It's Funny When People Don't Care

It's funny when people don't care to keep listening, to keep reading, to keep asking. At work today, I realized that after telling a co-worker I had a bionic arm (that no, I cannot karate chop people with), his lack of questioning me and my scar was hilarious.

I normally wear sleeves to cover up my scar. Mostly from UV rays, but also because people used to stare. Rudely I might add. My husband's former soldiers in the military would just sit there and stare, and then he'd say something like "You looking at my wife's arm? Yeah, she committed suicide." They would become incredibly embarrassed by this. This last year, I haven't worn a sleeve to cover up my scar. Mostly because the nature of my work doesn't afford the opportunity of gawking.

So today, when he questioned nothing about me, my life, or my disease, I found it hilarious. Why do we place so much value on what people are hindered by? We shouldn't. People can't help a lot of things. In fact, there's very little that people can control. You were born into a family, a country, a culture, a religion and environment that you had no say over. It's ironic that we think these things matter so much when in fact, they matter not because the luck of the draw could have been ANYONE.

To him, it didn't matter that I have a bone disease. I wish I could be more like this and not care, but when it affects everything you do in your physical interactions on a daily basis, it's hard not to consider it something to care about. True, if he had asked questions I would have acquiesced and answered him. I'm not a person to shy away from questions no matter how difficult they may be unless I feel lines are crossed.

It really is funny that there are those rare people in the world that don't care where you've been or what you've done - because I have only ever met one honest-to-goodness person like this. It's funny that they are so hard to find. I'd love to find more of them. Judgement reserved, accepting people. I need real humanity, friendship and acceptance. I need people to stop rushing how long it takes me to do things, to stop commenting on the shortcuts I take, to let me have my chance to do it myself, and so on.

I might own my disease. But I don't want to be judged or labeled by it.

The Land of Fallacy

So now that I've scared the crap out of everyone with my last two posts, perhaps people might understand where I am coming from a little better when I say that I have issues when it comes to dealing with the effects of Kienbock's disease.

Yesterday, I was having company come over to do my hair. When company comes over, I tend to go into panic mode and clean. This stems from living with my parents for 19 years. My mother was a borderline hoarder, and my dad is just a pack rat. He'll say he can use something, and then it disappears for a while into the black hole that is the garage ... only to reappear one oddly random day in use. I feel like when people come to my house, they shouldn't be overwhelmed with all the skeletons in the closet. And, I have a complex about smelling good. Not just me and my body, but my home. This can be difficult with animals and a husband - but believe me when I say it was worse in the military with smelly pro-gear everywhere.

So anyhow, I'm sticking dishes in the dishwasher and since I can't scrub them so well, I let them soak. Then, I wipe down all the counters and fronts of the cabinets - again, as well as I possibly can. Then, I get the broom and pan out from under the sink. Since it's tiny and I have a slip disc in my back, I kneel on the floor to sweep the dust and crumbs into the pan. How many times and with how much emphasis can I say BAD IDEA? I realize as I'm trying to move around on the floor, that this was incredibly stupid of me. I have to scoot around. We've suspected for a long time that I have Kienbock's in my other hand, and I for certain have tendonitis in it. So, I can't use it as my support or leverage. As patient as I may appear most of the time, I panicked. My M.O. in this type of situation is to get really angry with myself. Most people who read this probably haven't been to my home, but all I had was the counter, which I could reach, but wouldn't have been able to pull myself up considering how stressed my left hand and arm were at that moment. On the other side, I had dining chairs. I wanted to cry at how stupid I was being. I managed to stray from breaking the stove and cabinet doors, and made it to a chair that I pulled out and pushed myself from my elbows up with. 

After this, I felt completely ridiculous. What if I was stuck there? Some days are really good and I can push myself up, but other days, like yesterday, I act completely stupid and panic over something silly. No one was home and my phone was nowhere near me. I always think about how much worse it can be. I'm a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. If you don't prepare yourself for the worst, then you won't know how to react. Treat every situation as if it's just the stepping stone to the worst possible situation, and you will be prepared.

this may seem totally counter to what I just told you happened, but once I got off the floor, I imagined having fallen or been in mortal danger, and unable to move myself. This concerns me greatly. It's entirely depressing so I just think about it constantly, unable to let it go. I stress that something one day is bound to happen; my outward actions of scrambling around to find something is what I deal with daily. If I'm driving, and I can't get the wheel to operate exactly how I tell my hands to do it, I freak out and think of the horrible things that will happen one day if I can't get my hands to work. I'm afraid of what I can and can't do. Ultimately, you cannot see me curling up in a ball, helpless inside my head because I know this disease will eventually disable me to the point where I can't help myself - and yes, this statement right there is me overreacting to my predicament. I can't NOT do that. I feel that way. Feelings are feelings, and I've found that no matter what I do, feelings are uncontrollable, but actions and reactions are more easily controlled. I have this extreme paranoia from my borderline personality disorder, and live in the land of fallacies. If one thing tips, they all tip. If I'm mad about one thing, I'm mad about everything.

