2009 found me at my stamina's end. In alphabetical order, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, osteoarthritis converged with the aging process. My get-up-and-go got up and went. A sharp mind and 49 years under my belt--I was left to build a new life.
A lifelong follower of the news, diagnosed anxiety left me stressed beyond the days' news to bear. Though "a bleeding heart liberal" by common parlance, no longer could I listen to defenders of the system--the safety net for those unable to work any more than I could tolerate, I cannot tolerate those with no time for--no understanding of--why any "system" might need to exist.
I paid into "The System" for more than 25 years. I paid into Social Security. I paid into private long-term disability insurance--not so that I might cash in some day. I "paid in"--I invested in--because, as much as I believe "all men [and women] are created equal," it is with no cynicism that I say, "life is not equal."
Not everyone lives with an equal inventory of life's parts. Bodily. Economic. Social. More I am sure. Life is not Perfect. For whatever reason--however it manifests itself--each life is not on the same level with the same resources--the same needs.
Yet, each life is precious. The System is the Net to protect those lives. Not for pity. Not for poster children to yield tears from others, raise funds, or intimidate others into different beliefs. Such defiles the very preciousness it claims to magnify.
In 2009, I was brought to the front door knocking at "The System," with need. No begging. No laziness. No nefarious intent to abuse--to cheat--The System. I came to the front door of "The System" with need and guilt--Guilt with a capital "G," that I was not living up to the Ethic I was raised to uphold--the Work Ethic. No bravado, just the conviction that I had to contribute to society--to the community in which I live.
Nearly four years later, I continue to redefine "Work Ethic" means within my body's limits.
I am learning a new vocabulary. New roles. New activities. New balances.
Volunteer. Catholic. Reflect. Write. Blog. Neither lazy nor cheat flows through my bloodstream. Yet, Guilt persists--"intellectually" unjustified guilt--guilt that I personify the very stereotype I abhor.
47% helped no one. Not just as you might think. 47% as proclaimed by conservatives, and decried by liberals--helps no one. Highlighting--not worshipping, but highlighting--how victim is not the essence of "The System's Face"--those who must knock at The System's Front Door-- is essential.
If the lazy, cheating, victim stereotype were in fact true, as some conservatives genuinely may believe, then, conservatives need to articulate how to live within inescapable boundaries imposed by the body.
If conservatives believe that The System--the safety net it provides is not needed--then, talk about how to work within the limits of the body.
Bleeding heart liberal though I may be, I do not hold liberals free of responsibility. Liberals pound their chests with pride proclaiming the virtues of the Safety Net. Hold your horses.
Clear your throats. Speak with clarity not with political banter volleying useless debate back into the court of conservatives who decry The System--the conservatives who decry The Safety Net.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. Defense of your positions--volleying of the political football--does nothing to tell me, and you, how to live fully within the limits of my body--the limits of your body.
I am The System's Face. Look at me. I have needs--undeniable needs.
You are The System's Face. Look at yourself.
You are not immune from need--be it physical, economic, or social. Though today may not be your day of need, such inevitable may come to be. Do not hide from its possibility.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Conservatives dig deep into the Spiritual Wellspring from which you proclaim your value.
Tell me. If I am not to be suspended from an eternal fall by the Safety's Net, then, tell me. How am I to live? How are others, whose bodies are similarly compromised to live? Don't speak of Survival of the Fittest.
The System's Face. Do not Deface me.
Liberals. Draw from your Thinker's Tank from which you Talk.
Tell me. Can you still your political bravado of The System--The Safety Net--in confrontation with conservatives who decry it? Liberals. Can you help me--help others--in the Safety Net--the System's Face to redefine how to live within the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are you willing to work together to redefine the life--the fruit we may bear--in the Safety's Net?
Conservatives. Liberals. Can you tell me?
Are You willing to change the Pronouns by which you Think--the Pronouns by which you Speak?
Liberals. Conservatives. Can you tell me?
Will You speak not of They? Will You work together to redefine the life--the fruit We may bear--in the Safety's Net?
Showing posts with label needs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label needs. Show all posts
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Friday, April 6, 2012
Bringing Reason to the Shrill
I strive to bring reason to the shrill. Health care mandate. Health care reform. Health insurance. Auto insurance.
First, the health care mandate.
Why is mandating the purchase of health insurance different from vehicle insurance?
No one is addressing this seeming parallel. I am not a driver. Am I missing something? Tell me. I want to understand.
Health care reform.
To decision makers, I ask a simple question:
Do you believe that each of us is guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities we had when we go to sleep tonight? On what basis? Do you believe in a God that shelters us from life's unavoidable realities? How does that influence your decision making?
Can you tell me what your medical needs will be tomorrow? What will the cost of those needs be? I do not know the precise sum of my needs. Yet, life has given me a good idea.
I pray we may celebrate the joys of our daily living. I pray we may embrace the sorrows of our soul's breathing. Simplistic though that may sound, that is how I define sanctity of life.
First, the health care mandate.
Why is mandating the purchase of health insurance different from vehicle insurance?
No one is addressing this seeming parallel. I am not a driver. Am I missing something? Tell me. I want to understand.
Health care reform.
To decision makers, I ask a simple question:
Do you believe that each of us is guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities we had when we go to sleep tonight? On what basis? Do you believe in a God that shelters us from life's unavoidable realities? How does that influence your decision making?
Can you tell me what your medical needs will be tomorrow? What will the cost of those needs be? I do not know the precise sum of my needs. Yet, life has given me a good idea.
I pray we may celebrate the joys of our daily living. I pray we may embrace the sorrows of our soul's breathing. Simplistic though that may sound, that is how I define sanctity of life.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: A Door Opens
Just now, I responded to a survey from Macy's. I left my name number, and my willingness to address a problem.
Several months ago, Zoomer and I tried to leave Macy's Department Store. First, Zoomer had great difficulty navigating the clothing racks that masked the handicap door open button. Once we found our way through the forest, we wheeled back to the door to exit the store. Before we could get out safely, the door started to close on us.
We were stuck. I sat there for a bit. How is the best way to move?
Slowly and deliberately. Slowly, I back up. I press the button again. We hurry to get back into position. We got through the door. But, I was scared. How much I can I trust this door? How much can I trust this door to get outside?
I recognize that Zoomer and I have been together since mid-April of this year. Many, many individuals have navigated these issues for years.
There is a balance to be found between being frustrated, and seeking a constructive resolution. I think I am closer to the constructive-resolution end of the continuum.
Wintertime. I don't know whether I will move more toward frustrated end of the continuum, or beyond frustration. Memories of last winter--last winter's snow, particularly--concern me. I don't know whether I will be able to get out.
I don't want to become embittered by fear, and be blinded to the glory of a fiery red maple tree.
Several months ago, Zoomer and I tried to leave Macy's Department Store. First, Zoomer had great difficulty navigating the clothing racks that masked the handicap door open button. Once we found our way through the forest, we wheeled back to the door to exit the store. Before we could get out safely, the door started to close on us.
We were stuck. I sat there for a bit. How is the best way to move?
Slowly and deliberately. Slowly, I back up. I press the button again. We hurry to get back into position. We got through the door. But, I was scared. How much I can I trust this door? How much can I trust this door to get outside?
I recognize that Zoomer and I have been together since mid-April of this year. Many, many individuals have navigated these issues for years.
There is a balance to be found between being frustrated, and seeking a constructive resolution. I think I am closer to the constructive-resolution end of the continuum.
Wintertime. I don't know whether I will move more toward frustrated end of the continuum, or beyond frustration. Memories of last winter--last winter's snow, particularly--concern me. I don't know whether I will be able to get out.
