I Hate Math!

It has been brought to my attention that 5K is actually 3.1 miles. This is considerably longer than the 2.1 miles I was expecting to run on June 5. Nevertheless, I have made a commitment and I plan to see it through, even if that means I leave my lungs trailing behind me as I huff and puff my way along.

My new activity/ running leg is being made as I type, and I will pick it up on Thursday. I am so excited. I'm hoping that the mounted Mod III foot/ ankle will provide me with the extra spring I need to complete the race. Of course, perhaps depending upon my prosthetic to see me through the race may be faulty logic; perhaps I should start training.

I needed to plot out my training course. Back roads are a must as I don't want to distract any drivers with my humorous running style! Yes, the sight of me running on the road could lead be a driver distraction, so I am best kept out of sight. I am opting for a course through the streets in my development. After all, my neighbors are accustomed to seeing me humiliate myself, so I won't be a distraction if they are driving by.

I strapped Robby into his booster seat, reset the odometer and took off to plan my route. I was amazed at how slowly the odometer turned even though it seemed like I was driving quite a distance! Convinced that the odometer was incorrect, I reset it and measured the course again on my way home. To my disappointment, my odometer does not have a mechanical malfunction. Wow, 3.2 miles is longer than I thought!

Tomorrow I will start my training. I would start today if I had a proper running prosthetic. Surely injuring my limb by running on an improper device would set my training behind. Does that sound like procrastination?

I know that I am not going to run the entire route tomorrow. I am hoping to run a mile, and walk the remainder. I am running towards a goal, which will help. Not only do I want to prove to myself and to my family and friends that I can do this, but also I want to raise money for a worthy cause. I know that I can do this!

The training will be hard, and I know that I will want to give up. I am not a quitter, but I may need an extra boost of motivation towards the closing mile of my run. I often respond best to instant gratification. That is the reason that, at the end of my strategically planned training route, I end up at the 7-11. When I want to quit, the lure of the Slurpee may be just the extra motivation I need to keep me running!

Not Worth the Price

A few weeks ago I met with Elliot, my prosthetist, to discuss my liner issues. I love the practicality of the seal-in liner I have been using because I'm able to simply step into the socket and walk. My biggest complaint with the liner involves the fit. It is a cylinder shape that does not accommodate for a "shapely" thigh. The liner consistently rolls down my thigh, and it drives me absolutely crazy.

I have tried several stop gap measures to fix the rolling liner problem. I've cut a wave design in the top of the liner which was moderately successful. Unfortunately, as the liner becomes worn there is nothing that keeps it in place on my jiggly thigh.

I have gotten into the habit of simply folding the liner over the top of my socket. Folding the liner eliminates the uncomfortable liner roll which interferes with the bending of my knee. Unfortunately, the liner sticks to my pants and skirts when it is folded over. I have also discovered that the durability of the liner is compromised by folding it over the socket, lending itself to developing holes and tears.

I have complained about the liner shape to everybody who would listen. I had the opportunity to meet some research and development specialists from Ossur several months ago, and my liner woes were at the top of my list. I have been assured that an improved shape is in the works, but that certainly doesn't help me now.

Elliot has heard my complaints about the rolling liner for years. He invited me to try a new liner, manufactured by Evolution Industries. The Origin liner is a new seal-in liner that is touted to stay in place. I was psyched and ready to give it a try.

The Origin Liner is a two part system. The first piece is similar to the common silicone liner that is used for sleeve suspensions. I was impressed the first time I rolled the new liner onto my limb. Although it was thicker, the material was smooth and comfortable. The conical shape worked its geometric magic as the liner did not roll down my thigh.

The second part of the liner is similar to a prosthetic sock with the addition of a seal. It was simple enough to slip on, although to be honest I wasn't thrilled with the extra step. I suppose I have become lazy when it comes to putting on and off my leg. I don't need to wear prosthetic socks anymore and I have become spoiled with the "get up and go" system I have been using.

