That moment when ...

A lot of people remember seminal moments in their life as if they were yesterday. I'm one of those lucky people that can put myself in myself years ago and feel the same things. Though all memory deteriorates with time, I'm highly convinced that this is not true with pain.

I've been a musician my entire life. No really, I have. I know I mentioned it before, but growing up my parents had this old rotor organ. I would play it, compose on it, and my sister and I would play this odd game of church. No really, we went to church 2 times on Sundays, once on Wednesdays, once during the school week (we went to a private elementary school), and then we'd come home and pull out a hymnal or Bible and play church. I was always the organist. My little sister was always sitting cross legged on the floor singing while I pounded on the keyboard and foot pedals. I believe there is video evidence of this somewhere - and I'm sure my parents laughed. But it's true. Since I can remember music has been in my life as a fixture. I would make songs up, teach myself to play, perform ... and that's the way it was.

When I was about 6 or so, I got a little keyboard. My parents threw out the old rotor organ about the same time. It was a dying behemoth. I would rock out on this little keyboard. I was very selfish with it though. I didn't want anyone else to play on it for fear they would break it. My little sister almost never got to play with it. Not too long after, in the fourth grade, my mother put me into piano lessons. This same year, we had a new music teacher, and she allowed us to join band in the fourth grade. So, I joined band too. My mother played the flute in high school and had an old flute that she let me take 2 times a week to band class at school. My best friend also joined band, and also took piano lessons - though she took them privately outside of school I took mine after school with the music teacher. My bestie chose to play clarinet.

Since that time, I have been with music nonstop. I went from elementary music, to middle school music, to high school music, to college music, and now I teach music part time out of my home. For me, it's one of the best things life has to offer. Music is not just a gift, it's a language. And, it's a language anyone can learn and anyone can understand.

These thoughts and feelings I have about music were crushed in the fall of 2002. I was attending Washington State University in pursuit of a B.A. in Music Education. I realized halfway through my first semester that I couldn't keep up with my piano assignments. The previous fall, I had been in a car accident in Seattle and had seen my orthopedist (one of the ones who said nothing's wrong with me). She had put me in these hideous wrist braces. She thought I had tendonitis in my hand. In my piano lessons a few months later, I knew something was wrong. Things I never had problems with learning or playing became absolute chores. I decided maybe the piano isn't going to work out as my major instrument. Besides, I cannot memorize music on the piano to save my life unless I wrote it. And no music was a requirement I hated with a passion.

The next year, I decided to switch to flute as my major instrument. I wasn't as strong in flute as I was in piano, but there was no harm in becoming a better player and musician. My sophomore year, I distinctly recall being in my tiny apartment with my husband, doing homework, and feeling the worst pain in my entire life in my right hand. We couldn't' have been more than 3 or so weeks into the school year. I literally felt like my bones were being crushed to death. You know how annoying that sound is when people crack their knuckles? That sound is the feeling I had that night. I remember crying a lot, holding my hand in my other hand and rocking on the bed.

To this day, I can feel that same pain and those same emotions. There is nothing holding that back from my recollection. I can't seem to get away with that feeling. It's exactly like the bone sawed in half feeling. You never forget the distinct feeling that has. It will be with you forever. And when you recall it, it's like nails on a chalky chalkboard; a disgusting feeling up and down your back, your nose burning, and your mouth tasting metallic.

I've had many incidents with my hand, but this night in my second year of college in that tiny, dark apartment is the exact moment I believe my lunate fractured and collapsed. That moment will haunt me until I die.

Christmas Vacation Part VI

The next morning, we took our time getting ready. We had a lengthy breakfast at the buffet that morning. We did a short cheek-out, packed up the car and headed out of town towards home. Our first stop was just outside of Munich in the infamous town of Dachau. Dachau is one of the few surviving Concentration Camps from the Holocaust during World War II. It has a dark history, and the exhibits are very in depth.

Before they visited us, J&S would video IM with us regularly about 2 times a month. In October, shortly before my surgery, I had gone with two girls I had met online from Rammstein AFB to Poland. We went to Auschwitz-Birkenau and the former factory of Oskar Schindler. J&S had seen some pictures and heard me talk about it. I was minoring in History at my university, and one of my areas of specialty is the Holocaust. They wanted to visit there, but it was about a thousand miles away, so we thought that Dachau was a good compromise. Plus, it is one of the most complete former Concentration Camp sites in Europe as it was never bombed. This was to be my third visit there.

