People with MS and Cerebral Palsy Can Be Gay

My Gaydar rarely fails me. Geri Jewell, actress and comedienne with CP (she was on The Facts of Life) has come out. Yea!

Making Caregivers Aware. Generation Gap in Accepting Wheel Chairs

Two years ago my partner and I had to move into an assisted living home. The facility also is a "retirement community," but there is no golf course or swimming pool, no, this is a neighborhood stopping place between a fully lived life and a nursing home or hospital before we depart. Everyone who lives here knows the truth, but some remain in denial. We all do our best to make the days fun and to not dwell on why we are here: We could not live on our own safely. We needed help.

Now I have written about how, after the initial shock of seeing two YOUNG, healthy looking people in wheel chairs move into their community, we were accepted with open arms and hearts. That has been the case up to a point. Some people here look down on us. I have heard many accounts of such treatment from those with hidden disabilities, and I read blogs; but, I have never personally experienced such discrimination based on one thing--my wheel chair.

The book about multiple sclerosis, which has a story I penned, sits in our library here, and I am used to providing "MS Awareness," though after two years of telling some of the same people why I can not do this or that, and taking digs about how I should be able to shuffle cards at my age, I am getting fed up. It is hard, because I must tell myself these people are from our greatest generation and their time is short, though I have little doubt some will outlive me, and they mean no harm. But, as I say, my fuse runs shorter each year. I have a traditional Aries/Irish temper, but I pride myself on mastering it. Inside I shout, "Stop pushing me!"

My partner came home yesterday and she had been waiting on the elevator on her way to the dining room. A group started forming since it is a busy time for the elevator. One of our caregivers was pushing another customer in her wheel chair, when the rest of the group decided to take the stairs while grumbling about waiting. My partner commented that was a good idea and she would do it if she could. Our caregiver says to the group, "She can walk. She can take the stairs," and laughs.

Thanks a lot, caregiver, two years of "awareness" down the drain in one moment.

While it is true my partner can walk short distances on a good day, and walks about our apartment (pointed out to her by a nosy neighbor one day when he saw through his window her exercising, and of course few people can tell us apart, both young females in power chairs, so I was also told "I saw you walk!" as though we are deceiving people, for what reason I can't imagine--a generational thing.) she needs a power chair to get around our rather large complex.

So, while partner was bothered by the damage done, she wanted to just forget it. Well, now, you, my readers, know I can't do that. I won't.

This morning I told the caregiver to sit down. She is from Kenya, as many of them are. Her grasp of English leaves something to be desired.

"I want to talk to you. Do you know what discrimination is?" Her eyes go blank and finally she says, "No." I touch her arm, then mine.

"In this country people may discriminate against you because your skin color is dark, while mine is light. Do you know this?"

"No."

"People in the United States who are African American, who have brown skin, have a history, you know, slavery?" (She shakes her head "yes.") "And just because of this (I touch her arm again) people judge you and they can discriminate. Here, people discriminate against Karenlee and me because of this." (I touch my power chair as I had touched her arm. She shows shock on her face as she listens intently.) "Older people in this country have more feelings of discrimination , we have had to deal with this from them here, we are young and they look at us and think: what business do they have here, if I only had their youth I would NEVER use a wheel chair, they are weak. they could walk if they just tried hard enough." The caregiver's mouth drops open and I can tell she is beginning to understand where I am going.

Then I explain how the older generation sees canes and walkers as signs of weakness. I say they will go without even if it means they will fall and end up in a nursing home for the rest of their days. "They are afraid," I tell her, "afraid that any sign of weakness and their family who sent them here will send them to a worse place. Many believe this is temporary. Karenlee and I accept our conditions and we have learned to live with joy, not fear. You made a comment yesterday about Karenlee in front of residents here and..." She interrupts me.

She tells me she remembers and she was wrong to say anything. She loves us and would never harm us. "I am so sorry. I will tell Karenlee how sorry I am. I didn't understand. I understand now how Mabel so angry every time she sees the name tag on her table. You make me understand this. She says every day, "Why do they have to put this here? I KNOW where I sit!" (All the seats in the dining room have names on them.) Thank you for telling me this. I didn't know. I am so sorry, so sorry in my heart."

I hold up my hand to stop her. "I will tell you my life philosophy, don't tell me you are sorry with words. Just don't do it again. Say it with your actions. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I will NEVER do that again. And, Diane, I do that to others, I will stop. I didn't realize, now I do. Thank you for telling me."

"Okay, I knew you meant no harm."

With that we finished our morning hour together. I see that the generational gap will suck us in, power chairs and all, as time goes on, but I am used to giving "awareness" speeches. And I would be lying if I didn't say that on many occasions I am fed up.

Such is life with a disability, with an invisible illness.

Played My Heart to the Beat--Adele

What The Hemp Happened to Miss Kitty on Gunsmoke?

Birds are chirping outside my windows. It is 6AM and dark. It is Winter. It is cold. WTF?



Oh, I did it again. I cursed and/or cussed. Using an abbreviation, OMG, doesn't make it any cleaner. I am so sick of cussing. I think I have ramped it up since my cussing Aunt Violet died, but that don't make it right. It just ain't, Matthew! Uh-oh, now I am using improper English--thanks Gunsmoke and Festus.



Speaking of Gunsmoke, what happened to Miss Kitty? All of a sudden she is no longer at her saloon and some old woman is there! And here is the Twilight Zone moment: Everyone acts like nothing has changed! The love of Matt's life, almost twenty years and puff! Gone.
So, naturally I had to go to the WWW and find out where she went! Pitiful.

The actress who played Miss Kitty, Amanda Blake, died years ago at the age of SIXTY! (I mean, when was she ever not 60?)

Course I started watching Gunsmoke last year and all the episodes are 1974, in fact, I apparently JUST watched the last one made on Friday! How is this fair? Life is so not fair. Anyway, Amanda didn't want to do, refused to do the script about Miss Kitty being raped and left to die in the desert. The show's brilliant staff (NOT) told her do it or hit the road, yes, after almost 20 years, and she HIT IT!