I can't seem to make sense of anything because of my own obstacles within myself. I accept that I am what I am, and what happens happens, but I reject the control I can exert over situations. I can't even trust myself to do the right things or act the right way. If it's something as simple as being stuck on the floor I'm going to attempt to control it. And, when I feel out of control I panic.

Now that I am sharing more about the real me inside, it might be possible to see what a difficulty it is struggling with having Kienbock's, having depression and a borderline personality and what happens when combinations like this create havoc. If I could, I'd just lay all day in the same spot thinking, crying, and angry.

Things Must Change

DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to hurt anyone's feelings. It is not an attack. THIS IS HOW I FEEL. THESE ARE MY OPINIONS AND EXPERIENCES. You can't change that.


Since many people responded to my previous post in a way I half expected (dared to hope wouldn't), I would like to remind everyone who reads this that this is a blog about MY life, MY experiences, MY views, MY opinions. None of which is something that you can affect with words. So, I'd like to explain something about having depression and a borderline personality ... mothering them will not work. Telling them things aren't so, will not work. Giving them an "open door" will readily be ignored. And again, I am not saying this to hurt people's feelings. I'm stating the truth. It forces me to withdraw further.

I've spent my entire life reaching out, and floundering. This is something I struggle with daily. I've tried initiating friendship, I've tried carrying on friendship, I've tried being a good family member ....in all of these situations, I get walked upon. People lie, people flake, people don't want to be around me, people don't want to do the things I want to do - but when the tables are flipped, they expect me to respond. I'll give an example.

I was acquaintances with someone in college. I really wanted to be her friend; she was a really interesting person and someone I felt I could connect with over a weird interest in serial killers. (Since that is aside from my point, I'll leave you wondering.) One summer, she stayed at school. I called her and asked if she could come help me put together some furniture as my husband and I had just moved and he was working full-time and attending classes. She came over and helped me put together the dining table, the chairs, and a small coffee table. We got to talking about things, and she wanted to be a bone specialist. I explained I had a really interesting book on bones. It told this hilarious story about how Michael Jackson thought he could buy the Elephant man's skeleton - which is just wrong on so many levels. I ended up loaning her that book, and another one. On another occasion, we went together to Moscow to have her hair cut since she didn't want to go alone. I thought we were building a good rapport. That year in college, she wanted my support with a major decision she was making. I threw myself behind her because I really believed she could make change happen. Not long after this, she didn't get the position she wanted and I feel she blamed me and my husband for not being her champions. Shortly after this incident, she invited us to a costume party. My husband and I had spent most of the afternoon fighting, so neither of us was in a good mood and we couldn't put costumes together in time. We called and told her we wouldn't be able to make it, that neither of us was feeling very good and that we were fighting, maybe it was best we didn't make her party awkward. This was quite truthful. I think if we had gone, we would have been fighting a lot longer than we could have been. She stopped talking to us much after that unless it was out of convenience. We never received invitations again, when we'd ask her to do something she was always too busy to spend time with us, but not other people, she never returned the books I loaned her, and then a few months later, she moved to the other side of the country to attend graduate school. We've never heard from her again.

This is a pattern in my life. Like it or not, I can give someone every reason to believe me, to trust me, to be kind to me, I can reach out, and then suddenly it's gone. Often without explanation. This remands me to keep to myself. I stop asking anything, and thus I never get anything. I become infuriated when people think they know how to fix me too. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to understand YOUR view. I don't live in YOUR world because my problems are mine. They stem from me and MY environment. Not yours.

I don't want people's pity. I don't want people's feeble attempts to open doors. (And I say feeble because in MY experiences they have all been feeble, never honest.) I hate to say it, but what I want is someone to just know and then act. Yes, I'm a woman and yes that means in some cases you are expected to be a mind reader. I'm sure everyone can relate to that, but what I am saying here is that I often don't have any idea what the hell it is I need. I don't get it from my family, and I don't get it from the people I know. Often, the only person in the world that can give me anything is my husband. And, he's got enough on his plate - I hate pressuring him to do more. He's been so wonderful that I can't just dump on him anytime I feel like. In fact, he is NOT a punching bag or a trash can. This is something I expect other people to automatically accept without explanation. He can't always be the one.

Finally, my speaking out about my views and my experiences isn't here for you to judge or change my mind about. Things have to change. I'm not some five year old that you can get to believe in Santa, I'm a 30 year old woman with a husband, a degree, a career, 2 home businesses and medical problems. Consolation does not come in the form of "wishing" things for me, or telling me "that's not the way it is." It makes the issue(s) worse. So what is my motivation for doing this?

My getting rid of the poison in my heart, I can be free. THAT, is worth the pain and heartache in the end because at the end of the day, I know who I am and that is all that I want to matter.

