The “lead” that took me further…

Mormon Temple

I found 275 matches when I plugged my last name into the LDS.org database. Never once harboring the belief this search would yield any worthy results. Most of them were indeed out of Bavaria, some Austrians. Nonetheless was very indemnifying to finally find.

For the past few years, I have tried searching for members of my German family. There are no stories, no memories and no indication of what cultural traditions were predominant. My grandfather passed away when I was very young and I never had the opportunity to ask him all the things I wanted to ask him. In my teens, my grandmother fell ill with Alzheimer’s and her memories quickly regressed. She lived thousands of miles away and the only time I was able to visit her during those years she no longer remembered me.

I never was able to find any information regardless of where I looked. One would imagine in this “information age” genealogical research would be less frustrating.…

The story of my initial arrival at this point is perhaps the most interesting allotment. It marked the beginning of another journey to discover a life and a culture I was previously and stereotypically oblivious to.

Kimmy and I sat in her basement one night at a children’s table eating pie after dinner. My legs scrunched and wedged underneath the table built for a 3 year old child- engulfing the tiny chair I sat on. (Sure as hell that the legs were about to break!)

“My church has the largest genealogical database in the world.” she explained, “It would honestly surprise me if you didn’t find any information on your last name”.

CHURCH. Now THIS is something I went running from at about 16. Raised traditionally Roman Catholic and having underwent the classic “first communion” and “confirmation” ceremonies, I decided at that age I didn’t want to go to church anymore.

It was too solemn. I didn’t like the rituals because they never actually felt satisfying or indemnifying to me. Just like something I was lead into. I didn’t agree with many of the staunch principles and definitely did not agree when I was told that other religions are wrong.

Having studied world religions- I now find any exercise in faith which contributes to the greater good of humanity and peace to be beautiful. I even cried once while actively watching a documentary about the Islamic journey to Mecca.  I became emotional because of the spirituality aspect- not the ritualistic components.

Kimmy is actually a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints. The church many refer to as “the Mormon church”. In the United States, when people think about Mormons, we stereotypically see young men on their bicycles, large families, or even men with multiple wives. In fact- this is the primary “wisecrack” regarding this branch of Christianity.

“Watch out for the Mormons, a friend once told me, “all they do is try to convert you”. Her view of this religion was that they sacrificed animals and carried out elaborate cult ceremonies…

There are, however, differences between a member of LDS and a “Mormon”. Kimmy explained that “Mormon” has come to actually describe a fundamentalist movement which practice plural marriages. Indeed the traditional “Mormon” stereotype that has come to symbolize this belief sector is actually inaccurate. These are Mormon fundamentalists. They broke from the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints because they believed the church had forgone many principles and teachings of their respected leader Joseph Smith. These fundamentalist groups have formed various small sects, thus even the view points of these groups vary.

The journey of “50 Women” for me is about objectively learning new things, investigating them and objectively conceptualizing them in attempt to present these differences to the rest of the world. (My hope is that the rest of the world can eventually become more accepting of differences.)

Kimmy explained in addition to having the world’s largest genealogical database, they also have the most extensive Christian missionary program with hub offices all over the world. She showed me the various humanitarian services offered and provided, regardless of spiritual beliefs, to those in need. The missionary language training program is so extensive- it is sought after by the Unites States military.

A few weeks later, Kimmy invited me to attend a modern dance performance at the local temple. I was nervous about entering a church setting as this is generally not my cup of tea. Keeping the mission of “50 Women” in my mind I reminded myself that this is an integral part of Kimmy’s life she is willing to introduce me to and that I needed to be open to learning about this- especially since there are so many stereotypes concerning this denomination.  Stereotypes interest me and I am always attempting to debunk the tales surrounding them.

Leaving my apartment one night about two weeks later  to attend a Mormon women’s group, my neighbor asked where I was going. I told her “the big white building on the corner of Grand Street”.

“You’re going to the MORMON church” she exclaimed… “Good luck getting out”!

