One Year Ago Today

So it was exactly one year ago today that I had my Spinal Fusion. I had to be in the hospital at 6 AM and I went into surgery at around 8:30 or 9:00 AM. The surgery lasted for about 7 hours. It took so long because I had an anterior and a posterior fusion - or two surgeries done at the same time - also called a back-front-back which went something like this:

1. Back - went through the back first, removed all of my hardware and replaced it with new metal, then stapled me shut
2. Front - flipped me over, went through the front and put a cage (the Cadillac of hardware according to the doc) between my L5 and S1 vertebrae to ensure stability, stitched me shut
3. Back - flipped me over again, removed the staples, tightened the hardware and stitched me closed

I'm writing this around six o-clock pm, and a year ago at this time I was in the recovery room (also called the ICU) vomiting up the anaesthesia. I couldn't feel any part of my body below my chest (thank you, epidural), but, somehow, it still hurt. It was also extremely upsetting because every possible precaution had been taken to prevent my throwing up, including an all liquid diet the day before and nothing for over 12 hours before the surgery, numerous anti-nausea shots, an anti-nausea IV drip, and a seasickness patch behind my ear. The vomiting, which was as close to an Exorcist experience as I ever hope to have (green projectile barf, enough said), persisted for hours and it was a full 24 before I was discharged from the ICU and sent to my room.

So, that said, it's a year later. A year seems like a long enough time to fully recover when you're lying in a hospital bed, but it's really just the first phase (especially when you're recovering from your second surgery in one year). But in the hospital, I needed two nurses to turn me over in bed and a call button to go to the bathroom, so, no matter how tough my current situation is, it's not as hard as it could be. I wish that certain things about the future were a little less scary (like a job and the fact that all of my friends are moving away just as I'm getting better - which is a completely selfish feeling on my part, I know), but that's just the way things are at the moment. I also wish that this post were slightly more cheery and celebratory, but there you go - I felt that I had to post something because it's exactly a year and this is what came out.

I’m better and we should have a party.

This post is about a month old (been living in my journal with an eviction notice), but seeing as it is about my ten month doctor’s appointment which was supposed to be my nine month appointment before it got cancelled and rescheduled three times, I think I am right on schedule. Better late than never, right? That seems to be the theme of my entire spinal fusion experience. First surgery didn’t work? Try again! Better late than never! But, seriously, this post is serious. Because my ten month appointment brought some seriously good news that only paled in comparison to the news I received at my six month appointment when I found out that my fusion had FINALLY healed completely. At my ten month appointment the doctor said that I was doing so well and everything had healed so perfectly that I did not have to come back to the office for an entire year! I went to my six month appointment with so much trepidation (it was at the same time after my first surgery that I found out that my fusion had failed) that my only possible reaction at receiving good news was relief. When I left my ten month appointment with the knowledge that I was doing so well that I didn’t need constant monitoring anymore, I could not get the smile off my face. I believe this was the first time that I left my surgeon’s office with a smile that was not worn out of mere politeness. And would you believe it, the smile was still there after I left the elevator, went through the front door, walked down the street and waited at a red light. I just could not forgive myself if I did not post something about how happy I felt upon getting that news.

I would be lying if I said that the experience of having two spinal fusions in as many years was not a really scary and really painful one or to suggest that this good news means that I am now not scared and pain free. I would also be lying if I said that knowing that I am fully healed has made me stop acting and feeling as if I were not. I do not know if not rushing out to grab the life that I have been missing means that I am lazy or unmotivated or, perhaps, emotionally paralyzed. Maybe I never had a lot of ambition to begin with. I always felt that ambition was not a virtue, but that it brought out the worst in people. I don’t know. Here is what I do know: I cannot stay in bed forever and that I am really frigging happy that I don’t have to go back to the doctor for a year. Oh, and I’m jobless. This weekend, I went to an open call for Central Casting in New York. They cast a lot of the extras for movies and television shows in NYC. I tried to be an extra once before and it did not work out. Back then I was the actor who thought that being an extra was going to get me places (possibly into the union). Now, I’m the girl who just needs to make some money and sees all these actory types as caricatures of a former self (but not caricatures that I'm laughing at!). Also, I’ve been working pretty hard on a children’s novel that I’m writing for my cousins in Florida (Christina’s editing it!). I feel really excited about that.