If I had written this blog after the first day in the liner, my report would have been glowing. I loved the fact that it stayed in place. Once I trusted that it would not roll down and stopped walking stiff legged in order to thwart movement, I found walking to be easy. The suction was strong and I was thrilled.

After the first day, my experience started to go downhill. The liner left my limb cherry tomato red after a few hours. I found that I was constantly releasing pressure in the socket to provide relief. The thick material was impeding my ability to kneel down and squat.

On the third day I abandoned the new liner altogether. I developed painful and bloody sores on my knee along the line of the liner. My leg was stinging whenever the liner was removed and my limb felt like it was burning when I rinsed it off. The discomfort and skin breakdown was not worth the "luxury" of a liner which stayed in place!

With the "new" liner by the wayside, I set out reconfiguring my seal-in liner. Since it was already riddled with holes, I knew that there was little damage I could inflict to make the situation worse. I opted to cut the length significantly so that the liner ends just below my knee. (I suppose I could have taken more care to cut a straight line, but I was frustrated and looking for a solution.)

I have been thrilled with my liner since I made this adjustment. My knee is completely free, allowing for full mobility of the joint. I no longer have to worry about the liner rolling down, or creating an unsightly fold over my socket.

I have been in the seal-in liner for several years and have been complaining about the issue for as many years. I spoke with researchers for the prosthetic company and various prosthetists about the issue. Despite all of the expertise I solicited, nobody was able to solve the problem. The solution was so simple! Why didn't I think of this earlier?

Little Boys Cannot Fly!

Dear Robby,

I know that you love birdies. They look so pretty high up in the sky, flying around. I know that you want to be able to fly like a bug and go through the clouds. It would be a lot of fun to fly around. Mommy wishes that she could fly, too.

But Robby, you cannot fly. No matter how many times you stand on the top of your race car bed bookshelf to try to get more height. No matter how hard you flap your arms. No matter how high you jump. People cannot fly.

Robby, you have sustained multiple bumps and bruises pursuing your dream of flying. While I admire your gumption, I must ask you to stop. This morning you hurt yourself, and Mommy was scared.

You tried to fly again this morning, but you missed your landing pad. You landed on your foot and hurt yourself. You weren't able to walk and you were in pain. Your ankle was swollen and red, and I was worried that you broke it.

Mommy is very sensitive when it comes to foot issues. I ultimately lost my foot because of a seemingly benign injury. I am always going to worry when an injury occurs to your foot that you might suffer the same fate. I know it sounds silly; the chances of you sustaining an amputation are minuscule. Statistically, I should still have my foot. I don't trust fate. You scared Mommy!

Because of your unsuccessful flying attempt you had to go see the doctor. You don't have a broken ankle, but you do need to stop trying to soar "high high up." Mommy doesn't want you to get hurt.

You hobbled around all day, and your foot is now starting to feel better. Why then, after everything we went through today, after all of our discussions, did I find you perched on the top of your race car bed, looking guilty and clutching a feather duster? Your idea of needing feathers to fly is a good one, but you are incorrect. You don't need feathers in order to fly. Little boys cannot fly. Please stop trying. Mommy already has enough grey hair, and it is becoming difficult to keep it colored!

Love, Mommy

My Busy Weekend

This has been a busy, yet productive weekend. My muscles are sore and my stump hurts, but I can look back on the tasks which were completed with a sense of satisfaction that only comes after hard work. I am amazed with how physically strong I have become during the past few years. I know that just two years ago I would not have been able to do half of what I accomplished with relative ease.

My mom is in the process of building a mini playground for the grandchildren. I find it ironic that she purchased a swinging and twisting tire swing, a few regular swings, a sandbox (filled with green sand of course) and a trapeze for her grandchildren's amusement. When we were growing up, my siblings and I had a rusted swing set that would thump precariously whenever we were swinging too high and an old truck tire for a sandbox. We had a scoop by the sandbox where we would remove the droppings from the stray cats that visited our "sand tire" in the evenings.

In order to build a proper play area, she wanted her brick patio to be removed so that 6 inches of fluffy playground mulch could be laid. Upon initial inspection, the job looked relatively easy. I figured that it would be a good calorie burning activity, and I would be able to help my mom at the same time. I agreed to help.

