Since all the weather forecasters here in KC seem to be on the same page regarding the frigid arctic blast that's heading our way tomorrow, and considering the fact that last week was bitterly cold as well, I decided to take full advantage of the balmy 40-degree weather we had today and take Ollie the wiener dog for an extra-long walk. Though we normally pass at least a few other residents from the apartment complex where we live, both human and canine alike, today was one of those rare days when we didn't see another single person or dog as we walked. Which meant I had plenty of time to think as Ollie and I sauntered along, and I do mean plenty of time and I do mean sauntered … Ollie was extra determined to take his sweet time and be super diligent in peeing on every post, tree, curb and lingering mound of snow that we passed. He was pretty much the happiest wiener dog on the planet today … the happiest tail-wagging, air-sniffing, peeing-on-everything, meandering little wiener dog on the planet. And truth be told, I was pretty doggone happy myself.
I thought about a lot of things as my faithful little dog and I walked today … big things and little things and more than a few in-between things. But most of all, I thought about the new list I recently started. It's not a bucket list, though in some cases I suppose maybe it should be. It's more of a recognition list, I think … a list of all the people and things I recognize I'm thankful for that I used to take for granted. That's definitely a positive outcome I've noticed since having the stroke … I'm so very much more thankful and grateful than I was before, and it's changing my life in a good way. In fact, I've told several folks, my kids included, that in many ways I think the stroke was one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. Having said that, let's get on to my list … the beginning of it anyway. This will absolutely, totally, completely, beyond the shadow of any doubt be an ongoing project … a living list, if you will … a list to be built upon and expanded … very much a "too be continued" project. Some of my thankfuls are big and some are small but they are all worthy of gratitude. But for now, here's a sampling … a jumping off place just in case you want to get started on a living list of your own.
My children … all six of them
My grandchildren … all six of them
Flannel pajama pants
Flannel sheets
Flannel shirts
Warm fires on cold nights
Kisses from my grandkids
Laughter
Hugs
Electricity
Toothbrushes
Soap
Hot showers
The sound of the wind
Wiener boy
Compression socks
Comfortable shoes
Iced tea
Cheese
Blue jeans
Converse sneakers
Shorts
The smell of coffee
My job
Friendship
Tree houses
Markers
Blankets
Rain
Snow
Giant glasses of cold water
Ice cubes
Eggs over-medium
Grandkid art
Photos
Neighbors
My apartment
Music
Medicine
Compassion
Doctors
Nurses
Blackberries
Raspberries
Blueberries
Not being blind
Learning to see around the blind spot
My car
Stocking caps
Gloves
Airplanes
Grocery stores
Forks
Breathing
Knowing how to type
Notes from friends
Presents
Trees
My bed
Love
The squirrels that sit on my deck and make Ollie go crazy
My toes
Having legs
Kindness
Being able to walk
Windows
Knowledge
Breakfasts and lunches and dinners with my kids and grandkids
Every moment I'm blessed to spend with the people I love
Forgiveness
Grace
Mercy
Backpacks
Awesome white hair
Wrinkles
Creeks
Sunsets
Chirping birds
Eyes
Ears
Talking
Sleeping
Clean towels
My pillow
Like I said, big things and small things and more than a few in-between things … and absolutely, totally, completely, beyond the shadow of any doubt, as long as I'm alive and breathing to be continued ...
Sunday, January 27, 2019
Sunday, January 13, 2019
You See That, Right?
First off, I'd like to thank the many of you who've reached out to me since my post on December 27. I'm deeply humbled by your messages of support and encouragement, and am incredibly grateful for your prayers and well wishes as I continue to recover from the stroke I had in late November. It really and truly is a wonderful life, friends, and I am so very, very blessed to have you sharing the journey with me.
Last week was my first full week back to work since Thanksgiving, and I've got to admit I was more than just a wee bit nervous. I was glad my return to the office the week before happened to fall on a three-day week since my energy level isn't quite back to 100 percent just yet and I sure didn't want to fall asleep at my desk. I won't say I've never dozed off for a few minutes during all the years I've been in the workforce, but let's be gut honest here ... falling asleep at my desk the first week I come back to work after having a stroke would not have been good. Not good at all. You know as well as I do that someone would have seen me with my head down on my desk or slumped back in my chair with my eyes closed and immediately thought, "Well, that's it. Terrie's dead." So yes, I'm thankful, both for my sake and that of the co-worker who would have suffered untold emotional distress had they found me sleeping, that I did indeed stay awake upon my return to work.
