Chapter 27


2005 was a year of change. The TDU was renamed the Brainport and the company to

Wicab. Paul choose the name Wicab meaning “lover of honey”, a dedication of his work in

honor of his wife Esther’s maiden name. Paul, Mitch and Yuri and I worked even closer

together where I gained considerably more clinical research knowledge, experience, and


By this time, because I had used the Brainport for over 2 years my residual began to last

longer to a point that I reached a level of compensation based upon how my body

reconnected with my environment. I wasn’t at my peak but I was at a peak of

understanding my potential.

Paul, Mitch and Yuri presented at numerous conventions, arranged meetings with

potential partners and investors to watch me use the device, witness the change and learn

more about the science behind the Brainport. Here’s where my show and tell career

developed, I was star of the Brainport stage.
The news of the research began to spread. Journalist Sandra Blakeslee of The New Times

science section contacted us to write a story about the research. She interviewed me and

the team gathering the Brainport’s history and development, the theory on how it worked,

my experiences with it, and what the future held. I presented another show and tell

demonstration. A photographer took photos of me using the Brainport and out walking on

a trail near the office. This was the big kick off to media frenzy of the research, and on me:

There was no turning back – I became a Brainport star.

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Welcome Home

Chapter 26

Welcome Home


My return to Indian Lake left shining crystals of joy in my heart.  It was there I felt my

feet firmly touch the ground, it was there a lighted spirit opened and danced its way

around me.  It was there my connection with the environment rose up in such a

remarkable way that nothing I passed went unnoticed of its sight, smell, and sound.

I’ve mentioned this before and will again, everything meant more.  A clarity of which I’d

never experienced offered me a view of the vivid detailed beauty of everything around us.

This was my first real step to calm and quiet.  The noise of suffocating change disappeared

from my thoughts; my thoughts disappeared from its control.


Not only did my surroundings become monumentally clear, so did the relationships with

people in my life.  It became clear that I needed to rid myself of the toxic and move on

to live gratefully and thankful.  I found an apartment and moved out and away from SFB,

I did indeed love every moment of that.  I separated myself from actions that held me

back from healing.  I released long ago trauma that battered my thoughts with reminders.

I returned with such force that it was enormously clear to me that I was important, that it

was important to be living my authentic self.


I feel when something you’ve lost is found there is an explosion of relief.  The

experience of something lost and found amplifies the direction one takes.  There comes

with that the need to share experience, the need to share lessons learned, and inspire

people that healing power lies within, with or without technology, its in all of

us.  Its finding the power that’s the hard part, but its there.  As my friend Michele

Rosenthal says “You have enormous healing potential.  The goal is learning to access it. 

Dig deep, you can do this.  I believe in you“.  Michele is a survivor of trauma.  She now

shares her experience aiding others towards healing from their trauma and the force of

PTSD that entangles it.   Her insights help trauma survivors escape from the past

and welcome the future.  Michele is truly an expert, a living trauma survivor expert.  If

you’d like to learn more about Michele and her work here is a link:


I found my healing potential, I found my way out trauma that wanted to define me,

to frighten away my true potential.  However, it was my true potential that guided me

home.  With arms wide open I wrapped myself around it, I welcomed myself home.


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Chapter 25


I really missed hiking. It was a ritual that rejuvenated my mind, body and soul. It was a

way to let go of my responsibilities, there was nothing to do except let the calm of nature

become a part of me and me a part of it. There’s nothing to do except inhale the pure sweet

smell of untouched landscapes of prairies, the woods, and even dirt. There’s nothing to do

except feel the touch of earth below your feet. Oh how I missed that.


Not far from the lab is beautiful hiking area called Indian Lake. Prior to my introduction to

disability I had hiked each and every trail, but I gave up ever hiking there or any other

place again. I was definitely thrilled my abilities were getting better and better yet I held

an untold fear that I wouldn’t ever be the same again. This was a fear that seeped into

hiking ever changing and uneven terrains that it was over. Yet, getting better and better at

what I could do introduced a revived feeling of deep down confidence I hadn’t felt in years.

It said, get back out there, to use the residual workouts to take a trek no matter what

happens, no matter if I fell down. I had to be brave.
I told to Mitch and Yuri that I was going to Indian Lake for a hike. Both tried to talk me

out of it. I stood tall with reappeared confidence and told them they couldn’t stop me. I left

the building and with a deep breath, got in my car and left. I was going to take my first

steps into proving to myself the promise of confidence would see me through my-self

designed challenge.


