Tag: musician

The Healing Tree – Let’s Talk about Lips! Part 1

They roll me in to a place I like to affectionately call the “kill room”. It is wall to wall white tile and drains and hoses and OMG this looks like something my husband was watching on Netflix involving backpacking college students lost in Europe or something…

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(My name is Mary Beth Orr. I am a professional horn player and currently 3rd Horn in the Grand Rapids Symphony. The following is my story in hopes it may be a helpful resource.)

Let’s talk about lips. For most people, lips are pretty important for functional elements of eating, speaking, hygiene of the mouth, but thought of as mostly decorative, or for pleasant things like kissing, smiling, etc.….  for brass and wind musicians, it is life. It’s the mechanism that makes the magic happen, makes the sound, changes the sound, performs acrobatic feats of wonder …. Cue the dramatic music. But, in all honesty, our lips are very tied to our identity as wind players and even more so, brass. We are hyper sensitive to how they feel at all times, and give absolutely zero fucks about how they look. They are highly-engineered pieces of mechanical wonder valued exclusively for their highly-nuanced performance capability. We hone them like an athlete to respond with supreme sensitivity, predictability, and strength. The connection to our lips feels almost sacred. 

I wake up to the intense burning sensation of the crusted corners of my mouth stretching and breaking as I try to open them. Everything is dry. Every part of me is dry, as dry and gritty as pure sand, with the same comfort you don’t get from grinding on dirt with your teeth. I want water. I want CHAPSTICK. Or LIP BALM. ANYTHING for my lips. Dry lips for brass is a huge “stranger danger” type of trigger. Dry equals bad. It’s that simple. That alarm keeps going off in my brain. I need moisture on my lips. I’m fantasizing about my glorious tube of A and D ointment. That thick and viscous softness gliding over my lips, soothing and coating them and protecting them. It felt like heaven. But, that was not to be. 

I had bitten through my lower lip completely, apparently on impact from either the side door or the airbag… who knows? The important part is that it was severed. There was a gash about an inch long just left of center on my bottom lip with another separating at the left corner of my mouth. The sutures were done in an understandable hurry in the trauma room before moving me to a facility better equipped to my injuries. So, they were clumsy and extremely bulky. My lip was still swelling and scabbing and burning. That was all I could focus on and no one, neither doctor or nurse could tell me how bad the damage was. They seemed confused I even cared. They didn’t know it was my livelihood, a crucial part of my identity for their function… not their appearance. They didn’t understand why I would get visibly pissed when they said, “Oh it will heal and you can cover that scar with lipstick”. Can you imagine my WTF face? 

I heal fast. so fast, the sutures couldn’t dissolve fast enough for the tissue wanting to grow around them at lightning speed. Something dandy (cue sarcasm) called a mucus plug form all around the sutures creating a pleasant little effect I like to call “the chew lip”. I literally looked like a cowboy holding a patch of chewing tobacco between their gum and lip. I don’t like that look. And even less, it is not remotely possible to play a horn with a lip doing that. It also hurt like a bitch. In the hospital, the only lip balm they were allowed to give me was a honey paste, at the end of a weird sponge. It was not the luxurious sensation of my beloved A and D ointment…. It got weirdly sticky and was kind of lumpy which for the life of me, I do not understand why. So, my grumpy ass was dwelling over my lost tooth, the knowledge I had completely derailed my life, and a lip the size of a golf ball that felt like total shit. 

As I was fixated on moving forward as quickly as possible, after getting my appointment set with a dentist for my tooth, I quickly went on the hunt for a plastic surgeon for this Franken monster on the inside of my lip. I mean, I definitely didn’t stand a chance of playing my horn again without fixing this lip issue. I am so embarrassed I even entertained the idea I would be able to play Grand Rapids Symphony’s summer season. It was delusional to say the least. Let’s just blame it on the brain trauma…. 

Here is what this process entailed: Get with my primary care for a plastic surgery referral. Next was waiting for my lip to be far enough in healing so the surgeon could know exactly what needed to be removed without causing more trauma. Once the referral went through, and my consultation was made, things proceeded much quicker. This was exciting. This felt like real progress. I was currently in a holding pattern with invisalign to adjust my teeth back to the right position i.e.… where they were before the trauma so the future implant surgery had an optimal chance of success. So that was a waiting game. I couldn’t even think about touching my horn with a bum lip. So, getting the surgery was so real and epic in tangible improvement I could not WAIT to get it done. 

