Houston Bound...

I am headed to Houston for a few days because I have been asked by the prosthetic company to discuss my experiences with my Proprio ankle. I love meeting new people, especially amputees, and discussing my experiences.

I was thrilled when I was invited to the symposium. The idea of escaping my day to day life and traveling to a new city is alluring. Going away, even for only a day or two, refreshes my outlook on life. I am reminded that I have more to offer the world than changing diapers and cooking and cleaning.

I am more than a wife and mother. Although I cherish those roles, I feel empowered by stretching other cerebral muscles. It is refreshing to be reminded that I have a plethora of skills and insights to offer the world that don't involve care taking. I enjoy, if only for a night or two, going out to eat and not having to entertain a toddler. I won't have to cut anybody else's food, and I won't have anybody pounding at the bathroom door, screaming "MomMom." So yes, I am excited.

Robby will be staying with my Mom. He and his Nana are comfortable together and they have their own routine. Sometimes that involves ice cream for breakfast or oatmeal for dinner, but he is always having a good time and happy. I know that he will cry when I leave, but that the tears will end as soon as the car is out of his sight. It is heartbreaking to leave him, but knowing that he is on a "Nana Vacation" and is having fun makes it easier.

It is always difficult for me to leave my family, if only for a few days. This time the departure is particularly painful because of my nephew's accident. Although he is home, my heart is drawing me to him. I don't want to travel so far away, probably out of fear that something could go wrong.

I know that Jake is recuperating comfortably at home. I want to do something to help but, and I don't like to admit it, my assistance is not really needed. There is nothing I can do. I spoke with my sister, and she urged me to continue with my plans.

Putting my concerns about traveling away from my family aside, I am preparing for an adventure. I have never been to Houston. Although I will be in a hotel meeting room for most of the trip, the lure of visiting a new destination is exciting. Besides, I'll have a four hour block of time all to myself on the airplane, allowing me the opportunity to read something more sophisticated than The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Message Boards

I find myself flooded with a myriad of emotions ranging from heartache and grief to anger and rage. It has been a difficult few days for our family. Unfortunately, the situation was made worse by the comments of a few ignorant individuals.

A newspaper article was written about the car accident involving Jacob. It didn't surprise me that it was featured in the newspapers. In a relatively small town where news is slow, a child being struck by a car makes headlines. If the incident had occurred in a city, it may have been mentioned briefly in a few sentences and then forgotten. Living in a small town has benefits. Unfortunately, as I have witnessed during the past few days, being big news in a small town can have a negative impact.

The article that was written was fair. It was primarily fact based. I was not thrilled that the article featured two photos. The first picture was of my sister, entering the helicopter as she was grasping onto Jakey's stuffed dog with the pain and anguish on her face clearly depicted. It was a heartbreaking photo. The second photo showed Jacob being pushed on a stretcher towards the helicopter. Personally, I found showing a child in that state to be exploitative and unnecessary.

The internet version of the newspaper allows for readers to leave comments. Obviously, I read the comments, and I was shocked. The comments were not constructive; they were simply mean. They were blaming my sister for the accident, referring to her as "crazy" and "neglectful." They questioned her parenting skills as well as her love for her children.

I immediately phoned my brother-in-law Wade. After discussing the situation with him, we agreed that the internet articles needed to be kept from my sister. She was consumed with guilt and pain for the injury sustained by her child. Seeing the hate-mongers casting more blame would simply amplify the anguish.

I wrote a comment after the article, offering the family's perspective of the accident. I defended my sister's parenting skills, and echoed the fact that the police found no neglect on her part. I pointed out that not one "commentator" expressed concern for little Jake or for his family. They were merely consumed with casting blame.

An hour later, I answered the telephone to discover that our plan had failed. My sister had, indeed, read the on-line article and subsequent comments. She was near hysterics.

I was irate as I drove to the hospital. I found her in tears, nearly inconsolable. She saw her child struck by a car in front of her eyes and now she was being called a neglectful, crazy and unloving parent. Her pain was deepened by the negative opinions of those not familiar with the situation. I am her sister; therefore, my pain was heightened by seeing her in this state.

