i am braver now

A few years ago, I had an issue with my shoulder. I had some vague problems with pain, inflammation, and range of motion, that progressed (regressed?) into adhesive capsulitis. Otherwise known as frozen shoulder.

Sounds fancy. It meant I couldn’t move my arm much. I couldn’t do up a bra behind me. I couldn’t raise my left arm over my head. I couldn’t put my arm around my husband. (I am reminded of this whenever I see that arm cradled in front of me in our wedding photos.)

Nana had similar symptoms after a bad fall. But she was in her 80s. I didn’t think my shoulder should be acting this way when I had only just turned 40. And I hadn’t had a bad fall.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I was having symptoms already. Then Ed and I went cross-country skiing at Snoqualmie. I took a spill in the turn at the bottom of a wee hill, right before the rail-less bridge over the creek.

I landed hard, plunging my left pole into the snow, feeling the shock travel up my arm into my shoulder. What had been annoying before became a bigger problem.

Without a clear solution. If you followed the links above, you learned that with treatment, frozen shoulder resolves in about a year. Without treatment, it resolves in about two years.

I know, right?

And it’s tricky to diagnose.

I went through the physical therapy, I ate naproxen like it was candy, I did the home exercises. I was still in a lot of pain.

My doctor ordered an MRI.

For me.

The claustrophobic one. The one who doesn’t even like to wear a belt. Or a short necklace. (They call them “chokers” for a reason.)

I was terrified.

Ed came into the room with me. He talked to me. He kept his hand on my leg. When the radiology tech started wrapping me in constricting layers – belts, straps, earmuffs, eye cover – he saw the panic rising in my face.

We worked out a way to simplify things. I wore ear plugs. I skipped the cloth over my face. (A compassionate radiology tech is a treasure.)

I was still terrified. I panicked the first time in the tube. The tech pulled me out. We talked. We tried again.

Later, I had a steroid injection under fluoroscopy. A few months later, another.

In between, a new physical therapist, one who specialized in shoulders. We basically ripped open scar tissue (that’s the adhesive part of adhesive capsulitis) every week, and I did an hour of exercises every day to keep it from re-attaching, to maintain my range of motion.

I got better.

Now my knees are a problem. They have been for years. Especially the right one – the one I injured and spent six months on crutches rehabilitating when I was in college.

When I climb stairs, the sounds coming from my right knee are just not natural.

I’ve put off seeing anyone about it. Because I have this tendency to head to the worst-case scenario.

Yes, this grateful girl, the one who can always see the upside… is afraid, especially of anything like surgery. So I figured if I went to an orthopedic surgeon, they would want to do total joint replacement on the knee. Which didn’t scare me nearly as much as the idea of going under for the procedure.

After Kaylah’s injury and our decision to do her knee surgery, Ed and Kristina put their respective feet down: I had to go see someone and learn about what could be done for my ageing knees.

I did it.

The good news is that I am nowhere near needing joint replacement. It turns out, medical technology has come a long way.

Who knew? *ducks*

There are many things that can be done, in between nothing and joint replacement. I am scheduled for an MRI to get a more detailed look.

Ed asked me if I’d like him to be there for it.

There was a quiet moment, while I thought about it. And realised that I’ll be fine. For one thing, my head isn’t likely to be in the tube for a knee image, so the claustrophobia part feels less scary. For another, I’ve done this before, so I know what I’m getting into.

And I am braver now.

I am brave now.

What a wonderful thing to learn about myself.

***

*Wondering why there are photos of Ed catching snowflakes to accompany this post? I figured photos of my shoulder or knee would be boring. And I want to play in the snow with him again. We have some snowshoes to use.

a shot of spring

Tulips and daffodils are in the stores again. These aren’t yet the field tulips, but I’m not picky. The bright spots of colour are so very welcome.

This year, we plan to get up to Skagit Valley to see the tulips. It’s been years since I’ve been, although I took Kristina many times when she was little.