On the way there, I remember having a fever and feeling really uncomfortable. I was in a lot of pain and holding my arm on the roll pillow was still not safe enough. My arm jostled a lot considering it was winter. I was also feeling incredibly nauseated. I took my anti-nausea pills, but the car ride was making me sick too. The bright white landscape was not helping either as I was becoming more prone to migraines that are light induced. When we got into town Everyone was snacky, so we hit up the local Mc Donald's and got a bunch of dollar sandwiches and ate in the car.

I don't know what prompted it, but I became extremely irritated. It was something my husband had said. When we had finished eating, we drove across town to the concentration camp - which by the way, was completely visible to the public of the town of Dachau during the war. After we parked the car, we all got out and started towards the entry gate. It was a good 5 minutes from the parking lot to the entrance. Halfway there, I became so irrational, that Casey had to take me back to the car. He told J&S to go ahead, we'd catch up to them since we had been there before.

Back in the car, I threw the biggest temper tantrum that side of the Rhein river. I let everything I was feeling out, everything that bothered me, everything that made me sick, everything that made me irritated. I told my husband that it was impossible for me to see beyond how miserable I was. Until you have had a bone sawed in half and can't feel or move your body, you really don't know the feeling of absolute desperation and exasperation something as stupid as holding a cup or eating a chip can be. On top of that, I was getting over my flu by hanging out in below freezing weather. I was chilled to the bone and feeling feverish.

Among the many things I word0-vomited during that conversation, was the fact that I hate when people a) ignore my condition or pretend it's not happening b)don't anticipate the needs I have in this condition c)become helpless to my plight. To this day these are things that irritate me. Kienbock's can be an extremely debilitating bone disease. When you've spent your entire life able to pick your nose anytime you want, it's beyond frustrating when you can't even though you never wanted to in the first place. Not that I do, but that's not my point. Hell, I couldn't even point! When your brain tells your arm to do something and it doesn't happen, you try to control it by focusing in on it to will it to happen. I did this constantly. It set me up for a short fuse and I was easily discombobulated. Most of all, I told him I was scared that my nerves would never recover, that I would lose the use of my right hand completely. There was a chance, it's something the doctor said was possible. After I let it all out, I tried to apologize, but husband said he was trying to understand and that he didn't care. He knew I was hurting in too many ways. He's the best thing that ever happened to me.

After this whole debacle, husband decided it was best if I put on more clothing, took some of that medicine I was refusing to take, and got out to walk around. It was not easy putting on a third layer of clothing with my bundled and bandaged up arm. Somehow we managed it without too much crying and hitting, and I capitulated and took something. I think it was just ibuprofen - which does nothing for my problems. Then, we met up with J&S in the museum (aka former officer's building). We let them take their time through it. Following that, we toured an inmate barracks, and walked the grounds of the camp to the mass graves and the crematorium. Apart from the sad history of the place, J&S seemed to enjoy their visit. They learned a lot, and saw a part of world history that many people never get to see.

On the way back home, we were supposed to stop in Nuernberg to go to the world famous Christmas market. I told everyone I was too sick to make an attempt. I really was. I think I was even more nauseated after the medicine and from all the driving in the car. They were perfectly fine with that since we had visited a Christmas market in Innsbrueck and there were plenty of other local ones we could visit closer to home.

All in all, it was a very rough start to Christmas vacation. I was sick, I was irritated, I was angry, I was sad, I was lonely, and I was misunderstood. The worst one was certainly not the pain or the anger. I actually think it was being misunderstood. I equate it to speaking different languages. If everyone else was speaking English, I was speaking Greek to them. How do you come to terms with dead weight that is your dominant hand? I couldn't use the bathroom normally let alone feed myself half the time or sleep soundly for more than an hour at a time. The waterworks might have been momentarily turned off, but I was not ready to give up trying to bear this burden.

I Was Born on a Sunday

I'm from the suburbs of Seattle. I grew up on a cul de sac where we played in the woods, rode our bikes in the street, and dug in the dirt. I was born on a Sunday, a healthy baby of normal weight after being two weeks late. I recall someone once making the joke that it's the only Sunday my father ever missed at church, I think it was my mother who said this. Before my mother gave birth, the doctors thought I might have brain damage. I was so late, that I had defecated and they surmised that it might affect me negatively. My mother didn't tell me this until I was a teenager. I certainly don't have brain damage though, which is a relief not only to me, but I'm sure to everyone in my family.

