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May 02

A New Way to Take Out the Garbage

Posted on May 2, 2013 by johanna

Thursday is garbage day on our street. And, today, this Thursday, Mark is out of town. He’s due back tonight, but the garbage pickup will be long done by then. When we spoke last night, he said, “Just forget about it. It’s not that much. We can leave the garbage for another week.”

Well, maybe he can. But, while I have no problem with piles of messes, I have a problem with garbage. On garbage day, it needs to go! But what to do?

The kitchen is on the first floor, a flight of stairs above the big garbage can, the one that goes to the street. The recycling is upstairs, near the kitchen. Our driveway is steep. How do I get everything from the first floor downstairs, and then to the curb?

Normal people first fill the garbage can and the recycling containers. I had a new idea this morning—at 7am even. First put the garbage can and the recycling container in my car. Then fill them.

I have to drive them down to the street anyway. I can’t walk them down to the street. The driveway is too steep. Why try to walk anything into the car? Take almost-empty containers and put them into the car. A transforming idea.

I did. It still took me almost 20 minutes of huffing and puffing to take out the garbage. It’s a good thing I work out! However, the garbage is out. The recycling is out. We have a clean kitchen. Aah.

When Mark lands tonight, he can take the garbage can and the recycling bin up from the street and order will be restored in our house.

Just goes to show you, even the “taking out the garbage” problem can be reframed! Maybe the next time you have one of these problems, consider thinking about it backwards. “What if I do it in the opposite way?” was how I considered it. That might be enough of a trigger to help you think of another idea. It worked for me this morning.

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3
May 01

Relief and Sorrow for the Boston Marathon

Posted on May 1, 2013 by johanna

On Monday, April 15, I was merrily typing away at my computer, getting ready for PSL, my trip to England, and all of my todos. I was uber-productive, writing like a champ, checking Shaina’s running times, urging her on in my head. I could see her times update on the web page. “Yes, she’s doing 10-minute miles. She’s on track, her times are nice and even. You go, girl!”

I took a quick lunch break, and was back at my computer—I didn’t want to miss any of Shaina’s time checks. Besides, I was on a writing roll. I’d finished one article draft in the morning, and wanted to finish another draft that afternoon. I had to ready the PSL copying. I had things to do!

Just before 3pm, the phone rang. It was Mark. “There’s been an explosion at the finish line.”

His words did not compute.

“Are you there?” He asked me, urgently.

My fingers were working even if my mouth wasn’t. I was unable to speak—damn aphasia—but I was typing, looking for WBZ online to find the news. I opened a new browser window to see what was going on. I finally got some words out.

“Yes, I’m here. Oay, I see what’s going on. She’s still not at 35k, so she’s okay. The explosion was at the finish line. She’s not there. She’s okay.”

Mark was standing in Baltimore, waiting to board a plane. I was in my office in Arlington. Shaina was running down Commonwealth Avenue, somewhere.

There was nothing we could do. Not one thing.

I weighed my choices. I could text her. I was concerned I would worry her, when she needed to concentrate on getting somewhere that was safe. Remember, the Marathon officials have high-tech tracking devices on the runners. They have checkpoints. They know more about where the runners are than I do. And, I didn’t want to run down her cell phone battery.

I watched Shaina’s progress online for the next 45 minutes, as she ran through the 35k and 40k checkpoints. At about 3:45pm, when I could not take it any longer, I texted her, and asked if she was okay. That’s when she texted back that she had been stopped at the 25 mile mark.

In the meantime, I heard from my sister, my mother and several friends, who all wanted to know, “Was Shaina okay?” Since she was not at the finish, she was.

I cannot tell you how relieved I was.

Shaina had more adventures. When the marathon officials stop the race, they just stop it. They don’t have a real Plan B for the non-emergency people. The runners have no place to go.

The runners have no money. If they have phones, the phones are likely out of charge. The T (subway and buses) was not running—remember, the city was now in lockdown. These people have just run most of a marathon. They are tired, hungry, sweaty, thirsty, and they have no way to get home.

Shaina wandered around the city and finally managed to get to her friends back at Coolidge Corner, about 3 miles from the finish, who then gave her a ride home. She found some great people, who helped her charge her phone, who walked with her, who helped her find her friends. It took her another three hours to get home.

She was lucky. And I was relieved.

As for the survivors, I am sad for their losses. I cannot imagine what they are going through, and will go through. I have an idea, but each of us copes with our losses in our own way. They have excellent medical care right now, and given the extent of their injuries, they will need medical care for a while. They have a long recovery ahead of them. My heart goes out to them.