I have no idea what kind of job I would be good at. There are probably a lot of jobs that I could do. I just don’t know what they are (again, maybe I'm too lazy or too scared to figure it out). I do know how I feel when I write and how I feel is good. I feel like windows are opening up in my head. That’s a strange explanation. I’ll try again. I enjoy writing and it is work at the same time. Sometimes it takes me twenty different rewrites before I get a sentence that works, but when it works I feel like a really difficult puzzle piece has just been slid into place. The window opens, it fits, it feels good. That’s how writing makes me feel and that’s just about the only thing that I have going for me right now that makes any sense. That and reading books. If I could get a job reading books! Maybe I’ll have to research becoming a literary agent (or more like getting a non-paying internship with a literary agent). For now, the extra people haven’t called. I’m giving the whole working-as-an-extra-thing two weeks before I apply to Starbucks. And this blog another sentence before I force it back on track. This post was supposed to be a nice, formal (possibly even witty) piece of writing about getting good news from the doctor, but I guess I slipped up and just said what I felt. Oops. What I meant to say was: I’m glad that I’m better and that we should have a party.

Christina's Birthday

Below is a pictorial essay of the day of Christina’s birthday celebration. I say day of because the first few pictures were taken on my way to her apartment – either while waiting for a bus or through the window of a bus. At Christina’s apartment, we made Black Bottom Cupcakes from a recipe in the magazine Every Day with Rachael Ray. I thought the cupcakes were a little sweet, though Bryan said they were the best he had ever eaten (a bit of hyperbole, perhaps?). The cheesecake filling is excellent, however, and I usually add it to a box of Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe Dark Chocolate Fudge cake mix. I make the cake and then drop tablespoons of the filling over the entire surface of the cake. I don’t really care for most cake, but this is my favorite recipe.

This day was pretty exciting for me – not only was it my first time at Christina’s apartment in almost two years, but it was the first big social event that I’ve been to since my surgeries that hasn’t been at or very near to either my house or my dad’s house. It made me so happy that I finally felt well enough to go out for the day with my friends. And Christina and Jon kindly provided a beach chair for me to sit on. I’m sure everyone was jealous. I have to say, though, that I kept glancing up instinctively waiting for Pam to get there (she’s in England).

It’s very strange to me to observe how everyone’s lives have gone in different directions since graduation. Although my life went in an unexpected direction that included two spinal fusions, college (which was the last thing that I did before I had my operations) still feels close, as if I just graduated. It’s like when during your first year of college, you’re still talking about high school because you don’t know who you are yet as a university student. Having two surgeries sent me into a form of limbo and I know that I’m not the same person that I was in college (how could I be?) but I haven’t had the chance to figure out how I’ve changed so I’m still stuck back at Rutgers. My friends’ lives have moved on, and I have to find my place as a member of the group and the universe in general again (you see, I’ve been living in a distant place called Bed for two years). It’s not as though I didn’t feel at ease with my friends, but more like I don’t yet feel at ease with myself (does one ever?).

Enjoy the pictures – I have more and I’ll put them on Shutterfly as soon as I get a chance. Let me know if you’d like the link to the album. I should say that none of the people in the pictures realized that their photo was being taken. I prefer taking candid shots because I think they look more natural (though often out of focus).


This is an ad on a bus stop lean-to. It is a drawing of a city skyline and real city buildings are reflected on the glass.


I took this picture inside of the same lean-to, hence the gray dots. I thought the tall, triangular building was neat.


Me taking a picture of me as reflected in a camera advertisement. Kind of meta, no? The ad says Your dad is not a horse's behind.


