What Passes for Personal Safety for Kids in Schools - Really??

This one comes via a dear friend of mine and an incident that happened to his young son (8) at school yesterday. It infuriated me. Made me cry. J sent me the pictures of 8's wound before and after he was stitched up. They are horrific and I will not share them (never mind protecting 8's identity). Suffice to say, I'm angry about this. Here's J's post from Facebook:

I'm kinda pissed off. We get phone call from 8's teacher saying he fell down the stairs and he may need stitches. A shows up and he has a HUGE gash on his head. I go and pick up daughter from school and ask the teacher where 8 fell and how it happened. The teachers make grade 2 students walk down the stairs carrying laptops with both hands so they have no hands for the railing or support themselves. And when they fall forward they can't save their heads from the steel railing. Which causes a split large enough to see his skull. 3 stitches on the inside and 6 on the out. A took pics but to graphic for here. Maybe I should call a lawyer. I just feel like its wrong. What do you guys think?

Anyone else see what's wrong with this scenario? Why are the KIDS made responsible for carrying laptops down a know problem staircase with both hands on the laptop and none to protect their safety? Excellent question. I'm waiting to hear what the school (in Okotoks) has to say about their policy on this and when they plan to change it. And they had best change it. The teachers should be responsible for the protection of school-owned equipment and not the students. Particularly when it compromises the safety of the students. 

I have a boat-load of questions on this. How many other children have been hurt similarly, doing this? Were their injuries less, equally or more sever than 8's? Are they head injuries also or broken bones in other parts of their poor, little bodies? What will it take to change this policy? Why do they not have laptop bags for the kids to carry them in - at the very least - if they're worried about a teacher having to transport them and liability issues surrounding that? Why is the "property" not insured against accidental damage (as in dropping it to prevent serious bodily damage)? Does a child have to sustain brain damage before this changes? Does a child have to die before this changes? Good god I hope not. Wrongful death suits happen and no one wins.

Should we teach kids about personal accountability for things like computers they have to use? Yes. At potential, great personal risk? Absolutely not. There is no common sense being used here. Folks work in all kinds of environments and heath & safety is a huge concern in every workplace these days. It's a billions-of-dollars-a-year industry. So why not in the schools? Why do we feel our kids are exempt from the health & safety aspect? We shouldn't. We really shouldn't. This is the perfect opportunity to teach them that it is most definitely an important issue and taking every measurable step to ensure they learn those lessons. This is a fail far beyond epic proportions. 

If your company or organisation has laptop bags that are being "retired", please tell someone about this story and get them donated to this school so no other child - possibly your own - never goes through this. You would hate to get that one phone call your child was seriously injured at school because they carried a laptop down some stairs and fell. Not being able to protect themselves.

Peace & Love

Things You Shouldn’t Teach Your Dog

One can only imagine what is going to be laid out when you have a title like this. It’s not anything like teaching your kids naughty words or things to say you know will piss your spouse off. Nope. More mundane. Things like “car ride” “treat/snack”, “walk”, “bubbles”. Oh yes. There’s a very funny story about the word “bubbles” and my 8 year old Pom, Bear. I’ll get to that.

For the record, both of them are rescues. The breeder was going to put him down because he’s oversized. There was no way I was going to let that happen. According to the standard, he should be about five to seven pounds and about 10 to 12 inches tall. He’s closer to 15 pounds (not fat) and 16 to 18 inches tall. Big boy. My princess boy. When his hair is long (prefer to get it cut short), he prances. He’s very aware of his appearances. Checks the mirror every time we go out the door. When his hair is short, he looks like a stuffy. People can’t believe he’s real. The charm level with this one is always cranked up to 20.

Dizzy came from the Calgary Humane Society about eight and a half months after we’d gotten Bear. She is a deceptively intelligent girl. When her coat grows in, it’s ivory-coloured curly locks are so pretty. But is prone to matting, so it’s kept short. She had been abused and neglected by previous owners and it took a ton of work to get her to trust and like people but was so worth it. I would adopt rescues again in a heartbeat. If you are considering getting a pet, please check your local rescue organisations or humane society. They all deserve to be loved. Just as we do.

I’m big on teaching kids and animals as much as possible. Even how to ask for a treat if they’re “hungry”. Through creative use of peanuts, I taught Bear and Dizzy (my 13 year old girl, a cockapoo) to signal to me when they want something to eat. Conditioning. It often times has negative connotations but for the most part I try to keep it positive. It becomes empowering. No surprise, I’m big on that too. Over the course of a week or two, I got them used to the idea of when they want something to eat, they would signal to me by licking their nose. Now this is something dogs do naturally and often so how is someone to know it’s different from them just plain old licking their nose?

Well, for starters, they’re usually planted right in front of you, staring intently, not getting distracted by anything else. Just staring. Uh huh. Then when you look at them, the nose lick. I’m hungry. Feed me. Give me a snack. This happens most often right before their dinner-time or evening snack time. Caution is needed when teaching your dog to communicate like this. It can become dangerous territory. They can’t talk and sometimes I think that’s for the best. Now you’ve taught them to ask for a treat/snack. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now you have a choice to make. Do you give in and get them what they want or tell them to “wait”. They’ll get it “soon”. Two more words they have clear grasp of. When they hear the word “soon” you can just see the head drop, big exhale and the dog version of the word “fine” run though their heads. “Fine. I’ll wait. I’m not happy about it, but I’ll wait.” Distain. Then you get them their dinner or evening snack and all is right in their world again.

