Well, at least, I wasn’t on a bus in Mexico…

I have been forcing myself to do more and more, in order, that I regain my ‘normal’  existence after my ‘unmarked, wet floor slip and fall’. So yesterday, I decided to run an errand that would consist of my driving into Dallas into busy traffic and into a ‘not so nice’ part of town.

I had only been driving around my neighborhood area and keeping out of major traffic. So today, I gave myself a talking to… ‘Get out there and do your usual stuff. What are you waiting for?! Get what you need at that place then get back home fast. And you will feel better and like you accomplished something and that you stretched your boundaries.’ This was an errand I was meaning to do a month ago before the ‘unmarked wet floor’ situation…

You know those places you occasionally visit to get a particular item, but you don’t like to go there, except forge on anyway (like Walmart only worse)? Well, this was where I was headed.
I had just hung up the phone with my Aunt who told me that my Cousin’s husband was bitten on his hand by a dog they took in, and he had to have stitches, and a tetanus shot and they are leaving for Europe tomorrow. I remarked. “It seems many people are having bizarre incidents happen, such as my ‘unmarked, wet floor’ accident. What is going on in the world?”

So driving on Alpha near Montfort, I think I bump over one of those little thingys in the road, they use to guide drivers into the correct lane, then I turn into the parking lot and park. My ‘check tires light’ comes on. And, I think, ‘Okay, I will take it by Discount Tires when I get back to ‘my part of town’.’

But, I get out of my car to find that both my tires on the drivers side are flat as pancakes. “Are you freaking kidding me!? What in the world could have happened? I just lightly bumped over one of those thingys and I was going slow. I have never had this happen before. What a horror show!

I am using my cane and my elbow is not 100 percent. I am in a ‘not so great part’ of town (that funky area nearer Preston before the Galleria) and I have two flat tires and this is my first venture out since my accident… Really! Not really?! #$%E#@!$%$!!!

I call Jaguar roadside assistance and explain. “I need a tow to Park Place Jaguar in Plano and please hurry. I am in a bad part of town and I am recuperating from an accident and I want outta here.”

“Can you give me an address?”
“A strip center on Alpha and Montfort… that’s all I know.” (There are no numbers that I can see and I am not going out walking around.)

They trace my location using my phone.

“Okay ma’am, we have you located. A tow should be there in about an hour.”

“An hour, couldn’t it be sooner?” As, I ponder and look around, ‘I might be murdered by then’.

“I understand ma’am. WIll you be with your car?”

“Of course.”

 I get out of the car and go into the shop to nab the item that this outing was all about.(I know, I coulda gone in and asked their address, but shrug… I wasn’t thinking, I guess)  I come out, get into my car, turn on the AC and wait, while I feel like I am being circled by vultures… if you know what I mean? I am getting lots of stares. I am in the land of rap, Obama-land, and I stick out like a sore thumb and I am using a friggin cane.

Men stop to offer help. I explain a tow is on the way. I call my Aunt. She can’t believe my bad luck. I get out of the car. It is hot, muggy, sprinkling on and off. The sun comes out, it gets hotter and more grungy… only like a nasty, thick air Texas day, not far from the traffic congestion of LBJ  can be sometimes. There is a stank in the air. I have my hair braided at my neck to keep it out of the air and I only mention this because it takes ‘two arms’, (yep, a left arm) to braid behind your head and I did it! I am getting more flexibility and mobility in my left elbow. So rock in roll, hoochie coo!

The shopping center guard comes over to suggest that I wait in a hamburger joint near by because it will be cooler. But I elect to stay close to, or in my car. Several more men stop to offer assistance and actually they are very nice. They look scary, but are ‘acting’ nice to the ‘white girl using a cane’.
In about thirty minutes, I spy a tow truck across the parking lot on the edge of the strip center. I stand and wave to flag it down. But I am small and he can’t see me. Then one of the help-offering men runs across to the truck and points in my direction. The tow truck driver sees me and here he comes. YAY!!! 

I am so happy to see him. I explain my physical situation as he looks around and takes in the flavor of where I am and I can tell, he wants to ask, What are ‘you’ doing ‘here’?’ But he says, “Don’t worry ma’am, I will get you outta of here in no time.”

Okay so, I climb into a tow truck cab with a healing fractured hip and a healing elbow. Well, he does help a bit by holding me at my waist… but still… I so rock the healing curve!

