I've been wondering this week what will happen to Lori as she grows up, or what will she think of me? Will she love me? Hate me? A combo?
Now is interesting. She half the time thinks mom's wheelchair, walker, and leg brace are a lot of fun. The other half of time she hates it and tells me she wishes my legs worked, that I am slow, that she doesn't want to help.
In times when she hates it, she uses it to NOT do things. She doesn't want to help, even though the help is regular chores that other kids routinely do--set the table, let the dog out, etc. If mom's legs only worked, then her theory is she wouldn't have to do these things!
And then she finds Larry, my brace. She puts him in my shoe and puts my shoes on her feet. Giggling she walks around the house like this.
Most of all, I love her, even with the bad stuff. My hope is that she remembers me as a mom who would do anything for her, who loved her, and who wanted all the happiness in the world for her--Lori.
God--please give Lori all the happiness possible, and help her to see the beauty in her mom who is different than the other moms.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
20 years
Today I returned to my hometown of Ft. Collins to watch the state cross-country running meet. 20 years ago we won that meet for the first time, and this year they won it again (the 6th time).
I remember when we won for different reasons. I remember being so excited that we won and that I had my best time. But mixed with the excitement was this strange feeling of fatigue I had that day that was different from the usual runners fatigue. And then at some point soon after that, I woke up and my legs felt like pins and needles--like they were asleep. I told no one, but those were the first symptoms of MS. They went away within a few weeks and my celebration never stopped during that time.
It's amazing that I ran my best time to date right then. It's amazing I ignored the pins and needles feelings.
It's amazing I still remember what it feels like to run. MS may take away my ability, but I don't think it can ever take away that feeling. And it can never take away that state championship which is priceless.
I remember when we won for different reasons. I remember being so excited that we won and that I had my best time. But mixed with the excitement was this strange feeling of fatigue I had that day that was different from the usual runners fatigue. And then at some point soon after that, I woke up and my legs felt like pins and needles--like they were asleep. I told no one, but those were the first symptoms of MS. They went away within a few weeks and my celebration never stopped during that time.
It's amazing that I ran my best time to date right then. It's amazing I ignored the pins and needles feelings.
It's amazing I still remember what it feels like to run. MS may take away my ability, but I don't think it can ever take away that feeling. And it can never take away that state championship which is priceless.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Where are we being called?
In the most recent newsletter from our church, this was a question posed--where is God calling us? It was somewhat timely as I'm been trying to figure that out. There have been times when I've felt this strong pull from God, strong direction, strong urgency to listen. But for some reason that is not now. I find myself going through normal routines and wonder what has changed and why do I not full that same tug or pull.
Perhaps I'm not listening and life has become so chaotic that it is difficult to find time to slow down, pause, stop, and think. That's true. I used to write more in this blog diary of mine. But now I find myself getting up, rushing to work, working chaotically to get things done, not taking breaks, rushing to get my daughter from school, take her to activities, do homework, help her learn to read or stop writing numbers backward, doing schoolwork, trying to find my exercise time... What happened?!! It seems things have changed and become rushed and when there is time to slow down, I'm out of energy to the point I wonder what is the easiest thing I can make for dinner with some semblance of nutrition in it?
So, I hope things change. I'm not sure how they will. I keep looking for ways. Maybe God will at some point give me a tug and say "PAUSE...BREATHE...THINK..." Because really, for this cycle of busy-ness to end, I think it will take some yank from outside the "norm."
Perhaps I'm not listening and life has become so chaotic that it is difficult to find time to slow down, pause, stop, and think. That's true. I used to write more in this blog diary of mine. But now I find myself getting up, rushing to work, working chaotically to get things done, not taking breaks, rushing to get my daughter from school, take her to activities, do homework, help her learn to read or stop writing numbers backward, doing schoolwork, trying to find my exercise time... What happened?!! It seems things have changed and become rushed and when there is time to slow down, I'm out of energy to the point I wonder what is the easiest thing I can make for dinner with some semblance of nutrition in it?
So, I hope things change. I'm not sure how they will. I keep looking for ways. Maybe God will at some point give me a tug and say "PAUSE...BREATHE...THINK..." Because really, for this cycle of busy-ness to end, I think it will take some yank from outside the "norm."
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Personal Best
Thought I'd post an article written on me for my college alumni's magazine. Mostly true, except I've actually been skiing for 6+ years. Can also be found on this link (with my picture):
http://bulletin.kenyon.edu/x3138.xml
The last sentence--yes, I really want that Masters degree!
