four years . . .

 . . . ago, today, I said to my Mom, "Mom, if he didn't come in for dinner, he is out on the land somewhere hurt." He was.

Gospel according to Chickadee

Chickadee is working on her AWANA verse:

John 3:16

For God so loved the world he gave his one and only Son whoever believes in him will not paralyze but have eternal life.

So, I wonder if she thinks her Grandpa was lacking in the belief department.


:: one year ago today: school updates

socks

I spent the day at an English Department retreat which was focused on communication; we were asked to reflect on a challenging experience in which communication, or the lack thereof, played a part. Then, naturally, we were asked to write for awhile. Here is what I wrote:

While loading Dad for Life Flight I noticed his feet sticking out of the bear-hugger device used to stabilize his body temp.
"Is the helicopter cold?" I ask.
"Yes."
"He needs socks - his feet are always cold."
Blank stares.
"Can't we get some socks?"
Socks are fetched and I start to put them on. Seven to eight paramedics and nurses watch. I get one sock on. I pull a bit of ivy out from between his toes. I am clumsy as I put them on as Dad doesn't point his toes to help me. I get the second sock on and pat his toes. "There, his feet won't be cold."
They are all gazing at me.

Then I realize what they all realized at the start. What they had been not saying while the socks were fetched, while they had watched me fumble with putting the socks on. What I was still trying to not know. He's paralyzed. It doesn't matter if his feet are cold. He'll never feel his cold feet again.

paraplegia, grief

what not to say

Shannon, over at Rocks in my Dryer, is running a What I'd Like for You to Know series. The most recent contributor, Anissa, posted on her family's experience with cancer and shared this:

Don’t feel like you have to compare whatever problems you have on a scale with what we’re going through. We GET that we have it bad. We don’t need to hear words like “but it’s nothing like what you’re dealing with”. It’s not fun to be the crap-meter by which everyone else measures the misery in their lives.

Oh yes. Each time I would hear, and sometimes still do hear, these sentiments, I get all crabby-feeling. It's so nice to have someone articulate the why.

accident, trauma, crisis, help

how to help a family with a medical emergency that lands them in I.C.U.

A family in the circle of my circle (i.e. we don't visit each other's homes, but would always stop to chat if we ran into each other) is in a bad spot. Their Dad was injured and is in ICU, which reminds me, of course, of when my Dad was hurt. I've been meaning to jot down what was helpful during those days, so here we go. You'll note that most of these are things that help the injured person's family, not the injured person. Go love on the loved ones.

While they are in the first few days:

Cards. We collectively -- and I individually -- received piles of cards from people - often from people that were just in the circle of our circle. Every single card was a blessing. In a way, it is just saying "Hey, this IS a big deal and even those of us way out here in acquaintance-land can see that it is a big deal." Of course no one says that out-right -- they all say the same thing, really -- but the meta-message is that they noticed that our world had just crashed.

Care Package for the family members who are sitting vigil. We received these and they were SUPER appreciated:

Go love on the loved ones.

• slip-on woollie slippers for those sitting at bedside. Hospital floors are cold.
• notepads and pens - encourage the family to establish a medical log-book. Why? See the medical log-book post.
• a pretty blank journal that visitors can sign in and leave love notes for savoring later
• chapstick
• hand lotion - lavender is clean smelling and has a bit of a perking-up effect, as does lemon
• healthful snacks with shelf-life or small portions of protein snacks that have no shelf-life. A bit of cheese with a handful of good crackers in a pretty napkin - wonderful. A small cup of hot brothy easy-to-sip soup.
• boxed juices
• a little lavender sachet
• a mini-manicure kit (we were amazed at how often we reached for this)
• a long bit of string or ribbon and a box of paper clips for a greeting card garland - much wiser than tape if they expect to be discharged or transfered very soon.
• prayer shawls for drafts (for the patient or the watcher)
• postage stamps and note-cards
• SOFT tissues
• if you are making up a care package, avoid baskets that -- though cute -- take up a great deal of counter-space.

