Dr. Kerr asked me to speak with you this evening and share with you a bit about my journey. Like many of you, transverse myelitis changed my life in ways I never knew possible. After ten years as an IBM marketing rep and another three years as director of marketing for a career transition firm, I found myself stuck in a wheelchair after a visit from TM. I also found that I enjoyed writing. I now have a monthly column in one of our local newspapers entitled, "From Where I Sit" and am working on a book. I share with you an excerpt from it called, "Unchosen Paths and the Spirit of Nevertheless."

It was Wednesday. Ash Wednesday, to be exact. The date was February 12, 1997 -- a date so painful to remember, yet too important to forget. The mental tape rewinds and plays in slow motion. Every time, I shake my head in disbelief. Every time, I shut my eyes in horror. Every time, tears trickle in outrage and grief. But the tape still plays. And, the ending is still the same.

I awakened in the early morning hours with a dull ache in my lower back. Strange shooting sensations rifled through my legs. I had had the flu for about a week, but had no idea that this seemingly ordinary bug would put me in a wheelchair, possibly for the rest of my life. Six hours later, the knife-like bolts of pain twisted their way up to my waist, permanently relaxing every muscle along the way. The paralysis stopped just inches short of the need for a ventilator.

With this life-altering event, I joined the journey of the rare 1 in 1.34 million people who go to bed with a flu-like illness and wake up with Transverse Myelitis, the cause of my paralysis. In the intensive care unit as I fought the pain with a morphine drip, I said to my father, "It's going to be OK, Dad. I just know it's going to be OK. I've been in the wilderness before. Fact is, I've been here so many times I have paths down here!" I managed to smile.

Paths in the wilderness - I've learned to seek them out as I have dealt with the difficulties that have come my way. At the age of twenty, I lost my only brother in a water skiing accident. In my thirties, parenting presented its own challenges, as I became mother of four children, two having special needs that included cerebral palsy, epilepsy, mental retardation and autism. And, my divorce was final nine days before my paralysis. To say the least, I have become a veteran of "unchosen paths."

Yet as unique as I am, and as you are, I realized that we still share the common experience of handling adversity. Everyone faces "unchosen paths." Ironically, I discovered the word "unchosen" is non-existent. There is no listing according to Webster. Yet "unchosen" crisply describes any unwanted or unwelcomed circumstance. Think about it. We are the "choice" generation, bombarded with advice from parenting experts on giving choices and consequences to the People's Choice Awards. We like choices. Choices are freedom.

"Unchosen?" We literally don't even define it.

Yet, we all experience the pain of unchosen events and the imprisoned feeling that can follow. Each of the following statements reflects the beginning of an unchosen path:
"I want a divorce."
"You've miscarried the baby."
"Your job has been eliminated."
"The tumor is cancerous."
"There's been an accident."
"Your child has a serious condition."
And yes, "You have Transverse Myelitis"

Pain and anger are the sidekicks of unchosen paths, inevitably intruding into our lives, our plans, and our dreams. Chaos often results; with shock so deep we can't feel anything for days. We hear the words. The color drains from our vision as our heads spin while we try hard to focus and make our mouth and mind connect again. The moment is immersed in the devastating news, dipping our world into horror, retrieving it, and then freezing it in time. As life stubbornly moves ahead, as it must, reality cracks the icy crust of this life-altering event, forcing chips and slivers of our world to be discarded with the falling wreckage. Dreams for the next ten years vanish. Next month's trips disappear. Tomorrow's appointments are canceled. Frozen fragments crash like glass, sending splinters of pain back to the mind that remains unharmed as it idles in neutral, numb.

Maybe God puts us together like that. Our bodies won't let us feel the pain. Shock is the buffer that protects us from the pain and destruction that reality holds. We go on automatic pilot, reacting as we normally would but without registering our actions in the "purposeful department" of our minds.

We flow. We smile and nod. We keep moving at a conscious level while our insides freeze -- and sink. Yes, sink. There is a falling feeling, too. That frozen moment of incomprehensible news is wrapped in the denials of "this can't be!" and slowly starts a downward spiral of disbelief.

And we sit still.

Life is full of unchosen paths. Once we find ourselves on a path we did not choose, we have a huge decision to make: How are we going to handle the new reality? What can we learn? What can we teach? What can we love? What can we let go? Unchosen paths can lead to hand-wringing, shoulder-slumping, hair-pulling bouts of self-pity -- if we let them. Unchosen paths whine, "Why me?" They shout, "Not my life, please!" They scream, "Life is not fair!"

But with effort, we can shift our minds into a different gear of attitude. We can go deep within ourselves and touch the solid bottom of our souls, returning to shout back with vengeance to that path unchosen, "Nevertheless, I'll master you anyway!" and choose to move from pity to power. The spirit of "nevertheless" lets us shift our anger and pain at life, to an energy seeking more from life despite our circumstance.

"Nevertheless" accepts a given situation, yet refuses to be passive.
"Nevertheless" takes pity and moves it to power.

If I had to be paralyzed, I am glad it is now when technology has opened my limited world from the wheelchair to the unlimited world of cyberspace. I hate being in this wheelchair and know one day I will no longer need it. "Nevertheless," I will live in the moment I have today.

I am determined to live a full and complete life, even if it is on unchosen paths.