Humorous? Yes. Humorous.
There are many serious aspects to having epilepsy--to having seizures. It is not a joke.
Yet, there have been precious moments--precious in their absurdity. Neurologists have an amazing sense of humor. They call it bedside manner.
The same neurologist, who told public television viewers this week that people with epilepsy foam at the mouth, once asked me, "how long did the seizure last."
I went into the neurologist following the seizure to have my blood levels checked. Did my medication levels need to be increased or decreased, so as to prevent future seizures? I understood the reason behind his question. He had known me for some time. He knew I lived alone. Knowing that, he still asked, "How long did the seizure last?"
A part of me was tempted to say, "Well, let's see, I looked at the clock and it said 6:40am, and I started seizing. I looked at the clock at 6:42am, and I stopped seizing. Gees. I guess I should have looked. After all, I was just lying on the floor. I wasn't doing anything at the time."
Come on, give me a break. I had a few more pressing things on my mind at the time.
"Get down to the ground. Get away from things I could grasp onto." I chanted to myself.
Equally humorous to the neurologist's question is my subsequent behavior. Since that time, I make sure to look at the clock when I feel a seizure coming on, and once again when the seizure stops. If I am lucky, my exhausted brain, and my memory will not be so impaired as to prevent me from remembering the length of the seizure. I try to be a compliant patient:) Sometimes, I go overboard:)
But, far more humorous than that incident happened several years later. I was in a neurologist's waiting room. A different neurologist. I was awaiting an appointment with him. Suddenly, I started to have a seizure. Fellow patients knew precisely what to do, and went into action calmly. The neurologist was called. He came out to the waiting room.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
"Am I OK? Sure, I always wanted to come to your office and have a seizure! Am I OK? Have you ever seen a seizure before? Am I OK!" I thought.
In my 40+ years of experience with seizures, that remains my favorite seizure experience.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: Misinformed
Deeply disturbing information was disseminated, and stereotypes were reinforced last night during a television interview. On September 10,2011, University of Minnesota football coach--Brad Kill--had a seizure during a football game. His players, and colleagues knew of his seizures. I have not met Coach Kill. I report regarding what I understand of him. Media coverage.
I do understand what it is to have a seizure. I have had seizures since childhood. I am 51. Each individual's seizures are different. Yet, I am compelled to respond to the misinformation given, and stereotypes reinforced by a neurologist last night.
Most disturbing of what the neurologist said? Something to the effect of, "People with epilepsy foam at the mouth."
This is not true. Case closed.
"Seizures are frightening."
Yes. Both for the observer, and for the person having the seizure.
However, fright is not an excuse to stand by--panic. You can help.
First, it is possible that an individual having a seizure may be able to hear what is being said during a seizure. Often, I am. Yet, the excessive electrical activity in the brain--the anatomical thunderstorm--drains me of the energy that otherwise I would use to respond.
Second, not holding an individual during a seizure may be too extreme of a directive. Beyond getting the medical attention I need, the most helpful--reassuring--action ever taken was from a colleague. While my right leg was convulsing--shaking violently--she caressed my leg. She told me I had done nothing wrong, I had no reason to feel embarrassed, and I would be OK.
She caressed my leg.
My colleague trusted what I had said--valued what preferences I had expressed to her regarding my seizures--such that she resisted the nurse who said not to hold my leg. She was not restraining me from movement. She was touching me firmly--reassuringly. There is a huge difference. Never have I heard a medical professional make that distinction. There is a difference--a huge difference.
As to embarrassment--being embarrassed by having a seizure--I understand.
Yet, far more embarrassing than any seizure could be ever is not telling someone how you prefer to have your seizures handled, if you have seizures.
Early in my career, my loved ones were concerned about I would say during an interview that I had seizures. I understand. I appreciate their advice. Fear existed, and exists yet today. I assure you, I did not walk into job interviews and say, "Hi, I am Patty Thorsen. I have seizures. Can I have a job?"
I did inform my supervisors, and colleagues that I had seizures. I gave them the basic emergency contact information. I took one more important action. I informed my supervisors, and friends how I preferred to have my seizures handled. Embarrassment, or fear I felt in doing so was mitigated by the knowledge that they would know how to handle my seizures.
