When Ruthie, my now 16 year old, was 12 we found a specialty clinic called I.EM.PHIT "that combines
intensive, fun physical conditioning and nutrition counseling in a
medically supervised program."
From the start I was impressed with how Chris Coffey, the clinic director, customized the activities to fit each child's needs and interests. He was constantly changing it up so the kids stayed engaged in pushing themselves harder without being aware that's what they were doing.
It has been a few years since we have been to the clinic and now that they have moved to a more convenient location to our home we are getting the required referral for our 11 year old. She has low muscle tone and is taking a break from traditional occupational and physical therapy to do strength building.
While reconnecting with the clinic I came across a television broadcast about one of their clients--a boy named Gage. The images of this child, who was shaken when he was little, getting strong through his own passion to become a police officer stayed in my thoughts. It reinforced that I.EM.PHIT creatively helps kids get strong inside and out.
This morning I saw a post on the clinic's facebook page that an officer who was touched by the initial story on Fox 9 News commented on the post that he'd like to help Gage's dream come true. He got the clearance from his department and Gage became an officer for the day!
Kudos to Officer Beckett for taking the initiative to create not just a ride in the squad car but a training experience for a boy whose dream it is to be in law enforcement. Well done. You showed how effortless it can be to reach out to a child who needs extra help and how much a child can learn with an interested and compassionate teacher.
I look forward to the Fox 9 News broadcast which will introduce us one day to Officer Robinson.
(Click on "Gage" and "officer for the day" above to see the stories as reported by Fox 9 News.)
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Friday, November 8, 2013
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Stop The Stigma: What Is A Mental Illness?
I came upon this website today Make It OK.. I like how practical it is. Great resource to share with family, friends, schools, co-workers and places of worship. Let's stop the stigma by getting good information out to others.
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Sunday, October 27, 2013
Hello. Hello-o-o! Anyone there?
It's as though I'm walking back into a house that has been locked up for most of the year. After sustaining a brain injury in January I had to shut down my blog. Shutter it up. Now I have to clear out the cobwebs and make attempts to remember where I left off.
Or on second thought, I'll start anew.
My first attempt? Telling my stories and asking others to tell theirs. Nothing more. That will be the focus for now. Much simpler than my original plan.
I did not tell many stories involving my own children before January but that's part of my new plan. Here goes with a story about my 11 year old Netta and a request to help her fulfill a dream.
Ever since my daughter Netta was tall enough to reach the kitchen counter she was by my side watching me cook. She wanted to do anything I'd let her do. When she wasn't in the kitchen she became captivated with television shows and movies whose focus was food.
The first movie that stood out was The Princess and the Frog. Netta became fixated with it and begged to watch it. It wasn't until one night when she asked for a cutting board, mushrooms and a knife that I realized she had taught herself how to mince mushrooms by watching the animated prince make gumbo in the swampland of Louisiana.
After Netta mastered mincing mushrooms with her knife she wanted anything in sight to cut down into smaller pieces! Her knife skills began with a plastic knife. Now she uses my metal knives with her hand placed on top just as she learned from the chefs on Iron Chef and Chopped.
One Saturday morning I was tired and resting on the couch. She ran into the room and exclaimed, "Ima (mom) I want to make a garnish."
"A what?," I mumbled looking in her direction.
"A garnish, PLEASE Ima."
Because I knew I would get more rest if I agreed, I gave in quickly.
In the kitchen I grabbed a glass bowl and a cutting board from the cupboard. "What do you want for your garnish?"
"Apples, cucumbers, and green onions." she blurted out.
"Grab your knife," I said. I set her up and as I had monitored her knife skills on many occasions I confidently walked back to the couch to continue resting. With closed eyes I listened to her banter about cutting and mixing.
Within ten minutes I returned to the kitchen.
"Ima, I want more ingredients."
"What ingredients are you thinking about?" I saw her glance over at the counter to the right of the refrigerator.
"Figs."
"Figs?"
"Figs," she said as confidently as the sun that shone through the kitchen window.
"Okay then. Do you want to make a dressing?"
"Yes."
"What do you want in the dressing?," I said as I moved toward the cabinet that held the oil and vinegar.
"I want canola oil and red wine vinegar."
"Any herbs?"
"Oregano and sage."
"Really?" Trying to hide my skepticism about how this was taking form. Netta's confident speech and manner was not something I wanted to mess with.
"Oh, and some honey too."
Netta finished chopping. I made the dressing with her suggestions. Then she folded the dressing in with the other ingredients.
In unison we took a bite.