When I entered the building- all of the young men were wearing their suits and two of them opened the door for me.
“Are you lost Madame” they asked, concerned
“ I’m looking for a friend”.
“Can we get you something to drink…water…tea”…

Kimmy introduced me to the other women in the group and they were very kind. No one tried to convert me, no one asked about my religious background, no one sacrificed any animals and no one tried to marry me into polygamy.

Instead- the women listened attentively to my description of “50 Women”, told me about various humanitarian projects the church organization is involved in and even suggested women they knew with intriguing and inspiring stories . They all knew I was not part of the same religion, but never judged me for it once or tried to persuade me to join their organization. They sure did invite me to other women’s group meetings.

I enjoyed my time with them. Just as I do with my Muslim friends, and Buddhist friends and new age friends and even atheist friends. Faith is a powerful thing. It is my reason for beginning “50 Women“. Faith is never the same one person as it is to another.

So what have I learned besides the fact that the myths about  LDS church are not true?
That faith is a transitive experience, and the most important thing one can do is try to understand these differences.

One week later I plugged my last name into the genealogical center database at LDS. What the hell…

Et voila- 275 hits.

Thank you Kimmy for not only giving me a lead, but also opening my eyes to something I knew little to nothing about…

For more information on LDS and its programs and services, visit LDS.org

Dancing with the Doula

I was only supposed to get milk and eggs. That was all. I went to Trader Joes’s at 8:45- 15 minutes before close. Walking past the “free samples” line, I  honed in on a conversation lead by a woman with long brown hair about childhood nutrition and medication.

Ironically enough- the day before I watched a documentary about children being over prescribed psychiatric meds. I was disgusted and aghast at the side effects these children experienced and the uncertainty of their physicians. Why this is legal I will never understand …

I interrupted her to express these sentiments and we erupted into a heated discussion with another employee and about 5 other total strangers. (I love the bay area) We ended the night talking in the parking lot until 9:30pm about various global topics. I handed her my card, excitedly telling her about my project. I hoped she would contact me soon.

I waited….

2 weeks later, Kimmy called. She asked if I wanted to go and “jump” on a giant trampoline in San Jose. How could I say no?!

It was raining that night when we left. I was wearing leggings and knee high boots. “You look cute and stylish and I look like a bag lady” she remarked. We giggled. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t.

We drove one hour to the trampoline place and on the way Kimmy provided me a preview of what she does. In addition to caring for small children and her sewing business, I learned that she is also a birth and postpartum Doula. The word “doula” comes from the ancient Greek meaning “a woman who serves” and is now used to refer to a trained and experienced professional who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to a laboring mother before, during and just after birth; or who provides emotional and practical support during the postpartum period. Doulas are on the holistic or osteopathic side of pregnancies and births. She explained several techniques used in natural childbirth as an alternative to more rough and uncertain methods currently implicated in hospitals.

I tell her the story of my ex-business manager who decided on an induced labor- not because of health related issues- because she had “a meeting in Dallas” that she “couldn’t miss”. (If having a child will inconvenience you that much- just DON’T DO IT.)

Kimmy tells me her daughter is in China. She explains how one night she received a revelation and was told by God that her daughter is in China waiting for her.  She said she will show me the nursery and all of the baby items she has stockpiled in excitement waiting for her daughter. Kimmy has waited since 2006.

We arrive at the trampolines.

I was not expecting such a fitness reverie, and upon seeing the colossal size of the trampoline mentally transfigured into a child of no more than 8 years old. Indulgence. Pure bliss…

We jumped for hours until midnight, feeling hungry and as if my organs rearranged themselves- trying flips which easily could have broken my neck. I took the risk… in the spirit of  stealth!

I felt free, in an unabashed and unapologetic way. Like one does as a child. We talked in the car on the way back to the bay area.

