A Church

I have lived my life within a church. From vbs to Sunday school to Lads to Leaders. From youth group to church camp to fireside devotionals. I have been surrounded by this God-ordained institution.

And the church that I attend now? An incredible blessing. That place, those people. It has truly changed my heart.

And last Sunday when I shared my story with my church, I saw a church that was alive. Raised hands, Amens, and Spirit-filled faces. What a blessing to share my story, when my story merged with theirs. I prayed for the story that has been written on my heart to reach one person. Just one heart. And God is so faithful. When we step out of the way, when we stop writing our own stories for ourselves, God does incredible things.

(I shared a version of my broken arms/broken heart story that has been posted in various forms on my blog. The version that I shared on Sunday is included at the bottom of this blog).

But I have also been surrounded by something else – by a body of believers. A cloud of witnesses. A church of friends as I like to call them. And oh, do I have a church.

I live my life within a church of friends. People who speak truth into my life. People whose hearts I know intimately and people who know my own heart just as well. My core group of friends who are so close to my heart that, I promise you, the Holy Spirit has connected our hearts with unbreakable bonds. They text me at the exact moment that I am doubting myself to tell me that I am beautiful and worthy. They call me on nights that I feel lonely to tell me that I am dearly loved. I come home from work on a really bad day to find a hand written letter in my mail box. Incredible. The reason why they are my church is not because I have spent more time with them than other friends (which might be true). It’s not because of the fun trips that we’ve had (which we have had) or the adventures we’ve been on together (which we have done) or the countless dinners we have shared around a table together (which happens every week). Those things make us friends. Best friends. But we have shared our lives and our hearts with each other. We have laid our hearts bare. We have allowed our struggles to become our stories and allowed those stories to speak Truth into each other’s lives. What a blessing my church of friends has been – to know that you are never walking on this journey alone. To know that you were brought into relationship for such a time as this. That’s what makes us more than friends - a church of friends.

Broken Arms, Broken Hearts

I’m a big time dreamer. I’m not just talking about goals and ambitions – that’s true too. But I’m a big time dreamer… in my sleep.

In the past couple of years I’ve developed a condition known as non-REM parasomnia. What happens is that my brain can no longer filter out what it should and should not be responding to when I’m asleep. This means that I do two things. I will repeat any normal, household, every day task in my sleep. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, getting dressed, taking a shower, moving furniture… just any really practical, functional item to be doing in your sleep.

But I do something else, too. I act out what it is that I’m doing in my dreams. My most notorious example of this happened a little over a year ago when I was asleep on my sister’s pull out couch at her home in Indiana. I had just fallen asleep when before I know it I’m on a raft in the middle of a raging river. I’m trying to survive the rapids when a black snake with glowing yellow eyes starts to get on my raft. I panic, but then look to my left and see another raft going upstream. I get on my hands and knees and count one two three. And I jump as hard as I can from one raft to the other.

And then I wake up on the floor.

Because in my dream when I am jumping raft to raft, in real life I jumped from my bed onto the floor.

I woke up the instant I hit the ground. I stood up and thought, “I can’t believe I jumped out of bed again.”

And then I thought, “I can’t move my arm.”

When I landed on the ground on my hands and knees all of my weight had gone onto my left arm and I actually ended up breaking the bone in my arm.

I had to have surgery the next day to repair the broken bone. I was really nervous because I had never had surgery or been put to sleep before. The doctor was great. He came in and went through his normal routine of “You’re fine. I do this all the time. Everything will be great.” But then he did the most important thing that happened to me that day. He bent down, looked me in the eye, and signed his name on my arm right where he was about to do surgery. It’s as if he were saying, “This arm? This broken one? It hurts so bad and I know it will hurt worse before it feels better, but it will feel better. I promise! I know this because arms are my thing. I fix broken arms and I make them just like new every single time. Your arm is broken now, but it will be healed. I know this because it has my name written all over it.”

