A swim in the Y pool may not be a walk in the park

I am training myself to walk again. It's no walk in the park.

I looked up "walk meaning" and found some leisurely reading.

It's a verb (I walked to school) and a noun (It was a leisurely walk). It's a word you hear on almost of every episode of "Law & Order:" "We can't just let this perp walk!" If he does, I'm certain he will walk quickly from the building most likely in the company of his attorney.

Walk is quite popular. A chart on Google Ngram Viewer shows that the popularity of walk is at an all-time high in the 2020s. It may not remain there judging by our unfit population, all in need of a good walk or even a not-so-good one.

This brings this post to me. I cannot walk. My body revolted and, judging by a photo taken in a hospital ICU, I was revolting afterward. "That's not me" I said when my wife showed me the photo of the old man on the gurney. He was obviously out of it. IV tubes snaked from his arm. He had been intubated and fitted with a feeding tube. You couldn't see the Foley catheter or the heart monitor but they were there amongst the jumble of sheets and blankets.

That was Sept. 9. I can walk now, sort of. I get around with a standard walker complete with tennis-ball feet and I also have a rollator walker with four wheels. I sometimes scoot around on an electric scooter labeled Buzz Around XL. When Chris and I go for a walk on the bike path, she walks and I scoot. Still, we call it a walk. I do. 

But I can't walk, not yet anyway. Over the past five years, I hurt myself in ways that blunted my walking mechanism. That's a silly way to put it. I sometimes tell people I am partially disabled. I did that the other day. Jeff escorted Chris and me on an introductory tour of the Ormond Beach YMCA. We joined and wanted to see what we were getting into. A lifeguard about my age but looking 20 years younger, showed me the chair they use for hefting people like me into the pool's shallow end. I explained that I was partially disabled and that I could walk down the five steps into the pool to join each morning's water-ex class.. I plan to walk unaided or maybe with a cane in the near future. I aim to be a walker again. It will not be a walk in the park and it hasn't been. Still...

The writer's walk

I am a sitter

One who sits

I sit all the time now

My broken back.

Was a time when you

Couldn't get me to stay still 

Could not get me to sit through

A well-intentioned speech or

Even a movie with a message. 

I walked to school and store

I walked just to walk. 

Each step caused a storm of words

That later I made into stories.

Now I walk with a walker called a

Rollator because it rolls with each step.

I stand straight. My back hurts

I proceed slowly and it's not the same as 

When I could walk unfettered Long's Peak  

Lightning Pass Colorado River headwaters  

Appalachian Trail Florida Trail 

Tomoka River Harper's Ferry

Down every street in D.C. and Denver

I cannot walk the writer's walk

So I sit.

Trees can soothe the beast of depression

Fun fact for Arbor Day: 

There are now 99 elms encircling the CSU Oval and lining its walkways.

So reports an April 2022 story on Colorado State University's web site, Literally just 46 facts about CSU's trees. 

Literally, it was interesting stuff. 

Here's a few other items from the CSU list:

When CSU was first founded 1870, it was located on a treeless prairie. 

Some of the [elm] trees are 80 to 90 feet high, and their roots are 1.5 times their height. 

This one is a surprise:

The Heritage Arboretum/Woody Plant Demonstration and Research Area has the largest collection of woody plants in the region, with more than 1,100 different taxa represented. 

The Arboretum is on the south end of campus, within shouting distance of the new stadium. It's surprising because I passed through this site many times during grad school and didn't know it was an arboretum. Time now for a return visit.

The Oval elms are special. During the spring and summer of 1991, as I worked on my M.F.A. in creative writing, I was gobsmacked by severe depression, I found solace among the elms. As noted, they are sturdy and tall, providing shade for the lawn and itinerant students who need some elm goodness to buck up their spirits. I would bike on over to the Oval, prop myself against a tree, read and study. The tree gave me strength. At the time, I thought they were cottonwoods but it didn't really matter. Trees carry energy and silently impart strength to those humans who take the time to appreciate them. I took antidepressants for the first time but it took a long time for them to work. Meanwhile, I had trees. 

