The Anchor

A good friend of mine recently told me about a personality test she'd taken. It's designed by a woman named Sally Hogshead (isn't that a great name?!) It's called the Fascination Advantage and you answer a series of questions to determine what traits are dominant in how the world perceives you. Then you are assigned an archetype - a symbol of your personality or dominant traits.

So I decided to take the test.

Whenever I do exercises like this I always I hope I get words like ... intriguing ... mysterious ... or ... passionate to describe me.

Not. Even. Close.

After answering the questions and waiting as a little graphic on my computer screen whirled around, calculating my inner strengths, I see my archetype in bold, blue letters appear ...

The Anchor

I'm a huge chunk of metal that reeks of seawater? Not exciting to say the least.

But not surprising either. As I read the traits of the anchor, I see that they are really and truly 100% accurate as to who I am - and apparently how others see me.

Protective
Purposeful
Analytical
Calm and
Steady

I think I've probably always embodied these traits, but I can say they are even more apparent in me since Jeff's accident. I've certainly become extremely protective of my family. I protect them in the best ways I know how - by making smart, purposeful decisions. By analyzing all angles of a situation. By trying my best to stay calm under extremely stressful circumstances. And by pushing forward in a steady, thoughtful manner.

My god it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

I have times, especially at night when I'm trying to wind down, when I can't help but freak out in my mind a little. I start thinking things like "What if something else bad happens? What if something happens to me and I can't take care of my family?" I literally have to tell myself out loud to stop thinking like that. I'm practical enough to know that's no way to live - in fear of fear. But sometimes I can't help it.

I just want to keep my family safe. Who doesn't?

My family has had a rough year, no doubt. We were smooth sailing for so long, then one wave - literally - altered our course forever. Getting back out onto that sea of life has been scary. But set sail again, we must.

My family is my precious cargo, and it's my job to keep them afloat, not adrift.

Afterall ...

I am the anchor.

Me and my "precious cargo."

Walking ... The Overrated Pastime

We never heard the words Jeff will never walk again the entire time he was in the hospital.

I think there's two reasons for this.

The first is because I never asked. Even when the attending doctor in the ER came out to tell me the extent of Jeff's injury, something prevented me from asking that specific question. It was probably fear of the answer.

The second, I think, is because Jeff's injury is so much more than not just being able to walk. And no doctor was going to go down the list of what Jeff would have to regain in order to accomplish that. We figured that out on our own. 

There's so much that would need to heal and "wake up" before Jeff could ever think of walking again. First and foremost, he would have to get off the ventilator by regaining sensation and control over his diaphragm. Then he would have to move his arms. Then his hands and fingers. Then gain control of his torso. Then get back his bladder and bowel function. Then his hips, thighs, knees, and feet. Finally he'd have to build up an enormous amount of lost muscle mass to take ... one ... step. 

I'm not talking about the kind of step paralyzed people take when they are hooked up to "walking machines" in rehab. Those certainly are highly advanced therapeutic devices, and have done a lot to help people's bodies move in ways they never dreamed would happen again.

I'm talking about the kind of step he can feel. The kind of walking where his body just does it automatically, without thinking. The kind of walking most people do effortlessly each day.

Please don't think I'm pessimistic about the chance of a recovery for Jeff. It's just that with everything we've been through, we have to face reality head on. The chances are very slim that Jeff will ever walk again. We will never lose hope, but in order to live day-to-day, hour-by-hour with this injury, we also have to remain realistic.

Besides, walking is overrated, right? Jeff's wheelchair is so advanced that it offers him a tremendous amount of freedom he wouldn't otherwise have. And at this point, walking isn't even on our radar. If it presents itself as a real opportunity down the line, we will gladly accept it. But for now, Jeff's main goals remain to try to wean off the vent, and try to, one day, regain some arm movement.

I've heard Jeff say multiple times that he would give up his legs for the chance to be able to move one of his arms. If he could strike a magical deal, he would have his legs physically removed from his body, giving up all hope of ever walking again, to have the use of just ... one ... arm. 

So I could touch my family again, he told me. 

I would take that over walking any day.

Evie and Daddy "walking" together at the park.