You can see my seat belt scar and also a little more of the the depth of the lip injury. It’s hard to tell, but the music plug on the inside of my lip was the size of a ping pong ball. This is a pic I sent to friends to let them know I got my lip surgery scheduled. This was 2 weeks after coming home from the hospital. The surgery was at the very end of May.

The day comes. My best friend in all lifetimes Maria came to Michigan, partly to make sure I was indeed still alive, but to help take me to the surgery while my husband was job searching. I was ready and bopped in like it was Christmas morning. This was going to be a quick 5-minute procedure with a local anesthetic. No big deal, right? Maria and I were laughing and having a great time on the hour-long drive to Saginaw where the surgeon was located. We get there, sign me in, and I get taken into a prep room. I have to put on a surgical gown? Huh, ok I guess that’s fine. I have to put on a hair net? Meh, ok. And then they put me on a hospital bed. I mean, hey, I can totally walk into the room. But that is not allowed. They roll me in to a place I like to affectionately call the “kill room”. It is wall to wall white tile and drains and hoses and OMG this looks like something my husband was watching on Netflix involving backpacking college students lost in Europe or something… Not gonna lie, my rational mind knows what is getting ready to happen is both what I want, and also noninvasive and not a big deal. But when you’re in there and the big bright light is shining above your head and everyone is around you in masks and gowns with sharp things, you get a little twitchy. 

He gets right in there with an injection of lidocaine. I warned him I go through anesthetic exceedingly fast but he assures me the lidocaine won’t wear off until much later and by that time my lip won’t even be swollen anymore and it will feel fine. Adorable. I can hear the cutting and snipping and can smell blood. I keep it together. NO. BIG. DEAL. This guy is definitely lightning fast. I think maybe it was a total of 7 minutes. Felt like an hour but everyone is a little irrational in the “Kill room”. I’m wheeled out, vitals taken, and allowed to get dressed. Yeah, I’m drooling like my dog waiting for my dinner bowl. Don’t care. Huh… my lips feel really big. Hmmmm, my lips feel like they’re pulsing. How much lidocaine did they put in here? Sheesh. I feel like they’re getting bigger by the second… Oh boy….

I call this the reverse Angelina. This is waiting for my delicious ice cold smoothie. Can you believe people posted comments like…. “You look amazing”! Like….why do women do this to themselves willingly?!?!?!?!

By the time I leave the hospital, the lidocaine has either completely worn off or I’m allergic to it because my lips, what feels like my whole face is throbbing. When Maria sees me, her face is frozen in an expression I like to refer to as WTF face. She does a great job at hiding her reaction but it was there. As I check out I ask for ice. I’m already crying. As we get in the car, I can feel the lip swelling so much it is literally pulling at my stiches. I can feel them stretching and pulling apart. So, let’s add burning stinging pain to the throbbing and pulsing of the swelling. The ride home was a sweet little piece of hell where I just squirm and squirm to make the pain go away though no matter what position I sit in we both know it won’t change a damn thing about my lip. We don’t have any ibuprofen anywhere in the car. I have pain meds at home I’ve barely used but that doesn’t help me for this moment. No gas stations ANYWHERE on the drive home. Why are there no gas stations?!?!?!?!?! The ice helps like it does a burn. You burn your hand when you stick your hand in ice water it hurts a little worse then feels good for, like, maybe 2 minutes then starts to hurt because it goes numb and you have to take it out. Then the cycle starts all over again. But, you know what? It was something and got me through that ride home. And to a smoothie place where Maria hooked me up with a chocolate, peanut butter and banana smoothie. God that was good. You know what was even better? NORCO. That sweet sweet sleep after a full belly and taking the edge off the pain was absolute heaven. HEAVEN.

So, I wake up. Again. And prepare for stage 2. You see, there’s this thing called SCAR TISSUE. 

To be continued….

Until then, be well. 

The Healing Tree-Healing is a Bitch

Ah yes, healing…. not peaceful at all, is it? In actuality, it is the literal growing pains of our youth. Bone stretching and aching to catch up with our chemicals, and our chemicals pulsing and surging to force those bones into submission through compulsion.

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(My name is Mary Beth Orr. I am a professional horn player and currently 3rd Horn in the Grand Rapids Symphony. The following is my story in hopes it may be a helpful resource.)

Well, I have a dentist. I have a treatment plan. I’m home and starting this elusive process called “rest”. My day to day is sleep, try to eat, try not to crawl out of my skin with fear, dread, and panic about what may or may not happen to my career. That is what “rest” meant to me. It was pretty much just panic management. I mean, doesn’t that just sound like heaven????? Is that actually what healing is? Panic and dread management? It struck me and still strikes me how really miserable healing actually is. The word has such a positive and almost comforting connotation or association. But, the reality is, you pretty much feel like shit, both physically and emotionally until… well, until you don’t. I guess the assumption is that you are supposed to always be feeling a little bit better each moment of the healing process but I can tell you that ain’t even close to the reality. 