I'd dealt with depression before. When I was an undergrad, a break-up caused me to go sleepless for a week. That was the first time I saw a therapist and talked it through. This was 1975 and pre-Prozac. I was 24 and pleased. I faced the beast and came out the better for it. 

During the next couple decades, I muddled through. Married, had a kid, worked various jobs in Denver until I went to school. After I turned 40, family issues took me back to therapy and anti-Ds. I kicked the drugs several times but the result was always the same. Finally, a psychiatrist in Cheyenne issued a mandate: You'll be on these the rest of your life. And, thus far, I have been.

While the meds percolate through my system, I walk among the trees. It's never been a mystery to me that elms and maples have healing qualities. Psychology Today writes about "Forest Bathing in Japan." Full immersion in the forest. PT referenced a 2012 Outside magazine first-person article by Florence Williams, Take Two Hours of Pine Forest and Call Me in the Morning. Here's the subhead:

These days, screen-addicted Americans are more stressed out and distracted than ever. And there’s no app for that. But there is a radically simple remedy: get outside. Florence Williams travels to the deep woods of Japan, where researchers are backing up the theory that nature can lower your blood pressure, fight off depression—and even prevent cancer.

These days, I need assistance when walking. I'm missing out on forest bathing. But last time I was in the mountains, last September, I sat under pines as my family joined friends in a hike on Vedauwoo's Turtle Rock Trail. I'm usually the one leading these and may again if the docs can get to the bottom of my disability. I can park my rollator walker under any tree. And breathe deeply. 

Happy belated Arbor Day.

Prayers in the dairy section

Praying in the dairy section

I have nothing against prayer in the grocery store.

Yesterday, as I headed to the dairy case, my legs tired from piloting the cart through the aisles, a woman asked if she could pray for me. My face had revealed the pain, a crease in the eyes, a grim set to my mouth. She picked it up, this gray-haired woman with a kind face. She asked about the cause of the pain. Spinal surgery, I replied, my exercise regime included pushing this cart from produce to bakery to dairy.

She -- her name was Diane -- pressed one hand into my cervical spine, at C-4 and C-5 where metal meets bone. She raised her other hand is supplication and prayed. Short and to the point, a plea to God to heal. I looked at her raised hand, small and slim, so as not to look at other customers who might wonder what was going on among the coffee creamer and almond milk. Diane wrapped the prayer. I expected a Bible tract from her, an invitation to her Jumpin' Jesus church. She just asked how I felt. I said we should give it time, don't you think?

We parted. No change in my pain or stuttering walk.

But there were a few moments when my soul left body and sailed around the store.

My sporty new rollator walker is safe at any speed

I own a  Drive Nitro Euro-Style Tall Aluminum Four Wheel Rollator. It's one of the new breed of assistive devices that allow people like me to get from one place to another. Commonly known as a walker. A device to help this injured biped walker walk.

On the last snowy day in May 2018, I fell on my rear end in a Fort Collins parking lot. I got up and brushed the wet snow off of my butt and continued the day's routine, which included moving my daughter into an apartment. My wife noticed my wet jeans. "Your butt's wet," she said. "And so is yours," I said in a playful retort. We laughed, our daughter looking on in bemusement and a little bit of love, although impatient to get on with the task.

You think that there are days that don't matter, They all matter.

Four days later, I awoke with a terrible backache. I don't believe in backaches. I've had them after long backpacks up steep slopes, many miles on my racing bike, a series of pickup b-ball games on the asphalt. But this was a raging backache, one beyond my ken. A few days later, I began to limp. A few days later still, I had trouble walking and I dug out my knee-replacement cane for balance. I grew worried. I consulted my knee guy. He x-rayed my knees and hips and said all was well with those parts. I was relieved as I didn't want to revisit the pain of another knee replacement. The doc prescribed PT. Ten days later, the PT guys saw me limping into the center using a walker, me dragging my left foot. They grew alarmed.

"We sent you out of here two years ago and you were walking just fine," they asked. "What happened?"

"Fell on my keister."

