Match striking

Sometime last year, we decided to purchase a house during the summer time. Instead of paying someone for a roof over our heads, we figured we'd pay the bank for a roof, and eventually the place would be ours.
All my friends told me about the fear inducing stomach in knots feeling that comes with vetting permission to get a loan to purchase a house and then promise to pay it back (with interest) within a certain time line. They were not wrong.
As usual in my universe, everything seemed to cock up at the eleventh hour via a communication breakdown between the real estate lawyer, the mortgage broker and the lender. E and I ended up in panicked phone calls to our financial institutions, begging for our money to be released from various accounts and investments so we could pay the final closing costs. Which is funny, because we hired these people to ensure a seamless transaction that avoided all the stress that comes with closing the deal. Thanks,guys.....
Anyhow, in 3 days we close, and now that everything seems to be rock solid, by Wednesday we will be home owners! Gulp.
Pain wise the last few days have been tedious. I've been really sore and achy. My long acting pain meds were titrated down this week which always brings extra soreness. The fatigue is also very present, although I can walk further than last week, I have very little endurance, and often collapse on the couch when we get home, refusing to move.
I visited my surgeon yesterday, was x-rayed front and side, and he declared that my spine and pelvis looked good. The sacrum may pose to be an ongoing issue pain wise, but on the whole I had come through the last 10 months okay. I can now begin the real rehab of getting my movement and body back. Lots of core strengthening, Pilates, swimming. Yoga. The mere thought of it is both exhilarating and exhausting. I have come so far in terms of my rehab and yet I have so far to go. I'm not even fully recovered from this past surgery. And the stress from acquiring the house has been intense, not to mention the stress from the mental and emotional issues concerning the accident. Although I have made some progress with my weekly visits with the social worker, I haven't even scratched the surface of certain issues, and I was hoping to utilize the sessions with the psycologist to broach this topic. However, for some reason, it will take her a month to write the report on my initial assessment and information intake sessions. This process of assessment and evaluation has taken so long, I sometimes wonder if it is for the practitioners benefit, as opposed to the patient/client.
I remember from nursing school the debate of calling patients patients, or using "client" to show a cohesive partnership between two people, working towards the goal of healing which the practitioner assists with. My big issues with "client" was that it assigned a monetary slant to the patient/nurse dynamic. Patients do not hire nurses an doctors to look after them. They are provided by the health care system which in turn is paid for by the government and through some tax money. Doctors are self serving small businesses who are hired by hospitals to provide medical services, and they bill OHIP from much of the costs. Applying the term client to a nurse/patient relationship seems fake and pretentious. A client pays for an ongoing service, like me and my hairdresser, or a home owner and a contractor. Client refers to a business transaction, where the business is providing a service the client wants or needs. The American system of private health care seems to fit this idea better as much of the health care is purchased by the individual needing the care.
Regarding the relationship between some of my care practitioners who aren't covered by OHIP, I am beginning to feel that "client" fits, as I am paying them for a service that they may not be providing appropriately. My PT is often late and cuts the sessions short, and will sometimes sit in her truck when she arrives taking phone calls, even though she is ten minutes late. This is not professional behaviour and yet her expertise, her knowledge base and the fact that she makes house calls is quite fortunate, given my initial house bound state. I often feel so caught between a rock and a hard place - do I take a stand against this behaviour and find a new physiotherapist, which could take some time and set my progress back, or do I put up with the lateness and continue to flourish? It's all about making the right decision that is best for me and my recovery. But what if both are conflicting?
This experience has aligned me with patients - I really now understand their behaviours and actions because I have lived them too. I am really hoping that this will make me a better nurse, should I be able to go back to nursing as my vocation. This is what the rehab is about, reclaiming what was main. Reclaiming the spoils of war - the fight to get my life back. I am so tired. The chasm of my accident is always there, be it beside me, in front of me, somewhere in the distance. The chasm has to stay in the distance, far enough away to not hinder my path onwards, but close enough to remind me of the lessons I learned when I fell down there.
Speaking of onwards, after reading the manifest of encouragement, E started reading Danielle LaPorte's website, and eventually I showed him her e-book for entrepreneurs, The Fire Starter Sessions E has finally come around to the idea of starting a small business or project on the side, tapping into his numerous creative abilities as a means to make some extra cash and create a creative outlet in order to keep his life balanced. One thing he is really good at is woodworking, and last year he built a beautiful wooden dinning room table that has earned him numerous compliments. As an investment in the future, and because I have been so interested in reading her book and maybe staring my own fire, I purchased the Fire Starter Sessions this evening.
Sometimes when things pop up and then grow organically, it is often best to take a chance. Happy reading, E.

