Space For Tears

With all the forward progress we have had and the further away we've gotten from the trauma of Steve's accident, I have felt that my emotions have returned to a state of normal.  I don't feel sad or weepy in general, but rather busy and tired.  I haven't had meals scheduled for our family, because I feel like I should be able to get them on the table just fine.  I'm not scared for Steve's life, he is constantly--if slowly--improving.  Things could have been much, much worse and we are deeply thankful.

Yesterday our small group, with whom we've been meeting for well over a decade (part of that group for 15 years now) got together as we are starting our Fall schedule.  These are the people with whom we've done life.  We've been through long-suffering with this group, as well as great joys.  Somehow, sitting around with a group who has permission to ask the really probing questions just tapped the faucet for me.  I deeply felt the pain of this summer, the loss, the weight of responsibility I shoulder, the weariness of our weekly forward march.  I felt the exhaustion of having very little margin in our lives.  I felt the cabin fever of invalids.  I felt the loss the kids have experienced, my limits as a parent.  The continued loss of the littlest things that pile up together.

I remember years ago Virginia Friesen saying that we don't as a culture allow ample time for post-op.  Our bodies desperately need the time to recover, even when we think we feel "normal."  We feel weak and sheepish if we are not back up on our feet right away.  This is true of our minds and emotions as well.  I think because so many things in our life had achieved a new routine, a new normal, I no longer had a place to grieve, to feel, to shed tears.  I'm not sure I wanted to.  I felt sheepish, indulgent, and ungrateful. And I've been doing what I myself preach against--comparing my suffering to the great suffering of others and belittling it in comparison.

When we were still at UCI, Steve was more emotional than he's ever been in his life.  The meds he was on made him exceptionally emotional, not to mention the trauma.  As he and I were crying together over the realization of some of the losses, Denise Geringer in her great wisdom said to us,"Tears are a gift to us.  God gave us a mechanism of release for those emotions so that we don't store them in our bodies or our minds."

So today I am thankful that God is providing space for those tears to fall, reminding myself that there will be tears for some time to come.  I think as an outsider looking in, seeing Steve's progress sets things into order, and checks off a box.  With the advent of more global media, we develop sympathy fatigue and simply do not have the capacity to carry that much second-hand grief on our own shoulders.  So as a culture we cling to good news and allow ourselves to check it off.  Oh, your cancer isn't fatal?  You had the surgery?  Awesome, you're all done, back to normal.  And yet, a part of yourself, an irreplaceable season of your life, is gone and can never be retrieved.  The slate is not clean.

So as we bear one another's burdens, this does not mean that you must feel every feeling that your community feels, that you cannot feel joy that their prognosis is good.  You do not have to enter completely into their suffering.  As Ecclesiastes says, there is a time for everything.  So if there is a time for tears, that also means there is a time for NOT tears.  But we must also allow those who are suffering the space to shed the tears, even if it is far past the impact of their grief.  It is okay not to cheer them up, but to let them shed the weight of grief a little bit.  To exercise that gift God gave us of tears.

As for me, I will try to let others help me more, so that I can allow myself the time to feel what I need to feel.  To give myself the space for those tears.  If I don't, I can't make room for the joy God has in store for me as he gives us back more than we have lost.  And in the end, he will indeed wipe away every single tear I've shed, and redeem this time a million-fold.

My view from Secret Spot #2.  Cloudy today, so no Catalina for me.

Rancho at Last!

This is the only cool view of Rancho.  The rest of it is about as old-school as you can get--sprawled and slightly weird and clearly last renovated before I was born.  But it's what's on the inside that counts.

We had our initial evaluation early today, so we dropped the kids with our heroes across the street and got super lucky with traffic, allowing us to get to our appointment early.  This is a state-run hospital and while in Downey, bumps up against South Gate, Lynwood, Paramount and Compton.  Most patients here are Medicare and Medical.  And it's also known world-wide for its cutting edge rehab programs.

