The Day Patches Remembered...

Along the way now and then I have been blessed with some very bright shining touch of wonder moments.  Those rare moments when amazing Magic happens...

Not long after Patches came into my life I had yet another spine surgery.  Through no fault of my dear surgeon everything went wrong.  I suddenly began bleeding out thirteen hours in.  Immediately following nineteen hours of surgery, a huge hematoma formed on my spinal cord and began pressing on it.  I was becoming paralyzed.  My surgeon rushed back in and it took another four hours to remove the hematoma.  Twenty-three hours in surgery that day!😱

Two days later on Christmas Day in ICU, my dear surgeon and I discovered I still had a tiny bit of movement in a few toes.  For all I was worth I focused on my toes until they ALL eventually began moving.  Then my feet, legs.  I had a very full life to get back to!

The spine surgery was two days before Christmas.  It was Spring when I finally reached the place where I could walk with a cane instead of a walker.  I wondered if Patches would still remember me.  He was only six months old when I "disappeared," and now he was ten months old! 

One bright Sunday a fellow boarder offered to take me to the farm since I still couldn't drive.  

The farm was very busy that day.  I was so touched for I learned many had come out when they heard 

I was going to be there!  We were all so thrilled to finally see each other again!

I saw Patches way off in the distance high on a hill.  Someone offered to go get him for me.  

"Thank you!  First, please wait a moment," I said.  

I cupped my hands and called his name.  Suddenly Patches' head shot up and he began excitedly looking around as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.  I called again and waved my arms.

In response he loudly neighed and began flying 

down that field.  Then he briefly disappeared from sight.  Suddenly Patches burst forth in sight again 

at full gallop charging up the hill while so excited he was trying to neigh but squeaked instead.

EVERYONE but Patches stopped right where they were, watching.  Tough horsemen were wiping tears away from their eyes.  We ALL realized we were witnessing something very beautiful, special, and magical unfold before us talked about for decades.  Even all the horses stopped, watching this scene unfold!

Patches slammed to a stop a few feet from me, then walked up to me happily rubbing his head up and down me again and again.  Oh my, did Patches EVER remember me!

This...was indeed one of those amazing, rare 

"touch of wonder" gems in life I will hold onto forever deep within and never let slip from my grasp.

For I was blessed with a very bright shining diamond that day.💫🐎🥰🐎💫

Patches charging up the hill at full gallop to 

me.  Before I could take the next photo Patches was already happily rubbing his head up and down me again and again.  Everyone there including me, had tears pouring down our cheeks because we all knew we had just seen the very powerful magic of love happen before us.

Flamboyantly Just Doesn't Give A Shit...

 

Everyone who knows me or who has known me, absolutely loves my "style" of dressing.

It's Boho, Soho, Theatrical, I Don't Give A Shit and more.  When you are a Little Person who studied theatre, ballet, dresses like a hippie or artist, who is also known to be divinely flamboyant AND rides horses, you have a style all your own even coveted by those who are of average height.  Because for me you see, it's anything goes!🤣

I wear hats.  Always have.  Always will.  They make me feel taller...look taller.  And back in the 1970's when platform shoes were the rage, with a hat AND platform shoes my height could actually increase by a whopping FIVE inches!  I could reach water fountains, payphones, and actually be seen over a counter!😂

My feeling has been since people are going to stare rudely and call me ugly words anyway why not just 

sock it to them as someone very flamboyantly stylish who appears she doesn't give a shit how mean and disrespectful they are?!!  Like why not just be seen rising above this shit in a very GRAND proud style?!!  

I know, I know.  But when one lives in a body like mine, to surviva-soar one must embrace whatever it takes to walk TALL.  This may seem crazy, yet the way I dress helps to offset the constant, very mean invasive ridicule out there.  You see it's like I am "saying" without words to these non-humans, "Go to hell, because you are not making ME feel less!"  

Friends though keep telling me they think these idiots are just jealous because they can't pull off being able to dress the way I do.  When one is already packaged in uniqueness, one has to embrace a unique style.

I must be doing something right for I often am praised and admired by total strangers for the ways I dress. 

I have always loved dance and dance wear.  I never need worry about fit because of the wrap around leotard skirts and so forth.  Aiden so flipped out when we met because there I was riding Patches in leotards with a long wrap around leotard skirt on wearing an amazing hat!  I so intrigued Aiden he lost his heart.  So did I.  And then he stole my hat.😂

Anyway, I love mini-skirts for the average size female, as they always fit perfectly on me with NO HEMMING ever NEEDED!😂

When I know I am at my very best in whatever I wear I walk taller, feel taller, and THAT my dear friends is what matters most when one just happens to standout like a neon light.

In 1984 I wrote the following poem, which kind of says it all:

And I can dance too.

See me rise,

Rise above the stage,

Dancing free,
Dancing proud,
Dancing beautiful.

So dance proud in what you wear, my dear ones.

  

Just go out there walking tall and be your best flamboyantly-don't-give-a-shit-anything-goes like Adelaide and do it with aplomb.😂

           Adelaide flamboyantly dressed as usual                                     holding Bashum, taken by Aiden 

My Missing Mother...

My apologies for reposting this!😳 Whenever I repost a previous blog piece, if I do not change the title it messes up the synchronization so I may keep tract as to what I post when...that you hopefully will not get stuck reading the same piece more than once each four months or so.😂👍As always, I remain profoundly grateful to all for your readership.🥰💫

In all these blogs I have seldom mentioned my mother other than the drinking, fighting, and violence.  Sadly there are reasons.  I have few photos of my parents anyway.  Recently when I found a stash of photos I 

have shared here I came across a photo not in the folder, but the bottom of a box.  It is difficult for me to see because it clearly shows the "disconnect" I always felt from very young age of having a "missing mother."  She was not missing in the context she had gone someplace, no, but the love for and acceptance of her child was missing.  For you see my mother could never deal with the fact her child had a deformity.

