We all have an inner critic. At times, this little voice can keep us motivated toward goals. However, this voice can often be more harmful, particularly when it gets into the realm of excessive negativity. This is known as negative self-talk, and it can really bring us down. Learn how to deal with it and stay positive.

It sounds hopeless, but the good news is that there is a way to break through these unhealthy thought patterns with the help of cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). However, experts warn that this approach is not for everyone.

What is CBT? 

CBT is based on the idea that behaviors, emotions, and thoughts are intertwined. Thoughts influence an individual’s feelings which influence behavior. CBT-trained therapists use these three pathways to effect change.

However, for CBT to work, it requires active participation on the client’s part. When the client is willing to put in the work, randomized clinical trials have shown that CBT can ease anxiety, depression, eating and sleeping disorders, post-traumatic stress disorder, and obsessive thinking, among many others.

But unlike other psychotherapy styles, CBT focuses on the present. It doesn’t seek to address underlying issues, like systemic problems in families and childhood trauma. Its goal is to provide individuals with tools they can use on their own, which translates to a shorter-term treatment.

If you think you or someone you know can benefit from CBT, we break down everything you need to know about this therapy style below.

Thoughts, not circumstances, affect actions and feelings  

One of the most common misconceptions is that circumstances directly influence what one feels and does. In CBT, therapists believe that the critical factor is how individuals interpret these circumstances and act based on those interpretations.

You can try this by being more aware of your thoughts. When you notice your mood changing, figure out what you were thinking right before you felt worse. This powerful exercise can show you how your moods are, in fact, not affected by what’s happening around you but how you interpret these circumstances.

When you are more aware, you’ll get a realistic and accurate view of your circumstances.

Overcoming negative thoughts  

If you want to overcome your negative self-talk, you have to begin by identifying what you tell yourself in moments of distress. For example, if you’re anxious, your thoughts revolve around the theme of threat. You tell yourself that you’re not equipped to handle your challenges or that the world is scary. Meanwhile, if you’re depressed, your thoughts revolve around feelings of unworthiness.

Once you identify these thoughts, your therapist will help you analyze these thoughts with a series of questions that can help you verify whether the thought is true or not. More often than not, most patients realize that these negative thoughts are not valid. And the interesting thing is that everyone is prone to these thinking errors.

CBT is not positive thinking  

Contrary to popular belief, CBT is not about shifting negative thoughts to positive ones, which psychologists say doesn’t help. Instead, CBT helps train you to become more compassionate to yourself and be more realistic about your situation.

Putting in the work  

The best thing about CBT is that the work doesn’t end when you walk out of your therapist’s door. Therapists typically hand out worksheets or a list of apps that can help patients change their thinking and their life even after the sessions have ended.

One primary tool CBT-trained therapists use is an automatic thought record. It can be a physical or digital note where patients can track what they are feeling, thinking, and doing in between sessions. The notes are then used to evaluate the patient’s thoughts during the next therapy session.

How to find a CBT-trained counselor  

You can check the lists of CBT-trained counselors by the Association for Behavioral and Cognitive Therapies and the American Psychological Association.

Have you tried cognitive behavioral therapy? If you haven’t yet, is it something you’re considering?

South Beach Prosthetics manufactures and provides comfortable, high-performance prosthetic solutions that meet individual patient requirements in a compassionate and supportive environment. We are here for you. Connect with us to learn more at (855) 958-1777 and join our Facebook community. Ask us about our in-home care and our no-cost transportation services!

Reference: [https://amputeestore.com/blogs/amputee-life/cognitive-behavioral-therapy-helps-stop-negative-self-talk]

2021 is here — a new year with so much potential. It will be interesting to see what new technologies will be coming down the pike in 2021. Here is a glimpse at discoveries that may improve prosthetics research and development.

Our fingerprints have a self-regulating moisture mechanism that not only helps us to avoid dropping our phones halfway through an ambitious selfie, but could also help scientists to develop better prosthetic limbs, robotic equipment and virtual reality environments, suggests new research.

Primates – including humans, monkeys and apes – have evolved epidermal ridges on their hands and feet with a higher density of sweat glands than elsewhere on their bodies. This allows precise regulation of skin moisture to give greater levels of grip when manipulating objects.

Fingerprints help to increase friction when in contact with smooth surfaces, boost grip on rough surfaces and enhance tactile sensitivity. Their moisture-regulating mechanism ensures the best possible hydration of the skin’s keratin layer to maximise friction.

