The Tao Of Spider

I lay here in bed after a long day of healing, in the pitch dark save the bedside lamp that emits light about as appropriate as a single tea-light candle. The mood is perfect for contemplation. The Shins hum somewhere in the distance. One thing that bed rest supplies you full of is a good sense of self-reflection and self-conversation.

As I gaze upward towards where I wish the stars would be, my eyes innately trail the only moving feature in their view. It's the eyes job to do such a thing, a natural defense from being poked out, I suppose. That feature just so happens to be a faint little spider making his way across my ceiling. Ewww... you say. Fascinating... I say.

This spider, no larger than a pencil eraser, attempts his journey with such intent and purpose. I admire that, all the well knowing that this little creature has about as much of a brain as my little finger does... maybe less.

He stops momentarily. For what? To reroute? To flee? To buy his girlfriend flowers?

This absolutely seemingly meaningless venture proves to me that we all have natural needs and desires to meet, whether we have a brain large enough to perceive them or not. I seem to think that I know what I want and what I need, but deep down there is a smarter me that is making all of the right decisions, even when not so transparent decisions are seen to be made.

There are so many moments where I feel defeated, like my life is stuck, at a standstill, a standoff. Who's going to pull the trigger first? But, in actuality, my life continues just as before, just as always. There is no moment that the little spider doesn't PHHHHTTT PHHHHTTTT PHHHHHHT his 4-sets of legs with purpose. Same with me. Just because my life is proceeding in a sub-ordinary fashion to all current witnesses, doesn't mean for a second that it is all for loss.

I am no less here now than I was two months ago, or two months from now for that matter. And as long as I remain alongside that little spider, my wheels will continue to spin in one way or another and life will, once again, surprise me.

Back To The Place Where It All Began

Just as I was starting to get the pull of insanity of my forced home-stay, a hidden blessing shot me like a arrow to the butt.

Thursday night a coworker of mine came up to my house to deliver food and visit. On her departure, she gave me a hug to remind me that everything was going to be okay. The hug helped. The one thing that she noticed, however, was that I was warm to the touch. Once she left I took my temperature and it was 101.8! HOW??? The only remedy I could muster was to get some rest.

The next morning, before my routine morning protein shake I made it a priority to check my temperature again, first thing. My temperature was 97.1. PHEW!!!

Now here's where it all goes
D
O
W
N
hill...

I had a scheduled doctor's appointment later that day to check on the progress of my healing wound and my overall health. Wouldn't you know? My fever was back, and in the fiercest of manners. Immediately thoughts go to my wound. The surgeon checked it out and scratched his head in the utmost of confusion. The would actually looked okay. So where was the cause to this temporal immune response hiding its very unwanted little self?

After urine test and blood test and chest x-ray there was little relief to this little game of hide-and-seek. From there I was sent to another clinic to get a CAT scan to check for possible internal infections. There the culprit was found. The scan showed small pockets of fluid, abscesses, that were invading my pelvic bone.

Immediately, as immediate as hospital time ever is, I was admitted (or readmitted, rather) to the hospital that I left only 6 short weeks ago. Test after test after poke after prod leave the consensus to be a potential residual infection in my pelvic bone.

Luckily for me, I didn't need to go back to the operating room. I was so fearful, having nightmares even, thinking I was going to have yet ANOTHER wound to heal. I also had a brief, yet horrific, image of having my entire pelvis removed. Is that even possible?

After it was all said and done I left the hospital feeling renewed. I guess there really is a reason for everything. I had become so antsy with my healing and so obsessed with time and the fact that TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS. Time was certainly not healing my wound fast enough. I dreamed of tomorrow and made plans for the future-- all of this being extremely unhealthy for me. My short outings with the rest of the world slowly turned into resentment holidays. I hated those people on there bicycles and running down paved trails. This person was not me. I could feel it, but I didn't feel like I could do anything to help it...

UNTIL, a twist of fate ended me back in the place that this all started. I guess I needed a reminder of how far I have come already and another reminder of how I am so blessed that it could be so much worse.

So, with my new perspective in one hand and my old optimism in the other, I prepare to skip down the road of life and towards whatever lies ahead for me... with a smile, of course.