We had a short appointment with the physical therapist to evaluate the direction we will be going.  Had there been no hope of recovery, Steve would've been directed toward therapy that helps him deal well with what he's got.  But because he has already progressed so much, they are excited to be much more aggressive.

So the PT has slated him for "urgent," one-on-one therapy, likely 2 times a week.  It looks like another 2 weeks before the extensive evaluation where we'll piece together more details, but the ball is officially rolling.

We both really liked the therapist, and felt really good about the direction they want to go with Steve.  This is truly a gift from God, and a response to your specific prayers.

From Secret Spot #2

I'm holed up in the most perfect corner of Kaiser Downey's Garden building.  On the 4th floor in the far corner of the hallway there is a quiet table and chairs that no one seems to know about with a huge window, view of Palos Verdes and sometimes of Catalina.  This is where I sit to write my thank you notes, schedule babysitters, pay bills, etc.  It's been a sweet little gift to me.

Steve is continuing to progress slowly but steadily.  In the Race of the Snails, he is sweeping the field.  He is back to work almost full-time now, doing well there, though still making adjustments (who knew that it could be a huge pain to close and lock your office door?).  He has one more month with his back brace (look for the gigantic bonfire when that thing comes off!), and is getting around the house a good bit without the walker, just using chairs and walls for balance.  If he keeps forward momentum, he can maintain his balance pretty well, though he is still pretty slow and unsteady on his feet.  He looks a little as if he's trying to get around on swim fins.

Steve's endoscopy/colonoscopy went well -- only one residual bleed that is on its way to healing.  And hey, now he's good for 10 years on that horrid procedure!  We are not sure yet when he will start anti-coagulants, but I'd assume it will be in the next month.  We do not know whether they will pull the IVC which protects the blood clots, but won't need to cross that bridge for another 6 months or so.

The big news is that we finally have an evaluation scheduled at Rancho Los Amigos next Thursday!  We continue to hear nothing but the highest praise of Rancho and can hardly wait to get there.  The big hurdle will be schedule availability for them.  Some of their programs have a 6 month wait list.  However, we understand that the spinal recovery may not be quite so impacted.  In the mean time, our Kaiser PT has really stepped up her game and is pushing Steve a little harder, incorporating much of what Denise and Jaclyn have put together.  He is seeing lots of acute improvement in particular areas where they work.

Sleep continues to be a bit of a chore for both of us, but it is adequate.  It takes a very long time for Steve to get ready in the morning, but he is getting much more efficient.  He is down to only two meds, one of which is an over-the-counter that he might be able to stop soon.  He has very little pain, though still a lot of discomfort and is still somewhat ginger with his back.

So how are we doing?  I have been trying to figure out how to answer that.  In so many ways, life seems pretty normal-ish now.  He's at work most of the day, so the kids and I are doing our regular stuff--shopping for school clothes and school supplies, swim lessons, working on piano and phonics and handwriting, cleaning and re-cleaning and re-re-cleaning rooms.  I have a house-cleaner coming once a week to do the bathrooms for the time being, and will likely have a Biola student coming when she returns to campus.  The kids will start up their music lessons soon.  School starts in 3 weeks.  It feels very busy with constant scheduling of either rides or child-care, but then we have moments and days that feel very run-of-the-mill.  We're not emotional, we're not feeling a whole lot about all this.

But it is the great Weight around our ankles, around which our world is now centered.  I sometimes forget that Steve can't brush down the pool or bring plates over to the table or drive.  I'm pretty ashamed that I've felt childishly sorry for myself over that kind of ridiculousness.  I've certainly been able to appreciate my dear single-mom friends and the weight they bear, and I still have Dad in the house, parenting with me.  I've been so, so thankful that Steve is not in constant pain, nor does he feel sick, and he's not in bed all the time.  And we are not functioning under any fear that we will lose him.  We have only hope that he will recover fully.  How many people can say as much?

So I have struggled to know how to answer the question "How are you guys doing?"  Normal and not normal.  Fine and not yet fine.  Hurry up and wait.  Frustrated and hopeful.  Crisis is where your world sees what your faith really looks like, and the long, quiet marathon is when you see what your faith really looks like.  God is so very, very good to us daily.  Momently.

