Thinking Too Much

I have a problem I think may have to do with my head injury, but it may not, and it manifests itself when I travel to visit my grown children. They live in Idaho, and I visit as often as I can, but I always come away sad. I am sad because:

1. I will not see them anytime soon
2. I know I have forgotten to say the important things I wanted to say face to face

I am afraid they're saying THANK GAWD they're gone! The only reason that makes any sense, is number 1.

Those who have suffered a severe TBI, like I did in 1991, are said to have low self esteem, and suffer more from depression. I am not the exception. There is no perfect visit between 2nd grown children, their mother, and a fairly new step-dad. But, I have to strive for it, so I end up trying too hard. My brain is on overload.

My new husband is not so new anymore, and as many times as my kids hug him, or say they like him, it is an awkward situation we all pretend is not difficult. He's not their dad, and don't know their oddities; what makes each kid tick. He's learning, but it's a process that likely will never end, as we live in different states

The kids want me to choose activities and restaurants, because, as they say, We live here! We can do that, or go there anytime! But I just want everyone to be happy, and want them to decide. I guess if they picked a place and were unhappy it would be their fault, then, and I'd be off the hook.

I also suffer from an enormous amount of guilt. I feel guilty for:

1. being the cause of my TBI
2. acting odd because of my TBI
3. leaving my grown kids in Boise to return to Kalispell

None of the reason I have for feeling guilty are valid, I know this. But, I cannot stop myself, so I write about my feelings, to better talk myself through unpleasant thoughts.

Oh, I almost forgot. I also feel responsible for my mother's happiness (She is frail and lives across the street, and has just returned from visiting siblings in Oregon.) So, I have issues, but isn't it super that I realize they're there? I think so, and, I am going to try my best to remain as happy and stress free as I felt when she was away; to care for myself as well as her.

My best is all I can do.

My Mother

I love my mother, of course. She is the reason I am here; on this planet, on this continent, and even why, to some extent, I'm back in Montana. It wasn't the only reason, but I came home to help my sister care for my mom as she aged. My sister works hard, but my job is only 6 weeks in the Fall, and again in the Spring, when I coach middle school athletes. And even then, it is only a couple of hours a day and a few hours for meets once a week.

As mom's physical issues grew, we moved her from her place downtown, to a home across the street from mine. But since neither my mom, myself, or my sister have gone through the aging process we are all just novices at this. Not long ago mom actually said to me that getting old had never been anticipated. I guess she knew people who remained spry till the end of life, or maybe difficulties were never made public. I think theirs was a very private generation.

She is no longer driving, and that fact, itself, is the reason she claims to have no life. She has always had a very hard time asking for help, from anyone, therefore she would never consider imposing on her friends for a trip to the store, for lunch, or even just company. Therefor I am her means toward happiness. I certainly don't mind, most of the time, as we quite often have a very nice time together, even if things don't happen as planned. We went to Bigfork for lunch yesterday, only to find that the town was closed. We were able to find a place for lunch, but her chicken noodle soup arrived scarce of noodles, and my grilled ham and cheese, showed up disguised as a cold ham sandwich dressed with mustard.

The fact that it was not grilled, could be dealt with, the mustard however was something entirely different. As a child, I consumed an entire bottle of orange baby aspirin. Our family doctor lived just down the block. He advised mom to give me warm water and mustard to induce vomiting, thus eliminating a trip to the office to have my stomach pumped. The recipe was a winner, but mustard is now at the top of my do not eat list.

This is where my TBI comes into play. I was not willing to tell the waitress what I received, was not what I ordered. You see, I am never entirely sure what has come out of my mouth just moments before. I had asked her about the ham, specifically, but I was not sure if I had actually ordered it grilled with cheese. Mom and I laughed about the entire day going from bad to worse, as I ate the side without condiments; in essence bread, ham and lettuce, and she stirred through her soup in search of the elusive noodle.

Her mother, Vi LaBonty died with the horrible disease Alzheimer's, and my mom watched her slow decline, so I'm sure it has always been in the back of our minds, as a distinct possibility.  Earlier this week she told me, in tears, that she is aware she is sliding down the slippery slope of dementia, or possibly Alzheimer's. Well, I am somewhat relieved because it's now out in the open, but I'm more certain that ever the hardest times are still ahead of us.

