If you walk into my therapy gym and ask if I tell corny jokes, I'll be the first person to raise my hand. I admit it, I'm no stand-up comedian. Additionally, my sense of humor is somewhat (ok, very) black and dry. Quite unlike the coffee I drink, but that's a whole other blog post... I blame it on my dad the engineer, his time in the military (even though he was out long before I was born, cynicism CAN be inherited), and an entire childhood of both watching M*A*S*H and listening to Aggie jokes. Seriously, there needs to be a support group for people who have been forced to listen to Aggie jokes... So it's really no surprise that my collection of professional humor is really just corny, recycled one-liners designed to get a quick grin. Many times they contain a point that I'm trying to make to my patient while not sounding nagging. Several that get recycled more than others are "Don't stop breathing on me, bad things happen when you stop breathing" and "Breathing is beneficial. I highly recommend it to all my patients." They usually get the desired effect--the patient who has been holding his breath under the strain of whatever exercise laughs a bit and resumes breathing. This is an important step as I have a record of 10+ years CPR certification that has never been used on anything that can in fact breathe. I do not want to break this record.
Breathing is something I've been thinking about a lot this last week, primarily because it's been such a struggle secondary to a severe sinus infection. One day my O2 saturation level was even below that of one of my patient's that I was walking down the hall! After several sleepless nights filled with coughing and labored breathing, I desperately called my doctor and begged for the soonest possible appointment. And, yay for the strong antibiotics and prescription cough medicine, I'm actually sleeping. With the help of Afrin, I'm breathing again too! (and my husband is also glad that I'm no longer tossing and turning as it kept him awake as well.) Breathing is beneficial. In modern medicine we tend to think of the heart and it's importance to life, but it was actually breath that was chronicled as the start of human life.
Genesis 2:7 "the LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being." Job affirms his belief of the divine origins of life: "The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life." Job 33:4 Two chapters earlier one of Job's friends addresses not only the physical, but also the spiritual design of God, "But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives him understanding." Job 32:8 (emphasis added on all verses.)
Breathing. Spiritually, how are you breathing? Are you taking deep breaths and enjoying the sweetness of a God who loves you? Are you free and unrestricted with Him? Or, do you have something obstructing your spiritual lifeline, stopping you from filling your lungs? I'll confess that many times I let the stress of my life interfere and I forget to breathe. I find myself perplexedly gasping for breath and wondering why I feel so winded and weak. Bad things happen when you stop breathing. Instead of running to the Creator and letting Him fill me, I continue with the same, inefficient way of managing even when I know it isn't working.
Question: which is the more important part of breathing, inspiring or expiring? (breathing in or breathing out) The answer may surprise you. It's actually breathing out. When you expel the old, stale air from your lungs your body will automatically take in a nice, deep breath full of fresh air. What are you getting rid of, expelling from your life? Are you holding onto things that are slowly strangling you and preventing an influx of that which is good? For me, there are many things that I hold onto and stubbornly refuse to do what is best. It's not that I don't want to breathe, I just don't place a high priority on it when the truth is that time with my Savior is the most important. Without breath there is no life.
Breathing. It's that important.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Deaf One
Recently I've started seeing a patient who was born deaf. We'll call her Jane. (You'll probably notice that all of my female patients are named 'Jane Doe.' If the story requires naming another one, you'll find Janet, Janine, and Jinny... along with their spouses John, Jim, and James. Just making sure Im observing HIPPA.) She'll tell you that fact and shrug her shoulders, saying in the blurred pronunciations of one who cannot hear her own voice, "I don't know why." For her, communication is obviously something that she has struggled to achieve. She speaks sign language, but few do so she has adapted other skills as well. She reads lips incredibly well as long as the speaker looks directly at her. Imagine trying to learn to speak if never heard a sound, yet she has achieved the ability to make herself understood however cumbersome it may be. She has endured this her entire life and is not bitter or questioning about it at this stage in her life. She is one of the sweetest and happiest residents in the entire facility. Or maybe I'm just biased, but I'm really enjoying working with her.
Today she showed me again what an amazing attitude she has. The facility I work in recruits various types of talents and performers to visit and entertain the residents. Today it was an elderly man armed with a slightly out-of-tune guitar and a repertoire full of comical ballads popular when our residents were much younger. I looked through the crowd and there sat my deaf one, smiling and obviously enjoying herself. A common view from people blessed enough to live in their own homes and take care of themselves is that "I'm not going to a nursing home. Nursing homes are for people who are waiting to die." Jane certainly isn't sitting around waiting to die, she's getting as much as she can from life. Most people won't go to something that they can't fully benefit from, but she participated the best she was able and enjoyed all that she could. And I was humbled.
Today she showed me again what an amazing attitude she has. The facility I work in recruits various types of talents and performers to visit and entertain the residents. Today it was an elderly man armed with a slightly out-of-tune guitar and a repertoire full of comical ballads popular when our residents were much younger. I looked through the crowd and there sat my deaf one, smiling and obviously enjoying herself. A common view from people blessed enough to live in their own homes and take care of themselves is that "I'm not going to a nursing home. Nursing homes are for people who are waiting to die." Jane certainly isn't sitting around waiting to die, she's getting as much as she can from life. Most people won't go to something that they can't fully benefit from, but she participated the best she was able and enjoyed all that she could. And I was humbled.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Ride and a Personality
A couple of weeks ago MSN had a feature on what your car says about you. Originally I wasn't going to put it on the blog, but after re-reading it, I just had to! Maybe I'm clinging to this personna since the death of George and the realization that I probably won't find another BMW in an affordable price range again. My hubby is currently sitting next to me with his laptop researching minivans. Minivans!!! After an agile, fast, fun, performance vehicle! So yes, I think I need to post this and remember the good times before I start crying or something else... Really, I'll be ok.
