We Are All Different

Today it was brought to my attention that a fellow RSD-er was complaining to a friend of mine about the fact that I’m not open enough about my struggles. She doesn’t understand why I don’t like to talk about my RSD to her, when she talks about her pain daily, and she doesn’t know why the treatments that worked for her didn’t work for me. Let me answer that all for you…we are not the same. Yes, we may have the same diagnosis…but that’s the end of our sameness. Same diagnosis, different lives.

Part of the beauty of life is that we are all different. If we all looked the same, acted the same, and lived the exact same lives, we’d be more like robots than humans. Frankly, life would be a boring, pointless mess. Instead, we all have unique personalities and go through various experiences that affect us in different ways.

Aside from the general uniqueness of humans as a whole, we RSD-ers each have our own journeys to travel and battles to fight. RSD isn’t a cut-and-dried diagnosis. Even from the initial presentation, our pain can show up in a variety of ways. For example, my RSD is very visible with swelling, discoloration, contractures, and (now) ulcers. However, I have friends who never present with swelling or any other major symptoms besides the excruciating pain. Some people have hypersensitivity; others can tolerate touch.

Once you get into the topic of treatments, it’s a trial-and-error sort of a deal. There is no cure for RSD, and there is no single treatment that works for everyone. The fellow RSD-er that I mentioned underwent a procedure that changed her life. For years, she and others bugged me about trying it. When I finally ran out of options and went into the OR last year, they expected it to work just as well for me. To my great disappointment, the procedure was not a success for me. Some people are able to manage their symptoms with medication; others use acupuncture and alternative options. It’s amazing how wide the spectrum of RSD diagnoses and treatments really is.

Some people want everyone to know everything about their lives; others don’t. Personally, I am naturally reserved and quiet. I only choose to share the really deep struggles with specific people who have gained my trust…well, and sometimes on this blog. I don’t talk to everyone in my life about my RSD because not everyone understands. For some, they understand but they give bad advice or pressure me into doing things I’d rather not do. Others have RSD and think that we are the same person because of it, and they aren’t able to understand when I don’t want to talk or when a treatment fails. If I talked about every struggle, every ache and pain, and every worry in my life…well, my words would never end. I don’t want to be “that person” who wallows in her disorder rather than exploring and enjoying the beauty of life. I find it easier to simply write out my thoughts or talk about my struggles with the few people who I know I can trust…the ones who care and who listen without judgment.

Now, I’m not saying that we RSD-ers can’t relate to each other at all. In fact, I think it’s beautiful that we have a common thread with what we’re dealing with. All I’m trying to say is that we all face different monsters and we are not exactly the same. We can relate, we can understand to a certain degree, but we cannot know exactly what another person has been through or feel the precise pain that they are in. We all deal with our problems in different ways, and we need to respect that without judgment.

 

Standing Room Only

Yesterday, we had a bad storm that caused our power to go out. Not wanting to deal with cooking, my mom suggested that we go out to eat. Since the restaurant in mind happened to be one of my favorites, I agreed to tag along.

We got to the restaurant and there was a line to be seated. It’s a small building so we expected to wait. While in line to put in a reservation, a lady who was sitting down came up to me. “Here, go sit down,” she said, pointing to her now-vacant part of the waiting area. “Oh, I’m fine, but thank you for the offer,” I replied. There were other people sitting in the crowded area and I didn’t want to deal with being scrunched between strangers. I also don’t mind standing (I mean, hello, I stood through 2 performances of Grease the other night and I was fine) , so I was content just as I was. Apparently this wasn’t good enough for the woman. She came a little closer and said in a serious tone, “When someone offers you their seat, you thank them , hussie on over, and sit your little crutch self down,” she said. After a few more exchanges of words, her friend finally chimed in. “Now, [insert name], she can stand on those crutches better than you can. Just leave her alone.” I was happy that someone finally stood up for me and realized how awkward I was feeling. They were soon called to their table so I didn’t have to deal with her anymore.

Situations like this make me really upset. I feel like I’m singled out just because I’m on crutches. I also feel like I’m looked down upon because I am “disabled.” After 2 years of using my crutches, I don’t really feel that disabled. I’ve gotten used to my aluminum companions and I don’t think much about the fact that they make me different. I don’t like people judging me, making assumptions about my life, or telling me what to do just because I’m on crutches. Of course I can understand that her heart was probably in the right place. She saw a girl with only one usable leg and wanted to offer up her seat. Fine. But telling me what to do and making me feel bad? That was just uncalled for.

