Shower

There were fun times in my therapy, I had to make them happen to keep myself sane. My therapists made an easy target because I worked with them everyday and we built up quite a rapport . I’d been on the main floor about a week, my catheter had been taken out and I was getting used to the wheelchair. I was beginning to get comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable with my situation and I was beginning to smell. You’d think that that would be the least of my problems but you’d be wrong. One weekend while waiting for breakfast to be distributed I was wheeling myself down the hall looking for the linen closet. When at last I found it I quickly grabbed some towels and took them back to my room. Then I waited until rounds had been done, breakfast trays had been collected and the nurses had settled into their morning routine. Then I close my door, collected my towels and wheeled myself into the bathroom.

I’d spent the day before checking out the shower, how it worked and how the bench fold ed down from the wall. The only thing left was to get myself maneuvered from the wheelchair onto the shower bench. Never for a moment did I think of removing the side of my wheelchair to make things easier, instead I locked the chair down and lifted myself onto the edge of the bench and then maneuvered, with only one hand working, I got myself onto the middle of the bench. When the water was just right I began my wonderful shower, maybe the best shower of my adult life and soaped myself well. With that one hand I got every part I could reach and then some. Then I took the time to dry myself and then I was stuck. With only one side of my body working and that side towards the inside corner of the shower stall I really had to figure my way out and without tipping over. But somehow I managed to get back into my wheelchair and I felt so good for having accomplish the task of getting myself clean. The next day the nurse asked me if I wanted to have a shower and I though why not and promptly got into trouble. This time I couldn’t stop myself from tipping over onto my bad side and almost fell off the bench and to the floor. I was shocked into realizing how precarious my state was and now I was very leery of taking a shower at all.

A few day later it was posted on my wall that I’d be learning the next day how to get into the shower stall and could finally take a shower but I’d be accompanied by a therapist. Somehow the idea of being “accompanied” by a twenty-four old therapist didn’t sound attractive in the least. My therapist was a lovely girl I’d come to rely on to help me with my exercises and we’d gotten close. So dressed she showed me how to pull up the side of my wheelchair and how best to maneuver myself to the bench. I practiced two or three time til I had the thing down pat and then we were ready for my shower. It wasn’t the way I’d envisioned at all but boy was it intimate; I had to strip bare ass naked under her too watchful gaze and get myself situated and she pointed out what I was doing right and wrong. She was so concerned that I’d topple over and she didn’t want that to happen to me. I was grateful but I was resentful too that I had to have her watch me while I took my shower like a child but hey, when you’re in the condition I was in you take all the help you can get.

But..., but I was determined to get back at her somehow and I got my chance when my friend Lorri came to take me home from the hospital. She had to go through training with me so she’d know the right way to handle me, to learn what I knew but had a tendency to forget. So when Lorri show up I introduced her to my therapist as the girl who watched me shower! And then I sat back and laughed as my therapist blushed and explained the how’s and wherefore before Lorri told her she was a nurse too and had seen so many bare assess that she couldn’t count. It was almost as good as the shower.

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My friend Traci

Exercises

After my formal therapy was over I was at a loss for what exercises I could do. For the past eighteen months I had a set routine that I executed every other day, now I was unsure what to do. I really felt a type of rejection and a emptiness in my soul and in my life. I had a nice graduation from therapy and a even nicer certificate to commemorate my having survived hours of every know torture to humans, some they had to work at thinking up. I decided that since I was going off to visit my friend in the northeast I’d let myself rest and catchup on myself. After all that therapy I needed the time to think and get organize for my trip. I had a full list of exercises I could and was supposed to do but I couldn’t get interested in them for some reason, they just didn’t feel right.

By the time I left I was ready for a change of scenery and a change to my lifestyle too; I was ready for some togetherness. We started by taking long drives in the country to acquaint myself with the territory, north and south, east and west; where I was in relation to where I was now living. Long lovely drives into the countryside seeing places I never been before but would see again. I was so happy to be away from the heat of Texas and away from therapy and my doctors and the routine of my life. Letting my friend show me her part of the world, the little wonders she’d know for a lifetime and could now share them with me, the little nooks and crannies of her hometown and beyond. But my aliments followed me and tortured me just the same.

