Growth ... and evidentiary change ... achieving excellent purchase ...

… see below, that pile of dishes … yesterday, i did them (and many other things) using both hands!  

last week, i was still sad over the fact that it was still painstakingly slow to write with a pen, crochet or do any such little handiwork, so i started a bullet journal to feed my soul and my need to be doing something on paper (or with paper), but something that didn’t involve flat-out longhand for pages and pages.

... but i digress ... let's get back to this picture(s) so i can document that i'm actually GETTING SOMEWHERE!

in the background of the picture above, you can see my mother.  she had over yesterday (Friday) for lunch, wherein i brewed her strong coffee and then made cornbread biscuits and goulash.

yesterday morning had started out with some "Grandma and Me" time, Me and Scarlet Rae, since she had spent the night prior, after a school event.  then mid morning i started in on some "Mom and Me" time with my mother.  At the noon hour, it became "Grandmother, Mother and Me" with Mom, Me and Carol.  Off she went, and Mom and I had some more "Mom and Me" time.  Off she went, at the end of the afternoon and i finished up the day with more "Mom and Me" time, this time me and Carol at the nail salon!

 ... moms and me time ...

and here now ... 

... and again, this is my mother.  i’d like you to meet my mother, really, really meet my mom, just as i am now meeting and greeting her myself (this last three years, but more so this last many months).

  here (here, in the here and now).

 

here, now (Friday), she’s sitting in my officeartroomsanitarium, where we had also been hanging out earlier in the day, where we have spent some pretty good times this past several months, and where i spend a fair (MASSIVE) amount of time by myself, where i vegetate, work, create (and feel the most safe) ... sitting here yesterday afternoon she said to me“i like this room.” 

"she really likes me, she really likes me!"

"... the first time i didn't feel it.  the first time i didn't feel it, but this time i feel it, and i can't deny the fact that you like me, right now!  you like me!"  -Sally Field

love and respect.

"When I stopped seeing my mother through the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself." - Nancy Friday

i give you, again and again, my mother.  i take kindly to and am kind to this mother.

Mom and Dad, Jamie in the highchair and me, under the blue smock, my arrival pending. 

we became this family, eventually, "the Family Circle."

***

i hold in my heart now, my dad, and i think he'd be proud of how far my mother and i have come.  he saw the very start of this three years ago, but we have to finish it without him.  we can do this, Dad!

... oh, the saving, the graces … the change in all the other places … 

***

... and, as i said, last week (2 months post CMC joint replacement in my right hand) i was pushing forward, yet still having days where i felt like i was going backwards, which has been the ying-and-the yang of the recovery process wherein it feels good one day, but hits a shit storm or a roadblock the next, and then OMG, OMG, we’re all going to die, why did i do this?!?!??! [and anxiety over such things is, yes, like that previous run-on sentence] 

the willies and the worriment comes in scattered bursts.  there's the feeling good, the feeling bad, and then there's the feeling bad because it feels so good, followed by feeling so good it hurts.

i'm grieving, i'm healing, i'm healing, i'm grieving.

 this last few weeks (since cast and brace removal) i've met each new dawn, sliding in and out of my pjs into clothes with actual zippers and buttons.  i've made the bed (heavy quilts) and pulled wide the curtains, letting in the sun (and sometimes the gloom and the rain).  i managed the ability to brush my teeth and hair with my right hand (finally, versus clumsy left), could almost pick up my coffee cup (and other things) without using just the left or (in the very least) both hands. 

i made more and spilled less.  

i've been able to get back to the real work and the real play, with great care (still no lifting, punching, clenching or pinching with aggression, but my hands fly all over home row, to infinity and beyond!).

i've worked on my fine motor skills, holding a pen, or a pen knife, trying to hack things out on the page and otherwise, though the bulk of this remained an act of sheer will and perseverance, as well as learning to take my half-assed efforts as the best that could be done.

after every task, i had to rest a bit (the "good" hand and the still steroid-filled "bad" hand), waiting to feel like i was "powered up" again.

in this meantime/mean time, i started my version of Julia Cameron's "morning pages," from the book the Artist's Way ... i call my version, "mourning pages," and i try not to stress over the fact that i may not be writing, every morning--or even every day--and that it's unlikely i'll make the prescribed three-page mark just quite yet.