Then, the genius (not) network decided Gunsmoke was not reaching the demographics they wanted (uh, sorry, people like me) and replaced it with The Rookies, which lasted a few seasons. Gunsmoke was still in the top ten most watched shows at the time! Drat my youthful distaste for old 50-somethings playing cowboys---I basically whacked my future self. Probably most of the bad shows, crummy food, and cheaply made products can be blamed on me. Sorry, me.

Where was I? Oh yes, Amanda Blake died at 60 from mouth cancer, though her death certificate lists the immediate cause as cardiopulmonary arrest due to liver failure and CMV hepatitis, but she was a long time big smoker who, after getting cancer, went on attack of the cigarettes industries, testifying in congress.

She was married and divorced four times (my gaydar is on alert), started PAWS with her funding, and when she first was "discovered," they called her the next Greer Garson...but Gunsmoke came along and the rest is TV history. I guess back then, in the olden days, like Darrin on Bewitched, just switching actors without fanfare was deemed okay. Sigh.

The good news is I think Gunsmoke will now have to start reruns from the beginning and those are always the best! So, my point is: we, as the new civilized society we have decided to be, need to stop cursing so much. If Kitty and Matt never did it, her in a saloon and him getting shot by mean ol' cowboys, then we can at least be as language-civil as we thought we once were.

***This post has absolutely nothing to do with Sarah Palin calling President Obama's "Winning the Future" goal: WTF. "...it sure had a lot of WTF moments..." Sarah Palin said of Obama's speech.

How Seattle Does Snow

Here is a snow ball sitting on my power chair arm. Brave partner went out onto our balcony during the last big (a few inches, gone by next day) snow. This is about as good as it gets in Seattle. I do enjoy watching all the snow on TV, but I also know how difficult it can make your day. Even the NYC schools were closed!

Nowadays, I only have fond memories of big snows, like building igloos and having snowball fights and my brother trying to drown me under a pile of snow when I was about 4. He hated me.

In Seattle, the natives carry umbrellas during snow. UMBRELLAS! I still struggle with not laughing at them, but why now an umbrella? Keeps snow off them, right? But, check this out: in the rain they rarely carry umbrellas! Well, when in Rome.

Anyway, keep warm all my snowy readers. Spring is around the corner! (Right.)

The Power of Aunts

What good are aunts? In my life, it is impossible to imagine growing up without them. You can read all about my great-aunt Violet throughout my blog, her influence on my early years, but I have not mentioned the influence of her longtime companion, Ivah. That is my failure. Ivah had a great influence on my life.

Aunt Vi and Ivah owned the house I lived in from birth to age 10. My mom, and 2 older brothers lived in a nice sized apt. on the lower floor. Aunt Vi and Ivah lived with Ivah's elderly widowed mother, Lane, on the entire large top floor.

Since my mom's husband divorced her for his mistress shortly after my birth, my mom was in a pickle with no job, 2 boys 7, 8, and a baby. Aunt Vi helped with money and food. She was not wealthy, in fact she worked as a retail clerk all her life, always at the same department store Ivah worked at. Two incomes, no kids, there was enough extra to help family. Lane was a third owner in the house, at least she always paid her share of mortgage, utilities, and food. A newborn in the mix was great fun for the three women. They were happy to help out.

Ivah bought a crib and placed it in her bedroom, just for me. Lane babysat when Mom looked for and found a job as a typist. As a baby, I lacked for nothing. The women provided me with constant attention. "Look, Violet, " Ivah loved to joke as she would hold me up after a diaper changing, "Something got cracked!" This joke made them both laugh. Don't ask me how, but I got the joke.

Whenever they took car trips, I got to join them. When I started walking, and I started early, Ivah liked to call me, "Sister." Once at a grocery, Maloney's, Ivah called out to the wondering off Diane, "Sister!" Two nuns were standing inches from me and they both turned around. That made for a laughter-filled car ride home, and the story would be repeated many times.

At some point (all this took place before age 5) there became concern for my soul. I'm pretty sure Lane started it. Lane's father was a Lutheran preacher and Lane's Bible was never far from her side. She showed a displeased face when I wanted to drive like Aunt Vi, wear Ivah's cool manly jacket, you get the picture. I once overheard her scolding them that they better watch how they act around me. I wondered what she was so worked up about. Anyway, soon after, Ivah started walking me to her Lutheran church a few blocks away, every Sunday.

My mom was not big on church-going. She was tired after working all week and caring for kids after work, plus none of her kids liked to go and miss Sunday fun outside playing with friends. So my soul was left in the hands of Ivah, since Aunt Vi was mostly attending FOR Ivah (Vi was raised Baptist) and missed a Sunday when she felt like it. Walking to church with Ivah was fun, especially because she gave me root beer life-savers. Anybody ever heard of them? I can't find any mention on line...)

The Lutheran preacher was a humdinger. I called him "the screaming preacher," which the adults found hilarious. I listened intently. Ivah and I would talk about his sermons on the walk home. Ivah had a sweet, soft voice, rosy cheeks that plumped when she smiled. Her eyes usually closed a bit when she smiled and she was never cross. Often she would sigh at Aunt Vi and say, "Violet!" But that only served to make Aunt Vi smile and it was their dance.

Ivah played with me whenever I asked. She had a tin box full of buttons and I loved looking at them--so many! She also played games with me: CandyLand, "I Spy." "Add," and many others that she made up. My favorite was "Add." Ivah would call out numbers "4+2+3-2-1+3..." and so on, while I listened and then came up with the right answer. This impressed the adults so much that I became many an evening's parlor trick. "Faster, faster!" I would say. Great fun.