When people rudely stared at and made remarks about the midget toddler, she would get angry at ME, not them and blamed me for being the reason why they were being ugly to me.  She continued doing this into my adulthood.

My mother lived in hate and blamed everyone for her problems.  She was never ever at fault, nor did she 

ever apologize for anything...to anyone.

Interestingly my Grandfather who was seeking custody of me before he suddenly died, told me there was a Little Person in my mother's high school class.  She and a group of others tormented this poor guy unmercefully.

They would kick his stools he needed out from under him.  They chanted ugly words at him.  Laughed at him.  Made his life hell.  Even after they graduated.  [This proves what goes around comes around folks!]

So you see, my missing mother already had a huge disdain for we "midgets" before I even got here.  I was her nightmare come true.  The disconnect was sealed.  You can see it in photos.  And see it in this.  In the photos I am actually being held by her, I am being held away from her.  Not held close.  Not cuddled. 

I could feel The Disconnect.  And always felt it.

My Grandfather is the one who took this photo.  He said in the next moment I was reaching out for him crying.  He said I constantly reached out not only crying for him but everyone...except...my...mother.

I have written about my dear babysitter I had from age three to four who I especially clung to then.  Most kids do not want to leave their parents.  I on the other hand, did not want to leave WITH mine.  Or LIVE with them.

They drank and fought constantly often screaming as they lunged at each other with knives as I screamed for them to stop.  A few years later when guns were in their hands as they screamed, I screamed for them to kill each other.  The violence never ended.  Nor did my fear.

Often I had nothing to eat...except old uneaten crusts 

of pizza and the remaining beer I would find at the bottom of bottles.  One day at the babysitters I threw up pieces of cigarette butts I had eaten because I was so hungry and they were all I could find.  In this day and time she would have had places to call to report what she knew I was living with.  As weekends were even worse, she did however convince my father to please allow me to spend weekends with her family.  Those weekends at Mrs. Cassity's probably saved my life then.

Many years later in my late twenties as I was passing through town she was absolutely thrilled when I called to see if I could stop for a visit.  Mrs. Cassity still lived 

in the very same home and little had changed.  As I told her how the rest of my childhood went, horses, art, Theatre Scene Design, and my mentor friends she cried.  She was so proud of me and so grateful I was living such a full, happy loved life.

After I told Mrs. Cassity how at age four my father had abandoned me in a woods to die not long before he was kicked out of law school due to his drinking, she cried.  Said she knew something awful had happened to me in the days following that shattering nightmare, because I very uncharacteristically was quiet...waaay too quiet and though she gently tried to grasp what horror I just experienced, she realized it was not because I didn't WANT to talk...it was because I COULDN'T for I was so traumatized by the abandonment.

Before I left Mrs. Cassity had something very special to share with me she had kept and treasured all those years.  She brought out a little clay horse.  I recognized

it, because I made the little horse as everything I created was a horse.  She was going to give it to me and though I was very touched and grateful, I wanted her to keep it.

Back to my mother a moment.  She lived a very bitter miserable life blaming everyone for being why her life was this way.  Where my father had recognized the terrible things he had done to me, expressing remorse and seeking my forgiveness, my missing mother never did.  

Yet through this blog and by being with me on this amazing journey of my Life Of WOW here, you happily know I surviva-soared despite having a missing mother.  My dear adult friends all during my childhood who nurtured, hugged, and loved me through are also why.🥰💫

The Self-esteem Project...

Back in 1990's I was asked to take part in a very unique project to help others.  

Serena, a psychologist, had known about me for years due to the media coverage about my art and The Ride with Patches, my horse.  She had also been hearing about how inspiring I was too.

Serena was acquainted with my orthopaedic surgeon and one day called him to see if he would tell me about this self esteem project she wanted to conduct.

So I get a call from my orthopaedic surgeon.🙂

"Adelaide, a psychologist I know wanted me to see if you could take part in some kind of self esteem doll making project for women with self esteem issues, and no, not because YOU need help in this area but because she strongly feels your presence will benefit these women in ways she can't."

"A doll?!!  What kind of a doll?"🤔

"I don't know.  But knowing you and knowing how you and your friend have been successfully speaking at the Women's Prison I think you would have a huge impact.  Her name is Serena and she can explain it all to you.  By the way, I think you would be a very cute little doll."🤣

So I spoke to Serena.  She felt since I attained all I did and was doing in MY body I could have an impact on the women struggling with self esteem who were insecure and unhappy because they focused on perceived things wrong with their bodies which inhibited them.  Some seriously.

The doll.  Over three days we all, Serena and I too, would be making life-size three dimensional dolls of ourselves taken from our exact measurements...head to toe.

"Uh, and then what?"🤔

"Focus on reshifting the negative self image these ladies have of themselves into positive ones.  And to help them begin to learn to accept and embrace their bodies."

Serena received a small grant to do this project.  She had to spend a large amount of the grant for the supplies and refreshments needed yet was trying to still give me a stipend for my time.  Since I happened to be free the weekend this would be I waived the stipend.  Like how many opportunities does one ever get to make a life-size doll of themselves anyway?🤣

Nine ladies in addition to Serena and I were there.  As we began to introduce ourselves all the ladies blurted out, "YOU'RE THE PATCHES LADY!"  They all had followed our story during The Ride saga and knew me as everyone did by my horse Patches' name because no one could remember my name.  I was touched.😃  

Then each of them shared their stories and reasons for being there.  One lady was struggling to overcome being bulimic; two others were overweight; one had a problem with aging; another had a problem with being too short but just simply meeting me already had a positive effect she said; one had a liver transplant a few years earlier but was struggling with how the anti-rejection drugs changed her appearance; another was struggling with how the chemo treatments she was getting had made her look; and one was just very insecure and had never felt good about herself.😪

The time came for us all to begin making a doll of ourselves.  We were asked to choose partners and immediately they all asked to be mine.  So we worked out a way for me to be a partner with each lady through the three days of the project.  

