tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50878027468262007282011-08-06T08:30:57.886-04:00The story of my journey as a quadriplegic and beyond.Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-32267055977127458332010-09-22T13:47:00.003-04:002010-09-22T13:50:25.325-04:00

"Well, it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic." - Sam Baldwin in Sleepless in SeattleSomeone recently

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-48299737748388911192010-02-18T09:45:00.001-05:002010-02-18T09:53:01.231-05:00

That's what today is all about. Questions. YOUR questions. I've been writing this blog for a little over a year now & I've written the things that I THINK you want to know. But now it's your turn to find out what you REALLY want to know. The floor is yours. Ask away.I know there are things you're curious about, so let her rip. Maybe you want to know something specific about my care. Maybe

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-39339827063834347962010-02-01T10:06:00.004-05:002010-02-04T11:54:48.385-05:00

It's Monday morning. A new week. A new month. So I thought it'd be a great time to start a new feature..."Monday Moment". Maybe this will be a regular post where, each Monday, I jot down a few of the random things on my mind. So, here goes...I hope I'm more consistent with this Monday post than I've ever been with keeping a journal. Just 2 weeks ago I found an old journal from 1983. The

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-88973759923985005962010-01-13T11:04:00.007-05:002010-01-14T10:29:07.156-05:00

I hate winter! SERIOUSLY!! I mean, this "global warming" thing has got to STOP if it means I keep waking up to 16° F mornings with highs in the 30s...which is exactly what's been happening for the last several weeks. Ordinarily, my koi pond may freeze once in a freak cold snap each year, but it's been frozen over for days! I know that to those of you reading this from places where it gets "

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-75003431594934773792009-12-22T09:24:00.003-05:002009-12-22T12:20:38.042-05:00

Twenty-three years ago I spent Christmas in the hospital...Shepherd Center, specifically. It was just over a month after my accident, & it was a very hard thing for me. I ADORED Christmas! I loved the decorating, the shopping, sending & receiving cards, the wrapping, the music, everything! And I was missing it. Worse yet was the fact that it was my very first Christmas spent away from home.

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-35880252137224214142009-11-22T13:18:00.005-05:002009-11-22T16:53:27.394-05:00

Twenty-three years ago today, my life was forever changed. Twenty-three years ago today, I awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of crunching metal sliding across the ground. Twenty-three years ago today, I faced the hardest moment in my young life. I've written all about that before. Today, I'm writing about something different. Today, I'm writing about, well, today. Over the years since my

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-55156409833083257092009-09-29T13:06:00.001-04:002009-09-29T13:06:48.378-04:00

A high school friend who is now a pastor in Seattle posed this question on Facebook yesterday: “As we pray for God to intervene, why do some seem to be healed and others not? Is God indifferent or selective? What is up with that?” Being someone who has been praying & believing for my own healing for nearly 23 years, the question interested me greatly.  In fact, I have asked some form of it

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05497692603661440614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-73646812899129226252009-04-10T17:09:00.001-04:002009-04-14T12:55:54.854-04:00

      For those of you who have been following this blog for awhile, you will notice it now has a new look – a very different look.       When I started this thing, I had no idea how long I would keep at it.  For many years, I had been a self-proclaimed “anti-blog”.  You see, I come from the “old school”.  I grew up in a time when diaries were, by definition, meant to be private, not put on

Sandranoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-83098208091323782972009-03-19T08:51:00.007-04:002009-03-19T11:46:16.418-04:00

On the Monday morning 3 days after my surgery, my nurse popped into my cubical in the Special Care Unit all bubbly & smiling & said, "Good morning. After we get you your breakfast we'll get you in a wheelchair & send you down to therapy!""Um...what?""You're starting therapy today.""What? Just like that? No warning or anything? But, how? I mean, I don't have any clothes." (I'd been in some

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-38975137096188531822009-03-05T10:27:00.004-05:002009-03-06T11:53:06.452-05:00