I won’t lie, the drive on winding back roads to my expedition was frightening, but I didn’t

care. I released that fright and focused on what was waiting for me. I allowed myself to

embrace the feel of freedom. As I parked in the lot I looked out the windshield and saw my

future ahead. I stepped out of my car and placed my footprint onto the earth beneath my

feet, feeling the surroundings that suddenly meant so much more. Tears of magnificent joy

rolled down my cheeks as the sight of freedom overwhelmed me; I was looking into the

eyes of God’s creation.
The trail I chose was a grassy path. It began flat, like a sidewalk. I took my time and

stopped along the way saying hello to trees I passed countless times before. I strolled past

a lake where ducks swam leaving a trail of ripples dancing on the water. The trail turned

left where on both sides prairies of tall green grass and wildflowers danced in the warm

breeze and upon my skin. I still feel that touch.


Beyond the prairie stood a dense line of trees, their leaves waving in a friendly motion to

come on in. It was their invitation to step into the beauty of trees standing tall amid

blankets of gentle ferns covering the earth and offspring of mighty oaks, maples, and birch

stretched to reach the sky.


The trail curved past a grandfather oak I always admired for its majestic strength and

valor. It is the landmark for the trail to work its way uphill. I paused to view its marker as I

remembered the very first time I followed its direction. It was then I realized I was given a

second chance at one of the many first times again. I walked up the hill where at the top I

turned to see grandfather oak looking back. I was home.


The uneven dips and bumps of the trail challenged me beyond words. I wobbled A LOT yet

managed to move on and stay upright. I faced my fear and chose to continue rather than

stop in defeat. I paused often to reset my bravery standing amid memories of a long ago

thrill. I was overwhelmed with life breathing emotions that to this day dance in my heart.


Every turn, every hill, every place welcomed me, I welcomed it. The further I traveled the

braver I became. Reaching the end of the trail I knew I had reached the end of my fear. I

really was home.

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Just Kept Getting Better

Chapter 24

Just Kept Getting Better

Little by little the residual lasted longer, up to 5-6 hours. Stronger was the experience of being reconnected to an everyday life, so much more than I ever experienced. My body and mind blended with my surroundings; I felt beautifully touched by it all. Like the homecoming of long lasting sun as daylight springs forward, I appeared with it. Everyday felt like Independence Day.


The relief of not knowing where I was in space, covered with weight of gravity gone, was enormous. The constant distressing thought that trickled throughout my body vanished and a calm silent existence took over. Growing stronger and more meaningful was that vibrant connection to all things around me, and me around it.



I used every bit of residual feeling “normal”. I used every second to reinforce how my body used to work, to exercise it in residual freedom. I challenged myself to walk longer and farther enjoying things I worried had disappeared forever. I stood on uneven surfaces, kept my body and head straight and gazed into the beauty around of me, in me. I pushed the limits. I wanted my body to remember what the residual felt like after it was gone. I worked out lifting residual weights. The more I lifted, the more my body remembered, the more my body remembered, the better my abilities, the better my abilities, the better my life. It was fascinating to experience this, to feel it, to be it.

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How Could This Happen?

CHAPTER 23 – 2003

How Could this Happen?


Like the long ago television show, “The Beverly Hillbillies”, I packed up, sold my house

in Cambria, and moved to Madison – closer to MATC, closer to the TDU. I was motivated

beyond words with the residual lasting longer and longer. I was experiencing such

wonderful improvements in my balance that a sense of being “normal” began to tickle me.

There were significant increases in my ability to walk in balance. There was a soothing of

the oscillopsia that calmed the world around me, there was a body to brain coordination I

never felt before. How could this happen?



I didn’t care how it was happening.


I ceased the time to retrace the steps I walked before the  ototoxicity took over, before I

was introduced to disability. I walked into what the world and I shared before my change;

I used what time I had to share that again. I worked to strengthen my body, not only on

the inside, but also on the outside. I had to. I believe the time I took feeling what

was familiar to me, to my body, amplified the effect the TDU was introducing to

my brain. I reinforced that connection.

Along with physical changes came an increase in my concentration, thankfully

reducing stress trying to keep up and, with a clear head structure creative ways to

keep up with assignments. The rituals I developed to get from one class to another became

something I didn’t have to think about. My gait was steadied and I could even look up and

gaze into the world around me. I could say hello to fellow classmates. It didn’t matter that

relief was limited, it didn’t matter how it was happening, all that mattered was I felt the

flow of life.