What Can We Do?

One of the questions we all ask ourselves at a time like this is, “What can I do?”

Don’t ignore this. If you work around Boston, or if you know someone who was involved in the marathon, do not ignore what happened. Make sure you acknowledge the people who may have been involved: the runners, the bystanders, the people who jumped in to help with medical training, with water, with electricity, anyone at all. Appreciate them. Say something such as, “We’re so glad you ran/helped/whatever. We’re so glad you’re back at work.” Or, “Our hearts are heavy for your suffering. How can we help?” Be human about it.

If you know someone who was hurt and you don’t know what to say, you can say that, too. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say. How can I help? What can I do?”

Please don’t say, “At least, …” When you start a sentence with “At least,” you discount the person’s experience with a pep talk. You want to be a part of the person’s support system, right? Say so.

With any luck, the survivor will start to say, “At least, …” . That is great. When I started to say that, it was part of my emotional resilience. But I had to say it.

You can always say, “I’d like to support you in any way you need. What can I do?”

Donate, Maybe?

Sometimes, donating to the victims is something that helps us all.

There is OneFundBoston.org. The Red Cross is always looking for blood donors.

My friend and colleague, Jothy Rosenberg, has created the Who Says I Can’t Foundation. So many of the injured people have permanent disabilities and will need prosthetics. Jothy’s foundation helps people rebuild their self esteem though high-challenge activities, whatever those activities are, for each person.

Building a support system for the Boston survivors, the people who were hurt, the people who ran, the people who were victims of terrorism is great. Remember to increase your emotional resilience by taking care of yourself, first physically and then by living your best life. Whether you use Siebert’s or Gonzales’ guidelines (see the book page), remember what the airlines say: put on your own mask first, and then help the person next to you.

Posted in adaptable | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments
Reply
Apr 14

Roll Over, Johanna

Posted on April 14, 2013 by johanna

One of the strange side effects of my hemorrhage was my inability to turn onto my left side while lying down without using my arms. I could roll over to the right, like any three-month old baby or a normal adult. However, I could not roll over to the left without propping myself up on my arms. Why? I have no idea. It was just one of my random symptoms.

A few nights ago, I rolled over for the first time, without propping myself up to do so. That meant I didn’t wake myself up when I rolled over.

So, what changed?

I received steroid injections in my right ear to attempt to stabilize my right ear in February. My brain is not adapting to the damage from the hemorrhage. Okay, a hemorrhage is rare. But, normal people’s brains adapt to loss of vestibular function. Not mine. We always knew I was a unique individual.

We can’t tell if my ear is still changing—a distinct possibility because my vertigo changes minute by minute, day by day—or if the problem is that my brain is not adapting, or both.

If I had a stable ear, my vertigo would not be a problem. We would have options for treatment. But, because we don’t know what the problem is, we have fewer treatment options.

I saw my otoneurologist this past week, and told him my dizziness was better after the steroid injections. He explained that the steroids changed how my ear manages the fluid exchange. It’s quite interesting. I can get the steroid injections again, if/when I become more dizzy.

In the meantime, I get to practice rolling over. I am not going to practice Sit, Stay, or Fetch. I am not a dog. I am a person. Just in case any of you, my friends, out there get any good ideas. I’m onto you!

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6
Mar 14

I Can Hear You Now

Posted on March 14, 2013 by johanna

I’m deaf in my right ear. It’s aggravating, because I speak at conferences, and I have lunches and dinners at round tables. Can I hear the person on my right? No. Irritating! I have to explain, “I’m deaf on that side. Please nudge me if you want to talk to me.”

And, then what happens? Inevitably, the people on my left leave. Only the people on my right hang around. So I cup my ear to talk to them. Even when I cup my ear, I don’t hear them all that well. Irritating and socially awkward.

Why This Hearing Aid?

I can’t wear a normal hearing aid, because I have inner ear damage. Normal hearing aids amplify the middle ear. Well, my middle ear is great. It’s my inner ear that’s broken. We don’t know for sure, but I suspect that my right cochlear is blown, along with the hair cells. My auditory nerve is definitely shot. At least one of my nerves out of my cochlear is blown, because I have tinnitus.

