The Road to Betterness

The thing about living a life with three kids, extended families, jobs, friends and household responsibilities is that it doesn’t stand still when you are recovering from illness. It just keeps on hurtling forwards, whether you can catch up or not. For us, a regular routine is a pretty astonishing merry-go round of soccer, baseball, lacrosse, feeding cats, feeding children, lost cats, rotating Au-Pairs from around the world, minor sports injuries, karate, found cats with flea infestations, trips to Costco, fixing ancient cars, stepping on lego bricks, work travel, hamster chasing and keeping up with family that is spread across the world. And, of course, just growing.

This year, however, we decided to throw a little extra chaos into the mix with a spontaneous garage fire (a real fire- with flames that broke windows and needed multiple fire engines to quash,) a giant tree that landed on our roof in the middle of an ice storm (followed by more than a week of electrical black-out), and a close family member with cancer.   

One might think us unlucky, but in truth it seems that while we seem to attract more circus-like drama than some others, we also seem to have nine-lives, cat-like. Each one of these events could have been disastrous but none of them were. The house has been put back together and the family member is pronounced cancer free. Oh, and Kevin got hit by a car while out cycling. He bounced skillfully off the windshield escaping with just a bent wheel and a bruised shin.

It is against this backdrop that I celebrate the two-year anniversary of the accident that could have been so much worse. While the circus of life has whirled around me, I have been slowly plodding through a tunnel of recovery from a broken neck, back, nose and leg and head injury. This one to two year epilogue does not have the drama of the first year and (spoiler alert) there is yet to be a storybook ending, but I continue to write for a number of reasons:

1)   It helps me to manage my feelings, to make sense of what I learn and experience, which in turn helps me to move forwards.

2)   It holds me accountable. The act of sharing the story spurs me towards ensuring I continue to make progress.

3)   For some reason, I need people to know what’s going on underneath- that it’s still a struggle. At this point, there is nothing to see. There is no limp, no obvious scars, I no longer look fragile. Self absorbed as it may sound, I need people to know that what they see is only part of the story. Maybe they will cut me some slack for not showing up to that thing, or for not staying late-or for requesting a special chair.

4)   Over the course of my journey I have started to pay attention to the fact that I am far from alone in my struggle. Millions of people suffer from chronic pain or long-term diseases or mental illness or loss.  Maybe there are a few things inside my ramblings that might be helpful to my comrades in arms.

Until a couple of months ago, I was beginning to lose hope that things would ever change but then, on the back of an extreme test, an intense world work tour that took me across four continents, I feel like I am emerging from the shadows.  The constant electrical headache at the back of my head is just a little bit less, the nausea is not quite so nagging, I can hide from symptoms with activity just a bit longer, deal with social situations just a bit more comfortably and I don’t need to nap quite so often. (Although, please know, I still believe in naps). Once the acute phased of physical injury passed, dealing with the head injury and chronic pain swamped me, I felt like managing them was my full time job.

I still feel far from the person that fell 8 feet atop a VESPA moving at full speed onto train tracks that September morning.  But, at this two year mark, despite the fact that I still have many symptoms, and that many head injury specialists say that most of the recovery takes place in the during this period, for the first time in a long time, I feel optimistic that the new me can live a big and busy life. It’s likely be a different life from the one that was on the cards, but I am starting to believe that maybe it could be a better, more balanced and more fulfilling one than I had planned.

Symptoms, Treatment and Beyond

So let’s start with the crappy stuff.  Overall I still suffer from a range of symptoms- all of which I am constantly aware of, some of which cycle in and out and most of which mean I have to make small adjustments to my life. Bright lights, loud noises, screen time, traveling through space (driving, trains, biking) busy streets, complex conversations, multi-tasking, work days longer than seven hours all trigger migraine-like symptomsI have largely learned to live with chronic neck and back pain but I am very particular about what kind of chair I sit in (I swear some chairs have been made as torture devices) and how I travel.   These spinal issues in combination with vestibular issues and the after effects of knee injury mean that my extreme sports days are over and that running, high heels and even yoga are not a great idea. I miss high heels. 

The weirdest effect is that I can no longer put my knees together when I am lying on my side, so I have to sleep with one leg hanging off the bed!