Embarrassed by having a seizure? Yes and no. Yes, the times I have had a seizure in public are not my proudest moments. Yet, once I have a seizure, I need to channel every ounce of energy I have, and every ounce that I don't have toward staying as calm as possible during the seizure--praying that the words I spoke about my seizures were heard. During a seizure, I pray that people around me--people who have the energy to take constructive action--are courageous enough to do so.
Whatever embarrassment we well may feel, we--any of us who have seizures--need to channel that embarrassment into helping other people to help us. We need to make an investment in creating calm understanding--not fearful chaos.
Friends and family may offer their loving questions as to how someone with seizures how they wish to have them handled. Whether it be a reassuring word or touch, humor or whatever. Honesty is the only way to dispel awkwardness, fear, and chaos.
I have serious doubts about some medical professionals I have known, and with whom I have had interactions. I have had, and continue to have the benefit of extremely helpful, competent medical professionals.
Yet, the comments made by the neurologist this week made necessary my response.
I do understand what it is to have a seizure. I have had seizures since childhood. I am 51. Each individual's seizures are different. Yet, I am compelled to respond to the misinformation given, and stereotypes reinforced by a neurologist last night.
Most disturbing of what the neurologist said? Something to the effect of, "People with epilepsy foam at the mouth."
This is not true. Case closed.
"Seizures are frightening."
Yes. Both for the observer, and for the person having the seizure.
However, fright is not an excuse to stand by--panic. You can help.
First, it is possible that an individual having a seizure may be able to hear what is being said during a seizure. Often, I am. Yet, the excessive electrical activity in the brain--the anatomical thunderstorm--drains me of the energy that otherwise I would use to respond.
Second, not holding an individual during a seizure may be too extreme of a directive. Beyond getting the medical attention I need, the most helpful--reassuring--action ever taken was from a colleague. While my right leg was convulsing--shaking violently--she caressed my leg. She told me I had done nothing wrong, I had no reason to feel embarrassed, and I would be OK.
She caressed my leg.
My colleague trusted what I had said--valued what preferences I had expressed to her regarding my seizures--such that she resisted the nurse who said not to hold my leg. She was not restraining me from movement. She was touching me firmly--reassuringly. There is a huge difference. Never have I heard a medical professional make that distinction. There is a difference--a huge difference.
As to embarrassment--being embarrassed by having a seizure--I understand.
Yet, far more embarrassing than any seizure could be ever is not telling someone how you prefer to have your seizures handled, if you have seizures.
Early in my career, my loved ones were concerned about I would say during an interview that I had seizures. I understand. I appreciate their advice. Fear existed, and exists yet today. I assure you, I did not walk into job interviews and say, "Hi, I am Patty Thorsen. I have seizures. Can I have a job?"
I did inform my supervisors, and colleagues that I had seizures. I gave them the basic emergency contact information. I took one more important action. I informed my supervisors, and friends how I preferred to have my seizures handled. Embarrassment, or fear I felt in doing so was mitigated by the knowledge that they would know how to handle my seizures.
Embarrassed by having a seizure? Yes and no. Yes, the times I have had a seizure in public are not my proudest moments. Yet, once I have a seizure, I need to channel every ounce of energy I have, and every ounce that I don't have toward staying as calm as possible during the seizure--praying that the words I spoke about my seizures were heard. During a seizure, I pray that people around me--people who have the energy to take constructive action--are courageous enough to do so.
Whatever embarrassment we well may feel, we--any of us who have seizures--need to channel that embarrassment into helping other people to help us. We need to make an investment in creating calm understanding--not fearful chaos.
Friends and family may offer their loving questions as to how someone with seizures how they wish to have them handled. Whether it be a reassuring word or touch, humor or whatever. Honesty is the only way to dispel awkwardness, fear, and chaos.
I have serious doubts about some medical professionals I have known, and with whom I have had interactions. I have had, and continue to have the benefit of extremely helpful, competent medical professionals.
Yet, the comments made by the neurologist this week made necessary my response.
