tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50208365402115822572011-12-23T16:01:39.166-08:00Do you ever feel like you are living in a parallel universe? Can you see and hear the 'normal' people but you're not sure if they see or hear you? Welcome to my world!J.R.noreply@blogger.comBlogger931100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-84444593351900485562011-12-23T15:57:00.002-08:002011-12-23T16:01:39.175-08:00

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J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-1406933746210163072011-10-21T09:43:00.004-07:002011-10-25T19:50:28.375-07:00

The house is quite. For now. Within the hour Don will be up and he’ll be bellowing out, “Jean!” every few minutes. Can’t get his foot started in his pants. “Jean!” Got his arm caught in his shirt. “Jean!” Can’t put on his sock. “Jean!” Of course I could save myself a lot of walking back and forth if I just stayed by his side and helped him get dressed but that would enable him to be even more

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-14033697801713175102010-12-17T20:21:00.002-08:002010-12-17T20:26:15.898-08:00

Greetings! 2010It’s that time of the year again when thoughts of sugar plums and Santa’s elves and of scoring that great gift at Macy’s fight for space in our dreams with the real meaning of Christmas. We put trees up in our living rooms, deck the halls with holly, and hang

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-56854690381285604522010-06-27T09:38:00.003-07:002010-06-30T08:58:47.085-07:00

Why do old people pick at lint? When my husband’s mother was in a nursing home she would walk the halls and pick up every piece of lint on the floors. It was a hobby or an obsession, I could never figure out which. Now, my husband is doing the same thing. Where ever he sees lint, he picks at it….usually when he sees it on me. Okay, so I’m not the queen of good laundry habits. I forget to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-2700101372054190392010-05-30T08:24:00.005-07:002010-05-30T09:29:13.087-07:00

Don's 'Ten Years of Joyful Living' party was a week ago today. The flowers that one guest brought and the others we had scattered around the house are fading but the glow of happiness is still hanging around. It's been ten years since his stroke and even with all my husband's physical issues, he's still happy to have beaten the prognosis of two neurologists that he'd be a vegetable for the rest

J.R.noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-77630314083334448572010-05-17T18:56:00.009-07:002011-10-21T12:53:36.727-07:00

For the past three or four years I’ve been telling everyone that I’m almost seventy when, in fact, I’ve still got two years to go before I effortlessly float into Septuagenarian Land like a feather on the wind. At least that's the plan and, no, I don’t have a propensity for lying. I’m just trying to avoid the depression of achieving that benchmark that my mother went through on her 70th birthday.

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-58533606396052316512010-03-03T06:35:00.004-08:002010-03-03T06:58:13.320-08:00

The sun is shining; my husband is singing songs with made-up words. He and the dog are both sunning themselves in the strong light filtering through the windows in the dinning room. Hopefully, the snow will melt this week and spring will flirt its way into our lives. It’s been a long winter and a long time since I’ve cataloged all the words Don is able to get out in a day. I do it with the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-60291991542316772762010-02-14T21:06:00.007-08:002010-02-17T13:03:07.972-08:00

Sometimes I swear Levi, our dog, can telepathically talk inside my head. This morning I woke up to someone calling my name and when my eyes opened all I saw was my husband sound asleep. I listened for the voice to call my name again but the house was silent. A dream, I thought, but it was so real---and so annoying because it’s a common way for me to wake up. I rolled over and there he was,

J.R.noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-81353993214866512642010-01-31T18:35:00.011-08:002010-02-01T06:05:21.223-08:00

It was a cold but sunny and beautiful day when we backed out of our driveway. Destination: out for lunch and to the post office. I asked my aphasic husband where he wanted to eat and as he often does he replied by using hand gestures to indicate the turns I’d have to make on the way to wherever it was he wanted to go. Those turns with varying lengths of straight-aways all gestured with

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-78074235552465659322010-01-17T18:49:00.008-08:002010-01-18T07:57:18.103-08:00

When my brother was a toddler my mother kept him in a harness with a leash attached much like the modern version in this photo. The only difference was my brother’s leash was a lot longer and using them on a child back in the 1940s didn’t raise eyebrows like they occasionally do now. No one called them ‘cruel’ or ‘demeaning’ or thought they stifled a child’s nature curiosity. My brother needed to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-62659728718606289192010-01-09T13:22:00.005-08:002010-01-09T13:49:15.214-08:00

It's a new year and with it came a promise to myself to get more active on my Facebook page. I’ve never particularly enjoyed or understood Facebook. I want layouts and colors to play with. I want more room to ramble. And I don’t like strangers showing up in lists of suggested friends. That’s creepy! But Facebook is Facebook so I decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns and figure out why

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-16942806716912140482010-01-05T07:38:00.008-08:002010-01-05T17:06:26.882-08:00

I started keeping diaries when I was seven or eight years old and I didn’t stop my daily recordings until I was in my late twenties. I guess I thought I’d grow up to be someone famous like my ancestors---James Otis Jr., Mercy Otis Warren, or Amelia Earhart---and in the distance sea of humanity someone would care about the naïve and disjointed ramblings of my youth. I’m nearly seventy now and I’ve