I find myself in the middle of awkward situations all too frequently because of my RSD. People making comments, asking questions, and staring at me. I sometimes wish I could make my crutches invisible and hide my swollen leg so that people would stop treating me differently! Just because I walk with one leg rather than two does not mean that I need any sort of special attention, advice, or treatment.

Has anyone else out there ever been singled out for being “different?” How did you respond? Life on crutches is just one big adventure…

Don’t Limit Me

When people see me hopping along on my crutches, they usually have their preconceived thoughts about what this means. Perhaps they think I broke my leg, or maybe they’re imagining a rough run-in with someone on a soccer field. Regardless of the reason for my aluminum sidekicks, people often assume that crutches=limitations. But that doesn’t always have to be the case.

I currently work with someone who also has RSD/CRPS. She’s doing pretty well from a functional standpoint, dancing and having a mostly normal life. While it’s cool, I guess, that we share the same diagnosis, it’s not cool that she bases her views of me and my abilities on her experiences. I don’t want to go on too much about this subject, mostly because I don’t want to gossip or anything, but here’s what I will say…

Crutches or no crutches, diagnosis or no diagnosis, don’t limit me based on your own set limits.

Let me give an example. The other day, we were all on a walk. I was catching up with everyone because I got caught talking to someone as we were leaving. My friend/coworker made a comment about staying back with me because I was going to be slower (you know, since my crutches make me sooo slow). Well, that comment wasn’t needed as I made my way to the front of the group, but we’ll leave that at that. Then, we came to a set of stairs. I was prepared to venture down without a problem, but she decided to point out that they weren’t “crutch-friendly” stairs, and that I couldn’t/shouldn’t go down them. This angered me, as I have traveled up and down those stairs many times (yes, on crutches) with no issues. The point is that maybe she was slow on crutches, and maybe she had a tough time doing stairs, but her personal experiences do not translate into my own.

People try to limit me all the time, even people I don’t know. They insist on carrying things that I am more than capable of carrying, tell me where I can go and what I can do, and they don’t let me do things that might be “too hard” or “too dangerous.” I can understand some of these things becoming necessary for, say, people who have just started to use crutches. They might be a little clumsy or unsteady, as I was for my first few weeks. I can also accept the fact that many people are simply trying to be helpful or watch out for me. I appreciate their care and concern, really, I do. But this isn’t some temporary stint on crutches. This is my new lifestyle…well, 2 years new. And since there’s nothing on the horizon to suggest that I’ll be losing the crutches anytime soon, it’s something that I’ve needed to feel out for myself.

I’ve gotten used to my so-called limitations, overcoming many things that I thought I couldn’t do. I’ve learned how to carry things, watch out for hazards, and assess situations before going forth. I know what might not be a good idea, or what I might need to slow down while doing. I know what I can and can’t do. If I need help, I’ll ask for it. If something doesn’t look safe, I won’t do it. But unless I set my own limit, I don’t need anyone else to tell me that I can’t do it.

Don’t let anyone limit you. If you have a dream, go for it. If you want to do something, do it. Ignore the people who try to bring you down and do what you know you can do.

Stares, Questions, and Comments

I had an interesting conversation with the psychologist at my not-so-wonderful appointment last week. She was telling me about a show that she had recently seen (Violet). It was about a girl who had an accident that disfigured her face, so people often stared at or teased her. The psych related this show to my own life because of the way my leg is swollen and disfigured. She then asked me if I’d rather have people stare and say nothing or just ask about it. I thought for, well, 0.2 seconds, and then gave my answer-I’d rather them just ask.

I often see people staring at my leg, or doing the whole “look when I’m not watching” thing, where they’ll sneak a glance after I’ve walked past them or when I’m looking the other way. I want to say something snarky, like, “hey, take a picture so you can stare all you want,” but I refrain, thinking of the times when I see someone who is a bit different. I think looking or staring is a typical response for most people, regardless of whether it is right or socially acceptable.