For those of you who are interested in the nuances of the physical symptoms I have linked to it here. But for the rest of you I have compiled the cliff notes below. (I’m not convinced the full and kinda boring description really makes for exciting storytelling.)

Here is the catalog of what ails me at this two-year mark, along with its level of annoyance.

• Post Traumatic Migraine: XXXXXXX

• Vestibular “trip switch”: (Vertigo) XXXX

• Vision Convergence insufficiency: (Blurry vision) XXX

• Degenerative disk collapse

• (Neck “mess” which causes both neck and head pain)

• Big metal plates in my back: from crushed T10: XXX

• Big metal plates in my knee: XX

The migraine symptoms in particular, while mostly low level, are insidious and if I’m not careful, can quickly escalate.  Sometimes I push through, but sometimes I succumb and go back to bed. Sometimes the distraction works, other times it doesn’t.  If I am running on adrenaline (a deadline, or I am facilitating or otherwise stressed out)- then I can keep moving. The tough days are when I have a lot of screen work to do. When I have a mountain of PowerPoint or email, inevitably the headache slowly creeps over the top of my head and the nausea seeps down my windpipe. On days like this, when I cave in and lie down, the back of my head is so sensitive as it hits the pillow that my hair hurts and my neck is full of knots. Thanks to some great recommendations, I have discovered the joys of tiger balm and ice on the forehead in these situations.

But these episodes are getting less frequent and easier to recover from. A year ago I would automatically feel disgusting after one big day, now I can go for two or three days of full on intensity (e.g teaching, traveling, family occasions) before I need to back off.

I have also noticed that the volume of my discomfort is linked to my cycle. I have one week a month where I feel pretty good. During this week, I often forget about what the bad times feel like. I see friends, I do stuff. I make big commitments during this week that I then have to fulfill for the rest of the month! (Note to self- stop doing this.)  On the flip side, I usually have one week which is much more difficult.  The pain and nausea are much louder and closer to the surface and the boring chronic pain of my injuries is ever-present. A few minutes concentrating or walking in chaos can make me really uncomfortable. I can really feel the metal in my back and knee and my neck feels constantly like it needs stretching.

The other two weeks are somewhere in between, and often more activity dependent.  During these weeks, if I am careful, if I pace myself, keep noise, crazy sound and screen-work to a manageable level and if I keep on top of the self-care routines, then I can live a pretty normal life.

There are no miracle cures for these long-term symptoms, instead it’s a recovery by inches, in which I work with an awesome multi-specialty team at NYU, chipping away at them bit by bit. At this point we have got to a treatment cycle of epidural steroid injections, Botox and medication combined with lifestyle modifications of celebrity hat and rose-tinted glasses, anti-inflammatory diet, regular exercise and strengthening, meditation (I wish I could say I managed this one regularly, I would sound so much cooler) and an understanding of the psychology and mechanisms of pain.

Each treatment helps just a little bit and taken together with the most important factor –time--mean that I start to function.

Miraculous Mind Shifts

While I continue to do the work of working on physical symptoms, the progress is slow and there is no guarantee that they will ever go away. But, broadly, I am learning to live with them. I know that as long as I am sensible (hmm- being sensible has never been my strong suit) bad days will give way to good days and that distracting myself from the background symptoms is the best course of action.  

I have learned, that a-lot of the battle is mental- that how I perceive my own health and pain have a massive effect on how it actually feels. 

This is both exciting and upsetting as I come to terms with the fact that although my pain and discomfort is real, I do have some level of control over my quality of life.  It’s an incredibly empowering thought in periods when I have the strength to go at life with gusto-but it takes discipline.  

On the flip side it’s pretty disheartening on bad days, to admit that perhaps it is my inner victim that is taking over and that if I were working harder, there would be less pain.  On those days, in truth, I want all the psychology of pain theory stuff to go away. I wonder if those clever psychologists types have tried to control pain themselves just using a positive mental attitude, some articles about the biosocial basis of pain and a few deep breathing techniques. Every. Single. Day.

However, I do want to describe two pivotal moments in my recovery that were entirely mental and that have really helped me to take a massive leap forwards.

