SHE DON'T LOOK SICK TO ME!

I remember that day knowing my leg was sore, but I was determined to get that drafting table out of my apartment right away.  The last bolt threatened to drop a BIG piece of wood onto landlord's precious hardwood floor, so I reached way over, and let it down more or less easily.  From then on I could not sleep at night, couldn't even lie still in bed.  I lived on Espresso Pillows candy at work until the specialist's appointment.

The x-ray of my spine was so scary that I couldn't think of a single question to ask.  He made an appointment to give me a saddle block, and an appointment for physical therapy.  I learned what an ice cushion or ice pad is, and how to make friends with one.  I also became  a big fan of Tylenol PM and of walking.  That was more than two years ago. 

My employer was notified that I could only lift eight or ten pounds, and I had some more movement restrictions.  Luckily, I had freedom to alternate sitting and standing. 

My friends learned about my problem.  I learned to yell in my car (with the windows closed of course) at tailgaters crowding my rear bumper and my spine.  My heart skips a beat when little kids play bumper cars with big carts in the grocery store.  When I fell once at work, I thought my heart would stop. 

Then my employer closed the store for good.  I suddenly see a lot of ads for jobs that require more lifting than I can do.  A dear friend and benefactor recommended me for baby-sitting, but I can't lift anybody much older than a newborn.  Breaking up a fight between two dogs bigger than chihuahuas or a fight in a kindergarten classroom is not feasible.  Shipping plumbing and engineering parts is . . .you guessed it.

I can't run for the train nor from a mugger. Even people dancing scare me sometimes.

Is there a good part coming up here?  Let me see: My physical therapy makes me stronger.  Walking in my new neighborhood brings me not just nodding acquaintances, but smiling and greeting ones.  I'm back to writing a lot more about health and exercises.  And I pay a lot more attention to looking healthy even in moments when I don't feel that way.

When I have a minute, I realize how many people I may have driven past or brushed past who look as healthy as I do, but who also have a "hidden" problem that makes them be extra careful. Makes them wish the rest of us would be extra careful, or at least polite.

I'm still learning to ask for help, which is important.  Receiving help is important.  I know who my real friends are.  Do I think this injury was a blessing?  Not so much, no.

THANK YOU, ASHLEY JUDD

Thanks to Ashley Judd for bringing this “look this way or be shunned” movement into the open.  She has done a favor not only for sick women and women with unusual birth anatomy, but for older women everywhere.  Preaching among ourselves about insults and belittling has not worked.  There are some things I believe we should do:

1.       Ready.   Decide for yourself NOW what is not admissible.  Warn your family there may be some changes in TV, subscriptions, and talk around the house.    Or else.

 

2.       Aim.   Contact “Ask a librarian” or whoever we have to contact to get the direct contact names of people who okay derogatory garbage in their programs and periodicals.  Write to where the buck stops (or starts.)   When we write, there is a record of what we asked.

3.        Fire!  Tell this head guy (or gal) what we are going to stop reading and hearing.  Alas, this means I have to be brave and tell my beloved mystery writers I don’t like depicting undesirable people as having wrinkles or anatomy rather like mine, or clothing of types big women can afford.  And then there’s the matter of describing the lady detective as slightly overweight.  Who decides who’s overweight?

Hit Off; hit Delete!   Turn off programs with derogatory messages and don’t let them in our homes.  One incredibly rude and tactless male fashion guru was barred from my living room and my hearing long ago.

 4.   Salute.  Bestow  very public honors and kudos to people like Mimi Melgaard  who made Loretta Devine look like a million bucks in that pink blazer on Gray’s Anatomy.  This is the part we always leave out!  Praising the people who make us like the way we can look regardless of our size or my short legs.

GOODBYE, CRUEL SHOES

No, cruel shoes are not off the market. No, I haven’t found the magic slippers that don’t mess up my feet even more. But there is good news.

