Tag: Chronic Pain

The Last Resort

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Chronic pain is a funny thing…and by that, I mean a pain in the ass. Now that is funny because my ass doesn’t hurt at all. It’s a pain in my neck, my low back, my left arm and hand, my hips, knees, and feet. That’s all. It’s on my mind today because I woke up at 4 this morning. I woke up because I was in so much pain. I tried going back to sleep until 5:22 and then thought, “Fuck it” and I got up. I feel like I’ve lived a whole day already and it’s 9:53. Might be a long day.

Pain is on my mind because Friday I’m going to a new orthopedic surgeon to discuss my elbow. That is never my favorite conversation. When I fell and broke my arm, into several pieces, and dislocated my elbow two years ago, the surgeon told me that it was “reasonable” to try one more time to put a new implant in and see if it would stay in place. After that he said he would recommend removing the replacement elbow and putting nothing in its place…an arm with no hinge. He told me, if that occurred, I would still have partial use of my hand. And he said his patients that have had their artificial joint removed, without replacement, are happy with the outcome because they have no more pain.

Sit with that for a minute. No more pain…go from daily pain, that ranges from frustrating to intolerable, to none. None. Nada. Zippo. It’s hard for me to even imagine. It has been a long time since my elbow didn’t hurt. I should mention the reason for a new doctor is not because of a problem with the old one…and he isn’t old at all. My insurance changed, and he is no longer in network. That is very sad. I thought about changing my insurance back but the costs of everything would be so much higher, I can’t do it.

I got a recommendation for an “excellent” orthopedic surgeon from a physical therapist I trust. PT’s know all the best doctors…nurses do too. So, I made and appointment and waited three months to see him. Let me back up and say that my elbow has been hurting for the past year and a half. I know the replacement is loose. How do I know it’s loose you wonder. Because this has happened three other times. And those three times I have had revision surgery. The humeral component, in my upper arm, was removed and replaced…hence the term revision…in case you’re wondering…you’re probably not. I should also mention that I can’t always straighten my arm anymore because it gets stuck. When that happens, I push my arm and force it straight. It feels like trying to shift gears on your bike…but the chain is clanking around trying to connect…and the peddles don’t work until it does. My arm grinds and pops when I push it straight. Not my favorite feeling.

So, for a year and a half my old doctor has repeatedly asked me what I wanted to do about my elbow. I have always told him “Nothing.” I haven’t felt like the pain was bad enough for a surgical intervention…and that is the only intervention left. That is until now. Because now I can’t stand the pain anymore. I feel like it’s taking a toll on my body and my mental health…because I feel hopeless. Like I’ll be stuck with this pain, grinding, and popping forever. That’s depressing.

Okay, so now, back to my story…I went to see the new doctor. He said my X-rays looked “good” and my arm looked “good.” My arm is hugely swollen and it looks deformed. If that’s your idea of “looking good” then there’s a problem…we have a problem. Aside from when I broke my arm and dislocated my elbow, my X-rays have always looked fine. The loosening had never been seen until I had a CT scan. I don’t know why that is…different imaging or better imaging, I guess. I just know it’s true.

I told the doctor what my previous orthopedic surgeon said, and he looked at me like I was a lunatic. I felt as though he thought I was casually discussing having my elbow taken out…like I’d talk about what to have for dinner…as if it’s no big deal. It’s a fucking huge deal. I can’t begin to describe how big of a deal. If he had asked me, I would have told him it’s taken a year and a half to even consider this possibility. And I would have said that I’d been practicing doing everything one handed to get an idea of what it would be like. He actually said, “You know you won’t be able to use your arm because you won’t have a joint. Your arm will just hang there.” WTF!? Are you fucking kidding me? Thanks for mansplaining that to me because, dopey me, I didn’t know an elbow was important. That’s what I wanted to say but I refrained. He didn’t ask me anything. He spent all of five minutes with me before he referred me to a different doctor. He said if I needed my joint removed that would be the guy to do it. Obviously, I was a problem he didn’t want to deal with, so he sent me away.

He didn’t ask about the history of my elbow or the eleven earlier surgeries, including the three revisions and the infection that took six months and three surgeries, including several months with no joint, to treat. He asked nothing. I felt invisible and pushed aside. Disregarded. Like I was a problem he didn’t have time for…or any interest in solving. I was depressed, and it took me three weeks to even be willing to make an appointment with the next doctor.

This decision is not because of one failed elbow replacement…every replacement has failed. This is the fourth failure…fourth and final. I cannot keep doing this. This is a huge decision and it’s a painful decision…one I’ve considered for a long time. This was not an easy decision, and certainly not one I’ve taken lightly. It’s scary. I feel afraid. But I cannot live with the constant pain or continue to have my joint locking…or dislocating. My arm isn’t functioning now even with the joint.

So, is it better for me to be in constant pain, needing ever increasing amounts of pain medication. And I need stronger medication because what I have doesn’t work anymore. Is it better for me to lack sleep because of pain. Or to dread each new day because it’s intolerable. Because that’s what chronic pain does…it causes dread. Dread and fear and anxiety. It wears you down day by day…little by little.

Chronic pain is a challenge because other people don’t necessarily see it. I get up each day, take care of the dog, I cook meals, run errands…all the “normal” things. Someone observing me would not see my pain. It’s not like I walk around moaning and crying. I’m not big on complaining…it doesn’t help anything. But because you can’t see my pain you might not know it’s there. That’s a difficult thing about chronic pain…it is frequently invisible. Just because you don’t see my pain does not mean it isn’t there or that it isn’t significant.

I am a strong person. I know that. I’ve been through a lot of shit…and I keep going. In my family, I was praised for being strong. Praised for not complaining and for my ability to handle anything. I wanted the praise, and I wanted to be strong. And I am.

Now I’m learning it is not a sign of weakness that I need something done to help me. I’m not failing because the pain is too much to bear. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve dealt with it for over 7 years…that’s a long fucking time. Maybe my strength now is the realization that I need help. Maybe it’s finally having the ability to ask for help. To seek help. I wonder if at some point it goes from strength to stupidity to just pretend everything is fine when the pain is unbearable. Maybe that’s just denial…or fear…or both.

Chronic pain is a reality for millions of people in this country…including people you know. Chronic pain isn’t just physical pain. It’s also emotional pain. The fear. The depression. Feeling disregarded or disrespected. Dismissed…tossed aside for someone else to deal with. Told, without words, to be quiet and stop being a problem. Be an obedient and quiet little girl. Don’t make waves. Listen to the doctor…he says nothing is wrong…and his opinion is the only one that matters.

Now I doubt this doctor intended all of that…at least I hope not. He could have been having a bad day. I have no idea. But I am not just an elbow. The elbow in question comes with a person…me. And I need help. Seeing a doctor when you’re in a lot of pain, or there’s a problem…or both, is a very vulnerable position to be in. I was there because I needed you to help me.

I came to you sad and scared and I took the risk of sharing that with you. I came to you vulnerable. Don’t send me away. Don’t get me out of your office as fast as you can. Don’t mock me by imitating what my arm will be like without a joint…flailing it around, as you speak to me like I’m crazy. Understand that my pain must be fucking awful if I’m willing to consider such a drastic last resort.

When I come to you and tell you who I am, listen to me. And when I share my pain, believe me. I’m taking a risk to tell you…don’t make we regret it. Because then my pain will go back underground and remain buried until I’m willing to take another risk, if I ever am. Don’t teach me it’s not safe to trust.

In the end what matters is how we love people. Love the people in your life who are in pain. Believe them. Listen to them. Divine is the task to ease pain. Let’s ease each other’s pain…that is divine.