Spread the Ra-Ra

Recently, through the power of randomness and interconnection, I became aware of a really interesting woman, business coach, free spirit. Danielle LaPorte seems like a shot of earnest motivation - she seems to speak in blunt honest positivity and is a force of movement to those that meet her. She did a workshop in the World Changing Writing Course I took all about "The Nitty Gritty of World Changing Writing", which is appropriate seeing as she has the schtick down pat.

via www.whitehottruth.com:

the manifesto of encouragement

right now:

There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

Someone you haven't met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God's children.

A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, "nourish them."

Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you -- for free.

Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

The next great song is being rehearsed.

Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they'll be thriving like never before. They just can't see it from where they're at.

Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want -- and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it's reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all "So worth the wait."

Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche -- this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

Someone is fighting the fight so that you don't have to.

Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe. Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.



You. Me. Some. One. Now.

. . . . . . .

SPREAD THE RA-RA. ADD TO THE MANIFESTO. ENCOURAGE.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

for the post itself: http://ht.ly/2c9vZ

Writing like this makes me want to be creative and positive enough to write like this. Danielle certainly seems to be tapped into a creater consciousness who all are searching for the mojo that surrounds this post. Global optimism in an age where so much seems to be slipping into darkness. Too much, too big, too far, too out of control.
I don't know if anyone reads my blog, but if so, spread this manifest. Or any manifest, document etc. that could get people motivated. Every little bit, influence, counts.

Update: Soon after I posted this I showed it to my dude. He's of the sarcastic, stiff upper lip kind. I figured he would snicker or snort at "that sappy stuff you read." He read, told me to keep scrolling, read. When I looked at him, he had rears in his eyes. TEARS.
"That was great," said E, turning his head so as to hide the waterworks. "I feel like I should go and mine and make my mark, which is okay, because the world has my back. That was like a mushy kick in the pants."
Word.

Retail Therapy

I never understood the concept of retail therapy. Like most, I would splurge in some consumerism and acquire things, most of it useful. I very rarely did it to feel relief or a change in mood.
Since this accident, I have engaged in emotional buying at a frequent rate. Since my immobility issues, and photosensitive due to the MRSA antibiotic I am on, the internet has quickly become my medium of consumerism. And consume I have. Clothes, books, makeup, shoes. There is a certain gamble in online shopping that any thrill seeker may like. Will it fit, is it true to colour or size measurement, will I like it, is it worth what it cost, will it get lost in the mail, will I have to pay duty - these are all questions to consider.
The plus has been finding an entire community of online shops, businesses and communities across the country. I found the online handmade community of Etsy, which quickly became a favourite. I found a store in Vancouver which chooses clothing based on how sustainable and environmentally responsible the maker is, and which carries some beautiful labels. I purged my closet and began buying new clothes and shoes, pretty things that I would wear and use to create the new me that has come out alive from the last 10 months. Each time I felt sad or down, I clicked on to my new world and would get lost in online stores, communities and blogs. The days confined to the house became filled with time online discovering new communities and places around the world. From retail therapy I discovered Twitter and the handmade lifestyle community which exists to change consumerism into mindful, community supporting purchasing. I've discovered writing classes, career coaches, life coaches, building one's own economy. The discoveries are endless. I became a part of a community that for 21 days, wrote 800 words and practiced yoga 5 days a week - the 21.5.800 community. I've attended online writing workshops, heard some pretty fascinating people speak on all sorts of topics, and rediscovered yoga as a means to enhance my physical recovery. The writing has helped calm my mind - it has given me a place to vomit all my angst and grief regarding my situation into cyberspace. And I haven't covered said topics yet. This blog has been an ongoing project. I want to turn into something that can help others who suffer the misfortune of a life crippling accident. I discovered Chris Guillebreau who has a quest to see all the countries in the world by the time he's 35. I discovered Bindu Wiles who founded 21.5.800 and who is holding a more in depth writing course in August, the Diamond Cutters series. I discovered Danielle LaPorte who is a lifestyle and entrepreneur coach, who thinks big ideas and helps others realize theirs. These are all people who embraced their strengths, dreams and passions and made a lifestyle, a sustainable self-supporting career out of simply being themselves. And because most of it is based on-line, they can do it from anywhere, from Paris to Ecuador, From Tursikstan to Cancun. I have such lifestyle envy! If surviving was a business, I would have the market cornered, believe me.
While my shopping needs to stop less I bankrupt myself for therapeutic bamboo derived material, my discoveries online need to go on. Somehow I've managed to tap into something that interests me, keeps me motivated to get out of bed, keeps me positive, something which is much more sustainable than a nice dress or sassy underwear. I am trying to salvage something out of the ashes of my former existence. The person I knew is gone, and I live each day with a ghost of my former self. This shadow of self, while still a part of me, is gone, and no amount of crying and mourning will bring her back. Her dreams of MSF are gone and while it kills me to type or read those words, I have to accept the notion. So if retail therapy has been the catalyst to spiritual and self therapy, well, then this is money well spent. Ten years from now, the money will be forgotten but the effect this accident has ultimately had on my psyche could still be felt and still be resonating. I cannot allow myself to be swallowed up in grief. I am still young. There is still time to achieve my dreams. But in a different way. It begins here, in the stillness of the moment.