He loads my car onto the bed of the truck, then we head north on the tollway. I can’t say enough good things about how the towing-man treated me… on a scale of 1-10… he was 100! I have always had good experiences with Jordan Towing, but this guy… WOW! He got to me in thirty minutes because of my situation and he treated my car and me like we were precious cargo.
Outside the Jaguar dealership, this sweet towing-man lifts me out of the truck with one arm. It’s one thing to climb up, quite another to climb down.

Then my Jaguar serviceman appears and walks me into the waiting room. What began so bizarrely was ending just fine. Now, I was safe in the Jaguar waiting room.
I got a loaner and was soon on my way to my house. Whew! And my car will be ready tomorrow. So after rehab, I will pick it up. Ta da!

Do ‘bad things’ really happen in threes? 1. A week before my ‘unmarked, wet floor’ accident, I got a ‘speeding’ ticket. It was on one of those streets that changes speeds from 35 to 45 miles per hour and you can’t recall which is where. Other people were speeding fast past me. I told the cop this, and he replied, “Well, my laser was on ‘you’. But don’t worry, you can get out of it.” So, it was a shake down for revenue. I pay a fee then take a driving class and it is off my record. So great, I have that to look forward to. 2. The ‘unmarked, wet floor accident’. 3. Then this two tire flat as a pancake blowout on my first driving venture to push myself into my regular existence.

So, is this it? Or is there more?

Should I test the concept of bad things come in threes and drive my ‘rehabing self’ to Padre Island then take a bus across the border to Matamoros, I wonder what the Mexican cops might find strapped under my seat.  HA! HA!

Now as I write this, I am safe in my bed, after washing and drying my hair. I can even do that now on my own. I so rock! So now, I am sitting pretty and smelling like a rose, as my Dad used to say.

This morning, I read the innocent woman who was incarcerated in that Mexican rat hole is now home with her family. So YAY!I I bet she is happy to be freshly showered, in her bed and in her home with her seven children surrounding her.

Texas people are the best! Even in a scary part of town, I was taken care of with that ‘great big Texas, we help each other out attitude’. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
If we could’ve sent some Texas Rangers into get that innocent woman, I bet she would’ve been home sooner.

God, thank you for your ‘Angels of protection’ showing up in unusual places…

All’s well that ends well…

Just another day of adventure.. huh?

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“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, …

 Obama-Lies-SCand eventually ‘they’ will believe it.” ~Adolf Hitler

“… the magnitude of a lie always contains a certain factor of credibility, since the great masses of the people in the very bottom of their hearts tend to be corrupted rather than consciously and purposely evil, and that, therefore, in view of the primitive simplicity of their minds, they more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a little one, since they themselves lie in little things, but would be ashamed of lies that were too big. Such a falsehood will never enter their heads, and they will not be able to believe in the possibility of such monstrous effrontery and infamous misrepresentation in others.…” (page 231 of the Manheim translation)” ~of Mein Kampf

Lies the basis of propaganda….

The Hitler regime and Obama regime use the theory and practice of the ‘lie’ well…and the low-information masses follow, don’t question and believe…

My Father’s Cane…

I never would have imagined that almost one year exactly 
after my Father’s death, I would be using one of his canes.

Daddy used canes for years, because of an injury when in was in the Navy. He had been an athlete in highschool and was recruited to be a pitcher, but he hurt his arm and couldn’t pitch any longer.

After a few years of college, he went into the Navy, where he acquired an injury to his upper vertebra. He was a large, vibrant man, and it wasn’t until later in his life that he needed to use a cane to steady his walk. While in the Navy, Dad flew, but he was also on a submarine…  and going from the different altitudes wrecked havoc on him. He told me stories about being in the Navy infirmary and how alone he felt.
Healing is an alone process…

Through the years, I would buy him antique, or usual canes for gifts. He had quite a collection.

After he died last year on April 6th, I got some of his canes. I put the black one with the silver handle leaning in a corner of my powder room. Each time, I would see it, it would give me the feeling that Dad was in my house watching over me.

On April 25th,  I had an accident. I slipped and fell on an unmarked wet, concrete floor in a local wine bar, breaking my left elbow and and creating a hairline fracture in my left hip. (‘unmarked, wet floor, wine bar wounded warrior’… not really funny, but..)