Then Ivah started teaching me boxed games. One was 4 or 5 flat, transparent levels that you screwed on top of each other and your chips had to make 5 in a row, while your opponet defending. I won a lot and this was broadcast to the adults as well. Come to think of it, it sounds very much like the game I play at my retirement home, Sequence, but without the levels. Hmmm. Anyone familiar with that game Ivah and I played? I can't think of the name of it.

Lane read to me almost every day, but Ivah suggested I tell my own stories. Being verbal, or as my mom would say, "She never shuts up!" right before threatening to comb my hair which sent me racing upstairs on all fours, I quite enjoyed telling stories---just like the screaming preacher did. Then Ivah suggested I make my own books. That was fun too.

Ivah let me play mailman, where I would collect clothes line pins as if they were mail, and the bag my mailbag. (Didn't hurt that it helped speed up her laundry work.) Fireman was great fun! I held the life saving bucket as Ivah climbed the ladder to the tall building and gently tossed down the survivors (cherries from their cherry tree in the back yard.)

Well, you get the idea. For a woman with no children, Ivah had a great ability to make teaching one big game. Obviously, I did not need or attend "pre-school."

I never thanked Ivah properly for all she did for me. My loss.

Ivah, those lilacs are for you.

Kids are All Right but Movie is All Wrong

Te Oscar nominations are out and I just have say: "The Kid's Are All Right" ??? Best picture??? SERIOUSLY? In my opinion one of the worst movies I ever saw. Two lesbians have kids, kids grow up and find sperm donor, sperm donor has sex with the one lesbian and whole family is upset. HUH?? yeah, that happens a lot. Stale performances from good actors, but boring as Hell. (And the lead actors also nominated!! UGH) I just don't get it.

"The King's Speech" in a blow-out.

Oprah and My Half Sibling Secrets

Regular blog readers already know most of this. I have a couple of half sisters and a half brother. They grew up just blocks from me and at one point two of the girls went to same school I was in. All I know about the girls was that the one who was 2 years older than me (yep) was mean to me, nasty comments, in elementary school. I heard she later got pregnant in middle school and was into drugs. The boy went to the High School that my mother attended and he made a name for himself as a football player there. (As the stories told from my nieces who also went there. I wonder if they ever knew their grandmother graduated from there with straight A's. Yeah, in my brother's divorce his side of the family disappeared. Such is life.)

Have I ever wanted to meet them? No. Know them? No. And I am pretty certain the reverse is true.

Yesterday's big Oprah-secret moment was sweet and good for Oprah and her newly found half sister and her new nieces and nephews, but not every family wants to know. While I have occasionally wondered what drove my father away, and why a man would make two women believe he loved (emotionally and sexually) only them, my sperm donor, er, father, explained that to me by his actions throughout his life. I doubt that his 2nd family children know about his nasty escapades as they were growing up, and I hope they have only fond memories of the bas, er, man. (Somebody should, right?)

But knowing your half-siblings is not always hugs and happy-tears. It all depends on circumstances.

The only interest I would have is about their health, you know? My sperm, er, father, spent some time in Europe during the war (I am told--who knows?) and I probably have several half-siblings over there too. Now THAT might be interesting.

Blame it on Socialists! Seattle Cop Speaks Out.

How sad it is that when I look at the drawing above, I think of Seattle police officers attacking innocent citizens. Unfortunately, that kind of attack has been happening too often lately.



Oh, yes, it happens everywhere and there are good cops and bad cops, like good cashiers and bad ones, but we don't put our lives in the hands of cashiers, we don't ask them to protect us. The police are badged to do what we would if we could: stop law breakers, protect people and property, and save lives.



We give them guns, tasers, clubs to do this, and fast cars. Like preparing a cow or turkey for our dinner table, we leave any bloodshed outside of our cushy lives. There are also those among us who are too mentally unstable to carry weapons around, and too prejudiced. In my cool, intelligent, love-one-another, city of Seattle, the line between has been blurred.



Police knock down and stomp on a Mexican male, yelling racial slurs at him, 5-1. Turns out it got on tape, the man was completely innocent, and the good people of Seattle were very upset. The police dept. did their own investigation and found no wrong.



Now a Native American wood-carving walking down the sidewalk is shot four times in the back, because he was carrying a knife and a police officer tells him to drop it, waits 4 or 5 seconds, then guns him down when the knife is not dropped. (The officer says he felt threatened. The knife was found not even open, on the ground.)



My TV is always on to a news channel, muted, but I don't want to miss anything, and on the day it happened the news broke from a helicopter. I saw the scene, MANY police cars, downtown Seattle, tall buildings all around, yellow tape closing off a LARGE area. Then I hear one man is dead, no one else involved. OK, so why such a shut down of the area? I spoke out loud to my partner, "Some cop just did something wrong. See, how they are closing off any possible witnesses?"



Too late though, as building office workers were walking about and looking out their windows. That trigger-happy cop was busted big time. Within a minute of my un-muting, a passerby said the man was just walking by and the cop shot him in the back. Another passerby, caught on the cops dashboard camera, screams out, "Why did you do that? He wasn't doing anything!?"



The Native American was well known in Seattle for the hand-carved totem poles he sold at a tourist attraction here. He drank too much, spent most nights in a mission, but he was loved by his family, who were furious over the murder. (Is it not murder? Manslaughter? Death by cop? What?) The Seattle police dept. again held an investigation and found that the officer did nothing wrong. By now, Seattle citizens had had enough. The first innocent man was encouraged to charge a civil suit against the SPD and the Native Americans are waiting the results of an inquest.



Today in the police union paper, an officer writes an article where he criticises Seattle's race and social justice initiative, which includes that officers take classes on social profiling.

"Social justice is a Socialist scheme that judges people, not as individuals but by their race, ethnicity and socio-economic status." He continues his thought, "...a liberal after my money in taxes may be my opponent, but a Socialist attacking the Constitution and my liberty is my enemy."