They conducted a few exercises and pronounced that something was wrong that they couldn't address. "We have to talk to the doc," they said.

The doc called me at home the next day. He had made an appointment with a neurologist and urged me to go. I went. The neurologist conducted some tests. She thought my brain was fine but my spine may be injured. She sent me to a spinal surgeon in Fort Collins who operated on Aug. 1. A few days later, I felt more mobile, especially mu upper body. That was the part I was most worried about. I had nightmares about lifeless arms with fingers that couldn't type. That was not to be the case. Read my post about the surgery at https://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2018/08/a-return-trip-to-mind-eraser-may-help.html

Eight and one half months later, I still use a walker. I started with a standard aluminum walker with four rubber-tipped legs. You could always hear me coming. I lifted the walker, smacked the floor a couple feet ahead, and then moved to catch up with the device. You could hear me coming from one end of the house to the other. I stooped over because we borrowed the walker from a short person. My arms and shoulders hurt. I looked like one of those old guys slouching across the retirement home cafeteria. I located a taller walker at a retirement center, this one with two wheels on the front axles. I could stand tall and move faster. I thought I had reached the pinnacle, walker-wise.

I had seen four-wheeled walkers and thought this was the next step. I wanted my next step to be on two feet with any assist coming from my cane. That wasn't to be. I tried the cane for a few days and abandoned it when I fell getting into my car. I tried to get up but couldn't. A young couple driving by saw me sprawled in the street and guessed I was having a problem. They rescued me, guided me into the car, probably wondering "this old guy drives?" If asked, I would have told them that my right leg is fine but it's just the left leg and back and upper spine that torment me.

The world looks a little different when looking at it from a walker. Back when I was fully abled, I remember resting my eye upon someone in a walker as they passed. I walked, my legs perfectly fine. I barely noticed people using assistive devices. Now that I've joined the club, I see them everywhere. They were there all along but I looked through them or over them, barely giving them a thought. As a bleeding heart liberal, I feel empathy. But the dirty truth is this: you don't know the pain of disabilities until you're disabled. We don't want to admit that it can happen to us. And then it does, and you get a glimpse of what some people face their entire lives.

War, disease, accidents all leave damaged bodies in their wake. I read recently that 5 percent of adults in the U.S. use helper devices such as canes, walkers, and wheelchairs. Our town has an older population. We also are home to a major military base and a V.A. Hospital. Back when I swam laps at the YMCA, I would encounter the disabled vets from the V.A. doing their water exercises. Some of them had to be plucked from their wheelchairs and lowered into the water using a crane bolted to the side of the pool. I would watch without really watching, as I was sure these men got their share of stares when they were out in public. The other day as I rode one of the Y's stationery bikes, the swimming pool director told me that I could use the crane in the pool if I wanted to get back in the water. I thanked her but cringed inwardly. Is that why I had been avoiding the pool? I didn't want to be one of those disabled guys who needed the crane?

People do stop me to admire my colorful ride. I was putting Nitro in my trunk at Olive Garden the other day when a middle-aged woman stopped and admired it. She said she wanted to upgrade her mother's walker. I told her how to order and she left. The humor in my situation is pretty obvious. My Nitro walker is fire-engine red and vampire black. People admire it as they would a cherry '57 Chevy or bucket-T roadster. In some future place, old people will stage races that pits Nitro against Lightning. These are short-track races, sprints. A Daytona 500-style race would go on for months. We could fill in gaps in NASCAR's off-season schedule.

This reminds me of a story from my first collection, "Safe at Any Speed." In it, Florida retirees soup up their golf carts and stage races at an abandoned airstrip near Ormond Beach. Lest you think this complete fantasy, golf carts are now called golf cars. And for good reasons. You can spend $9,500 on one designed like a sky-blue 1957 Chevy Bel Air. This is a couple steps up from my Nitro, I can see myself tooling around in something similar when I retreat to a retirement village.

