Unfinished Business

"The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."

~Robert Frost~

"Some of the world's greatest feats were accomplished by people not smart enough to know they were impossible."


~Doug Larson~


When I was 19 years old,  I was returning to college after taking a semester away to "find myself".  My motivation was fueled by being accepted as a "walk-on" to the University of Nebraska's Track Team.  I considered it a privilege and an honor to be on the same field with some of the nation's most elite athletes.  Although I was never scholarship-worthy or NCAA All-American caliber, I still got to breathe the same air with those that were.  I LOVED it!

Less than stellar genetics relating to my foot structure and a very long-to-heal injury later, what was once a dream gave way to the reality I was at school to learn, not run.  And that's really where this little story begins. 

After I was no longer able to sprint or hurdle, a friend from college suggested I start running for fun....you know, long distance stuff.  My first reaction was to remind him I'd never "run" more than 400 meters at one time and the thought of doing miles and miles made me nauseous.  He continued to prod until I invested in my first pair of running shoes and signed my entry form to the "running craze".  As it turns out, like sprinting, I loved running too!!

At my peak, I ran anywhere from 8 to 10 miles nearly every day.  "Light" days were 5 to 6 miles.  You probably see where this is going.  My friend eventually convinced me to sign up for the Lincoln Marathon, which I did willingly.  It sounded like fun......FUN!!  Are you kidding me?  In March of 1983, I ran a half- marathon as part of my training.  When I reached the end, winded and sore, I thought to myself, "I'm only half way!"  Now today I would know to tell my self-conscious, "I'm ALREADY half way!", but that was a different time.  At any rate, with the marathon two months away which happened to be only a week before a major life event, I decided to pull out.  I'd been reading the stories about people taking weeks to recover, defecating on themselves, etc.  I just felt it was a bad idea.  I never tried again.

The other day I was jogging/walking and it occurred to me I had unfinished business.  27 years ago I started something I never finished.  At almost 50 years old, it's time.  I am 40 pounds heavier, 27 years older and a bit creakier than I was at 22, but it's time I put that behind me.  So, on May 1, 2011 I'll be entered in the 34th running of the Lincoln Marathon; the very race I was registered to run so many years ago. 

I won't be going it alone.  Linda already has a marathon to her credit and has agreed to coach, encourage and run with me.  It's almost a year away, and I already feel a little scared.  I'm not running to win some age division or even set some personal mark.  I just want to do it.  I want to finish.  And by the way, I'll be opening a new blog site dedicated to my training.  Don't look for any great tips, it'll just be a diary of the journey from here to May 1st.  http://www.diaryofamiddleagedmarathoner.blogspot.com/. 

Let's do this.  I have unfinished business.

Breaking The Silence

"Nothing is predestined:  The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings."  ~Ralph Blum~

"Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome."  ~Booker T. Washington~

"Forgiving does not erase the bitter past.  A healed memory is not a deleted memory.  Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember.  We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future."  ~Lewis B. Smedes~

"Your history is not your destiny."  ~Alan Cohen~

What you're about to read is unlike anything you've ever read on my blog.  It's raw.  It's genuine.  It's honest.  And it's courageous.  Some of you may find it uncomfortable.  Read it anyway.

Everyone has a path, don't they?  The real question is, "How do we tread the path we're on?"  And even more importantly, "Do we have the courage to change that path if it doesn't define who we are or feed our spirit?"

Linda is a woman that truly lives what she counsels.  She always seeks Peace.  She is the epitome of Love.  She lives in Joy and she strives to exist in Harmony with every living creature.  But it hasn't always been that way.  This is a true story of her selfless journey from what most would consider Hell, to the vibrant, amazing woman she is today; worthy of love and honor and goodness.  I believe her open and honest story is not just for her own healing, but for yours.  She isn't alone.  You shouldn't be either.
 

                               BREAKING THE SILENCE
                                         by Linda Faris

Everyone has a story to tell. Let me rephrase that…everyone has many stories to tell. I’d like to share my story with you today. I’m not sure why I chose today to share this with you, I guess I could wimp out and say, “It’s complicated.” Because, actually, it is complicated. In a way. In other ways, it seems extremely simple.

This is my story that I have carried with me all my life. It may not be a very pretty story to you, but again, I tell you, it is MY story. And even though it brings tears at times and other indescribable feelings of worthlessness…it is MY story.