After consoling her and visiting with Jacob, I returned to my Mom's house and logged on to the message board. Many people had left positive comments encouraging Sheri and Jacob and wishing him a speedy recovery and prayers. We are thankful for those words. There were, however, a slew of individuals who took their negativity to an unhealthy and, to be frank, just plain mean level.

Being an amputee, I have been the recipient of a myriad of rude and thoughtless comments by strangers. I've even been approached and informed that I "wouldn't go to heaven" because I was an amputee. I've been called a freak, a robot, intellectually deficient and ugly. All of these "comments" were slung by ignorant individuals who do not know me or my family. I should not be surprised by the opinions left under the shield of anonymity on a message board. The comments were so outrageous I was left speechless.

One commenter expressed pity for Jacob because Jacob had me as an Aunt. That statement was like a dagger in my heart. Anybody who knows me would testify to my love for my niece and nephews. This post was especially hurtful.

And then, this post just got nasty. This is an exact quote of his post:

"You sound like yet another lowlife sex freak woman who probably doesnt work and lays on the computer all day cybering with filthy men. Take a minute and think about yourself Miss Peggy- shouldnt your mind be on your relative in ICU instead of hooking up with any Tom, Dick, and Harry from the net?"

My nephew was struck by a car and has been in intense pain. He has a broken pelvis, ankle and vertebra. His lungs are severely bruised, and he has cuts all over his head and face. And somebody read the article and, rather than being concerned for a severely injured three year old and his family, attacks me?

The comment offered by this man was hurtful and unnecessary. It brought me to tears, probably due to the exhaustion I was feeling. I felt deflated.

I am trying to figure out why somebody would write such a heartless, mean comment to a stranger whose family had just experienced a tragic event. I am left with no answers. Rather than focusing on the few mean spirited postings, I am going to choose to focus on the outpouring of love and hope offered by so many.

Our Good News...

I just wanted to write a quick note to provide an update on my nephew Jake. The fact that he survived the accident and suffered non-life threatening injuries, is truly miraculous. We can find no other explanation.

Jakey has been released from the hospital. He has a broken ankle, and his pelvis is broken in several locations. He also sustained a broken vertebrae at the base of his spine. He has severely bruised lungs and lacerations on his head and face. He is hurt, but he is certainly not broken. He will recover. Children are resilient. He has found his smile despite the pain and his injuries.

We knew that Jake's cognitive functions were intact the day after his accident. Because he was knocked out we were not certain about any brain implications. Through his sedated state, he looked at my Dad (called "Candy Papaw" by his grandchildren because he always has lollipops for them) and smiled. He then asked his Candy Papaw, in a weak but clear voice, if he could have a lollipop.

My Dad flew out of his hospital room and ran to the gift shop. He started asking every available clerk for lollipops, explaining that it was imperative. He bought a handful. Although Jake couldn't eat the candy yet, the fact that he requested it was the sweetest sound we could have heard!

Jake has been released from the hospital and is in stable condition. Aside from pain management, there is no need for him to remain in the hospital because my sister and her husband will administer his medication at home.

He will be in a wheelchair for awhile. He cannot exert himself because of the injury to his lungs. He cannot bear weight on his extremities because of the broken vertebrae and pelvis and he is in pain. Thankfully, he will heal.

Before we know it, he and Robby will be running around the yard, playing with their digger trucks. In the meantime, I have been talking to Robby, trying to explain to a three year old that his cousin and friend is hurt. I explained that Jakey has to sit in a wheelchair.

Fortunately Robby has been exposed to wheelchairs since his birth. Between my revision surgeries and his volunteering at Walter Reed visiting injured service men and women, he is comfortable with medical equipment. I am thankful for his early exposures.