They have a pretty big vocabulary. Dizzy is better at more of the words than Bear is. Maybe it’s a girl thing. I don’t know. Surprisingly, they know a large number of words. Again, sometimes it seems like a good idea at the time to teach them this stuff and you wind up coming back to question your decision(s) at a later date. They have clear understanding of the following words: up/upstairs, downstairs, off (get off that person), down (lay down), sit, wait, soon, treat, snack, dinner, breakfast, left, right, cross (to cross the street), okay, walk, bath (not so popular), play, ball, toy, who’s here, people’s names, no noise (useful to keep them from barking), shhhhh (again to keep them quiet), out/outside, rain (very unpopular with Bear), snow, puddles, garbage (useful when out for a walk and depositing poop bags into said disposal receptacle), car ride, hang on (useful for car rides when we have to stop suddenly or turn a corner so they can brace themselves) and bubbles among others. Ah yes, bubbles. I have no idea where the fascination for bubbles came from for Bear, but he is totally cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs kind of crazy about them. You simply do not utter the word and not pull them out. And it's completely worth it just for the entertainment value.

Found some pet-friendly version of the bubbles and wand in a nearby pet super-store and thought how
can this be a bad thing? I bought two containers. They’re just small but still. Enough to last a couple years. The first time I pulled them out and reinforced with “bubbles” he got it. This stuff is his cat-nip. On a whole other level though. He loses his freaking mind. Climbing on furniture. Doing gymnastics I didn’t think possible from a dog. He has to find and eat every last bubble that gets blown into the air. If it’s in a weird place, you have to lift him up to get it. He can go at this activity for an hour. He becomes this psychotic, bubble-craving critter that won’t quit until he’s covered in the somewhat sticky things, found every last one like it’s his life’s mission and panting hard with the biggest doggy smile on his face. If I were breathing that hard, I’d be on the verge of passing out.

It’s a brilliant way to entertain a dog who has an abundance of energy and a very bright mind. He can be a real idiot some times though. If we’re out for a walk and it’s a nice day, Diz & I are leading the walk and he just gets to accompany us and gawk. Doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going or what he’s doing. Unless there’s a female of some sort in the vicinity. Canine or human. Mr. Superflirt. Oh he’s “fixed” but you’d never know it. My little Casanova. I write this with an eye roll when I call him that. He’s incorrigible.

When he’s distracted or just not paying attention to his surroundings, I’ve seen him walk/roll/fall off the couch and bed (not hurting himself, thankfully), walk into walls, walk into people, walk into furniture, run into Diz. He has walked off curbs/sidewalks then given me the “I meant to do that” look. He’s walked into sign poles. He has walked into fire hydrants twice. Yes, twice. Another eye roll accompanied with a head shake and peals of laughter when he did that. Sorry buddy, that’s what happens when you don’t pay attention.

When it comes to directions like left/right, Dizzy’s far better at those that Bear is. She gets it and she’s good at it. Maybe it’s just a guy thing. Don’t ask for directions because you just won’t get it anyway. Clarification: not all guys I know are bad at it. Most of the men I know are actually pretty good and they do it without use of a GPS. But Bear. Sheesh. If he weren’t tethered by his leash, he’d get lost every time we go out. And I’m glad the house isn’t bigger or he’d get lost in that too. He is definitely one of those dogs that has multiple “squirrel” moments every given day and it makes me laugh and I love him endlessly for it. Have a happy day and give your pets an extra scratch from me.

Peace & Love

Love Yourself First

People come and go in our lives for more reasons than we can ever comprehend. Some we will love for eternity while others are gone without so much as a second thought.This is about hope. Learning to love yourself first and believing your heart will sing again. And ultimately, love again.

The decision to let someone go or walk away from them will always be a heartbreaking one. I chose to end my 11.5 year marriage as it was no longer healthy and would never be healthy again. It had died a few years before and had been kept on life support out of sheer will that it would recover and become what it had once be. I refused to listen to the true voice that said it never would be. Never could be.

Over two years ago I finally listened to that voice and tried to end it. It did not go well. To say the least. I stayed on the promise I’d been made that it would be good again. After a few months things returned to where they had been when I’d wanted the divorce. I raised the subject of positive change again and it was ignored. It happened a few times. Repeatedly ignored. To see something you had worked so hard to build and try to maintain just be cast aside was gut-wrenching. It’s a selfish act. A declaration from the other person that if you want to be with me it will be how I want it. It has nothing to do with you. Your heart gets ripped out and destroyed.

I don’t do ultimatums. Present your views/case to the other person and if they won’t meet you in the middle or halfway point, you have a decision to make. Can you accept this is all it will be and stay or refuse to live a lonely existence and leave? Sometimes those answers just don’t come overnight. They can take weeks or months. It took a few months for me to make my decision but once I did there was no recovering from it. It was time to pull the plug.