First we had to measure each other from head to toe.  Then as one lay on sheets of newsprint paper another drew their outline to make a pattern to be pinned on muslin and cut out.  By the end of our first day arms, legs, torsos, heads, hands, and feet were strewn everywhere.

The next day the sewing by hand process began by bringing all the body parts together to be filled with stuffing to make our dolls three dimensional.  As we sewed there was some very serious talk as Serena 

and I spent time individually with each lady.  They each were especially keen to know how I got to be where I was/am in accepting myself even with the constant mean ridicule I live with each day.  

I shared how my mentor friend Joseph had me make a "Dwarf Card," and the huge effect it had upon my young life.  Then striving to focus upon the positives and not the negatives by having a gratitude attitude.  

One of my many sayings they each very touchingly scrolled onto their dolls was, "We cannot get anywhere by remaining where we are.  That we have to WANT to ignite our inner spark into flames and KEEP it burning bright by not giving others or the negative part of our inner self the power to extinguish our spark."

I also gave them a list of the books which had also made a huge difference in my young life.  They all, including Serena wrote down everything I shared.  Because Serena was privately counseling the ladies I had given them ways they could begin attaining self acceptance by working together with her. 

The third day we had fully completed our dolls and dressed them with clothes we brought then placed them in chairs across from each of us.  There was a long silence.  Serena asked me first about the thoughts I had.

My very glorious inspiring first thought to share with them upon seeing my exact 3-D replica was this:

"Ohhh SHIT, Adelaide!  You really ARE a DWARF!"😂  

Yet I suddenly realized just how MUCH self acceptance I had been blessed to attain with my journey and SO grateful I could, because there had been a time in my young life when seeing my exact image in 3-D form across from me would have been horribly difficult.😖  Oh my, how God had helped me embrace from deep within my soul, that HE created me this way for a special reason!

Every lady was forced to see themselves in a whole new way.  Yet in a way which began a brand new journey of self acceptance and self esteem for each one of them.  Their lives were forever changed.💥

So what happened to my life-sized doll replica?  

Well after a few years she began terribly "aging" by graying and losing much of her "innards" as I did too with additional surgery for cancer, then followed by two emergency abdominal surgeries needed to keep me alive longer.  

Then when a theatre really needed my talents I moved and the poor doll got stuffed into my car trunk yet she kept scaring the hell out of people whenever I opened 

it you see.  People kept assuming the doll was a REAL human.😱

Finally, the time had come to bid my dear rapidly deteriorating doll replica goodbye before I got arrested for having a body in my trunk.  Though I had to send her remains off in these nice dignified black trash bags, she would always hold a very special place within my galloping journey.🤣💫

This is a photo taken of me for a art magazine piece about my life and art about the same period the Doll Project took place.

A Bright Encounter...

After the tragic death of Aiden and the shining life lost we had together I left Maryland with Patches in tow for a small theatre as Scene Designer.  I knew this would be my last Design Season and likely my final move as my health was severely deteriorating.

Yet before I left Maryland a bright magical encounter happened and one clearly meant to happen...

  

A Japanese actor in a production at a theatre I had done the set for and I became friends.  Miko had been in the U.S. with his family for several years after they moved to Maryland.  Miko's parents who were both educators came too and Miko's Grandfather.

It was not long before I became close with them all.  Especially Miko's grandfather, Akio.  Now Akio knew as much English as I knew Japanese which was zilch.  But sometimes when a special friendship is meant to be not even a language barrier gets in the way.

For you see Akio was an artist who rendered beautiful pieces in Japanese ink, having learned from his father and grandfather.  Sadly though neither his son or grandson had any interest in being taught the ancient techniques.

Then along comes Adelaide who had a passion for Japanese ink drawings of all time periods.  I loved working with Japanese ink.  But because of my work and caring for a horse what I learned came only from books.  So to encounter Akio, a Japanese artist taught in the ancient techniques was thrilling.

I hit it off with Akio the moment we met.

When Miko introduced us, Akio told Miko I was short which Miko translated to me.  

I responded with laughter in my usual very dignified good behavior by suddenly blurting out, "No shit!"😳

Well "shit" just happened to be a word in English Akio 

knew and burst into laughter shocking his family.  He told Miko he thought "the bright sun" was in me.  So we really hit it off.  Who knew "shit" would be the beginning of a very dear friendship?!!😂

The next time I saw Akio I brought an album I threw together to open my life up for him.  I had photos of me in various phases of theatre set construction and scene painting.  As Akio's family explained what I did, he expressed to them how impressed he was by my work in theatre.

Then I showed him my Patches photos.  And guess what Akio asked his family to ask me?!!  Drumroll...the question I am asked more than any other, "How DOES she get ON her horses?!!"  Only in Japanese.

He was impressed.

Akio became more impressed much to my delight when I showed him my equine art.  And then...AND THEN...my Japanese ink drawings.  Akio's eyes suddenly filled with tears. 

Then when I asked if he would teach me the ancient techniques Akio had tears pouring down his cheeks.  He was very touched to discover someone who knew and appreciated the ancient techniques and was eager to be taught by a master in them.

Now it was my turn to be touched.  He agreed.  Even said it would be an honour!  Soon we all had tears.

So began the odyssey of teacher and student.  All because the only word of English Akio knew was "shit."

The wise teacher and eager student were on our own for the ancient technique sharing.  For you see the sharing of art transcends language.  Especially when there is passion involved.  For nearly four months we

painted together.  Then apparently my dear teacher who was in his late eighties had sensed his time to cross over was near as he was busy with the help of his son preparing a large wooden box for the "no shit" friend and student he treasured having as much as I did Akio.

We really had a special bond.

After Akio crossed peacefully in his sleep one night, Miko and his parents had me over.  Said they had something very special to present me with.  But first Akio's son wanted me to know how much I had brightened his father's life.

