Traveling Momma...

This week I am doing something extremely rare. I am traveling without my husband and child. Scott is staying at home in Virginia, and Robby is going to his Nana's house. I've been asked by Ossur Prosthetics to travel to Seattle to talk about my Proprio ankle at a national conference. I am excited.

I am thrilled that the company has asked me to discuss my experiences with my Proprio ankle. I have been given similar opportunities in the past. I enjoy meeting amputees and professionals within the field. I love hearing other people's stories and sharing my own experiences.

It is always strange for me to be away from my family, albeit for only a few days. I miss Robby but I know that he is being spoiled and that he is happy. I know that I will return to a messier house and a hungry husband.

I look forward to writing about all my adventures in Seattle.

Welcome Baby Keaton.

This past weekend Robby and I had the opportunity to attend an adoption party. I was thrilled when my college friend Travis and his beautiful wife Felicia adopted a little boy. I now that they have been waiting for a child for what I'm sure seems like an eternity. They are going to be wonderful parents.

Driving to the party allowed me the opportunity to reflect upon motherhood. In particular, I started to remember how I felt when I learned that we were expecting him. After all, Robby is truly a little miracle.

I was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2001. The doctors initially told me that I wasn't going to be able to conceive. Later, I learned that conception might be possible, but that my cervix and uterus would be too weak to carry a child. I went through the treatments to eradicate the cancer, and I put my childbearing dreams out of mind.

Time passed, and Scott and I married. My desire to have a child grew. We considered adoption. Scott and I both knew that we wanted to be parents. We expected the journey to parenthood to be long.

Much to our surprise, I found out that I was pregnant. We were hesitant to spread our good news for fear of miscarrying. I was thrilled, but we were also terrified.

My pregnancy was not easy. My body had trouble supporting the growing baby, and my cervix had to be tied shut to support the weight. I was put on bed rest for the last trimester due to a fetal infection. The baby was in distress and his heart rate was dangerously high. I was miserable on bed rest. I was uncomfortable and I was nervous about the baby's health.

We are grateful that Robby was born healthy. My body eventually recovered from the stress of the pregnancy, although it took my kidneys several years to return to normal. I would love to have another child, but I am not sure that I would be able to care for Robby while on bed rest for such a long time again.

Family's come in all shapes and sizes. Scott and I do not love Robby more or less because he is biologically connected to us. My brother is adopted but I rarely think of this. He is merely my brother, not my "adopted brother." This is the way it has always been.

To celebrate this special occasion, I made Keaton a quilt. I rarely give away quilts that I make because of the time investment that they require. Perhaps because my brother is adopted, or perhaps it was because I knew how anticipated Keaton's arrival had been for my friend. Whatever the reason, I knew that a purchased gift just wouldn't do.

Robby was excited about going to the "welcome baby party." He watched me work on the quilt and we talked about the baby. Unfortunately, Robby continued to refer to the quilt as the "ouch shit blanket." Apparently I need to watch my tongue when I am quilting without my thimble.

I would say that he was excited to go to the party to meet the baby. Truth be told, he was chatting about having cake at the "big party." My friend and the baby were merely accessories to his cake eating venture. Robby was eager to give the new parents his "ouch shit blanket."

Congratulations to Travis and Felicia. They are truly an amazing couple. Little Keaton is lucky to have them for parents. He was born to be their little boy. I believe that this was destiny. You cannot mask a parent's love.

Walking in Mommy's steps.

I am amazed at how some childhood games seem to be universal. Given enough time, they all seem to discover the same joys. The company of other children may hasten the game being learned, but it is not necessary. I remember engaging in many of the activities when I was a child. I watch in wonderment, and sometimes a little pain, when I see Robby "discovering" new games.

We were walking to the mailbox, playing "step on your shadow." If Robby focuses on his shadow, I found that I can keep him moving forwards, in the direction of the mailbox. When the sun is not shining and we can't find out shadows, it often takes me at least 3x as long to retrieve the mail. Robby stops every few feet to examine bugs with his magnifying glass. Many times we have to put worms which are "asleep" (actually, they are shriveled and dead) into his bug box for further study.

Thankfully the sun was shining yesterday so we were able to make it to the mailbox in a reasonable amount of time. After we got the mail and sang the "Mailbox" song from Blue's Clues, we started home. All of a sudden Robby ran in front of me, faced me and stopped walking.