Wow, talk about some anger issues. Did this officer pass the psychological screening test? "...my liberty...?" HIS liberty is attacked by supporting social justice? Can't you just see this guy heading up McCarthyism? His logic fits right in. It certainly fits in somewhere, but not in MY city! Not in Seattle.

See the one figure above who is raising a hand to stop the assault? That is what I expect from other officers. I know they consider themselves one big family, but especially in families we must step up to out own when they are hurting others. That is so troublesome---that good cops are afraid to speak out and say, "ENOUGH."

Jack LaLanne, Fit for Life, Dead at 96

When I was a child, one of my favorite TV shows was The Jack Lalanne Show. I loved watching his big, white dog. Yesterday he died at age 96 from pneumonia.

He promoted healthy eating and daily exercise long before, well, just about anyone else. What I really want to know is how old his parents were when they died, and from what. Don't get me wrong, exercise and healthy eating is the best thing we can do for our bodies, but...let's get real.

My Aunt Vi, who died at age 103, from what we are not 100% sure, was as healthy as Jack at 96. I read a bit about him, looked closely at a photo of him in his mid 70s, and my great-aunt Vi looked as good. She worked into her 80s and in her mid 90s she was cooking and cleaning.

When I asked her what exercises she does, she laughed at me. Diet? "Whatever I damn well please!" Jack had heart valve surgery in his 80s, Vi had her gall ladder removed in her 80s.

My point is simply--genes matter, a lot.

So, lift your weights, swim daily, eat only whole grains and no sugar, you may buy yourself an extra year or two (and if you are an obese couch potato who lives by remote control, smokes and uses booze to access, taking Jack's advice will actually give you decades...maybe), but genes rule in the end. If you feel tired all the time, then you better look at your diet and exercise, after your doctor gives you the once over.

Jack sure gave me hours of TV pleasure, and I would wager he changed many lives for the better. But healthy longevity is more than diet and exercise.

A Doctor with More Patients than Job

While searching for a new doctor last week, one receptionist told me that her doctor was very good and had more patients than Job. We both laughed, but I didn't really get the joke until after I hung up. (Again--for my young readers, phones used to need a hook to be hung on.)

My brain got the joke immediately, while Diane did not. Diane is very grateful for her brain. She is nothing without it.

Late that night a blog I had not visited before mentioned the Book of Job. That was a coincidence that Diane had to explore. Job had much, nice home and family, and a deep faith in God, so God used him as an example to Satan one day when Satan was hassling him about humanity.

Satan was like, "Oh sure, Dude, you gave him much, so of course he loves you and is righteous."
So God was like, "OK, whatever, I'll take away his riches, kill his loved ones and make him so sick he will want to die."
Satan was like, "S'on."

Well, Job was pretty upset, but he never blamed God. He wished he had never been born, but God never entered the equation. Job would just exude the virtue of patience and old Satan conceded God held the best cards.

God was pretty pumped up over this and he gave Job all his wealth back and then some, plus 140 years of a healthy life going forward. They remained buds 'till the end.

So Job shows up in several religions--confirming that sh** happens and you can't play the blame game and win.

What I liked about Job was how much he questioned God and life in general. God had no issue with that. Today such questioning is seen by many as a hatred and disbelief in God. Religious foolishness at its best.

I'll let you know if the new doctor has any more patients after I visit her.

End of World, Cow Deaths, Regis Taking Larry King

What is going on with all the mass deaths of birds and animals lately? Birds dropping from sky in America, Italy, Sweden, most recently in California and Alabama, now 200 cows in Wisconsin drop dead. What the belly up is happening?!

Okay, some say it is coming. "It" being the end of the world. "Coming" being 2012. (Though on line people are debating whether it is 2012 or 2014.) And all these harsh snow storms, floods, Regis Philbin retiring, are indicators.

I suppose this is a religious thing, though Nostradamus may be the source, either way, are you ready for the end? There is an imaging test now for showing if you have any Alzheimer's. Would you like to know now? Did I miss the class in school when we were taught how to prepare for the end? End of world, end of our life, I mean, we won't know the difference, right?

Would you want to know? What would you do? Oh, and is there anybody who doesn't think Regis is taking Larry King's job?

Living with MS on Your Own Terms

It always amazes me how well you handle your multiple sclerosis. Oh, sure, you may have cried, been freaked out, asked, "WHY ME?" but after the smoke cleared, you started living with MS on your own terms.

You started a blog. You wrote your feelings and struggles about your new life, sharing with the world very private observations and fears. Then you read other blogs and bonded with strangers who lifted your spirits because you found you were not alone with MS. Strangers became friends and daily visitors.

Your canes or walkers, scooters or wheelchairs, became pals. Pals you decorated, bought accessories for, heck, they became a part of the family! Courage grew in your very soul. Needles-peedles! You found you could inject yourself and eat better, exercise, find new doctors and learn new words. What was once a hideous burden, became a tedious inconvenience.

Most miraculously, you found laughter in the struggles of MS. Would you have found some of the bodily mishaps funny that now you do? Laughter is the best medicine and every day you use it you are certain to feel better. Laugh and the MS World laughs with you.

Most gallantly, you never stop looking for a cure, you fight for your health care rights, you challenge doctors and scientists to "step it up." From your walkers you call congress and organizations urging them to fight with you. Using your damaged brain you weed out MS scams, and plan ways to keep medical experts on your side.

So hats off to all of you! That hotel on Boardwalk is YOURS! And for those of you just diagnosed with MS? Well, very soon you too will live on YOUR own terms. Life is but a game, and we are just the players. Gather your family, friends and loved ones around the game board and remind yourself every day that life is short, so drop the "Get out of Jail Free" card and throw the dice!

Steve Jobs: An Apple A Day Can't Keep Doc Away from Baby Boomers

Looking at Steve Jobs, knowing the surgeries he has endured and those that loom ahead, I think his days are winding down. I have never owned a Mac, never owned his stock, but I recognize a genius when I see one, when I see what he has produced.

