Telling The Story You Have Ownership Of

During my Q&A in my capstone presentation I was given a piece of feedback that is still sticking to me, like flypaper.

“It would be nice if you incorporated more stories in your website like the ones you just shared with us.”

This wasn’t the 1st time this was suggested to me, so I responded appropriately (or what I felt was) inside I was like this:

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I understand stories need to be told but if they don’t belong to you, you have little, if no right, to tell them.

Although I read it all the time, it makes me uncomfortable when stories are told about someone, a child, sibling, spouse, etc is being told without their consent. I wonder what they would think if they knew?

Mostly I wonder what a child will think about their parent telling everyone about their lives before they ever knew what they were doing.

I understand that stories need to be told, I won’t be a writer if I didn’t, but where’s the line?

I feel like anyone with a keyboard can call themselves a writer these days.

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It sounds great, but what’s the real price tag?

At what point does sharing information become exploitation?

There’s an argument that true journalism is dead. I wonder if blogging has contributed to this. These days it seems like everyone has an agenda, meaning impartiality is gone.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t tell stories. What I’m saying is that you should tell your story, especially when it comes to blogging. A child, for example, is under your care but when they grow up they’ll have to handle what you’ve said about them, because if it’s on the internet it’s quite possible that it won’t go away.

Tell the stories that you have full ownership of, yours.

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Speaking, Again

The last podcast recording I meaningfully took part in was about a year ago. I was feeling that it was time to move on, because podcasting is more work than I had anticipated, even though I basically just show up and talk.

However, the fates had other plans.

I stopped watching Speechless halfway through the season. It wasn’t intentional, but it was a perfect storm that made it pretty easy to stop watching & not feel like I missed anything.

Instead I watched other things, on network TV, cable, and Netfl!x; and noticed a lot of portrayal of disability (and lack thereof, etc.).

Some of it was good, some was great, some was downright horrible. I asked Daniel if he would be interested in recording a podcast on the subject, and he was.

So, we did.

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What do you think about the various portrayals of disability on TV (or media in general? Do you have any favorites? How about aversions?

I Wish I Was A Unicorn

On a recent episode of The Accessible Stall Kyle & Emily talked about employment/unemployment. Naturally this topic hits close to home at the moment, so I gave it a listen, naturally.

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You should give it a listen when you’re done here.

Both Emily and Kyle acknowledge that they’re both in the unique position of being gainfully employed but that’s not the part that stood out to me, although it should be noted that it’s highly unusual for two normal (meaning not really that famous) disabled people to be financially self-sufficient.

They called themselves unicorns.

Then it hit me.

I wish I was a unicorn too.

I want to be a unicorn.

I do have a dream job in mind, several actually. I’d like to achieve my dreams but right now I want to be a unicorn.

I am already a unicorn, in a sense, but I don’t feel like a “full unicorn.” I have no upward mobility in my current job. Some days I feel like I’m just filling a spot until someone else comes along or I leave my position. So, I’m more of a non-unicorn than the actual unicorn I wish I was.

There you have it, I’m still looking for a job. If it happens to be my dream job than that’s a bonus. But more than anything I want to be a unicorn, not because I want to be a unicorn, but because I don’t think anyone should go around wondering or knowing if they are the unicorn of their workplace in the future.

Life In Boxes

Life likes to put people in boxes, sometimes multiple boxes at the same time. I tend to not fit in very many boxes easily and find it easier to live outside the box most often.

In my technical theatre course during college the professors (we had 4) constantly encouraged us to “think outside the box,” so much so that it became a running joke, to the point that during a group project we backed a presentation with a deconstructed pizza box (we weren’t planning that, but it went with the box motif).

I moved so often during college that I turned it into a game, how many boxes does it take to contain all my belongings, trying to use the least number of boxes possible. I pride myself on the fact that my friends who worked of the campus moving service called one of my moves, “the easiest ever.”