--------------
by Traci Vogel:
Beth Newsom '95 was in high school when she first noticed something strange. A dedicated runner, the slender brunette regularly brought in prizes for her cross-country team. The state meet during her junior year was no different—her team took first place, and Newsom clocked her fastest time. Afterwards, however, she suddenly experienced a disturbing "pins and needles" numbness in her legs.
"It went away, and I never told anyone about it," she says, but looking back, it was probably the first sign of the illness that took several more years to diagnose.
Newsom, who lives in Parker, Colorado, with her husband and six-year-old daughter, has multiple sclerosis. The disorder, in which the body's immune system attacks the central nervous system, is frightening not only because there is no cure, but also because its progression is unpredictable. Living with multiple sclerosis can mean years of relative health, then a sudden and debilitating "attack" leading to severe loss of function.
For an athlete, it's among the worst of diagnoses—and yet, some twenty years after those first symptoms, and now semi-paralyzed from the waist down, Newsom continues to live as an athlete and to challenge herself as one. She works out with arm weights daily, cycles with a group of disabled athletes who use hand-pedaled cycles, and recently skied for the first time, using adapted equipment that allows her to ski while sitting. A photo of Newsom on the slopes appeared in a February 2009 USA Today article about athletes triumphing over their disabilities.
Newsom credits athletics with helping her overcome the limitations imposed by multiple sclerosis, both physically and psychologically. It all started, she says, with her experience on the track team at Kenyon.
Newsom was at the height of her physical abilities when she arrived at Kenyon as a freshman in 1991. She joined the cross-country team under coach Duane Gomez. It was Gomez who showed her video evidence of the marked wobble that had developed in her stride by her sophomore year, sending her on the road to her diagnosis. "[The video] showed me, O.K., it's real, it's not in my head," Newsom says. She began taking trips to the Ohio State University Medical Center for testing.
There, on February 11, 1993, she heard the official news. That day, she had asked her friend and teammate Kelley Wilder '93 to accompany her. "I had read a lot about MS, but at this point I was doing O.K.," she says. "I was starting to run again." When the doctor said the words "multiple sclerosis," she was stunned. "I remember I said, 'So, should I just lay down on the floor and die?'" Newsom and Wilder walked back to her car, and, she says, "We just sat there and cried."
Back at Kenyon, she rallied, in part by remembering a motivational trick that Gomez had taught her. "Coach Gomez had this method: if you're running a race and you're thinking about the whole 5k, it seems like a long distance," she explains. "But if you break it up into little parts, if you think, 'I can make it to that tree; I can make it to the end of the next block,' it doesn't seem so long. In life, I use that a lot."
Newsom looked down the road ahead: she would no longer be able to run competitively, but she could create other goals. She became the assistant track coach. She switched her major to honors math and economics. She auditioned successfully for the Chamber Singers. During her senior year, she finished the Columbus Marathon.
As her disease progressed and mobility became more difficult, the willpower Newsom learned from long-distance track helped her conquer seemingly impossible challenges. For example, she says, "Somebody told me I couldn't or shouldn't have a baby. Well, I didn't think I could ride a bike again, either. So I went ahead and had a kid." Today, along with raising her child and overseeing the renovation of her house, Newsom is pursuing a master's degree in public administration from the School of Public Affairs at the University of Colorado, Denver. She works as a project coordinator for the healthcare organization Kaiser Permanente, and is a network leader for the Colorado Springs Americans with Disabilities Act Center.
Such a busy existence would be a challenge even without mobility issues, but Newsom works around them. She gets around the house by bracing herself against walls—"or scooting on my butt," she says. For short trips, she uses a walker or leg braces. For bigger distances, she uses a wheelchair, although she resisted it for a long time. "Really, though, it's freed me up. I can go to the mall with it," she says.
Sometimes, Newsom dreams that she's running again. She can still remember how it feels, she says. But the competitions she now wins daily—watching her daughter ski beside her, getting one test closer to her graduate degree—are where the real rewards are found.
http://bulletin.kenyon.edu/x3138.xml
The last sentence--yes, I really want that Masters degree!
--------------
by Traci Vogel:
Beth Newsom '95 was in high school when she first noticed something strange. A dedicated runner, the slender brunette regularly brought in prizes for her cross-country team. The state meet during her junior year was no different—her team took first place, and Newsom clocked her fastest time. Afterwards, however, she suddenly experienced a disturbing "pins and needles" numbness in her legs.
