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.