Checkup with Orthopedist

Had my six week checkup with my orthopedist. Even though my wrist is getting better, it is slow progress. I stopped wearing my brace during the day, mainly because it was hot. When it got hot, my arm started to sweat and itch. It was uncomfortable. So, I wore it only at night and did my best not to use that hand. I even switched my computer mouse to the left.

Dr. Douglas was somewhat concerned that the only reason it seems to be doing better at all is because I avoid using that hand as much as possible. I told him about the mouse and how I still cannot workout with weights the way I want to.

Since it was not improving all that much and since it is keeping me from doing normal activities, he gave me three options. Continue wearing the brace, get another shot and continue wearing the brace, or surgery. Since my body is slow to recover from anything, I did not want to rush into the surgery option, at least, not without talking to Dr. Meluch. I elected for the shot and brace. However, I asked for a different brace, one that breathed a little better. He agreed.

I asked him what could have caused this. He said it is a common injury. He asked me if I ever heard of trigger finger. My symptoms are similar. It is called trigger finger not because a gun causes it, but because the pain is caused from the same motion as shooting and recoil of a gun. I told him I thought mine was caused from a gun. I re-qualified back in October or November while still in treatment. My hand started hurting almost immediately, but got noticeably bad in December. He agreed that this is what most likely caused my "trigger finger," but there is no way to know for sure.

The shot hurt like crazy, but hopefully it helps. I did get a new brace. I will wear this new one during the day and the old one at night. He did not tell me how long I have to wear it. I go back in six weeks. As long as it still hurts, I should continue to wear it.

Small Writing Start: Apoca

This past Thursday night, I had the most vivid and scary dream. Even when I woke up, I still felt a bit frightened. Bailey needed to go out before the sun came up. I made sure she never left my sight. Back in bed, I covered everything except my head, somehow thinking the sheets would protect me from the night.

The next morning, the details still stuck with me. I shared the dream with Mike and Terry over breakfast. Mike suggested I write the dream down. "May be a good step to get you motivated to start writing again."

The more I thought about that suggestion, the more I liked it. I am not a scary story teller. I don't like Stephen King novels and will rarely watch horror films. I won't watch them at all if I am by myself.

Since this is more an exercise in writing than it is trying to create a new genre for myself, I took his advise. My story is only two pages long, but it is the most (other than my blogs) that I have written in about three years.

I must say, I had such a good time writing it and it felt so good to do it. I felt whole, if that makes sense. Don't judge too harshly. Remember, this is not my typical style. Still, I'm proud of having done it and wanted to share. Some details I changed like the fact that in my dream, it was me, Mike, and Terry. We are all security officers. The names are a bit unusual, but they were the first names to pop into my head. May have something to do with the fact that I have been reading  "A Blaze of Glory," a Civil War novel by Jeff Shaara.

Apoca

By: T. Renee Albracht

                The three of us headed down the highway, Clayton at the wheel, Beauregard in the back, and I in the passenger seat, same as always. We left Nashville not long before, travelling to Knoxville for a job. We worked together, but more than that, we were friends.  There was nothing out of the ordinary about the night except the absolute calm in the air.

                Clayton and I chatted about nothing in particular while some singer from the eighties sang an upbeat tune in the background. Beauregard reclined in the middle seat directly behind us, talking to someone on his cell phone about something of great importance. My cell phone rested in my lap.

                The other cars on the highway drove by in silence, keeping a steady pace with one another. No honking horns or booming bass disrupting the stillness of the night. The three of us, content with each other’s company and the prospect of the work which lay ahead, were oblivious to the absence of chaos outside.

                Beauregard leaned forward after his phone conversation ended. He held on to the back of Clayton’s seat as if to steady himself even though the road we traveled was unusually smooth.

                “That was Eugene,” Beauregard said, his tone flat. Eugene was our boss, the man responsible for sending us out on this night.

                His mention of the boss man caused Clayton and I to quickly forget our present conversation.

                “What did Eugene want?” Clayton asked, shifting his focus from the road in front of him to Beauregard in his rear view mirror, his comic cynicism evident in his tone.

                “The electrical system in his car is acting up. He wanted to know what to do about it,” Beauregard answered, still showing no hint of emotion, no sign as to whether or not this phone call agitated him as much as it seemed to have agitated Clayton.

                “What does he expect you to do about it?” Clayton demanded to know.  “It’s like I said, we’re the end all for everyone, including the boss.  I work on houses, not cars, yet, everyone assumes that if I know how to wire a house, I know how to fix your car!”

