CONFESSIONS OF A ONE-ARMED BLOGGER

The last week of January it snowed.  People and cars were slipping and sliding that week.  So, when the paramedics were dispatched to my house on Friday, February 1 for a possible dislocated shoulder from a fall, they expected to find me in the driveway.  Instead I was crumpled on my own hardwood floor, having slipped as I was rushing for the door to greet my daughter's school bus.  Slipped isn't quite the right word.  I had stumbled and pitched forward and put my hand up to break my fall since I was heading for the door jamb.  I managed to smack into the wood with such force that I felt this very obvious sensation of a bone shifting in a way it wasn't supposed to.  I hit the floor howling like a wounded beagle.  My husband found me face down in the foyer, but I was in too much agony to even tell him what happened.  At that moment Foghorn walked in the front door, looked down at me with contempt, and said something along the lines of, "What did she do now?"

The Professor was left to babysit while I was wheeled on the stretcher to the ambulance.  If I hadn't been cursing my shoulder I'd have cursed my husband who hadn't trimmed the bushes well in the autumn and I got pummeled with ten feet of snowy branches as I was pushed along the walkway.   Long story short slightly less long, I did indeed have a dislocated shoulder and a couple hours later they finally dosed me with Propofol ("Milk of Amnesia") and snapped it back in place.  I awoke in a sling with this extra piece that essentially strapped my arm against my body so I couldn't pop the shoulder again.  I was sent home with a Vicodin prescription and warnings to be very careful until I could see an orthopedic specialist the following week. 

All weekend my arm was completely numb, from the fingers to the upper arm, the same tingly numbness you get when your foot falls asleep.  I was told in the E.R. that was normal because of swelling in the upper arm.  When I visited Dr. Ortho the following Monday, he and his physician's assistant and the nurse all acted  like this numbness was anything but normal.  They took more x-rays and tested my mobility (or lack thereof) and said I had Radial Palsy, which I had never heard of.  It was explained that the nerve that basically controlled the whole arm had been damaged and thus I had some paralysis.  Dr. Ortho then said, "It's one of those things that either comes back or it doesn't."  Huh?!?  'Scuse me?  This might be PERMANENT!?!  He sent me for a wrist brace and told me to come back in three weeks to see if there was any improvement.  His parting words were, "Don't panic yet.  I've seen this come back in a number of cases...and worrying doesn't help anyway."

My sister drove me home and I cried hysterically to my husband and we all jumped on the Internet.  From what we read, Radial Palsy is not uncommon for people with shoulder injuries, broken arms, or folks who have surgery.  It IS serious, but 85% of people get function back in four to five months.  Presumably out of the remaining 15%, some lucky folks get function back sooner than four months, some it takes longer, and some (ack!) don't get it back at all.  Still, I figure the odds are in my favor.  That doesn't mean I'm not worrying.  I am, but I also am keeping what was left of my sanity by reminding myself that statistically my chances are good.

Normally in times of stress I comfort myself with watching lousy television while knitting.  Um...yeah...unfortunately knitting's a two-handed hobby.  It's depressing how many things are two-handed activities.  And the dogs can't figure out why I'm not on the floor cuddling and can only pet one head at a time and why their breakfast is always late because they have to wait for that guy with the furry chin to come down to feed them. 

I'm hopeful things are looking up.  About a week after the fall the numbness started to ease a little and I started to get slightly more movement in the fingers.  It's slow going, but each day it gets just a tiny bit better.  Unfortunately as the numbness is wearing off, pain is setting in.  The lady at the hand specialist said the nerve repairs from the upper arm down, meaning the fingers will be the last to heal completely.  The pain is certainly following that pattern.  It started in the arm  just below the shoulder and has moved into the elbow area.  I wake up every two hours in the night with this shooting pain like I cracked my funny bone on a brick wall, only it doesn't subside.  The ortho's office said it helps to keep the blood circulating as much as possible, so I wander the house and get on the computer and eat cookies and finally go back to bed...for a couple hours.  Rinse and repeat.

I still can't hold the arm up at all and the ring and pinky fingers are pretty much useless.  But I can keep the wrist from completely drooping and I'm that close to being able to give my husband the finger.  I can't wait to reach that milestone.  Like President Obama said of Rahm Emanuel with his injured middle finger, I've been rendered practically mute.

          

NaNoWriMo 2012 -- FREEDOM!

Yes, I did it!  I was ready to quit last week...and the week before...and two days in...  I persevered, however, and wrote the most completely crappy 50,000 words of my life.  But it's a novel and it's mine and it counts, so I will gladly accept the applause of the lovely NaNoWriMo folks above and I will print out my certificate and I will feel like I accomplished something this year.  And, if I haven't mentioned it before, I give permission for anyone to bludgeon me with a ceramic turkey next year if I even hint that I am going to do this again.  Never, ever, EVER again!

