Last night, I was reading all the posts on Facebook about people's fathers and grandfathers I posted a comment about my loving father and husband. I have been very lucky to have had my dad for 51 years and my husband for 30. I have also been extremely lucky to have some wonderful uncles who made a great impression on my life as well, but I only had one grandfather.
My mother's father, "Pa" was the only grandfather I ever knew. My dad's father passed away two years before I was born. However, I never felt cheated in anyway because my Pa was grandfather enough.
His name was George Anderson Henry. He eloped with my grandmother, Daisy, following the wedding of his best friend, Paul, and her sister, Ruth. They met at church. They were parents to seven children of which my mother, Katherine, is the second. They were grandparents to twenty-one grandchildren of which I was the ninth and oldest granddaughter. My grandparents were married for fifty years. They lived their entire married life in Lynn County, Texas, near Tahoka. My Pa died when I was twelve.
Pa was a kind and caring man. He never once raised his hand or his voice to me. His lap was big enough to hold at least two children, his arms were long enough to hug three children at one time, and his heart was large enough to love us all. He would let us brush and comb what little hair he had left as long as we didn't "tease" it or spray it with hairspray. He would "whisker" us with his jaw or chin when we snuggled him and we all loved for him to tickle us. Pa could tease me without ever hurting my feelings or insulting me and he would laugh at my silly jokes like I was the funniest child he had ever encountered. Even though, there were twenty-one of us that vied for his attention, he seemed to have enough time for us all. We were all his "Snicklefritz," but no one seemed to mind sharing this nickname.
Spending time at the farm with my grandparents was the happiest moments of my childhood. I never wanted to sleep late if I heard his voice coming from the kitchen in the morning. I would rush to dress and meet him at the kitchen table. It was an honor to sit next to him and listen to what he had to say about the day ahead of us, the state of the country, politics, or his Sunday School lesson. I remember hearing him discuss his political views with my dad and I learned right away that he was a die-hard Democrat. We never ate a meal without him asking God for his blessing and it was evident that Christ was the center of his life.
When you visited my grandparents, church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night was expected. I can still feel myself leaning against him in the pew at Sweet Street Baptist Church as he sang the hymns in his clear baritone voice.
"Alas and did my savior bleed and did my sovereign die. Would he devote that sacred head for sinners such as I. At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light and the burden of my heart rolled away. It was there by faith I received my sight and now I am happy all the day."
He sang when he worked in his yard, his garden, and his orchard, but the songs he sang were not ones heard on the radio. They were hymns. I was always excited when I could sing along. I remember being lucky enough to ride with him on his little John Deere that he used to plow his garden and the orchard. I can still smell that freshly turned dirt from the plow. I can still feel the comfort of his arms around me as I sat on his lap as he worked the steering wheel. I can still feel my eyes closing as his singing and the motor of the tractor lulled me to sleep. I was safe and secure in his arms.
Pa respected my parents and never interfered when I was in need of a little discipline. Once when my daddy had spanked me and sat me down in a chair on the porch, Pa moved his chair next to mine. I was no doubt sniffling and feeling sorry for my rear-end and he saw how I was suffering. I asked him if I could sit in his lap, and he said, "Jan, you need to ask your daddy if that would be alright. I don't want him mad at me, too!" My dad gave in and let me sit in Pa's lap, and before long I was back in the yard, playing with my cousins.
It was all good and wonderful until one night it was all over. My Pa, George Anderson Henry, died from a massive heart attack at the Tahoka, Texas, hospital. I can still hear my daddy telling me the news. I can still see my mother devastated and walking around in a haze. There were so many people who attended his funeral that it was held at First Baptist Church. The guest book held the names of a mayor, a bank president, local farmers, and even field hands. This book was a testament of the different people who held him in high regard. No one was too great or too insignificant in his way of thinking. I still have a red carnation from the spray on his casket pressed in a children's poetry book. I can still feel the confusion I felt and how nothing was right at the farm following his death.
But life goes on and ours did too. Because of our love for my grandfather and grandmother, we met each summer for a large family reunion until my grandmother died. Standing together in a crowded kitchen, waiting to eat our lunch, a family member was always asked to bless the food. It never failed that at one point of the blessing, the person praying would include the words to the prayer my grandfather would say every day at every meal.
"Our father, accept our thanks for these and all of our blessings. Bless this food for the nourishment of our bodies and look down upon us as we live our lives. We beg for Christ sake. Amen."
