I recently realized that the last few years each held a lesson for me;
2012 was a year of strength. I learned to finally push the boundaries I had put on myself and my legs, I achieved my still-standing half marathon personal record on foot, and finally completed my goal of a marathon. I even turned it to an ultra marathon. I did all this just in time as it was at the end of this year that I lost that physical strength.
2013 was a year of adapting. I held onto the mental strength, which helped push me through getting to the point of using a cane, finding a wheelchair, getting into wheelchair racing, and even degrading to the point of needing crutches. I had to figure how to best get around, go shopping, run errands, continue to be active, all those things I had taken for granted. Every time I left the house, I needed to have a plan. Every time I went somewhere new, I had to ask questions first or be ready to look for those blue signs. And just when I thought I had it all figured out, my world shattered.
2014 was a year of healing. Too many hits took the strength and crippled the confidence I had built in my adaptation. It took many more hits for me to finally stand tall, in defiance to my own views of my world. My reactions. Building my strength began again. Finding more adaptations brought back the confidence full force in participating in new sports and activities. And 2014 ended on a somewhat calm note.
2015 is my choice. And I choose gratitude. I woke up on the first suddenly in a calm state, the chaotic state I had been in for a year was mostly gone. So far I have been relearning how to be a person others want to be around, to spend time with, to talk to, to listen to. And just a few days ago, my goal for the year was summed up for me at a yoga class; we were told gratitude is a valuable tool in that when you are truly grateful, you cannot find yourself lacking.
I truly feel that this is where I have been led. In just the right order.
I built my strength in a familiar capacity so that I knew what it was. I learned to adapt in an entirely new way with all the support I needed behind me. And when my idea of basic foundation blocks were taken away from me one after another, I had to learn how to start over. To look in a new direction. This year, I will put it all together.
I am grateful for the things I have and even for the things I have lost. I hear so many stories of others complaining about doing those things that I now need help with or that I had to figure how to continue to do... the same things that I used to take for granted and will admit to dreading at times. I now look forward doing those things because I still can. I am proud of myself for getting outside for even 20 minutes of activity, however I was able to that day. I am happy to be able to still help others. And I feel that I live life more fully now than I did before.. I live every moment rather than sliding through each experience.
The blessing and the curse of losing mobility due to degradation is losing things a piece at a time rather than all at once. It is a blessing in that I can adapt as I go and hold onto what I can for as long as I can. The curse is in the not knowing; not knowing what the degradation even is, what I will lose next and when, not knowing how to adapt until that moment comes. And that is what makes me most grateful. Each morning I wake up and I can still get out of bed on my own. I am still very independent. I revel in trying new things, meeting new people, and the lessons I learn from both.
So today I am grateful for the things I can still do and for the new things I will learn in the future. I am grateful for those who have shared in my story, even those that were there for a moment, because you all have helped me on my journey. I am grateful that you have read this, and I only hope you take a moment of gratitude for yourself.. make it a habit, and feel free to share if you like!
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Give Blood
I gave blood yesterday and for the first time ever, it made me cry...
I have been donating blood since I was 17 and a blood drive came through my high school my senior year. I would like to say that means I have given quite a bit, but.... I like tattoos. And in the state of California, you have have to wait a year after getting one (I learned at my appointment that you no longer have to wait a year. California is now officially a regulated state, so tattoos are questioned the same as piercings) so whenever I was planning to get a tattoo and I was close to a year, I would wait a bit longer so I could donate at a local blood drive first. Last year, I needed a tattoo and it had become extremely important; it was for my brother and I wanted it before his memorial at the end of January. It somehow snuck in that I had passed a year from my last tattoo and donating blood first was suddenly important to me as well.
In my emotional state, I never thought about what I was doing or why as I sat in that chair with a needle in my arm. I had given blood before. It was just something I did.
Last week, I realized the anniversary of my brother's memorial had just passed, which meant my tattoo was a year old. And I made an appointment at one of the local blood centers. I joked with the woman that was going to be taking care of me while I was there and was able to talk with her a bit more than I'm used to because I was the only one donating at that time.
As with most things about me, my veins are complicated.. they're crooked. So I usually leave it up them which arm to use, but tell them most prefer my right arm, which is where that year old tattoo is.
She asked about the tattoo as she was taping tubes to it. I told her it was for my brother.
And while she was busy getting everything going, I was watching cars move through the parking lot and realized why this was so important. Last year, I think it was a subconscious thought that comforted me; my brother had just been in an accident and even though he didn't make it to a hospital, it made me feel better that I was part of a program that could have helped. Yesterday, there was even more to it; I have met many new friends through the wheelchair division at races and the adaptive sports clinics, and while some have gone into the wheelchair due to health reasons, an increasing number of those I meet were in an accident of some kind. It's one of those things that you know happens, but it doesn't really hit home until it's someone you know... and now I know many.
Donating blood is now personal for me. Rather than just knowing blood saves lives, I now know that blood may have saved someone I know.. or will one day..... or could have helped my brother. And when I got back in my car yesterday, I found that there were tears in my eyes. Happy tears. The kind that come when you feel like you have done something really good for others and, in turn, something good for yourself.
I have been donating blood since I was 17 and a blood drive came through my high school my senior year. I would like to say that means I have given quite a bit, but.... I like tattoos. And in the state of California, you have have to wait a year after getting one (I learned at my appointment that you no longer have to wait a year. California is now officially a regulated state, so tattoos are questioned the same as piercings) so whenever I was planning to get a tattoo and I was close to a year, I would wait a bit longer so I could donate at a local blood drive first. Last year, I needed a tattoo and it had become extremely important; it was for my brother and I wanted it before his memorial at the end of January. It somehow snuck in that I had passed a year from my last tattoo and donating blood first was suddenly important to me as well.
In my emotional state, I never thought about what I was doing or why as I sat in that chair with a needle in my arm. I had given blood before. It was just something I did.
Last week, I realized the anniversary of my brother's memorial had just passed, which meant my tattoo was a year old. And I made an appointment at one of the local blood centers. I joked with the woman that was going to be taking care of me while I was there and was able to talk with her a bit more than I'm used to because I was the only one donating at that time.
As with most things about me, my veins are complicated.. they're crooked. So I usually leave it up them which arm to use, but tell them most prefer my right arm, which is where that year old tattoo is.
She asked about the tattoo as she was taping tubes to it. I told her it was for my brother.
And while she was busy getting everything going, I was watching cars move through the parking lot and realized why this was so important. Last year, I think it was a subconscious thought that comforted me; my brother had just been in an accident and even though he didn't make it to a hospital, it made me feel better that I was part of a program that could have helped. Yesterday, there was even more to it; I have met many new friends through the wheelchair division at races and the adaptive sports clinics, and while some have gone into the wheelchair due to health reasons, an increasing number of those I meet were in an accident of some kind. It's one of those things that you know happens, but it doesn't really hit home until it's someone you know... and now I know many.
Donating blood is now personal for me. Rather than just knowing blood saves lives, I now know that blood may have saved someone I know.. or will one day..... or could have helped my brother. And when I got back in my car yesterday, I found that there were tears in my eyes. Happy tears. The kind that come when you feel like you have done something really good for others and, in turn, something good for yourself.
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