I started exercising again

While in free-fall, I've had a lot of time to readjust priorities and try different things.

About 2 weeks ago I broke out the old "PT Record" spreadsheet and renamed it "Exercise Menu" (as in, "Today I think I'll have a little from this column and a little from that column and a double helping of those."). I have a partner who is helping me with accountability and I send him a little summary each day. It's been a slow ramp-up, but I'm starting to feel neglected muscle tissue waking up again. I stretch and find different points of resistance. I lift things and feel sore, but strong.

But that's not the only kind of exercise. I've also been growing my heart, mind, and spirit. There have been some major shifts in a couple of my relationships and I've been trusting my spirit to handle them with grace and ease. Letting go without resentment takes a lot of practice, and even if I remember how that doesn't mean it's painless at the time. I'm waking up into a new shape of consciousness. I stretch and find different points of resistance. I make connections and feel sore, but securely connected to my Source. This life of mine is so very blessed.

Personal trainer appointment: FAIL

One should not leave an "orientation" appointment in tears (they were emotional tears as opposed to pain tears though those aren't good either).

I felt embarrassed, frustrated, and weak. I let my brain do the check-out thing I haven't let it do in a couple years. Oddly, the more checked-out I was the more positive feedback I got from the trainer about my form. If I could learn to use that willfully in a meditative state rather than reflexively in a survival state I might have something.

I'm going to go hide and pretend it didn't happen for a while.

I posted this note on a couple other networking sites today, and got some immediately protective reactions from my friends. Along with encouragement to keep trying and find another trainer.

The fail was mutual.

The trainer is still in school for this stuff and walked into our session scared shitless of fucking up my back (quite possibly because I handed him my latest x-rays--there's something about the image of 23 screws sticking into my spine that seems to get people's attention).

I walked in wanting some upper body and core exercises. He announced we were going to work on my legs. I failed to say, "No, we're going to work on what I want to work on because it's my time and I've been living in this body for the last 32 years."

He then failed to get information from me about what I've already been doing (or even that I've been doing it for the last 4 months in his gym). He made several wrong assumptions underestimating me in some areas and way over estimating in others.

I have a pretty thin shell and lots of hot buttons around athletics and physical fitness. I've toughened up significantly in the last year or so, but something hit me in just the right way to start the water works during the session. Really there wasn't much left for me to do besides drop into survival mode check-out for the duration. If you have any idea what it's like to relive memories of your self crying in middle school gym class you'd understand. There are some injuries we just don't forget.

Will I go back to the gym tomorrow? Yes
Will I work with a trainer again? Probably $omeday

In the mean time Russell has agreed to help me brainstorm a few exercises to add in to my routine to help keep me challenged and moving forward. I'm really fortunate to have a mindful, self-educated, gym-rat for a boyfriend *grins*

Icing helped

(The cookie sundae also helped)
I'm now dealing with other obnoxious bodily functions (all of which fall into the category of TMI), but at least they distract from the what's left of yesterday's back soreness.

I'm heading to the gym in about an hour--more out of principle than any expectation of actually getting much of a work-out. I plan to be very gentle with myself. Lots of slow easy stretches, and I'm not going to fuss if my heart rate doesn't get up over 130 during my walk.

In Other News:
I have selected and purchased the gown for SEAF. It even meets the "White Tie" theme without looking silly on me. It's an ivory gown with ruched chiffon from the hips up (a very low back with chiffon straps that cross up high accented by a couple of removable rhinestone pieces) and a flowy stretch satin skirt that barely clears the floor when I'm wearing heels. Better yet, the $40 price tag means I have some budget left over for girly indulgences and a quality print and frame job.

Of Breeding and Cookie Baking

Relax friends and loved ones, I haven't fallen prey to the biological clock, but I do have some observations.

I work in a place that sometimes puts me in direct contact with crumb crunchers and their parents. I've been avoiding this part of my job since surgery, but today I felt strong enough to give it a shot again. (I was wrong) I found myself in a position that required I pick up a small munchkin to insure his safety. If my physical therapist is reading this she'll be happy to know I used all the good body-mechanics we discussed in the process. He was probably less than 25 pounds so not entirely out of my range of ability, but women tend to carry babies differently from laundry baskets. The maternal instincts that forced me to toss him on one hip did me in.