Here’s Your Answer…Finally

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I have been trying to build my online presence. How’s it going you wonder? Not great. Why you ask…because it turns out I don’t spend much time on social media. I don’t like social media much, especially lately. My idea of social media is looking at pictures of my grandkids, clips of the WNBA, bulldogs, pandas, and little kids who drop the f bomb on Instagram. Because seriously, who can resist pandas? They are hysterical. Nothing phases them. They hang from trees, balance awkwardly on branches, play in the snow and when they fall, they roll up into a ball like it was all part of their plan. And yet it’s clear…they don’t have plan. If you are ever sad, search pandas on instagram. They’re the best.

So, I have a lot of work to do. I need to develop my engagement skills which is funny because I’m good at building relationships…just not online. For example, a month or two ago I posted that I lost 85 pounds, and I included a couple different pictures of my progress. Someone asked me how I did it. What did I say you ask? Nothing. I didn’t respond. I meant to but I never did. Fuck. I am clearly a work in progress…sloooow progress.

So here is my long overdue response…along with my apologies. The short answer is I adopted a whole food plant-based diet…mostly. I love cheese. Anyway, that’s where I am now but it’s not where I started. In case you’re wondering, I started as the junk food queen of Florida.

When I decided I needed to do something to lose weight, besides hoping, it was after I saw a picture of myself. I didn’t realize how much weight I had gained or what I looked like. You know how you can know you’ve gained weight, but you think it’s not that big of a deal? At a checkup, my doctor asked me what WE were going to do about the weight gain. I wanted to say, “WE think YOU should lose the weight for us.” I was really upset by the photo and decided I needed to do something, so I joined Noom. I picked Noom because there were daily reading assignments, and I love to read and learn new things, so it seemed like a good fit.

All of this took place during Covid…the time when everyone in the world gained weight. There was nothing to do except eat and drink. I needed both vices to survive supervising online school for my grandkids. Even with all that, I did lose weight on NOOM. 40 pounds. And then I started gaining it back slowly. I was sticking with the calorie guidelines, mostly, but I was not making healthy food choices. Snacking, big heavy meals, sweets, and wine. Comfort food. Comfort candy. Comfort wine. Right?! I have a wicked sweet tooth, and I was eating a lot of sugar and enjoying too much wine. Never wanting to take responsibility too soon, I blamed Covid for all of that. Who didn’t eat and drink more? I was afraid and I was stressed. I was worried that everyone I loved was going to die. I spent a lot of energy just trying to cope…everyone did.

Now I am not saying anything about the general population losing or gaining weight and I am not telling anyone what they should do. Humans come in all shapes and sizes and that is a beautiful thing. I am only speaking for me. I’m sharing my experience because I think other people have found themselves in a similar place and felt like I did. I reached a point where I was unhappy with my weight and how I looked. I looked different than I thought I did, and I was frightened by what I saw…in the picture and on the scale.

So, pandemic or not, I knew I needed to make changes in my life. First, I joined Noom. Second, I quit drinking. The drinking was hard because it had become a nightly habit and the people around me were drinking. But I did it. I decided I wouldn’t drink any calories, except for the creamer in my morning tea. I love my tea. I quit for 9 months, then I drank some, and then I quit again. Currently, I only drink on occasion. It’s too easy for me to gain weight when I drink. And alcohol isn’t the only drink with calories. I quit drinking coke and juice.

After we moved to Florida, I struggled to lose more weight and found myself gaining instead. Turns out my mom loved junk food…loved it! Cheetos and candy. And she loved me to join her in those treats…and I did…for a while anyway. There was one other time in my life when I lost a significant amount of weight. It was after I had my 3 kids and was going through a divorce. In my memory, it was easy to lose the weight…95 pounds. So, I kept wondering why it was so hard to lose weight now. It definitely was not easy…not even close.

I remember reading about Shonda Rimes, the creator of Grey’s Anatomy, losing weight. She said that she had worked hard for everything she achieved in her life so why would losing weight be any different. That made sense. Now working hard implies discipline and discipline makes me cringe. When I hear that word I think of punishment. Discipline was harsh, painful, and meant negative consequences…a spanking or grounding when I was a kid. Discipline was to be avoided.

Although I had never thought about it, I’ve done a bunch of things in my life that took great discipline. I have multiple degrees that required a lot of school…classes, papers, tests. I held jobs for years. I showed up to work on time, got my work done, and did more than just work 9 to 5 when it was necessary. I lost 95 pounds…I wonder if regaining weight required discipline…ya, I know…it didn’t.

So, from my Cheeto and candy induced coma, I made some decisions. Noom was no longer helping me, or I wasn’t allowing it to, so I ended my membership. Next, I read a book called, Plant Based Weight Loss, by Shawn A. Sales and I decided to eat a primarily plant-based, whole food diet. I also committed to not eating a plant-based pile of crap. There is plenty of plant-based junk food out there and I’ve eaten a lot of it. Gluten free, plant-based pop-tarts. Oh yes, they have them and I have eaten them…fortunately, they aren’t good. I used to joke that I was a horrible vegetarian because I didn’t eat vegetables. I decided to change that too. I gave up coke, chips, candy, cake, donuts…you get the idea. I have a crazy sweet tooth, and I found the best way to control it was to not activate it. So, I gave up sugary treats. This was no small feat since the lived with the queen of sweets and Cheetos. Having Celiac disease was helpful here because I couldn’t eat the Krispy Kreme donuts, pie, coffee cakes, and other gluten filled treats in the house. That did not take discipline, just the fear of puking my guts out.

Another book I read was, How Not to Die, by Michael Gregor, MD and Gene Stone…catchy title huh? I’m not sure the people I have gifted it to appreciated it. This doctor talks about how you can reverse or slow down most diseases with a plant-based, whole food diet. There are people in my family with diabetes and according to Dr. Gregor you can reverse it. I know someone with Parkinson’s and their symptoms could be improved and the progress of the disease slowed with a change of diet.

A huge factor motivating me to change my diet was chronic pain. I have multiple health issues that cause me chronic pain…degenerative disc disease, degenerative joint disease, a connective tissue disorder, and fibromyalgia. I have joint replacements in both knees and my elbow. Most of my spine is fused and I have a screw and staples in my foot. I have pain daily and I’m tired of it…I’m tired from it. I decided I was ready to do anything I could to reduce my pain. Plant-based, whole foods are supposed to decrease inflammation, and I wanted to see if it would help me. I felt desperate. I have been dealing with serious chronic pain every day for many years. I was willing to try almost anything.

So, I got discipline. I set goals, changed some habits, and learned I do in fact have self-control. Of course, I had those things previously, but I wasn’t accessing them to help myself. I started losing weight again. It was easy. It was easy if I stuck to my plan. By eating plant-based whole foods I was losing weight. I wasn’t counting calories or policing how much I ate, and I was not exercising…yet. I wasn’t hungry because I was eating as much as I wanted to, of plant-based whole foods. If I was hungry, I ate. And weight started coming off naturally…in a sense, easily.

I’m sure the changes shocked the hell out of my system. I shocked myself. I started to like vegetables and salad. I already loved fruit. Now I’ve lost 85 pounds. It could be more, but I’ve had some bumps in the road. Like my birthday when I decided I wanted gluten free cupcakes and that sent me on a sugar spiral. I recently had some teeth extracted and for soft foods I picked pudding, ice cream, and mashed potatoes. I know there are other choices, but I didn’t make them. Between that and my recent trip to New York. I gained 10 pounds…which I have lost again. I frustrated myself with the yo yo-ing…my discipline is evolving.

Apparently, you do have to practice discipline and maintain awareness of what you’re doing and the choices you’re making in order to lose weight and to develope new habits to reach a goal, even if it’s difficult. I am training myself to crave healthy food because I’m committed to caring for my body. This body of mine has been through so much and yet it keeps going, keeps working even when it’s in pain. The least I can do is respect it enough to care for it.

