Tracy Coval's Blog

It’s 3am, and I’ve been tossing and turning. My mind won’t stop racing — thoughts of what it would be like if I didn’t have a disability. I can see myself walking on the beach on Cape Cod, my happy place. As I stand, I can feel the sand in between my toes. I feel free…

I open my eyes and take a deep breath. To the left of me is my wheelchair. It’s a constant reminder that my legs don’t work like they used to. I take a moment to change my perspective on disabilities. My wheelchair is my legs. It brings me independence and freedom, allowing me to do anything anyone else can do.

Living with a disability can change one’s outlook, learning to look at life different from a different lens. Thus, one must ponder a variety of things before going out in public. For example:

Under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), society must ensure that the disability community has the same rights as anyone else. Sadly, the world isn’t fully inclusive, through things have improved drastically. However, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done.

It’s frustrating when public places are not accessible. It’s a reminder, to me and others with disabilities, that were different. It’s been a difficult process accepting who I am. I have insecurities just like anyone else. At times, I feel like a burden, needing help with cleaning, meal prepping, taking care of my dogs and so on. It’s taken time for me to realize that there’s nothing wrong with asking for help. It’s a sign of strength, not weakness.

I’m grateful for being vulnerable and transparent. It may sound silly, but I view it as a superpower. It’s nerve wracking to be blunt and honest. It’s scary to know others may judge me. It’s taken a long time to understand that it doesn’t matter what other people think. And that’s the superpower part.

As I lay in bed, my mind is quiet. I close my journal and place it on my bed. My orange pen is resting on the top. I’m thankful for the creative arts that run in my DNA. It allows me to express my authentic self, in writing and in painting.

Life, for me, is worth living. There’s a reason why the big man upstairs brought me into the world and continues to guide me. My story isn’t over; it’s just beginning.

(What is the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA)? | ADA National Network, 2022)

The post The Strength of Living with a Disability appeared first on Tracy Coval.

Inclusion for all, from youth to adulthood, is utterly vital.

It’s a beautiful day in Cape Cod. It’s 78 degrees and sunny; there isn’t a cloud in the sky. My brother, his family and I are staying at our late father’s cottage in South Yarmouth, celebrating Father’s Day weekend. After swimming in the pond, we took my nephews Ethan (4) and Noah (7 months) to a playground that’s near the house.

The park had slides, monkey bars, swings, teeter totters, and the like. There were two picnic tables, a bench, a basketball hoop, and grassy areas that were in shade. The ground had a soft, squishy foundation.

The playground has an accessible design, where people with or without disabilities can play. As someone who’s a wheelchair user, it warmed my heart seeing this. Play areas should be accessible to all; no child should feel left out due to their disability(ies).

Jaime, my sister-in-law was wheeling Noah in his stroller. Doug, my brother, and I were chasing Ethan. I saw that they were on the jungle gym, so I went over to where Jaime was. As we’re chatting, I hear Ethan yell our names.

Mumma! Tracy! Come on the playset with me and dada!

There was a black ramp that led to the jungle gym. Jaime was able to get the stroller up the ramp with no issues. However, I wasn’t sure if the ramp was wide enough for my chair.

Tracy, come on! Your wheelchair fits! He says with a big smile.

The little guy was right, my wheelchair fit. As I wheeled up the ramp, I had a smile on my face. I was able to use the equipment like anyone else; my wheelchair wasn’t a barrier.

I met everyone at the top of the jungle gym, right where the green slides were. Ethan was choosing who was going to go down the slide; he picked me to go last. I asked him how I would get my wheelchair after I went down the slide.

Don’t worry, I’ll bring it to you! He says.

I took his word, and went down the slide; something I haven’t done in years. I met Jaime at the bottom of the slide. She was standing next to me, while Noah was cooing in the stroller. As we were talking, I heard Doug and Ethan’s voices in the opposite direction. I turn my head, and see Ethan pushing my wheelchair towards me. Doug is next to him, teaching him how to push my chair so it doesn’t tip backwards.