"Yum," I said tenatively. "Yu-um!" Louder this time--kind of surprised that the concoction tasted as good as it did.
From that moment on we've encouraged Netta to experiment with flavors and textures. She spends more time with food or talking about food than anything else in her life.
She's 11. She didn't talk until she was 4 1/2. And now she's talking about tumeric and beurre blanc and marscarpone cheese and sauteing and grilling and fileting and...
Visitors come into our home, walk into the kitchen and FREAK OUT when they see Netta quickly mincing with her hand on top of a sharp knife.
I laugh when I see their eyes grow in size. "Can you believe it?," I say. "The doctors could not tell us at two if she would ever walk or talk. Look at her now."
She does not care that her corpus callosum in her brain never developed. Even though I've explained it to her. Nothing gets in the way of her dreams. Nothing.
And this child's dream is to be a chef.
Here's where I need if you are still out there amongst the cobwebs. Help me get wannabe chef to New York City to meet one of her favorite chefs--Alex Guarnaschelli.
I entered a recipe into Fisher Nut's Recipe Contest. If you want to help us get to New York City go to the link (please ask others to as well) and vote 5, every day until the contest ends.
And let me know if you have a story to share.
In January I did not know if I would write again.
It's nice to be back.
Not sure how to make a comment? Blogger Help has a nice article on how to do it.
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It's as though I'm walking back into a house that has been locked up for most of the year. After sustaining a brain injury in January I had to shut down my blog. Shutter it up. Now I have to clear out the cobwebs and make attempts to remember where I left off.
Or on second thought, I'll start anew.
My first attempt? Telling my stories and asking others to tell theirs. Nothing more. That will be the focus for now. Much simpler than my original plan.
I did not tell many stories involving my own children before January but that's part of my new plan. Here goes with a story about my 11 year old Netta and a request to help her fulfill a dream.
Ever since my daughter Netta was tall enough to reach the kitchen counter she was by my side watching me cook. She wanted to do anything I'd let her do. When she wasn't in the kitchen she became captivated with television shows and movies whose focus was food.
The first movie that stood out was The Princess and the Frog. Netta became fixated with it and begged to watch it. It wasn't until one night when she asked for a cutting board, mushrooms and a knife that I realized she had taught herself how to mince mushrooms by watching the animated prince make gumbo in the swampland of Louisiana.
After Netta mastered mincing mushrooms with her knife she wanted anything in sight to cut down into smaller pieces! Her knife skills began with a plastic knife. Now she uses my metal knives with her hand placed on top just as she learned from the chefs on Iron Chef and Chopped.
One Saturday morning I was tired and resting on the couch. She ran into the room and exclaimed, "Ima (mom) I want to make a garnish."
"A what?," I mumbled looking in her direction.
"A garnish, PLEASE Ima."
Because I knew I would get more rest if I agreed, I gave in quickly.
In the kitchen I grabbed a glass bowl and a cutting board from the cupboard. "What do you want for your garnish?"
"Apples, cucumbers, and green onions." she blurted out.
"Grab your knife," I said. I set her up and as I had monitored her knife skills on many occasions I confidently walked back to the couch to continue resting. With closed eyes I listened to her banter about cutting and mixing.
Within ten minutes I returned to the kitchen.
"Ima, I want more ingredients."
"What ingredients are you thinking about?" I saw her glance over at the counter to the right of the refrigerator.
"Figs."
"Figs?"
"Figs," she said as confidently as the sun that shone through the kitchen window.
"Okay then. Do you want to make a dressing?"
"Yes."
"What do you want in the dressing?," I said as I moved toward the cabinet that held the oil and vinegar.
"I want canola oil and red wine vinegar."
"Any herbs?"
"Oregano and sage."
"Really?" Trying to hide my skepticism about how this was taking form. Netta's confident speech and manner was not something I wanted to mess with.
"Oh, and some honey too."
Netta finished chopping. I made the dressing with her suggestions. Then she folded the dressing in with the other ingredients.
In unison we took a bite.
"Yum," I said tenatively. "Yu-um!" Louder this time--kind of surprised that the concoction tasted as good as it did.
From that moment on we've encouraged Netta to experiment with flavors and textures. She spends more time with food or talking about food than anything else in her life.
She's 11. She didn't talk until she was 4 1/2. And now she's talking about tumeric and beurre blanc and marscarpone cheese and sauteing and grilling and fileting and...
Visitors come into our home, walk into the kitchen and FREAK OUT when they see Netta quickly mincing with her hand on top of a sharp knife.
I laugh when I see their eyes grow in size. "Can you believe it?," I say. "The doctors could not tell us at two if she would ever walk or talk. Look at her now."
