Magic Lady?

I spent much of Friday preparing for my presentation to Robby's class. Although I wasn't nervous, I wanted to make sure that I didn't embarrass Robby by providing either too much or too little information. I also wanted to make sure that I could explain my amputation in a way that would answer questions but wouldn't leave his new friends scared.

Robby was as proud as he could be when I walked into his classroom. He quickly rounded up his classmates and announced that I was going to be the teacher for a few minutes. He perched himself right in front of my chair and was smiling from ear to ear. (I just love seeing him so happy!) After everybody was settled, I took a deep breathe and prepared to deliver my over-rehearsed spiel.

"I had an accident and the doctors tried to heal my foot. When they couldn't fix it, they decided it was best to give me a new one. My new foot is called a prosthetic, and it's special because I can take it off."

Simultaneously his classmates began shouting comments, observations and questions. Unfortunately none of the questions had to do with a prosthesis or living as an amputee. Instead, they all seemed to involve magic.

"Do you know how to pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

"Can you make me disappear?"
"What's your favorite trick?"

"Do you still have the sparkle dress?"
"Why couldn't he just make your leg re-grow?"

All of these questions seemed odd. I had tried to prepare myself for every possibility, but I was woefully unprepared to discuss magic. How did a discussion about my leg turn into a conversation about magicians? I must have looked confused because Robby's teacher stepped in and began to address the class. "Mrs. Chenoweth came to talk about her prosthesis. It is important that we all listen politely to what she has to say. Perhaps she can come in at another time to talk about being injured as a magician's assistant. She then looked at Robby and winked. 

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly began to fit together. Obviously Robby had provided some misinformation concerning my foot accident, and it apparently involved my working in a magic show.  Unbeknownst to me at the beginning of my presentation, Robby was peppered with questions about my prosthesis on the first day of school. He didn't feel that the true story was spectacular enough, so he decided to embellish it a bit. He told his classmates that I was the "pretty girl in the magic show. The magician had her step into the box because he was going to cut her in half. He messed up because he used the wrong magic word. He ended up cutting her leg off. It was very very tragic."

I can see how Robby's version of my accident is more dramatic and exciting, especially for young elementary students. I just wish I would have been prepared to answer magic show questions! Not wanting to throw my little guy under the bus in front of his new classmates, I knew I needed to change the dialog. I did the only thing I could think of--I stopped talking and took off my leg.

Immediately all of the questions ended and the class was mesmerized by the prosthesis with everybody eager to examine it. Once they were busy taking turns wearing my foot and hobbling across the classroom, his teacher and I had a chance to talk. She explained that Robby tried to answer his classmates questions truthfully but was pressed to provide more fantastical details. Wanting to impress his new friends, he embellished. His teacher did not think that I had reason for concern because he did confide in her that the story wasn't true. She even offered to use the magic show leg story as the starting point for a lesson on fiction vs. non-fiction.

Thankfully all conversations about the cause of my amputation became moot after being allowed to don my prosthesis. Driving home, I asked Robby about his imaginative leg story. He simply shrugged his shoulders and explained that "the computer monitor story is boring. I thought my new friends would like to hear about a magic show instead. I know you weren't really in a magic show Momom, but it would be cool if you were."

I think I need to help Robby figure out ways to answer questions about my amputation without resorting to imaginative tales involving feats of magic!

Classroom Presentation

Each afternoon when I walk into Robby's classroom I am inundated by excited and curious seven-year-olds. They pepper me with questions about my prosthesis and amputation. I love the enthusiasm that they all seem to hold and the fact that they are unfiltered with their questions. Rather than continue to live with the daily inquisition, today I am going to teach his class. I'm not sure who is more excited right now: Robby because his Mom is coming to school with him or me because I get to revisit my educator roots.

The first time I spoke to Robby's class about my limb loss he was in Kindergarten. I was uncertain about how much information to reveal to his classmates and admittedly over planned my lecture. I printed adorable coloring books, brought books to share and spare legs for the students to explore. Despite my hours of preparation the talk quickly went horribly off track, completely derailing in a theological discussion for which I was woefully unprepared.

I will never forget sitting in front of Robby's class, precariously perched on the oh-so-small chair, talking about my various legs. A little girl asked where I get my legs, and Robby eagerly chimed in to explain that we get new legs from Mr. Elliot. Before I could continue, a little boy shouted, "God is the only one who makes legs." Before I knew it, the entire class was comparing Mr. Elliot's skills with God's original legs, debating which was a more impressive feat. By the time the teacher helped redirect the conversation, the class was split, with half of them convinced that Mr. Elliot's ability to make legs of different colors and designs making him the clear winner. Talk about a teaching fail!