My course work is kept in boxes, which remain open or unopened depending on the circumstances of the semester, week, or day.

The majority of my swimming gear is kept in a box, made up of meet related essentials and back up equipment; old goggles and caps, extra suits, and racing gear. It’s kept in the closet, just in case I need to grab something quickly (caps rip at weird times). And it’s more convenient in terms of packing for a meet, because even a 4-hour meet involves more than you’d think.

I asked for a new tech suit for Christmas, hoping that I’d at least get one for my birthday. I wore a tech suit for all of my meets last year and learned all too well of the love/hate relationship swimmers have with them. Basically, they’re meant to be tight, too tight even, expensive, and tend to not last very long.

Knowing what I know now I set out to find a suitable option for my wish list, because my now old tech suit has been discontinued, I knew I couldn’t just go down a size or two and feel like I had done due diligence.

I decided to try and be as exact about this as possible, meaning this time look at actual size charts. It sounded easy enough, except it involved number conversions I wasn’t too familiar with (ahem, the metric system) which needed dealing with before I could continue.

Turns out I was wearing a tech suit that wasn’t just too big, it was almost 10 sizes too big, at least according to the sizing charts. I wasn’t going to go that small right off the bat, although I haven’t completely ruled it out eventually.

I found something close to what I was going for, within reason of course, and crossed my fingers.

I opened the box a few weeks later to try it on before my first meet of the calendar year.

The good news is it gets easier to put on a tech suit with practice, but it can still be a pain to do. The not so good news is it wasn’t as snug as I thought it would be, and for a while I thought maybe I had gotten used to wearing suits that are too tight.

I looked at the box (and rechecked my measurements).

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As it turns out that my actual size according to my measurements, as opposed to the size I wear, isn’t even on the box, which I had to laugh at.

It’s just another example of how some people aren’t meant to live within a box.

Maybe I’m Not An Expert

With March coming to a close so goes my blogging blitz. It never ends up how I think it’s going to and this year was no exception.

I feel like this year was different than the others, for a few reasons, less facts, more stories, for one thing, or is that two?

There were topics I wanted to write about but never got around to or have already written about. When I came up short I dove into my archives, probably more than I wanted to, but it worked. I think?

I’ll get to more stories later on, possibly when the timing is better.

One thing that kept getting my attention this year was the focus on children and the desire to treat, if not cure Cerebral Palsy as soon as possible.

This isn’t new by any means, but it seems to be gaining more attention for whatever reason.

In a way my focus this past month has been more personal because it’s how I’ve grown into adulthood and the different phases of life that people, CP or no CP, find themselves in.

Not every aspect of life comes with statistics, and even those that do come with outliers.

So, for now, and probably in the future, I leave you with more stories than statistics because you can find statistics somewhere else.

Life as an adult with CP is an oddity, a misconception which I brush up against every day, so although Cerebral Palsy Awareness month is over that doesn’t mean my efforts are over, at least not completely.

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All Cerebral Palsy related posts

Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day

I’ve made no secret that I’m not the biggest fan of awareness days, yet I feel obligated to participate in them. Tomorrow is National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day in the US, not to be confused with World CP Day which occurs during the fall.

There is a senate resolution officially designating March 25th as National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day.

I’m not one to keep up the daily goings on of the senate, or any other governing body, so I don’t usually read official documents, but I read the resolution to see what it entails.

S.Res. 400 is a bit of a disappointment, unless I’m misunderstanding the purpose of senate resolutions, and if that’s the case someone please feel free to explain it to me.

All it says is what we already know, or information that can readily be found during a basic internet search.

I was hoping for something more, even just a little bit more.

I know the government is deeply divided but if this has become standard operating procedure in order to get our elected officials to agree to known facts than maybe we need to reexamine how things are run and who we are electing to run things.

So the government needs to agree that a condition that’s been around for 100s of years before agreeing that it needs recognition. Does this not sit well with anyone else, or is it just me?