No one had really seen what was about to happen, arriving. I was very quiet and private about that part of my life. I suppose the signs had been there for a very few close friends and family members but the number amounted to less than half a dozen. Sadness. A little regret. Some shock. Loads of questions. Some I’d answer but many I wouldn’t because what had happened was between myself and my soon-to-be-estranged husband. Some things should be kept private. Everyone else wasn’t involved in the marriage so why would you drag them into the death of it? I was raised to treat everyone with kindness, courtesy, respect and dignity. And when the wreck of the marriage is left open and bleeding on the side of a road like a tragic car crash, sometimes providing dignity is all you have left.

My ex didn’t treat it the same way. Still doesn’t from all accounts I’ve heard. Not surprisingly, someone else I removed from my life due to their toxicity, decided to reach out to the ex. They could be seeing each other for all I know and care. I don’t do desperate, clinging, needy, weak. For those that do know me, I’m about positivity, strength, good character, loving those around us.

So I will offer this up: if you are at that crux of a relationship, sometimes you need to love yourself first. If you aren’t willing to take care of your own heart, how can you expect someone else to join you in that? You can’t. It’s that plain and simple. So why would you drag yourself and the other person down a road of torment, heartbreak, loneliness just to hold on to something maybe you really need to let go of? We’re far too sentimental about affairs of the heart and far less objective and mindful of the damage we do to ourselves and that other person or persons involved. Find the courage. Build your resolve. Make a decision. Make a move.

Is it scary? Oh hell yes. Will it hurt? Most definitely. But you will survive. You will put one foot in front of the other and move forward in a positive, healthy direction in your life. You should and need to believe that. It’s true. I did it and I know one day I will love (hopefully fall IN love) again. I know this because my heart is ready and tells me so.

Peace & Love

I’m not drunk..

Nor am I heavily medicated. I just have a problem standing. Walking. Moving. It’s a fairly simple explanation, really. It has everything to do with a chronic spinal injury. If you want to get really technical, it’s a bunch of degenerative spinal disabilities.

I have a picture to go with it too. It’s not pretty. It shows the last time – almost one year ago now – of the needle right next to my vertebrae and spinal cord at L4/L5. What’s the issue? Well, let’s see. It’s degenerative disc disease, degenerative osteoarthritis of the vertebrae in the lumbar region of my spine, spondylosis, scoliosis, crushed nerve bundles in said region. Those do an awful lot. It also shows black portions of the vertebrae. That’s where the bone has actually died and will eventually break off. It does not regenerate.

We take for granted being able to walk down the street and not trip over our own feet. I do that a lot. I get a ton of “It’s 8 AM and why is that woman drunk?” looks. But I’m not. Some days I wish I were but self-medicating isn’t the answer. Most of the time. I do take prescriptions to help me keep moving without grunting like a cave-woman. It just can’t be helped sometimes. When you’re broken in places no one can see, you tend to get a bunch of funny looks.

I can be standing there all nice and normal and go to shift my weight and all of a sudden, I’m struggling to stay upright and not fall over. It used to be embarrassing. Now I just roll with it. No pun intended. I right myself and just keep going. Or whatever I was trying to do in the first place. If I’m with people, we generally just laugh it off. From the outside I can only imagine what it looks like.

Then there’s other times I make disparaging remarks about myself and I’m sure it offends people within earshot that have no clue what’s going on. Like what, you may ask? Things such as “I always get the best parking spots”. It’s true! With a handicap placard, you do get the best spots. I tend to use that only when I’ve been having an inordinate number of muscle spasms in my legs – particularly when it’s really cold out. Or if I know I’ll be doing a lot of standing or sitting. I’ll really cramp up and look like I should be 70 or 80 something. Which leads to more off-balance moving antics.

If I’m walking in unfamiliar territory, I’ll literally watch where I’m going. It’s out of pure necessity. If I don’t see the big dip in the sidewalk/road/ground I’m about to step into, it could be bad. The worst is a nasty fall involving broken bones. At best, bruised ego and more explaining, “No, really, I haven’t been drinking.” “Honest, I’m not on anything.” Sure. Sure. I’ve missed my fair share of chairs/seats too. I’ve learned to look when I sit down.

One quirk (believe me, I have several) I have is I do not like socks. I think I’ve grown into this one but could have been present when I was younger. I’m a summer baby and I think that’s where it stems from. So, when I have the option to not wear them, I take it. If I’m at home or a friends place, and the weather permits, I kick my shoes off at the door and pad around barefoot. But then comes some funny stuff my body likes to do with me. Remember the damaged nerves? I can step on/in something and not be able to tell if it’s hot, cold, wet or WTH it is. I have to stop and look at my feet. Feel it with my hands just to make sure. More strange looks. From myself even. Like I just smelled something really, off.

I can step on something and not be able to tell exactly what it is. Again, look. Many times, there’s really nothing there. Sometimes I’ll get something embedded in my foot and wonder how on earth that happened. Pull offending object out and clean it up. I have a large bottle of tea tree oil that is used regularly. I can get scratches and bruises on my legs I have no recollection of doing. I’m not sure if I still sleep walk or not. Maybe that’s how it happens. Maybe I’m still just a klutz. That is a definite option. Likely the best and most logical explanation. Sometimes things go on that defy logic. That’s just he way it goes.

