October 2008

 


 

 

Name Of Column Author Title Article Type
News Views Pat Sanders Our Methods Of Communication News & Events
VP Dan H. Kelly, Ph.D Esophageal Dilations On Tep Education-Med
Web Whispers Columnist Logan Grayson The Ways Of Mountain Men Experiences
Between Friends Donna McGary Life Goes On Experiences
Practically Speaking Elizabeth Finchem Tell Children - Lary/ Recovery Experiences
A Scottish Accent Rosalie Macrae Talking About Comfort Zones Experiences
My Neck Of The Woods Paul From Alabama This Little Piggy Experiences
New Members Michael Csapo Welcome News & Events

 

 

 

 

Our Methods of Communication




We have become accustomed to thinking of a voice as "the" method of communication and when we lose it, even temporarily, we forget to look at the other ways we have automatically used to communicate since we were born or that there are times when not speaking is better. Of course, it is better to "not speak" when you have the choice of doing so. However, we who have experienced no voice at all may have been too frustrated by the inability to speak, to hone our other skills.

We know tapping or clapping our hands, and that noise of any kind will usually get attention. Touching or a gesture often works and, if someone is looking at us, it is much easier to shake or nod the head, shrug the shoulders or make a face and give our opinion that way.

Have you ever seen a small child whose bottom lip pushed outward and the pitiful look would break your heart...until the mouth comes open and the screaming starts? Or the sharp snap of someone's head with the searing eyes staring right at you that has said it all, before the unneeded tirade starts?

The expression on a face at first bite of a delicious morsel of food. The look of pride as your team scores. The comfort of settling into a comfortable chair after a long, hard, day. There is no doubting the meaning of the look.

I went to http://www.quotegarden.com/ to find some quotes about speaking,or not, and hope some of these will help you smile (a wonderful way to communicate).

One of the lessons of history is that nothing is often a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say. ~Will Durant


Never miss a good chance to shut up. ~Will Rogers (verification of author per The Estate of Will Rogers, CMG Worldwide)

The older I grow, the more I listen to people who don't talk much. ~Germain G. Glien

Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken. ~Orson Rega Card

Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment. ~Ira Gassen

Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute. ~Josh Billings

The words you choose to say something are just as important as the decision to speak. ~Author Unknown

and my favorite:
Of those who say nothing, few are silent. ~Thomas Neiel

 

Now, if I could just learn that learning to talk again doesn't mean I have to do it all the time!!

 

Enjoy,
Pat W Sanders
WebWhispers President
 

 

 

VoicePoints written by professionals 

Coordinated by Lisa Proper, MS-CCC-SLP, BC-NCD-A, BRS-S

 

(LisaMProper@comcast.net)                      [© 2008 Lisa Proper]

 


EFFECTS OF ESOPHAGEAL DILATIONS ON TEP PUNCTURES

 

 

(Taken from the WW HealthHelp listserv, March, 2001)

Question 1 - Is it common for an esophageal dilation to push against the esophageal end of the puncture to the extent that it changes the prosthesis size or type? If so, will it settle back into place?

Question 2 - Relating to the same dilations, does the stretching of the esophagus affect the ability to produce sound to the extend that voicing is a problem for either TEP or Esophageal speakers?

Since these are related questions let me see if I can tie them together in one answer. First of all the need for esophageal dilation is NOT an uncommon problem for some laryngectomees. Dilation is required when the upper end of the esophagus narrows (stricture) to the point that it is difficult for patients to pass food and/or liquid while eating. When dilation is required, scarring and/or fibrosis is usually the cause of esophageal narrowing. Almost always the stricture is above the level of the TEP and voice prosthesis. However, all TEP tracks are not created equal. As many of the members of Webwhispers have so apply noted "no two patients are exactly alike". If the angle of the TEP track is in a more upward orientation, then the esophageal side of the prosthesis will be closer to the area of narrowing and dilation may have more likelihood of altering the track itself. Depending upon where and how long the stricture may be, it is possible for dilation to change the configuration of the TEP track in the common party wall (the tissue where the puncture was made). If this occurs it may be necessary to change the size if the prosthesis. If alteration to the prosthesis size is necessary it is important that this be monitored for several weeks following dilation. It may be necessary to make several changes in prosthesis size before the track becomes stable.