Apple as a company gets rave reviews from its employees, much like Microsoft used to always do. The biggest reason was the boss. Both companies had a great leader and who doesn't want to follow in such footprints? Bill Gates and Steve Jobs rivaled to one-up each others achievements during a time when "a computer in every home" was just a dream.

Their dream, and they made it ours. Like watching Rock Hudson wither away, it is painful to see Jobs look so weak. Yes, medical miracles happen every day, and we hear that a lot lately; but, that is the thing about miracles---they are rare, the exception.

As Apple stock tumbles today, because no one can be another Steve Jobs for Apple, people on the inside know this is serious business. We sometimes assure ourselves, falsely so, that our geniuses will live, that famous people who are young and rich like Farrah Fawcett will not die , that strong men like Patrick Swayze will "beat it." People want to believe.

Illness strikes us all at some point in our lives, sorry to break it to you, Baby Boomers---you too will one day have to deal with cancer or some other condition that no amount of "fighting" will defeat. Those days spent at the gym? Nope, won't help you. Those expensive health drinks? Nope, nada. That specialist in Germany or France that saved such and such's life? Not going to save you. Hope? God? Faith? Montel's super juicer? Good luck with that. And welcome to the real world.

Apple is a strong company with good products and brilliant employees. It is going nowhere anytime soon. But I hope it is stronger without its leader than Microsoft has been. I hope Jobs included in his dream some old school reality.

I Am A Lucid Dreamer

Yes, I confess, and all the "experts" I have heard are so off base.



I started, wow, probably in my late teens. First let me tell you what the experience is like, because I watched "Inception," and it is NOT like that. I called it, "dream a dream" and I never told my partner of 31 years about it until after it stopped. It stopped the same year I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Why did I keep it a secret? I never heard or read about anyone else "doing" it, sooo...must be bad, right?



I never slept normally for, wow, maybe 20 years. (Sounds so weird now.) I was not asleep. I knew I was awake, but I controlled my dream as if I were an actor/director in a movie. The characters were the same for at least a decade, they started as children, grew to adults. Occasionally I would check my clock to see how much time I had left, living that life, until I had to get up for school or work or whatever. Getting back to my dream a dream was crucial--it was my other life, just as real and rich in detail as my regular life. I was never tired or sick. I did not nap. (In fact I have never napped until I moved to my current assisted living home, and that is due to caregiver schedules. You see, my mother napped RELIGIOUSLY and I prayed to God when I was 10 that if I EVER started napping like her---strike me dead. Maybe she dream a dreamed too...I'll never know.)



With all the talk about it in the news lately, I am starting to think about it, and I am sure my thoughts will take some time. I was hoping some expert would come out and explain it---NOT. At least not MY experience. I would love to read that killer's dream journal, though how one could write it all down is beyond me--there would be no time for a life. I find it now, now that I can no longer DO it, fascinating. When I finally told my partner, she was "dumbfounded." (I just asked her what she was, that is her description.)



There is another "lucid sleep" situation that I think I have posted about that is similar, if only in its inexplicablness.(?) When I began my job at the U S Postal Service as a mail zip code keyer (it had another name, but I can't think of it, my brain will while I sleep...hmmm) my co-workers talked about all they did after work. I was flummoxed! Our shift was 6AM-3AM, when did they sleep? They told me that they slept on the job. O-KAY-EEE



The job was sitting at a machine that zipped letters past you at a very rapid pace and you had to see the state or zip code, then key the correct code for that carrier. We had to memorize all the states and codes before we got the job and pass the speed test. HOW could one sleep on the job?! Well, within a week, I did that job fully asleep (OK, THEN I slept!) -- now PLEASE will some expert explain that to me? We all did it. And no, we did not make mistakes, except for those who would have awake. Riddle me that.



Like my psychic experiences, people can't believe me unless they know me. My peeps here might, because, well if you don't believe me by now...well, I suppose you could just be curious about how crazy I will get. I think this is the last crazy you will hear. I think I have now shared every drop of weird, well, except for some of my job experiences, I digress.



Eyes wide open, sending message to brain that was in some part deep sleep (no REMs?), fingers hitting right keys---all the communication going on! Yet, something was sound asleep.

The dream a dream seems more like a mild induced coma state. I mean, my body was sleeping normally, unmoving during MUCH activity in the dream a dream. Did I "tap" into a part of the brain that allows this lucid dreaming? There were never any real people in it, well, unless I went to a James Taylor concert or such. I often figured the male brain in female body thingy led to the dream a dreams. My life there was everything I wanted, but would never have in real life.

So now I wonder who else does this? Why is it so taboo? (I had lots of sex over the years but never masturbated--remember, I was ASLEEP.) Maybe some secret society discusses it. I'll have to read the Internet about that. I haven't done it in so long, it is hard to remember details, though I remember a lot--names, houses I lived in, people's faces I knew. Oooo, weird.

Never any time but the current, no old west or life on Mars stuff, no Leave it to Beaver era, no ghosts, for days all I did was paint a house. If someone asked me, "Diane, have you ever painted a house?" I would say no without hesitation, even though I did it to detail in my dream a dream. As I have said, I KNEW I was dreaming the whole time and I knew the difference between dreams and reality. (I wonder...if I get Alzheimer's, will I think some of it was real? I still have the memories.)

OK, so anybody else every experience this over years?

Porn, Long Lost Spouse and Mega MILLIONS

Am I the only one laughing? I think it is okay to laugh at ma ma ma millionaires---lessons learned:
1.) Don't buy mega lotto tickets in porn stores.
2.) Don't buy mega lotto tickets if you have not yet divorced your abusive spouse, and your state says "50/50"

Doubting Your Brain. Are We Normal?

