I could write about that....

~~~
What to write.
What to write.

So much happens in a day, a week, a moment.
Happenstances I say that I'll write about.
But then I don't.
~~~

The Martian therapy
That space suit; that's how I move.
Those space gloves; those are my hands.
The Mars rover on that red dirt; that's my bike Olivia riding the red dirt at Salem Lake.
Red rocks of Mars; like Sedona and especially that one hike near Red Rock Crossing.
The disco music; my theme music this past summer as my limbs, especially my legs, came back to life.
Watney with a victory shout or jump with no witnesses but Mars; trees and animals have been my witnesses in the moments I've felt life in my limbs again, as I've shouted or wooped or pumped a fist in the air with tears streaming down my cheeks and the trees clapping their hands cheering me on.
Watney's calendar as he marks off the days; like my "calendar" that I put together every 12 weeks and tape onto my fridge and check off as each week passes.
That's just a few parallels, for me, of living this bizarre lifestyle of 12-week cycles, over and over and over again, the goal being to keep my limbs working 'til the next 12-week round.
That's how life is for everyone, "over and over and over."
The Martian encouraged me through my anxiety about my December 14th epidural.
My doctors got some good laughs as I shared about my Martian therapy this past round.

I could write about that.
I guess I just did.


Doctor visits
My yearly physical in December went well.
Blood sugar is back down from last year; that is a continual prednisone side-effect concern.
Heart is good; another prednisone side-effect concern.
I've lost over 30 pounds in a year which is probably the only symptom that I don't mind - loss of appetite.
Neurologist reduced my epidural medicine by 50% on December 14!
50%!!!
That's HUGE! HUGE!
Beginning in early 2015, I've been on the highest dose that I could receive; we couldn't go any higher.
And now, at the end of my six-month Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract experiment, which I will continue, Doc reduces my medicine by 50%!?!
Amazing. Almost unbelievable.
I'll monitor again how I do this 12-week round.
It's kind of scary; I am still afraid to really believe I'm getting well.
But all evidence indicates that I am.
My December 14, 2015, epidural was my 10th epidural; I began receiving them in January, 2014.

I could write about that.
And I just did.
And I will write more about that later.


Greenwayers and cycling
The people I've met the past sixish weeks while adventuring at Muddy Creek Greenway.
Aaron, the man whose friend's teenage son is now a quadriplegic due to an accident a couple months ago; his spinal cord is not severed, but severely damaged at C4.
I shared with Aaron about Rising Tide.
Harold, the elderly man who now lives with chemo-induced peripheral neuropathy in both legs, who rides his scooter and reminds me of Dad, with his black beret and love of outdoors.
He's a Korean War veteran and cares for his elderly wife, who has Parkinson's, at home,
Harold had to jump through the required (and too-often unnecessary) medical hoops to prove he really did need his scooter, his wheels to freedom.
Alan, the man who says (like me) that his bike has saved his life.
He lives with some sort of adult polio and can only walk a mile (or two maximum) at a time before his legs wear out. But on his bike, he can ride miles and miles and miles.
I rode 501.2 miles this past 12-weeks, between 9/22/15 and 12/13/15.
I rode 16.5 miles this past Wednesday, 12/16/15, on and near the Blue Ridge Parkway, only two days after my epidural. Another first for me.
I've not yet set a cycling goal for this next 12 weeks.

I could write more about that.
And I probably will.


The holidays
And how this is the first year I don't feel a lot of holiday pressure.
It is my fifth Christmas living with this disability, the fourth of no Christmas decorations.
I have finally accepted my limits without feeling a lot of pressure, and/or guilt.
But I still feel some pressure and/or guilt.
I cannot cook.
I cannot clean my house.
I cannot decorate.
I cannot wrap presents.
So there is no Christmas tree, no decorations, no wrapped gifts.
I cannot do what I cannot do.
It's like asking a blind person to see.
I'll be glad when Christmas season is over.

I could write about that.
Maybe I will.

~~~
And right now, in this moment, that's all that comes to mind.
But, I'm sure there is more.
Yes, there is more.
~~~
I hope to ride Salem Lake today.
Due to symptoms, I haven't been able to ride it since November 13, 2015.
"November 13" causes a heart sink.
That's the day Paris was attacked.
It was a Friday.
~~~

~~~
Six hours later at 6:35 pm:
I rode Salem Lake, 15 miles.
The Salem Lake path isn't as red as my mind had remembered, but the trail banks are...and that's close enough.
I met an elderly man named Dick who rides a recumbent tricycle, his wheels to freedom.
I set a cycling goal for this quarter: 400 miles

This past Spring, 2015, as I accepted my new normal and the reality of living in 12-week cycles, I decided to make a calendar, countdown rally sheet and put on my fridge to help keep me focused and going until my next epidural. I could look at that calendar and I know relief was coming with the next epidural. Before these calendars, I would count down the weeks and days in my head. It's kind of like an every-three month paycheck for surviving. Wish I would get paid! :D

I am very cognizant that some folks with my type condition never get relief. I am grateful for my weeks of respite.

Below are two photos. 
The first one is my rally sheet from last quarter. It contains lines from a significant song  for me in living with this new normal.
The other is currently on my refrigerator to take me to March 7, 2016. It contains an adaptation of a Watney quote. No surprise there! :D




~~~