This is beautiful to me because we are all broken in other ways too. Our hearts are broken from the loneliness or the shame or the eating disorder or the alcoholism or the consumerism or whatever it is that is taking up a part of our heart that Jesus is dying to fill. That Jesus did die to fill. And yes, we are a broken people, but our stories do not end in brokenness because we have a great Healer. A Healer who enters into our broken world in the form of a carpenter, a cross, a crucifixion, and an empty cave to offer us redemption, salvation, and healing. A God who looks down, sees our broken heart, and He signs His name on our hearts. And He says, “This heart? This broken one? It hurts so bad and I know it will hurt worse before it feels better, but it will get better. I promise! I know this because hearts are my thing. I fix broken hearts and I make them just like new every single time. Your heart is broken now, but it will be healed. I know this because it has my name written all over it.”

Surgery: Round Two. Am I Annoying?

I was nervous about having surgery again. For two reasons. First, I hate scars. Despise them actually. Yes, I know. They tell our stories and show signs of healing. But it’s hard for me to look at them and not see imperfection and brokenness. Second, last time I had surgery I felt terrible afterwards. I was completely confused and didn’t even think that I was alive for an entire week. And for at least a month after that my memory was terrible. I was back at work and functioning normally, but I just couldn’t seem to remember anything after a few days had passed. Everything felt like a dream that I just couldn’t quite remember. It got to the point that I thought I would never feel normal again. But my hardware and cysts from my broken arm had to come out to get normal functionality in my arm again. So I had to go in for round two.

I got checked in to the hospital on Monday morning and prepped for surgery – gown, hair net, IV, arm signature and all…

 I explained my memory loss to my anesthesiologist. And you’ll never guess what he said.

This rarely happens to any patient, Emily.

No kidding. Like I’ve never heard that one before… “There is a rare phenomenon that occurs as a side affect to anesthesia which causes pretty severe amnesia. It rarely happens for extended periods of time, and when it does occur it is usually in geriatric patients – not 25 year olds.” Awesome. Not. Anyways, they promised to try to alter my anesthesia this time to avoid the memory loss. I told them that as long as I stayed asleep, go for it.

My surgery got bumped back a few hours, but fortunately while I nervously waited on my bed, a family friend passed by who happens to be a nurse at the hospital. She was able to talk to us for quite a while which helped take my mind off of everything. Ironically, I only have three memories of sleep walking as a child – two of which were at her house. Full circle moment.

I was awake when they wheeled me into the surgery room. I remember thinking, “Wow. Skydiving on Saturday didn’t bother me but lying on my back and getting wheeled through a hospital feels like a roller coaster!” They got me all set up on the table and then a nurse called out “She’s ready for induction!” To which I assured her that I was not having a baby.

The rest of our pre-surgery conversation went something like this:

Honey, if you were having a baby we could help you, but you aren’t. We are only going to be looking at your arm.

So my clothes will stay on?

You don’t have clothes on. You are in a gown.

But my gown will stay on?

Yes. Your gown will stay on. We don’t need to see anything but your arm.

Oh, ok... Do you know Jacque?

Is that your mom? Your friend?

No. It’s Dr. Downs’ nurse. (She’s the nurse that I see when I go to his office).

No, we don’t know her.

Well Dr. Downs does. And I do too.

The next thing I know I am waking up. I remember almost all of my post surgery conversations, but was obviously clueless and more than a little bit confused!

Emily… Emily… You just had surgery and are waking up.

I’m alive?

Yes, honey. You did great.

Did you tell my mom that I’m alive?

Yes. Dr. Downs talked to her. He told her that you did great.

Does everyone in this whole hospital love me or just my mom?

Of course we all do.

People love me here?

Yes.

Oh. Am I annoying?

No, honey.

Are my clothes on?

Your gown is on.

So I’m not naked?

No.

Do YOU know Jacque?

No, I don’t.

Am I annoying?

No. You aren’t. You are just waking up.