Until then, I did not know, but Akio also referred to me as "the little Samurai," because he felt my indomitable spirit.  And he believed anyone as little as me galloping on the barebacks of horses had to have the courage of the Samurai.

In the wooden box were Akio's brushes of all sizes handed down for generations as well as pens made out of various woods to be dipped in ink too.  There were bottles and bottles of the finest ink made in Japan, including the finest, exquisite papers made by hand for ink painting.

And finally, something to me more special than all:  a heavy Samurai Horse two centuries old made out of sterling silver and pewter.  The arch of the neck of this horse has been worn smooth as you will soon see.  

Why?

Because it has been believed by rubbing the neck one will be smiled upon, able to win the battles to be fought.

Akio believed I needed all the help I could get in fighting mine.

I have three drawing/art tables.  On one is where I keep this special and very treasured Samurai Horse.  He proudly stands with his arched neck worn smooth with the hands of those who came before me.  Since he is also where I take my forty-nine pills each day, we spend a lot of time together. 

And always my fingers reach out to rub the neck as I remember a dear Samurai who came before me who passed along his art to his eager student. 

And oh, so much more.

READERS...

My dear ones, since this blog and my life have always been about living my life on the bright side this is the place where I strive to bring you.  For you see my journey is not defined so much by where I am now but by the many amazing ways I arrived.

For the second time only I shall open the window and share with you what my days are really like at this time of my journey where my body brings me... 

There has been a reason why I refer to my spinal cord inflammation disease as that and not in more detail than what is officially happening within my spinal cord because it is so complicated.  Also scary for those who care and I care about not wanting to burden those who care.

Yet I daresay for this blog as a whole, I need to open another window as I did previously about what my days are currently.  So I will share in medical detail what exactly my spinal cord inflammation disease is so it is fully explained.

First due to not having cartilage between my vertebra this alone has compromised my spinal cord, besides a severe curvature of my spine.  Surgeries were needed as bone was pressing in on my spinal cord causing pain and nerve damage to my bladder.  One spine surgery turned into seven.  Three of them to remove adhesions also pressing in on my spinal cord from the first four spine surgeries.  As you know I had to learn how to walk again twice following surgeries.

During the 1980's I had four myelograms.  This is a diagnostic procedure used by my neurosurgeons and orthopaedic surgeons together.  An oil based dye was injected directly into my spinal cord as I lay on a movable X-ray table.  No sedation could be used as my team needed me alert.  The table was then moved so the dye could be moved and viewed within my spinal cord, so my team could have a better understanding of how bad the worse things were and where.

The plan was to then extract the dye from my spinal cord, only when this was attempted, my arms and legs violently went out of control thrashing about.  Again and again.  This was dangerous and absolutely terrifying, for me and my teams.  So the dye had to be left in.

The problem with this is I had FOUR myelograms during the 1980's...two of them from my neck to L-5, the whole length of my spinal cord.  The dye in its entirety had to be left inside all four times.  A massive amount.

By the late 1980's it was discovered the oil in the dye was causing horrific problems within spinal cords.  Even the majority of cases where the dye could be extracted (since then, the dye is no longer oil based).

Within our spinal cords we have what are known as arachnoids...these are the network of nerves which resemble spider webs, hence the name.  The oil severely inflames these.  Thus making my case more dire since so much inflammation was already happening within my spinal cord from my dwarfism and the trauma of seven spine surgeries.  For this was then met with the massive amount of oil where it was best described by my Johns-Hopkins neurosurgeon as being an atom bomb detonated within my spinal cord unleashing a very powerful destructive inflammation explosion ever moving upwards causing shutdown. 

This not only causes excruciating pain that never ends but the worsening nerve damage to my legs, urinary and digestive tracts.  There is nothing that can be done to stop the progression.  In recent years I had to begin using a walker which I must use when I leave home.  I cannot stand long and fall down a lot.  It's hard to believe how I spent decades galloping on all my horses bareback now.

Because my bladder and colon are severely failing I also live with the infections and intense nausea as touched on already.

I am beginning to have shortness of breath.  The severe inflammation will next begin affecting my respiratory system.  My doctors and I have long known this would all eventually happen when I was handed this at the age of thirty-four.  They did however expect me to be where I am now, or worse, twenty years earlier than this so my being as physically active as I have been besides my indomitable spirit has given me far more time.  Perhaps so I could finally begin putting into writing here what I was either speaking about or telling funny stories about as I promised many I would do someday.🐎💫

Some would feel cheated but I always focus on my glass as being full and never empty...for my glass has been and still remains full.  I have been blessed to do a thousand things many non height challenged people have never done or experienced.

My dear ones, now you may understand why I have kept my inflammation disease within my spinal cord as just that, because it involves so much more.

So for today I have now opened the window on this.

Know I remain very blessed.  My challenging amazing galloping journey bringing me here is why.  

And sharing it with you.

How grateful I am for each of you.🐎💫

READERS...

[My Dear Twitter Readers, when I began this blog I made the decision to write only about my very full journey and not where my deteriorating health has brought me to now.  I have always been far more at ease being the pied piper rather than going in depth about where my health has brought me.  Several months ago though I opened a rare window going in depth where I am and what days are like being in my body because I have touched on the dire prognosis given to me at age thirty-four where my body was taking me.  As I have many new blog readers since I posted these two pieces I am reposting these.  Not to bring sadness but understanding of where I am to also hopefully convey my resiliency and continued courage to inspire.  Because it takes fire to make a diamond.  And darkness to make a star shine bright.  And so I open My Window.]

My dear ones, there is a huge reason why I do not write about my current day to day life in detail.  For one thing it cannot change and I think it would not only be very BORING but probably would make you sad.  Since this blog and my life have always been about living my life on the bright side this is the place where I strive to bring you.  For you see my journey is not defined so much by where I am now but by the many amazing ways I arrived here.