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-81323060712605412522009-12-15T06:50:00.006-08:002009-12-15T07:43:23.334-08:00

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to any cyber friends I may still have left after such a long absence from Bloggers. I wish I hadn't neglected my blog for so long but I've been busy with life this past summer and fall, and this winter with posting on a message boards where I enjoy debating politics and other controversies. Anyway, below is the Christmas letter that went out with our cards this

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-82484610507861948462009-06-26T12:39:00.006-07:002009-06-30T15:26:16.391-07:00

I'm just returning from a two week pity party. You know the kind where you don't think you can handle one more metaphorical---or real, for that matter---hangnail. Giving myself a sharp "get over yourself, everyone has problems" usually keeps pity parties off my property---I'm generally an upbeat kind of person---but not this time. This time, four out-of-place vertebrae were playing sadistic games

J.R.noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-67212040625957467132009-04-12T07:39:00.006-07:002009-04-12T08:11:29.596-07:00

Update: I haven't croaked and neither has Don. We haven't so much as had a cold to use as an excuse for not updating my blog. But since the last time I wrote an entry I have started holding auctions on e-Bay---ten a week---which has totally messed up our house. We've got the 'photo booth' area, the 'packing area' and of course the what-the-hell-did-we-buy-that-for?' area. Our 'Salvation Army'

J.R.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-8762857394717973422009-02-27T08:00:00.008-08:002009-02-27T10:02:09.731-08:00

If you want to feel old really fast get a new digital camera. At least the one I just got is making me feel that way. It came with not one but TWO user guides and some of the pages have such small print that I have to use a magnifying glass just to read them. Worse than that, the camera has a mode dial with tiny icons on it and without my handy-dandy magnifying glass I'd never know those little

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-5885354966153060192009-01-11T17:32:00.005-08:002009-01-12T17:53:17.707-08:00

NOTE to long time readers: Entries between December 22nd down to January 11th were moved here from an old blog I wanted to close. If something seems familiar, that's why.I went swimming at the YMCA this morning. Jeez, I hope no one calls Social Services and the SPCA. I left Don and the dog alone in the house for an hour and a half while I did deep water aerobics. They were sleeping when I left

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-33462478146203970822009-01-09T18:03:00.004-08:002009-02-11T21:11:54.247-08:00

My dad had a lot of little sayings. One of them was this: "With true friends, you can lay your billfold and your wife down side by side and a good friend won’t touch either one of them." It always got a big laugh when he said it, but he was also dead serious.My dad had the same best friend for over seventy years. Growing up, our families spent a lot of time together, and in their retirement years

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-12191256214621266732009-01-09T17:58:00.004-08:002009-01-09T18:03:09.490-08:00

I call her lollypop, lollypop, lollypop, oh lolly-lolly-lollyLollypop, lollypop, oh lolly-lolly-lollyLollypop, lollypop, oh, lolly-lolly-lollyLollypopHandicapped, handicapped, oh handi-handi-handiHandicapped, handicapped, oh handi-handi-handiHandicapped, handicapped, oh handi-handi-handiHandicappedSame tune, different lyrics. Guess which set of lyrics belongs to Don and which set belongs to Daddy

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-48994966379333051642009-01-09T17:48:00.003-08:002009-01-09T17:56:14.564-08:00

It's hard to remember a time in my life when I've felt more disheartened than I do right now. I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of a person, a take charge of my emotions kind of gal who was never down or depressed for very long. Part of it---it not all of it--- is probably the by-product of having a total knee replacement July 23rd. Spending a couple of weeks depending on someone else

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-30644085267829349612009-01-08T12:27:00.002-08:002009-01-08T12:30:15.079-08:00

When I was seven-eight years old, I got the Gene Autry gun and holster set for Christmas and I worn them to bed more than a few times. I was in love. I even crawled up on my daddy’s lap once, sighed deeply, and told him that when I grew up I was going marry Gene Autry and his horse. My dad had the good graces not to laugh. It could be he was trying to figure out which one I was lusting after the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-81029153354773786812009-01-06T18:34:00.004-08:002009-01-06T18:45:10.236-08:00

Have you ever wondered why it is that some people who have so little are able to sincerely appreciate what they do have while others who have so much can’t appreciate it at all? We all have an occasional blue day from time to time when the pity pot seems to be the most comfortable chair in the house. I’m not talking about those fleeting times where at the end of the day we stand up and realize we

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-11812071640185947122009-01-04T14:46:00.004-08:002009-01-04T14:54:22.590-08:00

One of the nice parts about going to all the June graduation parties is that we get to see people we haven’t seen in a long time. Now that Don is wheelchair bound, we’re obligated to be one of the first cars---if not THE first---to arrive. Otherwise there is always an unloading problem, of being able to thread the chair through cars that might be parked too close together. Being the first to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-89041462349928563022009-01-03T19:35:00.003-08:002009-01-03T19:45:53.498-08:00

