Tribute to Grandpa

This is my grandfather. Today was his birthday. He would have been 102. He passed away 7 years ago this December. I was very fortunate to have him in my life as long as I did. He is the great-grandparent that my children remember the best.

His name was William E. "Pat" Boyer. He carried the mail, by foot with a big satchel, in our little town for many years. It was hard work, considering we get about 100 inches of snow annually. The children around town used to come running out of their front doors when they saw him coming up the walk with their mail.

This picture was taken on the day he started working at his dream job, Postmaster in our town. He was so proud! While he was Postmaster, he worked hard with "the Politicians" to double the size of our post office and make it accessible to all.

He was a true Renaissance man, who could do darned near anything. He rode motorcycles, and could build houses, and fix cars, and garden, and started a radio station that is still running today. He loved to go camping!! He adored babies, they always made him tear up. He remembered who built the houses in town and who lived in them after the town burned to the ground in 1918. He picked out a "Charlie Brown" Christmas tree every year, and swore it was the best tree he ever saw. He had a great appetite and believed slathering anything in butter made it twice as good. He went blind due to glaucoma when he was in his 80's, but continued to take care of himself until his death. He got books on tape and stayed current with what was happening in the world.

He was opinionated, informed, kind, loving, patient, devoted, loyal, faithful, funny, handy, a gentleman, and the kind of man you hope your daughter will find someday. We all loved him like crazy, and miss him even more.

The most important lesson I learned from my Grandpa is to treasure each and every day you have with your family and friends. He taught me that lesson by example.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa

Mrs. Ever Forward Takes a Step Back

For those that don't know, I am "Directionally Challenged." Oh, I'm "challenged" in many ways, but my lack of a sense of direction is somewhat legendary. I tend to walk fairly quickly, and rarely am I moving in the correct direction for where I hope to go. Because of this unfortunate trait, my husband says my motto is "Ever Forward." He loves to point this out on the numerous occasions weekly when I finally come to the realization that I have no clue where I am going.

It should also come as no news flash to those who have been following my recovery from a fall down some stairs that I can be a Klutz (with a capital K.) I am not the champion Klutz in my family, that honor goes to my brother, Tom, who has had stitches in his head alone more times that you can count on two hands.

At this point, I should note that although the doctor said that my trip down the stairs resulted in a "catastrophic" injury, I have worked rather vigorously to heal myself and have made progress that has impressed the medical personnel who are caring for me. Pretty much, from the time of my injury on July 2, I have mostly made positive steps forward and surprised those who know how recovery should look. I was moving Ever Forward on a long journey to a rebuilt knee.

Yesterday, in an instant, Mrs. Ever Forward took a step back. A word of caution here, if you have problems discussing bodily functions or things done in private, STOP reading. Mrs. Ever Forward is about to share TMI.

It was a day in which I was feeling really good. The weather was beautiful. My physical therapist had given me a big two thumbs up for my performance the day before. I had pedaled the stationery bike backward and forward, and had been able to move the seat down to the same setting I had used prior to my reconstructive surgery. My extension was perfect, resting comfortably when flat on the exam table. My bend on the bike was 108 degrees out of 125 maximum for my chubby little legs. I was antsy with cabin fever. I took a stroll the 125 feet down my gravel driveway to the mailbox using only a cane. I was the cat's meow, the cock of the walk, and the belle of the ball; all rolled into one.

I was going to make supper for my husband for the first time in two weeks! I was feeling good enough that I thought I could surprise him with a home cooked meal. Before beginning my culinary adventure, I thought I should take a trip down the hall and use the restroom. You know, so I could focus my full attention on making a fabulous meal.

Now, when a person has an injury like mine, there is a bit of finesse that is required to use the facilities. It involves getting everything lined up, and making a measured descent onto the commode. As the descent begins, the offending leg must be straightened out so as not to over-stretch the newly installed ligament. It's really a blend of Highland Fling meets Swan Lake. It's a dance I've pulled off numerous times since July 2, without a hitch. Until yesterday.