Believe it or not, it wasn't until last weekend that I actually began reading about the type of stroke I had. Weird, I know, and definitely out of character for me considering my usual insatiable quest for knowledge. I'll attribute my lack of research regarding my stroke to the fact that my vision was significantly impacted in the first few weeks after it happened. You only get a smidge of information when you say "Hey, Google, tell me about lower right occipital lobe strokes" ... certainly not enough for an extraordinarily curious mind such as mine ... which is why last weekend I decided it was time I learned more about what had taken place inside my head, and I was finally feeling brave enough to read up on what's ahead for me regarding my continued recovery. So ... after sleeping in until 12:30 p.m. last Saturday, I spent a good part of the remainder of the day curled up on the couch with my wiener dog and my laptop gathering as much info as I could on the fascinating and glorious thing that is the human brain.
Don't worry, I'm not going to wax on about everything I gleaned from what I read last weekend ... that would take way too long and involve way too much risk for yours truly with regard to misspellings and incorrect wording. But I would like to share just a bit as to what I've learned. I'd never even heard of the occipital lobe of the brain before my recent visit to the hospital ... hey, I flunked biology in college, twice, so back off with the science jokes, OK? Since what prompted my ending up in the hospital was the fact that I couldn't see very well, it wasn't exactly surprising to learn that the occipital lobe of the brain is dedicated to vision. Technically, it receives information transmitted via the eyes, processes that information and then sends it on to the frontal lobe which formulates a response. Of the four major lobes of the brain, the occipital is the smallest but the one most used in our daily lives.
I'm sure you've heard the saying, "Small rudders guide great ships," and that's very true when it comes to the occipital lobe. Trauma to that little section of the brain, whether from injury or infection or stroke or tumor, has the potential to wreak a lot of havoc in regard to what a person sees or doesn't see. A person could lose their sight completely, be unable to recognize people or objects, experience significant issues with depth perception and balance or even have hallucinations. In my case, I have what's called congruous homonymous hemianopia. In laymen's terms, I have a fried fuse in my brain that's messing with my field of vision and causing me to be more sensitive to bright light than I was before the stroke. I'm currently going to brain rehab a couple of times a week where some really awesome folks are teaching me how to retrain that small piece of gray matter in my noggin to quite literally see things in a different light. And bonus ... I get to wear a totally cool pirate eye patch when I'm reading.
If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know that I've gone through some dark times over the years ... times when I was ready to throw in the towel and be done with living. Which is why when the doctors and nurses started talking to me about there being a high risk of depression following a stroke, I made up my mind before I ever left the hospital that I would do everything in my power to keep that from happening. The weird thing is that, for now at least, the stroke has had entirely the opposite effect on me. It's made me appreciate things I used to take for granted, to slow down and enjoy life, to not be afraid of new adventures and to spend more time with the people I love. And it's made me determined to find the good ... and the funny ... in this part of my journey.
I'm so thankful, friends, to be alive and to have only a small blind spot as my "stroke leftover." I will admit, however, to having a little fun with some of the young folks in my office after explaining to them that some people have hallucinations following an occipital stroke. When they ask me if that's happened to me, I smile and say, "Oh, no. Absolutely no hallucinations for me, thank goodness." Then the next time I see them, I say something like, "Tigers aren't really my thing, but that one over there by the window is gorgeous. You see that, right?"
Have a great week, friends ... remember to keep your chin up, your sense of humor intact and your grateful meter in tip-top shape. Stay tuned for my next post ... I kind of like this whole talk-writing thing.
Last week was my first full week back to work since Thanksgiving, and I've got to admit I was more than just a wee bit nervous. I was glad my return to the office the week before happened to fall on a three-day week since my energy level isn't quite back to 100 percent just yet and I sure didn't want to fall asleep at my desk. I won't say I've never dozed off for a few minutes during all the years I've been in the workforce, but let's be gut honest here ... falling asleep at my desk the first week I come back to work after having a stroke would not have been good. Not good at all. You know as well as I do that someone would have seen me with my head down on my desk or slumped back in my chair with my eyes closed and immediately thought, "Well, that's it. Terrie's dead." So yes, I'm thankful, both for my sake and that of the co-worker who would have suffered untold emotional distress had they found me sleeping, that I did indeed stay awake upon my return to work.