It’s Thursday and I’m having a vacation day from reality, I’m reading my old diaries. Its fun to spend an entire day wasting time and it makes me feel good to be reminded that somewhere out there in the great beyond is another version of Me who can still come alive from time to time. She may be an innocent kid who put codes in the pages of her diaries that the older version of Me is having

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-57345659110760200602009-01-02T20:00:00.003-08:002009-01-02T20:31:28.409-08:00

Tuesday was the weekly blues concert in the park held in a tourist town near by. It’s a great park for events like this. It’s in between a river and a paved bike path that goes for miles, hooking several small towns together. Maple trees form a canopy over the stage and people bring their lawn chairs and blankets and spread them on the gentle sloping hill facing that simple platform. The sun is

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-54800081966065960922009-01-01T18:46:00.005-08:002009-01-01T18:55:54.703-08:00

The first time---or maybe it was the second time---that Don asked me to marry him we were on a playground riding bouncing, pink elephants and not doing a very good job of it since they were designed for children and we were in our late twenties at the time. It was four o’clock in the morning. There might have been a little alcohol involved and we ended up staying up all night. Right from the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-88867983645495087362008-12-31T07:42:00.004-08:002008-12-31T07:50:30.827-08:00

The garbage disposal isn’t working. I can’t find a reset button on it. The damned thing is plugged in firmly to the electrical receptacle and the circuit breaker is turned on. What next? What do I do? Who do I call?---a plumber or an electrician? I hate dilemmas like this! They make me feel so much like a---like a caregiver. And I’m saying that last word with a giant sized sneer. I don’t have a ‘

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-10581778824253431942008-12-30T18:55:00.003-08:002008-12-30T19:07:31.128-08:00

At the dentist office today, I took my wheelchair bound husband, Don, to the restroom. It’s a good one with grab bars situated so that he---with my help---can stand up to pee. But first we had to get him out of his coat. Its nylon and is so slippery it would be like holding on to slime, should I have to catch him in a fall. That task accomplished, I got Don’s pants down and held his shirt out of

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-69682545561435709242008-12-29T06:48:00.003-08:002008-12-29T06:54:48.595-08:00

We got a late start this morning and it was well after noon before I sent my husband, Don, off to get started on his shower. An hour later I went to check on what was taking him so long to get his pre-shower routine out of the way and I found him sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV in bedroom, absorbed in a soap opera. He hadn’t even begun the process yet!Being the sweet, understanding

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-20709080966325699492008-12-28T18:49:00.003-08:002008-12-28T18:55:46.566-08:00

The first time we saw the ’78 Corvette it was two-three years old. A friend owned it and he wanted to borrow my husband, Don’s, pickup truck for the weekend so he offered to let us drive the Vette while he had our truck. The car was up for sale and to this day Don claims he wasn’t in the market to buy a sports car but that’s what happened the following Monday.That weekend we took the car on a

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-55929049711389137552008-12-27T22:09:00.005-08:002008-12-27T22:17:53.292-08:00

My husband, Don, is an obituary clipper. It’s not a hobby that he picked up since becoming a ‘certain age’ like most people would assume of old people who have a box full of newspaper announcements of this sort. He’s been doing this for at least thirty-five years. Don has a memory like an elephant and he also knew a lot of people, so his collection of clippings was huge at the time of his massive

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-25298284486132509992008-12-26T22:43:00.004-08:002008-12-26T22:50:51.732-08:00

As many baby boomers do, I’ve needed total knee replacements for several years, but I’m scared to death I’ll have a stroke if I do. The doctor says my best chance for not having one would be to lose some weight. But guess what, folks, I still don’t look like Twiggy. So what, I tell myself, if my bones are grinding bone against bone. And so what if I have this ghastly vision that in a couple of

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-33018534350103960522008-12-24T15:35:00.004-08:002008-12-24T18:40:27.275-08:00

Do you know what impresses me? That a guy could apprentice to a long line of violin makers and still be able to take the craft to such new heights of perfectionism that people nearly three hundred years later are willing to pay millions of dollars to own one of his instruments. Antonio Stradivari, in his seventy years of professional work, made 1,100 stringed instruments and 650 are said to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-44180069228255740552008-12-23T08:52:00.005-08:002008-12-24T10:37:41.723-08:00

I was surfing the net one day, looking at blogs from around the world and I ran into a cool idea. A blogger who calls herself the Tequila Mockingbird said it’s common in blog communities for each blogger to make a list titled, 100 Things About Me. So, me being hooked on blogging, I decided to give this a try. Here’s my results…. My hair is naturally curly. In my entire life, I’ve only lived a

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-78503002012473593712008-12-19T19:28:00.015-08:002008-12-23T08:42:37.793-08:00

Maybe it’s because my dad was a life-long golfer that I love movies with a golf theme. Except for an eight week course I took back in the sixties when I tried to love the game as much as he did, I’ve never played myself. Never-the-less the rich analogies and metaphors used in golf movies can easily apply to life itself, and I guess that’s what makes the ‘underdog’ sports movies like The legend of