A few weeks later, we decided to meet for dinner- using her “curry in a hurry” recipe we improvised a meal with whole grain rice, chicken curry and salad with cranberries. After this- we sat in her basement as I showed her my blog. I explained to her the purpose of “50 Women” and watched as her face glowed in intrigue. I told her how much I have enjoyed her stories about the births, how I respect the fact and am in awe that she is adopting her daughter from China and has waited with her teeth set (so to speak) for the arrival of her first child. She took me up to show me the nursery she put together for the pending arrival of her daughter. She has all necessary equipment and a closet full of clothes. One would think that a young child already lived there with the neatness of the arrangement. There is an unmistakable presence in this space- a ghost-like indication of some sort lingering in the air. Not frightening, however comforting and reassuring that one day her wait will end.

Kimmy has a steadfast adherence to her beliefs regarding caring for young children. She advocates strongly regarding natural childbirth. I cringe and digress as we trade horror stories of hospital births and sometimes unnecessary C-sections. I tell her the story of a dear friend who fought her insurance company and a local hospital for the ability to have a midwife present during the birth of both of her children instead of a male doctor.

Unbelievable many women do not even research these options being that the United States is a country of so many. In Afghanistan, there a very few midwifes in ratio to the population and percentage of women within this who are pregnant currently operating in the whole country and infant and maternal mortality rates soar. A woman dies of childbirth every 27 minutes in Afghanistan.
Many other “failed state” nations run this risk as well, including some parts of China.

As Kimmy turned off the nursery light she looked at me and said:
“Its almost as though most women (in the USA) would rather take their exclusive right- the one thing that we women have for ourselves and just decide to hand it over.”

Kimmy was told her daughter is in China.
I was told that Kimmy is my next contributor.

A death in Tehran

Follow the frontline link to watch the “just released” documentary about Neda Agha-Soltan- a young woman killed during the June 20th, 2009 protests in Tehran. She is now an international symbol of the struggle for Iranian freedom.

To watch the Frontline documentary: CLICK HERE

Neda Agha- Soltan moments before her death

Real Equality

People often ask me why I even bother to care. As if “I”, indeed, can really do anything largely impactful. (It appears most of them are quicker to cast doubt on you than support you. I don’t allow myself to be thwarted by their negativity.) After being asked this question several times lately- I’ve reflected back to where my awareness of impending humanitarian crises first began. The point when I recognized the presence of a world beyond my own small existence and its simultaneously occurring events. (Does that sound cheesy enough yet?)

I just finished the 4th grade and was in Phoenix, visiting my Aunt and Uncle. After playing outside for hours, the parching heat chased me indoors. I needed water! I slid open her screen door and slammed it behind myself just to hear the echo. I was the only “non- adult” in the house. My footsteps on the tile floor were the only sounds, besides the television and voices of my family members on the patio. Alone to sneak a cookie or two- what opportunity!

I glanced curiously at the television. The news was on and I watched a group of men carrying a boy from a burning building. One of his legs was completely crushed and the other bleeding. He was grabbing the arms of the NATO paramedics begging them to let him live and not to amputate his leg. I remember barely being able to read the subtitles at the bottom of the screen. The continued footage showed groups of orphaned and injured children, whom I quickly realized, were the same age as me…

I never stopped to think about this before. I always thought all other children were just like me. They had the same things as I had. They had parents as good as mine, food, a place to go to school and a bed to sleep in. (I also thought health care was free and food was too- damn, was I wrong!)

Someone called my name from the patio. I went back outside- telling my relatives that “I never wanted to watch the news again”. I was distraught and damaged. I never forgot about that boy. The footage was a Serbian attack on Bosnia. At the time- I didn’t realize how much the event I witnessed bared relation to a distant stranger. Here is why:

My family was living in West Virginia when I was about 2 years old. A young woman of about 19 years old moved into the apartment next to us. She spoke no English and was sent to the US by an arranged family marriage from Bosnia. She was doe eyed, bewildered and within months gave birth to a son- who became my best friend and first “boyfriend”. We often played together as my mother aided his young mother in learning English.

Sadly, her husband was abusive and my family eventually moved to South Carolina. She called us one day- telling my mother she was taken to a “bad house”. My mother urged her to return to her family in Bosnia. This was right before the wars and the siege of Sarajevo.

