Showing posts with label film. Show all posts
Showing posts with label film. Show all posts

Friday, May 31, 2019

Friday bonus watch


This short film about living with a dad who has cerebral palsy, uses a wheelchair, and communicates with a pointer and letterboard, is now available on YouTube. My Dad Matthew is seen through the eyes of Elijah, who was then 14, and considers his father Matthew “a pretty normal dad.” 


Want to hear directly from Matthew, who's a professor in disability studies at Northern Arizona University? Read our interview with him. Happy Friday!

Monday, May 28, 2018

The film 'Deej' upends what you think you know about disability

By Louise Kinross

David James Savarese, known as DJ or Deej, has autism and doesn't speak. As a young child, he was placed in foster care. He was abused there, but couldn't tell anyone. Only after he was adopted by parents who taught him to read and write was he able to share his story, which is the focus of the film Deej, making
 its Canadian debut this Friday at Toronto's ReelAbilities Film Festival.

"Imagine for a minute," DJ says with a voice device in the film, "that...you are removed from your home for reasons no one bothers to tell you because you can't speak, so they assume you can't hear or think or feel." And later: "To this day, I question my humanness." The film follows DJ through a regular high school and into college, revealing a rich world that he expresses in poetry and as a playwright.


BLOOM: Why did you want to make this film? 

DJ Savarese:
I wanted to show the people who said I was incompetent, that I’m not. I wanted to show people that they make wrong assumptions based on people’s appearances all the time. I wanted to show neurodiverse kids that they are needed and worthy of being celebrated.

BLOOM: What technology and support people do you use to communicate?

DJ Savarese:
I can use almost any means to communicate: photos, AAC, manual sign language, writing, typing, and even my vocal cords. Because I still intermittently dissociate and lose track of my body, I travel with a support assistant whose physical resistance to my movement makes it easier to locate my hand—and body—in space.

BLOOM: At one point in the film you say 'no assistive device can do' what your mom does. What do you mean?

DJ Savarese:
I mean that no assistive device can fill in when a paid support person is sick, or late, or quits, and all I need to do is look at her to remember I deserve respect, and I can handle it myself. 


BLOOM: Just to clarify, is the value of the support person (in addition to providing physical resistance) that he or she is a constant reminder that you're worthy of respect? Is it about the power of seeing yourself through the eyes of people who know you?

DJ Savarese: Yes and yes! I love your notion of seeing myself reflected in the eyes of those who 'get' me—yes.

BLOOM: We learn you suffered severe emotional trauma as a young child in foster care. You say that because you don’t speak, people 'assume you can’t hear or think or feel.' Why is speech associated with being human?

DJ Savarese:
 I’m not sure. You’d have to ask a neurotypical [person] that question, I think. Maybe it’s because developmental tests make speech a gatekeeping skill that keeps some kids from ever getting the chance to be taught to read and write.

BLOOM: You talk about a mission to “free your people.” Does this refer to non-speaking autistics, or all non-speaking people, or all people with disabilities?

DJ Savarese: 
I want the film to speak for all nonspeaking people, and I tell my story so kids with trauma and kids in foster care can see life gets better.

It might refer to any of those people, but it also refers to any of us who are not allowed to lead the life we want for ourselves because we are pigeonholed by society.

BLOOM: Your film touched me deeply, because I have a young adult son who doesn’t speak (he doesn’t have autism, but a rare disorder). He is able to read, but he’s never developed a fluid form of communication so he can freely express his thoughts. What can we do to empower people like my son?

DJ Savarese: 
Keep working with him to increase his fluid communication and explore a variety of ways to communicate. There are examples on Listen2Us of how to move someone who uses single words to sentences and from sentences to paragraphs.

I’m sure no one stops learning as a young adult.

BLOOM: What advice would you give to parents of a child who can’t speak, especially if they have an intellectual disability?

DJ Savarese:
Visit my website at Listen2Us, and keep visiting it all summer as I finish it.

Ask yourself how you can possibly know your child has an intellectual disability if you aren’t able to understand what they know.

Try all kinds of communication with them: photographs, words, AAC, sign language.

Read to them a lot and ask them questions using answer banks. New ideas keep us from getting locked in our old ones. 


BLOOM: Do you think we can learn from people who have intellectual disabilities? Is there value to all kinds of neurodiversity?

DJ Savarese:
There is value in every person, but I reject the term "intellectually disabled." It's a figment of the ableist's limited—and limiting—imagination.

BLOOM: How does writing poetry help you deal with memories of your childhood abuse?

DJ Savarese:
It’s hard to put into words. It just does. If I can write a poem and strike a nerve in my reader, then I might still be sanely sad, but at least I’m safe and not alone.

BLOOM: Who paints the images that accompany your poetry in the film?

DJ Savarese
: Em Cooper made the film awesome by offering an alternative to the camera’s outsider’s gawking stare. We collaborated online every week for months.

Here is her biography from the movie’s website:

Em Cooper is a British animation director specializing in combining oil-painted animation with live-action film. Her "striking, impressionistic animation" received critical acclaim across the British press in 2013 with the release of Kiss The Water (dir Eric Steel, BBC Scotland) for “gorgeous animation sequences in Munch-like swirls of colour” (The Observer/The Financial Times). In 2014-15 she created animation for Amazon Prime’s Emmy nominated children’s series Gortimer Gibbon’s Life on Normal Street. Em is a graduate of the Royal College of Art, Sundance Alumna and a winner of both the YCN Professional Award for Animation and the Gradiva Award for Film.

And here is the two of us discussing our collaboration of poetry and oil-paint animation.

BLOOM: Are you still studying creative writing at Oberlin College?

DJ Savarese:
I am no longer at Oberlin College, but I am still a writer.

I graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Oberlin College in May 2017 with a double major in Anthropology and Creative Writing. An Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) Scholar Fellow, I was also the recipient of Oberlin’s William Battrick Poetry Fellowship and their Comfort Starr Award for meritorious scholarly work in Anthropology. My poems and prose have appeared in The Iowa Review, Seneca Review, Prospect, Disability Studies Quarterly, StoneCanoe, Wordgatherings.com, Voices for Diversity and Social Justice: A Literary Education Anthology, and A Doorknob for the Eye (Unrestricted Press). Links to my published work can be found on my website.

BLOOM: What did you learn about yourself at college?

DJ Savarese:
I got an amazing education and stayed in my body for long periods of time.

I can teach and I love to teach.

I am synesthetic.

I care what happens to our planet, and its story is in flux all the time.

I assessed myself as able to write myself into a job, which I did.

I’m an artist, but my words are not like yours.

I’m interdependent, I’m not dependent; and people are safe if they’re interdependent.

I assessed myself as smart and made it so.

I love myself as I am.

