Dreaming in Neutral

I do a lot of thinking about all kinds of things all of the time, even when I’m sleeping. I always have.  My mind never seems to relax, and my imagination only needs the slightest nudge to become teeming with grandiosity, thinking of big possibilities, always keeping my eyes on the big prize of a good life.  Then reality sets in and I bring my feet back down to earth, and I realize that again I have succumbed to the “eyes bigger than my stomach” syndrome that my dad used to laugh at me for when I was choosing my dinner at Picadilly Cafeteria in Crabtree Mall back in the day (my dad is not a McDonald’s man), after an exhaustive, all day trip of back to school shopping with my family.  I always wanted the whole grand combination, including a salad, roll, and dessert, which someone invariably had to help me finish.  I guess I just dream big, think in the deepest measure, and like to go all out in everything I do.  By setting big goals and working hard to achieve them, I have accomplished many of the things that I have set out to do. However, I do have some dreams that seem so elusive, even after getting so close to achieving them.  And now that my physical capabilities are so limited, I feel that I may never achieve some of them at this late point in my life.  My pros and cons list seems so lopsided to the cons side.  It is only the faith that I have in better days and my willingness to always look at the silver linings in my dark cloud that give my heart joy and keep my restless mind sane.

What do I dream about these days?  In my dreams I have conversations with my mother; those nights my dreams seem so real that I can touch her.  Also in my dreams, many times I am walking or dancing or moving in some incredible way only to awaken to the cramps and dead weight feeling in my stiffened limbs.  Those dreams I count as my sweet reveries, those wonderful, intimate moments that are real and will be real only to me.  But what of the more practical dreams, those dreams that are the impetus for creating one’s happiness in life?  I began to muse and the first thing I see is a house, all on one level, with a porch and a ramp for my easy access as I go to and fro with my volunteer work and small scale jobs.  We are paying a mortgage instead of rent like we are doing in the house where we currently live, rent which is too expensive for the limited space and the inability to renovate to accommodate my new handicapped status.  Oh, you don’t know how I long to take a shower or bath (a big wish I haven’t enjoyed in years for fear of not being able to get out of the tub, so low to the ground—a bubble bath!).  Instead, it is a current struggle and terror of getting in and out of the shower, and then standing, no, leaning towards the wall by holding myself up with one arm while washing half of my body with the other hand.  Then it’s a quick switch to the other side, and I am starting to feel the burn in my atrophying leg muscles, already weak from standing, even with my arm prop.  Now I am hurrying to finish, rinse away the suds, and make it out of the tub without collapsing.  By now I can barely get my slides on. I get my cane and move to the bedroom like Lurch answering the door… “You rang?”  LOL!  As I flop down on the bed to begin drying myself off in earnest, start to catch my breath and rebuild my strength from my fight to get clean, I desperately dream of a shower with a side bar that I could hold on to, a seat to sit on with a hand held shower wand—oh, the joy that would flood my soul!  Ah man, when I see Pat Boone in the safety tub advertized on TV, I just wish and wish and wish…

Along with that dream, I have visions of being able to get out of the house, put my electric wheelchair on the hitch, and tool around town to take care of my business without depending on someone else to drive me around or push me in my chair.  My Endeavor, which I have not driven since 2011, would be outfitted with hand controls, and I would be down at my dad’s house, on the back country roads learning how to drive it safely.  What would I then do?  I would take myself to the YMCA some mornings, to begin using my Silver Slippers benefit, a part of now having health insurance through Medicare (hooray!), and start exercising my limited muscles to stretch and limber up whatever mobility I still have left.  Physical therapy was so good for me back when I had a job and health insurance, and I am hoping that even with the two year stretch of no health care, I can regain some of that quality of life in my present life.  I have a manual wheelchair that I currently use—functional and cheap, ordered from Walgreens—but I need help getting it in and out of the house when I go somewhere.  There are a few steps to climb to get in and out of the house.  I also have a sporty blue walker, and a raggedy cane that I pretty much rely on to get around. 

A quick aside: I have an electric wheelchair, which needs servicing (probably new batteries mainly), currently packed away in storage.  I love my chair!  It’s red and was given to me by the middle school student body and through the great endeavor of a dear, dear friend and colleague.  MS had not defeated me yet, but the struggle was real, and it was getting harder for me to get around.  One of my colleagues and my principal at the time had worked out this wonderful surprise and life saver for me—my own beautiful, shiny red roadster, my electric wheelchair!  My teaching life was given a two year extension from that magnanimous gift, and the tears of gratitude still flow even today as I think about sitting down in that chair for the first time, turning it on with the engaging sound of an “Err, err”, which my students always laughed at (here comes Mrs. Bunting), and taking it for a spin down the hall.  When I turned around, the entire middle school was hanging out of the classroom doors, yelling and cheering for me as I took my inaugural run back down the hall.  “Do a doughnut in the rotunda, Mrs. Bunting!”  “Burn some rubber!”  “When are you going to race Ms. Harvey?”  “I can get you some 22s, some boost, and really trick your whip out for you!”…  Blessings of goodness and beautiful miracles in my life such as this also keep me dreaming and believing in the impossible, or perhaps, highly improbable chance of getting back in the game one more time, this time bowing out, when the time comes, on my own terms, with grace and a chance to say goodbye to my teacher friends and students.

Back to my current dreams, the other part of my newly found freedom and mobility would be me either working somewhere part-time, maybe 5-10 hours a week, or volunteering my time in a setting where I can use my skills, interests, and talents to help others.  I can see myself reading to little children, being a tutor or content area vocabulary coach in a middle school, manning a homework help hub, leading a poetry camp or book club discussion for teens, playing piano for residents in a nursing home who don’t get out much…  I could also see myself driving out to the community college so that I can take a painting, drawing, pottery, photography, cake decorating, calligraphy, jewelry or candle making class… Any one of these classes, among others, I would like to learn more about or brush up on, like photography, which I used to be quite good at doing.  I could find someone to teach me how to play my guitar.  I really could use some direction in getting started.  I think that I can learn more from a live person than a computer video.

Although I am a dreamer, I have a need to interact with other people; my interpersonal skills have been dulled and numbed from inactivity.  But the moment I get the chance to engage with someone else, especially if that person is in need of assistance, I immediately spring back into my live, vibrant self.  I need more outlets to be my vibrant self, to get out in the world, to be more than just matter, sucking up air and taking up space.  I want to MATTER!  As I continue to plan, plod, wish, and work towards making my dreams more tangible, the roadblock of reality looms, a lion tamer of dreams, a beast itself that must be tamed.  Taming that beast is what I must figure out a way to do while standing at this crossroad.  How do I kick my dreams out of neutral so that I can truly live again, and not just be remembered as “Donita Quixote”, dreaming my life away and chasing windmills? 

Who Am I? Defining Self

“Harpo, who dis woman?”  Who is this woman raving about wanting her life back?  Well, let me go a little factual and tell you a little bit about myself.

I am Jan Yvette Jordan Bunting, and I am standing tall on top of the hill in the Half Century Club, 50 years strong and looking forward to another happy year this summer.  I am a proud, lifelong resident of NC.  I have lived all of my life, except for a few summers, within these tar-heeled borders.  My husband’s name is Gerald, known to the world as Duke, and as Maxwell to an intimate few.  We are both avid NC State Wolfpack fans.  We have two boys, Jordan Maxwell, in college and playing basketball, and Jalen Christopher, who loves to play football and is a budding entrepreneur.  Their personalities are like night and day, Jordan being calm and laid back (except on the basketball court—he’s a beast!) like his dad, and Jalen being a wild, know-it-all spitfire like his mom.  My first two years of college life were spent at Duke University, where I sang in the Duke Chorale under the choral direction of the famous J. Benjamin Smith, and pledged Delta Sigma Theta sorority.  Also at Duke, I completed half of a master’s of arts degree in Liberal Studies, with a focus on American Studies.  I therefore have deep loyalties to both of these schools.  I have a plethora of knowledge in language arts, literature, and an undergraduate degree in speech communication (speech and language disorders) from NCSU.

After graduating college and a brief stint as a shoe salesman at Endicott Johnson Shoes, I got my start in the world of teaching as an educational aide in a Willie M behavioral school in Chapel Hill. From there I started full-fledged teaching as a speech and language teacher in 1989.  I taught steadily from that time until 2012 (a bittersweet story unto itself, maybe to be told at a later time…) and also have teaching experiences in the community college setting, a sheltered workshop, a prison, and finally a charter school.  I am a certified teacher (though not currently teaching), middle school language arts, having earned 17 renewal credits for this past 5 year cycle, which means I am still qualified to teach in the state of NC until 2018.  Those renewal credits include expertise in content area reading, teaching struggling readers at the middle school level, vocabulary enrichment, podcasting and integrating technology into my language arts lessons, and the new common core standards for language arts.  I mention those 17 credits not to brag but to highlight my hard work and dedication to my profession.  I love creative ventures like art and music, reading, and talking about books.  I also love to write and have a penchant for history and literature, so teaching language arts and being able to infuse history, music and art into my lessons was the ultimate heaven.

I earned my master's degree from NCSU in 2005 as a part of getting my NC certification in middle grades language arts.  I was known at my school as a master teacher, a teacher leader in the classroom.  The knowledge I gained at the graduate level made me a much better teacher, with a wealth of research based practices and information that I could use for classroom instruction and for sharing with fellow teachers in professional development workshops.  I worked on my degree while I taught, and generously shared what I learned with my students and colleagues, which helped us to raise the educational bar in our school in so many ways.  The extra knowledge and experience gained at the graduate level is invaluable, and gives teachers a greater arsenal to use with students to help them maximize learning, to support literacy, as well as teach reading and other skills necessary to succeed in our 21st century, global world.

I close this post with a Name Poem, found from a lesson plan for one of my poetry unit examples to model with my students.  I hope you have enjoyed getting to know me.  I know that I enjoyed today’s reflection on my life so far, a reflection that undoubtedly has many more layers to unravel, but still has been a fond look back on the road I am traveling, while standing at a crossroads, trying to figure out what to do with myself next.  I believe that God didn’t bless me with all of these experiences and this varied knowledge for me to hide my talents under a rock.  Such gifts are meant to be shared, and being a teacher was one of the best gifts that God bestowed on me.  I can truly say that even though I ran from it, famous for telling my mother that “I would NEVER be a teacher”, the times spent in my classroom were some of the happiest days of my professional adult life.  I always laugh at myself in thinking about that sentiment, especially after 23 years of service to a calling that I was born to do—TEACH.

 

Jan

It means engaging, funny, intellectual,
It is 719,
It is like blackberry wine and robust eggplant,
It is sitting on the beach under an umbrella, with a good book, sun shades and music,
It is the bittersweet memory of my mother,
Who taught me perseverance and a lifelong love of words
When she had me for senior English,
My name is Jan,
It means I believe in me and the power to reach for success in whatever I do.  Ultimately, the power of love transcends all.

 

 

Not Too Sure Where This Is Going...

I want my life back, perhaps not the same as before, but I need an outlet to do something. Every time I think of what MS has robbed me of, reduced me to, I get misty eyed and sad, like I am now. I feel empty, defeated, so unlike my real self, the one I haven't seen in so very long. Every day seems like surrender, and is spent more and more in increasing slumber.

I want to break free of this cluttered cage of exile I have built for myself around this lumpy, dumpy old couch--my laptop, stacks of newspapers read and unread (I've even abandoned the thrill of completing the daily jumble and crossword, a habit I plan to reignite tomorrow along with some tosses of "history", no longer news), cups, pencils, pens, books, and the overflowing box of necessary mail, bills, sundry papers, and important receipts that I must save but really have no more space for... (Organized boxes without a real home quickly become new wardens, too willing accomplices in my fortress.) I need to reset my course as this abyss widens, threatening to complete its quicksand strangulation on my self, my will, my psyche, my reason for being. I want my life back.

"Multiple sclerosis destroys connections", the commercial says, and I know this to be true, literally and figuratively. There are points in my body where the MS rages and wreaks havoc, like in my right foot, which pretty much doesn't work anymore. I just drag it along as best I can when I have to move, that's if it hasn't decided to be totally hyperextended and unbending, so that someone has to come and help me move, which I really hate. Even though my foot moves spastically and seems like a block of wood, the nerves in my big toe are so hyperflaring in shooting needles intensity that it often throbs just from the touch of the coverlet thrown across my legs. Imagine your foot waking up, that prickly, hot, needly feeling, and that sensation is the backdrop of my entire awakened day, and night, for after sleeping during the day, I am up pretty much all night, like I am now as I write this post. Destroyed, gone forever, is my ability to walk unencumbered and to dance, which I loved to do. Gone, gone, gone... My husband believes that if I believe, that one day those abilities will come back to me. I do not fool myself anymore--it's just not happening.

At age 50, I have so much life inside of me still, so many vibrant ideas and wishes, a joyful spirit and a teacher's voice inside of me, screaming to be unleashed in some manner or form. Most of all I miss teaching--being able to awaken each day with a sense of purpose and duty, having somewhere to go where I can interact, grow, and share with other people and in different experiences and challenges. I think back to grumbling to the shower, rushing out of the door in a hurry, being evil inside until I get my cup of coffee, and then to how I began my day of greeting students with bright good mornings and smiles, ready to teach and learn. I miss that so much!

Though I'm not too sure where this is going, I do know one thing--I want my life back. There must be more to life than infernal sleep and afternoon news shows ad nauseum. I may only get out once a week to the grocery store, but I am current with all that is going on in the world, and I have to figure out a way to get reconnected in it in a less vicarious way than I currently exist. I am tired of wallowing and I am ready to fight my cruel master. MS, you will not win. I WANT MY LIFE BACK!