We have a resolution that says tomorrow is National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day. But what does that really mean? More importantly, what comes next?

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*A similar version of this post was written on March 25, 2016

Arming For The Future

One morning I woke up and got dressed, it’s what I do most days, but this morning in particular was different.

I was planning this outfit for at least a week.

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It wasn’t fancy by any means but, for me, it was more important than any fancy dress (or anything else). It was part of the most important presentation of my life (at least so far).

One of the last pieces of my master’s degree was completing a capstone of some sort. Originally, I was going to write a paper. I had been planning it since the beginning, and I wanted to be able to pull something I had written off a shelf in the library at a later date. I pictured future students finding my work and incorporating it into their own, just as I had done, but one sentence changed my mind.

“If you did a project it will have the potential to reach a greater audience.”

I thought back to the final projects I’d done in other courses. What could I use from any of those, if any.

I decided to do a project, but that would mean enrolling in the seminar rather than working by myself (a method I prefer, or at least I thought I would).

Before my project would be finished I would have to workshop it with a small group and then present it during the seminar.

I was, to the best of my knowledge, the only student in my class born with a physical disability. So, I didn’t just have to present my project. I also had to give everyone a crash course in living with a disability.

I put thought into every detail, over and over again. Knowing everyone would go back to their everyday lives I wanted them to come away with more than what they came with, other than how good my project was.

Mainly I wanted them to know that people with childhood disabilities grow up and become adults, that we’re probably not what they thought, that the disabled aren’t looking for pity or continually bitter. I wanted them to see disability from a different point of view.

The outfit was only the last piece of my part of arming my peers for the future.

Normal Is Nice

Fall means a season of follow ups, and usually a mix of emotions.

The emotions are still there, but I’ll get to that later, or not.

The follow ups are still there, and they will be for the foreseeable future, but they’re different.

I was sitting in an exam room waiting, actually I was staring at the sink, when I thought of a poem.

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Yes, I was waiting a long time. Yes, I do get philosophical the longer I wait.

I remembered waiting to be told I had healed enough that I could stand up, and then feeling pain shoot up my legs as they took on my body weight. It was pain, the very reason why I put myself though all of this, but it was different pain, and I was happy about it.

As the weeks of rehab turned into months my feelings towards standing went from happiness to anger, as happened in every stage of my recovery process.

Every follow up I’d wait, and wish someone would find something that would make me better, a more improved version, faster.

That never happened, at least not yet. And no one ever declared me “recovered,” not officially, that came with some self-acceptance.

I sat in the exam room, again, but with a different expectation.

The expectation of normal.

“Normal is nice,” I kept thinking.

And it was, the follow up went as I expected, and I wasn’t upset or overly happy over it.

It was normal, and it felt nice, to be OK with this (not so) new phase of my life.

Regardless of how you feel about standing, normal is a nice place to be.

Defining normal, that’s the hard part.

I Pulled My Armpit?

I’ve been having issues with my right arm for months. I figured it was just lingering from my unfortunate encounter with a chair a few months ago. It would get better for a while and then not, and then get better and then not, and you get the idea.

I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal for most people but when your legs aren’t normal on a good day and your arm is sub-par you’re basically down to one fully functional limb on any given day.

I’m normally sore for a while after a trip too.

So, I just waited it out.

Until I thought maybe I should stop waiting.

I mentioned it to my trainer and he found a fairly large trigger point in the region of my scapula.

I texted a friend with a rehab background after my session to find out what she knew about it.

“Um, serratus anterior?……Basically the muscle on your side below your armpit.”

Awesome.

Wanting to know more about what I’ve gotten myself into I came home and looked it up for myself.

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How someone can find an injury within this mess without the aid of additional studies is beyond me but I’m glad it’s possible, especially so early in the “Medical New Year” when I avoid any doctor related anything like the plague.

Being a swimmer with CP I’m realizing I have to be a different kind of careful when it comes to my upper body.