Ouch.

We're getting close to finalizing our insurance settlement from the accident, and I got a copy of this message from our lawyer to the insurance company:

"Given the medical expenses and limited insurance available, Heidi will not come close to being made whole."

That almost made me cry. I know what he meant: "After medical expenses, her cash settlement will not adequately compensate for her injury." But that line "Heidi will not come close to being made whole" just pierced me. My leg never will be whole again. I will function normally, but never as well as I would have otherwise.

And that hurts.

I was going to give this a positive spin, a life-affirming "it will all work out for the best" vibe, which I do believe, but I think right now I just want to feel that hurt and accept it.

Of course ours is the weird kid

Atticus participated in his first Primary program on Sunday. He had his line memorized and had practiced saying it slowly and clearly. He even knows some of the songs.

But once he got on the stand, it all disappeared. During the songs he didn't know (and even parts of some he did), he leaned on the railing with his chin in his hands, looking really bored. Or he danced around. One of our friends in the front row observed that it looks like Atticus always has a Star Wars battle scene in his head that he's trying to act out. That kid is never still.

Then came the moment: his line! He stood at the microphone and wilted. Even with prompting he curled up and refused to speak. They let him go and little Afton, who isn't even officially in Primary yet, marched up and said her line, pleased as punch.

Afterward I asked him why he didn't say his line, and he just said, Huh? I reminded him, "I follow Jesus' example when I go to church." And he got really upset: I want to say it! I missed it! What happened?! We let him say it at the pulpit (microphone off), and the Primary president said he could do it again in Primary next week.

I think Atticus just didn't get what was going on. He'd missed the forest for the trees, lost in his perpetual narrative.

Speaking of narrative, Atticus pulled his new socks up to his knees this morning and called himself Wonder Boy. I asked him if he wanted to wear his soccer socks, which are even longer, and he said, "No, Wonder Boy doesn't wear blue socks, just white socks." Good to know.

My goodness, I love that boy.

Ready or not, here comes Chrismas

(from last year)

Atticus has been talking about Christmas for the past month. For a couple weeks he was obsessed with nutcrackers, asking over and over again for a nutcracker that's NOT a Christmas decoration. I blame his friend Henry, who has fireman and soccer player nutcrackers. I wasn't about to shell out $20 for the not-really-a-toy nutcracker he begged for at Lowe's, but James made Atticus's week when he found a small one at the dollar store. It even had a working lever that makes the mouth move. Fan-TAS-tic.

Last week at preschool they had face painting, and Atticus asked for a Christmas tree. Everyone else was a butterfly or a tiger or Spiderman, but Atticus had a big green nose and a gold star between his eyes. He was thrilled. 

He's also been talking about what he wants to get, of course. I've been very upfront about how Daddy and I are Santa Claus (yes, I know, I'm a HORRIBLE person for attempting to deprive my child of Christmas fantasy), but my efforts have fallen on deaf ears. He asked how he could tell Santa what he wanted, and I said he could just tell me, because I'm Santa--I buy the presents. "I know, I know, but what about the REAL Santa? With the reindeer?" Ok, fine. I'm his helper. (I'm not going to insist he stop believing; I just don't want there to be disappointing surprises later.) 

Now when he tells me about something he wants, he asks if I've written it down. I only write down what he mentions repeatedly, and so far the list is a DreamLight and a Scooby-Doo Mona-Tiki-Tia play set. The problem is he wants a Curious George DreamLight, which they don't actually make, but he thinks maybe it can be found at another store or Santa can just make it. (And they're $30! Are you kidding me?) And though I've seen pictures of a Scooby-Doo figure with a tiki head, they don't make them anymore, and they certainly don't come in the exactly-like-the-episode detail in a foldable, portable play set that he has described. So I can pay top dollar for a collectible set, but it still won't be exactly what he wants. (See why I'm reluctant to perpetuate the fantasy of elves that can make anything??) We may have to settle for action figures of the full Scooby gang. A friend found Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy at a thrift store, but we're missing Fred and Scooby.

Then there are the things I want to get him, like a bike or scooter, and maybe some better shoes. I'm all for restraint in gifts (I really like the idea of three gifts like the gifts of the Three Kings--not counting gifts from extended family), but it's hard not to try to make all his dreams come true. 