 The first occurred last fall, during a period of time that I was really starting to feel sorry for myself. The first anniversary of the accident had passed, the brain injury nausea and sensory flooding were making me tentative and the constant chronic pain in my neck was making me tired and grumpy. I had pulled back from work to see if it would make a difference (and I after ending up in bed for several days unable to life my head after pushing too hard) and was doing less physical exercise following my attempt to do a mini triathlon in the summer of 2017- which resulted in me feeling much worse. I was working hard on the idea that the best plan was to have no plan- but was not finding it easy. I had been discharged from vision and vestibular therapy- but didn’t really feel better. (Insurance cuts off after 24 sessions.) But the one thing I was doing was walking. I had taken to walking up to six miles on a regular basis. As I walked, I listened to audiobooks.

One gorgeous fall day, as I walked along my usual route, a tree covered aqueduct that runs parallel to the Hudson River between Yonkers and Tarrytown a torrent of memories hit me that pulled me out of my funk. I was walking along a path that I know every inch of, a path that I have run along (pre-accident) more times than I can count. I know every tree root, every slight dip and incline and every landmark, so my mind was free to shift into alpha-the type of thinking that has been associated with our most powerful kinds of mental energy. On this particular day, I was listening to a book that was, in part, set in West Africa when it was as if a door of memories had been unlocked. As a fearless twenty year old, I had spent a summer doing voluntary work in Ghana, and a there was scene in the book I was listening to that described a West African village. The scene pulled from my consciousness vivid memories of my own. Memories of Gold Coast beaches occupied only by fishermen and rural dusty villages outside of their reach of modern amenities with roadside sellers and sun baked huts. Over the next few days, as if unloosened by the first set of memories, other life experiences jumped into my mind and hokey as it may sound, all of a sudden I became aware of the richness of experiences I have already lived. I became aware that whatever happened in the future, my technicolor past was already pretty awesome.

Instead of trying to describe how I felt in those days,  (which sounds even more hokey reporting it now) here is what I wrote a few days later:

Over past few days visions of the big life that I have lived keep coming to me in snippets- like one of those kaleidoscopes, each memory overlapping the other, clamoring for recollection.

 A few hours after the walk (see above) my adventurous past was reinforced in a conversation with the children about night-time raccoon spotting. (We have a family of raccoons that live in our drains!)  In discussing how easy it is to see the raccoons at night because of their gleaming eyes, I was reminded of an encounter with alligators in South America. During a river trip on an Amazon tributary in Ecuador, a swim at dusk was interrupted as my travel companions and I slowly became aware of multiple pairs of shining eyes on the river bank- eyes of alligators that only really become visible in the dark. And with these incredible life memories freed, other life experiences began to flood in.

So while the window is open and while the colorful images are jumping on top of one another, I am writing them down, so that next time the dark shadows descend, and I know for certain that they will, I can relive and draw checks on the bank of stories, experiences and feelings that make up my life.

In those dark days I want to be able to remember that I have traveled around the world in first class and once stayed in the presidential suite in the Fairmont in Singapore, a magnificent room that took up a large portion of the penthouse floor. It was a suite that included a grand piano, a sauna and a view over the harbor. But equally, I want to remember that I have slept on night buses while traveling across mountain passes in Latin America and trains in Eastern Europe. I have lived like a king in a South African game park, with a glass bathroom that overlooked elephants in their watering hole, our own servants and private guide but have also camped along side tarantulas in the Amazon basin, black bears in North America and got caught in the middle of riots in Mexico City. I have smoked too much weed in Jamaica, drunk too much red wine in Rome, been to warehouse raves in London and stayed sober close to home. I have visited dusty ancient mosques in Egypt, attended Rosh Hashanah at synagogues in Manhattan and lived across the street from a 12th century Abbey.

There have been jobs that seem glamorous, that involve wearing high heels and lipstick and commuting to Park and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, but also times when I was paid minimum wage to mop the floor or stand over a vat of hot donut oil for eight hours straight. I’ve had the chance to study subjects just for the love of study and I’ve worked all night on mountains of PowerPoint just to find out that the presentation is cancelled. I’ve smelt the excitement that comes with performance, be it singing in dark New York cabaret clubs, at evensong in English Cathedrals or experimental dance in experimental venues. I have equally felt the power of leaning on the shoulders of fellow wounded souls as we share our experience, strength and hope in support groups in church basements.

