Weather Changes

Last week the heat and humidity in our area was oppressive. I couldn't walk across the street without dripping in sweat and feeling ill, so I spent much of my time inside, trying to stay cool and comfortable. I succeeded in staying cool, but comfortable is a different story.

The heat finally broke, allowing the crisp autumn temperatures to take hold. I find the cool air and brisk breezes to be simply exhilarating. After holing up inside for the past week, I have been anxious to take full advantage of my favorite time of year by cleaning up the yard. Unfortunately my leg as interfered with those plans.

The wild temperature fluctuations have wreaked havoc on my limb causing my phantom pains to reemerge. Admittedly, I am lucky when it comes to phantom pain. I experience it infrequently and the issues almost always coincide with socket changes, injuries or weather. Knowing that I am fortunate is providing little solace as I'm curled up on the couch trying to stop my missing toes from being twisted off while an imaginary hammer is beating down on the top of a foot which is no longer there. 

Massage, heat and ice, as well as medication are providing no relief. Right now all I can do is try to keep my mind off the pain, remind myself that the nerves are angry and wait for it to subside. If history is a guide, it will subside within a day or two. In the meantime, I anticipate more than a few hours of misery as I wait.

Most of the time being an amputee doesn't bother me. Today, I have to admit that it really stinks!

Counting Down

I have had yesterday's date circled on my calendar since hanging our calendar in January. When Robby and Scott left for school, I went downstairs and rummaged through our storage garage until I finally one of my favorite items. Several years ago I saw it at Target and, although it was expensive, it immediately became my obsession. After coveting it for over two weeks, I returned to the store and bought it. I have never regretted the purchase and even though it has been five years, my countdown to Christmas clock continues to make me smile.

Because the clock was such a splurge, I try to make the most of it. Since the snowman can countdown from 99 days, each year at the beginning of September I schlep it upstairs and plug it in.The snowman is the first decoration we bring out, heralding the impending holiday season. Having a large lit snowman counting the days until Christmas just as the air is beginning to crisp and the leaves are starting to turn colors has become a bit of a tradition. Although the neighbors and some family members chuckle when seeing it on display so early, it also always brings a smile to their face.

Robby was thrilled when he came home from school and discovered the reemergence of the countdown snowman. He jumped up and down, spun in a circle and affixed a pirate hat to the top of the snowman. He began to talk about Christmas, his Santa list and suddenly had a desire for sugar cookies. Scott was not nearly a giddy with his squeal of delight taking the form of a slight begrudging moan. Obviously the 47 year old is not as enthusiastic about the holidays as the 7 year old!

I realize that it is early to start decorating but seeing the snowman makes me happy. I have no intention of waiting until after Thanksgiving to plug him in. I paid for the ability to countdown from 99, and it would be a travesty if I didn't take advantage of its full potential.  Besides, it makes me happy! 

98 days until Christmas, and yes, I'm counting.

Hiding Out

My weekend of no stress and total relaxation never materialized. Although I had a nice time visiting my Mom, my ability to completely unwind was thwarted by Robby's melancholy behavior. It was obvious that something was bothering my little Koopa, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

When Robby becomes sad or overwhelmed, his instinct is much like mine. Hating confrontation, he tends to retreat and hide. Within 20 minutes of arriving at my Mom's house, Robby was camped out in his "fort" (under the bed surrounded by his stuffed turtles and Black Bear) where he stayed unless he was forced to socialize. He claimed that nothing was wrong and seemed content hiding under the bed and playing on the computer.

I accepted his retreat on Saturday, rationalizing that he was tired from the week at school and just needed some alone time to decompress. Sunday morning I quickly became tired of the endless computer use and insisted that he come out from his fort to visit. Robby became angry when I confiscated the computer, but his mood quickly morphed to sadness. He stayed in his fort and began to cry.

Suspecting that the tears were not just the result of computer repossession, I did the only thing I could think to do. I wiggled and squeezed my way under the bed to join him in his fort. (It was certainly cozy!) After giggling while watching me try to wedge myself into his space, Robby began to open up.

My sister and her children have moved into my Mom's house, and although the kids were with their father on weekends, Robby was feeling displaced. He wasn't sure where he fit in and was uncertain about what toys he was allowed to use. Instead of asking, he simply retreated and hid under the bed.

After talking for awhile, he finally verbalized, "I'm mad at Nana." We talked about his feelings, and I encouraged him to talk with his Nana. Almost as soon as he asked, "Nana, can you come to my house so we can have some special time?" the solemn Robby left. My Mom helped him go through my nephew's bedroom to retrieve the special toys that he always enjoyed. He quickly returned to his happy and energetic self, playing and talking incessantly. I was thrilled that he was no longer hiding under the bed!

In retrospect I should have recognized the issues earlier. I feel horrible not discerning the confused and frustrated emotions Robby was processing. I should have talked to him earlier, perhaps as soon as he hid under the bed. I could have saved him from hours of negative feelings!