2 months into recovery. Courtesy of Karin Willman A La Carte Photography

Healing is constant, slow, torturous change. We sometimes talk about it in hindsight as if this transformative experience was such blessing and a spiritual awakening. If that is you, cool. You. Do. You. But that shit ain’t me. It sucks. In college musicians are eye ball deep in all our shortcomings in technique, artistry, professionalism, and overall just “suckiness”. It’s the point of getting an education. Get up close and personal with your weaknesses and make them stronger. So, you are absolutely and unavoidably uncomfortable and unsure of yourself the entire time. Yeah, there are some victories that make you feel like a badass, you drink some of your Kool Aid and then, BAM; 45 seconds later you’re slammed back down to reality of how far you have left to go. So, it sounds like I would be perfectly prepared for this awesome sauce overly romanticized “healing journey” of lifetime movie status. Right? WRONG. 

You have control when it’s your education. Just practice more. Read an inspiring autobiography that helps you focus, or start taking beta blockers to help with performance anxiety, or literally anything positive and proactive to make you stronger. You’re always in the driver seat as a musician, even when you’re frustrated. We know how to practice more. We know how to dive deeper. We know how to refine our process. We don’t know and are painfully unprepared for the moment when all our control is taken away. INJURY. We are not prepared or counseled on navigating the discomfort, fear, and mistrust that accompanies healing an injury. And what happens when the injury is compounded all over your body and your brain. And your soul. This uncomfortable place where there is nothing you can do to control the outcome, when you must trust so many others around you because you have no idea how to fix what needs to be fixed, and then learning to trust your decisions when you’re spiraling and holding off the insanity that comes from your inability to control anything anymore. Ah yes, healing…. not peaceful at all, is it? In actuality, it is the literal growing pains of our youth. Bone stretching and aching to catch up with our chemicals, and our chemicals pulsing and surging to force those bones into submission through compulsion. That is healing. Growing and healing are UNPLEASANT. 

As much of a blessing it was to heal physically extremely fast, it was very disconcerting to look normal, for everyone to compliment you on how well you look, and some ways physically feel, but yet not be…right. The idea of being blessed was a challenge too, and also the challenge to be overtly grateful. That sounds crazy, but it was very real for me to be very intellectually grateful, intellectually aware of how lucky I was to be alive, loved by so many, and cared for in so many ways. But, I couldn’t FEEL it. In actuality, I couldn’t really feel much of anything. This was part of the concussion and subsequent brain trauma. 

My chemicals were wrecked. For much of the summer while I was waiting for the verdict on my career and thus the future of my soul, (no exaggeration) I had severe trouble sleeping more than a few hours at a time, having visceral feelings of any kind, and connecting with others. My sleep was plagued with violent nightmares. Nothing was regarding the accident and still have no memory of anything past going to sleep the night before. I can recount a dream in particular that still haunts me. I had to watch one of my beloved pups being hit by a car. And trigger warning – it wasn’t just being hit. I saw them viscerally torn apart in slow motion and it kept replaying over and over. It was one of those dreams that you feel stays on repeat the whole night. Every time you close your eyes, it is the same. It would happen sometimes when I was awake as well. It was possible the violence in the nightmares was my subconscious working out what it won’t allow me to remember, what my body was still holding on to, and an alarm to the erratic chemistry going on in my brain. 

In terms of sleep, I consulted with my doctor and developed a sleep protocol. This was a very specific diagnosis and treatment plan for me so any medications I share are not meant to be applied arbitrarily. (Please always communicate with your doctor or therapist). Taking 10-20 milligrams of propranolol (my beta blocker) and magnesium, was something she recommended with lavender and chamomile tea daily before sleeping. Reading something completely different than my reality was also helpful in putting myself in a different mental state before nodding off to dream land.  I took advantage of naps and sleep whenever I could without judgment until my night time sleep stabilized. Part of it was just accepting what my brain was doing and why it needed to manifest those nightmares. So, with each nightmare I again felt like I was moving forward. Each nightmare was an active step further along the process to recovery and one less nightmare for the future. The less I dreaded them and the more I found acceptance, my consciousness shifted and they began to dwindle.

Me an Bobo Easter 2018 before the accident. It would be almost a year before my sleep would look this peaceful again.