"In an era when we define ourselves by the type of personal computer we use — we're either a Mac or a PC — those who own a 3-Series are Macs. Like an Apple, the BMW has style, a cultlike following and stellar performance. "They make you feel like you're smart and with it," McManus says. "It's a very well-executed vehicle." By that reasoning, we'd have to consider the owner to be a smart, considerate, yet style-conscious individual."
And the irony is that I'm reading this on a Mac. :)
BMW 3-Series
And the irony is that I'm reading this on a Mac. :)
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Farewell George
The Shelton family was sad to learn that a member of their family passed away suddenly. George the Monkey, named by Nathan, was a 1996 BMW 328i who gave out with a rusted frame. This experience is yet another reason why his owners wish the state of Indiana would quit using salt to clear the roads. He is survived by his owners, their children, and their other vehicle, a 1998 truck that Landon named Blacky Wacky. It is hard to tell who will miss him more, his mistress, Kat, or the children who rode safely buckled in back. Kat was very happy with "her baby" and loved the agile, powerful but yet smooth driving experience. She also loved the feel of the standard transmission and it brought a grin to her face. George handled like a dream and made driving fun again. (Especially after years of driving a Buick Century.) Interstate driving, traffic, and snow were all handled with ease from the precision machine. The boys loved having a "fast car" and constantly begged for the driver to hit the accelerator (of which George would happily do!) Nathan could constantly be heard making shifting noises in the backseat. It was the first time the Shelton family had a vehicle in which the boys would rather ride in instead of the truck. The next vehicle will never be the same as driving George.
1996-2011RIP George the Monkey, you will be dearly missed.
1996-2011Monday, September 12, 2011
A Tribute to the Night Before Christmas--Shelton Style
'Twas the night we bought the bunk beds and all through the house,
Our two little creatures were stirring and I looked for help at my spouse.
Sheets were purchased and placed on the bed
But little boys were too excited to lay down their heads.
Visions of them accidentally rolling out and hitting the floor danced in my head,
Most horrendous thoughts filled me with dread!
My husband, somewhat chuckling over my womanly fear,
Did at least put an arm out and draw me near.
Sounds of jumping and giggling filled the whole bed time,
If you turned for but a second little feet the bed would climb.
We added to our prayers, "Lord, let them not break a bone,"
and when I left the room I closed the door with a groan.
When out from the room their arose such a clatter,
We both jumped from the couch to see what was the matter.
On the floor were a toy car, a teddy bear, a flashlight, and ball,
And two faces grinning from the top said they were enthralled.
With time the newness has worn off and my children survived,
Although there is no way I can say we have arrived,
Now with confidence I can say as I shut off the light,
A peaceful night to all, and to all a good night!
Such were my fears when we purchased the bunk beds for Landon's room! Yes, I know. Paranoid mother. In my defense, I've heard plenty of stories, from everything from broken arms to stitches from "Superman" hitting the ceiling fan when he started flying... Overall, I've gone from "why did I do this?" to "It's great to have an extra bed for company!" And the boys have learned the main rules of "no playing on the bed," "no playing on the bed," and last but not least, "No playing on the bed." Throwing toys off the top bunk qualifies under "no playing on the bed." Landon had to earn the right to sleep on the top bunk, and has learned how to safely, but even with the railing we still wedge some bumpers up there. We're (probably more of the "I" than the "we") grateful that he's usually content to sleep on the bottom. :) Bedtime as a whole is much quieter now that the boys have separate rooms. :)
Our two little creatures were stirring and I looked for help at my spouse.
Sheets were purchased and placed on the bed
But little boys were too excited to lay down their heads.
Visions of them accidentally rolling out and hitting the floor danced in my head,
Most horrendous thoughts filled me with dread!
My husband, somewhat chuckling over my womanly fear,
Did at least put an arm out and draw me near.
Sounds of jumping and giggling filled the whole bed time,
If you turned for but a second little feet the bed would climb.
We added to our prayers, "Lord, let them not break a bone,"
and when I left the room I closed the door with a groan.
When out from the room their arose such a clatter,
We both jumped from the couch to see what was the matter.
On the floor were a toy car, a teddy bear, a flashlight, and ball,
And two faces grinning from the top said they were enthralled.
With time the newness has worn off and my children survived,
Although there is no way I can say we have arrived,
Now with confidence I can say as I shut off the light,
A peaceful night to all, and to all a good night!
Such were my fears when we purchased the bunk beds for Landon's room! Yes, I know. Paranoid mother. In my defense, I've heard plenty of stories, from everything from broken arms to stitches from "Superman" hitting the ceiling fan when he started flying... Overall, I've gone from "why did I do this?" to "It's great to have an extra bed for company!" And the boys have learned the main rules of "no playing on the bed," "no playing on the bed," and last but not least, "No playing on the bed." Throwing toys off the top bunk qualifies under "no playing on the bed." Landon had to earn the right to sleep on the top bunk, and has learned how to safely, but even with the railing we still wedge some bumpers up there. We're (probably more of the "I" than the "we") grateful that he's usually content to sleep on the bottom. :) Bedtime as a whole is much quieter now that the boys have separate rooms. :)
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Letter from Camp
A Letter from Camp
Dear Mom,
Our scout master told us all write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and worried. We are OK. Only 1 of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Chad when it happened. Oh yes, please call Chad's mother and tell her he is OK. He can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search & rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found him in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.
Scoutmaster Webb got mad at Chad for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Chad said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas can will blow up? The wet wood still didn't burn, but one of our tents did. Also some of our clothes. John is going to look weird until his hair grows back.
We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Webb gets the car fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked OK when we left. Scoutmaster Webb said that a car that old you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance on it. We think it's a neat car. He doesn't care if we get it dirty, and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the tailgate. It gets pretty hot with 10 people in a car. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the highway patrolman stopped and talked to us.