Medicare
Medicare. White-haired senior citizens. Medicare. 65-year-olds. Medicare. Part A. Medicare. Part B. Medicare. Part C. Medicare Part D. Medicare. Medigap. Medicare. Open Enrollment. Medicare. Fraud. Medicare.
Each of these are aspects of Medicare. Yet, Medicare--the word, "Medicare"--evokes emotions as inflamed as arthritic joints. I cannot--I will not--inflame the word further by engaging in the political debates surrounding the federal program.
I find myself at a peculiar crossroads. Had you told me five years ago that I would be selecting which Medicare Parts B, C, and D options to select, I would not have believed you.
An envelope from the Social Security Administration arrived this week. My question, "Do I need to initiate contact regarding Medicare?" was answered. No. As I hoped, I could read the wealth of information given to me, sign onto a helpful website, www.Medicare.gov, and create an account. My guard against anxiety, and obsession is a playful detachment.
I love crossword puzzles. I love the World Wide Web--navigating the structure of its information, the internet.
With playful discovery, I found a database into which I may search for my doctors, hospitals, pharmacies. Nursing homes? No, I am far from ready for that move.
It is ironic. I tell one of my nephews to join the world of adult responsibility. Yet, I tell myself not to get too obsessed regarding the eventualities with which the plan options confront me.
One of the options I will not select is Plan H--Political Hyperbole--which plays on the emotions of senior citizens, and others eligible to receive Medicare. I will steer clear of candidates, who use a condescending tone in their discussions of Medicare. I will steer clear of Victims' Volley--a game too often played by politicians, in which recipients of Medicare become political footballs.
Do you think Medicare will judge ear plugs I buy as medically necessary?
Each of these are aspects of Medicare. Yet, Medicare--the word, "Medicare"--evokes emotions as inflamed as arthritic joints. I cannot--I will not--inflame the word further by engaging in the political debates surrounding the federal program.
I find myself at a peculiar crossroads. Had you told me five years ago that I would be selecting which Medicare Parts B, C, and D options to select, I would not have believed you.
An envelope from the Social Security Administration arrived this week. My question, "Do I need to initiate contact regarding Medicare?" was answered. No. As I hoped, I could read the wealth of information given to me, sign onto a helpful website, www.Medicare.gov, and create an account. My guard against anxiety, and obsession is a playful detachment.
I love crossword puzzles. I love the World Wide Web--navigating the structure of its information, the internet.
With playful discovery, I found a database into which I may search for my doctors, hospitals, pharmacies. Nursing homes? No, I am far from ready for that move.
It is ironic. I tell one of my nephews to join the world of adult responsibility. Yet, I tell myself not to get too obsessed regarding the eventualities with which the plan options confront me.
One of the options I will not select is Plan H--Political Hyperbole--which plays on the emotions of senior citizens, and others eligible to receive Medicare. I will steer clear of candidates, who use a condescending tone in their discussions of Medicare. I will steer clear of Victims' Volley--a game too often played by politicians, in which recipients of Medicare become political footballs.
Do you think Medicare will judge ear plugs I buy as medically necessary?
Peace's Curiosity
I am perplexed by the application of Libyan rebels, and Palestinians seeking statehood to the United Nations. Yesterday, I was alerted to the successful application of Libyan rebels' National Transitional Council.
I pray I am not so ardent a supporter of the United Nations that I am blind to nuances of these two applications.
A threshold question comes to my mind here. What threshold of hope do we need before we give credibility to those participants seeking admission to or members of the United Nations? Of the UN member states, do we support only those members we agree with?
The United Nations was founded on October 24, 1945. Many nations have become UN Member States since that time.
Afghanistan. 1946. Cambodia. 1955. China. A UN founding member. Cuba. A UN founding member. Egypt. A UN founding member. India. 1945. Iran. A UN founding member. Iraq. 1945. Ireland. 1955. Israel. 1949. Japan. 1956. Jordan. 1955. Kuwait. 1963. Laos. 1955. Lebanon. A UN founding member. Pakistan. 1947. The Russian Federation. A UN founding member. Saudi Arabia. A UN founding member. Sudan. 1956. South Sudan. A member since 2011--the same year it became a nation separate from Sudan. Syria. A UN founding member. Viet Nam--the former North Vietnam--1977. Yemen. 1947.
