The Adventures and Misadventures of Vacation 2014

I, Kienbock's Girl, have had several adventures and misadventures in the last few months.

My husband and I took my hard earned vacation time to go to Europe and spend time with our exchange daughter and her family. We planned since our daughter left us to visit her this year. Back in February, we bought tickets, and started planning a vacation that ended up taking the 4 months before to plan it out entirely ... and then of course we didn't stay on the schedule we created, but we never do as we add and delete as we go with the flow. So, we spent 2 lovely weeks with our daughter, and a week with her family. Overall, it was a very good vacation but I learned some things.

1. Always travel with the husband - do not fly alone.
2. Only fly with Iceland Air if you're going to Iceland. The seats are too tiny for a normal sized person let alone a 6'1" man with gigantic shoulders, they make you follow ridiculous overhead luggage sizes, and they don't feed you any food (you must pay) and give you drinks 2 times in an 8 hour flight.
3. When flying, attempt to find affordable seats in business or 1st class - or pay for a last minute upgrade if available.
4. When flying, even if the doctor tells you not to take it, take lots of ibuprofin. 
5. I sincerely dislike Belgium. Beautiful buildings, great history, but dirty/stinky cities with some poorly mismanaged transportation systems and no sense of direction combined with expensive food made it a little difficult to fall in love with. 
6. Always travel like a local. I mean, I already knew this, but I knew it even more since I'd never taken the train outside of Germany when living there. 
7. Our exchange daughter does not always like to go to many museums on vacation and spend a lot of time looking and reading everything like I do. Find her a bookshop and you're golden.
8. Buying laundry soap in the ghetto of a French speaking country is not exactly ideal.
9.  Don't let Belgian buses kidnap you. ENTER FROM THE FRONT - they're not the same as Germany!
10. Belgian fries really are better.
11. Vacation isn't a time to relax - it's a time to get out and do stuff!
12. Candlelight wine cruises through Amsterdam are fun. They're even more fun when they stop for a short tour of the Red Light District, and a couple mysteriously disappears from the remainder of the tour.
13. Buying tickets online to the Anne Frank Huis might look sketchy (trust me, it looks sketchy) but it was an EPIC WIN. 
14. No one is kidding about the line to the Anne Frank Huis. By the time we entered (1/2 hour before it opened, we got early entry!), the line queue was around the building, and halfway down another block ... so an easy 2 hour wait minimum. By the time we exited, I'd estimate it was probably 2 city blocks long.
15. Speaking English isn't a crime or shocking to anyone in Belgium or the Netherlands. In fact, so much more English is spoken there than in Germany or any other country we've traveled to, it was like Spanish in America. Except that everyone could understand you ... and most Americans' Spanish is like baby talk. 
16. Take your internet capable phone with you. Even though you can't call people, you sure can e-mail or FaceBook them and post teasing pictures of you and your hubby and daughter.
17. Hotels in Bruges are cheap and SUPER nice.
18. Hotels in Brussels and Amsterdam are expensive and mediocre at best.
19. Renting an apartment in Brussels was kind of cool.
20. Renting an apartment in Brussels was kind of not so cool. 
21. If you forget to eat an unopened sandwich that you bought on the plane, the U.S. sniffer dogs will find it, and get you in trouble and have all your things looked through just to throw the sandwich away ... the sandwich that cost you about $12.

I'm sure there's more I could put here, but let me just say it was a vacation we'll never forget, and believe me when I say we took thousands of photos to prove just that. 

Europe Bound - Vacation Time!

With everything that has been keeping my husband and I so busy, it's difficult to find time lately to keep myself motivated to blog when I have a million other things to do. This MAY or MAY NOT have been precipitated by the anniversary of my mother's death, my 11 year wedding anniversary, and the planning of a European holiday with our exchange daughter and her family, as well as some much needed city hopping on the continent. So as of Saturday morning, we will be on a plan headed to our adoptive homeland, Germany.

In the past I have had travel issues when flying alone with my disease. The airlines I flew were not very helpful in assisting my disability and caused me outrage when I was seated in the front of the plane in an aisle seat with baggage overhead that I couldn't put up or get down. Since this time I am traveling with my husband, this should not be any issue - but hey ... we already found out that they are no longer feeding you any meal on transatlantic flights when my husband called to tell them I have some severe food allergies. If you spend $4,000 on plane tickets IN COACH to Europe, and the flight is 8 hrs or more, NO FOOD FOR YOU! (Gargantuan eye roll.)

Anyhow, we shall be cavorting around Europe for what we know will be a relaxing vacation before my big surgery. More on that soon.

Therapeutic Creations

I do regular therapy for my disease. In the beginning, it was difficult to get therapy because we were in the military stationed in Germany. We would have to drive 10 miles out of our way 3 times a week to go to a manipulation therapy - which I wasn't too keen on because the girl I started with, was switched on my my second visit, and my second therapist was not proactive, or talkative, or ... good with English. Not that I couldn't converse with her because I speak decent German. Just health-wise, I know no terminology or grammar.

When we were re-stationed in Kansas, I found a new therapist at an occupational therapy clinic. I LOVED going to occupational therapy. My therapist was really good, and she loved her job. In fact, she switched careers mid-life when her mother had cancer and needed treatment. It got her into therapy, and so she became a licensed hand therapist. Now, don't get me wrong. It's not at all what you think. Yes, there is exercising, but there are also games and skill tests. Like .... digging lite brite pegs out of playdough, or inserting 50 pins into a tiny peg board, or finding the pennies in a bag full of change. All done one handed mind you. But, there were also difficult tasks like stretching ropes, and the arm cycle, and these weird stretches that would make me light headed.

Since I can't have therapy forever, I have come up with different things I do to keep my arm and hand healthy. My favorite is crafting. I scrapbook a lot. I will work for hours and get lots of pages done. I plan them, execute them, and I'm not half bad at my simple styled pages. My husband even bought me a Cricut machine one year for my birthday. I try to use it a lot because it can do so many cool things.