You would think that after I wrote about the agony of NaNoWriMo last year and the much easier, but challenging, NaBloPoMo I would have known better than to take up this writing marathon again.  Yeah, right.  And you would think someone who KNOWS she gets horrendous acid reflux when she overindulges on candied sweet potatoes would only have a small amount on Thanksgiving.  Let's just say I need to get more Pepcid AC at the store.  

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THE $1 FOR HAITI CHALLENGE

Many thanks to my friends and family who thoughtfully donated to my son's Haiti fundraiser.  (If you don't know about it, please read here.)  If anyone sent a check directly to the school and didn't get thanks from me, it's because I wasn't aware!  PLEASE know that my son and I are truly grateful for any and all donations.  I want to give a special shout-out to Alison Hector at Embrace the Struggle, who sent a generous donation all the way from the great state of Maryland!  Her kindness earned her a phone call from my son's French teacher, who wanted to personally express her gratitude.  (Alison wrote earlier this year about Haiti two years after the earthquake here.)

Now, on to the $1 for Haiti Challenge.  Mrs. Pecsok, my son's French teacher, wrote today in the From Loveland to Haiti:  French Students Providing Hope blog post that they had reached the milestone of 9100 views.  (You can read the post here.)  One student marveled at how much money the class could raise if each person who viewed the blog gave just $1.  The $1 for Haiti Challenge is born!  Each and every dollar means so much to these kids, giving them a chance at education, nutritious food, and a safe environment in which to grow.  If you can spare just $1 (plus the cost of a first class stamp), you can help change the lives of the children pictured here. 

Details of the project as a whole can be found on the From Loveland to Haiti:  French Students Providing Hope blog here.  For specifics on the $1 challenge, click here.  Donations can be sent to:

Loveland Middle School

Attn:  Hilary Pecsok - French Class for Haiti Fundraiser

801 South Lebanon Road

Loveland, Ohio  45140

In this season of giving that is quickly approaching, could you spare a dollar for a child in need?  Even if you don't wish to donate, please check out the links below for more information on the kids of Haiti.  Thank you!

 * From Loveland to Haiti:  French Students Providing Hope blog

* The Jean R. Cadet Restavek Organization

* "Painful Plight of Haiti's 'Restavec' Children" - Article by CNN.

*  "Haiti Restavek Tradition Called Child Slavery - Article by Reuters.

* "Loveland Students to Help Peers in Haiti" - Article in the local newspaper, The Loveland Herald.

CAROL BRADY LOVES ME

Sniff, sniff.  Talk amongst yerselves.  I'm a little overwhelmed this morning.  You may remember that my 70s-obsessed self was reeling from the e-mail response I received from Carol Brady Florence Henderson a few weeks ago.  Well, imagine how I felt when I opened the mail and found this little goody in a manilla envelope:

In all fairness, there's an address on her website where you can send an SASE and request an autographed photo.  I figured I'd get one with her signature, one of many out of a huge stack she signs while she's watching CourtTV.  (Wait, that's my t.v. obsession.  You get the idea, though:  hours parked in front of the t.v. churning out signed photos like an assembly line.)  What I didn't expect was for it to have my name on it as well.  She signed to me...personally...my name...with hers.  Even my uppity daughter seemed impressed, although she kept insisting we could pawn it and it was worth a billion dollars.  She did ask if I was going to frame it and put it next to my autographed photo of David Cassidy.  Was there ever any doubt?

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DAY OF THE DEAD BUFFET

This is a reprint of last year's November 2nd post.  I was going to write a new one, but A) I'm too busy doing NaNoWriMo and B) my mom really liked this one.  


Growing up Catholic, November 2nd meant All Souls Day, although I don't really remember anything in particular happening at school other than going to church.  My sister, 16 years my senior, has more vivid memories and perhaps things had changed some before I entered parochial school.  In recent years I've heard a lot more about the celebrations around Day of the Dead, which sound like a much more fun way of honoring the deceased.  I have a thing about altars anyway, so the idea of setting one up for departed loved ones and then munching on some sugar skulls is right up my alley.

Today on my sister's writing site, Nudged to Write, she talked about Day of the Dead and gave a prompt (or "nudge") of writing about death-related customs.  I don't really have any myself and my father is probably furious in the afterlife that I don't go to his grave every holiday with plastic flowers as was his custom.  (He always bragged, "Hell, I got these for 99 cents each at the dollar store.")  I love to wander around cemeteries, but not the ones housing my close family.  I'm not one who thinks that any part of the person lingers where he/she is buried.  If I want to visit with my maternal grandmother, for instance, I prefer to go to Morrow, Ohio, where she spent her childhood years.  If her spirit was going to hang out anywhere it would be there.