I have a sister 2 1/2 years younger, and a brother 5 1/2 years younger. My sister and I were great friends and enemies. I only wanted to play with her when there was nothing better to do though. She wanted to play with me all the time. She was the annoying little sister of folklore. She was loud, obnoxious, brash, childish, and forward. Qualities I did not contain as a child. I was a quiet, shy child. I could be obnoxious sure, I could be loud on occasion, but for the most part, I was happiest left alone. My brother on the other hand, was babied by everyone. Well, for many years at least. My sister is the favorite, but my brother is the baby - if that makes any sense at all. My brother was shy and quiet for years too. More so than I was. He used to growl at things and people he didn't like. My sister and I loved to play games. One of our favorites was school. We didn't often play with our brother since he was usually too little to understand, so we usually played by ourselves. We would do stupid things like line rocks up and make up scientific names, we'd pretend the garden in the front of the house was an aquarium and that the gravel were fish, and that we could name all the plants and fish. When we did play with our brother, we had to be careful with him. A neighbor kid has broken his arm when he was two, and he contracted a staph infection in it, and then we found out he was deathly allergic to penicillin. He spent months in and out of the Children's hospital. I think the whole arm business made him an entirely grouchy kid. It was hard to play with him because he had a short temper - everything made him mad. I think we played the whole "we're girls" card way too often, but truthfully, now that I look back, he was kind of an angry little kid which made it no fun when we tried to play cars or the lava game. He'd throw tantrums.

From the time I was very little, I remember my parents fought a lot. They also spent a lot of time in their room alone and would tell us not to bother them, and we'd hear a lot of arguing. They would use me as their example for my siblings. I hated this. I didn't find it fair, and to this day I don't find it was fair. It was like they treated me as if I were a role model. I was just a kid. I made mistakes, I wanted to have fun. But, being the way that they were, I was always in trouble for my sister and brother's behavior, even if I had nothing remotely to do with it. It was always my fault that they did things or said things. "If you wouldn't do it, they won't do it," was like a recurring theme. Well, somewhat true. I'll admit I wasn't a perfect kid but I feel that my parents lay too much responsibility on my shoulders from a very young age. Responsibility I didn't want. I didn't choose to be born first, and I didn't choose to be the babysitter - which is what I spend my life trying to run away from. To this day, I STILL get in trouble for this kind of crap. I think though, that my parents' constant warring with each other was taken out on me. They didn't set good examples, and they saw each other not setting good examples, so it was blamed on me. I feel that most of my youth, I was their scapegoat.

We didn't have an entirely happy home life. My mom didn't like the things my dad would say, my dad didn't like my mom's attitude, my sister and I would play nicely until we'd end up ripping each other's hair out and choking each other. I can't really recall a time that things were truly calm. It stresses me out to this day thinking about it. My mom would try to be loving, and sometimes she was really good at it. My dad would try to be supportive, and sometimes he was really good at it. But in the end, we always disappointed them. I can still hear the grief in their voices when they would very disappointedly say my name. My dad still does that.

When I was about 2 or 3, I recall my mother running away from home. We lived in a cute condo and I shared my room with my baby sister. My parents were fighting, and I remember being in my room. I don't know if I remember everything correctly about my mother leaving, but I think she had a suitcase. It was evening time, must have been winter or early spring because it was really dark and was only like 6 or 7 at night. My dad begged my mom not to leave. I mean, begged. In my entire life, I don't recall my father ever being so broken than at that moment. After she had left, I went out to him. He was in the hallway and it was really dark, but I could tell he was crying. My dad is not a crier. In fact, I can count the number of times I have ever seen him cry on one hand - and that included when he drilled a hole through his thumb and had a shot directly in it, and following my mother's death. But, that is beside the point. I asked him why he was crying, and he said something like "Daddy's crying because your mother hurt him."

This set a precedent in my life. Something I carry with me forever. I don't even know if my dad remembers this moment. I do, and I was a baby. It affects me in a way that has changed my interactions with family, with friends, and with personal relationships.

Christmas Vacation - Part V

The last day we spend in GAP was an exciting one. The night before, we bought special passes to ride the cogwheel train up the tallest peak of the Alps, the Zugspitze. I call them special because you can use them for skiing, or for sightseeing. You stick them in your pocket because they have a special sensor in the m when you go through turnstiles. It's really convenient for people carrying around skiing gear or with heavy gloves on. In town, it was below freezing. We got as completely bundled up as possible. I had on 3 pairs of socks, two pairs of long underwear, jeans, a tank top, a long sleeved shirt, an authentic Austrian hand-knit sweater and a big bulky Columbia jacket with boots, gloves, and a hat. And I was worse off than a Popsicle.

