We Can Rebuild Him; We Have the Technology.

Most of this blog has been dedicated to the ephemera of my life. And the banal. It was never my intention to use the blog to discuss more personal things or discuss 'real life', but there was a major change recently that has taken over my existence to some extent. And, by the same token, it will in some way be reflected in some of the posts on this blog.

My father had a stroke on January 3.

He has no siblings or close family, and as my parents are no longer together, it fell to my brother, sister and I to become his caregivers and advocates as we navigated the world of hospitals and rehabilitation facilities. Being the oldest of the siblings, I, somewhat by default, became the 'child in charge'. We three siblings make the decisions together, with input from my father, but ultimately, The Triumvirate are the ones who have the power, with me being the legal representative.

When it came time to make the decision to place Daddy in a rehabilitation facility, I didn't hesitate. I live in one of the largest medical communities in the state and have one of the best rehabilitation facilities in our area. I made the call, and really didn't give any other options. The Triumvirate live in various parts of the state, but being the only one who actually lived within a strong medical community made the decision even easier. So, when Daddy was released from the hospital, we loaded him into my vehicle and drove him 3 hours across the state to "rehab boot camp" as the intake nurse called it. (Don't ask about why we actually had to do the transport. I've decided the private medical thing is a racket!)

Daddy's therapy is very, very intense. He has at least 3 hours daily, of a combination of physical, occupational and speech/cognitive therapy. Today was a school holiday for me, and I had the opportunity to actually observe him during his day. To say I was impressed is putting it mildly. To say I hope I never need intensive rehabilitation is an understatement. It was brutal. It is not a reflection on the therapists themselves. They were wonderful, encouraging and delightful people who made difficult tasks humorous and engaging. We laughed and joked constantly. But, despite its jovial wrappings, it was hard, grueling work. Daddy was highly motivated, never complained, worked through each and every exercise, and never asked for a break. I think he would have continued working if the therapists would have allowed it, even though they and I both could see he was at his physical limits and exhausted.

The most fascinating part of the day was spent in OT. The rehabilitation hospital has the Bioness equipment, and Daddy is using the Ness H200 for hand rehabilitation. It's the most amazing machine. It allows his left hand, incapacitated by the stroke, to open and close through electrical stimulation. With this device, his hand muscles and nerves are retrained, and the theory is, the pathways to the brain will be reformed, allowing him to eventually move the hand on his own. I told Daddy he was lucky I wasn't his occupational therapist, because we'd be playing with the toy EVERY session. It was just the coolest thing. I also told him he was starting to look like the 6 Million Dollar Man. When I told him we could rebuild him, we had the technology, I got the truest laugh of the day.

Some times, it's just the little things.

Do You Know Where You're Going To.....

When I was in elementary school, one of my favorite playthings was a white suitcase. That old, beat up suitcase was my childhood version of having a fairy godmother. Open the top, and Bibbidy, Bobbidy, Boo, I became a grownup. Inside were old dresses, hats and purses of my Granny’s. My sister and I (and my brother at infrequent, reluctant intervals) dressed as Grand Dames in these clothes. There were our Haute Couture, refinement, and most of all, the epitome of adulthood.

As I made my obligatory awkward trip through adolescence and into my later teens, I’m sure I thought more than once, “I can’t wait to grow up.” But, what does that mean, “Grow up” or to be a grown up? At high school graduation, I wondered if that was the moment. The moment when I completed my metamorphosis from being a child to the mythological grown up. I waiting all summer before my first semester of college, but I never did feel that difference inside, an indefinable change or state of being that says to myself and the world, “I no longer think or feel or act as of old. As of this moment, I act with a new mature purpose.”

College came, and stayed and lasted for several really fun years. However, I never really felt essentially older inside. I had reached yet another milestone of life. I did what I thought 20-somethings with new college degrees were supposed to do. I got a job. But, I still didn’t feel grown up.

At an impasse, I asked The Mother once when would I feel grown up. Her reply, “When you have children.”

