Protected: Hip Revision Chronicles Part 1. The Night My Titanium Hip Broke (warning graphic)
Protected: The Rainbow Leads To The Pot Of Gold
Mothers Day Without Mom
THIS POST WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 2014.
Happy Mothers Day. Cards and gifts, flowers and celebration.
I miss my mom.
So it’s been kind of bittersweet. The joy of being a mother, coupled with the reality that I’m now one of the many who will not hear their mom’s voice on this day.
I have friends who are celebrating their first Mothers Day as a mom. I remember that feeling. I see the threads of love wrapping around them, creating a cocoon of safety and love for their child. As my mom did for me. As I did for my kids. Unconditional love.
No matter how old I get, when I’m down or feeling sick I want my mommy. I want to crawl into her lap so she can rock me. I want that feeling of love and security, of peace, that I always got when my mom wrapped her arms around me.
It used to be easy to capture that feeling. I could meet her, or go to her house, walk up to her and put my arms around her. There was never a hesitation, her arms wrapped me in love and acceptance without a word being spoken. I would take a deep breath of that special smell that was a combination of so many things, instantly recognizable.
It’s harder, but less complicated now to talk to my mom and get that hug. I have to dig deep into memories to recapture those feelings. But I don’t have to pick up a phone or get in the car. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel my mom’s love all through me. Because that is where my mom is now, a part of me, a part of my soul.
Protected: The Mandala Year
Lobo Pass Continental Divide Trail
Just before you get to Wolf Creek Ski on 160 from Pagosa is the road up to Lobo Pass Overlook. We drove up to the Cell Tower and hiked from there.
You can also access the Continental Divide Trail from the parking lot on 160. That is what I did on July 21 when I hiked with Margaret and Dave. Photos show the amount of snow that was still around. The road up to the Lobo Overlook was closed at the time because of snow. Yes, in July.
Today, September 7, 2019 there was no snow. Typical for Colorado the long sleeve shirt was off and on depending on the amount of shade and wind on the trail. It wasn’t a long hike, only a couple of miles, but there was a good amount of elevation change. We took a little off shoot trail that went pretty much straight up the mountain. At the top were some spectacular views.
If you are afraid if heights this probably in not a good hike for you. Some loose rock and gravel, so a hiking pole came in very handy a couple of times.
Thunderstorms were forming, and we did not want to get caught in one of those.
A wonderful hike, we remarked many times about how fortunate we are that we can still do activities like this, and that we live in such a gorgeous corner of the most gorgeous state in the Union.
RIP Brandi
Brandi was a good girl. She was a big, clumsy, happy, gentle soul. And she was always a good girl. All you needed to do to send her into leaps of joy was to tell her she was a good girl.
We put her to sleep on Saturday. She was eight years old, getting up there for a giant breed like a Mastiff. She had cancer.
Because of a bad spay, she leaked urine. Twice a day we put a mixture of three hormone pills down her throat. She sat. We opened her mouth, put our hand down her throat. Waited to make sure that she swallowed while we praised her.
She loved everybody and everything. She loved the horses, and would bark and play with them. Feeding the horses was one of her favorite activities. If you didn’t know which way to go, she would help by putting your arm in her huge mouth and leading you.
She put up with puppies and cats and pigs and kids crawling on top of her.
She and Keely grew up together. I never heard her growl. She had her nails done. Bows in her hair.
She suffered through baths in the shower, sometimes with a lot of company.
She was not brave in any way. Steve would stand on the other side of the door and growl and bang on the door. The other dogs would bark. All you heard from Brandi was the sound of the dog door flap as she took off for the pasture. We would joke that if anyone every broke in, the only chance of her hurting them would be if they were in the way of her running.
She would sit, lift a paw, and ask very politely for you to pet her. Again and again.
I loved her so much. Everyone did. She loved Steve, and he loved her. His big girl. They would have a lot of talks.
She was just a big lovable dufus. A true sweet gentle soul that we were blessed with for eight years.
Two weeks ago she wouldn’t come out of her house when I called her. I opened the door for her, and she slowly came out. She seemed reluctant. She also had wet herself, which was not unusual. So she walked a little stiff legged, again, not unusual.
But she wasn’t interested in her food.