Scoutmaster Webb is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Terry how to drive. But he only lets him drive on the mountain roads where there isn't any traffic. All we ever see up there are logging trucks.
This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out in the lake. Scoutmaster Webb wouldn't let me because I can't swim and Chad was afraid he would sink because of his cast, so he let us take the canoe across the lake. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood. Scoutmaster Webb isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets.
He has to spend a lot of time working on the car so we are trying not to cause him any trouble. Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Dave dove in the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works. Also Wade and I threw up. Scoutmaster Webb said it probably was just food poisoning from the leftover chicken, he said they got sick that way with the food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and become our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time.
I have to go now. We are going into town to mail our letters and buy bullets. Don't worry about anything. We are fine.
Love,http://www.joke-archives.com/outdoors/campletter.html
Cole
This joke is something that my family has laughed about from years. A running joke is, "We're just going into town to buy bullets. Everything's fine!" I wish I could have written something like this. I'm not even halfway creative enough. And while the entire story is far-fetched, I bet we've all known boys to whom this would be a tremendous adventure and wouldn't fathom why their father is taking their mother to the ER with a heart attack.
How many times in our lives do we not see the danger, whether physical or spiritual, in our lives? Like the time my rifle quite literally exploded in my face while I shot it, I am so grateful for a sovereign God who cares enough for His children to protect them. Spiritually, what's your warning system? Who do you have in your life to warn you when you're sitting on the tailgate? Sometimes, just like this letter, we are either too immature to realize the danger we're in, or our caretaker isn't so good at his job, or both. God is never asleep at His post! Thank you, Father!
Sunday, July 3, 2011
the backpack
There's a backpack in my basement. I dont like it. It was on a tremendous after-season sale. It's nice looking: black with gray and red trim, a few pickets to hide things in, and those neat-looking but pointless bungee cords on the front. (Seriously, I've never seen anyone use that feature. Ever.) If I were a kid I would love it. I'm pretty sure that my kid will love it. Therein lies the problem. It's for him to pack his books, crayons, and the like and go to school. I know that Nathan will enjoy both the backpack and going to school. And I'm having a hard time dealing with it.
My friend talked me into buying the backpack on Black Friday because it was only two dollars. She bought the other three for her two children because, apparently, children are pretty tough on backpacks and they break in the middle of the year forcing desperate parents to pay full price for a new one. Not having prior experience in this area, I took her word for it. This will be my first year to send a child to school. Forget him being ready, I don't think that I am.
Thousands of parents across the country are counting the days until school starts again and I act as though I'm sending him to a concentration camp. My sentiments are being very unreasonable, I know that. And it's fun to see them grow and learn new things. But I'm sad that this innocent phase in his life is soon to be over. Soon he'll have homework and after-school activities. His time will be scheduled more by his school day than by family activities. I love coming home for lunch and seeing my boys. I dread not having him there.
Starting school is the end of a wonderful phase of his life but also the beginning of another wonderful one. Truthfully, I wouldn't want him to stay home forever. This is the beginning of his really really growing up, and there's actually a part (small!) that's excited to see what will happen next.
There's a backpack in the basement. I'm dealing with it.
My friend talked me into buying the backpack on Black Friday because it was only two dollars. She bought the other three for her two children because, apparently, children are pretty tough on backpacks and they break in the middle of the year forcing desperate parents to pay full price for a new one. Not having prior experience in this area, I took her word for it. This will be my first year to send a child to school. Forget him being ready, I don't think that I am.
Thousands of parents across the country are counting the days until school starts again and I act as though I'm sending him to a concentration camp. My sentiments are being very unreasonable, I know that. And it's fun to see them grow and learn new things. But I'm sad that this innocent phase in his life is soon to be over. Soon he'll have homework and after-school activities. His time will be scheduled more by his school day than by family activities. I love coming home for lunch and seeing my boys. I dread not having him there.
Starting school is the end of a wonderful phase of his life but also the beginning of another wonderful one. Truthfully, I wouldn't want him to stay home forever. This is the beginning of his really really growing up, and there's actually a part (small!) that's excited to see what will happen next.
There's a backpack in the basement. I'm dealing with it.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
What's in an attitude?
It was just one of those days where nothing was going right. I was ok, but scurrying to get things accomplished. She wasn't helping... Her negativity had increased to the point where the only thing to do was be very blunt with her. She usually chose to ignore me and complain anyway, but at least I had done what I could... As I came all but sprinting into the gym, I looked up to see her being pushed out of the doors. Before I could even form an apology for keeping her waiting, she spat out, "well, it's about time!" I grabbed the handles to her wheelchair, leaned over and asked, "do you think you could say something nice? Anything?" behind me I heard a combination of a gasp and a giggle from a coworker.
What is in an attitude? Can you control it? That day I remembered the words of a book I had read, called The Hiding Place. Corrie Ten Boom and her family had been captured by the Nazis for the "crime" of helping the Jews escape from Holland. Let's repeat this, she was captured by the Gestapo for saving the lives of people who's only crime was to be born the wrong race. She had been separated from all but her sister. The two of them were placed in the notorious Ravensbruck death camp in Germany. Yet the two of them decided to maintain a good attitude despite their surroundings. Living in bug-infested straw, malnutrition, inadequate clothing against the winter, and daily beatings, the two women chose to maintain positivity rather than complaining about their circumstances. In her biography, Corrie describes that she arrived at her decision realizing that the Nazis had taken away everything and controlled everything about her life at that point. They could not, however, control her relationship with God and her attitude. She could choose to be content and there was nothing that her tormentors could do about it. She even chose forgiveness against her tormentors. Shortly before her death, Betsie stated, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is deeper still."