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-6705382169146750122008-11-23T11:07:00.007-08:002008-11-23T11:37:57.727-08:00

I'm measuring up the windows in the Blazer, in the event we have to move in and run away from home. Hey, we'll need curtains for privacy, won't we, if we're going to live in car. Address: Wal-Mart's parking lot. Mitt Romney was just on TV saying how The Big Three has to get rid of their retirees. Oh, that's just great! What does that mean? That GM (where Don gets his retirement check) has to line

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-89633473606027834702008-10-09T13:27:00.004-07:002008-10-09T13:35:18.116-07:00

I received the following e-mail from an internet friend who asked me to share it. It has some great resources that I'm happy to pass on via my blog.-------------------------------------------------------------------Hi Jean, It's Lincoln from Connectingcaregivers.com. I know how important it is to take breaks from caregiving in order to recharge your batteries. There are a few options if you

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-17300923173338138582008-09-20T21:15:00.009-07:002008-09-28T08:30:02.991-07:00

Today we went to the sight-in day for disabled deer hunters. The two year old program is run by a small army of volunteers who help people in wheelchairs get out in the woods during hunting season. They use specially made blinds and each disabled person is assigned two hunting guides who stick with them and are not allowed to hunt themselves. The group also puts on a weekend long deer camp where

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-69595027452130310512008-09-11T20:37:00.004-07:002008-09-12T13:24:04.752-07:00

Life hasn't changed much for us this summer. Don is still happy and singing the words "Jesus loves me" and "boom, boom, boom" over and over again each morning and sometimes in the afternoons. Recently I told him if we were sharing a room in a nursing home I'd ask for a room change. He laughed and for the next hour he sang the scales using just the syllable "la, la, la, la, la, la, la." He wants

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-422474179416145742008-07-21T10:10:00.008-07:002008-07-21T19:24:22.911-07:00

We went out for pizza with old friends last night which was both a happy and sad time. Happy because it's always great to see old friends but sad because it accentuated yet another growing post stroke problem---Don's isolation. His ability to stay focused on our group and participate in conversation was severely hampered by the hearing loss he received last fall at the Disability Deer Hunt

J.R.noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-25139876237489565462008-07-06T17:19:00.002-07:002008-07-06T17:27:31.571-07:00

Have you ever wondered why it is that some people who have so little are able to sincerely appreciate what they do have while others who have so much can’t appreciate it at all? We all have an occasional blue day from time to time when the pity pot seems to be the most comfortable chair in the house. I’m not talking about those fleeting times where at the end of the day we stand up and realize we

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-71659612361032595742008-06-27T07:52:00.012-07:002008-06-27T19:06:20.638-07:00

Yesterday Don and I had a half hour 'conversation' about something he really wanted to tell me but the only words he could get out during the entire time were: feet, baker, dad, and gone. And, of course, 'yes' or 'no' as answers to my questions. When my questions got too far off track to what he wanted to tell me, he'd repeat those four words as if saying them over and over again, with increasing

J.R.noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-57682714577305165632008-06-12T08:25:00.008-07:002008-06-15T05:21:27.445-07:00

The days of June have blended one into another. Finally some warm days to alternate with the rain we've been getting have come to our corner of the world. The beginning of summer, for us, is marked by the first of the Blues in the Park series and by the start-up date for the Farmer's Market both of which happened this week. Summer is here and we don't even have plans beyond attending these two

J.R.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-52955736114198314232008-06-05T21:28:00.018-07:002008-06-08T14:43:32.789-07:00

It's easy for me to forget that my husband is disabled. Despite the wheelchair and his language disorders, in many ways Don is the same man I've known since 1970----good-natured, compassionate, kind, smart, and out-going. It's the out-going part that gets him in trouble once in a great while, now that he appears severely disabled to strangers. Okay, I admit it. He IS physically disabled but not

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-57879772624871598502008-06-04T08:45:00.013-07:002008-06-05T12:23:17.495-07:00

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Don, me and the new puppy are poking along as usual, trying to establish and keep to a schedule for summer. We've never been good with keeping old people hours---you know those people who are up with the pre-dawn glow and go to bed soon after the mauves, purples and butter creams of the setting sun give way to night. I both admire and hate the early

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-47452493666204402008-05-19T07:52:00.014-07:002008-05-19T18:09:40.135-07:00

Some days just start out wrong. Friday was that way for us. We went here and there and everywhere but nothing was working out. For example, at the township offices we found out that you can only get dog licenses there January through March. After that, you have to go downtown to the county building. Little Levi is still not legal. Seven stops that day and none of them worked out including the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-15350612622276045892008-05-16T07:14:00.008-07:002008-05-19T15:42:16.828-07:00

This is a blog entry from a few years back that I had at a different site, but it fails to open half the time so I'm relocating it here. ---------------------------At the dentist office today, I took my wheelchair bound husband, Don, to the restroom. It’s a good one with grab bars situated so that he---with my help---can stand up to pee. But first we had to get him out of his coat. Its nylon and