I don't want to become embittered by fear, and be blinded to the glory of a fiery red maple tree.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
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?
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.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: Precursory Shakiness
Honestly, I don't know if what I am about to describe is germane to the Epilepsy Chronicles. I think it is. My thoughts, words, and descriptions deal with brain damage most directly, moreso than epilepsy per se.
I work very hard to stay as calm as is possible--humor, empathy, patience, among other attributes that elude me. These attributes may be seen as laudable, and, in one sense, they may be. Yet, there is a neurological basis that makes these attributes essential. I am not a doctor. I have not studied neurology, or any scientific discipline that might offer me insight.
I can quantify the dosages of anticonvulsants I am prescribed to tame the extra electrical activity in my brain--milligrams. I can quantify the level of anticonvulsants in my bloodstream, which are determined by a blood test--a therapeutic blood level range. Based on my weight, at least, there is a numeric scale established. If the therapeutic blood level is too low, my experience has been that more medication is prescribed. The opposite is true, too. In my experience, blood levels that are too high on that scale lead doctors to prescribe a higher dosage of medications. Sometimes, an altogether different anticonvulsant is prescribed.
Yet, I cannot quantify the threshold I have for anger, and frustration, which leads to shakiness of my whole body--I cannot quantify it for myself or for others. I recognize it myself. All I know to do is to cry, and then, isolate myself until my jangled nerves are tamed, and my body is steadied physically. The crying is the cleansing agent essential to taming the extra electrical activity in my brain.
Compounding my own response, I know that the apologies of other people, well-intended though I know they are, only exacerbate my initial response. Trying to be rational long enough to isolate myself for my necessary cry, and quiet time is extremely difficult. I know that a part of that quiet means removing any activities that I know will involve further neurological agitation. I try to be rational, so as to explain that I can withstand some tension, frustration, and anger. Yet, my rational efforts are useless. My nervous system has been hijacked such that being physically steady is next to impossible.
What I have just described is not a seizure, as I understand it, after having lived with epilepsy for more than 40 years. My description today is fresh to my life--fresh to this moment. After anticipating a personal training session for several weeks--a session to identify further efforts I may take to strengthen my arms, hands, and legs--I met with tremendous disappointment, frustration, and anger that a perfectly understandable mixup in appointment times occurred. Not knowing precisely what to ask for to reschedule--what specific terms to use (a neurosis of mine)--my neurological response is intensified.
I need peace--inner peace, calm, perspective, and determination to reclaim goals I know have been strengthening me, irrespective of reliable help I expected, and hoped I would be given today. I need insight. Am I merely making an excuse for unnecessary, irrational behavior, or is there some credibility to my thoughts--my descriptions?
I work very hard to stay as calm as is possible--humor, empathy, patience, among other attributes that elude me. These attributes may be seen as laudable, and, in one sense, they may be. Yet, there is a neurological basis that makes these attributes essential. I am not a doctor. I have not studied neurology, or any scientific discipline that might offer me insight.
I can quantify the dosages of anticonvulsants I am prescribed to tame the extra electrical activity in my brain--milligrams. I can quantify the level of anticonvulsants in my bloodstream, which are determined by a blood test--a therapeutic blood level range. Based on my weight, at least, there is a numeric scale established. If the therapeutic blood level is too low, my experience has been that more medication is prescribed. The opposite is true, too. In my experience, blood levels that are too high on that scale lead doctors to prescribe a higher dosage of medications. Sometimes, an altogether different anticonvulsant is prescribed.
Yet, I cannot quantify the threshold I have for anger, and frustration, which leads to shakiness of my whole body--I cannot quantify it for myself or for others. I recognize it myself. All I know to do is to cry, and then, isolate myself until my jangled nerves are tamed, and my body is steadied physically. The crying is the cleansing agent essential to taming the extra electrical activity in my brain.
Compounding my own response, I know that the apologies of other people, well-intended though I know they are, only exacerbate my initial response. Trying to be rational long enough to isolate myself for my necessary cry, and quiet time is extremely difficult. I know that a part of that quiet means removing any activities that I know will involve further neurological agitation. I try to be rational, so as to explain that I can withstand some tension, frustration, and anger. Yet, my rational efforts are useless. My nervous system has been hijacked such that being physically steady is next to impossible.
What I have just described is not a seizure, as I understand it, after having lived with epilepsy for more than 40 years. My description today is fresh to my life--fresh to this moment. After anticipating a personal training session for several weeks--a session to identify further efforts I may take to strengthen my arms, hands, and legs--I met with tremendous disappointment, frustration, and anger that a perfectly understandable mixup in appointment times occurred. Not knowing precisely what to ask for to reschedule--what specific terms to use (a neurosis of mine)--my neurological response is intensified.
I need peace--inner peace, calm, perspective, and determination to reclaim goals I know have been strengthening me, irrespective of reliable help I expected, and hoped I would be given today. I need insight. Am I merely making an excuse for unnecessary, irrational behavior, or is there some credibility to my thoughts--my descriptions?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: The Other Side
I turned the corner. Sixth and Cedar Streets. The 14B bus stop. I have arrived. 1:30 P.M. I am ready. A 2 P.M. appointment with my college adviser. My purpose? To enroll in a pastoral ministry program. I am prepared.
As I round the corner, a man in his mid-60s is struggling to stand up an unresponsive woman from the ground.
"Is she having a seizure?" I ask. I know the answer. I need my question's time to marshal strength.
Is she having a seizure? I think she is having a seizure. This is strange. Not unfamiliar, but strange nonetheless. Never have I been on this side of a seizure.
I grabbed the older man's arm firmly.
"She seems so helpless. Are they ever going to get here?" the man cried plaintively.
"Let the woman sit here on the bench. The police are on their way. I know it seems like a long time...
You have no idea how much I understand...the time warp...I understand...seconds seem like minutes...minutes seem like hours...I understand...believe me, I understand.
Several minutes later, help arrived. Finally, help has arrived. She will be safe now. The paramedics arrived. She will get medication in her bloodstream immediately--anticonvulsants. They will minimize recurrence of such seizures.
...
Moments later, the 14B bus arrived. I was off to meet my college adviser. I was off to explore enrolling in a pastoral ministry program.
I boarded the bus. I sat down. Suddenly, tears came streaming down my face. I lost my composure completely.
My witness at the bus stop was no accident.
As I round the corner, a man in his mid-60s is struggling to stand up an unresponsive woman from the ground.
"Is she having a seizure?" I ask. I know the answer. I need my question's time to marshal strength.
Is she having a seizure? I think she is having a seizure. This is strange. Not unfamiliar, but strange nonetheless. Never have I been on this side of a seizure.
I grabbed the older man's arm firmly.
"She seems so helpless. Are they ever going to get here?" the man cried plaintively.
"Let the woman sit here on the bench. The police are on their way. I know it seems like a long time...
You have no idea how much I understand...the time warp...I understand...seconds seem like minutes...minutes seem like hours...I understand...believe me, I understand.
Several minutes later, help arrived. Finally, help has arrived. She will be safe now. The paramedics arrived. She will get medication in her bloodstream immediately--anticonvulsants. They will minimize recurrence of such seizures.
...
Moments later, the 14B bus arrived. I was off to meet my college adviser. I was off to explore enrolling in a pastoral ministry program.
I boarded the bus. I sat down. Suddenly, tears came streaming down my face. I lost my composure completely.
My witness at the bus stop was no accident.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Crossed Wires...Jangled Nerves...
