Ho HUM

Past midnight, Thursday night after a loooong day. My mum comes in to stay with us during the week to help me with appointments, life issues etc etc. She stays for a couple of nights, we spa together. She helped me with the move. I love my mum. I'm very lucky to have such a supportive mum. When I was confused in ICU the first image of clarity was my mum, reading to me. I WAS so confused and paranoid but my mum spoke to me normally, told me not to worry, and continued reading from my favoured book from adolescence.
House slowly coming together. Still some things at the old apartment but we seemed to be fully in now. Awesome! We have a lot to still put away during the upcoming long weekend. But slowly it is becoming a home :)
Wednesday was the anniversary of the accident. Weird day. sad yet a joyous occasion. Given that at this point last year I was hooked up to a ventilator, covered in tubes, after enduring multiple invasive surgeries and tests that I am walking and able to think somewhat clearly. At the time that I would have been lying on the road, waiting for EMS to arrive I got a bit weepy. But for the most part I was fine. Life really does just go on.
Diamond Cutters this week was interesting. The manuscript on the dissection table was a memoir in a poem. Really well written, quite visual. Interesting themes, lively discussion, great points on style from Bindu. I have such a girl crush on her. She is so smart and imaginative, writes well, very encouraging. She is launching a new adventure tomorrow called the Shed Project. A few months ago, she had an epiphany to downsize most of her belongings - no more than 100 - and embark on a sojourn to Australia to drive along the coast of Western Australia. She got an incredible response and very encouraging, wistful feedback regarding her downsizing and thus the shed project was born. For a small fee you can join Bindu, and other shedders, and downsize belongings. She has a ton of speakers and readings lined up to encourage us on. Pretty brilliant. Given the move and the horror of all our belongings making themselves known I figured the timing couldn't be better, and I will thus join this little shedventure to see if I can bring about more change.
I had meetings with my OT, PT, OTA and PTA this week to set some goals and plan the next few months in terms of my recovery. Given the pending anniversary of the accident, my Tuesday session will my SW was quite emotional as I was still grieving and felt lost and directionless regarding my rehab. There will be a team meeting at the end of September and the thought of waiting till then to discuss what next seemed very daunting. Clare sent a text to the team, with my stating my worries and what we had discussed in the session.
Last winter was spent adjusting to my life post accident and recuperating from the havoc wrecked on my body and mind during my hospitalization. Spring and summer were spent waiting for and recovering from the hardware removal surgery. Now that I have returned to "normal" the phase of my recovery can move forth: the recuperate phase.
Holly my OT and I set some short and long term goals concerning cognitive work, community accessing and drive training. PT followed suite: we hammered out the rehab schedule for fall and winter - Pilates x 2/wk for three months, with a practitioner recommended to me by my sister. Weekly strengthening with Heather and a swim session, checking in with Liz once a month. After the three weeks had passed, my care would be turned over to a personal trainer, who would work under Liz to design an appropriate program for me to follow indefinitely, with weekly swimming and some yoga.
My reiki practitioner, who is also a yoga instructor, is running a one week yoga retreat at a lodge on the pacific coast of Mexico. It looks like heaven! Morning yoga, followed by free time to partake in nothing, hiking, swimming, surfing, snorkling, body work, etc, then afternoon meditation and finishing with evening yoga. The meals are all provided, save one dinner which the group will out for in the nearby village. I really want to go as I think it would fall during the right time for me rehab wise. I'd be a few months into my personal training sessions at the gym so a week long break of yoga and swimming would be fantastic, not to mention the week of hot weather in the middle of the most wintery month of the year.
I was hoping we could maybe combine it with another trip we had planned, to Tulum on the Caribbean side of Mexico. I have a few friends who spend the winter there and I try to see them once a year. I met them while backpacking through India and we traveled to an island off the coast of Burma. I lived with them in Manchester U.K. for a while and we've stayed in touch ever since. I took Erick to see them when they were living in a tent on the beach, and a few years later they were married on the same beach and hosted a rather international wedding at a beautiful eco-lodge in Tulum. So magical, both the setting and the awesome people that N and D are. If I had a soul sista N would be the closest to it so combining a week of beach healing yoga with beach crazy N and Erick and myself would be absolute heaven. However, Erick doesn't think he can do both. Poo.