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-6076271597694109482008-05-13T09:41:00.010-07:002008-05-16T05:32:59.887-07:00

Over a person’s lifetime there are many labels used to describe that individual. Some labels we’re glad to outgrow like “teenager” and “student.” Some labels we may love having like “mom” or “dad.” Some labels define our professional place in the world like “doctor,” “officer” or “senator.” Other labels may define our passions like “artist,” “sports fan” or “musician.” Each of us carries with us

J.R.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-22568243562408469802008-05-11T09:24:00.009-07:002008-05-12T10:40:50.834-07:00

I saw a photo recently of a stroke survivor in a wheelchair who was playing pool using a standard bridge to help with the shot. There is a much better device to use for one-handed pool players---standing or seated in a wheelchair. These can be made for under $5.00. There are similar ones on the web but they cost a small fortune. A woodcarving club made several of these for Don and his speech

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-23831556221973760052008-05-10T07:30:00.009-07:002008-05-16T07:28:47.677-07:00

May 21st, 2008 will be the eighth anniversary since Don's massive stroke, a stroke that changed the direction of our lives as strokes do for most people. This year, to celebration the fact that my husband beat the prognosis of two neurologists and is far from being “a vegetable for the rest of his life,” as they predicted, I'm planning a day trip to Lake Michigan. There's a quaint tourist town on

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-44835830662250285192008-05-03T19:53:00.010-07:002008-05-07T13:56:06.051-07:00

Life goes on, doesn't it, when you're not looking. I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated this blog. The simple fact is I've been busy closing one chapter of our lives and starting another.If you're not an animal lover you may not understand how attached people get to a family dog and how difficult it is to have that pet put down after living with him for nearly sixteen years. That

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-21385010909471475272008-04-16T14:35:00.013-07:002008-04-23T18:36:57.401-07:00

Life has been busy in the past few weeks since my husband and I joined the YMCA. They've got him on a three day a week program of weigh training for his left arm---his right one is totally flaccid with not an ounce of movement. And he's doing a series of standing and sitting from his wheelchair, using a weigh machine to pull himself up. While standing, every third time he tries to stand on his

J.R.noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-42082975059359228372008-04-04T14:04:00.012-07:002008-04-10T16:40:44.562-07:00

(Read with tongue-in-cheek)Caregiving sucks, you know. Being a housewife sucks. Don’t try to talk me out of it! Don’t try to tell me I’m an angel or a saint---or worse, yet, “A good woman.” Don’t say, “That’s okay, dear, tomorrow your PMS will be better.” Don’t tell me about the silver lining after the storm. And don’t mention the fable about caregivers being given no more than they can handle. I

J.R.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-53280255126609392262008-03-29T20:57:00.015-07:002008-04-03T20:16:03.091-07:00

Some times I hate listening to music. It makes me cry too often. I mean, who wouldn’t cry over lines like: “I can only give you love that lasts forever…” when your stroke survivor husband is sleeping in the other room and you’ve just finished watching The Way We Were?I loved that movie when it first came out in the early ‘70s. Plot: a Jewish left-wing intensely political woman falls in love with

J.R.noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-73345528200554774872008-03-25T21:34:00.008-07:002008-03-26T07:23:50.718-07:00

"Everyday I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of others, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving." Albert Einstein I ran across this quotation today and thought, Wow, he sure took that self-talk seriously. Albert Einstein gave the world many things including his research in the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-69194288803628287762008-03-21T22:00:00.008-07:002008-03-29T21:55:51.111-07:00

We all face our own mortality although some of us are good at pretending it doesn't exist. Usually I'm able to ignore thoughts of dying or of losing someone I love, but sometimes the concept slaps me in the face and can't be ignored. Last week I had one of those slap-downs when we were waiting at the hospital while my husband, Don, got a heart catheterization. A catheterization, according to the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-40897496507977987482008-03-15T09:28:00.014-07:002008-03-16T18:10:29.376-07:00

Lest you think I never write anything except stroke and speech related stuff, I'm going to share a tongue-in-cheek look at two of the Seven Deadly Sins that I wrote for Associated Content. Yes, it's slightly irreverent but what else would you expect from a senior citizen with too much time on her hands?But if you really want to read something stroke related, Cooper (our dog) blogged about Don's

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-3180939143967986712008-03-07T18:34:00.002-08:002008-03-07T18:38:02.746-08:00

People dealing with aphasia and apraxia will understand my excitement at having my husband finally---for the first time since May 21, 2000---try to spell a word that he couldn't verbalize. It's the first time he's done that. It always shocks me when Don comes up with something new like this. The brain really is a mysterious place where spontaneous healing can happen. After he did that, I

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-6463596257029076582008-03-01T21:19:00.012-08:002008-03-03T16:27:07.302-08:00