Hi. I'm Kienbock's Girl and I Suffer From Depression.

I remember being lonely from a very young age. I have a younger sister and a younger brother, hoards of cousins, a best friend I've known my entire life, yet I remember feeling lonely most of my life. I can't pinpoint exactly what it stems from, but I know there are many factors that contribute to my bouts of depression.

When I was 16 I contracted mono from sharing drinks with friends at school. Two friends who were dating each other had been sick for a couple of weeks, but didn't know that they had mono. I distinctly recall buying a Sprite one day for lunch, and they passed it between each other. We did this often in my circle of friends. If someone had a drink, you just shared. And, there were like 15 of us or so that this would happen with. That day, I shared it with the two of them, and then went to German class. A week later, my dad had to take me to the doctor because I couldn't stay awake, I wasn't eating much, and I felt like every day I had run a marathon. The clinic gave me that form they always give to patients to fill out asking what their symptoms are; what aches, what hurts, what stings, stabs, pokes, bleeds, etc. I checked a bunch of stuff on the list including headaches, itchy eyes, lethargy, trouble sleeping, trouble falling asleep, trouble waking up, exhaustion, wheezing, achy joints, and more.

When I went in with the doctor, they first gave me a blood test to see if I had diabetes. Then, she asked me why I checked everything off on the form. I told her (in what I am sure was my best 16 year old attitude) the form asked me to list everything I was feeling, so I did. They swabbed my mouth, took my temperature and then took 6 vials of blood from me. After this invasion, she sat down to "chat" with me. She basically told me that I was likely suffering from early forms of insomnia and depression - which are often linked. She told me she was going to prescribe medication to "regulate" my hormone levels.

Not long after this, we found out I was sick with mono. But, my dad starting taking me to a psychologist at the doctor's urging - over something completely unrelated which at some point I may be able to talk about more openly. After some time with the psychologist, she too believed I suffered from episodes of manic depression, but did not believe I was manic - that I just had a mild form that would peak at times. In addition to this, she also agreed that I was suffering from insomnia. I would literally stay up all hours of the night trying to keep my mind off of my life, my family, my problems, and my loneliness.

I was kept on drugs for depression for a few months. I only told 1 person other than my family that I was being medicated. Mostly, because when I was on the medication, I was not the same person. He thought I was acting extremely strangely. I would talk to complete strangers, I made dates with complete strangers, I would drive my car with one leg out the window (no, I'm not kidding), in social situations, I would be relaxed and indifferent, I would say things I normally would never have the gall to say, the list goes on. Ultimately, I hated the person I had become on drugs and so I quit taking them after a while.

In my view of my life, I have been a very inward person. I don't share the deepest parts of me with anyone. Or, if I do, it is a bit here and there and usually they're with my husband. I was brought up by a father who had no nonsense parents, and by a mother who was somewhat crazy but was someone you didn't dare cross. I did not fit either of these molds. I feel like my entire life, I've been nothing but a disappointment in the temperament and character they wanted in a daughter - though I'm sure neither of them could agree on what this would have been. Though I imagine it would be more like my sister for the most part. I have felt like an outsider in my family for as long as I can remember. My name doesn't help matters much. I have a completely unusual name, while everyone else has normal names. And, when I hear in my head my dad or mom saying my name, it accompanies a panic and feeling a tone of extreme disappointment

Not long after I was diagnosed with depression, I realized with my Psychologist that I have a Borderline Personality disorder. If you knew me at all during my middle, high and early college school years you will likely automatically agree. People who suffer from this almost always suffer from depression. They kind of go hand in hand.

My abandonment issues, my emotional state, my impulsivity, my history of intense and highly unstable relationships, my paranoia, my anger, my suicidal thoughts and behaviors.... these are all things that affect how I handle my bone disease. I feel like I have no friends who really understand me - and I am NOT meaning to hurt anyone's feelings with this statement. I feel that people don't make an effort to know me, to be close to me, to care about me ... so I withdraw, I hold back, I behave strangely. Ultimately, my mind says trust no one, but my heart desperately wants to. I cling to the only thing I know I have in the world, but fear that every moment with him is my last - no matter what he does or says to try and make me believe. I truly HAVE gotten better with this over time, I mean, 11 years later and we're still together has definitely taught me something. Every day I feel I can trust him more. But, it's not enough because I don't have an unromantic connection with someone that is like this. I don't have another person in my life that I feel would stand behind me no matter what, that would believe me, that would want me and care for me and love me in the way I need to be loved. My husband knows these feelings that I have all too well. He knows that every time I try to get close to someone or believe a relationship with them is going somewhere - it ultimately fails in every way because I couldn't get what I needed from it. And, I wish that having a husband were enough. Most days, it is. Other days, I can't take care of my home or my animals or myself.

