Friday, July 20, 2012
Today, after 12 people have been shot to death eight miles from the house I grew up in, my mind immediately goes back to the first time a massacre happened six miles from home, Columbine High School. Columbine High School where two disgruntled students had killed one teacher and 12 students. For me, the illusion of safety was immediately gone. Yes, horrific stuff can and probably will happen in any venue. However, in my opinion, children are too ill-equipped to deal with trauma. So my humble question is, besides the useless (and predictable) prayer vigils, condemnations from politicians and hoards of Facebook updates on the subject, what have we done to make Colorado and the rest of the world a safer place for the next generation? For more information on someone who has made the world a bit safer, visit www.danielmauser.com, the website of a family of a fellow nerd who perished at Columbine.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
As anyone with decent eye-sight can see, I have the map of Ireland on my face. So every year, I say no to melanoma and hobble out to the not-so disability friendly Colorado Irish Festival. Despite the nice lookin' Irish Footballers, flowing adult beverages and free food, the best part of the day was watching a chubby kid gobble down several turkey legs, proudly donning the following t-shirt:
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
typhoid in San Fidel. On the upside girls, I fit back in my skinny jeans. 2. Nov 2010- I developed a case of walking pneumonia and strep so severe it took a month of antibiotics to see my throat. After getting my share of communicable diseases, I made the wrenching decision to return to the United States, a very painful choice I still lament today. 3. Nov 2010-April 2011- Even though I was back in the United States, I continued to get sick with upper respiratory infections bimonthly while I continued with Orencia, an anti-Rheumatoid Arthritis drug. 4. May 2011- By the time May rolls around, my former rheumatologist finally gets off his bum and decides to test me for Primary Immune Deficiency Disease (PIDD), a condition in which one is missing one or more antibodies. 5. July 2011- I am in fact diagnosed with PIDD and am taken off Orencia and all other anti-Rheumatic drugs. My only treatment: a unique combination of Vicodin and steroids with the result being moments of excruciating pain, crying jags, raging over lack of Diet Coke availability and being absolutely fascinated by Scooby Doo episodes. 6. August 2011- I start IVIG or as it’s known around here, Hobo Juice. I take it at home, infusion-style once-month and it works like all drugs are advertised. 6. March 2012- I am finally allowed to start Remicade, a so-far excellent anti-rheumatic drug after more than half of a year with NO treatment. On a lark, I decide to apply to for a Master’s of Interpretation at a prestigious school in California. 7. April 2012- I am accepted into school with scholarship, surprisingly the hell out of me and decide to move to Mexico for the summer to increase my grammatical skills in May. 8. June 2012- Well, after three glorious weeks back in the home country with friends and family, my health took a turn for the worst. After a hospital stay and an ultimatum from my former rheumatologist, I had no choice but to return to the US once again. (Collective sigh) The point of this blog is not to feel pity for me (to quote a great friend and disability advocate, “Piss on Pity”), nor wonder what in the world I’m doing with my life (although trust me, I wonder that daily too. I don’t know quite what will happen after this, but all I ask is you just take my crooked hand and see how high we can fly. After all, Superman too had a disability.
Monday, February 8, 2010
I have decided to add a new feature called "I don't have your disease/disability but.."
As anyone who has a disability/disease (or loves someone with one) knows, there is no end of advice from dummies and well meaning idiots on how to improve your life.
So let me start off this inaugural post with a recent experience of mine.
One of my doctor friends informed me in the midst of a beer that if I gain more weight, my joints will effectively crumble.
As most people know, telling a woman she has gained weight or really just mentioning the word fat is akin to a death wish. But you know, what would the disabled/sick do without the guiding light of people who know better?