Amy or The Dog?

I have been thinking about getting a dog and in an effort to better educate myself in caring for someone that isn't myself I decided to dog sit this weekend. Meet Amy. No, not me, the dog. Meet Amy (the dog). Why someone would name their dog Amy is beyond me, but nonetheless, I will be watching Amy (the dog) and chronicling our activities all weekend on Facebook and Twitter. Look for posts like, "Amy is taking a walk." But wait, which Amy? Well, that is for you to decide. Is it Me or The Dog? Then come back on Monday to view photo evidence and find out if it was Amy or The Dog.

Amy humping Lisa

The Unofficial End… and the Official Beginning

Labor Day usually marks the unofficial end of summer – all of my teacher friends and grad school friends are back to school, the weather is cooling down… kind of, the new fall TV season is upon us. Labor Day usually marks the end of one thing and the beginning of another. This Labor Day also marks the unofficial end of the “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway?” series and the beginning of someone much greater.

If you are not sure what this series was all about, you can read a recap of what the hell happened to me and a timeline here: http://ruudremarks.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-hell-happened-to-amy-anyway-circle.html.

I am not, unfortunately, 100% recovered. Physically, I feel great. Emotionally, I am pretty solid. Mentally, I am good to go. My eyes, however… Well, they don’t see the way they used to. I still have some vision issues and the last thing I told my doctor is that I am not sure if they are getting better or if I am getting more used to how I see. I don’t talk about it much, because there are other things to focus on. And worrying about my vision limitations is not going to make them work any better.

So with that, it is time to move on from this series. It is time to start anew. Sure, I will still post updates from time to time on my progress as I continue to face new challenges and struggles with my recovery. And I will continue to post funny insights regarding my doctors, nurses and parents concerning my condition when they come up. And of course, you can still look forward to funny and poignant stories about how my condition messes with my life. But now that you know the story - from start to present - it is time for me to move on and start to post about things other than the condition I call “Jack.”

So what I am doing now? Well, I am focusing on getting healthy - working out and eating right. I am focusing on extracurricular activities – outside of my massive TV watching schedule. I am getting back to being funny on stages in front of tens of people. I have goals and I am working towards them every day.

And as for this blog, what will you find here? Well, you will find letters – like the ones I posted when I first started this blog. And you will find random thoughts and musings. And you might even find a movie review or two – with a Ruud twist of course. And naturally, the updates on my progress – or regression. But now that you know all about what the hell happened to me, it is time to get back to the important stuff in life – like laughing and loving and living as much as I possibly can. So while this may be the unofficial end of “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway,” it is also the beginning of something great, and this certainly is not the last you will hear from me.

Karma, the Reasons Why and This Too Shall Pass

I believe in karma – the idea that, essentially, what goes around comes around. I also believe that everything happens for a reason and of course, I believe in the phrase, “This too shall pass.”

Let’s start with the last phrase – “This too shall pass.” It is hard to believe that just a few months ago I was laid up in a hospital bed starting my recovery from surgery. And when you are in the middle of something like that, it is hard to look to the future and know that you will be okay. When you are laid up in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery, can barely move, can barely keep food down, can barely see, can barely sleep, it is hard to think, “This too shall pass.” It is hard to imagine things will get better. But they do. It’s been a little over 4 months since my surgery and I must say, I feel pretty good and at times I am surprised. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday and other times it feels like forever ago. But the point is, this too shall pass and it did.

And I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. When you are in the middle of a difficult situation it can be hard to see the reason why it is happening. And sometimes it is clear and right there in front of you and other times it is not and it might take some time to see it. I cannot fathom a guess as to exactly why this happened to me – and I am sure someday the reason will become clear to me. But for now I would like to think this was the kick in the pants I needed to change my lifestyle. Kick received, lifestyle changing.

Now on to karma – what goes around comes around. I am not saying what happened to me is punishment for something I did in my past, but there is certainly plenty of stuff I did in my past that could – and should – come back to me one day. There is also plenty of good I have done in my life and I have been repaid many times over. And I believe if I continue to do good, good things will – in turn – happen to me.

With that said, I found out last Friday that I won a spot on the Dave Matthews Band Live at Port Paradise Cruise. I am more than just a little excited, because I am sure we all know how much I LOVE Dave Matthews Band. Do I deserve this after what I have been through this year? Hell yes. Will this cruise be the little extra incentive to keep me on track with my new healthy lifestyle? Of course. And will I continue to improve and actually survive a cruise weekend? I should say so.

Life philosophies are just that – philosophies, not facts. They work for me. They are the thoughts that got me through the hard times and helped see through to the end. They are the ideas that I will carry with me throughout the rest of me life and believe in.

Did I deserve what happened to me? Maybe not, but I am sure there is a reason why. And you better believe that some good stuff – like winning a Dave Matthews Band Cruise – is coming my way because of this ordeal. And that is what I am going to focus on moving forward – because this too has passed.