No matter what, my Father calls me to have a positive attitude. He asks me to choose to trust in Him instead of getting mired in with my circumstances. Happy back to work after a nice holiday weekend everyone, here's a thought to start out your day:
"Happiness isn't something that depends on our surroundings...It's something we make inside ourselves."
— Corrie Ten Boom
What is in an attitude? Can you control it? That day I remembered the words of a book I had read, called The Hiding Place. Corrie Ten Boom and her family had been captured by the Nazis for the "crime" of helping the Jews escape from Holland. Let's repeat this, she was captured by the Gestapo for saving the lives of people who's only crime was to be born the wrong race. She had been separated from all but her sister. The two of them were placed in the notorious Ravensbruck death camp in Germany. Yet the two of them decided to maintain a good attitude despite their surroundings. Living in bug-infested straw, malnutrition, inadequate clothing against the winter, and daily beatings, the two women chose to maintain positivity rather than complaining about their circumstances. In her biography, Corrie describes that she arrived at her decision realizing that the Nazis had taken away everything and controlled everything about her life at that point. They could not, however, control her relationship with God and her attitude. She could choose to be content and there was nothing that her tormentors could do about it. She even chose forgiveness against her tormentors. Shortly before her death, Betsie stated, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is deeper still."
No matter what, my Father calls me to have a positive attitude. He asks me to choose to trust in Him instead of getting mired in with my circumstances. Happy back to work after a nice holiday weekend everyone, here's a thought to start out your day:
"Happiness isn't something that depends on our surroundings...It's something we make inside ourselves."
— Corrie Ten Boom
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Heads Up
Don't you love how God created the world to echo His spiritual truths? I was with several friends and we were discussing some of the pitfalls that we were encountering with in our walk with Christ. One woman stated how God reminds her to get her eyes off the problem and onto Him, to hold her head up and follow God. Then it hit me.We walk better spiritually when we keep our heads up in the same manner as when we quit watching the floor while we physically walk.
This is a truth that I tell my patients every day. Every. Single. Day. I quip with lame jokes like, "You don't need to give your nose a head-start to the floor." and "You're not a gorilla, you're a human." Dance instructors will tell you that watching your feet does not help you with your dance steps, instead it hinders and confuses. Keep your head up to improve your balance and safety. Keep your head up to communicate with your Savior.
Lift Up Your Face.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Treasure
Take that, Coronado! Ponce de Leon, you got nothin' on me!!! Forget the fountain of youth and the city of gold. I have something worth way more than their treasures, and longer lasting. I have an amazing God. A God who does not give us unreachable dreams, empty hopes, or wild goose chases. He does not ask us to find some amazing discovery to be remember in eternity. He sent His Son to be the most amazing treasure the world has ever known. To be remembering, all we have to do is choose to follow Him.
On May 7, I was reminded again of just how incredible He is. That morning I got up at 4:45 am. (Yep, that's in the morning!) My dear, long-suffering husband even slept in Landon's room so that I would have the best night's sleep possible. Also, my alarm not waking him up might have played sightly into the situation... I downed 2 Aleve, a potassium/calcium tablet, and choked down a protein bar for breakfast while I unsuccessfully tried to drink a G3. (Grabbed by accident instead of a G2. Do NOT make this same mistake! Ever. Nasty. Still shudder when I think about it.) I vaselined every skin surface that I remotely thought might rub against other skin, fabric, headphone wires, etc. Pinned my bib on my T-shirt and made certain to grab the medicine kit as well as my iPhone, armband, and headphones. Necessities, you know!
I met the other ladies and climbed into the back seat of the vehicle we were carpooling in. Massaging and taping the sudden shin-splints of one of my friends helped relieve my nervousness, but I couldn't get out of the back of my mind what I was about to try to accomplish. The closer the car came to Indianapolis, the faster my butterflies flew until I was glad that I was unable to finish the entire power bar. A gargantuan task of 13.1 miles loomed ahead of me. We parked the cars and split up with our partners to head to the corrals. And suddenly it happened, my nervousness melted away into excitement. The old feeling I used to get before a volleyball game reappeared. With the help of my friends I had trained and felt ready.
That wonderful feeling lasted until about mile 8. My combination of walking and running had worked pretty well and my partner and I had been keeping a decently steady pace of 13-minute miles. Then came the Brickyard. The race brochures makes sure to emphasize that runners get to race on the actual track that the Indianapolis is run on. True. How historical it is. True. How it's wonderful and the highlight of the race. FALSE!!! They lie like dogs!!! It was dreadful. Now I know why humans run on a 400m track, because 2 1/2 miles is way too long. I kept running and running and felt like I wasn't getting anywhere. Also, due to the bowl shape, there is no breeze whatsoever. The only good part was the 12 or so high-school cheerleading teams dressed up in different themes supporting the runners. The worst part was that I lost my partner somewhere between miles 6 and 8. Alone in a crowd of 30,000. After exiting the track, the next mile marker seemed like it never came. I didn't want to give up, but I was having a hard time starting to run after every walk. So I prayed. My prayer wasn't to finish in under 3 hours, I'd stopped caring so much about that. First, I thanked Him for this opportunity and the chance to push myself, thanking Him for my friends that were with me somewhere on the course. I thanked Him for helping me make the journey to start towards a healthier lifestyle and the chance to teach my children about the principle of stewardship. I even thanked Him for the cheering strangers on the sideline that came out in the rain. The crowd, by the way, was amazing. Then my prayers moved on into claiming promises, for I know He keeps His. Like crazy I asked for the strength to finish what He had asked me to start. He kept my legs moving and I was able to run the last mile. 3:11. This is literally the longest that I have ever run. For that matter, it's the longest I've ever run without a rest break!!!