BLOOM: Something we see in the film is how exhausting it is for you to control your body to fit in with social norms. After you’d been at Oberlin for a while, did you ever feel like you could let your guard down and be freer with your movements?

DJ Savarese:
I loved Oberlin a lot, and, yes, once enough people knew who I was and told all of their friends and colleagues, I could move more freely around campus and the town.

BLOOM: Is acceptance an important idea for disabled people—meaning acceptance of their differences and not always working to “fix” or “camouflage” them?

DJ Savarese:
I strive not only for acceptance but for appreciation and for need. I’m essential to the people in my life.

BLOOM: You talk about being exposed to gawking strangers. How do you deal with that?

DJ Savarese:
I’m not as vulnerable to their stares as I was, but if I’m in my head, it can be sad to see myself in their eyes. I live down to their low expectations then.

But if I’m in my body, I can ask my assistant to talk loudly about my accomplishments and introduce them [the strangers] to a new perspective.

BLOOM: How many of your supports were covered financially by the government—or by Oberlin—and how many did your parents need to pay for privately? For example, I’m thinking of the assistant you had at night.

DJ Savarese:
I received assistance from Iowa VR for 58 hours of support assistance for homework and a partial tuition stipend and book stipend from Ohio VR, and Oberlin paid for my support assistant during class time. I also received 35 hours per week of personal care assistance. In exchange for my support from Vocational Rehabilitation (VR), I was required to apply for 3 scholarships annually, which I did and received extra assistance with tuition and room and board that way. While I was on the waiting list for the home-based waiver, I never actually made it above #500; in fact, my position on the waiting list worsened over time.

BLOOM: You note that your mom lived in the town so she could help manage your support team. But you say that 'being included is every kids’ right, it shouldn’t be a lottery.' You obviously hit the jackpot when you were adopted by your loving parents. Did your dad teach disability studies before he adopted you? Or did he go into that after?

DJ Savarese:
My dad went into disability studies after he met me but before he adopted me. I think he was in graduate school for English when we first met.

BLOOM: What was it like to watch the film for the first time?

DJ Savarese:
I’m not sure if I can say this; I’ve seen it a lot, so it’s hard to remember what it felt like to watch it for the first time. It’s not easy watching yourself on screen. I’m greeting fear most of the time.

BLOOM: What do you hope to do when you graduate?

DJ Savarese:
As I mentioned above, I graduated in May 2017. I’m currently working full-time as an Open Society Foundations (OSF)/Human Rights Initiative Youth Fellow. I also just completed Harvard's Kennedy School course on Leadership, Organizing, and Action. I’m working to make literacy-based education, communication, and inclusive lives a reality for all nonspeaking people.

Here’s a link to an online interview with OSF:

I’ll likely get a PhD, but I’m taking time to see what life is like outside of academia, and it’s been a lot of fun so far.

BLOOM: In high school in the film, you talked about writing a book. Are you working on one?

DJ Savarese:
I haven’t written a poetry book, but my chapbook, a small paperback book, is A Doorknob for the Eye.

I’ve written my honours theses for Creative Writing and for Anthropology, but neither of them has been published. At some point I hope to publish a lot more. My website has links to most of my published work thus far. I hope to get more writing done this summer, when I take a break from travelling with the film for a while. I love writing, but it’s difficult to fit it in with two full-time jobs.

BLOOM: Can people follow you on social media?

DJ Savarese:
I appreciate you asking. I’m not made for social media, but here are some ways you can follow my work:

www.djsavarese.com

www.Listen2Us.net

www.deejmovie.com

https://www.facebook.com/david.j.savarese

https://www.facebook.com/DeejMovie/

https://twitter.com/deejmovie?lang=en




Friday, May 25, 2018

'Being included is every kid's right'

By Louise Kinross

Get ready for the Canadian premiere of the film Deej next Friday at The ReelAbilities Film Festival at Innis Town Hall at the University of Toronto. 


"No non-speaking autistic has ever lived like a typical college student," says David James Savarese, known as Deej, in a film that follows the Iowa student's life for six years. Deej suffered severe emotional trauma as a young child in foster care. "Imagine, for a minute, that you don't have speech and you are removed from your home for reasons no one bothers to tell you, because you can't speak, so they assume you can't her or think or feel," he says. Deej's world changed when he was adopted by loving parents and learned how to read and write.

Deej, who graduated from Oberlin College last year with a double major in anthropology and creative writing, has agreed to do an interview with BLOOM. 

Look for it early next week. In the meantime, watch the trailer

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

When a child has a chronic illness, every family member adapts


By Louise Kinross

Sweet Dreams for Chiyo is a tender film about how one family copes when their toddler is diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Families of children with chronic health problems and disabilities are sure to see parts of themselves in it, from the mom who becomes the resident medical expert and the dad who feels unsure of his role, to the sibling who is super-helpful, but sometimes feels left out and resentful.

A reminder that a free screening of the film is being held Wed., May 16 at 7 p.m. at the Hot Docs Ted Rogers Centre at 506 Bloor Street West. I'll be part of a panel afterwards that includes the parent filmmakers and diabetes experts.


Our Canadian readers can watch the full Sweet Dreams for Chiyo documentary above. You can also check out lots of information at this website. Or read our interview with filmmaker Kaz Ehara.

Monday, March 19, 2018

A son shows his family the way home in Love, Hope and Autism

By Louise Kinross

Robert Fresco is a professional filmmaker, so when his twins Fraser and Hallee were born, it was natural that he’d turn the camera on them. His exquisite home movies are the backbone of Love, Hope and Autism, a CBC Docs POV piece. The film covers the family's idyllic early days, the unravelling of Robert's marriage to Shannon Wray when Fraser is diagnosed with autism, and how the family regroups to co-parent with the addition of Shannon's new partner Tim.

'Hope' is in part a reference to Hope, B.C., the town, surrounded by mountains, rivers and lakes, where the kids lived with Robert for a couple of years. The film begins shortly after the twins’ birth in Ontario and culminates with their 21st birthday. BLOOM interviewed Shannon about what she hopes viewers take away.

BLOOM: I felt so much emotion watching this film. I pulled it up thinking I’d watch for five minutes, and I couldn’t stop. What was it like for you to watch the film?

Shannon Wray:
It really evoked a lot of emotion around when Hallee and Fraser were little for me. Seeing the magic of movies, that slow-motion piece of Fraser staring at the farm, it really took me back to that moment of ‘wait, something is not right,’ and that first inkling of fear. On a certain level I wanted to say ‘no, we’re going to freeze frame here and take a different path.’ I had really profound feelings watching Fraser become autistic in the film.

BLOOM: Was it a difficult decision to make the film?

