Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Monday, October 17, 2011
Riding on
12 days to Rich Happy and Hot
Music: The Social Network soundtrack
Location: the study
The last thing I remember is riding. The wind in my face, rushing in my ears, sun on my cheeks. Then blackness. Then confusion. The musings of the mind is so subjective. What I think is the next thought might be a dream, might be real, might be the suggestion of a thought or story that I saw or read somewhere. Scary to think one can'r trust their own recollections, the images in their own minds. So cerebral!
The next thing: waking up in hospital. 11 days later. WTF. Sensory overload. Voices. Faces. It would take another 5 days before I could trust what I was thinking, what I heard, what I was seeing.
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Intensive Care Unit (ICU) psychosis is real. It happened to me, and most likely countless others. Should someone you know or love end up in the ICU, please make sure you familiarize your self with the signs and symptoms. It will save you and your loved one a world of grief. There is more than enough data to support my notions. But who wants numbers and figures when there are stories to be had?;)
My family told me I was in a bad bicycle accident. My husband would tell me a year later, that it is a miracle I survived and a blessing that I can walk today.
I stayed in hospital for 3 months. I have an injury list the size of a weekly shopping list. I have many scars. My body still feels the after shocks of the last day that I rode my bicycle. My mind, well, on a good day it is succinct. My psyche took a massive hit.
It is two years, one month and seven days since the accident. I am much better in some ways. Before the accident I worked as an Emergency Room Nurse. What I knew then about mind and body feels so immature compared to what I know now. My understanding has deepened, like a leather jacket that has over time moulded to the wearer's frame. If or when I go back to work, I will be a completely different nurse. More present. The line between nurse and patient is blurred. Less absolute.
Thank god for the internet. Once I was discharged, I was at home. Undergoing therapy. Resting. Sleeping. My head felt full of cotton wool from lying dormant for so long. The internet gave me access to the rest of the world. Other bloggers, online businesses. This was around the time that using social media as a marketing tool and running businesses online became very popular. I found Etsy, the online market for crafters alike. Etsy became the perfect starting point for hobbyists to test the waters - setting up shop, learning how to sell and run an online business. The handmade movement sprang up and bloomed quickly, a renaissance of all things arty and UN-bigbox store. For someone stuck at home, it made for the perfect entertainment. I went from a thrifty, in person shopper to an internet savvy, cyber consumer of handmade goods. The net was my band aid, and it provided the best day to day distraction from my current reality possible.
Bedtime. Tired. Sore. Pain creeps up like the boogey monster at night. Slowly, slowly and suddenly intense. It's medtime. Nighty night.
Xxx
J.
PS - I'd like to start a segment called Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. Any good Blog has a sense of balance, and I'd like to share information as well as personal happenings, neat net discoveries as well as the realities of recovery. More later. Good night!
Music: The Social Network soundtrack
Location: the study
The last thing I remember is riding. The wind in my face, rushing in my ears, sun on my cheeks. Then blackness. Then confusion. The musings of the mind is so subjective. What I think is the next thought might be a dream, might be real, might be the suggestion of a thought or story that I saw or read somewhere. Scary to think one can'r trust their own recollections, the images in their own minds. So cerebral!
The next thing: waking up in hospital. 11 days later. WTF. Sensory overload. Voices. Faces. It would take another 5 days before I could trust what I was thinking, what I heard, what I was seeing.
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Intensive Care Unit (ICU) psychosis is real. It happened to me, and most likely countless others. Should someone you know or love end up in the ICU, please make sure you familiarize your self with the signs and symptoms. It will save you and your loved one a world of grief. There is more than enough data to support my notions. But who wants numbers and figures when there are stories to be had?;)
My family told me I was in a bad bicycle accident. My husband would tell me a year later, that it is a miracle I survived and a blessing that I can walk today.
I stayed in hospital for 3 months. I have an injury list the size of a weekly shopping list. I have many scars. My body still feels the after shocks of the last day that I rode my bicycle. My mind, well, on a good day it is succinct. My psyche took a massive hit.