Another activity is coloring, though, I have to be really careful. Coloring can be too vigorous and because I can't feel my hand, it's really hard to loosen my grip or not to tense up my hand and arm.

A close second favorite would be jewelry making. In fact, my jewelry making inspired me to take a friend's advice and start my own Etsy shop. https://www.etsy.com/shop/TherapeuticCreations. I love making earrings in particular. You can never have enough earrings. But I also do a lot of barrettes, some bracelets and a few necklaces.

Another fun form of therapy is comic drawing. http://doniellcharie.doodlekit.com/. I draw stupid comics badly (yes, on purpose) that are taken from things happen in my everyday life. It's quite enjoyable since I like to make fun of a lot of things like people who say stupid stuff ... and do stupid stuff.

Other forms of therapy include (but are not limited to) Lite Brite, massaging vitamin E oil into my scar and scar tissue, hand and arm exercises, red band exercises, warm water manipulation, bracing, Kinesio taping (which is fabulous and I would recommend to anyone with horrible scar tissue issues and messed up muscles), just to name a few.

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.

Christmas Vacation Part IV

You thought my stories about Christmas would end? Not a chance!

The next day that we were in GAP, we drove to Austria. For anyone who has never traveled in Europe, it can be a great ordeal to drive from one country to another. While Austria may have some of the best and most well cared for roads in the world, you have to have a special pass for your vehicle to drive on the Autobahn and highways. In GAP, because it's right on the border of Germany and Austria, you can buy these special stickers at any gas station. If you're caught without one of these special sticker passes, you can be fined up the you know what.

That morning we stopped at the gas station to fill up and buy our pass. The resort is literally 5 minutes up the street and my mother in law has to get out to go to the bathroom. Then, everyone leaves me in the car alone. My husband goes inside to pay, J&S went inside so S could use the toilet (which you have to pay for), and then they all come back with food despite the snacks we had in the car ... again. I mean, I guess when in Rome ... at least my husband bought me an apple juice drink that I love called Granini. They make all sorts of flavors of juice drinks, but the apple one is the one I love the most.

This day, I was actually in rather good spirits. On the drive down in to Innsbrueck (which was where we were headed) we saw all sorts of fabulous winter sights that we didn't see the last time we went as it was summer then. The Alps were beautifully covered with snow and surrounded by fluffy clouds, cross country ski tracks were everywhere, and we of course told them the following great story:

In Germany and Austria, it is very VERY popular for vacationers to come from the Netherlands at all times during the year. In fact, the Germans we knew made fun of the Dutch saying they never worked, they were always on holiday. During the winter though, there are HOARDS of Dutch people that flock to the Alps. Yeah, sure people from all over come to ski and stuff, but the Dutch are exceptional. If you know anything about Holland, you know that it's flat - there's no such thing as mountains. So, they like to come down to get their skiing on. The thing is, they are notorious for thinking they know how to ski, but being horrible. They are so horrible at skiing that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of accidents every year related to the Dutch in the Alps. Now, because this region of Austria and Germany is very mountainous, hospitals are few and far between. Also, below freezing temperatures make it difficult to find and rescue accident victims. So, rescue teams have come up with these massive orange helicopters that they fly into the mountains to rescue injured winter sportsmen and women alike. In German, the word for helicopter is the same as in English. The word for the Netherlands however, is very similar: die Niederlands (dee nee-dur-lahndz). The Germans and Austrians love to joke about the Dutch and their horrendous efforts at winter sports, and one thing that they've come up with is called the "Niedercopter." The big orange helicopters that rescue the Dutch ...

We also tell them about our experiences at the Swarovski crystal factory. It's the only factory in the world that they have, and they let the public come in to tour their "museum" and "gift shop." I'd warn you away from it for many reasons, but you'd have to see if for yourself to believe me. Trust me. It's an experience you'll never forget. No, they don't show you crystal mining or making since it's all top secret ... instead you get to see their "museum" and then troll around the huge shop looking at all the crystals and things you can't afford to buy, but can't stop looking at.

When we get in to Innsbrueck, we park in the parking garage not far from the town center - which is where we were headed. They had a mini Christmas market set up, and we all agreed to visit it when we came back that way. We walked around the town looking into shops, admiring shop windows, viewing the hotel where Mozart and his father once stayed, discussing the Goldenendachhaus (Golden roofed house which is really just gold leaf if I recall correctly), and made some small purchases. We went inside the Swarovski store there in the town, and my husband, being the loving and sweet man that he is, purchased these gorgeous earrings that were treble clefs (because I'm a musician) and a matching bracelet with music notes dangling from it. I was shocked - I couldn't believe it. To this day I save them for special occasions, and I still have the bag it came in ... and the free stud they gave him for making a purchase!

Around lunch time we were all starving. We found a cafe that was up a few floors overlooking the town center. We crowded into this corner booth and ordered coffee, hot chocolate, and lunch. S & I decided to be adventurous and order the goulash. By the way, Austrian goulash is delicious. I can't even remember what J or my husband ordered because mine was so good! So, we're sitting there having our lunch and chatting about everything, when S and I notice the people sitting behind J. The man has an arm in a cast and sling (those European ones I told you about). We start whispering to each other and giggling. We were, of course, referencing the Niedercopter story. Granted, we don't even know if this guy is Austrian or German let alone Dutch. My husband leans over and asks what we're giggling about. Our table was U shaped, so J was the only person sitting in front of this couple. Since he was a bit farther away, I started whispering to my husband about the Niedercopter. J gets all interested in what we've all be giggling over and asks what we're laughing about. Of course, we can't say it out loud - every European knows English. They'll know what we're talking about. I say in hushed tones that we'll tell him later. For some reason, he figures out that we're discussing the people behind him, so he turns and steals a peek. Then, turning back to us he says "What? Niedercopter?"

We DIE laughing.