Shannon Wray:
The really difficult parts of the film for me were when Fraser was lost on the mountain and his accident last summer. I had pictures in my mind of what that might have been like, but I wasn’t there, and I didn’t see it at the time. To be put back in that situation in such a visceral way was very difficult.

BLOOM: Yes, it’s unusual that you would have footage of Fraser in Emergency, but as Hallee noted, the camera was almost like a pair of glasses to Robert.

Shannon Wray:
 (Laughs). Until the nurse told him to turn it off.

We screened the film with Fraser recently and his responses were really interesting. He’s used to seeing footage of himself when he was a kid, but when I became emotional about his diagnosis in the film, he became very agitated and started saying ‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ When Robert got emotional, he had the same response. He didn’t want us to be that upset.

When he saw the first frames of the waterfall where he got lost, he said ‘That’s dangerous, I don’t want to go there.’ We’ve never known where he was or what he thought, because he’s never been able to communicate it to us. He also said ‘It was so dark and I was very scared.’ When the first shot of the stretcher appeared he got up and left the room.

He came back and at the end of the film he said ‘My family all love each other.’

BLOOM: That really struck me watching the film. That the family is reconfigured, but there is still so much love. The scenes where Hallee is interviewed are very candid. Did she have any hesitation about participating?

Shannon Wray:
She did a bit, but it was really interesting. After the years she spent in Hope with her dad, she became very emotionally closed off, and it was a long journey for me to get her to open up again. As we were approaching the film interviews, she said ‘They’re going to rip me open, and I think it’s time.’ She’s a very thoughtful girl. She knew she was sort of frozen up inside. and this is what it would take to get over it.

BLOOM: What do you hope viewers take from the film?

Shannon Wray:
Robert and Tim and I have parented together as a pod for many years—across borders and across boundaries. Through shattered relationships, we’ve taken the shards of our experiences and put them together into something unique and loving. That’s what I wanted people to come away from the film with. That even if primary relationships can’t be sustained through the stresses of living with a differently abled child, there’s still a way to put a family together out of all of that.

The other narrative that isn’t talked about enough is how much of the oxygen was sucked out of the room for Hallee, for the sibling.

BLOOM: Were you aware of how left out Hallee felt when your kids were living with Robert in Hope?

Shannon Wray:
Hallee and Fraser were the same age and quite interdependent, so on one level, because they’re twins, we always had this feeling that all they needed was each other. Something the film didn’t explore was that one of the reasons I wasn’t there in Hope was that I was taking care of my sister, who was dying of terminal cancer. I knew Hallee really needed me, but I had made a commitment to be with my sister till she died.

BLOOM: Can you describe Robert’s relationship with Fraser?

Shannon Wray:
Because Fraser couldn’t latch and breast feed productively, and had really bad digestive issues, the doctors told us to get him on a bottle. As soon as he went on the bottle, Robert became his primary nurturer, because I was breastfeeding Hallee.

So Robert would sit and feed Fraser, and Fraser became more bonded with Robert, and they continued on with that bond. Then, as Fraser grew, Robert became incredibly fascinated by him because Fraser was very different. He followed him more with the camera than Hallee. What we realize now is that he recognized some aspect of himself in Fraser, too.

BLOOM: Yes, I remember one part in the film when Robert says he thinks he’s on the spectrum.

Shannon Wray:
Not having to talk and be emotionally engaged at a deep level with Fraser was very freeing for Robert. He and Fraser just loved being in one another’s presence and doing things. They’d go on bike rides or canoeing. Fraser feels so free when he’s riding a bike. And he loves the quiet of the paddling in the canoe. From a sensory level it’s very still.

BLOOM: There’s a part in the film where you’re living away from the family and your young daughter calls and says her dad isn’t around and she doesn’t know where he is. Was Robert just absent-minded, or was he having other issues?

Shannon Wray:
This is where a diagnosis of Asperger’s would make a lot of sense in our lives. Robert would get an obsession of some sort. That time he had seen an ad for a car he was interested in on Vancouver Island, and he left the kids and went to look at the car. It took him a few days to figure that out, during which time the kids were at home with no ability to cope for themselves.

BLOOM: Looking back, is there any advice you’d give parents about the impact of a child’s autism, or other disability, on a marriage?

Shannon Wray:
When Fraser was diagnosed it felt to me like that was the time for us to really pull together, dig in and figure out what we needed to do to help Fraser and Hallee.

But Robert went into ‘Oh well, Fraser is Fraser and that’s fine. It’s all going to be okay.’ I went in to research overdrive—where do we find services and what do we do? I was trying to form a strategy about how we would get through this, and I felt very much alone.

BLOOM: I think that's very common, that people cope with a diagnosis in really different ways. I know in our family, my husband always felt I was over-reacting about things, and I always felt he was under-reacting.

Shannon Wray:
Yes, one parent becomes the over-functioning one, and, as a result, the other becomes the under-func
tioning. They can’t figure out where to jump in. Instead of making room for Robert, I was like ‘I’m going 90 miles an hour this way, if you can keep up, hang on.’

BLOOM: How did you manage to stay so connected as a family after you and Robert separated?

Shannon Wray:
In most cases it doesn’t work out that way, because so much anger and resentment builds up. One of the things I didn’t want was for my children to experience a lot of conflict between their parents. It wasn’t avoidance—I didn’t just swallow my feelings and shut down. I worked very hard to be a friend to Robert, and he worked very hard to honour that friendship, too. And when Tim came into our lives he tried to find his way into the family very gently and was very respectful.

BLOOM: Where is Fraser now?

Shannon Wray:
He’s with us in Southern California in a tiny mountain village where Tim and I both grew up. He goes to school in the town at the bottom of the mountain. He’s 21 and finishes school in June.

BLOOM: Are there any program options for him after school?

Shannon Wray:
No. The way that people with disabilities are managed in California is through regional centres, and the one we’re associated with is where the San Bernardino massacre happened. They manage almost 35,000 cases, and the programs are overwhelmed and underfunded. If we stay where we are, we’ll be on waiting lists, which is what happened when Fraser was little. We’re probably going to need to move to another state. If we aren’t able to commit to a job skills training program, we’re probably going to have to try to fund some sort of co-op program with other parents ourselves.

BLOOM: It’s incredible what falls on families. I know some parents are able to create businesses for their adult kids, and they devote their lives to the business. But not everyone is able to do that, for many reasons.

Shannon Wray:
I know several parents who took out loans to set up a coffee shop and bakery. Their children were involved in baking, serving coffee and making and selling crafts. It was very creative. But when the parents got into their '70s, they burned out. They couldn’t do it anymore, and they couldn’t find younger people who had the desire and will to make it sustainable. There is an endpoint.

BLOOM: I understand that Hallee has agreed to be Fraser’s caregiver in the distant future. How did Hallee come to that understanding?