We hear about the stroke survivors who have anger issues when dealing with speech problems, but we don’t often hear about the caregiver/spouses with anger issues.Well, I have them in this household. Not often, but once in a while the angry out-bursts come out of me from seemingly no where and when I least expect them. It feels like menopause all over again.Last night I was working on the computer

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-73346807517076489242008-02-29T19:06:00.002-08:002008-02-29T19:13:46.757-08:00

One of the professors at the college where Don had been going for speech therapy for the past six years just got an award for excellence in teaching. We were invited to see her "presentation speech" because, she said, the clients who work with her students are such an important part of the speech pathology department. I'm glad we were invited. It made me tear up in several parts when she talked

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-22653377609154560492008-02-22T10:28:00.016-08:002008-02-27T06:39:50.205-08:00

We went to the fish fry at the old people's club today and as I looked around it occurred to me that the coffee waitresses were living in an episode of The Golden Girls, an old TV sit-com. The whole place was sit-com material. Three-hundred-and-fifty people lined up like pigs at a feeding trough or waiting in line to pay a ridiculously low price for all-you-can-eat. I mean, what's the story

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-19510559862131640842008-02-16T19:56:00.005-08:002008-02-17T17:36:54.770-08:00

I don't know what people used to do before automatic washers and dryers but right now I'm in love with mine. Ours got a real workout in the past 48 hours. Before I explain our two days in hell, let me first say that I spent all of last week deep cleaning our bedroom, getting it ready for the six hundred dollars worth bedding that I bought with my prize money from the writers' award. The room

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-23022111565388670672008-02-14T07:30:00.015-08:002008-02-20T09:00:16.096-08:00

Don's manual wheelchair has two speeds: pokey and barely moving. Yesterday, Don and his chair were stuck in the latter gear while I was trying my best to rush us along so we could get to UPS before they closed. The wheelchair wasn't the only thing stuck. Don was in one of his aphasia driven singing moods. "Boom, boom, boom boom," he belted out all afternoon, doing his best impression of Dean

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-6471777713238929712008-02-10T20:14:00.000-08:002008-02-11T17:24:36.374-08:00

Am I the only one who is impressed by the people who can sum up a movie or book’s plot in just one sentence? I went to the internet movie data base today to look up Billy Crystal’s comedy, City Slickers, and their plot summary line reads: “A mid-life crisis plagued man and his friends find renewal and purpose on a cattle driving vacation.” If you’ve ever seen this film, you’ll agree that this

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-7317777198384167782008-01-30T19:50:00.000-08:002008-01-31T12:52:40.989-08:00

I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of telling the story about the year Don gave me a fifty gallon gas tank for Valentine’s Day. Whatever made him think that I’d be bowed over by his generosity and slobber kisses all over his face or hug him silly over a gas tank, I don’t know. I am the practical type and I’ve liked my share of practical gifts, but this was just a little bit too practical and, well,

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-37675418960007391842008-01-29T13:52:00.004-08:002008-04-16T17:49:40.184-07:00

Last February I submitted an article for publication at Associated Content, an on-line media site with over 100,000 registered members (include 23,000 published content producers) and nearly a million site clicks each day. It was about my husband's massive stroke and how it affected our lives. I just learned that it won a $1,000 People's Media Award for being one of the best text articles

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-26027340556991086162008-01-24T19:19:00.001-08:002008-02-16T20:01:14.573-08:00

It's embarrassing that it's taken me so long to update this blog. I have but one excuse. I've become seriously addicted to answering questions at Yahoo. Oh, yes, it's like eating pop corn in a movie theater---so hard to stop the mindless action! No matter how fast you can type, it's humanly impossible to keep up with the endless and daunting flow of questions on everything from politics to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-37346930950583485722007-12-29T15:30:00.000-08:002008-01-24T23:30:51.007-08:00

Finally, Don is home from the hospital...but with strings. They've signed him up for home physical therapy to get him back to base line. Base for him is independent transfers from his wheelchair to where ever and back. He's not quite there yet---I need to stand by to be sure he's safe---but I'm hoping we can build up his strength rather fast, given that he was doing so well after this fall's

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-53232146435280514852007-12-27T15:30:00.000-08:002007-12-28T15:41:58.589-08:00

Strange how quickly we can fall into different patterns in life. Don's been in the hospital seven days now and already my days are in a rhythm that dovetails with his. By eight o'clock I'm up to shower and have a Slim-Fast for breakfast before taking off for the hospital on the other end of town. I stop for a Starbucks's caramel macchiato when I'm almost there and carry it into the hospital and

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-86003981927656262962007-12-24T19:07:00.000-08:002007-12-25T14:42:24.431-08:00

It's Christmas Eve and feelings of happiness that Don's aorta aneurysm surgery was successful are intermingled with fleeting feelings of fear and sadness. Fear of a future filled with loneliness should Don, at some point, cease to be before my time on earth has ended. Sad at past loses and flowing tears. I left the hospital today, came home to an arthritic dog with cataract encrusted eyes and he