By the time we were ready to leave to come home, all of the hard feelings had been soothed. My Mom worked hard to help Robby understand that he was still special and that he could play with the toys that he loves. I'm glad that he was able to verbalize his emotions, even if it took 36 hours. Hopefully next time it won't take as long for him to talk when he is feeling sad!

Snake #3

When I found myself on my back deck, perched hands and knees with bits of plaster through my hair, pleading and making bargains with a cat who I swear hates me, I knew that I had hit a new type of bottom. It was one of those situations that felt surreal, but I knew that it was anything but a dream. It was simply the culmination of what turned out to be an extraordinarily bad morning.

Yesterday began with my rising early, not because I needed to work but rather because for some reason I can no longer sleep past 4 AM.  Scott came into the living room at 6:15, frazzled and shaking. He grabbed my hand and insisted that I follow him into our bedroom where I saw the beginning of my nightmare. A snake tail, approximately 18 inches long, was wiggling and dangling from the hole in our ceiling. His head was precariously stuck on the glue trap next to the rafter, but during the fight he managed to break through the plastic sheeting which was sealing the hole in our ceiling. To make matters worse, the snake was suspended a few feet away from Robby, who ended up sleeping in our room because of a nightmare. I can only imagine that waking up to a snake falling on his head would have been more terrifying than anything he could have imagined in his dreams!

Dealing with a crisis situation is not one of my husband's attributes. He froze, became panicked, and did not stop spinning. After pacing, wringing his hands, and cussing the snake for 25 minutes, he announced that he had to go to work. He wished me luck, grabbed his lunch, and ran out the door.

Needless to say I was not happy with being abandoned to deal with the serpent intruder. I can't help but feel that if he had been able to garner his courage instead of spending the 25 minutes frozen with fear, the snake could have been removed. Instead, I was wished good luck and left to deal with the situation by myself.

I hate snakes, but I hate the prospect of Robby being hurt more. Still fuming, and terrified, I woke him up and lured him to the couch to watch SpongeBob.  Knowing that my moment of bravery was fleeting, and that I was on the verge of running into the street screaming with Robby in hand, I went to work securing the snake in place. Standing on a chair, I swiftly stuck another glue trap underneath the wiggly and long enemy, trapping him against the ceiling. With his head on one trap and about 1/3 of his body on another, I knew that I had bought some time to take Robby to school and to device a removal plan. 

After dropping Robby off at school, I drove straight home to tackle the snake issue. I fought every urge and instinct to just keep on driving and instead decided to woman-up and take care of the issue. I closed the bedroom door, locking out the cats, and opened the sliding door leading to the deck. (Hoping that I wouldn't have to kill him, I wanted a clear path so that I could throw the snake outside.) I then positioned the ladder under the hole and climbed to the top.

I have always hated snakes. Since becoming an amputee, I have learned to hate climbing ladders. Having to deal with both foes at the same time was enough to bring me to tears. I climbed down the ladder and called my Mom. After calming down, I put her on speakerphone so that she could provide me with some encouragement when I made another trapping attempt.

Knowing that I had no choice, I made the move. I grabbed the glue trap, exposing the snake sandwiched between. I pulled hard, removing not only the snake but also a large chunk of the ceiling. Apparently the glue on those traps is extremely strong! Plaster bits, paint and dust showered down as I pulled the 3 foot snake from his perch. At this point he was barely alive, with his head stuck on the glue and his body exhausted from fighting the confinement.

I briefly toyed with the notion of spraying down the traps with oil to release him into the wild, but his distinct coloring and head shape convinced me that we were better off with a quick death. I wasn't dealing with a regular snake.  I feared I was dealing with a copperhead and I wasn't going to mess around. One swift hit with my homemade machete crutch and his misery was over. I folded the glue traps onto his remains and carried him to the trash.

I was shaking, terrified, and mentally drained when I started to put the ladder away. It was then that I realized that I had opened the bedroom door without shutting the door to the deck. Charlie, Robby's beloved feline friend, was strolling on the back deck. This indoor cat cannot be trusted outside, and I knew that Robby would be devastated if he became lost.

I crept over to the door, got down on my hands and knees and calmly began to talk with Charlie. I reminded him that Robby loves him very much, and that he has a nice life. I pleaded with him, and even promised him a can of tuna- packed in oil- if he quietly came back into the house. Slowly, Charlie stretched and meandered back into the house. I quickly closed the door, realizing how lucky I was to have even spotted him on the deck.

With new a new glue trap in place and the hole re-secured with new plastic sheeting, I spent the afternoon investigating handymen and exterminators although I took a quick break to run to the store to buy the tuna I had promised Charlie. I'm not sure if he understood our bargain, but I wanted him to know that I am a woman of my word.

Lounging All Day?

Robby and Scott have been back to school for a week, and I think we are all starting to settle into our new routines. Although both boys continue to grumble each morning, they are adjusting well to the earlier mornings. I am still waking up before dawn, but now it is due to insomnia rather than a need to tackle my work.

