Progress Isn't Pass/Fail

Hello from Mile Marker 14,432...

It's been a while, I know.  So how to restart??

One, two, three, GO!

That's how I get out the door these days.

You have to start somewhere.  And otherwise, I'll sit there for hours, trying to get my socket "just right."  

Lately, there is no "just right."  There's only better and worse.  (At least prosthetically-speaking...)

Where Would You Walk?

Mile Marker 12,072:

I'm grounded at home this weekend.

I was supposed to be visiting my favorite Vermonters. I'd bought an airline ticket and everything!

Then, out of nowhere, my right foot starts aching.  

(Yes... the real one.)

Technically, it isn't out of nowhere.  

I often get right foot pain, especially at the end of the day.  Sometimes my knee swells, or my ankle, or both.  Like most unilateral amputees, I depend on my "sound side" for balance and performance.  A solid step with my right leg makes my prosthetic knee bend more fluently -- and my gait more natural.  Plus, you can't wear a prosthesis 24/7.  When I take my leg off, my sound side does 100% of the work. 

It's called "overuse."

At first, it's just a pang when I step down on the ball of my foot.  I ignore it and keep walking. 

But a few days later, I can barely bear weight.

Cue the alarms.  

I NEED TO PROTECT MY RIGHT FOOT.  

IT'S THE ONLY ONE I HAVE.

(This has happened before, but I don't want to think about it.  If you want, you can read about it here.) 

And so... 

Twenty-four hours before departure, I make the best -- and only -- decision for my body.  

I cancel the whole trip.  

At that very moment, an article lands in my inbox: 

The Most Walkable City on Each Continent.

Cruel joke?  Maybe.

I click on it anyway.

While I'm on hold with the airline, I open up Kayak and plug in the recommended cities.

• Boston
• Madrid
• Marrakech
• Buenos Aires
• Wellington
• Hoi An

Just for kicks, I set my travel dates for September.  (It's my fantasy, so why not celebrate my birthday in Spain?)

I imagine an epic, multi-city, around-the-world trip for the sole purpose (pun intended) of doing the one thing I cannot do at this very moment.

WALK.

Hey, it's cheaper than you'd think!

Dreaming of travel has always been a coping mechanism for me. 

Years ago, I'd spend lunchtimes at work scrolling through "E-saver" flights and "Travelzoo" discounts.  (Remember those?)

In the months after the accident, when I sat teary-eyed in my therapist's office -- certain I'd "never go anywhere ever again" -- she encouraged me to hop on over to Amazon and find books that would take me places.

I ordered this one first --
And it was too heavy to lift on my crutches!

Later, 400 miles into this journey -- recovering from yet another surgery -- I wrote my own Walking Wish List.  

All the places I'd walk IF or WHEN I could...

Click here to see it.

Now, I'm amazed at how many
of those boxes I've checked off!!

Eventually the American Airlines rep takes me off hold.  

She adjusts my flight plans without a penalty.  My Airbnb host is equally understanding.  It reminds me of the kindness I encounter whenever I travel.

Today, there will be no morning miles.  I'll conserve my limited "foot time" for basic activities at home.

I hobble around the kitchen like a robot crossed with a baby deer.  

I brew a pot of coffee my friend Priti brought back from India.

I open up biscuits and jam from our neighborhood in Paris.

I spoon out granola from my favorite local coffee shop.

Then I gather up everything and limp out to the balcony,

where I gingerly remove my right shoe.

Less than 70 miles ago, I was exploring Paris on foot -- not quite easily, but filled with joie de vivre!  

And now... I'm HERE.

It's hard to reconcile these two truths.  

I have a disability that's both permanent and variable.  It's who I am as a traveler.  

Slow or fast.

Near or far.

Walking, like health, is the most fragile of privileges.

Of all the places to be grounded at Mile 12,072,

I am extra grateful for this
corner of the sky.

Fingers (and 5 toes) crossed, there'll be many miles ahead. 

I'm open to ideas.

Where would you walk?
Rebecca

Pink

This day needs a reboot, and it's only 6 AM.

I work harder to get into my prosthesis.

I stamp the foot, pressing down as hard as I can.  Shift my weight onto the right side.  Then back again to the left.  I do this over and over (and over and over and over) again.  

10 times...
12 times...
24 times...

Today, even more times....

It's a workout.

You'd laugh if you watched.  It's like a clumsy Irish dance.  Or an elephant stamping out a herd of ants.

"My downstairs neighbors love it," I sometimes joke. "Especially early in the morning."  