But the daytime? A whole other set of deep challenges in the shit show I like to call healing. In fact, I really feel it more accurately describes what that process feels like for me. And yes, that is present tense. Because 4 years later, the healing is still ongoing. My inability to feel was surreal. It is an odd thing to feel as if you’re watching yourself in your own life as if you were a ghost. I could recognize I was doing things I enjoyed but couldn’t actually take that feeling into my body and feel as if it was real. To exist without emotional connection and sensation is incredibly hard to describe and incredibly lonely to experience. I found myself not wanting to socialize or be around even my closest friends because I couldn’t match their energy, reactions, or emotional engagement in any way. I couldn’t help but feel pressured to and felt guilty and even more uncomfortable that I couldn’t. 

Part of the solution, was accepting there wasn’t one. I know that sounds like bullshit. But to be more specific, I had to accept I wasn’t the one with the solution; that I wasn’t SUPPOSED to be feeling or experiencing anything other than what I was. I had to tell the people I loved what my limitations were, and why I felt like I needed to pull away. I put myself in situations where I wasn’t the focus so I could absorb the experience rather than engaging in it, i.e.…. local concerts, movies, group dinners, shopping trips, outdoor activities, etc.…. I could do intimate exchanges with close friends because they accepted where I was. When I was presented with a situation that shifted focus toward me, I found ways to shift it back. “Oh my gosh, how are you? How are you feeling? Is everything healed? What’s happening with everything?” response….

“Much better but complicated. What’s going on with you? It’s been forever!” 

It gave me the strength to handle the exchanges that made me uncomfortable so much more. And again…. it’s a wonderful thing for people to ask how you are. Showing me they cared and were happy for my recovery was always so supportive and beautiful. 

But, if I’m honest, I frequently hated it. It made me angry. My limitations made me furious. Talking about it made me want to punch things. And then I felt incredibly guilty for having that very visceral flush of feeling. Especially because it was the only emotion my body would actually let me experience. This made me want to retreat. I just didn’t have the skills and resources within myself to outwardly reciprocate or engage. I had to let go of the guilt and be open with those closest to me. It set me free in a lot of ways. 

As I promised, this blog, this place we come to for connection and affirmation in all our shit, will be an invitation through my experience. The challenge of that experience was and continues to be about trusting myself, owning my own experience, and not apologizing for it. I’m hoping that by sharing my “shit show” with all of you, by validating my own you may feel more able to validate your own. What is holding you back? Is there space you can give yourself to help set you free, to let your healing be truly yours? Excuse me…. let your shit show be yours. 

So much more to talk about. Until next time friends, be well. 

The Healing Tree – First Steps to Recovery

They waited. They waited for me to open my eyes, to try and talk, to want to eat, to remember, to feel; to be the me they needed and remembered. What kind of special circle of hell that must have been for them.

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(My name is Mary Beth Orr. I am a professional horn player and currently 3rd Horn in the Grand Rapids Symphony. The following is my story in hopes it may be a helpful resource.)

So, what are the nuts and bolts to what I was dealing with? If I’m honest…. The hospital recovery was… meh. Well, maybe not “meh” because if any of you have experienced “resting” in a hospital, you know it’s impossible. The sheets are uncomfortable, the bed and pillows are awful, and they wake you up every 2-4 hours to check your vitals. You also can’t really roll on your side if you’re a side sleeper with the ungodly number of needles and tubes coming out of you. But let’s just say it was passive. I wasn’t actively doing anything. To be frank, no one really was, outside of praying like crazy which is totally LEGIT and meant the world to me. There was nothing to actually do, really, but wait. They waited. They waited for me to open my eyes, to try and talk, to want to eat, to remember, to feel; to be the me they needed and remembered. What kind of special circle of hell that must have been for them.

Medically, I was in the process of healing a lacerated liver and kidney. Ok, I was told that but have no recollection of “feeling” anything regarding that. I had a collapsed lung. Well, by the time I woke up I couldn’t tell that had even happened. Then there was the bleeding spleen. Also, couldn’t really tell. As you’re beginning to pick up a pattern… I am not going to exaggerate any part of this to make it seem more dramatic or traumatic than it was. This whole project is to help others connect to their own journey to healing and me overblowing anything for attention is not the way. My promise to all reading and following this blog will be pure and unfiltered honesty. I truly believe my story isn’t special. It’s just mine.

The day after I got home from the hospital and got my retainer with a fake tooth. You can see the seat belt scar along my chest and the tens machine wire to help manage the pain. I really needed to show everyone that cared about me, that I was okay. Looks are deceiving sometimes…..