as i mentioned at the beginning of this post (and in a prior post), i also began a "bullet journal" which helps take the pain and pressure off the fact that writing long-handed wordy journal entries is a deliberate and gradual (barely a page) process.  

in some ways, however, the fact that my pen is only going 15 slow-moving-vehicle-miles-per-hour in these notebooks has given me new and needed perspective on things.

while my words, in some sense, feel like they're being reined in and choked back, they are in fact going gangbusters.

this may not be at my usual clip, the preferred manic rate that my brain and heart mechanics usually try to process thoughts, but it's a far less pressured stride, and i'm learning to live with this (and learn from it).

so with thoughts and feelings properly in their places, let us fast-forward to this week (how it began and how it ended with so many new beginnings).

in the very beginning of the week, some of the "OMG, OMG, we're all going to die" feelings changed to "OMG, OMG, the magical power of healing," evidenced by the fact that every day this week, i got up, again and again, made that bed, threw wide those curtains, got dressed, pulled up the zipper on my jeans with zeal, worked those buttons, brushed my hair and my teeth, spread butter on and cut my own toast, worked (nearly back to my usual number of hours, pages and content), played with yarn, tweaked things around the house, clipped/potted and played with plants, drove through town (both hand on the steering wheel!), had my hair and nails done, saw the doctor, picked up medications (key, lol) and brought in some groceries (all without taking frequent breaks).

… and, yes, by Friday morning, my knife skills (rough chopping, anyway) were back and i cut and chopped and made ready a meal for my mama’s visit. 

(lower right/photo credit/http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/)

So, my right hand is healing and i haven’t cut off my nose to spite my face, what with all the returning knife skills.

i am, i must say, in full “NESTING” mode and pre-surgery (the left hand) prep, thrilled to have the nearly full and far less painful use of the right hand, to help me get a few more things done before the next surgery and before the steroids in my left hand wear thin 

master bedroom redo - we are halfway there.

as my title going in says, "growth, and evidentiary change."  

i'm seeing it (and feeling it), each and every day now, where in the past, yes, i had my struggles.

drawing by Carol - very preK

but i'm mending, well on my way to the state of “excellent purchase” as surgeons are wont to say, proving that all the jagged edges eventually can be stitched back together again, into something i can use.

things get better and better with each passing day.

my orthopedic orthopedic followup doc tells me, “good, good, you’re massaging your scars.  things look good.  massaging those scars is key …”

were i to have my head and heart split open, i think a neurologist and cardiologist would say the same, "you're healing, i'm seeing excellent purchase.”

in another, very different office visit this week, i said, "yes, yes, but i'm still scared ... i don't always trust [this, that and the bloody other]."

to which i was given a head nod and an "of course, you don't ... not yet ..."

… nine months from now (the very same time it takes to have a baby), i'll be on the nearly totally healed side (when it comes to my hands, but also my head and most importantly ... my heart).  a year from now (so says my surgeon), it will feel like i was never broken.

... by Mary Cassatt ... sketching it out ... 

... meet me ... and meet my mother = mother and daughter, becoming one, in and of our own (very distinct) selves.  together for the rest of this long run ... 

meet me ... meet my mother ... my mother and me.

"The older I get the more of my mother I see in myself." -Nancy Friday

***

... i was born in the early 60s ... this book, My Mother Myself," read in the latter 70s (brooding bitch that i was) ... and this, these days, are NOW!

you heard me, i'm HEALING!

i’m healing and with "excellent purchase.”

