Putting the Courage in Discouragement

It's been nearly four years. At first I thought my life would be different, but enjoyable and that I would progress as time went by. But that's not what happened. I just got worse. The more time went by the worse my situation got. Today i feel like i'll never make any progress. To say I am discouraged would be like saying the Mississippi River is a gentle, burbling stream. I squeeze my will with all my might to proceed with courage and hold onto whatever shreds of hope I can find. It's literally a matter of life and death. I'm not talking about suicide. I'm saying that existence without courage or hope is like being utterly dead inside. I've been there and really don't want to ever go back again.

So I'm embroiled in an epic battle with myself. I'm so tired of traveling this road and losing and losing every time I turn around. It's just one battle after another, one wall after another. Is this what my life will continue to be like until I'm lucky enough to die? What a dreadful thought.

Today I am discouraged. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better. I'll hang on to that tiny spark of hope that means I'm not entirely lost. 

Hang in there, loved ones. The darkness hasn't won yet. ❤❤❤

Buried Alive

It's how I feel lately, and me without a shovel. Even a big spoon would do. I hate being so down. I hate even more spreading it around by writing about it. Sometimes my legs have the sensation of being trapped under large, heavy rocks. It's weird because, in reality, they really don't have sensation of any kind to speak of. Sometimes my soul feels like it's weighed down, too.

I keep thinking about how unhappy I got after I had my first shower in months. I cried and I don't know why. It wasn't from joy, I can assure you. It wasn't from physical pain, either, though the plastic table they lay me on to transfer me down to the shower room hurts my back. Also, when they had me in the lift, they bonked my head really hard on the door to my room. That hurt, too. Thankfully, that seldom happens.

Saw my therapist today. It was a somber session. He did get me to laugh, once. He was proud of that, because I was not at all cheerful. He's a real sweetheart and I'm lucky he's my therapist. I'm extremely unhappy that I will lose him as my therapist if I actually do get orthopedic surgery. I'm dreading the thought of never seeing him again, and of starting all over again with another therapist. But the way things are going, I have to wonder if the surgery on my legs is ever going to happen. Something always seems to get in the way of my progress. It's almost uncanny.

I am grateful.....

...that I have such a terrific therapist

...for my wonderful friends and family

...that I generally have my wits about me

...that Jeff and I have become great friends

...that I still have hope I'll live with a warm, cuddly old rescue cat one day

...that I still remember what a purr feels like and sounds

...that I have children I am proud of whom I love very much

...that I was privileged to have Lyra in my life for nine wonderful years of love and laughter

And so I will end this on a positive note.

May your lives be filled with laughter and happy dreams that never end.

Out of the Land of Nod

Oops. Slept all day. Literally. Didn't fall asleep until 5 a.m. and woke up about 10 p.m. I think I succumbed to escape from depression. Had some really bizarre dreams. So absolutely nothing happened today except that I have a hellava headache from sleeping too much. Also am hungry because I slept through all three meals. I'm pretty sure, however much I may enjoy BeanieWienies, one small can of them will not be enough. Good thing I have sandwich makings.

I wonder if I'll sleep again before my mental health therapist comes to see me tomorrow? Probably not.  Well, that pretty much guarantees I will not be sharp-witted for our session. On the other hand, when I'm tired I tend to be more open with my true feelings, so maybe it will prove to be beneficial. We'll see.

By the way, I found out today that Sterling House does not accept Medicaid, Medicare, or Social Security as payment. So that goal has been shot down. I hope that's not true of all assisted living places in the area. Cross your fingers for me, please.

Here's hoping you are all well-rested and happy. ❤

I gotta work on this, but I often feel as though struggles are all I have and I grow so weary of the fight.

The Law of Distraction.

The Psychiatric PA visited me today. She's supposed to increase my Wellbutrin, which is an anti-depressant that works well for me. I hope that actually happens because I have had a heck of a struggle fighting depression off. I get hopeful and feel good about the future then something like not being able to get physical therapy because my legs are frozen into a convoluted mess comes along. And I become devestated again.