After more than a year of actually filling the caregiver role with my mom, I have composed a list of expectations relevant to her care, in order for her to remain as happy as possible.

• Address medical concerns as soon as possible, but then forget about them and continue as if they never occurred.
• Make sure all household maintenance items are attended to quickly, and seamlessly.
• Always have on hand the following: 
• bottle of wine
• Winston red pack cigs
• tapioca pudding, cookies, and individual servings of orange juice 
• Make time to just sit and be with her, sharing her wine.
• Listen to her stories, even if you have heard them, and even if you doubt the validity.
• Favorite activities include: 
• meals out, but no fast food
• shopping for herself
• shopping for whoever she is with

Today is my birthday, so we are going to Target, and to lunch! Hope it's not closed!

I Coach Kids

My TBI occurred just as I got my California teaching credential. Disability payments came in for some years before I began to substitute teach, and then was hired to teach in my own classroom. As they say, I worked back into being employable. I began teaching in Boise, Idaho after many years of substitute teaching, but before No because he was a lover of track and field, and saw potential in a one time national class athlete who had been stripped of her physical prowess in a car crash, but was willing to work hard to succeed at whatever she attempted.

I worked under him for some years, and did well.  He was a true mentor, and once said he would help me write a book about my journey.  He was also very supportive of my coaching career as I was hired to coach long/triple jumps at the high school close to my elementary school. But, then he resigned to become a minister.

My next principal was married to a high school administrator who had been a Canadian national class triple jumper, so I assumed she would be supportive of my coaching as well.  But, Idaho 5th and 6th graders run track, in an after school program, and I think the principal had me pegged as our elementary school track coach.

After her 1st year at my school, she asked if I was going to help out, again, with the high school track team that spring, or if I would coach our school's team? I answered, You know, I can teach academics to 5th graders, but I have no experience coaching them. And, I don't just help out at the high school, I am a paid coach. I went on to explain I was going to coach hurdles that year. Hurdling is a complex event most no nothing about, but I had run the event in 2 Olympic Trials, AND had coaching experience. My comments fell on deaf ears; it was not what she was hoping to hear, and she was not happy.

I moved back home to Kalispell, a few years later, and began coaching middle school cross country, and then basketball, and finally was hired to coach hurdles. We're now in week 3 of our short track season, and I am working with the kids who want to be hurdlers. I am happy.  We start with more than 100 athletes and they rotate from event to event, trying everything. In essence, I have 3 large groups of athletes for 20 minutes at a time, and need to teach the basics of hurdling so that they can decide if it's something they'd like to pursue.

Everyone who has ever coached knows that your gifted athlete is not always the kid who wants to work hard, and that those who want it most, and are willing to do anything it takes, may have very little innate athletic ability. I add to that, the fact that I coach cross country, and know that many of my hurdlers will actually be more adept at running distance. So coaching can be tricky.

My method is to take them all, encourage anyone who is willing to listen to me and attempt to do what I ask of them, my way. To the kid that says, Oh, I do it this way, because it's easier. I simply say, That's the wrong way, and if you don't want to try to do it right, you can find another event.
I haven't had to say that in a long time, though.

I have been at the middle school long enough to have coached some kids four seasons, in total; 2 cross country (in the fall) and 2 track (spring) seasons. Of course, I come to love some of those kids, but I must admit there are 1st days of practice when I say to myself, and perhaps other coaches, Hasn't he/she moved on to Flathead/Glacier yet? He/She can't STILL be here! Those are when I am glad I only have them 7th and 8th grade. But more often, I find myself wishing I had them longer.

And when they are with me they are my hurdlers. After they go on to high school, I watch the Interlake for track results to see if they continued, and whether or not they are improving, and all I can hope for is that they are still having fun, and their coaches see a love for track I hope I helped develop.

Untangling Me

Don't know if I've talked about my new obsession. It started with drawing. Mom is an accomplished painter so she provided me with more than a few spiral bound sketch pads, some pencils and a couple of cool erasers. Coincidentally, Dan's dad Dick, was also an artist. Using some of Dick's vintage how-to art books, I started doing some stuff.  At the start, mom was in a treatment facility because of her broken hip, and later was in another for the compression fracture in her low back.  I didn't want her to be alone, and I wasn't working, so I spent hours, next to her bed, drawing. 

