Ouch!

Yup, I'm sore. Pits and buns. Ouch!

Parker got up to 7 minutes walking on the treadmill today. His goal is to walk a mile before we go see my parents the end of this month, right before he returns to work. A mile on the treadmill, not a mile in the 104 degree heat. He still has to hold the sides for balance, but for someone who was on his back in a hospital bed for three months, that is AWESOME!!! And he only stood up for the first time less than two months ago.

I'm so proud of his determination. We discovered there are machines he cannot use because of the effect they have on his abdomen and the risk of ripping the mesh holding him together. But going to the fitness center, even with limited work, is giving him a sense of taking control of his life again, in addition to re-building his cardiac strength. That's progress.

Workouts and Water

I had forgotten how rewarding a really good work out is. Parker and I went to use his fitness center in his apartments today ~ which is right next to the very appealing, very clean, island-cove themed swimming pool ~ and we both felt great when we were done. Really great.

No doubt my arm pits are going to be sore tomorrow (when you work out with Parker, who used to train for competitive power lifting, you are not allowed to do anything less than three sets of each machine!), but this afternoon we both feel good.


We followed the work out with a trip to Central Market for fresh berries, fresh veggies, granola and groats.


Next workout date: 6:am tomorrow morning. Can't wait!

The Race

Parker can't sleep. Well, let re-phrase that. For the past week he has had trouble sleeping at night. His dreams are filled with horrible images of missing body parts, and people he is trying to get to, just out of reach. He said when he is laying in bed he can see, in his mind's eye, his stomach and how it must look to other people. And he cries about it.


I try to remind him that he is alive. Alive! And there were so many days and weeks and hours when he was termed "imminently critical," so to me, who cares about his stomach? What does it matter when he lives, he breathes, we have conversations about his life in the past and his dreams for the future. The future!

But to him, the football sized, angry red scar on his stomach does matter.


What girl will ever want to date me, or go to the beach with me, or won't cringe when I change my shirt with my stomach like this? I look like a freak!


To me, he's alive. That's all that matters. But I do understand. To him he has the Scarlet Letter seared into his flesh. And I don't know what to say to make it all go away, except to remind him of the poem below, a poem I fed my two young sons through every challenge in their lives.

THE RACE

““Quit! Give up! You’re beaten!!”” They all shout out and plead,
There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.
And as I start to hang my head in front of failures face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well
Excitement, sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope, each one thought to win that race,
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his Dad that he would be the one.

The whistle blew, and off they went, young hearts and hopes of fire,
To win, to be the hero here was each young boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My Dad will be so proud!”

But as he speeded down the field across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.

So down he fell and with him hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his Dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, ““Get up and win that race!”

He quickly rose, no damage done ~ a bit behind, that’s all,
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs, he slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace,
I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.
But in the laughing crowd he searched and found his fathers face,
That steady look that said again, ““Get up and win that race!”

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last,
If I’m to gain those yards, he thought, I’ve got to run real fast.
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell, again.

Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
There’s no sense running anymore ~ three strikes, I’m out, why try?
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error prone, yet closer all the way.

I’ve lost, so what’s the use, he thought. I’ll live with my disgrace.
But then he thought about his Dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up”” and echo sounded low,. ““Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here, get up and win that race!”

With borrowed will, ““Get up!”” it said. ““You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is not more than this: To rise each time you fall!”
So up he rose to win once more, and with new commit,
He resolved to win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit!

So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
Still he gave it all he had and ran as if to win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he’d rose again,
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy, no falling, no disgrace,
But when the fallen youngster crossed the line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won that race to listen to the crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said, ““I didn’t do so well.”
”To me, you won,”” his father said, ““You rose each time you fell!”

And when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win, is rise each time you fall.

“Quit! Give up! You’re beaten!”” they still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, ““Get up and win that race!””

Parker, Willie and Me

Last Friday we saw Dr. Garcia for a post-hospitalization visit at his office. He was amazed at Parker's abdomen and how well the skin graft has healed.

I was hoping and praying for a 75% take, but look at that, Parker! You got 100%!!!

Dr. Garcia was not the plastic surgeon who did the skin graft, he was the doctor who did all the pancreatitis surgeries, so he wasn't patting himself on the back with that statement, he was genuinely pleased and happy for us.

Today we had the appointment with the plastic surgeon who did do the skin graft, Dr. Turner.

Yup, this looks about as good as I could expect, so you don't need bandages anymore Parker!