I’m really not a fan of the stares, but I feel more comfortable about people looking at my leg when I can explain what happened first. That way they don’t make any assumptions or judgments simply based on what they see. I can tell them about my accident and my RSD/CRPS and let them into my life a bit. Sure, people don’t usually want to stand around listening to all of that stuff (which is why I usually just say, “I have a chronic pain disorder called RSD,” and leave it at that), but sometimes they’re really curious and willing to learn. I like those kind of people because then I’m able to spread awareness about this monster.

The comments people make are usually worse than the stares and questions. People asking if I knew my leg was so huge, or trying to compare my situation with that one time when they got a paper cut…yeah, not helpful. Or how about the people who say I can’t do things just because I’m on crutches? Ooh, that makes my blood boil. I know my limits and I know what I can do and what might be a bit more challenging, so I don’t really need the opinions of others to help me figure that out.

So, if you ever see me roaming around a store or taking a walk down the street, feel free to ask questions. I’ll even answer the dumb ones, like if RSD is contagious (for the record, it’s only as contagious as a broken leg). Once you’ve taken the time to become educated on my condition, then you can stare all ya want…but keep your silly comments to yourself, please and thank you.

 

When It’s Time to Let Go

It’s been a week since my crazy, disappointing doctor’s appointment. In the past week, I’ve been wrestling pretty hard with something, and that is this:

When is it time to let go instead of holding so tightly to my plans for my life?

As I have said, I planned for this appointment to work out. I thought I would go through their pain program and come out running. Once I checked “walking” off my to-do list, I would continue my studies and obtain my Master’s Degree in Occupational Therapy. From there, I would help people like myself to reach their maximum potential and realize that they are stronger than whatever tries to get them down. I planned to (hopefully) find a good man, settle down, maybe become a mom. All of this was contingent on that first item of business, defeating my RSD. And as time goes on, that check mark is looking more like a giant question mark, causing me to think more deeply about these so-called plans.

I don’t think I’m ready to let go of the hope that I have of walking again. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up my plans of becoming an OT, either. Sure, I have a sort-of backup plan for my career, but this is something that I’ve been dreaming of for years. Maybe that’s not the way things were meant to be, though. Maybe something better is waiting around the corner if I just let it all go.

I will never quite understand why all of this is happening. As I dealt with one of the many challenges of being on crutches today, I thought about my younger years, before all of this chaos began. I wondered how my 7-year-old self would feel about how my life has turned out. Back then, the biggest pain I had experienced came from the process of getting stitches sans numbing medication. I wonder if my life plan would be different if I knew that this would all happen back then. Would I have set the bar lower? Chosen a different career path? Treasured my healthy moments more? I guess I’ll never know.

Maybe in letting go, my life will fall into place. Maybe my tightly clenched hand is preventing me from opening my arms to a bigger adventure. Perhaps it won’t be quite in the way that I may have originally imagined, but I guess I need to trust the process and know that eventually it will all work out how it’s supposed to.

A Letter to Those Newly Diagnosed with RSD/CRPS

This month marks the 8 year anniversary of my initial RSD injury. Today I found out about another warrior who was just diagnosed. My heart aches, knowing the verwhelming feeling that comes with such a complicated diagnosis. So, to anyone who has recently had the unfortunate experience of having a doctor say, “you have RSD/CRPS,” this is for you.

 Dear Warrior,

This message is for you. Yes, you are a Warrior because you have just stepped onto the battlefield of one of the biggest wars you’ll ever fight in. The war against RSD/CRPS. Things may look bleak and confusing at first, but it gets better. These big words, “Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy,” or “Complex Regional Pain Syndrome,” can feel daunting. What do they all mean? Why are there different phrases for the same diagnosis? While you may feel relief that you finally have an answer to your pain, you may be feeling a greater weight knowing that this isn’t just a broken bone or muscle strain. The swirl of emotions can hit you pretty hard, but take some deep breaths and approach it all one day at a time.

Know that you are not alone. Although it’s true that you’re now part of a vicious battle, you are fighting alongside millions of other valiant warriors. You don’t have to do this on your own. There are always people who are here to support you and walk with you as you navigate your way through this new world of chronic pain. Reach out to me, reach out to others. Don’t be afraid. You are not alone.