I don’t have the answer for weight loss. I have my own experience to share and an understanding that when I eat the best foods for my body, I naturally lose weight. Is it easy to eat a plant-based, whole food diet…you wonder. Not always. There are so many food choices available that are not either of those things. So, I have discipline. I care for myself by following the diet that I believe is in my best interest. It’s a way of eating that I can keep long term…because it’s good for me.

So, I share my path here for anyone who may find themselves in my shoes. I share to give hope to anyone who felt like I did…stuck and hopeless. I learned to take a step…just a small step…to control what I can. I control what I feed myself. So, I changed that. I needed to care for myself and that was my first step. I made the change out of love for myself, not because I was rejecting or hating myself or my body. I still believe that in the end all that matters is how we love people…and that begins by loving ourselves. I can’t love you until I love me first.

kairaines.com

kairaines11

kraines1111@gmail.com

Not So Stupid After All

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment


So, I have been reading What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo. It’s a wonderful book so I’m reading it for the second time. She was horribly abused as a child, physically and emotionally. The physical abuse was quite significant. I worked with abused children for 20 years. Her story is horrible and compelling. Her ability to describe the process she went through to heal is so honest and real. It’s brilliant…hence the second time reading it. I highly recommend it.


Families are funny, as in strange, for many reasons but for now I’m thinking about how each child in a family is raised by a different parent than the others. I don’t remember who came up with the idea…definitely a family systems person…possibly Bowlby. Family systems theory basically says that a family functions as a system, and everyone has their unique role in keeping the system functioning. That’s a simplistic one sentence summary but it gives you the general idea. Within the system if someone changes or does something different it can throw the whole family off kilter. Kind of like throwing a stick into the spokes of a bike someone is riding…there’s gonna be a crash…. Speaking of bikes and crashes, when I was 9ish I was riding a tandem bike with my friend…who shall be nameless because I don’t remember her name. She was in the front steering, and I was right behind her. With the inherent wisdom of 9-year-olds, we decided that she should steer with her eyes shut and I would direct her, all while riding down a hill that, at the time, seemed huge…we lived in Wisconsin, so it was definitely not huge. Anyway, we started down the hill, and I yelled, “Go left! Go left!” And she went right, way right…into a mailbox. Huge crash, blood everywhere…not exactly. My friend ran off crying and I scraped my knee. And I’m pretty sure it was her mailbox…and it was made of bricks and cement. Only did that once.


Now I’m back from my wandering…All of that was to say that families shift and change, so each child’s experience of their parents is different…as if they were different people all together. That seems to be true for my sister and me. She’s 17 months older than I am, even though she convinced my children that she was younger than me. It took years for me to convince them that she was kidding…I probably had to show them my birth certificate. Little fuckers. ❤️


My sister and I have some very different memories from when we were kids. Our perceptions were different as well. I remember things that my sister doesn’t, and she remembers tons of stuff that I don’t. I seem to remember more painful memories. I was emotionally abused as a child. I believe sister was too, although her perception is different. I was told that I was dumb and stupid. That when they passed out brains, I thought they said trains and I missed mine. When it came to brains I got the short end of the stick. That I didn’t know anything about whatever we were discussing…especially if it was something I majored in or involved my career. My sister was told those things as well. “I don’t know how we had such stupid children.” While my parents lived with us my mom frequently called me a dummy. I am very sensitive about being called dumb or stupid or being told, as I regularly was “that’s the problem you’re thinking again.”


The insults to my intelligence and my ability to think were the most hurtful to me. I am someone who thinks a lot. In fact, I overthink a lot. But I make sense of the world by thinking. My thinking leads to my writing. I think about patterns in my life, I read books and think about the information in connection to my experiences. Sometimes I just sit and think…kind of like Winnie the Pooh sitting there tapping his head and repeating, “think, think, think.” If something is heavy on my mind…I sit and sort and think. So, the implication that I don’t think or I’m too stupid or dumb to understand something really hurts me at my core…in my heart. It damages my understanding of myself and the world…or it used to.


Sometimes I think I have so many degrees because I was trying to convince myself that I wasn’t stupid. When I was getting my master’s in counseling, I wrote a paper on…I have no idea. Too long ago. What I do remember is the professor writing on my paper that I had the second highest grade in the class and that it was a “brilliant” analysis. No one had ever used the word brilliant in connection to me. I cried. That was the first time that I realized I wasn’t stupid. The tears were full of anger and relief…anger at the messages I’d been given growing up and relief that they were wrong. And sadness that I spent so many years believing everything my parents said. They were the adults and so I thought they were right.


I have mentioned before that I have done a good amount of therapy. At one point in my psychological journey, I did EMDR…eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. I called it the light bar…sounds like a bar that serves only lite beer…and I was there drinking with my therapist. Anyway, in EMDR you focus on one memory that is particularly painful and emotionally charged for you…it’s juicy, as Pema Chodron would say. It’s a trigger. I picked being told I was stupid. Back then that was fireworks for me. So, I got the memory in my head and tapped into my feelings, all the while tracking the lights on the light bar moving rapidly back and forth across the bar. When it was over, I had an epiphany. I told the therapist that when my parents told me I was stupid, I wasn’t stupid, I just disagreed with them. I had a different perspective and to them that was being stupid. EMDR took a lot of the fire out of the word stupid…not all of it but it was a huge difference. I thought EMDR was magic.


I also think there was physical abuse in my house. I never had marks or bruises. Although when I was little, I never looked to see. I had some bruises, fingerprints on my arm, once when I was a teenager…from my dad. I think that hitting children is abusive. My sister and I were hit with a belt and a brush…that’s abusive. Even though spanking may have been standard practice in the 60’s, that doesn’t make it less abusive.


I spanked my oldest daughter but not my other two kids. I feel bad because I had to learn parenting with her. At the time, the far-right church I went to encouraged spanking your children. And the church was my teacher. They told us not to use our hands to spank but to use an object…like a wooden spoon. Which I did. Once. That’s all it took to realize they were wrong. We tell children to calm down and stop crying while we hit them…that makes no sense.


The thing about spanking children is that we do it when we’re angry. We ask our child to do something or stop doing something and they don’t. We probably ask more than once and then exasperated we spank them. We teach them that it’s okay to hit people smaller and less powerful than them. We hit the most vulnerable people in our world. We teach kids that when you’re angry and don’t know what to do you can hit someone…and then blame them for it.
We’re teaching our children that physical violence is a legitimate way to solve problems…and it’s not. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” and all that other bullshit. We confuse fear with respect. We think if our children are afraid of us then they respect us. But fear doesn’t breed respect, it breeds resistance, defiance, shutting down. It leads to avoidance. I avoid people I am afraid of. There may be people I fear that I respect but I do not respect them because of that fear. I respect them in spite of it.


One day we were talking about corporal punishment with my parents…not sure what started that mistake of a conversation. My dad told my wife that he made my sister and I go and get the brush to hit us with to humiliate us. My wife was gobsmacked for sure. I was too. Who intentionally tries to humiliate anyone, let alone a child? My mom was angry we were having the conversation and said, “I’m sorry. I guess you had a horrible childhood.” But that wasn’t my point. My point was that hitting children is not a good disciplinary tactic. It doesn’t teach any of the positive things we might want it to. It teaches fear and division. It teaches lying and deception…if I don’t get caught, I don’t get hit. It’s hypocritical to tell children they aren’t allowed to hit and then we turn around and hit them. That’s crazy making shit.


So maybe I’m not stupid but why did it take so long, and so much school, to come to that realization? And why did I need a teacher to praise me to recognize that? Why couldn’t I see it within myself? Hard questions. Maybe we form the internal vessel in our children that holds their thoughts and beliefs about themselves. Children think their parents know everything…at least until they’re teenagers…so when a parent throws around words like stupid, dumb, lazy, or tells them that they are too much or too little, their children believe them. Children incorporate that information as a fact in their lives. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me…that’s some unhelpful bullshit.


