My Partnership with Wellesley

Holes were drilled into my skull. In the nicest way, it seems because I wasn't bothered. I slept on. Sleeping is essential to heal and I harmed my body so severely that my brain would need to sleep for a month. The incident occurred one morning on an icy bridge. The time since has been a journey of discovery. However, my largest education has been the journey is different to all involved but if you're studying in college and choose the right one, college is always an option when you choose a school that treats you like a partner.

However, before we proceed, let me explain the holes. Apparently, when harm has occurred to any organ in the body, lots of the body's water rushes to that exact location on the body. Since the damage occurred inside my skull, instead of watching my brain try to expand and burst in my skull, they brought in the drill.  Happily, it was 1992 and humans had learned of this probability. Hence, the holes. Science is incredible.

There are a million legitimate realities at play and leaving your parents' home and living on your own, independently might be laughable when traumatically injured. The usual result is that most college students with disabilities live with their family while attending a local college or perhaps, a nearby state school. The point of this piece is to "argue" against the statement or suggestion that college-options be limited. After thirty days of being comatose, I graduated from Wellesley College.

It seems pretty curious, but I had not even heard of the Seven Sister's existence until I was on the Wellesley college's campus, as a visitor in high school. According to Wikipedia, the seven-sisters' colleges are located in the Northeast and were created to "provide women the educational equivalent to the historically all-male Ivy League." The name Seven Sisters came from the Greek myth of Pleiades as there were seven daughters of the Titan, Atlas and the sea nymph, Pleione. Most of the pairings are historically triggered by location. For example, Barnard & Columbia are neighbors in NYC.,The other colleges on the "female side" of this plan are: Smith, Mount Holyoke, Wellesley, Bryn Mawr, Radcliffe, and Vassar, although it's a little messed up as Harvard absorbed Radcliffe and the remainder of the colleges are historically mainly female. I use the word "mainly" because Wellesley in involved in several exchange leagues and male students are happily in attendance. Not only does Wellesley offer cross registration with other top-tier institutions like local colleges like, Brandeis, Tufts and Babson but it is also involved in aa twelve college exchange program with Vassar, Wheaton, Smith, Trinity, Spelman, Connecticut College, Wesleyan, and Wheaton. Additionally, Wellesley also offers classes at the MFA (Museum of Art) in Boston and offers enrollment at the National Theater Institute in Connecticut. On top of everything, a dual-degree program has been established between Wellesley and MIT. Prior to being an alumna, I had no idea of what women who got a diploma from Wellesley College did for and in the world. It's pretty staggering.

Yes, although it's technically "unaffiliated" with any college, it's strongest relationship is with MIT. As I would never choose to be enrolled in any classes revolving math or science, I'm pretty unaware of the details of or number of students involved but...so it is. Two friends of mine had older sisters at Harvard, so we visited that campus lots and partied there a little my first few years, our strongest a association was with MIT. In fact, the Seven-sisters' relationships are that way. Traditionally, Barnard is hooked up with Colombia, Radcliff (my step grandma's alma mater) was so linked with Harvard that it just finally became part of that school, Mount Holyoke was paired with Dartmouth, Bryn Mawr is linked with Princeton and Vassar with Yale (although it became coed in the 1960's) and the women of Bryn Mawr may attend classes at Haverford, Swarthmore, or Penn. The remaining sisters are more "independent" but at the end of the day, just realize that the Wellesley Student Senate a bus which escorts it's passengers several times a day on the Harvard and MIT campuses. A good friend, Tina married an MIT alum and posts often about the activities of her beautiful and brilliant (I assume) family.

During my final overnight hospital stay, Mom, Dad and I met with my primary Doctor. We learned some truths that everyone with whom meets me should know. When an individual has sheered their brain enough to cause them to sleep for a month, one intelligence automatically and intrinsically decreases. That was and will probably always be my largest sadness when it comes down to it but as the brain controls almost every other organ in the body, there is a long list of competing deficits; my double vision - diplopia (caused by the destruction of the optical nerve), my constant shaking - ataxia, my vocal feedback (dysarthria), my lack of balance and reliance upon another mechanism or individual to ambulate. My parents have heavily bestowed their trust in me but, understandably, couldn't send me halfway across the nation in an airplane for months.

Luckily, after a year of rehabilitation, they allowed me to attend a nearby, state school, the University of Iowa. The University of Iowa is huge and impersonal, with a fifty percent acceptance rate, but offers a solid education and much of my family received their degrees there. About ninety minutes from my family's home in Maquoketa, Iowa, the University of Iowa was challenging because I was very newly injured. My family and I had so much to learn.

About a year following my wreck, months before I enrolled anywhere, Dad and Mom gave in to my pleas of returning to Wellesley College to visit friends/classmates. During that trip, not only did I see old-friends and neighbors, I also met with my class dean. She assured me that if I were to return, I would continue to be a member of the class of '93. That trip underscored my quest to return. I learned a few things, including that if I were to be readmitted to Wellesley and registered for a class taught in an inaccessible classroom, the class would simply be relocated. So "Wellesley". Plus, Wellesley is a small school. If I had registered to be in a lecture with hundreds of others, that ease would have been impossible.  As most of my peers were seniors who would be in different parts of the globe the following year, the opportunity to reconnect was timely and, naturally, encouraged my return. 

However, the college was built years before the Americans with Disabilities Act and Wellesley is incredibly academically challenging. I was in a coma for a MONTH. my traumatic brain injury automatically, intrinsically lowered my IQ. Even now I am incredulous. We made it happen. The faculty and administration at Wellesley were not only intent on following the law, they were intensely understanding, loyal and compassionate and invested. My diploma was a common goal.  Since that time, I have wanted but have yet to find a true companion, someone who understands and works alongside to make what most would think was "impossible" into a tangible endeavor. Anyway, there were a few students with disabilities at Wellesley College before my injury. Naturally, they did not have COGNITIVE issues, but a few were in a chair, had a sensory issue, etc. Trusting the students and the professor to work together to accommodate was an expectation, there really was not much intervention. It was pretty much up to the individual students to deal directly with each teacher for each class. Thankfully, at Wellesley, every educator had gotten his or her doctorate and professorship whereas at the University of Iowa the idea of strictly being taught by a real PhD is pretty random. There are plenty of courses offered which are "supervised" by a professor but are actually instructed by someone who had simply obtained her or his masters degree. Compassion, patience, and understanding do not automatically come with advanced degrees or age, but they often help.

While by no means imperative, it might be easier to attend a smaller college. Issues are often dealt with on a more personal, individual basis. The US News.com says that in the Fall of 2021, the undergraduate enrollment at the University of Iowa was over 21,000. On top of that, it is a public university, where procedures are established. Naturally, students and professors were not "on their own" in deciding standards and acceptable procedures.  I was introduced to an entire department of professionals who were there to intervene and provide assistance in dealing with the professors to make educations accessible. They were intent on providing climates to allow all disabled students to be educated using the standards of other students. This office is called the Office of Special Needs or something similar and the Americans with Disabilities Act ensures that every university has one.

The University of Iowa was established in a fairly large town, Iowa City. Like most college-towns, it is politically progressive and fairly open-minded. Many challenging, open-minded and intelligent citizens stem from that state. However, most folks are conservative and have old fashioned ideas when it comes to housing, support, options, and the exact definition of equality. The public transportation system may or may not exist. Services, opportunity, and the potential of almost anyone with any sort of disability are underfunded. The price tag after tuition and fees at that school is not as cheap as many other public universities, at about $19,443 per year.

According to Wikipedia, in 1870, a businessman named IfHenry Durant established Wellesley College. he town of Wellesley, Massachusetts was set-up about a decade later. Establishing a town considering a college makes it simpler for the college to manipulate customs and rules to favor students needing accommodation. However, like many colleges in the northeast, it is incredibly old, Gothic and nearly impossible to reconstruct. if it were to be made my blanketly accessible to accommodate the thousands of types of disabilities that exist. However, the endowment of Wellesley College is over three billion dollars and the cost is over $60,000 to attend yearly. This staff and professors and staff are extremely willing to accommodate the needs of students.

The magnitude of the cost to attend this college played directly into reason why I took a break from my attendance at Wellesley. While not a poor family by any means, my folks had lefta] situation which would have resultedairly fridge in a generous and had many children any means ex-hippiesmy parentother children to support while I was away at college. Mom was a lay-midwifefoomfortr about thirty years and was responsible for helping about three hundred women birth in the privacy and c

The town of Wellesley is full of wealthy citizens and the parents were able to pay much more for their babysitters than they did in Iowa. During my initial years, I made effort to ride spent time in Boston and Cambridge

As my college was small and only female, some students choose to semester or their junior year at another college-often abroad. Because I had extremely stuck on this guy since I was very young and he transferred from a college in Vegas to the University of Iowa. I wanted to be with him. Therefore, I made the life-changing decision to return to Iowa for a bit. Therefore, at the time of the injury, I was living in eastern Iowa, which is halfway across the country from Wellesley College, which is located in a suburb of Boston. Don't worry if you get confused.

As difficult as it was for me to enter this institution, my family knew of the importance of a diploma from Wellesley. Acceptance is a ridiculously hard endeavor; the acceptance rate is sixteen percent. With alums like; Diane Sawyer, Cokie Roberts and Hilary Clinton, it is really only logical to help your daughter get her degree there. Says the New York Times, "Wellesley College proudly proclaims itself as a place for 'women who will make a difference in the world" and the characteristics of many of its alumni are so daunting, that any cognitive deficiency normally excludes all but the top students.  Regardless, I was in my third year and had never received less than a B-. I don't have low standards and neither does Wellesley. Being admitted in the first place could easily be an entire essay by itself. The bottom line is that I am the oldest of five siblings, am a legacy, and was raised in Iowa. When combined with good grades, participation in an excessive amount of activities, the power of being a legacy, and graduating from high school in rural Iowa with a class of thirty-one definitely set me apart and helped me to think of myself as an alum.