I absolutely love working from home. Although Robby is in school all day, I want to remain accessible should a need arise. I am thankful that I found positions which allow the flexibility I need so that I can still be involved in Robby's class. (Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't admit that I relish not having to put on make-up and a bra each day before heading to an office.) I am so lucky to be able to assume the role of room mom in his class.

Each morning I drop Robby at school, drive home, and change into my comfy pants.  I grab all of my computers and phones, pop off my leg and curl up on the couch. I then immerse myself in writing and researching until it is time to pick him up. I venture to say that I am more productive working alone because I am not confronted with the distractions of socializing!

I realize that I have an unorthodox workplace, but the location does not diminish the importance of my projects.  Yesterday a friend made an off-hand comment saying that I am lucky that I can come home and relax on the couch until it is time to pick up Robby. In order to maintain some sense of civility, I stopped myself from responding, "Have a good day at work, drinking free coffee and passing time by playing Farmville." Instead I muttered something nonsensical and walked away.

I assure you that although I am may be on the couch, I am doing anything but relaxing. I am often covered with piles of papers while contending with endless phone calls and emails. Sometimes I feel like I'm juggling so many balls in the air that I should be highlighted in a circus. Despite the frustrations, stress and long hours, I wouldn't have it any other way. I am so lucky to have rewarding jobs with employers who trust me enough to get the work done off-site. Right now, I am at a good place both professionally and personally, even if others perceive me as lounging all day!

A Lesson through Baking

Today I will avoid watching television opting instead to tune into the Waltons' marathon. I simply can't handle being bombarded with the seemingly endless retrospectives of September 11, 2001, a day which remains a horrific memory. I understand that some may take solace in watching the analysis shows, video clips and now antiquated videos, but for me they provide no comfort. I don't plan on forgetting; I just don't need to be inundated with the tragedy.

When Robby was born, I struggled to find a way to teach him about the attacks without violating his sense of security. Scott and I both believe that it is imperative that Robby understand and respect what happened, but instilling terror is not necessary. After much thought I ended up doing what comes natural: we baked.

Each year Robby and I bake cookies on September 11 which we deliver to our local firehouse. While we are baking we talk about the tragedy, keeping the conversation age appropriate. At this point, Robby knows that many innocent people died, including a lot of first responders. We deliver cookies because the firefighters are sad on that day because so many of their co-workers died. I always assumed that he would eventually learn the gravity of the events but felt strongly that I did not need to expose him to the horror at such a young age.

Yesterday Robby's class was discussing the attacks from September 11th. I wasn't surprised when I learned that Robby chimed in and explained our cookie tradition. Apparently his classmates and teacher loved the idea and they have decided to embark on their own cookie baking project. Tomorrow his whole class will be baking cookies in honor of the victims of September 11. Local firefighters will be going to his school to receive the cookies and to allow the students to tour the trucks.  Robby is as proud as can be that our family tradition is being adopted by his school. He is also thrilled that he will be able to tour the firetrucks again. 

According to his teacher, Robby told his class that we bake cookies because "the best way to remember those who died is by showing other heroes that they are important." If he has to learn a lesson from September 11, 2001, I am glad that this is it!

No Comparisons

I have received several emails during the past few weeks that have been disturbing. After processing the sexually graphic messages, it didn't take me long to realize that I was dealing with an aggressive devotee. As if living my life without my foot wasn't frustrating enough, I must contend with those who possess a fetish about limb loss.

After blocking his emails and logging his name in my personal "devotee watch list," I decided to do embark on a little cyber-sleuthing. Before I began, I made sure to tinker with the settings on my Hotspot Shield VPN. I wanted to make sure that my computer remained as untraceable as possible, especially when I knew the sites I would be visiting.

I began by typing the sender's name into Google. Immediately several websites popped up, each with the same repugnant theme. I am not going to name the websites for two reasons: I don't want to give them undo publicity and I don't particularly want my blog listed among them during searches. Although I am not naive when it comes to devotees and wannabes (individuals who yearn to live without one or more limbs), I become both confounded and disgusted whenever I delve into the abyss of their cyber world. 

The websites I uncovered were particularly graphic and repulsive. Details concerning methods of self-amputation were not only provided but also were advocated. Despite my attempts at comprehending the thought processes involved, I will never understand why somebody would desire to live without a limb. I love my life, but I would never have chosen to live as an amputee. There are too many frustrations, pains, and inconveniences involved for it to be a life ambition. 

My amputation was considered "medically elective" simply because it was not a life-threatening situation. I could have lived with my broken foot, but it would have been an existence of constant pain and surgeries. I opted to amputate because my foot wasn't functional, not because I desired a life without my limb. I am not in the same category as the wannabe, and I find the insinuation utterly repulsive. 

Although I feel that these individuals are making a horrific mistake by self-amputating limbs, I also recognize that this fringe group feels strongly in their desires. At this point I really don't care if they chop off all of their limbs. I do find it aggravating that they contact and harass me. To them I would say, "Do what you want to your own body, but don't attempt to bring me down to that level."