If you have ideas to add to this list, let me know in the comments.


If the injured person is going to be there for awhile, or at a nursing home:

• scotch tape for posting family pictures on the walls
• reading material - My Mom said that she really appreciated these: Christian Science Monitor "they always have an article about something pleasant"; Peace Like a River - "books where people overcome hard things and give encouragement that maybe someway my world will be okay too."; The Week: all you need to know about everything that matters.
• I remember glancing through Reader's Digest& National Geographic, things that you can look at and read and forget that you read over and over again.
• a little ice-chest for keeping snacks
• snacks: little cheese, whole-grain biscuits, fruit, juices
• more notecards and postage stamps and nice pens
  

When you phone or visit:
Most importantly, DON'T ask the family of the injured person to make you feel better. I can't tell you how many times I found myself trying to comfort others. They didn't intend that, but it went that way anyway, like this:

Other: Oh I can't tell you how badly we feel.
Me: Thanks. It's pretty scary.
Other: I can't image how awful this if for you all. Your poor mother.
Me: Mom's holding up pretty well, considering. . .
Other: Oh but if it were me, I'd just . . .
Me: No, you'd be stronger than you think; you have to be.
Other: Well, it's sounds so awful, I just feel terrible. I cried all night for you all.
Me: We'll be okay. It will all be okay.
Other: Such a terrible accident . . .
Me: I'm sorry, I have to go now.

They didn't intend it at all, but we ended up talking about THEM! When my Dad is in ICU/life-flight/ward 7/nursing home/rehab, I don't care how they feel. I do care very much what they can do to help.

Better:

Other: What a hard time for your family. How can I help?
Me: Go pick up the family dogs and make sure they are safe and fed.
or
Me: Drop by the house and make sure the mail is picked up and there is ready-to-eat food in the fridge, that the kitchen garbage is empty and the garbage can gets to the street on the right day.
or

In other words, express your care and then keep your conversation to practical aid, and not about how badly you feel, because, no matter how badly you feel, they feel worse. Which brings us to the topic of encouragement and support.

If the person you are interacting with is actually taking a much bleaker view of things than the medical situation warrants, then indeed offer encouragement. But if the situation is rather bleak, as ours was, please offer support. Here is an excerpt from my thoughts on encouragement vs support that I shared about 5 months post-injury.

[ . . . ] It is the difference between offering encouragement versus offering support. Encouragement says, 'have hope that things will get better'. Support says, 'wow, this sounds really tough.'

The underlying theme of encouragement is, 'it had better get better, because as is, it sounds pretty hard,' but encouragement doesn't go to the hard place with you. It just tries to rush you past it and onto better days. If your situation is not going to resolve quickly, the rushing appears to be for the other's benefit (not having invest anything into sharing empathy). It is certainly not to the benefit of whomever is struggling.

Another way of looking at is is that people who give empathy are joining me where I am: sad, grieving, fearful. People offering encouragement are asking me to join them where they are: hopeful, optimistic, un-burdened. I think on whole, we have handled Dad's injury as positively as possible, but this doesn't mean I don't grieve. And when I am grieving (approximately every day that has a y in it), I don't want to be pushed back to the happy-place. I need to be supported in the sad place.

So, I have learned that I far prefer empathy over encouragement. How about you?

How then can you provide support?

