Scooter Saga

I have discovered that, as someone with Spinocerebellar Ataxia*, sometimes I'm my own worst enemy with regard to preventive health care.  Historically, I've always been a compliant patient, but frankly, having a disability has caused me to become a bit medically avoidant.  We had planned for our exit, but hadn't given the same attention to our maintenance.**  There was enough on my plate to keep track of.  My primary care provider said that I was due for everything.  Certainly, I couldn't control my Ataxia, but I could at least be proactive when it came to general health.   I just needed to do it and quit putting it off – sort of.   Adopting the philosophy,  "If it ain't broke, don't fix it", I began to list the essential healthcare to–dos. Dental cleaning and exam?  Absolutely!    Annual eye exam?  OK Annual mammogram?  Nope.  At 70, it's every two years.  See you next year.  I can hardly wa...

It's no secret that my political views lie to the left of center.  This post may well offend some more conservative friends, but it won't be the first time.  The 'March for Our Lives' was important to me, but I was concerned about my limited mobility.  I needed Earl to get us there and he strategically parked halfway between the start and the finish.  It wasn't too far before the three of us reached the gathering multitudes and was also easy for us to return to the car at the end. Have scooter, will march Venturing forth in a large crowd when one has a disability and views people at waist level has its disadvantages.  In fact, it can be downright hazardous both for me and those in the crowd.  I learned in Disneyland to keep your eyes straight ahead, pay attention, and move with the crowd*.  I was relieved not to have been involved in any mishaps.  Fortunately, I had Earl and granddaughter Zoe to blaze the trail, but I did manage to scor...

The Lake Theater and Cafe For the last year, I had been part of a 10–member committee planning our 50th High school Reunion.  Lincoln High in the 60s was the 'downtown' high school and was also the newest, being the 2nd iteration.  Fifty+ years later it's falling, like us, into disrepair and is slated for replacement (unlike us) . Lincoln & committee c. 1967 Although I had physical disabilities, I had only minor cognitive decline, related to being 68 rather than my ataxia.  The benefit was that I still remembered how to design and use a database—very beneficial with the data collection tasks. Accumulating alumni information over the course of a year insured that I would recognize most classmates.  It also gave me an opportunity to catch up in advance of the reunion.  The rest of the committee members didn't have that advantage.  Incorporating the reunion planning committee as a new group into my 'village'* was an unexpected benefit. It was m...

Like everything else, voting when you have a disability takes more effort, affecting every aspect.  However, I figure if people braved beatings, prison, and forced feedings for the vote, I can quit whining, figure it out, and just do it.       In all fairness, there are many special accommodations to facilitate voting for people with disabilities.  Oregon's mail-in election ballot makes it as easy as possible, but there is always something to deal with. Issue :  Discussion is limited by my speech impairment.  Solution : Patient listeners.  I'm still opinionated, but slower and slurrier. Issue : Filling out a ballot requires some hand eye coordination–certainly more than I have. Solution : I make a dot on my choice, and Earl fills in the box. Issue :  The outer envelope requires my signature.  The only one on record was an old legible signature.  Solution :  I had to send a copy of my new illegible signature to t...

Before my ataxia was diagnosed, I could effectively multitask–at least I think so.  Anyway, I could have more than one ball in the air, welcome a conversational interruption, and return to my prioritized tasks.  After my diagnosis, I had admit that my brain couldn't do that as well. I dropped balls, jobs, words, to-dos—you name it.  Ataxia means loss of coordination.  That meant it was high risk to do more than one activity, like walking and talking.  A lot of people wrote my behavior off to rudeness rather than focus.  Maintaining focus on the matter at hand became important in a way it never was before. Now, it actually involved (gulp) safety.  I found myself sidetracked by interruptions.  It was so easy to get distracted from the task at hand and then forget what the task was.  Ataxia, aging—who cares?  That was when I realized, like everything else, I was somewhere on the Distraction Spectrum .  Some days I am on the low end a...

"Earl," I asked one day, "do you need your computer?"  I sometimes use his because it has a bigger screen and, being closer to the wi–fi router, it can be a bit faster than mine. "Why–are you going to sell it?" "Ha, Ha.  Very funny." Earl calls me the "Craigslist Queen" (I also have an Ebay account) for a reason.  I'm not very remarkable on my feet, but when there is something to sell on a computer, I'm a whiz.  I'll sell anything that's no longer useful (to me) , rather than store it.  I've discovered, being home a lot, there is stuff here that goes unused, is taking up space, but may be of value to someone else.  I'm not immune, but look at the notion of 'saving things for a rainy day' as a trap just waiting to spring. We bought two scandinavian design youth chairs for our grandchildren.  We wanted them to join us at all indoor and outdoor dining tables, but didn't want a high chair look...

