Sunset Dreams and Coffee Cup Wishes
  • Home
    • You'd like to know more about me?
    • Chocolate Deprived and Caffeine Driven
    • Contact
  • Books
    • Videos >
      • Photos
    • Appearances and Interviews
    • Press
  • Reviews
    • Reviews for Amelia Frump...is Cooking Up a Peanut Butter Storm
  • Educators & Parents
    • School Visits
    • Events
    • Links
  • Puzzles & Games
    • More Puzzles & Games
    • Even More Puzzles & Games
  • A Dab of This...

You Can Do Anything...

2/25/2017

0 Comments

 
Picture
        "You'll never use that arm again."
          I stared at the doctor, allowing his words to penetrate the thick fog that'd occupied my brain for the past week. My right arm lay by my side in the sterile hospital bed like a petrified log. I squinted my eyes and focused on my fingers, hoping by sheer willpower I could make them move. Nope, not even a smidgen.
          Just four days earlier I stood in my kinesiology class at St. Edward's University, hurling a softball (right-handed) across the gym to my partner, rejoicing in the sound of leather hitting skin, enjoying the power of my muscles. I could never throw that hard in high school—my strength-building were paying off. And I had a lot going for me: 4.0 GPA; member of the sorority, Alpha Sigma Lambda; a loving husband and child; three classes left until graduation. It was my life goal to pursue coaching for a few years and later (with more education) obtain a career as a physical therapist.
           A little over half of a week later, I had nothing—all taken away by an angry person who decided I was driving too slow (I was driving 5 miles over the speed limit), and decided to kill me. Over-dramatic? No, I don't think so. Any time a person rips around another car, cuts them off and slams on the brakes, they don't want to say "Howdy-do.” Yep, that's what it boils down to...they wanted me dead. At the time, I couldn't—and still can't—understand how someone could have such hatred for a person they didn't know.
          And so, for almost a week, I lay in a hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. On the fourth day, I listened to this doctor, who—judging by the expression on his face and monotone voice—could care less. I was a waste of his time, just another body with a poor chance of complete recovery. He tossed words such as "massive nerve damage" as easily as a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. I was a number, nothing more.
          Tears gathered in my eyes as I realized my life was changing forever. Sure, I could probably still coach, but who would hire a therapist with the full use of only one hand? That dream was as dead as my arm.
          I still don't know what triggered it, but as “Dr. Personality” blathered on about how therapy “might be useless,” memories from my childhood flooded my mind and warmed my soul. Clips of my father praising my kindergarten artwork were replaced by segments of him comforting me through various trials in my young adult life. Each memory was accompanied by him saying "be strong", and "You can do anything, if you put your mind to it."
          My heart began hammering with anger and determination. Who was this person to tell me what I couldn’t do?  Daddy was right...I COULD do anything. I frowned and cleared my throat. "If you're through spewing verbal garbage, I'd like a turn to talk."
          Dr. Personality folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, obviously amused that this cripple, this moronic thing could put two thoughts together.
          "I think you're full of poop," I continued. "You carry on about what I can't do, but I'll beat this."
          The doctor stared deeply into my eyes, as if seeing me for the first time. A slow smile worked its way across his face. "You’re a little fireball, aren’t you? Know something, I think you can. You just might be the one to beat the odds," he said patting my knee. "Don't give up. And heaven help the person who tells you that you won’t succeed.”
          Giving up wasn’t an option.
          I won't waste your time making you believe my life evolved into a Pollyanna-type story. It didn't.
            The simple things, like tying my laces in the morning or making a peanut butter sandwich, would sometimes take up to fifteen minutes. I’d prided myself on my drawing abilities, now I couldn’t draw a circle. Occasionally, the goal of again having a “typical” life seemed as unrealistic as my son marrying a princess, and I’d fall into an abyss of self-pity.
          “Daddy, I can’t do this,” I’d cry out. From my heart, I’d hear his reply, “You can do anything, if you put your mind to it.”
          I had wonderful support from my loving husband and the rest of my family, but they could do little to heal the wounds on my heart.  I hated to see the effects my negativity had on them, so I slapped on a mask of happiness every time loved ones were around—it worked. They couldn't see what was beneath the surface, the triplets: anger, sorrow and resentment boiling in my soul.
          In addition to drawing, writing has always been my passion, and because of the unsteadiness of my left hand, I made the decision to embrace the latter. Writing helped me escape my anger, my weakness, and allowed me to focus on my strength—my imagination. At the time, I didn’t know how this decision would change my life.
          I wrote a story about my father, his bond with his dog Snowball, and submitted it to Chicken Soup for the Dog's Lover's Soul. Why not? Daddy said I could anything, just if I put my mind to it, right?
          Half a year later, I received a call from an editor at Chicken Soup. I remember, because I thought she was a phone solicitor and hung up. Thankfully, she called back, and my career as a published writer began. I have been published in a few more Chicken Soup books, in magazines, and in newspapers.
          Another dream was realized when Dancing With Bear Publishing took a chance on me and published my first children's book, Amelia Frump and her Peanut Butter Loving, Overactive Imagination. Also in the years following my accident, I’ve become an award-winning journalist, nine-time award-winning baker, and an award-winning children’s author.
         I can’t say all my decisions were good—hey, I’ll admit it, I’m not perfect. But the best decision I ever made was to follow my father’s advice: “You can do anything you want, if you put your mind to it.”
         And he’s right—I can.
 


