Flying without Wings

      Faith is as simple or complex as you want to make it. It can simply be the belief that you will be here on this planet tomorrow, or it can be a complex belief system involving religion, philosophy, or a mixture of both.  Faith is confidence or trust in a person or thing without having cold hard facts to support that confidence or trust.  Regardless of how you define “Faith”, it is necessary to have it, no matter what you’re facing. I have found that faith keeps my feet moving—one in front of the other, always forward, no matter what lies ahead.

     I have often felt that the fear of the unknown is the most powerful form of fear. We have all heard the old adage, “better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”  In other words, don’t move from the situation you’re in because you don’t know what may lay ahead, and it could be worse than what you have going on now. There is certainly comfort in the familiar, but there’s also complacency, boredom, and often times anxiety. 

     Fear can keep you paralyzed even in the worst of situations, but faith, the belief that things could be better can be your antidote.  It allows you the freedom to move, one foot in front of the other. It allows you to accept that no “devil” regardless of your familiarity, is worth knowing. 

      After being in the hospital for three plus months, the time had come for this baby bird to fly.  I had recovered, been put back together, and had no illness left to cure. I was ready to begin the new chapter of my life. “Getting out and getting on with it” became my battle cry. But as eager as I was to get into physical rehab, I was scared to death to leave the safety and familiarity of the hospital. I knew all of my nurses, and therapists. I knew what to expect every day and every evening. I even began to look forward to certain “menu” items provided by the hospital cafeteria. Being in the hospital long enough to know that Wednesday was “Lasagna day” was a pretty sad reality. Nonetheless, I still found security in my knowledge of what my everyday looked like.

      I began to express my fears about leaving the hospital to one of my nurses one evening. The words cascaded out of my quivering mouth. Everything, every fear that I was feeling did not go unannounced. After listening for several minutes…or more, he said that he had something that might help allay my fears. He would go to his car and get it for me during his break.

     He returned to my room a few hours later, and handed me a paper.  I began to read:

Faith

When we get to the edge of all the light we have,

 and take that step into the darkness of the unknown,

we must believe that one of two things will happen…

there will be something solid for us to stand on,

or we will be taught how to fly.    Anonymous

     That night I began to believe that even though my life had dramatically changed, and that the body I had come into this world owning had been dramatically altered, I actually would be alright.  That night I chose to welcome rehab wholeheartedly no matter what it entailed.  I decided that I didn’t want to know this “devil” anymore. I needed to leave the hospital. I also started to recognize that the devil which lay ahead was shrouded in my own self-doubt. And as it turned out, I did know the devil ahead of me. It was simply my own fear. I chose, that night, to embrace my faith, and not allow that “devil” to rule my life, and impede my forward motion.

     My nurse gave me something which I had needed for a long time…longer even than my hospital stay. He helped me believe in myself…to regain the faith that I so desperately needed.  He helped me sprout my wings. He helped me believe that I would be taught how to fly.

     Faith is an amazing tool to have in your Survivor’s toolbox. If you believe in yourself, the “devil you know,” will no longer be someone or something that you are willing to accept. Faith in yourself provides motion…always forward, especially when you’re unsure of what may be lying ahead of you. Your faith becomes your belief that no matter the circumstances, you will stand on solid ground, or like me, you will be taught how to fly.

Excavate, Evaluate, Evolve

“To expose, to view by or as if by digging away a covering” 
 “To find the value or worth” 

“An unfolding process of development or change”

                                           

                                                                                 Provided by Webster’s Dictionary

      How many times in your life have you questioned why you’ve done something, made the choices you’ve made, or ended up in the situation you’re in?  How many times have you considered options along your path? Or have you felt like you had no choices, and that’s why you’ve ended up where you are? How many times have you continued doing the same things the same way even though you keep getting the same results; ones you don’t particularly want or desire?

     If this sounds like you, believe me you are not alone.  It isn’t easy to be constantly vigilant to every behavior, thought or action you engage in on a daily basis. But if you find that you aren’t getting what you want out of your life, in every aspect, it may be time to excavate, evaluate, and evolve.

    When I came out of my drug induced coma, fourteen years ago, I found myself in a newly altered body. I was alive and obviously victorious over the microscopic battle which had taken place on a physiological battle ground. The bacterial infection lost, but the collateral damage was high. I left my world as I had known it—whole, with no missing parts. I emerged in my new world, un-whole, missing three limbs and the left half of my chest. To say that I was in despair, frightened, and confused would be an understatement. Even though I knew I was going to live, I just didn’t know what that life was going to look like—how I was going to accomplish anything with the ravaged body which was now...mine.

     I began the excavation process very early on in my recovery, and started to dig deep within myself to uncover what I needed just to get through each day. What I found first and foremost was gratefulness for having a life, and the willingness to live it despite how it looked. Two enormously helpful tools were uncovered, “gratitude” and “courage”, and they paved the way for my complete recovery—my completeness in an incomplete body.