But today I don't feel like laughing.  Today it's just exhausting.

My abdomen isn't great either.  Digestive issues woke me throughout the night, and now it feels like there's a rock ricocheting around my belly as I jump up and down.  

And then... my phone tings on the nightstand.  A text.

Come on.  This early??

It feels like the whole world has its act together, and I've already fallen behind.

From my very first miles as an amputee, I learned it was better to step out than to stay in.  So I grab my jacket and coffee cup, and close the door behind me.

It's a small victory.

Halfway down the street, I run into Donna.  (Actually she's the runner, so she runs into me.)  

I greet her with a litany of complaints about the day so far. 

But by the time we round the next corner, the conversation changes course.

The sun throws shadows down Market Street, and Donna tells me about a new pizza place she and Mike tried.  They got pepperoni.  With a coupon.  Win-win.

Our chat jumps around as much as I jumped around to get my leg on.

We steer clear of sidewalk hazards.  Stop for coffee.  

And eventually, we end up here...

...in the pink!

As we pause with wonder underneath, something inside me shifts ever so slightly.

Maybe it's that color pink -- a mix of pale and hot -- which I always envisioned as my "power color" when I climbed.

Or maybe it's the parallel between my body and nature.  (Nothing's permanent... this too shall pass!)

Or maybe it's the vibe that comes from running into a friend on a morning when you need one.

Yes, yes, it's definitely that :)

Or maybe it's just getting out of the house -- and out of my head!

I don't understand it anymore than I understand why my leg and my abdomen picked this particular morning to act up at the same time.  Oh well.

Whatever it is -- like other signs from other morning walks -- those blossoms shout out a message to me.

When life gives you a reboot, run with it.  

Or in my case...

walk with it!

Love Is Blind (and so is my digestive system)

Cheers from Mile Marker 10,530...

...at the Outpatient Imaging Center.

It's not the best selfie, but when you toast with a supersize of contrast solution, you get what you get. 

The guy next to me (which by COVID standards means down the hall) is drinking two tall bottles of what looks like Muscle Milk.  

"It's a bit chalky," he says.

"Mine's kind of minty," I shoot back.  It tastes like water mixed with toothpaste.  You might even call it a Crest Cocktail.  

Between sips, we yank our masks up and down.

The man tells me he has a test at Nuclear Medicine tomorrow.

I tell him that one time, they had to put this drink down my NG tube.  (TMI?)

It's like an awkward first date at the worst restaurant ever...

What takes you back?

Bon appetit from Mile Marker 10,347!

Many miles ago, I wrote a little post called Back to Bacon. 

Back then, I was celebrating the Big 3-0.    

Mile 30 on this journey.

It felt like I had come a long way.  And also, not far at all.

I wobbled on the treadmill.  My prosthetic fit was iffy.  I was never sure where the next step would take me.  It was just too much to talk about.

So I talked about bacon instead.

Bacon took me back!

Fast forward many miles.

Mile 10,347 isn't about bacon...

Some Get Rained Out (and that's ok!)

Hello from the soggy sidewalks of Mile Marker 9,438...

I'll let you in on a secret:

Some get rained out.

Yep -- Throwin' it back to Mile 255.

Back then, I realized this rule applied to amputees and others with disabilities.  

But you know what?  

Trust Your "2nd"

Hello from Mile 9406 

...and a time warp!

Where were you in 1998?

I was in a classroom stocked with Mr. Sketch "smelly" markers, an overhead projector, and an endless supply of transparencies...

Rigged

Mile Marker 8943:

In early September, my friend Amy sends me this birthday card.

Yes, I think.  I am going to live life as if everything is rigged in my favor. 

It seems like a perfect plan. 

Souperficial Wounds

Mile Marker 8297:

Wow, I walk great in these socks!

Let me stop right there.

If you have a prosthetic leg, don't walk in socks.  And if you do walk in socks, don't carry soup.  And if you do carry soup while walking in socks...

Inside Out

Mile Marker 7650:

I'm on one foot, balancing my hip along the edge of a boulder.

My backpack is sprawled on the rock next to me, its insides spewing out everywhere:  harness, climbing leg, shoes, socks, towels, liner, alcohol spray, and more.  It's all I can do to keep from dropping my Allen wrench into the ravine 100 feet below.  

10 Books That Made A Difference

Mile Marker 6660:

Do you love books?

Yeah, me too. 

Days Like This

Mile Marker  6500:

After all these miles, there are still days when I cry in my car.  Or curse.  (It's true. Sorry mom.)

Today is one of those days. 

