my history and send me to the emergency room because they don’t admit patients from the urgent care. I move to a gurney and begin my really long night waiting for a room apparently, because they figure they already know what it is. MS. The doctors barely look at me. I’m to be scheduled for an MRI when I get a room.

Well, finally, at 7am the next morning, I got a room. It’s Saturday, though, and MRI’s aren’t done on weekends. The doctor comes in and protests this, and after a long day of waiting in an uncomfortable bed, not being able to move, at about 5pm, I get the MRI.

The next morning, I the doctor came to see me. No new lesions. What does that mean? It’s not necessarily related to the MS. It could be a totally new brain disease.

Oh, good. This MS thing was starting to feel routine. Can you feel the dripping sarcasm?

By the end of the day, which was Sunday, by the way, in case you missed all the time passing, I’m told that they don’t really know what is causing my paralysis. Was I doing anything different? Am I under any extra stress?

Basically, every doctor, except my own, thinks that this was stress induced. Umm…no. I totally reject that explanation. This is nowhere near the most stressful time of my life. Besides, even if it was, wouldn’t that go away with all of the support and relaxation that I got sitting around in the hospital? Not that I was actually stressed in the first place. Anyone who has seen me stressed out knows that I deal with that differently. I’m not stressed.

By Monday, the doctors were ready to release me with a walker (though I couldn’t even hold onto the thing yet), or send me to rehab to learn to deal with my paralysis. I know it sounds dumb, but at that point, I was torn. I wanted to go home. I really needed to gain control again. Mostly I was just tired of being told to stay in bed. Bedpans are not my friend.

After much prayer and a great deal of council, Tony and I decided that I would stay for rehab.

Tuesday morning, therapy began. Six in the morning, I was awakened to get myself ready for the day. A wheelchair became my freedom, all the way to the breakfast table.

Rehab isn’t bad. I’m learning to get around my problems, and at the same time work on getting strength and mobility back. It’s not easy, but I really didn’t want that. If I wanted easy, I would have gone home.

I think the hardest part of being here is the breaks. When I have nothing to do, I feel trapped. This has made the holiday weekend really hard. Saturday, I had occupational therapy and physical therapy in the morning, Sunday I had physical therapy for about 30 minutes in the morning, and today, Monday, Memorial Day, the therapists are off. I’m sitting around doing nothing. For typing this out, that’s a good thing, because so far it has taken several hours. My hands tire easily. They aren’t moving fast, anyway. Still, they are moving, so that is awesome.

My leg? It still doesn’t work. I have slight movement, but not enough to walk. Well, I walk a bit with a walker…and someone holding me…with a wheelchair behind me so that I have the ability to sit when I get tired…after about 50 feet.

So I’m going home in a wheelchair on Wednesday. Not my favorite thing. Still, I’m going home and I think I’m able to care for myself when I get there...after a few adjustments to my house. That’s where my family is now. I sit here by myself because my family is fixing things so that I can go home. That makes the loneliness and the boredom worth it.

So far, there has only been one day in my stay where someone outside of my family has not come to see me. It was a long day. Tony visits me every night. The kids have been able to visit every afternoon for about an hour or so each day. My mom came by to sit and play cards one day. Playing cards is actually assigned therapy, but it was still nice. It’s hard when you don’t feel anything in your hands. I’m sitting here feeling my hands start working better and better, though. It is such a good feeling, though a bit painful.

I still don’t think I could pick up my kids. That’s a bummer, but my strength is coming back. I feel the improvement, which is a blessing.

So back to cause. The major part of the improvement came after my neurologist came by. He started me on steroids like he had with the optic neuritis. The eyesight really began to come back about the same time relatively to the start of the steroids as my improvement to my hands. Anyone else think that something is related? No, they didn’t find a lesion in the brain to suggest MS again, but as soon as they started treating it like it was MS, I began to recover. I’m over thinking this, but I’ve also thought that subconsciously, I think that it is MS so bad that my stress is going down when I get the explanation that I want (which wouldn’t actually be a good thing, but it would make sense) so I’m getting better. I don’t know. I don’t even know if that makes sense. I still don’t think it’s stress, though.

Tomorrow my mom comes in for family training. Tony has to work. The kids will be at Cassidy’s house with her daddy, well, at least the twins will be, and it depends on how long the training will take for the other two. I can’t imagine it taking all day, though. She is supposed to be here around 8 am. I would hope that she can be done before 2 pm.

Wednesday I go home. Have I said that a few times? I’m excited. I’m not so excited about not having the ability to walk out of here, but I get to go home.

My house is changing without me right now. I’m not in control, but I’m ok with that. My husband and mom have it under control. God has the whole thing under control.

Where have I been?

This week, and most of last week, I have been cleaning. Not my house. My church.

Our church recently sold our facility and we are now in the process of packing things up to move. We don't actually have a place to move to yet, but God is going to provide. Anyway, since I have time (no, my kids don't actually take up time (insert roll of eyes here)) I decided to go down to the church and volunteer to help clean up and get stuff ready. I approached the dreaded "Resource Room" with a bit of confidence because I knew that God wanted me there.