My husband and I have purposely withheld the "walking on mommy/daddy's feet" game. Scott had his big toe amputated due to an accident. Because of the amputation, his toe stump is sensitive to increased pressure and being kicked etc.. We decided that it would be best if Robby didn't get into the habit of walking on our toes.

As Robby stood before me in the middle of the street, I immediately realized what he wanted. His little hands grasped onto my shorts as he stepped onto my feet. He then looked up at me, smiled that adorable little smile that melts my heart, and said, "Momma, walk please." I should have said no. I should have stuck to the deal I made with my husband to not engage in this game. Instead, I told Robby to hang on, and started walking.

Slowly and with each deliberate step, we started back towards the house. I was able to maintain my balance, and the smile on Robby's face let me know that he thought he uncovered the best game ever! To minimize the number of steps I opted to cut through our yard.

I was walking up a small hill when Robby lost his balance. He grabbed onto my hips and was able to stop his fall. I encouraged him to walk next to me. He refused and remounted my feet. This brief stop broke my walking momentum and, apparently, the suction seal in my liner.

As I lifted up my prosthetic for the first step, I felt the seal break beneath Robby's weight. He is, after all, nearly 40 pounds. Because I was walking slowly, I was able to detect that my leg was not secure before I completely stepped out of the socket. Thankfully I was able to push my weight backwards so that I landed in a sit position. Robby landed on top of me.

I was worried that Robby would be upset because we fell. Instead, he smiled and said "wheee." Scott and I didn't want to play the "walk on your feet" game because we were worried about it causing pain for Scott. I found myself trying to explain to a toddler that Mommy's leg comes off when he walks on my feet. That's a conversation I never envisioned before! Instead, I luckily missed a possibly painful accident. We are now encouraging Robby to go Piggyback.

Mommy!!!

Before Robby was born I always found it odd when married couples referred to themselves as "Mommy" and "Daddy" in front of their children. My grandparents were in such a habit that they I never heard them refer their spouse by name. I never quite understood this practice until Robby started to speak. Scott still hasn't gotten over the fact that Robby was calling him "Scott" long before he muttered "Daddy."

Robby referring to his father as "Scott" was natural. After all, he heard it being called through the house since he was an infant. After the humor of the situation wore off, Scott and I made a resolution to call each other Mommy and Daddy until Robby figured the whole "name thing" out.

It took Robby nearly three years to say "Mommy." He could say "cookie," "cake," "ice cream" and "black bear" before he said the much anticipated "Mommy." When he first started calling me, I smiled every time I heard his sweet little voice. I thought I would never tire of hearing his call for me.

Somewhere along the line, the sweet calling of "Mommy" morphed into a demanding request. It seems that nowadays I cannot leave a room for five minutes before I hear the loud squawking of "Mommy" coming from one of my "boys." Between Scott and Robby, I am in high demand!

Robby has gotten into the habit of bellowing for me whenever he has a need. I hear the loud undulating call of "Mommy" when he wants to watch cartoons, when he wants more milk, or when he wants to show me something. He no longer feels it is necessary to get up and walk to find me. He, along with his Daddy, have learned that merely yelling for me is more convenient and yields quick results.

The calls have become so frequent that I have started to count the walks through the hallway as exercise. I should start wearing a pedometer during the day. I am sure that it would confirm the fact that I walk miles everyday responding to yelled requests.

Something has got to change. I know that this has become a bad habit for "the boys," but I also know that I have to assume some blame for allowing this to occur. Hopefully, by drawing attention to the issue, we can work towards minimizing the fishwife, bellowing calls permeating throughout the house

When I was growing up, my mom used to tell us that she was changing her name. She also warned that she wasn't going to tell any of us (me and my siblings) what the new name was. I remember thinking it was a funny game. Now that I am in her shoes, I understand that there is really nothing funny about what she was feeling.

In an effort to restore my sanity, I have come up with a stopgap solution. I am no longer going to respond to "Mommy." I am going to tell Robby that my name is "Sacajawea." I'm not going to come when he calls until he can pronounce it correctly. As for Scott, he'll need to learn how to spell it!

Moving Men Not Needed...

I suppose when aspects of my life become beyond my control, I attempt to regain my sanity by becoming ultra-organized. I went to the doctor the other day and found out that I not only have one tumor, but "cluster tumors" on my pituitary gland. The good news is that these growths are rarely malignant. I am holding onto that blessing as I prepare for yet another surgery.