I took this picture from the bus. A real tree and a tree of ladies. I thought it looked cool.


Some cars on a roof. Kind of precarious looking. Also taken from the bus and you can see the bus lights in the sky. Come to think of it, it would be kind of neat to travel all around cities on public buses and take pictures through the windows and make it a sort of book.


This picture was taken at Central Park where Christina had her birthday picnic. I purposely moved the camera to blur the image because I only wanted to show how many people were at the park but not actually be able to make out their faces.


Chris pouring wine and giving directions.


Christina and Jon. Cute, but would be cuter if it weren't out of focus. Please mentally remove that ugly baby carriage. Or, if you're a Photoshop whiz, literally remove it and give me the photo.


Bryan, Lakshmi, Cui.


Tiff and Lakshmi.


Tiff and her boyfriend Jesse.


Some lanterns at Tavern on the Green. I know it's such a touristy thing to photograph, but I couldn't help myself.

So long, Chuck.

These used to be my most beloved shoes. I loved them all the more as they became worn and faded. They’ve sat on a shelf in my closet for almost two years. I put my Converse away before my first spinal fusion, because I needed, for a time anyway, to wear slip-on shoes. No bending allowed. But they haven’t seen pavement (um, with the exception of this photograph) since I stowed them on that shelf. I have nerve damage in my big toes – a common and expected result from spinal fusions as the L5 nerve to the feet must be moved during the operation – and any pressure (from shoes that were probably too tight to begin with) hurts them. Now I have to wear ugly, wide shoes that don’t press on my toes. The nerve damage causes a weakness and an inability to resist force – as in, I step down from a bus and my toe gives out. And it hurts. I used to feel the pain in both of my big toes on a fairly constant basis, but the left one has only been caving in against the sidewalk periodically and I’m sure the right is close to follow. My doctor said to give it nine months to two years (from the date of surgery). Either way, I think that my Converse are retired for good. But they’ll stay on the shelf. And if I move, I’m sure that I’ll be tempted to bring them along. They remind me of my pre-spinal-fusion life; of a time when I didn’t even know that I needed surgery. That time hardly seems real anymore, but I guess these shoes are proof.

One big, smooshed together post.

Get your ducks in a row.

I’ve been meaning to update my blog every week for the past three weeks, so instead of multiple entries, here is one big, smooshed together post about my trips into the city for physical therapy and other stuff:

Next week will be my fifth week of Physical Therapy and the first time that I only need to go in for one appointment instead of two. As I progress in my therapy, I am able to move more and the exercises become easier, or, less hard, as I’ve learned to say. Calling an exercise easy quickly eliminates it from your routine and advances you to the next level. Not that I’m not totally psyched when I get new exercises (it means that I’m getting stronger), but blending in the easier stuff gives me a bit of a break in my routine. And then there’s the fact that with each new exercise, I still find it hard to believe that my body will actually be able to go there, that it will not break. This is not a totally irrational fear, because my back did happen to break a few months ago after my first spinal fusion failed. My physical therapists tell me that this mistrust in my own body will fade, but I wonder how long it will take. In The History of Love, Nicole Krauss writes about an Age of Glass when “everyone believed some part of him or her to be extremely fragile. For some it was a hand, for others a femur, yet others believed it was their noses that were made of glass…. This period lasted a relatively short time…. about a century.” She goes on to write that the illusion became vestigial, that this feeling of fragility resurfaced from time to time after the Age of Glass was thought to be over. I wonder if and when my fear that my back will break again or that I’ll eventually need another fusion will go away, or if it will remain for the most part dormant but always waiting and able to creep into my thoughts.