After our delicious lunch, we shopped a little more than went back to the little Christmas market. We looked around at all the traditional items being sold. J's feet were freezing, so we bought him some Alpaca or Sherpa woolen socks that he proceeded to put on in the freezing weather ... quite funny. We saw some delicious local fare and stopped to try it out. They were serving sauerkraut in bread bowls. We all decided to get some and then ate more. I stopped by my favorite little bake shop and got some sweet rolls and goodies for us. Then, we visited the church where Mozart performed. The summer before that we had went there, we saw a wedding outside and took pictures. It's a gorgeous church that is very VERY Rococo. Your eyes might burn with cherubs and drippy, flamboyance but the architecture and marble are beautiful and not to be missed.

On the way back to the car, we stopped at another little street Christmas market. We ordered some Gluehwein which smells like hot whiskey and tastes like hot Nyquil. Odd? Yeah but the great thing is that Gluehwein is pretty much the same anywhere you get it. While we're standing there drinking our hot mulled wine, these 20 something year old guys are having a medieval sword fight behind the booths. It was cracking us up. They were so dramatic ... and in so much trouble. The people working the market kept asking them to stop, to move and to leave. We videotaped some of it. It was a riot watching the little Austrians get all huffy about these boys who weren't even bothering anyone.

All in all, the day was great. We had fun, and I don't remember being grouchy. I think I might have been feeling better that day ... but that should have been a sign of warning of things to come.

Christmas Vacation - Part III

It takes about an hour to get from Garmisch-Partenkirchen (GAP) to Schwangau, which is where Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein are. Schwan in German means swan. Ludwig's family was very into swans, and they were a symbol of his family. The two castles are completely visible from each other, and are only separated by a small valley where the village lies between with touristy shops, restaurants and such.

We got up super early. It's incredibly difficult to get reservations at the castles, and we had called the week before and they said they were not taking reservations. So, in order for us to make sure that we got tickets into the castles that morning, we had to get to Schwangau first thing.

The snowy roads were thick with fog and the snow kept falling. But, the Germans take such good care of the roads, snow and ice weren't problematic so we made excellent time. While Casey parked and everyone got ready for the morning escapade, I ran to the ticket center and bought 4 tickets for the castles. They give you a time for your tour, and usually they are super close together which can mean disaster if you don't plan ahead - which we did.

I was once again in an incredibly bad mood that day. I think the cold weather was getting to me, my arm was itchy inside the damned cast, and the latest development that was scaring me to death: my fingers started peeling. I mean, this wasn't some dead skin like you get on the bottom of your feet, or after a blister or something. I mean, my regular skin on my diseased arm was cracking, bleeding, and peeling for no reason. I kept it warm, I kept it gloved, I was freaking out. It didn't help that my husband and I had a skirmish that morning and he was rather short with me which made me even nastier. If this disease didn't disable me completely, it definitely ruined my self control. Anyway, I was mad that no one took our tour time seriously. In Germany, they are very obsessed with punctuality. If you miss your time, you pay again for a whole new tour ... and this one had already set us back a steep amount of Euro. Everyone was dawdling at the car, taking their sweet time rather than booking it up to the tour.

There is no easy way to get up to Hohenschwangau other than to hike up the hundreds of steps on the mountainside - at least, that's what it feels like. In the bitter cold, with icy paths, it was worse. I'd been to the castle in summer and fall, but this was a whole new experience. We were slipping and sliding all up the mountain.

In slow seasons, you get personal tours through Hohenschwangau. I was quite pleased at this because usually they throw you an audio guide and shove you through rooms so fast you could blink and miss everything. J&S were very pleased with the tour. At the end, we all went to the bathroom - which meant peeling layers of clothing off including long underwear in a freezing cold bathroom. This time, S was able to help me get all my pants up and all my shirts tucked in and my zipper up and my belt buckled.

We had some time in between tours, so we hit up the gift shop that is just outside the castle, and then walked back down the mountain. We went and stood in line to take horse carriages up the mountain to Neuschwanstein. Our tour was in 40 minutes, and there are only a few carriages, and each one only holds 6 passengers.

I vividly remember this scene. My husband and J are standing at the head of the line. There's a specific spot on the street with a sign that tells you to line up and wait for the horse carriages which take about 15 minutes round trip. S and I are standing on the sidewalk behind my husband and his father when a huge group of British tourists come up in line behind us. When two carriages arrive and we four try to pay the driver before we get in (which is the polite thing to do), all the British tourists shove in front of us, get on the carriages and we're left standing there. Their tour guide is still barking at them as they're driving away, and my husband starts mouthing off to her. "Excuse me, excuse me! We were in line and you just stole our carriages. We have the next tour." The snotty woman refuses to respond to my husband. He keeps mouthing off to her about how rude they are and where the line clearly is, and who clearly should have got in the carriages first. The people behind us start in too. They're on the next tour as well, American vets, and are older. My husband is going on and on, S & I are laughing. It was so unbelievable. Americans get such a bad rap for being awful ambassadors when traveling! Really I tell you, it's the bloody British. AND, to add insult to their grievous injury, they are OBSESSED with lines. If you dare cut in Britain, you're liable to be beat to a pulp. I know, I've been there. They're all about order and rights and such.

When we finally get in a carriage, we're super anxious because our tour was to start quickly. We got in one with the group of older vets behind us and head to our destination: 3/4 of the way up the mountain. We're deposited in the slushy snow and have something like 5 minutes until our tour. We run up the mountain to make it on time ... but the group behind us didn't. I don't know what happened to them but those British tourists should be ashamed of themselves. Stealing carriages from old people with tour times before theirs! Let me just say, this did NOT improve my mood at all.

After the tour, we all hit the bathrooms again, and then the gift shop. Then we spend time dawdling around the outside of the castle taking lots of pictures. I'm grouchy and sniping at everyone every chance I get. Once again, I was not dealing with the pain, the discomfort, or the disease well. It gets worse ...

So, we're on our way home and J & S don't like the food we packed for the trip to save money from eating out all the time. They say they need "substance." Now I'm super pissed. My husband had to stop in the first big town that had restaurants, pay for parking, then take us all to a restaurant that neither he nor J could eat at because it's seafood and they don't like it, and husband is allergic to it. Then, they take their sweet time (again) ordering, that I take the last prepared meal that S decides she wants ... and complains she is starving.