A few days later Steve called me out. She had come up the hill to be fed, but her hind legs weren’t working right. She half wobbled and half crawled up the hill. It was one of the most painful sights I’ve ever seen. Steve had to drag/carry her back to her house. It was the last time she was ever outside. She quit eating and drinking.
We called the vet. She thought it was cancer. There was a heart murmer. At eight, Brandi was old for a Mastiff. We decided to try for a miracle and give her steroids for a few days.
The steroids brought back her appetite, she started eating turkey and meat if we fed her by hand. She drank a little.
But she could only move her front legs.
So she laid in the doorway of her house while we hoped for a miracle that we really knew wouldn’t come.
On her last day I brought the other animals into the house. Steve had started to make a trip to Durango, but was able to get in contact with the vet. He said he would be there around 11:30. Steve headed back.
I went to her house, opened the big door and put her head on my lap. She was able to see the blue sky, the trees, the mountains. I cried harder than I have cried in a very long time.
But for two hours Brandi got to eat peanut butter treats and turkey and cheese. She heard me tell her over and over what a good girl she was and how much she was loved.
The vet was kind and gentle. I held her while she went to sleep for the last time. No more pain, no more confusion.
It is hard. This doing the right thing for our pets. It is a responsibility we take on, if we are going to be “their people”. But I think, in a way, it makes the pain less for me. To know that we could, with love, choose the way and time of her going. I watched as she lay peacefully in my lap, hearing my voice, knowing love. It was my last, and perhaps, best, gift I could give her.
I called her my whabada. Because that was the noise her lips and ears would make as they flopped when she ran.
I think of her now, my sweet Brandi, whabada. Running free.
Twenty One Things I Learned After Shoulder Replacement Surgery
1. It really sucks to throw up after surgery. However, it is not so bad if you are still on pain meds.
2. When they tell you to bring a large shirt for after surgery they mean a LARGE shirt because that sucker has to go over a very large padded sling.
3. There is this thing called a “party ball” that is supposed to do a slow drip of pain meds directly into your system via a catheter inserted into your shoulder. It is supposed to last for 72 hours and slowly deflate. If it has not deflated after 48 hours it is not working. Therefore you missed the party.
4. Percocet is given with the warning that you must not combine with a Tylenol product. Percocet gives me a really bad headache. So bad that I couldn’t even think about my shoulder because my head hurt so much. When I called the nurse hotline I was told to take, you guessed it, Tylenol for the headache.
5. The nurse said day 3 and day 4 would be the worst because the “party ball” would be wearing off. Since the “party ball” never worked I spent time dreading a worst day that never occurred. The pain really wasn’t that bad and next time I’ll go on Tylenol much sooner.
6. It is very good to have a husband with a good sense of humor when it is time to get dressed or undressed when wearing a sling.
7. Do not EVEN consider putting on a sports bra.
8. It is physically impossible to put your hair in a pony tail when one of your arms cannot be raised above waist level. Getting your head down to the hand at waist level does not work.
9. Do not plan on going out in public if your husband has not had previous experience putting your hair in a pony tail.
10. Forget makeup. Forget blow drying your hair. For weeks.
11. If you put an onion or a potato on the blade of a chef knife and whack it, the vegetable will be cut in half.
12. Someone will have to cut your food for you at first. This is less embarrassing if you wear your sling in public as you are supposed to.
13. You are not supposed to lift ANYTHING . I DONT KNOW FOR HOW LONG BECAUSE THEY HAVE NOT LET ME IN ON THAT SECRET YET.
Do not try to go grocery shopping by yourself for several weeks. You may think you can lift those long packages of chicken breasts with one hand but you can’t.
14. You know those plastic bags in the produce department that you roll down and then tear apart? You can’t do that with one hand. So you roll all the way down to your waist and place the bag in your hand which is in a sling. Be ready fir some strange looks.
15. Do not take Percocet before your first physical therapy session if pain meds make you nauseated. You will spend the hour with a ice pack on your neck and worry more about throwing up in front of everyone than how much your shoulder hurts.
16. Having a shower large enough for two people is a good thing. Having a husband that will wash your hair for you while in the shower is a very good thing.