I have a Phonak ZoomLink+ hearing aid, but even on the correct setting, it amplifies all sound. It works best when I am many feet away from the microphone, not when I am close. I only wear it when I take a dance class or with my trainer at the gym. Maybe they have improved the firmware, but it’s not user-upgradeable (bad design). (Do you folks think I’m too stupid to be able to upgrade the firmware? People who wear this hearing aid have to be smart enough to select which microphone to use. We can upgrade the firmware. #headpalm)

So, when the SoundBite came along, I looked into it. (Yes, I am a candidate for the Baha, but as a frequent head MRI visitor, I do not want a metal implant in my head. No, not even titanium. Yes, I know titanium is not magnetic. But still. It’s my head in the magnetron. I don’t want metal in it. I just don’t.)

The Demand Is High

Everyone else and their brothers and sisters are looking into the SoundBite, too. The number of dispensing ENTs and audiologists are small. The demand is high.

So, I had an appointment back in mid-December to see the ENT and the audiologist. I had to be examined to make sure I needed the SoundBite. Why? To make sure I was deaf in one ear.

Oh, Mark and I laughed about that one. Could they take either of my two previous hearing tests? No, they needed to perform new ones. Were they serious? Yes.

I have learned now that ENTs and audiologists are serious people. Once you get to know them, they bend and chuckle, but they are serious people.

I made an appointment at Boston Medical Center and drove in and left my car with the valet parking people. Sweet guys. I had lunch at the cafeteria. I was early for my appointment, as requested. Then the fun started.

You’re Late!

Although I had eaten, I was still quite dizzy. I will tell you the story of my October-February dizziness later. The line to check into the doctor’s office was long. I was standing in line, trying to maintain my balance. Ten minutes later, after my appointment was supposed to have started, an office manager type realized Something Was Wrong. Much discussion ensued behind the desk. I thought about sitting down, but realized no one would know I was there. I remained standing.

Luckily, the door to the offices opened, and a woman stuck her head out. “You,” she imperiously said pointing to me, “Come with me.” Mental fist pump! I am thrilled. Of course, I’ve been standing still for so long that as I turn I stumble and start to fall into the person behind me. Oops. Luckily that person is healthy! He helps me right myself and I get going again.

I follow her down the hall into her office, and the first thing she says to me is, “You’re late.” By her clock, I am. But, by mine, I’m not. I’ve been there, waiting to check in. My mouth opens by itself, and out pops, “No, I’m not. I’ve been here for 15 minutes waiting to check in. You’re late checking me in. I was early. Now, let’s get to the good part. What cards would you like, insurance, copay, what?”

We do paperwork. I sign many pieces of paper. I compliment her on the beautiful pictures of her children and show her my children. Yes, I’m in there about 20 minutes. I have no idea if I will see her again, but she is not having a good day if she needs to tell me I am late. I am not having a good day if I’m falling on people in the office. I might need her again. I need to build rapport.

I leave her office, and we are friendly. Phew!

I Make the Doctor’s Day

I then go to the audiologist for my hearing test. It is the same hearing test I have had before. Fine. I go to see the ENT. He wants a history. I explain my history. His eyes light up. I’ve got him on the hook.

“You had an inner ear hemorrhage? That’s very rare.”

“Yes, I know. I am a unique individual.” It’s all I can do to say this and not be Dogbert about it.

“Would you let me see your MRIs?”

“Of course.” He’s not part of my regular circle of doctors. We talk about the mechanics of making this happen. He actually whistles, walking down the hall. I have made his day! Now, maybe I can see the audiologist who will give me the SoundBite?

It’s SoundBite Time

I have been at the office for over an hour. I can finally see the audiologist I came to see. She agrees that I am a candidate for the SoundBite. I give her a deposit of many dollars and she tells me I now need to see a special dentist who will make a mold of the back of my mouth, near my back molars, so I can have a prosthetic made that is mine, and mine alone. Well, good. I don’t want anyone else’s.

It’s taken me two hours at the office. I’m bushed. I retrieve the car, drive home, and take a nap.

 Time to See the Dentist

It turns out that the dentist is “specially trained” to make an impression of my mouth. I can’t see my dentist. I have to go to the BU Dental School. Well, there is no valet parking there. I park several blocks away and walk back to the school. There is no handicapped access to the school. I walk up the steps. I am exhausted.

I see the lovely receptionist, with whom I have spoken several times on the phone. I have checked in by phone, so I have only a few questions left to answer. I answer them. No, all the questions I answered for 20 minutes at my previous checkin at the ENT were not valid. This is another doctor. I have to answer them again. Okay.

This dentist comes in, I answer more questions, and he takes a mold of my mouth. It feels just like when the dentist took a mold for my mouth guard. Yes, I am one of those teeth grinders, so I have a mouth guard at night. I wish it was because I played in the NFL with Tom Brady, but I am not Wes Welker. Oh well. In a future life—definitely not in this one!

