Awkward Amputee Problems (Part 3, Prosthetics)

This is the final piece, part 3 (Part 1, Part 2), in a series describing Awkward Amputee Problems.  The first two articles are geared more for those on crutches while part 3 is customized for prosthetic-wearing amputees. I hope that you can either a) relate to this article as an amputee and leave your stories in the comments, or b) laugh along with us and be educated!

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Leg Flatulence

If you aren’t an amputee please know this is a real thing. Most prosthetic legs attach via suction between the existing stump and the prosthesis. When air gets trapped, well, you can guess the result. I have had more than my share of awkward moments in quiet classrooms as I would go to sit or stand up (causing air fluctuation as the muscles changed shape), in grocery stores (which I would always blame a sister for with a disgusted look and shake of the head), and pretty much any location that I would NOT want people to think I had some sort of self control issue!

We all fall off!

I’ve seen other amputees have a leg fall off of a ski lift (the leg lands and skis a little before flopping over). I’ve seen people take a step and then realize their fake leg didn’t join the hurrah. Mine have fallen off while dancing, on a ladder, climbing a tree, riding a horse, off the edge of a boat, and I don’t mean to gloat!  Humidity and moisture buildup is often the culprit. This happened in Jamaica to the point that I almost could not walk down the aisle to get married! Thankfully my dad concocted the perfect Plan B by offering (in complete solemnity) to push me down the aisle in a luggage cart. (For the record I dragged my sister into the bathroom and made her hold the dress around my head while I cried and fought for just enough suction to get me to the altar in some way, any way, besides a luggage cart!) Legs seem to have a mind of their own sometimes and know the exact moment to come – or not to come unglued. I have a girlfriend that was being mugged in NYC when her leg popped off. The mugger, utterly discombobulated, tried to pick up her leg and put it back on for her! I think if I had a dollar  for each mortified look I’ve gotten when my leg has fallen off and the audience didn’t realize it was fake to begin with I think I would be going somewhere! (Not by walking, of course!)

Stop The Hop

Hopping has to be kept to a limit for all amputees. Knees, ankles, and hips must be preserved for the long haul. I don’t care what you see other amputees do, it isn’t good if you see them hopping around from point A to B. It also gets awkward as you gain body mass and parts after puberty, but that is its own set of stories. When you think about mobility, most do not understand just how many times each day they will take a single step either to the left, right, front, or back when reaching for things. Amputees are always twisting around and bending funny while reaching for things; in which context I will now introduce: The Hop.  A little hop here and a little hop there can save us so much time and energy. How is this awkward? I don’t know, but two legged people become extremely distressed whenever an amputee takes a little hop. It’s as if the reality of immobility settles upon their brain in one cascading and debilitating swoop. They begin fumbling, stuttering, and completely frozen while processing “the hop” and how they can or should relate to it. This is a wonderful tool for getting out of any awkward conversation, by the way, as the two legged specimen struggles to regain coherence you have the leg up to change the subject.

Taking it off for comfort

There is nothing quite as awkward as wanting to be comfortable in a laid back setting, but not wanting to be the stinker. Legs stink, as in they make stinky socks and feet seem like a whiff of sunshine. Legs are full of sweat and bacteria-breeding elements so they have to be cleaned/disinfected every day or you walk around like the stinking gym bag on crack that you’ve become. In equal competition, however, is the difficulty in sitting 20181009_113651through a movie or in an awkward chair for hours with an above knee prosthesis. It is like chilling in your Spanx, ain’t happening! Guys kind of relish the foul smells their bodies’ emit and proudly kick off their legs and shoes regardless of location, in hopes of bragging rights for the stench trophy. On the other hand, most women and girls feel the dutiful pressure to keep their stinky laundry leg to themselves and suffer silently. It can make for a long movie night, let me assure you!

What happens to your leg when you die?

Yeah, so there’s that. I think right now I have five legs in my house. Do I want to be buried with them? Or do I have to choose one to be buried with me, and in that case which one do I pick? My favorite? The best looking? The fastest? Do I take all of them like a Pharoah prepping for the afterlife? So many decisions! In my particular case there is the also the situation to factor in where I already have one foot occupying my grave (it is buried in a specific plot waiting for the rest of me). Something tells me it would be odd to have two or more legs buried all together, wouldn’t it? How would they pack my casket? I don’t want a bunch of feet in my face is what saying. My cousin inherited my great-grandfather’s old wooden legs but I can assure everyone that legs aren’t nearly as cool looking these days. And surely my nieces and nephews would not wish to be haunted by the footprints of my past when I’m gone. But if I am buried with a leg then in a thousand years some archeologist will dig me up and see my amputated leg and my decomposed self next to a shiny stomper that they will exhume for research of ancient millennials. I’m not sure how I feel about that. At the very least I will have to engrave my name in the leg so they don’t name me something odd like Otzi or Naia like they do the ice age bodies they find today.

Personal lubricant needs to stay personal

Most amputees need to use personal lubricant, but not for the reason you may think. Prosthetics cause rubbing and bleeding, sores and cuts. The location where skin makes contact with the device has to be broken in and toughened up after the most minor of adjustments or weight fluctuations. New legs leave my stump looking fresher’n a piece of meat. I have found the best possible remedy for this is 100% silicone personal lubricant. Rest assured, this was recommended by a prosthetist rather than my own trial and error. (I did not seek to learn just how he figured it out.) It seemed like logical advice so off to the store I went. All was well and good in my mind until I got up to the counter with my prosthesis supply list: disinfecting alcohol, personal lubricant, vaseline, clothespins (for drying liners), and ibuprofen. It seemed any attempt at an explanation would come off guilty, so I scuttled off after mumbling something about having a good day under my breath and hoped that the cashier and I shared no common acquaintances. Thank goodness for Amazon, is all I’m saying.

You really don’t take off your shoes

Shoe shopping is a freakin’ nightmare for prosthetic users and yes I just used that word, freakin’! It is a disaster! One more time? Horrible! The ankle on most fake legs does NOT move which means shoes do NOT go on. Any boot or shoe that goes above the ankle, like those cool 1990’s high top sneakers, forget about it! Trying on ten or more pairs in a store was an afternoon of misery along with no guarantee of getting the original shoe back on 6 june 11before leaving. There have been walks across parking lots with one bare foot, is what I’m saying. It was right about the same time those high tops came out that it became trendy to have people take their shoes off at the door. Going barefoot changed the height and alignment of my leg making my gait awkward and my back hurt. I would slip and slide around a friend’s house falling and sometimes breaking objects because I had zero traction at the end of my stick. Then after creating so much awkwardness I could never get my shoe back on to go home! I’ve had my fair share of experiences with friends’ moms straddling my leg facing away from me and beating my shoe on, my mother and father doing the same, and me having to take the whole leg off to sit on it and beat the shoe on. The rear view of kind matrons straddling my leg grew so awkwardly intimate after a while, not to mention the hundreds of little shoe horns we have collectively broken!

Salty foods

Seafood is a staple in my family. We LOVE seafood and it never really affected me until I was a teenager but I realized very quickly one morning that salty food would cause water retainment, meaning my leg would not fit. Some amputees wrap their stumps overnight to prevent swelling. I’m cut high enough that wrapping at night means unwrapping for middle-of-the-night bathroom trips. No thank you. My remedy was to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, and strap ‘er on extra early in the morning to give the swelling time to cease. My tardiness or bailing out of chores on those occasions, I’m sure, came off a little like the “dog ate my homework” excuse.

Getting into the pool

Have you ever watched a documentary of penguins? They all kind of scuttle-hop in a limited way over to the edge of their iceberg islands, or whatever snowy mass they are on, and then one at a time kind of take a hop and plunge head first into the deep water where they are finally freed to move unrestrained. It is quite comical and even impressive to watch. Well back when I used to travel with a lot of amputees we would always head to the hotel pool together. All twenty or thirty of us would stroll to the pool area and pick chairs, drop legs, then hop on over to the edge. With another hop and plunge we would drop on in. It was like watching the penguins! While it felt perfectly natural to us, the moms calling their kids out with horrified stares, and the disgusted grandma’s scurrying out of the water reflected that apparently not everyone enjoyed penguin documentaries.

Take charge

In my more recent years I found that with technology a prosthesis needs to be charged up for the knee to work. Legs are no longer simply mechanical, and this improvement gives more stability when navigating elevation, steps, and terrain. But if you have ever forgotten to charge your cell phone you know where I am going with this. Running dead means you walk “stiff legged”, returning to the era of pirates on the high seas, until re-engaging with the three pronged wonder of an outlet. Finishing a work shift with no bend, supermarket trip with no dip, or cleaning the house on the stiff will surely leave me miffed.

Stranger Danger

What in the world do you tell a stranger that asks you out on a date and has no idea that you have one leg?! Surely just telling them upfront is inviting rejection or at the very least a record breaking cop-out. Not sure how to handle these situations I never accepted, instead opting to laugh and walk away like I was playing hard-to-get. Being mysterious seemed so much easier than being rejected. As a married woman, however, I think if I had to return to those days again I would be up for a little more fun with those shallow hal’s and and torture them a little!

 

Circumcision: One of my ABSOLUTE favorite Bible Stories

I was so excited when our small group decided to work through the book of Joshua. While I have appreciation for the straightforward direction of New Testament letters, there is nothing that puts a sparkle in my eye quite like a good story. There is so much that can be gleaned from stories, and stories have always been a rich part of my life. My grandmother and father would smile and stretch their imaginations as I would crawl up on their laps and ask them to tell me a story. Maybe that inherent desire to hear a story is one of the reasons that even Jesus spoke in parables. Giving orders or direction doesn’t really capture the heart and mind, it doesn’t explain the consequences and effects, or reveal the layers and depth that a story can. Stories provide layer after layer of insight to be gleaned, and our perspective can fluctuate along with our comprehension of the principles each time we hear it again.

Jericho-2So right there at the beginning of the book of Joshua we find the Israelites. After 40 years of wandering around in the desert (a consequence of disobedience) they were ready to come in to the promised land that Yahweh had told them was already theirs for the taking. They had just crossed the Jordan river and saw how Yahweh miraculously pushed back the water in a wall as it ceased to flow downstream and they crossed over on completely dry land. Not just one or two of them but an entire nation of over (likely) a million people crossed a riverbed on dry ground. A wall of water built up on one sude of them and waited for the last person to step out so it could crash down and proceed in its natural state. How’s that for a triumphal entry into enemy territory? What better way for an army to show off their goods? Can you imagine their excitement? I can almost hear the little boys shouting, “Take that, Jericho! See, Yahweh is on OUR side! See what he just did for US?! Bring it on, ‘Richo’s!”