My Pa lives on in those of us he left behind. We were all loved by him and very important to him. If I ever disappointed him, I never knew about it. I like to think that he saw through all my flaws straight to my heart. I never felt unlovely, unappreciated, or unworthy of his love. I still miss him.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Outspoken
If you are on my facebook friend list and you actually read some of the comments I make, then you are probably aware that I became a little "heated" and openly expressed myself regarding a comment that was made on one of my recent posts. Some people, including my husband, Bosco, felt it was a "tad" much, while others cheered me on even requesting that I delete the offender from my friend list. I loved what my nephew, Ben, had to say, "I learned a long time ago not to piss-off my Aunt Jan." It just goes to show that he knows me better than I thought he did! I have to admit it, I can be a tiny bit outspoken...
Okay, stop laughing! As my mother once said in horror, "We just never know what will come out of her mouth." I don't think she was talking about a baby putting a pebble in their mouth as I was about 14 when I overheard her make the comment! Yes, for those of you who really don't know me in all my glory, I can say some audacious, and interesting things. I usually mean well, but there have been some times when people consider therapy when I have finished.
Example: Friends and I are shopping at the mall during the Christmas season. We walk to the escalator to go down to the first floor. A man and his wife are standing in front of the entrance, talking about some mundane thing. (There was no discussion of feeling faint, the need to slow down, and/or being afraid of falling to their death on the contraption, nor did they speak in a foreign language.) I say very clearly with a holiday smile on my face, "Excuse me..." No response and no movement. I cleared my throat and repeated a little more firmly and loudly, "Excuse me, may we go past?" They turned to look at me, but kept on talking. Okay, here it comes. In a clear voice I said, "I don't know where you are from, but where I come from when someone says EXCUSE ME THAT IS A NICE WAY OF SAYING MOVE YOUR ASS OUT OF THE WAY!" They moved quickly and we went down the escalator. One friend laughed so hard she was crying by the time we made it to the first floor, the other friend just looked embarrassed.
I am sure that I have embarrassed by husband, kids, parents, brother, friends, co-workers, and others, but I have also made them laugh and thank me, as well. There are just times when someone has to say it. "It" being a variety of things. Often, it is something I feel is funny and will lighten the mood, but it can scorch the ears off an offender if I am pushed too far. I do my best to "take it" from others when they are unhappy, frustrated, rude, or just plain mean. I have sucked it up and allowed a parents to call me a f#$%ing b%$#@h, God d%@$#*d idiot, and even verbally threaten me when their child had to replace a lost library book. I have bit my tongue over and over, even when a fool of a woman told me that my son did not like living in our home and would rather be with her family than mine. I am trying hard to "smile and nod" when I don't agree with comments that are made to me in my new job and most importantly, to not take it personally, but in life, there does come a time when you just have to let it fly!
I blame it on my Texas roots. You know how people from other areas think most Texas women are all a bunch of big haired women (The taller the hair, the closer to Jesus!) who just say the first thing that comes to their minds? Well, sometimes that is true, unless you have met my mother or knew her mother. They are not all like this. However, my friend Cynthia, from the Big Spring area, can be pretty outspoken, too. We have decided it must be a regional thing and maybe it is for a lot of us. Communication research specialists will tell you that where you live or were raised does have an impact on not just your dialect, but your delivery as well. Unfortunately for some, messages from me were delivered with a pinch and a bite of hot pepper flavored directness. Take the jalapeno Arizona flavor and mix with the Texas "let me get my point across." While this mix can be entertaining, it can have a downside, too. At times, I have had to apologize to people who have been offended, hurt, and/'or angry by what I have said. Lucky for me, I am not only used to apologizing, but I don't have a problem doing it. Mama taught me to take responsibility for my actions which includes what I say. Maybe this is what those bumpers stickers mean that say, "Don't Mess With Texas."
Anyway, if I offend you, hurt your feelings, or embarrass you with my comments, please know that I love my family and friends deeply. I will never intentionally set-out to hurt you and will always do my best to defend you when others strike. [When one mean teacher actually had a fellow teacher literally backed against a wall, I put myself between them and talked the crazy one into backing up and letting the other one go to class. The attacker actually said at a meeting, "I like Mrs. Selchow. If she has a problem with you, she will come to you and tell you what is bothering her without sneaking around like a snake, talking behind your back." I took it as a compliment.] And if you feel the need to delete what I post, I totally understand. Although, be careful not to click the "delete this person" button by accident as it is embarrassing to ask them to refriend you. Don't ask how I know this...
Opinions are like belly buttons, everyone has one. Sometimes mine is an "outy" and everyone gets a chance to see or hear it!
Okay, stop laughing! As my mother once said in horror, "We just never know what will come out of her mouth." I don't think she was talking about a baby putting a pebble in their mouth as I was about 14 when I overheard her make the comment! Yes, for those of you who really don't know me in all my glory, I can say some audacious, and interesting things. I usually mean well, but there have been some times when people consider therapy when I have finished.