All these issues and more are swirling in my head right now. I really feel like crying because I hold all this in. I don't know anyone other than my husband that knows all these things about me. In fact, I don't really know why I am sharing this with my audience here - the few people that do read this. I believe there is a reason, but I just don't know what. But, I am hoping that by cleansing myself of this fear, this sadness, this depressive behavior - that I can finally start feeling more whole as a person and start to heal in a way I need.

Cars and Bones and Other Fashionable Rides

After high school I spent a year to myself. I went on an exchange program to Germany, and I worked a full-time job at my uncle's engineering firm. I went to college the next fall at Washington State University. I enrolled in the school of Music as a Music Major. My primary instruments were piano and flute - I've talked a little bit about this before. In the year that I spent away from school, I recovered from my neck injury. It wasn't a fun process let me tell you, but in October of that year, a full 4 months later, during a storm, I hydroplaned into another car who was merging onto the freeway in downtown Seattle. I wasn't going more than 15 miles per hour, but such a low impact jarred my neck badly, and I remember holding onto the steering wheel so tight, that my arms were straight out in front of my trying to brace myself for the whip backwards. They had a tiny scratch on their car, but I was the one worse for the wear.

I sometimes wonder if this is what caused the bone in my hand to collapse - it would make a lot of sense. Low impact car accidents are absorbed by the passengers of a vehicle. Hitting a car at low speed can slip a disc for example.

I'm not a bad driver, but the last few years have made me extremely afraid to be behind a wheel. I haven't had a car accident since this time, so 12 years later when an act of nature called black ice took me careening for around 600 feet downhill into a rock wall planter, I wasn't surprised to find out I have a slipped disc in my lower back. It is highly plausible that such an event as a small car wreck could cause a radial difference to have put intense pressure on my hand bones.

Today, driving is still not enjoyable. I lost that sense of adventure years ago. I mostly drive with my left hand. Things like changing gears, adjusting the rear view mirror and turning the wheel are all obstacles when you have Kienbock's disease. If I do use my right hand, I rely on my fingers for grip and my arm from about my elbow for the control I need of the wheel.

When it comes to other forms of transportation, I seriously have to weigh the cons before I step away. I do own a bike, and I do like to ride it. The problem is though, that using your hands and arms for balance and direction is key. I can no longer ice skate (not that I was EVER any good), roller skate, roller blade, or skateboard/mountain board if I wanted to - not that I do but just as an example. People who fall from these modes of transportation used their hands. It's an automatic reflex if you wobble; you put your hands out. Additionally, I have to rule them out because you cannot trust other people in the world.

I remember in elementary school, every year our school would rent a roller rink and we'd have a huge school party (I went to private elementary, so this was not a large amount of kids). One year, I recall being hit so hard from behind that I fell and was knocked out. My parents wouldn't let me skate for the rest of the day. I mean, think about it. People bump other people, people push and shove, people sidle by.... cars are on the road, animals are on the road, the weather can be drastic, etc. Deciding to go for a bike ride or a rollerblading adventure would just be plain stupid of me. Distractions and invaders are everywhere. I'm not paranoid, I'm practical. It's not worth risking the loss of the use of my hand to go ice skating. If I fell and landed on my hand or arm, I could do some real damage that might not be repairable in ways it would be for other people. I have an extremely thin radius and calcium deficiency because I'm lactose intolerant and have to rely on other foods or vitamins for calcium.

Some people might not understand how this is living life. They'd say if I wanted to do something, to just do it. But, as a realistic and practical person, this is stupid advice. The only way you could do these activities would be in a controlled environment - something many people don't have access to in their everyday lives. As much fun as owning a gym like WSU has, I'd really just rather say it's not worth the risks involved and find other avenues to pursue.

At the end of the day, I never regret my choices to stay out of harm's way. I know I cannot control everything, but I can avoid situations that make it dangerous for my physical health.

Kleenex and More Deep Thoughts

Today, when trying to blow my nose before using my allergy nasal spray, I grabbed the tissue box on my desk at work. The tissues were not sticking out of the top like they should have been ... they were stuffed down inside still. For some reason, the last Kleenex did not pull out the next. After picking up the box, I tried pinching and grabbing the next Kleenex. Epic fail. After a good 15 seconds of trying to get the darn thing out (and 15 seconds is a long time, took me about 8 tries to get it out), I realized that I can't feel my fingers.

It always escapes me that I can't use my hand. I still get into the mindset that I CAN TOO carry in the bag of groceries, or vaccuum the carpets. There are a few big things that I absolutely cannot do such as scrub things, ride most rollercoasters, or hold on for dear life to the "Oh Shit!" handlebars.

