Cabernet and an Allen Wrench

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...

Our neighbors' anniversary and our anniversary are about a week apart, so we went out last night to celebrate. It was lovely. great food, wine, and company. We were there for three hours. The restaurant brought us little sweets and champagne at the end. While our actual anniversary is a few days away, yesterday was a very different anniversary for me. it was the anniversary of survival, of being strong, of surpassing expectations. Three years ago EMTs said they would have let me go had I not been so strong. These were the EMTs I talked to, told them my name, told them where I was, and finally asked them to knock me out because I was in so much pain. I remember little about the first two weeks; I remember a lot about the next six months, the toughest of my life. I am still recovering from the knee replacement revision I had nine weeks ago. But every day the pain is less and I get stronger. I am going back to Pilates this Friday. I decided to have another go at the YMCA. I wrot...

Maybe it is because I spent years working in hospitals, when I hear the word trauma, I think of severely injured patients-- broken bones, brain bleeds, mangled limbs. You know, kind of like me. But when I went on the hunt to find books to help me understand and work through my trauma, everything I found was related to emotional trauma-- psychological abuse, childhood abandonment. So I decided it was time to find a therapist to help me deal with the physical trauma I had experienced and continued to plague me-- reliving a moment that I wasn't sure how I could recover from, at least not on my own. I have had several therapy sessions, and the interesting thing I have discovered is how those two types of trauma, at least for me, are really the same. As I relive that "accident," I am left with guilt, depression, sadness over a life I once knew, that I feel has been lost. And isn't that, for the most part, what emotional trauma is? I think so. While I don't have a...

I had my two-week post surgery appointment today, and my surgeon is very pleased. He says I am ahead of the curve. But he also explained to me why I don't feel like I am. Despite only having to replace the worn out plastic spacers, he had to do a lot of looking around to make sure nothing else needed replacing. So lots of digging, exposing, which has resulted in lots of pain. But he is quite pleased with my extension and flexion, as are my physical therapists. Considering all I have been through, I really thought this recovery would be easier. I was wrong. And not having a knee and calf on the other leg doesn't help much. I can't get out of bed or off the couch myself, and even with help, it is excruciating. The surgeon wants me to continue to use a walker, which of course, I hate, but he doesn't want to risk a fall. Makes sense. He thinks I will likely be able to drive in a couple more weeks, and oh, how I hope so. Just being able to take myself to my own PT ap...