Thursday, April 4, 2013

Dream

"The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation 
until the bright day of justice emerges."
-- Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today is April 4th.

Forty five years ago today, a man named Martin Luther King Jr. was shot to death for speaking out about injustice, about poverty, about the denial of basic human rights and dignity.  His words, his actions shone a light into the darkest corners of prejudice and hatred.  

Eighty-two days ago, a man named Robert 'Ethan' Saylor died face down on a floor in a Maryland movie theater.  He died of positional asphyxiation after being handcuffed by three off-duty deputies who were moonlighting as security guards at the mall next to the theater.

His death too, has been ruled a homicide.

Ethan was not a civil rights leader.  He was a man who will always be defined by his Down syndrome.  His death is exactly what Dr. King was talking about.

It seems to be an easy thing, dismissing this man's death.  He had a developmental delay.  He looked differently, spoke differently.  Interpreted the world around him differently perhaps.  Took a little longer to respond to things than you or I probably.  The different.  The other.

Ethan died because he had Down syndrome.  Not that his chromosome killed him, or that his health issues, probably treated less aggressively due to his having Down syndrome, caught up with him quietly in his sleep.  He died because he did not live up to the stereotype of a happy, smiling, hugging man with DS.   He died, handcuffed by three sets of linked cuffs, in a 'hogtie' position, on the filthy floor of a theater.
"...a promise that all men...would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"
There is a lot of anger in the various DS "communities" out there.  As parents, we often try and shield our kids and ourselves from the ugliness that is out there.  We involve ourselves in our chosen groups and turn our focus inward.  We get complacent, insular... and often forget how terrible those who were different had it in the past. We forget how hateful society really can be.

With Ethan's death, our innocence has been lost. 

It is painfully clear that this can happen anywhere at any time.  This isn't just a random incident isolated to the state of Maryland.  This story comes to us from San Diego.  This story comes to us from Guatemala. This story comes from the UK, where a family was asked to leave the theater as their child with DS was "laughing too loud" at a comedic film.  This story comes from New Jersey, where a teenaged couple, instead of being taken to the correct seats, were separated and made to sit elsewhere. 

There is a lot of anger floating about.  Although ruled a homicide, those that are responsible for Ethan's death walk free.  In fact, at first they went back to their regular day jobs as if nothing had happened.  After a few weeks, they were placed on "Administrative leave".  There is a demand for justice, for this life lost.
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
We have lost our blinders when it comes to how severe the hatred is out there.  Each new story tries to excuse the actions/inaction of everyone in that theater by portraying Ethan as a monster.  Instead of "young man dies", he had "anger issues".  Instead of "positional asphyxiation", he had "heart problems".  There aren't people carrying placards outside every government building and movie theater denouncing the existence of those with Down syndrome, true.  However, every online source covering this case has a litany of comments from ignorant, vitrol spewing people.  I'd re-invoked my rule of "don't read the comments" some time ago, but many parents now are viewing the extent of society's contempt for our children with reoccuring themes such as "where was his handler?", "anger issues", "retard strength" and yes, even "broke the law/deserved punishment" and "he deserved to die".   We tend to shield ourselves against such negativity; it is now there, in black and white, in our faces. There is no escaping it now;  we can't chalk this up to childish pranks or attention seeking ''shock jock' disc jockeys.  These are our neighbours.  They hate our kids.

Many people are voicing feelings of abandonment by the organizations representing their children.  People have realized in the last while that the charities that they have been donating to all these years do not advocate as they claim to do.  The giants are slumbering.  Although one has roused and briefly mumbled, those with the loudest voices of all are silent.  Passive.  Allowing their inaction to speak for them instead.
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character..."
We would like to think that all our children, not just the neurotypical ones, can walk freely with their heads held high and achieve whatever it is that they wish to achieve, to live to their potential.  That the shape of one's eye, the 'tone' of one's muscle, will mean nothing more than the beautiful variance that is humanity.  We parents feel keenly the looks, the stereotypes, the assumptions. Those living with Down syndrome are stung by the inequality and lack of representation.
"I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations..."
I was talking to a friend one night who looked at me at one point and said "It is never "off" for you is it?  There is no time when you are free from all of this [prejudice]?"