People that overly-spiritualize things drive me crazy. I mean, really, dinner mints with praying hands on them aren't any better than those that you buy at Kroger. It certainly doesn't make your candy any healthier! But this journey was way more than physical, it was a spiritual, faith-building, bruising, and uplifting journey. Along the way I rediscovered that the God that I serve sometimes uses physical illustrations for spiritual purposes. I learned that, with His strength, I can do so much more than I think I can. With Him, I can silence the voices that run inside my head, seeking to distract me. With Him, I can keep on trucking long after the point where I would have quit. And a bonus: once upon a time there was an extremely competitive blond girl who never gave up and attacked problems. Somewhere in the University of Real Life her drive and determination got shifted from sports to academics and career and family, and she started using the deadly phrase, "I can't." Worst was the fact that she felt that getting in shape again and taking care of herself was hopeless. At the end of the race I found myself planning for next year's race and setting a goal time. 2:45. There, I've said it out loud. Then I found myself on the internet researching others to run. It was then that I realized that the competitive blond girl was back, more mature, darker hair, and happier than ever to be running. God restores. He's amazing. He's my treasure.
On May 7, I was reminded again of just how incredible He is. That morning I got up at 4:45 am. (Yep, that's in the morning!) My dear, long-suffering husband even slept in Landon's room so that I would have the best night's sleep possible. Also, my alarm not waking him up might have played sightly into the situation... I downed 2 Aleve, a potassium/calcium tablet, and choked down a protein bar for breakfast while I unsuccessfully tried to drink a G3. (Grabbed by accident instead of a G2. Do NOT make this same mistake! Ever. Nasty. Still shudder when I think about it.) I vaselined every skin surface that I remotely thought might rub against other skin, fabric, headphone wires, etc. Pinned my bib on my T-shirt and made certain to grab the medicine kit as well as my iPhone, armband, and headphones. Necessities, you know!
I met the other ladies and climbed into the back seat of the vehicle we were carpooling in. Massaging and taping the sudden shin-splints of one of my friends helped relieve my nervousness, but I couldn't get out of the back of my mind what I was about to try to accomplish. The closer the car came to Indianapolis, the faster my butterflies flew until I was glad that I was unable to finish the entire power bar. A gargantuan task of 13.1 miles loomed ahead of me. We parked the cars and split up with our partners to head to the corrals. And suddenly it happened, my nervousness melted away into excitement. The old feeling I used to get before a volleyball game reappeared. With the help of my friends I had trained and felt ready.
That wonderful feeling lasted until about mile 8. My combination of walking and running had worked pretty well and my partner and I had been keeping a decently steady pace of 13-minute miles. Then came the Brickyard. The race brochures makes sure to emphasize that runners get to race on the actual track that the Indianapolis is run on. True. How historical it is. True. How it's wonderful and the highlight of the race. FALSE!!! They lie like dogs!!! It was dreadful. Now I know why humans run on a 400m track, because 2 1/2 miles is way too long. I kept running and running and felt like I wasn't getting anywhere. Also, due to the bowl shape, there is no breeze whatsoever. The only good part was the 12 or so high-school cheerleading teams dressed up in different themes supporting the runners. The worst part was that I lost my partner somewhere between miles 6 and 8. Alone in a crowd of 30,000. After exiting the track, the next mile marker seemed like it never came. I didn't want to give up, but I was having a hard time starting to run after every walk. So I prayed. My prayer wasn't to finish in under 3 hours, I'd stopped caring so much about that. First, I thanked Him for this opportunity and the chance to push myself, thanking Him for my friends that were with me somewhere on the course. I thanked Him for helping me make the journey to start towards a healthier lifestyle and the chance to teach my children about the principle of stewardship. I even thanked Him for the cheering strangers on the sideline that came out in the rain. The crowd, by the way, was amazing. Then my prayers moved on into claiming promises, for I know He keeps His. Like crazy I asked for the strength to finish what He had asked me to start. He kept my legs moving and I was able to run the last mile. 3:11. This is literally the longest that I have ever run. For that matter, it's the longest I've ever run without a rest break!!!
People that overly-spiritualize things drive me crazy. I mean, really, dinner mints with praying hands on them aren't any better than those that you buy at Kroger. It certainly doesn't make your candy any healthier! But this journey was way more than physical, it was a spiritual, faith-building, bruising, and uplifting journey. Along the way I rediscovered that the God that I serve sometimes uses physical illustrations for spiritual purposes. I learned that, with His strength, I can do so much more than I think I can. With Him, I can silence the voices that run inside my head, seeking to distract me. With Him, I can keep on trucking long after the point where I would have quit. And a bonus: once upon a time there was an extremely competitive blond girl who never gave up and attacked problems. Somewhere in the University of Real Life her drive and determination got shifted from sports to academics and career and family, and she started using the deadly phrase, "I can't." Worst was the fact that she felt that getting in shape again and taking care of herself was hopeless. At the end of the race I found myself planning for next year's race and setting a goal time. 2:45. There, I've said it out loud. Then I found myself on the internet researching others to run. It was then that I realized that the competitive blond girl was back, more mature, darker hair, and happier than ever to be running. God restores. He's amazing. He's my treasure.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
He is Faithful
Back in December I had a difficult choice to make. I had been offered a job at my PRN (part time as needed) and wasn't sure whether or not I should accept it. The health insurance is literally double. Not kidding. Sure it came with a slight pay raise, but was it enough to even out double the insurance? Also, it was my PRN. It was convenient being a 5 minute walk from my house. I could work 6 hours on saturday and still be home before the kids got up from their naps. But if I worked there, where would I go if caseload were low or we had unexpected expenses and I needed extra hours? Having the responsibility of providing for my family sometimes really stresses me out.