It is two years, one month and seven days since the accident. I am much better in some ways. Before the accident I worked as an Emergency Room Nurse. What I knew then about mind and body feels so immature compared to what I know now. My understanding has deepened, like a leather jacket that has over time moulded to the wearer's frame. If or when I go back to work, I will be a completely different nurse. More present. The line between nurse and patient is blurred. Less absolute.
Thank god for the internet. Once I was discharged, I was at home. Undergoing therapy. Resting. Sleeping. My head felt full of cotton wool from lying dormant for so long. The internet gave me access to the rest of the world. Other bloggers, online businesses. This was around the time that using social media as a marketing tool and running businesses online became very popular. I found Etsy, the online market for crafters alike. Etsy became the perfect starting point for hobbyists to test the waters - setting up shop, learning how to sell and run an online business. The handmade movement sprang up and bloomed quickly, a renaissance of all things arty and UN-bigbox store. For someone stuck at home, it made for the perfect entertainment. I went from a thrifty, in person shopper to an internet savvy, cyber consumer of handmade goods. The net was my band aid, and it provided the best day to day distraction from my current reality possible.
Bedtime. Tired. Sore. Pain creeps up like the boogey monster at night. Slowly, slowly and suddenly intense. It's medtime. Nighty night.
Xxx
J.
PS - I'd like to start a segment called Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. Any good Blog has a sense of balance, and I'd like to share information as well as personal happenings, neat net discoveries as well as the realities of recovery. More later. Good night!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Heroic act #1
This blog has been ages in the making. I don’t really know what I was so afraid of. Frank Herbert once wrote “fear is the mind killer.” My mantra for when things got frightening, overexposed. A blog is nothing more than a discussion with your self in cyber space, where people eventually join in and start to talk. I feel like I have so much stored up in my mind that maybe if I just puncture the seal, and get it all out on to paper/a computer screen, I’d have more space to grow something new and vibrant. I’ve spent the last two years taking in information, opinions, and points of view. Perhaps it is time to change the flow. A two way valve is so much more advanced than a one way valve. But enough babble.
I started Recovery Inc a year ago. It fizzled out, most likely because everything was still too new. Too raw. There wasn’t enough incorporation and not enough recovery.
You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve dissected the word “recover, recovery”.
Recover: To find, to save, to hide, to soothe, to tuck into bed.
Recovery: the process of starting again
How ever you spin it, a story is waiting to be told.
So here I am. One year wiser. I am ready to give this project another go, if for no one else than for myself. Recovery is a business - my business. Let’s see which way this dice rolls.
I started Recovery Inc a year ago. It fizzled out, most likely because everything was still too new. Too raw. There wasn’t enough incorporation and not enough recovery.
You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve dissected the word “recover, recovery”.
Recover: To find, to save, to hide, to soothe, to tuck into bed.
Recovery: the process of starting again
How ever you spin it, a story is waiting to be told.
So here I am. One year wiser. I am ready to give this project another go, if for no one else than for myself. Recovery is a business - my business. Let’s see which way this dice rolls.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
musings
Quiet here as of late. Just returned from a week of bliss in Tulum Mexico, with my traveler family. Great fun.
This blog post gave me much to ponder: http://thevamoose.blogspot.com/2011/01/from-earth.html
This blog post gave me much to ponder: http://thevamoose.blogspot.com/2011/01/from-earth.html
Monday, January 3, 2011
Reverb 10 - Day 31
Prompt: Core story. What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 30
Prompt: Gift. This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What's the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year?
I received some lovely gifts throughout the year. I prefer to give gifts rather than receive - I rarely like the attention that receiving a gift can bring. I prefer siting back and watching someone open a gift - the excitement, the pleasure, the chuftness of it. I enjoy planning and shopping for gifts for others. I like getting an idea for one and hunt for signs or clues as to whether or not the intended recipient will like it or not.
