Doing it right

I’ve done it for the wrong reasons. I’ve done it for others. I’ve done it to prove a point. Sometimes I’ve done too much, sometimes not enough. Now, I’m doing it to be healthy for me and my 3 sons.

I’m getting in shape and getting to a healthy weight. When I was younger, I was told I was fat (I wasn’t). When I wouldn’t eat what I was ‘supposed to’, I was punished. In my marriage, I was called names & put down if I wasn’t ‘perfect’. When I was too skinny, I was told I looked ‘great’, but I was unhealthy. I’ve weighed over 200 lbs and I’ve weighed close to 100. I’ve lost weight to ‘impress’ and I’ve gained to ‘hide’.

I used to look in the mirror at 110 lbs and think I was grossly overweight…that was if I could actually stand to look at myself in the mirror. Words I heard over & over had an impact on how I viewed myself. I was told things like, “you’re fat & no one likes fat girls”. In my mind, I was obese. In reality, I was athletic, active and right where I was supposed to be. After I was sexually abused, I didn’t want anyone to look at me so I hid behind baggy sweatshirts & jeans. I lost weight, I gained. Each time, people treated me differently based on what size I was. Each time, I let them decide who I was.

The scale began to control my self-image and my self-esteem.

Now, it doesn’t control anything.

I’m losing weight again. But now I’m doing it right and now I’m doing it for all the right reasons. I care about me. I care about being around for my guys. I care about enjoying life. I care about watching my guys become men, get married, have kids and all that fun stuff. I’m not worried about what others think or what the scale says. I know I’m a good person with a good heart and I’m starting to treat myself like I am. It’s time.

So, I work out 5-6 days a week. I’ve hired a trainer to ‘kick my butt’. I eat healthy and sleep well. I say ‘no’ to a lot more things people want me to do and ‘yes’ to things I want. I realize rejection isn’t always my fault and walking away from toxic people is ok. I look at the little things, take time to simply stop and I thank God for 3 incredible young men. I want to be healthy, not skinny. I can’t control how others treat me, but I can decide how I treat them.  I want to wear fun clothes, do crazy things and put a smile on other people’s faces that comes from my heart.

I’m “fired up”. I’m excited, ready & looking forward to all that lies ahead. Doing it right feels great!

Everyday missions (Part 2)

The initial visit was completed and it was time to return to her home two days later. She still had barely left her wheelchair, but she looked more ‘energetic’ today. She didn’t smile, didn’t laugh and hardly said a word. My words were met with a stare and a few short sentences as she continued to survey my responses. “Let’s try that step and walk into your living room”, I suggested. With a glare and awkward pause, she finally answered, “I’ll try”.

She stood and began to walk. The step was three feet away, the bed about 20 feet farther. She had not been out of her kitchen for months. When she reached the step, she hesitated, but with encouragement lifted her foot and up she went! She focused solely on the hospital bed that sat at the end of her living room and walked, slowly but determined. As we walked, I couldn’t help but glance around. Looking up I could see the rafters where no ceiling was in place. On shelves were knick-knacks that had not been touched in many years and were layered with dirt, and the entire room smelled of dirt and mustiness. But, we continued to walk. She was determined to make it to that bed and I was determined to help her get there.

Last step! She did it! As she sat down, I could see the sense of accomplishment in her eyes. I told her I was proud of her and thought of giving her a ‘high five’. She had other plans. She smiled, and what a great smile it was, said “I can’t believe I did it” and put both arms up for a congratulatory hug. For a second I hesitated. I had managed to walk through the house without touching anything, had been able to direct her steps with only ‘stand-by assistance’ and although was able to talk favorably about her home and all that was in it, I hesitated. In that instant I knew she needed that hug. She needed that hug a lot more than I needed to avoid it.

As I bent to give her that hug, I told her I was proud of her and knew she could walk that far. As I stood again, I saw tears streaming down her face and she simply said, “I needed someone to believe that I could”.

She stood back up again and walked the length of the living room and back to the kitchen, easily stepping down the step that had kept her confined into an eight foot area for many months, believing she simply could not conquer that 6 inch step. What changed? I hadn’t ‘miraculously cured’ her. She hadn’t suddenly acquired a wealth of strength. She simply needed someone to encourage and believe in her.

There are people around us who, every day, need someone to believe in them and to encourage them. ‘Missions’ doesn’t have to mean traveling around the world. There are people in our community who simply want to be accepted and believed in. Will you risk stepping into their lives or homes or inviting them  into yours? Meet them where they are, swallow your pride and hesitations and take the step to make a difference every day! You’ll be glad you did!