Our words hurt and wound and damage other people. The good news is that our words can also heal. If you tell your children how much you love them, that you’re proud of them that means something to them. That is validation that helps them form their image and beliefs about themselves. Instead of tearing them down, build them up with praise…praise for the wonderful qualities they bring to this world. We don’t tell our children often enough that they are kind, compassionate, intelligent, capable, honest, loyal, hardworking, determined, loving, understanding…the list could really go on and on. There is no shortage of words available to describe our children and to encourage them to grow and believe in themselves. And really, I still want to hear those things. I want to feel that I am loved. Everyone wants to be loved. I still tell my adult children how much I love them, that I’m proud of them, and how lucky I am to be their mom. No one is too old for praise and encouragement. No one is too old to love or be loved.


Let’s focus on love. Let’s lead with love. We get plenty of negative messages about ourselves from the world. Now maybe there are people thinking that we can’t just be all about love with our children because the world is a hard place, so we need to do our part to toughen them up. No we don’t. Life will happen and they will grow stronger…they don’t need the negativity or bullying to come from us. That does so much damage. Let’s make sure our homes are places where we encourage and challenge our children to become the best version of themselves. And with respect, kindness, compassion, understanding, and tons of love that person will emerge. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. Let’s love our children and each other fiercely.

Elbow Shemelbow

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Now this blog has a huge WTF!? factor…just so you know. I went to fetch my wife…sound southern, don’t I? I fetched her from yonder Colorado. (Of course, people in Florida don’t have southern accents.) Anyway, I drove out to Colorado for two weeks to visit my kids and grandkids and to bring my wife home. When we left Colorado, we drove to Texas to see my wife’s family. Fortunately, we did not get hit by a tornado, but it was close.

The evening we arrived, I noticed my arm was red. Specifically my left, elbow replacement arm, was red around my elbow. I didn’t think too much of it until the redness spread on Sunday. That’s when I showed my wife and became terrified that I might have an infection in my elbow. Apparently, I was told, you can get an infection in a joint replacement up to a year after the surgery. From reading I’ve done it can be many years after surgery. That’s scary.

So, on Memorial Day I called to talk to the on-call doctor back in Florida. He prescribed me some antibiotics and said I needed to be seen when I got home, and I needed to call if anything got worse. Cellulitis is what he called it. It’s a bacterial infection that is usually caused by a cut or some other opening in your skin…well, I don’t have any cuts, so I thought it didn’t sound so bad. Then I started reading about it in connection to joint replacements. Thank you very much google. According to the Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, and John’s Hopkins this type of infection almost always requires surgery to get the infection out and remove the infected joint. WTF!?

Now I’ve had a lot of surgeries in my life…approximately 45 on various joints. 13 on my elbow. I’m not so afraid of surgery. I’m afraid of what it would mean if I did need surgery. If my elbow replacement needs to be removed, besides the months of IV antibiotics, I won’t have an arm anymore. Nothing will replace the replacement. I’ll have an arm with no elbow so my arm will just be decorative…because it won’t work. I’ll wear a brace and have minimal use of my hand.

When I had the surgery for my broken arm and dislocated elbow replacement last November, I was told that if this replacement failed, as others have, the only option left would be to remove it and not replace it anymore. At that time, I appreciated knowing that if that happened, at least I wouldn’t be in pain anymore. That sounded good. Until now. Now it sounds horrible. If this infection is in my joint, I’m going to lose my arm. Its not going to be amputated but it will only be for show…a useless appendage hanging from my shoulder. I feel overwhelmed and terrified. It’s one thing to hear about a possible thing that might happen in the far away future and being punched in the stomach by an inevitability staring you in the face.

Maybe it’s not inevitable. The redness is mostly gone…it’s still swollen, hot, and stiff. I see the doctor Friday. So, WTF!? I don’t know what the fuck. My work this week is sitting with not knowing…and not freaking out. I’m not inappropriately freaked out…only about a 5. That seems reasonable…given the circumstances. I did stop googling. My mind is very distracted this week on its own…I don’t need to encourage it by being sucked down the google black hole.

I need extra awareness this week. Awareness of my interactions with myself and with others. Awareness of my anxiety. Awareness of my capacity and willingness to love. Awareness of kindness I can offer to myself and others. I didn’t do anything to make this happen so being angry at myself seems unhelpful. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…and that includes me.

Did I Mention My Parents Are Dead?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I realized today that both of my parents are dead. Dead?! WTF!? I know now why my kids never want to talk about my death, someday far away (I hope)…parents don’t fucking die! My kids assure me that they’ll take care of me and braid my hair. I ask them how long I will have been in a vegetative state for them to be able to braid my hair? My hair is maybe an inch long. It’s hard for them to imagine a world without me in it…it’s hard for me to imagine too.

I picked up my mother’s ashes today and suddenly all of this is very real…in a new way. When she died, I was in Colorado visiting my kids and grandkids and our new great grandson. So maybe things didn’t seem so real. My parents were never in Colorado, well not since 2009, so it was easy to think they were fine in Florida…maybe not my dad because he’s been gone a while but definitely my mom. As we were driving home it started to feel very real. I could feel her absence as I got closer to Florida. It’s weird to feel the absence of something, instead of the presence.

My mom had been asking to go to Bob Evans for breakfast and I never had the chance to take her…she got way too weak too fast. We ate there many times with my parents and had a lot of fun drinking mimosas and telling stories about our lives. I learned a lot about my parents there. The food is not my favorite, although if you like grease and fat pull up a chair. It wasn’t our favorite restaurant, but both of my parents really loved it.

Today Bob Evans wasn’t fun. It was sad. Sad because the reality of them being gone smacked me right in the head…I gotta start wearing a helmet. I can’t go visit my mom anymore and there are no more phone calls. We also picked up her belongings from her assisted living facility…the apartment, as she referred to it. One day recently, she asked me if I thought we needed that big of apartment. It made me smile. I didn’t really want to pick up her things, but it had to be done. My wife went with me and that helped. My sister and brother-in-law are coming this week too…I’m really glad.

I remember a cousin of mine telling me not to visit my mom everyday in the nursing home because then I would be lost when she was gone. She gave this advice after losing her father. I did not visit her every day, but it turns out you can still feel lost. I think I may actually feel like an orphan. Shit.

My parents and I had a challenging relationship…mostly my mom and me. Although my dad would always defend her. We had periods of years where we didn’t communicate at all or where my mom wouldn’t communicate with me. I’d try but after so many unanswered calls I’d give up…I guess that’s not great. I felt so rejected and every call made it worse. I guess I was protecting myself…I don’t know if that was a good thing to do or not, but I can only take so much. But seriously, I did not expect them to die. Parents don’t die. Not this soon anyway…maybe not at all. I’m okay with the fact that my parents were both ready to die. I’m just not okay with them being dead. If you’re confused, welcome to my world.

Given everything that went on with my mom and dealing with her anger, I thought I might feel relieved when she died. I’m looking at those words I just wrote and cringing a bit. You are not supposed to feel relieved when someone dies, especially your mother…that’ll send ya straight to hell. My physical therapist told me one day that I was a good person for taking care of my parents. What “good person” thinks they’ll feel relieved when their mother dies?

I thought I’d feel relieved that I didn’t need to be afraid of her anymore. I wouldn’t be wondering what her mood was going to be when I saw her. Turns out I don’t feel relieved…so my soul might be saved. I feel like I’m missing something. Like I went out without a jacket and am stuck outside in the snow. Like you know something isn’t right, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

And here’s a strange thing…when we picked up her things no one said anything at all. No “We’re sorry for your loss” or “We loved your mom” or “We miss her.” Nothing. No comments at all from any staff. I guess they go through this all the time. Maybe it’s old hat for them but not for me. I wanted to yell, “You know my mother is dead right?!” Say something…say some fucking thing. Don’t act like it’s just a normal Tuesday. It’s not normal. Nothing is normal. My mom died. She’s dead. She’s gone.

