The Temporary Fix

Donuts are my drug of choice. It may sound silly, but it is true. When I am struggling, I find a donut shop and buy the biggest cinnamon Roll, and one of those custard filled donuts with chocolate on top. Add that to a cup of coffee and you have my fix. Sure it is legal, and it sounds a little silly, but the reality is that I run to my drug of choice just as fast as others run to drugs, or alcohol.

You can imagine my excitement, then, when a donut pizza was hand delivered by my daughter. She purchased it in San Jose, and carried it on a plane to Southern California for me. Believe me, I ate my share, but just after it arrived, I got a lot of attention from the nursing staff on the orthopedic ward.

Here is the reality check. Your drug of choice, like mine, will leave you emotionally empty. Emotional health needs more than substances, or a quick fix. Emotional health demands that we are open and vulnerable with people who care. We must have a support system to get through our emotional lows. And, we need a solid source of strength that is beyond ourselves.

For me, that solid source of strength is found in Jesus Christ, and my support system comes from fellow believers. I have the knowledge and the hope that this dysfunctional body in which I live will be replaced by a heavenly body that works perfectly. Yet, even with this knowledge, I get discouraged. Pain messes with the mind. That is where fellow believers come in. They care about me. They listen, pray, encourage, and support me through the lows of disability.

What is your source of strength? What do you run to when discouragement takes over your mind? Several years ago I had the privilege of baptizing nine people from the Cerebral Palsy center in Seattle, Washington. All had advanced levels of CP, and lived at the center. The change we witnessed in those nine people was amazing. They had a new hope of eternal life. They had a new support system, and they had renewed hope that carried them through their low times.
I tell you this, partially because I am going through a time of discouragement, and I needed to remember my friends with CP. But I am also hoping that you will look at your source of strength. Does it measure up to what those nine people found?

Here Is Something They Got Right

Two weeks ago, I traveled from Colorado back to California for a total knee replacement surgery. The surgery had been scheduled before we moved, so we decided to keep the schedule in place. My surgeon did a wonderful job, and my initial recovery was spent in Bakersfield with my daughter.
On Wednesday, the surgeon took the staples out of my knee, and I prepared for my trip back to Colorado. I will admit that I was fearful of the trip. There are so many horror stories about traveling with disabilities. But, I must say my trip an amazing experience.
The experience began as we pulled up to the curb at Orange County, John Wayne Airport. Frontier employees ordered a wheel chair, which met me at the curb. The young man who helped me made sure that my bags were checked, and that I had my seating taken care of. The ticket agent decided that I needed a better seat, and moved me to the very front of the plane where I could extend my leg out into the galley.
From there, the young man took me to the security checkpoint. He was gracious and gentle, removing my shoes for me, and made sure that all metal was removed. He sent three containers through the machine then secured them on the other side. Then, he came back and escorted me into the physical screening area. The TSA agent was very supportive, and kind. He went overboard to insure that I was comfortable with what he was doing.
The young man, put my shoes back on, helped put my stuff back together, and delivered me to the gate. Before he left, he made sure that I had everything I needed and that I was comfortable waiting for my plane.
When I arrived in Denver, a wheelchair was waiting for me. I was wheeled to the gate, where another employee put me on an electric cart. From there I was driven to the edge of the security checkpoint, where a terrific young lady was waiting with yet another wheel chair. She took me to the baggage claim, retrieved my bags, and pushed me plus two bags to the arrival area where I could be picked up.
She stayed with me until the car arrived, and the luggage was placed in the car. She was not satisfied with letting me try to walk to the car. She rolled me to the right up to the car door and made sure I was secure in my seat.
I was so impressed with her caring attention toward me. In my mind, she deserved a good tip, as did the other two employees who helped me from the plane. When I tried to give a tip, she refused it say that she was not allowed to take tips, and that she was just happy for the opportunity to help me.
My experience at both ends of the trip were great, but I honestly want to commend Frontier Airlines for being so supportive, and helpful. They knew how much I had been through, and it almost felt like I became their singular focus throughout the trip. When a company gets it right, they deserve to be noticed. Frontier got it right.

Setbacks

I have been recovering from a total knee replacement for nearly two weeks. Daily improvement has been both noticeable, and satisfactory. Last night, however, I feel like I have had a setback. Leg pain increased, and sleeping was difficult because it was hard to get comfortable.

My son is a land surveyor. Through him, I have realized that a setback has a purpose. Setbacks on a piece of land help to insure that a building does not encroach neighboring property. It insures that all properties are evenly spaced, and that buildings are located in safe areas.

So, can I learn anything about my setback by understanding the meaning on a setback in real estate? While I may think my progress was satisfactory, there must have been a place where the new knee is encroaching on an older problem. The setback allows old wounds to catch up with the new knee. The setback helps to insure that all areas are healing together, and that there are no encroachments to the healing process, which may cause complications later.

So a setback can actually be a good thing in the process of recovery. I cannot be discouraged by the occasional setback. I must trust that my body has a purpose in slowing down (and maybe even taking a step backward). When all is said and done, I want know that all parts of my leg are healing correctly with no hidden problems. I want to go to the doctor and be released for the next stage of recovery.

Life In The Slow Lane

I am learning that I have joined a new crowd. For the sake of a better term, I am calling it “The Slow Lane Crowd.” This doesn’t have anything to do with the lane I use on the freeway, but the way I must approach life. I have lived a pretty fast paced life with school, and ministry, and writing, and family responsibilities. People used to look at my activity level and ask how I did it all?

My new lifestyle is highlighted by knee replacements, spine surgeries, arthritis, sorting out night-time medication from day-time medication, naps, and waiting for others to do what I can no longer do for myself. I have hit the slow lane with my brakes overheated. I am barely moving, and I still feel like I need one of those run away truck ramps to slow me even further.