I walk back to my car. This is mid-January. I manage to get back to the car and drive home. I take a nap because I am so exhausted from walking 2.5 blocks there and back. Granted it had snowed and I was walking through slush. But a total of 5 blocks? I am kind of disgusted.

Time to Get the SoundBite

In early March, I hear from my customer representative. She is lovely. She wants to know if I’m happy. “I’ll be happier when I get my SoundBite.” I explain about the lack of valet parking and the steps at the dental school. She will check on it.

She explains that all the prostheses are hand made. Of course they are; that’s why they go to the manufacturing site in California. My audiologist is in Massachusetts and there are others throughout the US, maybe even elsewhere. Demand is high. I don’t think they’ve caught onto lean project management or lean manufacturing. I did explain I was a consultant and I could help :-)

I must have been on good behavior. I received a phone call a week later saying my device was in. Joy! I went in to be fitted.

I did the whole thing with driving in and valet parking. I checked in, no waiting! When I saw the audiologist, my customer rep was right there, so I had a chance to meet her, too.  We put the SoundBite in, and I could hear her whisper in my ear, but I could not hear what she said. That was already an improvement.

SoundBite-product-charger-boxThen we went to the lab, where we briefly tested my hearing so she could turn up the gain at different sound levels. I love knowing just enough physics to understand what is going on. When we left the lab, I had the same hearing in both ears. Incredible!

But, I was producing feedback on the walk back to her office. So she turned down the gain. Boo. I still had pretty good hearing in my right ear. Enough to hear whispers in my right ear. Not bad!

She gave me instructions and I left. To see all the images of the SoundBite, go here. I don’t know if people can see it in my mouth when I smile. I don’t care. I really don’t care if they see the little wire in my ear. I think my hair hides it.

What’s the Verdict, JR?

The real test of the SoundBite is how I use it. I’ve been using it for my dance classes and at the gym, where I really like. I like it much better than the Phonak. It’s very comfortable and my dance instructor or trainer does not have to wear anything around his/her neck. The sound is real, and the signal/noise ratio is quite good.

I can drink anything with the SoundBite. I find it difficult to eat with the SoundBite. My mouth is too small :-) I know, this is difficult for you to believe. But what comes out of my mouth is from my brain. Nothing small about my ideas. My jaw must be small. Chewing on my left is what is difficult. I can chew on my right.

But I got the SoundBite so I could hear at conferences, because I spend a large portion of my life sitting at round tables, right? Last week, I was at AgileIndy, and I used it there. Aside from the eating problem, it worked like a champ.

I used it all day in my tutorial. I’m not good enough to locate sound with it yet. Since there is a slight lag from the sound with my right side, eventually, I might be able to locate sound. Right now, I have no idea where sound comes from. All sounds come from left. All of them. But I might be able to discern that someday.

Everyone’s speech sounded normal, which is great. Up until now, I’ve used a combination of reading lips and cupping my left ear to hear people. You might be surprised at how many people hide their mouths when speaking. Quite irritating. I didn’t have to do that at all on Thursday. It was great! I think I had to ask a couple of people to repeat things I didn’t understand, not things I didn’t hear. Big difference.

I used it at dinner, which was good, and at the panel. I noticed I was getting tired earlier than I expected. I chalked it up to travel. I noticed my tinnitus was louder. I chalked that up to randomness. But the SoundBite worked great.

On Friday, I used it all day, too. It didn’t matter where I sat in any session. I could talk to people on my right or my left, and I could hear them! This is a new feeling. For the past three-plus years, I’ve been sitting on the aisle so that no one can sit on my right. Now, it doesn’t matter.

Lunch was difficult because the room was so very loud. I suspect that any hearing aid is not going to help in a very loud room. I removed it for my keynote, because I didn’t want to run the risk of feedback and it makes my speech just a little off. The prosthetic is a little large, and it does change my speech.

She Likes It!

I like it. I can wear it all day, which I could not do with the Phonak. I can’t quite eat with it. At least, not yet. I can confer with it. I can teach with it. I understand when I have to change out the in-the-mouth device.

When I wear the device, especially in loud environments, it increases my tinnitus. Okay, I can live with that. As a consequence, I think it increases my dizziness. Well, that’s a tradeoff I will have to make. Do I want to hear the people I am with and stay stable, and not participate? Or, do I want to manage my dizziness and participate more? Participate, please. I have ways of managing my dizziness.

