Author: Aimee Eddy

With COVID, the safest place to be is at home away from people and chances of getting the virus. Many are working, going to school, having meetings, and so on from the comfort of their couch. I’ve been jealous of them. I hate being a cashier on the front lines.

My husband was laid off at the beginning when the United States was shut down, and I wanted to trade places with him. People came in groves to the grocery store buying cartloads of food. They stocked up on everything like they were going to be stuck in their homes for years.

Customers became grumpier and more argumentative. They complained about the longer waits, they complained that our registers were wet with sanitizer, and they complained because the debit machine was moved. They argued with us about social distancing, they argued it was against their rights to have to wear masks, and they argued about pulling the masks up over their nose. I was at my wits’ end. My anxiety was high.

I got my break from work when I had to take off before and during my back surgery. Before my surgery Denise and I walked many different places, and I lost forty-two pounds. Then I was laid up from my surgery and Netflix became my best friend. I also woodburned and sold Christmas ornaments to pass time. I was free from the front lines, from grumpy customers, from being out in public exposed to the potential of catching the virus, and free from the hoarding of food. I was home safe, but lonely.

In a way I enjoyed being home and, in a way, I missed work. I didn’t enjoy being laid up, but I liked being able to have time to do my hobby of woodburning and not dealing with the public. I did miss my regular customers who have become like friends over the years and some of my fellow employees. Being home my anxiety was under control and my stress was low. I was relaxed.

A week ago, I started back to work, and my stress and anxiety began to shoot up. I’m working three days a week for four hour shifts for a while, but the shifts feel endless.

Transitioning back to work has been rough. Because of complications, I couldn’t do physical therapy before returning. I didn’t have time to build up the muscles in my back and to become more active. Returning to work has been tiring and my body aches everywhere, especially my back. The pain in my back is not the shooting pain I felt before surgery. It’s muscle aching. My whole body aches.

The first day customers and employees welcomed me back. They missed me. Some customers feared I quit, and others were worried about me. Some new employees were nice and tried to get to know me. I was sore and tired, but I felt loved. That changed fast.

On the second day, I asked a customer nicely not to put her groceries down before I sanitize, and I asked her to please back up while the previous customer paid. When I kindly asked her if I could get pass her to sanitize the debt machine, she got mad. She said I was on her (swear word) since she got in my line and she also said other nasty words. I tried to be as polite as possible, but it wasn’t good enough. I apologized for offending her, but that only insulted her more.

The lady went to the service desk and complained to them that I was belittling her. When a lady from the service desk asked about it, the only thing I could think was, I didn’t miss this when I was off. I explained to the service desk my side of the story and they believed me, but my anxiety went crazy. I felt sick.

Customers frequently ignored the rule to stand back and wait for me to sanitize the register. Some were apologetic and some were nasty about my reminders for them to wait like the lady who swore at me. They also yelled at me for asking them to pull their masks up over their nose. I got so tired of being yelled at for doing my job that I gave up. I just let them do their thing. I bit my lip and struggled to hide my dry heaves. I felt like I was a punching bag. Instead of punching me with fist they were punching me with their words and attitudes. Boy, I did not miss that when I was off.

On the third day back, I was on big register for the whole day. A lady put six packs of pop on the register. When I tried to tell her to leave them in the cart, she requested I put each one in a bag. So, I lifted each one up, put it in a bag, then lifted the bag and placed it on the end of the reg ister. The muscles in my back screamed, “I’m sore! Stop this! Go back to being off!”

The woman smiled with her eyes. “Sorry for the extra work.”

In my mind I called her names, but I said, “It’s not a problem. I just returned from sick leave, so it’s a bit tiring.”

She continued to apologize and asked me a hundred questions about why I was off work. I gave her a short explanation and returned the smile with my eyes.

On the fourth day, a customer came with two cart loads of groceries. I scanned each item, bagged the groceries, and placed them in her cart. When I was finally done, she leaned up against a register, took her coat and mask off and said she was going to pass out. I got the manager. They moved me to the register behind her. She was sitting on a chair with her head between her legs and with no mask and I was closer to her. My automatic thought was, What if she has COVID? What if I end up out of work again because I got sick? I didn’t miss this either.

Along with work I also started physical therapy. Between work and therapy my stress level shot to the stars. One night my husband was complaining about something and I went off. I yelled at him and pushed him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me while I screamed and then cried. After I calmed down, we talked, and I apologized. My husband is amazing because he totally understood and forgave me.