No.  There isn't.

There is a certain bone-weariness that comes with that. It in turn, makes you want to isolate yourself further.  To stop talking.  To hide once again and pretend that this is all not happening.
"But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline..."
I've heard this one too: "The problem with this is that there are too many passionate parents."  This is right, but not for the reasons that the author intended.  Parents are all too human as well.  Full of the same foibles as any random sampling of the population would be.  If anything should put to rest "only special parents are given special children" chestnut, it is a good look at this membership into the "Trisomy 21 Parenting club".  You will find the same personality disorders, the same secondary gains, the same attention seeking behaviour.  Because of this, some of the louder voices are too easily perceived as shouting randomly, by not only those minds we wish to enlighten, but by our own people.  Instead of  coming together, we are driven further apart.  Some do quite successfully talk the talk and walk the walk... but still, will never be able to fully accept their own flesh and blood as their own and it saddens me even further.
"We have also come ... to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice..."
This is a time of struggle.  This is a time of seeking social justice.  This is not a time to 'let nature take it's course' or win hearts with cute pictures.  This is a time of action.  We don't have the luxury of doing it any other way at the moment.  Ethan's death has crystallized exactly what is wrong with society and its treatment of those with Intellectual Disabilities/Developmental delays.  If we let this go, if we lie down and go quietly into the night as those that make policy would have us do, we are globally condoning the prejudice and brutality in the articles I linked earlier.  If we stop raising our voices and getting "uppity", if we allow things to continue on in more gradual way, we will be shown our "place" again and expected to stay there.

My son does not have a "place", other than at his parents and siblings side.

We need to take action.  Regardless of what country, what city you live in, these events or ones similar are occurring there as well.  Those with Down syndrome, those with Intellectual Disabilities and Developmental Delays are being disregarded out of hand.  It is time to stop being the other

We need to write.  We need to speak out.  We need to act.  We need to represent those that have no representation.  We need to get our message heard and our sound amplified by those with bigger voices.  We need those living with DS to have a larger say.  We need more self advocates.  We need visibility.

I too have a dream, you see. 

Raise your voice.

Let freedom ring.

----------------------
King, Martin Luther, Jr. "I Have a Dream." Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C. 28 Aug. 1963. Speech.

Monday, April 1, 2013

In the News - March 2013

Every month I compile a list of the stories I post on Down Wit Dat's Facebook page. They are stories of activism, of inclusion, of advocacy, of education, of hope and of love. The month of March not only featured The End the Word Day of Action, but also World Down Syndrome Day.  This list also highlights the ongoing efforts of the Down syndrome community to demand justice for Robert Ethan Saylor and to illuminate an ongoing bias towards those with Trisomy 21. 


Legend:
AUDIOindicates an audio clip
APPEAL indicates an online petition or plea
BLOG indicates a blog post
EVENT indicates a scheduled event
LINKS indicates links or resource materials
PHOTOS indicates photos
STUDY indicates a study
THREAD indicates an online discussion thread
VIDEO indicates a video

BLOG
Crumbs

Read more here: http://www.islandpacket.com/2012/12/01/2295922/beaufort-teen-with-down-syndrome.html#storylink=cpy
BLOG
Support flows for woman with Down syndrome mocked by radio DJ - See more at: http://www.dispatch.com/content/stories/local/2013/01/31/support-flows-for-woman-mocked-by-radio-dj.html#sthash.ZV10BbV0.dpuf
Rosie's Surgery
Support flows for woman with Down syndrome mocked by radio DJ - See more at: http://www.dispatch.com/content/stories/local/2013/01/31/support-flows-for-woman-mocked-by-radio-dj.html#sthash.ZV10BbV0.dpuf
Support flows for woman with Down syndrome mocked by radio DJ - See more at: http://www.dispatch.com/content/stories/local/2013/01/31/support-flows-for-woman-mocked-by-radio-dj.html#sthash.ZV10BbV0.dpuf
Support flows for woman with Down syndrome mocked by radio DJ - See more at: http://www.dispatch.com/content/stories/local/2013/01/31/support-flows-for-woman-mocked-by-radio-dj.html#sthash.ZV10BbV0.dpuf
VIDEO
BLOG

