Because there is no such animal. What a world it must be to live in with no drama. I cant even imagine. Men are ridiculously simple creatures. I sometimes wish I were a guy but then I think about walking around doing the stuff they do and thinking the stuff they do and I quickly change my mind. I feel bad for the men that have to deal with us women sometimes. Sometimes.
I guess what I would like to be able to do most (like a guy) is to be able to not take things so personally when drama does unfold and how to nip it in the bud and move on. And when I say move on I mean, MOVE ON... don't stew, don't replay and don't think endlessly what you SHOULD have said or done during said drama. Some people LOVE drama. I do not. I try to avoid it. Therefore I spend a large amount of time taking the high road and trying to appease the masses. This puts a strain on me. But I try to be a good person. Drama comes in all shapes and forms. Today it came in the form of The Meg, in a bad mood the moment she opened her eyes. The tears... the sobbing... and Im not even sure why. All I said was "morning peanut, Im making you pancakes for breakfast so lets get up, get dressed, brush your hair and come give me a hug". Shes almost 11. The hormones are starting to wreak havok on my poor, unsuspecting little girl. Its gotta be tough to feel weepy and have no clue why. "oh its the estrogen your pituitary gland is making, sweetie, so that you can have babies later in life". Until she gets it, I just hug her and rub her back and tell her I love her.
The other source of drama in my life is my parents. Not really drama but stress. I feel this overwhelming urge to make sure I have this happy family. You know.. all the generations getting together for holidays and baking cookies and the kids curling up in the grandparents laps to read books and walking on the beach with the dogs. Or even just small regular visits to keep in touch. Like why cant moms just have a conversation with their daughter like they would anybody else? Do they tell others that they probably could have found a better husband? Or that they dont like the way they discipline their kids? Why is it ok for parents to criticize us however and whenever they want? And the bigger question is why the hell cant we do the same thing without getting disowned for, say, 8 months? Ok. So what? They annoy and they lay guilt trips. Thats fine, right? Just don't get sucked in. Yea right! I cannot even tell you how much time during the day I get totally pissed off at them for treating me this way. And this anger and solo dialogue conversations with myself and I drive to the barn are serving what purpose? Other than making me look completely nuts talking to myself in the car? Though I just assume people think I have a hands-free devise and Im not insane. I think I might be. So I dont need to take this guilt and such right? Its not ALL my fault and I don't have to assume the burden. Let them be mad right back at me right? Nope. Doesn't work that way. Again, I reach out to my freinds, got the answer for me? Lemme know? Thanks. I have PLENTY of freinds who have made the decision to disconnect from their parents for a token amount of time. TO heal. To preserver sanity. To give themselves some space. Some do this for years. I cannot imagine. However Im at the 8 month mark in my fathers strike against his "horrid and disrespectful daughter". I called him stubborn. Not an asswipe (pronounced oz-weepay), not a turd ferguson.. stubborn. He is!!!! Hes 70 and set in his ways. I dont blame him for that. I dont. But it makes it hard to deal with him sometimes. I still love him and want to see him. He wont talk to me or see me. Ok so why does this bug me so much? Not sure. Why do I feel the need to carry this burden? I wasn't raised Catholic which apparently teaches people to be guilt ridden all the time. Its this sense of "well they are my folks and I need to maintain a relationship". True. But not if it causes pain. That isnt fair. Ive taken the high road yet again (I should get one of those punch cards- you've taken the high road 10 times, you get to be a jerk for the 11th time), so basically all I was trying to stand up for the past 8 months needs to be swept under the rug, I have to say Im sorry for hurting them, and now walk on eggshells until the next episode where I want to scream. This doenst seem like a fair role for a daughter just because Im a daughter. They wont change and they certainly cant seem to comprehend what I am saying to them for some reason so its like a total lost cause. I was TRYING to make things better by telling them how I felt. Wont do that again. I need to harden up. The plan of action now will be- reconnect, spend time and try to move forward for the sake of the kids. And if they dont like it, they can leave. I cant hold everybodys hand all the time. I have to take care of myself. I love my family. I love my mom and dad. I miss my mom and dad. They only live a few hours away. They are good people. They are FANTASTIC grandparents!! My mom- my mom rocks with my kids. They miss her. They raised me pretty well, took good care of me and loved me. But that doesnt give anybody the right to make somebody feel bad, right? They dont even know they do it. So they dont mean it, so I cant fault them. But that doesnt change the fact that the end result is me crying or sad. I cant make everything perfect so I think I need to stop trying and take care of me, and my 2 kids. But really, I need to get a backbone. Any words of advise or tips on coping (other than alcohol) please let me know. Hey, it just came to me......... There's a reason they made "Christmas Vacation" or the entire Vacation series for that matter. Families are dysfunctional. Period. I need to stop trying to fix it and ride the wave. I better get a full wetsuit with one of those head cap things or better yet one of those deep sea diving brass helmets- you cant hear your mom complaining with that thing on!!!!