     With gratitude and courage under my belt, I began to evaluate my life—what was I worth and who was going to want me.  If I told you that the phrase “damaged merchandise” didn’t enter my mind, I’d be lying to you.  But as I began to really take charge of what I had left to manage, and how I was going to manage it, I found strength, and flexibility. I came to understand that the more I tried to force my new situation into my old life I was constantly reminded that I didn’t fit.

     I made the choice to quit pining away for a life I no longer fit into, and began to change; to evolve into a new way of living. I had to be strong, both physically and emotionally to embrace my physical changes, and I had to be flexible enough to twist and turn into my new body—to accept my in-completeness as completeness. 

     If I told you that all of this was accomplished within the first 6 months after my recovery, or even the first year, I’d be lying to you. Digging deep inside, considering what I’m made of, and changing my life has been a process. Just as evolution doesn’t happen instantly, self-evolution takes a life time.  

     I constantly dig deep, and excavate those things, those “treasures” that I need to get me through each and every day. And as I evaluate what I have found, more and more choices of where I want to be in my life and how I’m going to get there emerge.  Once I set my course, I begin the process of unfolding my life, developing my skills, and living my life as a survivor.

     When you are on the Survivor’s path, you must be willing to excavate—unearth the treasure inside you. You must be willing to evaluate how you are going to use your treasure to get you where you want to go.  And you must be willing to evolve—be ready to change… to unfold and not allow fear to get in the way of your forward motion. Finding the truth of who you are can be a painful process, but living in that truth is amazingly freeing, and gives you strength as well as flexibility. It gives you courage and a feeling of completeness—and that is what being a Survivor is all about.

The 3 D’s: Dreams, Desire, Determination 

“To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.”  Anatole France      

I never equated a dream to a goal until my dream and my goal became one in the same. And I never had a dream that I was so desirous to grab hold of until I felt my life slipping through my fingers.  

     My dream was formulated sometime between realizing that I was going to live, surviving a life threatening bacterial infection, and aching to be home. I don’t remember my exact location when my dream began to form. I was in the hospital, and maybe still in the ICU, but I can’t be certain.  All I knew was after losing three limbs, half of my chest, and my life, as I had known it; my recovery was going to be long and arduous.  But all I could think about-- dream about, was going home to my two little boys and my husband.    

      When I got out of the hospital, almost three months to the day from when I was admitted, and on to the physical Rehab facility, I was terrified.  I had no feet to stand on; only one hand-- the left hand-- and it was damaged from the illness.  I had no idea what it was going to take, or how painful it would be to get back on my brand new soon to be purchased feet.      
      
     I arrived at the rehab facility, and met with my physical therapist, Bob.  After doing an evaluation of me, he shook his head. “We have a lot of work to do here.” He explained how my muscles had deteriorated over the past months, while lying in a hospital bed.   After asking Bob how long it would take to be able to walk on prostheses, he told me, “That’s entirely up to you, and how hard you’re willing to work.” My fate rested in my own hands.     

     I explained to Bob that I had a dream…a goal. “I want to be home by my son’s 5th birthday, July 13th. I want to walk in my door totally unassisted, to help celebrate his life. I want to go home, and re-claim my life!”  Bob raised his eyebrows, and shook his head again.  “That’s a pretty lofty goal,” he said. “Be prepared to work hard.”     
     
     My regiment of exercises was brutal. But I hit that rehab gym every day six hours a day (that was all Bob would allow me to stay) working to exhaustion. The stronger I became, the more real my dream became. As I began to believe in myself, I knew I could accomplish my goal. I noticed, while doing my physical therapy, that if I kept my dream at the forefront of my mind, my grueling daily routine didn’t seem that grueling. I also noticed that the closer I came to realizing my dream; my desire actually increased and fueled my determination.  My immense desire and unrelenting determination made me unstoppable.  All of my hard work paid off. On June 31st I got my first pair of prosthetic legs.      

     When I stood for the first time on my new legs, it hurt like I couldn’t believe! But once again, I put my dream in the forefront of my mind, and my desire surged. I took one agonizing step after another, determined not to let my physical pain get in the way of my dream. As time went by, I started to adapt to my new legs. The pain turned into discomfort, and as I was able to wear my prostheses for longer periods of time, the discomfort began to ease.  I was becoming more proficient on my new fake feet walking indoors and outdoors. I could even go up and down stairs. Finally, I was ready to go home.       
 
      I walked into my home totally unassisted, realizing a dream that had been set almost six months previous. My accomplishment was great. I had a dream, a plan of action, and belief in myself that I would never quit. And my reward for realizing my dream was my home…my family, and the privilege of reclaiming my life.       
 