I always wondered what happened to him. He would be my age now and I have never been able to find him since. If he returned to the Balkans as his mother said they would- the crisis would have directly affected him. Maybe he was somewhere behind those cameras on that news footage or maybe he is safe and more affluent then me. At least this is what I hope…

It’s difficult to gage the exact point in your life when you realize this truth: We are not created equal. Our teachers, parents and politicians tell us that we are. This is not in any way accurate.  We indeed are victims of the cultural framework we are born into from the beginning. Our deviations from this depend on our education and exposures.

Today, I reflect on just a few months ago as I watched the amount of displaced persons in Pakistan climb from a few hundred thousand to millions in just two weeks. Jeffery Sach’s book “The End of Poverty” presents statistics revealing that 1/3 of humanity has not even reached the “bottom rung” on the ladder of economic development. Out of the 6 billion people in this world this fraction would represent roughly 2 billion, including the 45 million uprooted and displaced by war. That’s 1/3 of the world’s people without food, clean water or basic amenities, which is 1/3 TOO MANY…

Blindsight: The Documentary

Set against the breathtaking backdrop of the Himalayas, “Blindsight” follows the gripping true-life adventure of six blind Tibetan teenagers on a climbing expedition up formidable Mount Everest.

Watch the full length film at hulu.com. Click on the image.

 

The stranded girl…

Recent Peshawar carbomb

Spending more time with my dear Afghan friends lately has brought yet a new immigration puzzlement to the table. This time it’s as critical as before…

The spiced tea we shared lately, often past 10 PM, is an engrained flavor in my senses now. So entrenched that when I see any picture from Afghanistan, I recall the smell of these aromas. As conditions worsen in Afghanistan- Pakistan is too being crushed under the heavy exuding force of the resistance groups and the parent force, the Taliban.

Every morning around 7AM, I read the news updates about acid attacks, bombs, and RPGs…These terms, once the vernacular of military personnel, are now the “catch phrases” of the war. Daily, in either country, there is at least one attack without any remittance.

Perhaps the most difficult news report I ever witnessed concerned a class of 8 year old girls who were sprayed with corrosive acid for attending school. I watched the video footage, wondering how any journalist in “right mind” could stand there filming these tiny creatures in this state. They were shrieking, stumbling around the room, unable to stand still because of the pain- waiting on medical personnel. The skin on their pristine faces chemically burned completely away- the remaining pieces stained black and festering. With their tiny hands they gripped the walls and I noticed even the skin on their delicate arms was burned.

I don’t need to describe how wretched and grotesque this is. The available images and videos speak…

Last week, a car bomb tore through Peshawar killing and wounding masses. That evening at Nadija’s house, her mother came with a phone card in hand; explaining how relieved she is the family in Peshawar was at home and asleep during the attacks. Shocking to think that my dear friends have family directly in the midst of such instability. Thus, leading directly to our newest immigration crux….

At 22, Nadija’s young relative is stranded. A widowed mother on the run; with no future or hope- living in a place where car bombs explode consistently and the men carry guns. We will call her Jasmine.

I never heard Jasmine’s whole story until the other day as we prepared her story for the very immigration officials Nadija’s story was previously told. Have their hearts hardened since? I pray not.

Nadija’s husband sifted though documents in order to construct the chronology of her short and tumultuous life. Gradually, it came together; as though a ghost whispered to me…

Jasmine was married several years ago and had a baby. She is 22 years old now. Her husband was murdered for working for westerners- the gruesome details are unbearable to hear and imagine. His body was found dumped like trash in a cemetery. The marks on his neck indicated strangulation. There was no skin on his body, as though he was carelessly dragged about post mortem. But he was a dedicated man in his cause, murdered for trying to save a victimized people.

The endearing part of her husband’s story is his purpose for working for the westerners. He was committed, she says, to working these relief projects because he wants Afghanistan to have a better future. He wanted his country rebuilt, wanted the mess cleaned up so his child would not be forced to face such perils. So the baby wouldn’t grow up in a place full of corruption and death.