I believe experiences are more important than things, so I'm going to focus my energies on memorable activities, which are often free. Sledding, lights, live Nativities, a trip to the mall to see Santa, gingerbread cookies, decorating the tree. That's what Christmas is made of. I hope. 

Another landmark

We drove past/through the accident site for the first time today. It was hard. The plan was to avoid that canyon entirely and just go to the Temple Quarry at the mouth of Little Cottonwood, but as we got closer, James felt like we should go. I agreed.

We both about soiled ourselves when we saw a full-size pickup in the opposite lane, even though it was clearly on its side of the line and nowhere near the crash site. We both recognized the spot when we reached it, and it gave me chills. We both laughed; it felt like whistling past a graveyard. But we made it. I'm really glad no one was coming around the corner the same time we did. It might have been too much. Atticus was playing with his Scooby Doo toys and didn't even notice.

Going back down was rough. Not through the crash site, though it was interesting to see the site from the other driver's perspective. But there's a small, blind s-curve (not the big one--this one's narrower), and there was a long line of cars coming the other direction, one car after another that could cross that line at any moment.

I've thought about what has been the worst part of the whole experience. It isn't the injury or the pain at all. One strong contender is the withdrawals from the pain meds. I'd tried to be careful, but I still went through about 10 horrible days feeling all the physical symptoms of anxiety and creepy-crawly skin (not to mention the gastrointestinal effects), wanting to take something--anything--to feel normal again. I had Xanax but was afraid to use it in case that became habit-forming, too. (I couldn't get the image out of my mind of a woman on "celebrity rehab" freaking out because her doctor took away her Xanax. Don't ask why I was watching celebrity rehab....) I did take Valium, but only at night. Eventually it passed.

But even as bad as that was, it wasn't the worst part. The worst part was seeing that truck coming toward us, knowing that we were totally helpless to avoid the crash. And I couldn't get away from it. I couldn't get out of the car, so I spent the whole time staring at the truck's grill through our broken windshield. That feeling of helplessness and vulnerability hasn't gone away, even outside the canyons. Every intersection, every time we hit the freeway, every time Atticus gets in someone else's car, I know it could happen again. James says the feeling makes him both more cautious and more reckless: you don't want another accident, but you're pretty sure you'll be ok if it happens. I haven't gotten there yet.

I don't hold any hard feelings against the other driver. I can't imagine how it would feel to be the cause of someone else's injury. He was distracted for a second, just like I am all the time. And I can't say I'm sorry I got to spend a good chunk of summer in bed, watching tv and letting other people bring me jello and snacks. Sure, I was uncomfortable, but  it wasn't all bad. I had no responsibilities other than healing, and it was a nice break. And I get handicap parking for the rest of the year. I'll be sad when that expires. And a new car, which I think I like better than our last one.

If I had a choice, of course I'd rather we didn't have the accident. It's changed us forever. But we survived, and we're doing ok.

The evolution of a foot.

July 23

7 August

Mutant foot from outer space. 

7 August

Nasty, fibrous super-scab. I had to gradually cut that off for the wound to heal properly. Yeah, I mean with scissors.

28 August

Das boot. Hot, nasty thing.

28 August

This was probably in the morning, since there's not a huge difference between the two.

7 September

Aaaaaaand this is in the evening. 

First and last time I've worn those shoes since the accident. (Man, they really need a polish.)

When I wear tennis shoes I have "muffin top" ankle. 

I had the big screws taken out a week and a half ago, which immediately decreased my joint pain. The incision still hurts, and the stitches don't come out for another couple weeks. They were supposed to come out next week, but my doctor is out of the office. I'd be tempted to take them out myself if I didn't need to ask the doctor some questions.

I've been going to physical therapy, and I have much more flexibility in my ankle. My therapist says I'll get 90% recovery within about six months. The last 10% takes another six months. And I'll probably have arthritis in this ankle from now on, but staying active will reduce the symptoms. My insurance covers only 20 PT visits per calendar year, and I've had 12. So we're going down to one visit per week, and I get to go back to the gym for the rest. I've been using a seated stationary bike at home, but I need to work on my hips and legs more specifically. Rowing machine, here I come.