A boring recitation? I hope not. My intent? Evidence. The members listed hardly may be claimed as safe homes for peace. The United Nations, as a whole--as one body--may not ensure peace. It is to each member to further that cause. Yet, membership--application for membership--seems to indicate a willingness to be held accountable to negotiation--to peace. Member states, and those applying for member status, subject themselves to the sanctions of the United Nations. Sanction in both senses of the word. Approval. Encouragement. Endorsement. Seal of approval. Stamp of approval. Sanction--the responsibility to sanction. Ban. Boycott. Embargo. Penalty. Punitive Measure.
Although we--the United States--have had serious differences of policy, and ideology--with nations such as China, France, the Russian Federation, and the United Kingdom--we have united ourselves permanently as guarantors of peace with these four other member states, as the five permanent members of the UN Security Council.
The Obama Administration--many others--are squeamish to vehemently opposed to the approval of the Palestinians membership to the United Nations. We were hardly buddy buddy with China, and Russia for many years after October 24, 1945. Yet, we understood the cost of two world wars, the horrific toll of our atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6, and August 9, 1945 respectively. The United Nations' founding was a commitment that such destruction need not occur at any time in our future.
For many years, US Presidents have struggled to find ways to bring parties involved in the Middle East together to discuss issues critical to their survival.
Why is this so difficult? If we are committed to diplomacy--truly committed--then why is this so difficult?
I pray I am not so ardent a supporter of the United Nations that I am blind to nuances of these two applications.
A threshold question comes to my mind here. What threshold of hope do we need before we give credibility to those participants seeking admission to or members of the United Nations? Of the UN member states, do we support only those members we agree with?
The United Nations was founded on October 24, 1945. Many nations have become UN Member States since that time.
Afghanistan. 1946. Cambodia. 1955. China. A UN founding member. Cuba. A UN founding member. Egypt. A UN founding member. India. 1945. Iran. A UN founding member. Iraq. 1945. Ireland. 1955. Israel. 1949. Japan. 1956. Jordan. 1955. Kuwait. 1963. Laos. 1955. Lebanon. A UN founding member. Pakistan. 1947. The Russian Federation. A UN founding member. Saudi Arabia. A UN founding member. Sudan. 1956. South Sudan. A member since 2011--the same year it became a nation separate from Sudan. Syria. A UN founding member. Viet Nam--the former North Vietnam--1977. Yemen. 1947.
A boring recitation? I hope not. My intent? Evidence. The members listed hardly may be claimed as safe homes for peace. The United Nations, as a whole--as one body--may not ensure peace. It is to each member to further that cause. Yet, membership--application for membership--seems to indicate a willingness to be held accountable to negotiation--to peace. Member states, and those applying for member status, subject themselves to the sanctions of the United Nations. Sanction in both senses of the word. Approval. Encouragement. Endorsement. Seal of approval. Stamp of approval. Sanction--the responsibility to sanction. Ban. Boycott. Embargo. Penalty. Punitive Measure.
Although we--the United States--have had serious differences of policy, and ideology--with nations such as China, France, the Russian Federation, and the United Kingdom--we have united ourselves permanently as guarantors of peace with these four other member states, as the five permanent members of the UN Security Council.
The Obama Administration--many others--are squeamish to vehemently opposed to the approval of the Palestinians membership to the United Nations. We were hardly buddy buddy with China, and Russia for many years after October 24, 1945. Yet, we understood the cost of two world wars, the horrific toll of our atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6, and August 9, 1945 respectively. The United Nations' founding was a commitment that such destruction need not occur at any time in our future.
For many years, US Presidents have struggled to find ways to bring parties involved in the Middle East together to discuss issues critical to their survival.
Why is this so difficult? If we are committed to diplomacy--truly committed--then why is this so difficult?
Friday, September 16, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Safety's Anger
This morning, Zoomer met fraternal twins--Safety's Anger, and Anger's Safety. Mirror images of one another, they are born of the same root. Danger. Fear.