Now, I love my mother-in-law to death, but I'm a post-surgery patient who's dealing with traumatic pain to say the least and the possibility of never feeling my hand or arm again and never using it properly ever again - and she refuses to eat my meal, which is the exact same that she ordered. I become a monster. I completely shut down. When us girls finish our meal, we walk around the corner to a butcher shop and deli (which we all should have gone to in the first place) where my husband and J order food for themselves.

When we got back to the hotel, I was irate but I had schoolwork to complete. The Lodge has a computer lab, so husband and I went down there so he could type up my responses for the week. J&S come down and say they want to go in the hot tub after dinner. I don't want to, but husband says I should go. So we have dinner at the buffet again, and then head to our rooms to change.

I look like an idiot coming out of our room with my swimsuit on over clothes and a big plastic trash bag tied around my arm and tucked into my cast. Can anyone give me a woo-hoo?

I spent around 2 hours in the hot tub with my arm outside propped up on the freezing cement. It was uncomfortable to say the least. But, what bothered me the most was surprisingly the heat. After surgeries like mine, it is typical to experience nerve dysfunction where you cannot tolerate changes in temperature well. To this day, I have this problem. Taking a shower is torture for my arm, but the freezing cold of the day mixed with the piping hot water in the hot tub was just too much for me. Plus, everyone was staring - and they were Americans not Germans so I was NOT okay with it.

Needless to say, I went to bed that night angry beyond repair. I'd had one of the most aggravating and miserable days of my life ... and it was about to get worse.

Christmas Vacation - Part II

We left Rothenburg with enough time to get to the resort in Garmisch-Partenkirchen (GAP). They have really weird dinner hours, and we didn't want to have to stop on the road since it was snowing and icy and all that. Besides, dinner out in Germany is an affair, you don't just stop to eat a quick bite unless it's McDonald's.

It was about 3 hours from Rothenburg to GAP. On the way, J & S kept seeing all these signs that tell you where the exits are on the Autobahn. It says "Ausfahrt" before every exit. Basically, you have to read the road signs like a mile before the Ausfahrt sign to know to get off. Anyway, they kept seeing this sign. Finally, one of them asks "Where the hell is Ausfahrt? I keep seeing signs for it and we've been driving a long time. Is it a big city like Berlin or something?"

Okay, I was in a crabby mood, but my husband and I burst out laughing. Americans are so silly - we'd become completely German and couldn't control ourselves. We explained to them that the exit signs aren't like American exit signs. They thought it was particularly funny ... and also that it had the "fart" word in it. They were comparing it to someone with really bad English grammar skills that was trying to say "out fart". They're suckers for cheesy jokes like that. We also taught them the word Auspuff which means exhaust. Though, we tended to use the word to mean fart, so J&S of course loved that one too. They still say it to this day to excuse themselves. I think we'll probably hear it until they die. I can see them annoying nursing home nurses with it ...

Now, Edelweiss Lodge is a big military resort on a NATO base in GAP. You have to be military, a military family member, or have a special pass with your military friend/distant relative. We had gotten J&S a pass before they came because it took weeks to approve, so we rolled right in around 6pm and rushed in. My husband got our hotel rooms all squared away after some problems that nearly sent me through the roof. Basically we had reserved a room we'd had formerly that was quiet, away from the street and had stellar views of the Alps right out the window - and they idiots told us "Oh, you didn't have a reservation for a specific room."

I was livid, but we were all starving so I fumed all the way up to the rooms to throw our stuff on our beds. We got adjacent rooms so it would be easier. Everyone went in their room, took off their coats, ran to the bathroom, and then we all rushed down stairs to the restaurant area. There are two restaurants in the Resort, a snack bar in the fitness/pool center, and a casino with a bar in it. We all decided to eat at the buffet. It was cheaper than the bar or the restaurant (both of which you had to make reservations at) and pigged out as we'd eaten very little the whole day.

I had the worst time with the buffet. My arm was still cast-ified so I had to try carrying a tray around one handed, picking up heavy plates with my left hand, serving myself with my left hand, carrying my heavy tray with my left hand ... it was all very exhausting work. My husband helped me a little, but was of course more concerned about the food going on his plate. I don't know that it bothered me too much then though, I think I was too hungry to care. By the time I had exerted all my energy on getting the food, my tummy was growling.

After dinner we were all tired enough to want to drop off to sleep. We had a big morning ahead as we were going to Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau castles. These are the two fairy tale castles opposite the mountain from each other that everyone knows. Neuschwanstein was built by the last king of Bavaria, the so called mad Ludwig. We were all really REALLY excited to head out right after breakfast, so we all went to bed without much of a fuss.

Christmas Vacation - Part I

The morning after my in-laws arrived, we packed up and headed out for a Christmas vacation. Since my husband was lucky enough to finally get time off, we planned a whole big hoopla for J & S. We had rented a car (ours was acting up and in the shop) and piled it high with our suitcases, bags, and snacks.

We headed out that morning around 7am in order to get to the very famous medieval walled city of Rothenburg ob der Tauber. If you go anywhere in Germany, you're likely to hear about Rothenburg. Its fame makes it incredibly touristy so we decidedly missed the usual rush of spring through fall and went in the winter when it was snowy and perfectly un-crowded. I had been to the city in the summer and in the fall - both seasons were gorgeous. Winter did not disappoint. We went to the famous Jakobskirche - a Lutheran church that is now used primarily for concerts but is famous for its original stalls, altarpiece, and hand-carved wooden alter to the blood of Jesus Christ. It's this amazing work of art that depicts the last supper, all wood and hand carved from the 1400s, and is said to have a stone on the crucifix that holds a drop of Jesus Christ's blood.

Now, I've been to Rothenburg several times and it really is a good value despite what people say. Every time we go there, we go to this church. It's so breathtakingly beautiful that you can't help but sit up at the altar and gaze in amazement that somebody was that talented. J & S of course loved the church. As usual, my husband took a million photos. We have several hundred of this church alone. It might cost 2 Euro per person to get it, but it is totally worth it. Besides, the money goes to the restoration of the church. It was bombed out during World War II and is slowly being restored to its original state. Some things survived like the altar of the holy blood, and the stalls, etc.