(Another nurse walks up and starts talking to me.)

Hi, Emily.

Do YOU think I’m annoying?

No.

Do YOU know Jacque?

No.

Is my gown on?

Yes, it is.

The whole time? The whole time it was on?

They only looked at your arm.

So they didn’t take my gown off?

Girl, if they started taking people’s gowns off for no reason then we’d have some major issues here.

Oh. So do you think I’m annoying?

No! Why do you keep asking that?

I don’t know. I’m just not normal.

We don’t take gowns off or tell patients that they are annoying. So don’t worry. Oh, and no. We don’t know Jacque. No one here does.

Well Dr. Downs does. And I do.

Okay… I’ll go get your mom.

Hey! She knows Jacque, too!

After a few crackers, a bumpy wheel chair ride to the car, a hazy ride home, and a nice nap in my own bed, I woke up feeling crystal clear. Thank goodness the altered anesthesia worked better for me this time! My recovery has gone much quicker. Of course, it helps that I don’t actually have a broken arm this time! My arm hurts, but is manageable with just Tylenol. And I have a huge splint on my arm. Fortunately it is wrapped in a bandage with a chevron print.

Someone pinterest this chevron bandage because it is so super stylish.

So now I am just rotating between the couch and the bed while my mom and dad take care of me. Plus I’ve gotten lots of well wishes from my friends and even a visit from my sweet friend Carmen who made me a Dream CD, a dream catcher, and a fruit cup. She’s the best!

The dream catcher is going above my bed asap.

I'm so thankful that my hazy craziness only lasted for a little while! I didn't send crazy texts or buy any groupons to Suzy Wong's House of Yum or anything this time! So now I am in a splint for a couple of weeks and probably won't need therapy again. Just lots of Mederma for my scars.

Happy healing. And happy thanksgiving!

Another Surgery? Of course.

“This rarely happens to any patient, Emily. We only see about 1 case of this every 2 years.”

Shaking my head, thinking: Of course it is. Of course you do.

“We have to do surgery again. The CT scan shows that the pain in your hand has been caused by your hardware (plate and 6 screws) in your arm. The ends of the screws stick up above the bone by about 1mm. This is very common and occurs in almost every patient. But, in your arm, 1mm has made a big difference. The tendons in your arm are being irritated by the screws and has caused you a significant amount of pain and a cyst to form in the top of your hand.”

Shaking my head, thinking: Of course you do. Of course it is. Of course it has.

“So we are going to go back in to take it all out. The screws and the plate. Your bone has completely healed and will be fine without it. The good news is that we will go in through the same scar on the underside of your arm. But we also have to take out the cyst, so we will have to go in through the top of your hand as well.”

Shaking my head, thinking: Of course you are going to. Of course there will be a new, visible scar.

“Your situation here is so rare. I have never had a patient who has broken a bone in their sleep until you. And now this.”

Shaking my head, thinking: Of course. Because if it is rare and unusual, it is happening to me.

I got a pep talk and a hug (two actually) from my awesome nurse, marked my calendar for Monday, and honestly just tried to distract myself from thinking about it. Perspective tells me that this isn’t that big of a deal. That I’m a trooper and will just pick myself back up and keep on moving after this. That I’m lucky they know what is bothering me and can fix it. That I have a million things going great in my life right now and that this is just a minor hiccup. But I just want all of this to be over. I’m tired of appointments and rehab and pain. And my poor mother – my care taker who probably laughed when I just called myself a trooper – nearly cried when I called her to see if she had plans for 5:30 on Monday morning. And all of this is because a black snake was trying to get on my dream raft.

It seems silly - even to me sometimes. It doesn’t make sense that one dream could cause all of this. But then again, last week I forgot to take my medicine one night before I went to bed. I dreamt that I had cut my own hair. I vividly remember exactly what it looked like. I went with a new style: long on the left side, buzzed on the right - split perfectly down the middle. It was so super classy. When my alarm went off I rolled over to look at my clock and saw a pair of scissors laying on my night stand (which had been in my bathroom drawer when I had gone to sleep the night before). My heart dropped and I ran to the mirror hoping and praying that I had not actually given myself a sideways mullet.