Shannon Wray:
Hallee has always understood that she will ultimately be Fraser's caregiver, eventually. That's her choice, it's not something that we've told her she has to do. In fact, we've consistently told her that we will do everything we can to ensure that she has her own life, without Fraser, for as long as possible. The only promise I have asked of her is that she will do everything she can to keep Fraser from being in an institutional setting. Hallee was about 17 when she told us that she would be responsible for her brother.


Canadians can watch the entire film Love, Hope and Autism on CBC Docs POV.





Friday, January 26, 2018

'I was afraid to make a mistake, so I hid behind the camera'

By Louise Kinross

Sweet Dreams for Chiyo is a film that follows the Ehara family when their toddler Chiyo is diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Parents Rhiana and Kaz are filmmakers, so Kaz gets behind the camera as the family—which includes Cai, then three months—adapts to checking Chiyo's blood sugar around the clock and counting every carbohydrate she eats. Missing a hypoglycemic episode—when blood sugar dips dangerously low and the person requires immediate sugar or a high-carbohydrate snack—could be deadly. The film follows the family over a six-year period and airs on CBC on Sunday, February 4 at 9 p.m. BLOOM interviewed Kaz about his role as dad and filmmaker.

BLOOM: Why did you initially begin filming your family when Chiyo was diagnosed?

Kaz Ehara: I think this was my initial coping mechanism. When something unknown happens to me or my family, I often capture it by image. I trained as a photojournalist. I have a Japanese family and when my grandfather developed dementia I started filming as a way to understand what was happening more objectively. I discussed with Rhianna capturing our daily life, and I think we also used the filming sessions as an outlet to express our fears and feelings. A lot of the interviews were conducted at night after the kids went to bed.

BLOOM: We quickly see the strain in the film of monitoring, weighing and recording everything Chiyo eats, and late nights where Rhiana is still awake at 3 or 4 in the morning. I think it’s common in families with chronic conditions for the mother to jump in and become the expert and do all of the health-related tasks, and it’s sometimes harder for dads to find their role.

Kaz Ehara: Rhiana was dealing with the daily treatments so beautifully, and she was definitely comprehending the situation much better than I was. I started losing some confidence, especially in the beginning. With Type 1 diabetes, the stakes are high. If we miss one check at night, it could be fatal. The fear was there. I think mainly I was afraid to make a mistake, so I hid behind the camera.

I think I said in the film that, without realizing it, I started to abuse my position. I was obsessively filming, because that became my coping mechanism.

BLOOM: Well, I think that’s understandable, as it was something you could do well.

Kaz Ehara:
I started adding more pressure on Rhiana and now I know it was wrong. I was a filmmaker, and if I’m filming, I’m working. That’s how I justified my actions when I wasn’t supporting her enough.

When Chiyo was born, I changed diapers and fed her and was able to be independent with her. I would compare that with my childhood in Japan with my father, who left for work early in the morning while we were asleep. Because I’m self-employed, my hours are much more flexible. In comparison I thought I was doing really well.

But when Chiyo’s illness hit it put a lot of stress on the family. I didn’t realize the family was close to falling apart. When Rhiana would cry for help, I couldn’t hear her voice, because I was too busy listening to my own inner voice thinking ‘I’m also tired and I’m also working hard.’ I would keep filming, but without any desire to actually watch it.

One day my friend asked how things were going and I decided to watch some interviews. They were emotional and capturing Rhiana’s feelings. It was almost like watching someone else’s life on the screen in a very objective way. I had no baggage attached to me. My inner voice wasn’t there, and I suddenly realized ‘Oh my gosh.’ I felt a pain. That was the turning point. I wanted to change.

BLOOM: Did you or Rhiana have contact with other families whose children have Type 1 diabetes? I don’t recall that in the film.

Kaz Ehara: We had some mixed experiences with that. Our primary reason to get in touch with parents in our community is to get the latest information on technology. We decided that to keep a happy family, we couldn’t let diabetes becomes the main priority in our life. If we started fixating on diabetes care we would neglect our relationship as husband and wife, and as parents. We had very limited mental space in our brain and, for us, we needed some distance.

BLOOM: So you didn’t want diabetes to become the only focus.

Kaz Ehara: I think the word has a strong power and if you talk about certain things over and over again, that becomes part of your identity. We didn’t want our daughter to feel like her identity is with diabetes. We wanted to focus on who she is, and the diabetes is always there to come along with her. We never neglect diabetes or ignore it. But we needed to keep a healthy distance for our sanity, and so we can focus on the bigger picture of keeping our family as happy as possible.

Maybe we are unique in that way. We didn’t want to be 'diabetes parents.' We wanted to be parents first. We have another son who doesn’t have diabetes and we needed to have a bigger perspective than that.

Rhiana was very insightful in that her parents got divorced, while my parents stayed together. I didn’t know the warning signs for divorce, but she said family begins with a strong healthy couple as a foundation. If we neglect our relationship, then the family shakes. When our family was almost falling apart, I was only caring about my sanity and making excuses. I’d say: ‘We don’t have time to go out for a bite’ or ‘We can’t hire a babysitter that we can trust.’

Since then, we started increasing our comfort zone, and suddenly we discovered a babysitter who has Type 1 diabetes. And we started to see that when we changed our attitude, things we thought weren’t possible were. Recently our family went to Mexico for two weeks backpacking in a rural area. It took a lot of preparation, but our world is widening again.

I think I didn’t want to be part of a parent group that was focused only on diabetes.

BLOOM: In one of the scenes in the film, Chiyo needs her insulin pump changed right away—rather than at night when she’s asleep. And she’s crying and hides under the table and begs her mom not to do it. Even your dog Ruby looks really upset. How do you manage those moments when you need to do something that hurts Chiyo, but that in the long-run is necessary to her health?


Kaz Ehara: I was afraid and I had no idea what to say to comfort her. I think I was hiding behind the camera. And even I looked at my little son that day and observed he was much more of a brave participant than I was.

BLOOM: Do you and Rhiana do anything specific to cope with stress?


Kaz Ehara:
We try to exercise. Now, I’m able to be independent when it comes to the diabetes care, so we try to give each other space as much as possible. For example, Rhiana went to Guatemala to see her friends who were teaching there. And I went to Japan. Our coping mechanism is to see the world as bigger than ours. We had to come to the realization that what we were dealing with is not the end of the world.

Another thing we try to do is not to fixate on doing everything perfectly. There are over 100 factors that can affect blood sugar, including hormones and emotions. We can’t be reactive to each little incident, but try to see more of the bigger picture. We need to tell each other we’re doing a good job.