When you think about it, there’s a ton of stuff that the nerve bundles control from the waist, down. Things that affect bodily functions. You know, like going pee and knowing when you’re “done”. Yes, embarrassingly, I’ve peed on my hand more that a few times. I’ve learned to just wait patiently and listen. I think I’m done, probably not. Wait a little longer. They also control things that many women take for granted. Like having to do with “adult time” and you know … the Big O. Challenging but not impossible. Patience is a virtue. It’s not just all in a woman’s head. There’s only so much her brain can do to keep her going. Then the physical part has to kick in and finish the job as it were. One can only hope.

Being really open about stuff like this with a partner or significant other can be difficult but if you’re going to be having sex with someone, that level of trust should be there to begin with as well as communication. If they have to ask if you, you know – it’s up to you to let them know what’s what and maybe just how much effort or time is required to get you to your happy place. Drinking can complicate this, believe it or not. Makes things more difficult.

Time is not always your friend but can be a great coach. Because over time you gain the experience you need to be able to deal with this stuff. You can make light of it. That’s okay. You’re human. There’s downs and ups. Hopefully more ups that downs. But if you are down, you have your friends there to laugh at you and help you up. Maybe even hand you a drink to ease the pain. And to all my friends that have witnessed this and been there to pull me back to an upright position, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're priceless. 

Peace & Love

When you have allergies…

When you have allergies, life is and becomes more challenging. Mine happen to be drug allergies. Most stuff I’m just plain old allergic to. Then there’s extra special stuff that really does a number on me.

I have life-threatening (anaphylaxis) allergies to latex (not uncommon), all local anaesthetics (a bit more out there) and tetracycline. The second and third items are a huge problem. Can you get stitches or dental work done without a local? Nope. They have to use a general anaesthetic. Put you to sleep. Maybe never wake up again. And you won’t know because you’re “under”. No more “I love you”. No goodbyes. Super scary stuff. More in a bit.

Tetracycline is another one. In addition to the Hanta virus I had contracted in September of 1993, this stuff damn near killed me. It was a reaction the staff at the Foothills had never seen before. The guys from Infectious Diseases got called in. Let that one sink in. Doctors from Infectious Diseases in a hospital called to see you because no one understands what’s happening. Had I been travelling anywhere? No. Just visiting near Medicine Hat with my boyfriend – seeing his family. No, I hadn't eaten any exotic fruits or vegetables brought in from who-knows-where. Haven’t met anyone new from out of the country, as of late. Endless questions. They were as equally baffled as I was. My body was shutting down.

OMG I hurt so bad. I can’t think properly. My head is pounding. I’m freezing. Please get me another blanket. Only to be told “Sorry sweetie, we can’t do that. We have to bring your temperature down.” I didn’t get it. I was absolutely frozen. How were they supposed to bring my temperature down when I was so damn cold? What I didn’t understand is my temperature was spiking again. 106F to be precise. And it had been doing this for two days already. Or was it three. I honestly can’t remember. A lot of brain cells died during that time. Plus I had a migraine I didn’t know was a migraine. Right side of my face was really swollen. Eye half swollen shut. Really threw them off. Did a CT scan and was inconclusive for intra-cranial swelling. Confusing. But back to the treatment I was about to receive.

They had to cool me down. And quickly. It started with a wash cloth and cold water. It was excruciating. Then came the ice. I thought I knew what pain was because I've had broken bones before. It has nothing on having a high-grade fever and needing to bring it down by being packed in ice. Surrounded by it. Piled on top. I’m sure other patients and their loved ones thought someone was being murdered. I felt like it.

After an hour of this, they gave it a rest. It wasn't getting it down as far as they would like and was hurting me massively. They had to let it cycle down on it’s own. But my temperature was at least down to about 102F now. Not so life-threatening. A couple hours later I was admitted and moved to a room upstairs. The head of internal medicine and his entourage eventually saw me and declared there was nothing wrong with me. In spite of having to have repeated nodules of Ventolen and having to wear an oxygen mask constantly. Yeah, bright one. Not sure if he’s still working or not.

It came to light a few months later what the problem was. Because the two other family members that had gotten ill had their blood work sent to the CDC in Atlanta, it was confirmed as Hanta virus. Why couldn’t I have doctors like they did? There were about 13 cases of Hanta in Alberta that year and I was one of a handful of survivors. I believe eight or nine died that year. I count my blessings. Even having my immune system buggered for years and losing 1/3 of my lung capacity. I develop pneumonia easily. But, I’m still alive to tell this. I’ll take it.

Another brush with death came in the form of lidocaine in 1999. Nope. The 90’s were most definitely not good to me. I had been diagnosed with cancer (cervical) for the first time in January. After a few doctors appointments and me explaining to the doctor doing the “procedure” (it’s called a cone biopsy) I was allergic to novocaine, she called the pharmacy at the hospital and the pharmacist told her lidocaine should be just fine. I had serious doubts. They were not unfounded.