Night Swimming

When I was little, as with most over imaginative children, night time frightened me, sometimes forcing me under the covers with my favourite bear, other times forcing me downstairs to my mum, who would allow me one segment of Dallas or L.A. Law before accompanying me back to bed, checking for monsters or the like before tucking me in. Eventually we got a orange Popsicle night light, and glow in the dark stars for the ceiling, to comfort me when the night demons threatened to break from the shadows and loom like trees above the bed. I don't know whether I really was frightened of monsters or demons or whether my fears were of the unknown that lay beyond the darkness, even though the practical aspect of my brain knew nothing was there other than my desk, bookshelf and closet full of clothes.
As I grew older and wiser, night time became a source of fascination, of pending adulthood. I was convinced the most exciting things happened at night - dates with boys, car chases, daring feats of bravery, sophisticated club nights and drinking the odd fuzzy navel. I began staying up late, listening to the radio, writing in my diary. As I ventured further into adolescence, so began the sneaking out my bedroom window to go and meet friends, the odd boyfriend. Getting stuck in the window soon became unromantic and I resorted to stealthily sneaking down the stairs and slipping out the back door. I had my going out clothes alongside my regular clothing, and the more I went out at night the more I began thinking about night time activities. As with many young adults, I felt that my real life, my most interesting self, occurred after dark. Whether stone cold sober or merrily inebriated I felt the most alive at night. Life felt limitless, the wall of daytime inhibitions came down, as a sense of relaxation became the norm whenever I was out at night. The week was lived solely for weekend nights, and there was nothing more delicious then stolen week nights spent out at a bar or dance event. I felt I looked better at night, I felt more confident and interesting at night, as the blandness that I felt with my daytime responsibilities, was shed as soon as the sun went down. Whether out with friends or wandering the neighbourhood alone, night soon grabbed a hold of me and it was during those midnight hours that I became high functioning.
Why is night the stuff of legend and romanticism? Why do events in the dark seem so much more interesting then in broad daylight? Again, the unknown certainly has it's appeal. Events in the shadows leave far more of an impression on impressionable minds then they do in the stark light of day. There is a certain danger at night that does not resonate the same way in daylight. The evil that humans do, be it to themselves of others, occur in daytime as they do at night, but it is the nigh time activities that frighten us or leave an impression on far greater than the day time versions. These night time events seem much more mysterious and appealing then they do in day. The lull of dimly lit rooms, of dark rooms and hushed voices seem far more appealing than brightly lit rooms and well lit mirrors. Fornicating and imbibing at night seems far more appealing than doing so in the daytime at times. It is easier to lose inhibitions and one senses at night, lost in the shadows, and uncaring of the inevitable dawn that brings clarity and reality with it's first rays of sunshine. At night it is easier to forget reality as one's real life was separated from one's night self by the act of sleep. Even when I became a shift worker, the events of the night shift became blurred once the sun came up, as the setting was changed, illuminated, and not the same place as before.