Hallelujah, I still had hair.

That was a close one though. Apparently my dexterity isn’t good enough to control scissors in my sleep. My medicine now sits right beside my alarm clock so that I won’t ever miss it again.

Anyways, my typical combination of denial, avoidance, and pure optimism tells me to just forget about the surgery until Monday. There is nothing that I can do about it. And just like how random bad things happen to me, random good things happen to me just as often. And I have too many things to celebrate, like:

On Saturday I am going sky diving again with some of my best friends. (We were supposed to go last weekend but it was too windy. Story of my life.)

On Sunday I am hula hooping a 5k. And I have a bruise on my hip to prove that I have been practicing!

I got new glasses for the first time. I have had the same pair for 10 years and the lens was chronically falling out. It was time to move on.

I recently celebrated three years as a condo-owner. To mark this glorious event, I swept and dusted.

And I just made tofu for the first time.

Tofu Stir Fry - I loosely followed this recipe.

Fifty of my closest friends gathered last weekend for our second annual Friendsgiving. We even had a Turkey this year!

I pulled off a convincing Cruella DeVille at my church’s Halloween party.

With my friends: The Guatemalan and The Tap Dancing Sailor.

I got to spend an entire weekend with my Covenant Group girls.

I am on the third row on the far right. Yes, I realize that I blend in easily with 8^th graders and that most are taller than me.

Part of me wants to be down about this whole second surgery thing. But the other part of me knows that life is too great to let something like this bother me too much.  I’ll stick to that side. (It’s also the side with long hair. Not the side with the buzz cut.)

Stir: My Broken Arm Adventure Retold

Stir, my Young Professional group at Otter Creek Church of Christ, has recently started a blog.  I was thrilled when I was asked to be a monthly contributor! Check out my first post on the new blog – a familiar but retold story of my broken arm adventures and God’s healing in our hearts.

To learn more about Stir (Otter Creek’s Young Professional Group) watch this video or check out this facebook site.  Amazing things are happening in this group.  I’d love for you to join us.

Southern Summer Nights

The first day of summer technically isn’t for a few more days, but in my world, summer has been in full swing for a while.  Nashville had some 80 degrees days in February, so the short sleeves have been in the front of my closet for months. I don’t get “summer break” or anything quite that wonderful like my teacher friends do, but it is a treat to have less traffic on the way to work every morning without all of the school buses and mini vans around. For me, summer means having hours of daylight after work every night. It feels like a whole, new, refreshing life after a winter of being in an office during every sunlight hour. My favorite thing about summer? The southern summer nights.

CMA Fest

My absolute favorite event in Nashville, the CMA Music Fest, was another big hit this year, of course. I went with one of my favorite friends and we watched The Band Perry, Jake Owen, Blake Shelton, and (my favorite) Carrie Underwood perform, among many others. We also watched the crowd. It’s what we do. We saw the typical CMA concert crowd.  The Act-The-Song-Outers. The Let-It-All-Hang-Outers. The Drink-‘Til-You-Pass-Outers. The Can’t-Help-But-Make-Outers. The Never-Get-Outers. The I-Clearly-Have-No-Friends-Or-They-Wouldn’t-Have-Let-Me-Wear-These-Clothes-Outers. And then there’s us, acting (and looking) totally normal with a few other people in the sold-out stadium.  Sometimes I wonder if the rest of the crowd is pointing back at us as we walk by and saying, “Wow. I wonder why they wore that sun dress and cowboy boots instead of this camo halter top, tie-dyed shorts, and bedazzled fanny pack?”.