She proceeded to inject my cervix with the monster needle carrying the lidocaine. After several seconds I mentioned my lips and tongue were feeling really numb. I was told it should be fine. Then after several more seconds I told her I really wasn't feeling very well. Then about five or seven seconds after that, everything started closing in. Going grey. My heart was slowing down rapidly. I could barely breathe. My autonomic system was shutting down. It was being paralysed. Then I started having a massive seizure. My heart rate has dropped to about 35 beats per minute and I couldn't even tell you how many breaths I was able to take as I was heading into respirator arrest/paralysis. I was trying to focus on my heartbeat as that's what was pounding in my head amidst the grey.

Super. I’m being paralysed by the local, my body’s reacting badly and the doctor is still injecting me with the stuff! The nurse gets a hold of the situation by pushing the doctor out of the way, removes the syringe and takes off out of the room to get – what I can only guess – is a large dose of Benadryl. This is not going well. Not at all. I can see the doctor out of the corner of my eye and she’s hanging onto the counter she’s backed into like she’s holding the whole building up. The nurse comes back in and snaps at her to help roll me onto my side so she can inject me. With that done it takes several minutes for the seizure to subside. It’s a further 45 minutes before they can move me to a “recovery” room. They wanted me out of there sooner but I couldn't walk and they sure didn't want to call reinforcements in.

I managed to walk out about an hour and a half after this whole episode. That doctor is now in an administrative position.

Latex. Well, that one stems from a furniture manufacturer that used it on the arms and legs of their chairs and being exposed to it like that, becomes a toxic substance your body can’t deal with. I go bright red & can’t breathe – anaphylactic shock. My former doctor diagnosed me as having whooping cough even though I hadn’t been in contact with anyone or place where I could have contracted it and no cases had been reported that year. Brilliant. So, lesson learned. Stay away from latex. This includes balloons which I happen to love.

Fortunately for me these are the worst of it – that I know of. I’m just plain old allergic to almost every antibiotic out there and an antidepressant. I try like hell to take care of myself for obvious reasons. When I have to fill a new prescription at the pharmacy, I always get a long, sideways look from the staff and the third degree from the pharmacist on duty. Yeah, no kidding.

So if you think you’re having a rough day, just remember there’s someone out there fighting for their life in ways we can’t even begin to imagine. And count your lucky stars. I do. Every. Damn. Day.

Peace, Love & Health

Sex & the “D” Word

As many know, over 12 years ago now I broke my back twice and in the same place both times. A paltry three months apart. Shitty. Yes. Life altering. Absolutely. World ending? Not a chance. If anything could have pushed me over the edge to stare the monster called suicide in the face again, it would have been these and a couple more related events.

Let me see. In September 2001, I broke it the first time out hiking. It was in a gorgeous place and did it at the top of the waterfall I was going to photograph from the top down. Cool right? I still got up after and got the shot. I’ll post those another time.

You read that right. I got up after and got the shot. Oh I hurt badly when it happened. I’ve had broken & cracked bones before. Ankle. Collar bone. Shoulder blade. Various bones in hands & feet, ribs (front & back) left cheekbone, right orbital socket. 16+ concussions. Torn the ligaments & tendons in my right knee I don’t know how many times now. Pain is not exactly my friend but it seems to be a constant companion in my life. I’ve learned to accept its’ presence. Did I mention I still had a 3+ hour drive to get back home at the end of my trip two days later? I did. And dog in tow too. Brittney seemed to know I was in bigger trouble than I realised because she was so good.

We’ll step forward two years (after breaking & cracking it in same place L2-L5 a second time, three months later) when I tried to get out of bed one morning and just about couldn’t. I tried to stand and the pain was excruciating. Worse than when it broke previously. What the effing hell is this? What happened? Did I do some sleep something-or-other in the night and hurt myself? Must have. I have no other explanation for it.

So, in unimaginable pain, I still get up and go to work. I'm stubborn that way. Finally get through to my doctors office and book an appointment to get in three or four days later. After two or three visits and not one of them checking me out physically and only giving me scripts for T3’s, I ask her about it. The answer I got was “It’s likely a chronic back problem and you’ll just have to live with it.” Really?!? You’re a medical doctor and that’s the best you’ve got? Needless to say, I found a new one and he was far more helpful in the first two minutes than in the previous several months of seeing my former doc. WTH? Why do we as patients think this is acceptable. It isn’t. I’m also suffering from depression at this point (as if other, previous events in my life weren't enough). I know - shocking, right?

So new doc’s assessment was a ruptured disc at L5/S1. Xrays and MRI confirmed it. My sciatic nerves were not just compressed but being severed as it was a complete failure of the disc. Then the disc between L4 & L5 failed. Gone. By this point I’m in six years and getting regular cortisone injections at the facet joints at L5 & S1. All was well for the first five or six sessions (every six months) then I started noticing a deteriorating pattern: I’d get ill after each session and it was worse than the time before. By the ninth round and last time I went, I’d contracted/developed pneumonia. Assessed as likely viral, antibiotics wouldn’t help. Great - because I’m allergic to almost all of them out there. I can’t afford to get sick as the treatment to make me better could kill me.

