DIA-BILL-IC

"Just because he's a paraplegic doesn't mean his legs don't work" -Dale

"How am I suppose to be inspiring with legs?" -Bill

Up in the middle of the night watching King of the Hill.

Dirty Laundry

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There is an insecurity and vulnerability in publicly sharing one's most intimate thoughts about their condition or the ways in which they struggle.  I often feel strung up for all to see - airing out my "dirty laundry".  

It can be extremely taxing and many times I could think of things I would rather be doing with my time.  I feel like a broken record and because I talk of it so often I find myself trying to find balance between "Kam with HIBM" and "Kam".  At times the lines blur leaving me tired.

Growing up we think of all the things we want to be or do. Being a patient advocate and sharing an abstract concept of a slowly progressing condition is something that never comes to mind.  

There is a satisfying aspect of doing or experiencing something you would have never imagined or planned, but there is also a bittersweet taste. I never thought I would be drawing or telling stories about my life. Quite frankly, I never thought my life was interesting enough to share.  I felt like I was a very regular girl and shyed away from attention as much as possible.  In fact, most of the time I do whatever I can to deflect what I do and dodge attention.  Growing up I mostly wore plain colored clothes and preferred to blend into the crowd, rather than standing out.  

I remember the day I was diagnosed with my final and real diagnosis, HIBM. It was 2004. At that time all my doctors told me to retire to a chair and that my condition was far too rare for any researcher to want to touch it, let alone any chance that I would see treatment in my lifetime. 

That all changed when I moved to Los Angeles, California in 2007.  On a particular summer afternoon I came across an article starring a pair of brothers who had more than ten years ago founded an organization, ARM, dedicated to increasing HIBM awareness in the general and scientific community. These brothers had HIBM and to my luck were doctors and research scientists as well.  Immediately, I contacted one of the doctors and invited myself to meet him later that week.  

I remember the exact afternoon I met Dr. Daniel Darvish, an HIBM research scientist and an HIBM patient, and to my surprise he was already in a powered chair needing assistance to grab mere sheets of paper. I was still walking then.

I had read the potential prognosis of a wheelchair but reading it and seeing it were two very different things. He was compassionate and said, "You couldn't have found us at a better time...treatment will happen within your lifetime." and preceded to share the history of HIBM.  

From the beginning of their enormous endeavor and undertaking they had met hundreds of patients, a rarity for HIBM'ers when so many are lucky to meet just one patient. He had made it his life's work to bring attention to HIBM and then later realized the possibility that starting his own research lab could render faster results. He was the most determined person I had ever met and I could do nothing but appreciate such a determined spirit, especially when most deflect responsibility and potential.

As he spoke to me he spoke assuming HIBM would be something that I would want to hide.  He asked, "Kam, are you sure you want to be open about HIBM? It's very hard being public."  

Confusingly, I said, "What other choice is there, do nothing and watch my body deteriorate?" 

"Very good. Very good." He smiled.

I didn't think when I got involved, nor was it for my own personal immediate gain. I was merely resting on the idea that helping and pitching in seemed to be the right thing to do.

He explained to me the culture HIBM is most common in and within that culture most view it as a horrible and shameful condition. It's genetic, you see.  HIBM predominantly affects Jewish Persian but also affects a gamut of other ethnic representations. Jewish Persian families don't want a genetic mutation stain on their family and so most hide it.  Most do not want to speak of it.  

Up to that point the Darvish brothers, and a caucasian patient in the South, who was experimenting with her own personal treatment, were of the few that were truly public.

That very day marked the beginning of my involvement with ARM. I worked to spread and expand awareness within my immediate circle. Aware that I was a designer, Dr Darvish asked if I would like to design a little brochure. It's in my nature to think bigger, so this brochure quickly exploded as an entire branding campaign that I executed for them in 2008.

My idea was it should be patients sharing their stories but I found it difficult to find individuals who wanted to share so I could publish their story in ARM  marketing materials.  I found it completely understandable that some did not want to be public.  It is a very hard thing to do.  The physical weakness is open for all to see but the emotional "weakness" is something that is easier to hide.

During the years I was relentlessly public and while the Darvish brothers shared their science and professional selves, mine was more personal sharing.  I was no scientist nor doctor, but I was living with HIBM. That was all I could offer.  After years of working with them, I decided maybe sharing just a little more of myself is what was needed.  My friends and family knew the textbook form of HIBM but did they really know what it was like?  If even they didn't know, then how could strangers?