Robby knows that Jakey will not be able to run with him right now. After pausing for several moments, Robby asked me if Jake could watch cartoons and eat cookies. So, today I am going to take Robby to see his friend. He is bringing his new Max and Ruby Christmas DVD, and he asked me to help him make cookies. I don't think I've ever been happier turning on the mixer.

Tragedy and Miracles

Yesterday was difficult for our family. My three year old sweet nephew was struck by a car. He was airlifted to Hershey Medical Center (the closest Children's Hospital) for treatment. At the time, all I knew was that he was struck and thrown the length of the minivan. He was not responsive and was being airlifted. My heart instantly broke.

I immediately transitioned into a robotic like trance. I made the appropriate family contacts to relay the information. I then grabbed Robby and Black Bear and started the three state drive to the hospital. During the drive I made contact with a friend who agreed to watch Robby so that I could go directly to the hospital. Thank you, Heather.

As I neared the hospital, more facts started to come to light. Jakey was hit by the car after he got out of his family's minivan. The speed limit in the residential neighborhood is 35mph. The police estimate that the car was traveling approximately 45 mph. The driver didn't see the precocious toddler.

I forced myself to maintain my composure while driving. Robby heard me tell a family member that Jake was hit by a car, and he immediately began to cry. Even my little boy knew that the situation was serious. After Robby was distracted and stopped sobbing, I knew that I needed to avoid talking about the incident within his ear shot. I half-heartily serenaded him with The Wiggles and Johnny Cash.

I fought back tears and worries. My mind kept conjuring horrific scenarios. I tried to push the negative possibilities out of my mind, concentrating on only the facts. I felt helpless and terrified.

Despite the tragedy of the accident, our family was blessed with a miracle. Jakey sustained a broken pelvis and ankle. He has severely bruised lungs and cuts on his face and head. All of his injuries will heal. We were spared all of the horrific scenarios I had feared.

Jakey is in the hospital, and we expect that he will remain there for several days. At the time he is sedated to ease the pain he was experiencing. My sister is frantic. I am sure that seeing your child struck by a car is something a mother cannot simply "get over." She will be reliving this incident in her sleep for years to come.

I am thankful that my nephew is going to heal. He is a wonderful little boy. He loves to watch The Wiggles and play with his puppy. He is more than a cousin to Robby; he is Robby's best friend.

My heart aches that Jakey is going to have to experience pain and discomfort during his recovery. Children are resilient and I know his recovery will be quicker because of his youth. As he grows, his memory of the incident will fade. Someday, perhaps it will merely be a story retold to him. I pray that it will, someday, morph into a distant memory for my sister as well. Her pain will take longer to heal.

I have been guilty of driving over the speed limit, especially in my own neighborhood. We all live hurried lives. Let's face it, sometimes going 35 mph is difficult.

Jakey lying in the hospital, bruised and battered, is a reminder that we all need to slow down. Speed limits, albeit inconvenient, are set for a specific reason: safety. I am posting the picture of Jake in the hospital with my sister's permission. We both hope that seeing the tragic results of speeding in a residential area will help us all learn to slow down.

Jakey, Aunt Peggy loves you to the moon and back! When you get better, we are going to make cookies and go for a ride on a real train. Stay strong little man.

Rolling Down The Grass Hills

The weather here in Northern Virginia has been unseasonably warm. For the past few days it has been in the 70's. Having a toddler who loves to play outside, the lovely November weather has been a wonderful treat.

Yesterday, in an effort to take full advantage of the warmth and sunshine, and in an attempt to tucker out Robby, we went to the park. As Robby was busy running around with the other kids, I made a realization. Perhaps I was particularly astute because, as I was getting ready in the morning, I noticed a lot of grey hair. It dawned on me that I now needed to choose coloring that touts "covering grey" rather than just choosing a fun color. I was feeling old. In any case, it quickly became clear that I was the oldest Mommy there.

I know that I am not "old" but comfortably aging. I have more energy and I am stronger than I was when I was in my 20's. Being around perky 20-something Mommy's made me self-conscious about my age. I suddenly felt sluggish and middle aged.