Tired

0757AM. Sunday Morning. August 29th. Soon it will be September 1st. My anniversary.
Hard to believe it has only been a year. A year ago yesterday I worked my last night shift.
Last night we went out to dinner with friends. I mentioned my anniversary to one and he scratched his head and said, "Wow, how long?" Two, three years?"
When I told him, it was only one year, he shook his head in disbelief.
I don't blame him. The last 362 days have seemed like forever ago. So much has happened. So much. The last year doesn't seem real.
The neuropsych came back, finally, this week as well. It supported what I already knew and stipulated that I was unfit to return to work. They recommended I be reassessed in 1-1.5yrs. Upsetting but not surprising.

late night, again

Late night, no sleep. Too predictable a pattern, me thinks.
The one year mark is soon upon me. I have no clue how I feel about that.
I was sorting papers in my study when I was filled with so much sorrow. It filled me from toe to crown and I bawled, head in hands, over nothing, everything.
My psychologist gave me a copy of her initial assessment and I read it in one sitting, the whole time crying.
I sit and type, words come out, hang suspended in cyberspace, life goes on. A bomb could detonate, the city is leveled to the ground, yet in theory, these words will remain in the interweb forever. Along with all the other crap.
To whittle away the time, I write, I window shop, I read articles, I dream.
With so many mediums of inspiration gleaned, you'd think New Me would be getting her groove on and taking the world by storm.
I bought a purse omline for use at all the weddings we'd been invited to this summer. I specified the date I needed it by. 2 days before it was due to arrive, I get this e-mail from the seller that the purse had slipped her mind and it wasn't coming. In this Etsy store's case, I am not a new customer but a repeat, having brought in much business. I appreciate how hard it can be to start up a business, esp. in these polar climates. I think a part of me was envious of the business - the new opportunity, the tapping into creative outlets, the large amount of knitting to be had. I am hoping it shows up soon so I can use it for another wedding this September.
Once the cold weather hits, the time will be right to get back into my knitting. Tried as I might, I just couldn't muster the motivation to knit during our hot summer. Last winter knitting became so paramount to my recovery. I spent hours upon hours knitting, trawling knitting blogs and Ravelry online for patterns and knitting gurus. During the winter Olympics I sat in my Lay-Z boy and watched all day and evening while knitting my first sweater. It became known as the Olympic sweater and was such a source of focus and creativity for me. I lost my knitting fever once the hot weather hit but now the air has the cool autumn smell to it, I am going to start again. I am going to bring a few small projects with me to A's wedding in Tofino, BC, this October. K. who makes the knit clutches, will be there and we have tentatively agreed to stitch and bitch together. I am also hoping, maybe, to meet up with my knitting crush who lives in Victoria and whose hat patterns I will be bringing with me. She is so talented, writes patterns, writes this blog about knitting and her life in Victoria, which I am unashamed to admit, I envy her life. Ah girl crushes, is there anything more delightful?
I have a nice stash of some pretty gorgeous wool that I amassed from various sales and ebay auctions. My regular knit shop had a 50% off everything in the store sale a few weeks back ut I didn't go as I knew I'd end up with more wool than space to store it. Yum.
My sister once told me of a friend who wished she had a trapdoor above her bed so that every morning as she awoke, she pulled a rope and the trap door opened and rained kittens. So soft! Myself I would like balls of cashmere, mohair and silk merino. Or maybe kitten in cashmere sweaters. Or a kitten cashmere hybrid.

Not packing - bad! bad!