There may be people who don’t understand, or who might not believe that anything is wrong. Doctors, even, can be discouraging with their words and attitudes. Our pain is very real, this disorder is very real, but for those who don’t experience it firsthand, it can be difficult to comprehend. Don’t allow the negative comments of others to get you down. It’s hard to grasp the depth of this ‘mystery’ diagnosis, but know in your heart that you are not going “crazy,” this is not “all in your head,” and none of this is made up, even if people don’t understand.

If you are like me and head to Google, prepare yourself. There are so many websites and articles about RSD/CRPS, some better than others. There are some amazingly helpful organizations and websites (The RSDSA is wonderful– RSDS.org), and there are also places that will feed you information that is neither helpful nor true. Take everything with a grain of salt unless it is backed up by evidence.

The funny, frustrating, confusing part about this disorder is that no two people have identical experiences. For some, one treatment is a miracle and they jump right into remission. For others, they might try that treatment along with five others before they find something that helps. You never know until you try it. There are some medications and treatment options that have high success rates and might be worth pursuing before others, but just know that everyone has a different journey. This isn’t to depress you or discourage you; in fact, I hope to encourage you with the fact that you could be one of the lucky ones to find a treatment that works early on. They say early treatment is key; I believe it.

This journey can be scary. It can be sad, it can be disheartening, it can be confusing. It can also bring joy into your life that you never knew was possible. I know, I know…how can you say that there can be any sort of joy in all of this? Well, have you ever felt the incredible rush of emotion after taking your first step in months? Have you felt the pride of beating the odds? These things will come later on, so hold onto hope. Even if the elusive remission doesn’t come, or takes longer than expected, there can still be plenty of happiness along the way. You’ll meet new people with whom you will share deep bonds. You’ll be able to share your story and help others. You’ll appreciate the small things more as they become the big things.

What I really want to tell you, dear Warrior, is that this is not a death sentence. It does not mean that you have to be stuck in hospitals and doctors’ offices forever. I want to tell you, brave Champion, that it is possible to live a full, happy life despite the pain. You can still do the things you enjoy and love those close to you. You may have to adjust things a bit, but there is so much greatness inside of you and you will make it. I promise. So fasten your seatbelt and hold on tight, because this is going to be a bumpy ride…but in the end, you’ll come out stronger than before. Grasp onto hope and never, I repeat, never give up.

I’m here with you in the battlefield, cheering you on and waiting anxiously for the day when a cure is found and this battle is won for good. Until then, stay strong, my friends. Stay strong.

With well wishes for strength and courage,

Rachel, a fellow RSD/CRPS Fighter

 

Babysitting on Crutches

Now that I’m home for the summer (and beyond), I am finally able to get back to doing what I love…babysitting! Now, some people may laugh and snicker because this isn’t a “real job” (don’t get me started on the guy who told me I had to get a real job…and once I did, I made less and had less fun than sitting), but I really find it to be an enjoyable use of my time. I have always loved kids and being around them gives me a new perspective on life.

Things have become a bit more complicated in the babysitting department since my accident. I can’t be the super-cool babysitter who takes the kids out for ice cream…because I can’t drive. Even if I drove with my left foot, I would be hesitant to take the kids anywhere. In fact, when I do babysit, I have to ask either my parents or the kids’ parents for a ride, so that has made things interesting. But, somehow, I make it work. Sometimes I wonder why someone would ever ask me to sit for them when clearly I’m not the best pick, but I feel incredibly grateful to the people who do choose to look beyond my disability and still trust me to take care of their kids.

So, how does babysitting work, crutch-style? Well, many things are the same (play games, color, etc), but some activities need to be modified.

Here’s how I make it work:

-Choose activities that don’t require a ton of moving around, or be prepared if a lot of walking might be involved. Activities such as bike riding may prove to be difficult if the kids pedal faster than you can crutch, so opting for a walk or a trip to the park may be a better choice.
-Tell the kids what you need. I know that sounds weird since you’re supposed to be watching out for them, but if they know not to touch your leg or throw things at you, they’ll usually be careful to follow through with the directions. The kids I watch are so great about being mindful of my leg.
-Ask for help if needed. I babysit for a family with a baby, so I usually have to ask the older kids to help me if he needs to be carried somewhere. While I can carry things on crutches, I don’t think it’s safe to risk a fall while holding a sweet baby.
-Put safety first…for everyone. Don’t put yourself or the kids in a situation that could be dangerous. Carrying a baby is one example, but there are other instances when you need to do a check to make sure everything is safe. Common sense, people.
-Have fun! That’s the main thing. If you have fun and watch out for the safety of the kids and yourself, you’re almost guaranteed to have a successful time.