Which brings me to my suggestion for adult women considering this surgery. It's all about timing ladies! Either have the surgery once your children are old enough to understand why you can't pick them up (age 5 or 6), or have the surgery before breeding. Picking up babies 5 months post-op is really really really tempting and, in my first-hand experience, a very bad idea.

My job has also prompted a round of cookie baking tonight. We're having a kind of open house in our building tomorrow and everyone is bringing some kind of treat. My contribution will be Oatmeal Butterscotch and Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies (eta: the recipe link). This is the first time I've made these cookies in over two years. I used to refer to them as the cookies of death. However, since I'm hoping that I'll bake enough cookies to have a few left over for Skippy's memorial on Thursday, I'm hesitant to broadcast the nickname too loudly. Nickname or no, just the act of baking these cookies is comforting to my mixed-up emotions. I must be getting old, somebody died and I have a very strong urge to bake a casserole in a transportable container. (I don't even EAT casserole, much less know how to cook it)

PS. If say someone were to drop by before I go to work tomorrow, he or she might be able to snag a very fresh, very tasty (Russell approved) cookie. There's oatmeal in the cookies so they count as breakfast...right?!

First death in the family.

Today I am faced with the first death of a member of my extended chosen family.

Skippy was one of those ever-present people in my community. While by no means an angel, he did a lot of good work and shared a caring supportive word with countless numbers of people who walked through the doors of our community center.

Even though we never played, we grew up in this community together. We got to watch one another's successes and mistakes and provide support no matter what. From quick playful words to surprisingly poignant conversations, from much-needed massages to temporarily taking over EC duty when I simply couldn't resist getting naked on the dance floor, I will treasure my memories of this mercurial man.

I'm still in shock, just 24 hours ago we were sharing hugs and discussing the transfer of surplus cold packs to soothe my surprisingly sore back.

To any of my family who may also be reading this and missing Skippy, perhaps you will find this post by a stranger helpful.

...One Step Back

I've been making lots and lots of forward motion the last week or so. It was time for me to have a small step back. That doesn't make it any easier.

The forward progress has been great. I'm down to one or two pain pills per day (compared to 8-10 when I first got home). I'm pretty darn mobile and surprisingly self-sufficient when I need to be. I still ask for help on things to save my stamina, but if I had to stay home alone for 24 hours, I think I could do it. I've been able to reclaim a few more of the playful and intimate things I like to do with my partners (no orgasms for me yet, but that's a different post). I'm even hoping to take a field-trip to a corn maze with Russell and Kaylee (who've never been to one) on Friday.

Tuesday I was feeling like I'd gotten complacent--less focused on actively improving my health--and wanted to get back on the focused track so I set a couple goals. They were pretty simple; prepare and eat a good breakfast, get showered and out for a walk before noon, spend more time writing thank you cards and less time idly web surfing.

I woke up Wednesday morning irritable and sore, but I went to bed with goals for the day so pushed ahead. Breakfast--check. Shower--clumsy and slower than usual, but check. Out for a walk--at the turtle's pace of two weeks ago and the pain in my back was a lot more acute (like someone had hit me with a bat or pipe right across the spine just below the ribcage--it hurt to exhale). The rest of the goals for the day went right out the window. New plan: be still, rest, try to get feeling better before company showed up at 6:00.

It more or less worked. I had a friend from work drop by with pizza and really enjoyed chatting with her. But when our game-night friends showed up and I was already starting to fade (not that I would admit that to anyone). As the night progressed I became less mobile and less vertical, but I was enjoying having people and something to do so much I wasn't about to give in. Sure, today was a backwards step when considered with the last week, but they didn't have to know that. I was still capable of fun conversation even if I wasn't hopping up to be the hostess with the mostess.

Only now it's 4AM and despite the pain pills that usually make me drowsy I'm wide awake and dreading trying to sleep. I'm afraid to move my body and tweak that spot again. But I know with some more quality rest and a little distance from the really bad pain I can start moving forward again tomorrow. So here goes...