I am almost 49 years young. I am at peace with myself and with all other people.

It has not always been so.

My earliest memories are of my father fondling me sexually while I was laying in my crib. I estimate that early memory to be between 2 and 3 years of age based on where my family was living at that time.

My next memories are of my father fondling me sexually while I lay in my bed at ages six to nine. He would come into my bedroom in his underwear and lean over me in my bed with heavy breathing. He would only be wearing his underwear. I played possum. I would pretend I was asleep and hope and pray that he would go away. Sometimes his visits were shorter and sometimes longer. His hands would go down into my panties and his fingers would go places that I was taught were off limits. Then his fingers and hands would pull my pajamas up and he would play with my breasts. It was awful. Just putting this to paper brings back the complete essence of those times. The darkness of my room. My sister laying sound asleep next to me blissfully unaware of what was happening. My dad’s heavy breathing, his smell….sometimes with alcohol, sometimes not. His tobacco breath. How his fingers felt. Ugh.

As I matured, my dad’s interest grew. I don’t remember how he actually “woke” me up, but eventually these interactions changed to my dad talking to me. First he would come into my room and begin to fondle me…he would pull my panties down and put his fingers in me, then somehow, I would be awake and he would begin to tell me all kinds of things, such as:

“I need to teach you about these things, so you know what to do.”

“Your mother won’t let me, so you have to.”

“Don’t tell your mother.”

“All I am is a meal ticket, no one loves me, if you loved me you would let me do this.”

“You are a hot number and you like this.”

“Someone popped your cherry, who did that? You are such a slut.”

“I won’t get you pregnant, I have had a vasectomy.”

These are just a few of the endless refrains I would hear throughout the night. I had very little sleep growing up.

There were daytime violations as well. For instance, the time I walked into the bathroom and my dad was in there with his erect penis out and at me. He forced me to touch it. Ugh. You had to be there to know how mind altering it was. There is not a room in our house where I was not violated in one way or another by my father.

The next day after his nightly visits, he would usually act like nothing happened. Sometimes, though, guilt would overtake him and he would apologize to me. What’s a girl supposed to say and do in these instances? There wasn’t a handbook on how to deal with a pedophilic father in those days. In fact, I don’t know if there is one now. Pedophiles, especially when they are your own father are a particularly wily group of men.

Back to the memories. Ick. Sorry, if this is hard for you to swallow…it is MY story. I am sure some of you reading this can relate to my story on some level. And for those of you that can relate…I want to extend my love and compassion to you. For if you have survived sexual abuse from someone who is supposed to be your protector, then you have true grit and I salute you.

The first time my dad actually “raped” me, I was 11 years old. He made me stay home one evening, while my mom and sister went to a school function of my brother’s.

He made me take off my clothes and basically did what rapists do. I’m not feeling like being overly descriptive here. But, this was the point of my loss of virginity. Not just my virginity, but my dignity and my self esteem and my self love and oodles and oodles of good feelings that should not have been robbed from me. It was indeed, extremely painful and traumatic. I did, indeed, afterwards, wipe up the blood and put my clothes back on and act like nothing had happened. I was a pretty good actress by this time.

My mom and sister came home and I was holed up in my room with a book. Sigh.

The next times of “rape” are intermixed with memories of him cajoling and begging me for sex thoughout the next 3 years. See me if you would like more details, otherwise I think I will spare you.

At age 14…as I continued to mature, I noticed my father was taking this same sexual interest in my 9 year old sister. This would not be. I would not allow my sister to be violated the way I had been. I love my sister more than you can imagine…I did then and I do now. This new behavior of his gave me the strength and energy to figure out what to do to prevent him from hurting my sis.

I went to the high school guidance counselor…which in 1975 was a joke. However, it did serve its purpose and within 2 weeks, a group of law enforcement personnel came to my school to “interrogate” me. Fun!!! I was taken out of my 9th grade geography class and taken to a small office where these people (who meant well) interviewed me for 6-7 hours straight with no breaks. I was a wreck. But, I did my best to report to them all that I could remember while they furiously recorded my life’s events.

At the same time, they clucked and grimaced over the details of my childhood. This was a very painful and confusing time.