She pointed me toward a documentary named "The Secret." I found it on Netflix and watched most of it. I thought about what I want in my life. Of course, I want to walk again, but since part of my spine has been removed, that's unlikely

So my greatest goals are:

INDEPENDENCE

1.  I want an automatic wheelchair that I can ride in and control.

2. I want to get orthopedic surgery to straighten out my legs so I can sit in a wheelchair.

3. I want for all my wounds to heal so I can have have the orthopedic surgery.

4. Once I accomplish these, I want to become strong enough to transfer myself from bed and whatever else I may need to, like a shower chair and my wheechair.

5. I want to live in an assisted living apartment with a small kitchenette where I can have some privacy, like in the Sterling House in Midwest City.

6. I want to adopt a cuddly, older cat to snuggle with.

I know there will be many obstacles and hoops to jump through, over, and around, but I believe I can accomplish these goals.

"The Secret" is all about the law of attraction. Put simply, the premise is that whatever you're thinking about, good or bad, the universe will provide it to you. I don't recall ever, at any time, thinking about being a paraplegic, so I'll need to explore this further.

This is a lot to take in, and, so far, it seems a bit simplistic, but I've heard it mentioned in many genres of spiritual and philosophical treatises, so maybe there's something to it. At least, it's worth looking into.

So here I will go -- the great explorer, traveling through the universe with my heart and soul.

May each of you carry sunshine and affection in your hearts forever.

Reaching New Highs

The nurse tested my glucose level right after I woke up today. It was 450. For you lucky folk who don't have a reason to know this, I'll clue you in. That's high. That's go-the-hospital high. Normal is 100. She gave me insulin and a bunch of pills, then took it again later. It was all the way down to 415. Right now it's down to about 186, which is way better than 450. Why is it getting so high? Maybe because of the fact that one of my tried-and-true diabetes medications was discontinued while I was in the hospital. My doc said he'd reinstate it, but hasn't done so.

Needless to say, I've felt pretty bad all day. It's such a treat to feel sad and then get physically ill, too. But, on the positive side, the abcess on my abdomen doesn't hurt constantly anymore. That's a plus.

When I started this blog, I pictured reporting my struggles, but also my progress. Mentally, things have improved. At least I don't just lie around wishing a chunk of an airplane would fall on me. Or a large cow. Anything fatal would've done. But there has been no physical progress. In fact, physically, I've gotten worse and worse. I've tried really hard to get what my body needs in order to make progress and regain as much independence as I can, but something always blocks it from happening. Physically, I'm much worse off than I was a year ago.

And I have to wonder why. There's no answer, of course. It just is what it is.

Being who I am, I'm not angry at anyone. There's no one at fault. So the feelings go where they always go -- inside me. They nestle down and curl up in my abdomen where they ooze sadness and pain and fear. I watch helplessly as hope turns to smoke and starts drifting away. Because I am stubborn, I capture some of it and put it in a pocket in my heart for safekeeping. I am determined to hang onto it because I know I can't live without it, and wouldn't want to.

Well, this has been a cheery little treat for you. Don't worry. I have a couple of pieces of advice I give myself. The first is, "If there's one thing you can depend on in life, it's change." It may not be a change for the better, but things never stay the same. And they're just as likely to be changes for the better as they are changes for the worse.

The second piece of advice is, "Start from here." In other words, treat dead ends like they are new beginnings. Look forward, not backwards. There are a lot of ways to say this, but however you say it, hope automatically becomes a part of it.

Be as cheerful as you can, even if the tent you're hiding under to make you feel safe collapses around you. Maybe it's been hiding you from happiness. And with that enigmatic crumb of advice, I bid you happiness, health, and love.

Huh. There's a small vehicle in my eye.