Reset on Life

We didn’t really have a gaming system growing up. If we wanted to play Nintendo, we had to go to friend’s house to play. I distinctly remember playing Tetris non stop whenever I was at a specific childhood friend’s house. And I specifically remember that game getting stuck all the time. You know what I am talking about – the game freezes up and weird lines appear on the screen. You get all frustrated because you had the perfect tetris lined up and all you needed was the long line of 4 squares and you would have made it the next level which was faster and harder and now it is all blown. So you throw the remote at the wall and pop open the lid on the console. You press down and pop out the cartridge. You blow in it and dust goes flying and you shove it back in and press it back down and restart the game. We all know the routine – whether you had Nintendo or not, you know the routine. Sometimes you could get away with just hitting the reset button, but most of the time, you had to pull it our, blow it and shove it back in (Get your mind out of the gutter – you know who you are!). The point is, you started over.

I can look at my situation in one of two ways. I can sit back and blame what happened to me on all sorts of things. I can blame hormones or genetics or a shoddy hand being dealt to me. I can wallow in my misery and bitch and moan. I can complain. I can use this as an excuse to be lazy and just sit around and think about my limitations and let them… well, limit me.

Or I can do what I always do. I can say eff it. I can find the funny in my situation. I can name my condition (it’s called “Jack” by the way, after a concept in the movie Fight Club). I can tell people funny stories about how I talk to myself at Starbucks or literally run into people constantly. Instead of complaining, I am changing. Instead of waiting around for things to happen, I am making them happen. Instead of letting my limitations hold me back, I am pushing myself more than I have before.

I am taking the steps necessary to make changes in my life. Sure, it is scary and it isn’t easy. And I have moments of regression. I’ve eaten bad food and skipped a work out or two and picked smoking back up for a few weeks. But no one is perfect. I am not going to say I am trying, because I am not trying – I am doing. I have set goals and I am working towards them. And sometimes they need to be adjusted, but they are still there. And I am not going to let jack or “Jack” hold me back.

Some people might think there is something wrong with having to go through what I went through to make such changes in their life, but you know what I say? Eff it. If I thought that way I would have gone right back to my life before the surgery – my unhealthy life before “Jack.” Sometimes you can just hit the reset the button and move on. But sometimes you have to pull it out, blow it and shove it back in – and apparently that is what I needed – now, seriously, get your mind out of the gutter!

My Co-Pay is Paying for Your Watch

When I was about 6 years old, my dad asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be either a doctor – a dentist, specifically, or a lawyer. When my dad asked me why, I told him, it was because I wanted to make a lot of money.

20 some odd years later, I am neither a lawyer (too much reading) nor a doctor (I don’t look good in white). I do still love money, but I digress…

When I was first admitted to the hospital and I met my neurosurgeon the first thing my dad asked when the doctor left the curtained area I was sequestered to at the time was, “Did you get a load of that guy’s watch?” To which I responded, “No, Dad, I am blind, remember?” To which my dad responded, “Well, it was so huge and shiny, I thought maybe you would be able to see it.” Touché.

On August 13, 2009 I went to a follow up appointment with my neurosurgeon – let’s call him Dr. Brain Surgeon. I spent a good 20 minutes in the waiting room before they called me back to the examination room. When Dr. Brain Surgeon came into the room the first thing I noticed was the gold watch with little shiny diamonds.

Dr. Brain Surgeon spent about 15 minutes with me. He checked my scars – looks good. He made me follow his fingers without moving my head – looks good. He asked how I was doing – looks good. He was on his computer a lot. I can only assume updating his Facebook status to something like, “Dr. Brain Surgeon is thinking steak for lunch.” Or maybe “Dr. Brain Surgeon wishes he was on the golf course this morning.” Though I am sure he was writing notes about me that could be used as Facebook statuses: “Amy Ruud is presenting signs of improvement.” Or maybe “Amy Ruud was stitched up nice and good by an awesome Dr. Brain Surgeon and will have minimal scarring.”

I asked Dr. Brain Surgeon a few questions about the shunt – what is it made out of? Will it move? If I lose weight will it jut out of my side? These are the things I worry about. He answered my questions: It is made out some sort of medical rubber. Not, it should not move. No, it will not jut out – even if I lose so much weight you can see my ribs. He then shook my hand, said, “See you in 6 months,” and he and his ridiculously expensive watch left the room.

In a few days I will get an Explanation of Benefits from Blue Cross explaining how much my 20 minutes of waiting and 15 minutes of talk time will have cost my insurance company and what my co-pay is. One of these days I will add up how much this whole ordeal has cost. I can tell you that it is well over $50,000. No joke. Thanks to some amazing insurance, I have paid out, probably about a grand. But that grand and the money Blue Cross has paid out is paying for that shiny gold watch. And suddenly I am thinking my 6 year old self may have been right – I should have been a doctor… or at least a lawyer.

