The Thought Vox

Life has been eventful over the past few weeks. I’m behind by a couple of intended posts due to technical difficulties.

My poor MAC developed power supply issues and has been back with Apple for ten days. In light of the state of the world and with respect to those who have real problems, this boils down to an inconvenience.

My access to the online realm has been sparse and I have yet to finish a post that was a challenge issued to several bloggers, by Jules Torti, a fine writer and defender of jungle animals. I promise to get that one done the moment my electronic baby and I both return to Toronto.

I managed to take care of lots of the banal tasks of life in my time of isolation from the www. I also had a great to-do list to ready myself for a trip home to PEI. I had a belated birthday movie to see with my pal, gifted scholar/musician Sara Kamin. I had tickets to see Jann Arden at Massey Hall. In between there were things like laundry, rent, and other month end things to tend to. It was all timed perfectly.

Well: I’m pretty sure Sara will never attend another movie with me again. Mid way through our IMAX screening of Avatar, I was feeling off.I felt hot and started to sweat. After a few minutes I told sara that I needed air. She left our row, half way up the theatre, I followed. When I reached the stairs I felt disoriented, put my hand against the wall to steady myself and tried to take steps down the stairs. By now, Sara, who thought I was behind her, was out in the lobby. I looked down at my feet and was telling them (in my mind) to move but I couldn’t feel them. The bottom of the stairs looked a mile away. I was burning hot, my heart pounding in my ears, and losing feeling in all limbs.

As my eyes were losing focus I noticed my knees buckle, and one very calm thought went through my head, “I’m not gonna make it down.” Everything went black. The next thing I remember is the face of a stranger asking,” Are you ok?” I understood him but couldn’t answer or move.

Long story short: I blacked out, fell down the flight of stairs and landed on my face. To this day I can’t remember the fall or the landing.

I was carried out to the lobby, where I laid on the floor as I was on the verge of passing out again. Fire rescue came, there was oxygen and lots of questions to determine how coherent I was. Thankfully Sara was there to give all the vital information.

EMS arrived, there was a trip in an ambance and hours of tests at the hospital.Lots of people have since told me IMAX movies have disoriented others. Yet I’ve seen others without incident. I had been feeling off while taking a new medication which has helped others with chronic pain. I went on the drug in October and it hasn’t had a positive effect for me. I was planning to go off it after my trip.

The consensus of professionals is that my blackout/ dizziness was probably a combination of the over stimulation of 3D Avatar and the drug.

I disconuied the drug that day, cold turkey. The effects of withdrawal are with me now. I’m not going to lie, I feel pretty crapie. All of my parts are extra sore and I feel skitzed out. However: I went to see Jann Arden the day after the fall; she and the band were brilliant! I also saw one of my doctors and we came up with a medically safe plan to curb some of the withdrawal symptoms (which were a joy to fly with).I was too sore and tired to go to the laundry matt so I packed a suitcase of dirty clothes which my sister washed upon my arrival in PEI. I have been well fed and pampered, so I have no complaints.

It is embarrasing to faint and do a face plant in front of 800 people, then be carried out, then be put in an ambulance. Nobody wants that sort of attention. But I couldn’t help thinking about how lucky I was to be in a country where an ambulance is on scene in 5-10 minutes and a hospital is equipped to treat me. These are the things we need to remember to be thankful for when it seems like everything is going wrong.

*Note: this was composed & posted on my Blackberry, while feeling the effects of withdrawal: ergo – format is crap, spelling is not accurate, links are not in place. My inner perfectionest may have a panic attack. I’ll fix this mess later- so I feel better about it. Um: Neurotic? TOTALLY

Mother & Daughter set off with a goal to raise 2 Million Dollars and Awareness

In the summer of 2009 Kathy and Blanca decided to make a change in the world. Positive change, however big or small, makes a difference to someone – we all have a part to play in creating a better world.

Departing from St. John’s, NFLD in August 2010, Kathy & Blanca will make their way to Vancouver, BC on motorcycles in order to experience and engage Canada while raising awareness and funds benefiting orphaned and abandoned children in more than 130 counties and territories through SOS Children’s Villages.

The Mother Daughter Ride celebrated their official launch at the Toronto Motorcycle Show in December. The ladies and their cause were well received and they are starting to build momentum for their cause.