So, enough of that slightly depressing stuff! I haven’t just been sitting around afraid that I’m going to break. I’ve been enjoying this new stronger and less painful me. I’ve seen my friends more often in the past four weeks than during my two years of surgeries and recoveries. My PT is in the city, so I stay with my dad and am able to see my friends who live in and around New York. Three weeks ago, I made falafels for Joe (and my dad) from this Cooking Light recipe (I doubled the recipe and served them on top of a salad instead of in a pita). We got bubble tea and went to a nearby park that I discovered with Christina, Pam and Lakshmi. There we saw two huge rats either fighting or loving it out. They were close enough that I could see that one had a bald patch on his butt. We also saw a girl walking a cat on a leash. It didn’t seem to mind at all. The cat only reminded me that I want a cat of my own to name after a Harry Potter character and possibly walk on a leash. Last week I made fajitas for Christina (and, again, my dad). (I thought) they were pretty good and if anyone wants the very simple recipe let me know and I’ll post it. After dinner, Christina and I listened to the Pinkberry theme song (PIN-KBE-RRY, pinkberry!) until we could actually hear it’s echo bouncing around our skulls (Pinkberry for me, Pinkberry!). Soon after that, Jon joined us for the swirly goodness (as it’s called on their website), and we discovered that pinkberry actually is swirly and good and hopefully not just a fad (I still love Bubble Tea!).

Other than seeing my friends more often, these past weeks have brought a couple of other post-surgery firsts. For one thing, I’ve ridden the subway a few times. Initially, I was terrified that I wouldn’t find a seat and that someone would smash into my back. It’s been fine, though I did almost fall when a woman tried to get to the exit before the car had stopped. The train is certainly faster than the bus, but I do miss looking out the windows as I travel from one destination to another. Lately, riding the MTA buses is the only time that I can appreciate the city views. My former New York internships were basically walking tours of the city – I got to know Tribeca (when I was at Sherry Films), Soho (Elevation Filmworks) and the East Village (The Poetry Project at St. Marks Church). But since my surgeries, stepping onto the New York streets has a dizzying affect. I’m instantly overwhelmed and unable to notice even the storefronts. As I’m walking, I can only focus on the throngs of people as I try to navigate around them. Without my cane, which created an invisible yet impenetrable two-foot circle around me, I am constantly trying to protect myself from the people that could hurt me. This is a perfect example of how my own Age of Glass affects not only my psyche but my behavior. In fact, I don’t think that I would have ever noticed Pinkberry were I to have walked by it instead of ridden passed on the bus on my way to PT.

I don’t necessarily think of my new reaction to the city as a negative. It’s only one of the things that I’ve noticed has changed since my surgeries. I’ve also discovered that I love to cook. I’ve rediscovered that I can be happy going places and doing thing in books when I can’t go or do on my own. As I child, I read as many books as I could. They were my video games, my TV. But they were also my friends when I didn’t have many. Though that lonely, friendless part of me that only went places, did things, and had friends in books all but disappeared in high school and especially college, I welcomed her back during my recovery time after my surgeries. And, although the going and doing with friends that has happened in the last few weeks has been absolutely wonderful, my surgeries made me realize that I can be satisfied by very little – if I would even dare to describe a book as very little.

Another post-surgeries first that is very exciting is swimming! A few PT sessions ago, I was cleared for swimming – only certain strokes like the breaststroke and sidestroke that don’t cause an extension, or curving, of my back. The public pool (for which I, upon learning that I could swim, promptly bought a badge) is only open on weekends until school lets out. So I was only able to go once last week, but I still managed to stress out my back. I went to physical therapy with a gargantuan knot to the left of my lumbar spine. They gave me a massage and told me to relax a bit on my exercise routine and to limit my swimming to not actually swimming. Just walking in the water. Tak and Brian, my physical therapists (Tak is doing his internship under Brian), told me to lie on top of a tennis ball and try to massage the knot out. I tried it a couple of times (Jon and Christina can attest to that), but it just hurt more. At my session on Thursday, I had an electrode machine and a heat pack on my back to loosen the knot, and another massage but still no luck. I told Brian that even after a year and a half of constant pain, I had managed to get used to feeling better (which I had been since starting PT). Three weeks had spoiled me. Apparently, I like being spoiled.