Everyday missions (Part 1)

Tucked in behind a wall of trees, hidden from the street, I saw the house as I pulled into the driveway. I was told to be prepared, but I’m not sure I really was. As I walked up to the door I saw her. Sitting in a wheelchair, smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table, surrounded by clutter and who knows what, she told me to come in. I walked in and sat down at the only kitchen chair that wasn’t falling apart. She noticed I didn’t hesitate.

We chatted for a few minutes as I began evaluating her strength and movement. A six inch step kept her from the hospital bed in the next room and the bathroom. That six inch step forced her to be confined in a kitchen, sleeping in her wheelchair, using a bedside commode and unable to move more than the five foot path from the table to the door. The ceiling that was falling apart, the dirt on the floors, the mold that was growing on the walls and the mounds of ‘stuff’ accumulated from a lifetime kept her from connecting with people. Medically, she was overweight, legs oozing with open sores and walking only five feet before giving up . She didn’t smile, barely talked and simply studied my actions and responses to her and her home.

As I finished my part of the evaluation, she was finishing her initial evaluation of me. I presented my thoughts and a plan and waited for her response as she sat and stared, stonefaced & quiet. After what seemed like forever, she finally said, “Will it be you who does the therapy or someone else?” I told her I wasn’t sure as I had to look at my caseload and see what time I had in my schedule. She responded with, “I hope it is. I like you.” That made my decision. I had been accepted because I had accepted her. “I think we can make that work” was my answer.

I had passed the first test. Time would tell if I could tap into the glimmer of potential that I had seen in those eyes that analyzed and guarded this 50+ year old woman. The next visits would bring that answer…

Slow Fade

I’ve heard it many times…

“I never thought I would end up here”

I often wonder ‘where’s the line?’ when we finally realize we’ve gone too far? Here are some of the home health patients I’ve worked with recently…

• a 50-something yr old husband awaiting approval for a liver transplant, suffering in pain every day–because of a life of heavy partying and alcohol use
• a 55 yr old wife & mother who’s 5 ft tall and weighed over 550 lbs–who is now finally motivated to get in shape so she can babysit her grandkids
• a 60-something woman who lives alone with no one to help her as she recovers from an injury–and wishes she had been ‘a better mother’
• a 60-something TV star who lost his leg because he wouldn’t change his lifestyle in spite of medical problems–and now wishes he had paid closer attention
• a 70 yr old lawyer who cannot stop working, in spite of the heart attack & stroke that nearly took his life

We all put off and procrastinate what we should do today. We all think ‘it’s no big deal’ as we bend the rules, push the limits, or begin to give in to temptation. Lives are lost, marriages fail, families fall apart and people struggle every day because they start down a slippery slope until they realize one day that they’ve gone over the edge. It rarely happens overnight and to stop it takes strength, intention and commitment. It’s hard work!

What are you doing, or not doing, that is pulling you closer & closer to that line? We’re all there–none of us is exempt. And when you figure that out, what are you going to do about it?

Here’s a great song by Casting Crowns that I hope challenges you in whatever area that you’re ‘slowly fading’…it’s called ‘Slow Fade’…

The wrong daughter died

“Rindy, come here. What should we do?” I was the one with any medical background. I was the ‘strong one’ in the family. I was the one who, at age 23, made the decision that we needed to call the ambulance. I was the one who knew that every time I helped her move, I may have been breaking her frail bones. She was losing her battle with breast cancer and I knew it.

My sister was perfect. I was one that ‘no one ever wanted’. At least that’s what I was told.

My sister was 8 years older than me. She was a cheerleader, popular, good-looking, thin and a ‘real girl’. I loved sports, was ‘solid’, not real attractive and a ‘tomboy’. Growing up I loved my sister and always looked up to her. I hoped that one day I would grow up to be more like her. My parents hoped so too. I was always compared to her and everything she did. I was never good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, ‘girl enough’, and any other comparison that could be made. She would get married, have a family and be successful. Me–no one would ever want me, I was a loser and just plain ‘fat and ugly’.

At least that’s what I was told.

With her being 8 years older, we never really got close as sisters growing up. I was always the athlete, she was the cheerleader. We were different. I don’t ever remember fighting or arguing with her, I just don’t remember her being around a lot. The funny thing is that even though I was constantly compared to my sister and I always lost out on the comparisons, I loved her and wished that someday I too would be accepted and loved as she was.