At the end of this debilitating session, I was taken to the home of a nice church lady. My father apparently was met when he returned home from work by the state patrolmen who arrested him.

The story continues….but I feel like resting on the abuse portion for now and switching to some of my thoughts that I think are more appropriate for us now.

The first thought I would like to share with all of you is I did nothing wrong by being sexually abused by my father. I understand it makes you uncomfortable to know about this and to talk about it, but your silence has made me feel like I did something wrong. In fact, in 1974, the counselors advised me to NOT tell anyone about what had happened to me. I suppose they were considering the cruel things that people say and do to others who are in a less fortunate situation, but at that time, they made me feel like I had done something wrong because I was supposed to be quiet about it…as if I should be ashamed. And yes, I was ashamed. I was ashamed because my father convinced me that what he did to me was my fault. And I was ashamed because this wasn’t happening to my friends. Their fathers were nice. My father was scary. But I digress. Please, please understand that any child that has been sexually abused is not guilty and at least for me, your reluctance to talk about my abuse computes to my guilt. Irrational? Perhaps. It IS a complicated story.

Despite the horrific things Dad did to me, I still inexplicably loved him. I wished he was dead most of the time, but I knew that when he was dead, I would miss him in the way that he was my father. That’s a hard one to explain. For those of you that have lived this nightmare yourself, you know what I am talking about.

I completely “forgave” my father for his abuse of me just this year. It was a MAJOR breakthrough for me. By the way, my father died in 1988 at the age of 49. Even though he has been gone for over 20 years, his wounds on me left deep scars.

The scars now are so slight, you can hardly see them…they had diminished over time, but when I “forgave” my father, completely forgave him, my scars rapidly shriveled to being barely perceptible.

I do not take my joy in life for granted…it is a gift from the universe. Just as the lessons I learned in my childhood and adulthood are gifts from the universe.

I do not judge anyone. I love everyone. Each and everyone of us are all deserving of complete love, forgiveness, compassion and kindness. Including my father. And I love my father. I may not love what he did, but I love my father.

Slick Information and Slight of Hand

http://www.livescience.com/environment/090520-natural-oil-seeps.html

"During the course of the seven years I played scenes with an oil slick, I played a scene with a grain of rice. Sometimes with indescribable creatures. I remember having a conversation with something which was simply a smell, that's all. It was part of our job."

~Patrick Stewart~

Does the above quote throw you off a bit?  Yeah, me too.  But have you ever done a search for quotes about oil slicks?  The supply is limited my friend.  In sticking to my usual M.O., there is now a group of pictures and a quote that includes the phrase "oil slick" to examine before you read on.  That is, assuming you CHOOSE to read on.

Unless you've been living in a cave or under a rock, at some point in the last few weeks you've seen or read about the oil that is currently spilling (well, ok, LEAKING ) into our Gulf of Mexico.  Our present "disaster" is the aftermath of an explosion on an oil rig located about 40 miles off the coast of Louisiana that resulted in the death of 11 employees aboard the rig.  The Deepwater Horizon was/is owned by BP and they are being held accountable for the financial burden of clean-up, etc.

If you read both government and private reports of the incident, you'll note that the amount of oil leaking into our ocean has already far exceeded that of the 1989 Exxon Valdez.   Estimates are somewhere between 5000 and 100,000 barrels of oil are leaking each day.  In essence, millions of gallons of oil have already leaked into our oceanic ecosystem.  So far, BP has attempted capping the leak with a giant cement box and are now attempting to stick one pipe inside another pipe which will fill a container which can then be pumped to the surface.........all at more than a mile under water!  Child, please!  My brother is a commercial plumber and he's convinced this would be a miraculous union at sea level.  He's right.  They're blowing smoke and expecting us to inhale it.  No way.

So I understand this is going to have an enormous impact on the coastal economy and will, indeed, cause the death of countless marine animals.  Many fishermen will be put out of business and the list goes on and on and on.  It is tragic in that regard.  People are shaking their fists at BP for ignoring some test.  The government is spending hundreds of millions to investigate the cause of the explosion.  Still more business owners all along the coast are lining up at the front door of every lawyer in the South, poised for the lawsuit of the century.  It's true, this is going to cost billions in lost tourist revenue, clean-up, unemployment, lawsuits, ad infinitum.  Some are even calling this a global, life-ending event.  It's a big deal, right?  In one regard.....right.  But not so fast. 