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
A Coach !! A Coach !!! A Coach !!!! Blogged September 2011
Blogged September 2010
If you cant tell from the header, Im getting a coach. Im very excited, as you can see. Now I can actually get some structure and guidance for my cycling/racing season.
My method before was simply ride my bike. "Oh, youre doing intervals up Highway 9? Can I come?" or "the Noon ride?... ok". I would glom onto my fellow freind's workout plans if I happen to ride the same day/time they were out. Got some good training in but it was probably no where near what I , Rene' Baker, a unique individual should be doing to benefit *my* bod. Power? Lactate thresholds? Yeah, Ive heard of them but wouldnt know what to do with them if they flew by and smacked me upside the head. I have a Polar HR (Heart Rate) monitor and the HR strap. Its very nice. It was my husbands years ago but he just used the cyclometer. He gave it to me last year. I use the computer but not the HR stuff. Why get HR data, I cant down load it anyway and I dont know my zones. So I started wearing it this season to watch my HR as I rode. I recently figured out how to program and toggle thru the goddamn thing. Holy hell!! The number of menus and combinations of button pressing to get where you want to be is unreal. Many a temper tantrum ensued on Foothill as I was pulled over for several minutes screwing with the thing trying to figure out why it decided to stop recording my heart rate. Ask Carole how many times i muttered the F -word in said 20 minute pull-over on Foothill. I finally sat down with the 30 page manual a few weeks ago and went thru it and then used the Polar right away to create small files that I could figure out. Ahhhhhh 03 24 is not some wacky mileage its the freaking date !!!!! Ahhhhhhh. And who WROTE this manual? Could you BE anymore wordy and confusing. I think you need an advanced degree, a full nights sleep and the Rosetta Stone to figure it all out. Lucky for me, Im sharp and was well rested so I did figure it out. So I know how to use my Polar 720i now. Sweet. So for the months of January and February I simply watched my "live" HR on the cyclomter as I rode. It was interesting to watch the numbers and I could tell what my HR was from my perceived exertion after awhile. I would ride and say "hmmmm this feels like 135" and I would be pretty close. Excellent, Im in tune with myself. This is a good thing. Last week, however, the HR would not record. IT would pick up my HR and as I rolled out it would go away. I would relube the sensor, and actually LAY across my Polar to try and get the two to communicate. That is a nice image- some chick on the side of the road squashing her boobs into her handlebars. No dice. I think its the strap- its old, probably on its last leg. I NEED my HR monitor!! So I go to this sports shop in Los Gatos and bring my Polar and strap. Its one of these ritzy, Los Gatos, over priced, tiny space, yes its ok to charge $49 for a tank top kinda stores. But the guy was intelligent and was very helpful. Well, it works in the store! Murphys Law. I tried to explain to the guy that I am not retarded and that I swear it wasnt working before. He beleived me, or so he said to make me not feel like a moron. Fine. So today Im going to get on my rollers and see if it actually keeps recording. I have a feeling the battery is dying and its just a matter of time. I SHOULD have just spent the $50 on a new HR strap and then I could stop worrying. But the store is around the corner and thats where Im going this eve if that HR monitor gives me any crap this afternoon. I do NOT or shall I say CANNOT dick around with my cyclometer while rolling. Trainer yes. Rollers no. I can see the tragedy now- screwing around with the computer and tipping over and crashing myself out on the brick patio. Not pretty.