I was about 13 when she got married and moved nearly 15 miles away. I used to ride my bike to her house, just to escape. She never asked questions and she always let me stay. As I got older, we started becoming closer, but just as that occurred, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Though she battled it with all she had, the cancer kept pushing back.

One warm night in July, we sat at the hospital, watching as the life that was my sister slowly faded away. Minutes after she took her last breath, my parents turned to me and simply said, “the wrong daughter died” and walked away.

Today my sister would have turned 53 years old, but her life was cut short by breast cancer 22 years ago. As much as I was compared to her, I probably should have been bitter toward her. It would have been expected I guess. I never was. My sister was awesome. I only wish that the friendship that had only just begun to blossom could have kept on growing.

I really hope to see her again someday and we can finally make that happen. Happy birthday Rhoda.

All in an instant

He caught the pass on his stick, beat the defenseman and started his way down the ice! He’s on a breakaway!! The crowd jumps to their feet. That’s my son!! Skate, skate, there’s a defender coming up behind you. Will he make a move and score? It’s so exciting!!!

The energy was high, the team and fans were cheering. Then it happened. The defender caught him & checked/tripped him from behind. My son had no chance to react. He was skating full-speed, focused on the goal and in an instant was in the air, flying over the goalie. He hit the post head-on at full-speed, knocking it off its pegs and he landed against the boards…and he didn’t move.

As a hockey mom of 3 boys, I’ve watched literally 1000′s of games & practices, seen just as many hits and learned long ago that most times, they look worse than they are. I stood there, not breathing, waiting for him to get up and skate away, yet knowing inside he wasn’t going to move. In an instant the entire ice rink went from loud cheering to complete silence. Parents, coaches & referees were stunned, most later saying they had never seen a hit like that. Everyone knew how serious it really was.

When I got to my son Dan on the ice, he was awake…sort of. He wasn’t moving & could barely even open his eyes. He attempted to answer the coaches’ & my questions and could only mumble a few barely intelligible and incorrect responses. A doctor, coaches & a few other qualified emergency people had rushed to my son, knowing this was not good. The ambulance was immediately called and for what seemed like hours, I prayed & watched my son as a mom and as a physical therapist, knowing all too well what could be. Was his neck broken? Was he bleeding in his brain? Every minute seemed like an hour and finally the ambulance arrived. The decision was made to take him to a level 1 trauma center about 10 minutes away instead of the hospital across the street. It was the right decision.

In the ambulance, I could hear the paramedics talking as we drove, “He’s drifting in and out”, “His movements are very delayed, if at all”, “We need a full trauma team ready”. I knew what was happening. All I could do was pray. When we got to the hospital, he was immediately surrounded by about 10 trauma personnel…and I could hear and watch everything they were saying and doing. The lead doctor of the PICU (pediatric ICU) greeted me, explaining what would be occurring. There was a pediatric neurologist ready and waiting. I heard them deciding whether they needed to insert tubes to protect his airway…I knew what that meant. They then moved him next door for a CT scan.

As if I didn’t know it was bad, one of the other nurses brought me a chair and a drink so I could sit right outside the CT scan room. Again, time seemed to drag on. Finally, out of CT scan, he began to wake more. The report came immediately…no bleed in his brain, spine cleared, some type of minor bleed in his abdomen. He was not ‘out of the woods’ by any means, but this news was an incredible relief. Later that day and the next, the trauma docs would tell us how worried they were, and that it was ‘touch and go’ for a while which way his health was going to turn.

Today, it has been 4 weeks since Dan’s injury. The progress of recovery has been extremely slow. He continues to have headaches every day, but they’re not constant & intense anymore. He experiences some tingling in his arms & legs and has a lot of trouble with memory and concentration. He’s back to school, hopefully full time from now on. If you see him, he looks fine. He’s nowhere near where he was and we continue to pray that he will be left with no permanent brain damage.

This week I watched, as many did, the Georgian Olympic luger fly through the air and hit the metal post and I gasped. No, my son wasn’t going 90MPH, but the result could have been the same…and that’s not exaggerating. The reality of that hits me and overwhelms me at times. Had it not been for a brand new top-of-the-line concussion prevent high tech helmet  purchased at 10PM the night before and a few inches, things could have ended much differently for my son. The helmet purchase was a miracle–it’s so new that very few places sell them, the rink we were at did and they had only one black medium helmet…exactly what Dan needed. Also, if when he hit, his head had been at a slightly different spot, his neck would have certainly been broken instantly. How close he came to tragedy puts a lump in my throat and makes me want to run over and hug him. I thank God I still can.