17. You are told to keep your elbow close to your side at all times if you do not have a sling on. If you have a sling on, your arm is already in this position. This means that you sweat. It is very very difficult to wash under your arms when one arm cannot be moved. Try it sometime.
18. Sleeping in a recliner is recommended. It keeps your head elevated. Being in a recliner discourages rolling over while wearing a sling and messing up your shoulder and experiencing excruciating pain. Being in a recliner by yourself can make you lonely and sad.
19. Having a husband that loves you enough to sleep with his head at the foot of the bed so that he can touch you while you are in the recliner is awesome. Having a husband that will get up several times in the middle of the night to pull the recliner lever so you can get up and go to the bathroom is priceless.
20. Think through every action before you start it. (See number 13). Making pies and then realizing it takes two hands to put them in and out of the oven was not one of my better moments.
21. If your husband does not cook, it is good to have friends that come stay with you and cook for you. Thank you Kira and Rita Sharkey for cooking and cleaning, driving me to PT in the snow and listening to me whine.
Three and a half weeks after surgery I can say that while not fun, this has not been as bad as I thought. Next surgery on the right shoulders is in three and a half weeks and the left will not be up to full speed by then.
Pray that Steve and I can keep our sense of humor.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM
AspensIt’s been a year. A year without your voice, a year without your laugh.
Those last months when your body was still with us but your mind was flitting between here and somewhere else were hard. The trip I made to Little Rock to see you was bittersweet. I’ll never forget the smile on your face when you saw me walk into your room. You instantly recognized me, which was such a relief. Then you started talking and I couldn’t follow. The next day you didn’t remember I had been there. In a way that was a relief, because I knew it was not causing you pain that I wasn’t there to see you every day. I still felt guilty, but not as much.
There were no more phone calls. You couldn’t figure out how to use the phone. If Michael or Tracey put the phone to your ear, all you were doing was parroting words. You couldn’t hear or understand me. That was so sad, but it prepared me for this year.
You may not physically be on this earth, but you are still with me.
Every time, and I mean every time, I walk through the house watching the sunset I think of you. I remember your joy in the vibrant colors and huge scope of our Colorado sunsets. I remember you sitting on the couch in the sun room, watching the birds, nodding off to sleep in the sun.
I drove to Cripple Creek a few weeks ago. I remembered you looking out the window, riveted by the colors of the aspens in the fall. I laughed about your gambling “addiction” and how adamant you were that you needed to try out the casinos in Cripple Creek. I regret not taking you more often.
I sit in the living room and remember us painting it together. I was on the ladder, you were doing the lower part of the walls. I never told you about going behind you to get the parts that you missed. Remember all the houses we have painted together?
I’m not as directionally challenged as you were. Frankly I don’t think it’s possible to be worse than you were and still operate in society. But when I get turned around and a little lost, you are there with me giggling. And the first thing I think is “you are just like your mother”.
I’ll always take that as a compliment.
I had friends over last night. They were sitting on your side of the counter while I cooked. We poured some wine for them and the memories flooded me yet again. I could see you sitting there, wine glass in hand, keeping me company while I cooked. I remember the laughter, the jokes, and the giggles. How fortunate I am to have had such a wacky mom.
So more people have heard about you Mom. More of your stories have been told. They don’t mean much to the people that hear them, I know that. But the telling is important to me. To Keely, Kat, David. It’s the way that we continue to include you in our lives.
I think I talk to you more now than I did that last year you were alive. On those long drives in the car going to Colorado Springs I tell you about what is going on in my life. I know you already know, but it helps to tell you. And of course I can carry on your part of the conversation because I know you so well. I can hear your voice “Well, Michelle….”
When I am alone in the house that is when I feel you close. I put on “your” music, Enya or Yanni, and as it floods through the air you are there. I cry. I miss my Mom. I want to hold your hand, hug you one more time.
I had the gift of time with you for many months while you stayed with us in Colorado. What a very precious gift that was. Keely got to spend a lot of time with her beloved Grandma.
You knew that I loved you. I knew that you loved me. In the end, that was really all that mattered.
So Mom, this is your birthday. It is one year and a few days since you left us. So listen to me as I sing Happy Birthday to you, and know that I love you very much.