Believe it or not, it wasn't until last weekend that I actually began reading about the type of stroke I had. Weird, I know, and definitely out of character for me considering my usual insatiable quest for knowledge. I'll attribute my lack of research regarding my stroke to the fact that my vision was significantly impacted in the first few weeks after it happened. You only get a smidge of information when you say "Hey, Google, tell me about lower right occipital lobe strokes" ... certainly not enough for an extraordinarily curious mind such as mine ... which is why last weekend I decided it was time I learned more about what had taken place inside my head, and I was finally feeling brave enough to read up on what's ahead for me regarding my continued recovery. So ... after sleeping in until 12:30 p.m. last Saturday, I spent a good part of the remainder of the day curled up on the couch with my wiener dog and my laptop gathering as much info as I could on the fascinating and glorious thing that is the human brain.
Don't worry, I'm not going to wax on about everything I gleaned from what I read last weekend ... that would take way too long and involve way too much risk for yours truly with regard to misspellings and incorrect wording. But I would like to share just a bit as to what I've learned. I'd never even heard of the occipital lobe of the brain before my recent visit to the hospital ... hey, I flunked biology in college, twice, so back off with the science jokes, OK? Since what prompted my ending up in the hospital was the fact that I couldn't see very well, it wasn't exactly surprising to learn that the occipital lobe of the brain is dedicated to vision. Technically, it receives information transmitted via the eyes, processes that information and then sends it on to the frontal lobe which formulates a response. Of the four major lobes of the brain, the occipital is the smallest but the one most used in our daily lives.
I'm sure you've heard the saying, "Small rudders guide great ships," and that's very true when it comes to the occipital lobe. Trauma to that little section of the brain, whether from injury or infection or stroke or tumor, has the potential to wreak a lot of havoc in regard to what a person sees or doesn't see. A person could lose their sight completely, be unable to recognize people or objects, experience significant issues with depth perception and balance or even have hallucinations. In my case, I have what's called congruous homonymous hemianopia. In laymen's terms, I have a fried fuse in my brain that's messing with my field of vision and causing me to be more sensitive to bright light than I was before the stroke. I'm currently going to brain rehab a couple of times a week where some really awesome folks are teaching me how to retrain that small piece of gray matter in my noggin to quite literally see things in a different light. And bonus ... I get to wear a totally cool pirate eye patch when I'm reading.
If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know that I've gone through some dark times over the years ... times when I was ready to throw in the towel and be done with living. Which is why when the doctors and nurses started talking to me about there being a high risk of depression following a stroke, I made up my mind before I ever left the hospital that I would do everything in my power to keep that from happening. The weird thing is that, for now at least, the stroke has had entirely the opposite effect on me. It's made me appreciate things I used to take for granted, to slow down and enjoy life, to not be afraid of new adventures and to spend more time with the people I love. And it's made me determined to find the good ... and the funny ... in this part of my journey.
I'm so thankful, friends, to be alive and to have only a small blind spot as my "stroke leftover." I will admit, however, to having a little fun with some of the young folks in my office after explaining to them that some people have hallucinations following an occipital stroke. When they ask me if that's happened to me, I smile and say, "Oh, no. Absolutely no hallucinations for me, thank goodness." Then the next time I see them, I say something like, "Tigers aren't really my thing, but that one over there by the window is gorgeous. You see that, right?"
Have a great week, friends ... remember to keep your chin up, your sense of humor intact and your grateful meter in tip-top shape. Stay tuned for my next post ... I kind of like this whole talk-writing thing.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
The Lost Crayon
Many of you probably have no idea what year Crayola first introduced its new crayon packaging that contained a built-in sharpener or how many crayons said history-making packaging held. It was 1958 (one year before I was born), and the box had a whopping … wait for it … a whopping 64 Crayola crayons. That's right … 64 crayons … 64 different colors … AND a built-in crayon sharpener on the back of the box.
I totally remember the day I finally convinced my mom that I really, really, really needed her to buy me one of the super-awesome boxes of 64 Crayola crayons with the built-in sharpener on the back. I had been begging for the then "biggest box of crayons ever" for months, and Mom finally said yes. Right smack dab in the middle of the Zayre Department Store in downtown Chattanooga, Mom finally said yes to buying the crayons for me. I remember that day like it was yesterday ... the slight smile on Mom's face as she handed me the green and yellow box of crayons ... the feel of the box in my hands as we walked through the store ... the anticipation bubbling inside of me to color in my favorite Batman coloring book ... the smell of the crayons as I opened the box when we got home. You bet I remember that day, friends ... I remember that day because it was, without a doubt, one of the greatest days of my little girl life.