So E and I are in the midst of the last weekend before we move. It was supposed to go like this: E finishes up the painting etc. at the house, I pack up at the apartment. E of course has accomplished his to do list. All I've done is slept. And spahed. And shopped.
Ah retail therapy. What would we do without it?
In a harried, driven world there is nothing more selfish, nothing more decadent then shedding one's frugal ways and joining the status quo in a little bit of shopping.
The cool aesthetic of a small boutique, the soft clink of hangers turning. Myself, I've never been a mall girl. Too dark, too crowded. NO, give me a neighbour hood boutique/dress shop any day. Something quaint yet luxurious, carrying independent designers, local labels, a find off the handmade mecca of Etsy. I loved splurging once or thrice a year, as the seasons shift and new lines are released. Love a small run as the exclusivity is even higher. I especially love one woman machines - a one person label, producing some of the most interesting clothing out there, with their own two hands.
I started out a Dagg and Stacey girl, a small Toronto duo who kept their creativity firmly implanted in the realm of vintage while adding their own take on a staple piece. I became a firm believer in paying a little more for something made well, chose one well constructed top over the sale rack at H and M.
After the accident, I was stuck at home, alone, with time to kill, Naturally, online shopping soon caught my attention and although I knew the risks of such indulgence, I soon became quite a fan.
I love parcels. I love mail. I miss getting letters, miss my pen friends. E-mail, as quick and convenient, while opening so many doors has also shut doors too. We have no sense of time, no sense of wait. We expect news when we want it. I can't fathom being a wife and waiting for word from my soldier husband, fighting over in France. Watching the news casts, looking for him on the evening reel. Heartbreaking.
So when I realized that online shopping meant regular parcels, I became even more excited! Something to look forward to, something unknown, save for what was on the photo. A risk, a gamble. An investment in the future. Sign me up.
Eventually I found Etsy and I became a nutter, trawling the Etsy world, looking for a pick me up. So many beautiful things. So many one many one person outfits, presenting their wears through my computer.
I've spent more than I should. I can see how this can get you into trouble, become an addiction. This becomes an exercise in self control. However, I've realized I am purging and renewing. I've managed to get rid of quite a bit of stuff. My spending, however, eventually led me to my writing workshop, which has spawned my story, my manuscript. My future?
I've treated this recovery as organically as I know how. If it feels right, do it. I've met some wonderful people. Discovered some wonderful things. If this retail therapy has, in essence, allowed me to heal, to feel good about something, then shouldn't it be viewed as an investment in my recovery? As long as it stays in control. Which, I am proud to say, it has. You should see my favourites list on Etsy!
It goes without saying, if I could trade in all of this, everything, to get my life back, no contention, I would. I miss my life so much. I miss my drive, my will. The old me would have finished today and yet here I sit, writing about shopping and essentially procrastinating. Ah well. Retail therapy.

So here is the hit list, my list of awesome. Most of it was found on Etsy, italics = non Etsy:

Clothes
Dagg and Stacey - feminine vintage brilliance
Minx Shop - perfection via vintage whimsy and imaginative design
Ahpeele - my husband loves the t-shirts!
Norwegian Wood - the motherload - crazy cool clothes, mind blowing accessories
La Mixx - cotton basics, amped up style
Thief and Bandit - great printwork - the knives, the knives!
Flux Productions - naturalist printing on quality cotton
Luna Shoes - ballet slippers for the everyday warrior
Twitch Vintage - the best vintage. period.
Les Enfants Sauvage - african beats, urban streets
Plastikwrap - intergalactic fashion, crazy creativity

Cosmetics
French Girl Organics - lip tints, potions, heaven
RMS Beauty - raw makeup that heals the skin in natural hues

Lingerie/Bedtime
Plum Pretty Sugar- pretty indian fabric, the ultimate in loungerie
Clare Bare - custom made undies, beautiful fit
Princess Tam Tam - french lingerie all can afford
Sandmaiden Sleepware - beautifully crafted sleepware
Bitchcraft - awesome boyshorts

Paintings
Mae Chevette - inspiration art
Gabriele Neveu - fairy tale fancy

Accessories
Jack and Marjorie - bags made out of old military wares. Gorgeous.
Valhalla Brooklyn - bags, wallets
Sparky Jones - awesome hats
Thief and Bandit - hair and neck
Norwegian Wood -the motherload - harnesses, fringes, BIG Jewelry
Leonie Saliba - transformer bags and wallets
Kove by Hand - any wool, and a couple of new ones
Flux Productions - AWESOME shoes and bags