The Goal: To experience Canada and have an amazing adventure raising $2 Million in order to offer kid’s a home, an education, health care, vocational training and hope for the future.

About SOS Children’s Villages

Mission statement: SOS Children’s Villages provides children in need with a caring, loving, and secure family environment where basic needs for food,health, shelter, and education are met. SOS Children’s Villages creates opportunities for children to become responsible, contributing members of society by providing Villages and community support where stable, nurturing homes exist to meet family, social, emotional, physical, and spiritual needs of children._

SOS Children’s Villages is currently raising over 78,000 orphaned and abandoned children in more than 490 SOS Children’s Villages in over 125 countries. The SOS Villages provide children with a home, an SOS mother, and a sense of belonging. In total, SOS Children’s Villages works in over 130 countries world wide.

About Mother & Daughter

Kathy ~ The Mother: I’ve often wondered what name was printed on the minute wristband slipped on my arm that August day in 1952, at Toronto General. Who was I born? Was I Wanda Kathryn Payne, or Kathryn Wanda King? Eventually, at the age of 5, after a year with a foster family, I became Kathryn Gaye Sharpe – had a Mom and Dad and three brothers. Life took me down many paths and with no roots to tie me and my first husband to Canada, we packed up, flew to England, bought a Volkswagen van, toured Europe and ended up in the delicious sun and sand of the Costa Blanca in Spain. Life continued and when my second husband asked for his freedom, I took my children, tail between my legs, and came home to Canada, a broken woman. It took almost a decade to rebuild myself. Today I am a polyglot, on the honour list at York University. I’m still not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I am sure that I will leave a positive imprint on the world.

Blanca ~ The Daughter: I grew up in Europe, learning about cultures and adventures and how big and small the world really is. Through my mother’s choices I didn’t just learn about the world, I experienced it. At age 11 I moved to Canada and my life changed. I was a terrible teenager, a good kid in a bad crowd and a bad kid in a good crowd. I didn’t fit in and didn’t try to fit in. As a non high school graduate, my options were limited when it came time to build a life. Three part time jobs, two roommates and no relationship with my mother later, I decided it was time to go to school. As a mature student I graduated College and received a scholarship to Carleton University. I built a life and relationships, including one with my mother. Most recently, I walked away from the corporate world where I was a corporate recruiter for financial services and have been focusing on creating and managing the Mother Daughter Ride along with my mother. I do know what I want to do as I grow old ~ I want to give the greatest gift of all: allowing you to be who you are without judgment and watching as you live your dreams and your life to it’s greatest potential.

Kathy & Blanca will be in attendance at the International Motorcycle Show on January 15th, 16th & 17th, PLEASE say “hello,” if you see them!

For More Information/Contacting/Donating Mother Daughter Ride:
Join them on ~ Facebook
Follow them on ~ Twitter
Visit ~ Official Site

A MESSAGE ABOUT S.O.S. Children’s Villages from Contractor MIKE HOLMES

The small hours of the morning are dark and still. It’s a good time for thinking, when sleep is illusive. Sometimes I think that I think too much. I may be right – I may be wrong.

I’m thankful for the abundance that surrounds me. I’m appreciative of everyday things, still, at times, I feel disconnected from it all. Life is not an easy road if one is a soul who feels/cares deeply. That being said, I can’t imagine not feeling – not caring.

As I age, things once viewed as black or white have faded to shades of gray. Choices I once saw as right and wrong have morphed into: healthy and unhealthy. Sometimes I think I have the answer, and then I realize there are only more questions. This is the uncertainty of life.

I love Canada. I believe it’s one of the most fair and beautiful places on earth. I can’t imagine living anywhere other than in this country. Yet, the changing seasons wreak havoc on my body and mind; the dampness of fall and winter cripples flesh and bone. Unending slate gray skies of winter invite tunnels of darkness for the mind to ferret through. To what end? I sometimes wonder. This game of life: which is harder than need be – what does it all mean?

These words come from a place of sadness and hope: Another of life’s constant contradictions. For several months I’ve contemplated leaving Toronto: the city that I love. However, a soul can’t just pack up her words and move on without a defined purpose. What am I moving away from? What am I moving toward? These are questions that need answers. Otherwise I’m just running from ghosts that can’t be named. These are the ghosts that follow wherever we go, and greet us wherever we arrive.