For the second time only I shall open the window and share with you what my days are really like at this time of my journey. 

First, since I must take forty-nine pills a day I spend a great deal of time shoving medication into my mouth while gulping down large amounts of water.  Most are trying to keep both my digestive and urinary tracts functioning.  Or for acid reflux.  And the never ending nausea and pain. 

If I get three or four hours of sleep each night I am lucky due to the never-ending pain.  I had been on a potent med for twenty-nine years that helped tremendously but thanks to the opiate crisis pain doctors are not allowed to continue writing scripts for it.  On my own I had no choice but to withdraw from it.  Trust me, this made my doctors furious and they made every effort to get a waiver for me but were denied.  So though I may be on a pain med I am grateful to be on it gives far less relief than the former. 

My bladder has not been fully functional since 1980.  To keep it working I must drink large quantities of a water/Gatorade/caffeine combination 24/7.  So I am also up during the night emptying my bladder.  Only mine does not empty in the normal sense.  It takes a good half-hour to an hour to empty.  We must limit my catheter use due to infection and other problems, so these are a last resort.

With my barely functioning colon I must take a new very expensive jump-start med I must either inject myself with or take in pill form because I am limited on where I can reach to inject myself so my thighs and abdomen can get in terrible shape!🥴

However don't be deceived by "jump-start," for after I take the med it is an hour or longer before I head to the bathroom.  From there it takes an additional two to three hours for my colon to become empty.  

So between my bladder and colon I spend a great part of my day in the john where I keep books and my assorted horse, theatre, and art magazines.  Besides also working on this blog at times or playing Solitaire using my Smartphone.  Or being on Twitter.🙃

The colon process is very exhausting and far from being as easy as it may sound here.  At times it is VERY uncomfortable and very painful with severe cramping.

Back to my pain.  As I do not have cartilage in my body so bone is rubbing on bone.  My orthopaedic surgeon cannot figure out how I am still walking as my knees and legs are a huge mess as well as my spine.  Nerve damage from the inflammation disease within my spinal cord has weakened my legs considerably too, also causing pain.  Since I have the same muscle mass as an average height person on my short long bones, there is a lot of pain with this too.  

Throughout the day I must lie down as this is the only way I can get relief for awhile.  So I am in bed often.  I work on this blog there too if the nausea isn't intense and I am able to focus.😃

My laptop is in my living room and I spend an hour or two there each day as well.

As far as eating I am only allowed to eat one meal a day consisting of soft foods like mashed potatoes, soups, canned peaches, cooked cereals, etc.  And I must drink two to three Boost Protein Drinks each day.  Eventually, they may have to surgically insert a port and liquid nourishment will enter my system through it.

In-between all that I care for, and spend time with my three feral cats, who are always close.  Since I live in the country there is wilderness for Harper, Sweet Cheeks, and Rory to enjoy, as well as my view of endless hills, trees, and horse farms in the distance I forever gaze upon.😃

And this my dear ones, is what my days are and why I do not write about them.  Thankfully I have lived such a full life even with the many hospitalizations, enabling me to have such a wealth TO write about and share here.  For this, I am grateful beyond words.  Many with and without challenges do not often have such full lives, so I consider myself as being blessed...oh, so very VERY blessed.🐎😃🐎💕💫

Boldness And Love Did It....

Though I have been told boldness is my middle name, and I nailed Acting 101 required in the Scene Design Program, I never imagined ME as having any speaker potential.  ME?  NO WAY!  Not even on my radar.  

But sometimes God takes us to places where what we have learned and our ways of telling these things are discovered and the next thing we know we're at a podium standing on a chair in front of a bunch of people getting inspired by OUR journey.  And laughing too.  Then MORE want to hear us, and BAM!💥

Well, something like this anyway.😂

My dear mentor friend Nora I first blogged about in, "Adelaide Goes To Prison," where Nora who also never thought SHE would become a speaker in demand too, had been asked by The Women's Prison Warden to come speak.

Since Nora didn't drive she asked him if she could bring her friend because, "Warden, she too has a powerful story to share."

Then Nora called me asking if I would drive her, which I was happy to do.

And then...AND THEN...

"Adelaide, I uh, told the Warden you also had a very powerful story to inspire the women with."

"You WHAT?!!"

"You'll be speaking too."

"But I'm NOT A SPEAKER!"

"You ARE far more than you think by the way people respond to just meeting you...your courage, your humor and charm...and the crazy way you dress."

"It isn't...THAT crazy...IS it?!!"

"It's unique and don't you ever change it!  I'm brand new at this speaking thing too.  Look my dear, we both have these stories everyone keeps begging us to tell.  We can do this.  YOU can do this.  Folks are drawn to you!"

"No shit.  I stand out."

"Yes, but I see them being inspired by you.  Or laughing like crazy at your funny stories!  My goodness child, you're only twenty-three years old and here I am almost, uh...forty-nine..."

"Nora, you're fifty-six!"

"That's to be kept between US, my dear!"

"We need to talk about this age thing you ha..."

"As I was SAYING...you already have lots more wisdom and experience and rising above shit than most do at ninety.  Folks WANT to hear you.  Folks NEED to hear you.  Folks adore you."

"As they need to hear you too, Nora.  Okay, I get it!  We can do this.  I hope.  By the way, uh...since this IS a maximum security prison we're speaking at, they can't lock us up if the inmates don't like us, can they?"😂

So off to prison Nora and I went.  

The women, guards, and Warden absolutely loved us.  We were asked to come back many times.  The Warden, guards, and most of all, the women, said we reached them in ways no one else ever did before.  

I think one of my favorite African American writers, Zora Neale Hurston says it best, "You have to go there to know there."  Meaning you have had to walk through it to be able to inspire.  That we weren't talking "at" them with just words, but "to" them as survivors like they could be too. 