My Concert Buddy

Cruising

When I was in high school, one of my best friends and I always played the cruising game. We would turn down a back road, get our speed up to the speed limit, and then let off of the gas completely. No gas. No brake. Just cruising. And we would make guesses as to how far we could coast before stopping. “I bet we can make it to the third barn on the left.” “No way, we can at least make it to the hay bales way up there on the right.” The coasting game actually takes strategy. If there are hills and curves, the length of your coast can change drastically. This is life in Small Town America.

But now I have a new kind of cruising that I LOVE to do. My dad got a motorcycle this past spring.

My first encounter with his new bike. Not exactly ready for a ride just yet.

He had motorcycles when he was younger, but never while I was alive. Now, because of these crazy gas prices, he got a small “commuter” bike just to take back and forth to work.  Well, that was the intent before I got on it. I had never even been on a bike before, but now I can’t get off of it. On almost any free afternoon that I get, we go cruising. We drive through country back roads and through tiny little towns that we have never even heard of and we stop at little farm stands and we cruise up through the KY Mennonite country. We just pick a direction and drive until we make enough turns to find our way back home again just before sunset. Every time we cruise I play the Rodney Atkins’ song “Take a Back Road” over and over again in my head. I love being on the back of a bike. I’m a little obsessed.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

Home

Someone at work recently pointed out that I use “home” to refer to my parent’s house and “my condo” to refer to the place that I currently live. I always hear that “Home is where your heart is”. So yeah, I love my condo, but my heart is at my “home”. And this past week a huge part of my heart was at my home. My sister and nephews came in for a visit, so I took a spur of the moment trip home on a weeknight to hang out with them. My nephews and I did our favorite thing. We (mainly I) dress up in crazy costumes and then jump out from around corners to try to scare each other. I do it often enough to say that I think it has become a hobby.

Although after a while of jumping around corners, my nephew wanted to play the game outside. So we ran around in our front yard looking like this. 

I didn't realize that I looked like such a creeper until I saw the picture

Did I mention that our home is on a main highway? Did I mention our neighbors were all home? Did I mention we were in the front yard? Clearly I will do anything to make that little guy smile!

We enjoyed dinner on the deck with fresh blackberries and watermelon.

And at dusk my sister and I took a walk to the pond and picked any of the first blackberries of the season that we could find along the way.

The lightning bugs. The frogs. The sunset. There is no place like home.

Sleep Drama

And since this whole blog post is about night time activities, you know that I just have to mention my broken arm and sleeping drama. My sleep medication has been working just fine. Before the medicine, I was, to my knowledge, acting something out about 5 nights a week.  In the three weeks since starting the medicine, I have only done something twice. Big improvement. I have the hardest time ever getting out of bed in the mornings, though.  And this is coming from the girl that normally sets 4 phone alarms, a music alarm, and turns the tv on to help wake me up every morning anyways. I think I’m going to have to do the “put a really annoying beeping alarm all the way across the room” thing. We’ll see. 

I did graduate from occupational therapy recently.  I got a t-shirt and everything. My wrist has what they consider a “normal range of motion”. I say that because my wrists were normally hyper flexible.  For example, your wrist should be able to bend forwards by 70 degrees and backwards by 60 degrees.  When I completed OT, my left, broken arm was registering 90/80, which is well above normal.  However, my right wrist (and my left one pre-break) was flexible enough to bend 140/100. That’s twice the normal amount. So yeah, I’ll never get all of that back in my left arm, but at least I am “normal” again. Normal is a relative term. 

You can never have to many concerts, cruises, or cookouts.  Celebrate your summer.

Wired: A Sleep Study

Tonight I am happy to sit on my couch, watch my tv, use my shower, and crawl into my bed.  Because two nights ago while I was watching tv and getting into bed, I was looking something like this:

By the way, this is in the running for my worst picture of all time.  I will now go hide under a rock to shield myself from the embarrassment of actually posting this picture for the entire blogosphere to view.