All was well and life was good for my young self until the fateful day when I came home from school, opened my beloved box of Crayola Crayons and discovered that one of the crayons was missing. And not just any old crayon, mind you ... it was, and still remains, one of my all-time favorite colors. That's right, friends ... I opened my beloved box of 64 Crayola Crayons with the built-in sharpener on the back to find the Brick Red crayon was missing. Of all the crayons to disappear, why, oh, why did it have to be Brick Red? I managed to remain relatively calm as I searched every nook and cranny in my little bedroom for the missing crayon, but when I realized it wasn't anywhere in my room, sheer and utter panic engulfed me as I raced through the rest of the house trying desperately to find my dear friend Brick Red. I won't admit to how long I looked for that crayon or to how long I was consumed by an overwhelming sadness over its loss, but I will confess to crying myself to sleep over losing my very special crayon friend … not only that night but for more than a few nights afterward as well.
I bet you're probably thinking the same thing my mom and dad did regarding Brick Red's sudden disappearance … it was just a crayon for gosh sake's and I still had 63 others, including at least 10 variations of the color red. But none of those 63 crayons were Brick Red … Brick Red was special. It was my go-to crayon … my one crayon that somehow managed to give even my ugliest coloring projects a spark of beauty. And believe me, friends, I had some really, really, really ugly coloring projects back then. Brick Red was the crayon that seemed to never get dull or need sharpening, even though I colored with it almost every day ... it was like the Energizer Bunny in the world of crayons. But the most special thing about my old pal Brick Red? The thing that made it so important to me? That one crayon somehow made me believe I was capable of creating a masterpiece. In many ways, that crayon made me believe I was a masterpiece.
By now you're probably scratching your head and wondering why in the heck I'm writing about losing a crayon 50 years ago, especially on the first day of a new year. But I do have a reason, and even a legitimate one at that, for my subject choice for this the first day of 2019. You see, friends, Brick Red's departure from my crayon collection was about more than just losing my favorite crayon. When I lost that crayon, I lost my desire to color at all. The truth is I didn't even open the box of crayons for a very, very long time. Why? Because I was so afraid of losing another crayon that I didn't even attempt to create anything with the crayons I had left. I was terrified by the thought that my masterpiece-creating days were over. I cringed in fear as my once-held belief that I was a masterpiece fell in shards all around my scared, lonely heart. I was afraid ... plain and simple ... I was afraid. I was afraid of once again losing something that had been so special ... so dear ... so precious to me.
I'm guessing many of you agree that fear is an extremely powerful emotion, one that's capable of sidelining a great big bunch of us ... at least I know that's true for me. In my 59 years of life, fear has kept me from doing or saying or being lots of things far more important than coloring in a Batman coloring book. Fear is one tough cookie, let me tell you, and once it's sunk its claws into my mind about a certain thing, it's harder than soap scum in a teenage boy's bathroom to get rid of. Take flying, for example ... I'm not nearly as afraid of getting on a plane as I once was, but I can promise you that the day before I know I have to board the sky monster, that old fear comes marching right back in and tries to convince me not to get on the flight. Fear tells me I'm sick and shouldn't fly. Fear tells me there will be a hijacker on the plane and I shouldn't fly. Fear tells me I'll get motion sick and have to puke in one of those tiny bags ... oh, wait, that actually happened to me once so that disqualifies that one as fear and slides it squarely into the category of reality. But the truth remains ... fear is a powerful emotion, one that can absolutely knock the life out of me if I let it.
A lot of folks use the beginning of a new year as their springboard for change, or at least they say they're going to change some things in their lives anyway. We all know that oftentimes those New Year's resolutions fall by the wayside far more quickly than we're willing to admit. With each new year, we proclaim that things will be different ... we proclaim that we'll be different and I think most of us sincerely believe that will be the case when we set forth our proclamations, myself included. Which is why I'm not making a specific list this year of what I would like to change in the coming year. Instead, I've decided to cover my desires for self-improvement in this new year with a "No Fear" blanket. No fear of living life to its absolute fullest. No fear of what tomorrow may or may not bring. No fear of judgment from others. No fear of loving and caring and doing for others. No fear of doing me the very best way I know how.
Who would've thunk a lost crayon from so many years ago could still be teaching me lessons today? Who would've thunk it indeed? Happy new year, friends ... cheers to creating and being masterpieces of your very own.
I totally remember the day I finally convinced my mom that I really, really, really needed her to buy me one of the super-awesome boxes of 64 Crayola crayons with the built-in sharpener on the back. I had been begging for the then "biggest box of crayons ever" for months, and Mom finally said yes. Right smack dab in the middle of the Zayre Department Store in downtown Chattanooga, Mom finally said yes to buying the crayons for me. I remember that day like it was yesterday ... the slight smile on Mom's face as she handed me the green and yellow box of crayons ... the feel of the box in my hands as we walked through the store ... the anticipation bubbling inside of me to color in my favorite Batman coloring book ... the smell of the crayons as I opened the box when we got home. You bet I remember that day, friends ... I remember that day because it was, without a doubt, one of the greatest days of my little girl life.