                Beauregard stared straight ahead. I rolled my eyes. We had grown accustomed to Clayton’s angry tirades about the perceived injustices he endures.

                “What exactly is going on?” I asked after a moment of silence.

                “I’m not exactly sure.” The lines in Beauregard’s nose and eyes crinkled and his voice rose slightly, showing a hint of concern as he tried his best to describe the problem. “The display by his radio and clock started blinking on and off then made funny…” Words escaped him as he tried to use his hands to describe what was going on.

                He did not have to try to explain the phenomenon for long. In that exact moment, as Beauregard struggled to make sense of it for our understanding, the same happened in the vehicle Clayton drove.

                The music on the radio became nothing more than static noise. The digital display blinked on and off in quick succession for no more than a few seconds. When the clock and radio display came back on, the lines which had once formed numbers morphed into one large circle. The digital circle spun counter clockwise, stopped, then spun clockwise before blinking off for the final time.

                A nervous chuckle escaped from our mouths simultaneously. I hummed the theme song from the Twilight Zone in a soft voice, the only one who seemed to find any humor in this strange coincidence. 

                A few brief moments after the digital display blinked off in Clayton’s vehicle, bright flashes of light caused us to turn our attention out the windows. The billboards transformed into neon signs. The letters were too bright to read. The poles holding them in place disappeared and the signs seemed to float in the air. Some signs drifted closer to us while others hovered in place.

                Although these events were obviously unnatural, I still felt no sense of awe or trepidation. I turned to face the men inside the car and mocking a doomsayer ‘s fright, I said, “Apoca…”

                The rest of the word never made it past my lips. Before I could say “lypse,” the lights outside turned black and a hologram text shot out from my cell phone into and past me, causing me to scream in terror and Beauregard to leap back in his seat.

                The black hologram formed the image of a female child. Blood and dirt matted her curly blond hair. Bruises and gashes marked the right side of her face. The eyes of one possessed glared at us from the left side of her face.

                I looked Clayton in the eye and in a solemn voice said “home.” While maintaining complete outward composure, Clayton took the next exit and turned us around. We headed home.

                 

Greater

I had my six week checkup yesterday with my oncologist. This was an appointment just to talk with my doctor and get my port flushed out. My next CT scan will be in late May. All is well overall. I am still gaining weight and have low energy. I am now at 167. I started at 139. I am running out of clothes that fit.

This could have been depressing had I had any other doctor. I love Dr. Meluch. Not only is he good at what he does, but he is so kind. He said he noticed my weight gain, but assured me that the thyroid medicine was the right dosage for me and said sometimes it can take as long as three months to kick in. As he examined me, he asked me about my soft drink intake. I admitted that I had started drinking cokes again. I told him how I started getting upset with the slow progress and when I get upset, I reach for the things that are going to make me feel better. I am an emotional eater and coke drinker. I did stop drinking cokes again on Sunday. He told me that I don't have to give up the things I love, I just need to cut down. "Drink fewer cokes and lay off all the carbs. It's okay to eat a pizza, just don't eat it all the time. When you get a sub, get flat bread instead of that thick sub bread. Do simple things like that and you'll be amazed at how quickly the weight starts to fall off."

It's as if the lab results showed more than just my blood count, which is good, by the way. I ate a p'zone the night before and planned on going to Subway for lunch after my appointment! Instead of getting my usual meatball sub, I got a turkey on flat bread!

He also told me my wrist will not heal if I don't stop using it. So hard to do. Writing with my left hand has been hard. I use the mouse and space key with my left hand now, but my typing has slowed considerably by not using my right thumb. I keep making mistakes. Holding a book is more difficult. Changing clothes and using the restroom is challenging. Even though I use my hand less, it is next to impossible to not use it at all.

I actually had fun at the doctor. The nurses went on and on about how long my hair is getting. I told them how I have more gray, but that I don't want to dye it. I earned every one! "Cancer stress highlights" one nurse called it.

I even had a good conversation with some of the family members of patients while I waited for my appointment. We talked about treatment and my port. I talked some with current patients. The smell of saline still makes me a bit queasy, but what a different feeling not to have to go through treatment. Any time I look back and think treatment really wasn't that bad, all I have to do is go sit in the treatment room. I will start to feel those old feelings and remember just how unpleasant it really was. Lucky for me, I get to leave feeling as good as I did when I came. I like to hope that my presence and cheery attitude and willingness to talk about my own experience encourages those presently going through treatment.