A picnic, a bag of camera toys, and either an umbrella or sunglasses, depending on this, and we’ll be good to go.

sharing light

As promised, a quote for my one little word.

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.
~James Keller

thoughts on a saturday – make it rain

Ed says I am the most hopeful person he knows, that I can turn anything around. I can – and do – see the good everywhere.

Kristina says I am a glass is 90% full person. She’s right. I see the best in people. I live in hope.

But I am no saint. I hope they would tell you that, too.

I can be cranky. Irritable. Defensive. But not for long. Ed says my cranky is more cheerful than most people’s good day.

Not so. I can be bitchy. But not very often.

The fact is, I am terrified of wasting my time on cranky and bitchy.

One day, two towers came down. Four planes crashed. Many people died.

And of course, people die every day. Every way, sometimes, in awful ways – illness, accident, intentional harm.

This is not to minimise that.

But that day when the towers fell and the planes crashed?

Something changed in me.

  • I want to never be the person who regrets always remember fondly the way I left a loved one. (Thank you, Kristina.)
  • I want my last words, my last memories to hold or to leave behind, to be ones of hope, of love, of joy.
  • I want to celebrate life, to savour every last sweaty drop, to breathe in colour and light, to exhale compassion.

We have right now in front of us.

Do we really have time to give it any less than our whole hearts?

that day in february

Every year in February there is a week (or even just a few days) when the sun shines, the temperature rises, and our faith in all things good is restored.

If you don’t live in Seattle, that last may seem an exaggeration. If you do – or have – you know exactly what I mean.

We shed our coats and boots, we turn our faces to the light, we grin with our neighbours.

It was during a week just like this that I visited Vancouver after living in Toronto for two years – and two winters. I’m sure that had more than a little to do with my moving back to Vancouver by the first of April that year.

I knew this day was coming. I could feel it. I saw it in the light.

I’ve spent a lot more time outside the last five weeks than I would in a typical winter. Kaylah’s post-surgical routine requires me to take her out on a leash to the yard, slinging her in a towel on the stairs, before we hustle back inside. Or at least, as much hustle as flying buttresses allow.

This has meant a trip outside every 2-4 hours, all day every day. Sometimes I grumbled (see also: snow and ice and wind storms).

For the most part though, it is a lovely gentle reminder to stop and take a literal breath of fresh air, to notice the weather and the state of the day; it is a way to feel lighter than the roof and walls allow on our grey winter days.

Our trips out are roughly the same time each day, especially first, last, and the evening meal trips. I notice how the days have lengthened and the mornings brightened; I witness the changing shape of the moon each evening.

I knew this week of softer temps and golden light was coming. The rosy dawn was its herald, the birdsong its chorus.

And I am grateful. So grateful.

(That week is over now, and we have returned to our regular programming: grey, damp, misty shadows. Still, this morning, when I took Kaylah out, I saw a small v of geese heading north, something I’d have missed without that dog-induced trip outside.)

Spring is coming.

play with photography

Okay, so these first two are somewhat tongue-in-cheek.

The sh*t says meme has come to photography. (Now, one for writers, please?)

This morning’s xkcd comic was spot on. (Especially with the hover comment – just move your mouse to anywhere over the image.)

When we think of the depression, the dust bowl years, and early WWII, those impressions are all in black & white. The pictures looks timeless, but somehow not of our time.

There is a collection of colour positive (slide) photos in the Library of Congress that give an entirely different view. The Denver Post has 70 of them on their website, and the pictures are gorgeous.

Definitely worth a look. I’m especially drawn to the close portraits. And the trains series in the middle. There’s also an awesome “Rosie the Riveter” toward the end.

foxglove – a whisper of summer to come

What a wonderful name for a plant.

Makes me think Beatrix Potter might have had something to do with it.

  • capture(d) thoughts

    Jet Harrington | scatterbeams
    writer + photographer

    celebrate | savour | connect
    through storytelling

    one little word | light

  • capture(d) light

    My photographs are here, and
    on my new-ish flickr,
    at my older photo blog,
    and on-the-fly phonography.

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