A dear friend who supported me with computer modifications at my last school has read the posted part of my book. He encouraged me to post a second composition of my ramblings. He also encouraged me to try to publish; he even knew how to get it published with help from Amazon. Dan the Man comes through again.
Multiple Sclerosis. These words are a wake up call to me. Growing up in the midst of a DDT infected Louisiana cotton field never caused me concern. Aren't I infallible? I cannot be affected by that poison. Was environment a cause for disease? It's more a result of environment, not genetics.
My sweet sister was diagnosed with MS when she was pregnant with her second child. She was taking a sinful pan of her amazing fudge to a friend. As she navigated down a snowy hill, her vision disappeared. Why did this happen to her? I never dreamed that this could ever be a result of MS. I was sure that she would find out what was the cause and be healed. After all, her husband is a brilliant opthomologist. It was discovered that this blindness was a result of MS. How could a disease like this rear it's evil head in the body of my sister? I never considered the personal possibilities. I should have.
In 1988, I felt the first symptoms of MS. I stumbled and had difficulty with my motor skills. I have never been a person with the grace of a ballerina. Our two amazing daughters did not need a mom who could not be a part of their active normal world. All my research suggested that MS is not a disease of heredity. It can't be. We have two precious and perfect daughters. I cannot be the contributor of any difficulties in their lives. I went to a neurologist who ran the typical tests. I was fitted with what was a reminder of an aviator's helmet. For several minutes - or was it hours - I watched whirling shapes and images. Then I got the "privilege" of being placed in what felt like a toilet paper tube for the first of many MRIs. I didn't fight the MRI too much. After all, I could now prove that really had a brain! The neurologist read all the information gathered from these tests picturing what was wrong. I went to his office to hear his analysis. I do not remember much except his giving me the pamphlet: Living with Multiple Sclerosis. Was that an evil joke? How does one live with MS? I could will this away. Mind over matter was my philosophy of life. I was not given the option of any medications to strengthen my body to fight this enemy. It was medical protocol to not diagnosis MS until the patient has two episodes of classic MS.
Thank goodness neurologists are now proactive.
Writing this part of my journey gives me a sense of freedom. I have been encouraged to grieve over having MS. No one died. But I guess, my life is seriously affected by MS. My life is not over; it is just different from my expectations.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Bitter sweet
Today is a flooding me with memories - memories of the staff members at my last school. I was invited to a breakfast and celebration at a local restaurant with my friends from my last school. I was greeted warmly by special friends. Matt is a man I consider my adopted son. He is an amazing friend, baseball coach, English teacher, and father. Ryan is his young daughter. She is a blessed little girl. Friends are leaving the school for other opportunities. So many are real spirits of love and caring. They have been there for me, expecting nothing in return. I will be grateful to have been a part of their journey.
After the breakfast, some very dear friends convinced me to go to the annual "Book Signing" for staff that will not return next school year. The school superintendent spends a great deal of time selecting a book for each "retiree" - one that has personal meaning for each. The occasion is one of thanks and goodbyes. I am sorry I cannot add visuals to the description of this tender day. I probably am the only person alive without a digital camera or a camera on my cell phone.
Leaving school should have been more difficult. But, I know there are other paths I need to travel. However, the aspect of the school I will miss the most are the many students that I was able to meet and to see the amazing adults they are becoming. So many come to mind - Sarah, Chad, Laura, Dani, Josh, Amber, Megan, Chuck, Zac, Taylor, and Kyle. Kyle is a young man who made me have a new appreciation of young people.
When Kyle was in my class several years ago, it was apparent to me that this young man was trying to hide his true abilities. His heart is tender; his mind is eager; his physical abilities and work ethic are unmatched. Kyle was the typical teen aged young man. He had many friends. He played football with a vengeance. He drove his parents to distraction at times. But, Kyle above all is my "knight in shining armor". After one of my exacerbations, I had difficulty driving for about a month. This young man told me that he wanted to drive me to and from school. He would come to be my driver to school at about 6:15 AM. He and his dad would load me - no easy task - in my van. Kyle would then drive me to school. After school and football practice, I would be returned home. Kyle wanted his "chore" kept a secret. He is very humble. His kindnesses did not go unnoticed. Whenever I hear others rant and rave about today's teens, I want them to know about my "kids"; they are amazing young adults - not perfect but honest and "real".
It does not make an adult weak to accept help from a young person. Say "Thank you"; this utterance is such simple and yet powerful words.
After the breakfast, some very dear friends convinced me to go to the annual "Book Signing" for staff that will not return next school year. The school superintendent spends a great deal of time selecting a book for each "retiree" - one that has personal meaning for each. The occasion is one of thanks and goodbyes. I am sorry I cannot add visuals to the description of this tender day. I probably am the only person alive without a digital camera or a camera on my cell phone.