BLOOM: The film covers diabetes from a sibling perspective. We can see how knowledgeable Cai is about his sister’s care, and how he often tries to comfort her. But we also see him feeling sad and resentful because Chiyo gets candies as ‘medicine,’ or seems to get more attention than he does. Is there anything you do to meet Cai’s unique needs?


Kaz Ehara: Part of our strategy is that we try to separate the kids as much as we can. For example, we take them out separately, so Cai can have some free time and space separate from the disease.

Rhiana will also ask Cai: ‘Are you tired of being on our team?’ Because we ask him to be on our caregiving team and we need extra eyes to support Chiyo. But before being part of a caregiver team, he’s a child first, and we want to make sure we don’t screw up that priority.

BLOOM: Later in the film you take the night shift and are up till 3 in the morning because Chiyo’s blood sugar is very low.


Kaz Ehara:
Usually I took the morning shift and Rhiana stayed up late, and that’s partially because she was a night owl to begin with and I was more of a morning person.

The problem is that sometimes you can’t bring Chiyo’s blood sugar level to the point where you feel comfortable to sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning. We have no idea why the blood sugar is acting this way, but we can’t leave it. If it’s too high, you worry about long-term complications and if it’s too low—this could be fatal.

It feels lonely when you’re the person most responsible. We’ve given up on the idea that it will be easy at some point. We have to accept that it is what it is. Acceptance is very key. In the early days, we kept changing technology with the hopes that it would make things easier. But we only got more data, and not the ability to analyze the data. Too much data is overwhelming, and just makes you fixate more on diabetes.

BLOOM: There’s a moving scene where Chiyo is going off to school carrying a large yellow box for her needles. And Rhiana talks about how she feels like a freak when she’s the only mom who has to stay at birthday parties to count Chiyo’s carbs. How do people who don’t understand diabetes respond to you out in the world?

Kaz Ehara:
In the beginning, birthday parties were very difficult. We’d have no idea what food was going to be served, how many carbs were in each food and also, people usually serve buffet style, so we didn’t know how many portions of the items our daughter would eat. We could have talked to the parents before the party, but we didn’t want to be in the way. Rhiana created an art out of carb counting and now she can get in and out quickly.

In general, people have responded very nicely to us. We go on all of Chiyo’s school trips because the nurse can't, and we see how the other kids are helping and are curious about her condition. Chiyo’s friends are very empathetic.

One of the things we worried about is that Chiyo is in a portable outside the main school building. We worried about when she might have to walk to the bathroom, if she got weak. The school created a special buddy system so that whenever they go out of the portable, they go in twos. We are very fortunate with the people around us.

BLOOM: Are there ways that Chiyo’s diabetes has made you a stronger family?

Kaz Ehara: I think we definitely built up a resiliency and became stronger as individuals. I think we also became more sympathetic to others who have different conditions. We talk with our kids about how everyone has something to deal with. We’re not the only ones facing a challenge, and we can help other people. Overall we became stronger as a family because we were dealing with the same challenge as a team. The more experience you have dealing with conditions outside your comfort zone, the more you gain confidence.

BLOOM: What did you learn by filming the movie?

Kaz Ehara:
What I learned most was that in order to see things clearly or objectively, I had to be very flexible about the way I’m thinking about myself. One of the things I try now, when Rhiana needs to talk about things, is to be almost silent inside my brain. Instead of trying to understand in my mind, I’m trying to feel her pain.

The biggest thing I learned was that she doesn’t need my advice. She’s the one understanding her situation and her coping mechanisms, but she still needs someone to feel the same pain, or share the experience.

By looking at the footage, I could see that whenever she said something to me, I would say ‘You should do this.’ Rather than giving her reassurance—‘Yes, of course you can do that’—I was giving her opinions.

So now I try to clear my mind, almost like a white canvas, so I can be vulnerable to feel her emotions. Rather than listening to my brain analyzing and coming up with a solution, I try to create a field of empathy towards her.

That’s what I learned from looking at what I was doing in front of the camera.

BLOOM: What do you hope viewers take from the film?

Kaz Ehara: I hope fathers who have a child with a chronic illness, who maybe feel their contribution isn’t enough, that they can project themselves into me and feel the mistake I made. I think mothers in our society carry much more expectations and stress than fathers, so hopefully this film will open the eyes of fathers a bit and make them think about what kind of a father they want to be.




Tuesday, December 12, 2017

A mask doesn't belong in a film about courage to be who you are

By Louise Kinross

I read R. J. Palacio’s book Wonder—about a boy called Auggie with a craniofacial condition that elicits stares and fear—back in 2012.

In an e-mail to the author on June 29 that year, I wrote: “I loved the book. In particular, I felt the recognition by Via (Auggie’s sister) of the two ways of seeing Auggie—the one of wholeness and beauty she saw in her mind’s eye vs. the picture of horrifying defects others saw, 
which she eventually gets a glimpse ofwas very credible and real.”

I also wrote about the one part of the book that disappointed me. It happened on page 277, when Auggie’s mom refers to some Grade 7 bullies as “morons” and “imbeciles” and “cretinos.”

Reading that paragraph stopped me in my tracks. It hurt my head.

Why, in a book about accepting differences, would the respected and loving mother figure use labels for people with mental disabilities as put-downs?

Palacio responded on July 14, and apologized. “Please keep in mind that she was referring to the bullies who targeted her son, not kids with developmental challenges,” she wrote.

And yet, we know that slurs are cutting precisely because of their origins.

I don’t use the word “lame.” Decades ago, people would have used the term to describe the lop-sided gait of my son. I realize that people today mean “useless” in a generic sense when they say it. But the word’s origins made people who walk differently feel “other” and “abnormal.” That's where the word got its power and punch. 

I’ve heard many parents say they read the book Wonder with their kids, and I’ve always questioned what they said when they got to that part on page 277 about the morons, imbeciles and cretinos. Did they just read over it? Did they talk about why those words negate the main message of the book?

It would be like the mom referring to a bully as a cripple, or using a racial epithet.

I haven’t seen the movie Wonder. I know parents of kids with and without disabilities love it. I know it has beautiful messages about inclusion and kindness. I'm sure it's sparking important discussions about difference.

However, when I heard that the boy playing Auggie would spend two hours a day in makeup and prosthetics to approximate the face of a child with Treacher Collins syndrome
—the condition Palacio based the book onit lost its appeal.

When my son was a baby, I got involved with AboutFace in Toronto. They support kids with facial differences like Auggie’s, and their families. The variety of disorders that can affect the face, skull and neck is huge. According to a similar group in the U.S.—FACES—one in every 650 children is born with a craniofacial condition. Surely with those numbers, and with the resources behind Lionsgate Films, a boy with some kind of facial difference could have been cast to play Auggie.

According to this piece in the 
Daily MailWonder's author Palacio “lobbied hard to have a child with Treacher Collins syndrome star in the film.