I was on crutches for a bit. And how horrible are those things?! While I needed to ‘baby’ my left hip completely for awhile, using the crutches threw my walking gait off. After starting rehab to strengthen my left leg, I decide to toss the crutches and to use my Father’s cane.  And even though, he was 6’2″ and I am 5’3″, it works for me. 
It is exactly what I need right now. It offers support, while I strengthen my left leg to regain my natural walking gait. And while using it, I feel  so close to my Dad.

Each step I take to regain my natural walk and balance, my Dad is with me. Just like when I was taking my first steps, and my Dad encouraged, balanced and guided me as I learned to walk, he is here with me now. My parents told me, I learned to walk at nine months and after I did, that I ran everywhere… Mother could barely keep up with me.

Now, I rest my hand on the same silver handle that my Dad used for years.

Dad used to tell me he loved to watch me walk and move. I have a fast walk, and he told me he loved the energy of my fast-pace.

I was blessed to be born with my Dad’s will of iron, to keep on keeping on. It’s one of my greatest gifts from him.

Mom used to say, you and your Father are just alike, both have heads as thick as a brick wall…”stubborn as can be.” When Mom would say this, usually, when she was irritated at one, or the both of us, Dad and I would look at each other shrug and smile.  Dad and I are/were alot alike and our hard heads could butt in real style…

But actually, that ‘stubborn will’ served/serves us well at times…

As I go about dealing with this ordeal, I can hear my Dad’s words as I push, falter, get frustrated, scared, then keep on… “Keep at it tiger. You can do it. I am here with you. I am proud of you.” 

Dad was a wounded warrior and my accident and what it takes to recover has given me a new appreciation for what it is to deal with and recover from physical trauma.

Dad, I promise with the help of your cane, with your eyes and energy from above watching over me, and with the grace of God, I will regain the walk I was born to have and that you loved to watch.

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After a fall, surgery, almost two weeks in bed…

three weeks on crutches, and a splint and sling on my arm for three weeks…. I am now using a cane and in rehab…Hooray… but…

What an ordeal! I go three times a week.  I need to get flexibility and full range of motion back into my left elbow and arm, and strengthen my left leg, the muscles around the fracture in my hip, so I do not need a cane and can walk with my natural gait again.

Since, I was three years old, I have been in dance studios, ballet studios, gyms, workout facilities, spin classes, aerobic classes, bench classes, boxing classes, all kinds of yoga, and pilates. I have danced on stages, choreographed dances and recitals, taught toddlers to football players, beginners to professionals, taught classes for overweight housewives and new moms wanting to regain their figures. I have trained  using all kinds of machines and weights, and in all those years, I never had an injury that could not be healed with a little heat and a good night’s sleep. And now, because of an unmarked wet floor in a restaurant, I am going through this ordeal. 

I have never been in rehab and now, I have several physical therapists and trainers looking over me…
I go from heat to stretching, to isometrics, to stretching to walking, to riding a bike, to ice…

Some of the activities feel good.. because it feels great to move after being so sedentary and others hurt terribly …

Rehab is hard work…

Many of the young trainers, have had injuries in several areas of their bodies… youngsters are rehabing from sports injuries… makes me wonder how all my life I escaped injury until now…

It was clearly the fault of the unmarked, wet floor…

People are continually asking, “What happened to you?” And today a woman commented. “Are you always so meek? You are so quiet.”

I have never been called ‘meek’ in my life, but I will say this accident has taken its toll on me in ways I can’t express or explain…

I am focused on my body and what it needs to heal itself to become whole again and fully functioning.

I am trying to keep my mental and emotional self positive. Sure, I have had several melt downs and have gotten very frustrated when I can’t do for myself what I once did with little effort. I cried most all day on my birthday which was three days after surgery. I awaken in the middle of the night, or early morn and it feels surreal as I think back to all that happened in such a short time and how fast my life changed because of it. I barely recall the weekend after the fall, or the weeks after surgery. It’s a blur as the days ran together, but now I am waking out of the fog to the reality of what I am dealing with…

I have always been one who appreciates the simple pleasures of a warm shower and clean sheets, and I always thank God in appreciation.. so now, I am humbled a bit more… 
Healing in rehab is a solitary activity. It’s an internal process that makes its way outward in bits and pieces…one step forward, one step back, then two forward once again.

And while you have your trainers, it’s you doing the work.
It’s competition with yourself, pushing and challenging your body.

This is what I have done since I was three, just never in this particular way….

One of my physical therapists… doesn’t she look like the actress, Jennifer Connolly?