Running Up the Slide

Fight or flight. Can't fight, can't run away. What, then, can I do? Been waiting for things to get better, but they never do. I haven't given up hope, but that hope has taken on the red rustiness of cynicism. What do I expect to happen next? I expect more obstacles to spring up, one after another. And still I will batter myself against them because without even the tiniest slivers of hope there is nothing left.

Sometimes I give up and allow myself to feel sorry for myself. I give myself comfort, as much as I can. I hug my pillow and pretend it's my lost little girl and for a fleeting moment I can feel the warmth of her prickly-haired head against my cheek. I think about the day she was visiting me in the nursing home when she picked up my hand and rubbed the back of it gently across her cheek. Sometimes I do that to my own cheek. It's comforting.

But it's sad because that is lost now. It also makes me happy. My heart feels like it's being twisted by conflicting emotions.

I feel, tucked away in my little corner of a nursing home, that I'm no longer a part of the world. I'm just in storage until I turn to dust. That's one of the problems. I'm almost completely isolated, and there doesn't seem to be a solution for that. But this is part of the human condition for people like me. I'm certainly not the only one.

Somethng inside me is screaming that life shouldn't be this hard, that every way I turn I shouldn't be greeted by an impenetrable blank wall. I feel like I'm trapped in a tiny room with no way out. But I still keep searching for a crack in the wall that I can scrabble at, that maybe I can chip away at until I've created an escape for myself. There is one sure way to get out, but I'm not ready to take that route. It is not under consideration. I'll let you know if that changes.

This March 29 will mark the fourth anniversary of the day I last walked. My, how time drags onward by its elbows.

Keep your eyes on the good, my friends. You don't want to dwell where my heart dwells. I wish better than that for you. ❤

New Year, New Troubles

Don't think my old problems have disappeared in any way, despite the way-too-long sabbatical I took from writing this blog. I did accomplish writing the novel, completing it four days before the deadline. Yay for me. Of course, I was ignoring practically everything else in my life, not the least of which was my blog. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days was incredibly intense, but it was also invigorating.

The abcess on my back healed, but it took a 3-week course of antibiotics. Still, I consider that a triumph. But then, a few weeks ago, a tiny pimple-like thing sprung up in the middle of a decades-old scar on my abdomen. This had never happened before so I was kind of bemused by it. My new doctor prescribed hot compresses every 6 hours. I was lucky if I got one a day. So not very effective. The little pimple got bigger and bigger and more and more painful until it was huge and I was in constant pain. Still no treatment. Then I went into cold sweats and became utterly listless. At that point the doctor finally prescribed antibiotics.

I decided it was too little too late and decided to go to the hospital to get treatment. By that time, I learned, the "pimple" was filled with a staph infection and had a very deep abcess under it. That was weeks ago. I stayed in the hospital six days getting heavy-duty intravenous antibiotics. I even spent Christmas there. I was extremely unhappy about the situation. The wound, which is a more accurate word for what it has become, seems to be infection-free now, but has in no way healed. Every day a wound care nurse repacks my wound, which, even though they pour lidocaine into it first, is still very painful. The healing process is likely to take several more weeks. That thought makes me most unhappy.

I was re-evaluated by physical therapists and they determined that my legs are too contracted for me to get physical therapy and they suspect my hip joints are "frozen" in place. This means I can't even begin to make any progress towards independence until I have orthopedic surgery. Recovery time for that will probably be months long. And if my hips are involved, then it will most likely be really painful. But, before we can even discuss getting surgery, all my wounds have to be healed. And I'm not even sure I am strong enough to withstand the surgery. They might disqualify me because I'm a diabetic. That would mean I'd never gain any kind of independence.

So I'm feeling pretty glum.

Sorry for the doom-and-gloom attitude. I'll work on that. But paraplegia definitely sucks, so I'm not making any promises.

I sincerely hope  your lives are going well. May 2014 treat you kindly. ❤