Let’s be real…my mom died and nothing is okay. I need to learn how to navigate a world that she’s not in, neither is my dad. Am I still a daughter if my parents are gone? Who am I if I’m not busy being their daughter? Who am I when I’m just me on my own…not me in reaction to them? Who am I if I define myself without their input or opinion? Maybe we really don’t grow up until our parents are gone. Maybe that’s when we can be free enough to allow who we really are to shine…when we can come out of the shadows. I told my wife that I spent a lot of time trying to be invisible growing up. If you’re invisible, then you can’t be in trouble or wrong or bad. 

Now I need to become comfortable with visibility. I don’t need to hide in the shadows. Now I really don’t need my parent’s approval…even if I do, it ain’t happening. I loved my mom and dad. I believe they knew that…that they were loved. They had grandchildren and great grandchildren that adored them…and my sister was always there for them. My parents are gone but love continues to win. My mom wanted to be with my dad, and now she is. Maybe that’s the power of love, to take you where you want to be. 

Love is a powerful force. It’s a force that needs attention and direction. Let’s love consciously, with intention. Love is not something to do half-assed…because in the end, all that matters is how we love each other…so do it with your whole self. Love must continue to win. Always.

Multiple Diseases of the Elderly

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

The cremation place called me this morning…maybe it’s a cremation facility…I’m not sure. Anyway, they called early this morning to let me know that they have my mom and they’re taking care of her. That seems strange because she’s dead so how much are they really taking care of her? I understand that they were telling me that her body is being handled respectfully. I do appreciate that. They also wanted to ask me if I wanted the cause of death on all the death certificates or just some, what about half and half? Of course, I ordered 7 so there you go. We’re getting 4 of one and 3 of the other. I’m not sure which way so it’ll be a surprise. 

Since I had them on the phone…and a side note here, these cremation people are really lovely. They speak softly and calmly…slowly. They are as relaxed as possible, I’m sure because they are dealing with some unstable people…like me. So, since I was talking to them, I asked what my mom’s cause of death was, because no one told me, and I didn’t think to ask. She said, “Multiple diseases of the elderly.” Multiple diseases of the elderly…what the fuck does that mean? I thought they’d say natural causes because being almost 92 is a natural cause of death. Multiple diseases of the elderly make it sound like no one really knows…she was old…elderly…so check the box that covers the most options. Like a big “I’m elderly” blanket. 

I do not agree with their cause of death. My mom did have heart failure and A-Fib. She had a damaged valve in her heart because of rheumatic fever as a child. She had Parkinson’s disease that was progressing. She had a harder time moving her legs to walk and she became so unstable that she had to use a wheelchair. Her hands were shaking worse, and eating was more difficult. She had a hard time keeping food on a spoon or a fork. I know that really frustrated her. I can only imagine. I don’t think any of those multiple diseases were the cause of her death. 

Multiple diseases of the elderly were not the cause of my mother’s death. Not eating, not drinking, and sleeping were her causes of death. Maybe loneliness because she really missed my dad. Maybe that was the heart failure…failing from sadness. The real cause of death was that she wanted to die. So, the official cause of death was a “strong will.”

Now I feel confident in saying that “strong will” is not a choice on a death certificate. That’s too bad because I think it’s one of the most common causes of death for the elderly…strong will. I think that was the same cause of death for my dad. He was ready. She was ready. My mom told me that she wanted to die, and then she’d add, “Not because of you.” I did appreciate the clarification. 

My mom felt like she had lost control over her life and that all her decisions were made for her. That really made her angry. I told her that there were 3 things she controlled: what she ate, what she drank, and whether she took medicine. She controlled those things, and no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want to. Then I talked to the staff to make sure I wasn’t lying. It was difficult for the nurses and aides who really cared for her to let her go. They wanted to convince her to eat, just a little, or take a sip of water…but they stopped. They honored her wishes, and in that way honored her. 

I do believe my mom willed herself to die. She definitely had a strong enough will to make it happen. She shut everything down and died. Strong will is not a disease but is certainly a cause of death. What are the multiple diseases of the elderly? At first, I was thinking of the obvious…heart failure, cancer, kidney, heart, lung, or liver disease, an aneurism, dementia, a stroke, and the list could certainly go on and on. My Aunt died of COPD, my dads’ parents died young of heart problems, my mom’s mom lived until 96…96 and ½. She’s got the record for sure. Her great grandchildren called her the “energizer bunny” and said that she kept going and going. 

But what are really the multiple diseases of the elderly? A “disease” is defined as an “illness or sickness characterized by specific signs or symptoms.” Seems obvious. But what about the “dis-eases” of the elderly? “Dis” is a Latin prefix meaning, “apart, asunder, or away.” The slang “dis” means “to treat with disrespect or contempt.” “Ease” is the “absence of difficulty or effort, making something less severe, or moving carefully.” Another definition is “to free something that pains, disquiets, or burdens.” 

So…apart, away, disrespect, absence of effort, less severe, free what pains or burdens us….Hmmm. Perhaps the real dis-ease for the elderly in our society is being put away or apart, not being respected as a useful member of society or a family. Maybe it’s that we want to be free from the extra burden of caring for someone in their last years. I guess it’s not that surprising since we do glorify youth in the United States. No one wants gray hair or wrinkles, so people have cosmetic changes made to themselves in hopes of looking forever young. We treat aging as a curse, instead of a natural part of life. I’ve told my wife that I like the lines on her face because I see them as laugh lines, and how could lines from happiness be a bad thing? 

When we moved to Florida with my parents, I had a plan. The plan was that my parents would live with us until their deaths. That way they’d never need a nursing home because we would take care of them for the rest of their lives. Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men…and women. For whatever reason, my mom became adamant that she wanted to be in a nursing home. She wanted to be away from me and away from my dad. She’d tell me that I didn’t want her there and neither did my dad, although that was untrue. 

We both tried to make her happy, but we couldn’t. When her aggressive behavior was too much for me to handle and keep my dad safe, I agreed to find her a nursing home. Getting her into a nursing home was a giant cluster fuck, as I have written about in other blog posts. Once she was in the nursing home she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be at home with my dad and I either…I don’t know exactly what she wanted. I think that maybe she didn’t know either. That was sad.

I know that the elderly are frequently overlooked in our country. Unlike other cultures, we don’t look to our elders for their wisdom and insights about life. We don’t ask about what life has been like for them. We don’t ask about the things they’ve learned or the experiences they’ve had. My dad could tell you about every place he ate when he was traveling. When we were driving from St. Louis to Florida it was a narration of all the places he drove and where he ate the best something. I told my wife I want to start looking for places to eat when we’re driving cross country…usually I just want to grab something and get right back in the car…but I could change, and it might be fun.

I think the multiple dis-eases of the elderly are loss, sadness, lack of control, and nothing to look forward to. The dis-ease is in watching everyone you love die. You may want to live a long life but along with that comes the loss of many people in your life. My mom said all the time that all of her friends were dead. Then she lost my dad. It’s hard to go from independence to complete dependence. My mom would tell people that I made her sell her car and that she could still drive fine. What she didn’t say was that one whole side of the car was scratched because she hit the side of the garage regularly pulling in. And she was completely blind in one eye. So, she could drive but it was dangerous for her, anyone on the road, and the garage. I understand selling the car represented a huge loss of independence for her.

It’s difficult to move somewhere knowing that you won’t move again. My wife and I talk about Florida as our last move, and we hope to stay where we are. But I’m 63 not 91. I know there’s still life ahead of me and many things I want to do. In a nursing home people only leave when they die. She felt like she was waiting to die. I would try and focus on everything she still had, a big family with grandchildren and great grandchildren, and the fact that she was very loved. I think my mom was sad and felt like I put her away, even though she’s the one who put herself away. It was hard to see her sad and angry.