All my physical therapists have been great …

Evil is becoming more prevalent and getting stronger…

???????????????????????????????and stronger.. but don’t let it enter and take you over as that is its goal.. to make life so bad, so hurtful, so much disaster, trauma, drama, hate and cruelty, murder, killing, senseless dying, maiming, chaos and harm that you will lose your faith in good, in God.

That you will turn against God and not believe any longer.. that is what evil wants to lower you to its level. That is evil’s goal. That is Satan’s goal for all of God’s children. Satan captures and collects souls and evil will come after you the quickest and most direct way to your soul

Can you feel it in the wind, in the air, in the misdoings and ugly deeds?

I had a call from a friend recently who was distraught over the storm damage in Oklahoma… the needless suffering of innocents because of the weather.  In his pain and torment, he asked, “How can God let this happen? If there is a God, why didn’t he stop the deaths and suffering of the innocent children!? If God controls the universe, he controls the weather, why didn’t he stop the storms from doing so much harm and damage?

In talking with him, I know that he has a wounded inner-child. Therefore, he identifies deeply with the suffering of children. It breaks his heart because that is how and where his heart is broken. It’s his wound.

And that is where Satan will come after you… right where you live, right where your wound is deepest, where you are most vulnerable because he knows that may be the way, the only way, that he can get you to turn against God.. turn against faith and belief in goodness and God…and to come to his side of evil corruption…

I am writing this for my friend….

Recently, I was hit hard where I live. As you all know, I slipped on an unmarked wet floor.. breaking my elbow and creating a hairline fracture in my hip. This accident took away my independence, my physical capabilities which I have had all my life. It was my strength. I have spent my whole life active and in some form of physical activity, from ballet, to sports, to aerobics, to weights, to teaching and training others. I think moving and being physical is the most important activity a human being can do. It not only keeps the body strong, it cleanses the mind, and spirit, keeps your mind active and integrates, the body, mind and spirit. And this accident brought me down.

I would always say if I can have a hot shower and a hair dryer, I can endure anything…well, this was temporarily taken away. I was stripped of my simple pleasures.

I felt beaten up, taken down, alone, destroyed, betrayed, confused, abandoned… but I turned towards God, not away…

I didn’t curse God for letting this occur… I turned towards him to help me heal and for strength…

And that is what we all must do… no matter what the trauma, loss, harm, or betrayal.

And of course, some losses are incredibly worse than others…. so deep and tormenting that it is seemingly unbearable. But God can bear it with you… where Satan will leave you there in torment and take pleasure in your pain.

Remember Job? Everything was taken from him… everything! But he never turned from God and he was restored.

God can heal wounds, all wounds and show you the light, the way, and the strength to endure. There have been many times in my life when without the grace of God, I would not have been able to endure.

Satan knows and focuses on your weaknesses. God knows and focuses on your strengths…

No one really knows why anything happens.. no one can really know. Why was I in that wine bar, at that particular time, and decide to go to the restroom when I did? Why was the floor wet and unmarked? Why does one person live and another die when a storm hits a community? Why is one house left standing while all the others are destroyed around it? Why does a runner have his legs blown off? Why are sweet, innocent children killed in their school room? All the whys can make you crazy in the asking.  Sure go ahead and ask as much as you need to…but….

No one can know the reasons, but God. And someday, if you ‘believe’, you will know and understand also. You will have a peace that passes all understanding.

God has the answers… and someday they will be known. Until then..  focus and believe in the goodness of God.

Evil walks this earth. Satan rules here.

We are on this earth, not of it… everything here is temporary.

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In-home healthcare, blessings, nightmares, rehab and other things…

I have never before been dependant on others like I am now because of this accident.

Okay sure, friends help out when they can, like during and right after surgery, but they have their lives and when you can’t go up and down your stairs, shower, cook meals, shop or drive, you need to get some in-home healthcare. I have always been someone that others lean on and even when I am in this state ‘certain’ friends emote, even cry, while they were here to assist me. I found myself comforting one concerning her issues on the night after my surgery. UGH!!!

And I will tell you, it is beyond bizarre to have a stranger enter your house and ‘try’ to take over what you are used to doing, and the way that you like to have things done.

The first service I went with ‘appeared’ competent. The woman who came to ‘sell’ me was friendly, helped me and ‘sold’ me on how good they would be. I had never entered this realm before, sooo here goes. The young girl they sent was sweet. She was with me the first day after surgery, after a friend left, and when I was in pain. She did everything for me including dealing with the cable TV that was out and the people refinishing my front door. Funny how things fall.. huh? No TV, just when all there is to do is to watch TV. And from downstairs, I hear loud machine noises and sanding as they work on my front door…while I am lying in bed taking pain pills regularly. That day, my arm HURT!!!! It was a surreal day!