As I had dated a guy at sixteen and was sixteen and he had tranferred to the University of Iowa, my journey took me there for a semester. Although this decision was not supported by my parents at all, they usually support their children and help us to make it work. They knew that I deserved to hear stories and thoughts out of exquisite minds, told in a variety of accents. The memories of the incredible 500-acre campus, the massive Lake Waban, the amount of the parties and excitement around the time of the Boston marathon (Wellesley College is the halfway-marker), entering tranquil but gorgeous Houghton Chapel, laughing and rolling down luxurious Severance Green while the weather is still warm, chomping on Smartfood at all dorm meetings, participating in or hearing about one of their numerous traditions. However, I was foolishly devoted to him and am from a state which supports young love.

Because my accident was so jarring and traumatic to all of those who loved me, some extra warmth was welcome. It is an imperative sign of a return to this environment and life. My father had just nearly lost his eldest child. His deceased mother had gone to Wellesley. He loved having a daughter in attendance. He needed reassurance. He got it. Weeks after my wreck, Dad phoned the administration at Wellesley to cancel something or whatever. During my sophomore year, I had been VPA (vice-president of something in my dorm), and because my name is odd, hearing it caught the attention of the person on the line and after inquiring about me, she and Dad had a long talk about things. Totally personal. He really needed it and appreciated it. It would never have happened at a large college or university. 

After one year of classes along with what I had earned at the University of Iowa, I had enough credits to stroll across the Wellesley graduation stage to a standing ovation. I probably wore a grin the entire day and I am fairly certain that my parents were awed. Another alum, Madeleine Albright, was the secretary of state at the time so drew some of secret service to campus and although most visitors were in suits and gowns, I'm sure that there were a few saris in the mix. Although that was about thirty years ago, the Americans with Disabilities Act has been made national law and every large college provides an office of Disability or Accessibility or something similar. In a large college, this department is the center for assistance.  At a smaller college, the national law mandates that each university receiving federal funds accommodate students with disabilities too and I would hope that these departments begin to exist everywhere, but dealing directly with a professor usually comes to a positive outcome.

I was the first Traumatically Brain Injured person to attend Wellesley College. The place is incredibly difficult to enter and the odds of acceptance after shearing your brain, while almost impossible, are still possible. Being the first at endeavoring on some enterprise has become a common event in my life and it probably seems courageous and inspirational. That always amuses me. It was extremely challenging and messy. I had no mentor whatsoever. Every brain and injury is exclusive unto each individual, so this blind journey makes sense in general and simply navigating the basics may well be too intense, but it can be done. Sixteen percent. After a four-week coma. We were all kinda charting our own route.

I cannot recommend returning to everyone, but I'm incredibly stubborn and driven. I had already put so much work into my education! Naturally, there are realistic reasons for students in need of medical or family-support to attend a nearby school, so there is absolute understanding when that happens. My disability just came at a very odd time. Prior to Wellesley, I had attended a tiny high school surrounded by farmland where only six people from my graduating class even attended a four-year college. Most classmates stayed in the area and farmed or went to work in factories. My journey and education had always been different. I was accustomed to it.

     Wellesley College's motto is "Not to be ministered to but to minister." Mission accomplished. In the end, it would have looked callous and entirely cruel not to readmit me. An acquaintance from Stanford agreed that the appropriate thing for either of our schools to do would be to readmit a junior and help her to graduate. Happily, I worked hard and spent much of my time reading (remember the diplopia?). I never got the feeling that my diploma was a gift. It felt like I had an invested-partner who was willing to give me more than the benefit of the doubt. I was admitted to both of the graduate programs to which I applied.

  That's pretty much my long story of obtaining my degree after my injury. It can be done...even when the acceptance rate is sixteen percent. However, that experience happened about thirty years ago. I am writing about it now because I was just notified that the students at my alma mater just voted to accept transgender students. I am so proud and thrilled, yet unsurprised. The New York Times interviewed the student body president, Alexandra Brooks, and she responded "...(that) such a change reflected today's reality" and added that "It's still and always will be, a school to educate people of marginalized genders." The administration and students never fail in making just and appropriate decisions. I define "marginalized."

The Plight of the Buffalo

My father is Jewish but is not orthodox, faithful, or "devout" in any way. My mother was Christian but although her grandmother was Catholic and Mom accompanied her to Mass a few times, her grandmother died young and that was basically the end of it. Both of my folks were hippies but that word also sounds a bit more magnanimous than it should. Although they ground grain in order to make the whole what flour to create homemade whole wheat bread, had a massive garden and orchard, collected bunches of apples off of the ground and then bonked them in a cider-press to prepare gallons of apple juice, and boiled maple sap off of trees in my great grandparents' woods to order to produce maple syrup, I would categorize them more as folks who needed to feed five kids and who "lived off the land." They never went to Woodstock or lived in a commune although Mom breastfed all of us and had five natural deliveries at home. We've had a healthy, morally-sound life. I am eager to mirror my parent's beliefs. What I'm trying to convey is that, due to many factors which constituted my life, I couldn't claim Jesus as my savior. Actually, I can't say that he is anything more than a cool dude who is purported to have done some cool stuff.

As we were hippies, as a very small child, my young parents traveled lots. However, as stated, there are five of us and eventually life's mysteries were replaced with life's realities. We settled on an acreage outside of a small town in a rural state, where safety, pollution, and crime issues were minimal. Naturally, diversity and the benefits that usually come with it were also minimal and there was a smattering of people with different skin pigments, but the vast majority of the population was Caucasian Christians and the normal delineating factor was whether one was Protestant or Catholic.  However, this wasn't the Dark Ages and there was no inquisition or overwhelming disgrace or anything. We just didn't go to church and that was somewhat common. So when our classmates and friends strictly adhered to the rules of lent, attended Sunday school, or spent a week at a religious camp, ate whichever type of meat which was most plentiful, assumed ash should stay or the ground and celebrated Sunday by devouring Dad's homemade waffles with maple syrup. As there were seven of us, it should be completely understandable that I don't recall that we longed for a community. After learning of how closed-minded and simple our small town is in relation to the larger, more progressive place where I currently reside, that fact doesn't bother me in the least. Although we not too involved in much of the community or found a locally supportive society, we kids were kept safe and flourished on our land outside of my small town.

About twenty-eight years ago, I was in an almost fatal car accident which led to a month-long coma and I now have a traumatic brain injury.  College and even graduate school were completed my but after getting the degrees, my family and I made a basic realization.  l needed many more services and stimulation than were locally available. Thus, I made my home in a larger town which was about two hours from my hometown.  A younger brother was situated in that new place and my only sister was getting her undergraduate degree there so the transition and quest for housing was relatively simple. As is common with most university towns, Iowa City, is extremely liberal and progressive.  Additionally, while there are a few others, the University of Iowa, is the primary public university  the state. It attracts an array of students from all over and because it currently contains both a prized writing program and a hospital, it is internationally famous. Therefore, hundreds of diverse, intelligent, multi-cultural people live both temporarily and permanently within the city limits. Thus most places of worship in this town reflect that. Because my church (actually, it isn't even called a "church," it's called "a society") is non-denominational and welcome to people of all or even no religions and backgrounds, it is multifaceted to the extreme.

After my siblings left town, my parents bought me a tiny house about a half mile from downtown and it was at about that time that I began visiting a few churches. Although my disability mandated that most of my time in public be done from within an electric scooter and this made my appearance and persona, in general, somewhat daunting and unattractive. Additionally, Iowa City is, of course, located in Iowa, a state which is extremely traditional. In this case, what I mean is that relationships, friendships and even first marriages are begun in college. I attended undergrad near Boston and in Illinois. In the end, I didn't have many local friendships and since I have always been an extrovert, I sought that.  Please don't mistake any psychological "need" as a reason that I was seeking a church.  Membership is guaranteed once one pays dues and patrons of every church I have ever visited are kind, welcoming, and compassionate. However, remember...I am proudly the daughter of a man who is JEWISH. To this day, he doesn't take much of an interest of what is involved in anything related to church seriously and has only attended the occasional service because he didn't want to stay in the car and I needed a ride.

As usual, I digress. As is natural, at the age of about thirteen, I felt the need to "fit in" and join with the majority of my peers. Coincidentally, at the same time, my Dad was involved in the local tennis program. One of his opponents in our town's league was Reverend Russ Fate, a very kind and thoughtful man who questioned if I would ever have an interest in participating in his church's youth group. Since around first or second grade (I'm neither interested in or familiar with most aspects of Christianity), most of my friends discussed things like Sunday school, communion, catechism, etc. While this mention of youth group didn't seem as powerful a force as "communion, " at that age in life, I was free on the afternoon it met. Russ said that a boy in my class attended and his parents could be relied upon to give me rides. As my father owned and operated a small business and my mother was busy gardening and caring for my four younger siblings, they weren't concerned with my rather brief involvement with this church. Honestly, I'm not even totally certain Dad knew of it. The other students in the youth group were fine and not terribly exciting. Later, I found out that the whole thing was done in order to confirm us, but I didn't really care. After a few months, they had us come to service on a Sunday morning and somewhere in that church's historical record, there is proof that I was a member of the United Church of Christ.

