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!"
Saturday, April 9, 2011
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.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sleep Talking
The common phrase for people joking about their own short attention span used to be something along the lines of "Look, there goes something shiny!" (or bright, if the jokester is a male.) Disney/Pixar updated that phrase with the advent of their movie, Up. All you have to do is watch the commercials to see the lovable dog interrupting himself by yelling "Squirrel" every time he saw one of the rodents to burst out laughing. Turns out that golden retrievers aren't the only ones to induce laughter through such a comical utterance.
Ryan was waking up the boys to get ready for church this morning and started with Nathan. Landon started mulbling in his sleep. Suddenly, still asleep, Landon called out, "Squirrel!" After Ryan finished laughing, he asked Landon if he was calling himself a squirrel like Daddy does. The reply came back in the negative; evidentally our son indicated that he was trying to catch a squirrel. And the funny part of it all is that we haven't watched "Up" recently. Maybe he's been hanging out with a golden retriever? :)
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