We All Have Struggles

I know, it's been awhile. I was debating what my next post would be; venting more on the mess the previous owners left us, or the thing that has forever changed the rest of my life. Well, now saying that, I guess I should spill the beans. Of course, I always feel guilty for dwelling or feeling bad for myself, because really we all have our own struggles and issues. So many more people have dealt with a lot of worse things and just thinking about that makes me feel guilty. But, I have also dealt with a lot in the last two years. 

It's actually almost two years since that dreaded night that changed my life. Not to sound too dramatic, but it is dramatic and traumatic. During all of the mess of us trying to sell the Bath house and Brian taking the job in Boston, we adopted another family member, being a puppy. She was another rescue and things started out fine. She was learning from the other three and seemed happy and she was definitely loved. I'm not entirely sure when things started to change, but they did.

The new puppy felt like she had to be the leader and hierarchy of the pact. She believed she needed to take out the weak-being our 12 year old pug at the time. Of course, we did everything in our power to prevent this. The middle dog would also try preventing this. She did not back down protecting her older brother. It was usually just me home alone when these fights would break out. I loved them all and didn't want to give up on our family, but it was so scary. There was so much blood and fur everywhere, in between house showings. I would walk the three younger girls for miles to try to bond them and wear them out. We tried noise distractions, food rewards, and muzzles. The sound of my little boy screaming out of pain and fear terrorizes me everyday. But I didn't want to give up on our new family.

When we ended up renting out the Bath house and Brian and I had to part ways for awhile, I had to bring all four dogs with me to Vermont to stay with my parents for awhile. I thought now that the stress of the house is out of the way, things would calm down. I was wrong. 

I won't describe all the details, mostly because it's still too difficult for me. Just know that it was the second night we were in Vermont, October 29th. I had to break up another dog fight. The youngest went after the oldest again and the middle dog intervened. I tried to get the youngest off of the middle dog and found myself in the jaws of this young dog who I loved so much and thought she had loved me, but she wouldn't let go. It felt like hours I was trying to break free, but I'm sure it wasn't. I finally got loose and looked at my hand. I thought maybe I was hallucinating but I didn't see my middle finger. I ran into my mom's bathroom sink and wasn't sure what to do next. My parents separated all the dogs and tried to figure out what damage was done. 

I was literally in shock. I remember tidbits, maybe, or maybe it is my mind dealing with the trauma. I'm not really sure, so I won't post all the things. I ended up in the emergency room with my poor stepdad driving at night. All I cared about was the welfare of each pup. They are like my Kids, since I don't actually have any human Kids. 

Again, I don't really want to go into all of the details, but they basically did what they could and sent me home. I had do to months of occupational therapy, which I later found out was not covered by insurance- fun times. Moral of that story- no matter how damaged you are, always make sure your insurance covers something, and if you aren't able to have insurance, well, I don't even know. 

So I was in complete denial of what happened and couldn't face the reality of my new hand. It took me about three months or maybe it was four to actually look at the damage that was done. I was in the worst pain of my life, and being a chef I kind of grew a high tolerance of pain. I've been burned and cut numerous times. Many of those times, I should have had stitches and one burn did end me up in the emergency clinic, but not before I finished a busy service. 

Some of you may be wondering what happened to the little girl, who I had the love nickname of bug. We didn't do know what to do, being in Vermont and having gotten her in Maine. After many phone calls and deep conversations, Brian drove from New Hampshire to Vermont to pick her up and bring her back to Maine. It took a week. I was terrified of her and could not face her, even though I loved, love, her so deeply. The look in her eyes that night was enough for me to know we couldn't keep her and our other dogs safe. 

During my recovery, we were house searching in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. We eventually settled on a cute small bungalow house in Pawtucket. We settled because of a few factors; Brian and I wanted to be back together, we needed to live somewhere we could afford, and I needed out of the place that was the home base of the biggest traumatic event of my life. Everyday was a reminder and a trigger. We also needed a fenced in yard, since I wasn't able to walk and control the three dogs anymore. Plus, I grew and still have a phobia of other dogs. Ironic- yes, sad -absolutely. It's something I'm trying to work on, but haven't been able to yet. 

It's funny, in a sick way, I guess. Everyone talks about veterans dealing with post traumatic stress, but no one ever really wants to talk about non vets dealing with it. It happens everyday, where someone encounters an event that will traumatize them forever. Therapy does not exist. Well, it does, but only if you have money. Therapists of PTSD is not covered under insurance. Most support groups are only for veterans. The resources are limited and that's just absurd. All the doctors tell me to seek out a therapist, but they can't refer me to anyone. And worst, some therapists do not return phone calls. Sorry, but what the freak! Plus, for me, to share things with a stranger probably would never happen. 