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Central Focus, Visual Proof

Chapter 22 – 2003

Central Focus, Visual Proof

Nearly finished with my studies at MATC, I prepared to transfer into UW-Madison. This was a monumental time which both excited me and scared the heck out of me. But, there was the residual I could lean on.

I was using the TDU religiously, two times a day and discovered the residual was lasting longer and longer. My confidence exploded to a level I’d never experience before. Although the residual time was still limited, I literally began to feel free of what I thought would never go away. That freedom changed how I saw myself, the world and, changed how the world saw me.

I was the first and only person to experience, what I called the “under the influence” effects of the TDU. I was the only one who understood completely what it was like to feel and benefit from its powerful effects. For these reasons and more I suddenly became the central focus for presentations, the search for grant applications, partners, and angel investors, a CEO, and the science community at large.

Then the focus became my time to display the effects as visual proof to watch and talk about. Don’t get me wrong, I completely supported these efforts to raise awareness of the TDU.  This had to be done to share the news of what we were doing and the results we were getting. The one thing that couldn’t be explained was how it worked – how it provided the residual effect – we didn’t know. There were discussions that my brain was changing, that new pathways were developing to send signals of balance to my brain, that sensory substitution was indeed happening, to the belief perceptual changes were taking place. There were several speculations, all of which later would join together. All I knew then is that it was working.

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For the First Time in a Long Time…

Chapter 21 2003

For the First Time in a Long Time…

How can I begin to explain how a touch of returned freedom, long absent from my life,

lifted me from dark to light. With just a few hours that the TDU gave me, I began to see

clearly there was absolute hope and solid proof I could escape the trauma of what had

happened to me.

For the first time in a long time I could make plans, form goals, and embrace everything

around me, embrace me. For the first time in a long time I could cry with joy and not in


For the first time in a long time I could look at myself in a mirror and smile. I could raise

my eyes to the sky to feel the touch of sun on my face and let it surround me with warmth.

I looked upon prairies and walked through woods smelling, hearing, and feeling the return

of comfort this created in me, if only for a few hours.

I felt my relationship changing with a world taken and hidden from me to a connection of

it being right there in front of me, brilliantly clear. All I hadn’t spent time with before was

emerging as an amazing part of everything around me, I felt it. Everything began to mean

more, it still does.

For the first time in a long time I could dance freely without falling down.

And dance I did.

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All hands on deck! Or should I say Tongue?

Chapter 20

All Hands on Deck, or should I say Tongue! 2003

          The call came in – time to restart and reignite the research.

I still had my studies in college to think about. By this time I had plans to

transfer to the Rehabilitation Psychology program at UW-Madison but the break between

finishing MATC and starting UW-Madison gave me time to connect with the research in a

deeper way.


A lot of preparation had gone into this next phase, the office, the testing area, the

protocols, everything needed to move along. My role then as Subject Zero was to use the

TDU daily twice daily to assess changes in the residual times discovered earlier.

I was asked to log my experiences to keep track of how I felt prior to my use,

during, and after – how long any residual lasted and the changes I felt. Prior to writing

down my experiences, I had shared what was happening to me by talking to Yuri and

Mitch. The more we talked the more my input helped paved the way. Here’s where I really

began to feel like a researcher, this is when I became Subject Zero, Co-investigator.


This is where the change in my life really started.

My Favorite Food

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In the Meantime – Back to College

In the Meantime – Back to College – 2003

     Now that I understood how control changes everything I put my energy into treating each day as a good day. I swept away the resistance keeping me from understanding I am stronger than the beast. I found my way through challenges that concealed my need to move on, to leave trauma behind and re-introduce myself to a better life, disability and all. No extra weight on my shoulders, just a lovely wobbly way of life.

I returned to MATC looking forward to a better life. Somehow, my re-introduction to control pissed off the beast which I now realized was in fact resistance. The damn thing fought to raise its ugly head and squeeze me down the drain with it. Still not wanting to give up, the rotten beast tried to crawl out, but I won, I kicked its ass. In trickery I let it come out. I grabbed and pushed it in the path of a Mack truck, mess for it and a clean escape for me.

With a second round of independence and appreciation under my belt came an intensified sense of control. I reconnected with society mingling with all kinds of people. Those who knew me enthusiastically supported my revived creativity and long term vision to share a reflection of experience. Except SFB, that was a given.