Researchers at the University of Birmingham worked with partners at research institutions in South Korea, including Seoul National University and Yonsei University – publishing their findings today in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS).

Co-author Mike Adams, Professor in Product Engineering and Manufacturing, at the University of Birmingham commented: “Primates have evolved epidermal ridges on their hands and feet. During contact with solid objects, fingerprint ridges are important for grip and precision manipulation. They regulate moisture levels from external sources or the sweat pores so that friction is maximised and we avoid ‘catastrophic’ slip and keep hold of that smartphone.”

“Understanding the influence of finger pad friction will help us to develop more realistic tactile sensors – for example, applications in robotics and prosthetics and haptic feedback systems for touch screens and virtual reality environments.”

Ultrasonic lubrication is commonly used in touch screen displays that provide sensory ‘haptic’ feedback, but its effectiveness is reduced when a user has dry compared with moist finger pads. Moreover, being able to distinguish between fine-textured surfaces, such as textiles, by touch relies on the induced lateral vibrations but the absence of sliding friction inhibits our ability to identify what we are actually touching.

Fingerprints are unique to primates and koalas – appearing to have the dual function of enhancing evaporation of excess moisture whilst providing a reservoir of moisture at their bases that enables grip to be maximised.

The researchers have discovered that, when finger pads are in contact with impermeable surfaces, the sweat from pores in the ridges makes the skin softer and thus dramatically increases friction. However, the resulting increase in the compliance of the ridges causes the sweat pores eventually to become blocked and hence prevents excessive moisture that would reduce our ability to grip objects.

Using hi-tech laser-based imaging technology, the scientists found that moisture regulation could be explained by the combination of this sweat pore blocking and the accelerated evaporation of excessive moisture from external wetting as a result of the specific cross-sectional shape of the epidermal furrows when in contact with an object.

These two functions result in maintaining the optimum amount of moisture in the fingerprint ridges that maximises friction whether the finger pad is initially wet or dry.

“This dual-mechanism for managing moisture has provided primates with an evolutionary advantage in dry and wet conditions – giving them manipulative and locomotive abilities not available to other animals, such as bears and big cats,” added Professor Adams.

Reference: {https://www.technologynetworks.com/neuroscience/news/getting-a-grip-fingerprint-findings-could-boost-prosthetics-research-343454}

South Beach Prosthetics is here to help you with all of your needs — every step of the way. You can find us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/southbeachop/ or connect with us at Info@SouthBeachOP.com

When an individual loses a limb, many physical changes and challenges are expected. It’s not always easy, but we can learn and benefit from others’ advice and experiences. Support is our work language. We chose to start this year with an inspiring story. Welcome 2022  — and don’t let anything stand in the way of your goals! Remember – we are here to support your process at every turn. Did you know we also offer mentor programs and support in many other ways? Give us a call and let’s talk! 

“The important thing is not to win, but to take part.” This quote from Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympics, is very familiar in the realm of international athletics. But this summer, I felt my opportunity to show up for the Paralympic Games was taken away from me. Despite meeting national team standards in my event (long jump), setting regional records, and winning Paralympic team trials, I did not hear my name called to represent Team USA in Tokyo. I was devastated. I felt robbed by loopholes in selection criteria and a dash of bad luck.

But the hardest part wasn’t that I felt betrayed. It’s that I felt like a betrayer. My partner and family members had uprooted their lives in support of my goal. We moved states, endured a pandemic, spent time and money that took us away from other things, all to support my competing in Tokyo. I’d done everything I could to keep up my side of the deal and make everyone’s sacrifice worth it, but I still came up short.

I felt really guilty—like I’d let everyone down.

In the midst of my disappointment, I got a phone call from Lauren Panasewicz (better known as LP), director of development for the Range of Motion Project. “I don’t want to be insensitive,” she said, “but I have a feeling your passport is up to date?” This clever woman was right! My book was all ready to be stamped for Tokyo, but now I had no destination. LP had an alternative at the ready: “We would love to have you come and join us with an Elite Team Climb in an attempt to summit Cotopaxi,” she said.

I’d had a few previous conversations with LP about ROMP’s annual fundraising trek in Ecuador, which has taken place every year since 2015 (except 2020, due to the pandemic). The timing never worked out because I was always training for track, but in this case the timing was perfect. I wanted to run away from reality; I was desperate for relief. Gallivanting off to Ecuador to skip to the top of some mountains seemed like an opportunity to find who I was again, outside of the track.

