Cabernet and an Allen Wrench

Jerry and I are in our hotel room in Paris, having a glass of wine after a day of visiting the Victor Hugo house, having a very late lunch and making a pilgrimage to Babka Zana for cinnamon babka and poppy seed brioche. Every day we increase the number of walked steps, but in the back of my mind I worry, is it enough? We head to Bordeaux tomorrow and I'm really not sure how much walking we will do every day, so I'm concerned. I wish I had had another week with my new foot before the trip. I'm still getting used to its springiness, and if I don't put full weight on it going downhill, my knee will bend too much. I'm still not brave enough going down these inclines without holding on to Jerry. But we are having a lot of fun. We ended up coming to Paris earlier than we had originally planned because of the impending French Air Traffic Controller strike. It was called off, but I'm still glad we didn't take a chance. And while I'm walking pretty well, I f...

Jerry left town Thursday morning. He was gone away before, but this is the first time I did all the kitty chores myself. Since the last time he was away we added two cats to the household: Omar and Tillie Flambe. Omar's name at the shelter was Blueberry Pancake; Tillie's name was Flambe. Omar was named after a character from the Wire, and I love the name Tillie, and I made her shelter name her last name. Both arrived way too skinny, Omar frighteningly so. We took him to our vet and it seems this 15-year-old tiny boy is in late-stage heart disease. He was prescribed three pills he gets twice a day. Since my accident Jerry has been in charge of all things cat. And his last couple of trips I got help. But I felt like I was really ready to take it all on. We did a trial run before Jerry left and I felt pretty confident. First thing in the morning I grind Omar's meds in the mortal and pestle and then find something yummy to mix them into. One day Churu, the next day Icela...

My residual leg is unattractive. It is covered in skin grafts. It's lumpy in weird places and it's full of scars. I keep it covered, even when I'm in the swimming pool. I wear long board shorts. I say, only half joking,that I don't want to scare small children. But I also think people might be a little freaked out by what they do see. I use a walker to get to the pool. I sit in the chair that will lower me into the water, then I remove my prosthesis and put it in the tote bag that hangs from my walker. What they do see is what is visible beyond my board shorts-- a metal rod with what looks like a bolt at the end. I know it's kind of weird, because most people who wear a prosthetic leg don't have that. But no one has asked me about that. Most choose to not speak to me at all. One woman did speak to me, and perhaps she was uncomfotable, because she said a string of the most inappropriate things I had ever heard. So now I ignore her. But what came to mind toda...

A friend told me about a series on Netflix about the four specialized Trauma Units in London, one of which is at King's College Hospital, where I was treated. She wasn't sure if I should watch it, so of course, I did. As I watched there was a little bit of triggering, a tad of envy, and a lot of understanding. The surgeons at these centers are nothing short of amazing. And just like my experience, they all introduced themselves to their patients using their first names. Talk about de-deification! One human,speaking to another, assuring them that they would do everything they could to help that person return to as close to a normal life as possible. Just like me, many of the patients in the series had brain injuries. For me, those patients produced the most PTSD in me. It is hard for me not to wonder what kind of longterm effect my brain bleeds had. My memory is not what it used to be, and at times I struggle to come up with a word. But I'm old, have had more anesthesia ...

I was enrolled in a Hopkins study for psylocibin for PTSD and I was pretty stoked. I had my fourth screening interview yesterday and got the bad news today-- I am no longer eligible for the trial. I admit-- I'm pretty bummed. I was one of those kids in the seventies who did her share of drugs, but never psychedelics. Too scary. But this would be two sessions in a controlled environment. Maybe it's because EMDR is working quite well for me my PTSD is not stressful enough for this study. So that's a good thing. I found a great therapist who is helping me work through all kinds of crap. And if I had been accepted in the study I would have had to take a break from my therapy sessions, so perhaps this rejection is really for the better. My disappointment is not about having the psylocibin erase my PTSD; it's about not getting to do the drug. Some day, psychedelics may become part of treatment for a host of disorders, and Hopkins is doing a number of studies using the...

After much back and forth, the director of the Towson Y promised me I would be accomodated at their pool, so I decided to see if his facility was as good as his word. It was. I got there early so I could shower and check out the private family changing rooms. While the floor around the swimming pool was not slippery, I wish I could say the same for the locker room. I was very glad I had my walker instead of my cane. Even with the walker, it was difficult. I slowly made my way out of the locker room and onto the far safer swimming pool area, and the teenage lifeguards were happy to help me. I got my shoes and prosthesis off, and they lowered me into the pool. The last time I was in a pool was a few months after I had returned to the states after my amputation, and the feeling was once again so freeing. It is no suprise that it is harder to walk with a prosthesis than with a "real" leg. I don't know if the prosthesis weighs more, but it certainly feels like it with n...