We have a rapidly growing population of people over 65 in this country…I’m not, but that’s what I hear. We don’t have good answers about caring for an aging population. If you have the money, you can find a beautiful resort style place for independent or assisted living, with increasing levels of care as you need it. If you are not independently wealthy, it’s not as easy. The multiple diseases of the elderly are sadness, isolation, loneliness, loss. Those are the dis-ease’s of the elderly. Those are the causes of death in our elderly. 

I don’t know how to solve the problem except with awareness. We tried to give my mom and dad a full and happy life in Florida, some days were more successful than others. I’m not sure I was always as aware or attentive to my mom’s emotional needs as I could have been. I do know I was doing my best. The only way to discover what needs to be done is to lead with love. If I am leading with love, then I am seeing issues and people through a lens of love. When we love people what are we willing to do for them? If we love our neighbor as ourselves then what actions are we willing to take? Could we befriend a lonely neighbor or just say “hi” to someone? My mom used to love to sit on the patio and watch people walk their dogs. She was thrilled when someone stopped and talked to her. That’s all it took. Less than 5 minutes. Certainly, we all have 5 minutes to give. 

Let’s be real…Everyone wants to matter…to be seen…to be cared about. None of that changes just because you’re 70, 80, or 91. We never reach a place of not needing. We thrive in connection with others…in relationships. We are interdependent beings. We all need love, and we all have a tremendous capacity to love. Sometimes we hoard our love or reserve it for special people in our lives. But love is one of those things that the more you give it away, the more you have to give. 

So, let’s lead with love. If we use love as our guiding force, we will find the people and places that need our love the most. Let’s find them and let’s give all the love we can. We can meet people’s needs to matter and be seen by taking our focus off of ourselves and turning it towards others. We can find ways to be loving all day every day. Let’s do that. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Let’s love freely and generously. Our actions can ensure that love wins. Love must always win. 

Floating and Falling

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

The Grammy Awards were last Sunday. I love Billie Eilish and that night she won “Song of the Year” for, “What Was I Made For?” If you haven’t heard it, you should change that…now. It’s an amazing song…in my opinion. She wrote it for the movie “Barbie” which I have not seen yet. Anyway, the beginning of the song says, “I used to float, now I just fall down. I used to know, but I’m not sure now….” As I’ve gotten older there are so many more things, I’m not sure of. Everything was so clear when I was in my 20’s…so simple…so black and white…so rigid.

When I was younger, I was an athlete. I played basketball, softball, and I swam…all competitively. I was coordinated. I could stumble and catch myself easily before I’d ever fall. I could run forward and backward…I thank basketball for that. When I went to college, the basketball coach was interested in me for the team. It was a very small school but still that was a dream come true. I ended up having knee surgery instead of trying out for the team (thank you field hockey…I should have never trusted a sport that makes you wear a skirt) and that was a big loss for me. Being an athlete was a huge part of my identity then. I think it was my identify. Everything in my life was connected to sports, all my friends played, and we spent our time together on and off the court. I had a basketball with me all the time and got really good at spinning it on my finger…I could even switch fingers and hands (my grandkids used to think that was very cool when they were little).

I wrote about my accidental fall, surgery, and ongoing recovery a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t really planning on writing anymore about it because it was done. Right? Then I was walking my dog and I tripped on my crutch and that whole accident came crashing down on me. I was back on the beach as if it was happening again right then. I saw myself fall. I heard and felt the crunch and snap of my arm breaking. My heart started racing and I felt the warmth of tears welling up in my eyes. I felt overwhelming fear and sadness, even though I was fine in that moment. I did not fall. I did not even come close to falling. I just tripped. I was so afraid.

I used to float…I’m not sure I ever floated but I didn’t fall. I wasn’t clumsy. I was coordinated. Now I just fall down, randomly and for no reason or that’s how it feels to me. And worst of all, I don’t know how to stop it. Missteps that I could have easily corrected in the past, knock me to the ground now. And I am afraid. Afraid to live in my body. Afraid to feel in my body. Afraid to fall in my body. How can I mentally feel like I’m 40 and physically move like I’m 90? That’s fucked up. I feel like everyone treats me like I’m fragile and about to break. But I’m not…okay I did break but I’ve been put back together with metal and cadaver bones. Just missing duct tape.

“I don’t know how to feel but I wanna try.” Feelings are hard for me. As a child, I was encouraged not to have them. Feelings are messy. No one wanted to know how I felt. How do I know this? No one ever asked. No one cared how I felt. If I was angry, I got in trouble, even though anger seemed like the go to emotion for my parents. And if I was sad or cried, I was teased or taunted. I felt humiliated. I decided emotions were way too much trouble for me.

Let me be real… I don’t know how to feel because I’m having difficulty being in my body right now. I was learning to be present in my body and feel my feelings and then I fell…my catastrophic fall. I feel fragile and I am not a fragile person…so that pisses me off…which I’m sure is helpful. I am not fragile. I’m fucking Superwoman. I deal with, manage, and take care of tons of shit every day. I am not fragile. Fragile feels bad to me, weak. I am not weak. I can’t be weak.

I don’t know how to feel…that’s true two ways. The “I don’t know” as in I don’t recognize the feeling, and/or the “I don’t know” as in I can’t decide, too many choices. I’m with number 2. I can identify feelings, I’m better at it with other people’s feelings but I can get to mine…it may take a minute. I have a master’s degree in counseling…I know lots of feelings…a grade 18th’s worth. But it’s not so much that I don’t know how to feel as I don’t how I can manage all these feelings. I have a fucking tsunami of feelings.

You see, it turns out I have all the feelings. So many feelings. I have spent years learning to feel my feelings…years. And convincing myself to stay present in my body, even when my body hurts. To stay with the physical pain and any feelings that arise from it. I feel afraid of all the feelings inside me. Afraid of being devoured by them. I’m afraid and sad. I feel diminished by falling. I became a fragile and weak person in other people’s eyes, and they question my capabilities…and their doubts eat away at me…and so do mine.

Now let’s be real…I might have some PTSD, just a tiny bit. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of being me and living in this body. I feel fragile and vulnerable in a predatory way…like my body is out to get me. I don’t know how to be in my body right now, it feels complicated. I’m afraid of my body, as if it’s separate from me, and can damage me on its own. I feel breakable in a new way since I fell. And it’s not so helpful that my mom tells me I need to stop falling because I’ll end up in “bad shape,” basically dead is what she means. If it was as simple as deciding not to fall, then it would never happen again. It’s not that simple. I’m careful and I fell. I’m careful and I’m afraid. 

It feels strange to say that I am scared of myself. Makes me feel a little bit like I have multiple personalities and I’m afraid of one of them…the one making me fall. I don’t know exactly what to do. I can pretend that there was no impact on me from the fall but the the slightest misstep or stumble and my insides collapse. Physically being put back together didn’t fix my fears. My bones have healed but not my heart.

 Let’s be real…I can’t outrun my feelings. I actually can’t outrun anyone, except maybe my English Bulldog. And neither of us believe in running. What’s the worst thing that can happen if I stay with my feelings? Allow myself to sit with my fear and sadness? I suppose I’ll feel way more than I want to but what else? What’s the worse thing that can happen if I feel…feel it all? And what’s the best thing that could happen if I allow myself to feel that whole tsunami of feelings? They are messy and I am messy, but would I learn to believe? Believe in myself. Believe in my ability to handle anything that comes up for me. Believe I can feel a tsunami and survive. Believe I am bigger and stronger and smarter than my fear. Believe in myself and my potential just like I promised myself I would. Perhaps practice what I preached just a month ago…there’s a whole lot of believing that’s ready to go on here…and all I have to do is stay, relax, and feel. So simple and so scary. Until you do it…until I do it.