After we oohed and aahed in the church, we wandered around the town which has lots of trinket-y shops and little cafes and such. Since it was Christmas, they also had a Christkindlsmarkt - the German term for the traditional Christmas market that is usually found in squares around cities during the month of December. The tradition was started in Germany and Austria, and is big in much of central and western Europe.

Being ill was not pleasant during this outing. We took J & S to the medieval crime and punishment museum - which we've been to many times. I remember feeling the throbbing pain of the metal and the holes in my arm. The entire time we were in the museum, I looked pallid and felt miserable. At least it's a fun museum though. Thumb screws, dunking cages and iron maidens galore await your senses. It's fun to learn about medieval crime and punishment I tell you!

We also visited the famous Kaethe Wohlfahrt Christmas village. It's this famous store - the biggest Christmas store in Europe or something, and they are famous for their ornaments. They're open year round, and you can get some of the most amazing things there. Every year we bought ornaments from Kaethe Wohlfahrt for every family member. J & S LOVED the store. We spent an hour in there dawdling and looking at all the beautiful things to buy. It was really hard for me to be in that store looking back on it. I love to pick things up and handle them in stores. I couldn't even pull the strings on the traditional wooden dancing ornaments. It was disappointing. I'm very hands-on when it comes to many things, and shopping is just no fun with a gimp arm. I think I still enjoyed myself though, and I didn't get too crabby that I remember.

Well, I didn't get too crabby until the bathroom incident. They had a special bathroom set up in the middle of town because the regular public restrooms were blocked by all the market stands. So, we all decide we need to go. I managed to stuff my fat cast arm into my brand new Columbia winter coat. I was decked out that day with long underwear (it was below freezing outside), jeans, boots, gloves, a big fat sweater, a hat and a scarf. And, being Germany, they do not have a disabled restroom. This is common. Disabled persons aren't often out in public because they do not make public areas accessible to disabled persons. It's just a caveat of travel in Europe and it's typical. I go into the bathroom and they're tiny stalls. This means, that even if I needed help, I wouldn't get it. I'd had lots of bathroom mishaps since the surgery, and my husband couldn't be here to help me this time. Great. I take off the glove on my good hand, and leave the other glove that I stretched over my cast. It looks like I have a wooden arm. Seriously. Then, I manage to undo my belt and my pants (both layers) down, and do my business without any problem. When I try to re-suit up, it becomes an issue. I must have been in the stall a good 3 or 4 minutes just trying to get my pants done up and my belt on. No such luck, so I come out of the stall to wash my hand. All these ladies are pushing and shoving around the tiny sinks washing their hands. I just wait until there's a lull, and turn on the water, wash my hand as good as possible, then try to get a paper towel. I'm helpless trying to pull the paper towel out of its holder because I'm not left handed. I'm annoyed and say to the nearest woman "Koennen Sie mich helfen? Ich hab' nur ein Hand," which means "Can you please help me? I only have one hand."

By the time I had gotten out of the bathrooms, I had to ask my mother-in-law to do up my pants and belt. It would be no problem with my mother, but this was not my mother. I didn't feel comfortable having to ask that. Plus, it's kind of degrading to have to ask like a three-year-old for mommy to help you do up your pants. It hurt me. I wanted to be able to do the stuff I always could, that was a "no brainer".

After the bathroom, we went to a small cafe that overlooked the town and had coffee with cakes. I was still bothered. We were eating out in public and I could barely lift my coffee cup without spilling it with my left hand. Also, I had to share a streusel with my husband because it would take me forever to eat my own slice. For as upset as I was, I know I did a really good job of keeping my feelings and anger to myself. We were able to have a good time despite.

While there, we took lots of pictures, bought the famous Schneeballen (snowballs) which are pastry balls with toppings like chocolate or powdered sugar, walked the length of the medieval wall that surrounds the town, and shopped. It was a cold day, but I did the best I could making sure that I was enjoying my experience. After all, it wouldn't be fair to ruin my in-laws' first visit to Europe ever just because I was suffering from post-surgery pain and woes. Depressed as I was, I braved being as normal as possible that day. Soon however, it would catch up to me.

Special Guests

I had just barely gotten over being incredibly sick and was left with a horrible cold that stayed in my nose when we went to pick up my husband's parents. The Christmas of 2009 was going to be an incredible holiday. My husband had taken 2 weeks off of work and gotten Christmas off, and we were going to spend it with relatives which is something we hadn't done since 2004. Additionally, I had this awesome travel outline where we were going to drive down to the Alps and stay for a few nights, visit Austria and some famous Christmas markets, and see some local sights and eat some delicious food.

The day they flew in, my husband drove us to the airport about an hour early. Frankfurt airport is one of the busiest airports in the world ... and one of the worst layouts with the worst parking. It's not Germany's fault really, it's just that Frankfurt is central to EVERYTHING in Europe, that it's just so convenient. They're working on the infrastructure though, so the DB trains will come through a special station just across from the main terminal. So, we're driving around this huge new structure (which will also include lots of businesses, places to eat, places to stay, etc.) and we successfully found a parking garage with vacancies. This is rare. Anyway, our "Rock star" parking luck was on our side ... right next to the elevator. Like literally, a step away.

It took us about 15-20 minutes to get through the whole airport to where we needed to pick the in-laws up. Frankfurt airport is humongous but there were only 2 international arrival gates where we waited. We waited through 2 plane loads of people while standing up before any space was left vacancy for people to sit. I saw a group of people leave this huge fountain, so I ran over and snagged a spot, took off my coat and laid it next to me. My husband dawdled over but insisted on standing. It was about a 40 minute drive to airport, and it would be 40 minutes back so he needed the standing time.