I figured that it would take a few days to get rid of this knot, and today (Sunday) it’s finally feeling better. I went to the pool yesterday and this afternoon and didn’t overexert myself – just some light kicking while holding onto the edge and today I added a bit of sidestroke. As I was walking home, I realized that my back wasn’t hurting. I felt for the knot and it was still there, but had majorly decreased in size and pain. Wahoo! Besides knot removal (or lessening), the pool is also good for reading. In these past two days, I have almost finished The History of Love. It’s been taking me an absurdly long time as I’ve only been reading on the train to and from the city. In other exciting news, I actually talked to Teresa twice this week! Two times in one week is a record!

Here are a couple of shout-outs:
The first goes to Tak, even though he will never read this blog. He was doing his internship for his PhD at the place that I go to for PT. I worked with him for four weeks, but he finished his internship on Friday, so I’ll probably never see him again. But he did a great job. Now it’s back to Brian. Well not really back to, more like starting over with.
My second shout-out goes to Pam, who read and commented on my blog even though she’s in Berlin. I hope you’re having a great time! Come back sooner than later. To my blog and this country.

The following pictures (and the one at the top of this post) were taken during a fun night about two weeks ago right before Pam left the country. I saved talking about it for these pictures, but, to sum it up, Cui, Lakshmi, Tif, Christina, Pam, Randi and I all went out for dinner and bubble tea.



T(if)L(akshmi)C(ui)



C(hristina)P(am)R(andi)



We sat on the second floor at Lili's for the first time. In this picture, I like that the word sushi is reflected on a mirror on the first floor.



After dinner, Jon joined us (he's on his Blackberry!). Pam, Randi, Chris, Jon and I went to this new coffee shop called M. Rohr's for some tea (I guess we hadn't had enough bubble tea). It was cute and pretty homey. Much less crowded and hipster-ish than DT-UT, which is closing next week anyway.



Two chairs at M. Rohr's.

I use weights!

I think that I gave physical therapy a bad rap in my last PT post. After I left PT today, I realized (or, maybe, it was pointed out to me by my physical therapist…) that I’m going to have good days and bad days in what inevitably will be a long recovery). Yes, these exercises kill my already annihilated muscles, but I can’t expect to be better in one week when it took a year and a half to get me this way. My last post just reflected my disappointment at the pain catching up with me after feeling so awesome at the start of physical therapy. Apparently, I was doing too much exercising once I got home. Go figure – me an excessive exerciser? Ha, I say! I’m just going to have to embrace my inner underachiever and not expect too much from myself too soon.

I am proud to say, however, that today was my hardest session of PT yet. They kicked up my routine to a level two by adding a truly wicked exercise. Of course, I’m sure the physical therapist just made that up to make me feel better about that exercise being so hard, but I’ll be damned if I don’t brag about it anyway. Level two, baby! I’ve also been doing weighted exercises for my legs and I might be moving up from ten pounds to twenty! Level two, baby! But just in case you’re worried that I might get carried away and try to pump it up to a level three tonight, let me assure you – I’m going to go lie down and watch a DVD. Gee, this underachieving feels an awful lot like my last year and a half…

Physical Therapy

I’ve been meaning to post an update on my back for a while so here you go. Two weeks ago, I went into the city for my six-month appointment after my spinal fusion and the doctor said that everything has healed perfectly (hooray!). That means that my L4, L5 and S1 vertebrae – or the bottom three in the spine – have formed a solid and unbendable piece (which did not happen after my February 06 surgery, causing my screws to break). Being solid and unbendable also means unbreakable, at least in terms of physical therapy. So I started last week.

I had two appointments already. After my first appointment, I was amazed at how easy the exercises felt. My back didn’t hurt a bit – only my much-neglected (on doctor’s orders!) muscles burned. And it wasn’t a painful, mutinous burn, but a thankful and long awaited pain. On my second visit, I was even allowed to use a weight machine for the legs, which caused them to wobble as my thighs remembered that they weren’t really made entirely of Jell-O (yuck!). But I welcomed this feeling and even encouraged it again once I got home only to be surprised – my arms, my legs, my back suddenly weren’t grateful. They were angry!