On A Good Leg Day

Mile Marker 4709:

On a good leg day, I walk through a metal detector at the Flyers Game.

It beeps, of course.  Dad glances at me; I glance at him.  No one else around seems to notice.  We keep going, and no one stops us.

We show our tickets to an attendant, step onto an escalator, and finally ascend a flight of stairs.  I suspect there's an elevator nearby, but today it doesn't matter.

It's a good leg day...

Sweat Test

Mile Marker 4200:

Ever feel like your leg is slipping off in the middle of a busy sidewalk?

If you're an amputee, and it's summer, the answer is probably "yes."

Handled With Care

Mile Marker 446:

Cleverness is a gift; kindness is a choice.

--Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon, speaking at Princeton University’s Graduation

‘Tis the season for speeches and send-offs.  Everyone, it seems, is going somewhere.  Moving on.

Last Wednesday, I stood behind a podium as tall as I was.  The auditorium was filled with doctors, nurses, hospital administrators, patients, and families (including mine).

At Mile Marker 446, I was honored to be speaking at Jefferson Hospital’s Excellence in Trauma Awards. 

My voice echoed through the large room.  I talked about strength, compassion, courage, and hope.  I tried to explain all that my medical team had done for me.  How, for the past 18 months, I’d been handled with such CARE.

As the words unfolded, I studied the audience.  Nods, chuckles, even a few tears.  But was I getting my point across?

Near the end of the speech, I spotted a friendly face in the front row.   Dr. Nate.   He looked different in his suit and tie.  But then he shot me a smile and a quick wink.  Yep, that was him.

As a resident, Dr. Nate embodied what I was trying to say.   Day after day, his tall frame filled my hospital doorway.  His disarming half-smile calmed my nerves.

He became so familiar that I never even bothered with his last name.  Like Madonna, or Adele, or Prince -- he was simply Nate.  The Best Supporting Surgeon on my amazing team.

He set the bar high for newer residents.  I wouldn't let them touch my bandages or detach the Wound Vac machine without his supervision.  And he was a MASTER of distraction.   He used his sense of humor – along with a strong IV drip -- to keep me in stitches !  (The "ha ha" kind.)

But the moment I remember most came five days after my bowel obstruction surgery.   I just couldn't bring myself to try solid food.  I could not forget that excruciating pain.

With impeccable timing, Dr. Nate popped into my doorway.  “Want to see a picture of your intestines?” he asked.

He wore a mischievous smile.  It was lunchtime.

I glanced down at the untouched Salisbury steak on my tray.  “Sure,” I said.  “Why not?"

Nate bent down to show me.  In the photo, my intestine looked like a pinkish-brown zig-zagging ribbon, gathered tightly by a thick, dark rubber band.  Below the band, it swelled up like a bubble of inflated chewing gum.  The source of the pain.

Nate pointed to the evil-looking rubber band.  “See this part?” he said.  “It’s not there anymore.”

So that was it.  He’d given me proof.  My intestines and I were free!

With that picture engraved in my mind, I started eating.  Right then and there.  Sometimes medicine just needs a little extra touch.


When the awards ceremony ended on Wednesday afternoon, I talked with my nurses and doctors.  Thanking them for all they'd done -- however big or small.

"But I only took care of you a few times," said Nurse Leslie.

"You were there for me when I needed you," I replied, "and you're there for OTHERS everyday."

Nurses Julie and Deb...
Where would I be without them??

Each person at that ceremony -- doctors, nurses, patients, and families -- had stories to tell.  Snapshots of strength and sadness, courage and hope.  Small moments they remembered.  People and events that had come together to create HEALING.

I chatted with Dr. Nate, too -- this time, without the need for IV cocktails or intestinal photos.

I learned he has 3 kids.  I learned he’s a cyclist who often bikes to work.  I also learned that it's his last year here, that he’s leaving in June to take a research position at another hospital.

This third fact occupied my mind the whole way home.

Because when Dr. Nate goes, my hospital will lose a drop of its KINDNESS.  Just one small spoonful in the vast ocean that exists there.  But it will leave a ripple. 

As a teacher, I've grown used to graduations.   I know that endings are beginnings, too.  Still, not a day passes when I don't think about my medical team.  They are always there for me in the background, urging me ahead as I move on.

With Nate’s departure this summer, a new class of residents, nurses, and students will arrive -- full of enthusiasm and ready to learn.    

Pay attention, I want to tell them.  That bar is HIGH.

Because you are learning from the BEST.

Pedal on, Dr. Nate --

Wishing you a smooth road, a swift tailwind, and a safe ride!