One changes in the dead of night as initially we were hunted at night, as many species hunt at night, or as the sun goes down.One loses the sense of sight at night, in the pitch blackness, especially in rural settings, where often the only light comes from the moon overhead. Because of general inactivity, as most people sleep during the night, there is a quiet to night, that makes any sound far more noticeable at night. Because one's vision is diminished, the other four senses are called upon to cast clarity on an otherwise darkened picture. Sounds echo, scents seem more potent. There is a coolness, due to the lack of sunlight, that adds to the atmosphere of night. All this sensual overload, be it the chill, the loud sounds, the disorientation from lack of light, causes the mind to often run wild with stories, frightening thoughts. There is a sense of vulnerability to night given the loss of a major sense, that leaves one feeling alone and alien, like prey. Seeing as many species hunt at night, the mind can quickly jump to a primordial sense of being hunted, and the fight or flight response kicks in, allowing even the most rational person to, in a sense, wig out. As a sense of panic or flight kicks in, this response, which dates back millions of years to our most basic form, allows the body to ready itself to fight or take flight to avoid the danger it is imminently sensing. The heart rate quickens, demand for oxygen increases causing quicker inhalations. The vascular system begins shunting all the blood to the core. A large amount of glucose is dumped into the system, to be used to fight or to run, for one's life or foe one's dinner. Pupils dilated, muscles fire, the body readies itself for lightening quick movements. The mind takes over and suddenly a perfectly rational being takes off, either truly being chased or fleeing imaginary pursuers. All because, potentially, of a feeling of vulnerability brought on by a sense of blindness of one's senses due to a sense of fear of night, of the unknown.
But what terrifies some, energizes others. The nocturnal folk. The stillness of night often allows for the mind to function more effectively as the distractions of a busy day time are at rest or much subdued. Many a student swears by an all nighter as the best time for producing an A+ paper. Yoga, which is often thought of as a sunrise activity due to the sun salutations that begin many a yoga class or personal practice, takes on a new meaning at night. The stillness, gentleness of a darkened room allow for a deeper more concentrated practice. I sometimes take my yoga mat outside and practise alone, moving ever so quietly to create a sense of quiet and fluidity to a body often jarred and restless from a hectic, stark day.
Once, while taking a boat from mainland India to a chain of Islands called the Andaman Islands, I couldn't sleep and proceeded to skulk around the ship, climbing up a rickety staircase to the top deck of the ship. There at the head of the ship, in the cold never wavering breeze and ever expanding darkness I felt so incredibly vulnerable, a small slip of a being alone on a small slip of a boat in the middle of the Indian ocean, at the mercy of the elements and of the ocean itself. Should I lose my footing and tumble into the black churning waves below, I would be forever lost as no one would miss me till morning, and even if someone was standing right next to me, they would be hard pressed to spot me in the dark ocean. I had long since overcome my childhood fear of night, but at that moment I felt an incredible sense of reverence for a time that occurs every 12 hours or so of each day of my life. I quickly headed back to my hammock on a lower deck and wrapped myself tight in my sarong, humbled and more respectful of an event that we often take for granted. The fear of night begins when we are young and afraid of the darkness and unknown, feelings which are often felt towards an eternal darkness, death. Perhaps as children, we often have feelings towards themes which never change, they only become more complicated because adults over complicate the most simplest notions.
Tonight as I write this, my back and tailbone pain is acting up. I can feel the neuropathic pain in my feet flickering as I move it, and fatigue from not sleeping due to this issues makes them only more present. Because of the stillness and quiet that night time brings, my pain is often worse. I use writing as a way to distract myself from my physical troubles, a stream of nighttime consciousness. Or night swimming through my thoughts and memories of a dark constant in all our lives.

A compass?