Household Wears
Monkey and Squirrel - cast iron fancy
Skinny LaMinx - tea towels!
Imagine Fabric - yards of gorgeous fabric for home
Bluebird Heaven - jewelery organizers one could only dream of!
Erick Bily Designs - custom furniture, masterful stains

Jewelery
Round Designs - metal working genius esp. the necklaces and disk earrings
Touch the Dutch - metal work canadiana - esp. the wolf!
Jia Style - french and chinese influences = gorgeous pieces
Joanna Rutter - silver work
Minx Shop - feathers, bones, harneseses oh my!
Figs and Ginger - mother's day paradise esp. the family jewelery

Inspiring Words
Bindu Wiles - writer, yogi
Daniele LaPorte - affirmation maven rocking entrepreneurs
Chris Guilebreau - traveling all day, writing by candlelight
Zen Peacekeeper - yogi, peacekeeper
Caroline Owen - yogi, canoeist, the best thai masseuse

Online Shops
Etsy
Body Politic
Ebay
Knit Picks

Aftermath

The Diamond Cutters session went tonight. I was the first, my manuscript was discussed, critiqued, pulled apart. Themes were found, nuances were fleshed out. I discovered things about my writing that I didn't even notice, and yet they repeated themselves through the manuscript. The neat thing about writing from experience, from the heart is that what is written down is so true little details unfold to create such a large interconnected picture. I never noticed the use of fire throughout the manuscript and yet a reference to fire is on almost every page.
Disconnect. A word used many times tonight. A state in which I occupy 70% of my time. As a writer writing a personal story one of the first things you must do is disconnect yourself from being the character and become the writer. The part of yourself that this happened to becomes a character in the story, told by another part of you that takes over, becomes the conduit for this self to tell their story. Many pieces of the same whole, all acting together to accomplish the same task - tell the story as it is meant to be told. In order to do service to what has happened this disconnect is necessary. It is a powerful feeling to tell your story. Powerful because at this moment you are the center of your own universe, you are taking a big leap of faith in baring yourself to the world.
I sat in silence for 30 minutes and listened to B. lead the group in discussion and analysis of my work. B was doing most of the leading as this is the first critique and everyone was shy. I got pages of feedback which I may use. Suggestions on how to improve, expand my work, make it more palatable and less jerky.
This was the easy part. Now comes the hard part. What next? Do I continue writing this story. A common comment was the piece was so rich, so dense in stories and experiences that a book could be written. Which is what my mananger was hinting at when she gave me the journal. Write, catalog, tell my story because other generations of patients and nurses could benefit from it. Benefit from my life, or what was left of it.
At a wedding party this weekend I met a man who had been in a serious car accident in Savannah, Georgia which had left him in a very similar condition to myself. At the beginning of the night, E and I had sat alone at a table to the side of the outdoor tent in the bride's backyard. We were at the mingling portion of the evening, which I find difficult as moving around contantly is still limited for me, not to mention being in a large crowd of boisterous partially inebriated party goers. I was very anxious, feeling very disconnected from everyone there, embarrassed about my condition. We were just about to leave when the bride, a friend from back when time began, sat down with us and began chatting. We were joined by her friends, people I had met at previous occasions, who knew me by sight. I re-met C's good friend L. who was also a nurse. We discussed the good and bad of nursing, entertaining each other with ridiculous stories from the ward/ER.
Eventually two guys joined us. One of the guys mentioned that he had broken his neck once. A story about a car wreck a few years ago ensued and he talked of endless months in hospital and rehab, learning to walk again, learning how to speak, physical rehab, reintegrating himself back into society and eventually returning to work. As he told his story I began to react so strongly that tears came to my eyes and I had great difficulty hiding them. He seemed so normal, had just got married, was happy, despite the years it took to come back from his life changing event. He was positive, upbeat, pragmatic. His overall message was this: stay positive, be thankful for what you do have, and work hard to get back what was lost. I tried to put on my shoes and leave but a woman who was a nurse and to whom I had been chatting about nursing with, put her hand on my knee and asked if I was okay.
"Oh," I said, wiping my eyes, "I'm crying because what happened to you is happening to me. It has been since last September."
As I spoke Nurse L and the other guy spoke up, that they had heard about me from C, the bride of the evening. The survivor kept talking, encouraging, empathizing. The others followed suite. A truly amazing moment. So eye opening, Like a restrictive glass door shattering, allowing me to move forward another tiny bit. Amazing