Since ESOPHAGEAL, and TEP, VOICE is dependent upon the vibration of tissue at the upper end of the esophagus, dilation often alters the quality and loudness of voice. This is a common complaint of patients who must undergo dilation of the esophagus. Unfortunately, there is no easy answer or fix to this problem. If the voice weakens, digital pressure to the segment area may be the answer for some patients. There is at least one (secondary) prosthesis available for patients who experience weak pharyngeal-esophageal segments (P-E). Webwhispers and SLPs who will be attending the 2001 IAL meeting at Myrtle Beach and who are interested in knowing more about weak segment problems are welcome to attend my Voice Institute session where this will be discussed in depth and the secondary prosthesis demonstrated with patients. If change in voice occurs following dilation, it is important for Patients to work closely with a SLP/Voice Pathologist who understands weak P-E segments to achieve the best possible voice for them.

Dan H. Kelly, Ph.D.
Associate Professor
Otolaryngology-Head & Neck Surgery
University of Cincinnati Medical Center
(Since this was written in 2001, Dr. Kelly has retired.)
 


 

 


 

THE WAYS OF MOUNTAIN MEN

 


The mountain man's life was ruled not by the calendar or the clock but by the climate and seasons. In fall and spring, the men would trap. The start of the season and its length were dictated by the weather. The spring hunt was usually the most profitable, with the pelts still having their winter thickness. Spring season would last until the pelt quality became low. In July, the groups of mountain men and the company suppliers would gather at the summer rendezvous. There, the furs were sold, supplies were bought and company trappers were divided into parties and delegated to various hunting grounds.

The tradition of the rendezvous was started by General William Ashley's men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company in 1825. What began as a practical gathering to exchange pelts for supplies and reorganize trapping units, evolved into a month long carnival in the middle of the wilderness. The gathering was not confined to trappers, and attracted women and children, Indians, French Canadians, and travelers.

Mountain man James Beckworth described the festivities as a scene of "mirth, songs, dancing, shouting, trading, running, jumping, singing, racing, target-shooting, yams, frolic, with all sorts of extravagances that white men or Indians could invent." An easterner gave his view: "mountain companies are all assembled on this season and make as crazy a set of men I ever saw." There were horse races, running races, target shooting and gambling. With a bottle of booze now and then thrown in.

HOW WE JOINED THEM

In 1991, when my son got out of the army and came home, we went back to our old routine of hunting and target shooting. But we decided it was time to do something different so we went to black powder rifles. At that time there were not many people deer hunting with black powder rifles in our part of the country. We could go for 3 days without seeing another hunter and we kind of liked that idea.

It wasn't long before we found a group that shot black powder competition every other weekend but it was 40 miles away. That didn't deter us and we joined then. When we would go to a shoot there were a lot of people dressed in mountain men clothing. We had been hearing about groups that would get together in different parts of the state and have black powder competition shoots but only shooting at paper targets at a known distance. We didn't much like that. So when we were invited to a mountain man rendezvous, we went and that was it. We were hooked.

It wasn't long before we had bought or traded for the clothing that is required to stay in a mountain man camp as all camp attendees are required to dress in proper period clothing. We would go to rendezvous in 4 states starting in April and going through October of every year. We traveled Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas, and Missouri leaving on a Friday evening and returning home on Sunday. On Fridays and Saturdays we would allow the flatlanders to come into our camps and partake of the goods we had to sell and to let them watch our competitions of rifle shooting, tomahawk throwing, pistol shooting and bow shooting and would sometimes invite them to join us.