3-weeks Post-op

It's been a week since the last post. I feel like I should get something up here so y'all don't forget about me.

In physical healing news: I continue to get better in teeny tiny increments each day. I walk a little farther, squat to the floor a little more often, sit up a little longer, accomplish more without assistance, and take a little less pain medication.

In emotional health news: I'm not doing too bad. I do much much better when I have company over, but even when I'm by myself I manage to avoid the giant pits of despair most of the time.

In coping news: I'm still working on having a set of alternative activities I can do on my own that occupy my idle brain but don't wear me out, produce useless junk, or lead to unhealthy thought habits. Reading books and meditation both seem like logical answers here, but the reading disability puts a damper on the first and I have yet to find the proper muzzle for my inner perfectionist to allow me to meditate without an outside guide. I think I want something crafty to do, but I just can't seem to justify creating mostly-useless stuff.

Whining

I have given myself the next 45 minutes to type out as much whining as my fingers will allow. I'm a listy kind of girl so bring on the bullet points:

• Pain meds: I'm not happy about being dependent on the damn things. It's not just the pain though, it's the grumpy moods and wooseyness. I've weened way down, but I want to be able to switch over to tylenol and deal with the moods in their raw state. My body just isn't ready to do that yet and I'm losing patience.
  
• Moody: I'm a redheaded woman with hormones. Moodiness isn't new, but when combined with everything else it's downright irritating.
• Lonely: I need to do a better job of orchestrating all these offers of help and company. I know y'all are out there, I just can't figure out what barrier to remove so you can come here and hang out with me.
• Getting bored: I'm developing a routine which is nice, but it lacks productivity to it. Trouble is, productivity usually requires deadlines, and deadlines and pain meds just don't mix.
• I want my damned 2-week happy boost! The book and several other sources said 2-weeks is the magic point at which you all-of-a-sudden start feeling better (not perfect but better). Now maybe I'm just running ahead of the game and I had mine on day 6 in the hospital when I all of a sudden took a shower and started wandering around sans walker. I really haven't felt any giant increases in wellness since then. I'm sure there are all kinds of little improvements I'm not noticing cause I'm in this damn body every day, but still... grrr.
• I want to sit at Max's feet again. This, I know, is pure impatience. Max has already found ways to start reclaiming some of our power dynamic. But I'm gnashing at the bit because I want it allllll back right NOW! I want to be able to hop up when he comes to the door and get him a glass of water to drink while I make him coffee and he enjoys sitting in my nice TIDY living room. Then I want to kneel quietly with my head on his knee while he chats with Russell or works on his laptop.
  
• The apartment is a mess and it's driving me crazy! Probably part of the reason I'm not actively inviting more people over is embarrassment about the state of the apartment. Logically this isn't really a problem because y'all understand I can't bend over to pick stuff up, but logic doesn't seem to matter to this emotional part of my brain. I know many of you would happily come over and help me clean, but that just feels weird too. Bah!
• I have officially reached my threshold for feeling needy. This is not a good sign. I have a long way to go before I'm self-sufficient.

This is less than 45 minutes, but I seem to be feeling worse as I type not better so I'm stopping now. I anticipate a gratitude/landmark entry very soon.

So, About the Collar

Preface:
Collars are uniquely intimate connections. Even with as open as I try to be here, there's a lot about the collar that will continue to go unspoken on this blog. What I don't want to glaze over though is the fact that making changes on one branch of a poly relationship will almost always have impacts on others. Wearing the collar like this was a big change. The other members of my poly family have given me an amazing gift by choosing the lowest-drama route to dealing with this situational change. I can not say enough how grateful I am for that. I am truly blessed to be surrounded by so many incredible people.

How did Max's collar interact with my surgery and recovery?
First I should start with how I came to be wearing his collar immediately before surgery and during recovery. While Max and I have had a collar-oriented relationship for about a year, this is the first time I'm wearing his collar not in his immediate presence. It's a huge step for both of us, but one we were ready to take when the surgery rolled around.