After my accident, I spent 2 weeks in the "ice tong" traction laying in the Special Care Unit waiting for my body to stabilize enough for surgery. My 5th vertebra was crushed on the right side & my 6th was broken, so surgery was required to repair the bones. There was nothing they could do for my spinal cord. Once a spinal cord is damaged, it's up to God to heal it (which, by the way, I

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-22234480194978271712009-02-25T09:05:00.004-05:002009-02-25T11:29:25.901-05:00

One day as I lay in my bed in the Special Care Unit at Shepherd Center, my dad came to visit me. Although he spent many hours with me during my stay, I remember this particular moment clearly, like a snapshot in time. He was standing on my right side looking down at me. I suppose we chatted about this & that, all nondescript things I have long since forgotten. Then, out of the blue, he said

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-72007488668407578382009-02-16T13:05:00.003-05:002009-02-16T13:24:06.435-05:00

A few weeks before my accident, I spent a Saturday night at my dad’s house. When I awoke Sunday morning, I found Daddy & his wife dressed up as though they were going to work – suit & tie for him, dress for her. At first, I thought I’d had a Rip Van Winkle moment & slept straight through ‘till Monday. I asked them what was going on & they said they had decided to go check out the church right

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-56045648604093529172009-02-10T10:46:00.004-05:002009-02-10T13:44:58.133-05:00

First, thank you for giving me the time I needed to not look back. That time & the warm sunshine we've been having (68 degrees F in February!) have brought me to where I can continue writing about my journey.When I left off in Part 3, I was describing my time spent in the Special Care Unit at Shepherd Center. I spent about a week & a half in the Unit while my body was being stabilized for

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-80432109046305750402009-02-05T08:48:00.007-05:002009-02-05T12:55:59.360-05:00

I haven't written anything in almost a week. I don't know exactly why. I just haven't felt like "looking back". Looking back can be a great thing. It helps us to see how far we've come in life. When I look back & remember my immaturity, my lack, my foolishness of youth - of which there was much - and then compare it to my life now, it creates in me an attitude of gratitude. I can see in

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-63967752289001509112009-01-30T08:50:00.006-05:002009-01-30T13:14:56.871-05:00

I really hate saying, "I was in rehab for 4 months" nowadays because it automatically conjures up images of substance abuse in people's minds. Twenty-two years ago when I was actually in rehab, the term was understood to mean PHYSICAL rehabilitation. Anyone who had a substance abuse problem went "into treatment" - unless they were rich & famous & then they "went to Betty Ford". Now, everybody

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-965884707737307952009-01-26T12:28:00.005-05:002009-01-30T12:56:48.999-05:00

First, let me thank everyone for the wonderful comments after part 1. I am so glad that God uses my setback to help & touch others! Now, it’s time for part 2 of my story.As the wreck was happening, I awoke briefly to the sound of metal crunching & sliding across the ground, and then I passed out. The next thing I remember is the driver talking to me. I asked what had happened & he said we had

Sandranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-11116808274560059102009-01-22T10:36:00.006-05:002009-03-26T12:03:34.026-04:00

I've been asked that question a lot over the years. It's come in various forms - everything from the quiet & shy, "Um...if you don't mind, um...may I ask, um...why are you in that wheelchair?" to the bold & brazen (& usually loud), "So, why you in that thang?" Usually the question is asked by a virtual stranger in a store or restaurant or movie line or something, so I just give the soundbite, "

Sandranoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5087802746826200728.post-30231999219025330452009-01-21T12:26:00.003-05:002009-01-22T08:20:41.123-05:00

As I sat here debating the idea of starting a blog, I decided that whether I did so or not, it wouldn't hurt to go ahead & fill out my profile. Unfortunately, that decision put me right smack dab in the path of that odious "About Me" box. There it was, taunting me, expecting me to sum up my very existence in 1200 characters or less. And even though it was only implied, I instinctively knew

Sandranoreply@blogger.com2