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-56984836684317854082007-12-21T15:29:00.000-08:002007-12-25T20:45:25.016-08:00

Don was on the operating table for four hours, in recovery for two and in ICU for four hours after that. He came through the aorta aneurysm repair very well, with no complications, and when I left the hospital tonight he seemed to be back to his old personality. He'll be in the hospital at least until Monday morning which is a couple of extra days more than they usually keep people when they do

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-74473211794131343292007-12-19T21:23:00.000-08:002007-12-22T18:38:51.680-08:00

I just found out that one of my aphasia caregiver articles has been nominated for the Best Text Article of 2007 on Associated Content! It's caregiver humor piece and I really needed this exciting news right now. The site publishes thousands of articles and I don't know how much of a chance I have of winning, but it doesn't matter. The nomination feels great, especially now. If you want to read it

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-1584400806895021882007-12-06T17:18:00.000-08:002007-12-06T17:38:25.923-08:00

Don's aorta aneurysm is going to be on December 21st. Between now and then we have four appointments to get the pre-op stuff out of the way which includes: an adenosine myocaridal perfusion stress test, an echocardiogram, a surgical nurse interview, a chest x-ray, blood work, and an appointment at Don's internist. We're told the surgery is pretty safe when not done in an emergency situation, like

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-1038188292714803082007-12-01T21:22:00.000-08:002007-12-01T21:38:03.559-08:00

We've had our lives on hold waiting for Don's aorta aneurysm surgery date. The hold up has been that the cardiologist was out of town over Thanksgiving and wasn't available to give clearance for the surgery. Once back, he ordered some tests that are scheduled for the 10th so we know that Don will not get on the surgical schedule before those are read. It's looking more and more like Don will be

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-70174352882583373642007-11-14T20:16:00.000-08:002007-11-15T16:11:52.316-08:00

Don's new carbon fiber brace came on Monday and it was short of amazing how well he could walk in it while getting the final fitting tweaked. His toe didn't drag and get caught on the floor and his heel was hitting the floor first which I haven't seen since before his stroke. He was able to stay standing for longer periods. I was so pumped until…The next day at home I tried to get Don's foot and

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-7679262042609223072007-11-08T20:29:00.000-08:002007-11-10T06:39:18.268-08:00

This past Tuesday a near disaster happened in the lobby of the building where Don goes for speech therapy. His wheelchair broke apart. The main bolt in the scissors-like bars underneath the seat snapped in two which made the whole thing fold up on itself---with Don sitting in it! The wheels, at the bottom, kept spreading farther and farther apart and at the top they kept getting closer and closer

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-29115222359707747252007-11-04T09:24:00.000-08:002007-11-05T06:04:37.540-08:00

Did you ever have a day when you had to wear your Christmas sweater three days after Halloween because you forgot to do the laundry? Okay, so I fail at housewifey things but can anyone explain why a 60-something year old woman can't avoid stepping in dog do-do? We have a dog. Wouldn't you think by now I'd know enough to look where I'm walking when I go through his pen? I had gone outside to

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-84552097463779951772007-10-28T21:42:00.000-07:002007-10-28T23:31:25.704-07:00

Watching my husband trying to decide what to wear to today reminded me of the year we moved into our new house, several years post stroke. Don’s got a closet, now, that he can roll into and with this closet came his training to relearn to pick out his own clothing for the day. It was a difficult and time-consuming project that brought Shrew-Lady swooping into our bedroom almost as often as Nancy

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-83924033991679448112007-10-26T21:11:00.000-07:002007-10-27T18:46:48.553-07:00

Don has taken to aquatic therapy like a duck to water. It's an old simile but I can't think of another one that fits any better. Thursday the physical therapist had him in the pool for a half hour laying on his back peddling bicycle style, spreading and closing his legs, kicking like a swimmer and drawing his legs up to his chest and kicking them back out. It's quite amazing to see his stroke

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-69522521239028195472007-10-23T16:24:00.001-07:002007-10-26T21:11:32.443-07:00

It was cold this morning when I was due to leave for the YMCA for my arthritis pool class. Okay, cold is bad and any old excuse will do when you hate exercise as much as I do. I debated in my head: "Go and be good or stay home and be bad." Logic won out but only because I had a burrito for dinner last night and I didn't want it to go straight to my hip. So I talked myself into a compromise. I'd

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-65045721408771294202007-10-21T10:01:00.000-07:002007-11-10T06:32:52.368-08:00

If you measure the success of a disability deer hunt by the number of happy faces that came back to the deer camp at dark, then this year's hunt was an overwhelming success. If you measure a successful hunt by the number of deer twenty-six guys in wheelchairs were able to put on the brag pole then you'd have to say the deer won yesterday. Only two were harvested. The spouses of other hunters and

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-46614851834907035262007-10-20T08:02:00.001-07:002007-11-10T06:33:19.974-08:00

QUICK UPDATE: Don is out in the woods taking part in the disability deer hunt as I type and I just got a call from his guide---don't you love this modern age of communication? They were on their way to the deer camp to get some lunch after being in the blind since dawn. He said Don saw ten deer but every time they'd get Don and his wheelchair set up to shoot out one window of the blind, the deer