And through all of it I have felt the feelings that are part of the human experience: the incredible pain of childbirth and the difficult to describe love and joy that comes with being a parent. I have felt the deep searing love that rages like a house fire damaging everything in it’s wake and a softer love that melts your insides slowly like warm chocolate. I have dipped, more often that I would like into a dark pit of depression, feeling hopeless and useless and in the dark, but I have also experienced the incredible sense of belonging that comes with being part of a family and what it feels like to know that someone else has your back. And I have known a moment when everything went dark and light and I didn’t know if I was alive or dead but did not feel afraid.

 Below are just some of the memories that triggered the kaleidoscope.

By writing this down, by really internalizing the idea that the life I have already lived will provide ample ammunition for stories to my grandchildren (even if I spent the rest of my life sitting in a chair) I was jolted out of the downward spiral of self-pity that might have been.  Instead I had the strength to execute the “plan of no plan”, walking up and down the aqueduct, working when I could, drinking coffee with friends when I couldn’t, hiding from the boys when they got too noisy and generally embracing an existence that seemed small and quiet, safe in the knowledge that it was just part of my story.

The second pivotal moment is equally other-worldly and random, in that it came in the form of a dream. A dream that told me that I should stop being tentative, that it was time to put my fear aside.

At this point you may be worried that I have been captured by a cult. I have not, I promise that I am still the same cynical, sarcastic me. Although I am learning to listen better to the universe, for example, I think I have well and truly understood the message that I shouldn’t ride mopeds

The dream came right at the end of 2017, more than a year after the accident and on the back of a series of dreams I had been having.  I had not been dreaming about the crash itself but the hospital part, the pain part, the not being able to move part. In sleep, I had often been finding myself on a gurney in a corridor, or in some kind of imaging scanner or on an impossibly high hospital bed. The scene was always swathed in crisp white cotton sheets.  

However, during the dream in question, I was not the one swathed in sheets- it was someone else that had fallen and suffered devastating injuries and I was helping to transport her to the hospital on the top of a double decker bus. (Obviously!) It was on the top of this double decker bus that someone I haven’t seen in several decades, came by and told me to stop being afraid- that I needed to start to attack life again.

It was a message that struck a chord, one of those dreams that I couldn’t shake. I think because it made me realize that I had begun to get into a pattern of holding back. I became aware that while I had reached a certain level of peace with my new normal, I was also starting to take it on as a role. I had begun to feel guilty about the days and moments when I felt OK- becoming reluctant to let myself feel joy, to laugh raucously, to enjoy the moment or sometimes even to admit out loud that I felt OK (if only for a few hours.) The dream made me realize I had become afraid that by admitting to flashes of betterness, the world would expect me to go back to my old life, the non stop, busy all the time whirlwind that I was definitely not ready for and may never be.

I needed to figure out a way of being both bold and careful at the same time. I needed to move the the line, set new boundaries and see how far I could push.

2018:The hard slog towards betterness

Testing and learning: experiments across four continents

And so I entered 2018 with a bit more determination. Still with all the symptoms, but with a willingness to try and live along side them. And, in line with some of the newest thinking on chronic pain management and neuroplasticity, I decided to push through them a bit more, employing a test and learn approach and (perhaps unwisely here and there) using the “grit my teeth” method that I had used in physical recovery. I was also very much aware of the more traditional theories around brain injury that say that most of the recovery takes place in the first two years, and so my time was running out.  Of course much of this “push through it” mindset has revolved around my work, because that’s just the way I am wired

Over the period since the accident, I have of course, considered that I should be thinking about a more suitable, gentler career.  Indeed, on any given day, I might be tempted to plan a future as a fortune teller, a librarian or an astronomer, anything that means I can sit mostly alone in a dark, quiet room.  I might also have thought about becoming a full time, stay at home mom, had I not tried that a few years ago and realized that I was terrible at it. Much as I love my kids, we are not destined to spend all day together, plus the physical and mental work that comes with that job is just as difficult as anything else I might consider- such as housework (tough on my vestibular system) loud boys (sensory overload, emotional stress), making sure each kid is in the right place with the right stuff (multi-tasking) being the family taxi driver (again tough on the vestibular system).

