http://www.cftre.com/srt.phpThat is Self Regulation Therapy that my Therapist thinks will work for part of me
She has been really thinking about the fact that I was never counseled (debriefed) when I was paralyzed. I was left on my own to think, and there was plenty to think of. I had severe neurological damage done to my body and the above SRT is a Neurobiological approach to loosen up the large ‘blockage’ of trauma for which I had no psychological therapy. (I had plenty of physical therapy.)
Post Traumatic Stress
Pain in neck and back, and, which might also be from
Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction, that I know I have,
plus other neurological things.
She expects that even though I had the dysfunctional childhood that I had, it was worsened by the accident, the blockage, then following traumas could not be dealt with properly.
Here’s A STORY of “not getting it and thinking they are being a help for when I was released”.My eldest sister and her husband bought a building containing 4 apartments. They renovated it, lots of things, then told me. I could live in one apartment free, for looking after their investment for them, i.e. 3 other apartments –rent, problems, keep hallways and stairs clean etc, BUT they were upstairs and I mean stair steps, not escalator steps, as well there were steps to get into the building.
I declined and Sis was furious that they went to all this trouble for me—it was ridiculous. I told that to Therapist today and her jaw dropped.
I also told her this story about being catheterized (for 7 months after the crash)My friends, Ruth and John, came to the Rehab Hosp. to take me out for an evening. We went to The Ports of Call, if anyone knows Toronto, and began to drink beer. All I had to do was reach down to know when my ‘leg bag’ was filling/full. (It was strapped just above my ankle with a slit in the seam of my slacks to access the nozzle.) (With a dress one can lay in on one’s lap—there’s a story there too.)
Finally I had to go empty it. Ruth and I went to the washroom and there was absolutely no turning area to access a cubicle. (This is ’69 & ’70 and nothing was accessible). This was a shmancy place with an washroom attendant. I just went to the sink and lifted my leg up and over it. I undid the nozzle and peed into the sink, much to the dismay of the attendant and a few other gals. I was only a little embarrassed, not as bad as I thought I would be, then closed the nozzle, scrubbed and rinsed the sink twice and we left.
Then we left to go further downtown to a Country and Western Bar and had more beer, were going to go for something to eat, but the restaurant was closed. I reached down now and again and no full bag—why?
John just pushed me along Yonge Street sidewalk, then we crossed Yonge to the other side to get to the car and drive me back.
When I opened the car door at the Rehab. I was so dismayed. His car carpeting was drenched as was my shoe and my slacks—I hadn’t tightened the nozzle properly at Ports of Call…
So I peed on Toronto that night. (With no feeling in my lower legs and feet, it happens.)
Ruth and John just laughed along we me when we realized how long!! The night cleaner was not happy. He got his mop and followed me up the ramp across the floor to and into the elevator and then down the hallway until I was in the bathroom—
I will tag this with only that after properly rinsing my green canvas shoe I was 1 shoe short for 3 days while it dried.
I have a book in me somewhere!
Love
Izzy
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