Disconnected from my surroundings. That’s where I am – or perhaps, where I’m not. An abundance of upheaval over the past few months (though, for the most part sorted) has left me tired. Yet this is not the source of my discontent. I have no solid reasons. Creatively, life is wonderful; family and dear friends love me, I’m not in a depression. There is so much to be happy about, and other things to be sad about.

Days after I found out a dear soul is cancer free, I received word that another who is dear to me, is out of remission and awaiting a second stem cell transplant for a rare, incurable, form of cancer. I spent a lot of time at his side several years ago as he went through this same treatment. He wasn’t supposed to live then – but he is still here. I believe and have great hope that he will beat it again. I hate that he has many more months of suffering ahead; that his family has to endure once again. I will never understand cancer. If ever I have the opportunity to face God, Buddha, Rah, The universal creator – by what ever name you call ‘him’ – this will be my question: What the fuck is up with cancer? (Well, the first of many questions.)

It has been said that we have to experience death so that we may appreciate life; that there has to be a balance of darkness and light. I’m not disputing that the world needs balance – Yet, from where I’m sitting, there has been great imbalance for far too long.
Yes, much of it has been brought about by mans insatiable appetite for control, but we could use a little divine intervention.

I use to be a news junkie. Now I can’t deal with more than thirty minutes at a time. People are angry and so filled with hurt that they’re lashing out everywhere. It’s up to us to restore the balance. Each of us has the opportunity, daily, to interact with the world in a positive manner. Many of us do not. Life is short – and – Life is LONG. Please make a conscious effort to take the high road, to respond to bad behavior with good will, or simply walk away.

I believe we are all receptacles. We absorb the energy surrounding us – right now there is far too much bad energy engulfing the planet. Thoughts are energy. Please hold hope and positive thoughts for others and for the state of mankind. If we take a moment and subscribe to the Christian meaning of Christmas: good will toward man, and forget about presents and acquiring more crap that will be forgotten in a week, we just may move toward positive change.

These are the things I think about in the wee hours of the morning, when sleep eludes me. Perhaps I just want to live in a better version of the city I love. Perhaps the ugliness has been the source of my disconnection, all along.

I wish all of you well.

Over time I’ve shared some of my health issues, and the journey to find answers, with you – the readers. I have received several e-mails asking if the doctors know what causes my chronic pain, TMJ, and the other symptoms I experience. Thought there is no defined cause of fibromyalgia, it is believed, in some cases, to be the result of physical trauma. In the early hours of August 26th, 2001 I was in a serious car accident. My Doctors and I believe this incident contributed to todays health issues.

I choose to see the glass half full because I’ve experienced a lot in my thus far short time on earth. Some of it terrible — much of it miraculous. I will share with you one experience that I draw on to remember the blessing it is to be alive.

WAKING NIGHTMARE

The day began with a dream. Music was playing note for note; all of the instruments laired perfectly as Tori Amos sang “Northern Lad”. The dampness of early morning seeped into my bones; I was waking up. Images faded into sound, music overtaking the dream. The cold was intense but my subconscious agreed to wakeup after the song ended. The final notes swam through my mind then I opened my eyes into a nightmare.

There were no sounds, so smells, just blackness. I had feeling in my limbs but I was immobilized. My head was cloudy and my eyes wouldn’t focus. There was no fear, just a strange dizziness, like waking from surgery. I realized I was still dreaming, a dream within a dream. My eyes started to focus slightly. I saw the outline of a dashboard. I was sitting in a car, seatbelt holding me firmly in place. Attempting to reach across and unbuckle the belt with my left hand I couldn’t move my shoulder. My hand scraped against a wall of dirt, which had replaced the driver’s side window. I could feel clammy earth embedding under my nails. My vision remained blurry; it was impossible to see my surroundings. “I have to wakeup,” I said aloud. Using my right hand I unbuckled the seatbelt. This was the moment where nightmare became reality.

My body fell straight down. My head smashed against the roof while the weight of my legs fell forward, my bare knees grinding into the broken windshield; which had folded in on the roof. A pain shot through me like a dagger into my brain stem, I let out a loud gasp. I was definitely awake. This was not a dream nor had it been from the moment Tori stopped singing. A wave of disbelief washed over me, this was real but what happened? Where was I? Then the most horrifying question entered my mind: Who am I?