I was backed in, lined up, confident in my final approach and impending descent. As I permitted gravity to take over, I started the straightening of my leg and my heel stuck on the floor and the leg stayed bent. Too far bent.

I heard myself scream, I saw black, I must have grabbed the vanity next to me. I think I moaned loudly, twice. My vision came back and the shaking started. I knew I'd done something not so good. I made it to the bed, and tried calling my husband. His phone went right to voice mail. I tried again in a couple of minutes and he picked up. I told him I'd had a little accident with the leg. He said he was 2 1/2 hours away, and what did I want him to do? I said I wanted him to come home ASAP because I was going to need a hand. I stayed put on the bed until he got there.

Today, I went back to therapy and explained my mishap to the therapist. She said she hopes I didn't tear the new graft. I had too much swelling for her to tell for sure that it is okay. She put me on the bike, three settings on the seat higher than Tuesday, and I only pedaled the bike backwards (easier, less bend) once and she took me off. She measured my bend, and I had gone from 108 to 95. The therapy plan for the day was out the window, and we went into damage control.

It was disappointing, to say the least. My weekend ahead looks a lot like my evening tonight. Sitting with the leg up, and lots and lots of ice. Limited exercise and lots of rest. Bummer. I don't think I've torn the new graft, just gave it a big stretch. I was worried about having torn the stitches putting the meniscus back together, but the therapist didn't think that was the case. She did say that it could have been much, much worse. She reminded me that I could have ended up on the floor with a break in the leg. After all, I have two fresh channels drilled all the way through both the major bones in that leg (that's how they thread the new ligament through the bone.) My goal of driving by the end of the second week (today) is not going to happen. Maybe one more week?

I am choosing to consider myself fortunate. This was a reminder that I'm not as hoity-toity as I was thinking I was. It could have been much worse, and it was a good reminder that sometimes you just have to give your body time to heal. On the positive side, my weight has remained constant in spite of having to sit a lot. My food choices have been within my target range. I am fortunate that although it is tough for me to be sitting home with cabin fever while my friends and colleagues go about their lives; I am lucky to have good health care, a good sub at school, a supportive teaching partner, and friends and family who care about me. It will be okay. Mrs. Ever Forward just doesn't like to take a step back.

Labor Day Fish Boil and Some Recovery Sadness

Well, it has been just under a week since I've blogged about my progress. The truth of the matter is that it has been a kind of a rough week for me.

As I was getting up for therapy last Thursday, the phone rang. It was the therapy center calling to say that my PT was out sick on that day. Weird, I thought, as I had been up much of the night with some stomach troubles myself. I was feeling pretty rotten, and my husband called the pharmacy to find out what we should do if my narcotics were making me feel BAD. The pharmacist suggested that I take some ibuprofen for pain control. I took the ibuprofen and then my husband chatted with the nurse from the surgeon's office. She told him that I SHOULDN'T take ibuprofen. Oh. She felt that it wasn't my pain medication causing the gastrointestinal distress, since I had been tolerating it for a few days. She suggested that it must be a stomach bug. The next day, Friday, I went and saw the physician's assistant to get my stitches removed. She also felt I was struggling with a stomach bug. In the meantime, I started paying attention to when I was having trouble. Strangely, there seemed to be a pattern with the stomach acting up about two hours after I took medication. The PA had suggested that IF it was my medication, I could just take acetaminophen instead of the narcotics. So, over the weekend, I tried that. No luck, still yucky.

Now, it is enough to deal with the pain in the knee and the immobility involved with it. Add pretty severe nausea, frequent field trips down the hall (if you get my drift), trying to stretch out the time between pain pills to try to prevent the stomach stuff, and virtually no sleep due to pain and nausea; and you've got my past five days of fun. Normally, I try to keep the sunny side up, and keep things light and positive; but I am also trying to accurately chronicle my knee surgery recovery. Honestly, it has NOT been fun.