Now I am obsessing on my shrinking brain. This is what I have feared about writing about MS too much. My last MRI 2 years ago, it looked just as big to me, but my neuro was mad that I refused the contrast (even though none of my MRIs have it and THOSE neuroes could read them just fine, she is NOT young either, her office used to be next to my 15 year neuro who dumped his practice for Big Pharma), really didn't have two words to say about it. $%^&*

My mom having Alzheimer's was a shock, to everyone I think. Alzheimer's never took hold of anyone else in the family, and we have records of much older family members, like her brother (late 90s) and of course Aunt Vi (103). I read once, in college text (so it has been awhile) that one shares more genes with uncles and aunts than parents. I kept and reread that book for YEARS, trying to go with the concept...now I look at some of my nieces and nephews and I still am not so sure. I LOOK just like my mom and oldest brother. I really don't see myself in their kids. (I can't include the oldest brother because he married a woman who looked just like him.) I digress.

So I have MS, Mom has big A, I asked neuro is I was more at risk for getting Alzheimer's now, what with MS and all, he said no research proves that. (Good non-answer, and clearly how COULD he know? So little is known about both diseases.) My POINT is this: I find myself "checking" myself , judging myself, too often.

Am I slower at Jeopardy? (Stupid question since I only started watching the show about a year ago.) Am I slower at math? I used to be a quick calculator, just like Aunt Vi was to the end. Do I search more for the right word? Do I slur my speech? Why can't I remember what I had for dinner yesterday? What is that woman's name who moved in last week? Does the bridge trump go on left or right? Ya know what I mean?

This morning, just now, my youngest/new caregiver left. She finished with me in 30 minutes! Takes the others an hour. (Though I do feel rushed...why do I feel rushed? I felt slowed by the others...) I accept the motor skills flaws, but I would miss my brain sharpness. And I DO know the difference (or I DID) from when I was banged by that pick-up at age 10---oh, it was so clear to me then. I could FEEL the slowing. My grades were A's (even though I skipped school better than rope) but *I* could feel it.

I also used to "feel" it come back to warp-drive sometimes, like when I took my U.S. Postal Service Test. ZIP! First one done, out of over a thousand. Oh, the dirty glares I got when I turned my exam in. Such tests were games to me. Now? Not so much.

Normal aging or MS or Alzheimer's or all three? Three strikes--you're out! Decade of the brain my ass. That TIME magazine cover got me all excited--bah humbug. I gotta hand it to brain researchers though---the brain studying the brain, how weird is that? I wonder if THEY test themselves. "Count backwards from 100 by 3," the doctor told my mom. Yep, I do it every week. By 3, 5, 7, do the doctors do it too? Isn't it like trying to know if you are mentally ill?

Do you ever do this questioning and testing of your brain? Would you if you and your family had no brain diseases? I guess I'm wondering...am I normal?

Walking Again with Secondary Progressive MS

Weds., Jan. 12, 2011, I walked. Let me say it again. (Humor me.) I WALKED!

It was just one step, but with BOTH feet forward and back and the left foot was OFF THE FLOOR! Whew, only taken me 5 years to get here.

My caregiver who was with me when I took my first steps with my right foot has since quit, so the one today was impressed, but she doesn't realize the gravity (no pun intended) of the situation. I was so shocked, it scared me and I quickly stepped back, savoring the momentous occasion. My first thought? "I've got to put this on my blog!" But just now the miraculous recovery of Congresswoman Gaby (Yes, I am on first name basis with her now.) just seems so much more important---in the scheme of things. It did remind me how her battles will be long and as Bob Woodruff said in an interview today (I'm writing this on Weds.), "It is like a file cabinet and all the papers go flying out the window. You pick up what you can, some fly right back out, some never come back, and then one day--there they are!" Bob Woodruff was the reporter whose brain was all but destroyed by a roadside bombing in Iraq 2006. His recovery has been incredible.

Woodruff gives credit to rehab and his brain's own ability to repair itself. I agree. My feet are moving forward because I have continued to build the muscles and bones of my hip, legs, and feet, plus I keep moving them in the direction I want them to go. Even if I do that laying down and an onlooker might see nothing happening. My brain is being fed the message. Over the years a nerve would tingle, a muscle would jump; Woodruff was asked why he made it and many do not. Woodruff said said he made giving up not an option. He had the love of his wife and children surrounding his every small success and having a success made him want more.

One day I hope to write about my journey with MS and walking, but there have been, until the last year, many more failures than successes. I DO, however, have a great believe in the mind body connection and I have always felt my brain was on my side. Now, today, I am certain.

It has been a long time...wow, did it feel good. I will put it in my pocket for the days to come when I do not walk. And if they never come---I shall dance!

Blog Slump. Blogger Seeks Off Grid and No Blah

Blah blah blah and blahity blah---that is all I read on my blog. I was looking way back (THREE YEARS! Who knew?) and my posts used to be damn interesting...now I bore myself so I KNOW I'm boring you. Somewhere I lost my mojo..hojo? cujo? See, I can't even find the words I want anymore.

Maybe it is the MS. Ya think? Maybe it is writing this blog while trying to write a couple books. Yes, I have added another, my ideas keep flowing, but my mind is slowing...I guess. It just seems like all the rest of you are doing it better. I spent Tuesday morning going from a post I had written to Doug at "Groping the Elephant" and Rainlillie at "Great Minds Think Like Me" and we were all three fleshing out the same story line, but they just caught it all so much better.

I never could play baseball worth a damn (sorry for the cursing, but I've been hearing Aunt Vi in my head a lot lately) so you know, like, whatever. But I could write and make sense; now, I feel like I'm just writing. I go to other blogs and think, "Yeah! THAT'S what I meant to say."

Deactivated my Face Book account, AGAIN. I'm just not feeling it. I feel like going off the grid, ya know? Is that even possible? Drop Twitter. Drop out. Like the before time. (BT)
1979BT 1986BT 1990BT Good times...most of the time...I think.

Yep, I'm in a Blog-Slump. blah blah nad blah to the blah

Repair for Traumatic Brain Injury, Open and Closed

TBI, Traumatic Brain Injury, affects as many people each year as are living in the city of Detroit. There are two basic types of brain injuries: Open skull and closed skull. My injury, which I believe started multiple sclerosis to take hold in me, was closed skull---the pick-up that hit me threw my head against the street curb, causing momentary amnesia and a split to my skull.