That is pretty much all l recall of that day. This young girl came back for most the week for about four hours a day… friends took over on the days she was not here.

I soon got off the pain pills and this girl and I talked…

She dried my hair, changed my sheets, brought me my oats and berries, vitamins, etc. She learned my habits, likes and shared about ‘her life’,  which hearing about made me depressed. She has some genetic illness. She is not supposed to live long and she has a toddler who broke her foot. She and her husband were living in an econo-hotel that they cannot afford and are looking for a cheaper place to live. He would bring her to my house from clear across town. So, being a soft heart, I gave her some extra cash for which she thanked me for sincerely, informing that the money allowed her daughter to have things that she needed.
She told me that the agency instructed her not to eat or drink anything while at client’s houses. I told her, while at my house, eat and have something to drink whenever she desires.

Her goal was to go to Cordon Blu to learn to be a chef. She was starting night classes in a couple of weeks. She appeared an eager, sweet girl.

We got filets and she was eager to show me her cooking skills.(I am craving meat. I guess the protein factor in my healing process. She overcooked the meat and potatoes and the seasoning she put on the green beans…well… yuck! ( A chef…. ummm, I think not!) She had never used a disposal or a dishwasher.  I took her out to lunch and did kind things for her as she was helping me, then one day she was acting strange, more down and sad than usual and she would not look me in the eyes. I found I was worrying about her and it was too much when she she was hired to lift my burdens.

Before she left. she told me she would see me the next morning at 10:30. I called the scheduling people to confirm because I sensed something was off and am told that she was moving to a different town and would not be back. That they had just found out and were ‘trying’ to find me someone else for the next day. So, what if, I had not called, would no one have showed up? And why didn’t she have the guts and responsibility to tell me herself and to say our goodbyes?
I couldn’t fully do for myself yet and I had become use to this girl and she to my ways even though she was depressing. The original woman who sold me on the their service was not there any longer. Each time, I called there was a new person who informed me that they were new and didn’t know who all the girls were yet. It was an unorganized mess and it added stress to my stress…

So, I called a new service preparing to make a change. I don’t like being left in the lurch and certainly not now in my time of need. 

Finally, late that night, the service calls to tell me, a woman will be at my house the next day. The people from this service came from clear across town, from another world, but when I engaged them, was told they had people close to where I live. Well, they didn’t. So okay, another new person in my house. This woman was older, a country woman, rough around the edges, quiet, helpful.. but no caring connection. She did what I asked, but, I am, oh, so pleased when she leaves.

I hire a new service. The owner comes to my house late that afternoon. She is professional, and lives in the same area as I do. She feels like she has heard my name, or heard of me and we think we know people in common. Plans are made for a girl from her service to come the day after next. I fire the old service.

The next day, my hair stylist comes to do my hair. Sweet relief!  I am a girlie-girl and lying in bed for almost a week, perspiring at night as the anesthesia exits my body, only able to shower, but not wash my hair everyday, had made my hair a stinky mess.  And my hair dresser was forthcoming in telling me so. Clearly, we are way more than client and service here. She stayed with me for nine hours, doing my hair, helping me, and we order Italian for dinner and had a nice evening. I felt renewed.

After doing my hair, she vacuums the bathroom floor with my new vacuum and loves it. So, I promptly call my vacuum man and have one brought over to give to her as a ‘thank you’ for her extra care and consideration.

The vacuum man, I’d just met a few weeks previously, when I took in my old one for repair,  my hairdresser and myself hold hands in a prayer for my fast healing. It brings me to tears as the power of prayer creates a tingling and warmth radiating through my left arm and elbow. This is a blessing!

That night, completely relaxed,  I dreamed of the movie, OUT OF AFRICA… “Once I had a home in Africa.” One of my all time fav movies and one of my long time friends has commented that I remind them of Isak Dinesen, the author, and woman who lived this story. I have never even been to Africa, but she and I certainly think alike…

“All sorrows can be born if you put them in a story or tell a story about them.”  ― Isak Dinesen

“To be a person is to have a story to tell.”  ― Isak Dinesen

The next day, the new girl arrives and she is an African from Kenya, only been in the US for five years. We connect immediately. She is caring, intelligent and anticipates my needs. While she is changing my sheets. I mention how I like the movie, OUT OF AFRICA…to which she smiles. “My people are of the Kikuyu tribe. The tribe used in that movie. I speak Swahili.” I ask her to teach me Swahili and we laugh as she teaches me the worlds for good, crazy… etc. We have a spiritual connection. She comforts me and I feel safe with her. My healing accelerates. I can move around more and she encourages me to walk and to do for myself. She is kind and with great energy. We hug warmly when she arrives and when she leaves.