After my first surgery and I came home from the hospital, we video called my family. My sister, her husband and their two kids were staying at my parents' house that Thanksgiving. My siter's very precocious daughter is very much like me. I remember she was sitting on my mom's lap, and we were all talking about the hospital, and the surgery, etc. I was explaining how I couldn't feel my hand, but I could wiggle some fingers pretty good, moving them up and down and bend them slightly. This was a very big deal to me at the time, mostly because I was afraid I'd lost the use of my hand forever. One of the things my mother used to do is try to alleviate heavy issues with humor. Often obnoxious humor. She asked me if I was working on my "bird." It took me a second. "Mom, are you asking if I can flip people off?" If you recall I come from a very devout Christian household where saying crap was a sin. My mom says "Yeah," and shows me her middle finger. She did it right in front of my sister's daughter. I told her that wasn't appropriate. She said "Oh, she's only 3, she doesn't know what it means. Show me your finger!" My mother was encouraging me to flip people off. This was a post-surgery therapy I could live with. Much better than lifting my arm over my head and trying to pump a fist about 10 times.

Losing feeling and range of motion is something I'll live with forever, and is not easily accepted. I'm had these issues for years now, yet when I go to grab that kleenex,or I make an effort to try and flip someone off with my right hand, it's evident. You would think by now that I would be used to this kind of thing.

Showering is easier now, but still difficult. A side effect of surgeries has been an extreme sensitivity to temperature changes, or, conversely, an apparent lack to knowing my temperature. It's weird. I have both worlds. The scar tissue in my arm has built up rather knotted, and it does not like hot water, or cold water when I'm washing my hands or showering. One therapy I used to do was sand at the hand therapist in Kansas City, which is like water therapy. You stick your arm inside what looks like a rolling heater, and it blows sand all over your arm. Some of the things you can do inside it are make repetetive movements with your hand and arm, or squeeze objects. I like the hand motions, and I've transfered that to water. Although my hand and arm do not like hot and col, they really enjoy water. Water breaks down barriers that are evident 99% of the time. I love making swishing motions with my hand and moving my arm gently from side to side anytime i'm in a pool for example. Nothing pops, no tendons twinge over bones and scar tissue, nothing feels completely out of place. But once you remove the water, it's like the kleenex box all over again.

What drives me to be so patient and to only contemplate is my lack of anger with my arm itself. Sure, I'm mad that it took years for doctors to discover that I wasn't a hypochondriac, suer I'm mad that I was born with a bone compensation, sure I'm mad that people treat me certain ways based upon my abbilities - but I don't let any of this stop me. I continue on with my life. I realize that anger gets you nowhere when you can't conctrol the situation. Since I can't control hardly anything involving my arm, I've become an overly patient person with myself. I don't push. I'm the ever driving hammer at the nail.

I don't recall if when I left the office today though, the kleenex I took brought up the next one .... I guess I'll find out tomorrow when I need to take my allergy medication.

Remembering a Walk at Christmas

So if you've been reading my blog or catching up on all the old stories, you recall that we lived in this large home in Germany at the time because my husband was stationed in Mannheim for the greatest 3 years of our lives. And, his parents were visiting us very shortly after my first surgery for Kienbock's. You may also recall that I took very few drugs to help with the pain - largely in part because I hate medicine, but also largely in part because I didn't need it. It did nothing to stop the pain.

I do recall a particular evening just before Christmas. We had spent part of the afternoon walking through our village, and up the mountainside to where the vineyards were so J&S could see the spectacular view we had of the Rhein-Neckar valley. Seriously, spectacular. We could see miles out on good days, and every day we could see Mannheim which was 12 kilometers away. It was a little cloudy, and it had been snowing. We took the dog with us, all bundled up in his sweater. But, he finally started shivering after an hour or so, so we trekked back down and decided to go to the church next door to our home.

To be honest, we had never been inside the church. Mostly, because there was always something going on. Concerts, weddings, funerals, services, it was like a convention center for our village. Anyway, we went down into the church courtyard, and I recall looking at our home from a very different angle. I'd always seen it from our perspective, but from next door I recall thinking "No wonder why all those people keep coming and looking in our windows!"

The church is a catholic church, and inside it was largely lit by candles. There is a black Madonna altar which is said to perform miracles. In fact, the walls of the church were encased with stories and pictures and prayers from locals who had received or were asking for miracles to be performed by the black Madonna. I'm never one to squelch people's stories about religious artifacts - partially because as a human being with a belief in greater things, I too would love to believe that the reason someone didn't die in a car crash was because Christ's mother was watching out for them.

My father-in-law and husband took turns waiting with the dog outside the church so that J&S could have the time to look around as well. We weren't there very long because of our freezing puppy, so we went back to the house where we had hot chocolate and cider. I remember we played a few games, one of which was Blokkus. My father-in-law got the gist of the game after the first round, and decided he'd block everyone early on in the game. It was difficult maneuvering around him, but we managed. And, it turns out he lost very badly. To this day we give him crap about playing Blokkus.