Since his death, Jasmine is displaced. Her in laws want to remarry her- according to custom. She refuses. She has no money, no way to provide for her child and lives now in one of the most dangerous places in the present world. Jasmine’s husband braved threats, bombs and corruption but refused to give up his work in the relief projects. These are Afghanistan’s only hope now. He gave his life for the future of this shattered war torn nation.

We as Americans can understand this.

W e have done the same in the past and do it now. Without people like Jasmine’s husband on the opposition, progress is sifted and society eventually falls- crumbling into rebel hands…

Displaced girl in Waziristan (AP)

Nadija found 2 pictures of Jasmine amidst the pile of documents. There is one from 2 years ago- and Jasmine is beautiful; head uncovered and smiling with her husband and new baby. Then there is the recent one. The one where her skin is pale, her under eyes are bluish and cheeks sunken. Her eyes are apprehensive and a black cloth covers her hair…

Maybe this girl is thousands of miles away from me, but I hear her crying out. We are close in age and I cannot help but draw many parallels between me and her. As though looking at her picture is like looking in the mirror…

“Tell her I said hello” I told Nadija, “tell her when she comes; I want to be her friend”.

Her case will be sent off soon.

Please.

I don’t know what your faith is, but pray this young woman can be granted a refugee visa. Pray that she can seek refuge here with her loving family. They are desperate to help her and she has nowhere to go. Maybe I have never met her, but I already consider her my sister and care about her and she is screaming for a way out of the encroaching ugliness and tragedy.

Pray. Even if you just do it once. Even if it’s not your prerogative. Even if you believe it’s futile. That’s all I’m asking. This is worth 2 human lives. Removing them from such a deadly place is just one more step away from the impending darkness. It’s possible.

So….PRAY.

The accessability factor…

Luc Costermans- a blind man who broke the blind speed record with a performance of 192 mph. The Belgian driver has been blind for four years now, but nevertheless he managed to drive the Gallardo at 192 mph at an airstrip in Istres, France.

It was a last minute invitation.

Exciting nonetheless to try Annie’s famous chicken curry and converse with her. Since she participated in 50 Women we’ve become very close- sharing yogi tea and chatting about politics. She even told me she is starting to feel very “maternal” towards me and I don’t mind this because matronly energy is endearing and comforting.

It was quarter to seven and I walked to her apartment. She bumped against the door opening it and warmly greeted me, giggling about the mishap.

A man sat in a chair. Annie introduced him and I became entranced by his fruitful personality and churning mind.

Maybe you don’t remember Annie from the earlier post: She is the blind woman involved in a horrific subway accident in which she was trapped underneath the subway car. Our discussion this particular evening is exact proof that an individual person is never incapable.

The ravaging spirited man sitting in the chair is David. He is also blind. He is an actor, a writer, community activist and student he tells me and we exchange audition stories until arriving at another point in the discussion: Hollywood’s attitude toward hiring blind actors.

I mean after all- the Americans with Disabilities Act, finally passed in 1990 advocated for those with disabilities in attempt to create an equal workforce and free those quote/unquote disabled from stereotypes and denial due to their conditions. Therefore because of this legislation it should be fairly easy, right?

Not quite.

David told me no director is willing to work with a blind actor, that they simply hire sighted actors to play the roles of blind actors. He says this is frustrating as there are so many talented blind actors perfectly fit, if not BORN to play these roles.

Our discussion snowballed into plethoras of discussions related to the “blind” persona as Annie served us her famous chicken curry. See- people have thought in the past that Annie can’t cook because she is blind. I can attest that this is not true- her curry and spinach rice are filling and delicious.

“All through history, Jessica, in poetry, in lyrics, in texts in famous literary works- they all refer to the blind as either cursed, inadequate, a fortune teller or a poor beggar. Annie and I don’t see ourselves as any of these. We are teachers, students, parents, we cook and clean, we travel… I mean there are so many things Annie and I and all of our friends do that sighted people view us as incapable of doing”.