I spent several hours over two days hunched over with a crowbar and a wheelbarrow, pulling up bricks and stacking them several yards away. I learned two important things while I was cursing the brick patio: First, there were a lot more bricks than I realized when I offered my help with the job. I made ten trips with a full wheelbarrow and made only a small dent in the patio. Second, bricks are heavy. Picked up in isolation the weight is not significant. Piled full into a wheelbarrow and constantly picking them up to move them makes the weight more noticeable. My arms are tired!

In addition to dismantling and relocating a brick patio, I helped my cousin clean out his grandma's house. My Aunt Ethel is now residing in an assisted living facility in Ohio and the house is going to be put up for sale. In order for the house to be readied for sale, the clutter and personal items needed to be removed.

My mom watched Robby Rotten and Abbi, our newborn cousin, on Saturday (no easy task) while I helped my cousin and his girlfriend pack, move furniture and clean. After working for 10 hours, all three of us were ready to drop. We were sent to the house with a lengthy and detailed to do list. I kept cracking the whip and we were able to accomplish most of the tasks.

As I was driving home to Virginia from Pennsylvania I thought about everything that was accomplished in two short days. Do you know what I realized? My amputation did not interfere with my ability to move piles of bricks, nor did my limb loss affect my ability to help my cousin move.

As a matter of fact, I am the perfect furniture moving partner. If the furniture becomes too awkward or heavy and needs to be put down quickly, I don't have to worry about my toes getting pinched. I also discovered that, in a pinch, my socket makes an excellent tool to unhinge the bed frame from the headboard if a hammer isn't handy. I suppose that now I can no longer use my amputation as an excuse to avoid helping others move!

I'd say this was a good weekend!

Run Run Amputee Mommy

Since my amputation I have made a conscious decision to push myself. I now strive to do things on one leg that I never would have attempted when I had two. I am no longer as fearful of the embarrassment of failure. After all, most people seem impressed that I even attempt anything beyond walking slowly. I find it liberating that success and perfection are not expected!

I have been contemplating running a 5K for years. Somehow, something always seems to interfere with my plans. Of course, my biggest obstacle remains the fact that I am not a runner. I didn't run when I had two legs, and the prospect of running with a prosthetic is scary.

Last summer I attended an amputee running workshop. I learned how to run but, more importantly, I learned how to trust my prosthetic. Unfortunately, I also learned that I am not graceful which I think I already knew. I was the only amputee to fall during the workshop, and I ended up breaking my wrist. (The Tales of an Amputee Mommy: Yes, I Ran. Yes, I Fell.) Truth be told, in spite of the skills I learned, I have yet to run again.

My running leg is nearly complete, so that excuse has been nullified. I am feeling strong and healthy. I'm scared, but what's the worse that can happen? I figure, I've already broken one bone the last time I took to the asphalt, so the chances of it happening again are minuscule.

Right now, the only thing holding me back is my own fear. I am ready to put my running fears behind me, and I plan on making my public running debut on June 5 in Washington DC. I am officially signed up to run a 5K at the Susan G. Komen Race for a Cure. Watch out DC, the Amputee Mommy is on her way!

I chose this race for several reasons. I am a cancer survivor and know first hand the ravages of this disease. Not only have I endured the debilitating treatments, but I seen my friends and family members fight through their own battles. These horrific little cells have robbed me of some wonderful people in my life. I am running not only for myself, but for them as well.

The Komen Race afforded me the perfect opportunity to achieve my goal of completing a 5K run while raising funds for a cause that I hold dear. Surviving cancer combined with my amputation often leaves me perceived as weak. I want to prove to myself, my family and others that I am not merely "surviving" life. I am thriving, and I am strong.

A long time ago, when I was severely lacking motivation, Scott jokingly agreed to wear a hot dog costume to my first race. I plan on digging the costume out of the garage and holding him to his word. I know that the vision of him standing at the finish line, in downtown Washington DC, dressed like a giant hot dog will keep me motivated when I become tired.