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
When you were born,
your umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck five times.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The corded gifts that keep on giving—epilepsy…cerebral palsy.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
You have excess electrical activity in your brain--epilepsy.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
Epilepsy is like a thunderstorm in the brain.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves.
I can do it myself, Mom, don’t you know, I can do it myself….
Can’t you see, Mom, I can’t do it myself, I need your help.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The faster I walk, the more I trip.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves.
Your cerebral palsy accelerates your aging process.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves.
The harder you intend to use your left hand, the more it will shake—intentional tremors.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The more hostile I am, the more intense my tremors.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves...
The more data you throw at me, the slower I compute.
Crossed wires...jangled nerves...
The more instructions I hear, the more I must write them--
the more Velcro from my ear to my brain I need.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The more instructions I hear, the more I must write--
the more Velcro from my ear to my brain I need.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The less I write, the less I remember.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
The more I write, the deeper I think.
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
Crossed wires….jangled nerves….
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: The Other Face
Some coworkers feared I might have a seizure on command. Others feared it happening in their presence. I understand. Being out of control of my body in my mind's eye. I understand. Yet, not moreso than when I happened upon a seizure of a man awaiting a bus.
"Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior," Mom chants in the deep reaches of my memory. From my earliest memory, "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior."
I understood what he needed. Not medically. Yet, I knew what help he needed from the many helpless people who surrounded him. I knew the helpless individuals, who surrounded him, were far from helpless. While others surrounding me were viewing their first seizure, I was on the other end of the seizure. I understood what he needed.
I had never met the seizing man before witnessing his seizure. I have not seen him since that day.
Yet, I was given a voice--words to speak---for a reason. I am not committed to vengeance against other individuals. Yet, I can and must commit myself to positive vengeance against the excessive electrical energy in my brain, the root of my disabilities. I can and must be the human irritant--the nacre--that contributes to pearls of understanding.
"Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior," Mom chants in the deep reaches of my memory. From my earliest memory, "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior."
I understood what he needed. Not medically. Yet, I knew what help he needed from the many helpless people who surrounded him. I knew the helpless individuals, who surrounded him, were far from helpless. While others surrounding me were viewing their first seizure, I was on the other end of the seizure. I understood what he needed.
I had never met the seizing man before witnessing his seizure. I have not seen him since that day.
Yet, I was given a voice--words to speak---for a reason. I am not committed to vengeance against other individuals. Yet, I can and must commit myself to positive vengeance against the excessive electrical energy in my brain, the root of my disabilities. I can and must be the human irritant--the nacre--that contributes to pearls of understanding.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
A Human Inventory
Long before computers automated the inventory process of goods, a relative inventoried the goods of several grocery stores. Many years hence, a more sophisticated world has demanded a more advanced inventorying. Valuations are conducted by many professionals, who begin where the automated inventorying leaves off. Valuations established a working value by which business, or the lives of divorced individuals may move forward to more profitable--more fulfilling--lives.
I have known two professionals who engaged in inventorying and valuations. I find myself in the midst of a different--very humbling--sort of valuation. I am being called to itemize how I live my daily life.
How do I live my life? Can I 1. perform this activity independently; 2. Can I perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive devices; or is it true that I cannot perform this activity.
Dress; voluntary bladder and bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (tub, shower, sponge); transfer from bed to chair.
I feel comfortable with each today. Yet, it is daunting to see those very real prospects as a part of my future is akin to the decision to get a power wheelchair--to opt to receive a head rim that I could use at the time in my future when my left hand might no longer be capable of manipulating a joystick.
That is humbling, to say the least.
You will go to college. You will learn to live independently.
I answer the questions with those words in my lifelong memory. I have achieved the first. I continue to achieve the second. The future?
I know how I have lived my life until now. I have seen deterioration of my body in the last ten years, especially in the last two years. But, the future. Seeing its truth presented before me in black and white--starkly--that is humbling.
So, how do I live in the present, such that I make the fullest use of my own abilities currently? How do I live in the present, such that I do not endanger myself--my physical capacities--for the future? How do I live in the present such that I position myself--prepare myself--for the future, with all of its humbling prospects?
Responding to the current valuation, I thought that my visceral response to it was the section regarding activities of daily living--ADLs. I am not partial to any acronym--clinical jargon--that abbreviates individual human beings. To some, activities of daily living--ADLs--is a foreign word--an unknown quantity. To others, it is a clinic scheme used to organize the occupational therapy needs of an individual. Yet, to me activities of daily living--ADLs--represents a test that I can still pass independently, or with some equipment, or adaptive devices.
These are humbling questions.
Will there be a day when I cannot perform this activity--any of the activities of daily living?
Dress; voluntary bladder or bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (bath, shower, or sponge); transfer from bed to chair. These are tasks in a list--elements at the heart of dignity.
I have known two professionals who engaged in inventorying and valuations. I find myself in the midst of a different--very humbling--sort of valuation. I am being called to itemize how I live my daily life.
How do I live my life? Can I 1. perform this activity independently; 2. Can I perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive devices; or is it true that I cannot perform this activity.
Dress; voluntary bladder and bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (tub, shower, sponge); transfer from bed to chair.
I feel comfortable with each today. Yet, it is daunting to see those very real prospects as a part of my future is akin to the decision to get a power wheelchair--to opt to receive a head rim that I could use at the time in my future when my left hand might no longer be capable of manipulating a joystick.
That is humbling, to say the least.
You will go to college. You will learn to live independently.
I answer the questions with those words in my lifelong memory. I have achieved the first. I continue to achieve the second. The future?
I know how I have lived my life until now. I have seen deterioration of my body in the last ten years, especially in the last two years. But, the future. Seeing its truth presented before me in black and white--starkly--that is humbling.
So, how do I live in the present, such that I make the fullest use of my own abilities currently? How do I live in the present, such that I do not endanger myself--my physical capacities--for the future? How do I live in the present such that I position myself--prepare myself--for the future, with all of its humbling prospects?
Responding to the current valuation, I thought that my visceral response to it was the section regarding activities of daily living--ADLs. I am not partial to any acronym--clinical jargon--that abbreviates individual human beings. To some, activities of daily living--ADLs--is a foreign word--an unknown quantity. To others, it is a clinic scheme used to organize the occupational therapy needs of an individual. Yet, to me activities of daily living--ADLs--represents a test that I can still pass independently, or with some equipment, or adaptive devices.
These are humbling questions.
Will there be a day when I cannot perform this activity--any of the activities of daily living?
Dress; voluntary bladder or bowel control or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene; toilet; feed yourself with food that has been prepared and made available to you; bathe (bath, shower, or sponge); transfer from bed to chair. These are tasks in a list--elements at the heart of dignity.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Detour's De Tour
How many ways do you travel to and from home--from Point A to Point B? One? Why? Have you ever been forced to travel from Point A to Point B using a different route? Why? Traffic. Rush hour. An accident. Construction. Weather. Personal commitments. Professional commitments. Money. The environment.
I intend no judgment. I ask nothing more than, "Why?"
Have you ever chosen to take a different route to and from home--from Point A to Point B?
Two months ago, when Zoomer and I met, I established a priority for our travels. I needed to identify as many different routes to the same destination--to and from our home. Minnesota summer's sabbatical from winter's wrath is short. Wintertime indoor sanity essential.
I have chosen to travel from Point A to Point B using different route--different routes. Why? Winter's wrath. My sanity. Experience--two winters of homebound living.
So, I ask. Why do you travel as you do? What do you know of your backyard--of your neighborhood? What do you see in your backyard--around your neighborhood?
Construction. Light-rail transit. Preparation for progress. These do, and will define my routes. Today, quite intentionally, we rode from home to the grocery store. My intent was to be without a roadmap--with only my eyes, ears, nose, and memory to guide me on my way home.
