Visiting with an old friend

Wednesday I did something I've been thinking about for years.  I went to see an old friend.  He's someone who very literally knows me deep inside.  He put me back together on my darkest day.  He helped me become who I am today.

I saw my trauma surgeon, Dr. Carlson.

It's been a while.  A good 11-12 years.  I think of him often and tell the tales of what we went though more often than you'd expect, but that is part of having the uniqueness of a non-union above my left elbow.

We met over 22 years ago.  It was completely by the luck of the draw that he got me.  It was his night on call.  I don't know what my alternatives would have been, I never bothered to find out.  I've always just been thankful for it being him.

Believe it or not, I was nervous to see him.  I almost bailed out in the parking lot and then again while waiting for him.  I knew why I was there, I just didn't want it to turn into this awkward "yeah, ok, thanks, who are you again?"

I went because I wanted to show him who I've become and what I've done with this body he put back together piece by piece.  I wanted to show him the results of his faith in me and what I could do with what the crash left me.  I wanted to thank him, to say the words to him, not just about him.

They called me back to see him, I rounded the corner to the hall, a hall I'd been in many times hearing great news and the worst news depending on the appointment, and I saw him.  He'd aged.  God knows I have too.  He was younger than I am now when we met, but time has been kind to him, he's aging well.

His face lit up as he saw me and he embraced me in a huge bear hug.  That caught me by surprise and I expressed my fear that he wouldn't remember me.  That got me a "pshaw" noise and he launched into how he still talks about me to other patients.  He check out my arm and leg, I showed him how Lefty works now, and he was amazed.  Then he, being a doctor and all, started going into things we could do if I wanted.  Ways to make my arm and leg normal.  To make me normal.

I cut him off.  I stopped him mid sentence.  No.  Nope.  Not interested.  He interjected with a but we could ...

No.  I'm fine how I am!  He asked me what I've been up to, was I still in the library, what's going on.  So I told him - fishing with the guy, doing 5ks, lifting weights, doing things, you know?

He stepped back, shook his head from side to side, and started laughing. 

I told him I'm unique!  My arm is awesome!  Never found anyone else like me!

"Yep, you're fine. I've never had another like you!  But if you ever ................ "


Yes Dr. C., if I ever, you will be the one, but right now I am happy with my body and what it can do.  I can marvel at what it still lets me become.

We chatted a little bit more, then he had to get to a patient, he bear hugged me goodbye and I left.

I got in my car and realized how fast I told him no to more surgery.  Even a few years ago I would have jumped at the chance to be "fixed" and "normal."  Take me to the operating room, make me like everyone else, please and thank you!  It stunned me to understand that I have finally made peace and have acceptance.  It's been a long time coming and it will never be a perfect peace, but I felt a sense of comfort knowing I'm embracing who I am.

I did think to tell him about all the people who have told me what I can't do with my arm, many in the last year.  His response, much like his reasoning for letting me be this way, was "they don't know."  See, that's why I have my crazy, no functioning but bending elbow.  Because of being me.  I just wasn't until my conversation with him Wednesday that I realized I'd finally become who he saw all those years ago. 

"You don't know Karen."

That was his reasoning for it all.  For doing the unconventional.  For choosing an option that was not recommended.  For ignoring "you can't do that!" and all the rest of the consulting advice he received. 

He's right.  Nobody knows.  Not even me ....

Just a little bit ....

All my life one of my favorite performers has been George Michael.  His death this past Christmas was like a little piece of my childhood leaving.  I only knew the media/pop star version of the man and of course as a teenager, with my posters adorning my walls, I devoured Mtv tidbits like the Bible.

Then at some point I got away from his music.  I think he became “too deep” for my likings, but in actuality he was probably just becoming real to the world.

I just started watching an older documentary about him and while I am still marveling at home fine looking a man he was, I find my older sense feeling so different about him.  Equally as strong as my 18 year old love for him is my 48 year old respect for him.

Perhaps what has hit home with me the most is his relationship with his father.  His father had George’s life planned out.  What he should do.  What he should become.  He’d written his story.  When told George wanted to be an entertainer, his father’s comment was “George can’t sing!”

George can’t sing.

Had he listened, George wouldn’t have sang.  He wouldn’t have written such amazing music.  But for some reason George was able to say “fuck you, I’m going for my dreams!”  Not only did he say it, he did it.  Tragically his demons won in the end, which will forever make me sad, but his years on this earth were very much lived.

One man heard “you can’t” and proved that message was wrong.