If you are in the area on June 5, stop by and cheer me on (or pick me up as the case may be). I am going to do it because I believe in myself and the cause. If you wish to make a donation to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, I have included a link on the sidebar of this blog. You can also track my progress by clicking on this link. Now I'm off to start training...

Lucy

The other day I received a phone call from a social worker who works at our local hospital. She explained that she is currently working with a young lady who has sustained a traumatic amputation. I was then asked if I would be willing to contact the lady to offer support. Of course, I immediately agreed.

The social worker then continued to offer limited details on the patient's situation. The woman is 22 years old and has lost both legs above the knee and three fingers on her left hand due to an accident. My heart sank when I listened to the details of this young lady's situation. She is so young, and she has suffered a devastating loss. I knew immediately that there were no words I could offer to console her or to ease her pain.

I started thinking about my life when I was 22 and how I would have dealt with a traumatic double leg amputation. I do know that I would not have handled it gracefully! I am not sure how I would have reacted if some middle aged, below knee amputee came trotting into my room to assure me that everything would be okay. I'd like to think that I would have been polite, but I'm not absolutely convinced that would have been the case. In all probability, I envision myself throwing a water pitcher at the happy-go-lucky little cheer wagon.

I remember how difficult it was for me to reach out for support both before and after my amputation. I vowed that, after my amputation, I would offer myself as the kind of peer support friend that I felt I was lacking through my own journey. I never hesitate to call and talk with a future or a new amputee. I know how difficult it is to reach out for help. This was the first time I didn't call immediately.

I busied myself around the house in a typical procrastination attempt. I was nervous making the initial contact, unsure about what to say or how to proceed. After a few minutes I realized that my discomfort was nothing compared to the raw emotions and physical pain that this lady was experiencing. I was being selfish, and I needed to reach out.

I called the patient, Lucy. She was expecting my call and seemed relieved to hear from me. She began to cry as she attempted to explain her situation. I offered to come to visit her and to answer any questions that she or her family might have. She asked me to come the next afternoon.

I worked it out with Scott to meet me at the hospital after work so that we could switch cars and he could take Robby home. Obviously, this was not an appropriate situation for an active toddler. Robby heard me talking about the impending visit and told me that he wanted to help. We decided to make chocolate chip cookies for me to take to the visit, and he drew a card for her.

Armed with a basket of chocolate chip cookies, an artistic masterpiece and a packet of tissues, I took a deep breathe and walked into Lucy's room. I was met by a small army of family members who seemed to be more nervous than I. I introduced myself, gave them the cookies and gave Lucy a hug. Sometimes, that is all anyone can do.

I had a wonderful visit with Lucy and her family. I tried to offer as much support and information as I could, and I did my best to answer their questions. Although Lucy's life will be different, I stressed that it is by no means over. My life has been filled with wonderful adventures and opportunities since my limb loss.

My life is different than what I envisioned before I became an amputee, but it is neither better nor worse. Given time, I know that Lucy will emerge into a happy and capable amputee woman. Right now, she is feeling lost and is still in significant pain. I cannot imagine being in her situation.

Her family informed me that her boyfriend of over a year broke up with her after the accident. He explained that he couldn't look at her "deformities," he wished her luck, and has not been in contact since. I have never met him, but I do know that he is a putz. Although she doesn't know it now, she is better to be rid of useless baggage early in her recovery. Given time, she will realize that he is both a coward and a fool.

Being 22, she was concerned and terrified at the prospect of living a life alone. I tried to reassure her that she will find somebody who can see beyond the missing limbs. Somebody truly special and worth of her will love the wonderful woman behind the prosthetics. Yes, I do believe she will find love and I can't wait to dance at her wedding.

For now, I encouraged her to concentrate on her own recovery. She is going to need all of her energy to recover and to rebuild her life. When she is stronger, she can concentrate on somebody else. For now, she needs to focus upon herself and let others focus on her as well!