Downtown St. Paul, Minnesota is small by many urban standards--eleven blocks north to south, and eleven blocks from west to east. Yet, within the small area a large sense of adventure breathes. The simple naming of streets is an adventure of the imagination. How is it possible for 5th Street West, 6th Street West, and Seventh Street West to intersect?
OK, so the construction of the XCel Center is the logical explanation. Yet, that is a drunken Irishman's logic, in my book! I confess to Minnesotans, I am neither a cradle Catholic, nor a native St. Paulite. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I was a closet Universalist, and a native Minneapolitan--Golden Valley girl, born of Norwegians, and Englishmen--truth be told.
But, I digress. I do believe that 28 years living in St. Paul bestows on me the right to speak for her downtown--speak of her character. St. Paul, Minnesota infuses in Zoomer and me her spirit of adventure. New to her are brightly-colored pianos randomly placed inviting all to sit down and play a few bars. Engraved sidewalks, markers, and buildings long to be quoted.
How many ways do you travel from Point A to Point B?
I intend no judgment. I ask nothing more than, "Why?"
Have you ever chosen to take a different route to and from home--from Point A to Point B?
Two months ago, when Zoomer and I met, I established a priority for our travels. I needed to identify as many different routes to the same destination--to and from our home. Minnesota summer's sabbatical from winter's wrath is short. Wintertime indoor sanity essential.
I have chosen to travel from Point A to Point B using different route--different routes. Why? Winter's wrath. My sanity. Experience--two winters of homebound living.
So, I ask. Why do you travel as you do? What do you know of your backyard--of your neighborhood? What do you see in your backyard--around your neighborhood?
Construction. Light-rail transit. Preparation for progress. These do, and will define my routes. Today, quite intentionally, we rode from home to the grocery store. My intent was to be without a roadmap--with only my eyes, ears, nose, and memory to guide me on my way home.
Downtown St. Paul, Minnesota is small by many urban standards--eleven blocks north to south, and eleven blocks from west to east. Yet, within the small area a large sense of adventure breathes. The simple naming of streets is an adventure of the imagination. How is it possible for 5th Street West, 6th Street West, and Seventh Street West to intersect?
OK, so the construction of the XCel Center is the logical explanation. Yet, that is a drunken Irishman's logic, in my book! I confess to Minnesotans, I am neither a cradle Catholic, nor a native St. Paulite. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I was a closet Universalist, and a native Minneapolitan--Golden Valley girl, born of Norwegians, and Englishmen--truth be told.
But, I digress. I do believe that 28 years living in St. Paul bestows on me the right to speak for her downtown--speak of her character. St. Paul, Minnesota infuses in Zoomer and me her spirit of adventure. New to her are brightly-colored pianos randomly placed inviting all to sit down and play a few bars. Engraved sidewalks, markers, and buildings long to be quoted.
How many ways do you travel from Point A to Point B?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Employing Yourself
Today, unemployment--finding work--touched me. Not me, Patty Thorsen, but, rather, someone I know was thrown by the bureaucracy of unemployment benefits--how they are administered.
I feel somewhere on the continuum with Guilty at one end, Gratitude in the middle, and Insensitivity at the other end. How can I possibly offer the support, and encouragement a friend deserves?
My guilt? I am not faced with the challenge--the stress--of finding, and keeping a job. The unemployment statistics. Job creation.
Gratitude? My pace is mine to set. I am free from the expectations of others--arbitrarily-established benchmarks of performance. Swimming is mine to lap up. I awaken to no alarms--my bladder takes care of that.
Insensitive? Yes. I fear I am insensitive to the challenges--psychological challenges--of pursuing and applying for work that is below one's gifts--below one's potential.
I hear the self-destruction that, in the long run, well may erode the faith, and hope necessary to make the most of one's gifts. Self-destruction found in job hunting is masked by outrage at the system, outrage at the plight that individuals without any resources necessary to find a job.
Never would I have imagined that I would forget the years of unfulfilling work, the frustration of being underestimated. Yet, nearly two years have passed since I made an unexpected exit from the full-time work world--an exit after 24 years. Occasionally I dream that I am trying to get back to work, yet, I never make it. In the dream, I wonder, "What is wrong with this situation?"
I know that finding a job is not easy. I understand that seeking job opportunities that are beneath one's gifts, and potential is a painful compromise--a compromise of conscience.
I do understand that persevering those trying times is paying off now. A stable income...not excessive, but, stable, and secure. Retirement. Pension.
I know that I wanted no part of what I am saying now, when I was working full-time. For that reason, I question the integrity of my prayer. Yet, my desire that friends, and family, who are in this situation, invest themselves fully in creating their new lives.
My prayer for anyone who finds themselves underemployed?
May you pour the anger, hostility, outrage, and frustration into an earthen vessel that you store out of your sight--separate from the human being, who must be employed.
May you relinquish the burden of civic responsibility, and advocacy for others with fewer resources while you heal your wounded self.
Civic responsibility, and advocacy will re-form itself within your spirit, when you emerge from the chapter of unemployment, or underemployment. Have faith.
May you define compromise.
May you make necessary compromises.
May you continue the pursuit of a more fulfilling life--a fulfillment of your potential.
May you give no one the satisfaction of knowing that you are the person they may imagine--a person of lesser potential.
You are better than that. You are worthy of the challenge. You can and will surmount the challenge.
Employ your gifts. Present them to the world with humility, grace, and determination.
I feel somewhere on the continuum with Guilty at one end, Gratitude in the middle, and Insensitivity at the other end. How can I possibly offer the support, and encouragement a friend deserves?
My guilt? I am not faced with the challenge--the stress--of finding, and keeping a job. The unemployment statistics. Job creation.
Gratitude? My pace is mine to set. I am free from the expectations of others--arbitrarily-established benchmarks of performance. Swimming is mine to lap up. I awaken to no alarms--my bladder takes care of that.
Insensitive? Yes. I fear I am insensitive to the challenges--psychological challenges--of pursuing and applying for work that is below one's gifts--below one's potential.
I hear the self-destruction that, in the long run, well may erode the faith, and hope necessary to make the most of one's gifts. Self-destruction found in job hunting is masked by outrage at the system, outrage at the plight that individuals without any resources necessary to find a job.
Never would I have imagined that I would forget the years of unfulfilling work, the frustration of being underestimated. Yet, nearly two years have passed since I made an unexpected exit from the full-time work world--an exit after 24 years. Occasionally I dream that I am trying to get back to work, yet, I never make it. In the dream, I wonder, "What is wrong with this situation?"
I know that finding a job is not easy. I understand that seeking job opportunities that are beneath one's gifts, and potential is a painful compromise--a compromise of conscience.
I do understand that persevering those trying times is paying off now. A stable income...not excessive, but, stable, and secure. Retirement. Pension.
I know that I wanted no part of what I am saying now, when I was working full-time. For that reason, I question the integrity of my prayer. Yet, my desire that friends, and family, who are in this situation, invest themselves fully in creating their new lives.
My prayer for anyone who finds themselves underemployed?
May you pour the anger, hostility, outrage, and frustration into an earthen vessel that you store out of your sight--separate from the human being, who must be employed.
May you relinquish the burden of civic responsibility, and advocacy for others with fewer resources while you heal your wounded self.
Civic responsibility, and advocacy will re-form itself within your spirit, when you emerge from the chapter of unemployment, or underemployment. Have faith.
May you define compromise.
May you make necessary compromises.
May you continue the pursuit of a more fulfilling life--a fulfillment of your potential.