She does not care that her corpus callosum in her brain never developed. Even though I've explained it to her. Nothing gets in the way of her dreams. Nothing.
And this child's dream is to be a chef.
Here's where I need if you are still out there amongst the cobwebs. Help me get wannabe chef to New York City to meet one of her favorite chefs--Alex Guarnaschelli.
I entered a recipe into Fisher Nut's Recipe Contest. If you want to help us get to New York City go to the link (please ask others to as well) and vote 5, every day until the contest ends.
And let me know if you have a story to share.
In January I did not know if I would write again.
It's nice to be back.
Not sure how to make a comment? Blogger Help has a nice article on how to do it.
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Friday, March 1, 2013
Fidgety-Fairy-Tales
If you live in the Twin Cities, this is a great production to check out: Fidgety-Fairy-Tales
The first set of performances listed below are free to the public.
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Tuesday, February 26, 2013
My Rights As A Patient
I'm excited to have guest bloggers as I continue to recover from a serious accident. Continuing on the theme of self advocacy Nicole in Australia writes about her desired
rights as a patient.--Allyson
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rights as a patient.--Allyson
My Rights As A Patient
My right to knowledge
inclusive of the big words, the ups and downs and the real facts good and bad.
My right to have you care
for how I feel just as much as give me a diagnosis or a treatment plan.
My right to hear to say
you have listened to my reality and value this as true knowledge.
My right to a treatment
plan that places me in the drivers seat.
My right to say I am
scared, anxious, frightened and that I don’t know what to do.
My right for you to know I
am here in need of your help to find me some answers.
My right to details,
results and explanations as they are discovered.
My right to ask questions,
lots of them and for you to do your best at answering them.
My right to know and fully
understand my problem is in my body not “all in my head.”
My right to be heard by an
attentive and understanding professional who chooses to seek
understanding by looking behind my silence, fear, tears, pain, anxiety, behaviour
or frustrations to really hear what I am saying.
My right to disagree with
how you have treated me.
My right to walk away and
seek further advice.
My right to be treated
with respect in treatments despite me asking you the same questions, results
that keep coming back normal, presenting to you with the same symptoms or
having no reaction to medications given.
My right to have you treat
me as a person and not just a patient.
My right for you to
understand that you can make mistakes and that it is my responsibility as the
person seeking treatment to call you on these.
My right to hear that you
don’t know what is going on either.
My right for you and I to
work as a team.
My right for you to tell
me that you see that I am frustrated, anxious and in pain and that you will
help me by taking me seriously.
My right for you to know
the minute I leave this space my experience continues.
© Nicole Fernley
2 of 2
View all
My rights as a patient.docx
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Friday, February 8, 2013
Question Everything!
Today I went to my family practitioner as a follow up to my head and neck injury. I learned why I have not been able to write a post since the short one after returning from the hospital. I look at a page and stare. That does not happen to me often. I usually find something to say either if it's face-to-face or in writing, maybe not profound, but something.
"Do you feel you've had a loss of cognitive functioning?" the doctor asked.
"I know there is information I should know, but I can't retrieve it. Also, I've tried to keep up my blog, I have nothing creative to say."
"Seems like you've had a loss. The sheer fatigue form the injury and the pain can cause that response too," the doctor said. "What's hard is you look like you are tracking, but I see now that you are not following everything I say."
My warning to my daughter's personal care attendant (PCA) when I returned home was, "If something I say seems off--question it--question everything!" Her chuckle reminded me that I had asked her to come an hour earlier for work than I had intended that morning.
While in the office the doctor went over all of the reports from the hospital. I had already been to two doctors and had a list of tests to schedule. I asked him to check on an ultrasound that was ordered on my liver. Neatly typed next to it was a finding that no one had told me about AND I clearly remembered no one had told me. There were also clear directions to get an ultrasound on both areas--"sooner than later."
Of course after determining a loss of my cognitive functioning I knew that my doctor may not believe me when I told him that I could clearly remember that no one told me. "Check the discharge orders," I sort of commanded. "Does it list it there?"
"No. There is nothing here. They missed it. I really don't think they are going to find anything serious though," he tried to comfort me.
"But what if they do? Or what happens with another patient when a doctor forgets to include the order and doesn't mention the finding to the patient?
When I was in the hospital my husband was home with my children much of the time. I was left as patient and advocate while on significant doses of pain killers. As advocacy is my passion I forced myself to focus, pay attention and question everything. No matter how much I did it obviously was not enough.