"It went away, and I never told anyone about it," she says, but looking back, it was probably the first sign of the illness that took several more years to diagnose.
Newsom, who lives in Parker, Colorado, with her husband and six-year-old daughter, has multiple sclerosis. The disorder, in which the body's immune system attacks the central nervous system, is frightening not only because there is no cure, but also because its progression is unpredictable. Living with multiple sclerosis can mean years of relative health, then a sudden and debilitating "attack" leading to severe loss of function.
For an athlete, it's among the worst of diagnoses—and yet, some twenty years after those first symptoms, and now semi-paralyzed from the waist down, Newsom continues to live as an athlete and to challenge herself as one. She works out with arm weights daily, cycles with a group of disabled athletes who use hand-pedaled cycles, and recently skied for the first time, using adapted equipment that allows her to ski while sitting. A photo of Newsom on the slopes appeared in a February 2009 USA Today article about athletes triumphing over their disabilities.
Newsom credits athletics with helping her overcome the limitations imposed by multiple sclerosis, both physically and psychologically. It all started, she says, with her experience on the track team at Kenyon.
Newsom was at the height of her physical abilities when she arrived at Kenyon as a freshman in 1991. She joined the cross-country team under coach Duane Gomez. It was Gomez who showed her video evidence of the marked wobble that had developed in her stride by her sophomore year, sending her on the road to her diagnosis. "[The video] showed me, O.K., it's real, it's not in my head," Newsom says. She began taking trips to the Ohio State University Medical Center for testing.
There, on February 11, 1993, she heard the official news. That day, she had asked her friend and teammate Kelley Wilder '93 to accompany her. "I had read a lot about MS, but at this point I was doing O.K.," she says. "I was starting to run again." When the doctor said the words "multiple sclerosis," she was stunned. "I remember I said, 'So, should I just lay down on the floor and die?'" Newsom and Wilder walked back to her car, and, she says, "We just sat there and cried."
Back at Kenyon, she rallied, in part by remembering a motivational trick that Gomez had taught her. "Coach Gomez had this method: if you're running a race and you're thinking about the whole 5k, it seems like a long distance," she explains. "But if you break it up into little parts, if you think, 'I can make it to that tree; I can make it to the end of the next block,' it doesn't seem so long. In life, I use that a lot."
Newsom looked down the road ahead: she would no longer be able to run competitively, but she could create other goals. She became the assistant track coach. She switched her major to honors math and economics. She auditioned successfully for the Chamber Singers. During her senior year, she finished the Columbus Marathon.
As her disease progressed and mobility became more difficult, the willpower Newsom learned from long-distance track helped her conquer seemingly impossible challenges. For example, she says, "Somebody told me I couldn't or shouldn't have a baby. Well, I didn't think I could ride a bike again, either. So I went ahead and had a kid." Today, along with raising her child and overseeing the renovation of her house, Newsom is pursuing a master's degree in public administration from the School of Public Affairs at the University of Colorado, Denver. She works as a project coordinator for the healthcare organization Kaiser Permanente, and is a network leader for the Colorado Springs Americans with Disabilities Act Center.
Such a busy existence would be a challenge even without mobility issues, but Newsom works around them. She gets around the house by bracing herself against walls—"or scooting on my butt," she says. For short trips, she uses a walker or leg braces. For bigger distances, she uses a wheelchair, although she resisted it for a long time. "Really, though, it's freed me up. I can go to the mall with it," she says.
Sometimes, Newsom dreams that she's running again. She can still remember how it feels, she says. But the competitions she now wins daily—watching her daughter ski beside her, getting one test closer to her graduate degree—are where the real rewards are found.
Friday, October 2, 2009
To Where?
It's now "that time." The exaccerbation happened. I hate that; I hate not being able to control when they're coming or what is going to happen. I hate not knowing how they will resolve after steroids wear off, and of course I hate the emotional roller coaster courtesy of steroids.
So I sat one night in silence at the kitchen table halfway through the course of steroids, waiting to let the dog in, pondering so much of life, where contemplations of things like life are magnified by being on steroids. This attack was upsetting from the start because I felt so out of control of everything, and helpless. On the steroids, I thought about those feelings of helplessness that, in a sense, are there much of the time, not just during attacks. I do get tired after a day of work, regardless of MS, and I often feel helpless in not being able to push myself past the fatigue. And so, I thought, what should I do with all these feelings?
