About Me

To write a life story, one always thinks that you have to be 80 years old, to reflect. I never thought I would be telling my life story at 40 years of age and actually having a testimony to tell. I guess I would be telling two life stories; one before Christ, and one after. There is a reflection on decisions made, risks taken, love lost and triumphs celebrated. If someone told me at my age, I would be wheelchair-bound, homeless, poor, without a job, single, and no children and alone. I had better chances of being hit by lightning three times! I guess that's why I never went to fortune tellers. We always equate fortune to be a positive thing. It would've been rather ironic, if I did consult one and she was able to hit on all that was mentioned above. She probably would have given me my money back! If I went to a Tarot card reader, the death card would have be one of the first cards to be turned.

It was very difficult, and weighty to write my life story, as a matter of fact, I cried many times through the whole process. My childhood was as normal as it could be growing up in a small town with two alcoholic parents. I had four other siblings, and fate had it, I was the middle child. We had absolutely no religion in or around our family. I never had any dreams at aspiring to be anything. I think at one time I wanted to be a horse, but I quickly dropped that notion when I realized I had to carry someone on my back. We left the comfort of small-town and moved to Calgary, when I was 16. It was at this time that I realized that our family was in turmoil. Both my parents began to drink more heavily, and there was no reprieve. My mother finally died when I was 19, of cirrhosis of the liver.

I enrolled at the Northern Alberta Institute of Technology, taking radiology, and this was the best decision I ever made. I gave no thought to my mother's passing and was rather relieved that her suffering had ended. My thoughts are blurred when I try to recollect my relationships with my younger siblings; my little sister who was 11 years old and my brother was 17. This I regret terribly. I graduated in 1984, and immediately got a job at the General Hospital as a radiology technician. I was never home and spent my time at my boyfriend's home. This place was as close to normal, as I imagined it. They were Christians, but never practiced it. And in hindsight, this would have been a perfect time to be exposed to Jesus Christ.

At the age of 24, I had enough. My father was out of control, my boyfriend was now heavy into pornography, was cheating, my friends wallowed in their pride, and I was disconnected from my family. I wanted to distance myself. I think in some way after my mother died so young, living life took on a more serious nature, and I seemed to have matured beyond my age. I was definitely lost and trying to navigate my way in the world. To start my trip, I packed my bags and flew half way across the world to Saudi Arabia.

I was in my element. It was so simple, and I was helping a society come to grips with the 1980s. That was going to be hard since it felt like I had stepped back in time 50 years. I called it a "poor little rich country". The country was soaked in the bagillions and gazillions barrels of oil and money. Palaces were the size of mini malls, paved roads suddenly ended in the middle of the desert and gold dripped down like rain on a window.

The poor or the backwards part of the country still had executions on Friday's after the noon prayer. Bedouins or tribes still lived in tents in the desert and herded sheep, and still traveled on camels. Sheep were transported in the backseat of cars, when they used toilets; they stood on the rim and squatted. (Lots of slippery nasty falls) They used drinking fountains to wash their feet before prayer Nevertheless; I totally integrated into this struggling society, and never complained about the weather!

We were a society on our own who were brought together collectively to help the country adjust and to care for their citizens. I cannot even begin to tell you of the places I've seen and the people I've met. I seem to have found a little bit of purpose in my life. At the age of 25, I soon realized that something was terribly wrong. I had difficulty walking, and tired quickly. I blamed it on the 55°C weather and too much traveling. I remember so clearly, asking my roommate, if she knew anything about multiple sclerosis and what the symptoms were. I left the country in 1989, and was tested for the disease. The results were inconclusive, and I continued on with my life.

I went back to Saudi Arabia in the fall of 1989, and if anyone knows their history, this was when Iraq invaded Kuwait. I didn't hesitate and was confident that we would not go to war. My new home was in the mountains and two hours from the Red Sea. When the bombs started to fall on Baghdad, I found myself stranded in the capital city of Riyadh. While stranded for four days, I was trained on how to use a gas mask, taught how to detect gas particles in the air, and how to build a gas shelter. The war ended, six weeks later, and we were able to travel again. We planned a trip to Sri Lanka. The pinnacle of the trip was when we climbed a mountain to get to a palace on top. Looking back, this mountain would be the one of many.

In the fall of 1991, because I was experiencing more weakness, I was unable to carry out my contract. However, before settling in Calgary, I managed to take one more trip to Egypt, Portugal, and Great Britain. That would be the last time I ever traveled abroad. In 1993, I was tested positive for multiple sclerosis, but was still able to walk.