Now on the days I don’t work I practice self-care and I do the things that make me happy like woodburning, writing, sleeping in, walking with Denise or my dog, and journaling. During work I remind myself to take deep breaths, I confided in my support system about my frustrations, and I try to mentally list positive things. Practicing coping techniques is making the transition of going back to work easier.

Returning to work has been a struggle, but in time I’m sure it will get easier. By practicing coping techniques, I go to work standing in the light of recovery.

    We were all excited to kick 2020 out and start a new year, but the news doesn’t promise a better year. People are still getting sick and dying from COVID at a high rate. When this started, we hardly knew of anyone with the virus; now everyone knows somebody who has it or had it. The news is also telling us there is a new strain of it that is more contagious coming into the United States. What can we find positive in a new year? Will things get better or worse? What hope do we have for 2021?

     Instead of dwelling on the grim facts of a virus that seems to have no end in sight, we need to look at the positives and our goals to make the year a good one. The vaccine is supposed to fight off this sickness and lower the number of cases of those affected by it. The vaccine isn’t a promise that this will help slow the disease, but it gives us hope. Some don’t trust something made in such a short time. Whatever you believe in the vaccine or not, you need to find hope. Finding hope will help you push forward and out of the realms of negativity.

     I’m looking at goals to help 2021 look brighter. My first and most important goal is to get my memoir published. I asked some friends and my husband to hold me accountable for making time to edit my memoir. My friend Amy and Cheryl and my husband so far have agreed to give me that little extra push. I started a “book fund” to help pay for a professional editor and any other tools I need to get my memoir published. I started the fund last year. I have saved five hundred and fifty-four dollars so far. In the new year I’m going to work on selling some of my woodburnings and that money will go to my fund.

  I’m determined 2021 will be the year I hold my very own published memoir in my hand. It will be the year I do book signings and have my first launch party. This makes me excited for the new year. I’m putting together a schedule of days I will edit and days I will do woodburnings.

I ordered a new, professional woodburner that will make my work look even better. I joined a pyrography Facebook page to get tips on how I can do better at my hobby. If my burnings look better, more people will want to buy them and there will be more money to put into my fund.

     In 2021 I will be healthier and stronger. As soon as I start my physical therapy to build up my muscles after my surgery, the more I’ll be able to get back to working out with my friend. I’m going to return to my healthy diet. Being off work and laid up, I got off the healthy eating and gained some of my weight back. In the new year I’m going to work my butt off to lose the weight and become healthier. I hope to put an end to having surgeries and health problems. I’m also looking forward to being skinny and buying new clothes. My goal is to continue my weight loss journey and to look fabulous in a new body.

     In this new year I return to work after being off for four months. By the time this goes out I will have had my first day back to work. I’m returning to work as a stronger person and without the pain I had for a long time during 2020. My goal is to build up the muscles in my back so my scoliosis will not be as bad, and my job will not cause so much back pain. Maybe if my back is stronger then things like breaking a bone in my back will be less likely to happen and I’ll have less pain after work. Plus, my surgeon said I needed to keep weight off and build up my back muscles so the fusion will not bother my scoliosis.  

     2020 has made spending time with family and friends difficult. We can’t get together in big groups and we have to be careful when we do see each other. I do many things online. For a while I had no contact with my parents except on the phone. In the new year I plan to deepen my relationships with my family and friends even if it’s through video messenger, zoom, emailing, texting, or just a phone call. I’m going to make sure the people I love know I care. My friend Amy loves to give gifts to cheer people up and I thought maybe special messages will reach the hearts of those I care about.

     Another goal of mine is to find time to nurture myself. I neglect my own needs to much. To face the public, I need to take care of my needs and know my limitations. People during the pandemic tend to be grumpier and they come to the store in groves to stock up on food. They complain about the rules, our conveyer belts being wet, and our store being out of stuff. They wear their masks below their nose and complain because they are forced to wear a mask for the couple hours or minutes they shop. My anxiety rises, I start to stress and by the time I leave work, I’m a wreck. This year I’m going to nurture myself while I’m working by reminding myself to stay positive, practicing deep breathing, and learning to let customer complaints roll off my shoulder.

     What goals will you make to help you have a positive new year? You can find hope in a troubled world. What can you do to make your 2021 positive for yourself? Making goals and striving for a happy year will help you fight off depression and anxiety. It will give you hope and strength. Don’t sit in front of the morning and evening news listening to the COVID statistics and let your soul drop into hopelessness. Find hope by making the goal to have a positive 2021.

     I’m going to work hard at achieving my goals and looking for the positivity in the new year. 2021 will be a wonderful year, even with the pandemic, because I have my goals to strive for. My positive goals will hold me up in the light of 2021.