Leaving school should have been more difficult. But, I know there are other paths I need to travel. However, the aspect of the school I will miss the most are the many students that I was able to meet and to see the amazing adults they are becoming. So many come to mind - Sarah, Chad, Laura, Dani, Josh, Amber, Megan, Chuck, Zac, Taylor, and Kyle. Kyle is a young man who made me have a new appreciation of young people.
When Kyle was in my class several years ago, it was apparent to me that this young man was trying to hide his true abilities. His heart is tender; his mind is eager; his physical abilities and work ethic are unmatched. Kyle was the typical teen aged young man. He had many friends. He played football with a vengeance. He drove his parents to distraction at times. But, Kyle above all is my "knight in shining armor". After one of my exacerbations, I had difficulty driving for about a month. This young man told me that he wanted to drive me to and from school. He would come to be my driver to school at about 6:15 AM. He and his dad would load me - no easy task - in my van. Kyle would then drive me to school. After school and football practice, I would be returned home. Kyle wanted his "chore" kept a secret. He is very humble. His kindnesses did not go unnoticed. Whenever I hear others rant and rave about today's teens, I want them to know about my "kids"; they are amazing young adults - not perfect but honest and "real".
It does not make an adult weak to accept help from a young person. Say "Thank you"; this utterance is such simple and yet powerful words.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Disability or Ability
I was watching Ellen today. The intriguing guest was a twenty year old, Patrick Henry Hughes. He was unable to walk and was blind from birth. Both of these conditions sometimes are seen as disabilities. Patrick noted that he viewed both as abilities. Without them, he stated that he would not be the person he was. Because he was blind literally, he did not have any preconceived picture of a person. Size, race, and ethnicity did not affect his perception of a person. Even though Patrick had no formal musical training and struggled because of the maneuverability of his arms, he played the piano beautifully and sang like an angel. He played completely by just hearing the notes. What an amazing inspiration he was.
Part of my "novel"
I promised to include in my posts part of my novel. An exerpt follows:
How did I end up here? What am I to learn? My grandfather taught by example: God will never give me more than I can handle without giving me an escape from the problem. I have got to find "the window". It's a weird place. I am at a rehabilitation facility after yet another exacerbation of my MS. I was sent to the hospital initially by a caregiver who evaluated me to have a low blood pressure and a even lower body temperature. The ambulance took me to a local hospital. I am all alone and scared. The blood results showed a multitude of problems: low thyroid, anemia, heart concerns, low B12, low blood sugar. Generally, I was a mess. After stabilizing me, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility. My first roommate was an older very sweet lady.
My roommate had packed all her belongings and was so excited to go "home". She was waiting for her daughters to take her home. They never came. Why? She was so down, but she went on to bed. During the night, I heard her thrashing around. This was unusual. I called out to her; no answer. She continued to thrash around, so I pushed the call button to have someone check on her. After what seemed like hours, a CNA came in. I was told to not worry; she was just having a bad dream. The unrest continued. I saw her outstretched frail arm through the curtain that divided our room. Suddenly, there was a crash. All of the things on her bedside table hit the floor. I pushed the call button again. Someone finally came into our room after I yelled out for help. Observing all the commotion scared me. No one seemed to know what to do. An RN finally came in. She uttered a string of expletives. Apparently, my roommate was having a seizure. She was immediately given an injection to stop the seizure. It was only after the injection was it determined that she was a diabetic; her blood sugar was dangerously low. An ambulance was summoned. The paramedics came quickly. I still remember the chaos. My roommate was whisked away. The paramedics were snickering. When I asked them to explain the situation, I was told that the anti-seizure injection was the worst thing to do. Her diabetes should have been documented in her chart, and the sugar level should have been checked first. I still remember one paramedic telling me the lack of correct treatment was not unusual; I was told to be assertive about my treatment. This warning was not the last time a medical team member uttered these words. Was this the result of being old?
My first roommate never returned. The lost daughters appeared one day to retrieve my roommate's possessions. They did tell me that she survived, and she was going to a new facility. That same morning, the nurse practitioner came in to evaluate me. He was very caring and professional; I was relieved. He said that not many residents had the potential for leaving this facility. He encouraged me to fight. I soon discovered what he meant.
I became the mouthpiece for those who couldn't or wouldn't intervene in their treatment.
Even though this attempt at a novel will probably never be published; just putting the words on paper is therapeutic.
