Archives for April 2013

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5 Fantastic Posts From Fellow Health Activists

April 14, 2013 By

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For today’s prompt in the Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge, I can either promote some of my favourite health activists, or post links to some of my favourite posts written by fellow bloggers in this challenge. I have chosen to do the latter, even though it is so difficult to pick out just a few posts from among the multitude that have resonated with me. Through the other participants in the challenge, I have learned so much about health conditions that do not personally affect me directly.

Here, then, are five posts in the Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge that have had a particular impact on me.

1) http://www.pixiecd.com/2013/04/group-therapy-for-ass-hat.html How could anyone not be drawn to a post written by someone who claims to be a former ass-hat? Here is someone who has gone through inordinate amounts of pain, and is facing it all head-on with a delightful combination of frankness and humour.

2) http://theperfectd.com/2013/04/02/hawmc-day-2-introductions/ This post, written by someone with Type 1 Diabetes as well as a hefty dose of courage, is truly educational. Most of us know, on an intellectual level, what diabetes is. But reading this post gives you a glimpse into what the life of a Type 1 Diabetic is really like.

3) http://positivityinpain.wordpress.com/2013/04/06/my-goals-for-fibro-fighterz-hawmc-day-5/ This blogger lives with Fibromyalgia, and has some pretty lofty and highly worthwhile goals. This post describes what some of those goals are. Hopefully they can become a reality.

4) http://www.conquerinspiteof.com/2013/04/thank-you-for-your-unsolicited-advice.html We all hear ridiculous myths about the things that affect us. In this post, someone with Lupus weighs in on Lupus-related myths – some of which I actually believed myself until reading this.

5) http://thatmword.com/post/47544602681/day-9-how-to-care-for-a-migraineur-101 When someone close to you is in the throes of a debilitating migraine, what do you do? Do you know how to take care of them? This post gives some great pointers.

There is another favourite, but I am going to share that with you tomorrow in the form of a guest post written by the blogger concerned. I’ll just give you one hint: it made me cry.

 

Filed Under: blogging, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Race Report: Angus Glen Ten-Miler

April 13, 2013 By

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I had a tough choice for  today’s blog post. On the one hand, today’s prompt for the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge calls for poetry. On the other hand, I have not yet written a race report for last weekend’s race.

My attempts at writing poetry are painful. So was last weekend’s race.

See? Tough choice.

In the end, I decided that in writing poetry, I’d be inflicting pain on those who I expect to read it. Whereas, if I write the race report, others can simply laugh at my pain without actually experiencing it.

There were a lot of challenges going into last weekend’s race, not the least of which was the fact that I was undertrained. There were other factors counting against me as well, like the weather, the fact that this race was on a golf course riddled with hills, and the fact that I was expecting myself to run 16km on my least favourite day of the month. I’ll spare you the details, but on certain days, some women experience what I will euphemistically call “discomfort” while running.

I was determined to do it, though. For one thing, I already had to blow off a race not long ago because of an injury. And for another thing, the Angus Glen Ten-Miler is one of the more expensive races. If I was going to pay a lofty registration fee, I might as well have the pain to show for it at the end.

And so I stood at the start line with absolutely no goal other than to finish. I placed myself in the last corral, because let’s face it, I wasn’t going to be a speed demon. As I waited for race to start, I did what I often do at start lines: I looked around trying to spot people who looked like they might be in worse shape than me. Not very sportsmanlike, I know, but some days, we all take what we can get to make ourselves feel less bad.

The race started, and the first couple of kilometres came and went without incident. I set out at a reasonable pace and loosened up nicely. Fortunately, the rain abated, and I was able to enjoy about ten minutes of quite nice running conditions before the wind showed up and kept me company for the rest of the run.

Along with the wind came the hills. I had known that there would be hills on this course, and I had done what I thought was adequate hill training, but nothing could have prepared me for that elevation profile. The uphills and downhills alike were brutal, and by the time I reached the halfway point, my quads were absolutely shredded.