Tracy! I have your chair! He squeals.

He locked the wheelchair for me, ensuring it was safe for me to use. It was evident he was proud of himself. I fist bumped him, and tell him thank you!

I transferred back into my wheelchair and unlocked my breaks. I was in disbelief that I played on a jungle gym and went down the slide just like anyone else; I felt like a kid again. Growing up in the 90’s and early 2000’s, accessible playgrounds didn’t exist. The most I’d seen was a plastic green accessible swing at the end of a swing set.

Experiencing an accessible playground reminded me that the world is slowly becoming a bit more inclusive. Children with disabilities deserve to have the same experiences as anyone else. When things are accessible, no one feels left out. It provides opportunities for children with and without disabilities to make new friends. Society often forgets that kids communicate through play; they don’t have the ability to communicate like adults as their brains are still developing.

The post Feeling Like a Kid Again appeared first on Tracy Coval.

This piece is a guest blog post from Cheryl Conklin. She gives great suggestions for how you can feel good about yourself everyday. Her motto is, “wellness is central to a happy life.” You can connect with Cheryl at cherylc@wellnesscentral.info.

We often get caught up in the idea that looking and feeling our very best means making drastic changes to ourselves. This is an unfortunate misconception. In reality, it is the little things we do each day that matter the most. Today, Tracy Coval shares some insights to help you look good and feel great on your own terms.

Exercise

If the thought of exercising each morning makes you want to roll back over in bed, that’s a good sign you probably should be exercising. So, look for exercises you can do from home. Medical News Today explains that hobbies such as gardening can be good for your physical and mental health. However, be sure to speak to your doctor before beginning any sort of exercise, especially if you live with a medical condition or a disability. A medical professional may be able
to recommend exercises and stretches that can be adapted to your comfort level.

Declutter to Create a Healthier Home

Most people don’t think about how clutter can affect their health, but it can actually have a big impact. Clutter can increase stress levels, making it more difficult to relax. It can also make it more difficult to focus and be productive. In addition, clutter can provide a breeding ground for dust mites, mold, and other allergens. Decluttering your home can help to reduce stress and improve your overall health. When you get rid of clutter, you create a healthier environment for
yourself and your family, and your home will feel more relaxed and organized.

Learn How to Manage Pain

Chronic pain can have a significant impact on your life. Not only can the constant pain disrupt your ability to go out and enjoy a social life, but it can also affect the little things you do at home, from cooking and cleaning to simply watching television. Unfortunately, if you are one of the many people that suffer from pain issues, you already know what a devastating impact pain can have on your entire life. So, it’s important to address both your physical and mental wellness,
from seeking the help of medical professionals/pain clinics to looking for support groups — in-person or online — where you can find others who understand your situation.

Dress to Impress

One of the first impressions you make on other people is through your clothes. But what you wear also has pronounced effects on how you perceive yourself as well. Dressing in a professional, stylish manner can help you feel like your best self every day.

Work from Home More Often.

Working from home has a number of benefits for your mental health. It can help to reduce stress levels by eliminating the need to commute to and from work. It can give you more control over your work schedule, which can lead to a better work-life balance. Working from home also provides you with more opportunities to take breaks during the day, which can help to reduce stress and improve focus. Finally, working from home can help to boost your mood by giving
you a greater sense of freedom and flexibility.

Spend Time with People Who Support You

It’s always important to surround yourself with people who support you when you need it the most. Make these relationships a priority. However, if you don't have friends and family upon whom you can rely, you can connect with online support groups for people with disabilities and/or chronic conditions. Additionally, social media is an excellent way to connect with people who can understand what you’re going through on a personal level. Regardless of how you
choose to do it, make sure you have people in your corner for support.

Start a Hobby

Reading, writing, and playing music are just a few of the many creative outlets you can try. No matter what type of hobby you choose, do make a point to give yourself an opportunity to do something that lets you channel your passions. You never know, you may even be able to turn your hobby into a source of income, which can help reduce financial worry if money is a problem in your household.

You deserve to be your very best. But, you can’t wait around for someone else to give you permission to do so. It’s up to you to take control. From decluttering to working from home more often, everything you do affects your mental and physical health.

July was disability pride month – promotion of awareness of disabilities as an identity, a community, and a culture.

On July 26, 1990, former president George Bush passed The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). The ADA is a civil rights law that forbids discrimination in all aspects in life. This includes, schools, jobs, transportation, and all places that are open to the public.

According to the Center of Disease Control (CDC), one in four adults in the United States have some form of a disability. It’s important to educate about misconceptions of people with disabilities (PWD) and to shed light on what is inappropriate to say to someone who has a disability.

“Wheelchair bound.”

Using the term “wheelchair bound” emphasizes that someone is confined to their chair. But a wheelchair brings freedom to the disabled; it doesn’t hold one back. Wheelchair users view their chair as their “legs.” It allows them to move forward, to do anything anyone else can.

“You don’t look sick.”

It’s important to remember that not all disabilities are visible. According to The New York Times, it’s estimated that 10% of Americans have an invisible illness(es), including chronic conditions, like depression, Alzheimer’s, and other diseases. “You don’t look sick,” someone may say. But how do they know? It’s a surface statement from someone who just can’t get below the surface themselves, or someone who simply does not care.

“Why does someone need a handicap placard if they can walk?”

There’s a misconception that a handicap placard is for someone who has limited mobility, or for an elderly person. A placard is used for many reasons besides limited mobility. Many of the conditions are invisible illness(es). According to Mass.gov, some of the qualifying conditions are lung condition(s), loss and or limited mobility requiring a mobility aid, vision impairment, limb difference or prosthesis, cardiac conditions, and the like.

“If I were in your shoes, I’d kill myself.”

Sadly, this is a statement that is often said to people with disabilities (PWD). Having a disability is not the end of the world. It’s about adapting and thinking outside the box. Suicide is never the answer, and it’s the 12th leading cause of death. If you are feeling unsafe towards yourself or others, call the national hotline number 1-800-273-8255, or text 741741.

It’s important to remember to have compassion and think before you speak. Words are powerful and can be hurtful. It can cause emotional scarring. Treat others the way you’d want to be treated. A disability doesn’t discriminate; anyone can become disabled.

“What Is the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA)?” ADA National Network, July 13, 2022. https://adata.org/learn-about-ada.

“Disability Impacts All of Us Infographic.” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, September 16, 2020. https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/disability....

Solomon, Andrew. “What Happens When You’re Disabled but Nobody Can Tell.” The New York Times. The New York Times, July 10, 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/10/st....

“Eligibility for Disability Plates and Placards.” Mass.gov. Accessed July 10, 2022. https://www.mass.gov/service-details/....

“Suicide Statistics.” American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, June 14, 2022. https://afsp.org/suicide-statistics.

“Home.” American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, July 6, 2022. https://afsp.org/.

Dear Dad,

It’s June 14, 2022. Today marks four months since you’ve left this earth. I miss you so much. I miss hearing your voice, especially your laugh. It was so distinct and contagious. I would do anything to talk to you one more time. It still doesn’t feel real that you’re not here.

So much has happened in the last four months. Doug and Jaime moved into their new house, and they’re expecting. Ethan’s going to be a big brother! Yesterday they had a gender reveal party via Zoom. They had a cake made, and inside of it was the color of the gender. When they cut into it, the cake had various shades of blue. Congratulations “Zaidi,” you’re having another grandson! He’s due in December.

My book, An Untethered Truth: A Medical Journey, was released this past April! It’s available in both paperback and eBook. Every day, I am doing some form of art. Whether it’s art or writing, I’m continuing to create. I miss sending you text messages with updated photos of my artwork. In the back of my head, I can hear you asking me, “Did you do any art or writing today?”

Tomorrow, I will meet with my neurosurgeon. The symptoms of my tethered cord syndrome have been getting worse, and it’s concerning. It’s looking like spinal shortening surgery would be the next step. It’s a complex surgery, where vertebrae are removed, to make the spine shorter. This will allow my spinal cord to have more slack. Right now, my spinal cord is tethered to my tailbone, causing abnormal stretching.

I’ve been educating myself on this surgery, reading various medical journals on the success rates with tethered cord syndrome. The studies are promising. I’ve reached out to various online support groups, speaking with people who have had the surgery. Every person I’ve spoken with said this was the best decision they made. One person shared how she was bed bound for two years prior to spinal shortening surgery. After she had the surgery, she was able to drive again and go to college. Others have said they were pain free, and able to enjoy life again.

I wish I could call you after my appointment. You were the first person to know what was going on with my health. This will be a difficult decision to make, and I’m nervous. I wish I could give you a hug.

You’ve always reminded me that “I am my own best advocate.”  I promise, I’m listening to your wise words. You taught me that my voice matters. I will never stop speaking up for myself.

I know you’re watching over me and will guide me in the right direction. Thank you for looking after me, Doug, Jaime, Ethan, and baby boy Coval. We all miss you so much, and wish you were here.

I promise, I will continue to make you proud.

I love you, Dad.

Last month was Mental Health Awareness Month. According to Mental Health America, close to 20% of adults suffer from mental illness(es), about 50 million. Mental health doesn’t discriminate. It can affect anyone. There’s no shame talking about mental health; in fact, it’s healthy to have an open discussion about it.

Depression can be scary. It feels like you’re sinking in the ocean, unable to swim to the surface. With depression, one may feel depleted, empty, or numb. Some people will isolate themselves. Others may feel like they have lost themselves.

My depression spiraled out of control when my dad passed away unexpectedly in February. I was devastated, and I hit my all-time low. He was my rock. He was by my side throughout all my surgeries, always reminding me to keep going.

I knew I needed help and my top priority is to take care of myself. If you don’t care for yourself, how are you going to care for others. And so, I reached out to my therapists, and my nurse practitioner who manages my medications for depression and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). I reached out to my support systems and continued to practice self-care.

As we have all seen with the global pandemic, due to COVID-19, most everyone’s mental health has been greatly affected. Life has drastically changed, and it hasn’t been easy to adapt. Taking care of your mental health is not an overnight process. It takes time, and hard work. It’s okay to not be okay. There’s nothing wrong with taking care of your mental health. The strongest thing one can do is speak up and ask for help.

If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone.

Please ask for help…

My father, Bob Coval, was my hero. He was my rock, and the person I leaned on most. He always encouraged me to never allow my disabilities to stop me from pursuing my dreams, to never give up. He was there when I published my first book, “An Untethered Truth, A Medical Journey,” and was my biggest cheerleader on the project.

The day before Valentine’s Day, I was visiting a close friend in Rochester, New York. She’s pregnant with her first child, and I was there for her baby shower and to celebrate with her publication of my book. That night, my Dad sent me a text: “Call me in the morning before your flight.” I told him I would and that I loved him. He immediately texted back. “Love you too!”

I called him the following morning and left him a voicemail. A little later I texted him. I never heard back. That was unlike Dad. He always called me back or responded to my text messages.

I was concerned.

At the airport, I tried calling him again. He didn’t respond. I was worried.

I called my brother, Doug. He hadn’t heard from Dad, either. Doug told me that he was going to drive to Dad’s house on Cape Cod. At that moment, I was about to board a flight. I told him I would text him when I landed and would try to get WIFI on the plane so he could keep me updated. My soul was screaming. Something was very wrong.

Sadly, I was unable to get WIFI on the plane. My flight was an hour and 25 minutes. It felt like eternity…So, I took a deep breath and prayed to The Big Man Upstairs. I grabbed my iPad and worked on my art.

The moment we landed, I took my phone off airplane mode. At that exact moment Doug called. I was still on the plane and picked up. I could hear the shakiness of my brother’s voice.  He told me Dad died in his sleep.

I was hysterically crying, shaking my head in disbelief. Doug was trying to keep it together as he consoled me. My soul was not right.

Like a carousel many years ago of color slides, images of my father were flashing through my head.

My Dad was a Mensch!

In the Yiddish tongue, a “Mensch” is a good person, “a person of integrity and honor.”

At the drop of a hat, Dad was always willing to help people—concerned more with the needs of others than his own. He was a good listener, and always wanted to make someone laugh, make someone feel important—he was the life of the party.

And he was a genius Certified Public Accountant.  In so many ways, a man for all seasons, as they say—a Right Brain, Left Brain genius. A humble man, he tried not to show it. But it was obvious to those of us around him.

Dad taught both my brother Doug and me the critical importance of sticking together. And with our father’s passing, Doug and I are sticking together like glue…Thank you, Dad, for that lesson!

He helped Doug and me prepare for college. He reminded us to study hard, and party harder. I was not a fan of Glenlivet. It always made me gag. However, I preferred whiskey. Like father, like daughter. At the beginning of the school year, he made sure I had a handle of Jack Daniels, and a bottle of fireball.

Don’t worry Dad. I promise you I did study.

Most importantly, Dad was a rock to Doug and me—Doug in his life and in the CPA business; me in maneuvering through my disabilities. Dad was the biggest cheerleader for me on this, and in the drafting of my first book on how to press on with difficulty/disabilities in life.

He was an Archangel to Doug and me. We spoke every day, and he forever encouraged me in my artwork and writing.

The day I received a printed galley proof of my book, “An Untethered Truth,” Dad held it in disbelief, in full pride. He smiled from ear to ear and was ready to celebrate. He reminded me to sign and date the book. That way, I knew it was ready to go to print.

Dad wanted to get the first final copy of “An Untethered Truth” once published.  Shortly before his passing, a single copy arrived for my Dad from Amazon.

Sadly, Dad never got to read it. But he has now in his soul in Heaven, and he is celebrating Doug and me.

Love you, Dad!

Doug loves you!

Our lives will never be the same…

You’re a Mensch! And that’s an untethered truth, Dad. Read between the lines.

My father, Bob Coval, was my hero. He was my rock, and the person I leaned on most. He always encouraged me to never allow my disabilities to stop me from pursuing my dreams, to never give up. He was there when I published my first book, “An Untethered Truth, A Medical Journey,” and was my biggest cheerleader on the project.

The day before Valentine’s Day, I was visiting a close friend in Rochester, New York. She’s pregnant with her first child, and I was there for her baby shower and to celebrate with her publication of my book. That night, my Dad sent me a text: “Call me in the morning before your flight.” I told him I would and that I loved him. He immediately texted back. “Love you too!”

I called him the following morning and left him a voicemail. A little later I texted him. I never heard back. That was unlike Dad. He always called me back or responded to my text messages.

I was concerned.

At the airport, I tried calling him again. He didn’t respond. I was worried.

I called my brother, Doug. He hadn’t heard from Dad, either. Doug told me that he was going to drive to Dad’s house on Cape Cod. At that moment, I was about to board a flight. I told him I would text him when I landed and would try to get WIFI on the plane so he could keep me updated. My soul was screaming. Something was very wrong.

Sadly, I was unable to get WIFI on the plane. My flight was an hour and 25 minutes. It felt like eternity…So, I took a deep breath and prayed to The Big Man Upstairs. I grabbed my iPad and worked on my art.

The moment we landed, I took my phone off airplane mode. At that exact moment Doug called. I was still on the plane and picked up. I could hear the shakiness of my brother’s voice.  He told me Dad died in his sleep.

I was hysterically crying, shaking my head in disbelief. Doug was trying to keep it together as he consoled me. My soul was not right.

Like a carousel many years ago of color slides, images of my father were flashing through my head.

My Dad was a Mensch!

In the Yiddish tongue, a “Mensch” is a good person, “a person of integrity and honor.”

At the drop of a hat, Dad was always willing to help people—concerned more with the needs of others than his own. He was a good listener, and always wanted to make someone laugh, make someone feel important—he was the life of the party.

And he was a genius Certified Public Accountant.  In so many ways, a man for all seasons, as they say—a Right Brain, Left Brain genius. A humble man, he tried not to show it. But it was obvious to those of us around him.

Dad taught both my brother Doug and me the critical importance of sticking together. And with our father’s passing, Doug and I are sticking together like glue…Thank you, Dad, for that lesson!

He helped Doug and me prepare for college. He reminded us to study hard, and party harder. I was not a fan of Glenlivet. It always made me gag. However, I preferred whiskey. Like father, like daughter. At the beginning of the school year, he made sure I had a handle of Jack Daniels, and a bottle of fireball.

Don’t worry Dad. I promise you I did study.

Most importantly, Dad was a rock to Doug and me—Doug in his life and in the CPA business; me in maneuvering through my disabilities. Dad was the biggest cheerleader for me on this, and in the drafting of my first book on how to press on with difficulty/disabilities in life.

He was an Archangel to Doug and me. We spoke every day, and he forever encouraged me in my artwork and writing.

The day I received a printed galley proof of my book, “An Untethered Truth,” Dad held it in disbelief, in full pride. He smiled from ear to ear and was ready to celebrate. He reminded me to sign and date the book. That way, I knew it was ready to go to print.

Dad wanted to get the first final copy of “An Untethered Truth” once published.  Shortly before his passing, a single copy arrived for my Dad from Amazon.

Sadly, Dad never got to read it. But he has now in his soul in Heaven, and he is celebrating Doug and me.

Love you, Dad!

Doug loves you!

Our lives will never be the same…

You’re a Mensch! And that’s an untethered truth, Dad. Read between the lines.

The post The Hero of My Life: Robert Lloyd Coval appeared first on Tracy Coval.

I opened my door today to see a blue and white package. I grabbed it and wheeled to my kitchen table. It was a copy of my first book: “An Untethered Truth: A Medical Journey.”

I picked it up and smiled, in awe and disbelief.

“Holy cow, I did it; I’m a published author.”

My phone is ringing now. The caller ID says it’s my neurosurgeon. I answered the phone and my doctor started talking. He confirms what my soul has been telling me.

“I think you’re retethered,” he says with regret.

I was silent, unsure of what to say. This would be the third time I’ve been retethered as part of my Tethered Cord Syndrome.

Tethered Cord Syndrome is a progressive disorder, where tissue connects to the end of the spinal cord and tethers to one’s tailbone. This usually occurs in the womb. Because my spinal cord has been tethered to my tailbone for most of my life, the cord has abnormally stretched. This has caused spinal cord damage.

While on the phone, my neurosurgeon explained that the procedure would shorten my spine by removing vertebrae(s). The purpose of this is to reduce the friction on the spinal cord by shortening the length of the spinal column. This would allow the spinal cord to have more slack, less painfully tight. I will follow up with my neurosurgeon in the next month to discuss this more in depth.

I hung up and put my cell phone face down on the kitchen table. I didn’t want to look at it the phone. I was numb. I looked and saw my book resting next to my phone. I hold my book and skim through the pages. It was ironic that the day I found out about possible retethering, I received a first copy of my book. I saw this as a sign from the Big Man Upstairs: a reminder I need to keep going.

A couple of weeks earlier, I learned that I needed yet another surgery for my bladder. I’ve always had issues with my bladder, and it stems back to Tethered Cord Syndrome, and a genetic condition called Ehler-Danlos Syndrome. While speaking with my urologist, she felt it was in my best interest to have a suprapubic catheter surgically placed in my stomach—a flexible tube that drains urine out of the bladder. The tube would be inserted a couple of inches below my belly button. This would be an outpatient procedure. Originally, I had a suprapubic catheter placed in November 2021; however, it fell out. The new catheter will be placed on Feb. 18.

In life, one has to press on during challenging times. It’s not easy, whatsoever. However, it’s what we all have to do; it’s critical to take care of ourselves, to reach out to loved ones to lean on them for support.

In situations, consider talking with a therapist. There is no shame in talking to a professional. It can help to talk to someone who’s a third party and has an unbiased opinion. Each day, write down what you’re grateful for. It could be as small as getting out of bed, wearing an oversized sweatshirt, or singing in the shower. We can’t control what happens to us. However, we can control how to handle the situation.

It has taken me time to open up about what’s occurring to me. At first, I wasn’t ready to talk about the retethering and bladder surgery. I thought I could just ignore the situation entirely. Within a few days, the emotions hit me out of nowhere. I wasn’t OK with what was going on, and I needed to deal directly with the situation. No pity party… If you can’t help yourself, how can you help others?

I reminded myself to not give in. Losing is not an option. I’m not only fighting for myself; I’m fighting for others who may not feel like they are strong enough. If you’re going through a hardship or crisis, please know that you’re not alone. One will always have good and bad days. That comes with life. So, take one day at a time. And if you stumble, get back up and please persevere.

The post Retethered Yet Again appeared first on Tracy Coval.

I was discharged from rehab at 11:00 a.m., and one of my childhood best friends, Ashley, picked me up. She and I stopped at Dunkin Donuts to get iced coffees to celebrate that I’m finally coming home.

I live in Stoughton, Massachusetts, about forty-five minutes away from the rehab. My house is a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bathroom, ranch-style house. I moved on May 20, 2021, three months before surgery. The home was renovated to meet my needs as a full-time wheelchair user. The countertops in my kitchen were lowered, as well as my sinks and stovetop. This allows me to have the ability to use my kitchen, something I haven’t been able to do in over five years. I have a fenced-in backyard, so my dog and my father’s dog can play freely. There’s a fifty-foot ramp that allows me to go outside and play with the dogs. It had been five years since I had had an accessible way to go outside.

My father will be staying with me to help for the next two months. Currently, I am on spinal precautions, meaning I’m not able to bend, lift, or twist. Because my movement is limited, I will need help for a while.

Ashley helps me every day, as she is my personal care assistant. She helps me with activities of daily living, including showering, getting dressed, and assisting with transfers.

It felt good to be home and, in my bed, once again. It’s 7:00 p.m., and I’m lying in my bed, propped up with pillows. I have a soft, red, twenty-five-pound weighted blanket draped over me. It’s quite heavy, but it helps the spasms in my legs.

As I lie in bed, the emotions begin to hit me. I feel overwhelmed. I need help with the little things, like getting in and out of bed. I remind myself this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel like that now. I doubt whether I’m strong enough to handle this recovery.

At the same time, I feel grateful. I’m able to recover from the comfort of my home. I’m surrounded by family and friends, who will be there for me during the good, bad, and ugly. I’m proud of my determination, making sure I worked as hard as I could both in the hospital and rehab. It wasn’t easy by any means, but I refused to give up. On my harder days, I would remind myself to keep going. If I wanted to get better, I had to keep my head in the game and work as hard as I could. Now that I’m home, I need to continue this same mentality. I know I can do this.

My soul chimes in: Do not doubt yourself. You are stronger than you think. Your surgeon warned you that the first three months were going to be hell. This will be challenging; however, you’re determined.

Always remember, losing is not an option.

The post First Night Home appeared first on Tracy Coval.