From then on, in my tiny hometown, until I went away to college, whenever I attended church, it was at that one. The congregation was progressive, kind, and I don't recall hearing anything with which my parents would disagree. I have no memory that the bible was studied or even used. As I was a young teen, I knew nothing of the Old or New Testament or, for that matter, anything of the beliefs of Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhisms, the Amish, Druids, or of any religious discipline. It was the United Church of Christ.  I have never believed in anything which my parents' don't. Now, it's just funny that I attended. It's ever more ludicrous that I was confirmed, but the humor of my history with religion doesn't stop there.

In grad school, I met a friendly woman, Val, who was heavily invested in an Assembly of God church. My experience with her and with the entire process of attending her Sunday services pretty much expunged me of wonder whether Christianity was for me. My studies, classmates, and general environment were pretty uncomfortable during that time. With some assistance from the University's students with disabilities program, classwork was made more manageable, but I was incredibly lonely. Hence, my sense of "needing to belong" and quest for friendships was strong. I let Val take me to Bible Study and even dutifully attended service with her. Of course, I had never attended an AG church before that time and I have not since nor do I have an iota of knowledge of how prevalent the customs, rules, and format are on a national basis, but at the time, I was dismayed and fairly incredulous that many of these folks could take the beliefs seriously. During Bible Study sessions, I learned that these people were expected to unquestionably take on a set of correct rules and regulations. As I have always questioned authority, fully adopting and living by the sayings of a man who supposedly lived a couple thousand years ago who was supposedly the megaphone of the creator of life. Additionally, there was the simple fact that I was to trust and devote my love and trust to this man to an even larger degree than to my own father. Incredible. Being just a guy, Dad has his faults and all, but he's definitely lives by a pretty intense moral code and he and Mom gave me and saved my life. Just the mandate that we love someone more than our own parents was incredibly ridiculous dogma. I am confident that there are many who do not have such a deep, strong, faithful exchange of love with their parents, but to be instructed that this should be everyone's reality was, to me, not credible. After that particular service, I was just done.  Happily, I had a sweet experience at the United Church of Christ in my hometown, so I never entirely gave up on Christianity or, at least of finding a church...I was simply bruised.

So, while I had a garnered a bad taste toward Christianity, I suspected that with a more ardent search, I might find a community where I could find ways of spreading the love I had received. I attended services at a couple local chapels. As luck would have it, the closest religious facility to my house was of a Catholic denomination and since several friends and classmates followed that religion during junior high and high school, I had enough information on that faith to hold me back. As I had gone through a very positive time at the United Church of Christ, I briefly considered giving it a go but quickly realized that I probably should stay away from a place which celebrated Christ to the extent that he played a role in the name.  As a rule, after one becomes disabled or deals with a traumatic event, religion plays a larger role. Due to that exact reason, I was reluctant to worship to anything.  I'm not reborn and I was never reinvented. While I'm happy to be alive and would even consider myself "delighted" on occasion, there was certainly no parting of the heavens, major personality shift or reinvention.  Understandably, I am grateful, but I am also a well-educated, white, American...I think that goes with the territory. If you could see images of my car following the accident, you would immediately understand that I am fortunate to be alive at all but certainly wasn't conscious enough to assume that I'd "seen a white light" or any malarky.


While riding on the city bus, I noticed a sign promoting a group that met on Sunday which left me with a positive feeling regarding a body of people who met on Sunday morning and coincidentally, although downtown, it was relatively near my place. It was called the Universal-Unitarian Society and after only one experience with them, I suspected I'd found a good fit. The attendees were super friendly and welcoming (although that is the customary tradition at every church I've ever attended), the service was positive, the female reverend (Nancy Haley) seemed smart and kind, the children of the congregation were pretty adorable, and the others at the service looked a bit less concerned with their appearance. I guess there were snacks after the and probably a choir but I have no recollection of either. My primary two memories of that day were that there was an accessible entrance in the rear of the building (understood but undesirable and common) and that the words "God" and "Christ" were not used during the entire service. Honestly, the fact that those words were not included that morning struck me as a huge sign that I should return. The exact sermon wasn't given in such a way to make it memorable, but I do recall telling myself to pay attention to the message as by that time, I had deemed that I would return. Toward the end of the service, the offering basket was passed around and it was announced that, as was customary, the gifts would not go directly to the society because the annual pledges satisfied building upkeep, the minister's salary, and "routine costs." Actually, the church has previously chosen several local service organizations to receive the funds. They walked the walk.  Plus, the entire atmosphere was low key, calm, positive and accepting.

Not only were folks silent when it came to God and Jesus, but the Bible was not mentioned. I loved that fact! Naturally, along the path to maturation, I had heard certain passages and quotes from that book but only sometimes did these make sense to me. As a little hippie kid, I was naturally quite fascinated with the lives and times of the larger, more mainstream culture who even created a special group to study this text. However, once I became more educated, explored the world, and took the opportunity to study the book, the more I realized that a good life is easily achievable regardless. When there is a board game with various standards, commands, pieces and paths, the outcome of enjoying the game is easy to achieve when even the players ignore the rules and create different paths. It's nice when the pieces are used and the players stick together, but even that fact isn't essential. The beliefs of this caste of people were not weighed by any one outside source. The rules of this game seemed to be based on service to each other and the planet.

As a newcomer to the society, I was presented with its many groups to explore and for which to volunteer; Buddhism, membership in one of the Dinners of Eight, Social Justice, Secular Humanism, teaching Religious Education.  A few times a year, a session is offered titled Welcome Home Wednesdays and in it about five courses are offered and each follows a dinner. Often a professor or a retired professor teaches an eight week course.  Examples of classes offered (some of which I have taken) are; Building Your Own Theology, Transcendentalism, Tai-Chi, and The Plight of the Buffalo. Actually, the last class mentioned was not offered but a friend said it was the title of a class given at a Unitarian church a friend attended. Although a variety of professions are represented at the society, the undeniable majority of the members do something with education.  For example, my closest friend at the society has her masters in Education and home-schools her four children while the woman who drives me on Sunday mornings (another issue surrounding my disability is the inability to operate a vehicle) was a librarian for about forty years. Therefore, I don't believe that there was ever a shortage of instructors. Often when I watch or speak with my fellow congregants, I am routinely overtaken with how proud I am simply congregate on a weekly basis with many of those from this society

A year or so before my attendance at Iowa City's Universal Unitarian Society, my brother turned pro. Although the game of football is, just that, a game and I have little need to even include it in this piece surrounding my church, it is now definitely part of my life and had it a small role to play in my beginnings with the Universal-Unitarian experience in Iowa City. I will attempt to spell this out with as much brevity as I know how. As I have three very athletic younger brothers and a father who was 6'6' in his prime, my youngest brother and sister were the main individuals to inherit my father's height. Mom could never be considered "tall" (at 5'4") but she has always been broad, strong and muscular. Additionally, her family was always into athletic competitions and the status that often comes with a good level of achievement at them.  Since, there were three boys with only two years separating each of them from the one prior, they were constantly outside playing "ball" and all got very good. The youngest, Sage, transferred his height and all the know-how and skills he's gotten from my Dad and his two brothers and became an quarterback at one of Iowa's publiionc university's and an NFL quarterback, a job which he held for twelve years. When that happens in a rural state which does have much notoriety, the individual's name gets to be fairly well-known, especially when he has parents who were hippies and has an unusual name. Follow? Well, whether or not all of that is clear, a few men of the congregation took note of my last name and inquired, very casually and innocently, if my brother was the one who played. As Iowa City is fairly small and few individuals utilized a scooter, word seemed to quickly circulate in the town at large that the young woman in the scooter had this brother, but in my church, this fact was not the case. As I was Sage's lone sibling who remained in the state, the issue was pretty overwhelming and, honestly, the Society was my refuge. Most congregants are educated and factors such as involvement in the community or finding ways to be of service; locally and globally. The rest of my younger siblings open enrolled in a larger high school after I graduated. Mine, while public, was rural and too small to support certain activities, football being one of them. Following high school, I attended my grandmother's alma mater, Wellesley College in Wellesley, Massachusetts, an all women's college. We had rugby, basketball, and competed in some league in tennis but we certainly did not have a football team. Thus, I did not know and still do not know many rules, game plans, plays, aims of the various positions, or general details of the game.

As stated, I have a traumatic brain injury and was in a coma for about thirty days and still suffer penalties for driving on an icy highway. Although he was fairly young, Sage also has a good idea of the probable outcome of what results when your brain in hurt to the degree that thirty days of sleep is necessary to heal to reach consciousness. However, my wreck took place when my family wasn't so cognizant of all of the statistics, charts, and warnings as there are now. Additionally, since my brothers have all played and excelled at various types of ball since they were about five years old, the progression of leagues and competitions was just gone through and mindless. Plus, my family and community are so attracted to sports that once Sage was offered a full ride to play football, the offer wasn't exactly frowned-upon. When he was drafted by the Washington Redskins, the earning-potential pretty much drowned-out any voices not to join. After the Redskins, he was traded to the Miami Dolphins and thus his career as a backup quarterback was begun. Anyway, he was young when the decision to play was begun and when we're young, we habitually assume that we are invincible...Anyway, the point of bringing up this fairly tumultuous time of my life in this piece is just to point out that I appreciated having the little pocket of escape that the church gave me. Fundraisers, classes, auctions, were constantly occurring...my friend, Mirium was staying overnight in ditches to try to prevent the construction of oil pipelines; another friend, Kasia, barely escaped the bombing which occurred during the Boston marathon and my parents were convinced to sponsor the lifelong education of a child from Tibet. Although I immediately deemed it impossible, some women from the society flew to the border to assist in helping the thousands of children of immigrants, most of whom were living in detention centers, the innocent victims of Donald Trump's policies. Those are just examples of other big happenings in my church that put sports, in general, on the back-burner.