After my appointment my doctor "released" my medical records. Now I can read them on-line and while I can't review them all at once without fatiguing, over the next couple of days I will read every word. I quickly noticed two other things that were not accurate.
When I said "question everything" to my daughter's PCA when speaking with me, I said it laughing at myself knowing that I may not be completely accurate right now. But when I say to you as one advocate to another "question everything" when it comes to medical reporting it is no laughing matter.
--Allyson
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"Do you feel you've had a loss of cognitive functioning?" the doctor asked.
"I know there is information I should know, but I can't retrieve it. Also, I've tried to keep up my blog, I have nothing creative to say."
"Seems like you've had a loss. The sheer fatigue form the injury and the pain can cause that response too," the doctor said. "What's hard is you look like you are tracking, but I see now that you are not following everything I say."
My warning to my daughter's personal care attendant (PCA) when I returned home was, "If something I say seems off--question it--question everything!" Her chuckle reminded me that I had asked her to come an hour earlier for work than I had intended that morning.
While in the office the doctor went over all of the reports from the hospital. I had already been to two doctors and had a list of tests to schedule. I asked him to check on an ultrasound that was ordered on my liver. Neatly typed next to it was a finding that no one had told me about AND I clearly remembered no one had told me. There were also clear directions to get an ultrasound on both areas--"sooner than later."
Of course after determining a loss of my cognitive functioning I knew that my doctor may not believe me when I told him that I could clearly remember that no one told me. "Check the discharge orders," I sort of commanded. "Does it list it there?"
"No. There is nothing here. They missed it. I really don't think they are going to find anything serious though," he tried to comfort me.
"But what if they do? Or what happens with another patient when a doctor forgets to include the order and doesn't mention the finding to the patient?
When I was in the hospital my husband was home with my children much of the time. I was left as patient and advocate while on significant doses of pain killers. As advocacy is my passion I forced myself to focus, pay attention and question everything. No matter how much I did it obviously was not enough.
After my appointment my doctor "released" my medical records. Now I can read them on-line and while I can't review them all at once without fatiguing, over the next couple of days I will read every word. I quickly noticed two other things that were not accurate.
When I said "question everything" to my daughter's PCA when speaking with me, I said it laughing at myself knowing that I may not be completely accurate right now. But when I say to you as one advocate to another "question everything" when it comes to medical reporting it is no laughing matter.
--Allyson
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Thursday, January 24, 2013
First Hand Experience As Self Advocate
All of January the focus of this blog has been on advocacy--for self and others. In the wee hours last Friday morning I blacked out and struck my head against a cast iron bathtub. I spent four days under careful scrutiny of the ER, Trauma and Neurosurgery units at the University of Minnesota. While it was decided that I was dehydrated other reasons for the black out are not yet known. I'm being treated for a nasty knot on my head, a broken nose and possible ligament damage in my neck. I'm seeing the world through a cervical collar for the next few weeks. And yes, there are stories to tell as my strength comes back to sit at my laptop for longer periods of time.
Allyson
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Allyson
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Thursday, January 17, 2013
First Ever Raffle at Seasons of Potential
What fun! I have asked some of the vendors of the products I LOVE most to provide giveaways. Most of them graciously agreed. So here goes. First ever raffle for Seasons of Potential. Look for a new raffle each Friday!
Drumroll please! This week's giveaway is PrepositionBuilder an app by Mobile Education Store.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Self Advocacy: Listen To And Trust Yourself
A Guest Blog Post From Ken Barlow...
I knew when I was younger that something wasn't quite right. I remember in college that I really never could sleep. I didn't need to.
As I knew this wasn't normal I sought out the college mental health counselor who suggested I see a neurologist. I had an EEG, a brain scan, which came back clean. I told the doctor that the EEG results must be wrong. He said, "No, you are."
For the next twenty five years I went on with life and my massive ups and downs. I thought it was all in my head and that there was nothing wrong with me.
In 2006 I moved to Boston for a job closer to my mom after my dad unexpectedly passed away. My family stayed in Minnesota while my kids finished school. I flew back and forth between the Twin Cities and Boston every weekend. I had no problem keeping up with this rigorous schedule. At least that's what I thought. I started to lose weight and wasn't sleeping. Because of these symptoms I went to a doctor who prescribed something to help me sleep.
Usually my lows were the worst at the end of August which again brought me to the doctor. She thought I had an August grass allergy and gave me a prescription and an inhaler. Neither of which helped. Turns out it was the declining daylight which was a 'trigger' for my depression.