I have no clue where I'm going. For the first time in a very long time, I have no game plan, no sense of purpose. My goals are the obvious ones - get better, regain my physical mobility, get back to work. Will such a tall order you'd think I would be super motivated, with pom poms and cheering routine down pat. If anything, what I am is completely fucking overwhelmed. This upheaval is the biggest thing I have ever faced and I am scared to death about what happens next. I had, hopefully, my last invasive surgery last week - they took all the metal hardware out of my back, as a precaution against the MRSA that plagued my body last fall. The only way to know for sure that the infection is gone is to get rid of all foreign bodies, as MRSA likes to stick to such bodies, and take shelter there. In my case, it is the surgical rods, screws and metal that has held my spine and pelvis together all this time which has come out. It is odd that the metal which kept my spine and pelvis together and preserved it'd form and structure should also house an infection which threatened to compromise my general health and recovery.
All the swabs of the infected site they took during surgery are coming back negative so it is looking as if I may have beaten this invader, at least on a physical level. Emotionally, well, that's another game altogether.
You'd think that my being a nurse would motivate me to be cheery and upbeat, at least, that is what much of the status quo thinks. That because I've seen people at their worst I should be grateful for what I've survived. My nursing friends who you'd think were the most compassionate are blessedly ignorant to how being a patient truly feels as they navigate through our health care system. My colleagues are so detached from the tragedy in front of them, none of it permeates the barrier around them. I know this because I felt it too, when I was one of them once upon a time.
At the camping trip before the surgery Erick and I hung out with various people, meeting some of the new staff and being ignored by the others whose names we didn't bother to listen to either. One of the occupational health nurses from work called me today to get an upsate on my return to work status. I had to explain my injury and accident again, state my injuries and why they were preventing me from coming back to work. I wasn't sure how "I can't return to work yet because the mere thought of having to stand beside emergencies unfolding makes me want to scream" would go down. Fortunately the sound of her questions and the clackity clack of the keyboard keys as she typed out what I said verbatim made me realize that she was merely looking for something to put on my file as way of update. No hassle on dates or ideas, merely confirmation that I am still too ill to return to work and laying the necessary ground work for whenever that day should arrive.
The thought of not being being able to go back to emergency nursing is odd as the ER was where I very firmly wanted to be come graduation. And my experience in the ER is unrivaled in terms of being an incredible learning opportunity for both book and practical knowledge. The PR skills one learns in the ER is paramount to learning patience and control when dealing with patients, their family and the general public. Now, having seen and experienced the ER from the perspective of a patient, I can empathize and recognize the issues of being a patient in crisis.
While i was on the orthopedic unit recovering from the hardware removal, the manager of the neighbouring Trauma unit came to see me. I got to know her quite well during my initial stay in hospital. She was enemy number one during the MRSA infection as she had to make the difficult decision concerning room assignment, and due to there not being enough rooms, I was segregated to an "MRSA ward" where myself and two men were housed because we had MRSA. My family and I argued, begged and fought against my moving to the ward but Mary wouldn't budge. She did however become an ally as I tried to go to rehab, and when I couldn't go due to a drug reaction she came to see me quickly, formed a list of my most pressing issues, and had a new mattress to my room so I could be more comfortable, and came to see me through the course of the week.
Mary and I caught up and eventually the reason for her visit was discussed. St Mike's holds an annual Trauma conference, and Mary proposed that I put together a talk based on my experiences at SMH, especially as I was in the unique position of being an ER nurse by trade. I want to do something to help other trauma patients who have the misfortune to go through what I did and the opportunity to speak to a room full of doctors, nurse and other health care professionals seems to be a good starting point. Public speaking has always been a phobia of mine. The last few minutes leading up to my time to talk and the first five minutes in are pure torture but once I find my groove I usually begin to enjoy myself. I hope this works out as I think it could bring some closure, inform my fellow nurses and perhaps help a trauma survivor in the future.
As this recovering continues on I am hoping that the game plan will reveal itself. Until then, I've got nothing to guide me except my body's healing and the restructuring of my mental faculties. Emotionally I am all over the place. Physically I seem to be improving, albeit slowly. Given the strength of my mind body connection I am hoping my body will be the guide in this unknown, turbulent journey. I have to trust the unknown. Bugger. Some days I barely trust myself!