Example: Friends and I are shopping at the mall during the Christmas season. We walk to the escalator to go down to the first floor. A man and his wife are standing in front of the entrance, talking about some mundane thing. (There was no discussion of feeling faint, the need to slow down, and/or being afraid of falling to their death on the contraption, nor did they speak in a foreign language.) I say very clearly with a holiday smile on my face, "Excuse me..." No response and no movement. I cleared my throat and repeated a little more firmly and loudly, "Excuse me, may we go past?" They turned to look at me, but kept on talking. Okay, here it comes. In a clear voice I said, "I don't know where you are from, but where I come from when someone says EXCUSE ME THAT IS A NICE WAY OF SAYING MOVE YOUR ASS OUT OF THE WAY!" They moved quickly and we went down the escalator. One friend laughed so hard she was crying by the time we made it to the first floor, the other friend just looked embarrassed.
I am sure that I have embarrassed by husband, kids, parents, brother, friends, co-workers, and others, but I have also made them laugh and thank me, as well. There are just times when someone has to say it. "It" being a variety of things. Often, it is something I feel is funny and will lighten the mood, but it can scorch the ears off an offender if I am pushed too far. I do my best to "take it" from others when they are unhappy, frustrated, rude, or just plain mean. I have sucked it up and allowed a parents to call me a f#$%ing b%$#@h, God d%@$#*d idiot, and even verbally threaten me when their child had to replace a lost library book. I have bit my tongue over and over, even when a fool of a woman told me that my son did not like living in our home and would rather be with her family than mine. I am trying hard to "smile and nod" when I don't agree with comments that are made to me in my new job and most importantly, to not take it personally, but in life, there does come a time when you just have to let it fly!
I blame it on my Texas roots. You know how people from other areas think most Texas women are all a bunch of big haired women (The taller the hair, the closer to Jesus!) who just say the first thing that comes to their minds? Well, sometimes that is true, unless you have met my mother or knew her mother. They are not all like this. However, my friend Cynthia, from the Big Spring area, can be pretty outspoken, too. We have decided it must be a regional thing and maybe it is for a lot of us. Communication research specialists will tell you that where you live or were raised does have an impact on not just your dialect, but your delivery as well. Unfortunately for some, messages from me were delivered with a pinch and a bite of hot pepper flavored directness. Take the jalapeno Arizona flavor and mix with the Texas "let me get my point across." While this mix can be entertaining, it can have a downside, too. At times, I have had to apologize to people who have been offended, hurt, and/'or angry by what I have said. Lucky for me, I am not only used to apologizing, but I don't have a problem doing it. Mama taught me to take responsibility for my actions which includes what I say. Maybe this is what those bumpers stickers mean that say, "Don't Mess With Texas."
Anyway, if I offend you, hurt your feelings, or embarrass you with my comments, please know that I love my family and friends deeply. I will never intentionally set-out to hurt you and will always do my best to defend you when others strike. [When one mean teacher actually had a fellow teacher literally backed against a wall, I put myself between them and talked the crazy one into backing up and letting the other one go to class. The attacker actually said at a meeting, "I like Mrs. Selchow. If she has a problem with you, she will come to you and tell you what is bothering her without sneaking around like a snake, talking behind your back." I took it as a compliment.] And if you feel the need to delete what I post, I totally understand. Although, be careful not to click the "delete this person" button by accident as it is embarrassing to ask them to refriend you. Don't ask how I know this...
Opinions are like belly buttons, everyone has one. Sometimes mine is an "outy" and everyone gets a chance to see or hear it!
Jana's Playlist: August 2010
Music. I can't live without it.
My earliest memory is being snuggled with my mother in our red chenille rocking chair, listening to her sing or hum hymns while we rocked. Hearing a song can take me on a memory-ride to a place or an experience where I either heard to song or something happened to remind me of one.
"Close to You" reminds me of riding on the freeway in Houston during the summer of 1970 with Mom as we drove past Meyerland on one of our adventures. "Great Balls of Fire" or any Jerry Lee Lewis song reminds me of my daddy, whether it was Sunday morning, getting ready for church, or Saturday night, bar-b-queing hamburgers, he usually requested that album. The Beatles remind me of Gary. My cousins and I drove each other to distraction with "Henery the Eighth" and the Stylistics remind me of my high school best friend, Machelle. My love song for Bosco is the Oak Ridge Boys' "Dream On." Weddings, funerals, picnics, good times, bad times, everything seems to have it's own song. I love the verse from Harry Chapin's "Mr. Tanner."
"But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole."
There is not one type of music I like better than others. I am musically eclectic. Classical, country, rock, opera, oldies, heavy metal, swing, religious, hiphop, historical, even a little rap. It all has a place in my life.