I have been cleaning ever since. It doesn't look like it, it actually looks like a huge disaster, but I really have been sorting and throwing things away. It will look better soon. Really.

I should have taken before and after pictures. That would have been really cool. I don't think of these things on time.

My husband took a week of vacation from his paying job to go and work at the church (one of two not paying jobs that he has) this week, and we are going through all of the kid's classrooms and getting stuff out of there and organizing it. Well, at least that was the plan. The plan actually included Tony starting in his office.

My husband is an intelligent, witty, nice...pack rat. He comes by it honestly. His dad is way worse (though he has had many more years to refine his stuff keeping habits). It is a habit that drives me absolutely crazy ( I know, it's a short trip) especially when I am the one who has to go in and throw stuff away later. Tony is going through his office by himself (and is doing great so far, by the way), and then he is going to help me out with the classrooms. Today I went through my father-in-law's classroom. I will point out that he did go through a lot of his stuff. He and the lady who teaches with him did get a lot of the "good stuff" and move it to one spot. I just had to clear out everything else...I'm leaving the "good stuff" there through this week even though the teachers were warned that they needed to have all of their things cleared out by Monday. Still, it has to go soon. I'm just a pushover I guess.

This Saturday is the Yard Sale. I get the opportunity to haul out a whole bunch of junk and try and sell it to the community. Basically anything that isn't sold gets to hit the garbage, so I'm not really picky about how much I get out of stuff.


So I'm really busy. I'd like help, but I don't know who to ask. Basically, everyone who I would ask is working during the time that I'm down there or they have kids that care more than mine if they are ignored (Q:"Mommy or Dora the Explorer?" A: "Dora!"). I'm looking forward to Friday, when my mother-in-law comes in to pack up the church library and said that if she had extra time she would help Tony and I out.

Tony will finish his office soon. Tomorrow I'm sending my kids to visit Aunt Carrie (hopefully, if she is feeling well...she's pregnant and isn't always up for stuff) so I will be a bit more free to do what needs to be done. If all goes well tomorrow, and we feel that we will be able to finish the job on Friday, Tony and I will take Thursday off to do some actual relaxing vacation stuff (sleep...).

So that's what I'm doing. Honestly, the job has been good for me. I'm not at home all the time focusing on myself and my issues. I'd probably be way more depressed right now it that were the case. That's probably one reason why God told me to go do it.

"In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we command you, brothers, to keep away from every brother who is idle and does not live according to the teaching you received from us. For you yourselves know how you ought to follow our example. We were not idle when we were with you, nor did we eat anyone's food without paying for it. On the contrary, we worked night and day, laboring and toiling so that we would not be a burden to any of you. We did this, not because we do not have the right to such help, but in order to make ourselves a model for you to follow. For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: "If a man will not work, he shall not eat."

We hear that some among you are idle. They are not busy; they are busybodies. Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the bread they eat. And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right.

If anyone does not obey our instruction in this letter, take special note of him. Do not associate with him, in order that he may feel ashamed. Yet do not regard him as an enemy, but warn him as a brother."

1 Thessalonians 3:6-15

Grounded for life

Well, I'd like to know when my 5 year old turned 13. Today she told me that I was dumb.

I thought I was supposed to know everything still. At least from her point of view.

I'm not sure what to do. She and I have always had a rough relationship. This is the little girl who started arguing with me about what she should wear at 6 months old.

Not kidding.

She screamed her head off because her socks didn't match her outfit. I'm not exaggerating. When I found her socks that matched, she stopped. She rejected the yellow ones that didn't go with the purple dress. At that moment, I knew that this girl would be trouble for me.

During her toddler years she would have separation anxiety from one of my good friends (who is a girly girl, whereas I am...not at all). She kept telling me that she wanted to be a part of that family instead. She wanted to take Daddy with her, though.

I literally had to force a bond with her putting her to bed each night. I would take her to bed about a half an hour earlier than I had been, then tell her that she could rock with me for a while, or go to bed early. We would read a book or sing songs...or she would choose going to bed early.

As she grew older (I know, she's not that old yet, still) she would usually listen to Daddy, but anything that I said could be argued with, no matter how much she was disciplined for arguing.

Am I bitter? Probably. I shouldn't be, I know. At least she listens to Daddy. I'd just like to know where this whole idea that I am dumb comes from. She and I don't think alike, I know, and that makes her think that I don't know anything. I sit and do her homework with her every day, read the instructions to her when she can't figure it out, but she thinks I'm dumb.

I realized recently that she doesn't ask me all those why questions that 3, 4, and 5 year-olds tend to have. She asks them, she just doesn't ask me.

What am I doing wrong?

I'm considering a lot of options. Big changes just so that Becca will stop treating me this way. Her Daddy has spoken to her about this more than a few times. Some things have worked in the past, but they really haven't lasted long. I just don't know what to do. If this is what she is like now, I shudder to think of what she will be like at 13. This lack of respect is already getting on my nerves.