While we were in Rhode Island, I went to a hand specialist. I needed another surgery. I could barely do anything with my hand because the pain was so great. It's a funny thing with hands, apparently... They are a true mystery still. There are so many nerves involved and it is truly hard to overcome nerve damage in a hand, especially if you use you hand for work. But get this- hand injuries are not qualified for disability. Not only that, but proving PTSD is so hard that you have to relive all the things for months in court and discussions- is it worth it? On top of that - prosthetics are so expensive and not covered by insurance, unless again you fight in court. What the F! 

So, because I am the kind of person who wants to make other people feel better, I had that Jerry Maguire moment. A moment of clarity, or maybe it was just frustration. I can't be the only person dealing with post traumatic stress and have no release for it. So, the idea is to create an atmosphere where people can come and get away from their life issues for a bit. Whether they need someone to just vent to, or walk around a farm and pet or feed some animals, or have a meal with new people, or play a game or do a puzzle. Just to get out of your head space for an hour or two, I believe would help people like me for the better. Of course, I have to wait for this whole pandemic thing to be over. It's always something, isn't it! To bring it back to another post, the other reason for the name change is so I can incorporate all of my ideas under one business name, and that is also why we needed a house with land.

Anyway, the surgeon in Rhode Island did help me, but just wanted the stump, that's what they call it, ready for a prosthetic that I told them that I could never afford, nor want. So, the surgery happened and was followed by more months of occupational therapy. Not good times. I was belittled by some of the therapists and even some of the other clients. I hated it.

Unfortunately, I was not believed that even though I did all the exercises and used my hand as much as I did, being a chef, amateur plumber, construction worker and gardener, there were still issues. I need something to protect the "nonfinger", that's what I call it. Luckily, Brian is really into 3-D printing and was able to create safe splints for me. I even have normal size splints for when I go into public, so I don't get stared at. It's unfortunate that the OT ladies weren't able to make me something that fit or worked to protect my hand. And I'm sure I'm not the only one.

The plan was to get a consult from the original Physician's Assistant I saw when I was in Vermont, because once we sold our house in Rhode island, and the house we were going to purchase fell through, we had to stay with my parents again in Vermont. The same house where the traumatic event happened. As much as I love my parents, my nightmares returned when we got there. And then it got worse. The pandemic happened. My doctor's appointment was canceled and we spent months in hiding, so to speak. Of course, we were so grateful to be stuck in Vermont, instead of being stuck in Rhode Island during this time. We wouldn't have been able to escape if I hadn't pushed to sell the house. So, there's that. 

Anyway, months later, we finally landed back in Maine. Now that we got the "farm" and I put that in quotations because we have to make it into a farm. Having a farm and getting a farm ready to be a farm (let me add one more farm to a sentence), is strenuous and intense that requires usable hands. Also, trying to restart my bakery and eventually food truck, requires usable hands. 

I had to relearn to use a knife with my left hand. Its ironic though. I am a leftie, but growing up, I was taught to use my right hand for everything, except writing. Back when... no one taught lefties to do things with their left hands. Everything is for right handed people. Just the simple things that people take for granted, like using scissors or tying a shoe is an ordeal for me. Even putting on a shirt has changed. It's crazy.

So, because I'm tired of being afraid and if I accidently hit my hand in the wrong way- I'm taken out for the rest of the day and sometimes even the next day. If there's a change in the weather, particularly rain, I'm screwed. The quality of life has not been there, so once we got to Maine I saw another hand surgeon- (you know, after quarantining ourselves for weeks). 

I hope I found a good surgeon. She understood my dilemma, but didn't want to just jump into a surgery. Another surgery means, more money, time recovering and the hope that things are better.  It made me feel better that she consulted with other doctors to see what the best option would be. Surgery turns out to be my best option. It's a scary next surgery for me. It's something called a Ray Amputation. Googling it was even more scary. I wish someone had mentioned this option awhile ago. The nerve damage, the way the accident happened, will more than likely never get better. I will need to remove the stump completely with the bone and they will move my index finger over, by breaking it so there's no extreme gap happening. I don't know all the technical aspects, but it is a thing that the doctors do and if I can grip things again and do normal things without the fear of hurting- it will be worth it. 

The surgery is happening sooner than I thought it would. October 20th, nine days before the two year anniversary - my hand will change shape again. Its terrifying and hopeful at the same time. I mean, it can't get much worse, right! 

I've been trying to get the bakery licensed by the State again and reopen, but I may have to put things on hold for a couple of weeks. My hope is that I can recover quickly and have an amazing Thanksgiving menu list ready for everyone. That is my goal. 

Forgive me if this post is all over the place. It is hard for me to write about what happened and forget about rereading it to make sure all the grammar is correct and it makes sense. Sorry about that. I did feel that is was important to share though. Some of you know I had a tragic accident, but I never really got into it. And once the bakery gets going and I am able to see some of you again, I will look different and may not want to get into it. 

So, there it is. This is the new me. I will update more on when the bakery will start up, and the non-profit sector happens. It's been a race to get the property ready before the surgery and winter. One week left for me...