My muscles that had be so patiently atrophying for a year and a half were angry like my back when I got home from the hospital after my first surgery. Before my spinal fusion, I expected to wake out of anesthesia in total and utter agony. I’d been told that I would feel like I’d been hit by a truck. In my first moments of consciousness, I braced myself against the pain. Only it didn’t come. I didn’t feel anything. Literally. I was totally numb from the chest down. I was also mentally numb and the morphine haze left me feeling like I was drifting somewhere above my body. Sure that the hit-by-a-truck pain would start any second, I hit the button that sent the numbing morphine through a tube going into my spine as often as I was allowed – every ten minutes.

As I got up the courage to wean myself off the epidural and transition to pills (induced by the constant painful vomiting caused by said morphine and the fact that I couldn’t go home with a needle in my spine), I expected to feel the residual effects of my truck accident, I mean back surgery, but I didn’t. I’m not saying that I didn’t feel pain, but it was manageable. I guess that’s why they call the doctor’s that figure out your perfect pill regimen pain management doctors. After I was discharged from the hospital – with a prescription for half a dosage of a mild narcotic in an attempt to stave off the nausea – and moving around more (you only do physical therapy twice a day if you’re lucky in the hospital) the pain started to show up.

Just as my first surgery seemed easier then the horror that I imagined, my first physical therapy sessions seemed a piece of cake compared to the warnings I received from several people in which I would “really, really hurt”. And just as I didn’t feel the gravity of my surgery until my second week out, I didn’t feel the effect of my physical therapy until a few days later. But that pain lets me know that my exercises are doing something, and, after all, I expected it so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise. I thought my muscles were eagerly waiting to be put back in form, but it turns out they got used to being lazy, couch potatoes and are going to put up a fight. They were shocked into compliance during those first couple of PT sessions but now they’ve got on their boxing gloves. Which is fine. They don’t realize it yet, but that’s exactly how I want them.

PS - I finished the Mists of Avalon a couple of weeks ago and have moved on to The History of Love by Nicole Krauss (as recommended, again, by Pam). If you have an opinion on the next book that I should read, let me know. I'm thinking something by Philip Pullman. Maybe The Golden Compass, part one of the His Dark Materials series. Look out for posts on a recipe for Pam and pictures from my Bubble Tea adventure with Christina and two surprises!

Anniversaries

On the ninth of every month for five months, I have “celebrated” or at least marked the anniversary of my November 9th spinal fusion. Tomorrow is my six-month anniversary and the most significant so far. It was at my six-month appointment after my first spinal fusion that I found out that the surgery had failed and I would need a second operation. At my last appointment, three months ago, the doctor was optimistic about the success of my fusion and I have no reason to fear a third, but I can’t help being nervous. I know that when I’m lying on the metal X-ray table tomorrow, I will be suspicious of the friendly demeanor of the technician. I will not be able to stop myself thinking that she already knows whether something is wrong, whether my screws have broken again.

I try not to focus on the screws and instead on the positive, on the complete unlikelihood that my fusion could fail again. But I can’t stop myself from dreaming - from waking up in the middle of the night thinking that I’m back in my hospital bed or in my surgeon’s office receiving bad news. I don’t blame myself for having dreams or being anxious about my second six-month appointment (when there should have been only a first). I just wish that I could feel something in my body telling me that this time is different - maybe a lesser degree of pain or exhaustion than I felt after my first six months. At this point, I’m operating on a combination of faith, positive thinking (with the exception of this blog post, of course), and percentages. As in, there’s less than a two percent chance that my surgery could fail this time. Unfortunately, I’m one hundred percent sure that I’m dreading my doctor’s appointment.

