Forgetting

Somehow, I wrote a full essay here, only to have it disappear and become unused. I therefore am writing this in one sitting, and fast. I'm almost too tired to write. It is hard to make my fingers do what my b rain wants them to do, and Iconstantly misspell and do typographical errrors. 

One of my parameters that we watch: how well I can type. I used to type almost as fast as Richard, now the Chief, Department of Anesthesiology, Stanford University Medical Center. And one of the 3 smartest men I have ever met: the two others  are Dr. Shadrad and my husband. 

Now, I have lost my time to write here in this journal of sorts. I must get sleep so the little one can get up in the morning and attend the Vacation Bible School. I hope she sees many of her friends from last year. There was somebody I knew who hardly got to wake up every School Year unless he had a stomach ache. No one seemed to know what affect a single parents' perceived 'constantly moving' would have in the future. It is a syndrome. It is a serious issue.

I believe that Disablled people, as I do, start having trouble with poor or extremely different types of forgetfulness. If you  remind me to write about this topic later, please do so. I may forget. Just refer to "Forgetfulneds" and "What happened on the last day of fourth grade?"

I can see some of you shaking your heads, wringing your hands in discomfort, and denying you are forgetful. Some of you have to be fired first, or lose money and become broke. You gamble it away instead of purchasing presents for your friends or family and taking zero chances that you will lose the money you worked so hard for. You will  then come to know it on your own. Other people see it, but you deny it and/or cover it up.  Everyone is afraid of being forgetful because of all the negative social connotations. (Remind me to tell you about fourth grade, of what happened to me on the last day of class).

I'm just too tired. Going to watch my favorite "Private Investigator" show. Maybe I'l learn some hints. I am attending a Mediation meeting tomorrow morning. I am the Complaintant and the other side is our local city association member, I think. Please pray that the meeting goes well to our advantage.

If we win (we are representing ourselves), we will have made some big strides for the Disabled population in our city. Talk to you later.

Disblogged, MD

Welcome back to our "Disblogged" blog pages! Please see the following for more information about what it is like to be different, specifically Disabled. Realize that the person writing this has a traumatic brain injury (TBI) also. No one told me how to prepare for a Disability, nor that I should ever prepare for it. I barely prepared for College...

Some could say that I beat the odds and 'made it to the top' of my field.  

My mother is first-generation American, from Mexico; my father is also first-generation, with Spain ancestry.  We were raised to speak English. After their divorce, my father was a single parent of 7 kids during the 70's. He must've been more cool than I thought at the time, but my fondest memory of him will always be with me. He would let us eat a double-decker ice cream cone while it was snowing at nighttime in Big Bear.  Flake after different flake of snow falling on my head and ice cream. Cool.

I went to the Alternative Schoool at Granada Hills High, and had a special pass saying I could be off campus any time of the day. Even the LAPD recognized this pass.

I got kicked out of Catholic High School, but not before one of my best friends there had been shot in the head and was murdered. She reportedly had been 'thumbing' a ride and got picked up by someone on a motorcycle. Later, I got kicked out because Annajo gave me orange juice to drink, and eventually, she had me drink a fifth of vodka that it was spiked with. By the time we got to school for a 50's party, I was seeing double. Needless to say, I got kicked out of school. But that did not mean that my life would be a failure, nor that I would not learn from it. I did learn that  authority meant authority, and that all rules were not meant to be broken.

I was pleased to go the Alternative School, where attending class was elective, and I think I received straight 'A's. Met some of the most memorable people there.

My first job was at McDonald's, when I was 16 years old. One of my best high school friends got shot in the head and I ran away from home every weekend. Finally, at 16, I ran away and married my boyfriend, who was 27. At 18, I got married. By 19 years old, I earned my Cosmetology and Real Estate Licenses. By 1985,  I learned phlebotomy (drawing blood from someone's arm) while a freshman at Cal State University, Northridge. (Thanks, Scarlet, for taking me by the hand and having Rich not only add me on to the class, but employ me as a teacher after that.) And I graduated Cum Laud, going immediately to medical school.