A return to swimming was my dear ankle's hope. Pool maintenance. Facility remodeling.
A return to swimming was not to be. Not this day. Ankle's hope was dashed--dashed far short of 50 yards.
An elevator. Button pushed. A short wait. Doors opened. Zoomer wheeled in--turned around. Facing forward. Third floor's button pushed. Ankle's Hope salivating. Slow and crotchety though she was known to be, today, this elevator went nowhere fast.
Door Open's button pushed. As an accordion opens, so too the doors. Yet, just as with a fast, bad polka, an accordion closes, so too did the doors. Though Zoomer is learning to dance, the polka is not her step.
Though armed with her cell phone--a Jitterbug, I kid you not--my ankle's hope kicked back at me. Angry. With the weight of a bowling ball on her, my ankle's hope was to kick off her burden. One more time, she implored me. Third floor button, one more time. Once again, Zoomer, my ankle's hope, and I went nowhere fast.
Though Jitterbug tried to call to Ankle's Hope, she would hear none of it. Take me home, Zoomer. Take me home.
Safety's anger. She prevailed. Safety's Anger drove Zoomer and I out of Harm's Way.
Though Ankle's Hope kicked high, she fell flat into Zoomer's lap. No harm. Just anger. Frustration. Door Open's button hit. Zoomer and I sped forward. To Safety, we arrived.
No sign. Out of Order. No sign.
Anger's safety. Though Safety's Anger had spoken--rescued--now it was for Anger's Safety to speak.
To quiet solitude, find your way. Let Anger rest, let Safety's Advocate cry forth in due time.
Impatience overruled quiet solitude. A simple report. "Your elevator is out of order."
"The elevator repairman has been called. They should be out sometime today."
Safety's Anger yet satisfied, though Logic told her she should be.
"You are new to this world, there were many signs not posted before you. Many signs will not be posted in years yet to come."
Yet,"Where is the Out of Order sign--Safety's Warning?" was all this impatient soul could ask.
A return to swimming was my dear ankle's hope. Pool maintenance. Facility remodeling.
A return to swimming was not to be. Not this day. Ankle's hope was dashed--dashed far short of 50 yards.
An elevator. Button pushed. A short wait. Doors opened. Zoomer wheeled in--turned around. Facing forward. Third floor's button pushed. Ankle's Hope salivating. Slow and crotchety though she was known to be, today, this elevator went nowhere fast.
Door Open's button pushed. As an accordion opens, so too the doors. Yet, just as with a fast, bad polka, an accordion closes, so too did the doors. Though Zoomer is learning to dance, the polka is not her step.
Though armed with her cell phone--a Jitterbug, I kid you not--my ankle's hope kicked back at me. Angry. With the weight of a bowling ball on her, my ankle's hope was to kick off her burden. One more time, she implored me. Third floor button, one more time. Once again, Zoomer, my ankle's hope, and I went nowhere fast.
Though Jitterbug tried to call to Ankle's Hope, she would hear none of it. Take me home, Zoomer. Take me home.
Safety's anger. She prevailed. Safety's Anger drove Zoomer and I out of Harm's Way.
Though Ankle's Hope kicked high, she fell flat into Zoomer's lap. No harm. Just anger. Frustration. Door Open's button hit. Zoomer and I sped forward. To Safety, we arrived.
No sign. Out of Order. No sign.
Anger's safety. Though Safety's Anger had spoken--rescued--now it was for Anger's Safety to speak.
To quiet solitude, find your way. Let Anger rest, let Safety's Advocate cry forth in due time.
Impatience overruled quiet solitude. A simple report. "Your elevator is out of order."
"The elevator repairman has been called. They should be out sometime today."
Safety's Anger yet satisfied, though Logic told her she should be.
"You are new to this world, there were many signs not posted before you. Many signs will not be posted in years yet to come."
Yet,"Where is the Out of Order sign--Safety's Warning?" was all this impatient soul could ask.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: A Fine Line
This morning, I ventured out to review problematic intersections and issues in Downtown St. Paul. The adventure heightens my attention to several facts.