More decisions needed to be made and I needed to secure my future in case I ended up in a wheelchair. I enrolled into the DeVry Institute of Technology, and in 1996, graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Science in Computer Information Systems. I was able to find a job as a software analyst. My life was secured again.

I started sailing competitively on the Glenmore reservoir, traveled across Canada to compete, bought a condominium, got a cat, and even had a boyfriend. Things were good and I had a relatively normal life for a woman who was in a manual wheelchair. There's that word again, normal.

As the years went by, I started to see rapid deterioration and my days were now a constant struggle from morning until night. It was Halloween of 2000, when I was admitted to the Foothills Hospital emaciated, dehydrated and utterly and completely unable to care for myself. I spent six weeks in rehabilitation, trying to regain my strength and independence. I was confident that things would improve, and I could get back to work.

I was now permanently confined to my electric wheelchair and relied on Home Care to care for me. One specific woman was Kathy Plum, who attended Center Street Church. She would subtly tell me not to take the Lord's name in vain, would relay activities that were at the church, and we even started reading the Bible. I asked her to read the story about "Joseph" and as the story continued I proceeded to ask her where Mary was in the picture? I obviously didn't realize that there were two Josephs in the Bible!

In the spring of 2002, my doctor gave me the grim news that I would never be able to work again. What was I supposed to do now? Where was my money going to be coming from? How was I going to eat, pay my bills, my mortgage, and cat food and still be able to participate in society? That year went by, so painfully slow. Every day, made me more and more depressed. To make matters worse, I found my best friend dead underneath my dining room table. Bruce, my cat, had used up all of his nine lives, and probably died of a broken heart from seeing me so sad.

I have to take a break now, because I have to go blow my nose and wipe my tears away. Kathy invited me to a program called Alpha that was at Harvest Hills Alliance Church, across the street from my house. I went for three weeks, and started to ask questions about God, Jesus, church and prayer. Nevertheless, my depression had worsened so intensely, I became tired, so very tired of the struggle. Committing suicide was my only option. I planned it very carefully.

While visiting my psychiatrist at the hospital, I went into the washroom and took all of my prescribed pills. They consisted of Valium and muscle relaxants. I figured if I passed away in the hospital, that they would have been able to harvest my organs and my death would not be in vain. I spent four days in ICU, and another week on a psychiatric ward. When I awoke, one of the first things I saw was a stuffed bear with the saying: Jesus Loves You. The pastor, from Harvest Hills came to pray and this was the beginning of my relationship with God. I still remember him saying "Thou Shall Not Kill" and that meant me.

Once out of the hospital, I thought that isolation and despair would continue. To my utter surprise the church was at my door when I arrived home. They came with companionship, comfort, hope, love, understanding, the word of God, and above all, food! I continued with my Alpha course. It was a January night in 2003, while lying in bed with a cat, that my sister had lent me, that I gave my tumultuous life to Jesus Christ and realized finally that my attempt at a normal life was out of reach. But was it? A normal life. What does that mean?

I was baptized on Sunday, May 4, 2003 and was unburied and lifted up from the black heap of my burdens, hopelessness and trying to do things my way. The water gave birth to a clean and hopeful woman. I was carried through a very painful transition from home to group home to another home. Shortly after my baptism, I started to attend Center Street Church, and have been part of the organization for four years.

Today I still struggle with and mourn my losses. .Especially at the loss of: making love, getting married, having children, continued travel, having a house with a white picket fence, driving, enjoying my sports and especially my spontaneous freedom.

When people say that that once you have Jesus in your heart, your old ways are gone, and a new life begins. I have the privilege of having two lives: as a new Christian and a person with a permanent disability. Both are rich with opportunities, and now I have double the blessings. I climbed my second mountain and instead of a palace on top, found God!

I have my own mission field, which pretty much covers the province of Alberta! I work closely with the MS Society of Calgary and Edmonton to bring a better quality of life to those suffering with multiple sclerosis. I worked closely with the government to change legislation, and am a very convincing and persuasive public speaker. Above all, I am still the only disabled female in Calgary that sails competitively!

Would I call this a normal life?

Normal is defined as conforming to the usual standard, type or custom; maintained or occurring in a natural state. Normal can last for one second, one minute, one year or a lifetime. My normals occur every hour of every day. I'd need to adapt, make quick decisions, reevaluate the importance of things, and know when to move forward or stay put. And this can all happen when I try to cross the street! I don't think that God intended for my life to be normal. As I climb through life, I keep my eyes transfixed on my palace called Heaven that I may, some day, be spending eternity with God.