Overall I feel like life is coming back together. I still have no desire to cook, but our house is back to normal and I'm back at work a couple days a week. Atticus is back at his old preschool. We love his teacher. James is back at Hunter High. So we're getting back to normal. Just don't ask me to walk very fast. 

My thoughts exactly

I just read a fantastic post about the facade Christians present. The author had a disagreement with a pastor who wanted to change the words to "Come Thou Fount" because he did not feel that he was "prone to wander." Because true Christians never waver, I guess. The author disagree, ,as clearly so do I. Click here to read it, as well as all the comments. Great stuff.

A Few Things

How do you not love this face? And the bundle of energy behind it? It's 9:30 p.m. and he's acting out some wild adventure with Shaggy and Scooby in the form of dollar-store mini car spaceships. His ongoing story pulls characters from everywhere. I even heard him yell, "Watch out, Magnum!" the other day. (What can I say? I've spent most of the summer in bed and the entire series is on Netflix. Quality TV.)

Now for the brain dump:

• My ankle really hurts today. It might be because my physical therapist is having me walk on it more, moving from two crutches to one, and doing strengthening exercises. Or it *might* be because I had to carry a screaming, thrashing 4-year-old over my shoulder up the stairs--without crutches--to get him in the shower and jammies. My sweet boy had the meltdown of all meltdowns last night while James was over at the other property trying to fix a leaky sprinkler in the dark, and I'm happy to say he was calm by the time James came home. But man, it was a rough half hour. Other than my sore foot, we seem to have suffered no lasting effects.
• If you haven't heard, we got a new car. It's a red 2010 Subaru Forester (Subaru forever!). Atticus's favorite feature is the cup holder that flips up from the middle of the back seat. I'll get pictures one of these days. 
• Two more weeks and I hope to get the big screws out of my ankle. The little screws and their plate are going to stay. Probably forever. Here are the x-rays so you know to which screws I am referring:

• I thought I had preschool set up for Atticus, then found out last week the teacher gave our spot away. Frustrating. But I hear there's still room at his old preschool, so we'll see if we can get in there. It's half-day afternoons, which isn't ideal, but I think we can make it work. If we get in.

I'd better sign off now. My sweet boy wants me to go snuggle him in bed. How can I resist?

Envy and Resentment

I miss my car. I really miss my car. It wasn't perfect, but it was comfy and reliable and my color and had all sorts of bells and whistles: moon roof, heated leather seats, wood trim, automatic everything, a stereo that encompassed you in music when you turned it up loud (and I like my music loud). And it was stylish and made me feel hip. I never feel hip. 

James says he resents it every time he sees another Outback on the road. How come they get to keep theirs while ours is smashed? We parked next to one almost identical to ours the other day, and the woman was smoking inside. How could she defile "our" car like that?

I may envy other Subaru drivers, but I don't resent them. I resent those who drive big trucks. Sure, there are plenty of reasons to need a truck like this: towing a boat or trailer, hauling farm or construction equipment, maintaining off-road trails and such.

But really, how many big truck owners actually do any of those things? How often? And do they really need an urban assault vehicle to do it? Or are they driving it because it's tough and manly and makes them feel powerful? So powerful that they can drive too fast on a mountain road and not pay attention to where they're going? I get angry when I see them advertised on tv, when I see them on the road. Especially if the radio's too loud and the driver's hat is on backwards.

I know this is my problem, and like many things, I just need to get over it. But if you do happen to own one of these trucks, would you mind not driving it near me for a while? Thanks. 

The Latest Update

This morning I got  my contraption replaced with a cast. It holds my ankle in a slightly different position, so it's going to take some getting used to. I get to keep it for two weeks and then move on to a walking boot. Apparently the bones are mending well.

Here are my X-rays, the first from the side and the second from the top. I don't think these screws are ever coming out. I might have to carry these with me next time I try to board a plane.

In the meantime Atticus has done some fun things, and I promise to get some of those pictures posted. Just not today. I think it's time for a nap.

My Philosophy on Life

I love just about everything from this artist, and everything on this page. But this one pretty much sums up my attitude toward life right now. I had plans. I had goals. They were even S.M.A.R.T. goals. I was going to get the details of my life in order. I was going to be proactive.