Just as I started to question whether I would be able to finish this race, I encountered a line of Porta-potties. I never ever make pitstops during races. They are races, after all, and the whole point of racing is to get the finish line as fast as possible. This time, though, I knew that I was not going to come close to a personal best. There seemed little point in adding the discomfort of a full bladder to my already long list of woes. So I went in, did what I had to, and resumed the run feeling just as sore, but at least a little more comfortable.

The second half of the race was just plain ugly, but strangely enough I felt that I was accomplishing something really fantastic. This feeling came from the fact that I was going purely on mental strength. This was unquestionably a case of mind over matter, and come hell or high water, my mind was going to win.

After what felt like an eternity, I found myself with 500m to go. I had long since resigned myself to the fact that the finishing kick I pride myself on would not happen, but I had been wrong! As my body started to pick up on the finish line excitement ahead of me, I felt that familiar surge of energy that always happens at the end of a race. Lord alone knows where that energy came from, but it coursed through my legs, and I sprinted across the finish line.

Technically, this was my worst-ever ten-miler. But I still feel that this was one of my greatest races. If I can run ten miles without adequate training on an exceptionally hilly course with high winds, while not feeling well, then I can do anything. I have this strange sense that this race has set me up for a phenomenal season, more so than a personal best time would have. Because this race was a true test of mental endurance, and in crossing the finish line, I passed the test.

At the end of the day, the race was well worth the high registration fee. The swag was really good. The race kit included some very nice things, and instead of getting yet another ill-fitting technical T-shirt, I got a very nice fleece-lined running jacket. I also like the finisher’s medal a lot (and this one will count as one of my favourites because of how hard I worked for it), and a full sit-down lunch was provided at the end.

I might run this race again. In fact, I’m pretty sure I will. I have a new nemesis, and I am determined to conquer it.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Angus Glen Ten-Miler, Race, running Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Diagnosis Day: 8 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me

April 12, 2013 By

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Do you ever look back on a particular day in your life and wish things had gone differently? If only you’d said this thing, or if only you’d done that thing. We all know, of course, that those “if only” scenarios don’t do us one whit of good in terms of the outcome, but that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to think of them. Sometimes we can use those lessons in the future, and sometimes we can help other people going through similar things.

One of the most pivotal days in the life of an autism parent is the day of their child’s diagnosis. When I look back on that day, I remember shock, tears, and a sense that a giant constrictor had wrapped itself around me and was squeezing me so tightly around the chest that I could barely breathe.

Realistically, there’s no way to completely cushion a blow like this. But maybe – just maybe – there are some things that would make it easier to bear. Here are the things I wish I had known when I got the diagnosis.

1. The doctor does not have a crystal ball. Any dire predictions that he makes for your child’s future are not set in concrete.

2. If you Google too much too soon, you can drown under the weight of the information overload.

3. Your child is first and foremost a child. Don’t let your child become the diagnosis, the whole diagnosis and nothing but the diagnosis.

4. You may feel as if your reality has shattered, but all that’s happened is that your reality has changed. You have to give yourself the space and time to get used to your new view.

5. Now more than ever, you need to nurture your relationship with your partner.

6. Apply for all the funding and services you can, even if you think odds are stacked against you. There’s always the chance that something will stick.

7. Don’t be afraid to cry. Even if it’s in front of the kids. It’s OK for them to know that you’re human.

8. Know that you can do the whole special needs parenting thing. You may not feel that way in the beginning, but you will. You don’t have to know all the answers – because let’s face it, none of us ever does – just know that you will be the parent your child needs you to be.