‘I’ cook filets, wild rice and green beans for us, and we have a bit of wine, talk and laugh, so different, but so similar in spirit. She is cute and dresses darling and I give her some purses and things.
She told me that I will heal quickly and well and that I am a very strong woman. She takes me to my post-op appointment.

Sure enough, the report is that I am healing great. We go out for lunch to celebrate. It feels so strange to have my left arm free, out of the bondage of the splint and wrap. And now, my orders, are to move my left arm, instead of to keep it still. I feel vulnerable having my wound unwrapped, but am beginning to feel more like myself and to recover my strength. She comes to me for one more day then is assigned another case. I only need a few hours of help a day.. so it is time for her to move onto another who needs her healing ways more.

Her last day… in a kind tone. “Ann, move your arm, work it! You will heal completely!” We hug warmly. This girl was a true blessing and will be so to anyone whom she assists.

I am downstairs eating potato chips and my famous Italian English Muffin sandwich. Hooray! I am able to do more for myself. When I hear the door open,  “Hello, come in! I am in the kitchen!” And in walks a fat-assed with attitude black woman.

I just stare at this obnoxious woman, who clearly is here to take instead of to give. “I hold my hand out. “Hi, I am Ann.”

“Hey this place is beautiful.” as her eyes scope out my house. “You can help me with decorating ideas.They told me I would like you and that you are fun, but they didn’t tell me how pretty you are!” She goes around my house looking at photos, picking them up then asks. “Where you a model or something?”

“Thank you. I had a decorating business for ten years.”

“Well, this place is really nice. I have a brown sofa this color and walls this color. She yaks on as she points. “So, what color drapes would work?”

“So you need contrast, but I don’t do drapes and I charge $300 an hour for a consultation.”

“Her eyes bug out. “Yeah, that’s the word. You know the big words. Hey, I ain’t payin’ just askin’.”

I think to myself as I get up to go upstairs. This woman is an Obama low-information, opportunist and I want her out of my house, but say, “I am going to take a shower and I need some help:”

I view the ‘contrast’ of this large with attitude woman with my small, weakened-self in my bathroom mirror. She’s fat and lazy, all she wants is to do is less and to sit…and all I want to do is more, to move and recover.

I get through my shower fine, then get into bed. 

Everytime, I ask her to do something, she sighs then huffs and puffs. She can barely make it up and down my stairs, she is so fat and out of shape. 

“I don’t know your circumstances, but this place is beauitiful and you have a Jaguar in the garage. I bet you can have any man you want.”

I stare stunned because of her comment. “Well, I am picky.”

She continues on. “I was married twice, but am into women now. You look like an angel sitting in that bed. You know I could come out and be your friend anytime. You wouldn’t have to pay.”

I think to myself, ‘And you look like a demon from hell.’

Her phone rings and this pig woman blabs on loudly to someone as she walks into the hallway. I say, “Hey! You can go on now. I don’t have anything more for you to do.” 

As she exits, I call the service and tell them about her attitude and that I need to wash my hair tomorrow, or I would not have her back in my house. These services have trouble getting people for a few hours like I need…so, I am at their mercy.

The next day, she is a bit more subdued, (The head of the service must’ve talked to her)  I get my hair washed and am in the shower with fat-ass sitting on the bench at the foot of my bed watching Lifetime. She can barely stay on her feet, or even fit her ass on a seat.

I ask her to wrap my hair up in a towel and she tells me that she doesn’t know how. I ask her to get some clips out of the ‘jar’ on the counter. She opens a ‘drawer’. I shout over the bathroom exhaust fan, “No! Jar!”  (It is disgusting to have strangers rummaging through your drawers.) She hands me the clips with her ‘usual attitude’ and I wrap my hair in the towel securing it with the clips then wrap myself in a towel and get out of the shower.

To which this rude pig says. “Don’t shout at me with that attitude.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are shouting and giving me orders.”

“I was talking over the exhaust fan. I was not shouting. You are here to assist me, right?”