May you give no one the satisfaction of knowing that you are the person they may imagine--a person of lesser potential.
You are better than that. You are worthy of the challenge. You can and will surmount the challenge.
Employ your gifts. Present them to the world with humility, grace, and determination.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: A Privilege
Only two weeks have passed since my wheelchair was delivered, and I started to learn how to use it. FDX-MCG is not an intuitive, or catchy name. So, for now I will call my chair Zoomer.
Mind you, I have NEVER driven any vehicle in my 51 years. OK, OK, I have driven countless people crazy without even trying:) That is second nature to me:) But, this, this whole driving business is brand new to me. Intellectually, I knew that there would be a learning curve, but, I couldn't imagine what that learning curve would be.
Today I set out intent on going to the grocery store. That is familiar territory. Then, I thought I would board my Zoomer, and head down to the Y to go swimming. Those are simple tasks that require no thought to do in your life, right? Well...
People ARE very willing to help. I was very apprehensive that people would be standoffish and condescending. I do try to warn people that I am just learning, so they do not endanger their lives while they are helping me. I have not experienced any standoffishness, or condescension.
This learning experience makes me wonder how long it takes to learn how to drive. I have enormous respect for how well so many people I know drive. I have not appreciated it fully until now. As deep as my appreciation is, I will never forget riding with my uncle during the wintertime in Minnesota. My uncle did not turn around a curve wide enough. The result? We took part of a snow bank with us. No one was hurt. My uncle was not at all ruffled by what he had done:) But, most people I know, and have ridden with are excellent drivers.
Driving is a privilege. It is allowing me to get out to live a fuller life than I have lived recently. How fast do we ZOOM to get to our destination? Do we appreciate its privilege? Do we see what we pass along our journey? May we see the sights along the way. May we mark those places along the way to return to, in order to live more fully--breathe more deeply. May we take home with us--make resident in our beings--the people, sights, and experiences on our journey.
Mind you, I have NEVER driven any vehicle in my 51 years. OK, OK, I have driven countless people crazy without even trying:) That is second nature to me:) But, this, this whole driving business is brand new to me. Intellectually, I knew that there would be a learning curve, but, I couldn't imagine what that learning curve would be.
Today I set out intent on going to the grocery store. That is familiar territory. Then, I thought I would board my Zoomer, and head down to the Y to go swimming. Those are simple tasks that require no thought to do in your life, right? Well...
People ARE very willing to help. I was very apprehensive that people would be standoffish and condescending. I do try to warn people that I am just learning, so they do not endanger their lives while they are helping me. I have not experienced any standoffishness, or condescension.
This learning experience makes me wonder how long it takes to learn how to drive. I have enormous respect for how well so many people I know drive. I have not appreciated it fully until now. As deep as my appreciation is, I will never forget riding with my uncle during the wintertime in Minnesota. My uncle did not turn around a curve wide enough. The result? We took part of a snow bank with us. No one was hurt. My uncle was not at all ruffled by what he had done:) But, most people I know, and have ridden with are excellent drivers.
Driving is a privilege. It is allowing me to get out to live a fuller life than I have lived recently. How fast do we ZOOM to get to our destination? Do we appreciate its privilege? Do we see what we pass along our journey? May we see the sights along the way. May we mark those places along the way to return to, in order to live more fully--breathe more deeply. May we take home with us--make resident in our beings--the people, sights, and experiences on our journey.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Honesty. Humility. Integrity.
Personal indignation and corporate humility intersected today.
I believe firmly that experiences I share in my writing are by no means my sole province. My hope is to illuminate what is common within us, that we might be comfortable to explore what we have been unknown to us, or too threatening to confront. I use the pronoun we intentionally. When I begin writing any post to this blog, I do not know what my conclusion will be. What I do know is that I am called to be reflective. I endeavor to heed that call with a keen ear--I listen for unresolved issues.
Today I told the medical vendor I have been working with for three and a half months that he WOULD tell me the delivery time of my wheelchair within the next 24 hours. I was not saying that I wanted to know when the delivery time would be. As uncharacteristic as it is of me, I did not equivocate. I declared my needs. My threshold for delay had been surpassed. My patience for a wheelchair was spent. My heart raced. Yet, my ankle received her due advocacy today.
I am a peaceful person. I live my days in reason, logic, and compassion. Often, I put on a happy face on less than happy realities. Some of my happy face is important to a positive outlook--mental health. Yet, when I overdue happy face, I deserve the moniker given to many in the State of Minnesota, where I live. Overdone happy face makes me eligible for Minnesota Nice.
Today's events--today's interactions--were as far from Minnesota Nice as I get. Within four hours of my first phone call with the medical vendor, I had two messages from him confirming that delivery will take place tomorrow. As uncustomary as my assertions were, I achieved my goal.
I learned about corporate humility today. The medical manufacturer is sending a letter of apology to the vendor for all of the mixups--the omission of a joystick on my wheelchair. I do not know that I can take any credit for inspiring the corporate letter of apology. Without having too inflated a sense of myself, I did convey on numerous occasions the seriousness of my need.
I well may never know the precise contribution I may have had in the communications regarding the acquisition of my wheelchair. None of us may know the precise contribution we make in our daily communications. Yet, what we can control is to communicate with integrity. We must communicate our needs honestly--without exaggeration of content. We must not affirm our needs with increased decibel levels. The higher the decibel level of our speech, the more likely it is that our affirmations are false.
May each of us, and all of us speak with honesty, humility, and integrity. May we ever be cognizant of the fragility of making amends within our daily lives.
This is easy to say. I know that whatever the degree of commitment to these beliefs, I will fall short of sustaining them.
I believe firmly that experiences I share in my writing are by no means my sole province. My hope is to illuminate what is common within us, that we might be comfortable to explore what we have been unknown to us, or too threatening to confront. I use the pronoun we intentionally. When I begin writing any post to this blog, I do not know what my conclusion will be. What I do know is that I am called to be reflective. I endeavor to heed that call with a keen ear--I listen for unresolved issues.
Today I told the medical vendor I have been working with for three and a half months that he WOULD tell me the delivery time of my wheelchair within the next 24 hours. I was not saying that I wanted to know when the delivery time would be. As uncharacteristic as it is of me, I did not equivocate. I declared my needs. My threshold for delay had been surpassed. My patience for a wheelchair was spent. My heart raced. Yet, my ankle received her due advocacy today.
I am a peaceful person. I live my days in reason, logic, and compassion. Often, I put on a happy face on less than happy realities. Some of my happy face is important to a positive outlook--mental health. Yet, when I overdue happy face, I deserve the moniker given to many in the State of Minnesota, where I live. Overdone happy face makes me eligible for Minnesota Nice.
Today's events--today's interactions--were as far from Minnesota Nice as I get. Within four hours of my first phone call with the medical vendor, I had two messages from him confirming that delivery will take place tomorrow. As uncustomary as my assertions were, I achieved my goal.
I learned about corporate humility today. The medical manufacturer is sending a letter of apology to the vendor for all of the mixups--the omission of a joystick on my wheelchair. I do not know that I can take any credit for inspiring the corporate letter of apology. Without having too inflated a sense of myself, I did convey on numerous occasions the seriousness of my need.
I well may never know the precise contribution I may have had in the communications regarding the acquisition of my wheelchair. None of us may know the precise contribution we make in our daily communications. Yet, what we can control is to communicate with integrity. We must communicate our needs honestly--without exaggeration of content. We must not affirm our needs with increased decibel levels. The higher the decibel level of our speech, the more likely it is that our affirmations are false.