As one can already surmise, since my little "society" is composed of folks who do not want to live within the parameters of a rule-book, people who practice a variety of the faiths are welcome, as are folks who never practiced at all. There are no rules and there is no doctrine. Instead of following a "Bible," members of the Universal Unitarian follow seven principles and the list is more centered on celebrating self and promote the health of the world. As I have witnessed that when everything else is said and done, humans are much stronger than we know, the first principle collided with my personal knowledge. The second wants there to be justice, equity, compassion in all human relations. The third principle discusses the privilege of having an acceptance of one another and offers an encouragement of spiritual growth to others in our congregation. Our fourth principle discusses having a free and responsible quest for truth and meaning. The fifth relates to the r of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregation and with society at. The goal of peace, liberty, and justice for all constitute the six for the sixth principle and the seventh asks for a respect for the interdependent web of existence of all which we are part.


The state of Iowa is conservative and almost exclusively composed of small towns largely inhabited by citizens with closed minds but we have a supreme court which upholds the civil rights amendment. Because of that, legal same-sex marriage took place in this state before it did anywhere else. As these types of unions are accepted and celebrated in accordance with our principles, not only did we have same-sex weddings for a few individuals in our congregation, but from surrounding states would also come to our building for the same goal.  Partly out of sense of pride, partly out of a sense of curiosity, and partly out of a sense of community, I spent a particular Saturday afternoon at my society, giving a few simple directions of the appropriate rooms and being a witness to the nuptials of several couples who came over on a bus from St. Louis. After getting over the fact that these couples had to wed without being surrounded by family and friends and the fact that their wedding attire was stuffed in the same types of duffel bags we had for away games in high school, at the end of the day, I was simply amazed to have found a place which so closely mirrored my beliefs surrounding love, justice, and equality.

Almost all of the boxes were checked; a progressive and well-educated congregation, a relationship to the community based on service, well-spoken ministers, commitments to the natural world, a dedication to the youth , multiple evening gatherings where members brought yummy snacks, services to join all people in matrimony, witnessing the positive attitudes of the youth regarding both local and global service...almost every wish was fulfilled. With all of these professors running around, there was no expectation of "blind faith" or anything borderline non-factual. Honestly, what amazed me was that a church had so fulfilled me. After a few years of living in that little house, we decided that it would be wise for me to live downtown and while proximity to the society wasn't, honestly, a determining-factor in the relocation, my move made my attendance, especially at the society's nighttime classes and festivities likely. Years continued and while I was never thrilled about living in such a narrow-minded state with its drastic temperatures, my parents relocated to Iowa City, and I busied myself with the few friends I had made and this fantastic society.

I received my undergraduate degree from a college which is highly competitive to enter, but for a few reasons, that fact largely eluded me and my acceptance wasn't too difficult. My life, even with a disability, can be explained using those three words..."largely eluded me," but, again, I fell off topic. It was only once I was enrolled, in my dormitory, and speaking with friends that I realized just how difficult it was to be accepted to attend Wellesley. One of the devices that the admissions office uses in determining entrance is the SAT or the Scholastic Aptitude Test. Several firms exist with the purpose of increasing those test scores and, naturally, I was completely ignorant of these agencies. Honestly, I learned that I needed to simply take this exam the day before I to actually sit down with my number two pencil but that's a whole different story.  So at some point, this cute family joined my society and I orginally noticed them because, like me, the daughter had three little brothers.  It's a small congregation but, at the time, was even smaller and word quickly reached me that the father, Adam Ingersoll, ran a company who prepared students to increase their test scores. This type of business is huge now, but like I stated, the entire industry didn't even register to me at the time of my own testing. Consequently, upon meeting Adam, I was interested in his work. After meeting me, he largely seemed interested in making the facility easier for me to maneuver. As time went on, I learned the deep beauty and joy that occurs when an entire congregation fulfills its principles and make you the beneficiary.

About a year after the Ingersolls joined, my left knee began hurting and I went through a series of tools of medical intervention to attempt to relieve me. After consultation with my doctor and an orthropedic doctor, we learned that my years of crappy gait had eaten away the cartilage which surrounds the knee socket and the result without surgery would be complete, painful bone on bone friction.  My knee would need to be replaced.  However, the material used as substitutes didn't have a timeless shelf life and I was pretty young.  We were and still are, afraid that I was too young to get a replacement and implemented a large number of tools to postpone a knee replacement.  I got several Cortisone shots at the local orthopedic clinic, saw a chiropractor, I wore a TENS unit at thirty minute intervals throughout the day which applied little shocks of electricity, and even visited an acupuncture clinic. Someone even suggested we visit a clinic in Madison to get a partial but finally, a surgeon gave me a second opinion on a solution to the pain from my knee.  He offered the wisdom of getting it done in full-a TOTAL replacement-but there was no opening on his table for a year.

Sadly, there were several instances where it was apparent that the older, three-story building with its out-of-date elevator was not accessible.  In fact, it was harmful to me and anyone with a walk, cane, scooter, or standard wheelchair. There were a few instances when my knee would just give out. In the end, Adam convinced the entire congregation to implement its principles and enact our concept of radical hospitality to make a major change in our facilities. We sold our downtown property and bought land upon which WE BUILT A CHURCH. We constructed a gorgeous, one story facility which is said to be the most ecological in the state.

Please, don't misconstrue...the other members of didn't ignore my pain or anything. There was no lack of concern toward future needs.  There just wasn't a great vision or a realistic presentation of a plan. Adam Ingersoll not only had that vision but he conducted a number of meetings where he displayed diagrams and blueprints regarding possible future construction of a beautiful, one-level establishment. When it was decided that we needed a new facility, a whole team volunteered and took action. Plus, for the most part, my little society wasn't exactly privy to the issues surrounding my left knee and since I gamely took part in many of the classes, lectures, meetings, worship services, and celebrations that were offered to the rest of the congregation, I was never offended or anything. However, occasionally, I would witness someone needing an wheelchair, scooter, cane, walker or other device to ambulate from floor to floor and just silently wish that the elevator ran safely.  However, as sweet and positive as they are, wishes aren't solid or hard evidence of the support of a community. I found that sense in a church...the Universal Unitaritian Society of Iowa City.

shake

This case is especially true when one is isolated and is never shown others who are dealing with similar situations. In1992, I was almost fatally injured and for an entire year, I had no one to talk with who was dealing with the same issues. I'm not writing this as a plea for sympathy. Life is a journey which one must face alone and I have been given an amazing collection of gifts and skills to pull-off this endeavor. Simply, I am trying to illustrate why it's helpful and should possibly be mandatory to attend a camp like Shake-a-Leg within a reasonable amount of time after our "cart has been upset."

The oldest of five, I always have partners. These people share, for the most part, my goal of a happy, satisfying life, many of my dreams, my problems, and have many similar issues to my own. After my injury in 1992, I felt fairly alone on my journey.  Not only was I facing the world with an "inadequate compass," but I knew no one for whom physical trauma had occurred or even anyone who used a wheelchair.  Shake-a-Leg, "Shake" was set up in Newport, Rhode Island, the hometown of the director. It had top-notch therapies, mainly served people under forty years-old, and was billed as a second-stage rehabilitation camp, specializing in sailing. As many wonderful things fade, Shake was only open for a few years. I commend the directors for all of their work, having access to it was vital at a pivotal time in my life. It saddens me that thousands of injured persons will not share the joy of Shake.

    My father had two sisters who lived on on either coast who played huge roles in the lives of my siblings and me. Ellie, who died a few years ago, lived on the west coast and was successful in the banking industry. My sister, Sasha did her graduate work near Ellie and they played huge roles in each other's lives.  His younger sister, Joan, lives in New York City and became my central host/family-member when I attended Wellesley College, near Boston.  She acted professionally for years and is now a theater coach for Broadway.

Joan's friend, Karen Bragga, was a member of a group of actors, producers, and directors called "The Manhattan Class Company."  A leader of the group was associated with a man, Harry Horgan, who had been paralyzed in a diving accident and partnered with his father to begin Shake.  He was really into yachting and saw the need for a second-stage rehabilitation camp for similarly injured people.  Although I am not paralyzed and have no interest in ever yachting again, it was thought that I should go and possibly benefit from the treatments. As I live in rural Iowa and was living in a small town, rehabilitation services were severely lacking and the idea of Shake seemed exciting, positive, and necessary.   I was allowed entry and my parents lovingly sent me to Shake. I went for two summers and initially, my stint was only to be for three weeks. Thankfully, it became nine and was the best way, personally, to learn to love myself and appreciate my life.  Remember, I am from Iowa. Usually, folks don't go far away.  

Most of the residents had spinal cord injuries and were paralyzed but a few of us had different injuries (like brain injuries or cerebral palsy). With one exception, we were all in wheelchairs and could benefit from the activities, therapies, and sense of community that Shake provided. While my initial stay on the grounds of this facility gave me a new sense appreciation and knowledge of myself and new abilities, it was also the spot for the formation of some lifelong friendships and provided an education to a new life.