 

Filed Under: Autism Diagnosis, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Why I Will Never Break Up With Facebook

April 11, 2013 By

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When I first moved to Canada almost thirteen years ago, the world seemed like a very big place. I had a very hard time adjusting to life in a completely new territory where I did not know a single soul. If I felt lonely, I could no longer get into my car and visit my best friend for coffee. I couldn’t drop in on my parents for an impromptu dinner. I couldn’t call anyone to find out who was going to see which movie or have a drink in which bar. Now, if I felt lonely, I had to sit alone in my apartment in this strange land and just deal with it.

I kept telling myself that this had been my own choice. No-one had coerced me into packing my life into checked baggage and moving halfway across the world. But knowing that didn’t make the process any easier.

Desperate for human contact, I turned to my computer and instant-messaged with anyone I could find online. The most oft-sought-out victim of my off-the-boat neediness was my friend Kane in Michigan, who was endlessly patient and kind even though I must have been a complete pain in the you-know-where from time to time.

That was really the first time that my computer gave me much-needed access to a friend, but it certainly wasn’t the last. At some point over the years, Facebook became an everyday part of life for most people. Admittedly, the word “friend” can be a bit of a misnomer where Facebook is concerned, but I have met some fabulous people online who I count as true friends, even though I have never met them in person. These are folks who have helped me through a pregnancy loss, the death of my father, my son’s autism diagnosis, injuries, illnesses, my bouts of mental messed-up-ness, and a number of other things.

Not only has Facebook helped me forge new friendships, it has enabled me to keep in touch with family members, and with friends I have known for a long time.

It has also provided me with access to an entire autism community. On the days when I want to feel that I am not alone, all I have to do is turn on my laptop, and within a few clicks I am having virtual conversations with people who give me advice, information, encouragement, or whatever else I might be needing. If I’m having a really good day, I am able to use my social networks to help other people who might be feeling overwhelmed or discouraged.

Because I’m human, and humans are given to complaining, I do like to hate on Facebook from time to time. I gripe about having to constantly vet my privacy settings, I lament about unsubstantiated myths and rumours being perpetuated, I whine whenever my timeline’s appearance changes. But at the end of the day – as much as I hate to admit it – I have become reliant on Facebook. Because through Facebook, I can reach so many people who really and truly matter to me.

(Photo credit: jurvetson. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Community, Facebook, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Social Media Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Almost Wordless Wednesday

April 10, 2013 By

This is my favourite picture of myself. Because – well – how could it not be?

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Filed Under: Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Photography, Wordless Wednesday Tagged With:
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What I Hope

April 9, 2013 By

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I hope that George knows I will always support him in whatever he wants to do, and that I will never see his autism as an obstacle.

I hope that when I am weathering the challenges of autism with George, I am acting in a way that helps him instead of hindering him.

I hope that James knows I understand how tough it must be, being the sibling of a child with autism.

I hope that James knows how immensely I value him as an individual in his own right, and that he is not defined by virtue of being George’s brother.

I hope that George knows he is not defined by autism, but that autism is just one part of who he is.

I hope that the moments of weakness that I have – those times when my desperation and sense of being overwhelmed spill over – do not undermine my kids and cause them lasting damage.

I hope that my better moments – the laughter and the hugs and the words of encouragement – build up their confidence and self-esteem.

I hope that I can always be the kind of autism mom who never gives up a fight, no matter how hard and scary it can be.

I hope that when I talk to strangers about autism, or when I write about it, I am doing so in a way that will help both of my kids as they navigate their way through life.

I hope that I will have the courage to stand up to anyone who ever tries to hurt my kids.

I hope that my kids know that when autism parenting just gets too hard for me to handle and I need to spend time by myself, it’s not because of them. It’s because of my own fears and insecurities that I want to protect them from.

I hope that my kids know I love them without reservation, without boundaries, and beyond the ends of time.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: autism, Children, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, parenting Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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13 Signs That Cats Have Autism

April 8, 2013 By
Murphy

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1. They have poorly developed social skills and little interest in playing with other animals.