The producers did fly in a boy called Nathaniel (with an undisclosed facial difference) for a screen test, the Daily Mail reported. But, as Palacio said in the piece: “Nathaniel had physical limitations, he was hard to understand, and if you have a $20-million movie, you have to make that call.”

Isn’t that the same argument that’s made every time someone gets turned down for a job because of their disability? It would just be too hard to adapt.

If producers were concerned about the child’s speech intelligibility, they could have used captions on theatre screens (what a great way to raise awareness about accessibility?). By the end of the movie, viewers probably would have gotten the hang of it.


Lionsgate uses this tagline for the film: Who gives you the courage to face the world?

In my view, the producers lacked the courage to turn the movie Wonder into the real deal by casting a boy living with a facial difference. It didn't have to be Treacher Collins. But it had to be a real facial difference.

Here’s how a couple of adults with craniofacial disorders and a parent wrote about the casting decision.

“It was devastating to realize that the directors involved with Wonder would rather cast a healthy, 'normal' looking child and put him in makeup and prosthetics, rather than cast someone who looked like me,” wrote Ariel Henley, who has Crouzon syndrome, in Teen Vogue. “I’ve gone my entire life without ever seeing someone with life experiences similar to my own represented on the big screen.”

Mike, who identifies as disfigured, and who I follow on Twitter @guysmiley22 tweeted: “It really, really, really makes me upset to see Jacob Tremblay in that mask. Like our disfigurements are a costume…As if disfigured people don’t exist.”

Sue Robins, a parent who has worked in family engagement in children’s rehab, likened the casting to hiring a regular child to play a child with Down syndrome, then putting them in intensive makeup to mimic the facial features associated with the condition.

There are plenty of child and adult actors with Down syndrome.

Doesn't imagining a child actor wearing a Down syndrome 
“mask convey the absurdity of the Wonder casting choice?

There’s no reason a child with a craniofacial condition couldn’t have played Auggie in Wonder. That should have been a non-negotiable.

Because authenticity, and words, matter.


Below is a photo of Simon Moore and his daughter Alice, who both have Treacher Collins syndrome. The British family was interviewed in the Daily Mail in 2015. The photo is by James Linsell-Clark. 



Tuesday, May 23, 2017

'When I'm swimming, I feel normal'

By Louise Kinross

Swim Team is a gorgeous documentary about a competitive New Jersey swim team made up largely of Latino and Asian youth with autism. It focuses on three of the team's stars as they prepare for competition. "I'm not like other teenagers," says one of these boys. "I'm autistic. When I'm swimming, I feel normal."

We also get to know the boys' parents, who talk about their experiences raising them and their frustration with a lack of school preparation and support as they enter adulthood.

The film was shown at Holland Bloorview a week ago as part of the ReelAbilities Film Festival.

I'm setting up an interview with director Laura Stolman. Stay tuned!

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Immerse yourself in disability art

The ReelAbilities Film Festival is holding its free Family Film and Art Day at Holland Bloorview on Saturday May 13 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Five films are being screened as part of ReelAbilities, which is presented by the Miles Nadal JCC. This is a great opportunity to see films about the lives, stories and art of people with disabilities and Deaf people.

There are also inclusive art activities for the whole family at Holland Bloorview and a lunch-time youth panel on arts and accessibility.

Reserve your free tickets at toronto.reelabilities.org.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

'He's a pretty normal dad'

By Louise Kinross

“When I was seven, I asked when I was going to get my chair,” says Elijah Wangeman, 14 (above left), in an unedited version of My Dad Matthew. The six-minute film is about Elijah’s life with his dad Matthew (right), who has cerebral palsy, uses a wheelchair and communicates by moving a pointer on his helmet to letters on a board. For Elijah, Matthew is “a pretty normal dad.” So as a child, Elijah says he imagined that he too would use a wheelchair when he got older. Matthew is a professor in disability studies at Northern Arizona University. That’s where Matthew met filmmaker John Schaffer, when John was studying special education. On Thursday Feb. 23 at 9 p.m. Eastern time, John is live streaming the world premiere of his film My Dad Matthew on Facebook. John says he hopes viewers take away “a new perspective on disability.” BLOOM interviewed Matthew by e-mail.

BLOOM: What do you teach at Northern Arizona University and why?

Matthew Wangeman: I teach disability studies and I absolutely love it! My job is to essentially challenge how my students think about disability. In fact, we developed the disability studies minor about 10 years ago to combat what people with disabilities and their family members said was the greatest barrier they faced in Arizona—the attitudes of others towards people with disabilities. I really feel I’m doing my life’s work at Northern Arizona University. What keeps me going is when I hear my students talk in the senior seminar course that I co-teach—it’s like they are completely different people. They really think about disability as a problem with society not being willing to really embrace people who are different. To me, that is how you begin to change society for the better for people with disabilities.

BLOOM: What was the greatest challenge growing up with your disability?


Matthew Wangeman: Probably my greatest challenge was trying to convince my Mom that I really needed to go to college! I somehow knew education would be my only key to even have a chance to have control in my life. I always say I have been extremely fortunate in my life and often I think my path could have gone in so many bad directions. I could, and probably should, write a book about growing up in two residential schools for crippled children.

BLOOM: You seem to have a very open, humorous, joyful outlook on life. Do you have a philosophy that shapes the way you live?


Matthew Wangeman: Yes, I love to laugh and I love to make people laugh. I often say I’m a ‘sit-down’ comic. I just think with humour people open up more and they’re open to understand and really think differently about a subject. Life is way too short to live life too seriously and people just like being around funny and happy people.

BLOOM: You say attitudes can be most ‘disabling.’ Can you give us an example?

Matthew Wangeman: I have never had a job that pays me for what I am truly worth. I really feel that is because of attitudes of others towards me, because I have a significant disability. I went to one of the best universities on this planet and that was UC Berkeley. I even earned a masters of city planning and was in a PhD program at Berkeley that I didn't finish. Even if I had finished my PhD, I don't think it would have made a difference because of people's attitudes towards me as someone with a significant disability who can't orally speak. This will always frustrate me.

BLOOM: You have a significant physical disability but have achieved great success academically. How can we break through stereotypes about people who have an intellectual disability? Even in the disability community, intellectual disability is stigmatized?

Matthew Wangeman: Yes, this a problem and it shows people with disabilities are just as guilty of discrimination against other people with disabilities. We must practise what we preach, but humans are flawed people and in order to feel good about ourselves it seems we must put down other people. I really don't know how we fix it, but we must continue to confront this ugly problem.

BLOOM: I would like to see us change the way we view human value—so we don’t base it on what a person does—but see it as inherent to each person, simply by virtue of being human. Do you think people should have to ‘earn’ their value by being productive in a conventional way?