I don't know how many plane loads of people came out of customs, but I think it was something like 8, and we waited for about an hour and a half. When you arrive at Frankfurt, you have to walk like a mile to get to the international arrivals desk for them to check your passport. Then, you have to wait about 30 minutes for your luggage to even appear on the carriage, and then you have to brave the potentiality of customs ... but, we've never had problems with going through "No Declarations." (Knocking on wood.)

Anyway, by the time J & S (my father- and mother-in-law) came through the door, we'd been at the airport for more than a while. My arm was sore and still swollen. I sat cradling it while my husband kept an eye out for them. I didn't get up until I knew they were through the gate because I didn't want to get jostled. People it Europe are rather pushy and it's acceptable so I just tried to stay clear of the chaos. It worked out pretty good though because they were some of the last people out of the gate rolling some huge luggage, and when I got down off the fountain, I didn't have to worry about being pushed and shoved around.

I was still on a lot of medication for anti-nausea, muscle relaxers (That Dr. R. insisted I take when I went to get the anti-nausea medicine) and of course, about a thousand things for my stupid head cold. I had to blow my nose every 5 minutes so I was also carrying around a box of tissues in my purse. Then, every time I blew my nose, all the skin would get rubbed raw and I had to apply aloe vera lotion after every blow so I didn't look like a burn victim. I probably looked like the mess I felt like. But, at least I felt well enough to go with my husband to get them. We had plans to leave the next morning too. We were going to be headed to the Alps to Garmisch-Partenkirchen (GAP) where we had reserved some rooms in the Edelweiss Lodge - a military only destination on the NATO base in GAP.

It was still morning time when we picked up J & S, so afterwards, we drove to the base in Mannheim because we wanted to get them a special pass so we didn't have to go through the long verification process for guests on the military base every time we wanted to go do something or get something. So, we go to the office, and sit there for about 20 minutes before they tell us that because we don't live on the base, we're not eligible for these ... which are totally ridiculous. We're stationed there, and the base isn't one huge fenced in lot. It's 5 different tiny little fenced in lots around the city! And, I repeat: WE WERE STATIONED THERE! Of course we're going to need to go to the post office or the commissary or the PX or anywhere else! It was totally, insanely, absolutely dumb.

Pissed off, we headed home. My husband and I had gone the day before and gotten the Christmas tree from a little tree farm on the highway to our village. After J & S got somewhat settled with their luggage upstairs in our guest bedroom, we planned what to do for the evening. We wanted to decorate the tree, but we also needed to get supplies for the road tomorrow. It was a 4 hour drive to GAP, and it could be slower due to the snow and ice. Also, we wanted the tree done before we left so it wouldn't blow away in the gusty wind. Living on the mountainside, we'd seen this happen to our neighbors' Christmas trees and it was funny until it happened to you. We didn't want to leave it outside the 5 days we'd be gone. So, we packed up the car and went to get some groceries at the commissary. When we came home, we spent the evening hours listening to Christmas music, rearranging the living room, putting up the tree and decorating it.

With my arm in the condition it was in, I was limited to what I could do to help out with the whole decoration situation. So, I sat on the couch carefully unwrapping ornaments with my left hand and three moveable fingers on the right hand. I tried to carefully put the hooks on the ornaments while my husband, J & S decorated the tree but some of their impatience with my inability to keep up with hooking the ornaments led them to doing it themselves and hastily putting them on the tree. It didn't really annoy me at the time, but as I look back it was something I realize that would happen to me a lot with this disease, and it doesn't make me the happiest person.

After we got the tree decorated and the living room back to order, I had a pain episode. I would get these a lot, but I think that the excitement of the day really got to me. I remember I was sitting on the couch and the next thing I knew I was screaming and crying sprawled across it. Imagine the worst pain in your entire life, and it probably still wouldn't compare. I was used to pain, but the next few months - these episodes would pop up out of the blue and I'd be in so much pain I couldn't breathe or speak. Nothing helped either. It was completely rotten, and I was incapacitated every time this happened.

Thinking back now, it must have been extremely frightening for my in-laws who had almost no idea what was going on. My husband would often turn sheet white and helplessly ask what he could do. I remember my in-laws tried to ignore it at first. They were quiet, but they would talk amongst themselves and continue doing what they were doing. It must have scared them that badly ... and since nothing helped and they knew it, the best thing to do was to not stop and drop everything but to continue with whatever was going on.

Personally, looking back at these episodes, I had no choice but to revert to the most primitive state of humanity when it came to the pain. I couldn't control it, and it would happen often at night when I was most vulnerable and exhausted. I had gotten used to taking naps, and I didn't get one that day and that possibly could have made it worse because I had no strength.

By the time it had subsided it was time for bed. My husband had to finally start sleeping the same bed because we only had one guest bed and our air mattress made his back hurt. I remember being so angry with the whole pain thing that when my husband brought up a load of clean laundry that we had to fold before bed, I started screaming at him over the way he was doing laundry. Basically what had happened is that since the surgery, he was doing most of the housework. He had put in a delicate (yet machine washable) lace tablecloth that was handmade in Italy, in with regular clothes. Some of the hooks on my bras had gotten tangled in the lace. I was pissed off that he wasn't careful with the tablecloth and also that he didn't ask me how to wash it. I know I was mean and harsh.

Every now and then, I'll have moments like these. I can't control everything anymore, and it makes it hard to let go of. Especially when it comes to things I could change the outcome of if people would recognize that even though I can't do something physically, they can still talk to me about it.

I apologized to him the next day, but he told me there was nothing to forgive. He understood my anger and my frustration and I loved him for it.

Having special guests was going to be hard. I hadn't dealt with my inability to use my arm, or the possibility of permanent nerve damage or physical disability. Anger would get the better of me more often than I liked.

Atos Klinikum and Dr. P.

Remember that fancy hospital I was talking about the other day? The one downtown Heidelberg that looked like some government building? This was the next stop in my journey. This was where I learned about Kienbock's disease.

So Atos Klinikum is a rather small hospital in comparison with American or university hospitals. I mean, there's this hospital called Theresiankrankenhaus (literal translation: Theresa's sick house) in downtown Mannheim that takes up a whole stinking block. Also, I'd been to the famous Army hospital in Landstuhl down by Rammstein for a GI appointment and some scope work the year before. That is also a huge hospital. You even have to go through security to get in.