You see, crutches don’t have to stop you from doing what you want to do. I cannot even express my appreciation toward the families who still accept me, even though I’m a bit different now. I used to think that the crutches would mean that I’d be automatically thrown out of the “babysitter lists,” but we’ve all adjusted and made things work. Crutches do not mean that it is impossible to still do the things you love, you just might have to do them a bit differently  🙂

Another Year Over

Well, I can officially say that I’m done with another year of school! This is a particularly big accomplisment for myself because it’s the first time I’ve made it through a full academic year without being in the hospital since about…7th grade. Somehow I managed to stay away from doctors, nurses, and therapists from September until May. Success.

The significance of this accomplishment didn’t hit me until tonight. You see, in August, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to start school again. I was in the hospital and couldn’t use my legs or arms well. When September rolled around and I found myself in a college dorm, I was elated. But there was always that small voice in the back of my mind that kept me on edge, wondering if I’d make it a full year.

One full school year with no major falls (I only slipped on the ice one time, and my backpack was a nice cushion), no dropped plates or bowls in the dining hall (see, dining hall workers-I told you I could do it on my own), no medications and no appointments. Wow.

Most people go through school and never have to plan for the possibility of having to leave. They take their occasional sick days but it’s usually nothing more than strep throat. My life is different. I have to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.

I think it’s good that I took a treatment break this year because it allowed me to dive into my studies without extra distractions. I didn’t have to worry about finding rides to physical therapy or dealing with medication side effects. I only had to focus on the pile of textbooks, not the growing mound of medical bills. And, although my health hasn’t exactly gotten better, it hasn’t gotten terribly worse either. So it’s just stable in that department…which, for now, is good enough.

I feel such a sense of relief now that my finals are over and I don’t have to worry about going back to my school. I’m opening up a new chapter of life, leaving the past behind. We’ll see what happens!

Throwback Thursday

I was looking through some photos on my computer yesterday when I came across this one:

Now, to most people, this looks like a typical photo of a girl having a good vacation, nothing more. But this picture has a story behind it. I’ve always known the significance of the story, but it wasn’t until yesterday that the full impact of the photo hit me.

This photo was taken in December of 2006. I was on a cruise with my family, which by itself was an incredible gift since I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go. I was with my parents, siblings, grandparents (including my Grandpa who passed away this week), and a large group of other extended family. In the photo I am on a horse, in the ocean, gazing at the gorgeous island of St. Maarten (which, unfortunately, you can’t see in this pic). At the very moment in which the camera shutter blinked and captured this image, I was one of the happiest girls alive.

You see, we had planned this extended family vacation for months, maybe even years. The excitement had grown strong and in September of 2006, I was eager to get through a few more months of school so I could relax on the beach. But a lot happened between September 1 and the day this was taken, and the possibility of a vacation was greatly compromised.

On September 18, 2006, I was in my 3rd month of being on crutches due to RSD/CRPS. It was a rainy day and I slipped while going into my neighbor’s garage. The minor fall led to the pain and agony of RSD/CRPS spreading throughout my entire body, from head to toe. I was taken to the hospital, where I stayed until Thanksgiving. During my hospital stay, there were many conversations about the cruise-I wondered if I’d be able to go, and my family talked about cancelling it due to the uncertainty of my health. I posted a picture of a cruise ship on my hospital wall to serve as inspiration to get better and work hard so that I could reach my end goal of cruising through the ocean.

Miraculously, I was indeed well enough to join my family on the cruise. I had become stronger and, although I was still using lofstrand crutches, I gained most of my functioning back. My Grandma planned for some of us to enjoy a horseback riding excursion, and I was ecstatic. I have always had a love for horses, even though my RSD/CRPS originally started at horse camp. When the time finally came to go to the stable and meet my horse, I could hardly control my excitement.

We went to the stable that day and I happily released my crutches to be stored while I enjoyed my experience. I hopped up on the beautiful horse and geared up for an amazing time. We rode through town and came to a mountain. I was nervous about making the trek up and down the large hills, but I trusted that my horse knew what he was doing. When we reached the top, the view was incredible. It took my breath away to see the clear blue water ahead, shimmering in the sunshine. We reached the ocean and I was surprised when our leader told us to go in the water! We tied our shoes around our necks so they didn’t get ruined and allowed our horses to lead the way.