Up there with anxiety and dread, is a sense that I have no control over my future. I was never someone that needed to feel in control of my destiny. I’ve always had tons of ideas about what I could do with my life, plenty of plans, but usually found that any target I had paled in comparison to reality. For example, during my sophomore year in college I spent months planning a summer trip to California to be an actress. I even tried an extreme diet – my very own combination of Atkins and Suzanne Summers – to get ready for all the bikinis I’d be asked to wear in suntan lotion commercials. Instead of going to Hollywood, I went on two amazing volunteer trips, one of which put me on a roof in West Virginia, partially in charge of the high school students tasked with replacing said roof. I mourned my summer plans for about a minute, feeling that the surprise trip to the edge of a Mountain in McDowell County was better than anything I had envisioned.

I always felt that relinquishing control over my plans worked in my favor, until six months after my first spinal fusion. I started looking into MFA programs for Poetry and found out, instead, that I’d be having another surgery. Suddenly I felt that a little more control over my ‘destiny’ wouldn’t be a bad thing. Who was I kidding? I was all about control. My first surgery was on my terms, after I’d gotten through college and could take the necessary time off for recovery. The second surgery was totally out of my control, unless, of course, I wouldn’t mind being a cripple. So even as I was looking for job possibilities on the internet this morning in hopes that my six-month appointment will lead to physical therapy and increased mobility, I do so only because I have to plan. I have to do something to mark these six-months, to acknowledge that they occurred and are significant. So I look for jobs, write this blog, and say a prayer that my second six-month appointment will be cause for celebration. And that the next surprise that life gives me will have nothing to do with a hospital bed.

In the garden.

I was in the garden (still reading The Mists of Avalon) and I decided to take a few pictures. That's not such an unusual event. Since my surgeries, I've probably taken close to a thousand pictures of the flowers in the yard. This is a tulip.



This is a bird bath.



Same tulip, different angle.

These pictures were taken in the backyard, but I also took a few in the front. As I was crouching down to get a shot of a particular salmon colored tulip, I heard footsteps coming up behind me. They're getting closer. Closer. It's either my brother or I'm about to be mugged...

Or it could be the mailman. Crisis averted.

Today I was relaxing on the chaise, cool in the shade of an umbrella, with a good book (The Mists of Avalon, recommended by Pam). My mom was trimming the hedge. She was taking it down by a couple of feet and it was tedious work in the hot sun. I decided to help, because my comfortable lounge in the cool shade accompanied by my good book was not as relaxing when watching my mother toil at the hedge.

Thus began my first post-second-surgery yard work. Basically, I chopped up the branches that she had already trimmed so that they would fit into one of those big brown leaf bags. I barely filled half a bag and there’s a ton left to do, but it felt good to do something of use even if it was punctuated by frequent water and then bathroom breaks. Baby steps.

Snow: March 17, 2007

I spent the fall of 2006 waiting to find out the date of my spinal fusion. I didn’t know exactly when it would occur, but I knew that it was likely to happen before the first snow of the winter. Feeling bad that I wouldn’t be able to help with the shoveling, I overcompensated by filling eight bags of leaves at once. My mom was out, but had she been home she certainly would have stopped me sometime before my back locked into the raking position.

By the first snow of 2006 I still hadn’t entered the hospital, but wasn’t allowed to participate in the shoveling anyway. Since my raking disaster, I’ve had two major back surgeries and “dodged” another year of shoveling snow (not to mention raking leaves). It’s not that I enjoy shoveling snow or even enjoy snow in general, but I definitely don’t enjoy hanging out in bed while my mother is digging her way from the doorstep to the car without my help.

Meet me in the buffet line.

Why I’m twenty-four years OLD:
1. I can’t help but “Oomph” when getting out of a low chair.
2. I called myself an old fogy and only old fogies would actually use the word fogy.
3. I’m not up on internet lingo like HAWT and GYI. Hint: GYI doesn’t mean anything. Yet.
4. I forgot the rest of this list.