The other day I read an article about pagans preparing to celebrate Samhain and one in particular who held a dinner with place settings for her departed relatives.  According to the article, on October 31st the "veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is believed to be the thinnest of any time during the year."  I'm always too busy out trick-or-treating with the kids to serve dinner for relatives, living or dead, but I really like the idea and it got me thinking of who I'd invite and what I'd serve.

Dad
My father passed away two years ago following a stroke.  While he was alive, though, he liked his food.  I could go with Montgomery Inn Ribs, White Castles, or KFC chicken strips, all favorites.  I definitely would skip his more disgusting taste treats like pickled pig's feet and Limburger cheese.  Ultimately I would go for Swedish meatballs.  At the buffet at my wedding reception he pretty much single-handedly cleaned out the steam tray devoted to them.  When he returned to the head table, my step-mother looked at the plate and said, "I can't eat all that."  He returned with, "Goddamn, they ain't for you."

Grandma Martha
My maternal grandmother shared my love of food...and my weight issues.  When I was ten she joined Nutri-System and during counseling they talked about "notorious eating companions."  Yep, I was labeled as hers.  I can't think of Grandma without remembering her chocolate pudding, the ribbon candy she put out at Christmas, and her "recipe," which was a mixture of Ginger Ale and Mogen David Wine.  For my dinner, though, I think I'd go with black walnut ice cream, which she never passed up.

David
My step-father, who I always called "Imi", died in 2004.  He did not have sophisticated taste in food and was perfectly  happy with a lunch of canned soup and fried baloney sandwich.  He was an avid gardener and would grow zucchinis the size of baseball bats.  For that reason only I'd serve zucchini bread at the meal in his honor.  (Plus I can't abide the thought of a fried baloney sandwich.)

Grandma Mary
My paternal grandmother quite honestly never seemed to think much of anyone's cooking but her own.  She was known in the family for her apple pie and coffee cake, although I seem to remember lots of Jello cookies and the time she made boxed macaroni and cheese, not understanding you were supposed to mix up the powdered cheese until it dissolved.  I doubt she'd like anything I cooked (although she loved me and probably wouldn't have criticized...to my face).  I think I'd go with something familiar from my childhood with her but which tastes the same no matter who prepares it:  Rice Krispies treats.

Shirley on left, my mother
on right

Aunt Shirley
My mother's only sister died just last year and I don't really connect her with food.  She was glamorous.  She had very blonde hair that was usually very big, brightly painted red fingernails, and rings on every finger.  She had a nice figure up until the last decade or so of her life when health problems took a toll.  For her I'd probably go back to a treat from her childhood, when her mother would make fudge.  So, for Shirley there is Grandma's homemade fudge.  (Unfortunately Grandma took the knack for making it to the afterlife with her and we've never quite been able to duplicate it.  Same with her "recipe.")




Aunt Margaret
My father's sister passed away weeks after his funeral.  I'm sure Aunt Margaret liked to eat, but honestly when I think of her I see her with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  (My sister still remembers, with horror, Aunt Margaret crushing up her Sno-Cone for her with a cigarette between her fingers and the ashes falling in with the ice and sugar.)  I believe she gave up both drinking and smoking in her later years, but I'm sure it wouldn't be a heavenly feast for her without a Budweiser.



I've already made clear to my family that I want to be cremated and my ashes put in a Dooney and Bourke purse.  My sister is planning how she can line the thing and waterproof it.  I used to say I wanted to be sprinkled on Wrigley Field near home plate, so when Ryne Sandberg slid some of me would stick to the back of his pants.  He retired before I died so now I go with the Dooney option.

Anyone else already have their burial plans in place?  Any unusual requests?

** Unrelated note:  I do not control the content of the ads on my website.  In particular, I want it to be known that any political ads are not an endorsement by me.  I've had candidates from both political parties show up in ads and I don't want readers to think I'm pushing an agenda one way or another.  If you disagree with a candidate shown, please don't hold it against me.  Depending on who it is, I may not like him/her either.


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THE NaNoWriMo SURVIVAL KIT

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo, the November writing marathon.  To meet the 50,000 word goal by the end of the month, the writer needs to average 1667 words per day.  I aim for a total of 2000 to make up for days when I'm busy and don't hit my quota or (gasp) don't write at all.  This morning I wrote just short of 1800 words.  And I pretty much used up all the ideas that have been floating around my brain the last two weeks.  What the hell am I gonna write about tomorrow?!?  Now I remember why every year at the end of NaNoWriMo I say "never again."  Time to break out the supplies...