• Ask if the on-duty vigil sitter would like a little break. Would they like you to stay? or to accompany them on a little walk? Try to get them outside for a bit of air.
• Ask for a chore or errand. Accidents happen in the middle of to-do lists at home. If you can step in and take over one of the dangling tasks you can give a little relief. We were out of goat hay and needed a bale picked up. Ask if you can drop off the library books, pick up stuff, drop-off or eggs & bread, take the garbage out, and so forth.
• Ask "how may we pray" and then ask "would you like to pray now, or shall I take these requests with me". Sometimes we needed prayer right that minute, sometimes we needed to know that we would be lifted up later. Sometimes both.
• Ask "Would you like to tell how this happened? or are you sick of it for today?" On some days Dad wanted to tell all the gory details, someday he dreaded it.
• Ask the family members, "How are you doing?" Be prepared for them to either look glibly resilient or to sob on your shoulder, or both, simultaneously. They don't know how they are doing, they've never done this before.
• If the family has small children or grandchildren, take them off their mom's hands for a few minutes. People came to see Dad and ended up touring the nursing home with my kids so that I could serve Dad. They will never know how much we appreciated them.
• Recognize that the nursing staff does not meet all the patient's needs, just all the medical needs. The family does the rest and they are busy and tired. Help them. Dad was very very high-maintenance, though I bet he does not remember this.
  

When the family returns home (with or without their patient)

Cards. again. It's a new stage and they need to know you are with them.

LotsaHelpingHands ~ a terrific free and easy-to-use website for coordinating helpers when we got to that stage. This website acts as a hub for listing and filling needs and saves everyone from tiresome phonecalls. (edited to add this link to a great post on LotsaHelpingHands.)

Here is a short list of really useful ways to bless them:

• Mow their lawn.
• Load them up with paper plates, napkins, and glasses.
• Meals, obviously. And for A LOT longer than you think. Meals that can be a lunch or a dinner are especially thoughtful. Here is a link to two recipes that were brought to our home. Deliver meals in containers that are clearly labeled ("OK to toss or give to Goodwill"). The family you are supporting does not need to be burdened with casserole dish tracking.
  
• Fill up their pantry with healthful beverages - if they are in shock, thirst returns before appetite, help them quench their thirst with nutritious beverage.
• As you move though your day of errands and chores, ask yourself who is doing that for your injured family. Seasonal changes are especially problematic if the man of the house is flat on his back. Storm windows? Snow tires? Anti-freeze? Do they have school-age kids that need to get school supplies? Do they have little kids who need their stockings stuffed?
  

When they do get to take their partially recovered person home:

• don't stop visiting. When the injured person is out-of-it, you visited to show love and support the family. Now that the patient is halfway recovered he or she is well enough to be bored and ill enough to be house-bound. Bring the world to them. Visit in person, even if it just 20 minutes on your way home from work. My Dad is 20 months post-injury and though not house-bound, is not exactly traipsing about either. He is very blessed by a handful of friends that visit regularly; he looks forward to it all week.
• give the #1 care-giver a break. If she or he won't tell you what they need, call their kids and find out. While the injured person was hospitalized, the care-giver had a bit of time-off, going home to rest or feign normality. Now that the patient is home, the already-weary care-giver is now a full-time nursemaid. Ramp up your support of this tired person.
  
• take meals over long after everyone else has stopped.
• pull weeds, mow. They are all at risk for getting depressed right about now. Help their environment look lovely.
• do some stealth cleaning. Over for a visit? grab a broom, sweep a walk, deadhead a potted plant, slyly toss out the rotten food in the fridge, wipe down a counter, shine the sink. Life is overwhelmingly tiresome for them right now. Every little help is a blessing.
  

That is my gleaned wisdom from a been-there done-that perspective. What have I missed? What should I add?

Also, if this post was useful to you, please let me know. There is something healing about enduring hardships and getting to help others thereby.

If you think this post deserves a vast circulation, please help it along: . Just remember to insert the post address -- http://adventuresindailyliving.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-to-help-family-with-medical.html -- in place of the whole blog address so that anyone following your recommendation gets to this post and not to my blog in general. Or - and better yet - right-click on the link-icon in the footer line and use that address in a post on your blog that sends folks over. I really really want to share this; I suppose it is part of our healing process. (Also, links on your blog get track-backed to here under LINKY LOVE, so you get some google-points if you care about that sort of thing.)