The Sunday before surgery, we scheduled one last overnight date. As some people might imagine, this “date” quickly turned into a grief and anxiety processing session. Honestly, the nature of the date didn’t surprise us either. After this intense evening, we decided to leave the collar on so I could keep going back to it as a concrete representation of our connection and a source of the same strength and serenity I feel when I’m working hard for him. It worked! The next day at work I could feel it underneath my shirt reminding me to finish or release the last couple tasks on my plate so I could leave early. That afternoon, my massage therapist was a little surprised by the collar, but noted just how much more willing my body was to let go of the tension it’d been holding for the last few months. People all around me were commenting on how calm and centered I seemed given the circumstances.

As helpful as the collar was for my mental and emotional states, it didn't seem like the brightest most practical idea to go in the operating room wearing a chain locked around my neck. Much to my surprise, my surgeon was just fine with the idea. He did however suggest the anesthesiologist might be less flexible about extra stuff hanging around my airway. Rather than deal with back-n-forth the morning of surgery, it just made more sense to take it off in a quiet moment with Max just before heading back and let him put it back on as soon as it made sense to do so afterward.

I don't actually remember when in the sequence of events immediately post surgery Max put the collar back on. The farther I get from that day the blurrier things become. I do remember the power the collar held though, I do remember it linking right in to our connection and opening up to him, I do remember how relieved I felt to be able to push just a little more of my fear and pain back out through those links and into Max's strong hands, I remember feeling just a little more peaceful knowing I didn't have to do it alone anymore.

The collar was also a very practical tool for much of the hospital stay, even when Max wasn't around. It worked like a worry stone that never fell out of reach. I could fiddle and fidget with it when nothing else could distract me from the sensations that moment. Or I could simply tug at it a little and feel Max's hands on my neck holding me and keeping me. I genuinely believe I had more and easier access to the mindset required to get through the tough nights because of his collar around my neck.

Friends and hospital staff took it in stride for the most part. I think I was on my third post-op day before anyone on staff so much as mentioned it actually. Most often I explained that it was a token to help me stay strong and centered. Whether people understand D/s relationships or not, they usually understand tokens and symbols. Every once in a while a vanilla friend would comment and I'd just flat out say "It's Max's collar." Sometimes this knocked them back a pace or two, but my ease with it seemed to spread quickly and calm the situation.

First self-post from the hospital

Hi there boys and girls!!!
Day 5 was kind of a wheel-spinning day, but by noon-ish today I was doing much better. I've been up an walking around quite a bit, made a huge trek to the only place in the Swedish complex that still takes films long enough for my surgery.
I'm up and generally perky, but with limited stamina so this is a short post. I'll take time to give individual thanks to comments later, but THANK YOU ALL for all the words of support.

Update

(more Russell)

Red got into her room somewhere between 8:00-8:30 last night, and we got in to see her around 8:30. She looked pretty flattened, but not in a lot of pain. Her voice was a quiet squeak from being intubated for so long, but she was conscious and coherent.

Her mom and I spent the night in her room alternating who was awake, until Kaylee came back and relieved us around 10 this morning. Red spent most of the night asleep, waking up briefly a few times. She was pretty puffy when we first saw her, but that got better over the course of the night. When I left this morning she looked more or less human, albeit about as stationary as you can get.

I just got off the phone with Kaylee (after a nap in my own bed, and good company and Thai food with A.), who said that Max had shown back up, and the physical therapist was there. When I left six hours ago, I think her limit for physical therapy would have been something like lifting one hand a few inches three times in a row (I'm not exaggerating), so this seems promising. ^-^

Everything's a priority

Posted to another discussion board earlier today:

I mentioned a little bit ago that my life was full of lists as the surgery approached. Well, as common sense would predict, the lists haven't gotten any smaller really. It seems like the closer I get closer to the day the more stuff pops up demanding immediate attention. This is the kind of vanilla problem that mucks up the works for kinky lifestyles all the time. But this time it's happening to me and I want to whine about it a little.