Writing this blog was to invite you into my life. I think the best way to learn about a person is to listen to their music. So... I will be blogging some of my playlists from time to time. Right now I am listening to the following on my IPOD:
Aint That Lonely, Yet - Dwight Yoakum
Angel - Jack Johnson
The Book of Love - Peter Gabriel
Daughters - John Mayer
Dear Mr. President - Pink
I Don't Believe You - Pink
I Have Seen the Rain - Pink
Mr. Tanner - Harry Chapin
My Little Girl - Jack Johnson
Please Don't Leave Me - Pink
Taxi - Harry Chapin
Sequel - Harry Chapin
So What - Pink
Suspicious Minds - Dwight Yoakam
Your the One - Dwight Yoakam
Too Damn Young - Lane Turner
If you don't know these songs, check them out!
"But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good." Harry Chapin, Mr. Tanner
My earliest memory is being snuggled with my mother in our red chenille rocking chair, listening to her sing or hum hymns while we rocked. Hearing a song can take me on a memory-ride to a place or an experience where I either heard to song or something happened to remind me of one.
"Close to You" reminds me of riding on the freeway in Houston during the summer of 1970 with Mom as we drove past Meyerland on one of our adventures. "Great Balls of Fire" or any Jerry Lee Lewis song reminds me of my daddy, whether it was Sunday morning, getting ready for church, or Saturday night, bar-b-queing hamburgers, he usually requested that album. The Beatles remind me of Gary. My cousins and I drove each other to distraction with "Henery the Eighth" and the Stylistics remind me of my high school best friend, Machelle. My love song for Bosco is the Oak Ridge Boys' "Dream On." Weddings, funerals, picnics, good times, bad times, everything seems to have it's own song. I love the verse from Harry Chapin's "Mr. Tanner."
"But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole."
There is not one type of music I like better than others. I am musically eclectic. Classical, country, rock, opera, oldies, heavy metal, swing, religious, hiphop, historical, even a little rap. It all has a place in my life.
Writing this blog was to invite you into my life. I think the best way to learn about a person is to listen to their music. So... I will be blogging some of my playlists from time to time. Right now I am listening to the following on my IPOD:
Aint That Lonely, Yet - Dwight Yoakum
Angel - Jack Johnson
The Book of Love - Peter Gabriel
Daughters - John Mayer
Dear Mr. President - Pink
I Don't Believe You - Pink
I Have Seen the Rain - Pink
Mr. Tanner - Harry Chapin
My Little Girl - Jack Johnson
Please Don't Leave Me - Pink
Taxi - Harry Chapin
Sequel - Harry Chapin
So What - Pink
Suspicious Minds - Dwight Yoakam
Your the One - Dwight Yoakam
Too Damn Young - Lane Turner
If you don't know these songs, check them out!
"But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good." Harry Chapin, Mr. Tanner
Even If You Return
Daughter, daughter this I know,
Though hard it is to learn,
Hardest is the letting go,
Clock nor calendar to show,
When or even if you will return.
About a year before I left home to go to college, I found this poem in the back of a "Good Housekeeping" magazine to which my mother subscribed. I really liked the message, but at 16 I didn't really feel the emotion behind it, until Meghan.
Even when Meghan was a little child, I knew she would leave us one day. Meghan always loved going places. Even when she was really small, she had no problem going It was not surprise when she announced as a freshman in high school that she would be attending college at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Meghan, my daughter and oldest child, has always seemed to know what she wanted in life. By the end of her senior year in high school, she had obtained admission to NMSU, a tuition waiver, and a job at the university. By August, the family van was packed to the hilt with many of her possessions and were headed to Las Cruces to "take Meg to college." Her possessions included a large Rubber Maid tub of shoes, including over 35 pairs of flip-flops. (No duplication, all different from the rest.)
When we walked into the dorm room, World War II bunker came to mind. It was small with very little furniture and it smelled damp. My stomach began to hurt and I wanted to yank her out of this ugly place and stuff her and the shoes back into the car, but instead I said, "Let's go to Walmart." Among the items we purchased at Walmart were several yards of bright cotton print fabric, a glue gun, glue sticks, ribbons to match the fabric, scissors, a houseplant, bathroom bleach spray, and DAMP RID for the closet. While Bosco and Jordan unpacked her clothes and hung them in the closet, Meghan and I covered almost everything offensive with the fabric--hot gluing it in place. I didn't think there would be an issue as to one day having her deposit returned due to the state of the bunker/dorm room when she moved in. Before we knew it, her room looked better and everything was unpacked and put away.
As we stood looking at the room, admiring our handy work, Bosco said, "Well, I guess we should be going." BAM! Just like that! I know I looked at him like he was crazy, but isn't this why we were here? I nodded my head and we all walked out of the room and went to the car. I can't really describe how I felt. Sadness? No. Fear? Yes. Anxiety? Maybe. Excitement. Yes. Dread? Maybe. I mean, we all knew this day was coming. I threw back my shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled the biggest smile I had in my smile-bank. This is what Bosco and I had been planning for eighteen years and here it was. I looked at Bosco and he seemed okay. I looked at Meg, and she was looking at her new cell phone. Oh, well, it was time to go.