My disability is short-term, or so I tell myself. It has taught me one thing: people go out of their way to offer me assistance. This is especially true as I haul groceries to the car. One woman, possibly older than me, didn't ask as she edged me aside to load groceries in my trunk. I thanked her as she buzzed off. I got the impression that she is not a person who waits around for permission. Airmen, elderly, mothers with kids -- all have offered help. I usually refuse as I stubbornly avoid accepting assistance.  Humility is at risk. Humility can be dangerous. It  can lead to empathy and, God knows, we could use more of that in these cruel times.

Dear President Trump: Please don't put mental health care on your radar screen

The most distressing news to come out of the Parkland, Fla., high school massacre is that President Trump is now going to pay attention to mental health.

We have seen what happens to issues when Trump starts paying attention to them. His "concern" about our immigration laws have led to families being ripped apart by ICE and the Dreamers dreams to be abandoned.

And then there is the ridiculous border wall.

He and his Congressional cronies addressed the economy by passing the TaxScam bill that turns the economy over to the billionaire class.

Healthcare? He wants drastic cuts in Medicare and Medicaid, the country's two largest health care programs.

SNAP or food stamps? Replace the SNAP system with a plan to send food boxes to those on the program. I would say those "poor people" on the program, but I know better. Our family used food stamps on an interim basis when I was underemployed and we had four mouths to feed on a salary for two. My disabled daughter is now in the SNAP program. SNAP feeds people. I hesitate to guess what kind of Republican-approved edibles would show up in a Trump Food Box.

Education? I have one name for you: Betsy DeVos. She is our so-called secretary of education who wants to privatize our prized public school system and to turn college students into paupers. Trump's base hates the educated class because we insist on using facts in our political arguments.

Now mental health. I have written about the mental health system numerous times. I am not a mental health professional. But my daughter has been in the system for 11 years and I can speak with some authority of her experience -- and ours.

My daughter Annie has been diagnosed as bipolar and has borderline personality disorder. Over the years, our family has sought treatment for Annie in many programs in five states. Why so many? First, she was unable to get the care she needed in Wyoming which, to federal granting programs, is considered a pioneer state, as if we were still rolling across the prairie wagons or handcarts. We are fortunate to live in the state's capital city and have used the services of good therapists and psychiatrists, some in private practice and some who work with Peak Wellness. As a minor, we had some say in the places she was sent for treatment, some of those in Colorado and California. When she turned 18, she made some of those choices, not all of them good. Some were excellent, as was New Roads Treatment Center out of Salt Lake City. Her caregivers in 2018 are at Summit Stone in Fort Collins, Colo. Colorado has a leader and mental health advocate in Gov,. John Hickenlooper.

One of the strengths and weaknesses of the United States is that every state sets its own agenda. Colorado has a Democratic governor and mostly progressive legislature. Wyoming has a Republican governor and a Know Nothing Republican legislature. Guess which state takes better care of its mentally ill?

Just take a look at some of the crackpot bills that are on the agenda for this year's Wyoming Legislature.

Please, I beg you President Trump, don't pay attention to mental health care. It has enough problems without you.

WYOPEP: Wyoming slips from first to forty-first in the nation in care of its disabled

The Forgotten People of Wyoming - From 1st to 41st in the Nation in Care of Its Disabled from WYOPEP on Vimeo.

Watch this video and wonder why Wyoming, with funding galore, can't take care of its disabled citizens.

UPLIFT Wyoming has vision

UPLIFT's vision is

Hope, health and well-being for all Wyoming children and families. 

You must have 20/20 vision for a statement like that. An abundance of hope.

The statistics are bleak. Alabama-bleak. Wyoming leads the nation is teen suicides. Not a single child psychiatrist lives and works within its 97,000 square miles. In 2012, Wyoming's overall health ranking dropped from 21st to 23rd. More than 23 percent of the population smokes.

OK, so maybe we rank better than Alabama by most measures. But we have problems. Most residents have to drive hours to reach mental health care. Youth are regularly sent out of state for mental health and substance abuse treatment. I know. My kids did just that. Broke the bank and almost broke the will. Only late in the process did we discover the state's children's mental health waiver, which paid for much of our daughter's care, both in-state and out.