Last year my presentation went better.  The students were older and I consciously avoided pointing out the variety of prosthetics available. I kept my talk brief, answering questions but not providing too much information. Unfortunately this approach backfired because the class continued to ask questions on a daily basis. After a few months Robby (and I) both grew weary of their queries. Robby eventually began replying with, "She has a prosthetic, there is nothing else to see here so stop talking about it" when his peers began their inquisition.

Despite numerous talks and my leaving a spare prosthesis in the classroom for the students to examine and manipulate, his class never lost their insatiable curiosity. Their enthusiasm was ironic considering that I was chastised by a parent for daring to expose my prosthesis in public. If I had thought of it at the time I would have shown the angry parent the photo I took of his precious little angel hobbling around the classroom wearing my prosthetic leg. Maybe I should print it and send it to him in a Christmas card?

This year I am hoping to strike the balance between overwhelming the students with so much information that they become distracted and answering their questions completely enough so that they are satisfied. If his classmates view me as Robby's mom instead of the one-legged Mom, I will consider this presentation a success. I don't know what to expect, but I do know that it will be an interesting afternoon!

XBox Drama

he first time Robby asked me to play XBox with him I simply explained that "Momom doesn't play XBox." I never offered a more detailed explanation, and thankfully he just accepted this as fact. I knew that if Robby believed that I could participate that I would quickly become bombarded with pleas to play. Wanting to avoid constant harassment to join various virtual worlds, I figured it was easier to set a precedent at the beginning.

My claiming XBox ignorance is not much of a stretch from reality. If I wanted to I'm sure I could figure out the games and the controller. But since Scott enjoys the games, and Robby enjoys playing them with his Daddy, I never felt compelled to try. The two have spent countless summer nights playing games on the console, filling the living room with shouts of directions, celebrations of victory and more high five exchanges than I could count. Seeing both of them so animated while playing always makes me smile.

A few nights ago the sounds of XBox playing were filling the air. Both boys were battling fierce robots, although to be honest I'm not sure of their ultimate goal. They seemed to be winning, but in a flash Robby put down his XBox controller and sprinted to his bedroom. Scott sighed and explained that the "ant lion" had died in the battle.

We found Robby hiding in his race car bed, crying while clutching Black Bear.  Robby explained that "The ant lion was my friend. I named him Jeffrey and I killed him. I threw the magic ball, but I didn't think that he would be stupid enough to run into the laser."

I have to be honest and admit that I had no idea what Robby was talking about. Completely out of my element, I had to let Scott take the lead. Thankfully Scott understood the game and was able to provide some solace and comfort. I still don't know how, but Scott was able to convince Robby that Jeffrey was okay.

Who would have thought that an XBox game would create such emotional turmoil. After all, I mistakenly thought that games were supposed to be fun.  Have I mentioned that I don't understand the XBox games?

The First Day!!

Dropping Robby off at school yesterday was heart wrenching. He was nervous about going to a new school, and although he was trying to be brave, I could see the tears welling in his little brown eyes.  I knew that he would be okay and that he would adjust, but I cried as I drove away from the school. I am proud of myself for not crying in front of him. Being a Mom is not easy!

I drove straight from his school to pick up Mr. Bill for our scheduled Cracker Barrel breakfast. As predicted, he teased me the entire drive about my worrying tendencies and my back-to-school tears. In an effort to keep me distracted, he proceeded to spend the next hour regaling me with tales of his youthful exploits. Truth be told, I could have happily gone my whole life without hearing about his intimate triumphs. I am fairly confident that I'm not going to be able to look him in the eye without blushing for a long time.

After breakfast I dropped Mr. Bill at home and went to the hair salon. Getting a new style, color and highlights seems to be my back-to-school tradition. With my hair fully foiled, I sat under the dryer and fired up my IPad.  After verifying that my Hotspot Shield VPN was working (I don't trust surfing on public networks without a buffer) I was able to escape into Facebook. Time flew by!

Although I continued to fret and worry, being pampered certainly helped to ease my anxieties. By the time I was done I had a smoking hot new hairstyle and a renewed sense of optimism. Of course, the fact that I only had an hour until I got to pick up Robby probably contributed to my lightened mood.