Just walking up the stairs exacerbated the pain in my hip, my buttock to be precise. I went for therapeutic massage and that did relieve my pain but it was climbing the two flight of stairs each day that really helped. I started helping my friend around her garden at first, nothing major just emptying each pail as she filled them with weeds and cuttings. Then we got to mulching dragging each bag out of the car and back to they were needed. Little by little I was getting more in toned so then I began taking longer walks. By the time fall came I was ready to try raking, just yards at a time then sit and rest, then rake a bit and rest again, I only finished the side yard but I felt like I accomplished something. I so very slowly was getting stronger and more toned, I was walking better and longer. Little by little each household chore that I did built up my strength. Balance continued to be an issue over uneven territory but a walking stick helped. Now I was learning a new routine to my day, a routine that I could follow when I returned home and for the rest of my life really. I could feel myself getting better and it was long after the eighteen months that my doctor had warn me against.
Walking at home presented a problem at first, too many loose dogs in the neighborhood. Too much stress for me to cope with on top of an already stressed system, so I stopped. At least in the neighborhood, I started walking in the park where there weren’t any dogs. The I started taking bags along on my walks and started picking up trash. Don’t laugh it was excellent exercise bending and walking, I’d do three bags each time I walk and it cleaned up the park too. I started cleaning up my apartment too, dusting the floors and washing them. It like to kill me at first but it kept me in shape and worked my muscle too. I even learned to work my arm in cleaning the mirrors in the bathroom and cleaning the tub. Worked every muscle in my body little by little..., and I never had to pay a gym either or a cleaning lady for that matter.

I’m sharing some tips I learned the hard way, never but never give up. Keep inventing ways to work out that you can learn at your own pace that mean something valuable in your life. Instead of learning to type with two fingers try to type as always, so it’s not easy, so what. Learn to push yourself to do things to try to get back to where you were before your stroke or head injury. I feel that my stroke was a landslide in my brain, all the pathways I knew over a lifetime were blocked. It wasn’t my hand or leg that was injured it was my brain. I had to relearn all those pathways I knew so well. Even if you can’t make the connection I feel the road to recovery begins with the will to survive. Each step to normalcy, each little step that you can accomplish leads to bigger steps and those steps will lead you somewhere you need to be.

B-Roll

Next week or two I’m supposed to do the B-roll of my testimonial, my fifteen minutes of fame is still two months away but I want to be ready. So I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to say and why. After I had my stroke I couldn’t think, things just came to me with no preconceive notions. By the time I was able to take my cooking class I got angry about it but didn’t quite know why. I just knew that my way out was though my strength and not by learning to be handicapped. I supposed that I knew instinctively that my muscles still worked, my hand, arm and leg weren’t damage the control for them wasn’t working correctly.

I always maintained that I had a landslide in my brain, as in any landslide the mountain that was me had collapsed and the pathway to “me” were blocked. I had to find a way to reestablish those connections again to make myself move as I used to. I needed to find a new path to me and to make that path(s) as smooth as possible; I was a child again learning to tie my shoes. The doctors weren’t much help either, the doctor is like a weather forecaster, he could tell me from his experience with others what my chances were but he couldn’t be sure one hundred percent. Nobody would know for sure until I did or did not recover. I had a lot to lose and I wasn’t prepared for that, I didn’t know any better so I just figured that I’d recover. Make no mistake it wasn’t easy or painless but it was either recover or live in a nursing home for the rest of my life. I chose recovery and I guess my stubbornness came to my rescue. I can be an obstinate son of a bitch, I want to do things the right way, my way.

So that’s what I did, I was more than willing to have help and guidance in my quest for me. But the more that I worked to get my strength back the more I knew I was on the right track for me. There were milestones along the way, markers for the progress that I was making. As each slid past I’d make up a new milestone, one’s that my therapist had to invent for me. I was a challenge for them, I forced them to think up new ways to help me and we both took pride in my progress along the way, my way back to me. Even as my progress took me past the eighteen month barrier that they had told me about I could see progress. I didn’t realize it at the time, several month would pass before I realize that I was still progressing. After almost two years and I started back to reading, my joy and pleasure was back and even my laugh was getting better but not the way I remember it. I still can’t sing, those who know me best say I never could but who know, I am hopeful.