The goodbye part is I bought the last cruel shoes on line, and the company paid the postage both ways. They sent me a pickup tag so I didn’t have to stand in line to return them. They sent me the refund faster than a speeding bullet, and were actually interested in hearing why I didn’t like the shoes and what they could do to make working with them more satisfactory. Okay, the company was Zappos. No, I do not get money for saying that.

The bad news is, as you know, a company that sells shoes can’t always influence the company that makes shoes or hires the designer who decides how shoes will look and what shape they are.

The good news is I can try again, and if the shoe doesn’t fit, so to speak, they’ll pick it up and make it go away.  And give me my money back.

WRITING TO SANTA TO GET WHAT KEEPERS NEED

Dear Santa:

Yes, I am still a keeper, despite the recent move to one room.  Even after giving up several rooms of things, my old favorite storage gifts are still my favorites.  In case some other keepers need presents, may I suggest these:

Transparent plastic boxes, the flat ones so I can reach the makeup remover pads or whatever's in the bottom.

Transparent but colored big envelopes.  Blue for my writing samples, clips, and writing I will read aloud when I get brave.  Purple for stuff on fashion.  Other colors for other keepers' needs.

The tiny, transparent chest of drawers for ditsy labels, binder clips, and whatever would get lost in regular drawers.

The big transparent box that slides under the bed. 

(Do you see a trend here in the kind of boxes?)  It killed me to dump the pretty red boxes but I had no idea what was in the them until I moved.  Like my favorites of the photos I took walking Hollywood and walking the beach.

CAUTION:  I bet you already know this, Santa, but I learned the hard way that plastic storage turns white sweaters yellow! 

Happy holidays to you and the four-hoofed folk!
(photo by kflemingdesign)

Writing and Getting the BIG stuff

Right now I'm in a rush situation--life is in upheaval.  One thing helping me is a book my daughter gave me years ago.  

 Write It Down, Make It Happen by Henriette Anne Klauser. 

Her stories made me see that I need to write more and oftener about my current situation, even when I worry about it.  Especially when I worry about it.  I want and need some big things now.   If you do, and if you can lay hands on this book, why not give it a chance?  I wish you good writing.

I'll probably review this more extensively later. 

WHEN WE GET WHAT WE NEED, WE MUST . . .

My little metallic blue space-age flashlight wouldn't light.  I opened it and found something I didn't recognize.  Went to the drugstore where I bought it and asked a smiling, very young cashier what people do with these gadgets. 

She opened it up, discovered that the mystery object was in fact a cartridge that holds three batteries.  I groaned that they're the only kind I didn't have.  She marched over to the battery display that had the AAAs, opened the flashlight, pried out the old batteries and snapped in the new.  Since I tend to put batteries in upside down, I was impressed with her savvy--right side up first time!
I thanked, her.   I paid.

Then I did the next very important thing.  I marched over to the person with the necktie. 

Are you the manager?
"Supervisor."
I told him I absolutely had to have praise for the young cashier put in her file.
He assured me that he always does that, since I'm not the first to see how great she is with customers and with problems.

Moral:  In troubled moments, I should look for somebody who smiles.  THEN look for somebody who can reward the helpful, smiling one.

Just Plain Asking to Get What We Need

The city is doing something to the sewers that involves many holes in the street, many giant yellow machines, and many no-parking signs. Parking was a little tricky before this all started.

I went out one morning and looked around and just grabbed a handful of my hair. The project was underway, vehicles everywhere. I was sure that when I got home from work, there would be no place left to park. The foreman came over and talked with me. He reminded me that I was stressing myself, and also stressing him. I told him about my spine injury and what an adventure it can be to find a parking place or walk home from one on these root-swelled sidewalks. And someone in the crew had gone off with my red cones that keep my sidewalk clear. He sent a man to bring them back.

I finally gave up and went inside.

When I came home from work,amazingly: the yellow machines were parked somewhere out of sight. The place I usually park was not only empty, but the foreman or some dear person had put one of my red cones smack in the middle of it to save it for me! I've never seen him again, and may never get to thank him. The whole thing taught me that if you find the right person (even if you don't know he's the right person)just saying what you need can be enough.