So I had to stop taking those. Meanwhile, the spasms that I had in my lower back and glutes were tearing me apart. I never imagined in my wildest nightmares I’d ever be in a position like this. I’d get home at the end of the day, exhausted. My husband was somewhat supportive but at the crux, refused to believe I had any kind of “disability”. My doctors have signed papers I submit to the feds saying otherwise. I’ve tried nerve-blocker meds, anti-depressants (I had an allergic reaction to one and the other is about $150/mo alone) and other things to try and alleviate the daily, soul-sucking pain. Then my male doctor wound up getting suspended and I had to find another one. Awesome. So after a few months, I find one.

A simply ferocious woman. African. Gorgeous. Wonderful & supportive. Willing to work with me and make suggestions for me, switch medications up and try stuff I ask about. Finally hone in on one that has made the most massive difference in my life yet: baclofen. It’s a muscle relaxant. Quad- & paraplegics use it (often in liquid form supplied by pump) to prevent muscle spasms. If you have a muscle like your quad (in your thigh) or calf spasm and you can’t stop it, you run the risk of developing blood clots. It probably goes without saying that organs like the heart, lungs & brain do not do well with blood clots.

By this time I was taking a significantly more active role in my health and lifestyle. Avoid fast food (except Subway – I’ll go for Subway over a lot of stuff), keep moving, cook at home way more often. I went from about 185 lbs to about 145 lbs in three months. I also cut out the cider/wine I used to have each day. That was over two years ago at the writing of this and I've dropped to a healthy 135/140 lbs and been maintaining.

I’ve spoken openly about the “D” word – disability. One thing that I’m sure you’ve noticed is the clear absence of the bit about sex. It’s in the title. Why am I not talking about it? Well here goes.

During all this time, my marriage was deteriorating. No surprise. Chronic/degenerative injuries and pain does that to relationships. When you’re exhausted all the time and hurting so badly you’re in a constant fog, it kinda kills the proverbial mood. Add a spouse that is drinking heavily and it’s a devastating combination.

Well that sucks. No sex for me. Too bad. I actually used to like it. And it’s good for you too. Helps to lower pain levels, boosts the immune system, increases happiness and adds balance to ones life – among other benefits. Long about the time I start making massive health changes for the betterment of me, I decide to throw the baby out with the bath water and ask for a divorce. Not part of the solution, part of the problem - right? As you can imagine, it didn’t go well. So I had to bide my time for a couple years before I can leave.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “there seem to be some details missing here” and you’re right. But it’s not between you and I. It’s between myself & my ex. A few people close in my life know details and that’s more than need to know.

So back to me and sex. It helps make you happy, healthy & balanced so when the new meds are actually making a difference in my life and I’m feeling more alive that I have in years, you can image some of the things going through my mind. Ok. Maybe you can’t - that’s just fine. You have your thoughts and I have mine. To each his/her own. 

At the time of this writing I have a man in my life that fires my engine and has no qualms about my physical situation. He knows I’ll say something if I hurt. I’ve learned to adapt all the other ways I have to move and do things so why not sex. Well, that too. And it works. It’s not what nor where I imagined I’d be in my life 12 or more years ago, but it is my life. I’m not swinging from chandeliers or anything like that but it puts a smile on my face everyone once in a while and keeps me feeling balanced and calm. He may believe he's in charge but we both know I'm the one that has to "control" things, as it were.

For someone with a chronic injury (spinal or otherwise) being made to feel a bit sexy or downright sexually beautiful is something really special. If you’re reading this and have anything like this going on in your life, talk to your doctor. Make sure that it is right for your physical and mental health and if you get the thumbs up, find someone that curls your toes – so to speak. You’ll have to be patient. You think finding a “date” being a “normal” person is tough. Try it with a disability. It can be done. But be open about what’s happening in your life. You don’t want to spring something major on someone. That’ll make them turn tail and run away faster than you can imagine. You don’t have to get into every detail. But like in my case, I’ve been open about my state of being and the nerve & muscle damage I have. Some things I just can’t do. Probably for most regular folks they can’t do them either just due to the sheer gymnastic talents required. But it’d be fun to try… I’m just sayin’.

And for those out there reading this that are whole & wonderful, just because someone has a disability, doesn’t mean you should overlook them. You never know. They could just blow your mind. And change your life for the better.

Peace & Love

Why I Didn't Become a Doctor

I had an idea of what I wanted to do when I was significantly younger. Not be, but do as far as a career. Have I always been a ball-busting over-achiever? Apparently, yes. Back in the day, to get into hospital administration you needed to be a doctor and a lawyer. I thought it would be so cool to do that. Plus, I’ve always loved medicine and law. Perfect place for said over-achiever.

The following is not an easy one to tell nor – I’m sure – read. There are a few graphic details in here that will absolutely upset some people. Read on with caution.

This story is really about why a child’s dreams/aspirations got absolutely dashed to pieces by the thoughtless, careless attitude and actions of an adult – a doctor. I suppose why I try to be so mindful with people today. I remember that painful night so clearly. Too clearly. And far too many of the details too. It was August 23, 1979, and it was the night my mother very suddenly and unexpectedly died, two months before her 41 birthday. I had just turned 14 about three and a half weeks before that. Gutting? Absolutely. There’s this and many other reasons I have such a dark side I talk openly about. Many revolve around and stem from this night.