So Im getting a coach. A real, live coach!! Im going tomorrow to get my fitness and Lactate Threshold measured so that my new coach can use that data to figure out my zones and structure my workouts.
My method before was simply ride my bike. "Oh, youre doing intervals up Highway 9? Can I come?" or "the Noon ride?... ok". I would glom onto my fellow freind's workout plans if I happen to ride the same day/time they were out. Got some good training in but it was probably no where near what I , Rene' Baker, a unique individual should be doing to benefit *my* bod. Power? Lactate thresholds? Yeah, Ive heard of them but wouldnt know what to do with them if they flew by and smacked me upside the head. I have a Polar HR (Heart Rate) monitor and the HR strap. Its very nice. It was my husbands years ago but he just used the cyclometer. He gave it to me last year. I use the computer but not the HR stuff. Why get HR data, I cant down load it anyway and I dont know my zones. So I started wearing it this season to watch my HR as I rode. I recently figured out how to program and toggle thru the goddamn thing. Holy hell!! The number of menus and combinations of button pressing to get where you want to be is unreal. Many a temper tantrum ensued on Foothill as I was pulled over for several minutes screwing with the thing trying to figure out why it decided to stop recording my heart rate. Ask Carole how many times i muttered the F -word in said 20 minute pull-over on Foothill. I finally sat down with the 30 page manual a few weeks ago and went thru it and then used the Polar right away to create small files that I could figure out. Ahhhhhh 03 24 is not some wacky mileage its the freaking date !!!!! Ahhhhhhh. And who WROTE this manual? Could you BE anymore wordy and confusing. I think you need an advanced degree, a full nights sleep and the Rosetta Stone to figure it all out. Lucky for me, Im sharp and was well rested so I did figure it out. So I know how to use my Polar 720i now. Sweet. So for the months of January and February I simply watched my "live" HR on the cyclomter as I rode. It was interesting to watch the numbers and I could tell what my HR was from my perceived exertion after awhile. I would ride and say "hmmmm this feels like 135" and I would be pretty close. Excellent, Im in tune with myself. This is a good thing. Last week, however, the HR would not record. IT would pick up my HR and as I rolled out it would go away. I would relube the sensor, and actually LAY across my Polar to try and get the two to communicate. That is a nice image- some chick on the side of the road squashing her boobs into her handlebars. No dice. I think its the strap- its old, probably on its last leg. I NEED my HR monitor!! So I go to this sports shop in Los Gatos and bring my Polar and strap. Its one of these ritzy, Los Gatos, over priced, tiny space, yes its ok to charge $49 for a tank top kinda stores. But the guy was intelligent and was very helpful. Well, it works in the store! Murphys Law. I tried to explain to the guy that I am not retarded and that I swear it wasnt working before. He beleived me, or so he said to make me not feel like a moron. Fine. So today Im going to get on my rollers and see if it actually keeps recording. I have a feeling the battery is dying and its just a matter of time. I SHOULD have just spent the $50 on a new HR strap and then I could stop worrying. But the store is around the corner and thats where Im going this eve if that HR monitor gives me any crap this afternoon. I do NOT or shall I say CANNOT dick around with my cyclometer while rolling. Trainer yes. Rollers no. I can see the tragedy now- screwing around with the computer and tipping over and crashing myself out on the brick patio. Not pretty.
So Im getting a coach. A real, live coach!! Im going tomorrow to get my fitness and Lactate Threshold measured so that my new coach can use that data to figure out my zones and structure my workouts.
WHAT is wrong with people!!?? Blogged October 2011
Blogged October 2011
So it dawned on me that really the funniest ideas that I manage to come up with when I think about blogging and how my readers would respond, have to do with ranting about stuff. Its not like Im the first person to think about ranting or full on ranting on the chosen subject- chances are you are all on the bandwagon with me. With party horns and a keg of beer.
So where to start? Well there are several topics I can pull off the top of my head: Here they are in book format-
Asian Drivers and You- the Cupertino Survival Guide
Why must you pass me on a blind curve Mr Expensive Car Driver?
