Humble and More Humbled

Well my peeps it was my first day at water therapy at the Courage Center. For a place that has such an inspirational name, as I left I had to ask myself, where was the courage? To be perfectly honest my first experience at this place really left a bad taste in my mouth. I went a few weeks ago for a tour and for my assesment and I quickly realized how much I did not fit in there. I realize this place is a wonderful facility to help the disabled and elderly, but where do I fit in there? As I walked in with my nanny I kept up with the classic Chrissie defense mechanism...jokes...lots and lots of jokes. And embarrassing enough they were toward my courage center counterparts. I walked in to the locker room waiting for my eyes to burn as they had the first time when I was at wheelchair level to old naked women everywhere. I mean I know I am outgoing and free spirited, but not that much...I don't even like to see myself naked. I mean if I have to see naked women at least give me a decent rack to be jealous of, ya know? So after privately dressing into my swimsuit nanny and I headed off to the pool where the uncomfortable jokes continued as we sat and waited for my therapist to come get me. I looked around and saw all of these people in there twilight years (meaning old people, not tweens obsessed with the books, lol) I thought to myself man I don't belong here, these people wear their handicaps on their sleeves. Meaning being elderly, being in a wheelchair, or having a mental disablity. Again I ask....where do I belong??
So my therapist approached me, an adorable young girl, who quickly made me feel uncomfortable because we are likely similar in age, but looked years apart. Humbled.
Then we get into the pool and she tells me it's 92 degrees and it's likely to be a harsh sensation and to be careful. I thought to myself...ha...you don't know me at all, I love the water! I used to be a fish...Humbled. It felt like my skin was being rolled over by a steam roller, not just because of the painful pressure on my skin, but I instantly broke out into a sweating fit. I could barely walk, each step felt like I was walking on sand paper. She informed me that the therapy was for an hour, but not to feel like I needed to last the whole time, that I could stop whenever I needed to. I was determined to prove to myself and everyone in there that in fact I didn't belong and that I could handle anything this age-appropriate therapist could throw at me. Humbled. We started by navigateing the slopes to the deeper end of the pool where I saw a man that was at least 80 years old quickly walk up, I needed to baby step it and hold on to a railing for dear life. Then as we began therapy we started by walking baby-step laps and talking. I could barely pay attention to her because of the group therapy next to me singing as they swam with their noodles. I have no idea what they were chanting about but in my head it went something like this "We're stronger than you! You are a wimp! We need to shut up so you don't scream at us like a 2 year old!" The therapist was trying to explain more about my RSD, how this was an accomplishment and not a failure. Yeah, maybe to you lady...you arn't feeling like taking these people's noodles and beating them over the head with them. To me, that's a failure. I am supposed to be the compassionate nice one. And now RSD is turning me into a raging bitch (thank God, only in my head). Humbled. So to make a long blog a little shorter. I lasted only a half hour and it ended with me completely braking down and balling in the pool as I realized that RSD was taking yet another I used to love away from me. And as I embarrassingly pulled my head up I saw that all of these people that I had so harshly judged were looking at me with compassion and understanding. The one thing I couldn't give to them but yet want from everyone else. Humbled. My therapist reminded me that RSD plays mind games on you and others because on the outside you look perfectly fine (especially when you can fake a smile with the best of them, my own personal accomplishment!). That other disablities and handicaps you can see from the outside, but mine is on the inside. With most handicaps you can see people's personal hell, but mine is sheltered behind my somewhat normal looking self and my perfected fake smile and laugh. Overall it was a very humbling experience and a very scary experience. Scary, because I learned a lot of harsh realities about myself. That I am not the bubbly, happy, positive person everyone and myself wants me to be. But that sadly I am not perfect and I am allowed to except my imperfections, insecurities, and eventually my disability. Soon I will look like those people, and no longer will I have to hide behind my persona. And I am growing okay with RSD taking some of that away, just as long as it doesn't take my spirit. That's off limits. That's all mine.
Humbly,
Chrissie

I am officially blogging!!!!!

Well it's my first official blog...yeah! I have decided to set up a blog as sort of a diary for myself and others to help deal with my RSD. The diagnosis is still fresh, I barely understand a darn thing about it. Just that it is attempting to rule my life (or lack there of, lol), and I am fighting like heck not to allow it. It officially stands for Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (which dr.s say sufferers really have none of the above, not the first weird thing about this you will hear), but my husband says it just means I have a case of the Really Sexy Divas...god bless him, because I really don't have that either. But hey, I'll go with it, because at least he thinks I do :)
RSD is attempting to take all the things I love away. The main thing are my gorgeous daughters. I fought and prayed like heck to have them and now I can barely do a darn thing to take care of them. In fact a month ago I was fighting and crying because I refused to let them spend any time away from me and now I can't stand to even be in the same room as them. And they are gorgeous, I mean seriously, not like how most parents think their kids are goregeous even when they resemble Homer Simpson, I mean I get stopped non-stop because of these kids. I feel like they up my pimp-factor, lol! Plus I used to be a hairstylist and a good one at that. It was the only thing in life I was anal about. I loved it! It filled my creativity tank like crazy! I stopped when I was pregnant with Lydia, I was in too much pain from my back which is what started me down this path. But it was bitter sweet because I was finally a stay at home mom, which in all honesty is all I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be Carol Brady...with much cooler hair...and more dorky, but also more cool....and really laid back, but still goofy with the dumb corny jokes and all that jazz. I set out to be the best darn wife and mother ever....actually like Roseanne (one of my personal favorite t.v. shows) So like a Carol Brady/Roseanne combo. And I was too!! I rocked at it. My life was vieing on perfect. I had a great husband, 2 beautiful kids, a new (and very cute, I might add) house, and 2 smelly cats. Then a couple months after I had Lucy all things changed when the dr.s said I needed a 2nd back surgery because my lower back looked like a grenade exploded on it. And during my spinal fusion I developed RSD.
I am working everyday on staying positive and trying to triumph over this disorder. Some days I lose, some days I win. I know what my future holds as far as becoming paralyzed and handicapped goes, but I figure I am not there yet. I will stay hopeful, besides the dr.s can say this will happen or that will happen but only God knows. So as far as I go it's Sunshine and Rainbows for me...lol!!
I will use this blog to inform everyone about my RSD, if I got into everything in this one blog I'd be blogging for ours and to be perfectly honest my butt (literally) can't handle it. My left butt cheek is tingling and spasming as we speak, er...read..or type. whatever...you get the point. But most importantly I need to journal this journey for me, for you, for RSD. Because (here comes cheesy quote..) I may have RSD but it doesn't have me. Now throw rotten fruit as you please or cheer with a tiny tear flowing down your cheek...I'll except either.
Lots of Love and hugs,
Chrissie