Rational thoughts kicked in. I took inventory of the situation: I’d been in an accident. I was alone. It was night. It was cold. I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and my shoes were gone. There was a lot of blood, but no major visible wounds. I had to figure out my name, where I was, and I had to get help. I crawled across glass pebbles into the back where there was more headroom. There was so much glass. Every window broken except the rear passenger. As I tried to brush the glass away to clear a place to sit small bits sliced my hands. A few slivers stabbed the palms of my hands and remained there until I clumsily pulled them out. At first my fingers stung as I tried to pull the slivers from my hands. Then all I could feel was the dizziness in my head.

“I have a name. I have to remember my name.” Reciting the letters of the alphabet aloud, for each letter I listed all the names I could think of, sure that when I got to my name my memory would return. After twenty minutes I reached the letter “P,” my name was Pamela. Yes. This was right. My name was Pamela. The next hurtle began with: “I’m from…” I listed places until I triumphed: I was from Toronto. I couldn’t see my surroundings from inside the overturned car but the absence of light, and deafening silence assured me this was not Toronto.

Remembering I had a cell phone, I felt around to find it. The green screen illuminated, there was power but no signal. I knew I had to get out of the car. The rear passenger door was the only one not blocked with dirt. I attempted to open it, pain shot through my left arm. I didn’t have the strength to push it open. Lying across the glass-carpeted roof I couldn’t feel the glass digging into me; shock was setting in. With all the strength I could muster I kicked the door with both feet, then crawled through the two-foot opening. I was in a ditch, twelve feet deep, still no signal on my phone; it was a slow climb up the embankment. Reaching the dirt road I saw miles of marshland in every direction.

I dialed 911. I told the operator my name, and that I was in a ditch. But I didn’t know where the ditch was. I told him I was from Toronto and I didn’t know how I got into the marsh, He told me I was somewhere in New Brunswick. Only calls from New Brunswick were routed to him. I had no idea why I would be alone in New Brunswick. I lived in Toronto. He asked me the last thing I remembered, a road sign – anything. I had a flash of memory: 12:01am, I went over the embankment. I heard crushing steel and shattering glass; the left front tire went in first, the roof caved in on the first rollover, I hit my head. Then I woke up. That’s all I remembered.

The operator was concerned, it was 4:18am; I had been unconscious for more than four hours. He continued to ask me questions: What’s your last name? Do you have family in New Brunswick? Are you on business? Do you know what direction you were headed? Among other things; all of which I couldn’t answer. My brain felt ten times larger than my skull, I was dizzy and nauseous. Then something else flashed: a sign. There was a sign. “Goose Lake,” my memory was returning. “I left the highway for gas, the sign said: Open 24 Hours, but the station was closed. The sign pointing back to the highway was wrong; it led into the marsh. A small animal ran in front of the car, I tried to avoid it, hitting gravel the shoulder I lost control, the car rolled.”

There were hundreds of miles of marshland; the operator said an ambulance had been dispatched but he wasn’t sure how long it would take to find me. I felt I was close to loosing consciousness. I told him there was a radio tower directly north of me, probably ten miles, and in the far distance to the east I saw the haze of city lights, maybe twenty-five miles away. Those were the only landmarks. I felt my knees buckling and told him I had to go back to the car, I was going to pass out and needed shelter. He pleaded with me to stay on the line. He said I shouldn’t go to sleep after a major head trauma. Covered in blood, I didn’t want to be on the side of the road for a bobcat to stumble upon. The car was safer and warmer; I was freezing. I said goodbye and slid down the embankment.

I dug through the glass, found my keys, and turned on the headlights; hoping they would be visible from the road. Leaning against the back of the drivers seat I was picking shards of glass form my legs and feet. I knew I had to stay awake but it was difficult. Pulling my denim jacket over my knees I sat tucked in a ball shivering, unable to get warm. At least a half-hour passed, finally the sound of an engine, relief, they’d found me, everything would be ok. Then to my horror the vehicle drove away. I hadn’t given up, but crossed over into a state of indifference, they will find me or they wont. I’ll start walking at sunrise. I knew I had done all I could.

After twenty minutes more the engine sound returned. A young man on his way home saw headlights and a demolished car. He drove to the nearest farmhouse for help. An old man’s voice was calling: hello. I answered. The man asked where the driver was. I explained I was alone. He asked again thinking this was impossible, the driver couldn’t have survived. I asked if they knew exactly where I was. The old man said he did, I tossed him the cell phone and told him to call 911 and give them directions. He looked at the phone like it was from outer space. He tossed it to the young man and said, “Do you know how it works?” He did not.
Are you kidding me? I thought.

