On a dime...or maybe even a penny

Some days, all you can do is duck and cover.  However, as effective as that strategy can be, it doesn't get stuff done, and it doesn't prevent new stuff from hitting the Master List.  So sometimes, an even better strategy is to just stop.

Now, I do realize that this doesn't necessarily solve either of the problems I mentioned above.  However, it does allow you to better assess where things are, what is left to be done, what can be put off, and what needs your attention rightnothisverysecond.  It allows you to do one of the most important things in your daily life: prioritize.

As of now, the Master List For Work reads something like this: reconcile the selection routing sheets for upwards of 75 folders, review all new items, fix all of the edits on selections in the system, extend contracts to teachers for item writing and reviewing, email teachers to help solve their issues, or to gently blow them off if needs be, prepare training materials for an upcoming session, try to figure out where the rest of my stuff is for the new part of my job, organize my desk better so that I am not driving myself nuts trying to find things, clean out rejected selection folders and shift their status in the system, do all of the EC and ESL reviews for over a dozen assessments, write my own fill-in items, start to build test forms, and about a dozen other things that I haven't even thought about today.  Obviously, there is no way to get this all done in a day, or even a month.  Many of these are ongoing.  However, some of it can be done in a day, but it requires a solid block of time, preferably uninterrupted.  Now, I don't know about your office, but in mine, the word "uninterrupted" is somewhat of a source of amusement.  Its rarity makes it precious and valuable, but it also makes attaining it nearly impossible.

And of course, like any other working parent, my Real Job starts when I walk out of the office.  I pick up the Ambassador, run any errands that need doing, and head home to deal with dinner.  After dinner, I may or may not have kitchen duty.  At that point, I am wiped out.  The idea of tackling my Master List At Home is so daunting that I don't even try.  So things pile up.  Weekends can offer some time to knock some items off, but when away games and unexpected circumstances crop up, time grows really short.  So when our friends wanted to see how our house was laid out, I showed them.  But holy hell, did I cringe.  It made me realize how far away from me that Master List has gotten, and how desperately I need to take some time to address it.  It's gotten to where I have sub-lists for different rooms, because the list has grown so huge.

I realize that I have to take my limitations into consideration, but man, there are days when I just want to say "screw it" and blitz all out until everything is done.  Too bad it isn't actually possible!

And so, today, I have decided to stop.  Stop totally, step back, and revise the Master Lists into priorities.  Stephen Covey denotes the difference between "urgency" and "importance" and it's time for me to do the same with the things I need to get done.  Otherwise, I'm going to go crazier than I already am.

But for right now, my first priority above all, is to take a deep breath, and realize that the world will not stop revolving if I don't get it all done.  I think this one may be the toughest!

Killing the cat...all nine lives

As I was reading on Facebook the other day, my daughter's friend, the Dynamo, mentioned that she was stopped by someone on her way into class.  The person asked the Dynamo, in all seriousness, what she did with Sunny, her guide dog, when the Dynamo was in class. 

*blink*

Really?

So of course, being a smart ass, I joined in with several others of my questionable ilk and offered up some witty repartee that could've made for a quick response.  Her professor, actually, posted the "winning" retort by saying that Sunny had been helping her grade papers and tests, but had a bad habit of sexting in class.  I loved it.

It really got me thinking, though, about some of the dumb questions and assumptions that people have about any individual with a disability.  I've been asked why I still work, how I run when I use a cane (?!), why I don't "just get physical therapy" or "just have surgery" to fix the issue, and many more.  One of my favorite stories was when I had a clerk start speaking loudly and extremely slowly to me.  I was kind of surprised, and didn't say anything, but when she counted out my change coin by coin, dollar by dollar, I got a little wary.  After she was done, she patted my arm and said that I was very brave and strong, being out in the world by myself.  I looked her straight in the eye and told her that while I couldn't walk like most people, my cognitive functioning was quite intact, unlike hers apparently was.  She was offended, but guess what?  So was I.  Offended, insulted, and disgusted.  Why assume an inability to care for oneself simply due to a disability?

Now, there are those who believe that being asked the stupid questions presents an opportunity for education, and that the flippant, sarcastic comebacks are not just disrespectful but destructive to the "community bond" that people with disabilities try to forge with "normal" people.  OK, I'm going to take heat for this, but this is a place for honesty, so I'm not going to negate that now.  First, in my not-at-all humble opinion, the condescension and obnoxiously intrusive questions convey a whole lot more disrespect than using humor to diffuse a potentially angry situation. Second, who in the ever loving hell came up with the idea that it is somehow our responsibility to forge a relationship with strangers who clearly don't respect us? 