David is quite animated- he can imitate dozens of accents, he speaks several languages and lived abroad about 15 years. He was at one point- married to a feminist and they lived together in Israel.

He explained to me all the societal views towards the blind community. How he has, at times, walked across the street and experiences persons shouting at him different directions. How people will raise their voices at him suddenly when speaking,

“I’m blind, not deaf, ya know” he laughs…

Annie talks to me too- about the challenges she faced growing up without her sight and the stereotypes she was given. During Vietnam she attempted to join the US Navy.

“He told me it was a “noble gesture” at best!”.

The doorbell rang and a package was delivered to Annie’s house. It was a magazine for the blind community Annie wrote an article for. She was excited the issue was out.

“Show her how we read” David said, and she presented me with a large all white book. This was the famous magazine- marked entirely in Braille. No pictures or colors of any kind, no headings to my eyes- nothing of the sort. Prickled in tiny Braille dots for her wandering hands…

Annie ran her fingers over the words reading her submission to me about different cooking recipes and ingredients until David exclaimed to her to get his “reader”.

The Braille reader is very interesting as it can store over 100 books and magazines. When turned on and the selection is made, the Braille letters pimple up according to the text stored in the tiny device.

“I was talking to these men once” David started “ and when I pulled this thing out one of them said (in a twangy accent) “Buyyyyy gawd, you can read!”.

Perhaps the most memorable part of the discussion revolved around public accessibility to all people with varieties of handicaps. The curbs are not designed well enough for a wheel chair as are many business entrances.

Annie and David say the main problems with urban planning revolve around the sidewalks and bus stops. Sidewalks should ideally be equipped with perforated patches of plastic at the ends of streets or where they drop of into the road at crosswalks. This texture alerts those with visual impairments that they have reached the end of the sidewalk. You will find, actually, that a growing number of sidewalks do not include this feature, nor do the traffic lights make the all to familiar beeping noise when the light changes or is green.

Recently, newspaper racks were placed in front of bus stops, blocking access to the bus door. Those with visual impairments experience great difficulty concerning this, because they cannot find the bus stop and sometimes collide with them while entering the bus.

“Its not that we are incapable, the world just needs to be more accessible” Annie explained. “There are basic necessities that are not being met. I think many people assume that because a person has what is called a “disability” that they don’t do anything or have active lives. This simply isn’t true”.

She is not wrong. They each do so many things- as much as I do and undertake. It’s unfortunate to hear that they are treated with less respect or given the proper consideration for the same things as anyone else.

If the worlds were made more accessible- perhaps so many people wouldn’t be forced to experience limitations. I thought these occurrences are what the Americans with Disabilities Act aimed to change.

There is much progress to be made concerning proper accessibility. It’s shameful with all the website coding options even this media outlet is not always made accessible.

Treating people differently in lieu of preconceived limitations or prejudices is wrong. We should never simply assume another’s capabilities because of our own prejudices.

It is my hope that Annie’s story can serve in advocacy for these necessities.

Young Survival Coalition: Breast Cancer Awareness

Please, women of ALL ages- take a second to watch the video I posted here from the Young Survival Coalition. It was just brought to my attention today and Breast cancer is a critical issue for women of ALL ages. I was very moved by this video and know that you will be too!

Visit the website to learn more: Young Survival.org

The heart of the matter…

“I could have you figured out in a second”.

An unbelievable insinuation.

My eyebrows rose sharply- practically leaping from my forehead. Farcical and shocking. Really- utterly shocking that people are this way…

 

I took a sip of my black coffee- perturbed by the man and woman who sat closely next to us- chattering and obviously not oblivious a heart-felt discussion about one woman’s struggle to survive was occurring. An emotional discussion that was not any concern of theirs, but then again some people have no common decency…

 

It was, afterall, just shy of one week that Ila Fisher and I were incidentally introduced. Certainly not by accident.