I’m going to be dizzy no matter what I do. I would like to participate more fully. Being partially deaf is socially awkward. No one can see it. And, people put their hands over their mouths and keep talking. Or, they turn away and keep talking. They have no idea you can’t hear. No idea at all. Being able to hear again out of my right side is huge.

If you too, have single-sided deafness, and you want a non-surgical solution, consider the SoundBite. It’s not the same as your own hearing. Nothing is. But it’s a good solution.

 

 

Posted in choices | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments
1
Mar 06

Hats Off to TSA and Fellow Travelers, Not to Congress

Posted on March 6, 2013 by johanna

I’m traveling to Indianapolis today for AgileIndyConf. It’s a quick flight from Boston. As usual, the hardest part is getting through security.

The security lines today were easily three times as long as usual. Since I fly a couple of times a month, I know something about the lines. I don’t fly as much as other people, but I fly a lot.

When I got past the checkpoint, I could see the problem. Instead of the usual 5 body-scanning machines, only two were open. Why? I have no idea. I can only assume the sequester cuts have kicked in.

The body-scanning machines require more people to administer than the x-ray machines. Now, I don’t really care that someone can tell that I’ve had a knee replacement, or they can tell whether I’ve been doing my abdominal exercises or not. But I do find it quite offensive that if Homeland Security mandates that we need these machines to fight the War on Terror, that Congress is not willing to fund them.

With long lines, I get dizzy. TSA opened another line, but they did not open another body-scanning machine. As I attempted to step into it, I heard a “Ma’am?” “Yes?,” I answered. “What are you doing?” “Using the body scanner. I have a knee replacement.” “It’s not open.” “Uh oh.”

By now, the helpful TSA woman had pushed through my computer. “Are these all your belongings?” “Except for my computer, which is already through.”

The wonderful TSA woman escorted me to another line, where we walked to the front, I stood in the body scanner, walked out, and then walked back to my stuff. She then brought both of my bins to me on a bench where I could repack my stuff in my briefcase and put on my shoes.

Then, a fellow traveler volunteered to bring the empty bins back to the empty bin holder. I am always astonished and gratified by the wonderfulness and helpfulness of my fellow travelers. They provide me so much support.

Is this nonsense part of the sequester? Or is it part of Boston Logan craziness? I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s crazy. There was no need for travelers at 1pm on a Wednesday to have lines that took an hour to clear. No need.

TSA, you have a thankless job. You do it under amazing pressure and with grace. Thank you. And, my fellow travelers, I am the dizzy broad who says, “Dizzy broad, coming through.” Thank you for your help, today and all the other days.

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1
Mar 04

Feeling Vulnerable vs. Feeling Shame

Posted on March 4, 2013 by johanna

When I have a vertigo attack, I feel vulnerable. But I don’t feel shame. For me, there is a big difference.

I feel vulnerable because I can’t find my balance, and with my vertigo attacks, I need to find a receptacle, and fast, because I vomit. See Inside a Vertigo Attack. I feel disoriented, shaky, and exhausted after an attack.

The only good news about having so many attacks is that I know what to expect from them now. (This is good news?)

When I sought a second opinion last year from another neurologist, and asked, “What do I do when I have a vertigo attack and need to vomit?” He said, “You vomit. You can’t help yourself. It’s not as if you have control over this.” I felt relief!

I knew I wasn’t in control when I had a vertigo attack. He confirmed it.

How can I feel shame if I have no control? I don’t. But that’s me. I’m not you. You get to feel whatever you want.

When I can’t spell or speak because of the aphasia, I feel overwhelming sadness. When I can’t walk, I sometimes feel overwhelming rage, because I have no control over my body. But shame? No. Vulnerability? Oh, yes.

For me, the two, shame and vulnerability are separate.

I have had a chance to discuss this, with you, my gentle readers, for a couple of years on this blog. Your comments, both public and private, have helped me articulate the difference in what I feel. And, I didn’t start the blog until long after my first vertigo attack.

If you have a condition of some sort, or even an acute illness that changes what you can do for now, you might want to try keeping a journal. This would be sublimation ala Gonzales.  I also joined PatientsLikeMe, although I am a unique individual :-)

You might also read Brene Brown’s books or watch her TED talk:

Yes, I have to write my reviews of these books. The reviews are on my writing backlog.

My message for today: You get to feel whatever you feel. You own your feelings. If they are not working for you, you get to change them. Your reactions to events are the one thing you can change. It ain’t easy. Assess your feelings: Do you feel vulnerable? Shame? Both?

gordian knotDon’t be surprised if your feelings are a gordian knot, especially if you are the beginning of some journey, physical or emotional.