I remember though, that day, my husband convinced me to take some medicine. I can't remember if it was Percocet or hydrocodone ... but I was high as a kite for a few hours on it. It sure didn't take care of my pain, but it improved my mood. It improved my mood so much in fact that we have photographic evidence. At that time in my life, I wasn't too keen on photos. Normally, I like having my picture taken by my husband - not so much by other people, but he manages to capture good moments that I like to remember.

This being one of the few times I ever willingly took medicine outside a hospital to help with the pain, I became a bigger believer in strength of mind. I have other injuries where occasionally medicine helps. For example with bursitis pain, taking some ibuprofen helps alleviate symptoms and inability to keep still. But nothing, I repeat, nothing, gets rid of Kienbock's pain. It's there and you have to live with it every second. I've uncovered ways to ignore it or mask it, but for years I've lived with the pain as if it were part of me and who I am.

Essentially, I own Kienbock's disease. I let it help define me. If I didn't, I'd live a miserable existence. It's like people who are in wheelchairs accepting help. If you don't accept help, how do you expect to get through life happy, and well? You won't. You might not be able to reach for something, but that makes you no less dignified and no less human. We all have hurdles in life. Owning them and dealing with them is the only way to ever get around them. Refusing to will make you unpleasant, and worthless. Simple things like taking walks and playing games helped me overcome the fear and incapacitation of the pain. Being with a husband who has supported me in the best way he knows how has also helped. Relinquishing control will gain you control - if that makes sense to you in some messed up way. Life is all about obstacles. You can either accept them and your reactions to them, or you can drown in them. I choose to accept them.

Why I Never Play Football

I don't consider myself a cathartic person. However, the reality is, outwardly, I am cathartic, but inwardly I refuse to let myself fall apart. I compartmentalize, I handle, and I suck it up and get on with it. Nevertheless, it would not be fair to share this blog and fail to share important personal experiences.

I remember in high school that I had a boyfriend that I was crazy about. He was my first true love. We were together for little over a year, and I absolutely fell apart when he decided he did not want to be with me anymore. I remember absolute devastation. I was so distraught over how it ended, many crazy things happened. A neighbor (whom I am still friends with to this day) and another dear friend of mine witnessed my ex attempt to attack me at my home one evening. After that, I completely lost it. We couldn't be around each other in school, our friends had to choose sides (I got the short end of the stick), my mother tried to hospitalize me, I made up crazy lies and told them to everyone, and I remember out of spite dating someone my ex had accused me of flirting with and trying to cheat with; it went on. I really lost my mind over the emotional and verbal abuse I endured at his hands. It took me months to repair the damage he did to me. Many people never truly knew what our relationship was like, but it was traumatizing. (But to be fair, I did my share of damages.)

I ended up running away from home many times. Partially because of the relationship drama, and partially because my home life at the time was hostile. I lived temporarily with an aunt and uncle who I always babysat for; I lived with friends, and eventually the person I dated in my bout of spite. Just before the school year ended, the band had a barbecue at a local park. It was tradition, and graduating seniors got to do silly stuff. So, I drove my new boyfriend to the picnic where my old boyfriend and his new girlfriend (who I might add did not like me in the least) dominated the scene. We decided at some point that afternoon that we were going to play touch football. It was decided that the girls would be VS. the guys. After the first few touchdowns, we girls decided to try to play smarter. We coordinated in a huddle and decided that each girl would pick a person, and break the rules and tackle him. We all picked a guy and broke the huddle. One of the other girls forgot who her tackle was, and we ended up running to and jumping on the same guy. My tactic was to go for his hips - I was a powerful little stick and I believed I could take him. The other girl decided to jump right on his torso as he was running forward and he lost his balance. They both fell, I came down hard on my hands, and the girl landed on my head.

My neck snapped 3 times and I blacked out.

I remember coming to and there was laughing. The people I had thought were my friends had believed I was faking, my ex being the ringleader saying to leave me there, that I was faking. They took his word for it and went off to have lunch. I don't care if these people read this either, I think what they did was rotten.

The guy and girl both stayed there with me. They asked me questions like what did I feel like. I remember feeling extremely funny. Numb. I stated that I heard my neck snap exactly 3 times - that detail I will ever forget. Then, I said I couldn't feel the left side of my body. Instead of calling 911, my boyfriend at the time called his dad and had him come pick us up. I couldn't really move well. I was dizzy, nauseated, and I felt extremely detached from myself. I remember waiting for our ride, and my ex berating me, saying I was definitely faking and that I just wanted attention. I sat there and swallowed all the hate they threw until the car pulled up to the park.

They laid me on the back seat and drove me to the hospital. At the hospital, I waited, laying on the backseat unable to move. Paramedics came barreling out of the hospital yelling about moving me and not dialing 911. They brought one of those plastic rescue boards out, and attempted to slide it under me. It didn't work so well, but they managed to have slide and pull me onto their board. The strapped me to it in a medieval fashion with this huge contraption over my head. My parents who I was estranged from at the time were called by the hospital and they were asked to come down and be with me. They did many tests, x-rays, needle poking, and morphine. I was there around 12 hours before they sent me home.