It was a great, warm day and an equally warm night. Nothing out of the ordinary though. School was going back in in about a week. First time ever it was to start before the long weekend. Why? I don’t remember and it just doesn’t matter at this point.

All the cool girls were getting these shoes by Candies that year. A 3” heeled stiletto clog, basically and I wanted to get a pair. Or at least be able to wear these wedge heels my mother had bought for me in the spring. Bear in mind my age at this juncture. I wanted to hang with the cool kids. I certainly wasn’t one. Too tall, lanky, science nerd and all-around dork. Big one. That was also into sports. Figure that one out. So, what would any intelligent, responsible mother say to her just-turned 14-year-old daughter that thinks it’s okay to wear 3” heels to school and would in no way wear makeup either? Of course she did. She said No.

My mother may have been 5’2” but when she told you to do something - or not do it - you listened to her. No heels for school. My life as a junior high senior super-dork, just started sucking. As far as I saw it anyway. I didn’t know how bad it was about to get. On my way up to my bedroom all pissed off – and after just having the first and last big fight with my mother – I muttered “I hate you” under my breath. I understand getting upset with people – sometimes outright mad. I do it every day I have to drive in this city. I said something else too but I’ll leave that for a bit.

It was around eight at night so I just stayed in my bedroom the rest of the night listening to my radio. Pretty much like any other angst-ridden teen would have done. Not sure when I fell asleep but probably around 10 PM. I used to be a heavy sleeper. When I woke next it was just after midnight – about 12.30 AM. In my mind still Wednesday but technically, it was Thursday. I’ve never been a fan of days that end in “y”. But that’s my problem.

What I woke up to was surreal. Lots of flashing lights. WTH? was going through my mind. Trying to process what I was seeing. A couple fire trucks. I think a police vehicle. An ambulance. The street was lit up with flashing lights and they were all parked outside my home. OMG I needed to see if my folks knew what was happening. I pull on my jeans and step into the hallway only to see a fireman go into my parents bedroom. What the…? I followed him in. I stood there staring at the person on the floor that two firemen/paramedics were working on. It was my mother. I could tell from looking at her – purplish, bloated – she was already dead. What this hell kind of thing is that for a 14 year-old kid to see? I suspect that’s what the fireman I was standing next to realized as well. He ushered me out of there pretty quickly with a gentle, respectful, “I don’t think you should be here”. Too late. You just can’t unsee shit like that. Ever.

Clearly my dad wasn’t in the room they were working on my mother in. I had to find him. Livingroom? No. Kitchen. No. I opened the door to go down to the family room and there he was sitting on the stairs with my younger sister, holding her tightly, both crying. Now there’s no way in hell I could tell him about what I just saw so all I could do is ask him “what’s going on dad?”. He tried explaining they had gone to bed about 10.30 or 11 PM and mother had been feeling a little “off”. Couldn’t get comfortable. I think he said she’s gotten up to go to the bathroom and when she came back to bed, just flopped on it. Totally unlike her. She never flopped anywhere. She sat. She laid down. She curled up. Everything she did was always done with an element of elegance. She most definitely never, ever flopped.

That’s when my dad’s world fell apart. There are details I remember as images and not really words. That’s how I see and remember things. Images. I translate into words. Sometimes that takes substantially longer but it’s how I see and do things. I just works for me. He told me the words. I see how it all happened. He tried to revive her. He was having problems. She wasn’t breathing. He had to leave her to call 911 as the phone was in the kitchen. He didn’t want to wake me or my sister. He was frantic and falling apart. Something was seriously wrong with his soul-mate and he can’t help her. He got through and waited for them to show up. I believe he said it was about 5 minutes or so.

My room was across the hall from my folks bedroom while my sister’s was directly below it. Remember I mentioned I used to be a heavy sleeper? My sister wasn’t as much of one. She was underneath the whole maelstrom the entire time. We sat in the stairwell until the police/fireman told us they were taking her to Rockyview. We followed behind but dad being the non-rule breaker he is, went the speed limit. Even with deserted roads. I’m still amazed by this. But I get it. He had the next two most precious things in his entire world to take care of at this moment and he was not going to treat that recklessly.

When we arrived they were expecting us. They put us into a “family room”. That’s what they called it back in those days. It was really no better than a large closet with vinyl benches attached to opposite walls – not facing the door. Facing one another. As if knowing the pain the other person/people in the room weren’t enough, you had to sit there and stare at them. Another of life’s events you can’t look away from. I have no idea how long we sat there for. My ears were ringing. My heart was pounding. I think I was crying. My dad sat across from me with my sister. I was alone. Then the door opened and everything officially started sliding sideways. There was this doctor standing in the doorway.

Correction. Blocking it. He wouldn’t even come in the room. Didn’t want to be there. There was a nurse standing behind said late 50’s/early 60’s  doctor that clearly wanted in the room before he casually devastated a family. But no. She had a murderous look on her face as he (almost) flippantly announced from the doorway, “I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do. She was basically DOA when she got here. We tried but there was nothing we could do.” And as he turned to leave us in stunned silence, the nurse pushed past him, sat heavily beside me and grabbed me to hug me.