Then I got hit by a truck. Literally. And everything changed. I still have the same goals, but I have to develop patience as I learn new ways to achieve them. And so much is out of my control right now. I know we'll receive a settlement from the accident, and that our car appraised for more than we owe on it. But when we receive that money and how much and if/when we'll be able to buy a new car is completely out of my hands. 

Now I have a growth on my pancreas, which the doctor says is most likely benign and probably won't require surgery, but this isn't related to the accident, so we'll be responsible for those costs. I just hope they get it taken care of this year, when we've already maxed out our insurance deductible. 

So today I just throw up my hands and say, Father, I'll do my part and trust You to take care of the rest. Please just remind me what my part is again?

Update

I got my stitches out yesterday, and found out that the funky stitching was not the work of a poorly trained resident but was rather the complicated "trauma stitch." They're supposed to be easier to remove, but it hurt like heck. Oh well, they're out now. I get two more weeks with the rods, then the doctor will decide whether to move to a cast or a walking boot. I've heard nasty things about walking boots. I already have pain in my knee and hip from compensating for the injured foot, and I can't imagine a boot will help much. Input? Suggestions?

Today was another lazy day. Right now I'm not-really-watching the news and finishing off a pint of gelato brought to me by a generous friend. Dark chocolate and lavender-honey. I normally don't like flower-flavored food, but this is divine. It doesn't taste like soap or air freshener, just a subtle fresh flavor that happens to balance out the dark chocolate perfectly. If you're local, this can be found at Dolcetti in the Avenues. I assume they'd carry the same flavors at the 9th & 9th location.

America's Birthday

Yesterday we celebrated the 4th in typical mellow style. And just as typically, I don't have any pictures. Sorry. James and Atticus went to the ward breakfast while I stayed home and slept. Atticus had a lot of fun and didn't want to leave, even after most everyone was gone. Except that one of the few stragglers was his friend Afton. Her mom thinks they're such good friends because Atticus is an older, male version of Afton. They're the kind of kids who like to randomly shout out made-up words and laugh. That reminded James of the time Atticus decided to call him "Dr. Poop Suzie." Atticus thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

Last night our friends Sharon and Larry had a party. (I like to call them "ShaLar", which is probably funny only to me and Susan, who lived in the ShaLar apartments.) Friends, homemade ice cream, sparklers and fountain rockets. Most of the kids left early, so Atticus was the only kid left for fireworks. He was soooo excited. A little scared of the sparklers at first, but he got into the swing of things soon enough, keeping up a steady chant of YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA! And then clapping after each round.

By the end of the night my leg was getting pretty sore, and we came home and all fell into bed. Slept in until 9:00, and to be honest, I haven't gotten out of bed yet (it's 1:20). I told James I felt a little guilty for being so lazy, and he just told me to take a look at my leg. I can live with that. Outside is a gentle rain, the windows are open. Atticus is singing a song he made up. Today is a good day.

The gory pictures

I don't have a copy of my x-rays, so I'll try my best to describe what happened to my ankle. We're still trying to figure out how exactly it happened, but it appears that my foot moved and my ankle didn't. The tibia (the big bone) didn't break but got dislocated and broke through the skin. That's what I saw when I looked down at my leg in the accident. There was surprisingly little blood. I guess none of the major vessels were damaged. All sorts of ligaments, however, and possibly some tendons got damaged in the process, and the lower part of my fibula (the small bone) pretty much shattered. It also broke in a couple places higher up, but those breaks are in good alignment and don't need further support. On Thursday I felt that higher break go "pop" and had more pain there, so on Friday we went in to have it checked it out.

They took x-rays that looked fine, but my dressings were pretty grody, so she changed them. This was my first good look at the contraption holding my leg together, officially called an "external fixator." James likes to call it the Eiffel Tower. One night as my meds were wearing off, I was confused to have a pinching pain in my shin. Then I remembered that I have a screw in my shinbone. Oh yeah.

The stitches that go across the front of my leg are the original wound. I didn't look too closely at the time, but it seems bigger than I expected. Maybe they opened it further during surgery.

 Yes, that's a rod going through my heel bone. And yes, I do feel like a kebab.

This is where they cut me open to put a plate and a bunch of pins to hold my shattered fibula together. I have to say this is the messiest incision/stitches I've ever seen. I hope it's not an indication of the surgeon's overall skill. I'm not impressed with his general demeanor and customer service. But I'll take what I can get.