***

STORY OF A NOTEBOOK: we just finished our latest "early morning notes on the counter" notebook, and so in the box of loose notes and other little juicy scraps it goes, and we started a new notebook ... and i highly recommend a notebook, a wipe-off board, a chalkboard, or scrawling your feelings into the woodwork with your fingernails in whatever main area you have in your house, whether it's the two of you, the four of you, the nine of you, and even if there's just one of you--"notes to self" can't be all bad, right? this particular nondescript and campy dime store notebook that we just completed was started earlier this year, and this has been quite the year. we loved and lost a lot this year, and this notebook helped us to remember what we still held since we also capped off our 9th year together, and started the 10th. the last time we had a "loved and lost" year like this (2011), i couldn't handle all of the love and loss (in front of anyone--not even Mark) and i went to the "the little yellow house" by the shoreline for 9 months ... so i've grown; we've all grown. and so i give you some of the humorous notes from this year wherein Mark thought i loved my Kindle Fire more than i loved him (never ever have seen him jealous before-OMG!) and wherein i wrote notes like a five-year-old/learning penmanship for six weeks, using my left hand, and other funny stuff ... now, go get your notebook, your wipe-off board, your chalkboard, or scratch something meaningful into your kitchen wall using a penknife! i.dare.you! love lasts, but life doesn't go on forever, so make sure those you love are hearing your words ...

*above a Facebook post which is now a blog entry ...

and ... in other notebook-ish news ... i'm having a try at "bullet journaling" and so i bought a few supplies yesterday to add to a leather padfolio that i already had (two smaller notebooks and a grid pad, along with some tabs and labels).  so my daily routine now includes "mourning pages," my client binder and the bullet journal, of which it remains to be seen if the bullet journal will soothe (my unable to write long and free for too many minutes a day) healing hand problem, or whether it will die on the roadside.  they say it takes "30 days to make or break a habit," and so my first notation in my bullet journal is, "if you do not make an every day, a very concerted use of this bullet journal for the next 30-day trial period, you must POKE YOUR EYES OUT WITH A STICK .... for not trying hard enough ...

... so we shall see what develops ...

***

"Though a good deal is too strange to be believed, nothing is too strange to have happened." 

-THOMAS HARDY

Mourning Pages ...

September 18, 2014 - 3/12 weeks post surgery - I can write and I can barely write.

October 11th - haven't tried writing, other than the occasional morning note to Mark, in nearly a month.  I thought I would yet again (because I have attempted--and failed) do my version of Cameron's "Morning Pages," though I like to call them "Mourning Pages," and because I'm bipolar as hell, I can't even make the promise that I will "hit it" every morning, or even every day, and who knows to what length, since even this light pencil is flighty and loose in my hand, the writing slow--and so at this rate, and with this mess, can I even hope to capture a thought in this painstaking process?

Morning Pages

"The bedrock tool of a creative recovery is a daily practice called Morning Pages."  -Julia Cameron 

...Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning.  There is no "wrong way" to do Morning Pages; they are not high art.  They are not even "writing."  They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind--and they are for your eyes only.  Morning Pages provoke, clarify, comfort, cajole, prioritize and synchronize the day at hand.  Do not over-think Morning Pages:  just put three pages of anything on a page ... and do three pages tomorrow ... 

--or "Mourning Pages" as I have always called them, and this particular morning, I could physically only manage one thick paragraph.

I'm also intrigued by this new way of journal-keeping called "Bullet Journaling" ... so i'm thinking it will be a betwixt and between the two ... "mourning pages" that are probably more bullet in fashion since I can't write too awfully long, and then I'll tear some paper up for the in-between spots and holes in my ongoing story.

I can write and ...

One of my work gigs is transcribing disability record reviews.  In many cases, a person starts out with a somewhat debilitating injury, say a torn medial meniscus or rotator cuff, which makes it impossible for them to work (for a time, or forever depending on how their surgeries and recovery processes go).

Many of these cases unfortunately snowball into weight gain-related issues like diabetes, hypertension and heart disease, based on the fact that the person can’t work, is sitting around a lot and might have their head stuck in the fridge, which leads us also to the avalanche of continued problems including depression, anxiety, sleep disorders, sexual dysfunction and migraine headaches.

Then, to top it off, the person is also taking meds for the pain, for the gain and to combat the myriad of emotions.  These meds then cause gastrointestinal problems such as reflux or ulcers.

Basically, the person gets a sliver at work, and the next thing you know they’re obese, pill-popping, constipated (or loose-boweled) TV-watching fools!

I’ve always worked on these summaries “as if” this would never, ever happen to me.

The entire time I was working on these summaries, all my other work AND all the things in my life, this was happening to me!