I emember viewing a socia anthropology film in Society class in high school, that broached the topic of giving. They examined a pacific tribe in which the act of giving is a community pass time. A large handmade pot sits mounted on a pedestal. Always adorned with fresh flowers etc. The pot never stays long in one place. It is constantly in motion, a symbol of the pride and community spirit of this tribe. The pot exits to be given. This tribe holds the act of giving much more esteemed than receiving. Once received, the receiver gets the pot for a period of time during which they become the giver and ponder who in the village they will give the pot to. Much thought is valued and weighed as giving the pot to someone begins a new partnership.
I wish I could remember the film's name so I could see it again.
I love love love spoiling E. There is nothing more wonderful then seeing the look of surprise and then glee he gets whenever I buy him something. E is more of a do-er - he likes to do things for people, makes him feel useful.
I took a friend shopping recently and also reserved at first, she really got into it. So much fun.
I have no clue why I love giving, but I have been doing so much of my adult life. I don't intend to stop. It brings me so much joy, so much fulfillment
I received some lovely gifts throughout the year. I prefer to give gifts rather than receive - I rarely like the attention that receiving a gift can bring. I prefer siting back and watching someone open a gift - the excitement, the pleasure, the chuftness of it. I enjoy planning and shopping for gifts for others. I like getting an idea for one and hunt for signs or clues as to whether or not the intended recipient will like it or not.
I emember viewing a socia anthropology film in Society class in high school, that broached the topic of giving. They examined a pacific tribe in which the act of giving is a community pass time. A large handmade pot sits mounted on a pedestal. Always adorned with fresh flowers etc. The pot never stays long in one place. It is constantly in motion, a symbol of the pride and community spirit of this tribe. The pot exits to be given. This tribe holds the act of giving much more esteemed than receiving. Once received, the receiver gets the pot for a period of time during which they become the giver and ponder who in the village they will give the pot to. Much thought is valued and weighed as giving the pot to someone begins a new partnership.
I wish I could remember the film's name so I could see it again.
I love love love spoiling E. There is nothing more wonderful then seeing the look of surprise and then glee he gets whenever I buy him something. E is more of a do-er - he likes to do things for people, makes him feel useful.
I took a friend shopping recently and also reserved at first, she really got into it. So much fun.
I have no clue why I love giving, but I have been doing so much of my adult life. I don't intend to stop. It brings me so much joy, so much fulfillment
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Reverb#10 - Day 29
Prompt: Defining moment. Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year.
Besides the obvious?
When I realized that returning to MSH ER was more than likely out of the question. I'd had an inkling for a while, but refused to admit it. One visit to the the ER earlier in the year, I'd sat down with my manager for a chat and had steered the topic towards my return to work. She seemed slow to reply and said that it would have to be done via Occupational health and to do so two months before I wanted to return. Something in her tone - it was flat, guarded. Not encouraging. At this point I thought I could return a year to the day of my accident. I was working hard to do so. After the summer surgery in July I realized that October wasn't likely given how slow I was to recover. Early fall I saw my manager at a retirement party for one of the senior nurses. We'd had a great chat and I told her I would be taking longer than I had previously thought I would. She had half smiled and told me to take all the time I needed, and that no one expected anything more.
In November I was able to face the truth. It still rips me to shreds but hopefully I'll find something else to do. The heartbreak and pain just doesn't stop in this recovery.
Besides the obvious?
When I realized that returning to MSH ER was more than likely out of the question. I'd had an inkling for a while, but refused to admit it. One visit to the the ER earlier in the year, I'd sat down with my manager for a chat and had steered the topic towards my return to work. She seemed slow to reply and said that it would have to be done via Occupational health and to do so two months before I wanted to return. Something in her tone - it was flat, guarded. Not encouraging. At this point I thought I could return a year to the day of my accident. I was working hard to do so. After the summer surgery in July I realized that October wasn't likely given how slow I was to recover. Early fall I saw my manager at a retirement party for one of the senior nurses. We'd had a great chat and I told her I would be taking longer than I had previously thought I would. She had half smiled and told me to take all the time I needed, and that no one expected anything more.
In November I was able to face the truth. It still rips me to shreds but hopefully I'll find something else to do. The heartbreak and pain just doesn't stop in this recovery.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)