BLOG
The Slippery Slope of Special Treatment
BLOG Neurodiversity IS the Next Civil Rights Movement
LINKS
Ideal Way
BLOG
March 21st Will Never Be The Same Again by Lara Cetrulo Thomas
BLOGEnd The Word


BLOG
BLOG
The Penalty Phase – Spread the Word to End the Word
BLOG
BLOG

LINKS
Spread the Word
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
You're So....
BLOG

5 Things People Don’t Get About The Word “Retard”
BLOG




BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
VIDEO
BLOG
LINKS
BLOG
A Game-Changing Treatment for ADHD
On being Typical and not-so-Typical
A Game-Changing Treatment for ADHD


BLOG
We Need To Own Robert Ethan Saylor’s Death –
LINKS
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG


BLOG


VIDEO
BLOG
BLOG

BLOG
APPEAL


LINKS
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
LINKS
BLOG

LINKS

BLOG




VIDEO
VIDEO



BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG

BLOG


VIDEO
VIDEO


EVENT
EVENT
BLOG


BLOG
BLOG
BLOG
BLOG


LINKS
LINKS
BLOG
LINKS
BLOG
STUDY
VIDEO

This month:

Down Wit Dat's Facebook page surpassed 1100 fans! Thanks to all that got the word out.  Welcome to all our new friends.

Yay!


Down Wit Dat - The Group , our all inclusive special needs group (along with our Facebook Page and Twitter feed) have been chosen as About.com's Readers Choice:  Favorite Special Needs Online Community!  Thanks to all who voted!







Down Syndrome Uprising was mentioned in the New York Times by Lawrence Downes.

Down Wit Dat was featured along with Down Syndrome Uprising in SheKnows, in an article by Maureen Wallace.

Down Wit Dat was featured in an article by Emily Shire in The Week.


...And that's the news.  Keep the stories and information coming! 

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Down Wit Dat - The Group is the Winner of Favorite Special-Needs Online Community!

Mornings are hard these days.

This little bit of sunshine in my email this morning melted a bit of the snow that's been piling up.

It's official!  Down Wit Dat - The Group (which includes our Facebook Page and Twitter feed) is the winner of About.com's Reader's Choice Favorite Special-Needs Online Community for 2013!


I would like to thank everyone who voted tirelessly and without fail.  I would also like to thank the group itself, as it is your participation, supportive comments and advice that make it all possible.

You can see all the finalists and winners for all the categories here.   If you haven't yet said why you like our community, you can still do so here

Congratulations to all the Winners and Finalists! 

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Snow

I think we were halfway through the post-surgical slide presentation when I noticed that it had started snowing.

It had been a long morning already in Toronto. We had woken up very early, gotten ready, bundled up all the kids--against what was very much winter here--and hit the highway by six. Traffic had not been bad for a change, which should tell you what leaving 10 minutes earlier can do for travel times in the T-Dot. We were on time, arriving at the hospital early for Wyatt's pre-op day. He had a flurry of tests in succession followed by a lengthy assessment. We had met with the intake nurse, the anesthesiologist, the CVS, the booker and two researchers. My husband was asking a question and I made the mistake of of looking out the window.

Snow.

It fell in big, lazy flakes that took their time and appeared to not be in any kind of hurry to cover the gravel roof on which they fell.  Officially it was the first day of Spring, but here this was, trying it's casual best to remove any hope of warmth.  It obscured my vision and drowned out the voices in the room.  Instead of facts and images and the general din that is usually there, my mind was instead filled with a giant absence.

A silence.
Snow.

Our stress levels had skyrocketed when, the day before, the surgery date had been changed. After several calls attempting to convince us to move the date, we were informed that the surgeon was no longer available April 3rd. I was more than a little upset; I had already moved around all the vacation time I had to make sure I was off for his hospital stay (and thereby not missing any income as well). Daycare, after care, meals, laundry, shopping, going to school... the planning of ALL THE THINGS had to be adjusted as well. His surgery date is now April 10th, one week later.  One week makes a world of difference to you when you do tours that are not based on a standard 7 day rotation.  Luckily, I work for very accommodating people. When I took that call however, I wasn't sure how feasible moving everything around would be.