One of the inspirations for this decision of public blogging and art was that I hated that few truly knew about HIBM and the patients it impacts. HIBM is way more than those four letters. It is way more than the symptoms and prognosis.  

Through the years I had the opportunity to know the Darvish brothers and what they personally go through, and that knowing made me more committed because I could see how committed they were despite the difficulty.  

They aren't perfect, as all of us aren't, but they took on accountability and responsibility and were genuine in their vision and that is what I have stayed loyal to was their loyalty.  To know intimately how difficult it has been for them to be so public, facing public scrutiny, judgement, the center of rumors, politics, xenophobia and the prominence that their lack of status and wealth - despite having the brain power - causes a community to look down on them, was and is overwhelming to be in the middle of.

I felt like I experienced the real story and I hated that no one really knew them.  It is one thing to deal with a lifelong debilitating and relentlessly selfish disease, but it is another thing to put yourself in the middle of the arena for all to see or scrutinize.  I couldn't do anything but respect that.  

The Darvish brothers were not concerned about their image, status nor receiving personal scientific credit.  The focus was so strong that spending time to write out scientific publication submissions to heighten their name, which is usual and necessary in science, in their eyes, only wasted time that could be spent on pushing HIBM research forward.

I hated that know one really knew them as real people and I hated that people didn't know the stories and the plight of the patients I had begun to meet around the world.  That is when I began blogging and soon after began drawing about it. 

My friend asked me if I was sure I wanted to be so open.  My first and last name combination is the only name in cyber world so if you google my name everything about me pops up with the word "disabled" all over the place.  I did think about it.  

I wondered, "When I job search, will the company google my name and will they not be interested after they read all about me?"

If you are honest and genuine, I believe things will work out.   If a company didn't want me - not that I use that as a crutch for NOT getting a job - for that very reason then I knew they didn't deserve me because I am way more than a stick, leg braces and two wheels.  

It can be taxing to share and sometimes I wonder if I should have started this whole endeavor but the good thing about taking a leap is it leads to other unexpected paths.  So, just know there is science and advocacy being done on this very rare condition I have and it is being done in a few places around the world and one of them is ARM (Advancement of Research for Myopathies).  

When someone tells you that know one will care about you because you are too rare, keep searching until you find someone that tells you they do care.

Brace Yourself

 It has been awhile since I've posted. In the meantime I have finished  a few drawings.  

I remember the day I picked up leg braces that were specifically molded for my legs. It was the summer of 2003, a year or so after I had started using a cane.  For my condition, a patient experiences what is called 'foot drop' early on.   It's the dropping of the forefoot due to weakness, or other reasons. It was this initial symptom back in 2000 that triggered the alarm that something wasn't quite right.  

I look like I'm dragging my foot when I walk and through the years it has gotten worse.  Back in 2003 I knew I couldn't safely walk around anymore without assistance.  I wasn't happy about this day. After all, leg braces are so not cool.

Leg braces stick out in a crowd and people stare, the very thing I hate.  I don't like to stick out or be known.  I'm a behind the scenes person. I barely liked to be noticed and now suddenly my list of assistive devices were growing.  But I was going to college, living alone and in a grueling, both physically and mentally, college program so I couldn't have any pride when it came to getting things done. By any means necessary.  

This summer day I drove to my orthotics doctor and they showed me my brand new pair of legs.  A milky white pair of plastic braces that run up to just below the knee and to the bottom of my feet. They were ugly.  I hated them.  I felt embarrassed for having to wear them.  

When I put them on my walking became drastically different. I was walking like a bionic woman.  My strides were quick. I felt myself almost tumbling forward because it was to quick.  I'm used to slow.  Because they are a rigid plastic frame wrapped around my legs and feet there was absolutely zero flexibility at the ankles, which was difficult to get used to. I felt like a robot with these foreign and ugly apparatuses tying me down. I was like a dog whose head hangs low when their master forces them to wear embarrassing head cones.  This was just another milestone telling me that this condition was in fact real and the prognosis correct.

"It really does continue to progress." I thought.

I strided out of the office and though it was sort of a sad milestone, the gained abilities was a positive.  I could walk easier, faster and I really did feel like a bionic woman.  I could suddenly walk a little easier, something that had become increasingly difficult years prior.  

There were all sorts of things I needed to get used to. Imagine wearing a cast on your legs every day of your life. How comfortable or sexy can you feel in those?  They were heavy, clunky, sweaty and restrictive. They forced my foot to a constant right angle position, so you can imagine how uncomfortable they make my legs, hips and knees feel. My legs lived in these and they were always uncomfortable.  Driving was different, lowering myself to the ground, crossing my legs, sitting styles, ascending and descending curbs, walking up ramps, etc.  It was all different and I had to learn all over again.    

