My new blogs are http://danceofvictory.com and http://dancingsandymorgan.com/.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Monday, January 2, 2012
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Be Sure to Check Out http://crashinthrubarriers.com
I wanted a blog focused on my passion of being a sender of cards. The unique online system of being able to send cards with a few clicks of my mouse has increased my independence 10 fold. Cruise on over to http://crashingthrubarriers.com and find out all about how it has changed my life, as well as my friend Jan's, who also has CP.
Our goal is to give this gift of a communication tool to others.
Our goal is to give this gift of a communication tool to others.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
A Peek from My Upcoming Book
The click of the office door sounded like an explosion to the young mother who waited quietly beside her husband. She jumped slightly in her chair and glanced toward the doctor who entered, shut the door, and briskly walked to his place behind the cherry wood desk.
He sat and folded his hands on top of the worn ink blotter that covered the rich grain of his desk. . his face; a mask – behind which his answers hid. The silence swallowed the mother’s heart. She held her baby closer.
"Alright Doc. Tell us what’s going on," the father, Ray Anderson asked. His fists were clenched by his sides.
"I am sorry, all the tests lead us to cerebral palsy. "
The mother clutched her baby as the news flashed toward her like a lightning bolt in a dark dream. The clock ticked softly. The office walls seemed to close in around them. And then they were frozen in time. March 21, 1949. A grim faced doctor, an angry father, a desperate mother and a baby.
Ray lurched forward in his chair. "Well, what the hell does that mean? That doesn’t tell me anything. I am an accountant, not a doctor. How long before it goes away? How long before she’s normal? She can’t even roll over yet and all those baby books say she’s supposed to be rolling over by now. All she does is lay there!" Ray’s words burst in the room.
"It doesn’t go away. With therapy and treatment, she may be able to move a little. She’ll never be able to sit up on her own. She’ll pretty much remain a vegetable all her life.
Ray’s eyes bulged from his face as if someone was choking him. "Are you telling me my kid is retarded? That just can’t be Doc! We named her after me, for Christ’s sake! She can’t be retarded."
"Ray, now calm down. With the severity of trauma your daughter’s brain, retardation is a huge possibility, along with damage to her motor skills." The doctor leaned back into his leather chair.
"I can give you the names of some good therapists. Another option is to have her institutionalized. I have a few pamphlets that will help you make the decision.
Myrtle gasped at the word "institutionalized".
I don’t need pamphlets! She’ll grow outta this. Come on, Myrtle. I’m due in the office in half an hour." At that Ray jumped to his feet, grabbed his suit coat off the back of the chair and stomped out the door. Myrtle stood to follow.
"I will be here if you would like to give me a call," the doctor said as Myrtle walked out if the office, the tiny bundle pressed to her breast.
"That doctor doesn’t know a rock from a hole in the ground," Ray said as slammed the door shut. "No kid of mine can be retarded!
"She’s not retarded!"
"Exactly! That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s impossible for my kid to have anything wrong with her." Ray backed out of the parking lot and pressed the accelerator. The car shot into the oncoming traffic.
"I think the doctor might be right, Ray. There is something wrong."
"I think it’s your milk, Myrtle. I think you’re not giving her enough to eat. If she were getting more nourishment, she would have the strength t0 move more."
"Ray! She’s nice and round and pink. There’s nothing wrong with my milk." Myrtle felt a tear escape her eye and blow away in the wind as the car sped along toward the paper mill.
Ray’s face grew red as he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. "What are you implying Myrtle? That’s it’s my fault?" The tires chirped as they rounded a curve too quickly.
"Ray! Slow down! I didn’t say it was your fault."
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean, my dear. Everything that as ever gone wrong for the past two year has always somehow been my fault. I work my ass off for you. You know damn well that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be walking the streets somewhere. I think you’d better watch your mouth little-miss-8th –grade-education." His words hissed across the seat and bit her like a snake. "We both know who has the brains in this marriage and it ain’t you. If there is anything wrong with Sandra Raye, we both know who’s fault it is."
The speeding car clipped the curb and bounced back into the middle of the road with a jolt.
Myrtle clamped her mouth closed and stared out at the countryside whizzing by. ‘How did this turn into an attack against him?’ Myrtle thought to herself. There was no way to win, no way to make sense of it. She learned the hard way during the past two years. So she did the only thing she could do; she drew into herself and carried her daughter with her.
There was something wrong with her darling baby girl. She knew the doctor was right. The hollow aching place under her rib cage and quiet voice within her was all she needed in order to understand that her baby was faced with a life of trying to prove she was a life. Silent, screaming tears flooded her eyes, spilled down her soft cheeks and dripped from her chin onto the downy pink blanket wrapped tightly around her little one.
As Myrtle gazed at the sleeping child there was a shift in her soul. She brushed away her tears and whispered, ‘As God is my witness I will not cave in. This will not beat me or my little Sandra. Somehow, someway, we will beat this, whatever it is.’