To get in the pool, Steve takes his walker to the chair (a different one), lowers his butt with his arms down to the pool deck, then lowers himself step by step.  He is doing his daily walking therapy in the pool, which has been a huge blessing.  

Jaclyn and Denise -- Steve's personal physical therapy team! 

Søren's favorite mode of transportation. 

Jenny with a Fringe on Top

We continue to literally put one foot in front of the other each week.  Steve continues to improve much more quickly than any of his doctors could have predicted.  To Steve especially, it feels oh. so. slooooow.  But that is part of the reason for this blog--to provide ourselves with a historical record of how far he has come and what God has done.

To give you an idea of what "improvement" looks like, it is even more than the fact that he can walk around the house without his walker much of the time now. (As long as he is close to something that can catch his balance.)  We are seeing slow increase in some of the different muscle groups.  He can move his foot up and down more, his calf muscles and glutes are firing more, and there's some increase in ability to use the outside of his foot for balance.

We are still waiting for the slow process of being transferred to Rancho Los Amigos for his physical therapy.  In the mean time, we had a PT party at our house yesterday afternoon.  My friend Jaclyn, who is a spinal recovery PTA, was in town visiting and did a 2 hour work-out with Steve.  Denise was here and took vigorous notes.  They talked about the strategy of PT for Steve, thinking through what his goals are.  The goal isn't just to strengthen his quads, the goal is for him to be able to get up from a sitting position, or bend down to pick something up, or go down stairs.  Jaclyn was nearly giddy working with him, as she had a highly motivated, quickly progressing patient with a fantastic attitude.  At this stage of recovery, there is so much he can be doing!

In addition, Steve was cleared by his surgeon to get in the pool!  Not for actual swimming until likely late September, but for walking.  It is so great to see the kids like minnows around him as he does his daily walking back and forth in the water.

We both needed this boost.  We've been feeling like we are stuck in a super weird in-between-land.  We don't know our schedule from week to week, yet we are terribly busy.  And feel like it's a hurry-up-and-wait busy at the same time.  It very much reminds me of how life changes when you bring home a baby.  Your life is crazy busy, but it's hard to describe what exactly it is you're doing all day, how tired you are, and what the weird Twilight Zone you live in is like.

The other boost we got this week was the arrival of Steve's parents for the week.  Another gift from God -- my friend and neighbor around the corner was desperately looking for a house/dog-sitter during their vacation exactly during the timeline of Mimi and Papa's intended stay.  So they don't have to sleep on air-beds on the floor, they get to sleep in a real bed.  Not to mention Papa is the Dog Whisperer.

During their stay this week we've been able to check a few things off our list:  oil change on the van, kids trip to the aquarium, and a haircut for me!  News-flash:  I have bangs for the first time in 23 years!  (Hence the title--Sari tells me the Brits call bangs "fringe").  It feels sooo good to get some of those things taken care of.  And there's just nothing like seeing my kiddos jump up and down when their grandparents arrive.

We also had a sweet, sweet visit with my sister and her family last weekend.  Sari and Abby came through on their way to pick up Jason and Emma from their Mexico missions trip.  I didn't mention this before because at the time I didn't feel it was my story to tell, but a week after Steve's accident, my precious niece ended up in the hospital for 4 days with a new diagnosis of Type-One Diabetes.  She had been slowly declining, and had reached a scary, critical point.  It was really precious--Steve and Abby were praying for each other from their hospital beds.  They call each other "fellow sufferer."  It was so, so good to hold my girl in my arms and see her beautiful face and to have her show me her diabetes kit.  I got to look in her eyes and tell her what we are learning ourselves:  That when God asks something hard of you, he gives you everything you need and more.

I lifted this quote from a friend on Facebook the other day.  I should've known that Billy Graham would say it best!

"The will of God will not take us where the grace of God cannot sustain us."  - Billy Graham