Four a.m. comes very early when you stay up to midnight. It was still very dark and cold when we got Wyatt dressed and my other two bundled up, still in their jammies, to have a fun day at a friends house. We rolled into the lab just before 7:15 and Wyatt got to half-watch an episode of Max and Ruby on the TV until we were called in. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that taking blood, a lot of blood, from a two year old is pretty much torture in their eyes. You can't explain things like CBCs, cross, types and matches to little ones. You just hope that you voice doesn't crack as you sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" (and all it's permutations) quietly in his ear. You hope that the tears stay in where they belong as you hear him cry in X ray, as they put him in a device to keep him from moving--with his arms over his head--while overhearing the tech tell your husband "Well, he'd better get used to it! He's gonna have a LOT of these".

His ECG seemed to go a little more smoothly, at least at first.  Those stickers were sort of cold and all his attempts to grab at the fun strings were denied.  Eventually however, the indignities he had already endured that morning plus this new frustration made it impossible for him not to cry again. Our quiet singsong seemed to calm things a bit--as did playing with the nurse's name tag--and it was over in a few moments.

We were only in the waiting room a little while before our intake nurse came in and introduced herself. The assessment part was thorough and asked many questions regarding his overall health. She told us what the rest of the day would look like, who we would meet and what each member of our upcoming parade of experts would have to offer us. I was particularly interested in meeting with the researchers to see what studies they hoped to convince us to be in.

The first researcher was lovely and we chatted long after the interview was over. She was collecting data on hospital experiences, which included not only staff-patient (or parent) interactions, but also on the surgery itself, any outcomes, difficulties, side effects and the like. If involved, we would be in contact with her almost every day of Wyatt's hospital stay and after discharge until his post-surgical follow up appointment. It sounded a lot of fun to Sean, once he heard that we would be in the group that got to play with an Ipad for a week or so. For me it seemed to be a valuable way to communicate some of the difficulties I'd been having with organization and the like regarding Wyatt's surgery. Once she was done, our original nurse came back and suggested we go for a break for half an hour until the anesthesiologist was available to come talk to us. We welcomed the opportunity for a little break as Wyatt had gotten a little fussy and we trundled off in search of coffee.

The Atrium at Sick Kids Hospital is a wonderland of elevators, fountains and random whimsical statuary. We scored a table next to some eerie leaping bronze children and sat down to collect our thoughts. Wyatt noshed on a little banana bread and was content to take everything in, while Sean and I talked over what we had learned so far. Eager to get our day over with, we went back upstairs exactly 30 minutes later and parked ourselves in the waiting room. I must have nodded off as I sat there and I was jolted abruptly by Wyatt's name being called. I quickly gathered our things and we wheeled off to another room to meet the anesthesiologist.

Wyatt too had fallen asleep so his snoring was pretty obvious when the anesthesiologist arrived. We chatted about this and other issues; I was very relieved to find out that he would be given some gas and be asleep prior to any IV lines going in. He was a kindly man and although he wouldn't necessarily be our anesthesiologist, whoever was going to be would meet us the day of the surgery. He explained that Wyatt may or may not have his breathing tube or be on the ventilator when he returned from surgery to the CCU; it would depend on how he did afterwards.

The next researcher was from the Heart Centre Biobank Registry.  This Registry collects and stores samples (such as saliva, blood, skin and other tissues) from people with either congenital or acquired heart disease.  A related history is also obtained and related to the samples; these are used to research biological (including genetic/genomic) and environmental causes of heart disease. Tissue samples from the incision site, plus about 5 mm of blood would be donated and help in research. It was fascinating to listen to and I was really enjoying the information presented, when I felt my hands go cold. I rubbed them absentmindedly, trying to warm them up as she finished her talk and left the papers for us to sign.

The CVS (Cardiovascular Specialist) was next. He explained the length and breadth of the surgery. Again, it was riveting stuff, including how they would create two separate valves out of the one shared one and suture the clefts that were left. My hands had gone cold again. I listened to him talk about the heart/lung machine, the necessary transfusions, the apparatus involved, the incisions and the complications while keeping one eye attuned to my husband's every nuance of expression to assess his understanding of the situation. I had been fiddling with a pen and continued to do so as we listened to the complications of the surgery: infection, brain damage, organ failure...