Now, what was a definite unpleasant reality…. The broken C6 and C7 vertebrae didn’t feel great. It mostly hurt in my right shoulder. A nagging, pointy pain that radiated across my collar bone, making sitting up straight uncomfortable. Then there was my lip. I bit completely through my bottom lip just right of center, only slightly past where my mouthpiece loves to rest. My tissue was healing so fast it was creating what they call a “mucus plug” around the sutures (lovely term huh) causing me to look like a tobacco chewing rodeo star. My tooth was missing. MOTHER FUCKER that is the absolute worst part. I know what this means. I can’t “plant medicine” my way out of this. I’m going to need a dental super hero. I didn’t have molds of my teeth…. so, this was going to be an adventure. My brain swelling. That is legit terrifying. I had no idea how permanent damage was going to be discovered. I improved quickly once I woke up but my memory was complete and total shit. No. Bueno. So, to summarize what we’re dealing with after leaving the hospital….

  1. Broken neck (Bummer)
  2. Brain Injury (Big Bummer) – see trauma section
  3. Severe lip trauma (Bigger Bummer)
  4. Missing front tooth aka, the “money maker” (BIGGEST BUMMER)

For the remainder of this post I will focus on the first steps toward healing in my cervical spine. I use the term cervical spine because I quickly learned (though I have been a frequent patient of chiropractic care) how even a small seemingly insignificant closed transverse fracture can radiate instability and pain all over your body. As I said before, I really felt it most in my collar bone and shoulder. I was extremely frustrated at having to wait for another MRI to receive chiropractic care. I get it, it makes sense, but I also knew my chiropractor was incredibly careful and diligent about knowing exactly what to do and when. (Love you Dr. Whitford). But, I was a good girl and waited, which was one of the few and only times I was patient throughout this journey back to ME. 

The breaking point was an agonizing 2 hr. drive to Grand Blanc to purchase another Honda to replace the one I’d destroyed. The level of aching pain see-sawing back and forth with sharp twinges prevented me from being able to sit up straight. The pervasiveness of nagging pain will make you absolutely crazy. Certifiable in fact. So as much as everyone said just to “wait” …. I said fuck it. I’m not feeling like this if I don’t have to. This is a recurring theme for me. I can only wait so long to move forward. I am TERMINALLY dissatisfied and impatient with unhappiness, obstacles, and immobility. 

IMMOBILITY. What a profound word for all of this. Immobility makes so much sense for what compelled me to push forward against the advice of the people and professionals that loved me the most. You see, no matter how much I loved, respected, and admired those that were supporting me, both personal and professional, I couldn’t stay immobile for them. A severe claustrophobia took over my physical and emotional place. So, if I have to move forward, if I have to push at my boundaries and circumstances, I at least tried to do it as smartly as I knew how. 

Step 1: Get that damn MRI to confirm I was in the clear. I did this about 10 days after leaving the hospital. Even being an “open” MRI was miserable. I thought I was going to jump out of my skin from not being able to move and keeping the claustrophobic panic at bay. I won’t sugar coat it… MRI’s suck. But, I was cleared! They couldn’t see the fracture anymore! So, Dr. Whitford here I come. 

Step 2: Chiropractic care from a qualified and conscientious professional was one of the best decisions I made. He requested the police report of the accident, Medical records from the accident, and took fresh x-rays. He took time to evaluate all of it and me before ANY TREATMENT. Once he decided how best to proceed, we did passive treatments with the activator method. It is a small hand held spring loaded instrument to provide accurate, quick, low force adjustments at very specific points. He also used red light therapy, or sometimes known as cold laser therapy. I will tell you…… I had ZERO pain after the first treatment. It was AMAZING. I believe we stayed with that type of gentle work 2 times per week for about 6 weeks before he moved to manual adjustments. Massage was also a huge factor in remaining pain free. I do not like pain medication and avoid it as much as possible. I needed none of the refills on the pain prescriptions from my primary. …. I advocate individuals evaluating everything for themselves. You are empowered to find the healthiest path for YOU. For me, staying with regular chiropractic and massage care kept my circulation moving and I believe helped my body do what it needed to. I describe it as giving my body an express lane without stop lights, traffic, or construction….for those living in MI … you know how we feel about shitty roads and construction.

Step 3: YOGA. This will come back in future posts but throwing it in the mix now. I actually ended up pursuing a 2ndyoga certification during this healing time. Through it, I re-harnessed my knowledge of anatomy, and how mindfulness of my movement can help the body heal from deep trauma. THE FASCIA NEVER FORGET! So, I dove into this with wild abandon! OK that was super dramatic…. but kind of true. I let my body and it’s needs guide me through the training in terms of inspiration, motivation, and focus.