Although I am positive that there are a few similar places, Camp Shake-a-Leg is now closed and that fact saddens me as played such a huge and vital role in my adjustment to this new phase of my life. While growing up, the few people I had known with disabilities had been born with them and I never really interacted with them. I would never categorize my parents as sheltering or as people who intentionally sought to hide this aspect of life. There just wasn't time to delve into the realities of others.  As the eldest girl of five kids, there was always lots of laundry to wash, dishes and babysitting to do, books to read, after school activities, boys to date, jobs to keep, and friends with which to exchange gossip. My complete ignorance of this entirely different lifestyle was never intentional or mean-spirited.  It just was not there.  I knew nothing of leg bags, spasms, seizures, or even the civil rights laws which protect the lives of people who are disabled, or the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act).  In fact, while at Shake a state Legislator dropped in and began his talk by asking if we knew what the ADA was. Thankfully, I kept quiet, because until he informed us, all my mind could come up with was the answer "American Dental Association."

After he tore his spine in a diving accident, instead of giving away his sailing-gear, Harry adapted his methods and his boat, making the experience an activity in which he could participate. Thus, the advertised goal of Shake was to help paralyzed persons to sail with accommodations. As I have spent most of my days in the landlocked state of Iowa, I have never had a deep appreciation for nor yearning to sail. The key program of Shake which captured my interest was drama-therapy and since it was held during the final three weeks of the summer,  I had over six weeks to engage in the many other therapies offered at Shake, to meet the other participants (mainly from New England), and realize how fortunate I am. A significant way that I am/was lucky was that I was in the tiny minority who, as stated, was differently injured  from the majority. When the brain has been injured, like mine, much of your being, memory, thoughts, intellect, and feelings vary from how they were, but in a spinal cord injury, the is paralysis from the point on the spine that was damaged or severed and everything below it. Although I also spend most of my time in a wheelchair, my injury lets me walk, with assistance. As many of the body's functioning and organs are ruled by the brain, TBI's are horrible predicaments and necessitate acceptance over a lifetime, but do not prevent extremities from moving. I was reminded on a daily basis that I was lucky enough to move and feel my leg, not to require a ventilator to breathe, and not to need to have someone plan and execute my daily routine.

This, coupled with the fact that I was in my early twenties and loved live music, made me able to happily befriend some of the able-bodied assistants and nurses. The majority of this group were guys from Georgia who played in bands at home and formed a mini-band who mainly played in Newport.  I am adventuresome, grew up with three brothers and am far from a delicate flower.
The person with whom I spent the most time was Amy, a nurse's aid. The two of us rode around together, listening to trending music, getting snacks, discussing boyfriends, college, and goals. Although there were other nurses, therapists, and aides, she is responsible for turning my first summer with a disability into the best summer of my life.

I also met Chapin that summer. Although I have fallen out of touch with most of the other residents, I'm delighted that we keep tabs on one another and each others' families.  Although summers are semi-crazy and there is a vast assortment of other commitments, we make an effort to be with each other every few years.  Chapin, "Chap", is a few years younger than me, was injured around the time I was and lives in Virginia. She was informed of Shake and for some outrageous reason, decided that she would leave her comfortable cottage and venture to Newport. Although we are friends and peers, Chap's perseverance, dedication, patience, knowledge, and understanding has made her into something of an inspiration and when with her, I always feel like a bit of a side-kick...not in a bad, ignored way but she is incredibly knowledgeable. She also has a degree in counseling but, unlike me, derives an income with it and has her own private practice. Chap is paralyzed from the shoulders down, so in the twenty-four years that I have known her, not only does she make me wonder and giggle, she also makes it impossible to look at my situation and be depressed. Because of her paralysis, Chap is not able to roll in the night. Thus, she gets these bedsores, aka pressure sores, her bones cut into her flesh and thus, she spends way too much of her time "down," on her back.       .

     Although Shake helped me to achieve new friends, a higher degree of self respect, comfort with a disabled body, a love of being "with the band," and such, it was decidedly a rehabilitation camp. Many stimulating therapies were offered and I partook in several, got stronger, found out how to function successfully but in a different way.  The therapists were terrifically skilled and did not treat participants with kid gloves or as buffoons who had "just stepped off the boat." (Probably an offensive statement...sorry!)  In all probability, since the owner of the camp was also disabled, he knew the right qualities in therapists and maybe even did the interviews himself.

     I briefly mentioned Amy but, in fairness, I need to do so again. A mentally and physically strong friend who also loved live music, Amy would take me weekly to open mike events which featured "the boys" in their lil band, Soulfood.  They may not have enjoyed being labeled as a group, but who cares? Not only do I have three younger brothers to whom I refer as "the boys," but they were also pivotal and essential to my fantastic summer and were instrumental parts of my journey...like my brothers.  Having worked there the summer prior to my attendance, two of them, John and Tim got employed at Shake and John talked his brother, Dave into being part of Shake the next summer.  I think they were supposed to be nurses aids, but they were given many more (often strange) responsibilities. Being endowed with great voices and parents who were willing to send them to Rhode Island to work for a summer, John and Tim were actually lead singers of two local bands in there hometown, Gainesville, GA. They entertained us by playing nightly.  One of the three had a summer romance with Amy and she was sure to be wherever he was.  In order to make the chase less obvious and to have fun, she needed a buddy (me) to accompany her.  I had fun. It was all good. 

     Amy was employed in her field and the boys got to hangout and learn theatrical tips from the folks from the MCC. Of course, the camp's management took advantage of John, Dave and Tim and insisted they be drivers of the camp's van, the entertainment leaders, changers of urine bags, extras in our theatrical production, etc. All of the attendees had recently suffered a huge, life-changing trauma and John, Tim and Dave were young good-looking guys full of stories and antics who would sit with someone through a seizure, prepare him for bed, help him lie down and play rock n roll until 2am; they were perfect.  Often, Tim would say to me, "I have no idea what's going on", but after you've been in a coma for a month, you are probably a tad bit hazy too. Thus, his proclamation was perfectly felt.  One needs the medical training and expertise of a doctor and other medical professionals directly following a life-threatening injury, but then they just need people who will help them to live in a new body. Strong, smart, musically-gifted, and kinda crazy, these three sustained the perfect balance for a summer directly following an absurdly traumatic episode.

     Things like spasms, seizures, catheters, and blackouts were presented to my life at Shake. These are not usually essential to be aware of for most people but they became an important aspect of my new paradigm. Fortunately, these topics were fairly recent introductions into the lives of most of us, so it was a shared-experience.  The traumas that had occurred in our lives were easier to take and much less scary.  Although our injuries, outside lives, and relationships varied, it was a place of equality.  No one had any time or need for the pity which always exists in most other relationships. There was also fairly newfound friendship, respect and laughter over shared stories, interactions with anyone not in Shake and many inside jokes.

     As stated, the clear majority of other campers were paralyzed and simply having the ability to feel everything that happens to my body was HUGE and a definite reason that I was fortunate to attend Shake.  As my lack of balance has put me into the Emergency Room about fifteen times, plus a few surgeries, I am well-aware of the joy of too many pain relievers.  No one would  ever guess that I gained a respect for pain and that I consider that feeling it is be a luxury.  Simply, if an appendage or ligament is causing pain, nerve ending are working. My brain lay dormant for a month, needing to heal. Terrible things happened. Whatever. I don't wanna talk about those things, but just know that having an urge to urinate or defecate is never pleasant but are privileges which I learned to enjoy. 

     Before closing, I want to speak of a man I met at Shake. His name is Zach.  With any luck, this description will more fully explain the sense of fortune I derived from Shake. As my senses of balance, vision, and judgement were impaired, as was stated, I am well-associated with pain. However, beyond being thankful that my nerves work, I usually think of Zach and automatically feel a huge amount of empathy and know that it could be worse. As a young, eager, newly married professional, Zach learned of Shake and immediately applied. As most other attendees had been in wheelchairs for at least few years and had learned the right dosage of the appropriate pain medication, Zach did not have enough time to educate and prepare himself for life with a severed spine.  As I have no memory of him swimming, yachting, enjoying the band or even being out of bed, the odds are that it was just too soon for Zach to even attend Shake.  We had an R.N., a variety of nurses' aids and a local consulting physician.  Anyway, although I hold a masters degree in rehabilitation counseling, I have zero medical training and am unable to explain this phenomenon.  Even if I did, the issue of which I am speaking sounds like an uncommon nerve damage-issue and I am uncertain that it is even studied or explained. The issue was that nerves misfired and Zach constantly felt as if he was on fire. Nothing could be done to give him comfort and Zach's wife spoke of imagining a double suicide. I was told that Zach's pain is common to quadraplegics directly following an injury but I have no clue as to the truth. However, I met Zach the first summer which I attended Shake and loved my experience so much that I eagerly registered the next summer. Obviously, the benefits did not dissuade me from appreciating the entire experience.

     Additionally, before I close, I would like to discuss the "theatrical" portion of Shake, the actual reason that I was attracted to this grand experience. Since my vocal cords were severely injured during my injury, my voice is not only soft, but my speech is slurred. Naturally, things have improved in twenty-five years and I am no longer incoherent, but during theater, we were given exercises to work on our volume and diction during the practice sessions and although I asked for and was given a part which had only a few lines during the final play, I left feeling like I was understood and made a contribution. Since the amazing reputation of the Manhatten Class Company was what enticed the boys to come all the way from Georgia and since my brilliant and talented Aunt has similarly gifted friends who would never be with an organization which does not offer the best drama, none of this should come as any surprise.

     As I completed my public high school years with a class of thirty-one and live in rural Iowa, the offerings presented to me have been small.  As an agnostic, I will never say that I have a guardian angel or savior and I know that the rehabilitation offered in more metropolitan hospitals have offered clients with similar feelings and memories but, camp Shake-A-Leg popped in my radar at the optimal time in my life and the fact that millions of others will miss this is a tragedy.