I suppose I countered the discrepancy between our ages in my typical fashion. I opted to "prove my youth." Yes, yet again I tried to prove to myself that I can still be the "fun Mommy."

While all of the other Mommy's were sitting and reading a magazine or chatting or texting on their phones, I threw myself into playing with toddlers. I chased Robby and his friends around the playground. I went up and down slides. I didn't find sliding nearly as much fun as Robby and his little playmates, but I continued to smile, knowing that I could nurse my sore muscles later.

After the novelty of sliding was gone, Robby proceeded to his next favorite activity: he began to roll down the grass hill. He loves to roll down hills.

I used to love rolling. I have tried rolling down hills since Robby was born and it wasn't nearly as much fun as I remembered. I was left at the bottom of the hill feeling dizzy and a little queasy.

I should have learned my lesson and avoided hill rolling. Apparently I am not that swift, because I opted to give it another try. At the urging of Robby and his three little conspirators, I accepted the challenge. After all, the texting Mommies may be 10 years younger, but I could be 10 times more fun!

I laid down and evaluated my technique. I suffered a shoulder injury last year. I am protective of my arm because it has a tendency to "pop" out of the socket (certainly not an issue I had to deal with in my 20s), but I was undeterred.

I tucked my arms tightly against my waist and closed my eyes. I began to roll. I guess it was more like bouncing than rolling. Yes, I began to bounce down the hill. I thought I had picked a location void of rocks and divots. I was mistaken.

I tried to open my eyes, but my head was spinning too much to focus. I was forced to keep my head down until the spinning stopped. I became nauseated. Initially I thought that it was because of the vertigo. I came to realize I had rolled through a large pile of animal poop. I would like to think that it was dog poop, but the hay encased by the fecal material leads me to believe that the culprit was a horse. (The park also has wonderful trails that are often used for horseback riding.)

As I was bouncing down the hill, apparently my leg lost suction. It slid off my stump about 3/4 of the way down the hill. I didn't realize that it was not attached until I tried to stand up and realized I was down one limb. So there I was, sitting at the bottom of a hill, covered in animal feces, missing my leg and feeling dizzy. Luckily, Superman Robby was there and retrieved Mommy's leg. (His three little friends took off running up the hill when they saw my leg came off.)

Disgusted and sick, I gathered Robby to go home. With as much fake pride as I could muster, I walked past the young Mommies who were trying to comprehend the story that was coming from the mouths of their little children. I had to concentrate on the lines between the bricks to maintain a straight path, but I managed to make it to to the car.

After I wrapped myself in paper towels to protect the seat, I drove to another section of the park. I put The Wiggles CD on to amuse Robby and turned off the car. After a few songs, I was able to regain my composure and drive home.

While I was taking a shower, I made a vow to myself. I will never again roll down another hill. I can still be the "fun Mommy," but perhaps I can achieve this status with cookies instead of queasiness. And if I have to use Nice N' Easy to cover my grey, so be it. At least I won't be scaring little kids and rolling through poop to prove my youth!

Happy WALKING DAY to ME

I wrote this awhile ago. Many of you have read it before. Please forgive the repetition, but I felt that it was an appropriate blog for WALKING DAY! I'm off for a day of doting and pampering. Well, maybe not so much the pampering aspect, unless you count not having to change the cat litter....


Holding Hands

I see couples, everyday, walking and holding hands. This simple act of affection goes unnoticed by most.

When I met my future husband in 2000, I was unable to walk without crutches. I suffered a severe injury to my foot that left me with constant pain and fragile bones. I wasn't looking for a relationship, resigned to the fact that nobody would want to become involved with somebody carrying such significant medical baggage.

Scott and I were both special education teachers, and struck an immediate friendship. As the relationship began, I informed him about my injury. I was facing years of painful, difficult surgeries and would, quite probably, deal with issues for the rest of my life. At 24 years old, this was quite a daunting reality for me to face. Undeterred, we fell in love.

