where the writers are
Long nights

I don’t know one person who has a disability who wants to be “rescued,” given “special treatment,” or “helped.”  Honestly, we just want to be treated like everyone else….


Now that you’ve heard my diatribe I will say, I wouldn’t be alive today without having been rescued, not once but many times.  I was one of those small, rather frail children who developed severe asthma at the age of six.  Fortunately, I outgrew it once I hit adolescence.

I don’t remember now too much about the details but the memory of the people who “rescued” me has not left me.  I do remember long nights sitting with my mother or father, using an inhaler, barely able to breath, hunched over in the midst of an asthma attack.  It took all my childish strength to keep from suffocating.  When the “attack” was over, I would fall over into my bed and sleep like a baby, exhausted.  Typically, I would get up with my brother and sister and go to school. I was a determined little wretch.  My parents didn’t baby me, they gave me strength when I needed it and expected me to do everything any ordinary kid would do. 

We always went camping every summer in the Sierra’s or Yosemite with my mother’s sister and her family.  All 8 children and parents would camp out in tents for two weeks.  Remember heavy canvas tents?  One night I awoke up in one of the smelly old tents with an asthma attack.  My dear Aunt who was a nurse, sat with me for the couple of hours it took for me to get over it.  Her calm disposition, gave me the strength to keep going.  

I’m sure my strong helped keep me from the brink of suffocation during those asthma attacks but without my family who without fail “rescued” me, I would not have a story to tell at all.