There was only one other time in my life when I wished to have a camera in my hand as at that moment. It was the first of Parker's high school football games to be played after 9/11. Right before the game a minister said a prayer. Everyone stood and held hands. In front of me were two players of different colors, each holding a side of the same Blake High School football helmet. One white hand, one black, and a blue helmet between them. As if on cue, when the National Anthem was played, the first plane I had heard in ten days flew overhead. It was a stunning moment, made even more magnificent when I saw both those hands grip that helmet a little tighter.

I'm not even sure, if I'd had my camera out of the bag and in my hands, that I would have taken the photo. It seemed wrong. The moment was too big. Which is exactly why I could never be a professional photographer. Well, that and the fact that I take amateur photos.....

Anyway, the look on Parker's face today when Dr. Turner said he didn't have to wear bandages anymore, and he didn't need to see him again for another three months ... well, it was priceless. Better than priceless. After we left and got in the car, he put his head in his hands and said, It's over Mom, it's really and truly over!

So I took him to celebrate with a late lunch/early dinner at an Austin restaurant I'd been drooling over for months. Stubb's BBQ. Parker made the right food choices and boxed up half to take home. And we got to sit right under this sign for Willie. How happy could I be?

Now, on to physical therapy, emotional therapy, and endurance training so he can go back to work on schedule!

On The Road Again

Parker drove his car today, for the first time since March. It was quite a moment, bigger than when he rode his bike the first time without training wheels.

He's been having really horrible nightmares and consequently cannot sleep. This causes a serious conflict for him because, as much as he wants his life back and really does want me to go home, he is terrified of my leaving him here.

A lot of his dreams have to do with death. Others about his not being able to get to me or James or his Dad. Considering the fact that the night he first went to the hospital in the ambulance he spent two hours on his bathroom floor, unable to reach his cell phone, thinking he was dying of a heart attack, I think these thoughts are to be expected. Even so, the post trauma stuff can be debilitating.

So this morning when I got up I casually said, Hey why don't you run to HEB and get blaaa, blaa, blaa for breakfast.

You mean like, me, driving, by myself?

Yeah, don't you think it's time?

He glanced briefly out the window before answering. Yeah, it's time.

He doesn't know this, but I watched him from the window. He sat in the car for a minute, fiddling with the radio station, backed up and drove away. I could almost feel his heart singing as he drove off down the road. I knew that his window would be down, his left arm propped up, and on his face a smile I would have given anything to see.

FREEDOM!!!!!

Why Not Wyoming?

I took this photo last summer when I went to Wyoming with my niece, Kensie. We went a year ago today, to be exact.

This is one of my favorite spots on earth, Schwabacher's Landing. If you were ever looking for a reason to believe in God, watching the mountains change color while the sun rises behind you, with the reflection in the water .... well it would be hard to walk away from that and not KNOW.

Anyway, the reason I was thinking about this today is that I was making my plane reservations to come home to MD in September. I am trying to lock in a price so that, if all goes according to plan and Parker continues to heal and is back at work in September, I will be coming home.

But while I was on the airline web site, typing in Austin to Baltimore, I accidentally typed in Austin to Jackson, WY.

Then my little brain started clicking and I thought, Well, why not? This is my chance! Why not just head west instead of east? Live my dream! Move to Wyoming! Do it! Now! It's what you've always wanted! Life is short! Carpi Diem!

I thought about all the years I have longed to live in the shadow of my Tetons, the years I have stepped off the plane on vacations and felt that rush, and heard a voice in my head and my heart that says, Ah.... Home! I thought about the simple life that would be required to live there, and I felt cleansed of burdens. I wondered if I would ever tire of looking at those mountains who define the word "majestic", the mountains that rise arrogantly up from the sagebrush flats like no other mountains in the world... the youngest mountain range in North America that refused to evolve in the normal way, shrugging off foothills in favor of a bracing wall of beauty.

With my finger poised over the keyboard, about to correct my mistake, I could feel the clean mountain air filling my lungs, and in my mind I could see the thousands of tiny white lights entwined in the antler arches in downtown Jackson, covered in snow, twinkling like my own personal fairyland.

I heard that noise the heart shaped aspen leaves make in the summer when a breeze flutters through the forest and they clink against each other, branches waving from atop stark white trunks against a Tiffany blue sky. And I remembered the feeling of dipping my toes into the cool water of the Snake River after a long ride across the flats, after watching a young elk try to woo away his lover from an older stag who fought with the maturity of a wise man.