After having three drivers cut in front of me in controlled intersections--in a period of two weeks--it seemed I needed to draw attention to the overlooked safety issues. I want to be prepared for the yet-to-be scheduled time with a television producer to highlight--to focus, literally--attention on public safety issues.
Several personal facts have come to light in recent days. While I do what I can to highlight public safety issues for others, I need to combat internal issues.
First, I have retreated from a healthy pace of travelling within the downtown area.
Second, timidity and fear replaced determination and confidence--not riskiness, but confidence.
Cooler weather intensifies my concern that I will be isolated by poorly-shoveled sidewalks, and ice. I need to back up. This will be my first winter with Zoomer. Questions abound.
What are Zoomer's intended capacities in the outside during wintertime? Am I realistic to expect that I might have some outside travel capacities during the winter? What will my limitations be? What accommodations are open to me? Are there additional safety precautions that might improve, or extend my capacity to travel outside during the Minnesota winter months?
I know that I should not expose Zoomer to rainy weather. I know that I should not expect to navigate ice.
I know that Zoomer can--will be able to--navigate the skyway system during winter months. [The skyway system is a Godsend. The system of enclosed walkways between downtown buildings--walkways located on the second floors of buildings--do wonders in curbing a paralyzing isolation that would occur otherwise.]
As wonderful as skyways are, it is extremely important to get outside--to be exposed to the sun--to all elements of the out of doors. Oddly, prior to Zoomer, having to be outside was not an issue, or priority for me. I took for granted my capacity to get outside and be outside.
Interesting what it takes to challenge one's values, and priorities. Coming days and months will clarify what, if any realignment of values, and priorities occurs.
After having three drivers cut in front of me in controlled intersections--in a period of two weeks--it seemed I needed to draw attention to the overlooked safety issues. I want to be prepared for the yet-to-be scheduled time with a television producer to highlight--to focus, literally--attention on public safety issues.
Several personal facts have come to light in recent days. While I do what I can to highlight public safety issues for others, I need to combat internal issues.
First, I have retreated from a healthy pace of travelling within the downtown area.
Second, timidity and fear replaced determination and confidence--not riskiness, but confidence.
Cooler weather intensifies my concern that I will be isolated by poorly-shoveled sidewalks, and ice. I need to back up. This will be my first winter with Zoomer. Questions abound.
What are Zoomer's intended capacities in the outside during wintertime? Am I realistic to expect that I might have some outside travel capacities during the winter? What will my limitations be? What accommodations are open to me? Are there additional safety precautions that might improve, or extend my capacity to travel outside during the Minnesota winter months?
I know that I should not expose Zoomer to rainy weather. I know that I should not expect to navigate ice.
I know that Zoomer can--will be able to--navigate the skyway system during winter months. [The skyway system is a Godsend. The system of enclosed walkways between downtown buildings--walkways located on the second floors of buildings--do wonders in curbing a paralyzing isolation that would occur otherwise.]
As wonderful as skyways are, it is extremely important to get outside--to be exposed to the sun--to all elements of the out of doors. Oddly, prior to Zoomer, having to be outside was not an issue, or priority for me. I took for granted my capacity to get outside and be outside.
Interesting what it takes to challenge one's values, and priorities. Coming days and months will clarify what, if any realignment of values, and priorities occurs.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Zoomer Goes to Yankton
Yankton? Yes, Yankton, South Dakota. Tonight, I received an email that took me back to Yankton, South Dakota--a speech I gave during college on the topic of handicap awareness. Zoomer reminded me of Yankton. In 1982, the speech I gave was the result of my audacity. I made contact with someone I met at a conference addressing handicap awareness.
A month ago, Zoomer and I were cut in front of by three different drivers during a two-week period. The incidents led me to contact friends on Facebook to determine whether I was correct to think that I had the right to expect patient, yielding drivers.
I was inspired to write letters to the editors of the StarTribune, and the Pioneer Press--the two local newspapers. Then, I decided to send emails to local media outlets.
Tonight, I was taken back to Yankton--to the audacity that led to my invitation to speak there. Tonight, I received an email from a local news producer.