“Yes, that’s why I am here.”

“You are being paid to do a job and it’s ‘your attitude’ that’s the issue.”

“If you talk to me that way I am going to leave.”

Here I am dripping wet, can’t fully move my left arm, using a crutch, and I have this vile woman threatening to leave. So, I say, “Go on, leave!”

This woman told me that she had been in the in-home healthcare business for 26 years. I can only imagine the horrors that she has inflicted upon those in her care. She was sizing me up the moment she entered my house to see how she could  over power me and take advantage.

I chuckle, as I ponder, should I call 911…? “Help me! Help me! I need someone to dry my hair!” Then I picture my 911 taped-call being played on all media outlets. HA!… Hysterical!!! Like those fools who call 911 when they get the wrong order at a drive-thru…

I call the head of the service and tell her what occurred and that I am sitting here with wet hair. She tells me that she will be right over.

Determined, I begin sectioning off my hair as best I can to start the process of drying my hair on my own. I am surprised at how well I am doing as I get more pissed. I dare that fat-assed woman treat me in the manner she did and in my own houseThe blessing in this nightmare is this nasty woman made me even more determined to do things on my own.

The head of the service came over and helped me finish-up my hair and did a few things around my house.  She apologized profusely and told me she would get a very sweet woman to help me the next day…which was to be my first day at rehab…

The next day, I get up, shower on my own, make my breakfast, empty the dishwasher, write, get dressed and put on make up and find I have more range of motion in my left arm.
The goal to do my own hair is going to be what gets the full range of motion back in my arm. “Vanity, thy name is woman.” Right?!

The next woman arrives and I was told by the manager that she is 15 years younger than me, but she looks and moves like she is 50 years older. (I find out later this woman is 70 and she is frail with a fragile broken wrist, Hardly someone I need to depend on for care. So, the manager lied to me about the capabilites of this woman.)  I move better than she does even using a crutch. I send her to pick up some groceries then we head out for rehab. She drives my car, because I am not sure that I am ready yet. But I can’t stand her driving my car. She appears weak and not like someone to depend on. I feel disoriented being out and about after so much time spent in my house and being in traffic is scary, but the rehab place is only five minutes from my house.

And it is great!

I am there for two hours. They say I am doing fab! I got past a 90 angle on my left arm and was told by next Monday that I will probably have full range of motion. HOORAY! I am on my way back. I am going to rehab three days a week for six weeks. 

I am in, as good as, or in even better shape, than many of the trainers and everyone asks me what in the world happened to you? 

Later that day, I drive around my neighborhood then a bit into traffic. I will be driving myself to rehab the next time.
I am going at it hard. I want these in-home ‘healthcare’ people out of my house and life. I want my independence back!

In a few months, I will be fit as a fiddle and will take a bikini-clad photo and Bamboo Bob will wish I was a liberal, so he can ‘spank’ me… HA!

Thank you all for your continued prayers and kind wishes. This has been rough… but I will prevail.

To be continued…

Slip and fall…

Hospital1When I walked into the wine bar, I was happy and healthy. When I left, I was physically broken in extreme pain and shock. Had I never entered that establishment on that night, I would be the same healthlyHospital2 vigorous me, instead of the post surgery, lying in bed, can’t drive or care for myself, me, that I am right now.

I used to run up and down my staircase many times a day, but now, I manage them very carefully with a crutch under one arm and a cast on the other. I need help to do the simplest things that I used to do with ease. I can’t even put my hair up in a ponytail by myself.

You see, I slipped on an unmarked soppy wet floor in a darkened wine bar that I frequented occasionally. I drink little, one glass, or two at most. On this night, I was with a friend visiting from San Diego???????????????????????????????I had just picked him up from the airport. He checked into his hotel then we headed out for a late night bite to eat. We ordered a split of Champagne for the both of us which actually is a serving for one. I had two sips of Champagne and a bite of cheese, then got up and headed for the ladies’ room. I made my way through the tables and turned left at the end of the bar to head down the hallway to the restrooms. The floor was soppy wet and even wearing rubber-soled casual shoes, I fell slamming hard into the concrete floor on my left side, breaking my elbow and fracturing my hip in two places.
( I fell right behind where the man in the white tee shirt, in the photo to the left, is standing. In that small, dark space just before the hallway to the restrooms and there was no wet floor sign anywhere in site.)