I have read stories of trauma survivors that have epiphanies becoming therapists or starting foundations. This has not happened to me, instead, I have felt compelled to stick at the same old stuff, making the work thing work and knowing that it least in this career I have some history and that by showing up each day it will eventually get better. Plus, it seems much easier to chip away at something I already know how to do- even if that doesn’t sound very transformative.

And so, work is both the easiest and the most difficult thing for me to do.  Now twenty-five years into my career (gulp), I have spent most of my adult life working, so it’s kind of second nature and really the only thing I know how to do. In addition, as an activity, it’s relatively still and quiet. Conference calls and long stretches on a computer are difficult, but meetings (as long as they are not under florescent lights) are generally comfortable as are short bursts of computer time. So a work-day which is a mixture of meetings and hallway conversations, punctuated with email and reviewing work is pretty straightforward and the flexible work schedule that has allowed me to take time off when I need to has been an incredible safety net. Although in practice, I have been working 30-40 hours a week since February.

However, this straightforward routine is not as simple as it seems, and even a regular work-week can be fraught with mini obstacles that need to be jumped.

Firstly, I have to commute into New York City, though one of the world’s busiest train-stations. (And, if I stay home, I have to do the conversations via conference call, which are harder for me than face-to-face conversations.) Secondly, in the always-on digital economy, multitasking, constant connection to a screen and unlimited stamina are really the stand-out skills, none of which I do well. Sensory overload and some still lingering cognitive deficits quickly hinder my multi tasking skills. Light sensitivity, eye strain and other migraine triggers may or may not cause a reaction to screen work re and I have about seven hours of stamina in me for work each day- before the alarm system starts to kick in. This is almost considered half day in the 24/7 economy. Thirdly, one of the things I am known for, my particular niche of expertise, is leading and facilitating workshops, multi-day or large audience events that are very often out of town. Obviously these pose a challenge. Fortunately, these kinds of assignments require a good dose of adrenaline, the wonder hormone that numbs all pain until the end of each day. Powered by this natural painkiller, I can easily run a one or two-day event, sit with a client for 24 hours straight, or present to a big crowd. But if it turns into a longer workshop or I don’t get time to reset in a dark room afterwards- then it can take weeks before I can settle back to a comfortable routine.

So between January and August, I have undertaken multiple experiments, figuring out how far I can push, knowing that as long as I can get rest at some point, I am not doing myself permanent damage. I have continued to have the incredible support of a work team that has been generous and understanding. They are quite used to meeting in the dark, not being able to reach me because I am napping or putting me into a car service when things get too much. With their support and with constant attention to being bold but careful, I have been called upon to help plan, design, create content for and then physically lead or support workshops and conferences across the US, in Europe, Latin America, UK and across Asia. The preparation for and recovery from these events is always intense- even in full health, but for me, they require some extra energy, evenings spent with tiger balm and icepacks and big doses of both humility and humor.

Sometimes my experiments failed. I went back to old patterns of behavior forgetting about the boundaries I needed to set and trying to do much too much. I had one particularly harrowing week in early March when, already feeling beaten up by my first really long week since the accident, the North East corridor suffered an ice storm. Just as I was going into the final review for a conference with the client, I was alerted by our poor aupair, that a massive tree had fallen onto our house. I had just a few minutes to call emergency services, a tree surgeon and the insurance company before the meeting started, and by the time we were finished virutally the whole town was out of power, so we had to evacuate for the weekend. 48 hours later I hopped on a plane to the client conference for two days, flew back to NY to run a workshop and then back on a plane to complete the conference. After clocking a grueling eighty-hour week, it was patently obvious that my body and brain was an incredibly long way from being able to manage that kind of intensity (Actually by hour 45 I was constantly nauseous with a headache that felt like some kind of alien was trying to escape my brain and crying on strangers in odd places … but by then I was committed). Having said that, it was a useful experiment, because it just served to strengthen my resolve to balance pushing through with self-care. That I cannot do what I did before, but instead I need to keep my work schedule to a reasonable level. When I am tempted to say “yes” to more than I can do, I need to keep in mind how I felt at the end of that marathon.