MATC opened a meaningful concentration where for the first time in a long time I envisioned a future filled with amazing possibility. Back was my optimism, gratitude for life and happiness as I inhaled the sweet breeze of appreciation. I was riding on the wings of independence.
Don’t get me wrong, college wasn’t easy by any means and often tested my optimism. Lack of balance, the crazy way my eyes interpreted my surroundings, navigating the campus and concentrating on lectures in real time was exhausting! But I did it.

I did it with help from Todd Jones and Beth Bremer. Their support proved I had the strength to cope with exhaustion. When I first met Todd, in the Disability Resource Center, I saw him sitting in a wheel chair. Todd had a serious car accident leaving him paralyzed from the chest down. During our first introduction I thought, what the hell gives me the right to complain about anything! I learned that Todd endured years of physical therapy to regain limited use of his arms and hands. Todd has a real understanding of what disability is and shared with me the hope I needed. Todd is a force of his own. He is amazing. When I connected with him we worked together to establish accommodations that helped support my strengths.

Beth, who worked in the Learning Center, was always there to guide me through assignments that shifted my brain into an explosive overload. Her consistent advice and brilliant way of teaching positioned me reach a new level of determination. Beth is also incredibly funny which made learning fun. So, by combining the assistance and encouragement from Todd and Beth, I discovered that the all my experiences and strengths pre-disability were still intact and transferrable to the new experiences I was creating. What an advantage!

I became great fiends with Todd and Beth where even to this day they are an immense presence in my life. They mean so much to me, they changed my life. I love them.

I always sat in the dreaded front row to minimize distractions. Todd connected me to a student who took notes adding an extra element of information I missed during lectures. I was allowed to use a tape recorder to capture lectures so later I could listen to them in an effort to grasp more. I was even provided extra time on exams in a quiet room. With the use of a note taker I was able to put as much extra concentration I could on lectures as they happened. I took my own notes in a way only I could decipher. My learning had become quite a combination of hearing, writing, reading, and doing.

Noise, paper shuffling, coughs, sniffling, and movement in classes messed with my concentration, especially during exams, hence, using the accommodation to take them in the quiet room, sounds like a place for naughty people… I really hated going there – I felt being absent from the classroom during exams made it known to everyone I had a disability, let alone how it eclipsed my liberation. Then I discovered a way to take exams with everyone else. My strategy: I used earplugs; they put me in a zone of complete silence, except for the ringing in my ears, another side effect of ototoxicity of which I had become accustomed to, well mostly. The earplugs worked, my liberation stayed intact.

Something else I discovered was that I developed an amazing photographic memory, in spite of the way I saw things. I’m convinced this was because of the extra effort I placed into reading and re-reading assignments. The information clicked into my memory where it developed into images I could pull out when needed. For example, during an exam I could “see” the answers. When I closed my eyes I could see the page in the text book, see the paragraph, and then the sentence that held the answer to the question. To this day I can still do that.
The most difficult task was navigating the halls. Students were everywhere, walking to their futures and unknowingly stepping in the way of mine. All around me was a sea of bouncing blurry people, a spectacle of confusion yet; I was determined to make it work.

Carrying my backpack was a big challenge. I tried carrying it with my free hand but that only made things worse. I tried wearing it on my back but that made the way I had to lean forward much worse. My strategy: I built a contraption using a luggage carrier on wheels and attached my backpack to it with a bungee cord. I could wheel it using the hand I had free. The backpack invention was a success. Quite the sight I’m sure but I didn’t care. Having the backpack on wheels in one hand, my cane in the other, the big test was putting it to work at school. I continued my walks with my head down watching the floor, body bent forward, with occasional tiny glances up, I found a reduction in my wobbling this way and that. So, I pulled my wheels and like a salmon, pushed my way up a stream of students: In a nice way.

What I found fascinating was how fasted I walked. The faster I walked the better I could navigate. Moving slow my body fumbled and bumbled not unlike when learning how to a ride a bike, one wobbles all over the place before mastering the ride.

Sometimes I bumped into students and damn near took dives, but gratefully was caught by those I bumped into. I became known as the one to catch when needed. The more I worked on making it to class, the more I thought about strategies on how to better navigate the collection of obstacles.

My strategy: Having discovered that moving at lightning speed helped, I wondered if I combined it with a stop about every 10 feet or so I might be able to get a better bearing on where I was and how far I had to go. Let the experiment begin. The stop was a task in itself, it set off a series of wobbles and that lovely sensation I was falling. A natural kind of compensation to a lack of balance is walking with the feet spread apart forming a wide stance a bit more than shoulder width. Somehow that helps shift the center of gravity we all need to stand up.
My strategy: When stopping I let go of my wheels, using both hands placed on my cane in front of me between my wide stance I became a human tripod. With three legs came an improved ability to stop, stay still, raise my head and body and settle down the bouncy vision. This strategy was the best of all! The more strategies I came up with, the more confident I became. Perhaps I should have become an engineer!