One woman hears “you can’t” and holds those words as a truth, even when there is no proof to support it.

I don’t know what makes a person pick one or the other and run with it, but I’d like to hope that it’s never too late to change your mind if you’ve picked the wrong reaction.

I’ve spent my whole life believing “you can’t” and I want to be done.

Like the song says, I gotta have faith …..

Thanks mom

My mother can be something. When I think I'm immune to her words, she does another attack and I remember once again how much hurt she can inflict. 

Some people win the lottery and have a mother who is a cheerleader, a nurturing presence and an endless champion in our fight to discover ourselves and become someone great. 

Then there is the rest of us that got something that resides on a maternal  scale between something that eats its young and a bird that kicks its hatchling out of the nest with a "well if you'd applied yourself!" muttered in a tone the displays the utter disappointment you are. 

I'm 48 and I still haven't fully established a way to classify my mother except for the generic term "bitch."  What do you call someone who's main focus is to make sure you fully understand what ever shortcoming exists in your life from her viewpoint. 

Case in point, today's interaction. She said she was going to tell me something and she didn't want me to get mad. 

"Never wear that shirt again. It does you no favors. It looks horrible and you look 10 pounds bigger."

When she finished I told her that I would continue to wear this shirt because it makes me happy and that's what matters. 

The charm of her words made my day even better. She has the best timing.  Nothing makes you feel better about sitting with your unconscious father, who's non responsive due to a Parkinson's fatigue day, than having your mother point out how unattractive you look doing it. 

I did get her home before I broke down in tears. 

I don't know why she doesn't understand that it doesn't make me mad. 

I breaks my heart. 

It suffocates the parts of me that still have hope. 

It reminds me that after all these years all that matters to her is the surface. 

I know this is her. Her issues. Her world. Her twisted words. 

At least today I stood my ground. Sucks that most of my time I feel like my ground is the tip of an eroding ice burg.  

Stone Cold excuses

So The Cold is still kicking my ass.  Oh wait, let me be honest.  I'm letting The Cold be an excuse for doing NOTHING positive.

Workout - nope
Eat right - nope
Count points - nope
Drink plenty of fluids - yep, but I'm sure alcohol isn't what is suggested

Now go figure that as I've let this progress on and on, I feel worse and worse.  Not just the sickness, but about life in general.

Blah.

That's how I feel.

Plus the bully inner voice is winning on controlling the mind game.  The little optimistic voice says "hang in there Karen, things will be better soon!"

Bully responds with "fuck off and bring some chocolate."

I'm afraid Bully is very scary and successful right now.

OH LOOK!  Another freaking excuse!

Grrrr ...

If you are looking for me, I will be under my desk with a blankie and my 4th giant mug of coffee today.

Back in the swing

I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things with writing.  I know I do much better when I blog.  I'm also going to try and focus on the positive and funny parts of losing weight and getting healthier, because no one needs just a sob story.

I did awesome with my eating and exercise over Christmas.  Then I got "The Cold."

The Cold is the cold from hell.  Since I got it in 2017 I don't know if I caught the epic cold from last year or if I have a new one.  Everyone I know has had some variation of this or knows someone who has had some variation of this.  Depending on who you ask, this one has taken down the populations of small villages.  Not a single person has said it was just a cold.

The Cold means I gained 6 pounds on the scale over night.  You'd think since the snot came out, I'd weigh less, but that's not the case.  Only thing I can figure is the snot to body ratio is really an unknown and while I've released what seems to me a metric ton of snot, what's left behind is another two tons.

The Cold also means I can't taste anything.  Since I can't taste anything, you'd assume that I'd either have no appetite or be content eating celery (which is in the fridge by the way!)  Nope.  I have to challenge my taste buds to see if they can identify things.  Apparently I'm trying to channel my inner Gordon Ramsay and test my palate, Hell's Kitchen style.

Me: "packing foam?"
Gordon:  "Bloody Hell, it's CHEESE POPCORN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE KAREN!"
me: "you sure? Give me 5 cups more!"
Gordon: "Fuck off and take your popcorn with you!"

Gym time is out of the question, especially when being upright today is a workout.  Yesterday I felt really challenged changing a toilet paper roll and went to Olympic levels of activity by showering.

I am at work today.  I'm scared to see what the fallout will be from my muddled decision making.  Can't be any worse than what I've been eating ...

One week.  Not the direction for the year.

Right?

Gordon:



I will get back to Weight Watchers next week, honest I will!

And tracking starting .... tomorrow.  Yeah, I know, it should be right now ....