Afterwards the Warden told his wife about us.  She had us come speak to her Women's Group, then those women invited us to come to their groups, and it took off from there.  However, I only took on speaking engagements aside from my work as a Scene Designer.

Not always did we speak together, being asked to each speak at other groups or churches.  Through the years 

I have often been asked to speak at doctors groups.  These would involve question answer sessions, like how when I was nearly paralyzed permanently with only movement to my toes, did I learn to walk again TWICE by focusing so hard until more movement happened.  Other sessions were all about dwarfism and how to relate to us best ("Well, for one thing, don't talk DOWN to a Little Person...talk TO them").

Becoming a speaker definitely was not something I set out to do.  Yet sometimes in life when we grab onto treasures in our own lives of survival and learning, we may just be meant to inspire others too if we can with how we got there ourselves.  

The very creation of this blog is because I have been asked many times through the years to please put in writing what I was speaking about for not only my listeners to keep, but so more may some day be blessed too.  

It is my hope you are.🐎😃🐎💫

                                                                  Adelaide and Nora

 

There Just Had To Be A Reason...

Just so you may know there is a very powerful ending to this story.👍

In the Purple Shoes blog the other day, I ended it at the Sky City Restaurant in the Space Needle in Seattle with my friends Damien and his partner Logan.  All was well with the Maitre-d.  He was just curious after observing Damien and I diving under the table multiple times to retrieve Damien's PURPLE shoe which slipped onto a ledge.  You see the Restaurant revolves and we had to wait until we returned to the exact place again so we could finally retrieve it and did so with finesse. 

After I completed the massive flats for a huge theatre production Damien needed my help with, the time came for me to return home and get back to my horse and my own Theatre Scene Design work ahead of me.  But first I had to get out of Seattle.  Damien ALWAYS ran late for EVERYthing.  I barely even made it to the boarding gate in time!

Outside of Chicago my plane remained in a holding pattern forever due to storms and I missed my connecting flight.  Yet there are certain times when everything happens for a reason though.  Very POWERfully happens.

Eventually I FINALLY arrived back in Maryland shortly after midnight.  I was exhausted.

After finally tracking down my luggage I rushed out of the airport and was relieved to see a few taxi's waiting for their next fare and plunged into one.

When I did I totally startled the poor lady whose taxi I threw myself into.  For a few moments she couldn't seem to speak for some reason.  Finally she did.  Asked my destination.  Told me she would need my help giving directions.  No problem.

Now usually I'm the one who makes conversation in taxi's, always keenly interested in others I get to meet.  However it was this driver, a older woman who began.

"My name is Jenny.  What's your name?"

"Adelaide.  Nice to meet you Jenny!"

"Have you been traveling far, Adelaide?"

"Seattle, I..."

"What do you do?"

"I am a Theatre Scene Designer, and..."

"A Theatre Scene Designer?  That's incredible!  What a wonderful way to make a living!  Have you been doing it long?"

I waited a moment in case Jenny needed to interrupt me again before I plunged in to respond.😂

"Actually I recently completed my second internship.  You see, due to the dwarfism [it had to be obvious to her, right?!!🤣] I kind of got detoured a bit with two spine surgeries twice learning to walk again, then needing a bone marrow treatment at Hopkins but I refused to give up even when everything seemed stacked against me.  I'm a very dedicated "refuses to give up" kind of person.  Eventually I finally grabbed hold of my dream."

There was silence from the front.  And then...

"Adelaide, we're coming up to a McDonald's.  Would you mind terribly if we get coffee at the Drive-thru?  I'll buy it."

"Wow, at this point coffee sounds really good to me.  I

haven't had anything to eat since lunch on my flight yesterday.  Would you mind if I order some chicken nuggets?  I'd love to treat you to some or whatever 

else you'd like."

"No, I'm fine.  Just realized I could use some coffee."

After Jenny bought us both coffee and I the nuggets, she asked if I would mind if we parked until we were done.  I didn't mind.

"Adelaide, I know it must be very hard being a...a..."

"Little Person."

"Little Person.  How do you cope with life in a body like yours?  I've only just met you but I sense you are a very strong person inside.  I desperately need to know how you cope with what life throws at you."

There was indeed a desperate sense of urgency I heard in her voice.

"Jenny, I'll be happy to share with you what works for me.  Before I do it's very important to BELIEVE you've got what it takes within you to be strong inside too.  If you imagine it, you will achieve it, if you dream it, you become it...so..."

"Wait a moment!  I have to write that down!  Uh, do you have any paper?"

I usually always do but didn't, yet McDonald's had given us a bunch of napkins.

"Hold fast to your dreams and don't let go of them."

"But Adelaide, how do..."

"I have always coped by keeping focused on my glass being a full one because it IS a very full one.  If I were to keep focused on all the many things "wrong" in my life I would not want to even try at all because I'd be too overwhelmed with self pity.  Self pity steals happiness.  Not only that who wants to be around a complaining whiner anyway?"

"Well what can a person replace self pity with?"

"A gratitude attitude.  Focus on what you have to be thankful for.  Like being able to just see, hear, walk, talk, and having a roof over your head.  Become aware of nature.  Remember the two words 'and yet.'  For instance when I encounter the mean ridicule I constantly get, I refuse to let their abuse take my power from me.  I know I am being treated awful and yet I have my horse to break free upon by flying with the wind across fields.  How many people can?  The "and yet" allows me to retain my power by not letting strangers have it, if this makes sense."

"It does!  It really does!"

"Finally Jenny, embrace courage.  The greatest test of courage is to bear pain without losing heart.  Embrace optimism.  Hope.  Love.  One of the most wonderful treasures to remember is how the love we live is what remains after we're no longer here.  Strive to live love."

Jenny was beginning to run out of napkins and I had reached a point where even coffee wasn't helping me anymore and I felt I was rambling away.  The poor lady was probably being polite by not telling me just how rambling away I actually was.