The recent attack on congresswoman, Gabrielle Giffords, was an open skull injury. The bullet went into her head, skull, brain, and back out. She has crossed some very crucial time lines for open skull injuries and her doctors grow more optimistic with each passing day. By day 5, if she still is improving, then we look toward weeks and finally years of improvements, along with chronic damage.

Reports are that the bullet entered her upper left side of brain from the rear and exited same stage front. This is good. It means it did not cross the brain hemispheres, limiting damage to one side. I think of the JFK assassination and reports were mixed as to whether the bullet entered left or right or even where it exited. His brain matter was said to have covered his wife, so that bullet did a lot of damage. With the technology and knowledge of brain repair in the 1960s, JFK didn't have a chance. Giffords does.

First off, she was lucky to have a man nearby who immediately put pressure on the bleeding while raising her head to prevent her from drowning in her own blood. Then a fast medical response and her skull was quickly cut open to allow for swelling to not press her eyes or brain against her skull, doing more damage. Then a coma was induced to allow her brain to go to work on the ONE area it was most needed---fix the damage, build new cells; and the brain wants to do this, after all, it exists to survive! Like a daily runner's heart, her brain was in good shape---she has much on her side.

Having multiple sclerosis, I am always interested in how our brains handle trauma, damage, how it rights itself. I want to know what kind of damage cause what kind of changes in the brain. Will her brain atrophy? Will it show black holes? As a small-time blogger, I have little time for research, no assistants, and all I read today about holes in my brain left me more confused than when I started. There are so many contradictory articles. (I do try to stick with medical journals and articles from universities whose names I KNOW.)

One thing I read, which was quite encouraging, was that doing repetitive voluntary movements can direct cells or/and (and/or!) make new pathways in the brain that will then begin involuntary motor skills to resume! They (at Oxford) used thumbs in their research. HA! Bingo! That is exactly what I did with my left thumb. The thumb the occupational therapists wrote off. I kept moving it every day, up, up, and slept every night with it extended over my lift chair arm rest. After about a year, I began to be able to lift it on command. There, I did it just now.

When I moved to my assisted living home two years ago, I could not shuffle cards, could barely hold 13 cards in my hand, where I used to hold 20 and shuffle like a pro. In the last 6 weeks, I have noticed I can shuffle cards again! Holding 13 is no problem. Wait, let me see if I can twiddle my thumbs. AH HA! I can! Take that, all you occupational and physical therapists who wrote me off. Was I not important enough? Was my insurance too lousy? Were they just lazy or poorly trained?

Congresswoman Giffords will have the best care, the best rehab, reports will be written, future brain trauma victims will be better off. My neurologist once told me not to worry about my brain shrinking, "You will still have more left than me." I took that as his joke, but I think I know now what he meant. If I could hold Ms. Gifford's hand, I would say, "Don't worry. Soon you will be able to do much more than me."

1-11-11

Cool, huh? (I'm easily amused.)

Gay Hero in Tucson. We Have the Numbers

Good over Bad. There were many more heroes than villains during the murders in Tucson, just like in "Gunsmoke." Matt Dillon always wins.


Daniel Hernandez ( a gay man for those who care and unlike the gay man who helped save President Ford, can be openly gay and make us all proud) Mr. Rodrigez ran to the congresswoman and put pressure on her wounds.

Bill Badger grabbed the gunman by the wrist and held him down with the help of others.

Patricia Maisch, 61, grabbed the killer's next round of ammo, saving many more lives.

Others whose names we may never know, did not run away, they called 911, they waved down police---a police dispatcher directed action. We are changed since 9-11, since flight 93 crashed, killing all the heroes aboard, who we would learn made every attempt to subdue the terrorists who planned on crashing into our White House. We are different. Can you see it? Little old ladies fighting back. We are fed up. And we outnumber you, so watch your back.

When we die, we will be honored and missed, like 9 year old Christina Green. While YOU live, we will shake our heads and search you for answers---why? What? What happened to you in your life to make you so heartless? Who stole your empathy?

Always we will remind ourselves that in the end, good overcomes; we move forward.

Words Ignite the Mentally Ill and Lonely

"Don't retreat. RELOAD!" -Sarah Palin

Are You Happy Sarah Palin? Death in Arizona

Wow, politicians can really spin things like a top on cocaine.

A Democratic congresswoman is shot in the head point blank, in Arizona (The state of hate against immigrants and gays and, oh yeah, liberals, and oh yeah, anyone they think might be a friend of such a person...), and words from Republicans are so gracious, caring, and "This is not about politics." SERIOUSLY?

Fighting to live in an Arizona Trauma Center, US Congresswoman, Gaby Giffords was on the Sarah Palin "In the Cross Hairs" chart for her followers. The Tea Party looks to me like it is stocked full of mad men and violent conservatives. Waving posters of President Obama with a swastika and dripping blood, these conservatives think anyone who does not agree with them is a liberal (like Hitler---their hatred and ignorance knows no bounds.

Gun control? Who needs THAT? We are so civilized and all. Oops, the madman killed an innocent child too, "collateral damage." He posted his intentions to do harm on his My Space page. Did his readers not care or are they compliant? After all, conservatives and fanatics are good at working people up into a frenzy.

Where are we headed? This is the USA, we argue, we shout, but if we respect our constitution, then we agree to disagree and work together toward compromises. Today is a dark day for our nation.

Missing Pinkie Finger Brace in Seattle

This is my left pinkie finger brace. It was handmade for me by a occupational therapist in 2005. I tried in vain to get a replica made by another, more expensive physical therapy/OT center in a big West Coast city, to no avail.