Remember Siebert’s five approaches that work:

  • Sublimation
  • Altruism
  • Suppression
  • Anticipation
  • Humor

You don’t have to stress about this. Find a way to work, and let your feelings work themselves out. Write about not them—a little every day—and see what happens. When I journal, I don’t just write about my vertigo, I write about making muffins, too. That’s a form of suppression.

When your body isn’t working so well, with any luck your brain still is. I have to drink a lot of water to keep my brain working. Experiment to determine how to keep yours working. You, too, will find your way from shame, to “mere” vulnerability, and find some control in your life. Good luck. Maybe you will comment and tell us how.

Posted in discuss the undiscussable | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment
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Feb 27

We Control Our Lives, Not Our Deaths

Posted on February 27, 2013 by johanna

My brother-in-law’s father died recently. He was clear about how he wanted his death: cremation and no shiva, the traditional Jewish mourning for the dead.

Death rituals are not for the dead. They are for the living. When we eulogize someone, we remember them for the ages. We pass on their memories so other people can learn from them. We remember their choices so we can learn from their lives.

I find funerals difficult. In addition to the shoe and chocolate genes, I have the crying gene. I cry at weddings, Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, and most definitely at funerals. If it’s a lifecycle event, I cry. But that doesn’t mean I don’t go. If I can manage it, I go.

I also find shiva calls difficult. I’m always concerned: will I say the wrong thing? Will I say something stupid—something I feel is much more likely? But they are an obligation, and an action that provides comfort to the living. Just because I find them uncomfortable does not mean I get to stop attending them.

I’m much better at condolence notes. I write them in email and in longhand. I still cry when I write them, but I get them written and then wonder why I put them off for so long. I hate writing them, but I write them.

All these rituals around death are for the living, not the dead person. The dead person is dead, right? The dead person can’t read my note, can’t tell if I’m at the funeral or at the the shiva call. So, why do people want to control their funerals and death rituals, aside from making sure there is sufficient money available for whatever?

You can’t control how other people remember you. You can’t control how other people grieve. You can control your legacy by living your best life.

When this craziness happened to me, I decided I wanted people to think of me as someone who laughed, who had a sense of humor. So, I laugh a lot.

I decided I wanted people (and myself) to think of me as someone with a keen sense of what is happening in organizations. So I keep writing and consulting and working and publishing.

I decided I wanted people (and myself) to think of me as someone who is adaptable. So I have been thinking about multiple ways to create adaptability in my life, in my clients’ project and programs, in everything.

I have had more opportunities in the past three years than I could have imagined. And, that is because I have created these opportunities, with help from colleagues.

Trying to control our deaths and the circumstances around them is nuts. Better that we should live our lives to the fullest. Let people grieve the way they want to, the way they need to.

As for my death, I hope it’s not for a very long time. I’ve told Mark to give away the pieces of my body to whomever will take them. I’ve said I do want the autopsy to discover what went on in my head. He will learn the mystery of my inner ear. He can then have a traditional funeral and shiva.

I hope they tell good stories, like the time I turned left on red. That’s good for a laugh. Yes, I meant to, but I got confused. I thought I was turning right on red. Or, how I made four quiche for four people for a dinner party once. Okay, that might have been too much food. Maybe. I wanted to make sure we had enough!

You can’t control how other people grieve. When we mark someone’s passing, it helps us grieve. It brings us together as a community.

We don’t need to control anything beyond our own lives. Forget trying to control anything else. It’s how we live our own lives that’s important. Let’s practice creating our own adaptable lives.

 

Posted in life | Tagged , | 6 Comments
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Feb 15

Book Review: Surviving Survival by Laurence Gonzales

Posted on February 15, 2013 by johanna

I read a book on vacation, Lawrence Gonzales’s, Surviving Survival: The Art and Science of Resilience. He has a very different take on resilience than Siebert does. His chapter 14 is entitled “The Science of Adaptation: There’s No Revenge Like Success.” How can you not like a chapter like that??

Things happen to each of us. The best ways to deal with them are:

  • Sublimation
  • Altruism
  • Suppression
  • Anticipation
  • Humor

Some of the worst ways to deal with them are, Projection (blaming someone else), Passive aggression, Dissociation (being in denial), Acting out, Fantasy, Hypochondriasis. For those of you who are familiar with congruence, you’ll notice that these are all incongruent stances. Not surprising at all.