On Monday I spent the night at The Center for Sleep.  Because I continually act out my dreams (once resulting in a broken arm), I had to see what was up.  I mean, we all know that my mind works in crazy ways, but now it is medically official. 

So I strolled into the sleep center at 8pm and they set me up in a study room, which is basically just a hotel room. Bed. TV. Shower. Cheap shampoo.  Oh, and a camera and speakers over the bed.

Camera over my bed.  TV tuned to The Bachelorette.

So the tech comes in and starts hooking me up to a million different wires. Okay, not a million.  But 27.

 

Case Study:  Room 10

The wires connected to my legs, chest, hands, head, and face.  He had to stick the sensors to my head, which resulted in an elmer’s glue type of substance all over my hair.  Not only was it all in my hair, but this same glue, combined with the medical tape to secure the sensors, left really cute red splotchy places on my face.  Awesome.

Another flattering photo

While the doctor was trying to connect everything, I was just trying to watch Dancing with the Stars and The Bachelorette on the tiny tv hanging in the corner of the room.  “You know these kinds of shows aren’t real, don’t you?” “Do you truly believe that she can find love this way?” “Would you ever consider being on a show like this?” “Why has society become fascinated with reality tv instead of fantasy?” Oh. My. Gosh.  Clearly this man does not have a wife or a daughter at home.  Don’t ever come between a girl and her Monday night ABC reality shows. I’m already letting you put sensors in my hair, the least you can do is not talk during the rose ceremony. That’s something to lose sleep over. I resigned to watch the replays on my laptop the next day and went to bed.  He plugged me into the wall and then went to his control room to calibrate my machine. We talked through the speaker over my bed, which - looking back - is kind of creepy.  “Close your left eye.  Now your right eye. Move your chin like you are chewing an apple. Flex your left foot.  Now your right.” This went on for a while, and then finally he said “Sleep well.  Even if you fail the test, you pass. Good luck.”  I have a habit of not thinking about potentially scary or awkward things beforehand to avoid getting worked up over it.  Sky diving? I didn’t think about it until after I jumped.  Sleep with someone watching me? I’m thinking about it right now. And it is a little bit creepy.  But it wasn’t bad at the time.  I actually slept pretty well.  I fell asleep fast and only woke up once when the doctor came in to reattach a sensor to my head that had gotten knocked off.  I’m assuming that I moved around a lot less than normal since I was practically tied down with all of the wires.  And I didn’t sleep walk, which we knew wasn’t likely in a controlled environment.  However, they can still formulate a diagnosis based on muscle movement  and brain activity.  Before I knew it, it was 5:30 and I was being woken up to discuss my results.  My doctor showed me some confusing charts and told me two things. 

Confusing Chart

The first is unrelated to my dream issue but creeps me out.  “You know that you grind your teeth in your sleep, don’t you? A lot.  Very loudly.  We heard you grinding over the speakers all night.” Ew! I don’t even know how to grind my teeth in the waking hours.  It creeps me out and I literally can’t force myself to do it.  I do happen to know that my dentist’s wife and my dental hygienist both read my blog.  Consider this my cry for help.  Fix me!

The second piece of news was what I needed to know.  I have a Non-REM Parasomnia.  Basically, my brain wave activity was off the charts during Non-REM sleep and my brain cannot filter what I should and should not be doing.  I was prescribed a light dose of a medication to calm down my central nervous system only during sleep. I haven’t tried it yet.  I decided to wait for the long weekend and a non-work night to try it. 

So there you have it.  I have a hyperactive brain while sleeping.  I’m assuming that this means that I am really, really smart. At least that’s what I’ve been telling people.

In other news, I went to the hospital last week.  Intentionally this time!  I became a weekly Child-Life volunteer at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital last fall, but with the broken arm, splints, and casts, I couldn't follow proper hospital hand washing procedures or lifting requirements.  But I am finally back and thrilled to have the highlight of my week back in my life!