May each of us, and all of us speak with honesty, humility, and integrity. May we ever be cognizant of the fragility of making amends within our daily lives.
This is easy to say. I know that whatever the degree of commitment to these beliefs, I will fall short of sustaining them.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Effective Communication??? How???
Two examples of communication in two very different contexts lead me to a question. "What must exist before effective communication can exist?"
I live in the United States. Although there is no established national language, which everyone here must speak. In the immigration debate, some have advocated the establishment of a national language. The premise of their position is, if everyone spoke the same language--English--in the United States, then we would be one step closer to achieving national unity.
In Europe, smaller geographical sizes of nations demand that residents in each country be fluent in more than their native language. Such fluency requires learning different words, different grammatical structures of the different languages being learned.
It is simplistic to say that there is no conflict between European nations. Government structures, political systems, different cultural, and faith traditions well may contribute to civil unrest, and discord. Yet, having to learn another language calls for flexibility, and understanding. These two well may serve as cornerstones of effective communication.
The health care debate, and now the budget debate in the U.S. Congress have raised the discord among our elected officials. I was raised with a very positive attitude--positive role models--toward elected officials. For the most part, I have not been cynical regarding politics. Yet, the closer I find the issues cutting to the core of my daily needs--my potential daily needs--I seek a higher level of public discourse than I hear.
My intent in writing this blog is not to espouse a specific political position. There are plenty of individuals who fill that need. All that any individual needs to do is to enter the issue of interest to them in their favorite search engine, along with the word "blog," in order to find an individual, who writes a blog regarding politics.
How does my discussion of the U.S. congressional debates relate to effective communication? It is this. The members of the U.S. Congress all speak English--Democrats, Republicans, and Independents, as well as liberals, and conservatives. Yet, although the congressional representatives' speech, and writing, are governed by the same words, and the same grammatical structures, they do not communicate effectively.
Recent miscommunication, and complete lack of communication with individuals involved in securing my wheelchair lead me to question the role of indifference. How do we lower our voices, open our ears, open our minds? How do we open ourselves to the notion that despite our different human experiences, and life circumstances, our commonalities are greater than our differences? How do we transform our fears of difference into a richer, stronger bond of effective communication?
I live in the United States. Although there is no established national language, which everyone here must speak. In the immigration debate, some have advocated the establishment of a national language. The premise of their position is, if everyone spoke the same language--English--in the United States, then we would be one step closer to achieving national unity.
In Europe, smaller geographical sizes of nations demand that residents in each country be fluent in more than their native language. Such fluency requires learning different words, different grammatical structures of the different languages being learned.
It is simplistic to say that there is no conflict between European nations. Government structures, political systems, different cultural, and faith traditions well may contribute to civil unrest, and discord. Yet, having to learn another language calls for flexibility, and understanding. These two well may serve as cornerstones of effective communication.
The health care debate, and now the budget debate in the U.S. Congress have raised the discord among our elected officials. I was raised with a very positive attitude--positive role models--toward elected officials. For the most part, I have not been cynical regarding politics. Yet, the closer I find the issues cutting to the core of my daily needs--my potential daily needs--I seek a higher level of public discourse than I hear.
My intent in writing this blog is not to espouse a specific political position. There are plenty of individuals who fill that need. All that any individual needs to do is to enter the issue of interest to them in their favorite search engine, along with the word "blog," in order to find an individual, who writes a blog regarding politics.
How does my discussion of the U.S. congressional debates relate to effective communication? It is this. The members of the U.S. Congress all speak English--Democrats, Republicans, and Independents, as well as liberals, and conservatives. Yet, although the congressional representatives' speech, and writing, are governed by the same words, and the same grammatical structures, they do not communicate effectively.
Recent miscommunication, and complete lack of communication with individuals involved in securing my wheelchair lead me to question the role of indifference. How do we lower our voices, open our ears, open our minds? How do we open ourselves to the notion that despite our different human experiences, and life circumstances, our commonalities are greater than our differences? How do we transform our fears of difference into a richer, stronger bond of effective communication?
Understanding's--Compassion's---Scope
The wait for a wheelchair continues. Work with the vendor of the wheelchair, and the insurance company advocate continues. The need is unrelenting. The work seems without end--without a tangible result.
I am a reasonable, logical, peaceful woman. I am not comfortable being aggressive in stating my proven needs--my proven need.
Friends, family, and acquaintances recognize my need, and offer the compassion ever so helpful as I strive toward my goal--a wheelchair. I never imagined--I resisted--my need for a wheelchair. Time, and my ankle convince me otherwise.
I try to draw on my natural tendencies to achieve my goal--a wheelchair. Logical. I identified the steps necessary to secure a wheelchair. An accounting of my physical symptoms, and capacities, a doctor's mobility assessment, an insurance company advocate, a medical vendor acceptable to the insurance company.
Reasonable. I listened to the doctor's recommendations. I spoke with the insurance company advocate. I visited the medical vendor. I tried wheelchairs likely to meet my needs. I maintained constant contact with the advocate, and the medical vendor.
Aggressiveness expresses itself in cries of desperation from me. Threats to change vendors. Yet, aggressiveness, and threats help no one.
Working to secure a wheelchair in the last three-and-a-half months lead me back to a lifelong question. First, is it reasonable to expect that another human being may understand basic human needs, and life circumstances that may not be their own? Second, is it true that no one may understand my/our human needs, because my/our life circumstances are not theirs?
I am either a foolish optimist, or an optimistic fool. Maybe both. I hate to think that none of us may understand the basic human needs of another person, or persons, because our life circumstances are different--are not identical.
Is it possible to surmount seeming indifference to those basic human needs? If so, how?
My default has been that indifference is surmountable. I begin with logical appeals. I resort to emotional appeals. I seek support, and reinforcement to identify, and pursue other courses of action.
Then, I wonder. If my need is not enough--if the need/needs of the individuals for whom I am advocating are not enough--then, how can I appeal to the self-interests of the indifferent party?
I am far beyond angry. I am exasperated. I am exhausted. I am depressed. Yet, none of these strategies, insights, or feelings has rendered a wheelchair. Anger, exasperation, exhaustion, depression serve no one. They are not effective conveyors of my emotions to the people who seem to have the resources to meet my needs.
I wonder about the appearance of my need. I am extremely grateful to be able to navigate my condominium. So, to anyone who observes me navigate just short distances, they would surmise that my need does not rise to their requisite threshold. Yet, anyone who has known me for any length of time--before I stopped working in 2009--they would know that I do not whine. I do not pull the pity card--the victim's vengeance--in my daily dealings.
How do I communicate the need that exceeds my immediate home environment? How do I communicate that my need in a dignified manner? Does pity need to be the weapon I must use to get my needs met? I am no victim--by nature, I am no victim. Yet, indifference is victimizing me unnecessarily.
I am a reasonable, logical, peaceful woman. I am not comfortable being aggressive in stating my proven needs--my proven need.
Friends, family, and acquaintances recognize my need, and offer the compassion ever so helpful as I strive toward my goal--a wheelchair. I never imagined--I resisted--my need for a wheelchair. Time, and my ankle convince me otherwise.
I try to draw on my natural tendencies to achieve my goal--a wheelchair. Logical. I identified the steps necessary to secure a wheelchair. An accounting of my physical symptoms, and capacities, a doctor's mobility assessment, an insurance company advocate, a medical vendor acceptable to the insurance company.
Reasonable. I listened to the doctor's recommendations. I spoke with the insurance company advocate. I visited the medical vendor. I tried wheelchairs likely to meet my needs. I maintained constant contact with the advocate, and the medical vendor.
Aggressiveness expresses itself in cries of desperation from me. Threats to change vendors. Yet, aggressiveness, and threats help no one.