Best,

:: to print this page, visit the little printer icon in the footer line. Don't see it? Click on either the post title above or the permalink icon below to get to the individual page for this post. Voila! The -- recently tweaked and operating nicely -- printer options awaits you.

:: edited to add HUGE thanks to Shannon at Rocks in My Dryer for including this post in her saturday linkage and helping me share it.

:: to read an other perspective, check out this What I'd Like For You To Know post.


ICU, paraplegia, life-flight, medical crisis, emergency, accident, trauma

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overheard

Here is Dandy, processing one of our big life events:

Dandy, on toy phone: He did?
Why was he cutting down a tree?
Did he know how boring it is to sit in a wheelchair?
Is he happy with this choice?
Hmmm.
I'm going to have to tell Mom. She'll cry. Hang on a minute.
(small pause)
Okay, she's crying now.
Tell him not to be sad. I'll come play chess with him.
Okay. Bye.

So he pretty much distilled the whole thing into a few sentences: boredom, regret, sorrow, hope, acceptance. I love that kid.

:: this post is part of the Blog Carnival of Observations on Life hosted by Anja Merret.
:: this post is part of the Carnival of Family Life hosted byAll Rileyed Up.

thanks giving

Today we attended my parents' church as my Dad was one of the three guest speakers on the topic of Thanksgiving. As the pastor introduced Dad, he gave a brief run-down of the accident: the terrible phone call, the news that Dad broke his back, that Dad had waited -- injured -- in the rain for hours and hours, that Dad would never walk again. I wept to hear our sorrow spoken from the mouth of another.

The first thing Dad shared was his joy at the arrival of his two new little grandchildren. I wept again with joy.

Dad went on to share how he had received an inquiry -- shortly after his injury -- about the state of his faith. Dad was somewhat offended by the question, as it implied that Dad's faith was a product of good things happening and that faith may be expected to fade when bad things happen. He shared that his faith is a product of belief in a historical event: the arrival, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus. He shared that his faith is a product of his belief in Christ's promise that He will never leave us or forsake us.

About a month after Dad's accident I mustered up the courage to go see the tree that felled him, to go to the spot where he waited. As I stepped into that little patch of leaves and branches, I was overcome with the realization that right there, right there where I was standing, Christ had stood, or knelt, or sat, keeping company with Dad in the wind and the rain. Dad was indeed in the valley of the shadow of death, and the Lord was with him.

So much to be thankful for this year.






Updated to add that Dad just posted about this on his blog. He included the full text of what he shared.

paraplegia

Doctor Dandy

So, Dandy received a cool headlamp for his birthday, which he promptly donned and examined everyone's throats, prescribing remedies for whatever he deemed ailed us.

"You need more toothpaste," he said to one.

"You need more sleep," he said to me.

"You need more walking," he dead-panned to Grandpa.





:: if you don't regularly read this blog, you need to know that my Dad is paralyzed from the armpits down and uses a wheelchair, therein is the humor in Dandy's straight-faced Rx.
paraplegia

works for me: unloading groceries

1 rusty old shopping cart
+ 1 can of Rust-Oleum Hammered Metal Finish in Silver spray paint
=
1 grocery-unloading cart for one's Mom.




Now that she has a nifty ramp from her driveway to her front door, she can put all her heavy stuff in the cart and push it in, rather than lug it in or wait for someone to come help. In the old days, Dad would always unload for her.

Dad update

Today we celebrated the 16th birthday of my cousin's eldest child with a lovely party at the park. To my delight, my parents arrived -- not on the public transportation special bus -- but in their own wheelchair-adapted van. They can now come and go as they please, which means that they can go to soccer games, dinner at our house, outings in the park and so forth. I am rejoicing.

a benchmark

At long last, Dad is finally back on duty as Grandpa. I'm dropping off Chickadee this afternoon for an hour whilst I interview an attachment therapist. It gives me great great joy to be able to ask Dad to watch her; it wasn't that long ago that we were begging him to eat.






paraplegia

dad update

Sandy asked for a Dad update.