It didn't take long before we had the whole family, my wife, Judy, and I and our three children and their families were all involved. Of course, sometimes you didn't even know some of the people who were there by their real names, everyone had a rendezvous name. mine being Lightning and Judy's being thunder. We soon became known as the Lightning Clan and I was the old man of the clan. I don't think I mentioned that we lived in canvas lodges or Tee Pee's while in camp. We had a 10 X 12 Sargents tent and each of the families had their own lodges. Before long we started challenging all the other clans to a shooting competition or hawk throwing contest. We would each put a prize on a trade blanket and may the best clan win.

THE GROUPS

The mountain man groups were close knit people always helping each other out. I can recall the death of one of our friends in Parsons, Kansas and there were over 200 hundred mountain men dressed in their period clothes attending the services. Someone made the statement that the man wasn't covered with insurance and his widow didn't know how she could deal with the expenses. So when we went to the cemetery for internment one of our people had set a big cooking pot out and we all filed past and gave what we could afford. I never did hear how much was collected but did hear that she got enough to cover expenses.

Another time one of our friends was diagnosed with cancer and didn't have money to cover treatment and it was decided to have an auction to help with expenses and everyone was asked to donate something for the auction. A trade blanket was laid out and everyone donated what they could afford. I walked up and laid one of my rifles on the blanket and since we didn't get to attend the auction I don't know what the rifle brought but heard it was three times what it was worth.

The size of a mountain man camp wasn't determined by the number of people there. it was determined by the number of camps that were set up. It wasn't unusual to have a 100 camps or more and I have seen a couple with 200 camps. The control of a camp was the sole responsibility of one man, the booshway, and his word was law. Each competition had a man in charge and no one would pick up a firearm and go to a competition if he had been into a jug. It just wasn't tolerated and everyone knew it. The jugs were saved until after all the competitions were over.

I had my laryngectomy surgery in 1997 but we continued to attend rendezvous until 2004 and then kind of drifted of into another hobby. From 1997 until we quit I never did come across another laryngectomee at any of our events.

Logan (Lightning- Okie) Grayson

 

The Lightning Clan

Lightning & Thunder

Lightning & Thunder in lodge

     

Our Son Yellar Dawg and part of his family

Lightning & Yellar Dawg & Too Bare in front of lodge

Yeller Dawg in a gun fight

     

Dave Dalton stealing Thunder - he will get shot

Thunder on a steer used in a Rodeo Act with The One Armed Bandit holding it's head

A Camp Meeting to discuss a wedding - the man with no hair got married at that camp

     
 

 

 

 

 

Life Goes On

 


It’s a helluva thing when you realize that the disturbingly charming young man singing on Austin City Limits tonight is younger than your son and that Clint Eastwood, who is even MORE appealing these days is only a few years younger than your father. Damn PBS. That may be more information than I needed. And now Paul Newman is dead and, as it turns out, WAS my father’s age. Who knew? I am confused. I feel old when I look in the mirror but I am ageless as I plan my next project or read a book that inspires me in new and unexpected ways.


I now have even more inspiration. My son and his wife are expecting their first child. This much wanted grandbaby is due on my birthday! They have opted for a surprise, as to the gender, but, to be honest, I want a girl. Of course, as long as mother and child are healthy I will be happy, but I only had the one son and I have carted my doll collection through so many moves, I am really hoping to justify my sentimentality with a grand-daughter at some point. I envision tea parties (I also have my doll’s china tea set) and dress-ups. I have my great grandmother Dow’s antique trunk which will be perfect for dresses, hats, shawls and gloves for imaginary ladies. Not to worry, I also have my old cap and gown so if my grand- daughter wants to imagine herself as a Supreme Court Justice, she can do that, too. I guess I better include a “power suit” for my future President. Maybe my grand- daughter and I will hold board meetings instead of tea parties. I am thinking it could make very good sense to include all the disenfranchised teddy bears and Barbie dolls in our business plan. They are the backbone of our future, you know.