I'll tell you about medical school later. 

Eventually, I was Chief of the Department of Anesthesiology in Pennsylvania. I was at a Veteran's Hospital, which is where my love for medicine had begun while I was undergraduate. My Mentor on Life and Medicine was Lois, whose image I desired to emulate: tough on the outside, smart, and caring. Thought I would serve the Veteran's until retirement.

That changed. Then I got in the motor vehicle accident (MVA) and things really changed.

The Disabled do not seem to be noticed. When was the last time you smiled at someone in a wheelchair? I think that human nature and society teach us to find the disfigured and the Disabled as something to be avoided.

It's human nature: you look at me as you see me going in to the same door you are. You are walking fast to get ahead of me, and I am plodding behind you, slowly, and in a walker. One quick glance tells you I am disabled, so you put your eyes down to prevent my eye contact. 

Why "Disblogged"?

The preface "dis" means "not."  It can mean "apart from", and implies reversal.  

Previously, I was a working anesthesiologist. But I'll talk more later about my multiple Board Certifications, medical school, residency, and Fellowship. And the 100+ hours I worked per week, with weekend after weekend after holiday after holiday being 'on call'. You can watch TV shows if you are interested in the workings of doctors. My story about all that will eventually be told. 

In the meantime, let me explain: 1) why I chose "disblogged, MD" as my Blog name, 2) catch you up to date on why, with my many rare disorders, I have not yet died, 3) let you jump into my life today, and 4) see where we are and what we can do.

"Disblogged, MD" is me. A physician who was formerly able, and has been 'dis'abled now for over two years. Eighteen hospitalizations? I lost count. Now 'apart from' mainstream society, with a miraculous chance for physical 'reversal' of symptoms. I want to impart that you can be fine one day and not fine the next day. You may know or care for someone who has a disability. If we go through this together, you (both doctors and the general public) will hopefully learn something new every day, that will be useful to your new life.

The only reason I am alive is because God let me live. I went to Heaven while I was waiting to be seen in the Emergency Room, and I turned back to look at planet Earth. I prayed to live long enough to see my young daughter grow up. So here I am, here for a reasons whose proportions have yet to be determined. You are in this with me.

Today, I saw my wonderful and brilliant Cardiologist. Me and one of my Caregivers, Liz, drove a total of 60 miles for this visit. It was a good visit because I was not laying in the fetal position throwing up into his trash bin. At 48 years old, I feel like I have lots in common with those in the 80 year-old age group. In an out of the hospital, wearing "bladder control" pads for the urinary incontinence, watching things when I laugh too hard. Sharing these experiences with other 80 year olds does not help, but instead gets me into the Bladder Control Club.  

Going back just to update you, on April of 2006, I was in a car accident wherein a lady hit me after "blinking" or "sneezing" or something of that sort.  There were no brake marks on the road; therefore, the high-impact, torque spinning of my truck caused many injuries. I'm not ready to tell you about them now, honestly. My point to you is this: I had multiple, rare injuries that spanned over months and months of time. I had to learn to be a patient while my brain thinks like a well-trained physician. I had to believe in myself, act as my own advocate, lay my head on my husband's shoulder, and be determined to live for one more birthday. Speaking of which, I called all my doctor's offices on my recent birthday, and thanked each of them for helping keep me alive.

So where are we, and what can we do? As a society, I do not think we revere either children or the elderly as much as we should. I think that's where we are with the Disabled, too. Look at the Disabled Parking spots around you next time you shop. Is there room for you in the Disabled spot? Many times, I am ousted to the yonders and beyond, or my Caregivers tell me to forgo getting my favorite frozen yogurt and we just head back for home.

What can we do? Start off with me and my life at 48. Learn from it, prepare your own life around it, and plan for the future. You will hopefully be 80 years old someday. If, before or after then, you are also Disabled, the world should be more prepared to let you live. To live at your home before requiring a nursing home, to prevent your accidents, and give you the dignity you deserve. 

Good night. I have to pee again.