Time will tell whether the Affordable Care Act (a.k.a. Obamacare) will make a difference with accessibility to quality mental health treatment. We do know that insurers no longer can disqualify you for pre-existing conditions. And caps have been removed on quantity of treatment sessions. And we can keep our daughter covered until she's 26 (our son has aged out). Most students with disabilities take longer to matriculate than others. It's not unusual for them to take six or seven years to graduate. It's not unusual for them to be a boomerang kid, landing in your basement after graduation, Daft Punk tunes wafting up through the heater vents.

I just returned from a two-day board and staff retreat for UPLIFT. I've been a board member since 1999 and am just about ready to retire. It's a volunteer position. Most of us on the board have had personal experiences with challenging children.Our son Kevin was diagnosed at 5 with ADHD and, later, struggled with drugs and alcohol. Our daughter faced mental health challenges, first diagnosed as bipolar and then with borderline personality disorder. As often happens, she did some self-medicating.

It is tough on children to have these challenges. It is also tough on parents.

UPLIFT comes to the rescue. When it can. The statewide organization has its own challenges. Its budget was cut by a third when the state decided to re-channel its funding. It lost three offices across the state and 11 staffers. This is why you have retreats that address strategic planning and tries to come up with some big ideas for the future.

Funding cuts and priority shifts have caused the 23-year-old organization to look at itself anew. Wish us luck. And donate at the web site. Better yet, make a pledge to donate a certain amount every month. Go here. You never know when you may need expertise at your I.E.P. meeting or tips on applying for the Medicaid waiver or just a kindly person to listen to your dilemma. 

Tell them Mike sent you.

Smoking remains high at 23.0 percent of the adult population, with 100,000 adults who smoke in Wyoming.

The infant mortality rate declined in the past year from 7.2 to 6.5 deaths per 1,000 live births.

- See more at: http://www.americashealthrankings.org/WY#sthash.h6kmkDfZ.dpuf

Smoking remains high at 23.0 percent of the adult population, with 100,000 adults who smoke in Wyoming. - See more at: http://www.americashealthrankings.org/WY#sthash.h6kmkDfZ.dpuf

Enzi allies himself with Tea Party crackpots on Senate vote

The U.S. Senate today failed to ratify a U.N. treaty that would codify the rights of the disabled. Tea Party Republicans led the opposition, apparently fearing that black helicopters manned by Kenyans would swoop out of the sky to ensure that the other-abled had access to all the benefits of civilization enjoyed by the abled.

The vote was 61-38 to ratify the treaty that has already been signed by 155 nations and ratified by 126, including Britain, France, Germany, China and Russia. It is based on the landmark Americans with Disabilities Act. Treaties must be passed in the Senate by a two-thirds vote. The all-GOP opposition included Wyoming Sen. Mike Enzi but not Sen. Dr. John Barrasso. That shocked the heck out of me. Enzi has always seemed the level-headed one while Barrasso just seems to love seeing himself on Fox News. Not this time.

Joining Enzi in voting against this obvious takeover of American sovereignty were the usual crackpots from the South and West, including Oklahoma's James Imhofe, Mike Lee of Utah, Jon Kyl of Arizona, Lindsey Graham of South Carolina and Marco Rubio of Florida.

From an AP story:

The opposition was led by tea party favorite Sen. Mike Lee, R-Utah, who argued that the treaty by its very nature threatened U.S. sovereignty. Specifically he expressed concerns that the treaty could lead to the state, rather than parents, determining what was in the best interest of disabled children in such areas as home schooling, and that language in the treaty guaranteeing the disabled equal rights to reproductive health care could lead to abortions. Parents, Lee said, will "raise their children with the constant looming threat of state interference."

Tiny paranoid minds were working overtime on this one.

Read Joan McCarter's excellent Daily Kos post on the subject here.

Transitions Artisans hold an art show and sale Sept. 9 at Carnival Antiques

The Transitions Artisans create art as part of the healing process, as they transition from inpatient mental health care to a home environment. Sales of their work will go toward buying arts supplies and equipment for the CRMC-sponsored program.