From this moment on, catharsis became a dying art. I learned to be stronger. No more catharsis.

It was not until years later when Dr. P in Germany asked if I had had any prior trauma. Some medical doctors theorize that Kienbock's disease might be attributed to accidents such as falling on your hands or arms. True, I did have a pre-condition with a radius that grew too long, but the health of my hand and arm rapidly deteriorated after this accident back 12, almost 13 years ago now. I need to let go of this and stop being angry about it, but it's difficult. Doctors thought I may have broken my neck and had completely disregarded any other possible trauma having occurred to my body. It is hard to think about it to this day - considering I am hurt by many things that had occurred at this time in my life. The use of your hand is more important than spoiled friendships, ruined loves, severe depression, and humiliation. I keep trying to convince myself of this - every day. Each day I feel like it is living with the enemy in my right arm/hand. It pales the comparison to trivial matters of heartache. Your heart can mend itself. Kienbock's disease destroys part of your body.

So Long Castie!

When we had returned from our excursion into the German Alps, I had an appointment with Dr. P to have my cast removed. We planned to take the whole afternoon/evening to stay in the Pedestrian Zone downtown Heidelberg, and to have dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in Germany: Indian Palace. So, we all walked down through our tiny town to the train stop. We had a lovely train that came every half hour during the weekdays, and every hour on weekends. It took us on what is called a Rundfahrt. It went in a circle from Mannheim to Heidelberg, crossing both the Rhein and the Neckar. We paid for our group ticket and took the next train into Heidelberg. Our train stopped right in front of Atos Klinikum, if you recall which is directly across from the entrance to the Pedestrian Zone.

I remember I wasn't feeling good at all when we got to Atos, and we had to run around looking for a bathroom. All the bathrooms on Dr. P's floor were in use, so I finally found one on the floor below. It was literally a closet. I mean, the average sized human could barely turn around in it, and have space to wash and dry hands. When we ran back to the office, they had already called my name and shunted me into an exam room. One of the girls that had come to put on my cast came in with an electric saw.

Now, you can tell me how safe these saws are, and demonstrate it on your bare skin all you want.... but I blanched. With how close that saw was coming to my skin, I kept freaking out and repeated "Stop! Stop!" I don't know if the girl had massive amounts of patience, or was just entertaining me, but she would stop. The saw generated so much heat; it was burning my arm underneath the cast. We stopped and started many times before she could crack open the cast and let my arm out. Dr. P came in and told me to go over to the X-ray clinic and get some pictures taken. So, we left the office and walked across the hall to radiology. J&S were sitting outside in the hallway in some chairs waiting for us. We told them I had to get some pictures, and talk to the doctor and then we could leave.

I recall that this visit with radiology was none too pleasant. When a little blond lady took me into the room she tried manipulating my hand and arm in ways that made me want to scream and slap. I remember there was this pedestal in the middle of the room instead of a huge table like you'd normally see. She brought over this step ladder, and would angle me around the pedestal in awkward positions. The x-ray machine was mounted directly above the pedestal, and she'd pull it all the way down. If I had flinched, I probably would have whacked the machine good. After a good 10 minutes of grabbing my hand and angling it this way and that, she had me sit out in the hallway by J&S and wait for the prints. Surprisingly, the entire ordeal took less than 30 minutes from beginning to end, walking in to radiology, having my x-rays, and then receiving my prints.

We hustled back into Dr.P's office and back into the exam room. He came in shortly after and said that things were looking a little better, that the stress on my hand bones had been drastically reduced. He gave me a "prescription" to take downstairs to the Pharmacy for a new brace. He said that I was to wear this brace 24/7 for at least the first few months, but let my arm have some air time a little every day. He said I had to sleep with it on. Still no lifting, cleaning or driving. But, he said once my wound healed and the scabs fell off, I could fully immerse my arm in water again.

So, we left the office and we all went down to the museum-like first floor where we walked into the Pharmacy. The lady that took my note said in really quick German that we needed to go to the shop across the hall. Okay.... the shop across the hall was like a gift shop. My husband just shrugged and we went into it, and found that there was a bundle of people on the wall facing the street that were setting people up with bandages, braces, etc. So, we took my note to the first available person, and they told us to wait. It was quite a long wait. Turns out, they had to contact our military insurance to make sure that I could receive this special brace for my arm. There was a whole debacle over it that my husband tried to handle, but we mostly did not understand what they were saying to us ... but we got the brace after about 30 minutes so I guess no harm, no foul! The fitted it on me, and told me not to wrap it too tight. Then, they gave me this interesting receipt. By interesting, I mean this stupid brace cost 80 Euros! At that time, that was about $120 or so. I couldn't believe how expensive this stupid thing was!