no z's

Late at night, no z’s. Not even hot so no excuse.
Weird Monday. Man on the deck as I woke up. My neighbour’s Dad is installing siding for back of house, today working on portion that faces our deck. He never asks for permission to use our deck to work from. My dog wouldn’t stop barking so I had to abort all my plans and take him for a walk. K’s dad was apologetic and agreed to ask in the future but what bothered me was the thought that maybe he should work out a more convenient time to minimize any bother towards myself. He always seems to carry the presumption that it is still okay to continue working, despite the inconvenience of his actions. Weird.
Stake out today along our front street. A man a few doors down had barricaded himself in his room, threatening to shoot himself and others if his wife interfered. Swollen headed police officer standing at bottoms of my steps with a walkie facing the stake out scene. The wife was sitting on my neighbours steps, her arms wound tightly around herself, talking to a paramedic. Fully decked out ETF officer standing adjacent to suspect’s house, watching house with binoculars while cradling an assault weapons in his gloved hand. Back alley closed off too and all civilians ordered into houses.
Situation cleared 1/2 hour later. K came home w/her dog. Turned out police regularly staked out this house as illegal gambling and possibly prostitution was thought to occur often.
Came over later. I told her about her dad’s antics this morning. K apologized profusely. It turned out that her dad had agreed to do the siding back in November when K was looking for a contractor to do the job. He still hasn’t finished it and won’t leave until it’s done, despite K asking him to stop. The situation has turned into a farce and it drove both K and her roommate out of her house for a week because they couldn’t take the mess. She had returned home today. This, and a situation with one of her tenants, has K quite stressed. I feel bad for leaving at the end of the month and Erick feels bad, but from a protective aspect.
House coming along nicely. I’ve booked movers for two Fridays from now so the next ten days will be a whirl with packing. So, so excited!
Diamond cutters class 2 tonight. I am the first lamb to the slaughter, the first work-shopped manuscript. Excited, frightening. I've taken a risk with this one. Although anxious to hear what people think, also nervous that it will be seen as a self indulgent whine fest. C. was right to give me the journal. Now we will see if the universe thinks so too.

private

Late night ramblings again. Awaiting a late night call from BC that never came. Girl time got the best of her and who could blame her?
I sit here late at night, exhausted and yet I cannot sleep. I'm lonely. There are so many people around me and yet I feel quite alone. I have a house. It's waiting for me in a tree laden neighbourhood near my BFF who is adding to her successes by beginning a new career. Erick will be gearing up to apply into the available jobs for paramedic in the GTA regions. It is imperative that he gets it. I've prepped, preened, massaged and bought a digital experience called the Fire Starter Sessions to light a fire of confidence under him. All this pressure, to tie us down further. Instead of going off to live our lives.
I have a sewing machine now. I knit. I've joined a writing group. I have been given the all clear to rehab like crazy to get my mobility back. I have a house that has a ton that needs doing. Painting. Cushions. I have to pack. The chance to wean stuff out. Get rid of junk that clutters. So much to do. So why the atrophy?
Everything is so confusing and yet it doesn't have to be. I go on in this life that seems to have appeared before me and everything is easy. All I have to do is get better.
I feel better physically. Mentally, that's another story. My psycologist is AWOL. She said her report would take awhile but this is getting ridiculous. Why rip away a bandage only to leave the wound festering, when you are expected to help promote healing from the inside, applying a soohing balm when necessary
I miss who I was. I miss her with all my heart. She was such a fighter. She strove for excellence. She had such a vision. She was on the brink of realizing her dreams, which she built herself, from the ground up. I never thought it was possible for one to break their own heart. Maybe this is what growing up means.
I was so close. I could taste it. I know that this grieving process is natural, has to unfold. Maybe that is the essence of what recovery means. Laid bare, stripped of one's identity, not whole. To recover is to develop a new self out of the wreckage. To cover one's self in a new identity, created from the inside out.
I have a headache and my cat is whining. Bed time. My meds can go down after today.