I celebrated Mother's Day a week early in my desire not to miss the holiday. Mostly because I'm a space case, I emailed my mom happy wishes, and she replied along the lines of, "That's sweet, and a week early."[...]

Neil Gaiman says the sign of a good story is that you ask, "And then what happened?" That has nothing to do with my day really, but if think it's a nice bit of literary criticism. The phrase actually came to mind because as I was thinking about my day it seemed like a never ending disconnected list of exhausting events. [...]

A few weeks ago one of the therapists told me there was an annual gathering of patients from rehab clinics across Switzerland and invited me to go this year. "It's in the French speaking part of Switzerland, so it's a four hour drive away. Can you do that?" [...]

I'll be leaving here as an inpatient soon, but there's a lot of therapy still to do to engage and strengthen my muscles. This morning I got myself ready for an early physio session with Alex where she taught me some stretches and balancing to practice on my own. Shortly after that I headed to the kitchen to make cookies while another patient made lunch. I find the occupational therapists are hard to impress, and today was no exception as Isabelle insisted a try to walk around the kitchen with my sticks and push a cart with the ingredients where I needed them. I think the difficulty impressing them comes from the expectation that i should be able to do everything alone. They just ask me to do everything and don't help unless I ask. I really love it because it motivates me to achieve whatever they ask me to do. When I can't, they are gracious to me and help me work to meet the new goal. I did my best to stay out of the today chair while I prepared the cookies, but eventually I needed to sit down, and I was grateful for the short break as we ate our lunch because I had a hand bike group directly afterwards. Once we washed the dishes, I returned my sticks to my room and met the rest of the patients and therapists in the hand bike group outside.[...]

A couple weeks after my accident, I had an itch on my right thigh. Unfortunately, I have nerve damage there and can't sense scratching. The itch hasn't left for five months... I keep scratching, but nothing happens. It's unnerving. It's such a mundane thing, yet I'm so thrown off by it. Sometimes mundane things are unnerving.[...]

It demands to be felt. Pain, that is. That's one of my favorite lines from John Green's The Fault in Our Stars - it's a profound concept. I couldn't ignore the pain I felt in the emergency room before the surgeon fixed my broken vertebrae. I can't forget the nights of agony when neurons fired angry relentless messages to my brain that my back was on fire from the nerves being severed or stretched in my spine. Even now the ache refuses to go away through the day, and every morning mid torso down I feel unbelievably stiff and have to fight with my left hip to lift my leg and stretch the sore and tight muscles.[...]

My dad's love language is giving books. He finds no greater pleasure than passing on a text he values to someone he cares about. Years ago, he became enamored with the writings of Watchman Nee. He bought up every print copy of the book he could find and even went so far as to find the publisher with copyrights to ask for more when he discovered most of Nee's books were out of print. The particular text he sought out in bulk was Sit, Walk, Stand, Nee's look at the book of Ephesians. I was among the dozens if not hundreds who received a copy of the book from my dad. Unlike the majority of his crusade texts, I actually read this one. Granted, he made a big deal of it, so I mostly did it to get him to stop asking me if I'd read it.[...]

"What is wrong with your socks?"
"Do any of your socks match?"
"Your socks are not a pair."
"How very American."
"All Americans wear mismatched socks."[...]

I was prepared for my first social outing to be an emotionally overwhelming event, however, I was not prepared to receive quite the welcome that I did when I wheeled into the BFA staff appreciation dinner last night. I thought I could make an inconspicuous entrance since I'm short in my wheelchair. I'm a little suspicious the tall Canadian behind me was waving his hands or something to draw attention to me... I barely made it into the building before people started clapping, and then they started standing up across the room. From the outside, I'm sure it looked strange to see a room full of adults dressed to the nines applauding a wheelchair bound girl in sweatpants. For me, I was keenly aware of how incredibly loved I am, and I'm so grateful for it.[...]

The concept of home is difficult for an expat. I've read sentiments that express an expat can never fully come home because she has left part of her heart in different places. I don't know how I feel about all those sappy statements, but there is some truth behind them. I struggled with the concept of home before I even considered moving overseas, yet I'm stubbornly sure Portland will always be the home of my heart. Even so, Kandern is also my home. So is REHAB Basel for now though it's a home I'm eager to transition out of.[...]