Years ago, one of my coaches asked me to help a teammate who, like me, had a history with cancer. It was a weird time in my life, and I was managing a lot of emotional turmoil, so when I expressed my hesitation—I wasn’t in a good head space, I was going through my own stuff, I didn’t know what to say—my coach said: “Sometimes we fill our cups by filling others.”

LP’s offer brought those words back to mind. I was feeling broken after losing my shot at the Paralympics, and after advocating for myself against a giant system designed to make me feel disposable. But even in my pain, I realized my life has been decorated with privilege. I’ve only had one bad prosthetic experience in my whole life, which is basically unheard of. I’ve had the opportunity to compete in cheerleading, college athletics, and international track and field. I’ve never wondered how I’d be able to get the equipment I need. I’ve had a strong support system where everyone gives their best effort to see I succeeded.

ROMP exists for the 90 percent of the world’s amputees who are far less privileged, and who can’t get access to even the most basic assistive technology. ROMP’s global mission is to provide prosthetic and mobility devices to underserved amputees in the US, Ecuador, and Guatemala. This was a cause I could easily support, and have supported over the years with the Amputee Coalition’s youth camp. I knew my life experience, my voice, and even my pain could fill the cup of others while I waited for healing for myself.

Despite being a Colorado native, I had no experience in mountaineering, and there wouldn’t be much time to train before the trip. But I’d just had the best track season of my life, so I figured I was in good enough shape. Hiking is just walking, right? I agreed to go, secure in my ability to haul my experiences, knowledge, and privilege up Cotopaxi to help others.

I never considered that I might have to surrender my pride and accept help from somebody else.

After I lost my right leg to cancer at age 9, I spent decades trying to “make up” for needing help. I call this my “super-amputee” phase, where I tried to prove to everyone—most importantly myself—that I didn’t need anyone to take care of me. This was my way of seeking forgiveness for the sin of being dependent. When you acquire a disability, it doesn’t just disrupt your own life, it disrupts everyone around you. That’s incredibly hard, especially for women, who are raised not to make noise and to be agreeable and accommodating.

Genetically, I am not designed like that. I played sports. I got good grades. I got scholarships. Graduated Cum Laude. Became a professional athlete. Became the best in the country. Performed on the biggest stage in the world. Started my own business. That competitive drive has always been in me, but a part of it came from a place of shame over my disability.

The funny thing about mental health, especially after you have sorted through some deep-seeded stuff, is that your unhealthy thoughts don’t ever actually go away. You carry them around and just learn to manage them better while still moving forward with life. I came into therapy only knowing how to use a hammer to smash my problems to pieces, but my psychologist helped me find new tools. Because not every challenge is a nail that you can pound into submission. Some are screws you have to tighten. Some are burrs you file down.

And some, I discovered shortly after joining my ROMP teammates in Ecuador, are ropes you cling to on the side of a glacial volcano in the Andes.

I would love to assert that I handled this new challenge with grace. But even though I was acutely aware of having my every word recorded by videographers from one of ROMP’s sponsors, I did not nail it in the poise department during our training hike on Ruminahui, a couple of days before the Cotopaxi ascent. The amount of profanities I was shouting in between shallow, high-altitude breaths would even make my Italian grandmother blush. This was more than a hike. It was more than a climb. It was my opportunity to look into a mirror made of the earth while being pushed to a point of frustration and discomfort. And it was also a chance to realize that, after months of feeling like I was being pushed down by forces beyond my control, there were hands reaching for me to pull me back up and push me forward.

When we reached the summit of Ruminahui, I wept. A tangle of emotions came out in those sobs—my frustration at the obstacles that kept me from Tokyo, as well as my gratitude for the support of the people around me. My ROMP teammates helped me see that I could still overcome the obstacles that really mattered. It felt like a hyper-condensed version of my career in athletics—and as an amputee. You measure your progress in tiny increments, meters or centimeters, while learning more about yourself than any school will ever teach you. When it goes well, it’s the best high in the world. When it doesn’t go well, it feels like a curse.