A Skinny Kid Taught Me A Lot About Life
I reconnected with some old friends today on Facebook. While I had not talked to them in years, I’ve talked about them many many times. Many of the people that have gone through my Taekwondo school will remember the story, if not the names. I’ve cried a lot because of Lee and Becky Coon and their son Michael. I’ve cried every time I’ve told their story to a school gym filled with kids. I’ve cried when I told the story to Steve, to Keely and her friends. I’ve cried buckets of tears today as I wrote this blog.
There are some people that make a huge impact on your life. A skinny teenage boy with big ears changed my life forever.
Michael Coon was very quiet, very polite. He got that from his dad Lee and his mom Becky. Well, Lee was pretty quiet, Becky kind of balanced the quiet with the gift of gab. They all were students at my taekwondo school when I bought it. Michael was in our instructor program for a while, and then he hit those teenage years when time gets so precious. He was involved in activities at school and church, and the drive from Redfield to Little Rock in the evenings became too much. But his dad Lee still worked out with us when he could during the day, and the family would stop by and say hi when they were in the area. A great family.
I’m going to tell you the story, but I’ll tell you up front I’m kind of fuzzy on some of the details.
It’s been ten years, and I can’t remember who called me. I’m pretty sure it was Lee. He told me that Michael had been shot and was on the way to the hospital. Becky was on the way. They got there, and he was gone.
He was fourteen.
Michael and a couple of friends were going to go hunting. Somehow, Michael was shot. By one of his friends.
I can’t imagine the shock to Lee and Becky. They left for work that morning, a normal routine. That evening when they came home their world had been turned upside down. This story is one of the reasons that my kids always hear me tell them “I love you” before we go in our different directions. Every single time.
Lee asked that Charles and I come to the house. It was overflowing with people, there to support Becky and Lee.
Lee pulled us aside, and told us that the police had arrested Michael’s friend, the one who shot him. This was a boy that had grown up with their son, someone that they loved and had welcomed into their family. Lee was heartbroken.
He took us into Michael’s room and showed us something very special. Michael was one of the youth leaders at their church, and he had been keeping a journal. One of the last things he had written was:
“If Christ died for my sins, who am I to not forgive others?”
He told us that he and Becky felt that Michael was telling them a very important truth.
During the grieving process of losing their son, Lee and Becky comforted the other boys’ family. They visited him in jail and told him that they loved him. They stood by him. No hate. No anger. Just love and forgiveness.
I went to the memorial service for Michael. His black belt certificate was next to the casket. The church was overflowing, full of teenagers that had gone to school with Michael, full of adults that had been touched by the Coon family.
The pastor invited people to talk about their memories of Michael.
In a sea of white faces, an African American young man stood in line to speak:
“I moved here from New Orleans after Katrina. I don’t know if you guys noticed, but there are not a lot of black faces around here. I was really scared about starting a new school. Really scared. I had heard a lot of stories.
The first day I walked up to the school, there was a group of guys standing around. One of them saw me and started heading over. I thought to myself, I’m going to get beat up right now. Well, that is not what happened. Michael Coon reached out his hand to me, introduced himself, and took me over to meet his friends. He invited me to sit with him at his table at lunch. He invited me into his home. Mr. Lee and Mrs. Becky invited me into their family.
I’ll never forget him.”
The young man broke down and went to his seat. I don’t think there was a dry eye in that church. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.
We hear a lot of talk about leadership. Martial Arts schools have programs saying that they teach it. Corporations bring in consultants to teach it.
But that skinny fourteen year old boy could teach a lot of people about leadership.
I’ve told Michael’s story to thousands of people. I’ve been in schools where the teachers couldn’t get the students to calm down, and after I’ve told Michaels story there was a hushed gym full of teenagers. I’ve talked to my students during class, and cried for the loss of this very special boy. I’ve given out the Michael Coon Leadership Award to some very special people at our annual awards ceremony.
Michael Coon touched a lot of people in the short time he was here. His legacy is one of friendship, inclusion, leadership and love.
I know that Lee and Becky think of Michael every day. But I wanted them to know that they, and their son, forever changed me. I hope they are proud of his legacy, and the impact that he, and they, have had on so many people.
Michelle Rae 