Do you really think you are the only entity on the planet? Get your head out of your ass and move it!!!!
Why yes, $125 for Flip Flops sounds reasonable!... and other ghastly priced items found in Los Gatos
Shit River- The constant flow of animal poop in my life and how I've bonded with the pooper scooper.
Why bother? I JUST vaccumed the entire house and yet there are still Toby Tumbleweeds skipping around my floor!!!
Waving the White Flag- I give up, my parents just dont get it
The story of my ulcer and thanks for choosing me.
Other good topics are my OCD stuff- oh boy this is a gold mine. The number one topper on the OCD list is my bed sheets. I kid you not, I am a wierdo. Bottom line- the sheets must be the same length at the top as the top blanket, not longer, not shorter, but just lined up into one unit. Other than that I hate having dirty hands- bike grease, dirt, food, pet hair, whatever, I dont want it there. Im not a compulsive hand washer which I find interesting given my hatred of dirty hands. Or dirty in general- camping is an exhausting event for me. I spend the entire time washing up in the lake only to trek more dirt onto my body as I hike back to the campsite. Its a vicious cycle that I lose each time.
But back to the ranting. I think the best thing here is to just go down the list and give a brief rant about each one.
The Asian Driver- ok it sounds racist but Im really NOT racist. But Asians cant drive. They cant. And its not an environmental thing- because the immigrants drive just as bad as the american born and raised ones. There is some gene that controls this: the inability to push down hard on the gas pedal, the inability to turn off a blinker and the inability to realize that they are blocking the parking lot. You cant really blame them. Its like any other genetic issue- like an alcohol dehydrogenase deficiency or celiac disease from gluten sensitivity. As for the survival guide part- yeah if you're cycling in Cupertino it is soley UP to YOU to protect your own life. Its akin to cycling thru East Palo Alto at night. Its dangerous. Enter at your own risk. And WHO the hell designed the parking lots in Cupertino?!! Specifically the Asian food markets? Talk about compounding an already existing problem !! Lets make super narrow parking spots, and super narrow aisles so 2 cars cant pass and so it is impossible to back out of a spot without having to do some sort of 6 point turn!!! I love asian food markets, and I tend to shop at them once in a while to stock up on cool, hard to find stuff like coconut water, or spicy ramen noodles. If you love coconut Ranch 99 Market is for you. BUt man do I stick out like a sore thumb. I usually the only white chick. One day this nice Asian - american woman about my age said "its so great to see non- asians shop here!" But once youre in the store- check your basic personal space bubble at the door. I think the acceptable place to stand next to a stranger in Asia is right ON them, like nose to nose. Its cultural and I try to respect that but while leaning over to look at the cookies I do NOT like having a woman pressed up behind me.
So where to start? Well there are several topics I can pull off the top of my head: Here they are in book format-
Asian Drivers and You- the Cupertino Survival Guide
Why must you pass me on a blind curve Mr Expensive Car Driver?
Do you really think you are the only entity on the planet? Get your head out of your ass and move it!!!!
Why yes, $125 for Flip Flops sounds reasonable!... and other ghastly priced items found in Los Gatos
Shit River- The constant flow of animal poop in my life and how I've bonded with the pooper scooper.
Why bother? I JUST vaccumed the entire house and yet there are still Toby Tumbleweeds skipping around my floor!!!
Waving the White Flag- I give up, my parents just dont get it
The story of my ulcer and thanks for choosing me.
Other good topics are my OCD stuff- oh boy this is a gold mine. The number one topper on the OCD list is my bed sheets. I kid you not, I am a wierdo. Bottom line- the sheets must be the same length at the top as the top blanket, not longer, not shorter, but just lined up into one unit. Other than that I hate having dirty hands- bike grease, dirt, food, pet hair, whatever, I dont want it there. Im not a compulsive hand washer which I find interesting given my hatred of dirty hands. Or dirty in general- camping is an exhausting event for me. I spend the entire time washing up in the lake only to trek more dirt onto my body as I hike back to the campsite. Its a vicious cycle that I lose each time.