I thought of the drive up Spirit Dance Rd, the switchback mile that curves back and forth up the butte, winding past more sage, more wildflowers, more baby deer hiding in the tall grasses, and I wondered how I would feel, if I worked at the top of that butte, how I would feel every day in the winter when I had to make my way back down to the bottom, praying I wouldn't slip off the edge on the ice and snow.

And then I remembered the one time we went over New Year's, Parker, James, Nancy and I, and we almost got stuck because they had to close down the airport due to a snow storm. They said it would have taken us three more days to get out. They offered to put us up in a hotel and give us a stipend for food while we waited, if we would give up our seats and stay. I would have done it in a heart beat, but Nancy was homesick. She didn't say it, but I could see it in her face. She was afraid of being trapped that far away from home. So we got on the plane and left Neverland behind.

But when I thought about that day, and the frightened look on her face at the idea of being trapped, I also thought about Parker having been so ill, and my Dad having two kinds of cancer, and James being alone at school in MD, and I realized, this isn't the time for me to do that. To live my dream. Not yet. Not if there is a risk of my getting stuck and not being able to get to my family in an emergency.

I remembered how scared I was the night Parker first went into the hospital in Austin, when I had to wait until the next morning to get to him. A mere 12 hours, as opposed to three days. And I knew I wasn't ready to make that move. It isn't time just yet. The fear of not being able to reach a critically ill loved is too fresh, too near to my heart. In fact, it still invades my dreams when I sleep.

So I did the responsible thing and I hit the key that changed the direction of my flight, to take me east, back home to Maryland, knowing that Wyoming isn't going anywhere, and at another time, my day will come.

Close Your Eyes

While I was looking for this photo to post today, I had to scroll past many others to find it. I paused at a lot of them. Like the photos taken from ICU when Parker was hooked up to the machines which kept his lungs breathing, his kidneys working, his heart beating, his abdomen draining of the poison that almost killed him .... twice.

I paused at the photo of his sitting up the first time, and they day he stood on his own two feet, with Lindsey and Martin and three others surrounding him for balance. He stood that day for 20 seconds.

I cried when I saw the photo of he and Lindsey and Miranda walking away from me, the first steps he took in the hallway without the walker. I teared up at the way Lindsey had her hand very gently against his back, and the way he had to hold up his pants because they were falling off. And I smiled when I remembered both girls looking up at him and exclaiming, Wow, you are really tall! We had no idea!

I love the photos taken the first time he went outside and looked up at the trees and the sky, another of the cup when he got his first glass of water, and when he got the tube out of his nose (the first time). Other favorites are from when he had his first piece of watermelon, and the car transfer and stepping-down-the-curb test from rehab.

But this one, the one above, is my favorite of all time. He is so ALIVE!

Thank you God, for bringing my son back to me. Thank you for sitting next to him all those months, and for letting your Light shine as to heal him. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Now, what can I do for you?

Below are some rather graphic photos of the skin graft. Don't look if you have a queasy stomach. The first was taken three days after the surgery. The mesh looking stuff is his flesh. They "harvest" the flesh from his thigh with a machine that looks like a cheese slicer. Then they run that flesh through a machine that stretches it out and makes it more likely to attach to the wound. Then they place it on the wound and stitch plus staple the whole thing.

The other photo of that area was taken this morning, 13 days after the surgery. Most of the donor skin has attached with the exception of one small portion where Parker's belly button was turned underneath after they had to open him up on the Abdominal Compartment Syndrome day and leave it open for so long. Parker was hoping they could retrieve his belly button and pop it back onto his stomach when they did the graft, but they couldn't. They threw his belly button away. :-(

There is also a photo of the site where they harvested the skin from his thigh, taken this morning, and one other of the trach site. it's amazing how much better he felt once that trach was out of his windpipe.

All these photos mean to me that Parker is alive. We continue to work on physical therapy, on endurance and conditioning. He hasn't driven yet, and being out in the open still makes him feel slightly disoriented. But he is walking great, and this morning when I woke up at 4:am, I tiptoed into his room to check on him, and he was fast asleep on his stomach. For the first time. I went back to bed with a smile.

P.S. Wow, the FedEx guy is probably laughing because the last time he came, not only did he make me jump, but he brought me a very welcome gift from a good friend who sent a gift card to Central Market. Same thing just happened, and it couldn't have happened at a more appropriate time! Thank you SO much Chuck and Barbara, for your generosity and thoughtfulness. Hopefully this is beginning to wind down and I will (hopefully) be home soon.