(August 13, 2009)

No One Wants to See Your Ass: Amy Goes to Another Concert

It is no secret I am a fan of Dave Matthews Band. Some people may balk at this. But I have been a fan of theirs for over half my life and I do not see that changing anytime soon. I have seen them play live 48 times – including the night in questions - July 28, 2009. That also includes seeing them in over a dozen cities in about a dozen states. One of the more memorable concerts was a road trip to Anderson, Indiana where Dave Matthews Band played at what was then called Deer Creek Music Theater. It was a 5 hour road trip with one of my (now) best friends (we barely knew each other when we went on this adventure).

This was the year I had a horrible fake ID – which I used at the show and I got a little… tipsy. On our way into the concert we saw a line up a guys urinating right outside a wooded area – I took note.

After the show, I needed to pee – BAD. Instead of waiting in the long lines, I decided to venture into the wooded area outside of the venue and do like the guys did and pee in the woods.

So outside the venue I made my way toward the trees. My friend yelled, “Keep going! No one wants to see your ass!” So I went a little deeper. Step, step, step, six foot drop and submerged in water.

Apparently, there really is a Deer Creek and apparently it is more like a rive and apparently I had fallen into it.

So there I was completely submerged in water – pee water, floating down stream, convinced I am going to die, I still had to pee. If I was drunk – it was now gone.

I am not sure how much time had passed, but finally my friend called out for me. “Don’t come any closer!” I yelped. And I looked up and there she was, looking down on me – probably in more ways than just the one. And now to try and get me out.

After several attempts, I finally crawled my way out of the creek using a tree branch and my friends reluctant hand. And I was able to relieve myself as well. Soaking wet, we found my car and I sat in the passenger seat on a floor mat and a box top. My muddy sneakers were in the trunk and my socks are still in the parking lot somewhere. We sat there for what seemed like days. My friend could not look at me without laughing hysterically – and since she had to pee, too, she just could not look at me.

We finally got back to the hotel, thanks to my friend explaining to a traffic cop that she had to pee and I was able to clean myself up. The next day we drove home and I showed up to my brother’s graduation party wearing red Hawaiian print pajama pants and a Michigan State T-shirt. It was a great road trip and a story my friend and I have told and will continue to tell for years to come.

But I have come a long way from falling into Deer Creak. And on July 28, 2009, I saw Dave Matthews Band – for the 48th time - at what was once known as Pine Knob (and has, to my knowledge, no creeks) with my sister Amanda. We were third row and it was an amazing show.

This was only the second concert since the surgery and MUCH different from the Coldplay show I saw back in June. No handicap seating for me. No earplugs or sunglasses and virtually no sitting. I actually danced. A lot. I may have dislodged my shunt, as a matter of fact. We did not get there late and we did not leave early. It was like any other concert I had been too – but better, of course, because it was Dave Matthews Band. But all in all I did pretty well with the noises and the lights and the crowds of people. And I was happy to have such a normal concert experience. And while I may have come out of there with a bit of a backache from all the dancing – at least I wasn’t soaking wet from falling in a creek.

(July 28, 2009)

Strong Like Bull

I once helped my dad move a stove from my parents’ kitchen to their garage. My dad was unsure if we would be able to move it with just the two of us – but we did. When we set the stove down in the garage my dad, exasperated, said, “Amy, you are strong like bull.” Yeah, I am strong like bull.

Since then I have moved another stove, rewired all electrical outlets and light switches in my house, done minor repairs on my car, installed lighting fixtures, snaked drains, moved boxes and beds and desks, built Ikea furniture. I mow my own lawn and do my own laundry. I work out. I take pride in what I can do – especially in what I can do without the assistance of others. And then I got sick and needed surgery and my world changed.

All of a sudden my sister had to mow the lawn and carry my laundry from my room to the basement and back up. There was no cleaning – which was fine by me – and things that once seemed commonplace to me became a chore. And all of a sudden I needed assistance from others.

But the most jarring of restrictions – except for driving – was working out. All of my doctors were in agreement on one thing regarding my condition – I needed to lose weight. But, they explained to me, I had to be careful. The shunt that was placed in my lower back and wrapped around to my abdomen can become dislodged with strenuous activity. So no heavy lifting. No heavy exercise. No over exerting myself. For exercise I can walk. I convinced my doctor that I could do hand weights, too, but no bending over. Not until I lost enough weight that I don’t need the shunt and I can let it fail. No yoga, no bike, no aerobics, no moving stoves.

So walk I did, and walk I do. And I can feel my shunt – pulling slightly on my side. They tell me it is normal. I’m sorry, but there is nothing normal about feeling a contraption in your body. But I have a goal and as soon as I reach it I will step it up a notch and I will over exert myself as much as I possibly can. But for now I simply walk on – why? Because I am strong like bull.

(July 22, 2009)