Just Ride

2024

I was trying to finish up a snowflake while Lizard loaded the bikes onto the car. We had been around the block on our bikes a couple of times last month, but hadn't really gone for a good ride in months. Since winter weather set in. I hate taking breaks that long because I know Lizard will have to start all over again from scratch when he gets back on his bike. And the tiniest bit of stress will make him feel like he can't ride.

I should have known something was wrong. It normally doesn't take snowflake-finishing long for him to put the bikes on the rack. When Lizard came back in the house, he was completely stressed out and ready to give up. I told him to sit down and rest for a bit, and I'd finish loading the bikes, not knowing what a mess I was getting myself into. He sat down, and I could tell I was going to have to go into cheerleader mode to get him to go once the bikes were loaded.

The first bike was backwards and completely caught in the rack. In four short months, Lizard had forgotten how to load the bikes. I should have offered to help when he couldn't remember the code to open the garage door. I should have known Parkinson's had stolen more than just the code he set up 15 years ago. The brace for the front wheel was completely tangled in the spokes of the back wheel. I didn't know if I'd be able to safely extract the bike, and I didn't know if the wheel would still be true.

A little more than half an hour later, I had the bikes loaded, and I went back into the house to tell Lizard we could go. He was asleep on the floor. He often lays on the floor to stretch, but he typically puts his exercise mat down first. Weather was expected to move in within the next three hours. We'd vowed to ride every day for the past two weeks, but Lizard has been having great difficulty sleeping at night again, and he's too tired every single day. This was the first day he'd been awake. Until he wasn't...

With another storm expected in a couple of days, I thought we'd better ride while we could; we might not get another chance until the following week. I woke Lizard and told him the bikes were ready.

2024

Nearly an hour later, he was in the car and ready to go. We got to the trailhead, and I took the bikes off the rack. He typically does that, but I didn't want him to stress again. Good thing, too, because he soon was stressed out and ready to give up again because once again, just like each time we've tried to get back into the routine, he couldn't get his leg over his bike.

2023

I tried holding his bike for him and guiding his foot, which was super Parkinson's rigid, over the back tire and onto the pedal. The entire time, he kept saying he was done and wanted to go home. This had happened multiple times last year, and each time, I was able to cheer him into not giving up. It was SO much harder this time. But I finally got him back on his bike, and he was able to pedal upright, with better balance than he has when walking. That also is normal. His bike has been like his wheelchair for the past five years. He often can ride immediately once he's able to get on the bike, as if he'd never been off it. It's just a matter of getting back on the bike.

2024

I suggested we ride around the parking lot first, to make sure he was going to be able to ride, as well as turn around, which he'd have to do if we made it onto the trail. He was extremely slow, but he was riding. Until it came time to turn around. We'd gone barely a mile when he said his legs were gone. Sometimes he can get a second wind, if I can keep him on the bike. But I wasn't able to keep him on his bike. He struggled getting off while I dismounted as quickly as I could to help him. He sat on the ground and said he was done. He said he'd walk his bike back to the car. He didn't want to try getting back on the bike. He already knew he couldn't do it.

2024

A couple of times last year, he was able to get back on his bike by standing on a curb, so he was just a bit higher than the bike, enabling him to get his leg over the bike. I walked both bikes to the closest curb, about a quarter mile away, while he slowly followed behind, the standard Parkinson's gait. Shuffling his feet, arms not moving at all, extremely hunched over. Beaten. Defeated.

"I can't speak anymore," he said when he finally reached me. "I can't read anymore. I can't wrench on my bike anymore. I walk at a snail's pace. And now I can't ride anymore. I can't even get on my bike. My life is over."

It was the most he'd said in weeks, perhaps months, and I could understand every word. He tends to be loud enough for me to hear when he's angry. I told him to turn that fire into determination and get back on that bike. He coughed up all kinds of excuses for the next ten or so minutes. Meanwhile, other cyclists rode by, each pausing and asking if we were okay. I would explain he has Parkinson's and is trying to get back on his bike. Each passing cyclist would compliment Lizard on his determination and progress, but then ride off. I suppose it's uncomfortable to try to help someone when you perhaps don't have the slightest clue how to help and are afraid you might help cause an injury.

I tried the entire afternoon to stay cheerful, loving, patient and believing. I kept telling him I knew he could do it. I would remind him of the times he wouldn't let me give up. Trying to get up the Grand Mesa during Ride the Rockies, when he came up behind me and gently pushed my back, cheering me to "Push! Push! Push!!" The time he had to encourage me across a stream deeper than I was comfortable crossing while descending a 14er... while lightning was chasing us back to our car. The time he coached me up an arch in Rattlesnake Canyon when I had never, ever rock-climbed.