At this point today, I have not had any pain medication for 16 hours. I will be trying to go to bed and sleep after I post this. I have to get up early and go to therapy tomorrow morning. Considering the speed (or lack thereof) in which I currently move, the early morning rush hour traffic through massive road construction; I need to sleep and get going early. So, the evening debate begins. Medication or no medication??? If this goes as it has been going, I will try to sleep without, be unable to stand the pain, and then take medication, only to be up two hours later and spending time contemplating the inside of my bathroom.

In spite of all of this doom and gloom, I can tell that I am making some progress with the leg. With no pain meds on board, I was able to do my exercises, and bend the leg using the rocking chair for about 15 minutes this evening. My extension can put the leg flat, and the thigh muscle seems to be working a bit better now. My goal for therapy tomorrow is to ride the stationery bike and stretch it to the point where I can pedal without pain.

My husband went back to work today, and I made it through my first day home alone. I was able to make myself a meal without any problem. I finished knitting a baby sweater, when I haven't really felt up to knitting , reading, or much of anything since my surgery. Tomorrow, my husband is dropping me off at therapy and then going on to work. My mother will be at the fitness center doing her water aerobics, and I will catch a ride with her when she is done exercising. That is our plan for therapy days until I am able to drive myself again.

Although I felt kind of lousy yesterday, it was my in-laws annual Labor Day Fish Boil. My husband hates to miss family events, and so I had my first non-medical outing since the surgery. It was a long day. It takes us an hour to get to their house. They live on a lake. I sat in the back seat of the car, with my leg propped up on a pillow on the back seat. The family was glad that we made the trip, and they were generous with the recliner chair for me to put the leg up. I did make it out into the yard for the famous boil-over.

For those unfamiliar with a Fish Boil, here's what happens. Fish boils are common in Door County, Wisconsin and in some places in Minnesota. We started this tradition several years ago after my in-laws attended a boil in Door County. We start with a wood fire and put a large cast iron Witch's Kettle over the fire. You dump in a whole box of salt and bring the water to a good, strong, rolling boil. There are three ingredients in our traditional boil, and you have the ingredients prepared in advance. Timing is everything once you start cooking! When the water is boiling well, into the pot goes your red potatoes. They are scrubbed up, but still have the skins on them (they hold together better that way.) The potatoes boil for exactly 10 minutes. Then a large cheesecloth bag of onions go into the kettle. We chunk up a bunch of white onions. The onions and potatoes boil for exactly another 10 minutes. The last ingredient is white fish. It is gutted and cut into chunks and put into cheesecloth to keep the pieces together. The skin and fins are still on our fish, but they have no scales. Our white fish was swimming in Lake Superior on Thursday, and we were eating it on Sunday. Very fresh. The fish goes into the kettle and cooks for exactly 10 minutes. The water in the kettle is now just a couple inches under the top of the pot. Any oil contained in the fish rises to the surface of the water. At the end of the cooking time, a coffee can of diesel fuel is thrown onto the wood fire causing a tremendous flare of fire! Exciting!!!! The sudden flare of fire causes the liquid in the kettle to boil up and over the sides of the kettle, taking all the oil with it. Here's how our boil over looked yesterday.



Anyway, we serve the Fish Boil with fresh coleslaw. The traditional dessert from Door County to go with your Fish Boil is a fresh tart cherry pie. When you think about it, with the exception of the pie, it is a fairly healthy meal. Boiled fish, potatoes and onions with coleslaw isn't too bad.

Hope you all had a great holiday weekend!

A Long and Winding Road

I am writing this blog entry at the end of my third day post-surgery. The surgery itself went well. The surgeon rebuilt my ACL with one from a donor. The meniscus was partially stitched, and the parts that could not be stitched were removed. The surgeon told my husband that the surgery went well.

I plan on chronicling my recovery in the hope that it may help others who will have to experience reconstructive knee surgery. It was sometimes frustrating to know that I worked hard for seven weeks to rehabilitate the MCL, only to be pushed back to square one on surgery day. That frustration was well worth it, when the surgeon looked inside my knee. The MCL is healed, albeit still a bit loose, but so much stronger and stable than when the injury first occurred. The hours in the gym and pool brought me to this point, when I begin my recovery in earnest.