I have also saved all my original Winnie the Pooh books and my absolutely all time favorite Golden Book, “The Friendly Book”. It is inscribed to me on my birthday in 1955 ( I would have been two year old). I STILL love this book. The cover is half ripped off and the rest is held together with ancient scotch tape. It was written by Margaret Wise Brown. The illustrations by Garth Williams are priceless and who can argue with this:


I like bugs
Black bugs Green bugs
Bad bugs Mean bugs
Any kind of a bug
A bug in the grass
A bug on the sidewalk
A bug in a glass
I like bugs
Round bugs Shiny bugs
Fat bugs Buggy bugs
Big bugs Lady bugs
I like bugs

 

It ends with:


I Like People
Glad people
Sad people
Slow people
Mad people
Big people
Little people
I like people.

 

Frankly, I think this little book may hold the secret to life. I know this makes me a ridiculously and probably irremediably romantic idealist. Something I have tried so hard to overcome. And something I have failed at spectacularly.

I even tried to accomplish this in my new home…it was going to be a modern light-filled open space…well, it’s open and light-filled…but it’s also filled with all my treasured family antiques and collectibles and my stuff…odd pieces of textiles, wood and rock…oh and the cats. I love it. It is perfect for me. It is also diametrically opposed to the clean modern lines I envisioned. The prophet Jeremiah was right; the leopard does not change his spots.

So my granddaughter may be a grandson. I may not be able to hold tea parties in my new delightfully cluttered library, and I certainly won’t be reading all my beloved tales in the voice I once knew and loved. But come hell or high water my grandbabies are going to know the wonder of books, the power of imagination and the beauty of art. They are also going to love cats and Grammas with funny voices. I am thinking instead of Grammie or Nana, I should be Buzzy…and maybe eventually, “Old Buzzy”.

I actually could like that.

 

 

 

 

 

How do we tell children about laryngectomy and recovery?

 

 

School has begun and many of us will begin this semester by speaking to classes from Pre-School to Graduate School. Pre-School? Yes, I’ve been invited to do just that by friends who operate such schools and had little ones asking about “why Suz’s Mommy talks funny now”? My favorite grades are elementary and university levels. High school can be a very different game since some in that age bracket have already begun to smoke. They assume my mission is to tell them to stop smoking. Resistance sets in on the spot. Perhaps it is just the high schools I’ve talked to, or maybe I lose out when I truthfully tell them I never smoked. I share that the upside of my experience is that I have survived a very aggressive cancer for 30 years because I fought cancer with a healthy body. Smoking and drinking were not something I could afford, and certainly not good for me or the six babies I carried to normal birth.

While visiting my daughter and her family in Kalamazoo, Michigan a few years ago, I attended a junior high girls’ basketball game my granddaughter, Adrienne, played in. I also had the opportunity to greet the principal a second time, having met her earlier at church, and to meet my younger granddaughter, Danielle’s, teacher. It seemed to me that this would be a perfect opportunity to set up an appointment to speak to the girls’ classes while I was in town since I had spoken to many classes over the decades. The teacher refused to allow me to speak to her third grade class because the subject “would be too traumatic for the 8 yrs old kids”. I found this astounding because Danielle’s mother, Liz, was 16, and her aunt, Suz, was 6 yrs old when I had my laryngectomy. I don’t know what this woman thought I was going to do or say that would do harm to the younger class. I know from experience that they are very curious and want to learn. Yes, of course, living the experience was traumatic for my four sons and two daughters, as it would be for any family to have their mother missing during the many weeks of hospitalization.