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-7905195052221680382007-10-18T16:52:00.000-07:002007-10-20T12:55:43.209-07:00

Sometimes I think my life is a giant Parker Brothers board game. Roll the dice and move five spaces forward. Draw a card and it tells me to, "Go directly to jail, do not pass Go. Do not collect $200." Then I roll the dice again and I draw a card that says, "Bank error in your favor, Collect $200." When things are going well, why can't we just stay in that groove?Monday was land therapy with one

J.R.noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-48951262046539616252007-10-15T06:08:00.000-07:002007-10-15T19:54:57.682-07:00

We all make ourselves crazy over stupid things. I know I used to do it a lot. I was the queen of making mountains out of mole hills and I would stress out over, well... the dumbest things. A missed appointment, a road closure when I was running late, a flat tire, a miscommunication with a friend over a planned engagement, a rainy day when I had special plans---these types of things had me

J.R.noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-2860565432393340882007-10-13T16:07:00.000-07:002007-10-20T13:07:17.918-07:00

Some of you might not know about the magazine, Wheelin' Sportsmen. It's the official bi-monthly publication of the Wheelin' Sportsmen, National Wild Turkey Federation, an organization that "is dedicated to providing people with disabilities opportunities to participate in outdoor activities such as hunting, fishing and target shooting." It's a chapter of the NWTF that is sponsoring the disability

J.R.noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-38794925638487987942007-10-12T16:34:00.000-07:002007-10-15T13:46:08.154-07:00

To keep Don in aquatic therapy we have to switch rehab centers because the PT that Don has been working is transferring out of town and no one left is strong enough to handle Don in the water. This presented a dilemma because the new center only schedules appointments in the pool on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the same days that Don goes to speech classes. So yesterday I talked with the head of the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-49257675741969388332007-10-10T20:35:00.000-07:002007-10-13T00:05:30.305-07:00

Aquatic therapy went well today and had the twist of three students from the high school there to observe. So the PT did a lot of explaining about what it entails to get someone like Don walking again and how the brain has the ability to reroute itself around the damaged part to make new connections, even as far out from a stroke as Don is. He talked about tone after a stroke and how the body has

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-34471113513602135142007-10-08T19:32:00.000-07:002007-10-13T00:05:47.816-07:00

You know it's a sad state of affairs when you can say that flipping a mattress was the highlight of your Sunday. Okay, flipping two mattresses, that's a little better but it's still pathetic. Or is it? We all need a stop-and-smell-the-dust-mites kind of day once in a while.Monday was just the opposite from Sunday with several things happening to thrill and excite. Okay, not thrilling as in a

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-38891368959057208382007-10-06T16:27:00.000-07:002007-10-18T20:36:02.352-07:00

When we finished up at the Farmer's Market this morning, it was too early to go out for lunch so we took a side trip to our future home---a quaint little cemetery in the town where Don grew up. It's one of those places where there are century old tombstones lined up on rolling terrain that are shaded by mature trees, and the squirrels have free reign of the place. We'll have good neighbors there;

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-57021888621612260102007-10-04T18:16:00.000-07:002007-10-13T00:06:19.470-07:00

All the instructors for the YMCA exercise classes in the pool have different styles. Today was my first class with a woman who truly had a unique manner of leading senior citizens. I came home feeling like a cross between Floyd Mayweather and a Nordic ski champion. Yes, I spent an hour in the pool alternating boxing foot work and jabs with ski scissors and extensions. I got out the pool feeling

J.R.noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-83096216551293908402007-10-03T20:18:00.000-07:002007-10-13T00:06:41.525-07:00

My husband worked nights his entire adult life and it's still hard for him to get up for early morning appointments. But beggars can't be choosers when you need a doctor's appointment so we were up before the birds came down for their breakfast. We were just walking out the door when the audiologist called and wanted to move our appointment two hours back or two weeks out if that didn't work out.

J.R.noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-29863732191536173922007-10-02T17:38:00.000-07:002007-10-18T18:13:22.269-07:00

Anyone who thinks that old people don't do anything but sit at home feeding the birds and hoping a telemarketer will call so they'll have someone some one to talk to should follow us around for while.Yesterday was one of Don's blood lab and physical therapy days. After 7 1/2 years in a wheelchair, we were lucky to get his doctor to write a prescription to try aquatic therapy. The goal is not so

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5020836540211582257.post-84611139756065253692007-09-30T13:26:00.001-07:002007-11-10T06:34:08.633-08:00

My husband, Don, went on Michigan's first disability deer hunt last year along with seventeen other wheelchair bound guys---oops, make that sixteen guys and one gal. Between them, they harvested 7-8 deer. My husband was not one of them, but it didn't matter. He had a wonderful time doing the male bonding thing out in the woods and at the 'base camp.' In the 7 ½ years since his stroke, it was the

J.R.noreply@blogger.com0