Some folks have an easy time with anesthesia. My husband and my father awake feeling refreshed, as if they have had a nice, long nap. I am not that fortunate. I awake slowly from general anesthesia. I have the feeling that I should be waking up, but I cannot, and it leaves me feeling panicked. We arrived at the hospital at 8:30 in the morning, and we didn't leave until 7:00 in the evening. My husband still did not feel that I was ready to travel the half-hour to get home, but I wanted to go between doses of pain medication. It wasn't until 2:00 AM that I felt really awake from the anesthesia.

Everything I'd read about this surgery indicated that the first 48 hours are quite difficult. I'd say that was accurate. The first day, I made the mistake of trying to be tougher than I really am. I went too long between taking my pain medications, and ended up in trouble. My husband called the surgeon's nurse, who is a wonderful person, and she helped us through the trouble. I learned my lesson about taking my medication, even before I think I might need it.

The second day post-surgery was the day of my uncle's funeral. I so wanted to attend, but it was obvious that it was too soon for me to try to go. I did not want people to have to focus worry on me rather than my aunt and her family. My daughter and her boyfriend came and went in my place. My brother and his wife were also here, and my brother did the readings for the service. My mother said several people noticed my absence and asked about me, but they were very understanding when told that I'd had knee reconstruction two days before.

Today, I slept in and generally took things a bit easier still. I went the entire day without an hour of "the shakes" and uncontrolled pain. My daughter and her boyfriend were still here. We had a lazy day, watching baseball, and visiting. I have been able to shower yesterday and today, which helps me feel better. My husband says that I'm not seeing how much I've already improved, but he has noticed. We changed the dressings on the incisions, and the knee looks very good. There is little bruising and the swelling is noticeably diminished.

Tomorrow, I have my first post-op physical therapy session. I know that it will be somewhat uncomfortable, but I am willing to work through whatever discomfort is needed. My husband will be with me throughout the week to take me to my appointments, and I know he will do his best to keep me comfortable in transit. The joint in my brace will be unlocked, and I will continue to do the exercises I've been assigned.

As for the food choices, I knew it would be a giant step backwards, and it has. I have to eat every four hours before taking my narcotics, and frankly cinnamon-sugar toast has been the food of choice. It keeps the nausea at bay, and it is easy to make in the middle of the night when I need to take meds. I am working hard at letting this time go without beating myself up about it. I knew it was going to happen. I am willing to get back into my new lifestyle routine as quickly as I can. It is a challenge to know that I will undoubtedly put on some of my lost pounds, but I am committed to not letting myself slide indefinitely back into old habits.

Blogging throughout the process is one way of holding myself accountable. The progress I've made thusfar should not be totally reversed, and my recovery will be the better because of it.

Passages

My uncle passed away this morning.  His death has been months in the making.  Back in June, he suffered a massive heart attack.  He had warning signs for almost a week prior to the actual attack.  His heart stopping beating during the ambulance ride to the hospital, twice.  While the doctors tried to stabilize him in the hospital in preparation for open heart surgery, he suffered a second heart attack.  They performed a triple bypass on him on the 4th of July.

After he survived the open heart surgery, we expected that he would make a slow, but steady recovery.  He did not.  Instead, he seemed to take one step forward, followed by two steps back.  His lungs, which evidently had been diseased for years, began to fail.  The doctors tried everything they could think of to help him.  In the end, there was nothing more anybody could do.

His family has faithfully been by his side, day after day,  for two months.  My cousin cooked meals and brought them to the hospital for him daily. He always was a picky eater.  This was not the end he wanted, nor the end anyone could want.  When the end finally came this morning, it was a blessing for both the family and him.

