Mom and I went to a nursing home today to visit a man named Sam. Sam is 69 and is paralyzed from the neck down because he has MS. He is a sweet man. Members of the church he is affiliated with come and visit him every Sunday, and he has family members in Aztec who visit from time to time. He has been laying in the same bed in the same nursing home for seven years come June. His wife, of whom he speaks extremely lovingly, died two years ago.
My mother met him a little while ago when she took come cub scouts to sing for various residents of the nursing home. She told me that Sam had been on her mind for a while, and that she wanted to go and see him, and asked if I would go with her. I agreed.
I have spent a lot of time in nursing homes, and am not uncomfortable there. But this time, stepping into the home was different. As I entered, the residents looked at me differently than ever before. They eyed my walker, and there was a sort of compassion that radiated from them. I had never felt that before. Before, I always felt their need to talk to me, their loneliness, and in many cases, their humor and/or wisdom. I have never felt compassion from people that I am supposed to feel compassion towards. Ever. And it was a very interesting experience for me.
Sam is a wonderful man. My mom and I only spent twenty or so minutes talking to him, but I learned a lot about him, and I felt his sweet spirit. While talking with him, I couldn't help but remember how lonely I had been my week in the hospital, and being cooped up at home for a while. And how this man has been in the same bed for six and a half years, and hasn't left. At all. And then I thought that that man must live for Sunday so that he could see and visit with and feel close to people.
I know that many people feel uncomfortable in nursing homes. It takes time. I was about seven the first time I stepped into one. But my family began volunteering there 2-3 times a week, and within a couple of weeks, I felt completely at home there. I highly recommend visiting nursing homes regularly, and bringing children along. I guarantee that it will not only bless the lives of those you visit, but your own lives. It is not difficult to take fifteen or twenty minutes a week to visit people in a nursing home. The world can be a very lonely place, and the presence of one person can make someone's day, and have a profound impact on a life.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
People Connect Physicality to Personality
Sometimes an individual is defined by a disability, and idiosyncracy, or some little thing that is physically different about them. Before my surgery, people often walked up to me and asked "are you a dancer?" or "are you LDS?" They could see by the way I walked and talked and looked that I was either, or both, of those. People used to pass me and compliment me, or say hello to me and ask me how I was. I used to have conversations with complete strangers at the grocery store or mall or bank or wherever - and it happened all the time. That doesn't really happen anymore.
Now, instead of a conversation, I get the pitiful smile from the man who opens the door. I watch the elderly women in the table next to me at a restaurant eye my walker, wondering why I have the walker when the general way of the world dictates that they should instead. I watch the young mother pull her young children aside and listen to her say, "watch out for the lady". And I hear that roudy group of guys laugh and say, "Hey short stuff. Nice wheels", when my friends are pushing me in my wheelchair.
The initial responses don't bother me. People make fun of other people with or without their wheelchairs, pull their children away from strangers, and open the door. What bothers me is that my walker/wheelchair have become my identifying piece. People don't see my eyes or my smile. They don't see me anymore. They see the walker. Or the wheelchair.
Recently when talking to my parents I expressed such sentiments. I lifted my walker and said, "See this? This is my personality."
I know that I am far from the only person in the world who feels this way. I know plenty of people in wheelchairs. Plenty of people with walkers. Plenty of people with canes. And plenty of people with a limp quite similar to the one that accompanied my walk before surgery. And I know that all of them have felt the exact same way. Unfortunately, not all of them are as fortunate as I am. Their walkers, wheelchairs, crutches, canes and limps will always be a part of them. And those things will always define them. When people look at them, they will always see their physicality and connect it with personality.
In writing this, my intention is not to receive pity. At all. I have received an overdose of pity. In writing this, I simply hope that people will have a better understanding of this perspective, and that they won't treat individuals with defining physical features or disabilities (temporary or permanent) differently.
Here's the thing. Everyone has disabilities. Some people's are obvious, and some are hidden. But we all have them. We all have weaknesses. Some are physical. But some are emotional, mental or spiritual. Why do we define people by their "disabilities"? My personality is not "walker". I am an independent, stubborn, hard-working, determined, smart individual with enormous potential.
I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father. He has given me unique characteristics, gifts and talents. Each of us are His children. He has given each of us these talents. How much more beautiful life would be if we could look at each invidual we come in contact with and see them as a creation of Heavenly Father. We would never tell someone that they're a waste of time, or that they're useless. We would see each individual as a beautiful, wonderful, child of God who we can both serve and learn from. Because here's the thing: Heavenly Father doesn't create anything worthless. He doesn't create anything useless either. How do I know this? Because Heavenly Father is efficient. He doesn't waste time, energy or resources. So why would He create anyone who has no potential or purpose? He wouldn't. When we treat someone as if they are useless, I believe that we are, in a way, telling Heavenly Father that His creation - His child - is a waste. And that is a terrible, terrible shame.