I wrote kind of a letter, or list, to God, on where I could use help figuring things out, and what I wanted to know. This could be done regardless of religion--I just am a religious person. I don't have the list right here, but I know some things on it. The main thing I wanted to know was what was going to happen now, would I be ok, and could I recover. Now, done with the steroids, I think yes, I can recover. I don't know how much. I'm not there yet. I feel better and can walk, though not back to where I was. What will happen now? I will wait and work on walking. I will hope my fingers stop tingling.
Will I be ok? I'm not sure. I hope so. I know God isn't going to make a grand showing to say "Beth! You will be ok!!" But if I have patience to allow healing, some which occurs on its own, some that makes me work at it, then I will be as ok as I can be.
That note--I'll go look at it again tonight--a prayer of sorts. And part of it includes balancing emotions which are still off--happy, very nervous, sad, very angry, etc. They are balancing.
To where? I don't know. Life is a constant adventure where I feel like I'm on a ride down a river.
So I sat one night in silence at the kitchen table halfway through the course of steroids, waiting to let the dog in, pondering so much of life, where contemplations of things like life are magnified by being on steroids. This attack was upsetting from the start because I felt so out of control of everything, and helpless. On the steroids, I thought about those feelings of helplessness that, in a sense, are there much of the time, not just during attacks. I do get tired after a day of work, regardless of MS, and I often feel helpless in not being able to push myself past the fatigue. And so, I thought, what should I do with all these feelings?
I wrote kind of a letter, or list, to God, on where I could use help figuring things out, and what I wanted to know. This could be done regardless of religion--I just am a religious person. I don't have the list right here, but I know some things on it. The main thing I wanted to know was what was going to happen now, would I be ok, and could I recover. Now, done with the steroids, I think yes, I can recover. I don't know how much. I'm not there yet. I feel better and can walk, though not back to where I was. What will happen now? I will wait and work on walking. I will hope my fingers stop tingling.
Will I be ok? I'm not sure. I hope so. I know God isn't going to make a grand showing to say "Beth! You will be ok!!" But if I have patience to allow healing, some which occurs on its own, some that makes me work at it, then I will be as ok as I can be.
That note--I'll go look at it again tonight--a prayer of sorts. And part of it includes balancing emotions which are still off--happy, very nervous, sad, very angry, etc. They are balancing.
To where? I don't know. Life is a constant adventure where I feel like I'm on a ride down a river.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Taken for granted
I'd say on any "normal" day I think about the things that people take for granted as I watch people get out of cars, walk into buildings, etc. All this becomes more evident when I have an MS exaccerbation.
First, my thoughts can be doesn't anybody notice I'm having trouble (and am I that good at hiding it)? Doesn't anyone care? Doesn't anyone want to help? Of course I am told I need to ask for help and admit that I am bad at that, but what to ask for when is difficult. If I'm in the beginning of one of these attacks, and my husband leaves town, then who can help me when I fall repeatedly on the floor, when I am totally exhausted to the point of not really thinking of reaching out, but instead thinking of how to make it minute by minute, second by second, with a 6 year old daughter.
Going back to the taking things for granted, I sat there, exhausted, Fri evening, waiting for my husband to return from his day with my steroids. I sat there, and through tears, pondered it all. What do I want? I wish people would be grateful for the opportunity to get out of bed in the morning without wondering whether their legs would allow them to do so. I wish people would appreciate that choosing a physical outfit for the day is not a contemplation on whether they have enough energy to set it out the night before, or if they will have the energy in the morning, and whether they will fall in the process of doing so. I wish people would cherish the ability to carry an open coffee container into work while carrying 4 other bags. I wish people appreciated the ability to come home and make dinner without thinking of what they could make that would require the least amount of energy and still somehow be healthy. I wish people would realize how easy it is to get out of their car and walk someplace. I wish people who do not have a disability would not compare their fatigue to mine. I wish there was a way out there to ask for help before I notice that everything is going to hell. By the time I notice, I get on steroids and am almost past the help stage.
So to sum this whole rant, I wish people would notice when I'm struggling, I wish they would somehow think of some way to help, and I really wish people would not take so many simple things for granted.
Maybe, just maybe, there's hope in this quote from John F. Kennedy:
"Each time a person stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance."
Some way, I believe God is in the mix of all of this. Right now, I'm not sure exactly where, but I do know he's there.