And here's what I get to look at for the next little while. I have an appointment Friday to have the stitches removed and to determine when the rods come out. The next step is a cast, and then maybe a boot. The physical therapist said today that it might be three months before I can put enough weight on the ankle to walk on it. I should be able to drive again when I'm no longer taking narcotic pain meds, and once I get a cast I can get a knee scooter that will allow me to be more mobile.

This ankle will always be stiff and prone to soreness. I will never be a runner or a ballerina. But I will be able to hike and bike and do all the other normal things I want to do. I think I'll start with water aerobics. Maybe around Christmas. That reminds me--our handicapped parking pass expires on Christmas, so let me know if you want a good parking spot at the mall. We'll give you a lift. :)

Surreality

James and Atticus stuck around for a while after the ambulance took me away. (The had to wait for the police to be done before they could get a ride.) The force of the crash knocked one of Atticus's shoes off, and James couldn't find his hat or glasses for half an hour. The Luke Skywalker figure Atticus was holding lost his head, which we've still not found. 

They sedated me to set and splint my leg. Everything was a bit fuzzy after that. I came to while getting a CAT scan The cervical collar was a lot more uncomfortable than the contraption on my leg. (More leg contraption photos to come.)

They kept me pretty well drugged up for the first couple days. Man, I love morphine. I'd have intense dreams as I drifted in and out of consciousness in which this whole situation was part of some greater plot or operation. I'd never remember the details, but I had a sense of importance. At one point I "drunk-texted" James (on opiates and with double vision): "I keep forgetting what I'm doing here and wh3 whenwdid I start drikiu?" I sent him a photo of my bruised chest with the message: "I figured as long as I'm drunk texting--please confirm the following: I am the only known operative in gntne ... in the hospital at this time."

It took a while for that feeling to pass. Sometimes I still wonder.

James walked away with relatively minor injuries, with abrasions and chemical burns from the airbags on his hands and massive bruising from the seat belt. I still have a hard bruise ridge across my belly from the seat belt, too, but I must say it's much better than the alternative.

These photos still blow me away. James and Atticus went to get the last of our belongings from our car (still no sign of Luke's head), and the car looks even more surreal out of the context of the accident. But this last picture will make me a Subaru owner for life: as messed up as the engine block is, all damage ends where the passenger cabin starts. This car saved our lives. 

I can hardly bear to consider how differently this whole situation could have ended. It keeps me from feeling too sorry for myself.

What my summer blog posts were supposed to look like

Here are some fun things we did this month and had planned to do frequently.

Grilling!

Laughing together outside!

Let Atticus get soaked to the skin in the sprinklers

Visit local destinations like the Kennecott copper mine 

Hike the beautiful trails just minutes from our door

Ward campout and music with friends 

Climb lots of rocks

Enjoy beautiful mountain lakes

And then last Wednesday a lot of that changed. We were on our way up Big Cottonwood Canyon to venture out on another beautiful hike to another beautiful lake (Twin Lakes by Brighton). About a mile up the canyon, we started around a corner and saw a large truck in our lane. Less than a second later, the scene looked much like this:

My first thoughts were inventory: James is talking and moving; no apparent injury. Atticus is freaking out and breathing; no apparent injury. How are we still all alive? How are we this ok? I am breathing and talking, but there's a gaping wound on my ankle and my foot is hanging funny. My leg is broken.

I smell chemical smoke from the airbags, now sagging uselessly. The engine block is hissing, people are yelling. James has taken Atticus to the side of the road. He tells me they're ok and checks out my leg. I call 911. Why is it taking so long to connect? Oh, I forgot to hit "send." Now it's ringing. I tell them what happened. They want an address. An address? We're on the road in Big Cottonwood. Where the hell is there an address? Having reached the limits of my usefulness, I pass the phone to a witness who knows exactly where we are. The other driver comes by several times, freaked out and apologetic. 

Soon paramedics arrive and the next stage of our surreal adventure begins. More on that tomorrow.

My little drummer boy

Click here for video.

In case you missed it...

Here's a better link to Atticus and the Avengers. James got the Hawkeye doll from a crane machine. He has a knack for those things...

Garden! Yeah, so it doesn't look like much NOW...