I’ve had degenerative arthritis in the thumb joints of both hands for over ten years, just recently having had the surgical repair.  Despite that malady, I was the super worker, the super woman, the super everything, and so my surgery and recovery were also going to be super, right?!?!!?

Well, the surgery was just under a month ago, and there was a hellish first week of pain while still in the cast, a less hellish and less painful second and final week in the cast and then the application of a hard/fitted splint, which has now been on for 10 days (coming off only for showering and range of motion exercises) and must stay on an ADDITIONAL TWO WEEKS AND TWO DAYS, but who’s counting?

I’m counting!

And I’m going nuts!

Though I have not (as yet) developed loose or constipated bowels, sexual dysfunction, high blood pressure, heart disease or obesity, I already have a hiatal hernia and an esophageal ulcer, depression and anxiety, but I assume (or over think) these maladies as same-same, unless I’m screamingly over-anxious, think my depression (and bipolarity) are worsening and that my esophagus is going to bleed out with my next over-anxious heartbeat (or run-on sentence)!

This keeps me up at night, so you guessed it, I then nap during the day because nighttime sleep is not at all restful, and so NOW I HAVE A SLEEP DISORDER!

And I’m talking to myself!

Every day I get up and say the same things over and over (but in two different voices):

“Self, don’t even go there!”

“Go where?”

“You know very well where, there!”

“I wasn’t even going to say it.”

“Yes you were.  It was on the tip of your tongue you were getting ready to say, ‘I’m bored!’”

“I was not.”

“You were too.” 

“Was not.” 

“Were too!”

 “Was not!” 

“Were— ”

“Okay, too!  Yes, I’M BORED!”

And let me also continue to say, I’m not only bored I’m stirred up and crazy.

I’m all the things I said I wasn’t going to be during my recovery.

I’m bored.  I am going insane, and I’m bored with how insane I am!

I wish I could accomplish more with my work but transcribing/working past the hard brace is painstaking and uncomfortable!  All the ideas I had regarding working off to the side of work are just as painstaking.  Rome was not built in a day, but Jesus!  (Yeah, I know, what kind of mixed up metaphorical mess is that?!!?!?)

I wish I could do more than one-handed, half-assed chores around the house!

If I read one more book, watch one more movie, I WILL DIE!

It kills me that I’ve started hating on books and movies!!!!  WTF?!?!?!?!

GET THIS THING OFF ME NOW!  THIS BRACE, THIS PLASTIC ARM PRISON!

There, I feel better … well, slightly better! 

Five minutes from now it’s going to be all rinse and repeat with the boredom, grab another nectarine and some more iced coffee (my current food drugs of choice), read another book, flick a dead leaf off this or that plant, rearrange the silverware drawer and call it a day, AND THEN READ OR WATCH MOVIES ALL NIGHT, so I have a reason to take a nap tomorrow!

Sixteen more days, 16 … 384 HOURS!  THEN I’M GOING TO BURN THIS HAND BRACE!

The upside … My strength is returning (slowly) as I can now make a full fist, flex and extend, give the "thumbs up" sign and do a massive amount of (USELESS!!!!) circles in the wind, both directions. 

My pincer grasp has returned (though it has no strength whatsoever) but at least I’m back to monkey land (opposable thumbs)!

I can extend my arm without the harvested (and what’s left after the harvest) tendon area in my arm “tugging.”  I can swing my arm without (much) pain in the joint repair or forearm tendon harvest area.

And the other day I tried (though it was depressing) to write, with my right hand, and managed one full painstaking sentence. 

I look forward to the day when I don’t have to rip sugar packets open using my left hand and my teeth, when I can hold that pen again, rip paper and CUT MY OWN STEAK!

But today, omg, OMG!!!!! I AM BORED!  I am losing it … I am inches away from a sleep-disordered bout of diarrhea and then constipation, heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure and the resultant sexual dysfunction!

Something To Do While I'm Waiting ... for something to be through ...

s

Things I’ve been doing while I’m waiting, while I'm waiting to be able to make a full fist so I can punch a pillow … or something …

-I try, and fail, to write a funny note for my sigother to find in the a.m. … it looks like something a five-year-old left behind.