A final adorable pic of my yoga mentor and fellow classmates at the end of my 2nd 200 hr yoga certification during the height of my healing process. Epic humans. I love my Redbloom family.

I have had different people scattered throughout my life and time since the accident make comments such as “How great you prioritize that luxury for yourself” …. Say WHA’???!!!!” UMMM NO. It is not a luxury to NEED to function in your life with a body that feels ready and eager to meet joy, adventure, AND challenges head on. It is the GOAL. Meeting your life as your best self is not a luxury. It is NECESSITY. 

Did I have to give up other things to sometimes afford it? Yep. Is it a privilege I could give up non-necessities to do so? Double yep. Because insurance views certain treatments as experimental (i.e.… big pharma can’t capitalize on it yet) we often find ourselves having to dig deep to fund more holistic and multi layered treatments. Some avenues around that, are finding a massage school near you. They always need volunteers for the student practicums. Chiropractic is a little bit more tricky but is now recognized by insurance as a legitimate treatment. Some chiropractors will also work with you based on your income. 

There will NEVER be a time in my life, I won’t need chiropractic care to function optimally. I have just accepted that. Same thing with massage, yoga too for that matter. I look forward to them in my schedule because it is tangible self-care that helps me now lead a vibrant life.  I have found, if you search hard enough…. And keep telling your story, the universe will bring your helpers. So, readers, in closing, prioritize YOUR physical and mental needs during recovery, and give space to possibility. YOUR healing is possible and waiting. Even if it is unconventional. Even if no one else in your life understands why you must do it the way your intuition is guiding you. 

See you next time for a riveting discussion on lip trauma! That……. may be a two part-err.

Until then, please be well. 

The Healing Tree-Waking Up Pt. 2

“Don’t feel guilty…. don’t feel guilty. So many flowers, don’t cry. Don’t dwell on how much I feel like I don’t deserve this. Gratitude isn’t greed…. or narcissism, or maybe I should make a t-shirt out of that….”

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A Blog and Community dedicated to healing in all its forms

(My name is Mary Beth Orr. I am a professional horn player and currently 3rd Horn in the Grand Rapids Symphony. The following is my story in hopes it may be a helpful resource.)

Trauma post #2

HOMECOMING

Home is nice. Home is good. I love my bed. It feels like HEAVEN. Especially after the hospital bed. Why is it you can’t ever get warm in a hospital bed? The sheets are so rough, the blankets are the most NON-cozy things ever and the pillows…. I’m going to sleep like the…. oh wait…. I’m not gonna go there. 

I’m not allowed to walk down the stairs by myself….my husband is being so sweet and protective. I dig it. Which helps me not be pissed about not being able to walk down the stairs by myself. But…. it’s been a few days, and he’s at the store and I’m bored out of my skull. It won’t be dangerous for me to vacuum…. If I hurry, he won’t even know…. Dear God, I just need to DO something….and the floor is legitimately gross….

I got myself “ready” today. I showered, braided my hair, put on a little makeup. Time for the selfie. I feel a sense of urgency I need to show everyone that I’m ok. The amount of love and support I’ve gotten is so overwhelming and honestly, makes me feel so so so guilty. Another WTF from this whole thing. Why can’t I just accept and enjoy peoples support and love and help? They put together a meal train for Kerry and me. He has been out of work since April 11. Luckily, I have enough sick days to cover things for a while. My symphony family donated a ton of sick days to me too…. Don’t feel guilty…. don’t feel guilty. So many flowers, don’t cry. Don’t dwell on how much I feel like I don’t deserve this. Gratitude isn’t greed…. or narcissism, or maybe I should make a t-shirt out of that…. It’s ok. Today is a good day. I feel the love, I feel more like myself, I’m wearing actual clothes and not pajamas. I want to go through my things from the hospital. I know my clothing was cut off me. And thrown away. I apparently “messed myself” on impact. That’s a fun little tidbit. But that’s ok. It’s past now. You’re not supposed to care about that when you almost die and scare the shit out of everyone that loves you. Putting on my wedding rings again and sorting through what was at the hospital will get me even more back to normal. 

My rings are cut in half. All of them. My grandma and Poppi’s rings are broken. The date inscribed of their wedding is gone. Fucking Gone. I ruined everything. I ruined everything. I RUINED EVERYTHING. Ok. Bat shit crazy losing it. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK ETC. ETC. ETC. ETC. ETC. Oh God…. Vic can hear me but I can’t stop. I can’t stop. 

Not. Okay. Nothing is ok. 