Sometimes, I don't recognize my legs. The dented shins from years of wearing straps across them. My limp, floppy ankles. My lifeless feet that just hang there with toes that barely wiggle. They tell stories filled with character. They've seen some shit.  They have experienced time at a much quicker pace then they should have.  

Sexy really is all in your mind but the trick is getting past yourself.  It takes some guidance to teach others, and yourself, how to look at braces, wheelchairs and canes differently.  It takes a bit of time.  

How do you unteach yourself the definition of what's cool, normal or acceptable?  Even people who claim to be "different", against popular crowds mixed with efforts to be outrageous and unusual in their appearance still subscribe to a particular group and uncomfortable being with those who are not the same.

It takes a long time and everyone has their own pace, but what's sexy has nothing to do with your appearance, yet it's the confidence and comfort within yourself.

Years ago I did my best to hide my braces. I would never take them off in front of others, in fact most people didn't even know I wore braces.  I always wore long pants or long dresses to hide them.  Today, I don't care as much.  I whip them off in public without a problem. I have not worn a short dress since the day I got my first pair of braces, but perhaps this summer is the time to try that. Another milestone of not caring if people think I'm different. 

Nowadays, because the disease has obviously progressed over the years, my legs definitely don't feel like bionic woman anymore. In fact, I haven't for years as my legs have grown slower and slower. But I still vividly remember that summer day -- it was like strapping on my superhero gear that gave me super powers. Super powers that most people do without a thought.  

All of us have unique superpowers. It's finding them that takes so long. I have got really good at learning to adapt, but still have a long way to go. My condition continues to force me to adapt, whether I want to or not, and as seamless as it may look, it's a constant struggle and every minute I am forced every minute to put myself out there.  

Adaptation is an invaluable tool to have in life.  It's all about adapting.  If you don't adapt then life leaves you behind.  

My Illustrations Now on Facebook

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I started a fan page for my illustrations. For 2012 I would like to grow the number of drawings and start getting them out there.  Help me by passing my link around and give it a "like"yourself!  

Also, do you like my new shirt? Found it a thrift store. It spoke to me. When I grow up I hope to be shouting like an old man from my chair.

Don't Forget About Yourself

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I've been meaning to do this post for awhile.  I mentioned since moving back to LA I have been focusing on physical therapy.  When I lived in San Francisco I did a bit of swimming and at the beginning stages of my condition I had been involved with physical therapy that was paid through my insurance, which means you only get so many sessions and your doctor has to prescribe a new one every time (Privatized insurance sucks).  

This place is different as therapy has come out of my own pocket. But this place is well-known and well-priced.  I just finished four months of therapy and I am on a break until the next session starts.  I've been doing it four days a week; 2 land (gym) days and 2 water days at a place in Northridge, California called 'Center of Achievement'; an extension of the well known physical therapy program at CSUN.

It was great.  It felt awesome to feel active and to be doing something entirely for myself.  The best part was AJ.  He was my aquatics partner. We grew into fast friends. I wholly appreciated the effort he put into me. He is good at what he does and most importantly personally cared for my physical well-being, sometimes, even emotional.  

When AJ sense I was having a particular bad day, even though I'd try to hide it with a more cheerful self, I could see it all over his face. He knew and would be there like a friend.  He seemed to really care about what he does and would think of creative routines to help build or maintain certain physical areas.  Swimming was probably my favorite because you can do things in water that you can't do on land, like walking without braces or devices. For that hour, I gain an insight of what "it" used to be like.  

Most of the time we would laugh during the session. I would tell him if I laugh I become physically incapacitated because it takes muscles working in cooperation to both walk and laugh at the same time. My muscles aren't multi-taskers.  So, I would do my best to focus. Sometimes in this hour I would take full advantage and day dream as if this temporary movement was my every day.  

If I was doing the water treadmill I would try and stay focused to avoid tripping. With eyes closed I would imagine myself walking down the street, down the sidewalk like a "normal" person.  It was a great place to be.

I can't express how important it is to get yourself physically active--in whatever form that may be.  Do what you can and if you are an HIBM patient, or any person with physical ailment, get yourself out there and move what you can.  With HIBM it's important to maintain what you have.  Even  though patients can't do alot of exercise, because it could damage and tear muscles, it's important to not forget about yourself.