Top 10 Things That Make You Feel Better

1. Frozen meals prepared with love by co-workers and parents of students alike.
2. Phone calls to friends who put their agendas away to find out about your healing progress.
3. Spider Solitaire.
4. Getting enough sleep... 5 hours per night is never going to cut it again.
5. Craft projects and pretty paper.
6. White chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.
7. Knowing that patience truly is a virtue; that is attainable.
8. Really, really hot showers.
9. The motivation that everything is going to be illuminated on the other side of this all.
10. Realizing that the sun rises and sets every single day and so should I.

Each Day Is A New Day

My body is healing itself, yet at a slow and steady pace. In truth, I prefer the tortoise to the hare-- for the tortoise at least has a protective shell to keep him safe. Healing has begun and will continue. It is pretty remarkable that your body is capable of so much. There is no machine or procedure that can replicate that of your body's own healing processes.

I am still on bed rest, but my spirits are high. I have finally found the time to finish that book that I was really missing, to watch the movies that I hadn't even taken the wrapping off of, and to navigate my brain a bit in between.

I have to remind myself, however, at times that every day is a little bit better than the last. This sort of mantra came about last weekend when I was left without power for about 30 hours. It was very quiet and I became very skilled at starting fires-- normally, this probably would have been quite the welcomed accidental retreat. This time was different though. Any time I have something wrong with me medically, I become a worrier, full of anxiety and fear. This weekend was not so much as the retreat that it could have been. I worried constantly about my wound and the correct care for it. My home-healthcare nurse was stranded at her home in Evergreen with a tree landing on her roof. It was definitely trying, but I think that it reminded me that everyday is a new day. Everyday I am one step closer to being healed. Everyday I am stronger and wiser.

I remember back to the last sore that I had that put me out for 3 months. It's funny, really, because I don't remember the actual days of bed rest or pain... I just remember the feeling of getting out of the hospital and how wondrous the world had suddenly become. I am very much looking forward to that again. I can already sense signs of it: the warmth of sunshine on your skin, listening to a car radio, testing out a new restaurant, hearing the sound of people laughing in a crowd. These are all things that I miss, but for some reason or another, I've been reminded of them all.

The Healing Begins

I've now had a week to get acclimated and figure out what my bedrested life is going to look like. My guess is, it will be fairly reminiscent of a teenage boy's typical everyday, minus the sports. My life pretty much consists of sleep, eat, and TV right now.

It is the strangest thing to be acting so lazy. My brain feels like I stayed home sick for the week, but my body knows the difference. I need my brain to continue to feel like I am sick so that I don't go completely nuts. As long as I am "sick," I will be able to comprehend the immobility and lack of social progress.

The strangeness continues, feeling almost 100% better. The only reminder of my infection and sepsis is feeling tired. Most of my body's metabolic jobs are going towards healing this wound; therefore, leaving little room for athletic energy or self-motivated fixing-things-around-the-house energy. So far, my body is requiring about 10 hours of sleep a night, my wheelchair is too heavy anymore, and it takes double the time to do just about any task.

My body is also requiring a lot of protein, which (I guess) I don't typically get enough of. I am not a vegetarian; however, I could be one very easily. I don't really like meat, but usually eat it to get a few extra nutrients throughout my week. With my wound sucking all the nutrient life out of me, it is important to get an adequate amount of protein: A) so that if it is part of the sucked matter, then so be it-- I have more where that came from, and B) that the required rebuilding and repair can take place. It is protein's claim-to-fame to be such a natural at building and repairing tissue. My body now requires about double the amount of protein as before. That's a lot of tuna in a can for me.

I suppose that when it all comes down to it, life is about reflecting and paying attention to you and your surroundings. I am assuming that these were things that I was not doing well at the time of my infection. Apparently someone, somewhere needed me to slow down and open my eyes. I am taking this bedrest vacation as a time for much of those things that become neglected when life moves at the rate of a tornado.