Dr. Meluch teased me, saying I have too many doctors. I agree and cannot wait until all I have are irregular visits to my primary care doctor for the occasional illness. Right now, I have a different appointment with a different doctor just about once a week. Since my last visit with Dr. Meluch, I have seen a gynecologist to see if my weight and fatigue was a thyroid issue or menopause. I have seen my primary doctor to get treated for thyroid. (No menopause yet!) I have seen an orthopedist about my wrist. I saw another gynecologist to get my IED removed FINALLY! I knew it was a mistake the moment I got it. Faulty, angry, post divorce thinking that makes no sense, but made all the sense in the world at the time. Dr. Meluch wanted me to leave it in during treatment because it kept me from bleeding. My gynecologist would not take it out even after Dr. Meluch gave the okay. She has this "wait and see" attitude that I do not like one bit. It's that attitude I endured for two years before my new primary care doctor thought to send me to the oncologist. This new doctor asked no questions other than if I wanted to discuss other types of birth control. "No," I said, "I've been divorced for two and a half years and haven't had sex in almost three. I think I have proven to myself and everyone else that I will not run into the arms of a man just because I get lonely. I have no interest in any type of relationship." She laughed and took it out just as I asked! Love that doctor. She will be my new gynecologist.

Will continue to see my primary care doctor every 6 weeks for a while for blood work for the thyroid. Will continue to see the orthopedist until my wrist is better. Will continue seeing my oncologist until I reach my two year anniversary. And, I have a dentist appointment at the end of the month. Thank God for a good job with good insurance!

Speaking of God, my spirit took a direct hit after Bailey got sick. One incident after another beat me down and almost broke me. By the grace of God, Bailey recovered. Before she got sick, I took her walking with me on some trails at a nearby lake. Mike and I had to take turns carrying her most of the way. When she got better, I bought her a doggy stroller and took her back to the same lake. This time, she walked all 2.5 miles by herself and had more energy at the end than her momma did! She is an inspiration! I have since stopped feeding her table food. I am sure the healthier diet has helped her heal and have that energy!!!

Momma is starting to recover as well. It is far from easy. God has blessed me with two miracles, recovering from cancer and Bailey getting better. But, hard things still come. I recently had my heart broken again. After being divorced for almost three years, you would think I would be well past the pain. Unfortunately, I am not.

I knew we could not continue down the path we were on. We needed to either work on reconciliation or finally part ways so that we could both heal and move on. Brad brought this up and although I knew he was right, I was not ready to have that conversation. Long story short, he will soon be moving back to Texas. I no longer believe reconciliation is a viable option, at least, not right now. Who knows where we will be five or ten years down the road? We may be nothing more than a memory to one another or we may find our way back to each other. Only God knows what the future holds. All I know is that we both have our own baggage that we need to work through. We cannot work through it together. We have both hurt each other and the pain we have caused one another is still too raw. I have prayed about this and I believe we are both doing the right thing, what we need to do for us as individuals. That doesn't make it any easier and it doesn't make it any less painful.

What truly gets under my skin are people who react in one extreme or another. I understand where they are coming from, but what some people need to realize is that I mean no ill will toward him and I do still love him and I absolutely do not want to hear negative talk about him. On the other end, I wish some people would understand how hard it is for me, too. He's not the only victim. He's not the only one suffering. I have been through hell the past three years. I have tried my best to be strong for everyone and do the right thing for everyone else. May sound selfish, but it is time for me to take care of myself. There is a reason the airlines tell adults to put on their mask first before assisting others. I have been doing too much damage to myself by always trying to meet other's needs first. I'm tired of feeling guilty for letting others down. Does anyone ever feel guilty for letting me down?

Anyway, I digress...

One thing that has been a tremendous help in getting me out of my depression is a book called Greater by Steven Furtick. I am only half way through, but it has truly blessed me. The first part was about burning my plow. Before Elisha left and followed Elijah, he made his living with a plow and oxen. He did not just get up and leave, but he first destroyed any evidence of his old life. He burned the plow and killed the oxen.

I struggled in prayer for a while trying to figure out what my plow is. Then, God gave me the answer. I am my plow. I always get in my own way, try to orchestrate events instead of trusting in God. I act on my own ability and not on faith.