My brace is blue blue, with green piping, and red interior. It is not in the least attractive, and goes with absolutely nothing I wear. Or anyone would wear. I still use this brace today. It has a large metal bar insert that is to shape my bone and hold it in place, and Velcro straps that keep my wrist from moving. It's fabulous to sleep it, but took a lot of getting used to. It's hot, sweaty, and not at all breathable so it can start to stink rather quickly which means you have to wash it regularly.

So, Castie, you are no more. Fortunately, I now do not have to worry about itches and showering. The clunker you were ... will not be much missed.

A Visual Aid

Too many people don't think about the consequences of their current actions on the future of their bodies. An example might be that many people have become diabetic due to poor health and diet choices. An extreme example would be that some of these people will lose toes, feet, maybe even a leg because they did not take care of themselves.

Kienbock's disease is not an easy disease to describe, or to live with. I remember being 8 or 9 when an aunt contracted a staph infection in her leg that also became gangrenous and very dangerous. That, along with other things that occurred to her, put her in a wheelchair for life. That didn't have a whole lot to do with poor health and diet choices, but I remember when she came to live with us. She was not a strong person by any means at that point in her life. She was very angry all the time. She would refuse help, and then cry for help. The simplest things like talking or picking up an object were torture to her. It was embarrassing and depressing for her.

Though my trials are not at all the same as hers, I can sympathize with her stages of grief and control. Over the course of 9 years, I had slowly become more debilitated by the diseased bone in my body. When I think about it today, I can see how rapidly it progressed. In fact, if a doctor had (AHEM) caught it in time, they might have been able to save my bone from trauma of blood supply loss, and the further trauma of collapse and disintegration. You never know when things like this will enter your life, and that the effects they have can be drastic, and thus your emotional response very erratic.

Kienbock's is a disease. Kienbock's is not something curable.

Every day, I alter my body, my movements, and my reactions. Some of the worst things I deal with are rather embarrassing to say the very least. My number one struggle in life with my bad arm is anything bathroom related. I am going to challenge any and all readers now with visual aids. Think about it for a second:
When you sit on the toilet, do you sometimes push yourself back up with the counter or a bar? Do you have to adjust your body to wipe? Do you have to undo your pants? What about pulling them down and pulling them up and re-doing them? Do you have to lift the toilet lid and/or seat or put it down? Do you have to lock a door, open a door, or close a door? Do you wash your hands? Do you use one hand to pump soap into the other? What about wiping your hands off, do you use on major hand to wipe the other off? Do you air dry your hands by shaking the water off? Do you have to use or applicate feminine hygiene products? Do you ever change out the toilet paper roll?

These are all simple, thoughtless actions people utilize when they have to use the toilet. These are all things that give me grief every day. In fact, one of my deepest fears is that one day; someone will have to retrieve me from the bathroom because I can't care for myself. My fear has been realized once, though it wasn't bad and I'll share the story.

The Christmas I've been telling my story from, is when it occurred. It was evening, and my husband and his parents were on the second floor of our home. It was probably dinner time, or we were playing a game. I excused myself to use the restroom. I distinctly remember wearing these blue fleece pajama pants with big black and white snowflakes on them, and a fluffy blue sweatshirt with my arm strapped to the front. I was no longer in a cast, so it was wrapped in thick bandages. I went up the stairs to the bathroom that was the easiest for me to use. I managed to wiggle out of my pajama pants and sat on what I thought was the toilet. To my utter horror, the toilet seat was in the upright position, and I had just plunked into the toilet like it was a pool, my left arm bolt straight out (it was like my antennae for the seat, and still is). German toilet bowls are enormous and have a very thin rim. Water sloshed everywhere. I screamed, and tried to scramble (one handed) out of the toilet and fell over onto the floor almost on top of my broken arm. Needless to say, my husband raced up the stairs to find me trying to get up and pull my pants up (I didn't know if his parents had followed him.) I was crying and almost hysterically livid. To this day, no one will fess up to who left the lid up - something I'm positive I had asked to be a consideration following my surgery.

I completely understand the emotions behind helplessness like my aunt felt. How can a stupid think like a toilet seat mean the end of the world? Now I know. What if my in-laws had followed my husband up the stairs? What if I had broke my other arm, or landed on my broken arm or ripped the wound open? What if I had received a concussion? It made me angry, hurt, scared, defiant, powerless, and sad.

My Kienbock's disease almost certainly occurred because of a pre-condition, but there are millions of people in this world who can make choices about their health and bodies. My message from this is that humbling yourself is not always what will solve problems. Making the effort to rid yourself of destructive behavior will beget better and happier circumstances and memories than falling into a toilet and feeling miserable. If you have the power to change you r situation, what are you waiting for? There are those of us who cannot. The ball is only EVER in your court. Pick it up!