Post traumatic stress disorder is a big topic so next week I’ll talk more about PTSD and the fear and sadness that can accompany it. In the meantime, I’m gonna practice what I preach and I’m going to love. I’m going to love myself and the people around me. I’m going to practice a loving attitude toward the world. Love will keep me a glass half full kind of person. It’s all in my perspective…so I’m keeping mine focused on love, because in the end all that matters is how we love people…including ourselves.

2024

~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

Another new year…a time to say goodbye to 2023 and welcome the all new 2024. The usual suggestion for the new year is a resolution. Resolution, “a firm decision to do or not to do something, being determined or resolute.” I’m not a big fan of resolutions, primarily because I don’t keep them. Sometimes I make them anyway. This year I resolved to eat a more plant-based diet and move closer to being vegan. I mention this because I just ate cheese pizza for lunch…so there’s that. Resolutions feel forced and kind of artificial to me. I have done resolutions before because I felt pressured to. And no, pressure does not help me stay resolved. Sometimes resolutions feel like they’re more for show because we’re expected to have a grand plan for the new year and the changes we want to make to our lives.

I am not good with resolutions. I am very good with intentions. An intention is an “aim or a plan.” I have a plan for 2024. I have big plans this year. I intend to fulfill all my plans. I have a purpose in my plans…I have a purpose. Each year we decide who we will be, who we will become, how we will live and move and interact in this world. Each year, each moment, we choose to grow into more or retreat into less. That’s the choice that I face. That’s the choice we all face…be more or be less.

It seems like that’s a simple enough choice, right? Who would choose to be less? Not me. I want to grow into more. I want to grow but I understand the inclination to retreat into safety…the safety of what already is, the safety of not rocking the boat. Leave things the way they are, maybe they aren’t great but they’re comfortable. We like to be comfortable. We think that even though our lives may not be all we want them to be, it’s what we’re used to and it’s what we know. Overcoming our desire for comfort and sameness can be a huge obstacle to growth.

I understand the desire to feel safe and protected. I frequently build my home in the land of safety and protection. The crazy thing is that sense of safety is an illusion. No one can be safe or protected all of the time. The unplanned happens. The undesired comes walking into our living room or crashing through our front door. Our sense of safety gets crushed. All kinds of shit happens that we have no control over. The reality is that we have very little control over anything…and even less control over anyone. That can be overwhelming. Life can be overwhelming. It’s tempting to think that if I retreat and pull myself back into my own little cocoon, I can return to what’s comfortable. Maybe I won’t grow but I won’t be destroyed either. We can adopt a kind of a “don’t mess with anything” attitude. Things may not be great, but they could definitely be worse, so I’ll hang on to what I know. I’ll retreat to stay the same. The thing is we can’t stay the same, nothing can. We either move forward or backwards but we are always moving. So, pick your direction.

I have dreams and I have plans. I’ve had them for several years now. So why haven’t they happened yet? What’s holding me back? Me of course. I hold back and stay in my comfort zone, so I don’t disappoint anyone, including myself, and so I don’t fail. It’s not failing if you never really tried, right? I don’t have to justify or explain myself to anyone if I just stay the course and don’t take any risks. Nothing makes me feel less protected than venturing out into uncharted territory…no matter how much I want to.

I can choose to stay in my comfort zone and be safe or I can choose to become more. How can I ever really know all I’m capable of if I never give it my all? I have a ready-made excuse for not fulfilling my potential…I never really tried. Who wants to live a life of always wondering what could have been? Maybe I could have…whatever “it” is. Could I have published my book? Could I have built a presence on social media and used it to reach tons of people? Could I have helped those people move through the difficulties in their lives? Could I have helped people believe in themselves and become the best version of themselves? Could I have facilitated growth and encouraged people to use that growth to make changes in the world? There’s so much to change in the world and I want to be a part of that change. I believe I can, and I believe I can inspire others to do the same.

I have an intention for 2024. Believe. Believe in my growth, believe in my plans, and believe in what I am called to do. Believe in me. It’s not enough for me to just grow I need to believe in myself. Believe in my potential and grow in the direction I want to move. 

Now let’s be real…I need a plan. I’m not going to get to where I want to be without figuring out where I want to be. What do I want? That’s the question for me to answer…for myself. My starting point is pinpointing my “what.” So that’s the first step. And then? Develop my belief in myself. Strengthen my believing muscles. I need to focus on success not failure. My successes…and there are plenty of them. I am successful. As I grow my belief muscle, I can use it to believe big…go big or go home, right? I have big plans and big dreams and there’s no reason to hinder myself. I am capable of so much.

When I was a child protection caseworker, I had a boss who told me that my only fault was that I didn’t know how good I was. That was almost 30 years ago, and I still remember it so clearly, because it touched me so deeply. She was so much more than a boss to me. She was my mentor, and, in some ways, she was a mom to me…she did some re-mothering with me that changed my life and my path. She believed in me, and her belief never wavered. I came to see my own potential through her eyes, and I started to believe in myself for maybe the first time. So, this year, I am going to remind myself that I am better than I think I am. I have more potential than I think I do. Believing in myself is my choice.

My intention this year is BELIEVE. I will believe in myself. I will step out of my comfort zone to grow. I will choose growth over retreat. I will choose to believe. I won’t sabotage myself. I will invest fully and believe in my success. I am going to believe in me. And I am going to believe in love, giving it and receiving it. Because love always wins. Welcome to 2024!

Strangely Grateful

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes when people lecture me on being grateful, I want to punch them in the stomach…I never do which is a good choice on my part.  I am growing up. I’m not sure anyone can look at anyone else’s life and decide whether you’re grateful or not. I think gratitude looks different in everyone.

I consider myself a “glass half full” kinda person. I look for reasons to be grateful. I put a positive spin on things, I’m excellent at reframing, and I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I work to be aware of my gratitude…and my attitude…which can have a rough edge at times. But sometimes shit goes down and I fear I may never be grateful again. The circumstances scream WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!!! And then I find myself grateful again, despite (or in spite of) my outer circumstances. I might surprise you. I shock the hell out of myself. I’m telling you sometimes I rise…me and the phoenix…fly baby fly!

Of course, all of this is leading to a point. I promise. I have the most amazing wife. She is literally my favorite person in the world…sorry P!nk. We got married on 11-11-11. We thought that would be a lucky day and its Veterans Day, so we got married on a Friday because our friends and family were off work. And now our anniversary is a national holiday…as it should be. Last year we weren’t able to be together for our anniversary, so this year we decided to start celebrating early. The plan was the beach…Treasure Island on Friday and Siesta Key on Saturday. We packed some bubbly (beer bubbles for her and Prosecco bubbles for me) and some snacks. It was a beautiful Friday. All sunshine all day. It was in the 80’s and so the water temperature was chilly but warm enough to swim. We floated out in the water and just hung out talking…about nothing really, and everything. 

When we were getting out of the water, I noticed there was a small step up out of the water and onto the sand…created by the tide I suppose. I walk with a crutch, and I use it at the beach and in the ocean. My point being that I was being careful and lest you think what happens next was alcohol involved, I had had maybe 6 ounces of Prosecco a couple hours earlier. So, I was steady on my feet…or as steady as I ever am on my feet. I started to step up out of the water twice and stopped myself because it didn’t feel safe with the waves. Finally, I took a step and as I did the sand gave way under me and I fell. I fell forward and on my outstretched left arm, which I heard snap and felt break. As a bonus, my elbow was also dislocated. This would be the time to tell you, or remind you, that I have an elbow replacement in my left arm. My interpretation of my elbow dislocating was that the replacement was completely mangled. When I cradled my left arm with my right hand, after I told Gayle to call 911, because I was definitely not okay, I could feel my replacement jiggling around…or my bones…or both. It felt like it was in three pieces. That’s a gross feeling. Even with all the surgeries I’ve had and the years of chronic pain, this is the first time I have ever told a medical professional that my pain was a ten…and I meant a FUCKING TEN!!!! 