Catching a Break

I’d be lying if I said that I can’t seem to catch a break. Because clearly I can.  I caught one in my arm 10 weeks ago.  And last Wednesday, after a few weeks of therapy, I was finally given the approval to begin doing everyday activities without my splint. I now only wear it while driving or sleeping.  So this morning when I rolled out of bed at 11am and casually slipped on my flip flops and stepped onto my concrete patio to check on my roses, it would have been nice to know that it had rained during my twelve hour slumber.  Instead, I found out the hard way.  The very hard way.  My feet slid straight out from under me on the slick concrete and I fell flat on my back – catching the weight of my body with only one thing– my splint-free left arm.  Yep. One step forward, ten steps back.  The swelling was almost as instant as the hysterical tears. I cried, a lot.  Partly because of the intense pain, and partly because I did not want to go through all of that again. Surgery. Pain. Helplessness. The more I recounted the last two months, the more I cried, certain that I had re-broken my arm. The pain, the swelling, the shakiness – all overwhelming. And you know what makes me so mad? I never fall. I think the last time I fell was 6 years ago during an ice storm in Oklahoma City. And, of course, on Day 4 without my splint on I totally wiped out.

Before I even managed to get up, I knew I had to go to the ER. I called my friend Ashley, still crying hysterically. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: (crying hysterically) Where are you?

Ashley: Leaving Walmart. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Emily… what’s going on?

Me: Do you have groceries in your trunk?

Ashley: Um, yes???? What’s wrong? Talk to me.

Me: I’ll call you later.

And then I hung up. I thought, “I’m fine. I’ll drive myself. She has groceries.” Obviously I wasn’t thinking very clearly. Duh. I would drop anything for her and I was worried about her orange juice?? She wasn’t settling for that either. She called me back, assuring me that the groceries in her trunk were not nearly as important as me. I explained what had happened and she came to take me to the ER.  On our way to the hospital she explained that when I hung up on her she had created an entire scenario in her head that I had been kidnapped and had to hang up the phone because my kidnapper was coming back into the room and I had to hang up really fast to avoid getting caught. Okay. That must have been a full 30 seconds of mental torture, Ash. I promise to never hang up on you again! But if I am ever kidnapped, I know who to call!

Anyways, I have seen the inside of a hospital a few too many times recently.  They took x-rays of my arm and were surprised when I knew exactly how to place my arm in various positions for the xrays without being prompted.  Not exactly what I want to be a pro at.  

 An ER Pro

After plenty of waiting around, the doctor broke the news.  Everything looked normal! My poor arm had experienced more trauma and is now sprained, but the plate and screws are still where they are supposed to be and there are no new breaks! So I am back in pain, back in a splint, and now intimately familiar with homemade, leaky Ziploc ice packs. But I am sooooo thankful to be sprained and not broken. 

And I’m thankful for Ashley taking care of me! She’s the best kind of friend in emergencies – she’s calm, takes care of business, and from Chicago.  Girlfriend can drive you somewhere in a hurry!

And I feel bad for my poor mother who met me at the ER.  When I called to tell her I had fallen, she cried just as much as I did.  She didn’t want to relive the past two months either!

As a side note - I have been in this ER several times before - once because the counter at Which Wich fell on my foot. Yep, I get weird injuries!

But to make the day a little brighter, my mom and I got to keep my nephews at my condo for a few hours tonight.

If you are looking for a comfortable way to watch tv, try this...

Or this...

Or this...

Or this...

Or this...

Or this...

And then, of course, there is always the classic way to watch tv...

Apparently watching Kipper has become a sport. These little guys have more energy than I do for sure!  At one point this evening my mom finally said, “Boys, Aunt Em has lots of things in her condo that aren’t meant to be touched.” It’s true. I found out tonight that when I have children some day I will have to do a complete overhaul of my furniture and décor. But these little boys made my day.  They always do!

 He drew me a zebra to make me feel better!