Checkout my guest post on Shirley Ledlie’s blog. Checkout the link below.

https://www.saledlie.com/survivor-aimee-eddy

     This year has been rough on us all with the pandemic. COVID has totally changed how we live our lives and has given us a new and unusual normal. We are stuck in our homes, we can no longer give hugs to people we care about, we walk into stores and banks with masks on, and we have learned to do more things online. This year has made dealing with mental illness extremely hard. Even people who don’t deal with mental illness are feeling down. I know it has caused my anxiety to go up, I’ve struggled with depression and my stress levels have been high.

On top of the pandemic are other challenges that we face: health conditions, breakups, friends fighting, death, loss of a job, financial problems, and other things. Some things are caused by the pandemic and other things are just part of life. Life’s challenges can hit us hard and it’s how we cope with them that helps us pull ourselves up out of the hole and aids us in staying above it. One thing that assists me in copeing and is therapy to me is woodburning.

I received my first woodboring kit when I was a child. My uncle bought it for me as a Christmas gift. I automatically fell in love with it. I started woodburning on any piece of scrap wood I could find: a piece of tree that was cut down, plywood, or a scrap of wood thrown away. I cut pictures from magazines and traced them to the wood with carbon paper my grandma gave me from her bill pads. With being bullied in school and dealing with mental illness, woodburning became my therapy. It was something I did well, and it helped me release my inner anguish. Just about everyone in my family and friends got my work as a gift.

In recent years, my woodburning has taken a sideline to writing and editing my memoir. Having a book published has been my dream since I was in high school. For a while I stopped doing my pyrography to dedicate my time to my dream of holding my very own published book. I woodburned a few Christmas decorations for my family and friends while I recovered from a hysterectomy. It helped me cope with being home alone while my husband worked and I dealt with the emotional roller coaster of the sudden menopause the surgery put me in. Once I recovered, I stopped and continued my focus on the editing of my memoir.

Two years later the pandemic hit and despite my work at losing weight, I had another health problem. If you have been following my posts, you know a bone broke in my back and I had to have back surgery. Recovery from this surgery has been very hard physically and mentally. One complication after another has left me laid up and bored. I couldn’t do much of anything. Depression reared its ugly head. There were so many things I wanted to do but couldn’t. I felt helpless.

Wasn’t it enough that 2020 cursed our lives with a pandemic? Then I had to have surgery. With the growing cases it was unsafe for friends to visit and my parents lived a half hour away. We depended on my husband to work so we could pay the bills. Disability from my job didn’t pay much. To deal with my depression, loneliness, worrying, and boredom, I had my husband bring my woodburning kit out.

I found cheap wood at Dollar Tree and decided to print a picture of my friend and me. I traced it to a star shaped piece of wood and woodburned it. It turned out great. I messaged my friend to stop by and I gave it to her as a gift. I took pride in my work. It helped me feel like there was something I still could do. Woodburning was the one thing I could do without twisting, bending, or reaching. It helped take my mind off depression and my problems.

I used a motorized cart to get around Walmart and I found six packs of small round wood. I joined a pyrography group on Facebook and learned that you can find pictures to woodburn on Google public domain clipart. I started searching Christmas pictures. I printed the pictures out and began making Christmas ornaments. I have two pyrography tools so I can use two different tips at a time. I burned pictures of Santa Caus, a reindeer, Mary holding Jesus, a dog and cat under a Santa hat, snowmen, and an angel. Instead of feeling helpless, fighting racing thoughts and drowning in depression, I was concentrating on my projects. I had to trace the clipart on the wood and concentrate on burning the design into the wood. I had no time for those unwanted thoughts or to dwell in my sadness.

My husband realized how therapeutic my woodburning was and he bought me a wooden box. He asked me to do a Steelers design on it. In between making my ornaments, I worked on my husband’s box. I looked up clipart to put on it and I used stencils to put words on it. The planning, finding the right pictures, tracing them on the box and tracing them with my woodburning tool kept me focused. Time seemed to past quickly, and I had no room for negative thoughts or racing thoughts. With each stroke of my pyrography tool, my sadness receded to the back of my mind. I was too busy to be bored.

I planned to give my ornaments away as Christmas gifts. I sent a picture of them to a friend from work.

I messaged her, “You might get one of these for Christmas.”

She replied, “I’d rather buy one from you.”

I was surprised that she wanted to pay for it. We agreed on a price. I posted my ornaments on Facebook, and before I knew it friends and family were messaging me wanting to buy my work. My therapy became a way to make a little extra money. Before long, I sold eighteen ornaments and two keychains. A couple of friends gave me a little more than what I was asking for them. Good came out of my surgery and out of 2020. Some of the money helped pay some bills and some is going to my “getting my book published “fund.”

My woodburning not only became my therapy, but it showed me how kind people are. Despite the struggles of recovery and of the pandemic, I found positivity. Friends who had little money of their own gave a little extra for my work just to help me out. I cherish their kindness.

Many things have changed in 2020, but people’s kindness is everlasting. No one knows what 2021 will bring, but we must have hope. Hope that the vaccine may bring an end to the pandemic, hope in the kindness of others, and hope in our ability to cope. There is no promise that the new year will be better, but remember to find that one thing you do that helps you cope whether it be knitting, singing, drawing, sewing, writing or something else. Use the special craft or ability that brings you comfort to deal with life’s challenges and mental illness.

I go back to work on January 4 and I’m not looking forward to it, but I have my woodburning to cope. My husband got me wood and a woodburning book for Christmas. I have more projects to plan. Whatever I am to face in the new year and with going back to work, I have woodburning projects to be my therapy. My hobby helps me soak in the light of recovery.

     When I was a child, my dad, uncles and grandpa had a tradition where they all got together and got real Christmas trees. They cut the trees down on land my grandfather inherited. Dad always picked out big trees, ones that had to have half cut off to fit in the house, some that had to be tied to stay standing, and those that took up a big part of our living room. To this day the ritual continues. Except now my husband and Dad go, the trees are smaller, and they pick them from a farm that already has the evergreens cut.

     My dad made putting up real trees look easy. He stuck them in the stand, he, screwed them in, and they stood up straight. We covered them with decorations, and they looked perfect. To this day my parents’ trees still stands perfectly. Lou and I aren’t so lucky. We kind of struggle with the tree in the stand thing. For many years it was because the metal stand, we had was lopsided. We had to put a book under one leg and still our tree leaned to one side. It became our tradition.

     This summer I bought a new stand at a flea market for fifty cents. When my husband and I brought our Christmas tree home at the beginning of December, I was excited. I was determined to start a tradition of having a straight tree. This year we were going to break the crooked tree tradition, I just knew it.

     A few days before we got the tree the doctor said I could gradually do normal activity. I could bend, twist, and reach once again. I was happy I could decorate the tree and help Lou put it up. The day we brought our evergreen home Lou put it on the stand. I got on my stomach and twisted the screws into the trunk. Lou helped me to my feet, and we admired our straight tree.

     Lou went to bed early since he had to work in the morning, and I decided to start some decorating. I hung the lights and then I started to put on my husband’s delicate Steelers ornaments. Then, timber! The tree started to fall over. I grabbed a hold of it before it could go all the way down. I was in a debacle. I tried to balance the tree so my husband’s ornaments wouldn’t crash to the floor. I’d be dead if his Steelers bulbs broke, but I needed to stabilize the tree. How could I do that with one hand?

     I yelled from the top of my lungs, “Lou, Lou, help, help!”

     Lou came running down the stairs. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

     “I’m fine, but the tree is falling,” I said.

     He held the evergreen while I tried to tighten the screws. After a few tries we got it to stand, but it was slightly crooked. I was tired and decided I would finish decorating the next evening. Maybe I’d have more luck once I got some rest. It takes time to get your energy and strength back after surgery.

     The next day Lou brought the plastic container with the rest of my ornaments down. When he had gone to bed I went fast to work at decorating. The tree was looking nice and I was happy even though it was slightly slanted. Then once again, timber! The tree began to fall. I grabbed it in time. A few decorations fell off and I was lucky enough to catch a glass Steelers bulb. Man, I could have been buried in the backyard weeks before Christmas. The headlines would’ve read, “Wife killed and buried after breaking a precious Steelers ornament.”

     Once again, I screamed for my husband. He came running again. He repositioned the tree and I tightened and loosened the screws several times, but each time he let go, the tree started to fall. After Lou’s hand went numb, we finally got it to stand. The only problem was it was leaning to the left a lot. The angel on top looked like she was going to jump for dear life.

     Lou said, “Well at least it’s standing.”

     My dreams of a new tradition shattered. Frustration, exhaustion, and anger flared. Lou ducked as a small stuffed teddy bear ornament went flying and just missed his head. The tree was even more crooked than usual. I stomped over to the couch and flung around empty and partially full boxes of ornaments. Tears streamed down my face.

     Lou walked over to me and pulled me into his arms. “Calm down baby. You’re overdoing it. Just leave the tree alone.” He wiped my tears away. “At least we are keeping the tradition of having a crooked tree.”

     So, the crooked tree tradition continued. I sat down and stared at our very slanted tree and thought about all we faced this year: Lou laid off because of COVID, pain shooting down my legs as I forced a smile at work, having to take an early leave of absence two months before surgery, surgery and a rough recovery. My crooked back from scoliosis caused a broken bone, a year slanted with politics, and a deadly virus only revealed an imperfect world. The only thing that can stand our world and my life up straight again is God.

     If I only have a crooked tree on a perfect holiday that celebrates the wonderful birth of our savior, I’m doing well. God loves us with all our imperfections. He loved us so much that he gave us his son, a child to grow up and die so we could be forgiven for our sins and loved no matter how many mistakes we make. Like my crooked tree, we are not without flaws, but God loves us as we are. We need to love ourselves, too, with all our imperfect ways.

     I think next year we will have a crooked tree to keep the tradition alive and to remind us how much God loves us no matter what. My slanted tradition keeps me standing in God’s everlasting light.

   Recovery from surgery or even mental illness can be a slow process. Sometimes you face complications or ups and downs. It’s hard to stay on the road to recovery when things keep going wrong. When it comes to surgery, there are many things that make recovery difficult. When you get past those problems, recovery sits on the horizon waiting for you. You just must keep fighting until you reach it.

     Fighting for recovery is what I have been doing since my back surgery. With all the surgeries I have been through, this has been the hardest recovery I have dealt with. The bilateral mastectomy was rough, but harder mentally than physically. Each of my surgeries had a level of difficulties. I expected recuperating to be hard, but not this hard. I’ve not only struggled physically, but also mentally.

     The nurse, Mike, came in three times a week, Monday, Tuesday, and Friday. A red burn mark where the adhesive of the bandage stuck left my skin red and sore. Each time the nurse and my husband changed my dressing, I’d grit my teeth in pain. Mike told me that one of the holes in my incision had closed, but the other was still open. I was reaching the six weeks the doctor said I would be off work, but my incision wasn’t closed completely. I expected to go back to work, but there was no way I’d be able to return.

     Each time I sat even on the couch I had to have a pillow behind me. My incision still hurt. I was worried something else was wrong. One day I got in the car and pain shot through my back from the surgery site. It felt like needles were pressed there. I tried to reposition myself, but it still hurt. Fear rushed through my body. Could something else be wrong? Could the opening have opened more? Was the infection coming back? Why did it hurt so much if it was healing? Haven’t I struggled enough?

     When I went into restaurants, I brought a cushion to put behind me and when I got my haircut, I brought a pillow. Pillows had become my best friend since I left the hospital and continued to be. If I was healing, why did I still need a pillow? When would I be pain free again? I just wanted to go back to normal and it seemed like that would never happen.

     I told the nurse about the pain. Since I was seeing the doctor the following week, he told me to mention it to her. He reassured me there was no sign of infection and the incision looked good. That didn’t stop my fears. My fears haunted me night and day and drove my spirits into a downward spiral.

     I deeply missed my regular customers and fellow employees. In a way I missed working and in a way I didn’t. I didn’t miss the covid and holiday craziness, but I missed the people. I felt lonely. I spent my days alone while my husband worked. I thought watching Christmas movies would lift my spirits, but it only reminded me of how I haven’t been able to decorate my home. I cried on and off in between the movies. Because of the pandemic, no one could visit me. I texted with my friends, but it wasn’t the same as having face to face contact with people.

     One night I was feeling really depressed and I messaged my friend. I typed that I felt she no longer cared. I accused her of only being my friend when I could walk and exercise with her, and since I couldn’t, I no longer meant anything to her. I messaged her with tears streaming down my face and sadness distorting my thoughts. We went back and forth several times. She tried to explain to me she did care, but I refused to believe it. She was busy with work and it wasn’t safe for her to visit me. My inner anguish flared and I messaged more upsetting things to her.

     I told her I didn’t want to talk anymore and typed goodnight. I went upstairs and woke up my husband and cried in his arms.

     He wiped my teras away. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

     I looked into his soothing blue eyes and choked out, “Denise doesn’t like me anymore. No one cares about me. I’m not ever going to heal. I’m going to be like this forever.”

     Lou said, “That’s not true. Denise still cares. She is your friend and that hasn’t changed because you’re laid up. I think you’re tired and depressed. You’re not thinking right. Shut off the TV and come to bed.”

     I shut off the television and got ready for bed. I was finally able to lie on his chest, so I did. I cried while he held me and whispered comforting words. Eventually I cried myself to sleep. The next day he called to check on me. I still felt down, but better. I sent Denise a message apologizing for being upset with her. I explained to her I was depressed, and she understood.

     The night before I had to go to the doctor for a checkup, I stayed up most of the night. Even my sleeping meds couldn’t stop my worrying mind. I was sure the doctor would tell me I had another complication. The possibilities of what could be wrong ran wild throughout my mind. Lou kept telling me I would be fine, and I needed to sleep. I wish I could have just believed him, but once my mind gets going, I don’t know how to stop it.

I began to picture myself on a beach with the water coming up around me. I took a deep breath in and slowly letting it out. When a worry tried to intrude, I fought to concentrate on the beach and my breathing. I repeated silently, “Deep breath in, slowly breath out.” In time sleep took over.

The next morning, we drove to Mayfield Heights Cleveland. Before my appointment I had an x-ray done. After a long wait, I made it to my appointment with the doctor across the hall fifteen minutes early. Lou had to stay in the waiting room while I went back. After the nurse took my vitals, I sat in the exam room for a half hour. The doctor peeked in to tell me she had an emergency and would be in as soon as she could. I was left alone with my worrying mind. I played with my phone and texted my husband to try and keep calm.

Forty-five minutes later the doctor came in. She looked at my incision and told me it looked good. She said I no longer needed bandages and to wear dresses so it wouldn’t get sweaty and so that air could help it heal. I don’t own a dress, except for my wedding dress, but I could wear nightgowns since I’m at home most of the time. She said I could slowly get back to my normal activities and that I would be sore for a couple more weeks. She encouraged me to walk and said to send her a picture once I have lost all my weight.

She pulled up my x-ray on her computer to find out they did one of my neck and not my back. After I was done with her, I had to go back for an x-ray on my back. By the time we left it was dark out. I agreed to drive part of the way home. I babbled on to Lou how happy I was that I was finally healing that I didn’t even notice I was heading down an exit until it was too late. Before I knew it, we were lost. I pulled over and typed our address into the GPS. It was a longer than usual trip home, but I was glowing. Recovery was on the horizon. I couldn’t help, but smile.

Don’t lose faith when you hit roadblocks and bumpy roads on your way to recovery. Have faith and push forward. Fight the negative thoughts and hopelessness. If you keep pushing forward in time you will reach recovery.

My incision is feeling better each day. I get to spend my days in a nightgown and I’m slowly building up my strength. I’m doing more around the house and my depression is getting better. I’m walking towards the horizon of recovery with God’s light guiding the way.

     Many people who need back surgery refuse to have it. The back is the main support of the body. It is where you do many of your movements like bending, twisting, lifting, reaching and so on. When the back is messed up, it affects the whole body. A lot of people would rather suffer then have surgery on their backs. It’s also tricky to heal after surgery. Recovering from back surgery is a bumpy road that takes a lot out of you physically and mentally.

     While I was on antibiotics, the stuff seeping from my incision turned red. I left a message on my MyChart app for Cleveland Hospital to my doctor’s office. A nurse called me and asked me several questions about the leakage. It wasn’t yellow or green and it didn’t have an odor. It was just like the color of blood. The nurse called me every couple of days. After I was finished with the antibiotic the leaking should have stopped, but it didn’t.

     On a Tuesday, the nurse called, and said, “The Physician Assistant wants you to come in Friday to have a look at your incision.”

     I called my husband at work and told him. His boss gave him a personal day for Friday. I worried myself sick. Now what could be wrong? Haven’t I had enough problems? Did I do something to screw up my surgery? I followed all the instructions from the last visit: limited bending, no twisting, and reaching for only light stuff. I used my reacher a lot; a long metal pole with two claws at the end and a button at the top to press to make the claws close. It worked well for somethings and not so well for other stuff. My husband Lou wouldn’t allow me to do much. I spent a lot of time watching Christmas movies and woodburning.

     That Friday we arrived at Hillcrest Hospital, Cleveland Heights Ohio, a little early. We sat in the waiting room in socially distant chairs playing with our phones. When a nurse came my husband stood up with me. The nurse told him he couldn’t come back. It seemed like I was waiting forever in a room when a Physician’s Assistant came in.

     She checked over my incision. “It looks like your incision has come open, but I’d like to have a doctor look at it. I’ll be right back.”

     Oh no, something is wrong! A doctor has to look at it. It must be bad. I screwed up my incision. What did I do wrong? I thought I followed all the doctor’s orders. I mostly lay around because the antibiotics made me feel sick. I did do wood burnings, but I sat with pillows behind me. Maybe I moved wrong. This had to be all my fault.

     The Physician’s Assistant came in with a doctor. They both looked over my incision.

     “The incision is open in two places. Do a wet dry bandage and get her in home wound care,” the doctor said.

     The Physician’s Assistant explained that this sometimes happens when fluid builds up from the surgery and a nurse would be scheduled to come into my home and do wound care. The secretary of the office would call me once a nurse was scheduled. The next week was Thanksgiving week so the assistant wasn’t sure how soon a nurse could come. She sent me home with supplies to treat my wound and showed me what to do. I went home with gauze pads, bandages, and syringes of saline.

     It wasn’t until the day before Thanksgiving the nurse could come. I had only a couple of bandages left. The nurse said she’d order me more and they would come Friday or Saturday. She wrote her number down on a folder. She told me If the bandages don’t come by Saturday and I run out to call her and she’d bring me some. She seemed nice and showed Lou how to care for my wound on days she would not be able to come. She told me that she or another nurse would come three times a week.

     Friday came and no bandages arrived in the mail. I had one left. I called the nurse’s cell number and waited for a call back. By Saturday, no one called back and still nothing came in the mail. I called the nurse’s number again. I waited an hour and still no reply, so I called the number for the place the nurse works for.

     An operator answered and got my information. “The on-call nurse will give you a call within an hour.”

     I watched television with my husband. He reminded me an hour and a half had passed. I called the number again and was told the same message. I continued to watch TV with my husband. Another hour went by and no call. I called again and Lou had to go to bed. I was getting frustrated and mad.

     I texted my friend Cheryl. She told me to get bold and tell them if they don’t get me bandages, I’ll call the medical board, but I wasn’t that brave. I barely ever swear, but I typed out a lot of swear words to Cheryl.

It was the weekend and the holiday weekend on top of that. There were no medical stores open. The kind of bandages I needed couldn’t be found at the local Walmart. I didn’t want to wear a dirty bandage all weekend and get another infection. If I got another infection, it would be all their fault and I would yell and sue them.

     Finally, by 9:00 p.m. the on-call nurse called and promised someone would bring me supplies the next day. Sunday, after breakfast a nurse brought me two bandages, gauze, and tape to hold me over. Lou was finally able to change my bandage.

     Monday a male nurse named Mike showed up. I told him the whole story. After doing the wound care he called the medical supply company, using the speaker on his phone so I could hear. The woman on the other end never received an order for bandages. So, he put an order in for bandages, saline syringes, and gauze pads. He gave me an exceptionally long bandage I could cut in half until my order came in.

     I was so furious the bandages were never ordered. Later that morning I called my physical therapist and told her my incision was open. She told me to stop doing the at home exercises. She said I couldn’t follow up with her in a month unless my incision heals. Another bump in my road to recovery. Now I couldn’t work on building up my strength and work towards going back to work. Everything seemed hopeless.

     I went to my room, lay down on my bed, and covered up with my blanket. I started sobbing into my pillow. I cried for a half hour. Everything was going wrong. It was hopeless to even try. I might as well give up. There were too many bumps in the road. I would just lie in bed and pretend the world stopped.

     Lou called on his way home from work. Our phone connects to our car so he could talk hands free. His soft voice filled the phone encouraging me to keep fighting, telling me everything would work out and I would get better.

     “Baby, go to the bathroom wipe your eyes and get your shoes on. When I get home, were going out to dinner. You need to get out of the house,” he said.

     Getting out of the house helped, having a supportive husband, and journaling when I got home also helped. He told me I’m not a quitter and he was right. I just needed a good cry and then I needed my husband to help me pick myself back up.

Facing bumps in the road is rough. Just remember you don’t have to face them alone. That is why a support team is important. Your support team can be friends, a partner, a relative or a therapist. Remember when you feel like giving up turn to them to help you find your courage to fight. Then fight.

I will continue to strive to reach recovery from my surgery. The bumps in the road and mental illness will not stop me. In time I will be healed and standing stronger than ever in the light of recovery.

A Guess Post on Chatuae Cherie

Last spring, I had the pleasure of interviewing another survivor of bullying, Aimee Eddy. But Aimee is more than a survivor, she is an overcomer, a winner, a CONQUEROR! I wanted to repost this because I wanted all who missed it the first time around to read her heartbreaking but inspiring story and be encouraged […]

MY BULLYING STARTED BY A TEACHER By Aimee Eddy

     Sometimes recovery from surgery doesn’t go smoothly. There can be complications that make the healing process difficult. At times it seems like roadblocks are placed in our way preventing us from reaching a healthy recovery. These roadblocks not only affect a person physically, but also mentally. We all want to get better without problems, and when problems are thrown in the way, we can become depressed, discouraged, and frustrated. How do we stay positive when things go wrong? How does someone who has mental illness keep from falling down the dark hole?

     Two weeks after my surgery I had a follow up appointment in Mayfield, Cleveland. My husband had been checking my incision daily, looking for leakage, redness, and swelling. I was told I didn’t need a bandage unless it was leaking. Lou took pictures of my incision with his phone so I could also see what it looked like. We didn’t see any signs of infection and the incision looked good. I was sure we would get good news from the doctor.

     Instead of seeing the doctor who did the surgery, I saw the physician’s assistant. He seemed nice. He said part of the incision wasn’t healing all the way, so he needed to put steri-strips on. He then prescribed me antibiotics in case I get an infection. He said I could bend occasionally, I could only reach for light things, and I no longer needed a walker outside of the home. However, he said I couldn’t twist, and I couldn’t lift over ten pounds. He also prescribed out of the home physical therapy. I felt confident everything was going well. I was excited I would be able to do more things and be a little more independent.

     After being on hold for a long time and being sent from one operator to the next, a lady told me the doctor on call would call me back.

     Several minutes later the physician’s assistant I saw the day before returned the call. He said, “I told you you had an infection; that’s why I put on antibiotics.”

     He continued to tell me what to look for: a fever, yellow or green leakage, swelling, and the incision turning a bright red. If I  had any of these symptoms, I would need to head to my local ER. He instructed me to put a bandage over the incision  and to change the bandage daily. The antibiotic would take care of the infection.

     I felt my heart drop. I thought I was doing well. He said the antibiotic was in case of an infection not because I had one. Did I hear him correctly or did he just leave that part out? Will I ever fully heal? Why did he lie to me? Lou was so angry, and I was near my breaking point. I wanted to scream and cry.

     We went to a medical supply store near our home for the bandages. They were three dollars per bandage. I got five, and that cost was fifteen dollars. That’s a lot of money when only one of us is working. On top of that, the antibiotics were making me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat much, and I threw up a couple times. I felt so nauseous that all I could do was lie around and watch Netflix.

     On a Monday I went to my first physical therapy appointment. They told me that since I did therapy before they found out I had a broken bone in my back, I  had used up all but three of my allowed visits. The secretary said she would contact my insurance company and request more. We scheduled another appointment for within a week to see if the insurance company would allow more, but they denied the request. My therapist gave me exercises to do at home and we would meet on my last appointment I had left to see how I was doing.

That night my mind went wild and darkness filled my soul. I texted and messaged my friends and they tried to help me, but the sadness was too deep. I started crying uncontrollably. My husband had gone to bed early because he had to be up at five in the morning to go to work. I hated the idea of bothering him, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I decided to wake him up.

     He held me as I sobbed. He whispered words of comfort and asked me what was wrong.

     I choked out, “Everything is going wrong. I’ll never get better. I’ll never be able to work again. I might as well give up. I can’t fight any more. I can’t do surgeries anymore. I don’t want to go on.”

     He wiped my tears away and told me to get ready for bed. He told me that being alone at this point was not good for me. So, I got ready for bed. I couldn’t roll over enough to lie on his chest, so I lay on his arm and pulled his hand up to my lips.

     He whispered to me, “You’re not a quitter and I won’t let you quit. You can get through this. These are just some setbacks and you will get better. You can do this, and I will be right beside you through it all.”

     He kissed my head and I lay on his arm until I felt groggy. The next day I got up and journaled my feelings. I also listed five positive things: I had a wonderful husband, I had supportive friends and family, my dog kept me company while Lou was at work, I could wood burn Christmas gifts for my family, and I could do a few more things for myself. The infection and physical therapy were just roadblocks. I made it through so much in my life and deep in my heart I knew I would get through this, too.

     When roadblocks get in your way it’s okay to get down, discouraged, and have a good cry. It’s how you cope and deal with those rough times that count. Let yourself have a bad day, then pull yourself up. Practice coping techniques that work for you, turn to your support system, and find the positive. Life’s roadblocks will always threaten to push you down that hole of depression, but you are strong, and you can pull yourself up and take on the challenges head on.

     I’m facing my roadblocks and in time I will recover from my surgery. Because I can pull myself out of depression episodes with the help of my support system and coping techniques, I stand determined in the light of recovery from mental illness.