You see, this photo represents freedom. It signifies overcoming that which I thought was impossible. While on the horse, I didn’t have to worry about crutches or medication or doctors. I was simply able to enjoy life and the beauty of the creation around me. I was surrounded by loved ones and had an inner feeling of indescribable peace radiating throughout my body.

Something that struck me today about this image is the fact that I was in water. My legs, which had been extraordinarily hypersensitive and burning with pain just weeks previous, were submerged in the salty ocean water, without anything protecting them. It’s hard to see in the picture, but there I was, on a horse, wearing jeans, in water, with a smile on my face. Wow.

I still think about that vacation and relive the beauty in my mind when I need to be cheered up. I remember the sunshine beaming down on my body, the crisp ocean breeze, and the love of family all around. Although we have had many other incredible opportunities to travel and experience new places since then, the symbolism of this trip will always be sacred in my mind.

I can’t wait until I can once again experience that inner peace and knowledge that I have overcome the impossible. I know that day is coming soon, and I’m sure that beaming smile will be right back on my face.

 

Roommates & Chronic Pain

Last year, I spent the first half of my summer filled with anxiety. I was nervous about the upcoming school year, and especially worried about how my roommate situation would end up. I had asked for a single, accessible room…and instead was told that neither would be available. I had to wait until August to find out who my new roomie would be, and during that waiting period I hoped and prayed that she would be nice. It’s one thing to be an average person living with someone else, but to have chronic pain and additional issues, it’s hard to find someone who you can live well with for an entire year.

Finally, on about August 2, I was given the name of my roommate. We exchanged e-mails and became Facebook friends, then started texting each other. We had a lot in common and she seemed really sweet. After texting for a little while, I dropped the news about my leg. “Um, so, you might have seen this already in some of my Facebook pictures…but I’m on crutches.” She seemed unphased by this, assuming I had just injured myself temporarily. I went on to explain a bit of my story and some information about RSD/CRPS. “I hope you don’t hate me, and I really hope I don’t scare you away with my leg,” I said, spilling all my fears about the situation. My roommate took it all with grace and said that she was fine with it, offering to help whenever needed. Her kindness eased my worries and I became excited about school again.

Over the past school year, my roommate’s kindness has continued. We have become friends and she is always willing to help. Just today she carried my way too full laundry bag to the basement for me so I could have clean clothes, and I know she always has my back. We have had our differences, and yes, I think we do get sick of each other sometimes, but I think we have made a great pair and I couldn’t be more thankful to have her as my roommate this year.

Here are some ways to be a good roommate to someone who has chronic pain:

• Let the person know that you are willing to help, but don’t “mother” them. You don’t need to constantly be doing everything for them or badgering them with questions, but leave an open invitation, and genuinely mean it when you say you want to help.
• Be mindful of their noise/temperature/light preferences. For some people with chronic pain, these things can really play a part in the levels of pain we experience. Obviously it can’t be all about us, but be aware of if and when these things need to be altered.
• Include your roommate in activities. This can be different depending on the situation, but don’t exclude someone just because of a disability. There may be instances when we say no, but having the invitation is nice. Which leads me to the next one…
• If you invite us to do something and we turn you down, don’t take it personally. We may be dealing with health problems or an overload of work, so we can’t always hang out.
• Offer to do the heavy chores. Vacuuming especially can be difficult, at least for me, so it’s nice to have help.
• Compromise. This is key in any roommate situation. Work things out so everyone gets a little bit of what they want/need.
• If there is a difference in sleeping habits, work out a plan. Sometimes people with chronic pain need a lot of sleep; other times they can’t sleep at all. Work out a system so that everyone gets the amount of shut-eye that they desire. (Thankfully my roommate and I have similar sleeping schedules, but last year this was a big issue).

Basically, just be nice and communicate with each other. These are some of the things that my roommate has done and it has worked out wonderfully. While I am extremely excited about having my own room next year when I’m living at home, I will also miss my daily conversations and funny stories with my roommate. As far as roommates go, I don’t think I could have asked for anyone better. I spent so much time worrying last Summer for nothing 🙂