Matthew Wangeman:
I happen to think the value that we place on people as part of a capitalistic society is probably one of the most harmful things we do to people with significant disabilities. People should never be judged by how much money they make, because it's so arbitrary. I love sports but it's ridiculous that someone would make $5-10 million dollars for hitting this round ball with a bat 400 feet! It makes no sense.


BLOOM: Your son Elijah provides a lovely perspective to the story. How have his insights impacted your thinking?

Matthew Wangeman:
Probably what my son has taught me the most is disability to him is typical. I am not saying that he is free from discriminating against people, because we all discriminate, but I do think he is much more open to other people who are different and in that way we can learn from him.


BLOOM: What advice would you give to parents whose child has significant disabilities?


Matthew Wangeman:
Just believe in your child and always question everything!

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Bulletproof 'is an experiment in extreme diversity'




In the opening of the trailer for Becoming Bulletproof, one of the actors says: “You never really see anybody with a disability on TV.”

Becoming Bulletproof documents the remaking of a 1920 Western film called Bulletproof, with a twist: its actors include people with Down syndrome and cerebral palsy as well as those without disabilities. One of the filmmakers describes it as “an experiment in extreme diversity.”

The actors meet every year at Zeno Mountain Farm
in Vermont to write, produce and star in short films. The farm was founded by two brothers and their wives with the goal of building friendships through projects in film, art, theatre, sports and music. No one is paid to work with the group and no one pays to come and participate. The group is funded by donations and all proceeds from Becoming Bulletproof go to Zeno Mountain Farm.

The film, which has won a number of awards at festivals, had a screening Monday at the Brooklyn Center for Independence of the Disabled.


I hope to learn more about how and why Zeno Mountain Farm was created and perhaps interview one of the filmmakers. Stay tuned! Louise

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Expecting death, Gabe prepares for life

By Megan Jones

Luke Terrell tells his friend Gabe Weil’s story like this:

By the time he reached his mid-20s, Gabe (above second from right) thought he only had a few more years to live. Diagnosed with Duchenne muscular dystrophy in his childhood, the St. Louis resident had always been told that he could expect to live until the age of 25—if he was lucky. By 10, he needed a wheelchair for mobility. And when he hit his teens, his physical state had deteriorated so drastically he needed help from a full-time caregiver.

Gabe set large, short-term goals. In December of 2013, he graduated with a degree in psychology from Washington University (where he had met Luke two years before). The accomplishment was bittersweet: getting a degree had been a life goal for Gabe. But at 25, he and his family knew the clock was ticking.

Then, at a doctor’s appointment that same month, everything changed. Sitting in a small medical office, Gabe and his mother, Josephine, watched as the doctor examined Gabe’s feet. The doctor mumbled to himself. He paused. He mumbled again. Josephine asked him to repeat himself.

“I said I don’t think Gabe had Duchenne’s,” the doctor explained.

In the months that followed, many doctors performed countless tests to try to determine a new diagnosis. They never settled on one for certain, but something became clear: Gabe Weil was going to live far longer than expected. In fact, his life-expectancy had doubled, doctors said. Suddenly, he needed to plan for a life he never imagined he’d have.

Today, Gabe, 27, is the main character in
a documentary that Luke, 23 (above photo, second from left), is directing about his friend. The film, named after its subject, captures Gabe’s transition as he reimagines his life from scratch, and tries to set the long-term goals he never thought he’d need. 

***

Luke met Gabe when he began working as his tutor at Washington University in 2011. At the time, both men were completing degrees in psychology. Luke had worked with adults with muscular dystrophy in high school, and teamed up with Gabe on a volunteer basis.

“Initially, I went into the relationship thinking that we wouldn't necessarily have a lot of common ground,” he says.

But that soon changed. One day, after Luke had helped facilitate a test, he asked Gabe how he thought it had gone. “He said, ‘Dude, I don't want to talk about it. Let’s take a shot,’” Luke says.

That broke the ice. 


“I didn’t even think he drank,”  Luke says. “But all of a sudden he became real and relatable to me,” Luke says. “I realized he had interests, passions, hobbies and dreams just like me and all my friends did.” It was small, surprising moments like these that made Luke want to share Gabe’s story through film.

As their friendship grew, Luke noticed many only considered Gabe at a surface level. They saw him as the “disabled guy” who they couldn't relate to. With the documentary, the director hoped to break some of those stereotypes about young adults with disabilities.

“There’s this tendency to see people with obvious physical disabilities and immediately dehumanize them. I’ve seen people talk to Gabe in a baby voice,” Luke says.

But Luke knew him as someone multi-faceted: Gabe was a foodie who loved going to concerts and listening to new bands. “I wanted to show the impact Gabe had had on me. I wanted to show that he is a bright young man.”

So far, they’ve been working on the film for a year. Prior to beginning the documentary, Luke had directed and produced a number of shorts. But this is his first foray into feature film making.

It hasn’t been without its challenges. Gabe’s muscular dystrophy causes him to speak slower and less clearly than most. Occasionally he needs to take breaks to use a breathing machine. Obstacles like these have slowed the filming process at times.

But they’ve also added to the film. Luke explains that since Gabe has to rely on others to do most daily tasks for him, he’s used to having to be a great communicator. Gabe’s patience and his ability to speak so candidly about his wants and needs make him a compelling subject to film.

Making the movie has also been transformative for Gabe. Being filmed and interviewed forced him to reflect on his muscular dystrophy, and the way the condition has affected multiple facets of his life.

“I’ve seen him become much more vocal about his feelings towards others, about how appreciative he is of his life,” Luke says. “I think it’s helped him come to terms with his identity.”

Luke hopes that audiences will get as much out of watching the film as he and his friend have gotten out of making it, and that viewers will find inspiration in Gabe’s unique perspective on life, whether or not they’ve previously spent time around people with disabilities.

The director describes a night, during the filming process, where he and Gabe were out to dinner. Gabe’s right arm had fallen asleep, and Luke was holding it up for him to try to restore feeling. At one point, Luke jokingly brought it down to rest on his shoulder so that Gabe’s arm was around him. Gabe paused, then excitedly told Luke he’d never put his arm around someone before. “This is so cool,” he said. “Can we do this again from time to time? Is that weird?”

“That was such a Gabe moment,” Luke laughs. “He finds the extraordinary in these moments we take for granted. There’s a lot of strength and power in Gabe’s voice.”
GABE is slated for release in fall 2015. Check out the trailer.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

This looks mesmerizing


Trailer for Stand Clear of the Closing Doors.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Coming up: Interview with Pia Pearce

Next Wednesday is International Day of Persons with Disabilities.