I find myself in the position that every generation inevitably joins. It is the period where I find myself quoting my mother. “You go ahead, I’ll be fine.” “Have you seen my cane?” “Do whatever you need to do, I’ll just sit here.” “Let me know when you need me to move.” I understand how she must feel using those phrases all of the time. I wish I could go, but as my grand father used to say, “My get up and go, done got up and went.”

As a new member of the slow lane crowd, I’m practicing slow lane etiquette, but I am not quite there yet. So I struggle, and get frustrated when things don’t work out the way I expect. But I am working at getting to know the members of my new society. I am shocked at how many faint scars I see across the knees of other slow laner’s.

Non Verbal Cues

I am sure you have figured out that I had knee replacement last week. Starting to feel like I am coming out from under the fog of drugs that accompanied such a surgery. I did not post anything over the last several days, because I was afraid of sounding incoherent, which I likely would have done. However, I accompanied my son-in-law to the store yesterday. We parked in the appropriate blue stall, and showed my parking permit. My daughter brought my walker around, and I climbed out, knee bandaged, and hobbled into the store.

In the past, my parking experiences have not always been positive. Today, however, I was met with kindness and support. A gentleman held the door open for a very long time while I approached. An employee was very supportive in setting me up with an electric cart to use in the store.

The difference between this experience and those of the past were the non verbal cues that helped other recognize my condition. Obviously my limp was much more pronounced, and I looked like I had been through a lot. But the cue's were the deciding factor between a positive and a negative experience.

There may be a day when I must use an adaptive device to get around. But until that day comes, I will suffer the occasional slights from those who are doing their job to keep society honest. Their efforts are keeping the adaptive carts and spaces available for those who need them now.

Service With A Tail Wag

This week, while in the hospital, I was visited by a super hero. Not a fake one, dressed in a nearly perfect costume. My hero was a calm, unassuming service dog named Gordon.

Gordon is a five-year-old Cairn Terrier. He has been a certified therapy dog for nearly three years. He visits hospitals every week and has made more than 250 hospital visits. In the past year alone he has visited with more than 1,200 patients at St. Joseph Hospital.

The amazing thing about Gordon, is that he has no ego about his 1,200 patient visits. The encounter was not about him, but about me. He hopped up on my bed and started licking my hand, just the way my Jazzy does at home. He snuggled, just the way my Major does at home, and then he draped his chin across my arm, the way my Satchmo does. How did he know? I have no idea, but he seemed to sense my needs and went about filling them in a way that brought me comfort.

Gordon was the first service dog to visit me in the hospital. I hope that he is not the last. People want to know details of your condition. A service dog wants to know the details of your heart. They don’t care that you have been through surgery, or that you have a physical handicap. They just shower you with love in the way you need to be loved.

Thank you Gordon for visiting me in the hospital. Your encouragement made the pain a little more bearable. You made me want to see if one of my dogs would qualify for the service industry.

Here Comes The TSA

It finally happened. I was standing in the security line at the airport, and I was “randomly” pulled out to go through the body scan machine. I have worried about this machine, and how all of the metal in my back might look. I was not anxious to explain my disability to a perfect stranger, even if it was a government agent.

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to stand over here for additional screening.” I knew it was just a matter of time, but my heart sank nonetheless. The machine whipped around me scanning the inside of my body. When it was finished, the TSA agent began talking into the walkie-talkie mouthpiece attached to his shoulder.

The TSA agent moved me even farther from the crowd and made me stand still. Certainly they saw the three pounds of metal in my back. I had visions of strip searches, and humiliation. I thought about pleading my disability in hopes of being left alone, but the words did not come out in time.

As I began to explain my circumstances, the TSA agent stopped me. “Sir, do you have anything in your left front pocket?” What? Left front pocket? I thought about it and said, no all of my metal and coins are in the basket that went through the machine. But wait, there was something in my pocket. Asking permission to move, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of candy, a root beer barrel.

Here I was ready to cry foul, to complain about be harassed because of my disability, when all I was accused of was having a piece of candy in my pocket. Just because my disability is always on my mind, doesn’t mean that my disability is on everyone else’s mind. Sometimes people are just doing their job. Don’t be so quick to defend yourself. You may just have a root beer barrel in your pocket.

Replacement Parts

It is amazing what modern medicine can do these days. I have three pounds of Titanium in my back, so I call myself the “man of steel”. Ok, it is not steel but I like the Superman reference anyway. It makes me feel more capable than I really am. I asked the doctor if he could make me taller. After all, he was going to be in there anyway, why not? He gave me a half-inch that gravity and age had taken away.

A friend of mine has arteries that came from a pig. He still eats pork, and I keep waiting for him to oink. So far, nothing. I have another friend who is looking through someone else’s eyes. His old ones were brown, but now they are blue. Amazing! Speaking of eyes, I have been accused of having eyes in the back of my head. I really don’t. In fact the eyes in the front of my head only work because of modern laser surgery.

Replacement parts are good, if they improve the quality of life. Those of us who have disabilities understand the value of replacement parts. The issue comes when they haven’t figured out how to solve your particular disability yet. For those things they can’t fix, we must continue to suffer, hoping for the day when they can replace that too.

Next week I go in for more surgery. This time it is for a new right knee. It will give me one more battle scar to show off, or to cover up depending who I am talking with. The left knee will not be far behind. Then we get to start on hips. Oh Goodie.

We need to keep our humor intact or the disabilities will win. So far they haven’t figured out how to replace that part, so we need to keep exercising our humor, lest it fails us as well.

Please pray, send good thoughts, remember me, or whatever it is you do on August 9th. We need to support each other.