** Unrelated note:  I do not control the content of the ads on my website.  In particular, I want it to be known that any political ads are not an endorsement by me.  I've had candidates from both political parties show up in ads and I don't want readers to think I'm pushing an agenda one way or another.  If you disagree with a candidate shown, please don't hold it against me.  Depending on who it is, I may not like him/her either. 

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FAVORITE HAUNTED PLACES - KINGS ISLAND

Kings Island amusement park opened in Mason, Ohio when I was two years old and it's been one of my favorite places my entire life.  (It also happens to be the location of my favorite Brady Bunch episode and my favorite Partridge Family episode and I am not obsessed.)  I had known for a long time that there was a cemetery on the grounds (specifically in the parking lot), but it wasn't until a Ghost Adventures episode piqued my curiosity that I actually ventured in there myself.

This small cemetery is maintained by Deerfield Township and is known as The Dog Street Cemetery, Union Methodist Cemetery, Dill Graveyard, and The J.D. Hoff Farm Cemetery.  The graves date between 1828 and 1869, with approximately 70 people interred and 50 tombstones still standing.  This map shows the Kings Island land in 1867, with the yellow square representing the cemetery on the Dill farm.

Missouri Jane's tombstone.

As for ghosts, stories have been making the rounds for decades.  The most prominent (and featured in the Ghost Adventures episode) concerns the spirit of a little girl in an old-fashioned blue dress who has been seen in the parking lot, around the front gate, and in the International Restaurant. She is sometimes known as "Tram Girl", as she is often seen by the tram drivers transporting patrons to their cars at closing time.  One tale says she is the spirit of a young girl who drowned in a lake located on the farm.  Some folks have made the link between the ghost and a tombstone in the cemetery belonging to five year old Missouri Jane.  Some of the Ghost Adventures investigators chose to look for her by calling out for "Missouri Jane."  If the ghost is, in fact, some other little girl it's no wonder she didn't make an appearance for the cameras.  Girls are not thrilled with people who get their names wrong.

If you see the Ghost Adventures episode, be aware there are some hefty factual errors.  At the beginning the Kings Island rep stated that there had been a munitions plant on the property and that a 1942 explosion killed hundreds of people.  Later a couple of the investigators went into the graveyard and the female stated that there was a gun powder factory on the grounds and an explosion in 1890 killed 50 people and a lot were buried there.  The Kings Great Western Powder Works did indeed have an explosion in 1890.  However, the blast killed about a dozen people and it was not located on the Kings Island property but about a mile away.  I know of no explosions which took place in 1942 in the area, let alone one that killed hundreds.  And since the newest tombstone in the cemetery is from 1869, obviously none of the inhabitants died in the explosion. 

 
In addition to the little girl in blue, there are also tales of a ghost haunting the Eiffel Tower, a spirit who hangs around The Racers roller coaster, and miscellaneous sounds, sights, and flying objects.  Kings Island has been the scene of some real life tragedies including the death of a high school senior in 1983 after a fall from the Eiffel Tower.  (Some refer to the ghost seen around the structure as "Tower Johnny.")  Other documented deaths include two men who were electrocuted in a pond, a woman who died after falling from the Flight Commander ride, and a ranger who was mauled by lions after leaving his vehicle in the Lion Country Safari.

I personally have had no strange experiences at Kings Island outside of the usual antics of obnoxious teenagers.  Well, there was one kind of strange thing.  Over the summer my brother and his family were visiting from St. Louis and we went to this cemetery.  I got out my trusty iPhone with the Ghost Hunter M2 app and turned on the EVP analyzer.  I got a number of words as I wandered the cemetery.  As I mentioned in a previous post I don't necessarily believe this $.99 piece of software is a phone to the spirit world, but...  My brother has a rather unusual middle name.  For his privacy's sake I won't reveal it, but let's say it's not your classic name like Michael or Paul or Joseph.  As I was in one corner of the fenced cemetery, his middle name appeared on my ghost meter.  If he had a regular old common middle name I'd say coincidence, but since he doesn't (and since that name never appeared on my meter before or since) I'm open to thinking somebody was trying to tell him something.  The ghost wasn't very specific, though, so I don't think my brother got the message.  He's kinda dense that way.

** Unrelated note:  I do not control the content of the ads on my website.  In particular, I want it to be known that any political ads are not an endorsement by me.  I've had candidates from both political parties show up in ads and I don't want readers to think I'm pushing an agenda one way or another.  If you disagree with a candidate shown, please don't hold it against me.  Depending on who it is, I may not like him/her either.


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