It was not at all easy for my children; especially my six year old daughter, to deal with a mother who couldn’t speak. At first I was writing and she was just learning to read. My attempts to mouthe as loud as I could must have seemed to her like I was angry. I admit I was frustrated beyond reason over the usual mealtime, and bath & bedtime rituals. Kids know when to test the boundaries. It will not come as a surprise to some of you who know from experience that esophageal voice does come rolling out unexpectedly when we blow our tops, and words that are usually censored can be heard loud and clear. How confusing that must be to the children who hear that we can speak sometimes. That’s another topic, but it does help if you write down the words that you were able to say for future reference. It’s a solid clue to figuring out how that happened.

While I learned to speak with an electro-larynx, Suz took a lot of abusive teasing from classmates over the odd noise her mother was now making. Her first grade classmates teasing everyday made her not want to go to school. They made harassing phone calls after school to make rude comments, laugh and hang up. For that matter some wise guys in my older daughter’s high school classes called to make rude remarks to me by asking what it was like now that I was a “stomate”?

Children are resilient and curious, eager to learn new things. Pre-op I had worked as a volunteer in the grade school’s library, and as a tutor of bi-weekly language skills sessions. As president of the Mother’s Study Group I helped in several of our local schools since busing had begun and our family attended three different schools. My children’s classmates knew me well, and I knew them.

When I was ready and able to speak intelligibly, I arranged to speak to the health classes on a regular basis at every grade level each semester. The kids had the opportunity to use my electro-larynx themselves, and ask really great questions. I soon went from odd to cool. No dummies, just a few rude brats when they thought I didn’t know who was calling our home. The local newspaper ran a few articles about my school and local activities as a laryngectomee. Kids would pull their parents into the shop in the mall that I worked in to show them my “robot”, and how well they could talk with it. Yep, we turned a negative into a huge positive for the community.

Over the years I’ve been asked many times by my laryngectomee friends and students to write a book for kids to read when a parent or grandparent must have a laryngectomy. I am still wrestling with how to approach the topic in a story or guide book. Here’s why. Years later my third son, who was in college during the times I just wrote about, told me that I “was just a buzz on the phone then, and he couldn’t understand a word” I said. Just last fall I asked Suz to be a speaker at a conference so she could share the story of a six year old whose mother became a laryngectomee.
She finally told me that she was honored to be asked, but she “has no memory from age six to thirteen.” It was very painful and she doesn’t recall enough to really talk about it. Since then we have discovered that she has memories, but no continuity…only bits and pieces. We are working together to rebuild a cohesive recall. Eventually she may come to understand in what order things happened, and why. She has become a high school counselor and has much to say about her mother’s journey to her friends and students.

When we speak to classes this fall I am always reminded of one particular class in Orange County, California when I teamed up with Ron Langseth to give a presentation. Shortly after we began
a sixth grade girl sprang up from her desk and ran out of the room in tears. The teacher, students, Ron and I were worried. It turned out that her grandfather had just had a laryngectomy that week. She came unglued until we sat down with her and the teacher after class to go over the progress she could expect to see as her grandfather moved through his rehabilitation. Another school visit Ron and I had at this school over a lunch hour was to speak to four deaf classes who were bused in to “hear” us cover the material with the help of an American Sign Language signer, InHealth slides, and an overhead projector.

As for the book(s), I am still writing and sorting the material. I hope this article will help in the meantime until I am finished with chronicling what I’ve learned as a laryngectomee in the past 30 years, as of October 2, 2008.

Elizabeth Finchem
Tucson, AZ 10/78
 

 

 

 

 

Talking about Comfort Zones


with Rosalie Macrae






What do you do with a bunch of heavily used Kleenex when you are out of your comfort zone? Well, you put them in a plastic bag and hope you remember to take them home with you. We will come in a minute to my reasons for mentioning this pretty subject. Before getting there, my stream of consciousness has reminded me of the time I was a guest at the home of a boyfriend for a New Year's Ball, and being brought a ghastly breakfast in bed, all fatty bacon and a soft egg and slimy mushrooms. Being totally devoid of sophistication, and airily saying that I never took breakfast, I thanked his mother effusively. When she left I scraped it into a cellophane bag and took it to the guest loo.