I left my house on February 15th, a victim. I entered my home July 23rd, a survivor.     

     When you’re on the Survivor’s path, no dream is too big. No obstacle will deter you if you have that unrelenting desire to accomplish your goal. And as the desire to grab your dream grows, it will fuel your determination and make you unstoppable. So never be afraid to set your goals high—to dream big.  

A Survivor knows that to believe in a dream is a dream already realized. 

Courage

“Weren’t you frightened?” Dorothy asked the Wizard of Oz

.

       “Frightened? Child, you're talking to a man who's laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom,

and chuckled at catastrophe... I was petrified.”

 From the movie “The Wizard of Oz”

     “Courage” was not a word that used to jump to the fore front of my mind when asked to describe myself.  My day to day was unremarkable for the most part. I may have encountered a hiccup now and then, but certainly not something that would involve having to reach inside myself to find the courage that I may or may not have possessed. I never had to laugh in the face of danger, or sneer at doom or even chuckle at catastrophe…until I had to actually deal with catastrophe. And much like the Wizard of Oz, when I did have to deal with more than a hiccup, I was petrified.

     Fourteen years ago, I found myself not only fighting for my life, but having to learn how to live in the body that I did not come into the world owning. I had been cast in a play I never auditioned for, and didn’t recognize. I didn’t know the lines, or how the story would unfold.  The only thing I was certain of was the end…the lead character, me, survived. I found myself living in a body I no longer recognized, and learning how to live in this new body, minus parts, was terrifying.

     There were days when I didn’t want to work hard on my survival, when I was worn and tired and troubled.  How was I ever going to get my life back with three missing limbs, and lying flat on my back in a hospital bed?  Coming to terms with that, fully understanding that my life as I knew it had ended, took courage. But embracing my new life, living in a newly disabled body took tremendous courage. 

     I found early on in my recovery that not only did I need courage to adjust to the new me figuring out how to manage this new life, but my husband and my two little boys needed it too. Even at the most difficult and painful times of my recovery, I recognized that it was my courage which was lighting the way for the others around me, and sustaining us all. 

      My little son, who was 4 years old at the time of my hospitalization, came to visit me at the hospital at least once a week.  Every time he would get ready to leave, he would walk to the threshold of the door. He would turn and look at me.  In his little tremulous voice he would ask, “When you comin’ home mom?”  Even though I knew the question was coming, each and every time I heard it, it would break my heart.  But I’d slap a smile on my face and reply, “soon honey, soon.”  It took every ounce of courage I had to put that smile on my face, and reassure my child that his mother would be home once again.  It was my courage that kept me from unraveling during those moments.  And it was my courage that allowed me to continue to give my child what he needed the most…hope.

      I have found out much about courage over these past years. I have learned that not only do you carry courage within you, but you can lend it to others-- that it builds on itself.  As you use courage, the more courage you will have. You may have to dig deep the first time you use courage to face obstacles or challenges in your life, but the more you use your courage the less deep you will have to dig. Pretty soon, you won’t have to dig at all. 

     Courage will be the first tool you grab to get you through your own personal catastrophes, or when you’re cast in a play you didn’t audition for-- when your lines are difficult, challenging, and maybe even foreign.  

     When I am asked to describe myself now, the word “courage” does jump to the forefront of my mind.  I have had to go to battle more than once in my life.  I have laughed in the face of death, and sneered at doom, and even chuckled at catastrophe. And each and every time, I have been petrified.  But I move forward, never being frozen in fear. 

     So, acknowledge the courage inside you even if you have to dig deep.  Be willing to accept that you have courage-own it. Continue to use it in everything you do.  The day will come when courage is simply a part of who you are. And maybe you will even be able to chuckle at catastrophe. But if you can’t and you’re feeling petrified, your courage will allow you to learn your new lines and not become paralyzed by stage fright. It will help you on your survivor’s journey…always moving forward.

Blessings

When I’m worried and I can’t sleep,

I count my blessings instead of sheep,

and I fall asleep counting my blessings…

(lyrics by Irving Berlin from the musical “White Christmas”)

Who knew Irving Berlin was such a wise man?

      I don’t know about you, but it always seems that whatever I’m worried about wages a sneak attack, delivers a low blow when I’m nestled down, comfy, warm, and secure, in my bed, ready to go to sleep.  It’s at these times when those nagging worries and concerns in my life worm their way into my mind, and demand me to join them in the night time dance of insomnia. 

     There’s nothing worse than being on the verge of falling to sleep, only to have your eyes pop open with the “what’s” (am I doing with my life?), the “how’s” (am I going to make things work?), and the “when’s” (will things get better?).