Keeping positivity on the matter, I will be able to heal quicker and with the least amount of resistance. I had my first outpatient doctor's appointment last Wednesday. My doc, Dr. Schreffler, commented that my would was healing very well so far. In fact, he said that it was almost half of it's original size already! If my body is capable of continuing on with such a rate, my body could be healed within the next 3 weeks or so. However, if healing plateaus, even just for a little bit, healing time could be anywhere from 1 month to 3 months.

I am remaining positive and fueling my body with the nutrients and love it needs. I am trying very hard to not riddicule my wound or butt or anything in that direction. I have stopped refering to my wound as stupid, gross, or lame. I need to embrace the thing in order for my body to willingly repair it, right?

As the healing in my body continues, I look for ways to keep my brain occupied and ways for enlightenment of the situation to occur. There is one thing that is for sure, I will do anything to make certain that this whole experience-- when said and done-- is successful and meaningful in making me a better, more well-rounded citizen of the world. That's what is important.

The Wound

The snow is falling, yet again. Daytime television is for the birds. Sponge baths are losing their luster. I am beginning my second week in the hospital.

It isn't so bad. I feel as though I am getting the most optimal care at all ends. After 2 surgeries, my infection is close to defeated; leaving a deep hole in its place. Surgeons had to physically remove the infection, taking out dead tissue and leaving a fairly substantial wound in its place.

The battle with the wound is where I sit now. It is now my body's job to repair the disaster that the infection has created. I am really hoping that my body is up to the challenge, because there is a lot of healing required.

I do what I can to aid in the process: intaking loads of protein and pretending that I like meat, staying off of the wound to give it the best environment to heal, and resting my body and attempting the same with my brain.

It is scary to be set back by such a wound... truthfully my life has stopped and will be on hiatus until the wound is gone. This little thing is full of power and control. My every move will be devoted and dedicated to the little wound until it ceases to be a part of me.

Perhaps I will be able to take some time of good reflection and care for myself during this wound vacation. I am going to, absolutely, try to make the most of my life on hold.

A Setback In the Backside

In my laundry list of things that I wanted and anticipated through my stem cell journeys, there was something extremely important that I have forgotten about... my butt!

Now please allow me to elaborate:
Any person that spends their days in a wheelchair has to be constantly shifting their weight around in sort of an obsessive dance with time. This is to limit the amount of pressure that an area endures over the course of each day. Worse case scenario, the tissue underneath the skin under pressure will begin to break down, causing what is known as a bedsore, skin sore, pressure sore, skin ulcer, decubitis ulcer, and a regular ol' pain in the butt.

Because this is of constant concern for me, it is surprising that this is the first time that I have considered adding it to my Stem Cell To-Do List. A few years back, I had one of those pains-in-the-butts to the point where I had to withdraw from all of my college courses, lay with strict orders of flat bed rest for 5 weeks, endure plastic surgery to conceal the wound, and ultimately spend 3 months in the hospital. I swore that I would never let it happen again.

And, somehow, I find myself here in room 455, the proud new owner of IV antibiotics and an unlimited number of rides on my air-pumped hospital bed. I know, I know... I promised. I am not quite sure what happened really.

The long and short of it is that it began last Monday as a terrible case of the "flu". Isn't it always the poor, defenseless influenza virus that gets the blame? By Tuesday afternoon, with a heart pulsing so obviously trying to tell me something and a fever that actually required Tylenol, I knew that something was not quite right. However, it wasn't until Wednesday that I actually had the self-diagnosis, followed closely by the medical thing, of Cellulitis-- a general word for an infection in tissue under the skin. By Thursday, I was anxiously waiting for some relief, but when I wasn't satisfied, I headed back for another evaluation. It wasn't until Friday that I actually took a day off from teaching (which I realize is probably why it got so bad in the first place). I rested all day long and, as sands in an hour glass, watched my body continue to swell. Saturday brought about a trip to Urgent Care, followed closely by a trip to the hospital, which is where I currently reside.

The prognosis is good and I am finally catching up with rest and catching up with myself.

As for those little savior stem cells, I know realize how important it would be to either: A) have feeling in my bootie simply to let me know that "ouch!" there's something wrong, or B) put a little junk in my trunk-- otherwise known as increased motor function to help build up overall muscle mass.

That will be my new goal, for sure.