So, I continued to click off the major life milestones that were supposed to make me a mature grown up. I married and at thirty, had the first of my two children. Somehow, astonishingly, despite all the stress and crisis of Thing 1’s birth, I still didn’t feel a member of the grown up club. Yes, I had diplomas, paid my taxed, went to work, had stretch marks, and C-section scars, but I hadn’t crossed that important line in the sand.

Maybe, I thought, it was because I didn’t have a house and a mortgage. I know the illogical nature of this thought, just as I know the whole idea of “becoming a grown up” is somehow inane. Had I reduced it to a date on the calendar? “This is the day I got married, this is the day I had my first child, and this is the day I became a grown up.” It sounds ridiculous. Wondering what defining action will transform me into adulthood is overly simplistic as well. Perhaps I should make it clear that it’s not necessarily that I was so enamored of being a grown up, per se. It is more a sense of it being a failing of character or completion. Being a ‘grown up’ is what we’re taught, as children, we’re to strive to become: to literally grow up from childhood. Somehow, internally, I seemed to be stuck.

I’ve spent the better part of twenty years feeling like the same basic messed up teenager inside. She’s complex and worldly and yes, difficult, as she’s had the benefit of 20 years of experience. At heart, she’s that hormonal, mixed up, crazy chick that has been going through my life living as best she can and bluffing when she doesn’t know what else to do.

No, the mortgage did not magically grant me entry into grownup-hood.

Yes, there’s now a date on the calendar. January, 6, 2009. That is the day a grown up entered my psyche after twenty years of teenage bluffing.

Tuesday, January 6 is the date where I went from being the child of a parent to being the caregiver and decision maker for a parent. Luckily for me, this is a journey and responsibility I do not have to undertake alone. The prognosis appears very good that my siblings and I will not have these additional tasks for the long term.

But, for today, as I am tired, stressed, worried, angered, bewildered, exhausted, and frustrated, I finally feel like a grown up.

And, now that I know that feeling? If this is what being a grown up is about, I’ll take that messed-up, blustering, bluffing, no-holds-barred teenager any day.

I miss her.

"They're here already! You're next!"

I've become a pod person.

Despite using the famous last line from the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers, I'm not referring to that kind of pod.

I mean a iPod and listening to podcasts type of person.

Necropolis gifted me with an iPod Shuffle this holiday season, and I've been using this past week with a frequency bordering on obsession. Music is okay, but the podcasts have become my particular manna. I started with knitting and crafting podcasts. Some are better than others, but I've not really found my niche there. Yknit and StashandBurn seem to be the ones I go back to listen to past podcasts more regularly.

When I started browsing further on iTunes, I discovered some of my Saturday NPR favorites, and I have listened to every available episode of Michael Feldman's What do you know and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me. Now, one of my personal goals is to have Carl Kassel's voice on my answering machine.

Then, I found my holy grail of podcasts: CraftLit. CraftLit is hosted by Heather, a former High School literature teacher. In her own words, she says:

I wanted to welcome you all to CraftLit, a Podcast for Crafters. I imagine you’re here because you like to work with your hands, but you also like to read. If so, this is the place for you! Our program will follow a similar pattern every week. After some introductory comments, a web, magazine, or book review, and perhaps a song, I will include a chapter or two from a book. We will listen to that book until we’re done with it. And because I’m a former English teacher, I’ll give you some things to listen for in the chapters we hear--just to give you something else to do while you’re knitting, spinning, crocheting, weaving, or sewing. Any painters?

As she was on hiatus during the holidays, I went back and listened to sets of older podcasts/books. Her first selection was Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I knew this was going to be a match made in heaven! I finished that series of podcasts (about 20) in less than 3 days, and now have moved on to the set of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. Oh, and she's also begun her newest set, Robert Lewis Stevenson's Jekyll and Hyde. Fun! Fun! Fun! I can listen to great books and knit or spin at the same time!

All CraftLit's books come from Librivox. LibriVox provides free audiobooks from the public domain and has 2000 books in its library. LibriVox volunteers record chapters of books in the public domain and release the audio files back onto the net. Their goal is to make all public domain books available as free audio books.

If you have any bit of bibliophile in your soul, I suggest you join us.

You're next.