I did. I should have been doing it all this time but I tend to concentrate too much on others.  Between the work I do with ARM, the organization that is working on a treatment for my condition, trying to be there for other patients, other people, engrossed in work, etc.,

I tend to forget about myself.  It's a good and bad trait, I know this.  I guess I can't help it. I sometimes hate that part about myself. Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much and was more selfish. I wish I concentrated on myself more, but like Jason says, I don't usually think, I just do.  

Feeling other people's pain and suffering or being inspired triggers the "doing" mode and my passion of "What can I do?" comes front and center.  

I've heavily neglected myself through the years.  It's hard enough dealing with the loss of your body, but helping those that are trying to get a treatment to surface, the burden of constant responsibility and accountability, feeling everyone's sadness and plight -- is all overwhelming, taxing and sometimes lonely. Because of the lack of help in this HIBM mission I feel overwhelmed.  

How do you help others and help yourself at the same time?  I can't in all good conscious walk away, but there needs to be balance.  And, that is what life is all about.  Finding balance and growth.  Don't be completely and unapologetically self important, selfish, but don't sacrifice yourself completely, either.

So, moral of the story? Keep calm and keep moving.  It's important to keep yourself going, because once this condition graduates to later stages you will have wished you would have done more to take care of yourself.

We may not be able to build muscle but the little bit we can work with will make you feel better.  The release of endorphins is needed and essential.  Keep yourself mentally and physically curious.

It's easy to make excuses.  When we say, "I don't have time" I think that is misused.  It's not that we don't have time, we just haven't made that particular thing or person a priority.

Thanks, AJ!   See you next semester.

Alas, It Was All Just a Dream

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A recurring dream.

There are more than a handful of dreams that I have had since childhood and most of them have evolved over time. Many of them unpleasant.  

I was a little hesitant to share this one.  Dreams are so personal and if it fits into a certain box people assume the meaning of your dream.  For teeth falling out I believe it's something like anxiety of appearance, how you look to someone else or the sense of loss of control.  With sharing such popular dream themes I hesitated, because one, it's personal and two, it leaves an opening for assumption.  

Alas, I share, because I guess I don't care what other people think and we all have dreams that contain revealing elements about us. This one is definitely one of my more normal dreams. 

I'm not sure if the whole teeth thing is a vanity thing, but you never know.  

These dreams that I've had since childhood are usually ongoing and evolving and truly frightening. I'll save the gory details but I usually people I know aren't in my dreams. 

I believe I have always had a phobia about losing my teeth.  Not to the extent where I'm obsessive compulsive about brushing or flossing.

The teeth fall out, I chew them and it feels so real, it turns into powder and all of the above.  The dream is not so traditional where it is only about teeth falling out, this particular dream has other strong elements involved.  

Maybe this stems from being fully aware of people around me who had lost their teeth at a young age, including my mother.  Call it fear of loss or whatever. I don't really care to get analytical about it or told what I need to do less or more of something. I'm just sharing. I thought it would make for a cool illustration and express something different. I may illustrate some of these frequent and long lived dreams some other time.  

As I've gotten older I realize most of these recurring dreams are built around the fear of loss and abandonment, which is strange since I always thought that being adopted didn't really bother me.  

Like every child I went through the stages of trying to fit in. But I had to do it a very white community. These adolescent struggles never really seeped in me so deeply where it paralyzed me socially or emotionally, though.  But, I'm sure it has wormed its way into my subconscious and it's there. These dreams I've had since childhood, some of them are B.A. (before America).  

Before I was adopted I had a childhood in Korea, a childhood I know nothing about or even remember. Perhaps these lost memories have resided in my dreams throughout the years. Who knows. I try not to overly think it and I certainly don't want to waste time whining over it, because I had a decent childhood.  But, alas, these dreams I've had since then kind of speak to me and perhaps would work well in illustration form, since the fear of loss actually showed up in a very visual and real form; the loss of my own body.  The fear of loss and abandonment. I, like everyone hate publicly listing all my fears. But hey, we all  have them so there is nothing to feel embarrassed about.  

Prior to HIBM I was not one to sit and pour out all my feelings.  In fact, I hate such things and was quite the opposite.  My mother would fight with me for hours to express myself. 

"Why did I do what I did, what was I thinking, what did I have to say for myself" was out typical conversation. I would hold it all in. I always saw myself as extremely introverted, which is funny because most people who know me now see me as extroverted.

But I was always in thought and considered myself more of a loner in life. I'd rather keep to myself, because isn't it safer that way?  But, as we get older, it's no longer about safety, I suppose.  We all have a story to tell and from its own angle it's interesting and real and deserving of being shared.