If you look at the categories of this blog, you will not find the worst ways. You will find the best ways. Okay, now that I’m done breaking my arm patting myself on my back, let’s get down to business. Although I do love Gonzales’ writing, and I will give this book a 5-star review, he still missed the boat in one crucial area. He focused too much on the actual event being survived, and not the daily existence post-event.

I’m not surprised. The drama is all in the event. Gonzales is great at writing the drama. There is little drama post-event. All the drama is in the small wins, in our survivor emotions. But it’s in our small wins, in our adaptations, in our ability to see reality, in our daily triumphs over our rage that our survival starts, takes hold and thrives. That would have been impossible to write. How could I ask him to? Yet, that’s what I wanted.

Let me tell you the story of our vacation. First, we woke up early, 4am or so in Boston, to fly to Denver. Changing planes is an event. I need a cart to bring me to the next gate. Can I get a cart? No. I have to wait for 20 minutes, and almost miss the next flight. I send Mark and Daughter#2 ahead. They can walk fast enough to get there. I am not capable of walking the half- to three-quarters mile walk in the airport. It’s not my legs—they are plenty strong. My vision, my oscillopsia, my dizziness is too much for me. I’m exhausted after 20 yards.

Take a moving sidewalk, you say? Good idea. I tried. The sidewalks jerk at the beginning and ends. The moving sidewalks irritate my oscillopsia even more. I can’t take them. I need the cart, but it won’t come.

I finally got to the next gate, and got on the plane 3 minutes before the gate closed. The small plane bumped along. I needed a wheelchair once we disembarked, I was so dizzy.

We drove to Vail. Stopped for lunch along the way. Waited for our room to be ready in a cold hotel lobby. Most people would be fine. A little tired, but okay. Me? I could barely walk. Between the cold, the bumps, my tiredness, it was all too much. My knee was fine. It was my oscillopsia. I could barely see where I was going, my vision was bouncing so badly.

When my vision bounces like that, I get angry. I am frustrated. When I’m at home, I sit down and read. But when I have to walk down a hallway and I can’t see where I’m going? I’m literally bouncing off the walls. Mark is walking ahead of us. I’m holding onto Daughter #2′s arm because I can’t tell where the floor is. When my vision bounces, I have no idea where down is.

I’m so angry and frustrated I could cry. That’s the story of survival I want to hear. What do other people do then? Do other people keep their sense of humor? I don’t. My rage is overwhelming.

This is an example of a post-event story. My vertigo attack? That’s the event. It’s dramatic enough. Learning how I discovered about my hemorrhage and the tumor, that’s dramatic. But, how I deal with my daily life—that’s the post-event story. That’s surviving survival.

There were a few of those post-event stories. Not too many. I’m not surprised. How many people would share their worst selves with Gonzales?

The stories in the book are wonderful, inspiring. For me, one of the best parts is Chapter 15, The Rules of Life. Gonzales has 12 rules to live by. They are not exactly the categories of this blog, but they are darn close :-)

  1. Want it, need it, have it. In my words, do something you love.
  2. Be here now. Stay in the present. Don’t plan too far in the future.
  3. Be patient. What I say is: slow down to go faster.
  4. Be tough. Build your mental, physical, and emotional toughness
  5. Get the small picture. For me, this is taking one small step and getting feedback.
  6. Put things in their place. For me, this is not letting the threat of a vertigo attack control me.
  7. Work, Work, Work. I don’t work all the time. And, I love what I do. If you looked at my writing output last year, you’ll notice it increased. That was by design.
  8. See One, Do One, Teach One. I’m experimenting with how I teach about this. By starting this blog, I’m learning how to teach about adapting to a new life. My pecha kucha is one way.
  9. Touch Someone. Hey, I’ve got you folks!! And I am very grateful for that.
  10. Be Grateful. I am. Believe me, I am.
  11. Walk the Walk. When you act is if you are better, you can talk yourself into it.
  12. Life is Deep; Shallow Up. Keep your sense of humor. I am certainly trying!

I recommend this book, if for nothing else than these rules. I loved the stories. Gonzales is a great writer. You don’t have to have something or be suffering with something to be inspired by the book. I’ll have to figure out how to write a smaller review on Amazon, won’t I?

Posted in emotional resilience | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment
6
Jan 23

Which Kind of Stubborn Are You Today?

Posted on January 23, 2013 by johanna

During one of my workouts with Bill, my trainer, I was having trouble with something. I said, “Let’s do it again. I’m too stubborn to give up.” I was talking about doing leg lifts or some such. He said, “You’re the good kind of stubborn, the kind of person who grows from your stubbornness, not the kind who shrinks.”