The level of confidence must have been soaring and contagious all throughout the nation as they made camp. It was a new day and they had finally arrived! Fresh food and houses and land for the taking after forty years of tents and manna in the desert! They were an army on the move and you know the men had to have been cheering one another on, boasting of their strength and the ways that they each thought God would use them to take the land. As men before battle often do, pep talks and conquest plans surely echoed all throughout camp. When I think about this story I always remember military men and women that I’ve been at parties with or celebrated with and how their “hoo-rahs” and cheers stating who they were and what they represented filled the atmosphere. I imagine it was much the same in the Israelite camp.

obs-en-15-08Their spies had already given reports that the people of the lands were afraid and trembling, and with good reason! What kind of god could bring people out of 400 years of slavery? What kind of god could part a sea or a river…twice? And who could possibly come against such a God? Yes, the Israelites were in the advantage all the way around. It was in the midst of all of this that they received their very first direction from the Lord, through their new leader Joshua. They gathered around eagerly waiting for the green light to conquer. It was time, alas! Then Joshua stood solemnly before them, I imagine, and without making eye contact told them what the Lord was commanding them to do:

Circumcise every male. (Joshua 5)

What? First of all, Joshua was a new leader so I would have been a little less than eager to step up to bat, or blade, if you will. “Are you sure about that, Joshua?”, “Maybe you should go back to the Lord for a double-check because that just doesn’t sound right!”, “Moses told us Joshua was the leader, right? Do we have the right Joshua?!” Common sense reminds us that they had just entered enemy territory! AKA – Red Zone. If this was the Lord speaking, wouldn’t it have been wiser to do this little snipping snippet back on the other side of the river maybe? Or how about, oh I don’t know, ANYTIME in the past forty years?! Why would Yahweh want to completely debilitate his entire army camped just inside of enemy territory with something as drastic as circumcision? What if they were attacked? The men wouldn’t even be able to walk and surely all the women and children couldn’t defend their entire nation against armed and trained warriors! Not a strong start by any military standard, I’d say. It made absolutely no sense at all that this would be the first command in the promised land. Yet, there it was.

Circumcision represented and made an outward marking of who the Israelites represented much in the same way that we are baptized today in a circumcision of our hearts (so to speak). They were about to enter society again for the first time in forty long years and God wanted them to be marked as “his people”. For whatever reason, this was to be done when they were more vulnerable than any man should be past infancy. Perhaps it was to remind them that this was not to be their victory or their strength that would conquer Jericho but about God’s strength and God’s gift to them? We can only speculate on that aspect of the story.

If you look anything like my small group did when I told them that this is one of my favorite bible stories, I’d just like to tell you to bear with me for a moment. You see, the thing that sticks out to me the most in this story is how much the timing parallels real life walking with God. Think about it, how often have you caught fire for something or some cause that the Lord had directed you to and you got all excited about it and were sure that it is what you were called to do when all of a sudden, right in the smack dab middle of your enthusiasm, SQUASH! The complete (seemingly) opposite thing happens! Does it mean that the promise of God is not valid? Does it mean that you heard him wrong? Does it mean that his word is not good and that he won’t complete his good work in you? Of course not, but often it sure does seem like that in the short term!20181025_184429

The bible is filled with examples where God made a promise and then immediately after the complete opposite occured and the biblical character had to hunker down and persevere in order to achieve the happy ending we (readers two thousand years later) saw coming from the very beginning. Abraham was told he would birth a nation as numerous as the stars before he had even one child – then he was told to sacrifice his only son soon after the promise seemed finally possible! David was told he was the king of all Israel, anointed by a prophet even – and immediately after he lived for ten years in the wilderness (often in caves) while he fled for his very life! Not exactly what we would expect to be the life a God-anointed king, now is it? Elijah had just shown thousands of people that Yahweh was more powerful than Baal in an awesome display of power and fire – and immediately thereafter found himself in the desert as he wished himself dead before he could be captured or killed. Joseph saw himself exalted before his brothers and the next day found himself sold into slavery!

I think the greatest example of this is in our very own Messiah. He was the king and savior, he said. He was going to rule all of heaven and earth, he was the salt of the earth and the bread of life. The scriptures prophesied it, the people had expected it for hundreds of years, he was sent to free them from their oppression. He healed the blind and lame, and he rose the dead for crying out loud! Yet right after the disciples saw the transformation and became so clearly confident that Jesus was going to bring forth the kingdom of God – he was crucified. Not just killed – but convicted and crucified in a most shameful way that degraded him and destroyed every ounce of his dignity, rights as a human being, and reputation established during ministry and miracles.

Sometimes we judge the disciples for fleeing and abandoning him during this time a little too quickly, I think. Because again, a king and a ruler and a savior is not humiliated, cast down before his subjects, and killed alongside common criminals, is he? We know today (hindsight being 20/20 and that) the end of the story does indeed entail Jesus as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. But originally, to the disciples post-crucifixion, every dream and word and promise seemed lost and hopeless.

So why do I love this story in Joshua about circumcision and weakness and vulnerability? Because it displays such an accurate depiction of real life even as Christ himself lived it. It is what a scholar I listen to refers to as the “already but not yet” phenomenon in scripture. The Israelites were already given the promised land, but not yet, circumcision came first. Jesus was already King of Kings, but the seemingly opposite crucifixion was part of the design. Moses was told he would represent his people and lead them to freedom, but not yet, he was stuttering and spent years in the wilderness fleeing as a murderer. Jacob was promised Rachel, but not yet, he had to work fourteen years for that. And lastly, we as believers are seated with Christ in the heavenly realm, according to scripture, but not yet as we are also on earth.

DSCN0419There are a lot of situations in our lives where we do not see the manifested evidence of God at work in the way we expect him to be. Does it mean he is not there? Absolutely not. Does it mean that he will not complete his promises of redemption to us? I don’t believe so. I do believe that the Israelite men were afraid when they became debilitated by circumcision and their entire camp was in a dangerous state of vulnerability. I believe they worried about their wives and children and whether or not they would be obliterated while unable to even defend themselves. Surely they wondered why Yahweh would have brought them so far to cast them before their enemies for slaughter. Yet we know the ending of this story and the fact that they did end up conquering. When they were weak, God was strong.

So when we are weak, unable to see the forest for the trees, we can rest and remember the freshly circumcised Israelites on the cusp of battle and camping in enemy territory while sore and healing. We can know that the lessons we learn on the journey are always just as important as the destination God has stored for us. We can look beyond our circumstances and see the smiling face of Jesus, the already-conqueror behind whatever we are facing. And so that is why I love this story about circumcision, it has a depth and dimension of trust and blind faith far beyond what first meets the eye.

 

Stranger-Neighbors, A collection of stories

My husband and I have a friend that recently moved into an apartment complex. He presented several unique (and hilarious) stories about his neighbors that started turning my wheels. I grew up on a back road with farmland so there was not close proximity for strange and unusual neighbor encounters. There were some neighbor kids that could play with us and Amish kids that weren’t allowed to. There was a neighbor across the field that would pile trash and leaves taller than his own 6’2” height, pour gas all over it, (more lavishly than a priest with holy water) then toss a match while long-legging it out of danger. I think the factor that made this spectacle more entertaining was that he was also our preacher. We had an elderly lady that we would trekk over to visit about once a week. She wasn’t the happiest person and I now wonder if that awful chihuahua of hers was outwardly expressing her inner thoughts. Conclusively, I don’t give my past and present neighbors enough credit for the impact they have made in my life. They have entertained me for the last few decades in a steady procession of strangeness and deserve some recognition. I have learned so much from my neighbors over the years! Enter a sample collection of stranger-neighbors…

  The things we can’t unsee…

When I lived in a housing development I remember noticing when the “very religious” woman across the circle began, I assumed to be an affair. I would guiltily look out the window to see the husband leave, boyfriend arrive, boyfriend leave, husband return. It felt like I was in the cookie jar, a part of something that I shouldn’t have been. When I’d meet the husband perchance at the mailbox I felt like a true traitor, and it was at the 07 July 2016 175mailbox one day the wife herself chided me for something (maybe playing loud music in my car?). I subtly dropped a few hints about finger-pointing and after that she didn’t interact with me anymore, even at the mailbox. (Her friend also stopped coming around immediately, just sayin’.)  

So mailboxes seem to be a point of congregation for neighbors. There is a recurring pattern of interesting neighborly interaction in my life that stems from mailbox meetings. Where neighbors used to share plates of cookies, they now run in to one another at the mailbox. After all, it really is a good time to catch someone outside and say hello. It is also usually the end of a day, work or otherwise, so people are taking a minute to breathe and get their mail before starting supper and carting kids around. It is a welcome break and a way to gain a second-wind propelling us all towards evening hours.

The misunderstoods…

My favorite stranger-neighbor that lived in the same circle was an agoraphobic (my completely unprofessional medical diagnosis) woman. She never left her house and never spoke to anyone that I saw, outside of family. All of her shopping appeared to be done online, and it appeared that she liked to shop. I could hear her yelling and directing her husband and daughter on a regular basis but I never heard them respond in anger or even match her volume. They proved to be better people than I would have been under the same circumstances. My favorite memory of this woman was one summer afternoon when a storm was moving in. The clouds were dark and moving quickly overhead. Everyone rushed to move indoors and people hurriedly walked their pets before the storm landed.  I heard barking and turned to find my neighbor commanding her forces. She was standing on the front porch, her invisible fence line, yelling and pointing at the plants in the yard and around the mailbox she wanted watered. Her husband and daughter were frantically running around with watering pails trying to get to everything while she urged them to hurry before the rain started. The fact that they were in a such huge rush to water all of the outdoor flowers before the rain came has perplexed me for years.

The Groaners…

After I moved, at first I found the noises of stranger-neighbors in my apartment building comforting. I didn’t feel isolated but I still had personal space. I quickly found there was a clear limit to the level of comfort noise could bring. The first morning in the apartment I bounced around getting ready for work when I heard moaning and groaning on the other side of my wall. I froze, initially, wondering if there was some sort of Beetlejuice-ghost scene happening. It sounded just like it. Determining I was flick free, I tuned in a little more, and more. At this point I may or may not have utilized the whole “ear-against-the-cup-against-the-wall” trick. (…in the spirit of full disclosure I most definitely did.) The groaning and moaning continued and it was like a wailing, awful death or something. I was scared and clueless all at the same time unsure if I should check on my stranger-neighbor or let him alone. The groan sessions repeated for half an hour every. single. morning. After being troubled for a few weeks I managed to coordinate my morning exit to get a glimpse of said groaner. His appearance didn’t give away anything, he was a middle-aged, single, business man. I imagined by seeing his casual business attire and briefcase that he was likely an IT tech. (An assumption with no further basis whatsoever.) The man seemed perfectly normal and I had a hard time imagining his quiet nodding self making the noises that he made! I never asked my stranger-neighbor about the groaning and he never seemed embarrassed in the least when he saw me. I was embarrassed for him though, I assure you!  No one had to tell me when he moved, I knew by the blissful sound of silence.