I prayed a lot and talked with my husband, family, friends, and coworkers. I really wanted to work close to home and regain those ten lost hours I wasted weekly in the car. Ryan and I crunched and crunched the budget numbers and came to the conclusion that we didn't know if it would work. He particularly was a little nervous of what would happen if I gave up my PRN. The cry of my heart was to have more time with my boys. I miss them and they're growing up so quickly. Finally, Ryan and I made the decision to accept the position in my hometown. How could I not with two little sets of arms (and a big set) waiting to hug me sooner every evening?
I am happy to report that most of the weeks since I have accepted my new position I have gotten my full 40 hours at a minimum. Many weeks I even have all the overtime I can handle or have to turn it down to spend time with my family. Now that the price of gas has skyrocketed, a 5 minute walk is a definite bonus! The icing on the cake is that I have been able to lose 10 pounds. I walk home for lunch 3-4 days a week and get so many more hugs and kisses from my boys! When talking to a former coworker, she rejoiced with me when I reported all of this. "You choose to honor God by putting your family before your job. He took care of the rest." He has!!! Ryan and I didn't know the outcome, but we stepped out on faith and knew that the Father would provide for us. And I still have a PRN job. My former boss has asked me to do work a couple hours a week at a facility close by. It's so amazing what a wonderful God we serve! When the numbers don't add up, He makes it work anyway.
P.S. For those of you out there who are geeks, PRN is short for pro re nata, "as the circumstance arises."
I prayed a lot and talked with my husband, family, friends, and coworkers. I really wanted to work close to home and regain those ten lost hours I wasted weekly in the car. Ryan and I crunched and crunched the budget numbers and came to the conclusion that we didn't know if it would work. He particularly was a little nervous of what would happen if I gave up my PRN. The cry of my heart was to have more time with my boys. I miss them and they're growing up so quickly. Finally, Ryan and I made the decision to accept the position in my hometown. How could I not with two little sets of arms (and a big set) waiting to hug me sooner every evening?
I am happy to report that most of the weeks since I have accepted my new position I have gotten my full 40 hours at a minimum. Many weeks I even have all the overtime I can handle or have to turn it down to spend time with my family. Now that the price of gas has skyrocketed, a 5 minute walk is a definite bonus! The icing on the cake is that I have been able to lose 10 pounds. I walk home for lunch 3-4 days a week and get so many more hugs and kisses from my boys! When talking to a former coworker, she rejoiced with me when I reported all of this. "You choose to honor God by putting your family before your job. He took care of the rest." He has!!! Ryan and I didn't know the outcome, but we stepped out on faith and knew that the Father would provide for us. And I still have a PRN job. My former boss has asked me to do work a couple hours a week at a facility close by. It's so amazing what a wonderful God we serve! When the numbers don't add up, He makes it work anyway.
P.S. For those of you out there who are geeks, PRN is short for pro re nata, "as the circumstance arises."
Saturday, April 9, 2011
What a Mess!
Discovered this post that I had started and never posted from last August. Here goes.
Last weekend we visited one of my favorite stores--IKEA. I was delighted to find that one of the main items on my list, rugs for the doors leading to the outside, were on clearance. The last rug wore out sometime before the birth of my three-year-old and I hadn't been able to find one that I liked in my price range. Consequently, I'm not even sure if my children know what rugs truly are. With joy I laid them on the floor and imagined the dirt clods and leaves being somewhat restricted in access to my home.
The rugs were placed on the floor after the children went to bed. The boys didn't seem to notice them until halfway through breakfast. Landon looked over with spoon in hand and pointed to the door, "Daddy, what spilled?" My husband looked around in vain for the offending liquid on the floor. Landon insisted, despite assurances to the contrary, that there was indeed something spilled on the floor. "But there's a towel on the floor!"
Last weekend we visited one of my favorite stores--IKEA. I was delighted to find that one of the main items on my list, rugs for the doors leading to the outside, were on clearance. The last rug wore out sometime before the birth of my three-year-old and I hadn't been able to find one that I liked in my price range. Consequently, I'm not even sure if my children know what rugs truly are. With joy I laid them on the floor and imagined the dirt clods and leaves being somewhat restricted in access to my home.
The rugs were placed on the floor after the children went to bed. The boys didn't seem to notice them until halfway through breakfast. Landon looked over with spoon in hand and pointed to the door, "Daddy, what spilled?" My husband looked around in vain for the offending liquid on the floor. Landon insisted, despite assurances to the contrary, that there was indeed something spilled on the floor. "But there's a towel on the floor!"
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
so you think your patient can dance
Yesterday I danced with a patient in therapy. It started out as simply as great opportunity to work with a patient. I had finished with one and noticed the next patient on my list in the main room in the dance sponsored by activities. Great! I don't have to chase her down and it shouldn't be too difficult to get some movement out of her. What that time turned into was more than I had anticipated.
She agreed eagerly. As I knelt beside her to remove her foot pedals, she reached for my hand. "Did I ever tell you about the time that I danced with Fred Astaire?" Apparently she was a background dancer in one of his movies when she was a teenager. Her eyes shining, she took several minutes to tell me about the perfection that he expected and how much she learned from the experience. It was obvious how much she treasured that opportunity. As I reached for her hands, she stood up and eagerly started tapping her feet. I'll be brutally honest and say that both of my feet are left. It's true--I can't dance. That sad fact, however, doesn't stop me from trying and I was more than willing to make a fool of myself for the sake of... well... her, the experience, the therapy. It didn't matter that I have never been able to dance and that she is no longer able to fly about the room. (although she still has really good timing!)
She looked up at me, eyes gleaming. The only time her eyes left mine were to smile at other people. For a few minutes she was reconnected to the person she used to be and the life she used to have. I'm definitely no Fred Astaire, but dancing with me brought those memories to life. For that short time the reality of living in a nursing facility rolled back a bit and she was again doing something that she dearly loved. I don't have any idea how long it had been since she had danced.
