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.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
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.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Honor
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention. To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition. Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
Family crests. Monuments. Physical stature.
None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness. Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined. My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us? Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be. The form of something is not important. The revelation of forgiveness is.
My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience. Why did my peers not understand my disabilities? Why did they bully me? How could I stop it? Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face. I am a coward--a coward's face. Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word. Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor. Never have I heard others mention it.
Physical honor. Graceful aging calls us to it. As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities. Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point. We take no notice of what those capabilities are. Why should we? We have known no other way of living than with that particular set. We learn our limits by testing them. All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps. Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set. Our permission is NOT required.
I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy. That was my starting point. Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them. Just ask my therapists.
I did not understand my limits. Aging has changed those limits. Age forty. Morning stiffness. Age forty-five. Painful hips. Strained walking.
Each new limit called me to respond. Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action. To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive them for the service they could not give to me. I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential. Acknowledgment. I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out. Vigilance. Ever I must re-cognize my body's service. Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
A brace. An electric wheelchair--Zoomer. Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
My counsel to the young man was a question. Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you? Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you? Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
Honor. Standing at attention? No, not physically. Honor. Attending to the gifts that have been given. Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention. To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition. Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
Family crests. Monuments. Physical stature.
None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness. Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined. My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us? Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be. The form of something is not important. The revelation of forgiveness is.
My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience. Why did my peers not understand my disabilities? Why did they bully me? How could I stop it? Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face. I am a coward--a coward's face. Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word. Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor. Never have I heard others mention it.
Physical honor. Graceful aging calls us to it. As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities. Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point. We take no notice of what those capabilities are. Why should we? We have known no other way of living than with that particular set. We learn our limits by testing them. All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps. Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set. Our permission is NOT required.
I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy. That was my starting point. Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them. Just ask my therapists.
I did not understand my limits. Aging has changed those limits. Age forty. Morning stiffness. Age forty-five. Painful hips. Strained walking.
Each new limit called me to respond. Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action. To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive them for the service they could not give to me. I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential. Acknowledgment. I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out. Vigilance. Ever I must re-cognize my body's service. Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
A brace. An electric wheelchair--Zoomer. Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
My counsel to the young man was a question. Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you? Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you? Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
Honor. Standing at attention? No, not physically. Honor. Attending to the gifts that have been given. Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: A Firm Grip
You have a hold on my right arm and leg no longer. Yet, your grip on me is firm--firmer than I realize. I try to erase you from my memory--put you in the well within me. Yet, I look back to my own words--my sentences. You have a firm grip on my mind. You take words from my sentences. You steal the precious part of me that, so desperately, I want to--I must give.
You give me no clue as to where you are--no hint as to where to look. You give me no key to find you.
Where are you? You are hiding from me. Where are you?
I try to understand.
You give me no clue as to where you are--no hint as to where to look. You give me no key to find you.
Where are you? You are hiding from me. Where are you?
I try to understand.
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?
Monday, August 29, 2011
Comfort the Afflicted...Afflict the Comfortable
Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
This paradox troubles me. It has for a lifetime. Yesterday, I heard the phrase in church. I felt squeamish--I feel squeamish. What did I do? Nothing. I left the church, and went about my business.
I was called to return that message--literally.
"Patty, will you call him? He is scared," I was told. The fear--the short-term fear--was with due cause. Yet, there is a longer-term trepidation that need not be. So, what was I to say?
Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
Easy. Offer comfort to his immediate circumstances--unnerving acts of nature.
Comfort [verb] [with object] make (someone) feel less unhappy; console: help (someone) feel at ease; reassure. http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/comfort?region=us
That is easy. Comfort resonates with the daily aspirations I have.
Yet, comfort is only half of what I am being called to do. Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
Economic dependence. Complacency toward changing that dependence. Finding a first job after college. Fear. Trepidation. These are at the core of what I am being called to address--in every sense of the word.
Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
How, in concert with my principles, and values, am I supposed to respond? Understand--understand the definition of terms.
Afflict verb [with object] (of a problem or illness) cause pain or suffering to; affect or trouble. http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/afflict?region=us
This paradox troubles me. It has for a lifetime. Yesterday, I heard the phrase in church. I felt squeamish--I feel squeamish. What did I do? Nothing. I left the church, and went about my business.