It is odd. I don't know yet how this will turn out, if anything is aired. However, I never imagined myself speaking out regarding wheelchair use. I resisted getting one, much less using one.
We shall see what happens. The preliminary talk is mounting a camera on Zoomer to get a perspective of travelling in a wheelchair--encountering the outside world.
I don't know what Zoomer will show. The image of where the camera will be mounted intrigues me. The notion that Zoomer could open some eyes is exciting. We shall see what happens.
A month ago, Zoomer and I were cut in front of by three different drivers during a two-week period. The incidents led me to contact friends on Facebook to determine whether I was correct to think that I had the right to expect patient, yielding drivers.
I was inspired to write letters to the editors of the StarTribune, and the Pioneer Press--the two local newspapers. Then, I decided to send emails to local media outlets.
Tonight, I was taken back to Yankton--to the audacity that led to my invitation to speak there. Tonight, I received an email from a local news producer.
It is odd. I don't know yet how this will turn out, if anything is aired. However, I never imagined myself speaking out regarding wheelchair use. I resisted getting one, much less using one.
We shall see what happens. The preliminary talk is mounting a camera on Zoomer to get a perspective of travelling in a wheelchair--encountering the outside world.
I don't know what Zoomer will show. The image of where the camera will be mounted intrigues me. The notion that Zoomer could open some eyes is exciting. We shall see what happens.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
September 11...1948
An oft-ask question is, "How will you be commemorating September 11th?"
I commemorate September 11th with my life. You see, on September 11, 1948, my parents were married. While others commemorate the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and on Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the people lost, the first responders--I celebrate the wedding of my parents in 1948--63 years ago.
I commemorate September 11th--with the pursuit of peace and understanding among people--each day. How? A cliche? No.
Among people is not a nebulous term. I pursue peace and understanding with each individual I meet, know, and love each day. I am not a Pollyanna. Not everyone shares my views and preferences on issues and matters large and small.
I do not claim myself to be a proud American. I wave no flags. I wear no pins. I parade no routes. I do get choked up on Election Day--on- and off-year elections just the same. I do get choked up on Inauguration Day. Party matters not to me. I am not a proud American. I am a committed world citizen.
By definition, I am no patriot--I am not patriotic. I devote my energies in search of peace and toward understanding, rather than in defense of America, and seeking vengeance, or being vigilant against acts of terror. I prefer to be vigilant for acts of peace.
I seek peace each day with each individual I meet that day. I seek not complete agreement. I seek understanding. Different views, different preferences--different perspectives--invite me to deeper understanding.
Seeking peace--seeking understanding--is not grandiose. Peace and understanding are my daily aspirations--one person, one day at a time.
I commemorate the peace and understanding that was married on September 11, 1948. Happy 63rd anniversary, Mom and Dad. Thank you for your example of love--your commitment to peace.
I commemorate September 11th with my life. You see, on September 11, 1948, my parents were married. While others commemorate the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and on Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the people lost, the first responders--I celebrate the wedding of my parents in 1948--63 years ago.
I commemorate September 11th--with the pursuit of peace and understanding among people--each day. How? A cliche? No.
Among people is not a nebulous term. I pursue peace and understanding with each individual I meet, know, and love each day. I am not a Pollyanna. Not everyone shares my views and preferences on issues and matters large and small.
I do not claim myself to be a proud American. I wave no flags. I wear no pins. I parade no routes. I do get choked up on Election Day--on- and off-year elections just the same. I do get choked up on Inauguration Day. Party matters not to me. I am not a proud American. I am a committed world citizen.
By definition, I am no patriot--I am not patriotic. I devote my energies in search of peace and toward understanding, rather than in defense of America, and seeking vengeance, or being vigilant against acts of terror. I prefer to be vigilant for acts of peace.
I seek peace each day with each individual I meet that day. I seek not complete agreement. I seek understanding. Different views, different preferences--different perspectives--invite me to deeper understanding.
Seeking peace--seeking understanding--is not grandiose. Peace and understanding are my daily aspirations--one person, one day at a time.
I commemorate the peace and understanding that was married on September 11, 1948. Happy 63rd anniversary, Mom and Dad. Thank you for your example of love--your commitment to peace.
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