The car came to a screeching halt in front of the paper mill offices. "Be here at 5:30 sharp," Ray said and he slammed the door behind him.
He sat and folded his hands on top of the worn ink blotter that covered the rich grain of his desk. . his face; a mask – behind which his answers hid. The silence swallowed the mother’s heart. She held her baby closer.
"Alright Doc. Tell us what’s going on," the father, Ray Anderson asked. His fists were clenched by his sides.
"I am sorry, all the tests lead us to cerebral palsy. "
The mother clutched her baby as the news flashed toward her like a lightning bolt in a dark dream. The clock ticked softly. The office walls seemed to close in around them. And then they were frozen in time. March 21, 1949. A grim faced doctor, an angry father, a desperate mother and a baby.
Ray lurched forward in his chair. "Well, what the hell does that mean? That doesn’t tell me anything. I am an accountant, not a doctor. How long before it goes away? How long before she’s normal? She can’t even roll over yet and all those baby books say she’s supposed to be rolling over by now. All she does is lay there!" Ray’s words burst in the room.
"It doesn’t go away. With therapy and treatment, she may be able to move a little. She’ll never be able to sit up on her own. She’ll pretty much remain a vegetable all her life.
Ray’s eyes bulged from his face as if someone was choking him. "Are you telling me my kid is retarded? That just can’t be Doc! We named her after me, for Christ’s sake! She can’t be retarded."
"Ray, now calm down. With the severity of trauma your daughter’s brain, retardation is a huge possibility, along with damage to her motor skills." The doctor leaned back into his leather chair.
"I can give you the names of some good therapists. Another option is to have her institutionalized. I have a few pamphlets that will help you make the decision.
Myrtle gasped at the word "institutionalized".
I don’t need pamphlets! She’ll grow outta this. Come on, Myrtle. I’m due in the office in half an hour." At that Ray jumped to his feet, grabbed his suit coat off the back of the chair and stomped out the door. Myrtle stood to follow.
"I will be here if you would like to give me a call," the doctor said as Myrtle walked out if the office, the tiny bundle pressed to her breast.
"That doctor doesn’t know a rock from a hole in the ground," Ray said as slammed the door shut. "No kid of mine can be retarded!
"She’s not retarded!"
"Exactly! That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s impossible for my kid to have anything wrong with her." Ray backed out of the parking lot and pressed the accelerator. The car shot into the oncoming traffic.
"I think the doctor might be right, Ray. There is something wrong."
"I think it’s your milk, Myrtle. I think you’re not giving her enough to eat. If she were getting more nourishment, she would have the strength t0 move more."
"Ray! She’s nice and round and pink. There’s nothing wrong with my milk." Myrtle felt a tear escape her eye and blow away in the wind as the car sped along toward the paper mill.
Ray’s face grew red as he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. "What are you implying Myrtle? That’s it’s my fault?" The tires chirped as they rounded a curve too quickly.
"Ray! Slow down! I didn’t say it was your fault."
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean, my dear. Everything that as ever gone wrong for the past two year has always somehow been my fault. I work my ass off for you. You know damn well that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be walking the streets somewhere. I think you’d better watch your mouth little-miss-8th –grade-education." His words hissed across the seat and bit her like a snake. "We both know who has the brains in this marriage and it ain’t you. If there is anything wrong with Sandra Raye, we both know who’s fault it is."
The speeding car clipped the curb and bounced back into the middle of the road with a jolt.
Myrtle clamped her mouth closed and stared out at the countryside whizzing by. ‘How did this turn into an attack against him?’ Myrtle thought to herself. There was no way to win, no way to make sense of it. She learned the hard way during the past two years. So she did the only thing she could do; she drew into herself and carried her daughter with her.
There was something wrong with her darling baby girl. She knew the doctor was right. The hollow aching place under her rib cage and quiet voice within her was all she needed in order to understand that her baby was faced with a life of trying to prove she was a life. Silent, screaming tears flooded her eyes, spilled down her soft cheeks and dripped from her chin onto the downy pink blanket wrapped tightly around her little one.
As Myrtle gazed at the sleeping child there was a shift in her soul. She brushed away her tears and whispered, ‘As God is my witness I will not cave in. This will not beat me or my little Sandra. Somehow, someway, we will beat this, whatever it is.’
The car came to a screeching halt in front of the paper mill offices. "Be here at 5:30 sharp," Ray said and he slammed the door behind him.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A Glance of My Life
Born in 1948, I've lived with Cerebral Palsy (CP) since birth, using an electric wheelchair to get around. I currently live with my husband, Rod, in Central Minnesota.