My uncle hated doctors and hospitals.  He did not take particularly good care of himself. He ignored the warning signs his body had been giving him for years.  He had diabetes.  He had heart disease. He had lung disease.  He had reached the average life expectancy for a man in the United States.  I guess he figured that he could live on pure stubbornness alone. He would not have wanted the quality of life that was ahead of him, even if he had survived.

Knowing all this does not make his passing any easier for those family who are left behind.  My aunt has lost her husband, my cousins their father, his grandchildren have lost their grandpa, and my dad has lost his only sibling.  While the family had time to say their goodbyes, it is still difficult.

Life will go on without him, although we will miss him. His granddaughter will still be married on September 24.  In our hearts, we will know and most probably feel his presence there with us.  But, we will miss his boisterous life-of-the-party personality. New babies will be born into our family, and resemblances may be noted.  But, the children will grow without the benefit of his goofy jokes. Such is the cycle of life.

Every day, families throughout the world go through this very same process.  People are born, and people die.  Take time today, as I have, to count your blessings.  Hug  family and friends that are nearby, and confess your love to those far away.  Take stock in where your life is, and where it is going.  Think about the mark you made on this world today.  Those who have gone before us, like my uncle, have entrusted this life onto our care.

Be grateful and see the beauty in each day!

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's to the Gym I Go!

It's been awhile since I blogged, and it is time for an update. I have been following my food plan pretty well, in spite of eating out this evening and on Saturday (twice). We took my folks down to Minneapolis to see "HMS Pinafore" at the Guthrie Theater. My daughter has worked there for two years, and this was the first time my parents have been there. My daughter and her boyfriend, my son and daughter-in-law, and we had lunch at a Thai restaurant near the theater. I ordered the cashew chicken. I ate about half of it (and half of the rice) and gave the rest to my husband. I hadn't had time for breakfast before we left, so I was proud of myself for stopping halfway, when I could have eaten the whole darned thing.

The play was marvelous! My dad has been so worried about his brother, my uncle, who is still in the hospital since his heart attacks and surgery. It was nice to get Dad out of town and see him smile and enjoy the day. My youngest brother joined us for dinner at Old Spaghetti Factory. I ordered whole wheat pasta, and a selection with very little sauce. I ate my salad, with very little of one of their low calorie dressing choices. I did splurge and eat one scoop of ice cream for dessert, but I remained within my target range for the day!

I went to the gym twice last week! I exercised 45 minutes in the gym and 45 minutes in the pool on Thursday and I felt really good! Today, my permission from the doctor arrived, so my gym membership is official. I exercised 50 minutes in the gym, and 50 minutes in the pool. I did two sets of all the exercises the PT gave me, plus a mile on the stationery bike, and 15 minutes on the recumbent leg/arm extender machine. I added upper body and torso exercises like ab crunches, arm press, and curls. In the pool, I did all my leg exercises and a lot of walking in the water. I was cautioned about trying to kick my leg while swimming, but discovered that if I do a side stroke, I can let the bad leg just float on the surface without kicking. So I would walk the shallow end, then swim from the midway point of the pool to the deep end. Swim back to mid-pool, and walk the rest of the way. I felt really good! Those elusive endorphins kicked in, and it is almost three hours later, and I still feel great! YAY! The plan is to do this routine three times per week until my knee surgery on Aug. 25.

I'm hoping that I will get my leg strength up so that after my surgery, recovery will be a bit easier. I know that the surgery will move me back to square one on the way my knee feels, and it will take a few weeks to get back to what I'm able ti do now. If I could drop a few more pounds, it would also help with the crutches, walker, etc. that will be back for a return visit.

Monday is my scale day, and I was down three more pounds for a total of 24 since the beginning of June. I am pleased with my progress, in spite of having the banged-up knee!