He perfectly captured the growth mindset in Carol Dweck’s Mindset. Dweck says

… passion for stretching yourself and sticking to it, even (or especially) when it’s not going well, is the hallmark of the growth mindset.

We’re not always like this. At least, I’m not. There are times when it’s not worth persevering. Last May, before my knee replacement, I took a dance class, and the pain was so great, I decided to stop dancing a month before my surgery. I’d like to think that was intelligent, to stop inflicting any more damage onto my poor knee.

Chaos Traffic Sign IsolatedThe real question is when do you stick with it, and when do you change?

I meet a lot of project teams professionally who don’t know the answer to that question. They stick with their current approach for too long, without asking for help. If they are in an agile transition, they “make do” without training, without a coach, without books, and then wonder why agile doesn’t work for them.

I meet a lot of people in their job search who don’t know the answer to that question, either. They don’t get feedback on their resume, don’t seek out the networking support groups, don’t consider recruiters or alternative networking approaches.

I meet hiring managers who “can’t find anyone.” When I ask them about how they source candidates, or their interview questions, or even their auditions, nothing is contemporary, and nothing is congruent with their organization. The fact that they have anyone working there at all is astonishing.

When do you stick with what’s not working and when do you change? When does your stubbornness work for you and when doesn’t it?

That is the big question. For me, it’s when I see more possibilities, not fewer. When I can overcome more problem constraints, being stubborn is good. When I can see more success by being stubborn now, that’s good. When I have a transforming idea, and I need to practice the change, my stubbornness is good.

When I see fewer possibilities, my stubbornness is at the least, questionable. If I continue doing what I’ve been doing, why do I expect anything to change? Remember Change is Inevitable? The only time change is not inevitable is if we are stuck in Old Status Quo and do not allow ourselves to change. If you are in a position where you see fewer and fewer possibilities, consider if you are stuck in Old Status Quo. Then ask yourself if you would like to be there. If so, fine. If not, change your stubborn.

You don’t have to exhibit the growth mindset for everything in your life. If not, think about the places you do want the growth mindset and grow those areas. If nothing else, ask yourself: Which kind of stubborn are you today?

Posted in change | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments
3
Jan 08

Adventures in Cooking Hazelnut Muffins

Posted on January 8, 2013 by johanna

Several weeks ago, I decided that I wanted to cook hazelnut muffins from Low Carb-ing Among Friends. Well, it took me until the weekend before Christmas to buy hazelnut meal from our local Whole Foods supermarket. Our normal grocery store doesn’t carry almond meal or hazelnut meal.

I finally had all the “special” ingredients. I put hazelnuts on the list for Mark to buy on his trip to the grocery store. He bought them.hazelnuts

My reaction when I saw them? “Those are the largest hazelnuts I have ever seen.” I did not understand how I was going to chop them to get them into the muffins. No sirree, I did not see how that was going to happen. But Mark volunteered, so I was all set.

Then, I realized they had a hard outer shell. (Some of you are realizing the punch line. Hang in there.) I say, “We need a really strong knife.” I still don’t understand.

Mark takes out the little grinder we use for nuts and coffee. We pulse those suckers until they are practically hazelnut meal. And then, we realize what has happened. The nuts have shells! We have to take the shells off first!

We laugh. I have to sit down, I am laughing so hard. I say, “We need a nutcracker.”

Mark says, “No, we don’t. I have a better idea.”

mallet.hazelnutsHe decides to use a mallet to bang the shell off the hazelnuts. It’s actually a great idea. It’s much easier than using a nutcracker. It’s fast and easy.

In this picture, you can see how nicely the shells separate from the hazelnuts.

hazelnutmuffins.onplateAnd, you can see how the muffins look here. Low-carb muffins don’t look like normal baked goods, which is just fine with me. To me, they taste great.

This whole adventure was funny and showed our adaptability in several dimensions:

  • Using a tool for the job that got the job done, rather than “correct” tool
  • Pairing works in the kitchen, as well as at work. I didn’t have to do it all myself
  • Having a sense of humor about the inevitable setbacks is helpful

I like cooking new things. It’s harder for me to cook these days, because cooking involves a lot of head turning which triggers my oscillopsia. So, I pick my cooking days and experiences. What’s the worst thing that can happen? As long as I stay safe, I’m okay.

So that’s my message for today: Manage the risks you can, and laugh at the ones that don’t kill you.

Posted in adaptable | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments