Playing with the baby

Today after the gym I had some time to hang out with the Little Mister.  We’ve been working on crawling/standing/pulling up.  These are all hard to do if he’s with me on the sofa or in a chair.  We sometimes can practice in his crib.  But, he’s getting too big and too active these days.  The natural solution is to get down with him on the ground.  Getting on the ground is a lot easier than it sounds when you’re a paraplegic.  The getting up is the hard part.  Here is the trick that I have learned: it’s all about leverage.  I normally transfer to the ground from a chair or the sofa, with my wheelchair right next to it.  I place my right hand on my wheelchair and my left hand on the chair.  My legs are in front of me.  I lower myself to the ground while focusing on trying to use my legs to support some weight.  Getting up is just a reverse, with the exception of my legs.  When getting back up, I leave my legs out front of me straight.  I don’t really know the physics or biology behind it, but it’s just easier.  Is it a lot of work?  Yes.  Is it difficult?  Not really, but kind of.  Is it worth it?  100% yes!

paralyzed-ground-transfer

Ode to GunShow

I love my new gym.  Seriously.  It’s just a really comfortable place with good energy.  (No, I’m not getting all new-agey. I just mean people there are super friendly and they usually play good music.)  I like everything except for my new personal trainer: GunShow*.  (Please see below for *.)  I hate him.  I’ve never hated anyone so much in my life.  I thought Drill Sergeant and 5-0 were rough on me.  But they were physical therapists and were more inclined to not push me too hard. (Drill Sergeant was a little more aggressive than 5-0.  But I still had some tricks that worked for leniency.)  I think personal trainers are just built differently.  Literally and figuratively.  Pain is gain. Sweat is fat crying.  And other such motivational sayings.

What makes GunShow even worse is that he was in the Army and had to rehab after an injury.  There is literally no pity in him for me.  He pushes me to my limit and then adds 5 more pounds.  He is quick to tell me when I have “4 more” but neglects to tell me when I’ve stopped counting and did 2 more than he instructed.  Jerk!

The hubs was his teacher in high school so on some level I think it’s payback for long held grudges.  I asked him and he denied that, though I swear I saw him rubbing his hands together like some evil genius.

The worst part is that there is no distracting him.  With my physical therapists, I could always get them distracted.  I had one who I could get to massage me for the entire session.  I would just tell her that my legs and shoulders were tight from sitting and pushing all day.  The next thing, I’m snoozing on the table.  The hubs would get so mad that I would get away with that and tell me I had to stop that.  What I heard was “Do that every time?  Challenge accepted.”  And 5-0 loved to talk about the physiological aspects of everything I did.  He’s roll over the skeleton and show me how everything worked.  That took up half the session.  But, with GunShow, I can’t distract him for anything.  I do try too!  His response “You think I can’t multi-task?  Keep going.”  I think I threatened to punch him like 3 times today because of how hard I had to work and how sore I was from Monday.  That’s what happens when I work for the straight 60 minutes and become sore and tired.  Maybe once I give him nice throat punch he will let me have more breaks.  But, somehow I think that would lead to more reps or some new torturous activity.

I hate this guy so much that I spent the last hour looking up personal trainer memes to bombard him with.  That’s the first passive aggressive step before throat punch.  You have to work your way up the aggression ladder.  Here is the first one from my new arsenal of memes:

personal trainer 10 more

 

Ok, and for those of you reading this, replace hate with love.  It’s only been one week and 2 sessions with him (though the soreness in my muscles would indicate differently) but I think he’s actually an amazing trainer.  And I’m always up for a challenge and looking for opportunities to fight when someone doesn’t give in to me and let me have my way.  My physical therapists (specifically 5-0 and Drill Sergeant) were so amazing and I loved working with them.  But, it wasn’t enough to make me stick with it.  I can already tell that this is going to be a much, much different experience.  And I’m not just saying that based on today’s conversations about metal music and festivals.  The fact that I enjoy talking to him is just icing on the “get me in shape” cake.  [And yes, I am aware that I probably shouldn’t be using sugary cake metaphors when talking about getting in shape and my personal trainer.  Give me a break- it’s only been 1 week at the gym.]

*GunShow was his choice of name for this blog.  He’s a goofball but since he wouldn’t stop increasing the weight on the machine I was using, I gave in.  I was hoping he would reward my generosity by going easy on me for the rest of the session.  He did not.  So for now I will acquiesce, but I do reserve the right to rename him “Jerky J” at any point in time if he becomes too hard on me.

Wheelchair Gardening

I was never huge into gardening, even before I became paralyzed.  It was fun, but not something I would choose to do on my own.  As a kid, one of my chores was to prune the rose bushes.  That was fun because I got to make a bouquet and brightly colored, pretty smelling flowers.  It was positive reinforcement for my duties.  That lasted until I was about 13 and we moved.  Then I took a gardening hiatus until the hubs and I started dating.  He lived in a condo which had a patio with a few potted plants and a couple of trees.  About once a month we would tend to the plants.  The potted plants were my designated duty and he pruned the trees.  We would pick oranges off the tree and make fresh squeezed orange juice.  (Side story:  we once had so many oranges that we thought we could juice them and freeze them for later use.  Good idea, right?  We juiced them and poured them into bags and placed them in the slots on the door.  Oh.  Wait.  Frozen liquid freezes in the shape it’s in.  So if you put it in a door that has a little space on the bottom and the bag with liquid squeezes into crevices, it will freeze that way.  We found that out when we went to thaw the juice.  It was rock hard stuck in the freezer door.  We had to pour hot water and use blow dryers to get the juice out.  By that point we were so pissed that we threw it away.)

When we moved into our new house, it had the perfect area for a garden.  There is a slight slope on one side of the house where we built a small decorative wall to reinforce the hill.  Then we filled it in with more dirt to level out the remaining space.  Our gardener put in sprinklers.  And, voila!  A garden.  This past weekend we picked up a few plants: strawberry, tomato, parsley, cilantro and a couple variations of jalapeno.  (Yes, I have visions of salsa in 50-70 days running through my head!)

Where we planted those plants is next to dirt.  No path.  That part of the backyard has been off limits to my wheelchair since we moved here 2.5 years ago.  We thought about having our concrete guy come back to pour a path.  But, at the Abilities Expo 2 weeks ago, I picked up a FreeWheel.  This turns my wheelchair into a tripod by lifting the 2 small caster wheels. Those 2 small wheels are the ones that get stuck on the dirt and other small things in the way.  The FreeWheel is amazing!  It opened up my backyard to me!  I was able to go over to the garden area and actually plant the strawberries and cilantro at the sprinklers which were closest to the wall.  Those are my plants!  The hubs still had to plant the rest of the plants, but he loves any kind of outdoor activity like that.  While I didn’t really love gardening before, the ability to do it now when I didn’t think I would be able to, makes me so happy.  And very protective of my little baby plants.

gardening