Random Thoughts

I sometimes think the effect of my TBI mirrors ADHD.  I was in education for quite a while, and subject to many children, both medicated and not, who suffered from ADHD so I know exactly what it looks like; a child can be questioning, how do I...? and then the subject changes entirely to, Did you know my little brother is trying to teach himself to burp the alphabet?  It seems I have the same randomness. Here are some of those moments:

• My oldest sister hand made me a beautiful quilt that I took to college, and because I washed and dried it so much it literally disintegrated.  My sister-in-law did the exact same thing after my accident.  The quilts, in my mind, were almost identical!  I am washing the one that's still alive less, and I only dry it part way, and then drape it over a chair to finish the process.  Still, I wonder, are the quilts really so much alike or is that my mind playing tricks?
• The best time to play Fox & Geese is after it snows because there needs to be a very evident trail that the geese must stay on as the fox chase them.  As a child we played at night, mostly, and my oldest brother always created the trail stomping an erratic path in the snow.
• I asked my husband to bring a lawn chair from the garage, to our patio.  It has a foot rest that pops out and is really comfy, and I was thinking I could read my Kindle out there.  But then I remembered it had snowed another 3 inches last night, and that I live in Montana.  I guess I'll have to wait.
• It amazes me that a simple smell can bring back childhood memories.  When I smelled the smoke I did, (smoke has so many different odors,) my thoughts were only of 5th Ave East; the burn barrel, in the back yard.  That's where we burned all our household refuse.  Can you believe that was allowed?
• My son's dog, Dante, has a wandering eye.  He and his gal Brittany say the eye is wonky, and often times just call the dog Wonk.  My left eye wanders too; it doesn't appear to be looking straight when my other eye is. So, maybe I should change the way I refer to my that eye.  But, then I think, it's not just the eye, my whole right hemisphere is compromised.  And then I say to myself Compromised is a cool word too!  But back to wonky. From this time forward, my compromised right hemisphere will be referred to as being wonky.  That is, if I remember.

The Memory Issue

I've just returned from Target, very disappointed.  The $50 gift card, my loving son gave to me for Christmas, was burning a hole in the proverbial pocket.  I looked, and browsed, and looked some more and I ended up leaving having spent only $1.89 on a pop, and a Christmas ornament marked 90% off.

A list of the things I might need does not hang on an bulletin board in the enterance to my brain.  I laugh when I think of the contents of my brain scattered about my home.  Actual thoughts, ideas, needs, and wants draped over pieces of furniture, hanging out of open drawers, laying quietly on the garage floor, waiting to be retrieved.  With actual objects, I'm a fairly organized individual.  But, I need to beable to see and touch and feel the things I'm organizing.  Unless I have something written down, it's lost to me.

And even if it's written down, there's a good chance I'll forget to look where it is written!


Early on, I figured I could keep track of all the notes I wrote myself in one place.  I wrote all of my notes to myself, no matter what they were about, in a small notebook.  That little book was always kept in one of two places; in my purse, or on the kitchen counter, by my calendar.

That worked...for awhile, but then I forgot the plan.

Efficient Paths

For Christmas, my brother sent me @xkcd, volume 0  (an online comic book) and when I ran across this, I knew I had to share!

I especially like how I can say I do the very same thing he does!  He describes himself as an awkward science nerd, but I'd like to point one thing out.  At one time, he was a NASA physicist. 

I've talked about how I limp, or the hitch-in-my-get-along.  I use the word hobble to describe my mobility. But I had an  acquaintance once cringe at that word, telling me I was degrading myself by speaking that way.  My response? Oh, well.

Why this comic?  Because, like I said earlier, I do the same thing, ALWAYS! Not only do I hobble, my balance is also way out of whack.  And, you know the cliche: If I had a nickle for every time I've fallen, I'd be rich!  Well, maybe I haven't fallen that much, but after the first thousand or so times, even my children's concern for me diminished.

Suffice it to say, I don't like to be on my feet!  Therefore, the shortest route between where I'm at, and where I need to be, is always foremost in my mind. When I'm on my feet, my primary concern is always what's the shortest route?Even in my own house, I consider the routes available.  The shortest distance between my car, or where I'm sitting, and anywhere I habitually wander, is cemented in my brain.  
I take that back, I never just wander.

Swimming, it Isn't

I love the water, but I can't swim.  Very much like I can't run.  Let's talk more about my lost motor skills.  Upon arrival into the waking world, my physical therapist started by teaching me how to sit up.  I lost virtually all the motor skills on my right side.  I think it's called hemi-paresis, anyway, I had it. Early in my rehab I was put into a pool, at least that's how I remember it.  The timeline in my head may, or may not, be correct; remember memory is an issue.  

The pool was nice, I felt unencumbered, and semi-mobile.  Most of my rehab was done on ground, however, and was very intense.  An athletic background helped me just work and not think Why do I have to do this? Or This is hard, can't I take a nap?  And, I really couldn't say anything, because my jaw was broken and had been wired shut.  

Let's get back to what I actually do in water, if I can't swim. The pool I exercise in is on the far edge of town. Maybe that's why there is never a huge crowd of hot, lean, fit babes or excessively attractive, muscle bound, beefy men.  So I don't have to hobble through those types on my way to the pool.  And the pool itself is usually empty. If not, the people in the water are usually physically compromised like me.  It seems the gym/pool is paired up with a physical therapist's practice. Misery might love company, but comparing physical hardships with strangers lost its appeal a log time ago. 

Bottom line: I like to flail about in the water, in the name of exercise, alone. My routine includes:

• variations on form running drills my cross country/track athletes begin practices with, but while holding foam dumbbells
• weird stretches on a long bench that runs the length of the pool
• more weird stretches on the stairs/hand rail leading into the pool 
• even more weird stretches on the latter in the deep end
• water aerobic exercises I remember from classes in Lynden, and Boise
• survival-type swimming on my back, kicking the length of pool, hands at my side

And when I'm not exercising in the pool, I simply enjoy being in the water. Here I am in Lake McDonald, located in Glacier Park, which is in my backyard!

• 

Hitch in My Get-Along and Swimming

I remember when my ex and I lived in Spokane, the valley. One brutally cold night we decided to go for a run. What were we thinking? Oh, that's right, we were young.  The route we chose to run was a little-travelled-country-type road, and the night sky was crystal clear.  The heavens were chock-full of stars and, it was as if the silence had wrapped us safely in its cloak. 

Interesting. Of all the thoughts in my damaged brain, that's what shows itself! I don't remember being miserable, or how long we ran, or what we talked about. But the image of that cold sky, and the silence is what stuck.

Swimming has never been a favorite, maybe because I had so little body fat, floating wasn't easy. More about swimming, and why I now love it, later. 

Now, I have mobility issues: a hitch in my get-along. Everything seems to be able to do what is suppose to do, but there is a disconnect between my brain and Everything, so the job is compromised.

The job: Getting me from here to there, on my feet. I can only walk absolutely correct for not so many steps. Therefore, I limp and, try as I might, I can't NOT LIMP!  So, if walking is difficult, what are the chances that I can run?  

I cannot run.  Soon after my TBI, I thought that, over time, the kinks might smooth out.  Eventually, I thought, I'd be able to, at least, jog!  I always hated distance work.  To me that meant anything longer than 1/4 mile! But, there I was, working towards distance work!

But, time didn't help the disconnect, and I never have been able to run.  Sad.

Water arobics is how I started to love swimming,  and I realized how much I loved being in the water; period!

Happy.  Swimming is so dang cool because: 

1. I can't fall down 
2. I don't over heat
3. Our best friend lives on Flathead lake
4. The Noodle was invented