We're marking the occasion with an interview with Pia Pearce, mom to Kevin Pearce (above), an American snowboarder who was expected to win gold at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.

Then a crash head-first into ice almost killed him.

Some of you may have seen The Crash Reel, a raw, exuberant film that follows Kevin's wild success, devastating accident, and hospitalization for a life-changing brain injury. The film takes us into the world of Kevin's close-knit family, which includes four brothers, and the gruelling rehab that follows.

Pia talks about how her experience raising one son with Down syndrome and two sons with dyslexia influenced her reaction to Kevin's traumatic brain injury.

This interview is not to be missed. Louise

(Learn more about Kevin's foundation Love Your Brain, which raises funds to improve quality of life for people with brain injury.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Hope that high-fat diet will tame a little girl's seizures

By Stephanie Ly

It was a sunny and glorious Muskoka morning when our daughter, Pepper, had her first seizure. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a seizure, but it was alarming to watch my nine-month, otherwise perfectly healthy baby girl, drop and seize.

We called 911 and had her taken to the nearest hospital. Since it was her first seizure, she was otherwise healthy and her vital signs all checked out as normal, we were sent home without further treatment.

Two seizures later that same day, she was treated with a low dose of her first anti-convulsant medication. So began a series of hospital visits and medication trials for Pepper worthy of an 80-year-old in poor health.

My only knowledge of the medication Pepper was first prescribed was that it was used to treat dogs with seizure disorders. No joke. I had a friend who treated his dog with the same medication after the dog suffered a stroke and began to have seizures. So why were we treating our daughter with this medication? And why, when this drug stopped working, was she prescribed another anti-convulsant? And then, yet another? And after a year, why were we still manipulating her doses with little effect? Why? Why? Why?

Epilepsy, or rather intractable epilepsy, as Pepper is known to have, is a condition where treatment fails to control seizures. Since she was nine months old, Pepper, who is about to turn three, has experienced, at most, a month’s repose from seizure activity.

Despite pharmaceutical intervention, she continues to have seizures regularly and we don’t know why. Pepper doesn’t appear, from numerous genetic tests, to have any genetic basis for her condition. Nor does she appear to have any physical cause for her seizures. She just has them. Like that. And like that, she takes medication, which doesn’t control her seizures.

The medical community doesn’t always discuss with you all the pros and cons of the medication they prescribe, though they attempt full disclosure based on their awareness. Instead, their mandate is to treat the symptoms in the most effective and, to their knowledge, safe manner available. Sometimes, in times of crisis, you are left wondering, where are my options?

First Do No Harm is a movie about a mother trying to save her son with intractable seizures. The concept of “first do no harm”—a fundamental medical precept by Hippocrates—is important to our family because for two years Pepper was given an old seizure medicine known to cause developmental delay, without doctors telling us of this connection.

Our daughter has developmental delay, so that feels like a failure on our part.

In First Do No Harm, the child is finally treated using the ketogenic diet, which is a natural alternative to medicine that we learned about at the Hospital for Sick Children.

The ketogenic diet alters the body’s metabolism to create changes in brain chemistry that prevent seizures in some people.

Pepper was admitted to Sick Kids in late May of this year to begin her own journey on the ketogenic diet. The diet itself is a low carbohydrate, high-fat diet in which the body converts fat into energy, rather than using glucose, in a process called ketosis. Ketosis is the same process that kicks in when someone is fasting, and fasting has been a traditional seizure treatment for centuries.

There are a few variations of this diet used to treat epilepsy. Pepper is following the MCT Diet, which uses Medium Chain Triglyceride oil as one of the flash points for initiating ketosis. It is a strict diet and it takes patience, vigilance and strength. Good thing we have those—in spades.

Since Pepper started the ketogenic diet, we have had major adjustments in our household. Time management has been a huge shift. Meals must be prepared in advance and with precision (we weigh and measure to the very last point of a gram). The meals are then packed with care so as not to expose the oils to light, or to spoil the fresh foods that Pepper goes to preschool with every day.

Her meals are administered, much like medication, at certain times of the day, with even spaces in between. She’s given plenty of water to keep her kidneys clean and stone-free. Her ketone levels are monitored twice daily, her blood glucose levels are checked occasionally and she is always being watched for seizures, digestive ailments, fatigue or discomfort. Since day one of her first seizure she has not gone without someone’s eyes on her, and this diet hasn't changed that aspect of our lives.

What has changed, however, is that we've seen cognitive improvement! Since the second day of her admission to hospital, Pepper went from being mostly unresponsive and in her own little world to interactive and engaged. It was something immediate and so noticeable. It gave us hope, and it still does. As for seizure control, we are still in the process of determining the diet’s efficacy and will be for a few months.

We’ve definitely seen a reduction in seizures, and Pepper has recently gone three weeks without a seizure, which has been remarkable and promising. We have hope, something we were slowly losing over time.

A typical day on the ketogenic diet starts the night before, or sometimes many nights before. Fresh food is always prepared in advance, with very few ingredients and simple foods. Pepper does not get any processed food, with the exception of a specialized drink to raise her ketones. Otherwise, she is getting a protein, a carbohydrate, a vegetable and/or a fruit and a fat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Each of these food categories is weighed according to her meal allowance.

Preparing meals two days in advance and having things pre-chopped helps a lot, as does buying frozen fruits and veggies (it’s easier to improvise when you have a freezer full of fruits and veggies).

Pepper’s combined meals total approximately 900 calories per day. This is within range for her age. The meal sizes however, appear so small. For example, at lunch, she might get roughly the size of a tablespoon of rice, a tablespoon of chicken, a tablespoon of peas, a pad of butter and four grapes. To think that I could almost polish off a whole roast chicken to myself is eye-opening.

It’s also not easy. Most children Pepper’s age would turn their cute pouty faces away from such food restrictions. This is where her good nature and developmental delay are an advantage. She doesn’t have the cognitive awareness to protest, or to expect anything different. She just accepts what she is given.

We on the other hand, have had to adjust to many things. Our shopping list, of course, our eating schedule and finally and most challenging of them all, our routine. Finding the time after a long day’s work to prepare everything has been a challenge. But we do it.

Just as Pepper continues to smile with each meal, and with each newly acquired skill, and another day passes where she doesn’t have a seizure, and we all finally have a restful night, we adapt.

We accept that our daughter has a seizure disorder that may or may not be treated. We live day to day with the uncertainty of Pepper’s seizures. We have good days and horrible days. It’s a constant up and down of emotion.

Our biggest coping mechanism is Pepper’s smile and her laughter. It’s amazing how when I look into her eyes, and connect with her, I forget the worries outside. She has a way of healing our fear and disappointment. I can shut out the negative energy when I focus on the positive she gives me.

Follow Pepper’s story at UnSeizeTheDay.