-I clean off everything on my desktop (the computer), dumping and deleting a zillion files here, a million files there, reorganizing folders, uninstalling programs, fix-cleaning, defragging, virus clearing and super defunking until my computer no longer makes that “I’m full and going to puke my guts out/fan working too hard noise.”  My left hand has grown so attached to the spacebar and my mouse!  The fingers of my right hand get to join in this dance, as well, but my right thumb, wrist and part of my forearm remain out of the game, under wraps and hard-splinted, immobile.

-I put a bunch of things back where they belong, in the house, using only my left hand, gradually giving up, because everyone knows that when you put a bunch of things away where they belong, it just makes you see the BUNCH OF THINGS THAT ARE LEFT TO PUT AWAY WHERE THEY BELONG!

-I clean out the DVR on the TV in the bedroom, where in a preop anxiety-ridden funk, I recorded 9,000 episodes of “Chopped,” way too many episodes of “Iyanla Fix My Life,” and one hundred too many reality shows!

-I clip the dead heads off the outdoor plants, encouraging new growth, with my, thankfully, ambidextrous garden clippers, forcing my face into all the blooms, then lifting my head to the sky and screaming, “I’m going to bloom where I’ve been planted,” which is right here at home doing stupid hand therapy that is eventually supposed to get me somewhere.

-I continue to pluck and tweak the indoor houseplants, watering them with ice cubes … who knew!

-I read this or that book and share a nectarine with the dogs.

-I make and drink 90 doses of ice coffee a day.

-I read EVEN MORE books and share a nectarine with the dogs.

-I grow tired of reading, so I watch an old movie, take my splint off, do range of motion exercises.  As a reward, I ice and elevate the bad hand and use my good hand to, you guessed it, share a nectarine with the dogs.

-I do some work, yes!

-I do not do some other work, boo!

- I paint my nails, haphazardly, looking forward to the day when I can go meet up with my manicurist for the “real thing.”

-I aimlessly flip through magazines which I really, really need to tear up, fondle yarn and fabrics, consider working (but have not started on rebuilding) my Etsy shop.

-I read everything in my Kindle’s Pulsed/Linked In newsfeeds, decide on all the ways I’m going to change the world … later, after I read some more and share just one more nectarine with the dogs.

-I clip the dogs to their leads (clumsily but efficiently/but takes forever!!!!) and let them outside, multiple times a day, so they can peruse the yard and decide on a spot wherein they may dispose of the many nectarine fibers they’ve been consuming.

-I rinse and repeat, with my “good hand,” applying ice, antibiotic ointments, fresh dressing and then reapplying the hand splint to my “bad hand,"

And I do all of this while humming and/or murdering the lyrics/revamping them to fit my mood and my day, as I continue to go through the motions of "Something To Do While We're Waiting" ... 

Postscript:  I really need to change that to “my presurgical/full of steroids, and muddling on through left hand” which is in reality the “bad hand,” the unfixed hand/thumb joint.  The postsurgical right hand/thumb joint are in actuality the “cured and fixed” hand/thumb joint, and therefore the new and improved “good hand,” but I just doesn’t fully feel like that yet.  I am getting there, however, super excited for the day when the language of this all makes sense. 

free-fallin'

my Saturday morning story ... i've come to the conclusion that, when push comes to shove, one mustn't ignore the push because it means the universe is fully expecting you to move in a new direction.

i have to think like this right now because my days, of late, are (BEYOND) super bipolar in nature, bipolar inside bipolar x50 grams of bipolar with bipolar sugar sprinkled on top.

some back story here includes that my brain and my behavior “mimics bipolarity” since my stroke at age 40.  so that’s my given this last 12 years.  that's how i rock on, hard, but it's also how i sometimes roll over and play really, really dead in the head.

the first time i was told this, i was relieved, “whoa, dude and dudettes, i’m not really bipolar, i’m just going to ACT bipolar.”

yeah, so looks like a duck, smells like a duck, is.a.DUCK, a duck that is totally fucked up!

me, this duck, a bit over two weeks ago i had a CMC joint (base of the thumb) arthroplasty with the “new joint” being built using a tendon in my arm as a cushion to “mimic cartilage.”

