The origins of Frankenleg

I do a lot of things very well. I'm an excellent cook. I bake a mean loaf of homemade bread. I can craft like nobody's business. And the parties I plan rock. However, one thing I am most definitely not skilled at is walking.

Yes, walking.

You'd think after 38 years, 37 of which have been spent in a (mostly) upright position, I'd have gotten this whole walking thing under control. Well, you'd be wrong. For some odd reason, I can't seem to make it from Point A to Point B without injuring myself on a regular basis.

Some examples of my possibly-world-record-breaking-klutziness:

Four years ago, I was sitting on the side of the bathtub, running water for a bath. There was a rubber duck in there, and as I reached behind me to get it out, I somehow managed to fall into the tub and break my tailbone. That took over a year to finally heal completely. Nothing like not being able to sit without being in excruciating pain to put you in a cheerful mood.

Six months after the destruction of my coccyx, I severely sprained my right ankle. I was getting a box out of the attic, and as I backed down the attic steps (those horrible, narrow, ridiculously steep, evil things), I mistakenly thought I was on the bottom step and stepped down, only to find that I was TWO steps up. So instead of the six-inch gap between the step and the floor, there was an eighteen-inch gap. Of course, I lost my balance, came down hard on my ankle, and heard a loud crunching noise as my poor foot finally hit the floor. That one bought me an aircast, crutches, and the inability to wear closed-back shoes for nearly two months. I also now have a weird lump on my Achilles tendon and my foot makes a cool creaking/crunching noise when I move it side to side.

More recently, I sprained my left ankle and scraped the dickens out of my right knee and both hands when I stepped on a large piece of gravel and lost my balance, wiping out right in the middle of Main Street on the way into my daughter's preschool. The ankle swelled to three times its normal size, and turned into a lovely palette of black, blue, purple and green. I've still got scars from the scrapes on my other knee. Oh, and let's not forget the never-ending humiliation of walking into the school, limping, bloody and bruised, all because I STEPPED ON A ROCK.

See? Walking is definitely NOT my strong suit.

I'm sure you're wondering what in the world "Frankenleg" refers to. If you guessed that I have somehow managed to injure myself yet again, you win a Kewpie doll! Four weeks ago, I went to perform the mundane (and normally safe) task of sitting down on my desk chair. For some reason (and I'm still not quite convinced that my darling daughter didn't push the chair for poops and giggles) the chair slid away from my butt and I went crashing to the floor, with my right leg splayed out to the side. No pain in the leg at first, but about four days later, WOWZA! Welcome to Painville, population: Me. I let it go, thinking that it would eventually start to heal. That's been how it worked in the past. Ahhh, not so this time! After more than three weeks of excruciating pain, the inability to walk up steps quicker than a Galapagos tortoise, and no sleep for several nights in a row, I finally went to the doctor. Several x-rays and an orthopedist referral later, I was told that I probably knocked my patella (kneecap) out of place and it's been bouncing around in there like a marble, bruising and causing me pain ever since. My souvenir from what I can only imagine will be an exorbitant set of bills was a ridiculously fancy-and complicated--knee brace. My husband has dubbed it "Frankenleg", because I definitely have a monster-like gait now when I'm wearing it. Sometimes it hurts more when I'm wearing it, but I just keep telling myself that if it didn't hurt, then it wouldn't be working. Sometimes I even believe myself.

Oh well. At least it came in black, which is always slimming, right? Maybe I can get a matching one for the left leg so they'll both look slim and svelte. Or maybe I should shut up now before I jinx myself and end up on the x-ray table yet again...

Poor, painful Frankenleg. I really hope to get rid of it soon!

Inspiration...I could sure use some!

I watched the movie "Julie & Julia" yesterday and felt inspired, yet oddly disappointed in myself. I've had this blog for three years now and have barely posted on it, and I'm fairly certain that (almost) nobody reads it. I wish I could come up with an idea for an innovative theme to this blog so I could take it in a whole new direction. You know--one where I actually post entries and people actually read them. So far, it's been nothing more than a collection of random thoughts that pass through my head, but I really wish I could hit on that great idea and begin a blogging sensation.

I think it's time for a brainstorming session...

Get off my tail, would ya?

When I go shopping, I always try to park as far away from the store as possible. This serves two purposes: I can pull through and not have to deal with that annoying backing-up thing, and the further away I park means the further I have to walk, which, for my hefty hiney, is a good thing. So why is it that no matter how far away I park, some eejit in a humongus truck parks right on my tail end? If you're so close that I can't get the back hatch on my van open, then you're waaaaay too close. It's really a pain in the tush to have to leave my full cart, load the kids in, move the van forward, and then unload just because some dingdong can't calculate the distance between his ginormous grill and the back end of my van. There are hundreds of other spots in the parking lot--why are they drawn to me??? Is there a magnet in my van that sucks them to me? Yeah, I know...boohoo, wahhhhhh, poor me, right? It's just one of those little things that annoys the spit out of me. Aren't you glad I shared it with you?

My daughter is full of AWESOME!

This is the conversation I overheard through the baby monitor as my (extremely cranky) hubby got Norah ready for bed:

Hubby: Blah blah blah, wah wah wah, I hate everybody, blah blah blah, life sucks, blah wah blah, poor me, wah blah wah, Jen [me] thinks its all a joke, blah blah blah, wah wah wah...

Norah: Oh Daddy, quit your crying!!!

Gawd, I love that girl! She's so snarky sometimes. Wonder where she gets it?