All was well and life was good for my young self until the fateful day when I came home from school, opened my beloved box of Crayola Crayons and discovered that one of the crayons was missing. And not just any old crayon, mind you ... it was, and still remains, one of my all-time favorite colors. That's right, friends ... I opened my beloved box of 64 Crayola Crayons with the built-in sharpener on the back to find the Brick Red crayon was missing. Of all the crayons to disappear, why, oh, why did it have to be Brick Red? I managed to remain relatively calm as I searched every nook and cranny in my little bedroom for the missing crayon, but when I realized it wasn't anywhere in my room, sheer and utter panic engulfed me as I raced through the rest of the house trying desperately to find my dear friend Brick Red. I won't admit to how long I looked for that crayon or to how long I was consumed by an overwhelming sadness over its loss, but I will confess to crying myself to sleep over losing my very special crayon friend … not only that night but for more than a few nights afterward as well.
I bet you're probably thinking the same thing my mom and dad did regarding Brick Red's sudden disappearance … it was just a crayon for gosh sake's and I still had 63 others, including at least 10 variations of the color red. But none of those 63 crayons were Brick Red … Brick Red was special. It was my go-to crayon … my one crayon that somehow managed to give even my ugliest coloring projects a spark of beauty. And believe me, friends, I had some really, really, really ugly coloring projects back then. Brick Red was the crayon that seemed to never get dull or need sharpening, even though I colored with it almost every day ... it was like the Energizer Bunny in the world of crayons. But the most special thing about my old pal Brick Red? The thing that made it so important to me? That one crayon somehow made me believe I was capable of creating a masterpiece. In many ways, that crayon made me believe I was a masterpiece.
By now you're probably scratching your head and wondering why in the heck I'm writing about losing a crayon 50 years ago, especially on the first day of a new year. But I do have a reason, and even a legitimate one at that, for my subject choice for this the first day of 2019. You see, friends, Brick Red's departure from my crayon collection was about more than just losing my favorite crayon. When I lost that crayon, I lost my desire to color at all. The truth is I didn't even open the box of crayons for a very, very long time. Why? Because I was so afraid of losing another crayon that I didn't even attempt to create anything with the crayons I had left. I was terrified by the thought that my masterpiece-creating days were over. I cringed in fear as my once-held belief that I was a masterpiece fell in shards all around my scared, lonely heart. I was afraid ... plain and simple ... I was afraid. I was afraid of once again losing something that had been so special ... so dear ... so precious to me.
I'm guessing many of you agree that fear is an extremely powerful emotion, one that's capable of sidelining a great big bunch of us ... at least I know that's true for me. In my 59 years of life, fear has kept me from doing or saying or being lots of things far more important than coloring in a Batman coloring book. Fear is one tough cookie, let me tell you, and once it's sunk its claws into my mind about a certain thing, it's harder than soap scum in a teenage boy's bathroom to get rid of. Take flying, for example ... I'm not nearly as afraid of getting on a plane as I once was, but I can promise you that the day before I know I have to board the sky monster, that old fear comes marching right back in and tries to convince me not to get on the flight. Fear tells me I'm sick and shouldn't fly. Fear tells me there will be a hijacker on the plane and I shouldn't fly. Fear tells me I'll get motion sick and have to puke in one of those tiny bags ... oh, wait, that actually happened to me once so that disqualifies that one as fear and slides it squarely into the category of reality. But the truth remains ... fear is a powerful emotion, one that can absolutely knock the life out of me if I let it.
A lot of folks use the beginning of a new year as their springboard for change, or at least they say they're going to change some things in their lives anyway. We all know that oftentimes those New Year's resolutions fall by the wayside far more quickly than we're willing to admit. With each new year, we proclaim that things will be different ... we proclaim that we'll be different and I think most of us sincerely believe that will be the case when we set forth our proclamations, myself included. Which is why I'm not making a specific list this year of what I would like to change in the coming year. Instead, I've decided to cover my desires for self-improvement in this new year with a "No Fear" blanket. No fear of living life to its absolute fullest. No fear of what tomorrow may or may not bring. No fear of judgment from others. No fear of loving and caring and doing for others. No fear of doing me the very best way I know how.
Who would've thunk a lost crayon from so many years ago could still be teaching me lessons today? Who would've thunk it indeed? Happy new year, friends ... cheers to creating and being masterpieces of your very own.
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