I was called to return that message--literally.
"Patty, will you call him? He is scared," I was told. The fear--the short-term fear--was with due cause. Yet, there is a longer-term trepidation that need not be. So, what was I to say?
Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
Easy. Offer comfort to his immediate circumstances--unnerving acts of nature.
Comfort [verb] [with object] make (someone) feel less unhappy; console: help (someone) feel at ease; reassure. http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/comfort?region=us
That is easy. Comfort resonates with the daily aspirations I have.
Yet, comfort is only half of what I am being called to do. Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
Economic dependence. Complacency toward changing that dependence. Finding a first job after college. Fear. Trepidation. These are at the core of what I am being called to address--in every sense of the word.
Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
How, in concert with my principles, and values, am I supposed to respond? Understand--understand the definition of terms.
Afflict verb [with object] (of a problem or illness) cause pain or suffering to; affect or trouble. http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/afflict?region=us
Afflict violates every principle I believe in, and aspire to conduct my daily life. At least, that has been my approach toward the word.
If I am being called to afflict the comfortable, then what choices does the afflict offer me to choose?
Cause pain to. Cause suffering to. Affect. Trouble.
The first two options are not in concert with my values. I would never knowingly inflict physical or emotional pain or suffering on anyone, especially a loved one. I cannot, in good conscience, even consider it. I understand the impact both may have. I cannot be a party to effecting those consequence.
Trouble is more nebulous to me. I find it hard to quantify trouble, either positively or negatively.
If asked to place the four elements of afflict on a continuum, with the most egregious on the left to the most palatable on the right, I would draw the following continuum. At the far left would be cause pain. The next element would be cause suffering.
The first two elements are relatively close to one another. The third element would be further to the right--trouble. On the far right of my continuum would be affect. If I accept affect, it completely changes my understanding of afflict. Somehow, it takes the emotional sting I have abhorred whenever I heard the word.
If I am being called to afflict the comfortable, then what choices does the afflict offer me to choose?
Cause pain to. Cause suffering to. Affect. Trouble.
The first two options are not in concert with my values. I would never knowingly inflict physical or emotional pain or suffering on anyone, especially a loved one. I cannot, in good conscience, even consider it. I understand the impact both may have. I cannot be a party to effecting those consequence.
Trouble is more nebulous to me. I find it hard to quantify trouble, either positively or negatively.
If asked to place the four elements of afflict on a continuum, with the most egregious on the left to the most palatable on the right, I would draw the following continuum. At the far left would be cause pain. The next element would be cause suffering.
The first two elements are relatively close to one another. The third element would be further to the right--trouble. On the far right of my continuum would be affect. If I accept affect, it completely changes my understanding of afflict. Somehow, it takes the emotional sting I have abhorred whenever I heard the word.
If asked to identify my modus operandi, when it comes to affecting or seeking to affect people or causes, it is storytelling. My maternal grandfather was a tremendous storyteller. He shared marvelous stories about his life. He was accessible to me, having lived with my family when I was in high school. Ray was certainly not Catholic, nor liberal politically. Yet, he instilled in me the value of telling stories--sharing personal history.
I started this posting not knowing what action to take. I knew or knew of several facts. First, comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable. Second, I was called to comfort the afflicted--literally. Third, I was called to afflict the comforted. Fourth, I had a relationship to provide context to any comfort or affliction I might choose to act upon.. Finally, I was a coward in risking myself to provide needed help. My loved ones have risked themselves to improve my life--to save me at times when I have been without knowledge of how to help myself. I can, should, and now have taken several actions. I do not know how they will be received. Yet, my offerings were--are--genuine, honest, and well-intended.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Epilepsy Chronicles: A Firm Grip on Me
You have a hold on my right leg and arm no longer. Yet, your grip on me is firm--firmer than I realize. I try to erase you from my memory--put you in the well within me. Yet, I look back to my words--to my writings. You have a firm grip on my mind. You take words from my my sentences. You steal the precious part of me that I want to give. You give me no clue as to where you are. You give me no key to find you. Where are you? You are hiding from me.
I try to understand.
I try to understand.
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