I had no clue that the afternoon meant so much to her until today when I talked to the OT who treated her afterwards. Apparently that was all she talked about yesterday. Who knew the Hokie Pokie and a couple of slow dances could mean so much? These are the moments that make me internally shout, "I LOVE MY JOB!!!" Therapy that gives a person back their life.
And so we danced.
She agreed eagerly. As I knelt beside her to remove her foot pedals, she reached for my hand. "Did I ever tell you about the time that I danced with Fred Astaire?" Apparently she was a background dancer in one of his movies when she was a teenager. Her eyes shining, she took several minutes to tell me about the perfection that he expected and how much she learned from the experience. It was obvious how much she treasured that opportunity. As I reached for her hands, she stood up and eagerly started tapping her feet. I'll be brutally honest and say that both of my feet are left. It's true--I can't dance. That sad fact, however, doesn't stop me from trying and I was more than willing to make a fool of myself for the sake of... well... her, the experience, the therapy. It didn't matter that I have never been able to dance and that she is no longer able to fly about the room. (although she still has really good timing!)
She looked up at me, eyes gleaming. The only time her eyes left mine were to smile at other people. For a few minutes she was reconnected to the person she used to be and the life she used to have. I'm definitely no Fred Astaire, but dancing with me brought those memories to life. For that short time the reality of living in a nursing facility rolled back a bit and she was again doing something that she dearly loved. I don't have any idea how long it had been since she had danced.
I had no clue that the afternoon meant so much to her until today when I talked to the OT who treated her afterwards. Apparently that was all she talked about yesterday. Who knew the Hokie Pokie and a couple of slow dances could mean so much? These are the moments that make me internally shout, "I LOVE MY JOB!!!" Therapy that gives a person back their life.
And so we danced.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Solutions for narrow heels
Runners know the importance of a well-fitting shoe. In preparing for the mini I was excited when my crazy running friend, Zest, scheduled a trip to the store with the salesman she's worked with for the past eight years. I have terrible ankles and one not-so-great knee so I was hoping that he could help me find the right fit.
In the store I was debating between two final selections. Pair A fit great with the exception that the heel was a little bit loose. Pair B was tight across my instep and toes, but the heel stayed in place. A common shoe dilemma for me since my midfoot is wide but my heel is narrow. My wonderful and knowledgeable salesman solved the issue. This specific lacing pattern basically pulls the back of the shoe forward so that the heel doesn't slip and the shoe is tight without the lace cutting into the top of your foot. It sounds confusing the first time but is actually quite simple and comfortable while wearing. I'm grateful he shared this little tip with me.
1. Lace up shoes while leaving the top hole open.
2. Take the lace and thread it through the hole in top on the same side so that it forms a loop.
3. Now cross the end of the lace through the contralateral loop. (The lace from the right goes through the loop on the left.)
4. Repeat with the opposite side
5. Tie normally.
Pair A. My first pair of Brooks. Cinderella size 7, and definitely not leaving them behind!
In the store I was debating between two final selections. Pair A fit great with the exception that the heel was a little bit loose. Pair B was tight across my instep and toes, but the heel stayed in place. A common shoe dilemma for me since my midfoot is wide but my heel is narrow. My wonderful and knowledgeable salesman solved the issue. This specific lacing pattern basically pulls the back of the shoe forward so that the heel doesn't slip and the shoe is tight without the lace cutting into the top of your foot. It sounds confusing the first time but is actually quite simple and comfortable while wearing. I'm grateful he shared this little tip with me.
1. Lace up shoes while leaving the top hole open.
2. Take the lace and thread it through the hole in top on the same side so that it forms a loop.
3. Now cross the end of the lace through the contralateral loop. (The lace from the right goes through the loop on the left.)
4. Repeat with the opposite side
5. Tie normally.
Pair A. My first pair of Brooks. Cinderella size 7, and definitely not leaving them behind!
Monday, March 14, 2011
A Simple and Needed Hug
She has global aphasia. It's a language problem she developed after a stroke. The portion of the brain that controls speech is not working correctly. She can process her own thoughts, but the mechanism for transferring those thoughts to speech just doesn't cut it. Additionally, most of what she hears from other people is Greek to her. Basically she's trapped in her own brain. She's more there than most people give her credit for. Usually she will start a sentence with garble, the middle will be intelligible to those that care to try. The sad thing is that most people write her off as crazy simply because they cannot understand her. Cognitively she's still very much with us.
This evening, though, her speech was far easier for me to comprehend. During our walk we stood and had a conversation while looking out a window. I always thank my patients for working with me at the end of the session. Most of them will thank me in return for taking the time to work with them as well. When I helped her into her wheelchair and reset her alarm, her face lit up and she spread both arms out wide. As I leaned forward to wrap my arms around her shoulders, my eyes teared up and I wished I could tell her what that meant to me.
Rewind three years. I didn't start out wanting to work in geriatrics. I work with patients and get close to them, hold their hands when they're in pain, hold the bucket while they throw up, hand them Kleenex when they're crying. Sometimes, despite the best that they and I can do, they can't go home. Many times they go back to the hospital, or bounce between the ER and the rehab unit like a yo-yo. I've lost patients to ALS, pneumonia, cancer. I've helped families guide their way through the maze of decision-making for their loved one. That's not even counting the advanced dementia and the way it steals a person right in front of your eyes. It's like ripping your heart our every day. But some days your patients can reach right back to your heart and mend it with a smile and a hug.