And that’s what one desperately need hope, for the future and for the past. To get back to the old/real you. A you that you remember and are comfortable with, a you that fits your memories of you. A you you can be proud of, that you can say you made this happen. OK, so you had a stroke, a car accident, what ever it was that gave you the brain injury, you and you alone made it better, made it back to the old you. Never give up, work until it hurts and work some more. You are unique, you are the only you on the planet, there are no substitutes, know this and live life to it’s fullest. Did I mention never give up?

Birthday

Today I am officially sixty one years old and I don’t feel it. Yes I have ache and pains mostly from my stroke but I’m doing pretty well for a man my age. I must say I kinda surprised to be here, having escaped most of my follies relatively unscathed. In my youth, like all people I felt bulletproof and there weren’t many thing I didn’t try. I was really fearless or stupid, whatever you want to call it about my future. I didn’t feel the need to plan for my welfare or my health, I though I’d figure that out when I was ready. Well I’m ready now to find my way again and I have a hope for my future.

Last week I took a ride down to the sight of the new project that just fell into my lap. I was really impressed with the caliber of the people involved and with their drive and passion. They have a prototype built that has solar, wind and water build right in. Next month they plan a trip to Mexico to look at a site and make their plans to build a self-sustainable community. Very impressive in their scope and will bring a new quality of life to the local inhabitants. A totally green environment that will produce water for their crops and will recycle everything else they need. A very exciting project to be involved with. We even have on board someone to test the soil and suggest native plants that are apropos to the environment.

Of course this has tremendous commercial applications as well, they are in the process of getting the grants and funding that they need to make the technology work. That’s the point were I come into the project to document and to record there progress. I was down to photograph the prototype and the detail’s of how it was built. I shot the most important features of the construction as well as a general overview of the prototype and what features come with this particular product. Not exciting kind of shooting but eventually it should pay my bills. I’m looking for it to pay more than my bills really. I want to get back to shooting my model and creating my art. I have to find some way to sustain my art until it gets rolling and I get some regular clients. This was my plan for the future at the time I had the stroke but that event took up all the air in the room.

I was smart enough to see my age creeping up on me and at age fifty-seven I was starting to shift my work into the more artistic avenues. I could envision the time when I wouldn’t be able to keep up physically with working eight to ten hours a day at event photography. I was planning an orderly transition in life and the focus of my work. But my stroke changed my thinking overnight, I was left battling for my life instead. So many people have told me that I’m inspirational to anyone fighting my situation. Some have call my action heroic but I don’t feel that way at all. I had no choice in my fight, it was either sink or swim really. I could lay there in bed doing nothing or I could put one foot in front of another and get back the life I was used to living. The chose was stark, take it or leave it. I chose life and the pursuit of happiness. A couple of weeks ago I managed to get my testimonial recorded and in it I found a voice to speak to everyone who finds themselves in my condition. I found it important to give people hope and remind them that the doctors never know exactly what there patients are capable of overcoming in their desire to live a full and useful life again. Of course not everyone is as lucky as I am; some never recover and are left crippled for life. But that the way I feel actually, lucky. I am very lucky indeed.

Ready For My Close-up

A star is born, not really my fifteen minutes of fame have yet to start. I went the other day for my on camera testimonial and it was a fun experience. Because I have experienced the camera before and had a story to tell I was calm and relaxed. I listen to the things the editor wanted and I gave her my story from beginning to end. She was really pleased with me and the way I carried myself and the story I had to tell. I got to tell people the warning signs and not to repeat my error in waiting for so long to get help. I made sure that everyone knew that economics played a part and that I was not depressed. But I was content to let my fate be decided by nature rather than me. I have sleep apnea and I was hoping that would decide my fate and that I go quietly in my sleep. But I lived to find out there are worse fates results than death.

I awoke twice in the night and tried to go to the bathroom and fell down both times. The last time I almost went through the window then down a floor to certain death. But I would have been cut up pretty bad on my way down; I still had a desire to save myself. I guess that carried me through the whole ordeal. At least the retelling of the story wasn’t as traumatic as the event, I got a certain relief out of it. I could tell it made an impression on the woman I was telling my tale to and my description of the pre-stroke event was something she hadn’t heard before. She was so pleased that we decide to do a B-roll later of me walking in the park. For those of you who don’t know a B-roll refers to filler material so the producer can fluff out the story. It’s an interesting process and I’ll post the final result when I get a copy. So my fifteen minutes of fame hasn’t started yet and I can look forward to it with relish.