When we got to the car, we all hugged and kissed Meghan, telling her we loved her, how proud we were of her, and that we wanted her to call every day just so we would know that she was alive. Bosco and I were getting into the car when we turned to look at Jordan and were shocked at how he was crying. He just held her and sobbed and sobbed. OH NO! This is not how we thought it would go! Maybe I would cry or Meg would tear-up, but here was Jordy crying and holding onto Meghan!!!! Holy Moly! I think I grabbed him and stuffed him into the back seat before we peeled out of the parking lot!!!!! That really took the awkwardness out of the situation!
We drove through Las Cruces and headed for the Love's Truck Stop to fill up with gas before she called. Ten minutes and I just knew she was missing us already! Ummmm, not. She had forgotten our signed checks that she would need to buy books and other things. So, we gassed up the van and drove back into Cruces.
When we pulled into the dorm parking lot there stood our college girl. Surrounded by four boys. She smiled, ran over to my window, grabbed the checks, kissed me again, and waved good-bye! That's Meghan!
Yes, she returned, regularly.
There will be more stories about my adventures and life with my kids. Be watching!
Though hard it is to learn,
Hardest is the letting go,
Clock nor calendar to show,
When or even if you will return.
About a year before I left home to go to college, I found this poem in the back of a "Good Housekeeping" magazine to which my mother subscribed. I really liked the message, but at 16 I didn't really feel the emotion behind it, until Meghan.
Even when Meghan was a little child, I knew she would leave us one day. Meghan always loved going places. Even when she was really small, she had no problem going It was not surprise when she announced as a freshman in high school that she would be attending college at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Meghan, my daughter and oldest child, has always seemed to know what she wanted in life. By the end of her senior year in high school, she had obtained admission to NMSU, a tuition waiver, and a job at the university. By August, the family van was packed to the hilt with many of her possessions and were headed to Las Cruces to "take Meg to college." Her possessions included a large Rubber Maid tub of shoes, including over 35 pairs of flip-flops. (No duplication, all different from the rest.)
When we walked into the dorm room, World War II bunker came to mind. It was small with very little furniture and it smelled damp. My stomach began to hurt and I wanted to yank her out of this ugly place and stuff her and the shoes back into the car, but instead I said, "Let's go to Walmart." Among the items we purchased at Walmart were several yards of bright cotton print fabric, a glue gun, glue sticks, ribbons to match the fabric, scissors, a houseplant, bathroom bleach spray, and DAMP RID for the closet. While Bosco and Jordan unpacked her clothes and hung them in the closet, Meghan and I covered almost everything offensive with the fabric--hot gluing it in place. I didn't think there would be an issue as to one day having her deposit returned due to the state of the bunker/dorm room when she moved in. Before we knew it, her room looked better and everything was unpacked and put away.
As we stood looking at the room, admiring our handy work, Bosco said, "Well, I guess we should be going." BAM! Just like that! I know I looked at him like he was crazy, but isn't this why we were here? I nodded my head and we all walked out of the room and went to the car. I can't really describe how I felt. Sadness? No. Fear? Yes. Anxiety? Maybe. Excitement. Yes. Dread? Maybe. I mean, we all knew this day was coming. I threw back my shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled the biggest smile I had in my smile-bank. This is what Bosco and I had been planning for eighteen years and here it was. I looked at Bosco and he seemed okay. I looked at Meg, and she was looking at her new cell phone. Oh, well, it was time to go.
When we got to the car, we all hugged and kissed Meghan, telling her we loved her, how proud we were of her, and that we wanted her to call every day just so we would know that she was alive. Bosco and I were getting into the car when we turned to look at Jordan and were shocked at how he was crying. He just held her and sobbed and sobbed. OH NO! This is not how we thought it would go! Maybe I would cry or Meg would tear-up, but here was Jordy crying and holding onto Meghan!!!! Holy Moly! I think I grabbed him and stuffed him into the back seat before we peeled out of the parking lot!!!!! That really took the awkwardness out of the situation!
We drove through Las Cruces and headed for the Love's Truck Stop to fill up with gas before she called. Ten minutes and I just knew she was missing us already! Ummmm, not. She had forgotten our signed checks that she would need to buy books and other things. So, we gassed up the van and drove back into Cruces.
When we pulled into the dorm parking lot there stood our college girl. Surrounded by four boys. She smiled, ran over to my window, grabbed the checks, kissed me again, and waved good-bye! That's Meghan!
Yes, she returned, regularly.
There will be more stories about my adventures and life with my kids. Be watching!
Ugly Shoes and Surgery
THE PROCEDURE:
On June 4, 2010, I entered the out patient surgergical center in Sierra Vista, Arizona. I was the first scheduled sugery that day, and all the pre-op was quick, pain-free, and relatively painless. The nurses were all friendly and chatty, which put me at ease before I was wheeled into the operating room. My doctor had chosen to use a spinal block on me during the procedure and I would be awake the WHOLE time. I had an IV and I believe I was slipped a "little something" to take the edge off, but no one came forward with that information.
I am sitting, yes that is correct, sitting on the gurney with the back of my hospital gown open when one of my nurses puts her hand on the back of my head and slightly pushes it forward. Okay, now I am feeling a little panicky... The anethesiologist tells me to hold my breath and to stay very still. Does the vision frozen in time come to mind? I felt the "stick" he described and whooooooooooooooossssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my toes began to go numb. A few seconds later...no feeling from the waist down. The nurses rolled me over on my stomach, propped my upper half up on a lot of pillows, and it was "SHOWTIME!" I heard it all. Country music on the radio, conversations between the doctor, the nurses, and the anethesiologist. Every so often, someone would come to the head of the table and ask me how I was doing, was I feeling anything, did I need something, etc... I heard something like a Dremel tool cutting the heel spur off and sanding some calcium deposits off as well. WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! I heard and felt the pressure of the doctor pounding the pegs into the bottom of my foot. Dr. Chou, the anesthesiologist and I started a dialog, but I really wish I had taken my IPOD with me. It would have helped pass the time. Before I knew it, I was rolled over onto my back and wheeled to recovery with my foot in a splint and three nurses to hover over me. The feeling came back to my legs and waist and before I knew it, it was time to go home.
CARING/LOVING PEOPLE:
Meg was terribly patient and helped me so much during the first two days. She got up with me at night when I needed to go to the bathroom, helped me figure out a way to shower in a lawn chair (no, not yard, in the walk-in shower), get dressed, and more. She returned to Quincy on the third day and from then on, it was just Bosco and me to handle the details.
I spent many hours in our recliner with my foot elevated. I watched hours of old Malcolm in the Middle re-runs, Ballykissangel on PBS, and all the Glee series. I learned to crochet, shopped on-line, and received visits, flowers, and delicious meals from a lot of really thoughtful friends. Sue Gibbs cooked our dinner, visited with me, and even dead-headed my geraniums. Judy baby-sat me when Bosco went out-of-town or played golf, brought me zuchinni bread, took me to the movies, brought me Kenny's home-made shrimp lomain, and checked on me daily. Carol Huddleston brought me her special chicken salad twice, Denise Cox and Siboney brought me an angel figurine, Elsa Obregon and Patty Chambers emailed me regularly, Bev Enriquez brought me flowers, took me to the movies, took me to lunch, and called daily. Cynthia Bohmfalk brought me flowers, entertained me, and took me to Dairy Queen. Sandy Thomas emailed me, took me to lunch, and brought me a wonderful book to read and enjoy. And Vicky Merritt and Jill Forsythe connected me with a wonderful source of freedom, my knee scooter!!
ON THE MOVE!
The knee scooter honestly made two weeks of splints, four weeks of casts, and four weeks of a cam-walker boot actually bearable. I would put my left knee on the "seat" and push the four-wheeled scooter across the floor/pavement/grass/rocks/any surface to get where I wanted to go. At first, it was a little scary because it turned sharply, but after three falls and a hole in my bedroom wall, I was "scooter-savy." Nothing aside from mud could stop me! Bosco and I loaded that "puppy" in the Nissan or the truck and we went to Pinetop for our annual spoiling at my sister-in-law's cabin, Tucson to see our new great-niece, Carlee, the doctor, movies in Sierra Vista, shopping, TAP training in Phoenix, my nephew's wedding in Houston, and Elephant Butte Lake. It caused a lot of stares and I received a lot of questions. At the airport in Phoenix I was subjected to an invasive "pat-down search" in security, but I did get to lead all the wheel-chair ladies onto the plane. (I received handshakes, a few high fives, and two cheek kisses from my "peeps" in the handicap waiting area.) I even presented at the New Teacher Orientation as well as the beginning of the school year professional development on the scooter. It was a little weird looking, but it worked!
PHYSICAL THERAPY:
During my last doctor's appointment, Dr. Kuchar announced that it was time to lose the boot and start physical therapy. Okay, for over ten weeks, I had not walked or put any weight on my left foot. I tried to walk, but was horrified to discover that I was unable to work both my feet. It seemed so easy, but in addition to an incredible amount of pain, I literally could not lift my left foot in sync with my right. I was really freaked out!
On June 4, 2010, I entered the out patient surgergical center in Sierra Vista, Arizona. I was the first scheduled sugery that day, and all the pre-op was quick, pain-free, and relatively painless. The nurses were all friendly and chatty, which put me at ease before I was wheeled into the operating room. My doctor had chosen to use a spinal block on me during the procedure and I would be awake the WHOLE time. I had an IV and I believe I was slipped a "little something" to take the edge off, but no one came forward with that information.
I am sitting, yes that is correct, sitting on the gurney with the back of my hospital gown open when one of my nurses puts her hand on the back of my head and slightly pushes it forward. Okay, now I am feeling a little panicky... The anethesiologist tells me to hold my breath and to stay very still. Does the vision frozen in time come to mind? I felt the "stick" he described and whooooooooooooooossssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my toes began to go numb. A few seconds later...no feeling from the waist down. The nurses rolled me over on my stomach, propped my upper half up on a lot of pillows, and it was "SHOWTIME!" I heard it all. Country music on the radio, conversations between the doctor, the nurses, and the anethesiologist. Every so often, someone would come to the head of the table and ask me how I was doing, was I feeling anything, did I need something, etc... I heard something like a Dremel tool cutting the heel spur off and sanding some calcium deposits off as well. WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! I heard and felt the pressure of the doctor pounding the pegs into the bottom of my foot. Dr. Chou, the anesthesiologist and I started a dialog, but I really wish I had taken my IPOD with me. It would have helped pass the time. Before I knew it, I was rolled over onto my back and wheeled to recovery with my foot in a splint and three nurses to hover over me. The feeling came back to my legs and waist and before I knew it, it was time to go home.
CARING/LOVING PEOPLE:
Meg was terribly patient and helped me so much during the first two days. She got up with me at night when I needed to go to the bathroom, helped me figure out a way to shower in a lawn chair (no, not yard, in the walk-in shower), get dressed, and more. She returned to Quincy on the third day and from then on, it was just Bosco and me to handle the details.
I spent many hours in our recliner with my foot elevated. I watched hours of old Malcolm in the Middle re-runs, Ballykissangel on PBS, and all the Glee series. I learned to crochet, shopped on-line, and received visits, flowers, and delicious meals from a lot of really thoughtful friends. Sue Gibbs cooked our dinner, visited with me, and even dead-headed my geraniums. Judy baby-sat me when Bosco went out-of-town or played golf, brought me zuchinni bread, took me to the movies, brought me Kenny's home-made shrimp lomain, and checked on me daily. Carol Huddleston brought me her special chicken salad twice, Denise Cox and Siboney brought me an angel figurine, Elsa Obregon and Patty Chambers emailed me regularly, Bev Enriquez brought me flowers, took me to the movies, took me to lunch, and called daily. Cynthia Bohmfalk brought me flowers, entertained me, and took me to Dairy Queen. Sandy Thomas emailed me, took me to lunch, and brought me a wonderful book to read and enjoy. And Vicky Merritt and Jill Forsythe connected me with a wonderful source of freedom, my knee scooter!!
ON THE MOVE!
The knee scooter honestly made two weeks of splints, four weeks of casts, and four weeks of a cam-walker boot actually bearable. I would put my left knee on the "seat" and push the four-wheeled scooter across the floor/pavement/grass/rocks/any surface to get where I wanted to go. At first, it was a little scary because it turned sharply, but after three falls and a hole in my bedroom wall, I was "scooter-savy." Nothing aside from mud could stop me! Bosco and I loaded that "puppy" in the Nissan or the truck and we went to Pinetop for our annual spoiling at my sister-in-law's cabin, Tucson to see our new great-niece, Carlee, the doctor, movies in Sierra Vista, shopping, TAP training in Phoenix, my nephew's wedding in Houston, and Elephant Butte Lake. It caused a lot of stares and I received a lot of questions. At the airport in Phoenix I was subjected to an invasive "pat-down search" in security, but I did get to lead all the wheel-chair ladies onto the plane. (I received handshakes, a few high fives, and two cheek kisses from my "peeps" in the handicap waiting area.) I even presented at the New Teacher Orientation as well as the beginning of the school year professional development on the scooter. It was a little weird looking, but it worked!
PHYSICAL THERAPY:
During my last doctor's appointment, Dr. Kuchar announced that it was time to lose the boot and start physical therapy. Okay, for over ten weeks, I had not walked or put any weight on my left foot. I tried to walk, but was horrified to discover that I was unable to work both my feet. It seemed so easy, but in addition to an incredible amount of pain, I literally could not lift my left foot in sync with my right. I was really freaked out!
How You Made Them Feel
They may forget what you said... but they will never forget how you made them feel.
~Carl W. Buechner
I recently read this quote on my friend Sandi's facebook page. It is not a new quote, I have seen it many times before, but this time it really made me think about somethings going on in my life.