There is little I can do about the growths except to wait for the surgery and to comply with my physician's orders. Because I feel as if I am not doing anything proactive at the moment, I have been experiencing a compulsion to clean and to organize. We've lived in this house for nearly five years, and we still have yet to unpack all of boxes from our move.

Yesterday I decided to clean Robby's bedroom. I went through his clothes, organizing them into categories to donate and to throw away. I was saddened when I was holding the small little outfits, knowing that he was now too big and that he would never again be a little baby. After I was done with the clothes, I opted to continue by moving his furniture.

Robby's room had become a bit of a "catch all." Furniture was against every available wall, and he had no room to play. I wanted to create a space for him to play as well as to sleep. (To be honest, I also wanted to get some of the larger toys out of my bedroom.)

I worked for hours, cleaning and moving furniture. I pushed with my sound side, using my prosthetic foot as a brace. To my delight, I was able to move all of the furniture before Scott came home from work. I only sustained one small injury when the excess skin above my socket became pinched between the changing table and my prosthetic. Ouch!

Inspired by my work yesterday, I woke up this morning energized and excited about reorganizing our bedroom. Despite being married for five years, Scott and I still use our childhood dressers. We've been lamenting the lack of storage space for our clothing during the past few months. Shopping for a new dresser has been frustrating because it is difficult to find a piece of furniture low enough to fit under the huge television.

Remembering that the previous owners of this house left a dresser in the laundry room, I set out to find a tape measure and to get to work. I was delighted to discover that the "junk dresser" was the perfect height for the bedroom. All I had to do was carry it up to the bedroom.

I could have waited for Scott to come home from work. In retrospect, I should have waited for Scott to come home to help move the dresser. It was not the safest choice for me to move the large piece of furniture up two flights of stairs alone, with only a toddler to help should I become injured. Hind sight is 20/20 because I opted to do it alone.

Robby cheered me on and made constant "muscle" gestures to me as I was huffing and puffing while pushing the large dresser up the stairs. He even sang the theme song to "Bob the Builder" as I was humming "I Am Woman" while shifting precariously on a step with a large dresser bearing down on me.

I didn't have any problems until the very last step. I went to step up with my prosthetic, and my leg didn't budge. Because my vision was obstructed by the dresser, I tried to move my leg a little and yanked hard. I pulled my limb right out of my leg! Apparently the dresser was resting on my foot which would have been quite painful had it not been a prosthetic. I suppose I should add this experience to my "benefits of being an amputee" list.

I shifted the dresser slightly, freeing my prosthetic. I put my leg back on and continued to pull the dresser up the final stair. After the dresser was safely on flat ground, I examined my prosthetic. The weight of the dresser put a large dent in the foot shell. If I weren't an amputee, I am sure that I would be suffering with a broken foot tonight. Instead, I am looking for chalk to fill in the hole on my foot.

After 70 minutes, I managed to push the dresser up the stairs and safely into the bedroom. I opted to keep my activities secret during the day. I wanted Scott to be surprised when he came home and saw the bedroom. He came home from work, went into the bedroom and changed his clothes. He turned on the television and started to watch ESPN. Only after Robby pointed to the dresser did he notice. A little anti-climatic, but a satisfying day none the less.

One Proud Mommy!

This past Friday was the anniversary of the September 11th attacks. As is true with most Americans, I remember everything about the moment I heard about the attacks. Eight years later and my heart rate goes up and I begin to quake when I remember that day.

Robby is only three. He wasn't born when the attacks occurred. I don't want to scare him, but I think it is important for him to understand the significance of that day. Those events changed the country that he has been born into. I struggled to find a way to commemorate the somber day with a toddler, without evoking fear.

That morning, I sat Robby down and explained that it was a sad day. That a long time ago, a very bad thing happened and people are sad today. I told him that a lot of people got hurt, including firefighters.

To be honest, he wasn't interested in my talk until I mentioned the firefighters. Typical little boy I suppose! In any case, he said, "Firefighters sad." I said that yes, they were sad today. To my delight, Robby came up with his own idea. He asked, "Robby make cookie. Make firefighters happy."

What a wonderful idea! We made a huge batch of chocolate chip cookies to take to the fire station. Robby chattered about the fire fighters and the "big woo woo truck" as we mixed, spooned and baked the cookies. He dug through his clothes bins and found his favorite fire fighter "woo woo" shirt to wear when we delivered the cookies.