But back to the ranting. I think the best thing here is to just go down the list and give a brief rant about each one.
The Asian Driver- ok it sounds racist but Im really NOT racist. But Asians cant drive. They cant. And its not an environmental thing- because the immigrants drive just as bad as the american born and raised ones. There is some gene that controls this: the inability to push down hard on the gas pedal, the inability to turn off a blinker and the inability to realize that they are blocking the parking lot. You cant really blame them. Its like any other genetic issue- like an alcohol dehydrogenase deficiency or celiac disease from gluten sensitivity. As for the survival guide part- yeah if you're cycling in Cupertino it is soley UP to YOU to protect your own life. Its akin to cycling thru East Palo Alto at night. Its dangerous. Enter at your own risk. And WHO the hell designed the parking lots in Cupertino?!! Specifically the Asian food markets? Talk about compounding an already existing problem !! Lets make super narrow parking spots, and super narrow aisles so 2 cars cant pass and so it is impossible to back out of a spot without having to do some sort of 6 point turn!!! I love asian food markets, and I tend to shop at them once in a while to stock up on cool, hard to find stuff like coconut water, or spicy ramen noodles. If you love coconut Ranch 99 Market is for you. BUt man do I stick out like a sore thumb. I usually the only white chick. One day this nice Asian - american woman about my age said "its so great to see non- asians shop here!" But once youre in the store- check your basic personal space bubble at the door. I think the acceptable place to stand next to a stranger in Asia is right ON them, like nose to nose. Its cultural and I try to respect that but while leaning over to look at the cookies I do NOT like having a woman pressed up behind me.
5 weeks 5 days post accident. Blogged on 04March 2011
Blogged 04March2011:
Under the advisement of many I have been told to journal my life for the purposes of healing, and for evidence in the lawsuit. A day in the life of me pre-Jan.23rd vs a day in the life of me now.
Pre: my life was full. Brimming in fact. I had lots to do and not enough time to do it. I am a mother of two. A boy Jared who is 13 and a daughter megan who is 11. I am an athlete. I have always been an avid runner. I run because it makes me feel good and keeps the endorphines flowing. Im a cyclist. I raced for Los Gatos Bicycle Racing Club. I trained for said bike season to compete within the Northern California Nevada Racing Association calendar. I had a super successful 2009 season, among the accomlpishments-gaining an upgrade to a Category 3 racer, winning the State Championship at the Velodrome for the womens Masters 35+, getting on the podium at many races and making a name for myself as a contending sprinter. I was a student. ETS in Santa Cruz was my second home beginning August 2010. Intenstive didactic work, huge amount of material to absorb and know, countless hours of studying, commuting over the hill several times a week and subsequently making the top grades in my class. Learning skills that would ultimately save lives, ease suffering and help those in need. Its a thankless job but somebodys got to do it. I wanted it because I never went to medical school even tho I had prepared. I wanted to do diagnostic medicine. I wanted to be elbows deep in trauma medicine. Bing Bing BIng.... paramedic ! Ok, mother, athlete, paramedic student.. what else. Oh, wife. And farm keeper. We have more animals on this property than most working cattle ranches. So a lot of my time goes toward feeding, watering, cleaning and maintaining a flock of chickens, 2 bearded dragons, 1 green iguana, 2 cats and 2 dogs, one of which is almost 16 and more work than normal.
A typical weekday for me would be: get up, get kids up, make them breakfast and pack lunches, help them find their shoes, remind them to pack their backpacks, get them out the door, clean up the kitchen, shower, dress, pack my bag, commute to Santa Cruz, sit in class 9am til 5pm, drive back home, squeeze in a bike ride or a run depending on how much daylight was left, get home, make dinner, do homewoek with the kids, get them ready for bed, then finally shower myself and then prop myself on the couch with massive book s to prepare for tests or the next days lectures for my class. On days I dint have school I would do the above up to getting the kids out the door then I would clean the backyard, the chicken coop, the house, get on my bike and do my prescribed workout anywhere from 1 hour to 3 hours depending on the day. I would be home in time for the kids coming home around 3pm, make snacks, help them get on track with homework, do chores, etc. Dinner, dishes, attempt to get kids into showers and jammies, tuck them in, then I would pick up the day with proping on the couch with my medic books.