Maybe that seems unnecessarily harsh, but think about it.  People will come up to someone with a disability and ask very personal questions without hesitation; they don't do that to the average Joe Public on the street.  We are asked details about potentially traumatic events, we're asked to relive emotional struggles and to share our demons with strangers like they have some sort of right to know about them.  What gives anyone the right?  Don't get me wrong...when a little kid asks, "Why does she walk like that?" or "Why do you wear that?" or exclaims, "My grandma has a cane, too!  Are you old like her?" I don't even blink.  To me, that is the natural curiosity of a child coming through, and that, to me, truly is an opportunity for education.  And yes, adult humans are curious as well, but adults are supposed to be hardwired with a modicum of discretion to temper that curiosity.  Otherwise, instead of curious, they are perceived as merely intrusive and rude.

Next time you see someone in a wheelchair, with a guide dog, signing with a friend, or adapting in any other way, I implore you...stop and think.  The question you're about to ask could make you look like a total ass.  Consider that before you ask it!

Do you measure up? I sure don't.

Most people with a disability that affects movement deal with the concept of muscle atrophy on a daily basis.  Atrophy is basically the wasting away of muscle tissue, robbing the limb of the strength it needs for even the more basic functioning.

I've fought this lovely little phenomenon for most of my life, and for a long time, had it well under control.  We had a basic BowFlex at home (bought 10+ yrs ago!), and leg presses were a favorite warm up for me.  I could press the whole set, which was 310lbs, doing 50 reps without too much of a struggle.  Yes, I was using both legs, but I was using them almost equally.  The left leg is always the last second back-up if the knee gives, but the strength to move the weight was always coming from both sides.  However, after the MRSA destroyed my leg, I have found myself unable to recover the strength and muscle mass.  This, my friends, is a nearly constant source of frustration for me.

I've written before how I fail on a nearly daily basis to adhere to my "10 minutes of standing or walking out of any given hour" restriction.  Therefore, as I am standing and walking, I am using those muscles, correct?  So it would stand to reason that the muscle would not atrophy.  The measurements I took last night contradicted that assumption in a really big way.  Last weekend was a great example -- I walked all over the city of New Orleans, resting occasionally, using street cars for long treks, but make no mistake, I walked.  Despite the fact that I use a cane, and therefore do not walk quite evenly, there is no good reason that my muscles shouldn't have responded to the workouts they got.  But they didn't.

The key to measurement limits from my younger days and the orthopaedic surgeons that ruled them, was one inch on the quad and half an inch in the calf.  Any more than that, and I would receive a heated lecture about how I have to partner with them to rebuild and recover my knee, and how that muscle strength was imperative especially for people like me, whose knee joint was unstable enough to give way at any given time, without warning.  I could almost recite Dr. Richards' words to you by heart, including facial expressions and tonal inflections.  Now, don't get me wrong...everything he said was accurate.  I was always contrite, promising meekly to do better, and I would come back the next visit triumphant.

I'm not sure what made me do the measurements last night; I haven't done them in ages, simply because I just did not want to know.  But something made me get my tape measure out, and stretch out my legs on the bed.  I didn't even have to think about how far to go up or down, where to put the tape.  It all flowed back naturally as if I'd done it yesterday.  However, after I'd done the baseline set, and moved to the right leg, I was so stunned that I went back and redid them.  This time, I was more careful.  This time, I reasoned, I'd get a more accurate number and it wouldn't bring the tears to my eyes.

Nope.

The numbers didn't change.  Not. At. All.

Dammit.

Between my quads, there is a full two inch deficit, and between the calves, there is an inch and a quarter.  I could not wrap my head around how bad it was, especially when I do push my leg muscles.  I do force them to work, more than they are supposed to be forced!  What the hell would the numbers look like if I obeyed the 10 minute rule?  I cannot even fathom, and really?  I don't think I want to try.

So today, I fight the frustration and the resentment.  Today, I fight the sense of failure and futility.  Today, I fight just to remember what it was like when I could walk unassisted, carry things in two hands, and the myriad of other things I've lost. 

But today's fight may not be won on this battlefield.  This one might take more than I've got.