Working to secure a wheelchair in the last three-and-a-half months lead me back to a lifelong question. First, is it reasonable to expect that another human being may understand basic human needs, and life circumstances that may not be their own? Second, is it true that no one may understand my/our human needs, because my/our life circumstances are not theirs?
I am either a foolish optimist, or an optimistic fool. Maybe both. I hate to think that none of us may understand the basic human needs of another person, or persons, because our life circumstances are different--are not identical.
Is it possible to surmount seeming indifference to those basic human needs? If so, how?
My default has been that indifference is surmountable. I begin with logical appeals. I resort to emotional appeals. I seek support, and reinforcement to identify, and pursue other courses of action.
Then, I wonder. If my need is not enough--if the need/needs of the individuals for whom I am advocating are not enough--then, how can I appeal to the self-interests of the indifferent party?
I am far beyond angry. I am exasperated. I am exhausted. I am depressed. Yet, none of these strategies, insights, or feelings has rendered a wheelchair. Anger, exasperation, exhaustion, depression serve no one. They are not effective conveyors of my emotions to the people who seem to have the resources to meet my needs.
I wonder about the appearance of my need. I am extremely grateful to be able to navigate my condominium. So, to anyone who observes me navigate just short distances, they would surmise that my need does not rise to their requisite threshold. Yet, anyone who has known me for any length of time--before I stopped working in 2009--they would know that I do not whine. I do not pull the pity card--the victim's vengeance--in my daily dealings.
How do I communicate the need that exceeds my immediate home environment? How do I communicate that my need in a dignified manner? Does pity need to be the weapon I must use to get my needs met? I am no victim--by nature, I am no victim. Yet, indifference is victimizing me unnecessarily.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Government Services--Personal Energy Policy
Having identified myself in prolific terms, it is important to examine the services, and regulations of government. How does my profile affect my needs for, and views regarding government services, and regulations.
I must confess that my views are rooted in deep fear. I understand the need for debate regarding the organization of and support for Medicare that is imminent. Knowledge of my own need for it next year leads me to put my head in the sand with cotton balls in my ears. The forthcoming hyperbole makes me ill.
I could be the audience to whom politicians will base their positions regarding Medicare. I do not want to be a part of politicians' Medicare focus group. I cannot deny my needs. I will seek what I need, nothing more, and nothing less. That is my contribution toward a picture of a balanced budget. My contribution may not be financially balanced, but, it will be balanced in terms of medical necessity. I purchase private insurance commensurate with my medical need, and financial affordability.
With regard to Medicare--its future health--we need to take several actions independent of any legislative action. We need to accept our own aging, and the corresponding needs we may have--needs that are quite likely, however unsavory they may be.
I do not know how to arm myself further from the imminent hyperbole. All I may do is to assert logic, reason, and insight, and pray that it resonates somewhere within decision-making bodies.
I have strong views against military expenditures, as well as support for other government priorities--government investments. Yet, in the past ten years, I have learned the essence of energy conservation. No. Not nuclear power, oil, coal, solar power. I speak of none. My personal energy. My life is ruled by a single policy personal energy conservation. I must not take on advocacy for issues outside of my passion--issues outside of my understanding--issues beyond my individual needs. I consider myself to be concerned about social justice issues. Yet, I invest my personal energies in trusting other more effective--more passionate--advocates, who have the knowledge requisite for success.
May we adopt the policy of personal energy conservation to lessen the rhetoric, increase civility, and improve the quality of decision-making with regard to such vital issues. If we do not do so, we deserve the quality of decisions that are made, and the tenor that precedes it. I, for one, do not think we can afford such lavish use of our precious resources.
I must confess that my views are rooted in deep fear. I understand the need for debate regarding the organization of and support for Medicare that is imminent. Knowledge of my own need for it next year leads me to put my head in the sand with cotton balls in my ears. The forthcoming hyperbole makes me ill.
I could be the audience to whom politicians will base their positions regarding Medicare. I do not want to be a part of politicians' Medicare focus group. I cannot deny my needs. I will seek what I need, nothing more, and nothing less. That is my contribution toward a picture of a balanced budget. My contribution may not be financially balanced, but, it will be balanced in terms of medical necessity. I purchase private insurance commensurate with my medical need, and financial affordability.
With regard to Medicare--its future health--we need to take several actions independent of any legislative action. We need to accept our own aging, and the corresponding needs we may have--needs that are quite likely, however unsavory they may be.
I do not know how to arm myself further from the imminent hyperbole. All I may do is to assert logic, reason, and insight, and pray that it resonates somewhere within decision-making bodies.
I have strong views against military expenditures, as well as support for other government priorities--government investments. Yet, in the past ten years, I have learned the essence of energy conservation. No. Not nuclear power, oil, coal, solar power. I speak of none. My personal energy. My life is ruled by a single policy personal energy conservation. I must not take on advocacy for issues outside of my passion--issues outside of my understanding--issues beyond my individual needs. I consider myself to be concerned about social justice issues. Yet, I invest my personal energies in trusting other more effective--more passionate--advocates, who have the knowledge requisite for success.
May we adopt the policy of personal energy conservation to lessen the rhetoric, increase civility, and improve the quality of decision-making with regard to such vital issues. If we do not do so, we deserve the quality of decisions that are made, and the tenor that precedes it. I, for one, do not think we can afford such lavish use of our precious resources.
A Self-Profile...A Pre-Requisite to Government Services
As a confessed liberal, recent political events call me to reflect on the essence of government in our daily lives. Yesterday, I reflected on the need for a smaller government--the need to be more self-reliant. Today, I have the clarity of mind that was absent last night to examine the other side--the need for government in our daily lives.
Before I may undertake an examination of government services, a profile is essential. I do not support racial profiling, or profiling that is conducted by others with regard to me. However, if I am to proclaim any degree of objective--reasonable--examination of government services, I must begin with a profile of who I am.
Facts serve me best. I begin with my profile. I am single. I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt of adult nephews. I am a citizen of the United States. I have a birth certificate attesting to my birth in the State of Minnesota. I am a Caucasian woman. I am a resident of the City of St. Paul, Ramsey County, Minnesota. I live in a condominium. I use elevators each day. I use mass transit, skyways--elevated walkways--to navigate Minnesota winters.
I am not a mother. I do not have any children. I am not a business owner. I do not drive. I am not an animal owner. I do not gamble. I do not drink--I do not want to cause a seizure.
It is essential to identify who we are in such a prolific manner, before assessing our positions regarding the role of government in our lives. Only after we have made such a thorough, specific, and thoughtful profile of ourselves may we proceed. We are obligated to answer two questions. A simple, singular answer will not emerge from these questions. However, our answers are essential in their complexity.
First, who am I in factual terms? What are my personal roles in relationship to other people--to my community? Where do I live? Where do I work, be that full-time, part-time, or work outside of the paid workforce? What services do I need?
Second, in factual terms, what roles common in relationships, and community do I not play? What very basic needs do I not need in my daily life?
Are we willing to undertake such a self-examination? Is it easier to acquiesce to the prevailing community beliefs, and political positions? Or is it easier to submit our resignation to others of differing beliefs?
I believe such a self-examination is essential to being very precise about our needs--all of our needs. My prayer is that clarity in decision-making, and a commitment to avoid hyperbole would emerge.
Before I may undertake an examination of government services, a profile is essential. I do not support racial profiling, or profiling that is conducted by others with regard to me. However, if I am to proclaim any degree of objective--reasonable--examination of government services, I must begin with a profile of who I am.