 

The room was inundated with superficial people. There was a fashion show scheduled in one hour and a pair of twin models clonking around in platforms, snapping pictures with all the surrounding men, obnoxiously sucking in their cheeks for each photo. A Russian man introduced himself to me and besides Leila Radan;he was the most interesting person I met all evening.

Not really my crowd. Can we say….bad “energy”?

Finally. On the way out. Before the Fashion show.We weren’t interested in staying for it. Other plans…other people…another time perhaps.

 

 

Towards the exit- I paused to say goodbye and give bisous to a photographer I met when an unidentified soul grabbed my arm- yanking me into a throng of gatherers. It was an Indian man. “You are writing a book” he said “She is too”.

A young woman smiled. “What are you writing about” I asked her spilling wine haphazardly on my jacket.

“My life”.

She readily and easily went on to tell me about the horrendous ordeal she thankfully survived- the heart transplant, the biVAD machine- the brief version of a complex and courageous story.

 

I am convinced this wasn’t any accident- our meeting.

I told her about “50 Women”, told her I would call the next day, that I would love to help promote her cause any way I can and help tell her story…

 

We met one week later at an upscale, posh San Francisco hotel. The plush lobby juxtaposed to what we were about to discuss. Although she was dressed in sweats, her face was luminous.

 

Ila Fisher is not ashamed to tell her story. In fact, she tells her story because she believes it is the reason she continues to exist. Her purpose, her calling, her…testament of survival.

Our waiter appeared – disappointed we didn’t want food. Just black coffee, I told him. No cream, no sugar…

 

Ila began her story- telling me how she was sick for many years – how she reached out to many people and not one soul believed her condition was of a serious nature. How she was sent home multiple times from the ER and shuffled between doctors with no actual straight diagnosis. How she started to believe this would never change…

 

Faint and sickly she drove herself to the ER one night, checking off all possible illnesses on the sign in sheet in order to receive admission. Upon learning the diagnosis: Dilated cardiomyopathy, she was told she would not live to see the morning. That is was over. For real. For good.

“How did that make you feel”? I asked, surprised at my wavering voice.

“Like breaking everything if I had the strength. It just didn’t seem fair. I was angry. It was too soon.”

 

Dilated Cardiomyopathy occurs when heart muscle tissue is stretched and enlarged, making it difficult for the heart to function and often leads to congestive heart failure.

Ila went on to suffer an excruciating surgery where she mistakenly remained awake as the BiVAD machine was attached to her insides.“My body was so sick and they couldn’t give me enough anesthesia. I awoke as they performed the surgery. It felt like torture. I could feel everything. I knew I was awake when I felt tears running down my cheeks”.

She lived for one year attached to the machine in intensive care. Going from bedridden comatose to running on a treadmill and carrying the machine up and down stairs; she continued to push herself beyond limits of normalcy for her condition.

Finally learned that her heart would not function independent of the machine and underwent a transplant. She said what gave her the will to survive were all the people helping her through the experience and the medical personnel whom she built relationships and trust with. The nurses by her side, her transplant doctors and all friends and family who helped contribute necessary supportive elements.

 

Since this experience- her thinking altered drastically. She used to rely on emotions, she explained, but now she is more logical. People don’t appreciate their health. They just don’t understand how valuable a treasure health is. It is an essential element for good quality of life.

 

Ila contributed the story of her surgery and miraculous determined recovery to “50 Women”, however, the complete details of all her experiences leading up to these complicated surgeries will be available in her personal memoir she is currently writing.

“The reason I’m writing a book about this is to serve as a guide to transplant patients- to help them understand how to navigate the system and to face the challenges ahead. There is not enough information available for them. They need to understand they are living with another person’s organ- they are essentially extending the life of that person. They have a responsibility to that person, their family to live a good life after receiving such a gift. I just think if they were taught to understand that it would change their outlooks”.

Ila desires to wait until after she finishes this memoir to meet the family who contributed this heart.

 

There is an interesting and symbolic twist: Ila’s new heart once belonged to a young male.