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On another note today is Memorial Day. A day of remembrance for the people who have given their lives for the freedoms we enjoy. We can debate the cause of the war, any wars for that matter. But we all should remember the men and women who have had their lives taken from them. We should remember to make the sacrifice for very good reasons and not to waste it. Remember too that we should live and let live and not force our views on one another. Too many people have given the ultimate sacrifice so we can enjoy this day. Let’s enjoy today and accept some different view to celebrate.

Happy

I’d like to break out in a chorus of “Happy Days Are Here Again” but I’ve learned better by now. The meeting went well, better than well I’d even rate it a good. I’m cautiously optimistic, seems that I’ll at least get some work out of it that I can handle. You’ll have to understand that I can’t speak of the meeting in particular, too many pieces need to come into place yet. But I can speak of what my fears were going into it besides failure on my part. I was really afraid that I wouldn’t be able to keep up or to understand the concepts that were floating around. That I wouldn’t be able to add my opinions and feeling. But the old thrill of making a difference came back to me as never before.

I was able to visualize the project and the ideas as well as I ever could and was able to make coherent comments and suggestions. Best of all I could follow ideas as they came one after another. It was thrilling to be part of the action and the actors. It was almost better than sex with none of the perspiration and trouble. I remember back when I was forty-five and working for New York Telephone and doing the Emmy’s. I had a lot of work to organize and get accomplished in a short time. I was on the phone a lot and traveling all over New York state and to Chicago where the Emmy’s are made. One of the broadcasters I was covering was WNET, the local affiliate of PBS. I almost worked out a deal at the end of my shoot that would take me to Dallas to get one of the principals. I came that close to shooting her and getting my travel paid so I could visit home but just missed out. Better that sex

So my meeting yesterday wasn’t as climatic but it did make me feel oh so good. It’s been a long time coming to reach this point where I feel comfortable with myself. A long time getting to the point where I feel able to cope with ideas and those ideas generated my own suggestions like before. I was able to forget about me and lose myself in the work and planning. I was excited by the nature of the project, the idea that it’s green technology at it’s finest and will add quality of life for a number of people. I’m ready to get started and lend my skills to this nascent project and see it grow into something I can be proud of. I haven’t lost sight of the commercial possibilities of the project either, I stand to make some good money as well. But the saying is “Catch the wave” and I meant to catch it and get a good ride out of it for as long as I can.

Economy

Well it would seem like the economy is improving, at least mine is slowly showing improving signs. At least some of my contacts are back and want to talk about things. The Dow went up and money seems to flow a little easier. Barring any new outbreaks I think it’s safe to say we’re hitting bottom at last. Don’t get too excited because it will be a long time till things are actually good again, if ever. But at least I’m seeing signs that things have stopped sliding and may just level off if the bankers don’t get their way and go back to risky investments again. I had to get on a do not contact list to stop the credit-cards offers from coming, I’d get a half dozen in a month. You know the world isn’t right when you’ve lost your business because of health issues and there still trying to sell you a credit card.

I feel like the banking institutions got themselves into trouble and brought us all along for the downhill ride. Ditto for the wall-street types with their huge rewards all for taking risk’s and having we taxpayers to save their butts. We small business types take risks each and every day we operate, we take the risks of failure as a given. But there is no one to save us from our own follies we’re just allowed to fail and it’s left to us to pick up the pieces and start again, if we can. No kindly uncle is there to pat us on the back and shake his head and say try again little one and don’t be sad. I could have used someone like that, instead my friends pitched in to help me recover for the first year and a half when I truly was going under. It was the little people who helped me and saved me from the streets.

At least that’s my take on thing and only my opinion, I am not an economist or a writer of the economy. Lin can give you a much broader picture of the economy and who when wrong and where. I’m just telling you what I see and feel going on around me. First I had to stop by the post office to buy stamps and the clerk asked me how long ago I had my picture taken on my driver-license. He told me I looked younger somehow and that compliment started my day. Then I hadn’t seen one of my friends for about a year, he was very complimentary about how I looked and remarked on how profession I seemed. Then I got the meeting I wanted with my two friends that have gotten a project into the planning stage and want to include me. So it was a good day for my ego and a better day for pocketbook issues. Now I can actually see myself getting back to shooting professionally and getting back to having models again. I have miss that part of my life so much words fail me.