How do I burn my plow? I cannot physically get rid of myself. The answer is simple. Trust in God and stop trying to make things happen. If I don't know what to do, do nothing. The answer is simple, yet so very hard. The next section in the book made this whole idea click.

"A big dream without a small start is nothing but a daydream." I must take small steps. If I want to be a writer, I must take small steps. If I want to get healthier, I must take small steps. If I want a better relationship with God, I must take small steps.

I have not made small steps in writing yet. Writing is a little difficult with my sore wrist. My blog and work do help me stay creative some and does keep me writing until I am ready to take a small step in another direction.

Small steps have gotten me out of bed in the morning when I don't feel like going to work out. It has become my mantra. "Small step," I tell myself before climbing out of bed. I know what that small statement means, how profound the impact of one early morning workout means.

I went to the Subway shop in the same building as my oncologist before leaving yesterday. I ordered a flat bread sandwich. When trying to decide what to drink: coke, tea, fruit punch, Sprite Zero "small step" I said to myself and chose the Sprite.

Small steps keep me from obsessing about the impossibility of reaching for the big dreams. I want to get back down to 140 at least. I would love to get down to 130, the goal I had set for myself before I got sick. Thinking of 27 pounds seems like an impossible dream. Thinking of 27 pounds is enough to make me want to give up. Thinking about the small step, the choice to be made at any one given moment is doable. Sure, I will and have failed, but I simply start over with the next small step.

The same is true in my relationship with God. It is hard to pray or read the Bible sometimes. Small step. I commit to reading just one chapter. I commit to talking to God while walking from my car to the gym. Small steps sometimes lead to bigger steps.

It has also worked with Brad...although this has been the hardest challenge. I wake up feeling broken hearted. Focus on the day, this one task in front of me. Small step. I want to go to him. I want to go to his family and check up on him. I know I can't right now. I talk to God instead. Small step. I feel depressed thinking I may never see him again. I made the choice to move on, but it still hurts. I want to go straight to bed after work. Instead of isolating myself, I go sit and watch television with Morgan or read a book to take my mind off of him. Small step.

Since taking on this mantra and living by those simple words, I notice that I have been happier than I have been in a very, very long time. I still struggle, but things don't stress me out as easily as they have in the past. It's like the weight of what I should do or should be is off. Small steps.

I'm trying to give the thumbs up!

Jesus Wept for the Dream that had to Die

As life gets busy, simple activities like checking my personal emails slip by the wayside. This morning, I took a few moments to delete the junk mail and skim the more important notes. I came across an email from our Sunday School...you know, I don't even know what his title is. He is not our teacher. Our president?

Anyway, as Michael described the Palm Sunday lesson, he reminded us of how Jesus wept as  He entered Jerusalem.  "He also spoke about Jesus's tearful coming to terms with the reality of his beloved Jerusalem. Dr. Parrott explained, Jesus 'wept for the dream that had to die.'  Jesus knew the kingdom they had imagined would not come that week. Jesus knew people would miss the point of his time in their presence."

I was struck by that quote last Sunday. I thought about all the things causing my spirit to hurt. I, too, felt like a dream was dying. At the time I wondered if it was my dream of becoming a writer that was dying.

Today, I stopped on those words and read them over and over again. "For the dream that had to die."

Easter Sunday is my favorite day of the year. It is my Christmas! It's my New Years Day! Everything is brand new. I remember the greatest gift. It's as if I get a second chance for the billionth time! I am renewed, restored, made whole!

I did hit one bump in the triumphant day. I thought about Brad and what he was doing. I thought about where I thought he should have been. I had wanted him to go to church with me. Instead, his life, and mine, took a turn down a path I did not expect...even though I maybe should have...

Anyway, for the past few days, I had been in mourning for a life I once had and once loved. It may not have been real, but I believed in it at the time. There is nothing to go back to now. The carriage house I loved has been torn down. Cancer has complicated my simple life. Divorce has temporarily taken away my carefree and confident bordering on cocky attitude. I know in my heart of hearts that I did and continue to make the right decisions for me, but that doesn't lesson the pain or make it any easier.

I was doing a good job focusing on the good of the day until the choir sang Old Rugged Cross. That song always reminds me of Brad. It is one of his favorites, at least, that's the song I remember him talking about and it's the song he would sing out loud with gusto.

As the choir sang, I closed my eyes and said a prayer for Brad...and for me...and for us...not that we would miraculously get back together, but that we would both find our way in Christ...that we would both find joy in Christ...that we could both live greater...

I wept for the dream that had to die.