But wait, there’s more. My strategy: When class schedules worked in my favor, I would set out for class early, often being early enough to relax, chat with the instructor, or review the days work. An early departure meant fewer students in the hallways and less stress for me.

However, one troubling experience remains in locked my memory. One of my stress free departures arrived and preparations began. The classroom was quite a distance away, like getting to a connecting flight where boarding was on the other side of the terminal. Don’t you hate it when that happens?

Becoming accustomed to my ritual, I packed determination in my wheels, grabbed my cane, wound up my fast walk, scheduled stops and took off. Stopping to assess the situation, I found the hall empty with the exception of students sitting on the floor at the very end. I felt nervously intimidated; I was the only person walking towards them. My strategies certainly made me stick out and a nervous one on one strategic interaction made me wobble even more. During my stops I could see the students taking turns looking at me or they were all looking together. I felt like I was under a spotlight. I tried to minimize the situation thinking, should I start dancing or something? In my eyes the hall appeared extended far beyond its real end. Like in a scary movie, I couldn’t get anywhere; it just kept getting longer and longer. Of course, that really wasn’t true.

Passing by the students it was like I were a zoo animal on display. With the students looking at me through a barrier of disregard, they were sharing comments; how strange I was, how weird it was to watch me, how I made them feel creepy. I turned the corner with a punch in my gut ashamed of what I had become. Then I got angry. I was not going to let them get away with their lack of respect.

I turned back around the corner and in full disability glory, like a seasoned professor, I began a lecture. I explained to them that not only was it difficult to be taking on the challenges of life with a disability I found their hurtful comments nothing short of bullying. I explained that just as they were, I was there to learn. I explained to them their actions made me feel ashamed of myself. I explained that making fun of a person disability, or not, is hurtful, confidence busting, and seriously childlike. They all stared at me and with big sorry eyes, apologized. Before I turned the corner I looked at them and from the heart I shared that I hope none of them ever have to endure disability, that it in an instant it could happen to them. With heartfelt compassion, I wanted to them to think about how they would feel if ever they experienced disability disrespect or disrespect in any other manner. Then I left, and even by confronting those students, I made my way to class, found it as empty as I felt, and sobbed.

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     With encouragement from Mitch my fear of regression began to fade. What I had to do

was settle into the wait when the research could resume. In the meantime I continued my

studies at MATC keeping my eye on the prize – transferring to UW-Madison for that

counseling degree.


Back at MATC I painstakingly kept up with exhausting hours of studying, writing

papers, preparing for exams, all with the help of that trusty made up ruler I developed and

the support I received from the Disability Resource Center. For the first time since the

ototoxicity took over my life, I felt perhaps, just maybe, I might find a way to make my life

work. Still I struggled with convincing myself that I could really do that; I still felt the fear

disability would be the only thing I could do, research success or not.


Then the note appeared: I still believe it was a divine sprinkle of hope for me to catch. I

was sitting at my kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, wallowing in self pity as I stared

out the window. There was a note pad on the table staring at me and out of nowhere I

began to write. I had no inclination for writing anything and certainly nothing positive, the

words simply appeared:


     I often think, why did this happen to me? Why have I been

pushed into this condition? What did I do to deserve this?” I’ve

thought about this for a long time and you know what? There

are no answers to these questions. It is as it is and I have to

learn how to live with it. I must accept it. For if I don’t, I’ll miss

out on the many remaining beautiful things my life has yet to



Yes, I have to do things differently. I have to look at things

differently. I won’t be able to do some things as well as before,

but I have to try.


Losing something so precious, so secure, a life balanced with

the world, has forced me to observe things as they really are.

Many things look so different now – there is so much I hadn’t

noticed before. I am surrounded by awareness unexplained. I

feel more, appreciate more, and I love more. I’m discovering

things about myself I never knew existed. It feels good to

approach it as if living a new adventure each day. Many of these

adventures will lead to frustration, anger, sadness and fear. But

as I face each of these roadblocks I need to be open to learn

about them. How I do it will raise awareness about me, my

feelings, my spirit, my heart and my thoughts. Being faced with

frustration will teach me how to be inventive. Anger will teach

me relationships with myself, people, and society. Sadness will

teach me to feel, it will fill me with compassion. Fear has

already formed my impression of strength and endurance.