First, my thoughts can be doesn't anybody notice I'm having trouble (and am I that good at hiding it)? Doesn't anyone care? Doesn't anyone want to help? Of course I am told I need to ask for help and admit that I am bad at that, but what to ask for when is difficult. If I'm in the beginning of one of these attacks, and my husband leaves town, then who can help me when I fall repeatedly on the floor, when I am totally exhausted to the point of not really thinking of reaching out, but instead thinking of how to make it minute by minute, second by second, with a 6 year old daughter.
Going back to the taking things for granted, I sat there, exhausted, Fri evening, waiting for my husband to return from his day with my steroids. I sat there, and through tears, pondered it all. What do I want? I wish people would be grateful for the opportunity to get out of bed in the morning without wondering whether their legs would allow them to do so. I wish people would appreciate that choosing a physical outfit for the day is not a contemplation on whether they have enough energy to set it out the night before, or if they will have the energy in the morning, and whether they will fall in the process of doing so. I wish people would cherish the ability to carry an open coffee container into work while carrying 4 other bags. I wish people appreciated the ability to come home and make dinner without thinking of what they could make that would require the least amount of energy and still somehow be healthy. I wish people would realize how easy it is to get out of their car and walk someplace. I wish people who do not have a disability would not compare their fatigue to mine. I wish there was a way out there to ask for help before I notice that everything is going to hell. By the time I notice, I get on steroids and am almost past the help stage.
So to sum this whole rant, I wish people would notice when I'm struggling, I wish they would somehow think of some way to help, and I really wish people would not take so many simple things for granted.
Maybe, just maybe, there's hope in this quote from John F. Kennedy:
"Each time a person stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance."
Some way, I believe God is in the mix of all of this. Right now, I'm not sure exactly where, but I do know he's there.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Times have changed
It seems there are so many opinions being voiced right now about what people used to do, particularly surrounding going to school. They used to walk a half mile to elementary school, used to walk over a mile to junior high, etc. No bus option. I walked too, in what was considered a safe town and a safe neighborhood. I look back, grimace, think times have changed, and ponder how people do not see the changes.
I used to walk to my elementary school, with a large group of kids. In Douglas County, we now have year-round elementary schools which means the number of kids walking home on any given day has shrunk. Occasionally, I used to walk home alone from athletics in elementary school. Two of those times I saw things I should not have seen at that age. I never told my parents—thus, a girl walking home alone was considered perfectly safe.
I walked to and from junior high school—1.25 miles—sometimes on a bike path, always listening to my walkman. A few years after that, under a bridge along the same bike path, a woman was raped. Thankfully I was driving by then.
I have other stories which delve into my college life and beyond—they clarify how society has changed. I know there is a registered sexual offender within the vicinity of my first grade daughter’s school. I know when she walks to school she takes a bike path often crossed by a coyote. I know the things I saw as an elementary school girl. I know how oblivious I was walking a bike path as a teenager. I know the results could have been different for me, and that many times I was very lucky.
I want my daughter to be able to get safely home, to not see what I saw, to not have to encounter the scary situations that lurk in many places. I walked home in a different time when there wasn’t much busing. I would like to think society would realize the value of busing, that times have changed, and that parents want their kids to get home as safely as possible.
I used to walk to my elementary school, with a large group of kids. In Douglas County, we now have year-round elementary schools which means the number of kids walking home on any given day has shrunk. Occasionally, I used to walk home alone from athletics in elementary school. Two of those times I saw things I should not have seen at that age. I never told my parents—thus, a girl walking home alone was considered perfectly safe.
I walked to and from junior high school—1.25 miles—sometimes on a bike path, always listening to my walkman. A few years after that, under a bridge along the same bike path, a woman was raped. Thankfully I was driving by then.
I have other stories which delve into my college life and beyond—they clarify how society has changed. I know there is a registered sexual offender within the vicinity of my first grade daughter’s school. I know when she walks to school she takes a bike path often crossed by a coyote. I know the things I saw as an elementary school girl. I know how oblivious I was walking a bike path as a teenager. I know the results could have been different for me, and that many times I was very lucky.
I want my daughter to be able to get safely home, to not see what I saw, to not have to encounter the scary situations that lurk in many places. I walked home in a different time when there wasn’t much busing. I would like to think society would realize the value of busing, that times have changed, and that parents want their kids to get home as safely as possible.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)