"You can do this!" I kept telling him. "You've got this! I believe in you!"

I silently prayed. Oh, how I prayed. I begged God to please not let this be the end of his cycling. It's his only remaining passion. Please don't let him give up yet. Please help me to get him back on his bike. I know he can do this.

Meanwhile, the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees, and the wind had become pretty furious. Such conditions do NOT help anyone get back on a bike. Lizard finally asked if he could have a hot chocolate with almond milk if he was able to get back on his bike.

2023

"Of course! The perfect reward!!! Now let's try to get back on the bike. I think you can do it if you stand on the curb."

It took a while, but Lizard got back on his bike. And he rode all the way back to the car. And around the parking lot three times before announcing his legs were beginning to come back to life. His legs weren't the only thing that came back to life. He remembered, finally, how much he loves riding his bike. Now it's my job not to let him forget. No matter the weather.

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Snowflake Monday

The week before Thanksgiving, my sister had a biopsy. She called me the following Thursday night to ask what it means when the doctor calls after office hours and wants her back in his office first thing the next morning. I knew, and I was crushed. We had prayed and fasted for her. She does not see God in her life and doesn't really care to, and I wanted to try to help her keep her spirits high. When she called again the next morning, she didn't have to say the C word. I'd had all night to prepare. But my words for her wouldn't come.

Pinktober came a little late this year.

A few days later, I discovered this precious video on YouTube. It was exactly what I needed. Exactly when I needed it. But how could I help it be what she needed?

I was able to share the video with my sister-in-law, who also is a full-time caregiver right now while her dad battles terminal cancer. She is not of my faith, but we've had so many heartfelt discussions about faith and our Savior. We can read scriptures together as we talk or text on the phone. Our differences in faith have never mattered. I wished I could have that kind of relationship with my sister.

I decided perhaps that's what I need to pray for. The day before Thanksgiving, the opportunity arose during a painful phone conversation with my sister. I seized the moment and asked if I could send her the video. I acknowledged she doesn't have the same beliefs as me, and I told her I understand her apprehension, especially now. I told her I face my own faith battles from time to time, and I completely respect her point of view. She said to go ahead and send the video.

A few minutes after I sent it, she texted me a thumb's-up. I responded that it's really difficult for me to think of Parkinson's as bread, but I'm doing the best I can. "Understood," was her reply. I wasn't sure she'd ever confide in me again. I wasn't sure if I'd be the one she'd turn to with questions anymore. But I thanked God for giving me that brief window and helping me recognize it as an opening.

I crocheted these snowflakes in her honor on White Friday (which experience won't appear on my blog until November 2025).

I decided I should send her a bunch of pink snowflakes, the way I used to for everyone I knew who was diagnosed with breast cancer. Back before Parkinson's consumed so much of my life and so much of my husband's soul. Back when I did Pink Friday in honor of those battling breast cancer. As today's flakes were drying, my sister texted me and proceded to carry on a completely normal conversation. Thanksgiving lasted longer than one day for me this year.

I created a White Friday Snowflake rug from T-shirt yarn (tarn) seven years ago but never made a plain white (or pink) snowflake from the pattern until now. I might need to challenge myself to design a new snowflake pattern every White Friday...

You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell or republish the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!

Finished Size: 5.5 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 7 crochet hook, optional1-1.25" stone, jewel or charm for necklace, 12-inch or desired length of chain for necklace (although you also could crochet a chain or use a ribbon), empty pizza box, wax paper or plastic wrap, cellophane tape, water soluble school glue or desired stiffener, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line

White Friday II Snowflake Instructions

Make magic ring.

Round 1: Ch 6 (counts as 1 dtr and ch 2), [1 dtr in ring, ch 2] 11 times; sl st in 4th ch of starting ch 6. Pull magic circle tight. For necklace, make 2 Round 1 discs, and bind off at the end of the 1st one.

Round 2: 4 sc in each ch 2 sp around; sl st in starting sc. For necklace, hold 2 motifs together and work 4 sc in each ch 2 sp around, inserting stone/jewel or charm 2/3s of the way around before completing 4 sc in final ch 2 spaces, sealing insert inside of snowflake center.

Round 3: [1 sc in same sc as sl st (or next sc in repeats), ch 1, 1 hdc in next sc, ch 1, 1 dc in next sc, ch 1, 1 tr in next sc, ch 3, 1 tr in next sc, ch 1, 1 dc in next sc, ch 1, 1 hdc in next sc, ch 1, 1 sc in next sc] 6 times; sl st in starting sc.
If you're not reading this pattern on Snowcatcher, you're not reading the designer's blog. Please go here to see the original.

Round 4: Sl st in next ch 1 sp, ch 2 (counts as 1 sc and [ch 1), 1 hdc in next ch 1 sp, 1 dc in next ch 1 sp, in next ch 3 tip work (1 tr, ch 5, 1 dtr, ch 7, 1 dtr, ch 5, 1 tr), 1 dc in next ch 1 sp, 1 hdc in next ch 1 sp, 1 sc in next ch 1 sp, sk next 2 sc, 1 sc in next ch 1 sp] 6 times, omitting last sc of final repeat; sl st in 1st ch of starting ch 2; bind off. Weave in ends. For necklace, work 2 sc/hdc/dc in ch 1 sp to provide more structure strength for heavy pendant.

Finish: I've been stiffening my flakes with undiluted, full-strength water soluble school glue for quite a while now, and I've been squishing the glue onto and throughout each flake with my fingers (yucky mess!!!) instead of gingerly painting the flakes with glue. Yes, it's a mess. But it's faster. And stiffer.

Tape wax paper or plastic wrap to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or plastic wrap.

If using glue, mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture or desired stiffener. Sprinkle lightly with glitter. Wash paintbrush and container thoroughly. Allow snowflake to dry at least 24 hours. Remove pins. Gently peel snowflake from wax paper or plastic wrap. Attach 10-inch clear thread to one spoke, weaving in end. Wrap fishing line around tree branch (or tape to ceiling or any overhead surface) and watch snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.

For necklace, stiffen same as snowflake, taking care not to get glue on stone/jewel/charm. Once dry and removed from pinning surface, attach chain (or attach thread/yarn and crochet a chain). Brighten the life of any Frozen-loving little girl with a White Friday II Snowflake Pendant!

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Tender Mercies

It was not a Christmas to remember, but it is one we won't soon forget. And yet, there were so many tender mercies.

I completed CPR recertification for the first time in five years literally the week before I needed it. My employer paid for my training, even though I am not in the office the required "at least three days a week" they mandated. I volunteered to pay for it myself, but I was never billed.

While growing up, my grandmother taught me, via application, that Vicks Vaporub is the key to winter survival. She taught me, again, through how she tended to me and my two little brothers, that (pure, local) honey and lemon work just as well as any over-the-counter concoction. As does a warm salt water gargle. And vitamin C in almost any form, particularly pineapple. Oh, and steam. Breathe it in, breathe it in, breathe it in. Back then, Grandma would drape a towel over our heads as we stood on a kitchen chair to lean over a steaming (blue with white flecks) tea pot on the stove and breathe in the steam. I don't need a towel these days. My hair LOVES pretending to be a towel. And it looks pretty darned healthy and wavy after I finish!

Drugs prescribed to treat Parkinson's don't play nicely with over-the-counter meds, so natural remedies are just about the only way to kick the common cold. Thank heavens, one of my super powers must be my often unbelievable immunity. While growing up, I cared for my entire 9-member family through two bouts of "Hong Kong" flu without ever contracting it. I did steal Lizard's sore throat for two days a couple of weeks ago, but only after accidentally using his toothbrush. It's been so long since either of us was sick, I'd forgotten I ALWAYS replace our toothbrushes after we've had a cold or virus.

Steam. My goodness, who in the world would have ever expected me to be thankful for those pesky tiny black "no see 'em" bugs I couldn't get rid of, even after I gave away nearly all our houseplants? Back about three months ago, another gardener told me the best way to get rid of those mini monsters was not the dish soap/apple cider vinegar concoction I'd been spraying on the pots and soil for years, but to instead dump a pot of boiling hot water down each drain (where the vexing little bugs nest) every day for at least ten days. It worked. The steam also humidified the kitchen/dining room/living room of our house, and I wanted to make sure the little bugs didn't come back. So I kept doing it. I think that homemade humidity made our air healthier when we needed it most.

The prayers of friends and loved ones literally got us a next-day emergency appointment with the general practitioner, which prevented us from the likely hours-long wait Lizard would have had to endure at an urgent care center while I filled out mountains of paperwork then trusted his life to strangers who don't know his history and which meds he can take. Not to mention the potential exposure to more winter germs after he had just successfully recovered from 12 days of a common cold complicated by allergies. The week before Christmas! I expected we'd have to make that emergency room visit because no one would be able to squeeze us in until after the new year.

I didn't find out about the medical emergency until 2 a.m. Sunday. It would be 28 hours before I could call the family physician. (Yes, I tried the number, and was directed to call 911). The aforementioned CPR training (which no longer includes splinting or stopping bleeding, which I independently studied up on at the same time because these skills are as important to me as a caregiver as CRP and AED) was just what I needed just when I needed it.

2019 total knee replacement

Four of my bosses did not protest when I informed them Monday morning of our last-minute medical emergency appointment the following day. My fifth boss sent me one of the kindest emails I've ever received: "Deb, you do whatever you have to do to take care of your husband and get him the medical care he needs. Nothing here is as important as that." My sweet co-worker graciously volunteered to cover for me during the appointment, just as she did during the pandemic when I attended my dad's funeral and Lizard's step-sister's funeral. (Assigned coverage during time off in summer and fourth quarter requires months of advance notice.) The miracle of me being allowed to work from home is continually one of our most huge gifts.

Hardwood floors. They came with the house, and boy, am I ever thankful most of the house is not carpeted. Lizard dripped blood everywhere his restless legs carried him before he discovered he was bleeding. So grateful this Parkinson's-ravaged, often-confused and sometimes childlike sweetheart of mine noticed he was oozing before the bleeding began and took the time (fighting all-out achiness, given the nature of the looming medical emergency) to cover each seating surface in the house with a towel and an old bicycle T-shirt. Every single T-shirt he used now displays "war wounds" of the night neither of us will ever forget.

The ability to calmly and tenderly slow the bleeding and encourage coagulation while panic was banging on the door and screaming in my ears. The almost magical healing power of fresh air on highly irritated skin. The ability to keep cleaning and dressing wounds without violently displacing everything I'd eaten the previous day and everything I ate the next 56 hours. The power of hydrogen peroxide in removing blood stains in the tub. The ability to forget how much the blood in the tub scared me when I discovered it hours later. The ability to keep eating after some of the horrendous views I thought would haunt me for months or perhaps even years. The miracle of not dreaming about Lizard's suffering every time I close my eyes.

The example of my sweet mother, who three times daily dressed the wounds on my diabetic father's legs for nearly a decade to prevent gangrene. The doctors told my dad all those years it would not be high blood pressure or cancer that got him. It would be the gangrene. Cancer won.

The example of my friend Shonna and her husband the last four months of her life when she was the one bleeding and in agony as her bed-ridden body slowly succumbed to ovarian cancer. Shonna's closest friends would volunteer to sit with her eight to ten hours while her husband went to work to keep the medical bills paid. The first time I volunteered, I had never seen such suffering in person, and I was horrified. I didn't know if I could finish my shift. But sweet Shonna, between bouts of unimaginable pain, would ask me to massage her feet, which is how I learned to massage Lizard's restless legs. She would ask me to sing "I am a Child of God." And she requested I sing it at her funeral. (Yes, I did.) I think God helped me finish that first shift because there's no way I could have done it alone, even though I love Shonna with all my heart and wanted to do whatever I could to help ease her pain. The biggie, though, was watching her husband lovingly do the tender but painful necessary cleaning of highly sensitive skin as she screamed and moaned in pain. He would continually tell her how much he loves her and how everything was going to be okay. Not once did he shy away, and not once did he express any hint of negativity. I'm not sure he knows he taught me to do what I had to do for Lizard last week by teaching me how to do it for Shonna.

The miracle of sleep. For both of us. I had to work each week day of our trauma, and I was able to get sleep once Lizard was able to get sleep. Sleep allowed me to keep functioning, even when it seemed our whole world was being ripped apart at the skin creases. The miracle of healing. Lizard is mending. And he's still getting some of that precious sleep.

Christmas is a time of miracles. Our lives may not have turned out the way we dreamed, but we certainly receive enough miracles to make up the difference. All year long. Most especially, this year. Not a one of these tender mercy "gifts" was wrapped, but if we were able to pile them, I think the tower would be taller than the skyscraper I call work.

Last week was a nightmare. But I know Whose footprints are in the sand. And snow...

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Blessings Happen

We finally got our first snow of the season the last weekend of October. Ten and a half glorious inches fell on Sunday morning.

It was the morning of our Primary Program, when the little kids present songs and short talks. I teach the 5- and 6-year-olds. I had SO much to do that morning, there was no way I could spend an hour or so on the porch photographing the fluffly flakes.

The snow was forecast to end while I was in church. I said a little prayer on the way to church that Heavenly Father might save a few of those fabulous flakes for me in the afternoon.

And He did!

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