Shortly after our romance began to blossom, I was diagnosed with cancer. Instead of fleeing, he remained steadfast in his love and support. He held my hand through surgeries and treatment. With his support, I regained my health.

After enduring 17 surgeries on my foot, I was faced with a difficult choice. We wanted to get married and start a family. I didn't want to get married until I could walk down the aisle, unassisted. Starting a family was going to be difficult because I am a cancer survivor, compounded by the issues surrounding my foot. I chose to amputate my left leg.

On July 3, 2003, Scott drove me to the hospital for the amputation. I cried the entire trip, firm in my decision but fearful of my life as an amputee. He was strong, and never wavered in his support. He kissed me as I was wheeled in the operating room, and I learned later that this is when he broke down and wept.

When I woke up in the hospital room, I remember him leaning over, stroking my hair, and telling me that I was beautiful. He remained by my side throughout the hospitalization and through the very long, painful recovery. He learned to bandage my stump, pack wounds and help me bathe. He held me when I cried and encouraged me to move forward. It was a difficult journey.


On November 11, 2003 I was fitted with my first prosthetic. Scott was by my side as I took my first steps without crutches. He took videos and pictures of the entire event. I was thrilled. I was walking.

Later that day, we went to the mall. He squeezed my hand as we walked together. He whispered that this was the first time he has been able to hold my hand because he has never known me without crutches. We sat down on a bench, held each other and cried.

November 11th is celebrated in our home as “Walking Day.” We still hold hands when we walk, but now they are joined by our miracle, our active and delightful three year old boy.

Ready for Walking Day

Every amputee has an anniversary date. For some, especially soldiers returning from war, the date of their accident is referred to as their "Alive Day." They use this term because they survived an event that was meant to take their life. My amputation occurred on July 3, 2003. This is a date that I can never forget, yet I choose to try to ignore.

Instead of marking the date of my amputation, I choose to honor my recovery by celebrating what I have dubbed to be "Walking Day." Walking Day marks the anniversary of the date I took my first steps, unassisted, on my prosthetic. In essence, it is the date that my recovery and, hence my life as an amputee, truly began.

My Walking Day is tomorrow. On November 11, 2003 I took my first steps. I remember the event as if it were yesterday. I was terrified while sitting in my Prosthetist's office. I didn't know what to expect. I was worried that I would fail and be confined to crutches or a wheelchair for life. I was afraid of falling. I was afraid of the pain of a prosthetic. I was scared of being an amputee.

After the leg was fitted, I remember Elliot, my prosthetist, telling me to try to take a step. I took a deep breath and took a "leap of faith." Hesitantly, I began to put one foot in front of the other. Before I knew it, and within a period of twenty minutes, I had ditched the crutches and was walking! I was slow, and I had a noticeable limb. But I was walking without crutches for the first time in over 5 years.

I find myself filled with pride on this anniversary. It allows me the opportunity to remember the recovery and to honor everything that I have endured to get to this point. At the risk of sounding cocky, I am proud of myself. I have not only survived losing my leg but also recovered, and I am now thriving.

I find myself continually challenging the limits of my prosthetic. My desire to succeed has been amplified since Robby's birth. I want to show him that his Mommy may have lost her leg, but she hasn't lost her spirit or her love of life. It is okay to fail, albeit embarrassing. It may sound cliche, but avoidance of an activity is far worse than a failure while trying. This is a lesson I want to impart on Robby.

Walking Day is a celebration in our home. The anniversary allows me the opportunity to reflect. I am not the same person who took those first tentative steps on a prosthetic leg. I am now a wife and a mother. I was scared of falling and embarrassed about my limb loss. I have learned that falling hurts- but that it is inevitable. I am no longer embarrassed. I have learned that everybody has something "wrong" with them. My "imperfection" is simply more visible.

Tomorrow Scott, Robby and I will celebrate Walking Day. We will talk about the surgery and the painful recovery, but that will not be the focus of the day. We will celebrate the anniversary in the most appropriate manner. We will watch the video of my first steps, and then our little family will go for a walk.