Hours Short of One Month

The day after Christmas, at 3:00 pm, after finishing up a solo fishing trip, my husband was in an awful car accident.  He was hurt and hospitalized for five days, but he survived.  I blogged a little about it on New Year's Day.  Here is the link for anyone who missed it, entitled GRATITUDE IS MEDICINE.  

This morning my husband wrote an update about his recovery which we posted on Facebook for friends and family.  I'm sharing it here with his permission:

Hours Short of One Month

This is Larry.  It's hard for me to believe I've been sitting in this Big Blue Lazy Boy for 26 days.  Some days seem longer, and other days seem shorter.  But 24 hours still make a day.

Not a lot to say on my progress.  As February 4^th grows nearer, so does the front edge of my chair.  February 4^th is the day I return to the neurosurgeon to see how well the Lazy Boy has taken care of me.  I have been to all the doctors in town.  My family doctor says I’m doing good—that I need to wean myself from the O2 I use.  He says I will have to come in and retest at some point to get cleared from the oxygen machine and O2 tanks.  I parted ways with my stitches and staples after 10 short days.  I feel like the pain killers made the days shorter.  As I’m now down to two pain killers a day, I find the days are longer and the naps fewer. 

Being a man of few words, I may now be a man of even fewer words.  The reattachment of my chin hasn’t gone as well as I would’ve liked.  It hurts somewhat and swells when I talk.  It seems to me that S’s are harder to say the tighter my chin gets.  I went to the eye doctor, and he said he could see no long term problems from the accident.  The tooth doctor cleared me—said I have no broken teeth, and I should keep them all. 

Once in a while Richelle will take me out on her leash when I’m in my turtle shell brace; she lets me walk around the store for exercise.  I made my first run in Walmart to sporting goods to look for 22 shells.  A guy has to live for something.

As most of you saw from posted pictures, I lost Big Red (my truck.)  I tried to assemble a Dream Team to fix him up, but no takers.  It looks like the insurance will give me enough to buy a used Ford that at some point I can roam the Basin in again and glean produce.  That is something I love to do.  (P.S. maybe a Chevy or Dodge or GMC pickup will work.)  I do think if I can get back to work I will make it. 

All in all, I want everyone to know that I know how lucky I am to be here today.  I love to serve others, and I know my drive to serve will again put me back in the saddle and allow me to be whole.  I am doing well, and I’m on the edge of my seat in wait of the day that Richelle and the doctors let me drive again and serve you all.  God bless each and every one of us.

P.S.  Last weekend I was able to have my kids at home with me and four grandkids. I cannot remember the last time we were together.  I thank them all for what they did and do. 

P.S.S.  Does anyone want to go fishing with me?  And can I drive your truck?

Writer's Magic

Writers possess magic.  It's in their words.  

They compose phrases as powerful as incantations, creating illusions in the minds of readers. These spells make eyes envision things that aren't real; they make hearts feel things that aren't actual. A writer's work is to pen enchantments meant to entrance and hypnotize the mind, causing neglect of all other duties and responsibilities in order for the reader to remain a puppet controlled by the writer's wand. And if some foul friend does manage to break the spell, he is despised for it. His heroics are too late in coming. The words―the fairytales―have seeped beyond the body and into the soul, taking possession. Our poor reader is infected, compromised, never to be cured. The notion of magic found in simple words such as, 'Once upon a time...' has always fascinated me. It is no wonder I am compelled to write.

Copyright 2015 Richelle E. Goodrich

Discouragement, Fear, & Depression

“

Discouragement, fear, and depression—
three villains who lurk in the dark.
They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals 
to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark.

Their tactics are highly effective.
They crush a great many each day.
And under their spell it is easy to dwell
On fiascoes and failures that end in dismay.

The heart and the mind are left heavy.
The last speck of will is erased.
And nothing stays on when these villains are gone
but a mouthful of bile with the bitterest taste.

Alas! You must conquer the scoundrels!
Elude, dodge, and keep them at bay!
To feel fear slink in, boring under your skin,
is a sign that his brothers are well on their way.

So reach for your weapons against them!
Take hope and hard work in each hand!
Strap faith on your hips and a prayer on your lips
and show those debasers how firmly you stand!

Discouragement, fear and depression;
the truth should be known of these cads.
They’re empty and weak; it is your strength they seek.
Deny them and life is your wish in the bag.

”

— Richelle E. Goodrich

Gratitude is Medicine

My New Year's Eve was the worst ever.
I felt like the crud under cow herder's shoes, having cried my fair share of tears the past few days. My husband was seriously hurt in a car accident―a wreck that kept him in the hospital for five days, me at his side.  It was wrong; it was just wrong.  For crying in the night, he's the good guy!  He's the hero who saves other people from car wrecks―the seasoned emergency responder―the careful, experienced, safe, law-abiding driver!  For criminy's sake the man's never even had a parking ticket!

Life is so not fair. I have been repeating these words as if the fact were some profound epiphany.  This whole thing sucks lemons.  And so for New Year's Eve, all I could think about was how awful, how dreadful 2015 was destined to be.

It seems traditionally we bring in every new year with eager optimism, making grand goals, having great expectations that excite us to action from day one.  We stand at the threshold, hopeful.  But this year, day one kindled no such hope or excitement for me, only a bleak sigh at the unavoidable uphill climb ahead.

It's easy to stew in a pot of wo me―a salty stock made from my own tears.  I nearly lost my husband.  The idea is sickening.  He was stapled and stitched together, his mobility hampered by injury.  Bedrest, the doctors say.  No work.  An active guy forced to stop and wait for bones and flesh to heal.

What a dismal way to start off the new year.  Life is so not fair.

January 1st, the sun rose as always.  My spirits did not.  I got up and went about helping my husband to carefully rise and strap on a sturdy back brace.  Pain killers are administered every four hours; it hurts otherwise.  He paused to thank me for my help, for my aid and assistance throughout the past hard week.  This John Wayne of a man thanked me with tears in his eyes.  I felt a warm ray of sunlight in my chest at his heartfelt expression of gratitude, and I too was grateful.  I was grateful to hear him say those kind words to me.

I was affected by these feelings of gratitude amid tragedy. The idea made me contemplate how we have things in this situation to be grateful for:

• My husband survived.  A rear-end collision at 50-60 mph managed to crumple his truck like an aluminum can, but my husband survived.
• No one was in the truck with him―no child crushed in the back seat.
• His injuries, though painful and timely to heal, are expected to mend.  He was nearly killed, but not.  He was nearly paralyzed, but not.
• A great many friends and family have reached out to support him―us.  They've stopped by for unexpected visits at the hospital and at home, offered words of encouragement over the phone, posted kind sentiments on Facebook, brought meals to us, offered assistance at any time of the day, held us firmly with hugs, whispered earnest prayers―all of it a heartwarming reminder that friends make every bit of difference in life.
• We've learned that laughter is a better pain killer than any narcotic.
• At the hospital, I crossed paths with many a stranger who proved to me that kindness and compassion are still strong in the world.  I also realized that misfortune is a shared truth; everyone has an emotional, true story to tell.

Ironic that I should learn to greater appreciate my own quote:

"Gratitude is medicine for a heart devastated by tragedy.  If you can only be thankful for the blue sky, then do so." — Richelle E. Goodrich (Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year)

My eyes still sting with tears, and weariness lingers in my bones, but I have decided that a year beginning with an uphill challenge has the potential to reap more rewards than I first thought.  Perhaps 2015 will be a year of improved health, closer friendships, greater wisdom...........and a new truck.