Max and I have a precedent that I write a detailed reflective narrative after each overnight date. At first they were necessary for clear communication, then they were a tool for course correction, now they function as a verbal photo album. He can search through his archives of emails from me and dig up all kinds of little tid-bits to play with in other scenes. As you might predict, he was really clear about wanting one after our first long weekend together--so much so that he made time for me to make notes while we were still up at the cabin. Even with the set of notes though, it still takes about 4 hours to compose the kind of reflection I've become accustomed to giving about just one day and I had 4 to write about. I love writing these things because they give me a chance to relive the experiences while I'm trying to describe them to him. This was an absolute priority to get done. I got the first two days done in successive evenings at the peril of other deadlines and priorities, but then the rest of life just wouldn't be ignored anymore.

Work deadlines came home with me and overrode all other activities Wednesday night. The next night was dedicated to my last chance to dance at Grind for a while. Friday was swallowed whole with miscellaneous pre-surgery errands (half of which went unaccomplished). Yesterday I finally got some quality time with Russell, but half-way through the evening I got a "where-the-heck is the rest of your homework" email from Max. Max is a smart man, so that was really a rhetorical question. Intellectually he understood what was going on even before I told him, but that didn't change what a priority this project was for him. He's helping me make time to finish it up tonight, but that doesn't change the way my inner perfectionist feels about getting a "where-the-heck is it" email from my dominant. Surely it shouldn't be so hard to:

• prepare mentally and physically for surgery
• re-arrange the house for recovery
• prioritize the doing things that I will miss most during recovery (like walking in the woods and dancing at Grind)
• make quality time for Russell
• make quality time for Kaylee
• make more quality time for Max
• make quality time for my bio-family
• purchase all the weird little things I'll need for recovery
• clean the house
• make it to doctors' appointments
• keep my long-distance friends updated about life
• meet my work deadlines
• prepare my office and job to turn over to my (seriously overworked) supervisor for 6 weeks or more
• and write a standard detailed narrative of an awesome weekend

all before Wednesday morning. I mean, it's not like I didn't see this date coming for more than 3 months!

"Unrealistic" you say? "Ask for help" you say? Well yes, I agree on both accounts in principle, but sometimes I need to let my inner perfectionist throw a GradeA hissy fit before I can really put her back in the corner where she belongs. I'm wondering if part of all this list making is a subconscious attempt to force more time to appear between where I am and Wednesday morning. It's completely counter productive of course. I've talked many perfectionist/overachieving friends out of emotional trees by forcing them to tear up their to-do lists. It's a little more difficult to do that from the inside though.

Are you ok talking about this?

"Are you ok talking about this?" Several friends asked me this question last night. Almost apologetically, they ask for the details of my surgery and recovery. They are curious but don't want to overstep or stir-up more anxiety. "Hell, I blog about this stuff…" I reply in an almost dismissive tone. It occurs to me to ask if they are ok listening to me talk about this. I watch the way I rattle off the median statistics for a healthy adult's progression through surgery and recovery. Am I presenting as too detached? I certainly am anxious, but talking about it or not talking about it doesn't seem to make much difference.

The funny thing is most of these friends have just returned from Burning Man. While the two experiences don't directly compare the way we tell stories about them is remarkably similar. The month before the event, we simply can't avoid talking about it: when do you leave? what are you doing to get ready? do you have enough help? what are you expecting? what are the risks? how long are you going to be gone? why in the hell do you think this is a good idea again? Then we're gone, incommunicado, for about a week. We try to document the experience while its happening, but we know there's really not any way to convey this experience to people who aren't there with you. We come back, dazed and a little incapacitated for a while but full of stories to tell about hardships and triumphs and ridiculously stupid things we did. The big difference here… I don't plan to start this game up again next year.