This whole thing has me wondering whether such an enormous event has ever occured naturally.  I conducted an internet search and was inundated with information regarding such events.  If you click on the link at the top of this blog, you'll find just one sample of what I found.

Did you know 20-25 tons PER DAY of crude oil has been seeping from the ocean floor off the coast of Santa Barbara for OVER hundreds of thousands of years?  Experts estimate that to be the equivalent of up to 80 Exxon Valdez spills.  It's happening each and every day.  And that's only in Santa Barbara.  If you do the math, 25 tons is about 50,000 lbs.  If oil weighs an average of 7 pounds per gallon (I looked it up), then just over 7,000 gallons of oil has been leaking into the Pacific Ocean every day for hundreds of thousands of years.  At only 100,000 years, that's approaching 1 BILLION gallons of oil!!!  Surprise!  We're still here.  It turns out a great deal of that oil is eaten by microbes and the rest becomes sediment.  Why the microbes don't eat it all is still under scrutiny. 

My point is this.  I completely understand this spill in the Gulf will impact millions and I feel their pain....I do.  But this isn't some cataclysmic event from which we won't emerge.  This kind of thing has been going on since the beginning of time.  Mother Earth has a mechanism to deal with this.  The only reason it feels so big is because in this millenium, people and their means to make a living are involved.  So I'm asking, before you build a bomb shelter and stock up on canned goods, do a little research.  Tragic as this event is, it's happening every single day.  But the media isn't telling you that part, are they?  That wouldn't make a good story.

And just one more little thing to think about while we're playing the "blame game".  You can blame BP all you want, or our government or anyone remotely tied to the petroleum industry, but the real blame lies with us.  Every single time you get behind the wheel of your car, you create a demand for the very thing BP was searching for when disaster struck.  Sure, sure, I know.  That's the way society is.  We're mobile and we need cars and trains and planes and heaters and plastic and every other thing you can think of  requiring petroleum.  But if that's what we're asking for, we can't really blame the people trying to give it to us now can we?

Read between the lines when you watch the news or read the paper.  You're only getting a fraction of the story.  The rest of the story is right here on Ramblings.  Thanks for stopping by!!!

Born To Be Kind

"Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into a flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light."

~Albert Schweitzer ~
 
This week, Linda and I joined 100 other firefighters at 6 Flags Over Texas for Denton State School Days.  Denton State School is an institution in North Texas that cares for and houses 580 severely to profoundly mentally retarded (their phrase, not mine) individuals.  http://www.dentonstateschool.org/.  Once a year, these mentally challenged individuals get to spend a day at the amusement park, escorted primarily by Dallas firefighters and their families.  Our job is to assist in lifting, joining them on rides, etc. 
 
It works kinda like this.  We all stand in a line and wait for the residents to get off a bus and we "choose" one of them to chaperone for the day.  Some are reasonably self-sufficient.  They can walk and communicate fairly well.  Others are wheelchair-bound and can barely speak if they can even make a sound.  It's difficult to choke back the sadness at times, but then you see them get off the bus for that annual day of excitement and the smile on their faces says it all.
 
I'll call the resident we escorted this year, "Lucy" to protect her identity.  Lucy was a 50-something woman with horrible teeth and graying hair pulled back in a cute little pony tail.  Lucy was "hearing impaired" (I'll get to that in a second) and used her own sign language to communicate.  Lucy could not speak, but was able to make loud, um......groans.  She walked on her own and was actually pretty quick on her feet.  Sometimes a little too quick.  But the most incredible thing about Lucy wasn't the quickness of her feet, it was the depth of her kindness.  Lucy loved to hug.
 
When she was first introduced to Linda, Lucy gave her a hug that I thought was going to require a rescue.  Then I received one of a similar nature.  Lucy randomly selected people from all over the park, and gave them a hug or shook their hand.  There were hundreds of high school kids at the park that day, and many were lucky enough to receive a hug from Lucy.  And if you're wondering what kind of kids we're raising today, I can tell you.  Not one single kid, although clearly surprised at first, was unresponsive to Lucy.  They were quick to hug back or shake her hand and give her a smile.  In fact, everyone I saw who came in contact with Lucy left with a smile. 
 