This trial is hard. But I am thankful for it. I wouldn't have it any other way. It has put so many things into perspective for me. I believe strongly that Heavenly Father gave me hip dysplasia to teach me. I have already learned and grown tremendously, and have no doubt that as I continue to go through this, He will teach, define, perfect and bless me in countless other ways.
Now, instead of a conversation, I get the pitiful smile from the man who opens the door. I watch the elderly women in the table next to me at a restaurant eye my walker, wondering why I have the walker when the general way of the world dictates that they should instead. I watch the young mother pull her young children aside and listen to her say, "watch out for the lady". And I hear that roudy group of guys laugh and say, "Hey short stuff. Nice wheels", when my friends are pushing me in my wheelchair.
The initial responses don't bother me. People make fun of other people with or without their wheelchairs, pull their children away from strangers, and open the door. What bothers me is that my walker/wheelchair have become my identifying piece. People don't see my eyes or my smile. They don't see me anymore. They see the walker. Or the wheelchair.
Recently when talking to my parents I expressed such sentiments. I lifted my walker and said, "See this? This is my personality."
I know that I am far from the only person in the world who feels this way. I know plenty of people in wheelchairs. Plenty of people with walkers. Plenty of people with canes. And plenty of people with a limp quite similar to the one that accompanied my walk before surgery. And I know that all of them have felt the exact same way. Unfortunately, not all of them are as fortunate as I am. Their walkers, wheelchairs, crutches, canes and limps will always be a part of them. And those things will always define them. When people look at them, they will always see their physicality and connect it with personality.
In writing this, my intention is not to receive pity. At all. I have received an overdose of pity. In writing this, I simply hope that people will have a better understanding of this perspective, and that they won't treat individuals with defining physical features or disabilities (temporary or permanent) differently.
Here's the thing. Everyone has disabilities. Some people's are obvious, and some are hidden. But we all have them. We all have weaknesses. Some are physical. But some are emotional, mental or spiritual. Why do we define people by their "disabilities"? My personality is not "walker". I am an independent, stubborn, hard-working, determined, smart individual with enormous potential.
I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father. He has given me unique characteristics, gifts and talents. Each of us are His children. He has given each of us these talents. How much more beautiful life would be if we could look at each invidual we come in contact with and see them as a creation of Heavenly Father. We would never tell someone that they're a waste of time, or that they're useless. We would see each individual as a beautiful, wonderful, child of God who we can both serve and learn from. Because here's the thing: Heavenly Father doesn't create anything worthless. He doesn't create anything useless either. How do I know this? Because Heavenly Father is efficient. He doesn't waste time, energy or resources. So why would He create anyone who has no potential or purpose? He wouldn't. When we treat someone as if they are useless, I believe that we are, in a way, telling Heavenly Father that His creation - His child - is a waste. And that is a terrible, terrible shame.
This trial is hard. But I am thankful for it. I wouldn't have it any other way. It has put so many things into perspective for me. I believe strongly that Heavenly Father gave me hip dysplasia to teach me. I have already learned and grown tremendously, and have no doubt that as I continue to go through this, He will teach, define, perfect and bless me in countless other ways.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Two Weeks Down
Well, my PAO (periacetabular osteotomy) was two weeks ago today. I am still in a pretty large amount of pain. Honestly, the pain hasn't decreased all that much since surgery...well, it probably has, since I had an IV, narcotics and an epidural. I just haven't noticed. It's amazing what kinds of things you take for granted until you find yourself using a walker and wheelchair.
Two weeks after my surgery, I find myself able to put on all flats without help, which is, for me, kind of a big deal! I can finally put my shoes on by myself!! I also took my first shower in two weeks. May I just say that it was much better than sponge baths and my parents washing my hair for me in the sink. I was finally really clean! I have to sit on one of those shower benches, and it's kind of difficult, but I can do it! On a good day, I can get out of bed by myself and I can walk longer distances. Unless I'm having a really bad day, I can (finally) bend my left leg 90 degrees when I'm sitting in bed.
I can't get into bed by myself yet. I sit on the edge of my bed, and a member of my family picks up my leg by my ankle and just below my knee and slowly brings it to my bed. I help rotate myself by gently pushing off with my good leg.