(End of Exercise)

For reference, it took me over a year to do this exercise. And 4 to share it. It was not easy to do. I wanted to be better so incredibly fast, going back to those feelings and acknowledging them, felt like a useless pointless barrier holding me back. I have struggled to accept each emotion during the entire journey back. I consistently wondered “Is this what I should be feeling?”, “Is this what will help me get better faster?” 

Acceptance of every moment was the only option, whatever that meant, and was a constant challenge to keep my self-judgement at bay. It was so easy to question my reactions to the compassion and generosity of those around me, milestones in my physiological recovery, and expectations…truly, simply all expectations in general. 

Here are a few examples of things that triggered feelings of guilt.

-Any time I allowed myself to feel grief, a sense of loss, “feeling sorry for myself”

(i.e. Discovering my rings had been cut, realizing clumps of my hair had been cut to remove my hair tie, my tooth, a photograph in my car that went missing.) 

-Donations, cards, flowers.

-acts of service…. cleaning for me, making me food.

-not being able to rest, not wanting to rest, being ungrateful for the ability to rest.

-Not being able to match anyone’s emotional levels. (more on that later)

-not being “grateful” enough.

Things that triggered anger (To be CLEAR- I was not angry at those that said these. The emotion it would trigger was very surprising and unwanted)

            -When people would say things like….” At least you play piano and you can still do that”

            “You are soooo lucky to be alive”, “You’re such an inspiration”, “You’re so strong”

  • And this one needs some further explanation “If anyone can come back from this, it’s you” 

So…. none of these things are negative and all of them are supportive. WHY WOULD THIS TRIGGER THESE FEELINGS!? One of the most frustrating parts of recovering from trauma is simply accepting your feelings as you have them. My feelings after and during this trauma were not going to be like anyone else’s and that is ok. My therapist worked very hard at keeping me aware of my own judgement against MYSELF. My feelings, all of them, weren’t what was keeping me from recovering; my judgement was. My fear over the unknown, my career, my mind, my life as I had planned, kept me from resting. Running from the fear by trying to DO as much as possible as soon as I could, only temporarily gave me peace. At the same time, denying my innate desire and instinct to be active and proactive in my recovery wasn’t helping either. I had to figure out some sense of balance. I had to honor who I was (an Alpha “doer” and over achiever), to manage and facilitate my healing, rather than constantly try to fight and act the way I thought others expected I should. 

With my therapist, I worked out a new way to assess a “successful day”. What was my new definition of a good day? I made meditation and quiet time an achievement. It was a goal to get as much of it as possible. My brain health required it so …. doing an active form of nothing, became a proactive something contributing to my recovery. I combined it with another activity that had a productive element to it. In the mornings, I would let my dogs out, start the sprinkler and sit and watch my dogs play, drink coffee, meditate, and water my lawn all at the same time. Something so incredibly simple had a profound ability to bring me peace just by shifting the perspective it held in my mind. Was I happy? Hell no. I still had the same fears and anxieties and anger…. It just didn’t rule my day anymore and didn’t give me a sense of shame anymore. What the shift did for me was help me to wait. That’s what recovering from trauma is; waiting. Every time someone said, “you just need time to heal”, I wanted to vomit, or slap them, or blow something up…. you know, normal healthy responses…. But when I shifted my definition of healing to something I could make active, I felt a sense of momentum in the waiting. What gives you momentum in the waiting? It occurred to me we all seem to be waiting for something. 

Next time…. let’s talk about feelings…or in my case, wondering where they went. 

Until then, Be Well. 

The Healing Tree

“I have struggled over the last few years to write about and share my experience because it is legitimately hard as hell. But I felt so alone during the process and felt hungry for truly functional information about what was happening to me. And the fear about what might happen or not happen was at times, paralyzing and alienating. So take this as an open invitation to go on a healing journey with me. I want to explore what healing means to all of us.”

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A blog and community dedicated to healing in all its forms

INTRO – Post # 1

Courtesy of Karin Willman and A La Carte Photography

(My name is Mary Beth Orr. I am a professional horn player and currently 3rd Horn in the Grand Rapids Symphony. The following is my story in hopes it may be a helpful resource.)

3/11/2022

Whelp….. I’m healing again. AGAIN. Not just figuratively, but literally. A broken wrist. It’s annoying, frustrating, irritating, inconvenient, sometimes depressing…. And real. And triggering. 

The word healing may trigger different responses in different people. This broken wrist is a nuisance at most but right now, for me, it brings me right back to the place and time that forever changed my life, and almost took it. 