     When I was recovering from the bacterial infection which left me hanging onto my life with the one remaining limb it didn’t destroy, my anxiety level was so high it was off the charts.  I was literally riddled with the “What’s”,” How’s” and “When’s.”  It was overwhelming for me to think about what I was going to do with this newly altered body; when was I ever going to get out (of the hospital) and get on with my life; how was I going to regain my life as wife and mother as a newly disabled person…a triple amputee.

     To put my mind at ease, I would gaze out of my west facing hospital room window. I had an amazing view of the majestic Rocky Mountains, and every evening I witnessed the sun lowering itself in an orange and red cascade of color into the purple and blue sky.  The beauty of the sunset calmed my soul, and the constancy of that magnificent event; the knowledge that I was once again fortunate enough to witness it, yet another evening, made me realize how truly blessed I was to be alive. Regardless of what was left of me, I could still take in my glorious view…

     After my husband, Michael, died, I wrote a letter of gratitude to all my friends, family, and the benevolent strangers who had offered their support to me and my children through Michael’s battle with cancer, and his loss of that battle...our loss of his life. I showed my mother the letter, asking her for feedback.  After reading my words of appreciation, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked, “How can you remain so positive, and feel so blessed after everything you’ve lost?” I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “If I only looked at what I’ve lost, I’d never be able to see all that I have.”

      As a Survivor, I keep my blessings in clear sight. They improve my attitude, help diminish my grief.  I see them with  20/20 clarity. And when my night time worries begin to sneak up, trying to engage me in a slumberless dance, I think about my life —what it means to be a survivor. I acknowledge the fact that I am fortunate to be alive, to have made it through another day. At the close of the day, I get to witness one of nature’s finest no longer from a hospital bed, but standing on my front porch.  And I relish in the beauty-- the beauty of the blessing.

     I tuck in for another night’s sleep, letting go of the “what’s, the “how’s” and the “when’s”. And then I simply take Mr. Berlin’s advice…I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I end up sleeping like a baby.

                                                                                  Battle

     I battle every day.  Most of the time, I battle with a worthy and formidable opponent. She can debate like a politician, she’s very clever, and can at times outsmart me.  The issues we battle over are stress, self-confidence and motivation-- or lack thereof. We even battle over desert—that is whether to eat it or not!  I often win these battles, but there are days when my opponent (did I mention that she’s me?) gets the upper hand. Those are the days when the self-doubt begins to creep up on me, or I feel like I’m not quite up to snuff.  The little voice in the back of my mind begins to second guess my actions, undermining my confidence in the decisions I’ve made.    

     As a survivor, I recognize that fighting the good fight, battling the negative is not only necessary, but it demands constant vigilance; especially when I’m battle worn or just plain tired. Those are the times when I’m more vulnerable and end up losing or giving into those negative thoughts. Those are the times when I end up in the land of “stinky thinking.” Whereas quick recognition of that landscape can give me the upper hand, often times I get there even before realizing where I’m headed.  I’ve been caught there without a road map and can’t seem to navigate my way out.

     When I find myself traveling through this odiferous place, I know that I cannot stay there and walk the survivor’s path at the same time. So, I’ve found my own personal GPS--the person who can help guide me out of the negativity.  And believe me, getting out is necessary to my survival as well as being a survivor.

     I was talking on the phone with my sister one evening. She had asked me how my speaking career was going.  I was not feeling particularly positive that evening, and began a litany of “W’s”—where was I going with this career? What was I thinking? Who was going to want to hear me speak? Before I knew it self-doubt was oozing out of every pore. “I don’t know why I decided to do this,” I intoned.

      Every time my sister tried to insert a positive comment in my self-destructive soliloquy, I countered with two negative ones.  Finally in her best big sister coupled with twenty-five years as an elementary school teacher voice, she said “you need to practice what you preach.”

    “Huh?” She stopped me dead in my whiny tracks.  “You’re right!” She had interrupted my continual loop of self-doubt, fear, and feelings of not being good enough. How could I have let that negativity sneak into my being?  How could I talk about being a survivor when I was surrounding myself in negative thoughts?  But, instead of berating myself (another form of stinky thinking) I cut myself a break. I’m human and no one is immune to negative thinking; we all get stuck in the land of stinky thinking periodically.  

     The good news for me was that I was complaining to the absolute right person. She helped me get back on track—to get back on the horse called “survivor.”  I have said it before,” no one survives alone.”  Having someone who will not, under any circumstances, get lost in the land of stinky thinking with you is imperative to your staying true to yourself, to that survivor within you.

     So if you’re feeling those tendrils of self-doubt, stress, or lack of motivation trying to wrap around your resolve, or you find yourself in a downward cycle of negativity, call out your inner-warrior. And if you need help in the battle call the person who won’t let you get stuck in the muck of negativity.

     Being a survivor means going to battle, utilizing your resources to win that battle, and continuing on the path free from the stench of stinky thinking. 

     As far as desert goes…can’t help you there. Chocolate almost always wins out at my house!