I am sure she could see how my tiredness was clearly overtaking me by now.  As Jenny drove me home her thoughts were churning with all I gave her.

It was when we arrived and she stopped the car Jenny told me something which jarred me awake...I mean WIDE AWAKE.  

For you see, the following is what Jenny told me:

"Adelaide, this isn't a taxi.  My husband of forty-two years of marriage who was my soul mate, my everything, died of pancreatic cancer last week, less than a month after we were told he had it.  Our daughter, an only child was just here.  We fought about everything.  Wanted me to make huge life altering decisions immediately aside from the funeral arrangements.  How can anybody even make a decision about what to eat when their heart is broken and they don't know how to survive the most frightening traumatic experience of their life?  

"But I did make a decision.  A decision that was all too easy for me to make and one I intended to carry out as soon as I returned home from dropping my daughter off at the airport.  I tried to hug her.  I even tried to tell her I loved her but she screamed at me to go to hell then leaped out of the car and was gone.

"So I decided to drive home, pull this car into the garage, shut the door, then as the car continued to run just peacefully go freeing myself from all the pain and agony of this...this broken heart. 

"And then YOU from out of nowhere at that moment, that VERY moment jump into my car thinking its a cab!  

"Adelaide, I don't know about you but Someone far more powerful than we are put you here!  Not only put you here tonight but put you here on the journey you're on to touch lives.  Either this or I'm sitting here speaking to a real live angel!  Are you?!!"

"Jenny, if I am an angel, I sure am unaware I am."😂

Because...

 

Some live their entire lives complaining all because roses have thorns.  Then there are those living lives filled with tough challenges who look on the bright side of life with an attitude of gratitude, because thorns have roses.

A Missing Mother...

In all these blogs I have seldom mentioned my mother other than the drinking, fighting, and violence.  Sadly there are reasons.  I have few photos of my parents anyway.  Recently when I found a stash of photos I 

have shared here I came across a photo not in the folder, but the bottom of a box.  It is difficult for me to see because it clearly shows the "disconnect" I always felt from very young age of having a "missing mother."  She was not missing in the context she had gone someplace, no, but the love for and acceptance of her child was missing.  For you see my mother could never deal with the fact her child had a deformity.

When people rudely stared at and made remarks about the midget toddler, she would get angry at ME, not them and blamed me for being the reason why they were being ugly to me.  She continued doing this into my adulthood.

My mother lived in hate and blamed everyone for her problems.  She was never ever at fault, nor did she 

ever apologize for anything...to anyone.

Interestingly my Grandfather who was seeking custody of me before he suddenly died, told me there was a Little Person in my mother's high school class.  She and a group of others tormented this poor guy unmercefully.

They would kick his stools he needed out from under him.  They chanted ugly words at him.  Laughed at him.  Made his life hell.  Even after they graduated.  [This proves what goes around comes around folks!]

So you see, my missing mother already had a huge disdain for we "midgets" before I even got here.  I was her nightmare come true.  The disconnect was sealed.  You can see it in photos.  And see it in this.  In the photos I am actually being held by her, I am being held away from her.  Not held close.  Not cuddled. 

I could feel The Disconnect.  And always felt it.

My Grandfather is the one who took this photo.  He said in the next moment I was reaching out for him crying.  He said I constantly reached out not only crying for him but everyone...except...my...mother.

I have written about my dear babysitter I had from age three to four who I especially clung to then.  Most kids do not want to leave their parents.  I on the other hand, did not want to leave WITH mine.  Or LIVE with them.

They drank and fought constantly often screaming as they lunged at each other with knives as I screamed for them to stop.  A few years later when guns were in their hands as they screamed, I screamed for them to kill each other.  The violence never ended.  Nor did my fear.

Often I had nothing to eat...except old uneaten crusts 

of pizza and the remaining beer I would find at the bottom of bottles.  One day at the babysitters I threw up pieces of cigarette butts I had eaten because I was so hungry and they were all I could find.  In this day and time she would have had places to call to report what she knew I was living with.  As weekends were even worse, she did however convince my father to please allow me to spend weekends with her family.  Those weekends at Mrs. Cassity's probably saved my life then.

Many years later in my late twenties as I was passing through town she was absolutely thrilled when I called to see if I could stop for a visit.  Mrs. Cassity still lived 

in the very same home and little had changed.  As I told her how the rest of my childhood went, horses, art, Theatre Scene Design, and my mentor friends she cried.  She was so proud of me and so grateful I was living such a full, happy loved life.

After I told Mrs. Cassity how at age four my father had abandoned me in a woods to die not long before he was kicked out of law school due to his drinking, she cried.  Said she knew something awful had happened to me in the days following that shattering nightmare, because I very uncharacteristically was quiet...waaay too quiet and though she gently tried to grasp what horror I just experienced, she realized it was not because I didn't WANT to talk...it was because I COULDN'T for I was so traumatized by the abandonment.

Before I left Mrs. Cassity had something very special to share with me she had kept and treasured all those years.  She brought out a little clay horse.  I recognized

it, because I made the little horse as everything I created was a horse.  She was going to give it to me and though I was very touched and grateful, I wanted her to keep it.

Back to my mother a moment.  She lived a very bitter miserable life blaming everyone for being why her life was this way.  Where my father had recognized the terrible things he had done to me, expressing remorse and seeking my forgiveness, my missing mother never did.  

Yet through this blog and by being with me on this amazing journey of my Life Of WOW here, you happily know I surviva-soared despite having a missing mother.  My dear adult friends all during my childhood who nurtured, hugged, and loved me through are also why.

The Foal Bound For Slaughter...

I want to share how Patches, the little unwanted foal in dire need and I came together.  My previous horse went blind, but a lady looking for a companion for her blind horse in a safe facility was thrilled our mutual vet told her about Havilla, so I donated Havilla to her.  I then began looking for a foal to raise and have for its' lifetime.