2. They have great problem solving skills. If they want something, they will find a way to get it.

3. They’re not big on empathy, but they can be very loving towards those who are close to them.

4. They won’t sleep at night if they don’t want to.

5. When they’re not sleeping at night, they’re doing whatever they can to keep you awake.

6. Understanding what they want often involves a combination of guesswork and luck.

7. They can make you laugh when you least expect it.

8. They will lash out and scream bloody murder if you try to cut their nails.

9. They will lash out and scream bloody murder if you try to get them to swallow a pill.

10. If you try to give them a bath, you will often end up with more water on you than they do.

11. They won’t play with the toys you buy them, but they’ll find new and exciting uses for a piece of string.

12. They have a superhuman ability to focus for long periods of time on things that interest them.

13. When they snuggle up to you with absolute love and trust, that is the best feeling in the whole world.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Animals, autism, Cats, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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A Myth About Running

April 7, 2013 By

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An important part of special needs parenting – indeed, of any parenting – is staying healthy. For a long time I didn’t do this. I had some mental health conditions that were going untreated, and probably as a side effect of this, I didn’t care enough to look after my physical health.

Then, during a visit for a foot complaint, my doctor started questioning me about this and that, and realized that I was suffering from post-partum depression. At about the same time, the Geneva Centre for Autism started its charity challenge runs, and that proved to be a marvellous motivation. And so I gradually got myself onto the path of better physical and mental health. Now I run races regularly, and I see a therapist once a week.

When I tell people I run, a surprising number of them respond by saying, “Really? But it’s so bad for you!”

“Um, excuse me?” I ask politely.

“Yeah!” says the naysayer. “Running can give you heart attacks, and it destroys your knees!”

Both of those statements are, in fact, false. Running in itself cannot give you a heart attack. Exerting yourself beyond your physical capability without due care and attention can, but that has nothing to do with running. Unfortunately, that myth has come about as a result of a few highly publicized sudden deaths during marathons and half-marathons. It is important to realize that those tragedies were not caused by running, but by underlying medical conditions. The people concerned just happened to be running, but they could just as easily have died engaging in any other physical activity.

It is also important to realize that the percentage of marathoners and half-marathoners that this happens to is so small that it cannot even be expressed in a meaningful way.

The thing about bad knees is a fallacy as well. Several studies have tracked runners and non-runners over the same period of time and found that on average, the runners’ knees were more robust than those of the control group. Runners with bad knees tend to have one of the following: a genetic or medical predisposition to weak knees, bad running shoes, or the symptoms of going out too fast in an unfamiliar activity or on an unfamiliar surface.

Far from being bad for you, running can provide many mental and physical benefits. Ironically, as I write this, I am experiencing the after-effects of an exceptionally hilly ten-mile race I ran today, for which I was definitely undertrained. As sore as I am feeling, though, my knees feel great and my heart is beating strong and healthy.

 

Filed Under: Exercise, Fitness, health, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, running Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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A Letter To Autism

April 6, 2013 By

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Dear Autism,

Although we were only formally introduced to one another six years ago, we have really known each other for longer than that. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you came into my life 9 years, 7 months and 4 days ago, on the day of my son’s birth.

You were there throughout his infancy, staying up with me during the late-night feedings and diaper changes, looking over my shoulder as I tried to figure out what was making him cry, and watching as I tentatively navigated those uncertain months of new motherhood.

You were there during his toddler years, and it was then that you really started to make your presence more obvious. You guided those tiny little hands of his as he repeatedly spun the wheels of toy cars without actually playing with them. You got him interested in that piece of string that he spent hours and hours examining. You choked his language skills and made sure he wouldn’t be interested in playing with other kids.

I didn’t know your name yet, but I knew you were there. I felt as if you wanted my beautiful boy all to yourself. You didn’t even want to share him with me. I hated you and felt threatened by you.

On the day the doctor told me your name, I cried. The doctor said that you would have control of my son forever, that he would never be able to achieve anything because of you. Hearing that broke my heart.