When I combine these, how can I not succeed in living like I

never have before? I’m still me, “just in a different skin”.


I need to learn to love my new self and stand proud to be me.

I need to continue to live as I am. “Disability” is just a word – the

only disability is in my mind and what I allow it tell me. I have

to present myself to others as I do to myself, whole in heart,

mind and spirit. For others will overlook my “flaw” and see a

person, a friend, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a co-worker, a

loving, happy and giving person. I want to be unique,

inspirational, motivational and respected.


I want the world to see that I can do anything I want to. I can

succeed, I can learn. Most of all I can live and love doing it. I

want to teach others that each of us has the will and ways to

beat adversity to turn life changing experiences into the most

incredible experience of their life. It all begins with acceptance.

From there on, there are absolutely no limitations to what I can

do. I will do things as I always have. If there are things I

struggle with because of my change, then it’s up to me to be

creative to meet the change in myself.


There will be things I just cannot find a way to change, they

just can’t be. Those are the ones I need to accept. I should rejoice

in that I once had the opportunity to experience them. Memories

are like photographs; I can bring them out any time and re-live

the joys they brought me. Most importantly, bring the strength

of my experiences into my life right now. Those experiences are

filled with skills that will serve as my foundation upon which my

creation of a new life will be set.


Each change I make will burst into meaningful satisfaction

and pride knowing I did it. This will build my strength and

endurance to keep going, keep learning, to keep trying and keep



Appreciation – you know, it makes me sad to think for many

people there lacks an appreciation for the abundance they are

blessed to have. Many are blind to gratefulness. I have learned

to never take anything for granted again. Appreciate all you

have and all that is yet to come.


Confidence is probably the hardest thing to learn. Confidence

is intimidating. I have to be out in the world, seen, heard and

watched. I need to love myself in order to be confident. This,

again, begins with acceptance.


Bad days, man do I hate the bad days. These are the days that

make me feel helpless and stop me dead in my tracks. These are

the days that squeeze me into feeling alone. I feel there is no one

anywhere on the face of this earth that can possibly understand

what I am going through. But that’s where I’m wrong. There are

others out there just like me who feel the same pain and sorrow.

I’ve learned that without bad days I can’t appreciate the good

days. Through appreciation maybe the bad days won’t be so

bad. Perhaps I can turn a bad day one into a good day by –



I read somewhere a quote “Laughter and tears are both

responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to

laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.” I’ve

learned that where there are tears, there is sadness. Where there

is laughter, there is hope.


There are two ways to relate to adversity. One is to withdraw

and enclose yourself in constant pain and bitterness. The other

is to pick yourself up and continue your life journey with a new

direction, take detour. Change can be a wonderful thing if you

let it. I’m in a “new life” now. I must make the best of it. When I

am out, I must stand tall and proud. I must smile, laugh, and be

as I always have been. People will then overlook whatever is

“different” about me. I have to remember, it is true, God does not

give you anything you can’t handle. Look people right in the eye

and demonstrate how wonderful life is.


With this sprinkle of hope came a liberating change. It helped me realize I had put so

much attention and energy into what was wrong with me, of trying to make it through one

more day of transformational pain, that I couldn’t see a hopeful day was rising on the

horizon. It was here that I realized how meaningful it was to appreciate me. This is where I

began shoving self pity down the drain. I set out to kill that controlling beast that was

holding me in a dominion of believing I couldn’t do shit with my life. The more I shoved

the beast away, the harder I worked to push it down the drain, the more I pushed it down

the drain, the more I let the garbage disposal eat it away. I let go of how the beast was

controlling me. I blossomed into understanding that I was in control of the beast. Oh, how

liberating that was.

Posted in Acceptance, Aminoglycosides, Appreciation, Biomedical Research, Clinical Research, Disability, Discovery, Gentamicin, Inspiration, Institutional Review Board, Mitch Tyler, Motivation, Non Fiction, Oscillopsia, Ototoxicity, Paul Bach-y-Rita, paying attention, Perception, Pity Party Over, Rehabilitation, Research, resilence, Self Help, Sensory Substitution, Subject Zero, The Noise of Disability, Tongue Display Unit, Transition, trauma, Understanding Disability, University of Wisconsin-Madison, Vestibular System, Vocational Rehabilitation, Yuri Danilov | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment