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To Plant a Seed

"The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just the body, but the soul" - Alfred Austen

I remember being in complete bliss and awe when I walked and marveled at flower gardens when I was a little girl. When we built our little yellow house, I decided to venture out and take the leap and put the many hours of research of flower gardening into practice. A complete start from scratch project. When I worked at the bank, I'd always ask the older and wiser clients that I had what their tried and true tricks were for gardening. They all gave me the same answer, "It's all trial and error. You learn as you go." Not quite the answer that I was hoping for.

Gardening has always been a love of mine. It runs so deep and hits the deepest part of my soul. Earth in my hands, connection between creation and Creator. My sanctuary, my time of worship, the time I spent talking to God. Seeing all that is dead, over ridden with weeds and then seeing beauty burst forth and new life appear, it just never gets old for me. Spring time was always my favorite season. I often forgot what I planted the previous year and so it felt like a pre-Christmas gift each year. I'd count how many buds we had and couldn't wait for the gorgeous blooms to emerge. I took a lot of pride in my garden that complimented our little yellow house and had many people from the community comment on it or even take pictures of it while they drove around the neighborhood.

It gutted me and stole a piece of my heart when I couldn't keep up with my gardening and eventually I gave into hiring someone to do it for me. This accident stole that from me and that wound cut deep." Why God, why this too?" I asked Him often. A lot of things that were a part of me and added an extra sweetness in my relationship with God were all ripped and stolen away. I was so tired of it all. I needed an answer and more importantly, I needed to get better and get my life back.

When we got back home from seeing the specialist that we saw at the private clinic, I had a check in appointment with my family doctor and relayed how my appointment went. I mentioned that the specialist wanted me to see a specialized pelvic floor physiotherapist and my family doctor suggested that I see the local physiotherapist that I had been seeing and ask if she would be willing to work together with this other physiotherapist. So I booked an appointment with her and told her the name of the pelvic floor physiotherapist in Vancouver and she jumped up and said “Yes! That’s it. That is what you need. I’m just this teeny little piece of scum compared to the big fish in the big pond. I know that physiotherapist and she’s great!“ I was grateful for her support and enthusiasm but my heart felt a little irritated as I had been fighting so hard at getting better with no change for over a year and she never mentioned this type of physio to me. I had no idea that there were specialized physio treatments depending on your injury up until this point. Why didn’t she tell me that this was past her knowledge and that I needed someone more specialized? Why was it me running around trying to find the help and having to go see a doctor at a private clinic to get to this point? Despite my frustration, my hope had been revived and I couldn’t wait to go back to Vancouver and try out this new avenue.

The day finally came and we were on our way to Vancouver on a new path. We got to the waiting area and I was beyond nervous. I didn’t know what to expect or what kind of personality type that I’d be meeting, which made me feel even more anxious. My name was called and we were ushered into this tiny little examination room. This tall, dark haired woman that had a thick accent spoke. Let‘s call her “M.” “M” was a no nonsense, blunt personality type and sounded Russian ( later I found out she was Polish) and those kind always make me feel like I’m this skiddish little puppy, making it so there is barely a voice that would emerge but more of a whispered squeak. I felt intimidated but I had to put my feelings aside and put my fight game on. Me and my husband both turned bright red as she asked the most personal questions about my health and about our intimate relationship. She then started her physical exam, which started off like all of the other exams that I’ve had except when it came to this one particular test. She had me stand facing the wall and then said, ”Squeeze your glutes. Now squeeze your left. Okay, now your right....I said now your right.” I replied with, “I am squeezing it.” “Ah Ha! There’s your problem. Your brain has turned off part of your glute muscles. That’s why you’re in so much pain and very unstable. You don’t have anything holding you together.” I was confused and excited to have an answer and quickly asked her if it was fixable. She told me that we would have to retrain the brain to pick up the muscles again and with time and hard work, I should be good. I would have to manually squeeze my glutes with each step that I took, each stair that I climbed up and down, and every time I sat down and stood up. It was a lot of work but I was determined to get better.

I was back home now and had an appointment with my local physiotherapist and relayed the findings to her. I told her how my glute muscles weren’t working properly. She looked at me and said, “ Oh, this got missed because you were just so focused on wanting to get better.” Anger and disbelief came over me. I couldn’t believe that she blamed this on me when she missed this important key in my recovery. I had to hold my tongue as I didn’t want to jeopardize my relationship with her because I thought that I still may need her help.

When I had a massage appointment, my RMT was curious on how my appointment went and so I told her all about it. She took the news hard and personal. She told me that she didn’t follow the crumbs and that her and all of my practitioners missed this and it was something that they all should‘ve checked and tested my glutes because of all of my symptoms that I had been experiencing. I didn‘t place blame on her but felt more of the responsibility was on my physiotherapist out of everyone, but she wouldn’t hear it and profusely apologized.


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