 Petit gris melons, Mortgage Lifter tomatoes, and Amish Paste tomatoes

 Atticus gave me a variety of flowers to plant for Mothers' Day.

 Garden boxes (and seriously pruned roses): front box has strawberries, nasturtiums (another gift from Atticus/preschool), arugula, and spinach. Back box is all bush beans.

 Basil and more flowers; parsley

Cilantro and flowers; thyme and flowers. I think the orange ones are my favorite of the bunch.

Mothers' Day Outing

I celebrated Mothers' Day with my mom on Saturday. My sister Erin and I took her out to lunch and to see the Avengers. Good times... So Sunday was celebrated just with us Bennetts.

Our church schedule moved to the afternoon, so after sleeping in and breakfast and some gospel study/VeggieTales time, we still had three hours to kill before we needed to be at church. I didn't have the heart to put on another video or read another conference talk, so I suggested we go for a drive up to the Temple Quarry. 

The weather was gorgeous, and with most other Mormons in morning church, we were practically the only ones there. I love this picture of Atticus. I was trying to get a sweet father-son-walking photo, but Atticus had to pose. 

 He was really excited to climb on the rocks.

It was a good start to Mothers' Day. Church wasn't overly sappy, and the men provided ice cream sundaes as our gift. The Primary sang songs I'd never heard, but Atticus looked cute doing it. A friend took a picture to prove to his friend how small our Primary is, and if he ever sends me a copy, I'll post it.

[Completely unrelated note: Our building is being renovated, so we are temporarily using the historic 10th ward chapel, built in 1853. It's a gorgeous Scandinavian-style chapel with intricate woodwork and stained glass and a pipe organ. President Hinckley attended church here as a boy. Our chorister is a 75-year-old black woman from Chicago who likes to wear Indian-style outfits. I told her after the meeting that watching her leading the music in that pioneer chapel wearing a bright yellow kurti and pants, I was struck by the fact that she is also a pioneer, a new kind of pioneer. Everything comes full circle, and it was totally awesome (for lack of a better word) to witness.]

After church James grilled pork chops (with his signature soy-garlic marinade), which we ate with artichokes and salad, both with a lemon-mustard vinaigrette. SO YUMMY! I also made my favorite super-rich brownies, which we ate while watching the latest Sherlock.

A very good day.

More nerdiness

Star Wars is another Atticus obsession this week. He's read the picture books and knows all the characters, but this week we finally watched the movie (Episode IV).

Atticus this morning: Mama, what does "hoo-pah" mean?
Me: Hoo-pah?
Atticus: It's what Darth Vader says when he's breathing.

Yesterday, while looking at the picture book of Annikin from Episode III:
Atticus: Does Annikin take a shower?
Me: Um, probably. I hadn't thought about it.
Atticus: What does he do with his robot hand? Does it get wet?

Such imponderables. I love my little nerdling. :)

My son is a nerd genius.

I don't know how to embed video, and James only uploaded it to Facebook, so see if you can get it from my wall.

Turn that frown upside down

So I woke up this morning feeling worn out. Not sure why. I'd had weird dreams, which never helps, and somewhere between sorting laundry and listening to Atticus pout because he couldn't get his pee back from the sewer, I felt myself start to collapse inside. I'm not going to make it today.

So I got on my knees and prayed, Father, be my strength today, because I just don't have any. Then I had this conversation with myself:

So I put on my gym clothes and got Atticus and his friend to school on time, then hit the gym. I decided I'd skip the step class and just do 30 minutes on the elliptical, if that--getting there was an accomplishment, so I didn't need to go full-bore. But after I got there and on the machine, I started feeling pretty good. I pushed myself up to higher resistance on the machine, and afterward I felt good enough to do weights, squats, and abs. I felt great when I left. 

Came home, made a healthy kale-berry-whey smoothie, put in some laundry and took a shower. Complete turnaround. I wouldn't say that today was hyper productive, but I washed AND PUT AWAY four loads of laundry, had a healthy lunch, did the dishes, and paid the bills. So I also had a couple bowls of ice cream and we had pb&j for dinner, but oh well. Can't expect greatness every day...

Today could have gone a very different way, and I'm grateful to my Heavenly Father that it didn't. It's a lot easier to "just do it" with His help.