Lucy has a long and arduous journey ahead of her. After her injuries physically heal, she will need to battle the emotional demons that accompany amputation. She has a strong support system filled with people who love her. She can count me as another cheerleader, and I am always willing to lend an ear or offer support!

I'm also fairly creative when it comes to conjuring revenge scenarios. It's been a long time since I've dumped weed killer on a lawn or let air out of a car's tires. I'm sure I could gather a group of scorned women to brainstorm creative retaliation against "the Putz." Even if action is never taken, it is still fun to ponder the possibilities!

RIP Orange Fishy

For Christmas, Robby's Candy Pap-Paw took him to the pet store so that he could pick out an aquarium and a fish. Robby could not have been more thrilled! He was so proud that he was deemed ready for pet ownership and promised to be a good "fishy daddy." Scott and I were in agreement that his fondness of the fish would wane in a week or two and that the responsibility for our new swimming family members would land on us.

We could not have been more wrong. It has been several months, and Robby can still be found talking to his little friends every day. He looks forward to feeding them and frantically pleads to have the aquarium cleaned when he sees fishy poop on the gravel.

Although the aquarium was initially occupied by only one fish, a blue beta aptly named "Blue Fishy," it has quickly become home to a total of six little swimming animals. We have a Orange Guppy, Red Fishy, Yellow Fishy, Froggy and Froggys. Robby is a good fish caretaker, but he is not terribly creative when it comes to providing names. I opted to name his cat immediately so that we didn't end up with a feline named Orange Cat!

Last night, when we were feeding his fish, I noticed that Orange Guppy was missing a large chunk of his tail. I am not sure if another fish nipped at it, if the cat swiped a bite, or if the fish had some sort of virus. Whatever the cause, Guppy seemed to be on his last fin, and I knew that he wasn't going to make it through the night. Robby was convinced that Orange Guppy was ready for nighttime because he was lying down and barely moving on the bottom of the gravel.

I had trouble sleeping. I worried all night about how to tell Robby that Orange Guppy had died. Should I simply buy a replacement fish and hope he doesn't notice the difference? Do I show Robby the dead fish so that he understands? Can a three year old understand death, and should he be exposed at such a young age? Should I simply tell him that the fish went to Alabama and let him pick out a new one? It sounds strange, but these questions kept my mind turning all night.

Robby was up early this morning, and for once I was thrilled with the early hour. Scott had not yet left for work so he was able to check on Orange Guppy before Robby. Yes, our suspicions were confirmed and I am saddened to report that Orange Guppy has died. He was a good little fish, who enjoyed swimming through the plastic coral reef and eating guppy food. He will be missed.

My mind immediately went into overdrive as I considered my options. My plans for a fish funeral were thwarted when I heard the toilet flush. Apparently Scott opted for no visitation and a private service.

I decided to address the missing Guppy when Robby noticed his absence. I worried that drawing attention to the loss would amplify his reaction, making his grief worse. When he asked what happened to Orange Guppy, I was simply going to explain that he died and went away. I will remind Robby that he is an excellent Fishy Daddy, and then tell him that we need to go buy a new one. I dug through my coupons to keep my coupon for Cold Stone Ice Cream handy in case he became inconsolable.

I was carrying up another load of laundry when I heard Robby talking in his bedroom. I took a deep breathe, knowing that a smidgen of Robby's innocence was about to be shattered. He was going to have his first death experience, and I was sad for him.

I expected to see Robby sitting next to his aquarium, but I found him in the corner of his bedroom holding onto Charlie. Charlie Cat looked uncomfortable, so I told Robby that he needed to let him go. Robby emphatically stated, "No Momom. Charlie Cat is in time out. Orange Guppy went abracadabra into Charlie's tummy."

Robby reasoned through the loss of his fish on his own and developed his own conclusion. He assumed that his cat ate his fish. After Charlie was duly punished, Robby asked me if we could go buy a new Guppy. No tears, no need for ice cream, no discussion of death. With all of the scenarios that I created in my mind in the middle of the night, I never once considered the easiest of all: letting the cat take the fall!