One night I mixed another medicine I was taking for a familial hand tremor (harmless hereditary shaking) with the sleeping aid. I ended up in the hospital. While there doctors on staff asked about my schedule and why I was taking a sleeping aid. I explained that I hadn't been able to sleep and I had that problem my whole life. But I also had times when I couldn't get out of bed. I wasn't sad. I just didn't care about anything.
With all of this in mind, along with additional testing and interviews it was determined that I had bipolar disorder. Initially it was diagnosed as the less severe type known as Bipolar II. Some things happened in the hospital that provided the doctors with additional information such that they instead diagnosed me with Bipolar I. I was isolated in a 24 hour watch for another week before finally being released.
Six years later I have come full circle from anger and denial to acceptance. To me this is the single most important part of my success (so far) at managing my illness. The problem is that I knew the whole time that something was wrong, but it took the hospitalization to finally get the right diagnosis and the long sought after help I needed.
My advice for others--listen to and trust yourself. It's the same hindsight you hear from people finally diagnosed with other conditions. I wish I had gone for a second and third opinion. I KNEW something wasn't right with me but I just assumed the first doctor was correct even though my gut (and head) thought differently. Adults should go to their family doctor who will hopefully suggest a psychiatric evaluation. And if they don't request it.
If I could travel back in time to 1982 I would find the campus counselor and say to him, "My brain scan looks fine, now what do we do?"
Ken Barlow, Founder and President
The Wellstone-Barlow Mental Health Initiative
www.wellstonebarlow.org
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I knew when I was younger that something wasn't quite right. I remember in college that I really never could sleep. I didn't need to.
As I knew this wasn't normal I sought out the college mental health counselor who suggested I see a neurologist. I had an EEG, a brain scan, which came back clean. I told the doctor that the EEG results must be wrong. He said, "No, you are."
For the next twenty five years I went on with life and my massive ups and downs. I thought it was all in my head and that there was nothing wrong with me.
In 2006 I moved to Boston for a job closer to my mom after my dad unexpectedly passed away. My family stayed in Minnesota while my kids finished school. I flew back and forth between the Twin Cities and Boston every weekend. I had no problem keeping up with this rigorous schedule. At least that's what I thought. I started to lose weight and wasn't sleeping. Because of these symptoms I went to a doctor who prescribed something to help me sleep.
Usually my lows were the worst at the end of August which again brought me to the doctor. She thought I had an August grass allergy and gave me a prescription and an inhaler. Neither of which helped. Turns out it was the declining daylight which was a 'trigger' for my depression.
One night I mixed another medicine I was taking for a familial hand tremor (harmless hereditary shaking) with the sleeping aid. I ended up in the hospital. While there doctors on staff asked about my schedule and why I was taking a sleeping aid. I explained that I hadn't been able to sleep and I had that problem my whole life. But I also had times when I couldn't get out of bed. I wasn't sad. I just didn't care about anything.
With all of this in mind, along with additional testing and interviews it was determined that I had bipolar disorder. Initially it was diagnosed as the less severe type known as Bipolar II. Some things happened in the hospital that provided the doctors with additional information such that they instead diagnosed me with Bipolar I. I was isolated in a 24 hour watch for another week before finally being released.
Six years later I have come full circle from anger and denial to acceptance. To me this is the single most important part of my success (so far) at managing my illness. The problem is that I knew the whole time that something was wrong, but it took the hospitalization to finally get the right diagnosis and the long sought after help I needed.
My advice for others--listen to and trust yourself. It's the same hindsight you hear from people finally diagnosed with other conditions. I wish I had gone for a second and third opinion. I KNEW something wasn't right with me but I just assumed the first doctor was correct even though my gut (and head) thought differently. Adults should go to their family doctor who will hopefully suggest a psychiatric evaluation. And if they don't request it.
If I could travel back in time to 1982 I would find the campus counselor and say to him, "My brain scan looks fine, now what do we do?"
 |
| Ken Barlow |
Ken Barlow, Founder and President
The Wellstone-Barlow Mental Health Initiative
www.wellstonebarlow.org
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Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Reducing The Stigma Associated With Mental Illness
I came across this new initiative and could not share it quickly enough with others. This project is focused on reducing stigma associated with mental illness and is a collaboration between Dave Wellstone and Ken Barlow.
To find out more visit their website at Wellstone-Barlow Mental Initiative and to demonstrate your support in their efforts visit and like their Facebook Page.
What a great partnership!
--Allyson
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They are requesting stories about experiences dealing with mental illness.
To find out more visit their website at Wellstone-Barlow Mental Initiative and to demonstrate your support in their efforts visit and like their Facebook Page.
What a great partnership!
--Allyson
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