When I was done crying, I made a decision. I was not going to let you win. I was not going to let you ruin my son’s chances to have the best life possible. I knew that I would not be able to get rid of you, though. So we were going to have to learn to live with each other, you and I. Maybe we would even have to become friends.

And so, instead of trying to beat you down, I tried to find ways to work with you. You weren’t going to let my son learn in the ways that other kids learn, so I found people who would teach him in ways that you would like. You weren’t going to make it easy for him to talk, so I had to start at grass-roots level and show him ways to communicate in your presence, in ways that you would allow. You didn’t want him to enjoy playing with other kids his age, so me and my family became his playmates, teaching him how to play without letting you take the fun out of it.

As we have gone through all of this together, you and I, I have made the most astounding discovery. There are actually things about you that I like. You have accelerated the development of whatever part of my son’s brain is responsible for math. In blocking those quote-unquote “normal” ways of thinking, you have opened up his mind to thinking in ways that are unique and incredible. You have given him the ability to single-mindedly focus on a task until it is done just the way he wants it. Because of you, my son is determined and hard-working, and does not believe in giving up.

Best of all, you have touched my beautiful child with his own special brand of magic. He has an innocence and pureness of spirit that makes him light up the space around him. Because you make him think in such a unique way, he has a quirky sense of humour that brightens up the lives of those who are near him. He has a fierce love for me, for his dad, and for his little brother.

You have given me a special gift as well. You have taught me how to appreciate the little things. Every word, every sentence, every little baby-step of progress is a cause for celebration. I have learned how to be happy in the most adverse circumstances.

I cannot go far enough to say that I like you, Autism. But without a doubt, there are things that I respect about you, and while you have made my life so hard and heartbreaking in many ways, you have enriched it in other ways.

I have come to terms with the fact that you will always be there, and I think by now you know that I’m not going anywhere, and I am not letting you get the better of my son. I like to think that for the most part, we can peacefully coexist. There are undoubtedly days when you win, and there always will be.

But you will never stop my son, because he is unstoppable, and because he has a family who will fight for him tooth and nail, every step of the way.

Yours truly,

George’s Warrior Mom

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: autism, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, parenting Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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If I Could Do Anything…

April 5, 2013 By

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Imagine for a moment that we live in a world where anything is possible. Money is no object, there are no stupid politics to get in the way, and logistics are never an issue.

If I could do anything…

… all children with autism would receive autism intervention therapy, be it IBI, Floortime, or any other methodology.

… all children with autism would have IEP’s that truly address their goals, and teachers who actively help the child work towards those goals.

… all siblings of children with autism would have access to programs and activities just for them, so that they could have fun with other kids who understand what it’s like.

… all autism families would get to go on vacations to autism-friendly places, where the parents could get an occasional break.

… children and teens with autism would never be bullied.

… every kid with autism would have easy access to sensory equipment, like swings and weighted blankets.

… every kid with autism would have a dog.

… big box stores like Wal-Mart would have “quiet” shopping areas, where the fluorescent lighting is less harsh, there are fewer people and the checkout areas aren’t so intimidating.

… ditto for airports, which would also provide special boarding for autism families.

… all autism parents would have the financial means to attend conferences and parent training and information sessions.

… autism parents would stop bickering over the causes of autism and judging each others’ vaccination and nutritional choices.

… the general public would have easy access to information about autism that is realistic and devoid of sensationalism.

… people with autism wouldn’t wander off and later be found dead – everyone would be safe, always.

… people with autism would have the same opportunities as anyone else to reach their full potential, whatever that might be.

… autism parents would be able to grow old without constantly worrying about the future, because they would know that their kids would be taken care of.

… no-one would believe that ridiculous myth that people with autism are incapable of emotion – everyone would be hugged by someone with autism at least once in their lifetime, and they would cry from the absolute beauty of it.

Filed Under: autism, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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