How is he?

Well, he's paralyzed.
And I hate it.
And I miss him.
And I am grieving harder now than I have in any of the previous months.
Tomorrow is the six month marker.

How is he, not me?
He is getting stronger.
He has to be turned and plumbed every four hours day or night.
He can do the latter by himself, as long as someone can get him propped up.
He is skinny.
He is looking forward to the new Harry Potter book.
His hands no longer have any callouses.

I don't know how to say how he is, as I can't see him clearly through my sorrow.

He is not going to any t-ball games,
or graduations.
He is not building tree-forts with his grandson.
He is not helping me with my summer projects.
He's not giving standing-up hugs.
He's not driving mom around.
Obviously, I don't think he is reading my blog anymore.

He is very loving to and remains keenly interested in the lives of people around him.
He is determined to ease the burden off of my mom.
He is very very brave, though he would probably point out that he doesn't have much choice.
He is eating well.
He is getting out into the fresh air daily, weather permitting.
He is content to sit and watch the bees.

It must be so hard to just have to step out of one's life, especially as his life was so full.

We are all eagerly awaiting to see what he builds into his new life.

So there you have it.

The Dad update.

I still cry every single day.





paraplegia

4 new x 2 meme

The rules: You have to share four things that were new to you in the past four years. Four things you learned or experienced or explored for the first time in the past four years. New house, new school, new hobby, new spouse, new baby, whatever. Then you have to say four things you want to try new in the next four years.

Four New -- chronological order:
I learned to blog: Jamie & Suzanne Go To Russia, at last (launched 4.3.2006) and Adventures in Daily Living (launched 3.29.07).
I gained a son (adopted 9.12.2006).
I gained a daughter (adopted 9.12.2006).
I'm learning all about paraplegia (as of 12.14.06).


Next Four:
I will start teaching face-to-face (vs on-line) again (fall 2007 - 1 3-credit Research Writing class).
My parents will come to dinner at my house again (this year I hope).
I will attend the winter Olympics ice-skating (Vancouver 2010).
I will publish my book (who knows?).

I do admit I asked for this meme tag posted over at (of course) HipWriterMama's.

Why? Because I still don't believe the two humungeous life-changes (9.12.06 and 12.14.06) we weathered in a 3 month time span. Really, how long am I going to be walking around feeling stunned and distracted? Is there a statue of limitations on shock?

Yes, yes. I know. Accept it. Get on with it.

I am! I do! But I still don't really believe my new life.

I watch my children play or sleep and I can't believe that the universe was so kind as to give them to us. I mean really, we got the best ones!

Then I look at my parents and all the changes and trials they are enduring and I realize that no matter how many afternoons I go over there, and how many errands I do for them, I can't provide all the help they need. It's a pickle, no getting around it.

Every time I arrive I am thrilled to see them. Every time I leave I nearly flattened by how surreal it is. Paraplegic. Who would have imagined this?

Mount Baker

our lovely mountain view: September 2004

Canon PowerShot S410 :: Exposure: 1/160 sec
Aperture: f/13.0 :: Focal Length: 22.2mm

I shared this story on my old blog, so long-time readers can skip this part. It is such a lovely story though, that I can't resist posting it anew.

The Lummi, who live near the Canadian border, cast Rainer as the jealous wife of Mount Baker. Rainer was the favorite of Baker’s two wives, but she had an awful temper. After a while the younger wife, Mount Shuksan, with her kind disposition, became the shine of Baker’s eye. Furious, Rainer threatened to leave unless Baker showed her more attention. When Baker ignored her, she made good her threat and traveled south, alone and slow. After a distance she looked back,expecting Baker to call her home. He did not. A little farther, she looked again. Still nothing. With a heavy heart she continued on and camped for the night on the highest hill in the land. She stretched and stretched to see Baker and her children, until she stood higher than all the mountains around. But Baker did not call her home. “Often on a clear day or clear night,” says the narrator, “the mountain dresses in sparkling white and looks with longing at Baker and the mountain children near him” (p. 22-23).