Feeding myself is hard. Correction. I can pick up a fork, slide food onto it and put it into my mouth without a problem (except that all the medications make me lose my apetite.) Getting anything out of the fridge or cupboards is hard, because I'm supposed to use a walker around the house and so I have no free hands. This means that I also can't put my dishes in the sink or dishwasher. The only way I can get food for myself is if I can carry it to the table in my mouth. for example, I bite the end of a bag of tostada shells or cereal or an apple and carry it to the table in my mouth. It's annoying. My family takes care of me pretty well though.
Dressing myself is still not possible. I can put on shirts and dresses and what not, but any bottoms my mom has to help me put on. I'm getting used to the whole no privacy thing. I also can't put socks on.
I still get tired really easily. I curled my hair, and before I was finished was completely exhausted. Thankfully my mom finished my hair for me. And not to get all personal and awkward of anything, but I can't shave my legs, so my mom has do that for me. My poor mother.
Getting in and out of vehicles is one of my least favorite things in the world. Actually, I really hate it. I can finally sit normally in the vehicle, but I feel really bad because I take the front seat from my mom in our Chevy. In our F150, I can sit in the back. Regardless, Dad has to lift me into the car, set me on the seat, and then slide my legs in.
One of the worst things is that I am tired of being cooped up in the house. I would love to go someplace. I'm so used to being busy all the time, and being cooped up in the house (and in the same bed/chair most of the day) is frustrating. I feel really unproductive, and even though I'll be spending the first month in a wheelchair, I can't wait for the next semester! It's time to learn and be busy again.
The thing I want more than anything is to be able to sleep on my side. I almost cry just thinking about it. I have to sleep the way a person would if they were sitting in a reclining chair. It doesn't produce much sleep. I miss laying on my side so so much. I tried to do it the other day - even to lay on the good side. But my "wounded" hip is no longer strong enough to stay up.
It's amazing what we take for granted: being able to get in and out of bed or a vehicle, put our shoes or socks on, get a box of cereal out of the cupboard, walk, dance, bend our knees, sleep on our side and so on.
Two weeks after my surgery, I find myself able to put on all flats without help, which is, for me, kind of a big deal! I can finally put my shoes on by myself!! I also took my first shower in two weeks. May I just say that it was much better than sponge baths and my parents washing my hair for me in the sink. I was finally really clean! I have to sit on one of those shower benches, and it's kind of difficult, but I can do it! On a good day, I can get out of bed by myself and I can walk longer distances. Unless I'm having a really bad day, I can (finally) bend my left leg 90 degrees when I'm sitting in bed.
I can't get into bed by myself yet. I sit on the edge of my bed, and a member of my family picks up my leg by my ankle and just below my knee and slowly brings it to my bed. I help rotate myself by gently pushing off with my good leg.
Feeding myself is hard. Correction. I can pick up a fork, slide food onto it and put it into my mouth without a problem (except that all the medications make me lose my apetite.) Getting anything out of the fridge or cupboards is hard, because I'm supposed to use a walker around the house and so I have no free hands. This means that I also can't put my dishes in the sink or dishwasher. The only way I can get food for myself is if I can carry it to the table in my mouth. for example, I bite the end of a bag of tostada shells or cereal or an apple and carry it to the table in my mouth. It's annoying. My family takes care of me pretty well though.
Dressing myself is still not possible. I can put on shirts and dresses and what not, but any bottoms my mom has to help me put on. I'm getting used to the whole no privacy thing. I also can't put socks on.
I still get tired really easily. I curled my hair, and before I was finished was completely exhausted. Thankfully my mom finished my hair for me. And not to get all personal and awkward of anything, but I can't shave my legs, so my mom has do that for me. My poor mother.
Getting in and out of vehicles is one of my least favorite things in the world. Actually, I really hate it. I can finally sit normally in the vehicle, but I feel really bad because I take the front seat from my mom in our Chevy. In our F150, I can sit in the back. Regardless, Dad has to lift me into the car, set me on the seat, and then slide my legs in.
One of the worst things is that I am tired of being cooped up in the house. I would love to go someplace. I'm so used to being busy all the time, and being cooped up in the house (and in the same bed/chair most of the day) is frustrating. I feel really unproductive, and even though I'll be spending the first month in a wheelchair, I can't wait for the next semester! It's time to learn and be busy again.
The thing I want more than anything is to be able to sleep on my side. I almost cry just thinking about it. I have to sleep the way a person would if they were sitting in a reclining chair. It doesn't produce much sleep. I miss laying on my side so so much. I tried to do it the other day - even to lay on the good side. But my "wounded" hip is no longer strong enough to stay up.
It's amazing what we take for granted: being able to get in and out of bed or a vehicle, put our shoes or socks on, get a box of cereal out of the cupboard, walk, dance, bend our knees, sleep on our side and so on.
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