I'm a little off track here. So, we park in the underground parking garage, and take the elevator to the main floor. We're looking around and this place is like a 5 star hotel with a Pharmacy that looks like it belongs in Donald Trump's house, and a restaurant with affordable and delicious local fare, and finally a gift shop and in-patient center. The floors and columns are all marble, and there's a grand foyer section where the middle of the entire building is open up to the greenhouse roofed ceiling. You can see all the way up to the top floors, and they can look down on you. The elevators are completely glass all the way around, and you can see all this artwork in between floors while you're going up ... and we did because we went to the second floor. Or, in Germany, what is called the second floor but is really the 3rd floor because they don't count the ground floor as one level, but as "Erdgeschoss", literal translation: earthen level. We learned this moving into our house because we lived in a 4 story home and had to tell them 2Nd level for the top floor, even though in America, it's the 3rd floor. Okay, again, off topic.

So we go up to the floor where the orthopedic clinic is, and we enter the office to find it's rather normal - more like an American office than the other orthopedic clinic we went to. It has a small waiting room enclosed in glass dividers with a closing door so the doctors and nurses don't get distracted. The counter is right when you walk in, so I tell them in my best German that I'm Mrs. Cushman (you always refer to yourself formally when dealing with strangers in an office setting - name tags always say Herr and Frau instead of first names). I tell them I'm to see Dr. P. They check their lists, and then have me fill out some paperwork. All over the wall when you come in, opposite the check-in desk, are these (what we Americans would think) grotesque pictures of foot and hand injuries. This office strictly deals with feet and hands. The doctors here are preeminent specialists in Germany.

We waited quite a while to see Dr. P. Mostly because the clinic was jammed with people waiting to be seen. This was obviously a very busy hospital. My husband and I always bring something to do with us, so of course I whipped out my school books and started reading, and my husband tried to sleep. When I was called back to a room, the girl asked how well I spoke German and I told her I can speak well conversationally, but not medically. She told me not to worry, everyone that works at that hospital is required to know 3 languages, 2 besides German and most all of them can speak English. This is because in Germany, unlike America, English is a requirement that is begun in the 4Th or 5Th grade and is continued, usually, for 7 to 10 years depending on the length of schooling and type of school.

So, Dr. P. waltzes in shortly after, and speaks perfect English. He's better than the immigrant doctors commonly employed by the U.S. military (often spouses of military members) who speak English every day with every patient. Anyway, he takes my disc of X-rays and prints out the pictures. He's not happy with what he sees, so he sends me downstairs to get an MRI. Now, usually, you have to schedule MRIs at a hospital. At Atos Klinikum, they do them on the spot, and results are immediate. I spent no more than 20 minutes down in the MRI. I didn't have to take any clothes, jewelry or even my belt off. Just my shoes. The woman running the MRI said she couldn't speak English, which really means she can but is fearful of her abilities and will only speak English when she completely can't understand you. So, she spoke German to me the entire time - which I'm used to but not in a medical setting. However, I've had many MRIs so I know what she's saying. Don't move. Squeeze this sensor thing in your hand if you need to stop or there is an emergency. Don't move. Don't move. I can talk to you through this headset. Don't move. You know that kind of stuff.

After 20 minutes, she sends me back upstairs to the radiology clinic to get my results. Again, I wait maybe 5 minutes and a guy comes out and takes me back to a computer. He speaks perfect English too. He shows me my results, talks to me a little bit, and then sends me back to Dr.P.

Dr. P. is floored. We have a lengthy conversation about my fracture. He tells me this is called an avascular necrosis of the lunate and a significant radial difference. Rough translation into laymen terms: There are these tiny bones in your hands. One of them in the middle of the bottom row of bones is lunar shaped, and thus called the lunate bone. This bone, which is critical to movement of the wrist, has died. There is no blood supply (hence the avascular). Because it is completely dead and fractured, it is going to, at some point, decompose and break down in to tiny bits. They cannot restore blood supply to this bone because of the extensive damage. This is an extremely uncommon disease. There isn't much known about this disease because of its rarity. Additionally, my case is even rarer than normal because I have a radial difference. This means that the radius bone (the inner arm bone) is longer than my ulna (the outer arm bone). This difference is likely what caused the bone to die as it pushed and crushed the bones in my wrist as it grew.

Dr. P. starts telling me the different stages of the disease. He has listened and exclaimed over my entire medical history with this issue since 2001. He is horrified that no one ever took an X-ray, that no one ever found out what was wrong, and that they lied to me for years and years. His expert medical opinion based on my symptoms, my X-rays and now my MRI results, and a light physical examination, is that I am in stage 3-A. There are 4 stages of the Kienbock's disease. 3-A is pretty bad, but not as bad as 3-B or 4. I'll get more into the actual disease soon, but Dr. P. says he recommends a radial shortening considering my stage and condition.

We tell him we'll think about it, and that we will call when we make our decision. I made the decision that weekend this HAD to be taken care of, but waited a full two weeks to call the office and schedule surgery.

Did the doctor just laugh at me?

There's this super fancy hospital in downtown Heidelberg. If you get off the Strassenbahn (street level train) at Bismarck Platz (where the pedestrian shopping zone is) and turn around, you'd never know the building was a hospital. It looks more like some sort of government building. I never really thought twice about that building, regardless of the fact that my husband and I were always down in Heidelberg doing something or other.

When I received my referral to a specialist, it was bizarre. I first had to go see a regular orthopedist in downtown Mannheim. The doctor's office wasn't like any I'd ever seen before, of course, I was in Germany not America. But, on my high school exchange program, I did visit a local doctor's clinic with my exchange partner - but that's beside the point. Anyway, I always love new experiences in Europe like learning about social customs or local traditions, etc. This was not an experience I was prepared for.