Robby and I talked about the fire fighters on the drive to the fire house. I explained that they are very brave. I explained that they keep people safe. I explained that they are heroes. He broke into the "Higgley Town Hero" song.

I know I am biased, but he looked so cute as he handed the cookies to the firemen. I explained that we wanted to do something to commemorate 9/11, but that it was hard to find an appropriate activity for a toddler. The firemen seemed thrilled with the cookies. Robby gave them each a big hug and said, "Thank you" as he left the station.

I was hoping that the activity made an impact on Robby, but one can never be sure what a toddler will take from an experience. He made cookies which was fun. He got to deliver the cookies and meet the firemen which was a thrill. Otherwise, I didn't think that he took anything significant out of the project.

Today we had to go to the pharmacy. As we were walking through the aisles waiting for the prescription to be filled, Robby spotted a fireman. He got a huge smile, and went running straight towards him. Unprompted and before I could catch him, Robby threw his arms around the unsuspecting man's legs and said, "Thank you, hero." That's good enough for me.

Needed: Role Model

I feel like a young child, giddy on Christmas Eve. I've been anticipating this event for several months. Now that it has arrived I keep looking at the clock which seems to be ticking slower. Finally, the fall TV shows have started, in particular, the newest season of The Biggest Loser.

It may seem strange to many people, but I love watching The Biggest Loser. I find it not only inspirational but also educational. In every episode I find another tidbit of information to help me on my journey to a healthy lifestyle.

I used to record the show on the DVR so that I could watch it while I'm riding the bicycle. I found that I rode harder and for longer periods when I was suffering with the contestants. Scott liked this schedule because it left the television free in the evening, convenient for assorted sporting events or for watching an odd man complete disgusting jobs (a show called "Dirty Jobs," something he can watch for endless hours).

Unfortunately, the cable has been disconnected downstairs in an effort to reduce our expenditures. Now instead of riding my bike while watching the show, I can walk on the treadmill. It may seem strange, but I always feel the compulsion to exercise when this show is on. It just feels wrong to chow down on ice cream and cake while watching morbidly obese individuals struggle to regain control of their lives.

The Biggest Loser helped to inspire my weight loss. To date, I have lost over 100 pounds. I continue to struggle to maintain my weight, but I remain vigilant about watching my caloric intake and exercising. It sounds cliche, but my weight loss has sparked a complete change in lifestyle.

Diets have a conclusion, a point at which one decides to resume "normal" eating. If I ate "normally" I wouldn't need to lose weight to begin with! Obviously I needed to redefine "normal" for myself and for my family.

The Biggest Loser and other diet related shows, including Ruby, feature individuals who are disabled by their own obesity. I certainly relate to many of the issues presented, including fatigue, depression and pain. To my dismay, there hasn't been anybody featured who lost weight despite a non-obesity related disability.

When I started my diet, I felt alone. I could relate to the contestants, but I continued to feel as if I had additional issues that were not addressed. In addition to my weight, I was limited by my amputation. Seeing another amputee, or anybody else with a non-obesity related disability, struggle with weight loss certainly would have helped me. I am confident that I am not alone with this complaint.

Being an amputee, I face a lot of hurdles. As an overweight woman, I faced a different set of hurdles. Combine the amputation with the obesity and I felt hopeless and lost. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be overweight because I was disabled. After all, I only had one leg. I had the perfect excuse!

When I started my exercise program I was unsure how to proceed. I didn't know how to adapt the exercises, and I was without a role model to whom I could relate. I had to figure out issues along the way.

For example, my stump becomes sweaty inside my liner when I ride the bicycle. Sometimes, after a long ride, my stump will slide right out of the liner, leaving my limb exposed. After trial and error, I discovered that spraying my residual limb with anti-perspirant before exercising eliminated this issue. I also discovered that a deodorant/anti-perspirant spray should NEVER be used as this resulted in painful red bumps that lasted for days. Read the labels diligently when choosing an anti-perspirant spray because the deodorant combination will be a painful mistake.

I am glad that the newest season of The Biggest Loser has started. I am looking forward to watching the contestants transform their lives and rediscover their true selves. I continue to wait for a disabled person to be included. I wish that other amputees could be inspired to regain their independence and a healthy life in spite of their limb loss. Unfortunately, I am without clout so all I can do is hope and wait.