But that faucet's mean trickle wouldn't accept the fry-up either. Back into the soggy bag. I shoved everything under the Gone With the Wind flouncy bed to be taken home later to my comfort zone with its wheely bin and forgot about it; life being short. Weeks later, while reporting a memorial service for some sportsman the minister described as 'a good egg', I suddenly shrieked. I found out later that my friend's father called in a plumber to locate the smell. I was not invited back.

And what do you do, far from your comfort zone, your morning ritual gone to pot, and you forgot to wind your grandfather's 45-year-old watch the night before? It has stopped in indignation and you do things in the wrong order; or worse, fail to do them at all and suffer later and haven't brought the cutthroat for your wet shave.

Well, according to my friend Paul, snug in his bit of gorgeous Sussex in Britain, you learn from your folly. You go straight home, back to your comfort zone and your specially made 6ft 4in bed where there is no more fretting and worrying, and enjoy a huge sense of relief with your wet shave. (No Mavis. Not me. I don't do wet shaves).

Paul wrote to me that I was very brave . You would have thought I was climbing Mont Blanc. But he had heard that I was off to magical New England this month (October). He warned me to expect that the homecoming hallelujahs would outweigh 'any vague feeling of achievement.'

I was, am, in agony with an infernal curse called water on the knee. It was so painful the other night, that denied the crying apparatus, I scrunched a wet sponge between my fingers and told the dog that I was howling really. The dog said with her eyes that she would rather I stayed at home than be farmed out with sons-in-law who just tolerated her. I was about to look up Virgin Atlantic cancellation procedure when I received in my e-mails a recipe for making Baileys with good old Carnation condensed milk. It sounded sickly and lovely.

I was transported back to the comfort zone of my late Uncle George who lived in a house on the top of a Scottish brae, on his own. All the local girls he had loved had been made honest women by other, duller men, having given him up as a lost cause. He was serenely happy with his sheepdog Nell, his bottle of single malt, the bottomless box of Darjeeling tea bags, and the tin of Carnation with the hole all crusted around to give that vintage taste when poured into the mug I would rather forget about.

One morning very early, George put the malt and the Carnation in his old kitbag, walked down the brae, leaving the bank under his bed, tied the dog in the guard's van and took a train down to faraway Edinburgh town to re-sit his driving test. The local doctor had dared to take away his license after a local garage mechanic confided that George was a threat to sheep and man on the mountain roads. His clutch was so burned out it should have been in a museum. Buoyed with the boost of a flask of black tea and Carnation, George turned up at the Scottish examination HQ, demanded a test there and then, and simulated a faultless drive in the boardroom around the mock-up city centre. He had never driven there in his life. Flawless. The examiners shook his hand, told him to give his doctor a flea in the ear from them and produced a shiny new license, valid for a couple of centuries.

Had he stayed in his comfort zone--querencia they call it at horrible Spanish bullfights-- my Uncle George would have been a broken man. . But he took it with him. I remember from my Hemingway that the querencia is the spot in the ring to which the bull returns. Each bull has a different querencia, but as the bullfight continues, and the animal becomes threatened, it returns more and more often to his comfort zone. In the end the matador is able to kill the bull because instead of trying something new, the bull has returned to what is familiar. Now if the bull had a quiet word with himself he would realize that he was his own comfort zone and toss that preening matador back to his madre.

So, hammers of hell pain or not, I am going to take my bull by the horns, stock myself up with Ibuprofen and get me to New England. America is calling. I have never been there. I had a Reuter colleague called Woody Dickermann who kept going home to his comfort zone somewhere in the Cape Cod area, With a name like that you don't just disappear, or at least you leave behind a tribe of little Dickermanns, who will lead me to the comfort zone of the best Oyster Festival in the world.

That is, apart from the one back home in Colchester which takes place the day after I get home. And oh, what stories I will have to tell. God willing. Excitement is cutting in. Adrenalin is beating the watery knee and I have packed my comfort zone to take with me.
Watch this space.