Having read all about the weather, my husband and I planned to get on the very first train that morning because the only really clear view that you'll get on the mountain tops during the winter are only during the morning, after about 11 they get too cloudy to get a good view. So, we drove down to the train station that morning, got on the first train. It only makes a few stops before it heads up the mountain, and since we got on at the first stop, we had a good seat selection. Lucky for me and husband, we didn't get caught next to the chatty Aussie that J&S were stuck with. He literally could not shut up. Anything was fair game. I remember trying to look everywhere else except at this man who had no off switch. I would have hated for him to engage us in conversation. It was bad enough that he had engaged the in-laws. So when I said good seat selection, I meant that we actually got to sit. We were going up the tallest mountain in Germany holding on to any straps in the center of the train like many skiers and snowboarders were. It took quite a while to reach the exit platform. We stopped at a couple tiny villages and ski spots, before we reached the "summit." It wasn't a summit. We had to go get on a second lift up the mountain. We took a large gondola up to the tallest point of the mountain. There is a cross on the tip of the mountain that people can climb onto, but in the winter it wasn't feasible.

It was something crazy like 20 below zero up there. We were frozen the second we got out of the first train. Again, we all had to use the bathrooms - which the doors were wide open so of course they were absolutely freezing. So, once we exited at the final destination at the top, it was torture to be out on the viewing platform. But, we got in some awesome pictures that I am very proud of. So, I guess I can't complain too much.

We must have been out there for about 30 minutes before the infamous cloud cover rolled in. We went inside and to the restaurant. We sat in some traditional style wooden booths with a great view off the one side of the tip of the mountain, and the other, to the slopes below that were dotted with many people. The restaurant wasn't great. It was actually quite disappointing. I had a Bavarian meal of white sausage with dumplings called Knoedel. I don't really remember much of the meal other than it was a struggle to get the food down. But, I did have some nice hot tea that helped warm me up. And, we were warm enough to shed our outer layer of winter coats. But, unfortunately, I did not have good winterized boots. My boots were more functional for everyday wear during the fall and/or spring. My socks, all layers, and the bottoms of my jeans were soaking. This incidentally did not help my flu symptoms. I believe I had a runny nose another week after this. It was obnoxious.

Following lunch, we headed back to the gondola and decided to take it halfway down the mountain this time to a train stop outside a ski lodge where instructors worked - or something like that. I don't know exactly. We had to wait almost an hour for the gondola though so we took our time browsing in a gift shop that tried desperately to commit highway robbery. I remember buying my niece a snow globe and my nephew a keychain. I bought them one of these each place we went. Auntie and Uncle always sent home presents anytime we went someplace.

I didn't mention this before, but I have a massive fear of unsupported heights. I have always had the fear of falling. The falling feeling horrifies me, makes me feel like I'm going to die. It's not a good feeling and it's not any kind of rush like many people think. To me, it's like the penultimate moment of your life. Getting on the gondolas was none too pleasant. Luckily, this time my husband held me the entire time, away from the edges of the glass windows. We bounced most of the way down the mountain. I held it together rather well. I might attribute that mostly to the fact that I was frozen, and in pain.

When we get off the gondola, we have to walk about 2/10ths of a mile uphill to the train station. In the ice and snow, everyone was slipping and sliding. I remember charging up to the station. It was an open air station, so everything was snowy. I don't think we waited too long for the next train. When we got on though, I think it was pretty dead. Most people were sill up on the mountain playing. My family is sort of a snow family. My husband's family isn't. My family used to go tubing and sledding, and my parents skied when I was really little. But, my husband's family wasn't much like that. At least, I don't think they were. My husband said he tried snowboarding once. He remembers sort of liking it.

Once we got back to the main train station at the Olympic Stadium (yes, the main train station for the Zugspitzbahn is right outside the Olympic Stadium), we booked it to the hotel. We all went to our rooms to relax a little. I took a hot bath with the door open so my husband could watch me while he laid on the bed to watch TV. I remember that was our first experience watching Wipeout. It was hilarious to us. I think J&S took a nap or something.

A little later, we all went and had dinner again at the buffet, then returned to our room to watch movies. We had booked massages for all of us at the spa inside the hotel. So, one by one, we'd go down and have a relaxing hour-long massage. The woman who gave us our massages was not German. I think she may have been Swedish or something. But, telling her not to touch my right arm at all was a difficulty. I've had massages before, but this one wasn't great. I fell asleep for most of it and didn't feel very relaxed when I returned to my room. But, that's okay. Maybe it was great and I just had too much stress and pain to relax or something. I just remember that I really couldn't sleep that night. I stayed up with the TV on for hours after J&S left the room. I think it was 90210 or something really crappy.