This Blog will detail the trauma, recovery, and rehabilitation involved as a result of a debilitating car crash. I’ve separated my story into sections in the attempt of making access to specific information easier for those searching for it. If you are in the midst of trauma, just recovering, or processing trauma maybe reading about my experience and what I share about mine, might make you feel less alone, less strange, or helps you embrace and accept your own journey. I also have a section dedicated to recovery and what I like to think of as the “nitty gritty” of what I did medically and physiologically to heal and move forward through the most volatile and insecure time of my professional life. My rehabilitation section is dedicated to my journey back to playing my horn professionally and the very messy “workout montage” that it wasn’t. Please use this as a resource in any way you need.

On May 5 2018 I was T-boned on the driver side going through a stop sign on a rural road. I broke my C6 and C7 vertebrae, collapsed my lung, ruptured my spleen, lacerated my liver and kidney, sustained a head trauma resulting in a 3 day coma of which no one knew if I would wake up, and the worst of all….. bit entirely through my lower lip and lost my left front tooth. While this might seem the least of my injuries, being a professional French Hornist with a major orchestra, made this almost the worst possible injury I could have. 

“Betty White” My trusted Honda Accord saved my life.
This was the beginning of Day 2 – My husband took this. I have no memory of those 3 days.

For my family, they just wanted me to wake up, which wasn’t clear was going to happen. They were in absolute hell for 3 days not knowing if I would become conscious again, and if I did, who would I be? Would I still be me? But for me, waking up was awakening to the reality, that though they might still see me, and recognize “me” in all my personality traits and appearance, what would I see? If I couldn’t play the horn again, would I truly be “me”? Would I feel like myself? Would I have to re-evaluate what that meant? Am I going to have to become a different person just to survive and convince myself I don’t hate every living moment of not being able to do what I love? BE what I love. Because that is what music is for me. It IS me. It is how experience love, and joy, and pain, and excitement; life in general. It isn’t what I do, it is literally who and what I am. Is that unhealthy? I don’t actually care. I didn’t then and I still don’t. It is just a reality I accepted a long time ago, and when I did, it allowed me to let go into my joy so completely I never looked back. 

I have struggled over the last few years to write about and share my experience because it is legitimately hard as hell. But I felt so alone during the process and felt hungry for truly functional information about what was happening to me. And the fear about what might happen or not happen was at times, paralyzing and alienating. A friend was just brutally injured in an automobile accident that may still take his life. He may very well be faced with an even greater level of lengthy healing, and need to dig profoundly deep into his soul for the strength to fight as hard as he possibly can to get back to his fullest expression of being. I want to share my process, my journey, my fight so that when the time comes for him, he might feel less alone. I want him to be able to feel fully and completely validated in his feelings, his choices, and HIS process. 

So take this as an open invitation to go on a healing journey with me. I want to explore what healing means to all of us. I’ve found that my healing particularly fell into these categories:

  1. Trauma – that is a loaded word isn’t it? There are so many levels to trauma it could rival the Bloomin’ Onion at Outback. How do we walk through that trauma and find OUR OWN road/path to healing? It doesn’t have to look like someone else’s, so let’s explore holding space for that. 
  2. Recovery – Also a word that could mean so many different things to different people. But for me, I want to provide specific details on how I approached my physical recovery. How did I care for my neck fracture? My lip? My tooth? My mind? I had so much trouble finding resources that gave me confidence in my treatments and felt I was flying blind in terms of what would apply to my goals, ie get back to playing my professional orchestra job. The nuts and bolts of healing our amazing bodies is vast and helpful. The body has an amazing ability to adapt and heal itself. I want us to talk about what that has looked like for all of us. My healing story is only one of so many. What if we share what worked for each of us?
  3. Rehabilitation – So we may be simultaneously walking with trauma, actively recovering, but when is it time to rehabilitate? Do we have to wait until the physical healing and emotional healing is complete before we begin? I can say most of the resources I found regarding rehabilitation (getting back to playing) say pretty much exactly that. I can also safely say, it was NOT going to work for me. It was scary to deviate from the “methods” I found, but I did it for my own sanity. I had to find my own way that felt right and allowed me to calm my monkey mind while letting my body adapt. How great would it be if we all were able to give ourselves the space and support to also find what works for each of us? Without the fear that one wrong decision, choice, or step would ruin everything?
2 Months after the accident. Photo Courtesy of Karin Willman and A La Carte Photography

So, here we go. In the coming weeks I will dive more in to my story under each of these topics and welcome your contributions and insights from your own experiences. We don’t have to fit into one method, mold, or process. Maybe together we find a new, better, and more authentic way to heal together. 

Be well.