In addition to pushing through the pain at work, I also vowed to take the lessons from my kaleidoscope of memories and find energy for life experiences- and again, it took a few tries to get the balance right. In April, I took the boys on an overnight train from New York to Charleston to visit my friend at the beach in South Carolina for Spring Break. I was looking forward to it being a big moment, my first vacation and visit to beach since the accident, a milestone of feeling better. But I was sorely disappointed when all the symptoms came with me. During the excitement of the Amtrak roomettes, with chairs that converted to bunk-beds, checkerboard tables and foldaway sinks my continuous head pressure and just enough to piss me off back and neck pain distracted me. As I walked along the long stretches of beach, it was accompanied by the familiar nagging nausea. I had become accustomed to all this in my everyday life, but I had imagined that because I was on vacation, the symptoms would go on vacation too.

And so after these back-to-back lessons, I quickly needed to learn to adjust my expectations, while still put myself out there. In May, while in the UK for work, I consciously prioritized seeing old friends, but one on one, in quiet settings. In July, while in Thailand I carved out time to visit temples-even when I didn’t feel like it and knowing that it might make me feel unwell. I was so glad I did.  In August a client team needed too much from me, and I had to do the most difficult thing and simply ask for help.

As the ultimate celebration and milestone in recovery, our family took a trip to Paris and Amsterdam- for the last week of the summer vacation. I felt, for a moment bummed out that I could only do half of the things that the rest of the family did, before I had to retreat to our hotel. But then I remind myself that in that portion that I did manage, we had an incredible time. The symptoms- while present- were low enough for us to be able to wander backstreets of St Germaine, Le Marais and The Nine Streets, climb up the Eiffel tower and the hills of Monmartre, take boat trips along the Seine and the canals and eat mousse-au-chocolate for every meal. One year ago, all I could manage was a three-day break to Lake George and I spent a big chunk of that in bed!

Images of getting comfortable with pushing myself- but staying slow enough to keep smiling. There were alot of naps that you can’t see.

The final wave: finding joy in unexpected places

Slow TV, non-sugar baking and the beige bunker

One of the most unexpected things that happened in this journey is a personality shift to become more introverted. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the company of others, it’s just that with noise, bright lights, crowded rooms and complex conversations being triggers for symptoms, I am more likely to seek out quiet. For social events, I sometimes dress up and do a fly-by for a party, just to show my face. But more often I will prefer to meet a friend one-on-one choosing an outside table or simply order take-out at home. Meanwhile, I have just started to be able have the stamina to both cook and then actually serve and enjoy the food with a small group in my home— so maybe there is more entertaining in my future.  But in the meantime, I have discovered the joys of more prosaic activities.

For example, in 2018 I have conquered my fear of baking. With the help of cook-books for simpletons and watching food TV, I have managed to tackle some previously intimidating projects such as Key Lime Pie, cakes that require water baths and even healthy desserts containing only nuts, berries and maple syrup. Even better, all of them ended up being edible and in fact liked. For someone fond of instant gratification, the experience has been—well--gratifying (except for the clearing up part- that part is noisy and messy).

For entertainment, I have built up a large repertoire of what I like to call “Slow TV”. I have worked my way up from the slowest, which mainly includes British detective series set in small towns or the near past, to the more engaging character driven drama shows that can be found on HBO, Amazon, Netflix etc. For Friday night movie night with the boys at home, I can even manage an action movie-as long as I wear sunglasses! I have also really re-discovered reading, both in written and audio format. And with the help of large print text and a Kindle with a dark background, (it’s amazing how teeny words are in a printed book- have they always been like that?) I have worked my way through a balance of important reads as well as countless works of junky fiction, humor and beyond. Each day, I have had pretty much had all the sensory input I can take by about 9pm —and so retreating to bed with a good book has become one of my favorite things to do. The trick is to keep my eyes open until ten. I’m a very exciting evening companion.