What it Means to Have a "Second" Birthday

July 19 has a special meaning in my family. My beloved grandmother was born on this day in 1909. She was born on a sheep farm to immigrant parents. Her parents came from Germany and Austria, and were very happy to be Americans. Her name was Grace, and her life was not easy. Her father made the children leave home once they had their 13th birthdays. She went and lived with her aunt and finished school. She became a teacher and worked in a tuberculosis sanatorium until her marriage. She had three children, her eldest was my mother. She loved to sew, knit, and crochet. I was her first grandchild, and she loved to teach me her crafts. She gardened and had a green thumb like nobodies business. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in her early thirties, in a time when treatment was in its early stages. The cancer slowly spread through her body, but she fought like the most valiant warrior until she was 79. When she passed, I was in the midst of a very difficult pregnancy. I had miscarried one twin child, while on bedrest holding onto the second twin. Gram wanted in the worst way to last to see this baby. She died 2 1/2 months before my beautiful baby girl was born--- on the day that was my grandparents' wedding anniversary. I named my baby Katherine Anne, which means "Pure Grace." My daughter has grown to become a strong, independent, beautiful businesswoman; who also loves to knit.

Forty years ago today, that same Gram welcomed a baby granddaughter who's name is Elizabeth. She has wild red hair, big blue eyes and is the mother of two beautiful little boys. She lives on a farm, where her boys have learned to place eggs under their broody hen and welcome new chicks each spring. Just this morning, they hatched a new crop of Monarch butterflies.

And seventeen years ago today, seven years after Gram passed, when I was 35 years old; I got up in the morning and while getting ready to go to work, I had a heart attack. I had a job I adored that kept me traveling all over the US. I was speaking at national conferences, and testifying before state legislatures. I had a boy, aged 11, and my girl, aged 7. I also had a husband who was in a downward spiral of mental illness.

My story is not unlike anybody who might read this post. Nobody goes through life without difficult periods. Nobody. Trying very hard not to sound "sappy", July 19 is a day that I consider my second birthday. Because on this day, seventeen years ago, as the medical personnel went into overdrive all around me; I made a decision. I thought about my babies, and how much they needed a healthy parent. I thought about my Gram, and how hard she fought for her life, for so long. And I thought about how every day is a choice we make.

I worked hard to get well. I made some very difficult choices about my marriage and my career, and did a U-turn in my life. I have been remarried for 9 1/2 years now. My ex-husband is remarried, and I was a guest of honor at his wedding (with a corsage and everything.) The children are beautiful, productive adults who work in careers that are their passion. I am blessed with a loving family, and many, many caring friends. For sixteen years, families in my small community have entrusted their most precious children into my care and classroom for nine months of their lives.

My first birthday was the result of a choice my parents made. My second birthday was a choice that I made, and continue to make every day. On this, my seventeenth second birthday; my wish is for all of you. I wish that you will pause for a moment to feel gratitude for the many blessings that we all receive. And, I wish that you will remember that this, and every day, is a choice you can make. You may choose to make this a new day in your new life, just as I have.

Adios Christmas

In spite of starting the day with a migraine, which put me back into bed for 3 1/2 hours, it was a productive day.  HubBub got the laundry and vacuuming done. We put away the Christmas decorations and put the house back into order.  I watched Brett Farvre's last day on an NFL field in another painful loss.  The Packers pulled out a victory over the Bears and put themselves in the playoffs. I transferred the Christmas pictures from the camera into the computer.  Here's my favorite picture from Christmas

Although there were many fun pictures from our Christmas, it seems that the shots with Penny in are always the cutest.

Here is the inspirational quote of the day:

Happiness is where we find it,

but rarely where we seek it.

~J. Petit Senn

I think this quote is appropriate as I undertake my Happiness Project.  It is important to remember that if you believe you are happy, the chances are that you will be happy.  We tend to think the grass is always greener elsewhere, and happiness lies just beyond our grasp.  If we change our perspective and believe that happiness exists right where we are, that will be where it is found.

Since I find happiness whenever I am creating, I will close with a couple of pictures of the wristers that I completed yesterday.

And here is the mitten that I started to knit this evening.  It's COLD out!

We're back to work tomorrow!  The holiday break flew by...

Be grateful and see the beauty in each day!