Facts serve me best. I begin with my profile. I am single. I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt of adult nephews. I am a citizen of the United States. I have a birth certificate attesting to my birth in the State of Minnesota. I am a Caucasian woman. I am a resident of the City of St. Paul, Ramsey County, Minnesota. I live in a condominium. I use elevators each day. I use mass transit, skyways--elevated walkways--to navigate Minnesota winters.
I am not a mother. I do not have any children. I am not a business owner. I do not drive. I am not an animal owner. I do not gamble. I do not drink--I do not want to cause a seizure.
It is essential to identify who we are in such a prolific manner, before assessing our positions regarding the role of government in our lives. Only after we have made such a thorough, specific, and thoughtful profile of ourselves may we proceed. We are obligated to answer two questions. A simple, singular answer will not emerge from these questions. However, our answers are essential in their complexity.
First, who am I in factual terms? What are my personal roles in relationship to other people--to my community? Where do I live? Where do I work, be that full-time, part-time, or work outside of the paid workforce? What services do I need?
Second, in factual terms, what roles common in relationships, and community do I not play? What very basic needs do I not need in my daily life?
Are we willing to undertake such a self-examination? Is it easier to acquiesce to the prevailing community beliefs, and political positions? Or is it easier to submit our resignation to others of differing beliefs?
I believe such a self-examination is essential to being very precise about our needs--all of our needs. My prayer is that clarity in decision-making, and a commitment to avoid hyperbole would emerge.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Respect. Listen. Negotiate. Compromise. Agree.
It is quite simple. Agree on one basic principle as the foundation of all negotiations. None of us is guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities we have today. We are equal partners. None of us is braver due to military service. None of us is less fortunate due to disability, financial status, or any other quality. Each of us is human. Sit down. Listen. Respect one another. Negotiate. Blame is a luxury we can ill-afford. Sit down. Listen. Respect. Negotiate. Compromise. Agree.
The budget negotiations engender feelings different from moral indignation, or outrage. Self-righteousness, outrage, and moral indignation siphon off the vital energy necessary to negotiate with reason, logic, and respect. On a balance beam, this ballerina is left of center. However, she does see the value of what both sides of this debate are saying.
To conservatives, I understand some of what you say. It is our responsibility to be less dependent upon government, if we are to solve budget deficits.
I don't know the extent to which I may do that. Yet, you do lead me to reflect upon what my dependencies are. What actions am I taking to depend upon the private sector, and spur business in my community?
What actions have I taken? Two primary investments stand out. Long-term care insurance, and long-term disability insurance.
I recognize my needs--physical, financial, emotional, psychological, social, and spiritual. I recognize my social status--not my economic classification. I am single. I have cerebral palsy. I have epilepsy. I take medication for seizures. An ankle foot orthotic--a brace, and durable medical equipment--a wheelchair, are undeniable parts of my present, and my future. These are facts. My feelings regarding these facts are irrelevant luxuries that I can ill afford.
Though the daughter of an accountant, I did not understand the practicalities of a balance sheet as deeply as I do today. With facts, realities, needs, and resources identified, the next logical step is to ask, what actions am I taking, within my capacity to do so, to ensure that I live a high quality life.
I am single--the youngest of three "children." Though I am blessed with a loving family, I need to secure resources to ensure a full life. Thus, long-term care insurance. That is a contribution toward a future that I have yet to live.
Cerebral palsy. Epilepsy. These two facts did not represent degenerative diseases in my understanding. Epilepsy is not. My cerebral palsy is a co-conspirator with my aging body. My cerebral palsy accelerates my physical needs before they would present themselves to other individuals. Though not fully aware of, or enthusiastic in embracing my future needs, a little voice of wisdom advocated on my behalf. The wise, though timid, ballerina tiptoed into a long-term disability policy.
Long-term care insurance, and long-term disability insurance are hardly glamorous trophies to display. Yet, they are but two actions taken that will and have lessened my dependence on the government. I have taken a small part toward lessening some of my dependence on government.
Another action is more subtle--my intent. I have no intent to ask for more than I need. Needing and deserving are not synonymous.
In 2012, I will become eligible for Medicare. I am fully aware of what is medically necessary for my survival. Much is said of Medicare fraud, the ailing health of the Medicare program. Yet, little is said of being cognizant of our medical needs versus our medical deservings for lack of a better word.
I nurture strong relationships with my family, and friends. I am engaged in a vital faith community that challenges me to live fully.
As to my liberal beliefs, my assessment is in different terms. We do need to present a stronger case for the people we are trying to protect. We do ourselves a great disservice to speak of those less fortunate than ourselves. That weakens the entire basis of our beliefs. Anytime we parade individuals up as poster children for a cause, we provide conservatives with an easy target. In no way am I saying that the individuals mentioned are not worthy of the relevant services.
We are not providing a clear picture of who needs the relevant services. Any one of us may find ourselves in need of the various programs, and services for which we advocate. Not sometime in the distant future. Tomorrow. We may find ourselves in such need tomorrow. We must broaden the base of who the programs and services are promoted to benefit. This is not easy. It is difficult to admit. It is difficult to demonstrate.
We must dispense with a we-versus-they, or us-versus-them model of policymaking. As long as we preserve an us-versus-them policymaking model, it is the quality not the financial figures of our budget that will be in a state of deficiency.
Each of us is responsible to make an honest accounting of our needs, our resources, our actions, and then return to our outstanding needs to settle this deficit. We must dispense with bravery, and less fortunate than in order to center ourselves on the balance beam.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Hope...Fragile Hope...
What's wrong? she writes in a note.
The running leg's a pipe dream.
She slips the note back.
So was walking....
Don't look so far ahead....
Looking ahead is what's been giving me hope. I've wanted to believe we'll be able to gather twenty thousand dollars. I've wanted to believe that I'll run again.
But hope now feels so fragile. Too fragile to touch.
The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen, p. 203.
My aspiration is not running. It never was. I am not a 50-year-old trying to run back to a past job. A younger body perhaps--a body that propelled me out of my cocoon. I have been told that expecting to have my wheelchair in my home within a week is realistic. Odd. Three months ago, I wanted no part of such a future.
Yet, I listen to my body. My ankle is inflamed with deafening screams, "Do something NOW. I can't carry you. You are breaking me."
I look at my body--my stomach is bigger than it should be. I know why. I know what I need--laps in a pool, a buoyed spirit. Yet, my body cries out. She demands my attention.
"Listen. Rest. Do not break me."
Looking ahead. Hoping. Yet, what is it that I am running to do. Swimming. Yes. What else?
But hope now feels so fragile. Too fragile to touch.
The running leg's a pipe dream.
She slips the note back.
So was walking....
Don't look so far ahead....
Looking ahead is what's been giving me hope. I've wanted to believe we'll be able to gather twenty thousand dollars. I've wanted to believe that I'll run again.
But hope now feels so fragile. Too fragile to touch.
The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen, p. 203.
My aspiration is not running. It never was. I am not a 50-year-old trying to run back to a past job. A younger body perhaps--a body that propelled me out of my cocoon. I have been told that expecting to have my wheelchair in my home within a week is realistic. Odd. Three months ago, I wanted no part of such a future.
Yet, I listen to my body. My ankle is inflamed with deafening screams, "Do something NOW. I can't carry you. You are breaking me."
I look at my body--my stomach is bigger than it should be. I know why. I know what I need--laps in a pool, a buoyed spirit. Yet, my body cries out. She demands my attention.
"Listen. Rest. Do not break me."
Looking ahead. Hoping. Yet, what is it that I am running to do. Swimming. Yes. What else?
But hope now feels so fragile. Too fragile to touch.
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