The Food Bank

As my name is unusual and is not spelled like it sounds, about weekly,, I explain that my parents were hippies I went through the orientation and ift the Food Bank at the Johnson County Crisis Center. The Center was begun here in 1970 and initially served as a telephone hotline, run by volunteer University of Iowa students who specialized in suicide prevention. Later, a tiny food pantry was added and services for persons dealing with a transitional and homeless experiences. A board of supervisors and a few paid staff offices and govern many situations, but, essentially, the more than 250 volunteers keep the place running.  Issues which are not within the purview of the Crisis Centers are often dealt with in a manner of referral. There is also a collaboration with the government of local cities, the United Way, the University of Iowa, local businesses in this town, and the local religious community.   Thus, although we have an operational structure, no particular governmental agency supervises or dictates. It operates as a NGO (non-governmental organization) and the primary reason I love to give it my time and energy is thqt unlike out tribal and narcissistic government, the only qualification necessary to obtain nourishment is the will to go into the door.

     The building which houses the Crisis Center is divided as to the need. In the front section, trained counselors who operate the suicide prevention hotline are posted and the Food Bank is located in the rear. I am by no means trained in suicide prevention. Hence, I hardly know what happens in the front of the building.  However, unloading boxes and stocking shelves takes coordination I do not have and explaining the procedures and rules of the food bank requires thought, patience and a clear, strong voice. My injury wiped out much of my balance and a partial paralysis of my vocal chords makes me speech soft, low, and difficult to understand. Initially, I was temporarily doubtful of my service in any capacity.  However, on my interview, the manager, Jessica, immediately eliminated my concerns, by suggesting that I could try to work at the register, basically, as a bagger. Instead, I was instantly placed at the end of the blue entrance, the first row after the waiting room.  I have no idea how it came to be that I should work in the blue section, but everything worked out beautifully.  

As this town is not huge, the facility's size mirrors that. Beside the storeroom, the Food Bank is mainly divided into two section; green and blue. Depending upon the size of the household, clients get a said number of points with which to receive goods like meat, milk, or diapers in the blue section. Although this work is not rocket science, it has become quite clear that I need to be attentive and fair. Many people need this service and a week may be a long time to wait for a select item to be restocked.

     Directly after the "blue" section comes the "green section," where breads. cereals, produce, cans of vegetables, soups,and many other less costly items are stocked into one or more carts, depending on household size. If a baby is in the household, the client is given a additional yellow card and items such as diaper wipes and baby food are given.  As Johnson county is located in Iowa and this state is legendary for its rich soil and all it produces, in the summer and fall (optimal seasons for harvest), fruit and fresh vegetables are some favorite choices and seeing someone leave the Crisis Center with leafy stems bursting from the tops of baskets of groceries always gives me a good feeling.

    Like I said, my job is to tally points in the blue section--the first encountered. As the setup goes, I see the clients as they enter.  Not everyone or even most bring infants in carriages and toddlers in strollers, but as our clients are commonly undereducated (many being immigrants), familiarization with birth control and family planning is lacking. Additionally, childcare is rather expensive and parents who rely upon donations and the government to feed their families, are rarely able to afford this.  Thus, from time to time, I see a parent (usually a mother) enter with a stroller or carriage. However, as stated, the Food Bank is small and when pushing the device to transport your child combined with thrusting a cart, often overloaded with food and baskets, the outcome is a terrifically sad scene. Luckily, I am given just enough space at the end of the blue aisle to allow me to offer to keep an eye on and play with the child while the mother shops. Occasionally, someone is teething or having another experience which causes crying and motivates me to cradle them in my arms but usually, a small object, like a mini toothpaste or bottle of sunscreen is nearby and provides twenty minutes or so..enough time for the parent to fill carts and baskets with groceries. The entire experience is a win-win for everyone; while my life is completely full and satisfying without kids, I often, naturally, find them adorable and a great way to work on imagination and patience. The child encounters the new faces off my co-workers and I and is happily occupied, while the parents more easily gets through the aisles to fill the baskets and sacks for the week.

     Speaking of babies and toddlers directly leads me to a subject which has become the topic of a personal mission...diapers.  Although Americans are eligible for dietary aid in the way of food stamps, that supplement does not cover diapers. We cannot provide every item necessary, but no baby or child, regardless of religion, color, or citizenship should be in a diaper for long and the acquisition on an endless supply is a goal. However, I volunteer at the Crisis Center and the help we give should not be customary and it should be sought out only when other options and preventable circumstances are nullified.

Since the Crisis Center is not run by the government, we are non-exclusionary and follow no laws, despite the type of government in place. ------------------------------
         As we do not discriminate on who we serve, the lone requirement for assistance is that the individual currently resides in this governmental district. We don't care about religion or actual citizenship. This is America. There are rules and standards but this isn't some third, lawless world. Many people pay taxes and there are ways of civility to living here. Providing help, like food is what one can expect to find at places in the United States such as the Crisis Center. We live in a democracy but are our brother's keeper. Of course, food is not the only thing which is needed to have a life and clothing vouchers, public transportation assistance, help with getting household items, aid for special needs (like eyeglasses), aid in paying for bills, access to mailboxes, aid in obtaining a birth certificate and birthday bags are also available. The Crisis Center of Johnson County is located near a secondhand, consignment store, the Salvation Army Center, a business constructed to primarily assist veterans and a couple of bus stops. Thus, for many clients needing the services we provide, obtaining relief does not require owning a car.

         Early one afternoon, a client, who appeared to be Muslim entered my area. Unfamiliar with the Food Bank, she adjusted her headscarf, looking completely confused when our patient staff slowly explained the correct procedure to visiting the Food Bank. She also seemed overwhelmed at the fact that this help even existed. As the young child accompanying her translated the staff member's instructions and the pair came toward me, I kept hearing expressions of surprise and joy.  There was also the soft repetition of a word of which I was not familiar. After the pair reached me and I added their points, the girl explained that her aunt kept thanking us. "Tell your aunt 'Welcome to America,' I said to the young girl. 'This is what we do.'"

PWDs

A P.W.D. is the abbreviation for a person with a disability. If you were born with a disability, this term may very well be known to you, but if one is received later in life, you may want to know what a PW.D. is. It really isn't that important to most to even know your actual disability and it really isn't a concern as to how or where you obtained it, which changes it makes it your life, your diagnosis or prognosis, as having a disability is a way of life which is full of nuances, moments of shock, reams of denial, plenty of moments of anger, tons of sadness, bits of hope, suffocating displays of pity, and a huge dose of acceptance of limitations, there are going to be a number of things of which you won't want to be privy.  It is a truly different life and my goal in writing this piece and the caring person who handed it is to you wants you to be "prepare" in a sense.

I used the term prepared, not that ANY knowledge can allow for that to happen, but before my injury, I was completely clueless. I think that whatever light can be, should be made possible.  As I injured MY BRAIN, I honestly figured that I would never find it tolerable that I could accept that fact that my intelligence was less, but especially knowing how comparably fortunate I am to others with similar injuries, I can tolerate it. In addition, after a month-long coma, I woke to discover that my impairments WERE SO NUMEROUS, and my achievements prior to my injury were so solid, that losing some IQ points was fairly tolerable.  I use an electronic scooter when I leave my house, I have soft, slurred, often incoherent speech, my handwriting is beyond difficult to decipher, my limbs shake if I'm performing most tasks, my optical nerve was torn in half, leaving me with double-vision...My list of losses seems exhausting but they is MY responsibility. My family and I have spent over twenty-four years learning and dealing with these things, so I neither expect a cure or for anyone else to immediately understand. Most of your actions and issues are not going progress sequentially, orderly, specifically, or make perfect sense. However, with abundant fortitude, everything WILL get done. Perhaps not in the way others accomplish tasks, but, screw it if your judged. You gotta live your life.


 Here's the deal and this may be the most essential thing to relay. LIFE IS BY NO MEANS FAIR. It's just not. Innocent babies starve. People all over the world get sick for curable diseases. Your pilot might just crash the airplane carrying you because he's having a bad day. Things happen to human beings which just aren't fair. It's not to say that I'm sorry and I KNOW that most of the people who you know are sorry too! There is little they can do to alter the facts though.  If someone or something is at fault, there's a chance that there will be something or somewhere at which to direct your anger and that may soothe you for awhile but it won't ever change the situation. Of course, a good consequence of having money is that life can be easier and that stress is minimized, but, please understand that the basic facts will not change...you will still be injured and if you're harmed like I was, this will be an irreversible fact of life until you die.
This all sounds depressing and I'm sorry to be the individual to deliver this message. At the same time, I don't mind giving you my conviction that all of this happened to you because it was determined that you could handle this. That's right, my friend...you got this. I'm unconvinced that "everything happens for a reason" or that we are somehow in control of our own destiny. Those concepts seem pretty cruel and I, myself, know far too many innocents who had nothing to do with the fates they were dealt. However, as one who  spent a month in a coma, who has been in this culture for twenty-four years (just had my anniversary), and who would never take the time to feed you a line, I feel the duty to inform you of the world you've entered and that you CAN do this.

As the poverty rate of this population is understandably high (as it is hard or impossible for many of us to be competitively employed) according to the U.S. Census is about 80 percent. The good news is that you are an American and are afforded certain rights.  In 1991, the Americans with Disabilities Act was made law.  Though it cannot dismiss the blatant and subtle discrimination which Americans with disabilities face daily, but it's goal. Of course, the laws under which we live rarely translate into an immediate change is the general sense of bias or mass opinion, but prejudices and assumptions DO change with time. Also, there are going to be many good people whom will have your back and hold your flashlight on this journey. As you have changed bodies, those who you call friends will probably alter. This fact is often painful to accept but "it's not fair." Remember?

  Before going, there is one other thing you need to remember. Take your medication! Obviously, something is amiss in your biology and medications (meds) work to stabilize.  Meds can not only mentally and emotionally work toward our well-beings, but physical changes can occur...honestly.
Especially at those times when you feel healthy, resilient and capable, remember to pop the pill that made you feel that way. As someone who has her masters degree in rehabilitation counseling and who worked at the St. Louis Psychiatric Rehabilitation Institute, I have witnessed the wonder of meds. At the institute, eighty percent of our clients were determined to be not guilty by reason of insanity. Some had conditions which decreased their inhibitions and other law-abiding behavior but the majority (eighty percent) were mentally disabled and were determined to to Not Guilty for Reasons of Insanity (N.G. R. I.). For one of a multiple number of reasons, these folks had stopped taking the medications which kept them sane and stopped them from pursuing illegal acts. Because authorities had placed those folks into an institution (prison) where their diagnosis was discovered and the taking of their medication was monitored, these people were determined "not guilty." However, these folks were still locked-up and were not allowed most of the freedoms that the rest of Americans enjoy. Take your meds!


Please remember, I am on the side of persons who have acquired disabilities...not your parents, social worker's, Department of Human Services' director's, or best friend's. Those may all be lovely people who are looking out for you and it would be nice if this essay somehow makes life easier for them, but, no, I'm speaking directly to you. 

My Time at the RNC

---

From: jaiarose@msn.com
To: jaiarose@msn.com
Subject:
Date: Sat, 11 Feb 2012 06:32:34 -0600

1. 
   

2.      After I demolished my car, I lie comatose for a month and have a traumatic brain injury. As a consequence, my sense of balance was pretty much destroyed, I have double-vision, delayed reactions to possibly harmful events is huge. Thus, I have been in too many the emergency room and have return hospitals from coast to coast on several occasions, mainly due to this vitally important loss. Logically then, I should consider myself as a fan of medical procedures and innovation.  However, I have had a lifelong distrust of the medical establishment and this was only compounded by my disability.  I have been arrested bamy disability. Thankfully, the whole episode was fairly comedic but the issue at the core is not funny and this writing is not meant to undermine.

3. 
   
4. My four younger siblings and I were all born at home so from the age when I could judge where certain events took place, I automatically saw birth as a natural process which did not necessitate surgery and thus, a hospital.  Currently, most infants are delivered in a hospital-setting, where access to surgical medical tools and obstetricians is immediate.  Our country's cesarean rate is at 25% and  this is ridiculous. Women have had babies for thousands of years where a surgeon was not necessary, but because much more money can be made when a baby is produced this way, the rate is what it is. As she has delivered over three hundred babies as a lay midwife, and only saw a handful of cases where the woman in labor needed to be transferred into the care of a "backup doctor", I have always been keenly aware that often traditions do not portray real need and standardized medical journeys are not always beneficial. 
5. 
   
6.  Because of an illness, injury, or something which accompanied them at birth, thousands of United States citizens have been placed in nursing homes (aka, long-term care facilities, residential facilities, etc.)  Many of these places are lovely and provide things that spending days in one's own home could not.  Plus, there are family and medical reasons for placement. My remaining grandparent lives in one of these centers, says that she enjoys it, and having visited, I can attest to the fact that it is lovely and she is comfortable and happy.  As her son lives nearby and keeps in contact with her, the entire situation seems positive.  However it is a privately-funded home and she is in her nineties.
7. 
   
8. On the other hand, residents of some facilities which are funded by the government or people who rely upon government funding, are of all ages and the environment is often not so serene.  They are dependent upon others to assist with a daily need and some were abandoned by family.  In a few situations, abuse or neglect occurs.  The alternative is usually preferred and consists of leaving an individual in his or her own home and having an assistant or aid visit for a few hours a day or week, providing care.  Since I now have a traumatic brain injury, this is personal. Placement in any environment where my status of dependence on others put me at risk of neglect or harm is unacceptable.
9. 
   
10. My disability is a traumatic brain injury and when it began, a lifestyle which, among other things, tremendously impacts my coordination and balance.  Hence, I also use a walker, but that is usually my mode of assistance on more private occasions, when an explanation is rarely necessary.  Hence, I rarely walk without some kind of assistance and often it is a scooter, which is commonly used by the elderly.  Actually, many aspects of my life are also common for individuals of different ages, so it is not odd that my concerns would vary from those of most forty five-year olds. Admittedly, this is an odd way to live and although my family and I should be experts at predicting probabilities and possibilities, even we are still learning and accepting.  Some of our other deficits symptoms are in the cognition and memory categories and deficits in these areas are also found in some elderly people.
11. 
    
12. A nursing home might also be called a residential (long-term care) facility and it is important to say that many are incredibly well-run and offer enjoyable experiences.  Like everything, there is an alternate side and many, especially some run by the state, are nothing more than warehouses which remove many of our constitutional rights. Abuse has even been reported and sadly, the residents of those facilities are usually prevented from speaking of these experiences.  Therefore, it is the responsibility of unrestricted citizens who are concerned to demonstrate their dissatisfaction.
13. 
    
14. An easy-alternative to living in a residential facility is in-home health care. When this situation is in play, a worker enters the home a few times a day and provides whatever care that for which the individual needs assistance, whether it be food preparation, bathing, help to run errands, dressing (obviously, the list goes on). This type of care is, of course, much preferred by most, is much less expensive, a is not the usual option of families in need of help. Nursing homes and residential facilities employ many people and are usually backed by a medical system that has tons of resources. Thus, when recognizing when an individual requires help, the usual course of action is placement in a nursing home...regardless of age.
15. 
    
16. Residents of long-term care facilities have few freedoms and seldom have a choice of how they spend their time.  Unlike prison, no offense has been committed. As stated, normally residents who are forced to live in these places are in their seventies or are older. However, since many aspects of a disabled person's lifestyle mirror that of an older individual, in some cases, institutization is the forced by the state. Currently, the national bias makes institutionalization the immediate choice.  The other (more humane and economically solvent choice is community-based attendant care. In these situations, an attendant or aide stops by someone's residence for a few hours a day and provides the necessary care, whether it be meal preparation, assistance with personal care or medical service.  Of course, actions and needs vary but I have lived alone and just employed an attendant since grad school. Thus, I am incensed over the fact that people my age are often placed in nursing homes, although their only crime was to be born with something or to, like me, get into an accident on an icy bridge.
17. 
    
18. After dealing with the trauma of getting a disability, or after being released from a long-term care facility, there are a myriad of skills to learn.  Although my support and education came from college and my family, soon after my last move, I learned of centers for independent living.  These centers individually help folks with disabilities to successfully live independently and are part of a national network called NCIL, are located in most urban ares, are staffed by individuals with and without disabilities, and find varying degrees of success, try to meet the needs of an undeserved and largely impoverished population and are underfunded.  However, they do what they can and a while after I began my time of being on the board of directors at the local C.I.L., I learned of ADAPT, an organization started by a man named Bob Kafka.  It seemed pretty clandestine and exciting as it collected folks from all over the country to protest various unfair actions and laws.  Additionally, it actually freed people from nursing homes!  Many of the living conditions at these places looked deplorable.  Hence, my involvement with ADAPT seemed like the right course of action and I introduced myself to Bob via email.
19. 
    
20. I should repeat the fact that this group did not meet in my home state.  Hopefully, there is some connection now, but good change often takes a long time and I am involved with other worthy non-profits.  Plus, I have this problem called a traumatic brain injury and it's pronouncement in my life has slowed me down and given my a number of more pressing issues to tackle.  However, at the time of this episode, I very excited about possibilities and Bob seemed happy to hear from me and so began the trip that led action which began My Time At The RNC
21. .
22. Bob reported that the next national action (protest) of ADAPT would be at the in Washington D.C.   The Community Choice Act gave in-home care preferred status over residence in nursing homes. It had been signed by Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton, but had yet to feel the pen of John McCain. Thus, we were to meet at the Republican National Committee to request that he sign. A lifelong Democrat, I have always felt a bit fearful and disgusted by the very name the Republican National Committee.  Although I've now been there and have seen that it's only a big, concrete building of lawmakers and defenders, I remain quite surprised over our antics in this building.
23. 
    
24. First, we tried to speak with the secretary of Health and Human Services.  After discovering that the secretary was out, we gathered at the headquarters of Republican National Committee.  Honestly, I have a fairly dim recollection of the actual event but I do remember that we had the support of the teamsters' union and many honking semis drove by, adding to our calls for McCain's appearance and answer as to why he had yet to co-sponsor.  After a few hours, we were warned that our arrests were imminent if we did not vacate the premises, but I am doubtless that everyone felt as resolute as myself.
25. 
    
26. After meeting only one other individual who had sustained a traumatic brain injury and hearing his story, I realized my good fortune.  For one, my mother was able and willing to retire from her part time job.  Needing to live outside my family's home was never even a consideration, much less a threat. Additionally, I had gotten my masters degree and come from a family who will always be able to help me live on my own.  Most Americans with disabilities live in poverty and are reliant upon state-subsidies. I enjoy Medicaid and Medicare but my primary financial assistance comes through private means. While most of my life has been forced to take a completely different route, I cannot complain of being unhappy and I am confident that few would offer me much pity after learning my family, travels. education, and the joyful potential of my future.
27. 
    
28. However, due to partially paralyzed vocal chords, unless you claim to be my sister, it is to ALWAYS understand me.  My voice was once a beloved highlight of my life and led to a part time job as a radio announcer and secured my placement in the chorus and on the speech team. Because of balance issues, I have entered the emergency room about twenty times.  Because of a history of "locking" my left knee and screwing up my leg, I currently have this painfully arthritic knee and need to fasten electrodes to it that provide enough electronic current to it for it to be useful. As a favor, I will refrain from mentioning the other insults I derive from my body on a daily basis, but I need to state that I fully realize how dependent I am and how few are the factors that separate me from institutionalization. Yes, I was determined that John McCain sign the initiative.
29. So, after our large group of mainly wheelchaired-people would not cease loudly chanting slogans like, "our homes, not nursing homes" and "we want choice NOW," we were threatened with arrests. Calmly, Bob spread the word that being arrested was fine...we had attorney-help to navigate our way to easy-release.  Although it has been established that I should never trust my own judgement, I believed Bob. After hearing of ADAPT, I learned that their actions frequently resulted in arrests. Whie being handcuffed with several other in chairs was new to me, it was old-school to ADAPT.
30. A large factor in the determination that it was acceptable for us to be arrested is simple and architectural. The jailhouses in Washington D.C. are inaccessible. Thus, we would not be plunged into some dank cell to face other criminals of the District of Columbia. It was thought that we might be taken to a park or some other large, publicly-owned spot which was one level.  Unlike the police officers near my home, the majority of officers surrounding our group of protestors was pretty young and good-looking. The prospect of spending a large amount of time looking at the faces of a bunch of cute guys was not a bad fate.
31. 
    
32. Our group was getting lots of attention and the question of how to proceed was in the air.  After a fairly short amount of time, one of the members of the N.R.A. private security squad, an office worker  or some random senator must have reminded someone in charge that there were some spacious rooms IN the building that might be useful, because in short time (I'd say "immediately," but a large group of people in wheelchairs don't do anything "immediately") we were told to relocate to a certain room in the interior of the building.
33. 
    
34. As the day promised to be long and I love to drink coffee (vanilla lattes are my favorite), after wheeling past a few workers with mugs and snacks, I realized that there was a cafeteria and I requested that we stop.  After being given the nod, I began to feel a little better about my incarceration. This vibe became even warmer when the officer reached for his wallet. "Is this really happening?" was my initial though. Although this episode happened years ago and a few of the other details might be a little fuzzy, I firmly recall that thinking those words.
35. 
    
36. Once the transaction was made, the officer who had taken me to the cafeteria pushed me down the hall and steered me to a spot in the rear of the long line of wheelchairs. As most individuals who utilize wheelchairs are SPINAL CHORD-injured, almost complete independence is achievable once the person is in his or her chair. As my brain was the lone organ injured in my wreck (accident) and the brain controls every muscle and function in the body, way too much was injured for many things to function...including the ability to walk unassisted. If the injury occurs to someone's spinal chord, it's always a loss, but the main question is "where?"or "at what level." Damage occurs AT the point of injury and affects (paralyzes) everything beneath it.  If the harm was exacted at a low point in the column and only two of the person's limbs are paralyzed, the person ends up being a paraplegic ("para" means two). If the injury occurs farther up the on the column, one has a greater opportunity of being a quadraplegic and all four limbs are impaired ("quad" means four...but you probably figured that out).
37. 
    
38. As stated, my brain was my lone organ to be injured and every single brain injury differs from every other. Various cells, synapses, and spheres control all function. Not only is each individual hurt at a different location than another, but each person responds differently. That being said, there are, of course, things that we all have in common. It is usually interesting (if a little annoying & embarrassing) to view another with the same injury and to not only truly understand many of the issues and difficulties with which they deal, but also how he or she is coping with the differences and how that person's support-team is helping.  For instance, hopefully, my readers recognize the name "Gabrielle Giffords."  She was a senator from Arizona who was shot in the head.  When her injury occurred and I heard of it, I was sad and wished her luck, but failed to give it much attention. Recently, I saw her on television and recognized many of her characteristics as ones that I have. They were announcing her retirement from the senate and I am happy to hear that she has finally faced reality. "A senator?  Seriously? Most of us don't have the where-with-all to realize that dessert is the final dish of the meal and someone told you that you could maintain the type of job which creates the laws that govern thousands? Ouch." As I returned to a prestigious college following my injury and went on to earn my masters degree when my neurologist doubted that possibility, one might expect me to have the belief that the advice of neurosurgeons and other specialists could be ignored.  However, along with my degrees, I have also been a witness to the million of negative effects that show when this type of injury occurs.  For example, I have never met anyone who did not speak of memory deficits.  Having ataxia (shaking limbs) is also common among us. People always beat the odds. Sure, but I bet most folks who are blind don't necessarily count on seeing anytime soon.  There are things we just need to accept. It may take years...it may never happen...or it may take years." There are those people, like my friend, Mike, who quickly adjust and just seem to be immediately ready to adjust to an entirely strange, new life. Mike may be one of the very few or he may be hiding his real issues from me...a girl and his peer.  Long ago, I was with a group of people who had been both spinal chord and brain injured. After several other question, they were asked which type of injury was worse. The consensus was definite.  "Brain injuries because they are totally personal. With spinal chord injuries, society has to figure it out. They just have to accommodate ME. Having a brain injury is definitely worse. It's personal." That, too, has never left me.
39. 
    
40. As all of those involved in the action were in wheelchairs, the chain of events that transpired that day went at a sluggish pace.  When regularly-paced needs are accommodated to be useful to members of society who are in wheelchairs, action usually happens at slow rate. As I had been disabled for about fifteen years when the arrest happened, I had a little foresight. Hence, I asked for coffee. Before a friend or my mother and I leave to do errands, I try to bring some reading material along.  This is done so that I always have something to do which I enjoy.  As I readily agree that getting me, my walker, or my wheelchair out of the car for every little errand upon which one embarks is not a good use of time, others understand and even help me locate the reading material. After entering, we were told form a line to be fingerprinted and, naturally, there were problems. Someone was allergic to all types of ink, another person had to use the restroom and the one closest was not accessible. I got the opportunity to listen to several members of the movement who told wonderful stories of other actions.  Unfortunately, a depleted memory is a staple in the diet of those of us who are brain-injured. If Ms. Giffords felt fully able to create the laws by which thousands, more power to her, but I'd probably just I giggle and wonder if she could recall any of those mandates the next day.
41. 
    
42. As is probably known, we elected Obama. Thus, the bill is a federal law, but since states are primarily in charge of this type of funding, it is not Obama's decision.  The day did create a good memory for me though.  I fondly recall being asked out.  As I am forty, it's been done on other occasions, but my Miranda rights were never involved.  After I was fingerprinted, there was still some ink left on my thumb and after my the bottom of my thumb was coated on a dark ink pad and then carefully placed on a legal document, I had all of this residue. After looking around for a towel, one of the cops hurried to my aid and produced one. Being new to the whole world of "the criminal," I was kinda embarrassed so when the cop in question ask me what I was doing later, I was definitely not trying to be coy or appealing. I replied that I had no idea to which he remarked that he and some friends would be at a certain bar on the Hill by nine and asked if I would join them. He, then, wrote down the name of said bar and once again, I remember thinking, "Is this really happening to me?"
43. 
    
44. Sadly, I didn't even bother to take a cab to the bar. I forgot. As I have this brain injury-thing and "forgetting" is typical to one who possesses my type of injury and is the nature of the beast. Although, he was very cute and it makes me grin to recollect the events of that day, I have done much, much worse.  Still, I do regret that I forgot to meet that cop, not because some incredible romance would have occurred, but because he was nice and cute.  It might have made him smile too.  However, the dude is not locked-up in a nursing home. Thus, it is fairly easy to keep my sympathy at a low-volume.
45. 
    
46. The entire experience is fairly fluffy and amusing; flying to D.C protesting, being handcuffed and arrested, being asked on a date, forgetting said date, blah blah blah.  Like many things in life, the reality of WHY you are really angry or the exact reason behind the scene seems rather existential and a pretty light.  However, life and fate got together and decided that I needed to be cognizant of the reason for ADAPT and their "lawless" behavior. Then, I got to discuss things with Katie.
47. Soon after she and I met, I became aware that she had been a resident of an institution.  However, not until recently was I able to have a long conversation with her and to realize the magnitude of the Community Choice Act's influence on people's lives.  As she was born with her disability, the transition to an out-of-state college resulted in depression which led to a few attempts at suicide.  Katie admitted herself to a residential care facility where her social security payments were used to cover treatment and rent.  After she was abuse, she was transferred to another institution where she was not harmed but where all of her activities were monitored and her agenda set by the staff.  As Katie is about a week younger than I am, the very idea of this type of dictatorial living condition is as grotesque as it is horrifying.
48. 
    
49. After release from this totalitarian-like environment, Katie relocated to an apartment building and is a success story of the independent living movement. All humans are assisted along on our journey.  Thus, although a home health aid stops by a few times a week, Katie she makes all of her own decisions, has a plethora of friends, drives and partially owns a car in a Co-op.  She also keeps close contact with her family, is employed in two locations, never relies upon the permission of others and co-owns her own home.  As I amble about my life, others regularly tell me that I'm their inspiration or their hero and I usually just grin, nod and take the compliment.  However, I always think of Katie. Getting asked out by a cop pales with the feeling this act has given her.