Death.

My head was nodding in understanding but my stomach was uneasy. He presented scenario after scenario: there was even an instance where, if his heart had too much swelling, they would leave the incision open (but sealed with dressings) to allow for the needed room. Once the swelling had gone down, they would then close the incision. We signed the permission forms. Wyatt was still peacefully asleep in the stroller and we sat, in silence. I brushed the hair from his forehead noticing a slight tremor in my hand.

Our nurse returned to present a slide show about what to expect when Wyatt returned from surgery. She showed images of the (at least) two tubes that would be installed to drain any fluid from his chest cavity.  There were two internal pacing wires that would be connected to his heart in the event of heart block. There would be a central line (CVA), a femoral line, peripheral IVs, each providing a different function.  There was also the incision itself. From a nursing perspective, this was great information and a bit of a review. My hands however, had started to shake harder.  Sean asked something about visitors...

Snow.

My head was a little swimmy and my eyelids were threatening to close.

Snow.

I had reached saturation.

Wyatt slumbered on, oblivious to this, only occasionally sighing and shifting in his seat. He woke up near the end of the presentation and looked around to say "Crap, are we still here?". Our nurse disappeared for a few minutes and returned in the middle of Wyatt's diaper change to tell us that the surgeon would not be available until 3 o'clock as he was in surgery. She suggested that we get some lunch and explore for a bit and she would call me about that time. We had two hours to kill.

We went back downstairs and scored ourselves some lunch. We chatted, checked our phones and generally talked about anything other than what had just transpired. We explored the gift shop and eventually made our way back upstairs. I was hoping that the big TV in the waiting room would at least keep our wee boy occupied... and maybe, just maybe, I could close my eyes for a moment again.

It was 3:15 when our nurse came back to tell us two things. One the RSV nurse wanted to talk to us (re: RSV vaccination status) and two, the surgeon was not going to be available until after 6.

We were unable to wait any more.   I scrambled to find a few alternative dates that we could come down and meet the surgeon if he had additional information to give us. Other than possibly making a personal connection with him (as part of the process), I personally felt that it wasn't necessary to meet with him other than on the day of the surgery. Sean asked if there was a way that the surgeon could call us. We made arrangements, I left some dates for the booker, including April 3rd (as we are very much free that day). We were tired, overwhelmed, concerned for our now restless son and generally unhappy, a sentiment that was only compounded when the RSV nurse asked us if our son really had Down syndrome as "...he doesn't look like it. He must have a mild case. You're doing such a great job!" We were too far gone, too exhausted to correct her at that point. We just smiled and nodded like a couple of jerks and got the hell out of there as soon as she was finished her spiel.

Sean was noticeably rattled as he stomped through the freezing street on the way to the van.  I stumbled along behind him, pushing our enormous stroller and trying not to run people over as I squinted against snowflakes both real and figurative.  He was angry that the day had been so long and that the surgeon could not meet us. I understood why the surgeon wasn't there; he was across the street preforming magic on a little person that desperately needed it. I was comfortable with that, as was he once we had a chance to discuss it.  Still, it had been a very long and stressful day. 

We talked about all that had transpired on the trip home. Other than the one X ray tech and a "well meaning" (gah!) RSV nurse, we had absolutely nothing to say but good things about the clinical staff and the researchers. Where the whole experience fell down was the planning and organization. We are in that study however, so you can bet that we will be supplying quite a lot of data about both our surgical and in-hospital 'experiences'. We drifted through the rush hour traffic until Sean absentmindedly got off on the wrong exit and we ended up taking the scenic route home. Upon arrival, we were much calmer, although completely spent. My hands had even stopped shaking. I released Wyatt to have some play time and we sat down for a quiet moment before Sean went out again to collect our other two children.  The snow had stopped for a while and the sun was doing it's best to warm what was left of the day.  It felt good on my face.  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

It's a tricky thing, this weather.

“the snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.”

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