So things look pretty strong in my little piece of the forest, things are getting settled and pieces of the sky aren’t crashing all around me for now. People are actually breathing easier and have things to look forward to. An improvement in people’s piece of mind’s and attitude as the dust begins to settle. I know without a doubt that the pain is going to linger awhile and lots more people are going to get hurt and I feel for them. I just thank my lucky stars that I have some good contacts, good friends that want to see me succeed with them. That I have a good reputation that people know and trust. I know that without a doubt that my friends were the key to my survival and that only the people who knew me were going to give me a chance to get back into the game.

This Old House

This is one of my early works created in 1968 or there about. I was twenty and so was the young lady. She was an early muse who’d let me try different things with her photographically. We did a lot of fashion and worked in a lot of abandoned building. We were attending college and became friend’s through a mutual acquaints. Actually another model I was working with who was more conservative. Mary was more laid back, she like us all at the time was striving to find herself and got a joy out of being photographed. So between classes and on weekends we’d find out of the way spots to do our work.

I could talk her into trying a number of different poses and tried different lighting with her most of which were available lighting. Without a reflector I might add because they hadn’t been invented yet. We were all working with flashbulbs and they were so erratic and expensive. This shot is about the only one I have left because when I left town to go explore the country I gave the shots back to her. I was such a fool then but I didn’t know better.

We were working in an old house along the river that was a favorite spot of mine. Out by the mission’s on what at that time was a pretty lonely stretch of nowhere. I was able to tempt a couple of girls out there to have them all to myself and my ideas. I look back on it now as an adult and I think how dangerous, without any means of contacting anyone. But I was young and bulletproof and so were the girls and nothing happened anyway. I got some good shots that way, working alone with the girl’s and getting a chance to know them. Thinking about it now it took a lot of trust on their part so I guess I was trustworthy then as now. But I never put the hit on my models, it was always about the work. Same as my poetry, I never use my poetry to get myself laid, after was another story altogether.

Anyway, this shot brings back a lot of memories of a time a place in my life. Almost at the beginning of my photographic life how much I’ve learned and how much I have left to learn. I wonder who I’ll have become when I’ve finished living my life.

Women

Women are wondrous creatures, they seem to have figured out the way to deal with there feeling that men never have. Even so august a woman as Margaret Thatcher is said to have needed a good cry then got on with the business of sending men to war. Women will cry when their happy, women will cry when their sad or frustrated and worst of all, women will cry when they are angry. Unlike men they don’t hold their feeling in for long and once it reach’s that teary stage be prepared for anything. I’m not making light of this ability, it’s one that I respect in it’s effect on the male population. Men have no natural defense against it and usually fail to understand it complexity but we all understand it’s effectiveness. Men through training or because of our nature tend to hold things in and hold grudges until death, our death.

I needed to get in touch with my more feminine side when I had my stroke. I needed to mourn what I had lost. I felt so alone in the hospital so completely vulnerable and broken that I had only instinct to lead me. I had to keep trying to put one foot in front of another, keep trying to move my arm so that I would have a chance at a life again. No matter how much I wanted there was no room for the sorrow I felt for me. Somehow I needed to make that time and space for me to greave. One day in speech therapy I was so frustrated by the lesson that I broke down and cry my eyes out, after I felt so relieved. My therapist let me have the time I needed and then came back to my room with me and made sure I was all right. She even changed the sheets on my bed and wished me a good evening. A small comfort but a comfort none the less.

Then during my long convalesce I started feeling so down and out, feeling of worthlessness washed over me in wave after wave. I felt like a rudderless ship bobbing in the sea. There were movies that got to me, manipulated me so ruthlessly that I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I spoke to one doctor about it and my feelings because after all the hard work I was doing I didn’t feel like I was making the progress that I wanted. I needed to feel like I was living a productive life again or at least the hope that I ever would. I was trying to walk around my neighborhood to build up my strength and to build coordination. But my anxiety and the dogs soon put a stop to that permanently so of course the answer was anti-anxiety medications. But my body and mind were on different pages, nothing I could do was working and that separation was hindering my recovery.

