It started December 16, 2002, when I was 32 years old. I had a bleeding stroke at work, an AVM (arterio-venus malformation) burst. I didn't know about it and drove home for lunch. I lost consciousness for a bit and had an accident. I was taken back to work. I got a bad headache at my office and walked with help to the clinic.

At the clinic I stopped breathing. They took me to a hospital where they put me on a helicopter and flew me to a trauma center. There they did brain surgery to stop the bleeding. That surgery was risky, something like 30% survival. Afterwards, I was in a coma. I remember my family being told I would always be in a coma, and if I came out, I would be a vegetable.

I did come out of the coma, but couldn't talk or move, which made me appear to be a vegetable, although I could understand what was being said. I was alive, but had something in my head that could kill me at any time - from something as simple as shaking my head "no."

The AVM was large and too deep in my brain to be removed. It was just left there though the bleeding stopped. I was only able to move my left side after some therapy. I taught myself to talk. I taught myself how do things with limited movement on my non-dominant side; I was right handed but could only move my left. I taught myself how to manipulate the control on my electric wheelchair with my left hand, how to type on the computer with my left index finger, and how to write left-handed. I had worked with babies as an infant development specialist, so I already knew a lot of what to do. It was good that I could talk again, then I could tell others what had to be done. I still wondered what kind of vegetable I was, and I would ask others.

In 2004, doctors at Stanford were able to remove the AVM, and I was able to move my right side again. Since then I have been learning to use my right side and do things like typing with both hands. In therapy, I'm basically doing everything to my right side that was done to my left. Because of my infant training, I was already familiar with how to get development started. Now I just repeat what I remember what was done to my left.

As great as it was was to move my right side, the most important thing about surgery is that I no longer have that thing in my head anymore. Nobody expected this kind of recovery: What kind of vegetable can think, talk or write? I still don't know what kind of vegetable I am.

1/10/10

Dear digieditor,
Your current where's it at photo is, as you note, a federal facility.
I believe it unreasonable to ask Sierra County residents to be
familiar with such gummint houses, as we live in these back woods to
evade and avoid the awesome power of the Federal authorities.
Or are you just trying to find out how many sympathizers there are
for the usurping, over-reaching, tyrannical bureaucrats who would
lash us into serfdom, who would crush us with their might? Or make us
visit them where our visages and presence will probably be
photographed, fingerprinted and DNAed?
Just whose side are you on, anyway?
­A RED white and blue reader in the styx.
PS: having just read more of your digirag, I am delighted that
Sierra County's mediums have a nutcase such as yourself.
If nothing else, you make Messenger editor Russell appear pretty
goddamn normal.
A thankful, if occasional, reader who really doesn't like electrons
in any form (except maybe pornography and morning toast)


Dear reluctant reader,
I was dropping the netflix in the chute when I thought “oh, shazblat, we don’t have a new ‘where in Sierra’”. I took a picture of what was in front of me. That’s the methodology we generally use.
The last thing we here at the Prospect would do is to encourage people to participate in anything govern-mental. The next to the last thing we would do is ask you to give up some DNA, which might well result in the scrapping of the whole idea of evolution. We have already publicly acknowledged that the Mountain Messenger’s Don Russell is pretty goddamn near, but by no means completely, normal.
It is rare to find a reader with such a nimble command of the language, or such a facile sense of rhythm; might you be one of the unclaimed children of said Russell; have you any idea who your pa might be (don’t fret, it’s a wise child…)? Was your ma fond of drink?
Finally, please send the link to the porn site that will toast bread.
P.S. It must be hell living in the styx.







January 6, 2010

Dear Editor of the Sierra County Prospect,

I have been meaning to write you for a many a moon (twelve) now.  Congratulations on your online newspaper!  It is really “cutting edge” or perhaps ‘over the edge.”  (Doesn’t that sound sharp?)

As you toil, dear editor, and chisel words for no compensation and feeble hopes of fame, who would of guessed that you would become a member of the “fourth estate” and I would become a member of the “second estate.” (Twelve moons now.)  It appears that many “estate” things are going on, but alas, no money to be found.  These estate holdings, puts us at polar opposites. You know, I say “tomato”, you report “potato.”

Truthfully, I must admit, that I only read the “Prospect” to check on “Cooter.”  You say he is a “good boy?” He must be if you are his master and what he has to put up with in that respect.

We can always use more opinions and voices rising out of the pines, the gold mines, the rushing rivers, deep canyons, clear creeks, mountain tops, and alpine valleys. As Julie Andrews once wailed, “The hills are alive.”
She meant music, but opinions are like music to us small town politicians, especially when they tend to favor and roll our way. (Hint, hint!)

Keep doing what you are doing but please stay on your side of the Sierra and don’t come over hill and dale to listen to our “govmint” meetings, I don’t want to read about myself in that gosh dern, prospecting for dirt, cyber horse and pony show, that you have so lovingly created.

Happy New Year!
Lori A. Simpson
A Citizen of Plumas County
Quincy, CA






December 27 09