CP is a trauma to the brain, usually at birth, that basically affects motor skills. Its severity depends on how much brain damaged occurred during the trauma. It could be as slight as walking with a limp to living in a completely vegetative state. Me -- I cannot walk, so use a motorized wheelchair. I look drunk because of my involuntary movements (which comes in handy at times when I really am drunk!) My speech sounds like a 45 rpm record (remember those?!) being played at 33 1/3. Other than that I'm pretty normal, whatever that is? I was spared my intelligence, which only 40% of those affected with CP can say. For that, I'm grateful!
I have had the privilege to work with students with disabilities as a teacher's assistant in the St. Paul, MN Schools, teaching the 3 R's and bit of independence. That experience allowed me to be Transition Coordinator with the Metropolitan Center for Independent Living. During that period in my life I wrote several independent living skills teaching manuals for the St. Paul Dept. of Education. I also was awarded the very first Governor's Victory Award in Minnesota for overcoming disability. Winners from each State received their award at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C.
To balance my life of advocating independence for people with disabilities at the MN Capitol and in numerous organizations, I enjoyed square dancing with the Perfect Squares for 18 years. Perfect Squares is an outgoing gregarious group of wheelchair dancers that perform exhibitions in cities throughout the US and Canada.
Having a disability and working for those with disabilities became a 24/7 job after 40years. I left the big City behind to escape a hectic lifestyle and moved to the country. Living life as everyone else, I was still being faithful to my purpose of letting others see me doing everything they did. I even discovered how fun winter could be by joining the local snowmobile club riding behind my husband on snowmobile outings! I served the community as Secretary of the local Lions Club. My term is completed in June 2006, and still remain on the Board in the position of Editor for the newsletter.
Surfing the Internet, I came across Send Out Cards. The system allowed me to send a real card to anyone via the Internet. "Wow, what a find!," I thought and signed up as Distributor right off the bat. No longer did I have to depend on others to assist me buying, writing and mailing cards for me!
I also opened an online downloadable audio book store. Our hectic lifestyle rarely leaves time for relaxing and reading a book, so more people are taking up listening to audio books as they go about everyday tasks. Even music sites like Itunes and eMusic are seeing the market for downloadable audiobooks soar!
The relationship between Send Out Cards is simple. Both are designed to make life easier. With a click of a mouse, one can now send a card and/or listen to a classic novel. My goal it to present both of these as tools that can provide independence and enjoyment to persons find it difficult to write a greeting card or turn a page in a book.
More info on Send Out Cards and AudioBooks Warehouse can be for at http://MakeItHappenOnline.net/
CP is a trauma to the brain, usually at birth, that basically affects motor skills. Its severity depends on how much brain damaged occurred during the trauma. It could be as slight as walking with a limp to living in a completely vegetative state. Me -- I cannot walk, so use a motorized wheelchair. I look drunk because of my involuntary movements (which comes in handy at times when I really am drunk!) My speech sounds like a 45 rpm record (remember those?!) being played at 33 1/3. Other than that I'm pretty normal, whatever that is? I was spared my intelligence, which only 40% of those affected with CP can say. For that, I'm grateful!
I have had the privilege to work with students with disabilities as a teacher's assistant in the St. Paul, MN Schools, teaching the 3 R's and bit of independence. That experience allowed me to be Transition Coordinator with the Metropolitan Center for Independent Living. During that period in my life I wrote several independent living skills teaching manuals for the St. Paul Dept. of Education. I also was awarded the very first Governor's Victory Award in Minnesota for overcoming disability. Winners from each State received their award at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C.
To balance my life of advocating independence for people with disabilities at the MN Capitol and in numerous organizations, I enjoyed square dancing with the Perfect Squares for 18 years. Perfect Squares is an outgoing gregarious group of wheelchair dancers that perform exhibitions in cities throughout the US and Canada.
Having a disability and working for those with disabilities became a 24/7 job after 40years. I left the big City behind to escape a hectic lifestyle and moved to the country. Living life as everyone else, I was still being faithful to my purpose of letting others see me doing everything they did. I even discovered how fun winter could be by joining the local snowmobile club riding behind my husband on snowmobile outings! I served the community as Secretary of the local Lions Club. My term is completed in June 2006, and still remain on the Board in the position of Editor for the newsletter.
Surfing the Internet, I came across Send Out Cards. The system allowed me to send a real card to anyone via the Internet. "Wow, what a find!," I thought and signed up as Distributor right off the bat. No longer did I have to depend on others to assist me buying, writing and mailing cards for me!
I also opened an online downloadable audio book store. Our hectic lifestyle rarely leaves time for relaxing and reading a book, so more people are taking up listening to audio books as they go about everyday tasks. Even music sites like Itunes and eMusic are seeing the market for downloadable audiobooks soar!
The relationship between Send Out Cards is simple. Both are designed to make life easier. With a click of a mouse, one can now send a card and/or listen to a classic novel. My goal it to present both of these as tools that can provide independence and enjoyment to persons find it difficult to write a greeting card or turn a page in a book.
More info on Send Out Cards and AudioBooks Warehouse can be for at http://MakeItHappenOnline.net/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