The farm where I boarded my horses for years was a beautiful place owned by brothers who could be tough with their horses.  One day Paul called me to say he had found the perfect foal, a registered six month old Quarter horse colt he put in the box stall at the farm.  

Then he warned me, "The man threw in this three month runt of a foal for me to get rid of and it is in the stall too.  BE CAREFUL!  It's very dangerous!  It took four of us and a lot of beer to finally get him!"  

My heart immediately went out to the "dangerous runt."

I rushed to the farm and found the lovely fancy colt and the "dangerous runt" who had just been ripped away from his mama by four loud beer drinking men, with a heavy long rope tied around his neck looking very dejected.  As I slowly entered the stall the "runt" began to back up but I stepped on the rope.  He trembled.  I whispered I was only going to stroke his forehead so he could end the day by being touched GENTLY.  He relaxed.

From the barn phone I called Paul.  

"I'm taking the 'runt!'"  

He kindly replied, "What?!!  You're crazy!!!  He's dangerous I tell you!"

"I'm taking him anyway!  Besides, you will have no trouble selling the fancy colt and I will save you the trouble of taking the "runt" to slaughter."

"I still think you're making a huge mistake you'll regret!" 

"I'm taking him anyway.  How much?"

The next day I took sweet feed, a small halter, and grooming stuff with me.  The "runt" began to back up then stopped...without trembling.  While he ate I gently groomed him with no sign of any fear or "danger" at all.

Patches was a palomino pony with white patches, hence the name I immediately gave him so he would not become known as "the runt."

Day three he nickered when he saw me.

I needed to get him out of the very dirty, dusty stall.  Told Paul I was turning him out.  

"What?!!  You're crazy!  You'll never be able to catch him again!"

"Don't worry we've got this."

I turned him out.  Day four I arrived and found Patches on a hill.  I called him.  He stared intently.  When I went up to Patches he made no attempt to run.

On day five when I called him, Patches neighed and came galloping TO me!  The "dangerous runt" was safe, loved, and mine.  We became very VERY close sharing a wonderful twenty-nine years together.  They know when they are in danger and they know when they are safe.  And love grew Patches into a much larger pony than was expected too.🐎💕🐎

When Patches was a year and a half old I put lead shanks on each side of his halter one day.  Got on him and simply began riding him.  THAT was all it took!

One day Paul happened to come along and see me riding Patches.  He stammered, "You're...you're RIDING him!  How did you...I...I can't believe this!"

"Yep!  This is the 'dangerous runt' bound for slaughter. Still think I'm crazy?!!"🐎😃🐎

A sleepy Patches at four months old.  During the night either a horse, brambles, or some old barbed wire did a number on him.  Immediately I treated his wounds with

an antibacterial ointment for horses from my equine first aid kit I always had with me.  Then used a liquid ointment to help protect him from the flies.  In the process of all this my darling one fell asleep!😃💕💫

The Little Pied Piper...

The following two pieces are not enough for a blog entire, yet I sincerely hope that maybe they will brighten your day. 

As shared in this blog I have two very serious blood

conditions, with a rare form of hemophilia causing my blood to not clot and chronic anemia. Because of these I had to be hospitalized twice as a young adult on Pediatric Oncology Wards to receive a new powerful drug which had to be administered directly into my bone marrow.  The procedure itself was not so bad but the drug caused severe pain in my bones.  At times it even felt as if my hair hurt.

Anyway, I would have to be hospitalized in the Ward for nearly two months.  Because of my uniqueness as being about the same height as the children on the Ward, and an adult who was a patient like them, I was like their Pied Piper.  Along the way in this blog I have shared some very touching stories during these Pediatric Oncology Ward intervals here.

The children loved my sense of fun, that I was a artist who could draw them pictures of special requests they could then colour.  Most of all they loved when I told them stories about my horses and what it was like to soar across fields on their barebacks faster than the wind.

With my second stint in the Pediatric Oncology Ward I had to be given a more potent round of drugs into my bone marrow.  For awhile Adelaide The Pied Piper was a very sick little Pied Piper.  Yet with so many children on the Ward hoping their Pied Piper would make it, Addy (as I was known since many kids couldn't quite pronounce Adelaide) HAD to pull through for their sake!

Whenever I had to be admitted to The Ward, besides my boombox I would also take my in-line rollerblades with me.  When I was well enough to do this I would visit the kids by rollerblading to their rooms and they absolutely LOVED it.  Parents loved how Addy and her rollerblading visits had a way of not only cheering their child up but cheering them up too.  This is what I have always strived to do though since very young.  As I have shared so often, the deeper sorrow carves into our soul the more joy we attain.  By bringing others a moment of cheer or fun, I was filling the void my childhood sorrows carved with happinesses of healing.

I may no longer gallop on horses, hang upside-down from a rope swing high above a rocky ravine, or rollerblade, but I still am that little Pied Piper trying to bring gifts of inspiration or love and laughter everywhere I am.

The last time I had the bone marrow treatment six year old twins Marla and Macy were patients.  Macy was battling leukemia but because the girls shared a rare blood type the doctors needed Marla to give Macy a blood transfusion.  Macy's Oncologist (and mine) thought he explained the procedure clearly enough for six year old Marla to fully understand how the procedure would unfold.

Not quite.

Marla appeared terrified for a moment then took a deep breath.  She told our Oncologist how much she loved Macy and their Mommy and Daddy and hoped her blood would make Macy better.

When our Oncologist told Marla the transfusion was nearly done she fearfully asked, "Is this the time the angels take me to Heaven now?"

You see, though Marla thought she was going to die giving her blood to Macy, she courageously and with profound love quietly proceeded with the intent to save her sister.

Every adult in that Pediatric Oncology Ward was deeply touched by something far bigger than ourselves that day.  Love reminded us all there are those in this world who live their love powerfully.  Even six year olds.  And a little Pied Piper.