Barcott, Bruce. The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier Seattle: Sasquatch Books, 1997.

My Dad loves our mountain view and it is so especially pretty this time of year; it saddens me that he won't get to come see it for a long time. I ran across this verse on another blog the other day and the bit about mountains falling into the heart of the sea really got me.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. ~Psalm 46: 1-2

That's how I feel: my Dad-Mountain fell into the heart of the Invalid Sea. I still don't really believe it.





:: this post was included in Semicolon's Saturday Review of Books 5.26.2007

paraplegia

musings on encouragement vs support

I've been very impatient with, and even annoyed by, people who beset me with tales of someone they knew with a back injury that is walking now. I want to shout: "Damaged bones are different from damaged spinal cords!!" but I know they mean well so I smile and nod. But it really really bugs me.

I've been thinking it over and I think what is really bothering me though, is not the misunderstanding about bones vs spinal cord, but something that I touched on in a comment on Debbie's post and again on in my Mother's Day post.

. . . I far prefer empathy over encouragement.

It is the difference between offering encouragement versus offering support. Encouragement says, 'have hope that things will get better'. Support says, 'wow, this sounds really tough.'

The underlying theme of encouragement is, 'it had better get better, because as is, it sounds pretty hard,' but encouragement doesn't go to the hard place with you. It just tries to rush you past it and onto better days. If your situation is not going to resolve quickly, the rushing appears to be for the other's benefit (not having invest anything into sharing empathy). It is certainly not to the benefit of whomever is struggling.

Another way of looking at is is that people who give empathy are joining me where I am: sad, grieving, fearful. People offering encouragement are asking me to join them where they are: hopeful, optimistic, un-burdened. I think on whole, we have handled Dad's injury as positively as possible, but this doesn't mean I don't grieve. And when I am grieving (approximately every day that has a y in it), I don't want to be pushed back to the happy-place. I need to be supported in the sad place.

So, I have learned that I far prefer empathy over encouragement. How about you?



encouragement, support, ICU, trauma, accident

welcome to the sandwich generation: my mother's day reflections

. . . ponies whinny and stamp their hooves and frolic . . .

A year ago at this time I was half of a DINK couple with a pair of hale and hearty parents. This year I am the mother of two high-needs children and have, for the present, some rather high-needs parents. My first Mother's Day is a bit bittersweet, as many of my expectations for this season of life have been revised.

Dad's needs are plenteous. The tasks are not horrible, well not most of them at least, but they never end, and they can't be put off as his requests/needs are valid. Mom is staying up too late, and getting up too early (and I bet I'm about to find out if they are still reading this blog), and her days are overly full. I don't think any of us realized how many tasks are involved with home care at this stage of rehab.

He has to be turned and plumbed every four hours day and night. He generates lots of laundry. He needs to have his hips, knees, and ankles put through range of motion exercises 1-2 times daily. He needs his water bottle filled, his glasses and his book, a blanket, a bedsore checked, a pillow refluffed, zillions of pills at appointed times, and of course help moving from bed to chair and chair to bed and bed to chair and chair to bed and bed to chair and, well, you get the point. Each and every day he is stronger, but there is still a ways to go. He's been home about two weeks. Monday is the 5 month marker of the injury.

From his end, he has to ask his over-tired wife for each of these things. I don't really know who has it worse: she for the overwhelming number of tasks, or he for having to be dependent for every little thing.

I so very much want to ride in on my white horse -- as they have done for me, countless times -- and I can't. Because my white horse has two very active, noisy, adorable ponies in tow. And they love the ponies. But the ponies whinny and stamp their hooves and frolic and have to be fed every 20 minutes or so, and it gets to be too much.