“Just dial 911 and press send. They know I’m here. They’ve been looking for almost an hour.”

“They’re almost here,” he said. “The ambulance is only five minutes away.”

When the ambulance arrived the attendant asked where the driver was. I insisted I was alone. They loaded me onto a stretcher as the second ambulance attendant searched around the car for a second victim. By now I was shivering uncontrollably. I felt like I was having some sort of seizure. They covered me in warm blankets but I couldn’t stop shaking.

The attendant asked me lots of questions as he checked my vitals. I started to remember more. I was on my way to PEI to see my family. My mothers name was ________ (not for public consumption). They asked her phone number. I knew there was a 7 in it. That was all.

I was taken to Shediac Hospital in New Brunswick. I lay on a gurney in the hospital ER. Under the florescent lights my eyes burned. My head felt as if it would split in two. I had a massive concussion and level three whiplash: whatever that meant. I didn’t imagine a level one whiplash would feel any better. I was able to remember my mother’s last name. The RCMP found her number and called her. My family was on their way from PEI to retrieve me.

“Clinch your teeth and hold perfectly still.” The x-ray technician said as she lined up the blue laser-light cross hairs on my face. “Remember not to move.” She said as she left the room. The skull x-ray’s seemed to take forever. I had the sensation that my eyes might be launched out of their sockets each time I clenched my teeth. The white room, filled with stainless steel apparatus, glared into my retina under the blinding lights. The sterile medical smell was making me sick to my stomach. I was relieved to be wheeled back to my room in the ER.

I waited there, covered in a mixture of clay and dried blood. There was no one available to clean me up. Around 8:30am a doctor came in to read my x-rays. He was a tall confident man. “Rough night.” He stated. “Well, you’re lucky. Though there’s been significant head trauma there’s no skull fracture. It will probably take six months to a year for your brain to heal completely. Cuts and bruises are minor. You will be released into your families care when they arrive.”

“Thanks,” was all I could manage. I felt a combination of sick and stupid.

“Good thing you used to be local.” He said.

“Huh?” I said.

“They might not have found you for a long time if you hadn’t known you were
looking at a radio tower. Most big city people aren’t familiar with them.”

My sister arrived with her husband, my mom, and my three nephews. The boys were upset to see all of the blood. It was a bad scene. My mother looked like she might faint. I just wanted drugs for the pain and sleep. The doctor told my mother I had to be woken every hour for the next 24. After all the instructions were given I was released.

We drove to the wreckers to get what was left of my belongings from what was left of my car. With one look at the mangled car I knew why everyone was looking for a body. My worst day turned out to be my most blessed. I knew I had been granted a miracle.

Autumn has been with us for a few months, in North America. The leaves have turned and many reside on the ground these days. The time of the harvest is synonymous with giving thanks for blessings and abundance.

Fall has also been associated with as the season of melancholy for centuries. The burning sun of summer’s brilliant sky has dimmed, replaced by slate gray days of shortened light. The clocks have been turned back. Winter is creeping in. Her chill is unavoidable. Life slows down, especially in northern climates. Bears and humans begin their hibernation rituals. This is the time of year we head indoors and often turn inward.

German Poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote of the woes of autumn in “Herbsttag” (Autumn Day.)

Who now has no house, will not build one (anymore).
Who now is alone, will remain so for long,
will wake, and read, and write long letters
and back and forth on the boulevards
will restlessly wander, while the leaves blow.

It’s easy to get drawn into melancholy on these dark days. Some are more prone to sadness than others. If you’re among those who find the shortened days very long it’s important to focus on things you enjoy.

I find it helpful to define projects that need doing; closets that need sorting. I also try to challenge myself with new creative endeavors that keep my mind busy with positive thoughts. Within the next few days my favorite object will return to its spot beside my bed (get your minds out of the gutter).

My artificial sun lamp gives off the same nutrients as the sun and does wonders for the mood. It is quite common for me to come home and find Joey or a cat, in my room, under the lamp. If you decide to get one, you may have to schedule shifts. For more information on the brand I use check out my previous post: Artificial Sunshine

I am wishing the best to all ~ Find your joy!