So the doctor's office (like every other office or house in a city setting in Europe) was up behind a storefront building. It was hard to find at first because there was no sign so my husband was merely going off the street addresses. We're both skeptical because once you get behind the building, you have to go up these narrow steps and then it's like you're in some one's backyard garden or something. We enter the building, and head to the second floor like the paperwork we got from our insurance told us to do. Once we get inside the actual office, it's more like ... an office. Nobody's wearing scrubs or coats. There's no check-in desk. There is however, what looks to be a closet with sliding glass doors that are obscured by its bubbled glass. My husband shrugs at me, peeks around a corner and sees a bunch of chairs and heads to do what else? To sleep of course.

I stick my head through these glass doors because really, there is no one else around in this office besides the two women chattering away and clacking at their computer keyboards. I greet them in German; ask if I am in the right place. A young girl, maybe 3 years younger than I am, confirms that I am and I tell her who I am. Then some burly German guy barges in through the doors and starts babbling about an appointment - so I know this must be check-in. It's just bizarre is all. I mean, this room is tiny to say the least, and I stood there for about 10 minutes filling out paperwork in German and answering a bunch of questions in German.

When the girl has finished my paperwork, I go to wait for my "Termin", my new word for my appointment. I apparently used the wrong word when I was making conversation but I'm used to German nuances for the most part - you know, being corrected in the middle of a sentence or conversation as if what you were trying to say depended on it - even when you don't ask or want to be corrected. Yeah.

Anyway, we must have waited almost an hour which is rather unusual for Germans who are known for their impeccable punctuality and timeliness. We are escorted to an examination room, and it too, is a closet. Literally. I mean, the one wall was full of cabinets with labels on each door and drawer, and the on the other wall was an exam table that I was sitting on - my knees were almost touching the cabinets. My husband could barely fit in this room - he's a big guy, over 6 feet tall with really broad shoulders and he was uncomfortable.

So, when the doctor comes in, he starts speaking English automatically. It annoys me when Germans do this. Their practicing English is WAY more important than your learning German. But, I suppose I can understand that medical issues and expressions are not commonly learned so perhaps it wasn't rude, just politely convenient? Anyways, it doesn't matter because I can't say "dead wrist bone" in German anyhow. So I tell the doctor what I was told by Dr. R. He doesn't understand what I am talking about, so I hand over a CD with my X-ray images and tell him that they took them just a few weeks ago.

After disappearing for a few minutes, and reappearing, he hands me the disc back and says there's nothing he can do for me. I say "what?" He laughs at me. "I don't know why your doctor sent you here."

Am I missing something? Did the doctor just laugh at me?

He explains that at his clinic, unlike in American orthopedic clinics, they merely do diagnosis, and minor treatment like casts and splints. We're talking these people only deal with regular old broken bones and sprains. Great, right? He wants to know why I am there. I tell him this is where my doctor sent me to get treatment. So, he thinks a moment and says he has a friend who is a specialist in hands who works in Heidelberg. He gives me the name of the clinic and our appointment is over.

After a rather harrowing experience waiting to get clearance to go see this specialist in Heidelberg, we are happy and have an appointment for the fall of 2009. I spent hours on the hospital's website reading about the doctors, the clinics, the famous patients from all over the world. Steffi Graf was a patient there. Rich business men from Russia come all the way to Germany to be seen by these doctors. I haven't even been to this place, don't even realize I've seen this place, and I like it tremendously. Little did I know it's that big building downtown in an area I know well and love.

The lake's significance ...

Summer of 2009 was going great. My husband and I had been married for 6 years, were living our dream in a small mountainside wine village in Germany, and had the most beautiful house and smartest dog. Things were great.

Or were they?

I had been going back to school for a year that June. I was taking a U.S. History and an ethics class. It was going superbly as I was on the Dean's List, and doing extremely well with an almost perfect GPA. So, of course my husband wanted to distract me on a beautiful summer day by stating "We're going to the lake."

There's this little man-made lake in the mountains behind our house that we had discovered the summer before, and were frequenting weekly the summer of 2009. It may have taken 40 minutes to get there on one lane roads, but it was well worth the beautiful trip through the mountain country. We even had "dream" houses picked out along the way. Mine was a run down, mid-eighteenth century farm house that was overgrown near the famous Siegfried fountain (Wagner's Der Ring Das Nibelungen). My husband's was a modern marvel seated precariously on the side of a mountain that overlooked a valley that was regularly full of cows with tinkling bells.

I distinctly remember this particular trip to the lake in June because we took our dog, and I took my school books to study. It had been a good beginning to summer. Not too hot, beautiful blue skies almost every day, and little humidity. We got there and spread our blanket out on a little hill in front of the only dock on the lake. My husband threw the dog's ball for him, and I lay down to read my texts.

We'd been there maybe an hour when it clouded over where we were laying. I kept my sunglasses on though, and kept reading and highlighting, commenting now and then about Andrew Carnegie and the Triangle Shirtwaist fire. My husband had come to lay next to me and was munching out of a tub of grilled chicken strips and drinking a Capri-Sonne (Capri-Sun to you American folk).

I can remember what exactly prompted it, but I was hit by repeated blows of crushing pain in my right hand and arm. This was not unfamiliar; I'd been experiencing these types of pains for years, since approximately 2001 when I had a rather terrifying football accident. And yes, I know, girls don't play football for a reason. Don't remind me...

My husband, the dear that he is, gives me his typical helpless, concerned look and tries to console me. "Are you okay?" "Is there anything I can do?" Knowing both the answers every time he asks ... he still asks. He's scared. He's been scared since he met me and we started seriously dating because he was there for some of the worst experiences I've had.

We start to talk about needing to go back to the doctor, debating whether or not it's a good idea. We've been married 6 years and have seen twice as many doctors as years we've been married by now. He tells me I should go. I insist that if I go, we will never do another nerve test because it's not my nerves. He agrees. I say, in all these years, they have never once taken an X-ray. I say I am going to demand an X-Ray. He agrees.

We left the lake that day satisfied with the conclusion that we refused to put up with shoddy medical treatment or advice any longer. It was time we discovered that it wasn't all in my head.