All of my worries evaporated as soon as I saw my little guy. He was smiling from ear to ear, chatting with new friends. He greeted me with a hug and kiss, stopping to announce to his classmates that he was going to hug me everyday because "She is my Momom and I love her lots." He then grabbed my hand and eagerly pulled me to his new cubby. He pulled out a handmade orange card and proudly read the words he wrote inside: "I love my Momom because she is special and nice." For the second time that day, I felt myself fighting back tears.

After gathering Robby's belongings I was inundated by his new classmates, all shouting questions about my prosthesis. I could tell that the teacher didn't quite know how to handle the topic. She looked relieved when I offered to give a brief presentation on my amputation and prosthetics later this week. I couldn't help but notice the little girl in Robby's class who also has a limb loss. Hopefully my discussion with the class understand her issues as well.

Ready or Not...

Ready or not, new school here we come! I can say with reasonable certainty that I am more anxious than Robby. He is excited to meet new friends, play football on the playground, and use his lunch box. I'm worried about his adjustment to a new routine and interacting with new classmates. Thankfully, Robby takes after his Daddy in that he doesn't seem to worry over the little details! I'm sure that the transition would be far more difficult if we were both anxious.

Last night I carefully packed Robby's lunchbox, filled with his favorite treats. I can imagine him

smiling broadly when he discovers everything that I packed. Hopefully he won't come home from school with the ravenous appetite he had last year when he was forced to eat the meals provided by his school. I also hoped that my turtle shaped treats and handwritten notes don't embarrass him.

This morning I'm fixing his favorite breakfast and hoping the bacon and cinnamon buns will keep him full until lunch time. I want to drive out of our garage with him smiling and excited about the new school adventure.

I know that this morning will be difficult, and I am preparing myself for some nervous tears and pleas to stay. Although it isn't easy, I know that he'll be fine the moment I walk out the door. I, on the other hand, fully expect cry the entire drive home. Mr. Bill, fully anticipating my tears and anxiety, has suggested that we go out for a back-to-school breakfast. I think that spending the morning with him at Cracker Barrel may be the distraction I need to calm my Momom worries.

Wish us luck. (Pictures to follow- as soon as I'm done with my breakfast.)

Labor Day!

The Summer of Awesome is officially coming to a close. Tomorrow morning the boys will wake up (no doubt complaining) and will head off to school. After being busy all summer, the house will again be quiet. I know that we'll quickly adjust to the new schedule, but the change will be difficult for a few days.

This summer has flown by so quickly that it is difficult to fathom that today is Labor Day. Between going to Atlantis, various day trips and spending countless hours at the pool, this has been our best summer yet. I'm sad that it is over, but I also know that returning to the school will be good for everybody.

I've always hated Labor Day primarily because it marked the end of summer and the beginning of school, so our celebrations will be muted. Instead of a big picnic we'll just relax and get ready for the week. We'll go to the pool for the final time of the season. Against the predicted protests, I'll try to get Robby tucked into bed early. After all, tomorrow is a big day!

Happy Labor Day!

Choosing a Prosthetist...

For the past year I have been participating in a monthly Podcast. Amp'd  (the podcast) was the brainchild born of a long ago lunch between my friend Dave and myself. We are both amputees, but our life experiences cause us to look at many issues differently. Our mutual respect always leads to enlightening, and sometimes entertaining discussions which we thought would be interesting fodder for a Podcast. 

Dave and I try to pick topics relevant to the community. During the past year we've discussed everything from sex and intimacy to prosthetic coverings. For this month's podcast, we chose to address a topic that impacts so many amputees yet is rarely investigated. It is a reality that not all prosthetists are created equal, and we wanted to provide a road map towards choosing the best practitioner to meet your individual needs.

Far too many amputees are struggling with their prosthetic devices. From navigating insurance to communicating effectively with their practitioners, it seems that too many are disenfranchised and frustrated. The relationship developed with the Prosthetist will become more important than one which has been forged with surgeons. Being able to relay your dreams, experiences and sensations to the prosthetist is the key to prosthetic success. Unfortunately, too many patients feel stymied and muted by their practitioners. 

In this month's episode of Amp'd, Dave and I offer questions that should be asked when interviewing a Prosthetist.  Acceptable answers as well as red flags were explored in the hopes of helping amputees find the best practitioner to meet their needs. What should you look for when entering a facility, and what pitfalls should be avoided? We tried to provide some answers in Amp'd. We would love to have your feedback and hope you will share your opinion with us.