MIMIC?!?!?!  are we seeing a theme here?

anyhoo … i was more than ready for this procedure as my right hand began to degenerate about ten years ago, ramped up over the last five years and became now stage 4, no cartilage left, starting to deform and i basically had no grip or other strength in the hand, and severe, BEYOND SEVERE, pain.  my left hand is not far behind.

that being said, i was still doing all the things, many things because, hello, nucking futz!

when the right thumb joint was beyond “burnt,"  and i could barely get through the day, i scheduled several orthopedic visits, had one last steroid shot to help cushion and reduce pain in my right hand (didn’t last long/didn’t work much), had x-rays and scheduled the surgery (right hand) and further steriods (left hand).

you can read about the condition, surgery options, outcomes, etc. here.  you can see the surgery here.  you can see the process of steroid injections of the joint here, which i've had them done in the office (not without swearing) and this last time, i had the left hand done while under anesthetic (to prevent swearing).  

or, you may or may not want to read or watch any of this because ... yeah, gory!

right now, today, i’m in the “omg, get this fucking cast off/cast is finally off” phase of things.  the cast had been on for two weeks, the first week a PAIN BEYOND PAINFUL BLURrrrr, and the second week less so, helping me to realize i had done the right thing and could look forward (someday) to chronic pain-free days and return of all functions/strength.

this next four weeks i’m stuck in the “omg, omg, can we please take off this fucking form-fitted, hard plastic splint and get down to real business” phase of things, wherein pain and swelling are decreasing.  deep and superficial healing is taking place. however, when it comes to range of motion and strength, i’m forbidden to use the hand (aside from the somewhat free fingers).  

i must elevate thy right hand over my heart as often as possible.  there is much icing, warm water soaks and dressing changes.  

there is the delightful range of motion exercising (splint off), in the air or in warm water.  this consists of “mimicking” a pincer grasp, but i'm not allowed to really "pinch" anything.  there is the touching of each fingertip to the thumb tip, but no finger-snapping or actual hitchhiking.  i'm allowed to draw tiny circles, round around with my thumb, but holding a pencil and a try at writing is off limits (as is EVERYTHING ELSE).   i'm allowed to "mimic" a fist, but i cannot hit anyone or pick up even a coffee cup!

MIMIC???! are you crazy yet?

i am.

so if i wasn’t “crazy” before, what with my “mimicking” bipolar brain activity, imagine me now!

i’m uber-crazy, a super-duper version of crazy, a trip on acid on an acid trip!

i’m all like, “so glad i did this, long road ahead, but i CAN do this … omg, OMG, OMG, why did i do this, WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE … no we’re not, it’s going to be fine, just follow the rules—rest, elevate, BREATHE DAMMIT! … omg, whatever?!?!? i don’t have to follow the rules, watch this, okay, OUCH, OMG, OMG, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE, WHY DID I DO THIS?!?!?!  WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?!?!”

i did this because i was to the end of the rope, in pain and had lost so much function of daily living! 

i did this because everything that gives me joy, breathes life into my soul, is done with my right hand--with both hands--to include (but not limited to) family, working, playing, traveling, hand-holding, hugging really hard, cooking, art, writing, sewing, knitting, crocheting, walking my dogs, riding my bike (have not been able to do in YEARS), gardening, etc.

i did it because i’m 52 years old and i have life left to live WITH BOTH HANDS.

i did this because both hands have to be done, so i really needed to get this right-hand dominant party started, paving the way for the left.  

i did this because it's going to be a long haul of healing one hand, moving on to the other, getting full two-handed/FOREVER strength back.  

i needed to start and finish this, so i could start all over again and then finally move forward!

yep, i did this!  i was brave.

the pain week one/ post surgery was 50-times worse than the daily preop pain (which had been off its own fucked up chart), but the next week was better.  by week two, yes, i could see and feel that the pain was going to dissipate which meant that some day (over that bright sparkling rainbow) i would be chronic severe pain-free, once both hands were done!!!!!!!

i’m able, as well, to see, believe (and feel blessed) that the surgery was a success and that hand function will return (strength too), though it’s a lesson of patience, perseverance, following the rules and “asking for help” when i need it.  