You would think after my run-in with Ruminahui that I would heed the warning of wait might await on the climb to Cotopaxi. But the distance was shorter, I had acclimated to the altitude, and I now had “experience.” And I was with a group of dynamic people, both disabled and non-disabled, who cared about something greater than themselves. It felt like family. I was vibrant with anticipation.

Before this trip, I was hesitant about spending so much time in the company of “mountain people.” I was so far out of my element, I might as well have been an alien from another planet. But from the day I arrived, everybody made me feel welcome. Karl Egloff—the fastest man to summit these mountains—spent time talking with me about the similarities between elite athletics and advanced mountaineering. Paul, the workhorse guide on my rope team, was indisputably the most patient man alive. I was the slowest, weakest, and loudest person on the climb. But even though I had entered a sacred space for these mountain people and didn’t honor it the way I knew they did, they still made me feel cared for and important.

That was probably the most moving part of the entire trip. I was carrying so much guilt and shame for things beyond my control that I didn’t realize how heavy it felt. The day before we left for the Cotopaxi summit, as I struggled and complained on a lower stretch of the mountain, Karl offered to grab my backpack. When he took the load from me, I almost felt like I levitated—and I recognized, with a shock, how much weight I’ve been dragging around. I was reminded of a quote I used to love: “It’s not the load that breaks you down. It’s how you carry it.”

That thought reverberated with every step on the summit ascent. If there is a hell for amputees, it’s covered in sand and ice. Cotopaxi has both. We started up at 10 pm, and it immediately became obvious that climbing an icy mountain in sheer darkness with no experience was going to require one thing – mental toughness. Panic is the enemy. Thinking about how bad it hurts is not helpful. Worrying that you’re not getting enough oxygen is not productive. Whenever I exerted a lot of energy I would feel nauseous, so I became hopeful that if I puked maybe Paul would let me quit. As if he was reading my mind, Paul turned around, looked me in the eyes, and said: “We are not turning around.”

When the sun started to rise and I saw we weren’t close to the summit (although we were close, according to the mountain people), it started to feel impossible. My feet kept sliding, and Karl started grabbing my boots to place them onto more substantial surfaces, and I began catastrophizing that I would stab Ecuador’s favorite mountain hero with my rented crampons. For every step he took, I needed about six, because my foot slipped back with every movement. But there was nothing to do but keep moving forward. LP used her ice ax to help leverage my back [prosthetic] foot, so I had something to push off. Between her, Karl, and Paul, I was pushed, pulled, and dragged for what felt like an eternity to get to the top.

I couldn’t help but laugh at how hard it felt just to move. I almost didn’t recognize my own body or how it worked. I was even too exhausted to cry, and that surprised me. I had literally cried every day on that trip, because I was petrified with fear that I would let everyone around me down again. Now that I had reached the summit and achieved my goal, what struck me was that it isn’t the actual success that people support. It’s the effort. My success in reaching the summit depended on others, but the effort was 100 percent my own. I understood Pierre de Coubertin’s words—“The important thing is not to win, but to take part”—in a new way.

All my tears on this trip—and over my life—had been shed in frustration over trying to compensate for something that happened to me that was out of my control. But at the summit of Cotopaxi, it was as if all that weight disappeared. All I could see were blankets of bright, white rolling clouds and smiling faces. It felt infinite and peaceful. I returned to the thought that entered my head when Karl took my backpack: “It’s the way you carry the load the makes it heavy.” I had finally escaped the gravitational draw of painful events and unproductive beliefs. The struggle up the mountain illustrated how far I needed to go to break away from the things that pulled me down daily.

I joined ROMP’s climb to Cotopaxi to offer my experience as a professional athlete and an amputee. In sharing myself, I received more help than I could have ever imagined. ROMP uses the summit as a metaphor for overcoming life’s challenges, but nobody can get to the top of that mountain in solitude. When you get pushed down, someone else extends a hand to carry your bag and help pull you back up. And then we do the same thing for somebody else. We rise by lifting others.

South Beach Prosthetics stands with you every step of the way. Wherever you are in your prosthetic journey, you can count on our support & expertise to get where you need to be. Get in touch with us today at (888) 819-4721 to learn more about our prosthetic care. Join us! Find our Facebook community here.

Reference: [https://livingwithamplitude.com/lacey-henderson-amputee-athlete-giving-thanks-for-limb-loss/]

Amputation, whether it’s a limb or a toe, can be a difficult and traumatic experience. And everyone copes differently.

It’s normal for you to feel a range of emotions from relief (if you were suffering from constant pain before the amputation) to grief, anger, and even depression.

You also will need to adjust physically. You’ll need to relearn how to do many everyday tasks. If you have a prosthetic limb, you will need to learn how to use it and care for it.

Rehabilitation focuses on helping both mentally and physically.

Coping After Amputation: Adjusting to a New Life

Having a limb amputated means being dependent on others for help, at least for a time.

As you recover and go through rehabilitation, you will steadily regain more independence and learn how to do basic daily activities in a new way. Although it may be difficult to ask for help, you’ll need it at first. It’s important to learn to accept help when offered.

“The rehabilitation part is so critical early because people haven’t thought about walking since they were toddlers,” says Michael Munin, MD, professor in the Department of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine. “Often as adults they’re now having to re-learn how to walk from start.”

Needing help can make you feel like you’ve lost some control of your life. Recognize what you can do for yourself and let others know when you do and do not need help.

Emotional struggles are normal. Realize that you don’t have to deal with them alone. Talk with family and friends, a counselor, or support group about your feelings. Finding others who have gone through a similar experience may help you realize what’s possible. Spiritual support may also help you, whether from church leaders or members, or just taking your own time to reflect.

“There is an emotional side of losing a body part, and we try to emphasize the positive of restoring physical functioning,” Dr. Munin says.

Life After Amputation: Recovering Physically

Rehabilitation starts while you’re still in the hospital and can last weeks or even months after the amputation surgery.

Depending on your needs, a rehabilitation program will help you re-learn how to dress, walk, and eat, as well as balance and coordination, how to care for your skin around the amputation, and how to adjust to a prosthesis.

Rehabilitation can include occupational and physical therapy. Prosthetists also hold an important role during the rehab admission process. They fabricate the prosthetic limb and make adjustments as needed to maintain patient comfort with the device.

Dr. Munin says learning to trust a new limb is an important part of the early rehabilitation process. For example, someone might not feel comfortable putting full weight on a prosthetic leg.

“We try to master that skill first, and then we focus on technique,” he says.

• Physical therapists will help you take care of your skin, manage swelling, and deal with phantom pain. In physical therapy, you will also learn how to care for your prosthesis and how to put it on and take it off. You’ll also learn stretching and strengthening exercises, as well as gait training to help you stand even and regain balance. Therapists also will work on your cardiovascular endurance.
• Occupational therapy will help you regain independence by helping you master activities of daily living. These include basic household chores, bathing, getting dressed, and toilet and tub transfers. Your occupational therapist will also recommend and show you how to use any assistive equipment that will make life at home easier. The therapist will also provide you any environmental modifications you need at home, at work, or for driving.

The occupational and physical therapy tie in together to help a patient recover.

“Ideally, the goal is that a patient would ultimately, when they finish all of their training, that they’ll put the leg on in the morning, take it off in the evening, and have a full day of wear schedule,” Dr. Munin says. “All of these facets have to be addressed to achieve the high outcomes that we hopefully obtain for our patients.”

Going out for the first time after an amputation can be intimidating. It helps to practice things you’ll encounter before going out so you feel more confident. Either at home or in a rehab program, you can practice navigating curbs, stairs, ramps, and uneven ground.

As you continue working, you will begin to regain some normalcy and feel more confident about your abilities. In time, it helps to focus on what you can do, rather than what you’re unable to do.

“We try to put the potential goals in their view so they realize they have a lot to shoot for and aim for in terms of restoration and function,” Dr. Munin says. “We can’t get everything back, but we can really restore a lot of function if the prosthetic rehabilitation is done in a concentrated, coordinated fashion.”

Mental Health After Amputation

Dr. Munin says doctors, nurses, and staff also monitor a patient’s mental health after an amputation. They treat it on a case-to-case basis, evaluating factors like a patient’s mental history, support system, and more.

Sometimes new problems can happen: depression, suicidal thoughts, body image issues, and post-traumatic stress. In serious cases, doctors can seek a psychiatric consult.

“It is certainly something we monitor closely for,” Dr. Munin says.

If you feel signs of depression, such as lack of motivation, loss of interest in things you once cared about, and ongoing grief or sadness, talk to your therapist or a counselor. The earlier you get help, the sooner you’ll feel better and can continue recovering.

Source: https://share.upmc.com/2020/03/coping-with-amputation-50ph/