Lucy was a "teacher" and I learned much from her.  Some of it was actually comical.  First of all, Lucy COULD hear.  I would call her hearing "selective".  She used a precious form of sign language that most of us were able to begin to understand by the end of the day.  And if you DIDN'T quite get it, Lucy was quick to smack you three times on the shoulder and point to what she wanted.  She was very effective. Lucy taught me that everyone can offer kindness and everyone deserves to receive it.  She wasn't prejudice in her gift of hugging. Everyone was welcome to Lucy's embrace.
 
I've been a participant in Denton State School Days many times throughout my career and I've noticed something each time.  This isn't a scientific study, but has certainly been my observation each and every time.  Almost without exception, the people from this institution, profoundly challenged and unable to care for themselves, are kind.  They are warm, loving, and just plain adorable.  Why is that?  Have you ever met a child with Down's Syndrome that wasn't also sweet and loving?  So I wonder, of course, why is it that people of this sort are so kind?  Are they born that way?  Is it part of the genetic mutation that caused their retardation?  Have they been sheltered from the perceived cynicism of real life? 
 
I don't know the answers to those questions, but I do know this.  If someone confined to a life-long institution without the ability to even feed themselves or form a sentence can be kind, so can I.  I may be a little shy yet to just walk up and hug a stranger on the street, but wouldn't it be nice?  I can still offer a handshake or even a smile and leave an impression like Lucy.  She gave me so much that day.
 
Kindness..............let's honor Lucy by passing it on.

Pull To The Right And Stop

"Sometimes the best thing we can do in a crisis is nothing."  ~Matt Leatherwood~

So you're driving down the road one day in your fancy new convertible, top down, iPod blaring on your new grand stereo.  You're bobbing your head, pounding on the steering wheel to ZZ Top and just letting the world go by.  Telephone poles go by like a picket fence and the dots on the center lane look like stripes.  Come on!  You know the feeling!  We've all been there, right? 

Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere you spot a giant red monster in your rear-view mirror;  sirens wailing, air horn blasting, urging you to make way for an emergency. You panic and begin asking yourself questions marked by milliseconds.  "What do I do?  Where should I go?  Oh my God!!"  You may speed up.  You might move to the left or stop in the middle of a busy intersection.  And God forbid, you may even slam on the brakes! NOT a good idea, by the way.

I've been a firefighter now for over 17 years and I see it each and every time I climb on the seat of an apparatus enroute to an emergency.  I witnessed it daily as a paramedic and as a station officer, I have a front row seat to the antics of drivers caught unaware by emergency vehicles.  GETTING to the scene of an emergency is easily the most dangerous thing we do.  It's more death-defying than running in to a burning building.  I promise.  Check the stats.

If you've ever taken an exam for a drivers license any time in your life, or even read the manual, you should know that the appropriate response to an emergency vehicle coming from either direction is to safely move to the RIGHT and STOP.  Don't creep along.  Don't block an intersection where we might have to turn and DON'T slam on the brakes.  That's an excellent way to get a mega-ton piece of steel installed in the front seat next to you.............or on top of you.  It's simple.  It's painfully simple.  Pull to the right and stop.  Pull to the right and stop. Pull....to....the....right....and....STOP!

So by now you're hopefully wondering why I'm offering a lecture on driving etiquette.  It too, is simple.  The above-mentioned examples regarding emergency vehicles are an excellent metaphor for life.  Every single one of us, at one time or another, has been cruising along life's highway without a care in the world.  Top down, hair blowing in the wind, stereo blasting............no worries.  Then from out of nowhere, someone hits you with an emergency and everything changes.  You begin asking yourself all the same questions you ask when confronted by a big red fire engine.  "What should I DO now?  How can I FIX this?  Where do I GO from here?" 

There are occasions when an emergency requires action.  I wouldn't be much help as a fireman if I showed up at a fire and went, "Yup, it's on fire alright.  Let's just watch."  The same holds true for life.  Sometimes a crisis requires action.  At other times, in the midst of a storm, when you're asking yourself all those questions wondering how you'll ever get back to your peaceful cruise, the best action is to do nothing.  Gently let go of the problem, pull to the right.....and stop.  Our panic often gets in the way of a solution.  The solution is already at hand.  The universe spins in perfect harmony and NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING happens by accident.  There is a reason for everything...........even an emergency.  If it's painful, it's because you're resisting the natural flow of things.  Let it go.  Pull over.