that latter one, i've always needed training on that one, but i sucked it up, asking for help from my ortho team (the hand gods), my family and friends.

it has paid off!

but the last weeks have not been without their bipolar on top of bipolar moments, with mass anxiety and depression mixed in.  it’s been a trip, thus far, but a worthy journey. 

so, this morning, i got up, took 800 mg of ibuprofen (no more narcotics!), made my iced coffee, took my meds (yes, "those meds") and managed the following one-handed activities: got all the pillows back on the couches and the beds (my sig other made the beds), watered plants indoors.  i perused and plucked (one-handed) at the gardens outside, hitching the dogs to their leads and letting them frolic (attached to the house/not either of my hands).  

i accepted a wee bit of work for the weekend (i can keyboard, just slowly/must wear the brace/and left hand on space bar and mouse).

AND i started writing this. (it’s taken so long, you can’t imagine —faster than most, i suppose, but so not my normal.)

beyond that, if i manage to get this posted with photos and links, it will be a dream!  if today, the only thing i get out of otherwise idle activity (have to do my home PT and then ice and elevate for an hour or so and watch an old movie) is that my blog reopened, well then! 

we’re not ALL GOING TO DIE!  (okay, we might, just not today.)

i am getting somewhere, which is why i’m clinging (one-handed) to my new adage in that:

... i've come to the conclusion that, when push comes to shove, one mustn't ignore the push because it means the universe is fully expecting you to move in a new direction.

it's true, i CAN’T work at normal speed, but i’ve also in the last 24 hours figured out a way to still do what i love career-wise, slightly revamped, but still fulfilling.  

i CAN'T reap the financial benefits full-time, but i CAN be thankful that i'm not alone in this either, with a roof over my head and a supportive partner and family.

i CAN’T drive, though in two weeks, probably so … so not a real problem.

i CAN’T walk all three dogs at once, but i CAN (starting next week) walk them one at a time, around the block (left-handed) and get a three-block walk in, in total.  a week after that, i CAN go back to the gym, treadmill and stationary bike, at the very least. 

i CAN’T sew, knit, crochet, hold a pencil (or anything else), write freehand (or very fast on the keyboard), vacuum (who would want too?), stand on my head, do yoga poses, etc. but i CAN try later today to “tear some paper.”  

i CAN play around with and post my art/etc. in my dormant Etsy shop. i CAN daydream about new projects.  

i CAN read books and burn up my Kindle.  i CAN edit and organize what's already been written, work on submissions, etc., tap the keyboard with rest periods (lots of them) and talk-to-text a grocery list even though it will end up not making sense!

i CAN watch old movies, new movies, documentaries, docudramas, reality shows, home shopping (FASCINATING), nature shows, sitcoms, etc.

i CAN have people come over and/or take me places ... also not a problem since my norm is to NOT invite people over or go places with them, solitary introverted soul am i.

i CAN peruse the house and yard (surgery hand held tight to my chest/over my heart of hearts), wash/dry/fold clothes, fluff pillows, water plants, clean the toilets and tweak all the edges of things (still feeling like i’m in control of my castle).

for the rest, and there is a very lot under that category of “for the rest,” well, for the rest i’m learning TO ASK FOR HELP!

so, already in this journey, this bipolar-ish, anxiety-ridden, depression-inducing time in my life (atop my regular bipolar-ish, anxiety-ridden, depression-inducing regular state of brain affairs) is making me see all the new directions. 

collateral damage, thus far —wait, wait, stop the crazy train! 

let’s start that over … the INCIDENTAL GAINS AND GIFTS thus far include:  a. i CAN ask for help (with only minor posturing, cringing and brow-furrowing), and b. i reopened my blog.

so there!  i give you where i started from and where i'm headed ... push came to shove ... and beyond ...

row 1:  what it is/what i hope it will be, surgery/home day one on ice with one of the three dogs, pain meds etc.

row 2:  dog helper/11-year-old grand girl Scarlet, mom comes over to help me shower, and finally two weeks later reveal day!

row 3:  instructions (can i do this?), i can do this, WE ARE DOING THIS!

WE ARE "FREE FALLIN' ...."

...

....january first placeholder