 

 

 

 


 

This Little Piggy

 


You remember the nursery rhyme, This Little Piggy?.....Ok, if not, here goes:

This little piggy went to market.
This little piggy stayed at home.
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none.
And this little piggy went "Wee! Wee! Wee!" all the way home.

Well I got a story for you, a story about roses and pigs. I know what you’re thinking....”OK Paul from Alabama, you’re crossing over the line now” but hear me out first, OK?.....

I wanted to tell you about something that happened to me the other day....A friend of my mother’s came over to see the garden. She walked around looking at this and that but when we got to the old fashioned roses here’s what she said, “Paul that rose smells just like the roses my mother used to grow, I haven’t smelled anything like that in a long, long time” Well I was glad she liked them so much and that they brought back good memories, I’d grow roses for no other reason than that. The rose she liked was ‘Zephrine Drouhin’, a lovely thornless pink rose, for you rose folks you know how sweet she smells. I got 3 of them growing up wooden posts and then training the long canes down a chain, a rose swag they call it.... In England or France they probably grow magnificent flowers in front of their swags, I’m from
Alabama, I grow tomatoes in front of mine.......
That’s “This little piggy went to market”....

Well we walked around and then we came to where I got a black metal arbor attached to a black metal fence and I got two kinds of roses growing on them.....’Lamarque’ along the fence and ‘Sombreuil’ on the arbor. Two beautiful white roses. Well she liked the way the ‘Lamarque’ smelled but wasn’t all that impressed I didn’t think, but when she smelled the ‘Sombreuil’ I swear I though she was going to cry....
That’s “This little piggy stayed at home” and “This little piggy had roast beef”

On the back wall of our house I got a ‘Madame Alfred Carrière' rose growing.....I hope to eventually grow it up and over my garden shed, folks that know roses say it might eat my house, lord I hope so...Well my mom’s friend bends over a raised bed I got near the wall and smells this rose, she loves it too....and if I ain’t mistaken I think I saw her cry...Am I sure, not positive, but you kinda get a feeling when folks are tearing up....She started telling me more about her mother’s roses again...I was so tickled she like my roses so much.....And at that moment I was so glad I had old fashioned ones, though how I came to have old fashioned roses to start with is another story....
That’s “This little piggy had none”

Well we’ve worked our way all through the backyard and the sides of our house, and now we’re going to the front yard where I’m just now getting things started....I got my beds amended, mulched and ready to plant this fall....I only got one thing growing really out front, and that’s on the porch, I got a big container with a ‘Ducher’ growing in it....It’s a China rose, a small shrub rose, gets maybe 3 feet tall a bit more maybe.....and I only planted it about a month ago in this pot and its got only one bloom on it.....one little bloom, but its a pretty little thing, just opening nicely and looking all fresh like.....Well my mom’s friend bends over and takes a whiff of that rose and she starts crying.....I don’t have to guess this time, she’s crying but crying and smiling all at the same time.....I was kinda scared to begin with but when she started to say something I knew she was alright....She loved that smell more than all the others....and it brought back memories for her that she hadn’t thought of in years.....Well my little tour of the garden was over and my mom’s friend was leaving but I told her before she left that when she got home to find her a place for a small rose bush and I’d bring her a ‘Ducher’ and plant it for her wherever she wanted it. She said she wanted it where she could open up the window and let the fragrance in...As she was pulling out of the driveway with her husband I knew then whatever else I might grow in the future I was always gonna have me some old fashioned roses........
That’s ”And this little piggy went “Wee! Wee! Wee! all the way home”

“This Little Piggy” is a nursery rhyme, first published in 1728.

Paul from Alabama
 

 

 

Welcome To Our New Members:

 

I would like to extend a "Warm Welcome" to our most recently accepted laryngectomees, caregivers, vendors, and professionals who have joined our WebWhispers community within this past month. There is a great wealth of knowledge and information to be accessed and obtained from our website, email lists, and newsletters. If ever there should be questions, concerns or suggestions, please feel free to submit them to us from the "Contacts" page of our website.