How did I end up here? What am I to learn? My grandfather taught by example: God will never give me more than I can handle without giving me an escape from the problem. I have got to find "the window". It's a weird place. I am at a rehabilitation facility after yet another exacerbation of my MS. I was sent to the hospital initially by a caregiver who evaluated me to have a low blood pressure and a even lower body temperature. The ambulance took me to a local hospital. I am all alone and scared. The blood results showed a multitude of problems: low thyroid, anemia, heart concerns, low B12, low blood sugar. Generally, I was a mess. After stabilizing me, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility. My first roommate was an older very sweet lady.
My roommate had packed all her belongings and was so excited to go "home". She was waiting for her daughters to take her home. They never came. Why? She was so down, but she went on to bed. During the night, I heard her thrashing around. This was unusual. I called out to her; no answer. She continued to thrash around, so I pushed the call button to have someone check on her. After what seemed like hours, a CNA came in. I was told to not worry; she was just having a bad dream. The unrest continued. I saw her outstretched frail arm through the curtain that divided our room. Suddenly, there was a crash. All of the things on her bedside table hit the floor. I pushed the call button again. Someone finally came into our room after I yelled out for help. Observing all the commotion scared me. No one seemed to know what to do. An RN finally came in. She uttered a string of expletives. Apparently, my roommate was having a seizure. She was immediately given an injection to stop the seizure. It was only after the injection was it determined that she was a diabetic; her blood sugar was dangerously low. An ambulance was summoned. The paramedics came quickly. I still remember the chaos. My roommate was whisked away. The paramedics were snickering. When I asked them to explain the situation, I was told that the anti-seizure injection was the worst thing to do. Her diabetes should have been documented in her chart, and the sugar level should have been checked first. I still remember one paramedic telling me the lack of correct treatment was not unusual; I was told to be assertive about my treatment. This warning was not the last time a medical team member uttered these words. Was this the result of being old?
My first roommate never returned. The lost daughters appeared one day to retrieve my roommate's possessions. They did tell me that she survived, and she was going to a new facility. That same morning, the nurse practitioner came in to evaluate me. He was very caring and professional; I was relieved. He said that not many residents had the potential for leaving this facility. He encouraged me to fight. I soon discovered what he meant.
I became the mouthpiece for those who couldn't or wouldn't intervene in their treatment.
Even though this attempt at a novel will probably never be published; just putting the words on paper is therapeutic.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Can I write a book??
Since I have time on my hands, I have decided to attempt to fill the hours I had spent grading essays writing a book. Having people view you as "old" is no fun. "Growing old" in this society is the "pits". I have always been a bit outspoken if I felt passionate about something. Being the mouthpiece for those less willing to speak out is a real joy for me.
My book already has a title: If the Door Closes, Look for a Window. The adventures I have experienced could be an Academy Award winning movie. As our girls were growing up, the stories are endless. Slipping and sliding in spilled bacon grease, catching Charlene, and begging to be disciplined after a difficult time at church are only a few. I will try to protect my family by not disclosing too many details.
The experience of surviving the many days spent in rehabilitation over the last ten years after bad episodes of MS must have some valid purpose. It is amazing what one can learn about human nature in a rehabilitation facility. Some experiences were incredible. However, some were helpful in gathering material for my book. I have learned the hard way that acceptance of a bad situation is not forced upon someone. Standing up and not being afraid is a learned skill. Having the spirit of bucking the system is empowering.
My book already has a title: If the Door Closes, Look for a Window. The adventures I have experienced could be an Academy Award winning movie. As our girls were growing up, the stories are endless. Slipping and sliding in spilled bacon grease, catching Charlene, and begging to be disciplined after a difficult time at church are only a few. I will try to protect my family by not disclosing too many details.
The experience of surviving the many days spent in rehabilitation over the last ten years after bad episodes of MS must have some valid purpose. It is amazing what one can learn about human nature in a rehabilitation facility. Some experiences were incredible. However, some were helpful in gathering material for my book. I have learned the hard way that acceptance of a bad situation is not forced upon someone. Standing up and not being afraid is a learned skill. Having the spirit of bucking the system is empowering.
Welcome to Mrs. H's attempt to blog
I have taught many students during my time in the classroom. Each year's students presented new challenges, but they all shared the same desire for acceptance, fairness, compassion, and caring. Even though MS made teaching physically difficult, I always felt - and still do - that I could contribute something to the lives of my "kids". Life is just different in retirement. I may have a body that some days does not work, but I still have much to share. I want to keep in touch with my ex-students, so blogging may give me that ability. I still care.
PS: MS makes my typing full of errors. (That may only be an excuse for my poor spelling. I am sure my first grade teacher would be horrified. Sorry, Mrs. Compton.)
PS: MS makes my typing full of errors. (That may only be an excuse for my poor spelling. I am sure my first grade teacher would be horrified. Sorry, Mrs. Compton.)
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