Day of the tradgedy: 11am met my freind Carole at the Peets coffee in downtown Los Altos for a 2 hour zone 2 training ride. Did the Portola Loop. GOrgeous day. Warm. Sunny. Tons of cyclists on the road. Heading back south on Foothill Expressway Carole wanted to ride ahead a bit, which was fine with me as I had to try and get my heartrate a bit lower. The last thing I remember about that ride was looking down at my HR meter. Then I woke up in excruciating pain. Confused. Disoriented. Extreme back pain. Road rash all over my body. People around me talking to me, telling me to lay still. Paramedics putting me on the backboard and c-collar. Hurt to move at all, pleaded with them to not move me but they had to get me to the trauma center. I was A/O x1 (out of 4) which usually indicates a brain injury. Usually. The moment I was hit was 1:16 pm. I arrived at Stanford I beleive shortly after 2pm. I was a "load an go" situation on scene. No time for IVs or medical history taking. Golden Hour commenced at 1:16pm. I dont remember the exact sequence of events from impact to a couple days into my stay at the trauma wing. Thge pain I remember was horrid. My back was broken. Possible fractures to my right elbow, knee and enough road rash to keep anybody busy scrubbing for hours. I did not have a head injury in the sense of an epidural or subdural bleed. I did have a concussion. I had to be moved by this crane in the trauma wing. But first they had to get the special sheet with handles on it under me and smoothed out. Horrid I wanted to die. I remember the CT scanner, I remmber the Xray tech, he was really kind, I remember the crane. I remember the events that caused me such pain even the Dilaudid and Fentenyl couldnt mask. 6 hours of radiographs, tests, exams, scrubbing my road rash out. That was SUnday. MOnday morning I was told I needed to fuse my spine. My vertebrae was fractured so badly that it was unstable and I faced the loss of the use of my legs.
For 3 days I lay there, on my back, recovering from a huge spinal surgery, recovering from being slammed into by a mercedes seda at 45 mile per hour. Recovering from shattering his windsheild with my spine. Recovering from wacking my head on the roof of his car, recovering from the impact with the road after flying thru the air unconscious, not bracing for my fall, landing on my right side and head. Recovering forom sliding so extensively ont he asphalt that my joints were scraped to the bone. FOr 3 days I recovered , not moving, sleeping during the drug highs and crying when I was awake. Suffering was horrible. By day 4 the Neuro team was concerned I would develop an embolism, a potentially life threatening clot in my lungs or heart, so I was fored to move. I tried to sit up with the aid of the moving head of the bed. So sick form the meds, dizzy, nauseated. DIdnt want to sit. Made me sit. Vomitted. WIth a broken back, that was unreal pain, unreal. I saw stars. By day 4 I wasnt in a constant fog. From Day 1 onward I do remember freinds coming to see me. Mike came by on his shift as an EMT, I remember that. I remember Aron, with a big balloon for me as he was working his rotation in the ER that day. I remember CHris , Josh, Nick in my room. There was a 4th, I cannot remember. Corey came to see me, I dont remember that. Which days they came? I dont know. My mom was there. My dad. Beverly and Terry. Rikke and Thomas, my preceptor from GSH Kim, my sister in law Candi, Pam McDaniel, Lisa, Evan, Marie, Kim Perez, and Carole.....Carole was there from Time zero and on. I owe her more than I could ever give for her sacrifices for me. My husband Martin there for every second of that horrid nightmare at Stanford. It took til about day 6 to get the pain meds properly titrated. I was on Dilaudid, Fentenyl, morphine, heparin, 3 muscle relaxors, nerve pain reducers, tylenol for fever. I was so sick. I was constantly light headed, nauseated. I was on a clear liquid diet for 6 days. From Day 3 on the OT and PT came to my room to try and get me moving, It was futile as I vomitted each time I got upright sitting on the edge of the bed. Day 4 the Neuro team ordered the foley catheter removed. Now I HAD to move to a camode. Day 4 I manged to move my butt from the edge of the bed to the camode. I couldnt sit more than a few seconds. Day 5 I was able to stand and walk a few steps with help from 2 people. Day 6 I could walk a few more feet with help from 2 people. By day 7 I could walk the 8 feet to the bathroom and painfully sit and get up with help. Nauseated the entire time. Entire time. My eyes were sunken, I was pale, thin and covered in bandages which had to be changed frequently since I was missing a good amount of skin. Like a burn, no skin can lead to many problems. Day 7 was January 29th- discharge day. evening rolled around and I had to get into normal clothes and get into a wheel chair. The trip home was awful. I couldnt sit without pain at all. I was moaning and fidgeting the entire time. When I arrived home 30 minutes later, there was my family and several friends there, mom, dad, Carole, Bev and Terry. The car had to be backed up into our back yard and with the use of a walker I walked with help the 20 feet into my family room and onto the couch.