And on this fine Cinco de Mayo I am skipping the chips and salsa and getting in bed early - leaky ice pack in tow - surrounded by my top three favorite movies of all time and all seven seasons of my favorite tv show.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Hitch, The Blind Side, and Gilmore Girls

And in other news, my roses are just fine. But I won’t be visiting them again any time soon.

Raindrops on Roses = a favorite thing. Raindrops on concrete = not a favorite thing.

Dreams and DC

In Need of Therapy

So I know you are wondering, how is that arm of mine? Oh, just delightful.  It has been nine weeks since the break and surgery. I still wear my splint most of the time, but I started some much-needed Occupational Therapy a couple of weeks ago to get back my mobility. And how do they do that? Well, let me just tell you. They use a grain bin. I mean, I think it is called a Fluido machine, but I just call it the grain bin because it is a plastic container full of cornmeal that gets heated and blown around. The corn meal helps break up the scar tissue and the heat helps loosen the tendons.

The Grain Bin

And do I still act out my dreams? Yes. Actually it has happened more than normal lately. This morning I woke up with completely different pajamas on than when I went to bed last night. And the night before that I thought that there were people in my condo (not in a creepy way, but in a why did my clients not get a hotel room kind of way). So while I was really seeing piles of laundry in the floor, I thought I was seeing bodies of people sleeping. Embarrassed that I was in my pajamas with my clients around, I quietly jumped over the “people” and tiptoed into the bathroom to put on my robe.  I have no idea what happened after that, but I remembered that much of it the next morning when I woke up with my robe on. And of course I did it on a business trip in DC, too. One time I woke up standing at the hotel room door on my tippy-toes with one eye pressed up to the peep-hole and my hand on the door latch, trying to figure out how to unlock it so that I could get out. And these are just the things that I happen to remember. Who knows what else goes on! Yes, I am going to a sleep clinic for some sleep therapy/analysis soon. Yes, I know that I am crazy.

Speaking of laundry, my washing machine was broken for a while. I have a front loader that wouldn’t drain, but my sweet daddy fixed it for me. The culprit? The Purex 3-in-1 sheets (made to go from washer to dryer) were getting sucked under the washing bin and clogging the drain pipe. They are technically approved for front loaders, but they are not Emily Approved.  Do yourself a favor and stick with the classics – liquid detergent!

Washington D.C.

Last week I spent a few days in DC for work. I was so grateful to have a couple of hours one day to visit some old friends. You know, old friends like

Washington,

 Lincoln,

Jefferson,

and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I also took some time to just go and sit at my favorite place in all of DC – The World War II Memorial.  

During college, I did a summer program at Georgetown University called The Fund for American Studies – Institute for Business and Governmental Affairs.  I took classes at night and did an internship with a natural gas company’s political action committee during the day. It was, by far, one of my favorite summers ever. I got to spend that summer with real old friends.

The Fund For American Studies: Institute for Business and Governmental Affairs, Class of 2008

(I am on the bottom left.)

I loved that summer of exploring DC’s monuments, frequenting Smithsonians, navigating the subway system, reporting on Congressional hearings, kayaking the Potomac, and cheering on the GOP at the Congressional softball game. It was good to be back in DC last week, even if it was just for a few days!

Ladies Day

On Saturday mom hosted a Ladies Day at her church with guest speaker, Melissa Lester, who you probably know from her blog at www.alittleloveliness.blogspot.com. She was so sweet to indulge me in all of my blogging and writing questions (a few dreams of mine)! We had the best time at Ladies Day and then picked strawberries at the local strawberry patch. 

 Bottom View Farm

Even with one hand, I got two gallons to put up in the freezer for this winter (and for summertime smoothies).

And yes, on Saturday we saw Turkey Bill walking around our property. Okay, okay. It may have been Turkey Bella. We can’t really tell them apart.

I'm loving this warm May weather.  Plus, I just got a notice that the pool at my condo is open for the summer season! It is going to be a good, good weekend!