Just try it once.  You may not have the answer you seek immediately, but I'm banking the right answer will come much sooner than if you fight it.  And just as surely as the big red fire engine, your crisis will pass if you'll just get out of the way. 

Simply pull to the right and stop.

Stroke Awareness Month

"He had a massive stroke. He died with his tie on. Do you think that could be our generation's equivalent of that old saying about dying with your boots on?"

-Stephen King-

"Flying back from New York, the flight attendant said 'God, I wished you were here yesterday, we had a stroke on the plane. I said, if I have a stroke on a plane, I hope the pretend doctor isn't the one on the plane. I want a real doctor."

-Anthony Edwards-


On June 4th of this year, it will be seven years since a man of only 42 years of age suffered a major stroke while teaching, of all things, a CPR class.  Funny, right?  He had actually just finished  presenting a series of scenarios to his class where he actually acted out different types of symptoms for different maladies,  asking his class members to identify the probable cause of said symptoms. It was a fun exercise and everyone did exceptionally well.

Upon completion of the previous exercise, lunch was delivered and everyone began to eat.  The instructor, our stroke victim, had ordered a California Club from Jason's Deli.  Surely you've had one.  They are absolutely phenomenal and are laced with avocado.   As the instructor took his second bite, he was overcome with a very distinct and clear sensation of perfect double vision.  Not blurred vision.  As he describes it, there was a crystal view of everything and everyone in twos.  The man had suffered from Classic Migraine most of his life and dismissed it as the probable onslaught of a migraine. 

Two things happened next.  First, one of the class members asked him if he was ok and if this was "a drill".  Next, the young instructor regained consciousness on the floor, feet elevated and hooked to oxygen.  Coming through the door were paramedics who began to assess our patient's condition.  Upon asking how long he had been unconcious, the instructor was told it had been a period of about five minutes.  Odd.  Here one minute, back the next with nothing in between.  The paramedics finished their assessment and encouraged our stubborn patient to go to the hospital, but he refused.  He eventually relented and was enroute to a local hospital when he heard the paramedics call medical control to determine the closest "stroke center"

This story can go on forever, but in short form, upon arrival at a large Dallas hospital, our patient who was now completely paralyzed on one side was told he had suffered a CVA or Stroke and was a candidate for a clot-busting medication.  Again in stubborn denial, the man refused the treatment, not once, but twice!  Surely he had misunderstood.  With some coaxing, the man eventually accepted his treatment option and within an hour had regained full use of his left side with very little or no deficit.  By that evening, there were no signs of stroke save one small infarct in his brain left dead by lack of oxygen.  It was a miracle recovery from a life-threatening clot.  After 5 days in the hospital and hundreds of tests, the man was released and for all practical purposes, had completely recovered.

The man in this story is me, plain ole Matt Leatherwood.  At 42 years old, I suffered a massive and life threatening stroke caused by a clot to my brain.  No warning, no signs, no clue.  The cause was later determined and corrected so I am truly cured.  At one point my brain no longer recognized I did indeed have a "left side" so I had complete paralysis and facial droop, slurred speech, etc. etc.  Classic.  Due to the diligence of my well-trained class, sharp paramedics from Farmers Branch, Texas, and a top-notch medical staff at Presbyterian Hospital, I made a complete recovery free from any deficit.  A true miracle of modern medicine.

May is Stroke Awareness Month.  Visit the attached link to the American Stroke Association and familiarize yourself with the signs and symptoms of stroke.  There are clots as well as bleeds, but both need immediate attention for the victim to survive and recover.  I thank the universe every day for my miracle.  Many have not been so lucky and are confined to wheelchairs or have chronic deficits of one kind or anther.  Many stroke victims die.  Rapid recognition of the signs and immediate medical intervention is key.

Be a life saver.  Learn the signs of stroke and don't wait.  Don't be brave or stubborn.  Your life depends on it.  If you or someone you know exhibits signs of stroke, call 911 immediately.  If those before you hadn't been diligent in my treatment, I'd be typing this with one hand. 

Thank you!!!    http://www.americanstrokeassociation.org/