This evening, though, her speech was far easier for me to comprehend. During our walk we stood and had a conversation while looking out a window. I always thank my patients for working with me at the end of the session. Most of them will thank me in return for taking the time to work with them as well. When I helped her into her wheelchair and reset her alarm, her face lit up and she spread both arms out wide. As I leaned forward to wrap my arms around her shoulders, my eyes teared up and I wished I could tell her what that meant to me.
Rewind three years. I didn't start out wanting to work in geriatrics. I work with patients and get close to them, hold their hands when they're in pain, hold the bucket while they throw up, hand them Kleenex when they're crying. Sometimes, despite the best that they and I can do, they can't go home. Many times they go back to the hospital, or bounce between the ER and the rehab unit like a yo-yo. I've lost patients to ALS, pneumonia, cancer. I've helped families guide their way through the maze of decision-making for their loved one. That's not even counting the advanced dementia and the way it steals a person right in front of your eyes. It's like ripping your heart our every day. But some days your patients can reach right back to your heart and mend it with a smile and a hug.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
From here to the Mini
Several months ago one at a get-together, one of my friends was talking about the mini marathon that she runs every year. (I'll call her Zest since she is enthusiastic about everything she does and has more energy than any woman over the age of 3 has a right to.) Apparently it's her goal to introduce a new runner to the mini each time. Also apparent is that my friends are way too healthy because several of them chimed in about their past experiences running the race. I must be insane because I started getting excited as they talked about it. (really need to look into getting that "sucker" tattoo removed from my forehead...) I don't know why, but the thought of running 13 miles and spending months training for a race that I have no possibility of winning sounded like a good idea, so I agreed to run with them. And no, my glass was filled with iced tea, not alcohol. That night found me on the laptop registering before I could change my mind. Now that I'm financially committed I cannot back out!
And now it's time to actually train. Running shoes have been fitted and purchased. Tunes have been loaded onto the iphone and earbuds located. The thought of running for almost three solid hours still scares this sprinter. Truly, the longest race I ever ran in my younger and in-shape days was the 400m dash. My main sports were basketball and volleyball, again filled with sprinting. This will be a new experience that I am somewhat looking forward to. Mainly I'm looking forward to the challenge. I've stopped pushing myself physically. When I work out I tend to stop at the point of pain and listen to the "I can't" voice inside my head. Running the mini I must learn to put a chokehold on that insipid voice.
In addition to running because of the challenge, I'm running because of the way I've been treating myself. Excuses and laziness have led the way to me becoming horribly out of shape. This is not the example that I need to be setting for my children. It is certainly not being a good steward of the body that God has given me. I haven't had the discipline that I need in either my spiritual or spiritual life. In my role of physical therapy, I see the results every day of people who have neglected their bodies. There is no pill the doctor can prescribe to combat overeating and disuse. I constantly find myself telling my patients that it's not too late to start moving and they can improve their own lives but they have to take that responsibility. So do I.
I need to run. For myself. For my family. For my patients. For my faith.
And now it's time to actually train. Running shoes have been fitted and purchased. Tunes have been loaded onto the iphone and earbuds located. The thought of running for almost three solid hours still scares this sprinter. Truly, the longest race I ever ran in my younger and in-shape days was the 400m dash. My main sports were basketball and volleyball, again filled with sprinting. This will be a new experience that I am somewhat looking forward to. Mainly I'm looking forward to the challenge. I've stopped pushing myself physically. When I work out I tend to stop at the point of pain and listen to the "I can't" voice inside my head. Running the mini I must learn to put a chokehold on that insipid voice.
In addition to running because of the challenge, I'm running because of the way I've been treating myself. Excuses and laziness have led the way to me becoming horribly out of shape. This is not the example that I need to be setting for my children. It is certainly not being a good steward of the body that God has given me. I haven't had the discipline that I need in either my spiritual or spiritual life. In my role of physical therapy, I see the results every day of people who have neglected their bodies. There is no pill the doctor can prescribe to combat overeating and disuse. I constantly find myself telling my patients that it's not too late to start moving and they can improve their own lives but they have to take that responsibility. So do I.
I need to run. For myself. For my family. For my patients. For my faith.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Another Poe day
The story begins like a Poe tale "there I was again, waiting, waiting. Waiting in the breeze waiting for a fleeting glimpse. A glimpse of this man. Waiting while the dirt swirled, waiting while the clock counted down. Waiting cameras ready To not miss a moment.
And while I waited I remembered. The hours of waiting I've spent. Waiting on a wall, waiting in the stands, waiting for a phone call. Watching intently while I waited.Watching him pursue his dreams. Watching him fight to succeed. Waiting for him to walk across stage for diplomas, to receive butter bars and wings. Trinkets that have no intrinsic value yet are full of significance representing hours of studying, sacrificing, and hard work.
Finally the roar of a powerful engine signalled the end of today's wait. Today I would catch no sight of his face, but instead snapped pictures of the plane he piloted. I stood with pride as he thundered overhead and yelled to my sons, "there's your uncle!" if this memory of waiting is remembered in their minds and inspires them I will be even more proud. For today, as always, those long moments of waiting were overshadowed by the short moments of greatness.
And while I waited I remembered. The hours of waiting I've spent. Waiting on a wall, waiting in the stands, waiting for a phone call. Watching intently while I waited.Watching him pursue his dreams. Watching him fight to succeed. Waiting for him to walk across stage for diplomas, to receive butter bars and wings. Trinkets that have no intrinsic value yet are full of significance representing hours of studying, sacrificing, and hard work.
Finally the roar of a powerful engine signalled the end of today's wait. Today I would catch no sight of his face, but instead snapped pictures of the plane he piloted. I stood with pride as he thundered overhead and yelled to my sons, "there's your uncle!" if this memory of waiting is remembered in their minds and inspires them I will be even more proud. For today, as always, those long moments of waiting were overshadowed by the short moments of greatness.
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