The sounds of the holidays

(Originally written 12/22/08)

Sam sat at the table tonight, eating his spaghetti, serenading us with the song "Up on a Rooftop", which he learned for his school's holiday concert. He knows all the words, and even remembered all of the little hand motions the music teacher taught him. It was so sweet! I love the sound of his little voice, and it was even nicer to hear because he's been sick and feverish for three days and hasn't done much except lie on the couch and moan.

Not to be outdone, Norah was in the living room singing "Deck the Halls" for us. It would have been a lovely rendition of the song had she not done one thing...

She changed every word to "poop".

Heh heh. Gotta love toddlers!.

Sixteen

(Originally written 12/22/08)

This time of year is usually pretty busy for people. The holidays sneak up on us and we often find ourselves rushing to buy that one last gift or bake that last batch of cookies. My family, like so many others, always gets caught up in the hustle and bustle that December brings. But there is always an undercurrent of sadness, just below the surface, when we gather together to celebrate. We are a close family, closer than a lot of families, and it is a sad bond that has made us so close. We have been brought together by loss.

On December 28, 1992, an angel was born. Her name was Chelsea. She was the first grandchild on both sides and the first niece any of us had. We loved and cherished her more than any child has ever been loved and cherished. From the day she was born, we knew she was special.

On August 15, 2000, that angel went back to Heaven. She was seven and a half years old.

She would have been 16 this year. Sweet sixteen. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around that fact. In my head, she is forever a sweet second-grader who loved Barney and Tweety Bird and her "ruby slippers".

People in my mom's generation remember where they were when Kennedy got shot, or watching the first moon landing on TV. They are defining moments in a person's lifetime, because they represent huge changes on the horizon. My "defining moment" was the day we found out exactly what was making Chelsea so sick. It was March 12, 1998-a Thursday. I was 8 months pregnant with my first child and had just gotten home from birthing class with my husband. At 9:30 pm, I received a phone call that changed the course of my life. She had a brain tumor, and they were operating in two days. My baby shower was supposed to be the day of the surgery, but I immediately agreed to reschedule it. How could I possibly celebrate when my sweet little niece was undergoing the most major surgery any of us had ever seen anybody have? She was only five years old! How could this possibly happen? How on earth does a five year old get a brain tumor? It was almost too impossible to believe. We were in shock.

She had the surgery. There were complications that slowed her recovery down, but she ultimately started to get better and moved on with her life. There were high points (a fantastic trip to Disney World given to them by the Make-A-Wish Foundation, the most amazing organization in the world!), and low points (her eventual decline into complete paralysis as the tumor, which was located on her brain stem, grew and pressed on her brain stem, causing her to lose her motor function) over the next two and a half years.

Tragedies usually either break a family apart or bring it closer together. I am happy that my family was able to overcome the pain of watching our beloved Chelsea get sicker and sicker and draw closer than ever. We were like survivors of a shipwreck. We clung to each other and supported each other and loved each other all the more because we understood how fragile and tenuous our hold on life really is. We were like shipwreck survivors in another way too: having a child or family member that sick isn't a very common thing. There are a lot of people out there who will (luckily) never know the pain of having to stand there, helplessly, as someone you love suffers. We held on to each other because in doing so, we were able to form a force-field of sorts against stupid, insensitive people who would say horrible things out of fear and ignorance.

In the end though, all of our hopes and prayers weren't enough to keep Chelsea alive. She had gradually declined to a point where she was in a wheelchair, unable to sit up unassisted, or move her arms, legs or head. She could no longer feed herself, and she had gone back to wearing diapers again because she couldn't get to the bathroom on her own. The tumor was now not only compromising her motor skills but her breathing as well. The weekend before she died, she went into respiratory arrest three times and finally had to be put on a ventilator.

We were all there with her when she died. I can't (and won't) go into the details of that horrific day. Even now, over eight years later, it still plays like a terrible, painful movie in my head. I can remember every single moment of that morning. Losing a child is something I would not wish on my worst enemy. You cannot even begin to imagine the pain unless you've been through it. I couldn't understand how the earth was still spinning when the most amazing little girl in the world had just left the planet. A part of me died that day in that cold, cramped PICU room. She took a piece of my heart to Heaven with her.

Chelsea lives on in our hearts. We are now able to get together and smile and laugh and tell stories of her amazing bravery and her snappy sense of humor. We giggle when we remember the silly and embarrassing things she said in public. We smile fondly when we see a Tweety Bird or hear a Barney song. We know how blessed we were to have been able to "borrow" her for the seven years, seven months and twenty-three days we had her. She made me a better mother. She made my parents better grandparents. She made my brothers and their wives better uncles and aunts. She left behind an indelible mark on this big planet. There is not one person who met her who didn't love her. That was evident at her funeral. There were hundreds of people there to honor her life and say good-bye. Family, friends, doctors, nurses...just about anybody and everybody who came in contact with her. That right there was a testament to what an amazing girl she was. She was, and still is, unforgettable. I see her in my own children. Jake's love of Reeses' Peanut Butter Cups, Sam's love of the Little Mermaid, and Norah's obsession with all things Disney and girly make me think of Chelsea. There are things they do every day that bring her to mind. And it always makes me laugh, because I know she lives on in them.

So if you see a faraway look in my eye or a sad smile on my face this time of year, give me a moment. I'm remembering my Ladybug.

Charge me with neglect

I don't know why I can't seem to keep up with this blog. I blog on CafeMom, Facebook and Myspace, yet it's practically impossible for me to remember to come here and even just copy and paste what I've put up on other sites.

I think I'll go back and pick some stuff from my other writings and put them up here so it doesn't look quite so desolate. 6 months between postings is kind of shameful.