Pre: my life was full. Brimming in fact. I had lots to do and not enough time to do it. I am a mother of two. A boy Jared who is 13 and a daughter megan who is 11. I am an athlete. I have always been an avid runner. I run because it makes me feel good and keeps the endorphines flowing. Im a cyclist. I raced for Los Gatos Bicycle Racing Club. I trained for said bike season to compete within the Northern California Nevada Racing Association calendar. I had a super successful 2009 season, among the accomlpishments-gaining an upgrade to a Category 3 racer, winning the State Championship at the Velodrome for the womens Masters 35+, getting on the podium at many races and making a name for myself as a contending sprinter. I was a student. ETS in Santa Cruz was my second home beginning August 2010. Intenstive didactic work, huge amount of material to absorb and know, countless hours of studying, commuting over the hill several times a week and subsequently making the top grades in my class. Learning skills that would ultimately save lives, ease suffering and help those in need. Its a thankless job but somebodys got to do it. I wanted it because I never went to medical school even tho I had prepared. I wanted to do diagnostic medicine. I wanted to be elbows deep in trauma medicine. Bing Bing BIng.... paramedic ! Ok, mother, athlete, paramedic student.. what else. Oh, wife. And farm keeper. We have more animals on this property than most working cattle ranches. So a lot of my time goes toward feeding, watering, cleaning and maintaining a flock of chickens, 2 bearded dragons, 1 green iguana, 2 cats and 2 dogs, one of which is almost 16 and more work than normal.
A typical weekday for me would be: get up, get kids up, make them breakfast and pack lunches, help them find their shoes, remind them to pack their backpacks, get them out the door, clean up the kitchen, shower, dress, pack my bag, commute to Santa Cruz, sit in class 9am til 5pm, drive back home, squeeze in a bike ride or a run depending on how much daylight was left, get home, make dinner, do homewoek with the kids, get them ready for bed, then finally shower myself and then prop myself on the couch with massive book s to prepare for tests or the next days lectures for my class. On days I dint have school I would do the above up to getting the kids out the door then I would clean the backyard, the chicken coop, the house, get on my bike and do my prescribed workout anywhere from 1 hour to 3 hours depending on the day. I would be home in time for the kids coming home around 3pm, make snacks, help them get on track with homework, do chores, etc. Dinner, dishes, attempt to get kids into showers and jammies, tuck them in, then I would pick up the day with proping on the couch with my medic books.