Of all things that a head injury likes best for recovery--it is sleep.  (Besides, it has become very hip to say you prioritize a good night’s sleep)

Meanwhile, inside our busy, noisy house of boys where there is loud wallpaper in every room and almost always a new Spotify playlist under construction, a mock battle of super-heroes or a real battle of wills in progress, I have managed to create myself a haven of quiet. A dark, cool room in our basement decorated almost entirely in beige.  It started as a project to move our office from the attic to the basement –but eventually I realized, that I was creating a retreat.  So now, I can be undisturbed by sensory input, hidden away in a difficult to find nook of the house, in a space that is so sparse that my husband calls it a bunker. This suits the new introverted me, as it means no one else wants to visit!

Finally, on the fitness front, I have taken a bit of a U-turn. Through the summer of 2017 one year after the accident, I had pushed myself hard physically to see if I could manage a (very mini) triathlon.  I had imagined that completing the (very mini) triathlon would feel like a triumph, a symbolic moment of return. However, when the time came, it didn’t at all. The swim immediately made me seasick which was then reinforced by the teeny bike ride. My limpy run felt kind-of pathetic. The whole thing felt like a big ego trip gone wrong and frankly just served to remind me of what I could not do. So, I have put aside the idea of triathlons or skiing or any other extreme sports in favor of a kinder, gentler approach. Walking and eating well are now my go-to healthy activities.

Walking serves as a triple-win, as it helps me to move (I still strongly believe in the mantra “motion is lotion” staying still is the worst thing a person in pain can do), and also helps me to indulge my desire to be alone and listen to a great book at the same time.

After reaching an agreement with my pain management doctor, that for now, we should pull back from any additional treatments he sent me out the door with the suggestion to try an anti-inflammatory diet. Since then, I have found myself joining the hoards of women my age adopting one of the Brooklyn trendy Paleo, Keto, eat nothing really good diets.  There is no butter, no red meat, no sugar, no white flour. As I say, nothing good. And, I have figured out a couple of places where I can exchange ½ of our monthly mortgage payment for some sugar free treats that just about satisfy my sweet tooth in between.  But, I am not obsessive about it, and allow myself treats on a Saturday and suspended the whole things while visiting France. So worry not, my cult-free status is intact. I am not going to become an evangelical proselytizer for these diets anytime soon, but I do believe that it is another of the things that is making a small contribution to lifting the shadows and letting me see the world again.

So as I sit here at the two-year anniversary I do so with a mixture of hope, resignation and I will admit some fear.   Just a few days ago, I shifted my ‘freelancer- hourly schedule” back to a four-day-a-week real job.  While this is largely a symbolic move, as I have been working more than 35 hours a week since February, it feels like a big deal, as it’s a re-commitment back to my life as it was, a signal that maybe it’s time to get back to business.

But I make this commitment with trepidation. This is a recovery that comes in small, sometimes imperceptible shifts and there are no promises of returning to a pain free life.   Instead of focusing on a big outcome, I have to focus on each day that is in front of me. I have to do the work of moving one more inch forwards, work that sometimes takes effort that seems disproportionate to the result.  Often I fear that I don’t have the strength, that I will give in to the impulse to give up.

On those days I have to employ the two miraculous mindshift lessons. To put aside my fear and attack the day head on, knowing that I am not alone in my struggle. And more than anything, I need to remember all the amazing things I do have, to enjoy the experiences and moments along the way, to carve out time and energy to maximize the present and to drink in the big chaotic life that swirls around me. Because, it is these moments that make up the rich fabric and stories of our lives not the places we seek to go in the future. And, I know that this September, I am able to attack life more, be more present for others and have more confidence and joy than I did a year ago. Plus I am celebrating my new “superpower”— Perspective.

Perhaps finally, after two years, the accident can be something that starts to move slowly into the past, just one of those moments that makes up my story, as opposed to being constantly and jarringly in my present

Massive thanks to the gang that helped to put this together. Kim for her advice on commas and giving me the support and confidence to write. Audrey for lovely pics. (Not the iPhone crappy ones or selfies of course- those are mine.)

We actually took a whole bunch of pictures actually, celebrating an emergence from the dark. Go take a look here “Emerging”

I can’t figure out how to link to Audrey deWys Photography site from there- but if you want the link here it is!

Audrey deWys Photograph