You see, it was falling apart. It adorned and kept straight my bent pinkie every day for years. Last year it went missing. "went missing" Sounds as if it planned an escape or was bracenapped. Nope, just not on my pinkie one morning.

My family, caregivers and friends have torn this apartment apart---no pinkie brace.

Likely culprit either the floor or crevices of my lift chair. I never DID find my favorite fork that my previous lift chair ate. But the brace is gone and I must accept that fact. My police scanner also went missing. Riddle me THAT!

Mrs Edwards Leaves Mr Loose Zipper NOTHING!

Elizabeth Edwards leaves NOTHING in her will for creepy John. Can I get a giant AMEN and RIGHT ON!

What to Do When Breast Cancer Knocks at Your Door

Had a Cancer (remember when it was only called the "big C?" in conversation?) scare a few weeks ago. Partner went for regular mammogram and got the news you never want: "You have a mass."

They wanted to do more tests right then and there, but the imaging was so painful and it had taken so long (she was gone for almost 4 hours!) that she chose to go back at next opening. Since it was at Christmas, that meant Jan. 3. Woo hoo, great start to the new year, but my ovarian cancer was around Christmas too, found tumor, cut out, 3 days in hospital, sent home, all in a week. (I'm a GET IT OUT NOW person.) matter of fact, Christmas memories for us usually include some ER or illness. Anyway, that left us a couple weeks to ugh, research, all about breast cancer.

Now, I don't mean to sound stupid, every female should educate themselves about breast cancer, but so much has changed in diagnostics, treatments, medicine, that we just have focused on the many health issues we already HAVE, ya know? As with all our conditions, the not knowing and waiting for DX is the worst. I wanted time to stop. But, of course it never does...until it does.

As happened when I had ovarian cancer, once mentioned---seemed like so many people had that cancer too! Two of my bestest friends here at my retirement community also have breast cancer for two years. They were a wealth of information, but also showed me how, like MS, no two cases are alike. Stages, severity, and my partner always seems to get the severest case of everything she gets, so...

Anyway, she went back Jan.3. after we played our music loud, danced our disabled-people dance, sang, spoke often of love and future joys---I am a big believer in all that, HEY, don't let your body think it can walk all over you! (?) She got a different doctor. Repeat--SHE GOT A DIFFERENT DOCTOR. (I am big on second opinions too and I'll spend my own money if I have to. No insurance company will be the boss of me, when it comes to life or death conditions.) And he told her it looked like nothing to worry about, just check more often and see what it does. I am guessing a cyst. And the cherry on top was she had MORE tests on that visit, done in half the time and NO PAIN.

We once saw a mammogram lady we called, Hitler. She hurt you and seemed to enjoy that. Really, we both said the same thing, it was so obvious. So we found A DIFFERENT IMAGING CENTER--no pain in all the years we have gone there. (We moved or she would have gone there to start.)

So, now we dance the happy-dance again, take a sigh of relief, and move forward.
Lesson learned? Have regular mammograms, if they hurt so much you scream in pain--talk to your doctor and/or get a different technologist to do the imaging. Positioning is everything and some are better at it than others. If you do fear a cancer DX is coming---turn the music up loud and dance!

Where Red Winged Black Birds Go When They Die

That's right, I've been asking (and laughed at) for years for asking, "Where do dead birds go when they die?" So far, no one has given me an answer that adds up.

The popular answer is: "cats eat them." Oh sure. No cat I know would eat a bird. (feathers and all) Feral cats? Okay so who thinks we have enough feral cats around here to eat the millions of birds there are? And WHAT animal eats feathers? Where are all those feathers?

Now we hear of 5,000 (did someone count them all?) black birds "falling from the sky" to their death. 1. They were red-winged black birds (So shown in TV photo) and 2. According to citizens of the town they dropped in/on, they did not fall as much as they flew out-of-control downward. 3. This happened AT NIGHT. Birds at not bats. Birds fly during the daytime.

Of course, immediately the answers were given as to what caused this: FIREWORKS! Seriously? Some hours later the mayor admitted there WERE no fireworks in the area.
HAIL! Seriously? Duh to the duh, hours later it was revealed that there was NO hail that night.

How will this end? I can tell you because I have felt the dismissals for many years---it will all be forgotten. They tell us "scientists will look into it," sure, and my mother will pilot a 747.

Was that TV show "Flashforward" cancelled? They had birds dropping dead from magnetic fields gone awry thanks to government experiments. I'm just saying.

When will I find out where all the dead birds go? When I figure out how bad employees get promoted after they do bad things and when their bad deed is uncovered THEY and not those who knew and promoted them "In the Navy you can sail the seven seas. In the Navy you can put your mind at ease. In the Navy you can do just what you please. In the Navy gay bigots you'll appease. YAY YAY YAY YAY"

And They Partied Like it Was 1929

The gang here at in my retirement community, with walkers and wheelchairs, wooden canes and leather shoes partied hardy into 2011. They hired a band that played all the good ol' tunes and the liquor flowed easy. Dancing, singing, laughing the night away, so I was told by several attendees. (This kid was fast asleep in her lift chair.)

And I wonder, if I live to be their age, and I seriously doubt I will, shall I look forward to a DJ playing "I Want to Rock with You," by Michael Jackson and lots of disco? Party like it's 1979? Will we decorate with a disco ball? Will the room be filled with mary jane? Hmmm, I remember 1980 and it was a harsh year for me.

Back to the happy people--I heard some inappropriate flirting went on and some very romantic couple dancing. Maybe next year I will feel like a party and join the ruckus. (Tables were everywhere the next day! Looked like fun broke loose.) I am told no one from management attended...so anything goes (went)!!

Luckily, most were home by 9pm, midnight in NYC, in time to watch "the ball drop." And I got my NYC New Year kiss---isn't that all that matters?

***1930--The end of the Roaring Twenties, D H Lawrence died, Harvey Milk and Joanne Woodward were born, Hoover was president, Gandhi began his civil disobedience movement, and the first cow was milked on a plane.