Day of the tradgedy: 11am met my freind Carole at the Peets coffee in downtown Los Altos for a 2 hour zone 2 training ride. Did the Portola Loop. GOrgeous day. Warm. Sunny. Tons of cyclists on the road. Heading back south on Foothill Expressway Carole wanted to ride ahead a bit, which was fine with me as I had to try and get my heartrate a bit lower. The last thing I remember about that ride was looking down at my HR meter. Then I woke up in excruciating pain. Confused. Disoriented. Extreme back pain. Road rash all over my body. People around me talking to me, telling me to lay still. Paramedics putting me on the backboard and c-collar. Hurt to move at all, pleaded with them to not move me but they had to get me to the trauma center. I was A/O x1 (out of 4) which usually indicates a brain injury. Usually. The moment I was hit was 1:16 pm. I arrived at Stanford I beleive shortly after 2pm. I was a "load an go" situation on scene. No time for IVs or medical history taking. Golden Hour commenced at 1:16pm. I dont remember the exact sequence of events from impact to a couple days into my stay at the trauma wing. Thge pain I remember was horrid. My back was broken. Possible fractures to my right elbow, knee and enough road rash to keep anybody busy scrubbing for hours. I did not have a head injury in the sense of an epidural or subdural bleed. I did have a concussion. I had to be moved by this crane in the trauma wing. But first they had to get the special sheet with handles on it under me and smoothed out. Horrid I wanted to die. I remember the CT scanner, I remmber the Xray tech, he was really kind, I remember the crane. I remember the events that caused me such pain even the Dilaudid and Fentenyl couldnt mask. 6 hours of radiographs, tests, exams, scrubbing my road rash out. That was SUnday. MOnday morning I was told I needed to fuse my spine. My vertebrae was fractured so badly that it was unstable and I faced the loss of the use of my legs.
For 3 days I lay there, on my back, recovering from a huge spinal surgery, recovering from being slammed into by a mercedes seda at 45 mile per hour. Recovering from shattering his windsheild with my spine. Recovering from wacking my head on the roof of his car, recovering from the impact with the road after flying thru the air unconscious, not bracing for my fall, landing on my right side and head. Recovering forom sliding so extensively ont he asphalt that my joints were scraped to the bone. FOr 3 days I recovered , not moving, sleeping during the drug highs and crying when I was awake. Suffering was horrible. By day 4 the Neuro team was concerned I would develop an embolism, a potentially life threatening clot in my lungs or heart, so I was fored to move. I tried to sit up with the aid of the moving head of the bed. So sick form the meds, dizzy, nauseated. DIdnt want to sit. Made me sit. Vomitted. WIth a broken back, that was unreal pain, unreal. I saw stars. By day 4 I wasnt in a constant fog. From Day 1 onward I do remember freinds coming to see me. Mike came by on his shift as an EMT, I remember that. I remember Aron, with a big balloon for me as he was working his rotation in the ER that day. I remember CHris , Josh, Nick in my room. There was a 4th, I cannot remember. Corey came to see me, I dont remember that. Which days they came? I dont know. My mom was there. My dad. Beverly and Terry. Rikke and Thomas, my preceptor from GSH Kim, my sister in law Candi, Pam McDaniel, Lisa, Evan, Marie, Kim Perez, and Carole.....Carole was there from Time zero and on. I owe her more than I could ever give for her sacrifices for me. My husband Martin there for every second of that horrid nightmare at Stanford. It took til about day 6 to get the pain meds properly titrated. I was on Dilaudid, Fentenyl, morphine, heparin, 3 muscle relaxors, nerve pain reducers, tylenol for fever. I was so sick. I was constantly light headed, nauseated. I was on a clear liquid diet for 6 days. From Day 3 on the OT and PT came to my room to try and get me moving, It was futile as I vomitted each time I got upright sitting on the edge of the bed. Day 4 the Neuro team ordered the foley catheter removed. Now I HAD to move to a camode. Day 4 I manged to move my butt from the edge of the bed to the camode. I couldnt sit more than a few seconds. Day 5 I was able to stand and walk a few steps with help from 2 people. Day 6 I could walk a few more feet with help from 2 people. By day 7 I could walk the 8 feet to the bathroom and painfully sit and get up with help. Nauseated the entire time. Entire time. My eyes were sunken, I was pale, thin and covered in bandages which had to be changed frequently since I was missing a good amount of skin. Like a burn, no skin can lead to many problems. Day 7 was January 29th- discharge day. evening rolled around and I had to get into normal clothes and get into a wheel chair. The trip home was awful. I couldnt sit without pain at all. I was moaning and fidgeting the entire time. When I arrived home 30 minutes later, there was my family and several friends there, mom, dad, Carole, Bev and Terry. The car had to be backed up into our back yard and with the use of a walker I walked with help the 20 feet into my family room and onto the couch.
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