People on the beach tried to help me stand up but I couldn’t take the pain of them trying to lift me under my arm. Finally, they pulled me by my shorts out of the water so I wouldn’t be knocked around with the tide coming in…I think it was coming in. I was getting wetter and colder by the minute. The paramedics carried me on a backboard to the ambulance. Slight side note, they put me on a backboard to the stretcher after I suggested it. I really think when you’re in a crisis you should not have to help the professionals with how to handle the situation. I’m making fun here, but they were great and very kind to me. Initially they were fixated on the idea of putting me in their wheelie chair thing and then confused by how they would roll it in the sand. So, the backboard was a welcome suggestion…a “good idea” even. 

Once I was in the ambulance, the EMT asked me if I had ever had fentanyl (I’m resisting the urge to make a bad joke here) and I said, “Yes, and if you have some I would like it NOW please.” Look at me still polite even while in raging pain. If I was a screamer or a crier, I would have been doing so much of both. Lucky for them I learned young to be quiet when in pain. No one wants to hear all that crying and whining anyway, even if your arm is in three pieces. Luckily the IV was put in quickly and a dose of Fentanyl followed. Five minutes later I asked for more. The first dose didn’t touch the pain. After the second dose I was able to relax the grimace that had become my face. I even managed to doze some during the 45-minute drive…I wanted to go to Morton Plant hospital and the EMT’s agreed…even though it was far. They really were great.

Then I got to the ER, got jiggled around, had X-rays, and some IV Dilaudid before I ever saw a doctor…at least I don’t think I had seen a doctor…my memory has a lot of fuzzy places. So, imagine my surprise when the doctor came in and said my arm was broken…that’s not the surprising part…wait for it…He said, “We’re going to admit you and you may have surgery tomorrow.” Now maybe I should have been prepared for that, given the circumstances, but I was not…not even a little.

Shortly after the doctor came in, I was moved to the surgical floor where some angelic nurses helped me change out of my swimsuit. I told them to cut the top off because I was not going to be lifting my three-piece arm to undress. They managed to get it off of me pretty easily, and without scissors. Turns out I had half of Treasure Island in my swim shorts. And that is the danger of pulling people, by their shorts, through the sand. Sand went everywhere. You could have built a small sandcastle in my room. I felt bad because someone from housekeeping had to come and clean it up. I just kept apologizing.

I did not meet my orthopedic surgeon until the next day. Dr. Andrew Boltuch, who my sister says is “too pretty” for her. There was more than one nurse who asked who he was after he left the room. He is very pretty…even a lesbian could see that. Not only is he pretty, but he’s also THE GUY for elbow replacements around here. Talk about serendipity…by the luck of who’s on call, I get the best specialist in the Clearwater/Tampa area…it might be all of Florida…or the United States…or the Universe! It’s hard to know.           

If you follow me, you know that I’ve had a lot of elbow surgeries, ten in fact. There have been repeated failures of the humeral component of my elbow replacement, and it has been revised four or five times in the past couple years. Including once when my joint got infected after surgery because of a sloppy stitching…and by that, I mean they left a fucking hole in my arm. That one surgery turned into three additional surgeries. Back to my point, my elbow is complicated. Even I know that. Dr. Boltuch told me that he had ordered a new humeral component with a longer stem so that it would go up beyond the fracture. He also ordered two cadaver bones to use to reinforce the fracture. So, there was no surgery Saturday. It took until Tuesday to get all the parts to put me back together again.

Tuesday, November 14th, I had a 6-hour surgery that began at 4:00 pm and ended at midnight. I realize that’s eight hours but that includes the getting me situated, asleep, sterilized, and then stapled back together parts. I love my doctor so much because whenever we’d ask him about the surgery, he’d think for a minute and then say, “It was so complicated.” I am hammered, glued, and nailed into place now. And except for the obvious healing pain, my elbow feels good. Better than it has in a couple years.

Now you may wonder, after ten surgeries and multiple revisions, why would I even consider having another implant put in. That’s a fair question and one my wife and I both asked. The doctor said he thought it was reasonable to try one last time with the new component parts and then if this one failed, he’d take the elbow replacement completely out. I would then be fitted for and wear a brace on my left elbow all the time. He said I’d have minimal use of my left hand. He also said that patients who have had that as their outcome are happy with it because they aren’t in pain anymore. Imagine that…no more pain. It made sense to me.

A small issue I haven’t mentioned yet is that the humeral component of my left elbow was already coming loose. When I would move my arm, the joint wouldn’t line up correctly and so I’d have to move it around until it was back where it was supposed to be. It was excruciating pain…although I only gave it a 9.5…because something could always hurt more…right? Anyway, I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon set for January to try and find out if anything could be done for my elbow…like injections or a brace. I had been told by the Mayo Clinic that unless something catastrophic happened to my elbow no one would ever do anything surgically to try and help it. At that time, I was already in pain every day…I’d say a 7 or 8…every day…every fucking day!

Now let’s be real…so far this story is pretty depressing. “Romantic day at the beach turns gruesome.” Some headline. I did start off talking about gratitude. And I did name this essay “Strangely Grateful,” so WTF?! The Fuck is that gratitude can find us, or be found, in the least likely circumstances. I was in excruciating pain all day every day because my elbow replacement was loose and moving around in me. With my history, no one was going to touch my elbow and I was depressed at the idea of living the next forty years in increasing pain. 

Enter catastrophic event…unplanned, unforeseen, and very unintended. I was being so careful. I am always careful because I don’t want to fall. That event, that catastrophic event, saved me. In that moment the best elbow doctor in this area (or the Universe) happened to be on call and happened to spend a good amount of time figuring out how to fix me. He had the answer for the chronic pain. Either this surgery works and I’m not in pain or the replacement gets removed and I’m not in pain. There’s no elbow pain at an 8 for the rest of my days. Catastrophe, serendipity, no more pain. I am grateful. I am fucking grateful! If my beautiful doctor wasn’t married, I’d marry him…well, if he wasn’t married, and I wasn’t married…and if I wasn’t a lesbian…you get the idea…we’d never be married. I do love that man and I am forever grateful to him for helping me. I can’t even imagine how complicated my surgery was, but he was in there for six hours doing everything he could to end my pain and leave me with a functioning arm. He came to see me after my surgery at 3:00 am to make sure I was doing okay. I did finally ask him if he ever sleeps because he does work some long ass hours.

Catastrophe, serendipity, no more pain. That’s my formula. Although a huge portion of the “no pain” is working through the healing pain to get to pain cessation. There are just never any good fucking shortcuts. So, catastrophe, serendipity, work your ass off, healing pain, no pain…at least not in that moment. I suppose the danger is in thinking we ever get to “no more pain” as a permanent place of residence. The amazing thing is that the catastrophe can lead to the end of your pain. I guess maybe our lives, if we’re really living them is just one catastrophe after another, with healing happening all around and within us…all the time.

Catastrophe, serendipity, healing pain, no pain…and never forget love. None of this means anything without love. The kindness we give strangers by pulling them out of the water by their shorts, the tenderness of professionals doing their best to ease your pain, the kindness of caring for another human being, the love of problem solving and mastering the complicated…all because we can. Because it is the kind and loving thing to do. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Divine is the task to ease pain. Let’s ease someone’s pain every day. Let’s be real…in the end love wins…always.

**Here’s a bonus “end of 2023” special for you…a little something for New Year’s Eve. At midnight open your back door to let the old year out and open your front door to let the new year in…don’t fuck up the order or you might get the same year over again. It’s an Irish tradition I’ve been told. I know I’m ready to open the back door and wish 2023 a fond farewell. 

Here’s to 2024 and all the catastrophes, serendipity, hard work, healing pain, no pain and love we can find, and we can share. Always share the love.

Happy 2024!