The Intimates…

No one really prepared me for the inevitable intimacy that happens in apartment complexes. I do wish someone had tried, or at least been a little more concise in their descriptions. When people allude to the intrusive noise of neighbors my mind immediately thinks: fighting, yelling, stomping, slamming, banging, etc. But one night at 2am, I went into the bathroom and thought I heard water trickling overhead.  I assumed maybe there was a leak, but looking up I saw no water. I listened intently for another

222381_315889091860617_1891459405_nfew seconds and then I heard the one sound that could never be mistaken for something else – the toilet flushing. My stranger-neighbor was peeing over my head! It was a complete abomination to the stranger-stranger relationship! I bet the man’s own mother didn’t have to hear that past his tenth year of age! In the following years I found myself using the toilet at the same time as my upstairs stranger-neighbors countless times and each time felt no less strange. Why or how this is different than using a public restroom I cannot say, but somehow, at least to me, peeing with the neighbor above your head at 2am is an intimacy that one should not share with a stranger-neighbor. And while we are at it neither is hearing stranger-neighbors enjoying each other at ANY time. In short, through my neighbors I have learned things that can not be unlearned and heard things that cannot be unheard!

 The creepers (maybe it is you?)…

There was a gang of kids that played and ran around the complex together. They found an object of interest in me and would meet me as I stepped out of my car to ask questions about my missing leg. Each day I told them a different story.  Shark, bear, chihuahua, snake, bus, magic, robbery, etc. The next day they would meet me all over again and present questions about the previous story. I would always laugh and tell them that they misunderstood me because the “true story is ___”.  Eventually, when I mastered the art of slipping past them they began ringing my buzzer and the whole horde of eight or ten kids would march in and plop themselves around my living room for an awkward adult/child stranger-neighbor visit. I was not quite sure if I wanted to welcome this company or not, but remembering the grumpy old neighbor lady and her nasty chihuahua, I bought cookies and candy and kept them stocked. It took a few weeks before the thought occurred that it probably wasn’t wise for kids to visit strangers in their closed-door apartments without parental permission. It probably wasn’t wise for me to bribe them with cookies and candy, either.

The intimates…

Laundry is another area of contention with stranger-neighbors. There was one lovely time when I ended up with a pair of men’s boxers and sweatpants in my laundry. Presumably someone put them in the wrong washer or dryer, though I have only recently thought of that. At the time I had no idea how it could have happened. No amount of explaining would convince my grandmother (who was visiting right when I was folding that specific load of laundry) that I knew nothing about a man’s underwear in my laundry. The more I explained, the more I was embarrassed; the more I was embarrassed, the redder I turned. My guilt was sealed in her eyes! For all the trouble that incident cost me I trashed the boxers and kept the pants as reparation – which were surprisingly comfortable. (Besides, how do you just show up at your stranger-neighbor’s doorstep and hand them their underwear?)

Other awkward laundry situations arose when I would need a washer or dryer but the stranger-neighbors had not taken their own clothes out for a length of time. I would have to remove their clothes and place them on the folding table for retrieval. It felt so rude doing that – like I was pushing them out or overstepping personal boundaries, so I would always try to figure out if it would be less-rude to fold them. Of course the answer was a resounding no, but it still ate at away at me as I ducked back to my own apartment as quickly as I could to avoid being caught with someone else’s garments. Once again, I was unprepared for the awkward intimacy of handling a stranger-neighbor’s underwear and then keeping a straight face when passing them in the stairwell!  Emperor’s new clothes, anyone?

The Plungers…

For awhile I would leave for work in the dark and come home in the dark. There was a man that wore a snazzy military uniform that would often be outside the time I was coming home. He would flirt with me and compliment me; I would laugh and walk away. His name was Ken, and Ken was in the National Guard. In a previous life he had been a preacher but his wife ran off with an elder so he changed careers. He was living with his girlfriend and they had a baby. A far cry from a preacher, but who was I to judge. I avoided Ken’s advances (for obvious reasons) without coming right out to reject him, but he just assumed I wasn’t catching what he was throwing down. One 851_315888831860643_855541356_nnight when I came home he met me outside of my car and was particularly insistent. I was tired and annoyed, not sure why the man couldn’t seem to take a hint. I tried to walk past him but he got in front of me twice, blocking my path to the door. Exasperated, I leveled with him and asked, “What do you want, Ken?” He launched into a barely decipherable tirade, “I wait for you every day…I think you are pretty and your leg don’t matter to me…I don’t think you understand what I been trying to say…If you would just give me a chance…let me take you out for a drink…some men will care about the leg issue but I won’t care…Here…take this letter I wrote you with my number on it…rent a soldier I’m up for rent…”

As I stood there grasping at straws to get away I heard a building door bang open behind me and a loud, low voice bellow out, “KENNETH!!!!!” I turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties with a baby in one arm, and the (heavy!) firedoor pushed all the way back to the wall with the other. She was very unkempt and I could see that this was one lady I didn’t want to to be caught in crossfire with! I took my cue to bolt around “KENNETH!” and made my escape.

Once in my apartment I read the letter before trashing it and settled in to make supper.  Just then there was loud and frantic banging on my apartment door. Loud (meaning): far beyond knocking, no pause or stopping!  Right away I knew it was her. I didn’t know how she got into my building since each building had its own key, but I knew it was her. I froze and the banging did not stop. She knew I was there and I couldn’t run. My heart was pounding and I had no idea what to do or how to act. Having been no party in this whole charade I didn’t feel that I should be put in the middle. I angrily shoved the letter to the bottom of the trash, out of sight, and resolved myself to face the woman and hope for the best. I opened the door and she stood there with her shirt riding high and skin hanging out, shorts with holes, food stains on her face, and the baby still in one arm. She was beet red in the face and droplets sweat had formed on her forehead. Completely out of breath and almost bent over from the exertion she looked up at me and roared, “You gotta toilet plunger?!  We need a plunger!! BAAAAD!! I’ll bring it right back!!!”

The relief I felt as I busted out laughing could never be matched again! She laughed too, having no idea what we were really laughing about. I assured her she could keep the plunger and sent her on her way. A few weeks later the police arrived and stormed Kenneth’s apartment but he was gone. Apparently not reporting for duty is a crime. I remember thinking with a chuckle:  Who would want to rent a delinquent soldier, anyway?

The closeters…

My grandmother, a battle hardened, wounded, tough veteran of close-proximity living warned me that when living in close quarters to not befriend the neighbors. It was fantastic advice but also advice that I did not keep very well for the first several years.  One morning, wearing that pair of reparation sweatpants, I watched out the window as the sweatpants guy moved out from above me. Another guy moved in that was covered completely in tattoos (head, scalp, face, every inch of skin that I saw). When he first introduced himself to me he challenged me to name an object, any object, and he was sure he had that as a tattoo. I named “milk carton”, and lo and behold he presented a milk carton tattoo right above his left elbow. He would leave little things on my door occasionally: doodles of one-legged “wonderwoman”, PEZ candy dispensers, and other things. He claimed that when he and his former wife had kids she had changed from a shaved head, punk-rock chick, to a “mom”. Apparently that was a bad thing. It intimidated me enough to heed my Nan’s advice and keep my distance. I learned later that he had a fetish for domination and dominatrix, which explained some of the odd sights and sounds I was unfortunate enough to endure. I moved out before the whole “fifty shades” era but am sure it boosted female interest in him so I’m glad I didn’t have to bear witness to any of that. I guess we really don’t know what happens behind closed doors. A groaner in one closet, a dominatrix in another, a weed plant in yet another, eh, to each his own.

              *                    *                     *

Back to the mailbox thread, getting the mail for me was always an hour ordeal with all the mailboxes in one location. It seemed like every time I walked out the door people saw me from their windows and rushed out to see me, the “one legged wonder” of the world. The mailbox shed became a real hopping place (pun intended). I was interviewed each time I went about my disability (and ability), status, and “story”, whatever that meant. I think that mailboxes are to neighbors what water coolers are in an office. They are what watering holes and wells were in ancient times. However you want to look at it is fine by me. Stranger-neighbors would congregate there for hours and share who was cheatin’ who, who was bein’ true, and who’s dog was barking at the door. When I didn’t care anymore I just stopped getting the mail for weeks at a time! (Alan Jackson had a great country song “Who’s Cheatin’ Who” that I felt like I stepped directly into whenever I approached the mailbox shed.)

The bangers…

I remember laying in bed wondering sometimes what the stranger-neighbors upstairs could possibly be doing to make certain noises. I would sometimes even visit stranger-neighbors that lived above me on a sort of spy-mission to see if they were extremely clumsy fools, dropping things all the time or what the heck was wrong with them to make such a ruckus. There was one apartment that seemed to be housing the human equivalent of Bigfoot, or maybe the Green Giant. Fee Fi Foe Fum…what could they have poss-ibly done?! The bangs and the stomps were so intense that a neighbor and I decided to do a little stake-out to lay eyes on what we could only conclude was a relative of the Yeti. The true culprit: a 4’9” woman in her forties. WHAT?! I guess size doesn’t matter after all.

The desperates…

While size may not matter, I found out the hard way in complex living that appearances do matter to stranger-neighbors. Stranger-neighbors see everything. They also fill in the blanks with their own ideas, like one of those optical illusions. Previously I never thought that I should care what other people assumed or deducted from my circumstances as long as I hadn’t done anything wrong. It never occurred to me that my carelessness would give impressions that could put me in danger. So I had a few guy friends that would occasionally crash on my couch and head out in the morning. It was safer that 316015_113657748750420_1547295306_nway, I thought, especially if they had drank alcohol. It sent the message, however, to a stranger-neighbor that I must be “loose” (his word not mine). He was a heavy weekend drinker and much older than me. He started to corner me in the stairwell and just like with stranger-neighbor Kenneth, I was able to weasel away from him until my luck ran out.  I forgot to lock my apartment door and came out of my bedroom to find the stranger-neighbor standing in front of it (also blocking my only exit). He was babbling and insisting that he was no different than the other “fools” in and out of my apartment and that he “needed this”, whatever this was. It was then that I realized that this man had a completely wrong impression of me and that it was my fault!  There were several Friday nights after that when I would hear someone messing with the lock on my door and jiggling the knob. The peephole revealed my intoxicated stranger-neighbor trying to surprise me. I added a deadbolt, changed my locks, and talked to the landlord who recommended I call the police. I didn’t do that, but looking back I definitely should have.

The potentials…

My Grandmother sold her house at some point and moved across the way from me. Her window faced my apartment and having her constant, watchful gaze brought on mixed emotions. That concern wasn’t unfounded, I understood, when I saw a pair of binoculars sitting on her windowsill. Overall, I enjoyed having her close by to share meals and visits with. She could not count as a stranger-neighbor, of course, but I felt like I had someone on my team. One evening I got a call, “Ashly, there is a man trying to look in your windows! Do you know him? He keeps strutting in front of your apartment with his chest all puffed out like some cocky rooster! Do you know him? Should I go down and give him hell?!” (My seventy-something, 4’11” Nan would have, too!) I looked out and saw a guy that had given me a ride back to my apartment when I needed it – a year before. He lived in the same complex and I had asked him to take me home and then told him to “take this $10 so we both know there are no strings attached to you giving me a ride”. I hadn’t spoken to him since then and I most certainly did not expect him to be parading himself and pacing in front of my window. I finally walked out to beat my Nan to the punch and said hello. He asked if I wanted to hang out sometime and seemed so genuine that I agreed.  I broke my stranger-neighbor-don’t-date-’er rule but didn’t regret it.  A year later we got married.

The stories still forming…

When we bought a house off a major road we found our life and work (including lack thereof) was on display to the world passing by. There was sixty acres of fields on one side of the house, woods and a farm behind it, and to the left was a line of about 10 other homes. While we were in the middle of nowhere, completely rural, but we were in the middle of nowhere  together with 10 other houses and occupants. Lots of stranger-neighbor experiences to be had there because everyone was even more observant with nothing else around to observe! Thankfully it wasn’t quite as intimate as the complex, because for one thing, there was no need to handle stranger-neighbor undergarments.

It was here that I took heed of my grandmother’s advice alas, and did not make friends with my neighbors. I maintained that with all except one. An older man that lived towards the back end of my property in a trailer. He was considered by my husband to 540078_279258695523657_102423237_nbe my “girlfriend” because he showed up weekly with the newspaper, latest tabloid gossip (even though I didn’t know half the people he told me about), and neighborhood updates. We shared a little, “just between us girls” time and gabbed about current events. His favorite phrase was “times are changing, everything is changing”, and he said that no less than once every six sentences. I was out in the far back of my yard planting an asparagus patch one sunny afternoon when I glanced up and saw both he and his wife enjoying their life – naked!  I thought I had escaped crazy stranger-neighbor experiences but apparently I was wrong. After scuffling away (before being labeled a Peeping Thomasina) I made a mental note that instead of sending a plate of Christmas cookies that year, a gift certificate to the Blinds Outlet would be more appropriate.

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Privacy invasion is collateral damage in communities. One day as I was about to get a shower a little boy walked into the bathroom to visit.  I’ve woken up on Christmas morning to find pajama-clad children on the front porch looking in the windows (escaping parent’s watchful eyes). An older boy that drove his mower around for entertainment day and night was found sitting on my couch with my dog one time. Pets and children wandered around and we had one set of neighbors a few houses down that were true vampires – only coming alive at night. When we had foster children one time I could hear the woman next door yelling at her four kids so I asked her to yell a little louder so mine would listen too! (I gladly returned the favor!)

Communities are always an eclectic bunch but together we weathered rabid-racoon drama, frantic child-search texts, book exchanges, stray dogs, fireworks in the middle of the night (woke me up and scared me to death), dog bites, car accidents, and stranger-danger. I witnessed the little sweet columbian stranger-neighbor and my grandmother have a verbal altercation about just how much spanish was needed before one could be considered bilingual and my 82 yr old great-uncle lived a few houses down and would ride his four-wheeler all around our woods “scoping out the land”, I’ve not the slightest clue what that meant. There was one elderly woman that would not even say hello or wave to us (when we moved in and went to introduce ourselves she claimed that speaking to neighbors was never a good thing and then just stared until we left).

Heading out to get the mail I would always come across a different stranger-neighbor and even got a little fellowship from the kids that would come barreling over, unable to contain whatever beans they needed to spill. I was told about every dog that was hit, ghost that haunted, mouse caught, fight that happened, and the cause of any problems in the tiny community.  No amount of redirection would have convinced those kids to put the spilled beans back in their cans! Stranger-neighbor kids just tell it all…and not always correctly, either! 

The sweethearts…

Neighbors really shape and impact our lives and I had forgotten so many of these stories until recently.  Humanity is fascinating to me and I wish that I had previously written down more stories for further analysis. Of course the crazy stories make for the best reading here, but there are also a lot of completely normal “share a cup of sugar” memories. There have been kind-hearted stranger-neighbors, meals waiting for me after a long day at work, stranger-neighbors shoveling snow from around my car, garden produce hanging on the door, a helping hand to carry groceries, and a hug when it was most needed. Most of those relationships started at the mailbox with a wave and hello. So in the end, I don’t think I would trade having stranger-neighbors for anything…not even for a PO Box!

Awkward Amputee Problems (Part 2)

This is Part 2 (click here for Part 1) in a series of 3 describing Awkward Amputee Problems.  The first two articles are geared more for those on crutches while Part 3 is customized for prosthetic -wearing amputees. We want to keep the fun going around so I hope that as you read this you will relate to some of these things or will comment your own additions below!

Awkward Amputee Problems Part 2…By Ashly P. Ash

…Underwear and Socks from the washer making inopportune appearances from empty pant legs

You know how sometimes when you go to put fitted sheets on the bed and you find those socks (or even shirts!) that have somehow gotten balled up in the little corner pockets of the no lama dramasheet? The same thing happens when you have empty pant legs.  Since I do not put any leg through the right pant leg I often do not know something got stuck in there until it peeps out through the bottom! I’ll never forget the time a pair of underwear got balled up into a right pant leg (unbeknownst to me) and after using the restroom at a friend’s house, her husband notified his wife privately that there was underwear laying on the bathroom floor! (Presumably it fell out!)  I have also found socks and undergarments falling out of pant legs at my career places, in the supermarket, and (thankfully) at home! The struggle is real, folks!

…Pantyhose

If you are laughing now then you must be an amputee on crutches too!  Pantyhose are incredibly difficult to wear because they fit on like pants and have an empty pant leg as well.  Instead of the nice and crisp fold of a pant leg, however, pantyhose dangle like a shriveled up skin tag (or worse) from the bottom of your skirts.  If you cut the spare leg off – well – I don’t need to lecture anyone about the famous “pantyhose runs” that stem from there! Thigh Highs are a heaven-sent miracle (and you get twice the use out of one pair).

…Halloween costumes

I know I have discussed before about how hard it is for amputees to not be recognized in halloweenpublic (there is no mistaking you for your two-legged sister, after all).  But this also extends to times when I need to wear a costume. I mean, Ben Franklin did NOT have one leg, neither do princesses (and just how does a one-legged witch ride a broom anyway?). Pretty much any costume just seems a bit out of place on me and if everyone else claims they don’t think of it, well, I just give them the benefit of the doubt and ignore them.  The situation does, however, force me to be quite creative. Half-eaten Surfer, Flower (leg as stem), Flamingo, my famous leg lamp from Christmas Story, Roadkill, etc., are a few of the dark places this condition has forced me to go.

…Cafeteria-style food, buffets, parties

So obviously on crutches I cannot carry my own food, drink, trays, etc.  This seems obvious until you are the one that can’t do the carrying! You would be amazed the number of places I will go that everyone has a plate but me and no one thinks to ask if I want something until I speak up!  Sometimes, my “buffet helper” (one who carries my plate for me) interjects his/her own judgments against me as we go down the line, “You don’t need THAT much”,  “That looks fattening skip that”,  “Are you going to eat that AGAIN?” “Those are nasty how can you even consider that, move on!” or even worse they won’t let me put my own food on my own plate and control my portions purposely!  This is all well and good until I follow THEM down the line with their plate providing the same snide commentary!  When the shoe is on the other foot, and that.  (I prefer my father to be my assist he is the absolute best buffet friend one could wish for and I should probably dub him my “fatty fat friend” for that reason!)  The other thing is refills.  It feels so awful to bug someone to refill your drink in public. I often go thirsty for hours because it is often made clear what a bother it is to serve me more than one time. (I now carry a water bottle with me in my bag!)  And lastly if I am alone I have to be very careful where I stop to eat out. There have been more than one awkward moments where I have been unable to carry my own food and forced to wait until an employee could begrudgingly carry it for me.  Something so simple seems to bother so many people!  I am happy to limit my outings to mostly family where it is like the Cheers bar – everyone knows.

…Slippery floors

Speaking of public places, most buffets have enough grease on the floors to fry a chicken! A little rain tracked through a store can be a huge hazard.  And the showers at the Y? Well, needless to say I have found falling without being witnessed or heard is an art form I am mastering!

…How you will be buried

In their early thirties most people consider “problems” to be their children’s education, home improvement, family-friendly vehicle purchases. I worry about where and how I will be buried.  My tiny right leg (I was four when it was amputated) is buried in a graveyard.

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I met a friend, a goat that is also missing something!

Do I want to be buried there? What if I don’t? What if I want to be cremated and the leg is not? Do I have someone dig up the leg and bury it with me (who in their right mind would want that job and is it wrong for me to inflict that on someone)?  Is the leg a skeleton by now? Do I still have the grave plot paperwork and deed filed properly for when I do die?  If I am buried in another county or state does that mean I have one foot in each county? Yes, having one foot in the grave I’ll gladly exchange that for some average problems!

…Keeping lots of bags handy

My mom calls me the bag lady.  Now in all fairness that started before I turned four and had my leg amputated, however there is much truth in the name. Bags are critical for the amputee on crutches. I need them in stores, to carry my mail in, to move food or books or magazines from one place to another, to carry my drinks, cleaning supplies, laundry, you name it!  I have backpacks and bags stored and stuffed in every crevice possible in my house and car – and a few fold up ones in my purses! Oh, and I am still waiting for the perfect pizza-box bag so I can carry a pizza! (See Part 1)

….Not being separated from crutches

And I’m not just talking about curious children taking them and disappearing with them (though that happens often).  I mean adults that feel they are “in the way” so they move them to a corner or a wall on the other side of the room! Waitresses sometimes take them and don’t bring them back.  I’ve been stuck on amusement park rides because the employees or people I am with forget to bring me my assists. I also worry about not having them on the lawn mower with me, since becoming stranded more than once when the mower broke down in the front yard and my crutches were out back in the shed. (Hence the bungee straps and sticks you see strapped to the mower when you drive by!) Then there is the beach where the tide has swept one away from time to time. If you want a good laugh just come along to watch the panic and frantic look come over my husband or father’s face as they dive “all in” to catch a crutch!  They would put many a fishermen to shame!

…Devotees, the creepy ones, and Fakers

Like anything else there is a sexual fetish for people that are amputees.  This was difficult as a young girl traveling to conferences for amputees and having to be on guard in pools, elevators, etc from the creepy men that wanted to feel your stump.  I also accidentally went on a few dates with someone insisting he was not a devotee but just as equally insistent he wanted to touch my stump. (Awkward!) The monetary offers to video my stump, pornographic and prostitution offers, and online anger my husband has had to deal with because of disrespectful people is a whole new level of creepiness. There are also people that want to become amputees so bad that they pose as them and go far enough to self-mutilate in ways that can inflict amputation.  They sometimes stalk real amputees and it gets weird pretty quickly. Steering clear of people I do not personally know has been the safeguard I learned to use against this.  That and instructing my husband to stay out of my Facebook email that I carefully filter!

(*Over the years I have had some interesting conversations with men and women who have considered themselves devotees. I do not hold judgment to their preferences but as in any group of people there are those that are extremists and do more harm than good.)

…Children searching for my leg

Children are so sweet an innocent and when they have asked, “where is your other leg?” I have often passionately and kindly replied, “I lost it!  If you find it will you please let me know?!” This usually satisfies most kids as they enthusiastically nod their promise to keep an eye out.  Every once in awhile I encounter a more eager little dear that will proceed to check the flowerbeds or shopping aisles or behind furniture around where I am standing but nothing prepared me for the day that one little boy just walked over and pulled my dress right up looking for it!  At church, no less! Now I only play that little search game when I am wearing pants so they can pick up the empty pant leg and search with no risk of traumatic exposure.

…Things that are curious

When a little girl we know found out she could walk “between my legs” (because one wasn’t there) I became relieved when she was too tall for that little game anymore.  Indeed, though, small kids do get an enormous kick for some reason when they figure out they can walk between my legs (and crutches).  Dogs and cats also get curious about my dangling pant leg and I’ve had to fight for it (along with my sense of decency) back from more than one set of jaws or claws!

Hoping you enjoyed Part 2 of this series!  Part 3 will be out in a few more weeks.  Don’t forget, if you have not yet visited Part 1 of Awkward Amputee Problems you will want to do that.  Feel free to add things in the comments below!

 

Things Amputees DO NOT Worry About

This will be another Amputee Humor article for my peers.  Some people really do have a hard time with these articles assuming that they are self-deprecating or a reflection of a deeper depression. Honestly, it is neither. It is simply forming a camaraderie with fellow amputees to give a shout out that they are not alone in this!  On the other hand, my two legged audience likely absorbs some awareness and education about a life with limbs in a context that is (hopefully) a little amusing.  Win/Win!

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Things Leg Amputees DO NOT Have to Worry About

…Our thighs rubbing together

Yes, I am aware now that this is a thing.  I’ve seen memes about it and heard my girlfriends complaining about their thighs rubbing and wishing that was not a real thing.  I have no idea what this would feel like but from the sounds of it I am getting off scots-free!

…Matching socks

Does the dryer really eat socks? I wouldn’t know because since I am an amputee I just throw them all in a drawer.  Even when I use my prosthetic I will keep the same sock on it for days (and walk around slightly unmatched, which apparently is now the style).  It’s not like that foot is breaking a stinky sweat anyway!

…Not putting our best foot forward

Whether we are at work, at home, or just getting a drink you can always bet on us placing our best (and only) foot forward!

…Being mistaken in a crowd

Most people have the option of avoidance or changing their hairstyle to get out of talking to people.  We don’t have that. If you think you saw us, you probably did. If you want to talk to us, we can’t run.

…Trying on both shoes in a store

It just isn’t necessary.  I can’t say I haven’t considered trying to sneak two lefties in a box though.  Thankfully, God has given me some sort of moral compass. I’m not sure what that court order would look like, “Mrs. Ash, you are convicted for theft of two left shoes.  Or at least the one, you bought the other.”

…Paying full price for a pedicure

I know some amputees that do pay full price or they allow the women to weasel a 75% out of them (If you are one of these please STOP and join the half-off club! Pun Intended).  I disagree vehemently in paying full price. There is one foot and it is only fair to pay half price, maybe 55%. Yes, I have walked out of salons over this because I refuse to set that sort of precedent!

…Being rich

Are you kidding?  The past five years alone my leg bills have been $194,000.00 and a quite hefty chunk of about $13k came from my paycheck.  Every amputee faces the same thing unless they are sponsored by sports companies. Yeah, because we can all run full marathons for free legs, right?

…tripping over our own feet

Cut it off with the leg jokes, seriously!  (pun intended)

 …Being all right.

At least some of us are more than half left.  Referring back to my half-off club idea!

  … Watching the weather

The phantom pain that comes when weather is moving in or out makes my stump jump and act strange.  It’s its own version of a crystal ball.  I just rub it and depending on the pain I know what is about to happen! Now if I can just find my broom to complete this outfit.

 … Handrails

People always tell me to be careful and recommend I use the handrails even though I am on crutches. Besides secretly (perhaps sinfully) thinking they are really stupid I am thankful I do not have to absorb those germs.  One company I worked for I got written up for not using the handrail! By people with doctorate degrees! Geeezzzz

 …Talking on the phone when you’d rather text

It is impossible to talk on the phone when you rely on your hands to walk.  So, yes, when crazy Aunt Harriet calls you truly can’t do anything about it!

 

 

 

 

 

The Tricky Troll that Takes a Toll

Grief is a funny old thing. Like an ornery old troll lurking behind his white hair and droopy eyelids but ready to spark a little mischief and trickery at the first opportunity. Just when you think you are over something and ready to move forward, suddenly, grief appears and you are thrown back into the past. I think that grief is so difficult because it does not allow us to live in the present. We want to live in the “now” and think about living in the future but without whatever it is we are missing we can’t really reframe life. It is like we do not know how life is to be lived without the object or person we miss so

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dearly. And just when we think we have our heads wrapped around it and we think we are ready to move forward…that tricky troll pays us a visit and we turn our heads back to the past and think about everything we are missing. Thus, grief pulls us out of the present time and transports us mentally to a time when things were, in our perspective, hunky dory. Of course this “looking back“ perspective is never completely accurate. It can’t be. In fact it is famously inaccurate! Think of all the times someone passes away and suddenly they are elevated to sainthood regardless of a lifetime of burning bridges and selfish living. Think of the widows that claim they had the best marriage when their husbands are gone but already had the divorce papers drawn up before he passed? We wonder why we made choices to get out of situationsi or relationships (that were the RIGHT choices for us) because we grieve some moment or feeling where we suddenly think the other side of the fence had greener grass than ours. (Ex relationships, previous jobs, etc.) That tricky old troll just messes with our heads sometimes I think!

Of course, those things we grieve do have a right to be honored in our memories. Good or bad, family death or toxic relationship, things we lose do deserve to be in our minds and honored in a healthy and realistic way. But for some reason it seems that the Tricky Troll, grief, shows up in a deceiving way a lot of the time and deters us from healthy processing these losses and distorts things for us in an incapacitating way.
So yes, grief has shown up this month in my life. This time last year we thought we were going to be able to adopt a darling child. He had entered our lives and hearts in the way only a child can. This time last year he started his first year in our school district, he was

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starting a new IED plan in school suited for his needs that I had fought so hard for him to get, he was learning to read and enjoying that process, we were celebrating all the things to do with fall – fairs, pumpkins, scarecrows, leaves, Longwood Garden Mum’s festival, parades, children’s movies, Halloween costumes, and all the joy and wonders this time of year brings. Now this year he is gone. He has been moved into a different situation and we do not have contact with him. This year I see mums and pumpkins and I get a lump in my throat and I feel tears behind my cheeks forming. I have no desire to decorate or to even walk upstairs to the room that was his. It now sits empty except for a few boxes of things I am storing before we move.
That room looks like my heart feels. I have an empty room in my heart that was his. It was supposed to be filled by now with memories and artwork and love. Instead it is filled with a few taped-shut boxes and devoid of even a piece of furniture. And if I am honest, (and you will never get to see me express my emotions of this in person) I am heartbroken. Perhaps my husband is as well. How can we not be? Last year our evenings were filled with homework and playing outside until dark, stories of our little guy’s day and telling him stories of our lives and families and catching him up on what we hoped and believed would be his life with us forever.
This year it is just the two of us, my husband and I. I guess we can count the dogs but it simply isn’t the same as a child no matter what anyone says. This year we get to see the neighbor children gather at the bus stop in the morning and run towards their doors at night with artwork in their hands and excitement from their day at school. We watch from afar but have no part in this joy anymore. It is like life is happening around us and we are frozen in time. At night we don’t have to do the

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homework and the sit-down family style dinner. We don’t have bedtimes or bedtime stories. It is just the two of us. I rarely cook full dinners for just the two of us, we pick informally at whatever I prepare a few times a week. Reading, watching TV quietly, having tea or coffee then we head to bed quietly. It is almost sad, because without kids, what is life? Without the wonder, amazement, passion, exploratory energy that kids bring to the house things are not what I feel they should be. It dredges up all the pain and reminds me of being unable to conceive and our many reasons for not adopting which convults another loss and cycle of hurt.
Do you see what I mean now?, Grief is a tricky little troll like that. Suddenly we wonder if maybe we were wrong and that maybe he didn’t need more help and could have lived here forever. Maybe we could have talked to the agency and convinced them to let him stay. Maybe the problem is that we were unprepared for parenting a mental impairment and we should have sought different routes or accepted the risk of it all. Maybe I could have taken a handicapped self-defense course to handle him attacking me. How is the child? Is he OK, is he happy, is he loved like we loved him? Will he end up like his parents because he couldn’t stay here forever? I torture myself with these thoughts and all of this is robbing me of the present.
The present contains its own set of privileges that someday the tricky troll may show up and try to trick me into grieving for. What are those privileges that I may someday wish I still had? Well it is hard to see right now, in my grief, but when I think hard on it I think that a quiet evening alone with my husband would have been envied this time last year. We have nephews and a niece that their parents have been more than generous to share with us and allow us to enjoy since we do not have our own child. Those kids come with all the fun and joy that last year had, the only difference being that we get to show up to have the fun and then the poor parents get to deal with the day-in an day-out stuff. I have freedom to invest my time in my health, writing, and marriage. My husband gets to relax in the evenings after work.
As for perspective, grief has distorted my thinking into being nostalgic for small, even minuscule moments that existed more in my own mind than in reality. Maybe that is its trick that takes the toll. I want to be a parent so badly that I take those little moments

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of goodness (that were so few and far between) and magnify them so much that now I don’t see the rest of the picture. But when I pull back from the troll’s magnifying glass I do see. There was a lot of hardship. A LOT. School was hard for our guy and while he had good days he had equal bad days and ones that were very detrimental to his own future. Homework was a fight every single night that often resulted in him punching, hitting, and attempting to stab me with his writing utensils. We loved to cuddle and hug our little guy like he wanted but the sexual abuse that he suffered would surface in pretty graphic ways for us to contain and deal with every single time. He did enjoy learning to read, but then that would change on a dime and suddenly he was screaming and fighting physically and trying to harm himself in frustration. We had a great family dinner each night that often was disliked and included discussions of his misbehavior reported to us by the school or hospital he attended part time. Shower time started a whole new round of battles, and again at bed time. Oh and there were the nightmares as well that would keep me awake with him. We had four counseling appointments every single week and doctor visits for malnutrition. All of this and did I mention that there was still a biological mom for this child that just got out of jail and signed off parental rights? How the hell do you explain THAT to an 8 year old? And we wonder why he had a mental breakdown and could not stop attacking me physically or hurting himself.
Meanwhile, I was truly suffering physically and mentally. My husband was second shift so most evenings I had to handle these struggles alone with our boy. My disability makes life hard enough and suddenly I was fighting not just to keep myself, my home, my family, and this child functioning I was also on guard for physical attacks and locking my bedroom door so I could sleep safely. There were so many days that I had to put him on the bus after an entire morning of his bloody murder screaming and fighting to not go to school and then I would go back to bed. Not to sleep, I wasn’t depressed, I was physically exhausted and mentally exhausted. Emotional wear and tare of caretakers dealing with extreme childhood trauma is a real thing. The foster care system provided us with no respite, no medical coverage for the mental help he needed, and no assistance or transportation for any of the court dates, parental visits, grandparent visits, sibling visits, doctor appointments, school meetings, and on and on and on it goes.
So that is the other side of reality, the side that we all try not to show on social media or in passing with our friends. The side that, looking at my social media memories is hidden and the few and far between good times are highlighted and elevated in illusion. The side that, as foster parents, we couldn’t even talk about and even now must be very astute and vague to protect privacy of the family we fostered for. So what is it exactly that I am grieving for this fall?
The good, of course. The fact that we lost a child that we loved with our whole hearts and that there is nothing we can do to make our home safe for him (or for me with my disability when he does “lose it” physically). Can you hear me bargaining? Rationalizing

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the way that it was and wasn’t OK here? It makes me so sad to think about the good that may be missed now because we not only don’t have our darling boy back, but we likely will not ever have kids to pass things on to. Working on some genealogy was so difficult for us when we realized, all of a sudden, that the line stops with my husband. We won’t have any reason or person to preserve the information for. That is just one example of the myriad of things that hit us in grief.
Before long I will hit that final stage of Tricky troll’s grief – accepting – and I will convince myself that I am OK with things the way they are and the way they happened. I’ll accept that there is nothing more we could have done to make the situation work and likely I will chalk it up

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to God’s will even. I’ll get control of my perspective and work out a plan for the future. A plan of keeping busy and finding joy in the moments I have NOW in the present. Thankfully grief, as tricky as it is, does not ever impact my faith. God is who he is and nothing on earth can possibly change that. He will work things together for good, I know and trust completely, but sometimes accepting that he would not give me the most basic of things I desire like hearing, walking, and a child, is not an easy pill for me to swallow.
So I accept it as much as possible and move forward. Grief certainly does take a toll on me though. And you know, next fall when the corn turns brown and the leaves turn red, when the stores put out the pumpkins and the neighbors return to the bus stop, that little tricky little troll grief will likely show up again on my doorstep. I laugh as I write this because I am writing to you, dear reader, with exactly what will trigger my grief, exactly when it will come, and what it will entail, yet next year I will be just as blindsided by it as this year! I will be tricked all over again and find myself in a new groove on the same old path. Completely irrational. I don’t know why. Maybe living life from our hearts is irrational.

5 Ways to Let Go of the Past (Worksheet)

5 Ways to LET GO of the Past

Worksheet

Based on the Crutchprints.com article by Ashly P. Ash

 

ReProcess:

Describe the situation you are having trouble letting go of?

 

When I think of this situation, I feel these emotions:

 

What typically triggers you to feel this way?  (Is it around a certain person, an event, a place, a thing, a smell?)

 

Does something cause you to think and feel this way over and over?  What is it?

 

When is the first time you remember feeling this way?

 

Ask God to guide you and bring anything to your mind that you may have forgotten:

 

ReCognize:

 

Since the very first time this happened, I have been feeling like

_______________________________________________________________________________________

 

every time __________________________________________________________________ happens.

 

This has impacted my life in different ways.  Some of those ways are:

 

Emotionally:

 

Relationally:

 

Physically:

 

Behaviorally:

 

In the first memory I have of this sort of thing happening and this feeling occurring here are the facts of the situation:

 

Who was involved?

 

Where were we?

 

What was involved?

 

When was the incident, how old was I?

 

Why did it happen this way?

 

Was my response appropriate for my age and current situation?

 

Was I wrong in assuming responsibility for something I shouldn’t have?

 

Should I have stepped up and taken responsibility when I didn’t?

 

Who was responsible, was someone else supposed to fill any roles in this?

 

Was I the victim, perpetrator, or rescuer in the situation? (Victim = Happened to you, Perpetrator = You did it to someone/something, Rescuer = Situation involving collaboration around someone else’s issue)

 

If a friend was telling me this story like it had happened to him/her what would advice would I give them?

 

Seeing the facts in black and white, are there any underlying things I may have started to believe since this original incident that I still carry with me?

 

Because of ____________________________________________________________________________

 

I started to believe _____________________________________________________________________

 

because _______________________________________________________________________________.

 

Things I believe that are wrong                                              The Truth (opposite)

 

  1.                                                                                            1.

 

2.                                                                                             2.

 

  1.                                                                                            3.

 

  1.                                                                                            4.

 

  1.                                                                                            5.

 

Now what?

 

I feel like I need to ____________________________________________________________________

with ____________________________________________________________________ to help me feel

_______________________________________________________________________ and walk in truth.

 

I need to make new boundaries by specifically

___________________________________________________________________________________________.

 

I need to communicate with _______________________________________________________ that I

____________________________________________________________________________________ and

would appreciate if they ___________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________ from now on.

 

Forgive:

I need to forgive ________________________________________________________________________.

 

Do I need to forgive myself? If so, for what?

 

Do I need to forgive God (am I mad at him for not preventing this)?

 

ReLease and Grieving:

 

What did I lose in this situation by believing certain untrue things?

 

Things could have been different if

____________________________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________ had happened.

 

When I think of the way this has affected my life I feel

 

____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

____________________________________________________________________________________________.

 

Allow yourself time to think about your loss that has been caused by the original situation, situations where it has come up since, and the loss of time because of being unable to let it go.  

ReThink:

 

In the past I would have responded to a trigger by_______________________________________

___________________________________________________________________________________________

but from now on I would like to respond by ______________________________________________

______________________________________________________.

 

Make a list of situations that this may get dredged up in again.  It is around certain people, places, times, or things?

 

Ask the Holy Spirit to guide you in thinking new thoughts instead of old ones.  Ask him to help you move on from destructive patterns and cycle into new, healthy ones!

ReCap

 

Old Patterns, Thoughts, Beliefs:                                                         New Ones:

 

Pray and commit to surrendering this whole worksheet to Jesus.  Ask him to help you with it on a daily basis. Help him to give you the freedom to truly LET GO.  If there is anything that is missing from this worksheet or something more applicable to YOUR situation, ask God to show you that.  

 

Know that I pray for every person that has utilized this worksheet as a tool and pray that you find the freedom that I have found in this process.  May your transformation in Christ continue until the day of His return and forevermore!

 

5 Ways to LET GO of the Past

 

Whether we had an argument with our family, an ex-partner that keeps popping up in our thoughts, or a co-worker that we need to forgive and keep working with, we all have parts of our past that we need to let go of.

I am betting that there are at least one or two things that pop up each week in our lives that cause exaggerated emotional responses.  As we get older and we do not deal with these incidences, they compile on top of one another and we walk around composting years of bad emotions that been shoved down.  We need to deal with these emotions and process them so that we can let go of the past and move on otherwise we can be ticking time bombs emotionally. Life has new situations that need processed each day and to be able to release the baggage of our past is a key to operating in peace for the future.  Peace in our minds, peace in our souls, and peace in our bodies (which can sometimes be manifested as health), will allow us to keep moving forward in life with a hope that doesn’t have to record every wrong done to or by us.

When we REwind something what happens?  We go back so that we can hit play again.  We go back so we can go forward. When we REpent we are going back so we can change direction and go forward.  Taking time to go back and correct our thought patterns is the only way we can ensure we are moving forward baggage-free and in total peace.

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5 Steps to Letting Go

 

  1. REprocess the emotions so you can find the root

When our emotions seem exaggerated in proportion to the circumstance the first thing we have to do is step back and realize that those emotions are an internal alarm trying to tell us there is a problem.  Even if something has happened many years ago, if we can’t seem to let go of it (an ex-partner, a dream we had, or something we feel was taken from us by someone else like innocence, education, or another traumatic occurrence) we still need to stop and think about how this makes us feel now. What triggers us to spiral into those feelings again? What reminds us of this thing that we are determined to get away from?  Write down those feelings or make a mental list because they will come in handy as they are indicators to you about your thought patterns.

Once you have determined the way a situation makes you feel you can decide whether or not the problem started where you think it did.  For example, if you are feeling very angry and frustrated because there are crumbs on the counter top, chances are the problem didn’t start with someone leaving crumbs on the counter top.  More than likely that emotion of anger is a symptom of something you believe. Do you believe “No one appreciates my hard work of cleaning enough to pick up their crumbs”? Now, you are exploring the root belief of the problem so you can process and move forward.

If the root is not clear when you stop and think about it that is ok.  Taking mental note of how you feel in a situation is extending grace to yourself.  Tuck it in the back of your mind and pray about it. I have never asked God to help me find the root of something and not received an answer eventually.  Give yourself the grace to ask “why does this bother me, when was the very first time I remember feeling this way”? Finding the root of the problem is very helpful.  There have even been times when I thought I had reached the bottom of an issue and years later found an even deeper root or layer of the same issue. That is all completely normal!  Making progress is a process and one that God will guide you through as you are ready for each layer.

 

  1. REcognize the root and your role and responsibility

Now that you have found the root of where this feeling and problem started it’s time to process and think about the way(s) this has impacted your life.  In the root incident that happened there is often a role that we were to appropriately fill and a role that we perceive we should have filled. Review the facts of the situation: the characters, the ages,the timeframe, reasonable doubts, how the decisions were made, etc. One tool that helps me do this is when I step back and imagine a friend is telling me this story about him/herself.  What would I deem my friend’s responsibility in that situation should be? Are there areas where I assumed responsibility that should not have been my responsibility? Are there ways that I maybe was responsible and could have changed the course of things but chose not to? What caused me to feel the way I did? Family systems and upbringings often set up the parameters and looking glass for our thought systems.  It is ok to question thoughts we accepted before. A role we may have assumed as a child may not be the right responsibility or role a child should have. As an adult we can look back and decide what the correct response to a belief we have held is.

In the example of a toxic romantic relationship that you can’t let go of, recognizing the root of why you entered the relationship to begin with is key.  Were you lonely? What do you believe about loneliness that would make you choose toxicity over being single? Do you believe bad company over no company is ok? Why does singleness have to mean loneliness?  As a child did you strive to please one parent or another (or both) and felt unable to appreciate you? If so, perhaps there is a root there in the mind that says “I must make others happy and be loyal no matter how toxic and unsafe they are to me”.  Or perhaps there is a thought system that believes you are unworthy and unlovable so you “take what you can get”. Our responsibility is not to make others happy but to grow and please God. Our responsibility is to keep ourselves safe and set boundaries that others must learn to respect.

Recognizing the root of things bothering us identifying our true role/responsibility is a key.  It helps set us up to form new thoughts and walk through new doors of freedom.

  1. Forgive

This is an important part of letting go of the past.  It is something we oftentimes do not want to take the time to do.  We feel that if our emotions don’t send warm and fuzzy vibes towards someone that we can’t forgive them.  That isn’t true. Forgiveness is a choice. And a choice that, in my experience, seldom lines up with my feelings for a long time.

We must take time to look at the root cause of why we have an issue letting something go and deciding who needs to be forgiven in the situation.  Perhaps the toxic ex-partner needs to be forgiven for abuse, but if the root is people pleasing then perhaps the parents do as well for allowing a child to continue striving without making that child feel adequate.  In the scenario of the “crumbs on the countertop” perhaps the person leaving the crumbs out needs forgiven but so does every other person that has left you feeling like they don’t appreciate your hard work.

Forgiving from the root forward is critical.  Remember, we are REwinding here, going back to go forward.   Start at the root situation and move forward in forgiveness and bring all of those situations to God and say “I forgive X for X.”  

Oftentimes the person that needs forgiveness is you.  Perhaps there was a time when you drove a car intoxicated and potentially placed others in harm’s way.  Now, whenever someone mentions a car accident due to intoxication your emotions go haywire. You feel afraid, anxious, upset, and guilty.  Your mind feels the shame of your own actions and fear of what others must think of you. After processing the emotions you realize that you believe what others think about you defines you.  You find you believe that there can be no forgiveness for someone that makes a wrong choice. You may even believe your sins are too great and you deserve punishment (we all do, but thanks to Christ he has set us free from past shame). You have to forgive yourself too. Receiving forgiveness from Christ can only happen if we also forgive ourselves and admit that self-loathing is also rejecting God’s free gift.  Yes, drunk driving was bad choice, a horrible one, in fact; but you must forgive yourself.  Choose to forgive yourself and trust that God will help your emotions to line up with that.  

  1. RElease (and possibly grieve)

So far we have processed our emotions to find the root of our problem, identified and recognized the falsities that we may believe about ourselves and others, and we chose to forgive all involved from the root of the issue forward.  So we have all this baggage, what do we do with it? Now we need to get rid of it. We need to release and make the choice to let go.

That may look different for each situation.  For the “crumbs” example that may look like a conversation with other household members that lets everyone know that you feel unappreciated when others do not pick up after themselves and ask them to start cleaning up after themselves and not assume you will.  For a toxic relationship it may take removal of the relationship or at the very least some very strict boundaries. An intoxicated driver may look up scripture about forgiveness and condemnation and remind him/herself daily that our sins are removed when we ask for forgiveness, and accept that God indeed will turn all bad things around.  

No matter what we are letting go of there may be a grieving process.  We have held on to certain thought patterns for many years if not a lifetime.  We have allowed ourselves to keep connections that we shouldn’t have. We believed lies that we were responsible for things we weren’t (or should have been responsible for things we chose not to)  and now we see the truth. So we are free to grieve. It is important to grieve. That looks different for everyone but whenever we suffer a loss it is important to grieve. It is sad that someone was raised feeling unappreciated and it is now time to think about the ways that affected their entire lifetime.  How has feeling unappreciated their whole life defined them? What ways has that affected their personality? Are they reluctant to make new friends or do they strive to please everyone they meet? Meanwhile, walking away from a toxic person will cause grief and an acute sense of loss as we lay down the hopes we had for reconciliation.  Losing is tough. Let yourself feel the emotions because you have been affected by believing wrongly. A natural effect of grieving is release. If you do the former, you will experience the latter because you are letting go of any misconception that you are in complete control.

  1. REthink a new thought

 

Having allowed ourselves to feel the loss and fully process the emotions associated with the root of our problems we are in a prime position to receive a new thought.  I love new thoughts! God always has new thoughts for us! It is part of the transformation to glory that we are privileged to experience. We are always moving and changing but with new thoughts we can be moving in the right direction.  God always has a new way of thinking that is an upgrade from our past.

When something bad happens to us the neurons in our brains fuse together in our response.  So if we have a wrong response to something, every time something similar happens in the future our brains are fused to automatically make that wrong response again.  To rewire the grooves in our brain and to fuse new thoughts requires the power of the Holy Spirit to remind and help us consciously choose those new thoughts.

Take the time to write down the lies that you believed in the root of your situation.  Take time to write down the wrong ways you were viewing life, relationships, and your responsibilities.  Then cross them out the bad responses and perspectives and write new thoughts. If you aren’t sure what the new thoughts should be, seek scripture, seek counsel from a friend, or sometimes it is simply the opposite!  I have a lot of these little lists in my journal and many are unspecific in regards to the details of the situation I was in at the time. Looking back over them is always interesting because I can see how my “new thoughts” really did replace my old ones over time.  I may have no idea what situation I couldn’t let go of that made me write the list, but the proof is in the pudding when I think, “did I actually think that? What!”

Think about the new truth/thought and brainstorm ways that you can walk in that truth in the future.  Ask the Holy Spirit to help you so that each time your mind begins to think in an old pattern he will remind you and bring it to your attention.  This may come as a small “aha” moment in your circumstances, or he may use a friend that you are walking with to bring it to your attention.

Thinking new thoughts is where we find  a final step in our freedom. There are times I never get too far in this section.  Sometimes I will pray about it and tell the Lord “Jesus, I have no idea what that new thought will look like in my current life, but I give it to you and ask you to help me think this new thought in my entire life so I can be free from the past.”  Sometimes it will be months later that I will then stumble across a situation and it will just strike me “Oh, I have responded the right way here, way to go!” A few times I’ve had a friend say “hey, you used to do x…but now you don’t!”

 

In closing, I want to reassure you that we all have a past.DSCN0611.JPG  We all have had traumatic things happen to us. We all hurt others at one point or another and in turn have been hurt.  We all have believed false things about ourselves, others, God, and the world around us. But why keep carrying around those burdens with us?  The Lord’s yoke is light, His burden is not heavy. But we still walk around praising God, metaphorically “laying down our burdens” with no real victory or fruit to show for it.  This is because as we “lay down our burdens” we are simply cutting off the weeds and not pulling them out by the root. We need to get to the roots of things. It may take time but time spent with God in this way is never time wasted.

I hope this article helps provide some guidelines and skills for you.  I have followed this process as a guideline in my walk towards freedom for over 10 years and have found that God meets me in this every single time.  It has given me skills for living in a world of wounded people, broken relationships, and sin. It has allowed me to truly lay down my burdens in a transforming way.  It has helped me to not be offended in different circumstances that I had every right to be offended in. Through dealing with root issues I no longer am impacted and blown about by every stormy wind but am anchored in peace.

 

Below I have included a link to a worksheet for the above.  Feel free to print this worksheet and use it to help you in the coming months/years of your journey.  

Click here

 

From Victim to Victor

I have been thinking a lot lately about what separates those who succeed and live full/happy lives straight to the end from those that seem stuck in a circle of sabotage and bad luck for the rest of their lives.  This discussion was provoked by my husband’s new FB_IMG_1532721150070-1.jpgjob. In it, he works with many people from all walks of life and it has caused some great sociological conversations in our home ever since. After months of hearing the same stories over and again I started to think beyond stereotypes and subcultures to take a deeper look at a possible common thread applicable to people as human beings.

In short, the main thing that I see is a polarization of perspective regarding victimization.  People that continually seem to self-destruct and surround themselves with chaos typically view themselves as victims of the world.  There is a very sure and even stubborn insistence that “every time I try to get ahead something like this happens to drag me down”. Easily put, “one step forward and two steps backward” is a phrase I have heard from various people stuck on this hamster wheel.

One of the hardest lessons that I learned in my twenties was that most people that claim to want/need help actually do not want help.  Given the resources to build a foundation under themselves, they simply reject every bit of help or even defiantly self-sabotage any opportunities that come their way. Time and again I have helped people that seemed down on their luck only to find out that in the end they viewed me as the “bad person” and the “judgemental” one that just “cannot accept me the way I am”.  This lesson hurt me deeply. I want to help people and give them the resources to live better. In my situation with my disability I have tried very hard not to squander opportunities because everyday life is so difficult, and I cannot understand someone rejecting a clear helping hand. it was a lesson that I have learned time and again even until today. Whether the help I provided was financial, practical, currency of time or verbal, the result always ended up hurting more than helping for those that didn’t actually want help (in spite of their words).

So why wouldn’t someone want help?  I mean, if you don’t have a bed to sleep in and someone takes apart their spare and gives it to you, why would you call them judgemental of you?  Or if someone offers a ride to the gym after you complained relentlessly about needing to lose weight, why would you then accuse them of calling you fat?  Or when someone has helped you time and again, stepping into your chaos and crises why would you keep using them rather than make changes that allows you to be independent?  In the past I would run myself ragged trying to figure out these people and also analyze myself to see if indeed maybe I was being judgemental or hurtful. The truth I have found over many years and with the advice of my husband, however, is that people that view themselves as victims do not want change because that would change requires work and a different way of thinking.  A lot of people do not want to go against the grain when they are comfortably miserable.

Not being a victim of circumstances requires another hard-to-face conundrum:  Responsibility. When you feel that you have some sort of power in your life and in your circumstances (granted by Jesus) then you alone are responsible for the outcome of your own decisions.  That is tough for a lot of people that are comfortable making poor decisions and that do not want to face their own guilt or conscience about their lack of responsibility. It is easier to cry about the change you want than to take responsibility and be the change.

When I became a young adult it was clear to me that i needed to pay my own way, make enough money to support myself in my own apartment, carry health insurance because of my disabled condition, and keep my car in good working order for work transport.  Did bad things still happen to me? Yes. Did obstacles constantly seem to throw hindrance in my path? Absolutely! But in the midst of each thing that happened I made several other choices to help get around it. Some of my obstacles were circumstantial and no consequence of my actions but of course I had some HARD lessons to about my poor decisions to learn as well!  

Spending my meager salary money on eating out at lunchtime with co-workers too often caused me to have no money to pay my cable resulting in me having to cancel that service (before the account debt piled up of course!).  Not shopping for sales in the grocery store meant that I didn’t have extra money set aside for car repairs. My desire to go out and party as a young single female resulted in me not having transportation to 20180805_203159-1.jpgwork for a month.  In each of these situations I was forced to accept responsibility for my choices, recognize why the choice was bad, and redirect my path so I would not make the same mistake again. Packing my lunch and eating out with co-workers only once a week was a start.  Grocery shopping for sales and planning my menu around them allowed me to save and get the new tires I needed, albeit only two at a time. And a friend helped transport me to work and I had to humbly accept her help and recognize it was my own bad choice that put me in the situation of putting HER out.  These new choices and change in perspective on my part set a foundation under me to live a chaos free and happy life as much as possible. We can’t control everything but we can steer the ship wisely.

The three examples discussed here from my personal life are limited to financial decisions but there are many other areas of life in which we are not always victims of our circumstances.  How about relationships that we know are wrong but we blame on “love”? Toxic friendships that we stay in the hamster wheel of? Not putting in quality work on the job and then complaining about no promotions?  Keeping a filthy home or vehicle and not caring for the blessings we do have and then wondering why we aren’t blessed with more? I can go on and on with scenarios that people have come to me with convinced that they had no part in the blame of their own circumstances.  They are strictly victims trying to push through, they believe.

It seems when I encounter people that have a victim mentality they not only never feel they are responsible for the situations that they are in but they are actually hostile to anyone that suggests they do have some responsibility to take.  They flip out in anger to distract from the underlying truth. There is never any occurance to them that maybe their own choices cause them to end up where they are and they surely don’t want that pointed out. This is where it gets nasty, in my experience.  Most people, myself included, are willing to help a friend in need. But it is expected that a lesson will be learned and if indeed there are poor choices being made responsibility will be assumed and they will be corrected. Otherwise, the recurrence of the same drama unfolding again and again become chaotic and ultimately codependent.  No one wants to be caught up in other people’s crisis over and over.