A couple of years into my recovery I was sitting in a café waiting for a my friend to show up for breakfast. I started sweating and I could feel my heart beating in my chest too fast. It felt like I had the flu, my legs and arms felt so heavy and I thought that I needed to get to the hospital quick. But I didn’t know how I’d get out of the café short of calling EMS to haul me out and that was just too public. So I close my eyes, breathed deeply and repeat..., slowly inhale deeply and exhale..., repeat. Ever so slowly I could feel my heart slow, the crowd noises made a pleasant hmm, slowly I went to a happy place. Not a destination or a real place but somewhere deep in my mind where I could control things..., I felt better. The heaviness I felt in arms and then my legs lifted. My heart slow and I didn’t feel so clammy, I smiled knowing I was getting this under control. I felt like the Buddha sitting in my little Mexican Café smiling, with eyes closed and in full control of what was going on in me. As I resurfaced I felt refreshed and calm, the happiness that filled me was so new and fresh. By the time my friend arrived I could tell her about my experience and I was relaxed and calm. I often use this technique to fall asleep though I enjoy the help of a sleeping pill to make sure I get the rest I need. Never let anyone fool you, we are in control of our body and minds.

Pills, lots and lots of pills

I’ve finally learned to take a pill, lots and lots of pills. I was fifty-nine when I learned to take them by the handful. I’ve also learned that there is a direct correlation between what I ingest and my health or lack thereof. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I’m coming to this realization late I confess so don’t get mad at me. I learn a lot of things at a glacial pace and I realize it and readily confess; I maybe slow but I’m certainly not very fast. The stroke had a lot to do with my current knowledge. I’m working with my doctor to fine tune my health so I certainly cannot speaking for the masses by any means.

The first thing I learned is that doctors do not know what your real condition will be. Like the weather they can only tell you what the prognosis is according to what the majority of patient have done. You are unique to them and your ability’s and desires will take you where your body decides. The doctors and nurses figured I’d never walk again, that is if I survived the stroke in the first place. I fooled them and that gave me no end of pleasure. My recovery was a test of wills, mind over body to get the results I wanted. Not to say that it was easy or pleasant, a lot of hard work and sweat went into my recovery and it surprised a number of people not only me. I was blessed with the desire to recover and I had the muscle mass and the brain power to get the job done.

When I had the stroke it felt like my arm was dislocated from the shoulder socket from just hanging there. My arm had recovered remarkably well and I felt it was finally healing. But my arm was going bad on me, a lot of pain when I moved it and reaching the mouse on the computer was excruciatingly painful. So I saw my doctor and a physical therapist and they made pronunciation on me and my arm. But that didn’t seem right to me and I kept looking for answers that would satisfy me and let me get to work on them. The therapist said something about hyper-extending and recommended therapy but to me that sounded like something I was doing and therefor was curable if only I could find out what. So I bought a wireless mouse and the pain in my arm finally cleared. Not rocket science granted but knowing my body saved me the expense and therapy.

More recently I was having a bad time with my G.I. system and even had some bleeding as a result. I asked my doctor about it, she asked me about food and if I could have had some bad water; sounded like I was living under third world conditions. She recommended a series of test beginning with my blood and ending up in a colonoscopy which I wasn’t too thrilled about. I told her I didn’t “feel” like I’d eaten something bad. But I kept looking and kept a record of when it affected me. Sure enough one day I was making coffee and I refilled the jug I keep my filter water in, I though it looked a little odd. There was a slight discoloration that turned out to be a kind of mold and the filter itself had gone way to long without replacement. I corrected that problem and my G.I. problems cleared up in about a week or so. Turns out I was living like a third world person and was being poison by my water.

Remember that you are unique and your body is unique. Know what’s going on with your body, for your sake keep records of your treatments and the problems you are having. I can’t recommend keeping a log of your blood-pressures enough. I have the utmost regards for my doctor and her abilities and I trust her with my life. But in these days of doctors being under such pressure to deliver I want mine to be a part of my health. I keep mine updated on what I think is going on with my body because I know it best. If something doesn’t feel right then it’s not. I’ve realized that my body is a high performance machine and I need to make sure it’s running as well as it can.

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From my New York Phase, I loved playing with the light