Disclaimer:  This is about our family reunion and there are a lot of pictures.  I made an effort to keep my sentimental nature in check.  No apologies—if it seems too cheesy, you can wait for the next blog post. The good news is that we either don't have a weird relative or we're all a bit weird.  The Oregon contingent hosted our 2014 Schuman family reunion, signing on to house most of the second generation and their offspring.  The first (senior) generation headed for the nearby hotel. Although we thought we were three distinct generations, we didn't foresee the significance of an emerging blend—the transition generation. First generation (seniors) age range 65 to 80 Second generation (adults) age range 38 to 55 Third generation (children) age range 4 to 11 Transition generation (neither adult nor child) age range 16 to 25 Fortunately, the transition generation, typical of resourceful people, found entertainment everywhere. On night two, hearing m...

Actually, I probably don't.  As my psychologist daughter-in-law (and fellow organization–searcher) explained, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is an anxiety disorder.  Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (didn't even know there was a name for it) is a diagnosis as well, but a different animal altogether.  If you care, look it up in Wikipedia. In my 'tammy–as–a–verb' blog, I did talk about the over–use of the OCD label in this country and that most people probably lie on the downside of the spectrum.  That said, how does one differentiate between the two diagnos e s ? –Repetitive, irrational, behavior caused by intrusive thoughts?  OCD –P reoccupied with neatness and detail? OCPD –Need order at any cost? OCD –Perfectionistic, controlling, need things 'just so'? OCPD  –Ritualistic behavior disrupts one's life?  OCD –People think you're annoying and weird; y ou think you're fine, but behavior bothers significant other; o rder makes...

"Did you just tammy my glass?" my son-in-law, Michael, said to Heidi. "Oh, jeez. Yes, I did," she answered. I'm not in the habit of eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern me, but it was hard not to hear my name. "What did you say?" I casually asked. Knowing that I'm not easily offended, Michael went on to tell me that my name had become a verb.  I'd like to say that I needed an explanation, but alas, no one did.  I didn't, Earl didn't, and certainly my son and daughter-in-law didn't. tammy : (verb) To collect, wash, and return an item to its place while it is temporarily unattended, but still in use. My premature dishwashing is unintentional, but obviously frequent enough.  I didn't used to be this way.  As I've said in previous posts, I've never been known as a stellar housekeeper.  How did I develop the bit of OCD* I'd always thought would be useful?  How did that bit of OCD become a v...

My "bug" scooting glasses were scratched and needed replacing.  Inexpensive, the old glasses were OK–not great, but OK.  They had big lenses to more than cover my eyes and a light tint.  You rarely need sun glasses in the Pacific Northwest, but I did want some eye protection.  I was looking to both replace the old glasses and improve on the deficits.  Not being terribly vain, I wasn't too concerned with a fashionable look.   Having been able to find most anything on Amazon, I wen t to that online shopping site first .  Being an Amazon Prime addict helps me with my inability to defer immediate gratification (free 2–day delivery). My first find was safety glasses.  OK, safety was what I was aiming for.  They were less than $10, so I ordered them.  For $10 and free shipping, how can you go wrong?  Two days later, they arrived; the verdict?  Too Buddy Holly.  I was feeling more vain by the minute. The next...

Lucy (1998–2011) One of the first things I did after my early retirement due to Spinocerebellar Ataxia, was get a dog. We'd always loved dogs, especially Australian Shepherds, and still missed Samantha who died, at age 14, in 1995.  I knew I couldn't move fast enough to manage a puppy, so my criteria in choosing a suitable  canine  companion was that she be less than 40 lbs, less than 4 years old and definitely  not  a fur shedder. Elizabeth went with me to the Humane Society where Lucy and I found each other.  She weighed 55 lbs., was seven years old, and was a champion fur shedder.  Oh, well... Lucy became my constant companion, preferring to be in any car to being left at home.  But sometimes, it was necessary.  I had to go to Northeast Portland to deliver my old laptop to a buyer.  Lake Oswego to Northeast Portland, at rush hour, is about a 30-45 minute schlep.  It was hot outside.  I decided...