The medical and social welfare system is a maze of misinformation and cryptic facts. The United States healthcare system often leaves transplant patients on social welfare due to the high cost of necessary medications, frequent blood tests and specialist visits.

 

“I’m on Medical” she explained “because my transplant drugs are too expensive to afford and no insurance company will cover me.”

She continued, explaining b/c of Medical she can only work “lower end” jobs with disgraceful pay as if she accepts a higher paying job that includes existing benefits the necessary coverage will be ripped away from her. Thus, leaving much anticipated “denial of coverage” letters from major insurance companies.

 

She once worked as a candy girl. A young woman roaming the streets of San Francisco late at night selling assortments of candy. Just another one of the jobs she was forced to work due to this preconceived notion.

(She recently learned that this is not the case- AFTER working several menial jobs and struggling for years to survive she later learned she was misadvised- which occurs frequently with transplant patients due to the complicated system).

Her ride was waiting for her. Time to leave. I thanked her. My mascara, bunched on my lower eyelashes from tearing up so many times in the course of her story.

 

What a prodigy of a woman.

 

One week following our formal interview- we talked for hours over the phone. She shared her goals and elaborated more for me on these experiences as well as her hopes for the future on how she plans to aid other transplant patients. We are meeting again- in attempt to join forces toward her cause. I told her how proud I was of her and her willingness to tell her story, to not allow anyone to discourage her from writing her book- her mission.

 

I also explained to her that I am not like a reporter- the women sharing their stories with me have all woven into my life and are actively still a part of it. I want to aid her in her cause the best I can. She opened my eyes and my heart to an area I never considered before.

 

Ironically enough, one week later, after a fundraiser in San Francisco, I stood on the curb outside an art gallery waiting for my ride. It was 12:30am and after too much wine- it was time to go.

“WOO WOO BAAAAAABBBBBY COME OVER HERE”- a drunken bastard of a man shouted across the street. Rolling my eyes at his inane behavior I turned to look at who he was yelling at. It was a “candy girl”. Dressed in a red and white striped dress.

 

Someone from our group called her over and proceeded to purchase items from her, all in effort to keep the wasted fool from making further advances. She smiled at me gently, with sensitive, delicate eyes.

I remembered my conversation with Ila. Realizing even after that transplant, poor guidance forced her into this role. I don’t see how she made it- kept her sanity that is, when a man one night turned and confidently spouted “I could have you figured out in a second”…

Maybe Ila Fisher had an ailing heart, but it appears she has and always will maintain the spirit of a warrior.

View the August 2005 article written about Ila Fisher

*Only the story of Ila’s surgeries and recovery will be available in “50 Women”. Her complete biography of experiences surrounding the diagnosis and treatment will be available in her personal memoir. *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Abortion Clinic

Ah yes! Nothing like that poster of a dead fetus at the entrance to my high school parking lot at 7:30am. The bearded men clad in all black stuffing flyers through the window of my car as I helplessly sat in traffic unable to flee from their endless badgering. Their headlines printed in thick black ink on neon pink paper “Abortion is murder”.

“Honestly guys” I used to think “for the amount to money you spent on this nonsense you could have adopted a crack baby from an underfunded inner city orphanage! OR raised used the money to help abandoned and neglected children”…

Abortion is an endearing social issue in many countries. In honor of the two women thus far who have contributed stories of Abortion I am posting this episode. Again, I generally attain an objective point of view on this subject. I believe this subject can only be judged on individual circumstances as the issue of abortion is not a “black and white” concept but a big gray area.

This FRONTLINE documentary was first broadcast on PBS on April 18, 1983.

It was filmed at a clinic in Chester, Pa., a small city which at that time had a 30% unemployment rate. The clinic was chosen because it was representative of abortion clinics in the United States. The clinic also offered individual counseling in which the reasons behind the decision are explored.

During their five months at the clinic, the film’s producers met with hundreds of women. These stories were finally chosen.

FRONTLINE: THE ABORTION CLINIC