Drawing was the farthest thing from my mind during my TBI recovery. Therapists began teaching me to write left handed, before my release from the hospital, but a friend's young son suggested I try with my right (I had been right handed.) I did, and was able to write lists, sign my name etc. I've used my compromised right hand, to write, for years, but I most often keyboard. To type, I use my entire left hand, then hunt and peck with my claw (right hand.) I refer to it as my claw because it will hold on to anything in it's grip, forever.  I have to make a very conscious decision to release what's there. So, yes, my right hand works but not quite right. 

The question was, then, could I draw?  Well, I tried many different styles, and after more than a year of drawing A LOT, I've learned that I really just love doodling.  Zentangle, to be more exact. The Zentangle result is an abstract drawing that uses repeated patterns, and the Zentangle Method is actually trademarked. It uses 3.5 in square white squares, called tiles, and the drawing is done in black ink. 

In the beginning, I knew nothing about Zentangle, but now I know that it was intended to make the act of drawing pleasing, and meditative. That's exactly how it works for me. To start, I copied some of the drawings pinned on Pinterest. 

Wikipedia calls Pinterest a personalized media platform (it's on the internet) where, after registration, users can upload, save sort and manage images - known as pins. I think of them as a bunch of ideas of things to try to make, images I enjoy, and items I call an if-$-was-not-an issue want.

I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing a lot of it. I still was practicing real drawing with a pencil and eraser, but to relax, I would fall back into doodling.

Sometimes I am just learning a new pattern, but I incorporate it into some large space I'm filling.  Dan will peer over my shoulder, chuckling, Wow, now that's a lot of things!  Other times, I am filling in the outline of an object, and I try to somehow match the patterns to the object.  I've come to realize I'm doing some strange variation of Zentangle; I don't create 3.5 inch squares (tiles) and I use a lot of color.  

The color comes from markers. I use to swear the best marker was the Flair, but as soon as I saw they ran/smeared when another marker was used over it, I moved to the Sharpie. Sharpies come in different sizes which was helpful, and many colors so I became a Sharpi-o-holic. Then there is the fact that I love a bargain, so my marker collection includes many pens I have found on clearance racks. 

I don't like to erase, so most of the time I just grab a marker and go, and on most actual drawings, I try to incorporate some doodling. We now have the answer to my question:  Yes, I can draw.

Now the question is, WHY can I? I can't comb my hair, my hand is stiff and much of the time uncooperative (large motor skills = not good.) It actually feels like it is part way asleep; kind of numb.


And finally, WHY do I do it? I do it for myself.  I do it to relax.  And, yes, it is almost meditative.






  

Silver Sneakers

The 1st time I saw anybody involved in a Silver Sneakers class was when mom was in Heritage Place in the transition unit. She had a compression fracture in her lower spine. And a gnarly, plastic, turtle shell-type back brace had been fashioned for her tiny bird-like body.  She exercised with a physical therapist every day but was not in the shape necessary for Silver Sneakers.  But when I saw the group of older people exercising in a group setting there, with someone facilitating the class, I was impressed.  I thought to myself, Wow, even an accident prone, head injured, over 50 could do that! It gave me something to look forward to...when I got older.

Then, after a meal at Sykes (one of our favorite places for a quick meal,) as we paid the bill, I spotted a pamphlet with the heading, Fitness 50 plus. Classes were offered in the basement there, with the tag professional safe exercise for the 50+ older adult.  Not even realizing it was Silver Sneakers, I asked my sister to join me.  We've gone twice a week for a while now, and I really enjoy it.  Wally says she likes it too, but part of me thinks she might be humoring me.  But as long as she shows up, I'll keep on believin'.  

It's a strength and balance class, but Nancy (Mehring) also leads a Zumba Gold class which is a dance-fitness.  I've just come to accept my love of dance, now that I'm old, as well as disabled.  I have absolutely no balance, and only 1/2 my body works at full capacity.  We decided, actually Wally gently suggested, that we try this class before we move to jumping around like fools.

This Friday, however, we're starting an advanced strength and balance class.  We've been told we'll be on our feet moving for 30 minutes straight, with weights and stretchy bands.  I guess we'll put off the dance-type fitness till we see if we can handle this.

Oh, and I had to tell mom, No, we weren't placed in the advanced class because we're all that and a bag-o-chips... we're just silly enough to try it!