So it is a happy/sad Mother's Day for me. Happy that I have two frisky ponies to mother. Sad that I can't be for my Mother all that I would like to be at this season of her life.


paraplegia

happy times

Mom and Dad's back yard: September, 2006
Canon PowerShot S410 :: Exposure: 1/60 sec
Aperture: f/4.9 :: Focal Length: 22.2mm

. . . rejoiced in the sun and the surf and the kelp and crabs.

I know I've shared this picture before, and I know it is not really up to snuff -- as a photograph -- as the others in this series, but this is my Mother's Day selection. I love this picture of them swinging on the same rope swing I swung on as a child. I love Dandy's glowing happiness on his first visit to his new grandparents' house. I love the look on my dad's face. I love the memories of Chickadee's rolling giggles; I love all the memories of that day.

It was our first day after getting back from Russia with the children. We had taken them to the beach (beach pics here) where they played and splashed and rejoiced in the sun and the surf and the kelp and crabs. From there we went to my parents' home. My parents' yard is nearly a wee private park. It is spacious and flowery and has dogs to play with and rope swings and trees to climb. The children were right pleased. It was a lovely lovely day, and this photograph returns me to it.





paraplegia

how long does shock last?

. . . I about fell over in shock.

Yesterday afternoon my Dad and I were sitting in the front yard soaking up some sun. After a few minutes his breathing got short and shallow and he got a bit pastey and we needed to take him back inside.

He remarked that he thinks he is still in shock, and this makes sense to me. He's gotten all settled into his bedroom, but the yard, the yard is new territory. He can see things out-of-place and he can't pop up to go make them right. I think new places hammer in the magnitude of this life change.

I feel the same way when I visit him and his chair is in a new location. I've gotten my head around my Dad being horizontal in a hospital bed in a room full of medical things. When I dropped by the other day and found him in his chair in the dining room I about fell over in shock. "Oh my word! Dad's in a wheelchair!" The combinations of chair and room have to be processed, for me, one-by-one. I didn't expect this.

Is this what it is like when member of a household dies? That you know it, but that you have to keep re-learning it? That even though you are working through your grief the practical ordinary details of daily life knock you over? As in, "oh, right, they are gone."? That you can know something and still lose your breath when you realize it? How long does the shockiness last?

:: this post is included in the disability blog carnival hosted at Pilgrim Girl


paraplegia

how can I help? my friends just adopted . . .

Most of you know that my Dad was paralyzed right before Christmas. He moved home on April 30th and a new era in his and our life has begun. Right now, Mom and Dad need help, beyond what we in the immediate family can provide. Many many people have offered and we found an awesome resource to help us organize and utilize all the offers.

Lotsa Helping Hands is a free easy-to-use webservice that allows volunteers to go view of list of needs and sign-up for times and days that fit for them. I so wish we had this when we first brought our children home. MEALS!!!

So if your friend or family member is bringing a new one home, via birth or adoption, start collecting email addresses now of people who want to be involved. Set up a Lotsa Helping Hands site for the family. Enter the email addresses and send invitations. Determine the dates and time you want meals to arrive. That's it. No phonecalls!

You can view a demo here.

Dad

Thank you all so much for your kind words regarding Dad. I'm going to ask that, if you don't know us face-to-face, you comment only on this blog, as I print the other blog for Dad and it's so confusing to him when I try to explain my e-friends. So we'll treat this a place for messages for Suzanne and the other blog as a place for messages for Dad and Mom and family. Does that work?

He lives. His blood pressure was 50/33 and his core temp 80 degrees. Both of these are indicators of imminent death, yet Dad lives. He is indeed paralyzed, but other than that (and the 8 broken ribs) has no major health issues and is quite strong for a 71 year old. Last night the rehab doc assured him, that other than using a chair and having a rather complicated way of handling waste products, he'll be able to live a relatively normal life: go to church, go to grandkids' sporting events, do many of the things he loves to do. He won't, however, be cutting his own firewood anymore.

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