My Parents: Lately, the "old people," as we like to call them, have seemed a little more frailer than usual. Dad has had a couple of falls and Mom's memory seems a bit worse. However, every weekend, when we talk on the phone as we have done since the first weekend I spent in college, just listening to their voices makes me feel loved and cared for. There are weeks when the news isn't always the best--they are tired, in pain, sad, or not feeling so well, but before we say goodbye, they always tell me they love me. On Easter, Mom asked about my job and my travels. Before she said goodbye, she said, "I just want you to know how terribly proud I am of you." At that moment, nothing could have meant more to me. I always knew I was loved, but to hear my mother, the one woman who allowed me to be who I really am, even though she didn't always understand, expressed her pride. It was so loving and all the hard work seemed worth it.
My In-Laws: Those wild and crazy Selchows are people you want on your side. They love a party, keep their friend endlessly, always put their family first, and are a force to be reckoned with. This past weekend, they held a "porch party" and invited two of their life-long friends, a few new friends, and of course, family. It was hysterical watching the eternal cowgirl, Waynette, "booty dance" and request to hear some Pink on the stereo. She called my sister-in-law, Barb, "Beulah Pearl," and they danced like they were 18 on the patio as we watched and cheered! Barb received three fashion watches for her birthday, and wore all three at the same time. Everyone was made to feel welcome and there is no such thing as a stranger. How does that make you feel? Special, accepted, a part of the family.
My husband: Since taking this job, there have been a few late nights and many long hours learning the job. Many evenings when I come home from work, I fall asleep on the couch. Tonight, I fell asleep with a paper plate and a fork sitting next to me. I was cruisin' when I felt him quietly reach over me and take my plate and fork to the kitchen. He didn't rouse me or comment on having to do this, he just let me rest. I felt so safe and secure. He has done this so many times for me in our thirty-one years together. When I have been frustrated and angry, he has not let me allow it to control me. When I have cried pitifully over being hurt and sad, he has spoken kind words and encouraged me to work toward a goal, like going to Ireland when I retire. He has painted my walls, bought me what he thinks is millions of shoes, started my car on cold mornings, and took care of me when I was sick or hurt. He makes me feel like I can go on, even when I am worn out.
How do you make others feel? I know how you make me feel. I hope I always make you feel like you matter, because you do.
~Carl W. Buechner
I recently read this quote on my friend Sandi's facebook page. It is not a new quote, I have seen it many times before, but this time it really made me think about somethings going on in my life.
My Parents: Lately, the "old people," as we like to call them, have seemed a little more frailer than usual. Dad has had a couple of falls and Mom's memory seems a bit worse. However, every weekend, when we talk on the phone as we have done since the first weekend I spent in college, just listening to their voices makes me feel loved and cared for. There are weeks when the news isn't always the best--they are tired, in pain, sad, or not feeling so well, but before we say goodbye, they always tell me they love me. On Easter, Mom asked about my job and my travels. Before she said goodbye, she said, "I just want you to know how terribly proud I am of you." At that moment, nothing could have meant more to me. I always knew I was loved, but to hear my mother, the one woman who allowed me to be who I really am, even though she didn't always understand, expressed her pride. It was so loving and all the hard work seemed worth it.
My In-Laws: Those wild and crazy Selchows are people you want on your side. They love a party, keep their friend endlessly, always put their family first, and are a force to be reckoned with. This past weekend, they held a "porch party" and invited two of their life-long friends, a few new friends, and of course, family. It was hysterical watching the eternal cowgirl, Waynette, "booty dance" and request to hear some Pink on the stereo. She called my sister-in-law, Barb, "Beulah Pearl," and they danced like they were 18 on the patio as we watched and cheered! Barb received three fashion watches for her birthday, and wore all three at the same time. Everyone was made to feel welcome and there is no such thing as a stranger. How does that make you feel? Special, accepted, a part of the family.
My husband: Since taking this job, there have been a few late nights and many long hours learning the job. Many evenings when I come home from work, I fall asleep on the couch. Tonight, I fell asleep with a paper plate and a fork sitting next to me. I was cruisin' when I felt him quietly reach over me and take my plate and fork to the kitchen. He didn't rouse me or comment on having to do this, he just let me rest. I felt so safe and secure. He has done this so many times for me in our thirty-one years together. When I have been frustrated and angry, he has not let me allow it to control me. When I have cried pitifully over being hurt and sad, he has spoken kind words and encouraged me to work toward a goal, like going to Ireland when I retire. He has painted my walls, bought me what he thinks is millions of shoes, started my car on cold mornings, and took care of me when I was sick or hurt. He makes me feel like I can go on, even when I am worn out.
How do you make others feel? I know how you make me feel. I hope I always make you feel like you matter, because you do.
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