WTH was that? How the hell is that being a kind, caring human being? That was not how my sister and I were raised. You don’t treat people like that. You treat them with Respect. Kindness. Courtesy. Dignity. There was none of that in what he just did to us.

That was when I very hatefully thought, “if that’s what you turn into when you become a doctor, I don’t want any part of it.” Bastard. Ruined everything. My mother was dead – thanks for “trying”. Killed my dreams with your pissy, cavalier attitude. Screw you. (Had the F-word been a part of my lexicon at the time, it would have been the word of the day for that and many, many days to come. But I’ve made up for that now.)

Of course by the time we got home I think it was around 3 or 4 AM. Thursday, August 23, 1979 and everyone knew what had happened that night. OMG did you hear? Gail died. Poor Gerry & the girls. But aside from the weird looks we got from people and the tears from the mothers that now knew two motherless daughters, I don’t remember a lot of help. Pity, yes. Actual help, nope. 

When the autopsy results came out several days later, it was beyond strange and wholly unbelievable. Something out of the “Twilight Zone”. How is it possible for a 40 year-old woman to be 70 on the inside? It was some form of accelerated aging and they couldn’t explain any more than we could try to even wrap our heads around. They just didn’t know. The closest thing to it was progeria. Google it.

Had I gone into medicine – as I had planned before all of this – genetic research, or oncology, would have been my field of choice. Genetic manipulation has the power to do a lot of good. And some horrible things too. But that’s another write & read. Starting school that year was brutal. None of my friends could/would talk to me. I poured myself into my school work. About two weeks in, we had to do our obligatory “what I did this summer”. Any bets on what I wrote about? You’d be partially right.

I touched on the horrible events my family had excruciatingly been ripped through but the one thing no one saw coming, was my plea for anyone in my life to move past the events and treat me like I was a person as opposed to the ghost they seemed to think I was. They did and things slowly improved then deteriorated rapidly toward the end of the school year. My “best-friend” was getting into drugs. And by “drugs” I mean pot. I wanted nothing to do with it and didn’t have anything to do with it. Started doing less and less with her too. Then her “dealer” (another student) came to me one day and told me BFF had told her I was to pay for it. Well, one thing led to another and I called her out and challenged her to a fight after school.

When kids – or adults – fight physically like that, there are no winners. I also remember losing a very cherished necklace I had from early in my childhood when she ripped it off me. I lost a lot between August 1979 & the fall of 1980 and the worst was yet to come. There was a family member that had bullied me from the time I was 3 or 4 and always seemed to find the most opportune time to dig the metaphorical knife into my back every single time. Summer was horrid. Spent part of it at my drunk uncle’s place just north east of Edmonton. He was a piece of work. Loved my aunt – she was the complete opposite of him and a pillar of strength. He wasn’t the bully though. He just made those few weeks with them that much worse.

Remember I said I have a dark side? It was this past years’ events that did me in. Helping dad with the business he and my mother had started just over a year before. Taking care of & “being responsible” for the house. Losing my BFF and being ridiculed over the reasons why. That one person in my family that was born broken and just couldn’t help themselves. They derive pleasure out of other peoples’ pain. Especially if they can cause it. The poking and prodding. Mean comments. Pushing. Shoving. Mental abuse. Physical abuse. 

It all got worse and I hit my apex on the Friday evening of the long weekend, 1980. Too much of dad’s home-made wine and his stash of valium and I just wanted to stop the pain of all of it. It had so completely & desperately shattered me. But, somehow, I survived. Don’t recall all that happened – of course – who would? But I’m still here. A little worse for wear. A ton more cynical. Untrusting. Wary of people and their intentions because how can they be good? Maybe I should have been a cop.

I remember my father making me promise the very next morning to never try that again. My sister and I were the most precious things in the world to him and he would be so completely lost without us. I promised and have kept it. Do I think about it when I feel like I’m hurting beyond repair? Oh hell yes. Will I ever act upon it. I really don’t believe so. Does my doctor ask me every time I see her if I feel like I’m a danger to myself or others? You bet she does. I can honestly say my answer is always “no”. I have so many of my own reasons to be on this planet. Joyful ones. Even if there are other areas in my life I struggle or am struggling with. I have to look beyond the current pain to see other good out there and that it’s not just all about me. If I were to selfishly take that lonely road, it would leave so many broken hearts behind. I just can’t do that to someone.

Remember I said I had said something else that night? This is also a lesson in “be careful of what you wish for” as well. The five words I uttered and never will again were, “I wish you were dead”. Yes. Yes I did. Guess what? I don’t make wishes. I can’t wish for something. I’m so afraid to. Even good ones. The most staggering, life-altering wish ever. So yes, be very careful what you wish for and be very careful on the clarification of said wish. Don’t be afraid to go into details. Things could go horribly wrong if you don’t. But I digress.

If I could thank (in person) the paramedics/firefighters that night for their efforts and the dignity they treated us with, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Sobbing tears and all. It was a horrible night for them too. A young mother dying. Nothing they could do but their best and it still wasn't good enough.

Maybe I might have been a good doctor. But for now, I do what I can to lighten this world and help make folks feel better in that moment. It may be just the thing they need to save their life.

Peace & Love