When my friend came to lift me up, the floor was so wet that he almost slipped himself. No one from the restaurant helped me. My friend lifted me up and sat me in a chair. I was in shock and severe pain, but couldn’t tell, at that point, to what extent my injuries were.

The bartender called the manager and told him what had occurred, then he told me to go to the emergency room and to do whatever was needed to take care of myself and the restaurant would take care of it all. He apologized profusely.

My friend went to get the car to bring it out front. I had to lean on him completely to walk, I was in such severe pain. The bartender followed us to the car assuring all the while that I  should take care of my physical needs and the restaurant would take care of everything else.

Hospital1We spent the rest of the night in the emergency room…
X-rays, cat scan, tetanus shot. I was shaking in pain and shock. I had never broken anything in my life and workout every other day for two hours, was a ballet dancer, a large portion of my life, and the grace and flow of my arms was one of my signatures.

This was a disaster. I couldn’t control the pain in my left side and it was vague as to where it was coming from.

We left the emergency room at 6 am… me, with a splint on my arm and on crutches. I didn’t want to stay in the hospital. I wanted to be in my own bed. Years back, I had a terrifying surgery where the surgeon cut an artery and I almost died and this experience had made me ‘deathly’ afraid of hospitals and surgery.???????????????????????????????

My friend came home with me, where I threw up, needed help walking to the restroom and to get out of my clothing and into a nightgown. Talk about humiliating. Of course I wanted to feel pretty and mysterious and this was as raw as it could get.

We slept a few hours the he began the search for a surgeon to operate on my elbow. We found one and made an appointment for the coming Tuesday, the first day they had open for appointments.

That afternoon, my friend, took my X-rays to the wine bar to show the manager the seriousness of my injuries and to get their insurance information. The manager came out to the car, where I was waiting and apologized repeatedly, stating that they would take care of everything and that I was one of their ‘valued’ patrons and to just take care of myself. He even offered to be of personal assistance in anything that I would need.

The rest of the weekend was spent in pain with my friend taking care of me, getting me a chair for my shower and a long plastic sleeve thingy, so that,  I was able to shower without getting my splinted and wrapped arm wet. I was taking pain pills, which I hate. I detest all drugs as most of you know… but I had to use them in this instance.
We did manage to go out to dinner one night to have a few hours of comfort and pleasure.

But soon, I was home in bed and in pain again. I couldn’t lay any way that would alleviate my pain.

My friend left on Sunday, to go back to San Diego. So, I was left alone, devastated, scared and helpless…

Friends came to assist… ( You sure learn who your ‘real’ friends are fast, and the nature of their character.)

I had my doctor’s appointment and he scheduled surgery on my elbow for the next morning. I was scared, but just sucked it up, and prayed to God to protect me and to put skill  and caring into the surgeon’s hands.

The surgeon said that it went well. But, now I have a pin and wire in my left elbow….Crufall2

The wine bar’s insurance company called and took my description of what occurred that  night, while I was on pain pills. They told me they would get back to me once their ‘investigation’ was complete. When they did, they informed me that they will accept ‘no liability’ for my fall. That the floors were marked as wet… to which they offered me 1000K and the restaurant sent me some cheap flowers along with a ‘feel better quick’ note.

Let’s see now???????????????????????????????the restaurant was open and serving wine. It is a darkened in their environment. I saw no wet floor signs and neither did my friend. And had there been one where I slipped, I would have had to jump over it since the space is so small.

I will need rehab and who knows what else? My life as I knew it before entering the wine bar on that night has changed completely. And ‘they claim no liability.’ As long as I was a paying client, I was ‘valued,’ but once damaged by their error and negligence… they just want me to go away.

I have never spent so much time in bed. I can’t wash my own hair. I can’t drive my car. I can’t run errands. I have not left my house, but once, in a week and a half. My life has changed and all because of unmarked wet floors in an establishment where I went to have a nice time.

Will I ever walk at my fast pace, run up my stairs, workout hard and long, and be without pain????????????????????????????????

I have always been nimble on my feet with excellent balance. The only reason I fell is because of this wine bar’s unmarked, overly wet floors.

I have marble floors in my home and am vigilant about keeping them dry and safe. My father was a war veteran with a back injury and his house had slate floors… all my life, I have been concerned and vigilant concerning the perils of a wet floor…

As all ballet dancers know a well-rosinned floor and toe shoes are a must… to a dancer, the floor is either your friend or your enemy.

And a soppy, unmarked wet floor is an enemy to everyone….

To be continued…..