Lately I'm trying to be more aware of the kinds of stories I'm telling about my future. I don't want to set up unreasonable expectations, but also want to avoid giving too much voice and energy to the worst-case scenarios. It's a surprisingly delicate line to walk. It's not going to happen, but what if it does? How do I stay optimistic and centered while still preparing for the worst? It's not necessary to ask "What could possibly go wrong?" so often. (Anyone who watches Joss Wheadon television knows that's a HORRIBLE question to start an episode.) The thing about story telling is when those questions get asked, the universe feels compelled to answer them clearly. I guess the best thing I can do is speak to the giant pile of resources and circumstances I already have lined up in my favor.
These are the stories I want to spend the most time telling over the next couple weeks:

• Russell, Kaylee, Max, my parents, my coworkers, and a wealth of extended chosen family are all standing strong beside me.
• I have a fantastic lead surgeon with a spectacular assistant surgeon all part of one of the area's premier orthopedic groups.
• I'll be having the surgery at a new hospital purpose-built for orthopedics.
• My body is young and healthy.
• The hospital is close to home (as in a matter of blocks) so even recovery check-up visits will be easier than many people have it.
• There are two remarkably comfortable beds in my home.
• I have a laptop and wireless internet so I don't have to feel so isolated.
• I have a fantastic health-plan and work for an incredibly supportive organization.
• I am generally self-aware and practiced at spotting unhealthy patterns and asking for the help I need to correct them.
• My partners have partners to lean on and places to go when things are challenging at home.
• While I still don't like or seek out pain, I have a much better understanding of how to process it than I would have 10 years ago.
• Most of all though, I know I am loved; that right there is going to make all the difference in the world.

It started

Apparently, the threshold for surgery worries invading my dreams has finally been crossed. The most stressful part of last night's dream was the large number of school-aged children (relatives of some sort) roaming about needing attention and reassurance. Well, that and my inability to figure out how to get into the crocheted afghan/sleeping bag on my gurney or whether to lie face up or face down. I think Russell needs a bigger blanket on his new bed. :)

I'm quickly reaching the point where there's noting left to do but watch the surgery date approach like a freight train. I've been coping these last couple weeks (and this weekend) by busying myself with schedules and to-do lists, but those are both running out of space pretty quickly. My conscious awareness may be finding these kinds of activities helpful, but the sub-conscious mind in charge of body functions is not fooled. It's already calling for preparations. While I haven't significantly changed my eating or activity habits, I'm storing more fat and gaining weight. My body temp, which usually runs at a cool 97.9, has been slowly but steadily increasing over the last week. It was at 99.0 when I went in to donate blood yesterday although I'm not feeling particularly ill. I'm trying to pace myself, have some quiet time, stop fixating. I think I'm going to need more reminders and external support on this goal next week. Fortunately, I have a community of friends and family capable of doing just that.

Less Than Two Months

Last Friday marked exactly two months until surgery. I spent a large portion of the work day thinking about what I would be doing two months from then and what I needed to do to prepare for the inevitable. I can't say that was the best use of my time and mental energy, but I will say I managed to do it without careening into a death spiral. Lately I seem to be dealing with it through a combination of dark humor, retail therapy, and reality checks. In a week or two I'm going to need to contact my surgeon's office and get the ball rolling on extended leave requests and blood donation scheduling. Right now I'm more about acquiring bedding that makes me grin and want to squirm around on the bed happily.

Also, as a side note, I'm considering introducing my massage therapist to the wonders of gags next week. What I interpreted last week as a typical reaction to kink information was actually just the way he talks all the time. The whole session was spent with him rattling on about how busy and stressful his weekend had been. Oddly, I had a much harder time releasing some of those tight spots in my back. Oh well, I have a whole week to come up with polite ways to say "STFU!"

2 and a Half Months

Posted to LJ on: Jul. 13th, 2008 at 1:17 PM

2 and a half months feels a lot scarier than 3 months. It's a difference of two weeks, but all I'm saying is YIKES!
I feel dumb and scared and stressed out today for no real apparent reason. Yesterday was really nice, maybe this is just a little whiplash. I sent an email with my major calendar items between now and October earlier today. That's probably what triggered this little panic episode. Except for camp, August is invisible right now. I'm either planning for the next two weeks or for September so today it feels more like 1 and a half months.
Ok now that I've typed it out, I think I can start talking myself back down.
Re-establish ties with reality.
Be here now.
Drink water.
Move my body.
Take my vitamins.
Enjoy my Sunday.

ps. This is the last of the "Re-Posts" From here on out I'll be blogging in real-time.