Fireworks. Celebration. And My Little Dog, Too.

I wrote this post as a submission to Grand Rounds, so it has info most of you are already familiar with but I had to fill in for strangers who might read it. The theme was "Celebration". I don't know if my piece will be chosen for this week, but the topic inspired me. :)

Fireworks. It felt like fireworks going off in my arm, hot, exploding white light.

I hit the cement patio like a meteor, my foot caught in a noose of loose wire that I never saw. My face was cut by my glasses, my hands were scraped and bleeding, as were both knees, but it was that arm where the fireworks were bursting repeatedly.

That was two years ago. I shattered my shoulder in that fall and have had three surgeries to repair it, including a partial replacement. But my arm still, for the most part, hangs painful and essentially useless at my side. And no one can figure out why.

Multiple Sclerosis is considered the most likely culprit for the lack of healing and constant pain. I have been diagnosed for five years now (a 50th birthday present!). And because of the mystery that is MS, an accident most people would have recovered from long ago continues to impact every aspect of my life.

MS has left that life, formerly organized, prosperous and going nowhere but up, in shambles. It cost me my career in executive health care. A widow and now unemployed, I cannot afford to maintain my beloved home, a charming Craftsman cottage, which is crumbling around me. Everyone I know is losing patience, constantly pressuring me to give it up. I am barely scraping by. I am a nurse and I have a Master’s Degree, but I am sewing to make ends meet, like something out of a 19th century novel.

So what do I have to celebrate?

I am still here, that’s what. I rise up from each blow and figure out what I can I do next. I keep reinventing myself. It can be almost a weekly occurrence, but hey, flexibility is my middle name. I am no Pollyanna. I do not accept that ridiculous deception that MS is a ‘gift’ that has helped me to stop and smell the roses. It is a cunning, vicious thief that has stolen so many things from me I cannot even make an inventory.

But what is left is precious. And that is what I acclaim. That I can continue to enjoy my beloved children, my adorable grandson, my wonderful, giving, loving friends. There is my sweet dog, who gives me unconditional adoration. There are the many rewards I get from writing my blog, such fun and so sustaining. There is the breeze that comes through my bedroom window in the early morning, cool and promising. A moment like that is a gentle fragment of bliss.

I soldier on. I will not profess it is easy to maintain, it's not, it's hard as hell. Some days, I can't get there. But I keep reasserting my maxim and working to internalize it. I read, recite, repeat: Life is good. Love it. Be grateful.

Superbright? No Home Ec for You!

I am following Elena Kagan’s nomination to the Supreme Court with interest. I think it is especially significant that she is reported to be pragmatic and open minded. Partisanship is the lethal logjam in our political system.

However in an article in today’s New York Times, there is an incredibly obnoxious quote from one of her former classmates at Hunter College High School that really got up my nose:

“There was no driver’s ed, there was no home economics, you didn’t learn to type,” said Jennifer Raab, the president of Hunter College, who attended the high school a few years ahead of Ms. Kagan, who graduated in 1977. “You were reading great books, and you were going to college. You were going to lead, you were going to give back.”

Excuse me?

So to be a leader as a female you don’t type, you don’t drive and you don’t know how to cook?!?! Because you are too busy reading great books and thinking lofty thoughts? And doing those homey, girly things precluded going to college?

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

This from a college president?!?! Do you actually know any women?!? Oh Jennifer, your vision is so limited.

I have read great books while nursing a baby and cooking dinner at the same time. I have thought great thoughts while typing and driving (not at the same time). I went to college. And nursing school. And graduate school. I have been a leader in the business world and in private life. I have given back in ways that I choose not to talk about, because I believe crowing about them diminishes them. I have raised four human beings who will do much good in this world. Including one who may just be a Supreme Court Justice himself one day. So I don’t have to be, to borrow a phrase from my fellow blogger J.D. (An aside, President Raab’s biography on the Hunter College page states she worked for two of the nation’s most prestigious law firms; my son works for one of the world’s most prestigious law firms, Morgan Lewis. And I am not above being an obnoxious jerk about it either. )

The Times describes Hunter College High School as “a school of ultrabright girls.” Ultrabright and ultradeficient in life skills apparently.

I feel pity for a woman who sneers at other women who choose a different path and utilize different skills then she does. President Raab’s statement reeks of condescension and derision and is alarming coming from an educator. Perhaps it was taken out of context and I am doing an Emily Litella and I will have to end with a smiling “Nevermind.” But somehow I don’t think so.

Elena Kagan may be an outstanding choice for the Supreme Court. I wish her nothing but good things. But I have more respect for the accomplishments of women like me, anonymous single mothers who work multiple jobs while juggling a million responsibilities. Elena Kagan has only had to be responsible for herself for 50 years. Yet it is held out as an example of her single-minded brilliance that she would forget to turn her car off when she got out of it at night. I find that dead scary.

Thank God she never had children.

So Jennifer, I have to say, from a superbright but apparently underachieving woman, your implied values are truly disappointing. I hope yours are not a reflection of Ms. Kagan’s standards.