 
 


0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    Picture

    A little info about me...

     Award-winning  author (and sometimes illustrator) Debbie Roppolo grew up in the Blackland Prairie region of Texas, where miles of grassland and her horse stimulated very imaginative adventures and served as writing fodder for later years. She had to do something with those memories; having tea parties with chickens was too good to keep to herself.

         She has written for several of the Chicken Soup books in addition to various magazines and newspapers. Her children’s book titles include: Amelia Frump and her Peanut Butter-Loving, Overactive Imagination; Amelia Frump…is Cooking Up a Peanut Butter Storm (award-winning activity/cookbook);  and He’s My Brother.

          Shortly after beginning her own family, Roppolo discovered the reason why her mother turned prematurely gray, and that a cell phone, toilets and toddler make a poor combination. Rather than sitting in a corner, whimpering, and eating her weight in chocolate, Roppolo wrote her first parenting humor book, The Toilet is Overflowing and the Dog is Wearing My Underwear, that was based on her family’s antics. 

          After her younger son was diagnosed with autism, Roppolo and her husband co-founded Central Texas Autism Network, a network for persons who may have a relative or friend diagnosed with Autism, or professional that may deal with Autistic persons. She serves as an advocate for people with autism through her writing, by speaking to groups, and spreading awareness as various health-related functions.

         Cooking is her second passion, and Roppolo holds the honor of being an eight-time award-winning baker.

         Married for over twenty-four years, she resides in the Texas Hill Country with her husband and two children.

    Books & Reading Blogs - BlogCatalog Blog Directory

    Archives

    November 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    October 2014
    August 2014
    June 2014
    April 2014
    February 2014
    June 2013
    April 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    March 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011

    Categories

    All
    Active Imagination
    Amazon
    Amelia
    Amelia Frump
    Amelia Frump And Her Peanut Butter Loving
    Anthology
    Aspca
    Autism
    Autistic Traits
    Barbie Dolls
    Bliss Plan
    Blogs
    Blogtalk Radio
    Book Trailers
    Cell Phones
    Chihuahua
    Chocolate
    Christmas
    Church Ladies
    Contest
    Contests
    Cookies
    Cooking
    Cooking With Peppers
    Courtesy
    Dalmatian
    Dogs
    Dwb
    Easy Contests
    Enchilada Recipes
    Free
    Free Books
    Gifts
    Giveaway
    Giveaways
    Great Dane
    Judge
    Magazines
    Man
    Marsha Cook
    Model Rockets
    Moving
    New Men
    Overactive Imagination
    Peanut Butter
    Peppers
    Pit Bull
    Puppy
    Recipes
    Shopping
    Traditions
    Win
    Winning
    Winter Blues
    Wonder Woman

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.