 

Thanks and best wishes to all,

 

Michael Csapo

VP Internet Activities

WebWhispers, Inc.

 
 

We welcome the 47 new members who joined us during September 2008:

 

Norma L. Bibeau
New Bedford, MA

Larry Bloyd
Greensburg, KY

Rosemary Bousman - (Caregiver)
Comanche, IA

     

Kathy Brown - (Medical)
Barnsdall, OK

Scott Burns
Lindsborg, KS

Phillip Catlett
Belleville, IL

     

Sherie Catlett - (Caregiver)
Belleville, IL

Stacey O'Connor
Middletown, NJ

Linda K. Dollenmeyer - (Caregiver)
Cincinnati, OH

     

Richard Dollenmeyer
Cincinnati, OH

Amanda Evanko - (SLP)
Stratford, CT

Melissa Farmer
Gate City, VA

     

Jill Fitzpatrick - (SLP)
Little Rock, AR

Bradford Gooch
Rome, GA

Gary Gruba
Foley, MN

     

Arthur J. Guillot - (Caregiver)
Mandeville, LA

Vernell A. Guillot
Mandeville, LA

John Iwanyshyn
Mountainside, NJ

     

Arthur D. Johnson
Wilmington, MA

Ginny Johnson - (Caregiver)
Wilmington, MA

Jennie Jordon
Elk Park, NC

     

Bob Keiningham
Broken Arrow, OK

Robert Lee Kuhn
The Plains, OH

Norma Kuykendall
Miles, TX

     

Gary G. Larson
Columbus, WI

John Larson
Comanche, IA

Ronald LeClair - (Vendor Member)
Plantsville, CT

     

David Levy
Los Angeles, CA

Tammy Marks - (SLP)
Arnaudville, LA

Ruth Martinez - (Vendor Member)
Carpinteria, CA

     
Johnnie Mathis
Hempstead, TX
Peter Mueller
Guilford, CT
Dennis Plencner
Chicago, IL
     
Nadeem Qazi - (Caregiver)
Cranfield, UK
Silvia Anton Rabadi - (SLP)
Amman, Jordan
Nicole Reyes - (SLP)
Orlando, FL
     
John Russo
Belleville, MI
Robert Ryan
Gila, NM
Linda Sasse - (Caregiver)
Gila, NM
     
David Semler
Elmira, NY
Joe Sewell
Wenden, AZ
Eugene R. Sheldon
San Jose, CA
     
Evelyn L. Shimp
Ashland, KY
Patsy Smith
Naugatuct, CT
Cathryn Pearse Snyders - (SLP)
Virginia Beach, VA
     
Linda Stachowiak - (SLP)
Orland, FL
Elizabeth Toy - (Caregiver)
Wilmington, DE
 

 

WebWhispers is an Internet based support group. Please check our home page for information about the WebWhispers group, our email lists, membership, or officers.
For newsletter questions, comments or contributions, please write to editor@webwhispers.org
           Managing Editor - Pat Wertz Sanders
           Editor - Donna McGary
 

 

 

Disclaimer:
 
The information offered via WebWhispers is not intended as a substitute for professional medical help or advice but is to be used only as an aid in understanding current medical knowledge. A physician should always be consulted for any health problem or medical condition. The statements, comments, and/or opinions expressed in the articles in Whispers on the Web are those of the authors only and are not to be construed as those of the WebWhispers management, its general membership, or this newsletter's editorial staff.
 
As a charitable organization, as described in IRS § 501(c)(3), the WebWhispers Nu-Voice Club
is eligible to receive tax-deductible contributions in accordance with IRS § 170.
 
  © 2008 WebWhispers
Reprinting/Copying Instructions can be found on our WotW/Journal Index.