Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Excerpt 7- Chapter 15 of My ArmOr

My son-in-law had his ankle surgery by September 21, 2009, I shared in FB, “He is, now, racing me to see who recovers their over four hours of surgery on various limbs; he had an ankle-foot reconstruction.  We want to see who comes back kicking or punching, first.  LOL!!! Jenny call dad if you need extra support for him.”  Caretaking is hard- just ask my husband.
“What a busy time!  When it rains, it pours.  When He reigns, it pours!”  I was referring to two incapacitate family members recovering from surgery.
Highlights of my recovery continued in Facebook, “My physical therapist raised my weights.  I can, now, bench press three pounds.  I still cannot raise my arm above my shoulder without it being shoulder compensating or shoulder up not arm up. LOL!”  I laugh when I am nervous.  I laugh when I am happy.  I laugh to overcome pain.  This time it was wondering when I’d move that arm higher.
We worked on shoulder down exercises, today!  She had me backed up against the wall! Only- it was for my own good.  LOL!!! Meanwhile, son-in-law #2 and I keep joking about who will be healed and through physical therapy, first.”  We already know he is number two; his surgery came weeks after mine and he married my daughter well after our first one wed.  But, he is younger than me so may become number one by healing faster and better!

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Friday, March 13, 2015

Excerpt 6- Chapter 15 of My ArmOr

My husband ignored the calls that swarmed in on our cell phones because we’d turned them off while inside.  In the parking garage, he listened to the concerns of his daughters.  I called my biggest worrier when it came to health issues and separation anxiety.  After telling Stacey why we kept the ER wait a secret, I called my other daughters to let them know my arms and I were going home.

Facing It- Wide Open

On September 19th I wrote, “I keep my bedroom door wide open so if I get in trouble I can call out for help.”  Meanwhile, some strange dreams are brought on by traumas, “After the ER incident, I dreamed someone was incessantly knocking at our front door getting louder and more anxious all the while.  I screamed out, ‘Who is it?’”

“My mind realized this was a dream as I hollered at a level no one could hear- not even a dog.  The person at the door felt like my kid in trouble as I kept hollering in a manner that signaled ‘hold your horses I can’t get there fast because rolling out of bed takes effort.’ ” Apparently, I kept screaming, ‘Who is it?’

Suddenly, at my real bedroom door, as I woke myself up, my ears heard my daughter ask, ‘Are you okay?’ ”

“I was just dreaming!”

“Okay, I heard you scream.”

“My mind thought, ‘How could she hear me; in my dream, it felt like a soundless act?’ ”

She added, “You screamed, ‘Who is it?’ ”

“Yes, I did.”  I laughed to alleviate the tension, “I am okay!”

Nightmares flooded my sleep causing similar outburst but I didn’t want to add to the obvious misery so I kept another secret thought while praying for deliverance from the worry and evil taunting my soul.

On September 19, 2009, I shared- again- online, “Today, at therapy, while lying down, I was lifting without the pole for my therapist; my right arm was no longer helping my left one.  It felt weird but right.  Usually, I feel every movement a bit painfully but the arm did what she asked me to do as it glided to position without hurting.  I looked at her asking, ‘Did I do it alone?’  She nodded. I remarked, ‘I thought so but did not feel so!’  She smiled knowing I meant that the glide felt normal.”

My entries grew, “Yesterday, while showing off my arm flexing from a lying down position and using a rod held by both hands, my left hand let go and did the work independently.  At the top, I always have to grab back the pole but I got so excited about how far I reached before grasping it that I flagged others to watch.  When I released my right hand, the left was fully extended up; it instantly locked the muscle staying up! Yeah!”

“It was a long day yesterday, we had a girls’ day out. I participated in lunch and movies with my son-in-law #2’s family of sweet ladies as well as Jenny and my driver, Julie.  Then, I was dropped off at Stacey's meeting my hubby for dinner, there.  It must have looked like ‘Driving Ms. Lazy’ or I fancied my car a limo because I was in the back seat when we pulled up.  That's because we dropped Jenny off first!  Luckily, most of my long overdue arm exercises could be done once I arrived at Stacey's house.  My granddaughter helped me do them.”

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Sunday, March 1, 2015

Excerpt 5- Chapter 15 of My ArmOr

I wrote in FB, “When the ‘on call’ staff changed, another PA from the surgeon's team arrived; I realized that I met him at the hospital weeks earlier right before my operation.  He read my test results.  He said my temperature was normal, nothing bad appeared on the X-Rays, and my blood cultures were not really high in white blood count or other infection indicators.  He felt that possible bruising from working my arm too hard or local damage from surgery caused the weird appearance and occurrence on my upper arm.  To reassure himself of his findings, he felt around finding no pain or abscessing in the area.  Nothings in the healing process felt unusual; that man found no unusual discharge.  My three scars felt and looked fine so the guy discharged me from that hospital’s ER.”
Before being released from the medical facility, a staff member filled out some forms asking me name, rank, and serial number.  At some point he asked, “Occupation?”
Julie reminded me often to stop denying my career, “Most authors don’t earn livings writing but you are still a writer so say so.”
Remembering her past scolding, I answered, “Inspirational writer!”  Nervously laughing while pointing at my shoulder, mocking myself occurred; “I know, right? Can you imagine a faith healing author looking like this?”  He politely wrote on my chart never denying that I might be able to heal faith with my text- in spite of how many fingers type it.
I continued jesting about every little thing to relive the tension and pressure of that ER experience as well as my predicament as my husband and I walked to the car at 9:30 that night, “What a roller coaster ride but I guess sometimes getting the cold shoulder is a good thing.”
Philosophically, I added to my Facebook entries, “During this ordeal, all I had left was DR. GOD.  Remembering that as my spirit prayed, I felt a cool sensation over my warm arm I thought, ‘His sign was right!  False alarm!’ The Master of the Universe pointed to being the final decision maker and in charge of it all. He left my arm- my left arm.’”
My reality started in the first ER; I did whatever it took to go home after my operation so that my husband could get peace.  Too recently, he’d sat vigil for both parents.  My husband had to make awful decisions about his dad's cancer in April 2008. Then, he had to help his stepfather make hard decisions about his mom's coma & pulling plugs in February 2009. Months after those two deaths, which were less than twelve months apart, I shattered my arm resulting in a major operation. My fall came too quickly on the heels of their deaths.
“I'm sorry,” came from my lips before they put me in each ambulance, after surgery, and every time he looked at me. Even if I didn’t speak those words aloud, I was sorry he had to make hard decisions, again. It felt too soon to be making choices about my arm and possible amputation; that day was the worst day of my life thus far, I stayed strong for him but wanted to wail in ER.  Plus, I wanted to cry since the ambulance ride to the first ER but kept my sanity with my fast wit and Heaven’s interventions; that’s the only explanation for my attitude as I walked out of the hospital after that nearly fateful night.
My poor kids worried about me enough. I kept Stacey from the hospital blaming her young daughter and her pregnancy.  It shielded her from the reality that my operation was a big deal.  She’d been through enough as a child as well as after her first birth.  She’d already seen me hospitalized right after her mom and dad left for Heaven.  It was too soon after all those traumas for this surgery and life changing event to happen to us as a family but especially to her- and me.
Therefore, as we awaited the infection results, my husband did not call the girls right away; we didn’t want extra worry.  He called our daughter that isn’t married and lives with us because she would notice our status upon returning home from work.  He didn’t tell her the seriousness of the situation.
She happened to see the neighbor that arranged all the meals into our home and mentioned that I was in the ER.  Unbeknownst to her, the lady was close friends with Stacey.  She texted my other kid, “What is wrong?  Why is Cindy in the hospital, again?”

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