Speaking of codependent, in my experience and observations (which are in no way professional) home environment has a lot of influence on the way in which we will approach and interact with obstacles.  If we are surrounded by people that are constantly reacting to events rather than being proactive that procrastination transcribes in our minds as normal. If the people around us do not take responsibility and control of their lives in a healthy way it is likely that we won’t either.  Then as we grow and make friends…well…birds of a feather, and that. The cycle becomes very hard to break and it becomes comfortable, so much so that any challenge to rise above such limited thinking is greeted with extreme and undeserved hostility.

My mother was good for giving to each of us children what we “needed” and not what we “wanted” or what she gave a sibling.  She and my father to this day are always eager to give each of us a boost in life when we need it. They do not support any of us financially but they do provide home carpentry help, advice, treat us to special meals at their home, etc. Knowing and seeing that their help is appreciated by us and that we are otherwise being responsible in life encourages them to help build a foundation for the next generation.  But not every family is like this. A dear friend of mine, Nancy, said to me once, “Ashly there are two types of parents. The kind that want to see their kids grab the torch and go farther than them, and the kind that do not.” It isn’t a matter of the “haves and have nots” but a lifestyle perspective that is the deciding factor in this. No matter how rich or poor our parents are they still have the option to equip us with an outlook on the world that teaches responsibility and, well, reality.

The truth is, when we see ourselves as victims of every circumstance we are not free to be the people God created us to be.  We are not set up to succeed in stewardship of the things we do have – our families, children, finances, possessions, etc. We are not designed to be robots always doing the “right” thing but were designed with intricate and amazing neuroscience to solve complexities and live FROM a place of victory rather than victimization.

There is something that Graham Cooke said one time that struck me powerfully:  “In Christ we are not fighting towards victory we are fighting from victory. It is over, Jesus has already finished the war you just need to complete this battle!”  Sometimes when bad circumstances happen to us it is so easy to say things like “I will overcome this” when in fact as Christians we have already overcome through Christ and are simply walking out that victory.  At the end of every single one of our problems is Jesus, already standing there and guiding us through them with a smile on his face because He knows that with the Holy Spirit we have everything in us to overcome.  Remember, nothing that we cannot handle would be allowed to come our way to begin with.

One example of this is my disability.  At just four years old there was nothing I did, no choice I made that caused me to get cancer and an amputation.  But it happened. I can sit around and be a victim of this, and frankly I have met many people who did respond that way.  I chose to accept this situation even though I vehemently hate that it happened to me. I do not have control over having one leg but I can control a lot of things. My parents instilled that in me.  Instead of just saying “I can’t” I was taught to see “I can’t do it the way some people do, but I CAN be resourceful and find a different way to do it.”  Because of this outlook I am constantly being asked how I can manage to be happy and successful in spite of everything against me. It is because I am not a victim of cancer I am a woman that is living her life rather than her life ruining her.

By the way, the people that I know that do NOT view their disability as something they could adapt to have not had happy endings.  Many of them refuse to be active because of the extra energy it causes, many refuse to perform daily tasks because it takes at least two times longer than an able-bodied person to finish, they become obese, sit in wheelchairs, and give in to depression, physical ailments, alcohol/drugs.  If my choice is between taking 45 minutes to change the sheets on the bed or sitting all day depressed about what I can’t do “normally”…I will change the sheets every single time! And why wouldn’t I?

We each have areas that we may not be perceiving ourselves as victors in.  I gave a few of those examples from my life earlier. Reframing those situations was key.  Finding the areas that I could have some control in changing and being willing to change. Accepting the situation for what it is and responding in a good way.  And, sometimes, saying NO even when it upsets others or disappointing myself. Boundaries are a very practical way to move from being a victim to victor. Breaking codependent relationships, making a commitment to step out of chaos and not enter into it, not allowing what is said about you define you, admitting when you are wrong and taking steps to redirect in the future, etc. are all practical ways to align oneself far away from victimization.  Having a sense of control and responsibility in life is true freedom. It isn’t easy though, and sadly many will not choose that path. It breaks my heart whenever I encounter someone that has chosen chaos and victimization. As they get older it becomes even more detrimental to them as a lifetime of victimization snowballs with poor choices that have very real consequences. Oftentimes these people become more and more isolated as they age, after all, they are a victim of everyone judging them!

In my own life I have had to learn to honor the wishes of someone that does not want help.  If I am speaking with someone who is struggling and everything I suggest they seem to have a complaining answer or excuse not to try – then I see that now as a sign.  Again, to be victors we must look above our problem and see Jesus standing behind it. Anything else is a very limited approach similar to a carriage horse being driven with blinders, being steered about by others and their own chaos/harnesses.  I do not have the power to change someone’s mind or help them see the way out of a problem if they are not willing to see it for themselves. Backing off is best.  (This is the number one reason why I chose not to become a counselor!  I could not stand to listen to whining when the answer is in all but black and white!  But am I a victim when I can’t help people? Nope…that is when prayer comes in. I can’t change people but I surely can pray for them and not enable them.)

At the end of the day, later in life, the consequences of perceptions do catch up with us.  It is sad to see that happen to people we love but it is inevitable when someone chooses the path of lifelong victimization. Loving from a distance, shooting an arrow into the tornado of their chaos but not entering it is really the only healthy choice for a relationship with a victim. Recognizing the pattern of victimization also helps to free you not only of codependency in relationships, but it also helps you break off any victimization in your own life.  There are still times that I catch myself and realize that I am on the hamster wheel of victimization in a certain area of life. But you know what? I have the power to GET OFF…and you do too.

It is my desire to end my life surrounded with family and friends, having gracefully poured love and wisdom into the next generation, and meet Jesus with a clear conscience that confesses when I am wrong, knowing that I still rose up to every challenge and did not shy away from adversity being a victim.  What kind of ending are you on track to have?

Awkward Amputee Problems (Part 1)

Knowing and loving the sense of humor in the disabled community I think you may appreciate some of these.  While my list is by no means a collective and finalized list of amputee problems; either you will relate to them, understand them, or add your own in the comments below.  There is a part two and will be part three (for prosthetic users!) added to this series.  I want to include my prosthetic-wearing amputee audience in the fun as well!

AWKWARD AMPUTEE PROBLEMS (Part 1)…by Ashly Ash

THROWING AWAY YOUR OPPOSITE SHOE

Yes, I really do this.  I keep seeking an amputee that has her RIGHT foot and is an 8.5 -9 shoe size (hint, hint) but I keep finding girls that are a 7.  So often I either send them anyway in hopes they don’t mind the extra toe space, or I trash them!  I hear that NIKE has a great program for amputees, but get real, who the heck wears sneakers all the time?  Someone please start a Matching Site for us!

PIZZA BOXES

The most awkward things in history!  You are single, you order a pizza, you go to pick up said pizza and then realize you cannot carry it!  “No Problem!” they say, they carry it to your car.  But then you get home and need to get in the house. Pizza boxes don’t fit in any known bag that I have seen, and I’ve tried to tie strings around it to no avail.  Yes, I have had driveway picnics in the past.

TOE’IN THE TOILET

Oftentimes I will tuck my pant leg in my back pocket.  I don’t like to cut it off in case my prosthesis is fixed.  It never fails that I dress up and look great, use the restroom, and as I pull my pants up that little tail of mine slips out and falls into the toilet!  Not the best way to end up with a wet tail.

FREE TAILIN’

While we are on the subject of tails, my pant leg gets stuck in the door ALL.THE.TIME.  And as you can guess…it pulls my pants down!  A few times I have even shut it in the car door and ended up all muddy and dirty as I drove down the road with my tail hanging out the door.  Free Tailin’ would be a great Tom Petty alternative.

WHEN CHATTY CATHY CALLS

Everyone does some things when they are the phone.  They walk and talk, put dishes away and talk, gather things to leave the house while they talk, etc.  When you are on crutches and you use your hand to answer the phone…you are stuck.  You cannot obviously use your hand at your ear AND use your crutches at the same time.  (Bluetooth doesn’t work for me with my hearing devices.)  I’ve been caught in some pretty interesting places picking up the phone and being unable to get off!  Now I usually just don’t answer my phone.  It makes a lot of people angry but I have a hurt feelings report they can fill out if they need it…just get in line!

EVERYONE REMEMBERS YOUR NAME

I have met so many people that remember my name and then become offended when I can’t remember theirs!  It is called word association, people!  One leg girl = Ashly.  If I forget your name then be glad I don’t have the same advantage that you have.

ONLINE DATING DILEMMA

So you sign up for the newest dating website and think maybe you may find someone interesting and a good match.  You start chatting people up and then you realize a few hours in that THEY don’t know YOU have one leg!  So begins the dilemma.  Tell them?  Wait until you meet?  How to tell them?  Can you phrase it in a way that doesn’t get you blocked?  What if they don’t like you when they find out, can you handle that rejection?  Ugh!  So many problems, Patty!

CANNOT USE AN UMBRELLA

28 years I have been an amputee.  This year at Christmastime my sweet grandma gave me a gift.  I couldn’t wait to see what it was.  You probably guessed by now…an umbrella.  My filter left in that moment as I said, “Nan, why in the hell would you get a one legged person on crutches an umbrella?”  I obviously cannot use crutches and hold an umbrella which leads to countless bad hair days and runny makeup.  I would like the say it is the thought that counts except there really must have been no thought put into that one!  I had to apologize for cussing in front of Nan.

THERE IS NO HIDING FROM HARRY

We all have a Harry, you know, that person that you see in public and just are not in the mood to talk to.  Having one leg there is simply no hiding from Harry!  The whole “it must have been someone else” when I was a teenager (someplace I shouldn’t have been) just didn’t fly with my parents.  When I swim and someone sees my crutches in front of my lane there is no getting around a chat with Harry. And there really doesn’t seem to be a polite way to say, “Take a hike, harry!”

ALL I DO IS DREAM

Often I dream that I have two legs.  In my head, after all, I am a whole person like anyone else.  There are times when I wake up in the middle of the night to use the restroom and forget about that fallible body of mine…as I fall…

PANTS UP!

Without a nice thigh in place pants do not have the proper motivation to stay up.  I have inadvertently mooned people when I was at Wawa, children’s church, in my front yard.  It happens, people!

PUT A ‘CAP ON IT

Handicapped parking is always a little awkward.  I don’t LOOK disabled but I DO look young and healthy from the waist up.  There is always that awkward moment between when I pull into the space and get a bunch of disapproving looks, glares, and dismayed shaking of heads to when I get out of the car and suddenly turn into a cocky rooster parading my disability around.  “That’s right…I am more disabled then you, witch!”

There is never a dull moment to being disabled.  It is full of fun and funny moments that you can either laugh or cry about.  I hope you enjoyed this read…OH, and I was perfectly serious about the shoe size by the way.  If you are a female 8.5-9 you should email me your address, and then send me your lefties to keep the party going!  Keep the fun going and click HERE for Part 2!

Ashly Ash