This week I had the privilege of making a presentation at a workshop which was organized as part of the 84th Afcas conference held in Montreal. Acfas, stands for “l’Association francophone pour le savoir” which translates to the “Francophone Association for Knowledge”. 

The topic of the workshop was “The Physical Rehabilitation Continuum: From Child to Adult” and I was asked to provide my perspective as a parent in the middle of that continuum, between a pediatric centre and one for adults. I made the presentation in French but have made it available in English and French below. 

Rather than focusing on one specific element, I chose a theme which would be more widely applicable. I spoke about “The Importance of the Tiniest Things”. But, my gratitude for having been included in the event and the warm response to my reflections is far, far from tiny!

Presentation in English: acfas helene louise may 2016 en.pdf

Presentation in French: acfas helene louise may 2016 fr.pdf

This week I was truly delighted to have the opportunity to speak to a class of students at McGill University's School of Physical and Occupational Therapy. I wasn't sure what to expect or what the reaction might be—it's been decades since I was last in a university classroom. But, it was a wonderful experience and I am very grateful both for how warmly I was received and for the interest the students and professors showed in what I had to say. 

Besides sharing my experience navigating the rehabilitation network in trying to help my daughter after a childhood stroke, I talked about the power I believe each and every one of them will have as they begin working in a clinical setting. As I wrote in A Little More Light For the Seaweed, what I've learned through this experience is the value of the little things—how our words and our actions, unexpected moments of understanding and compassion, can make the difference between frustration and hope, despair and perseverance, failure and success.

I hope my story will serve as a reason, as I said earlier this week, to always be conscious not to inadvertently be discouraging to those we are trying to help. And, to leave open the possibility that there might be a little bit of hope, even if we can't see it. I certainly feel very hopeful for the future having met such bright, sensitive and engaged young therapists-to-be.

It's the beginning of a new year and I'm not much for making new year's resolutions but I do always like to have a goal or two on the go. For me, there is an important difference between the two.

With new year's resolutions, there is an implied 365-day implementation deadline after which you reflect on the success or failure of whatever it was you intended to do. Goals on the other hand, don't have to fit neatly into a one-year period and therefore, can legitimately extend over a longer period of time than whatever was expected at the outset. 

I believe this is a very important difference because in this way, any progress, no matter how minimal it may seem to others, can still be counted as a step towards achieving the goal, even after a year, or more. In my case, this is much more likely to keep me from abandoning whatever goal I've set for myself, which of course makes it much more likely that I will actually ever achieve it!

This project, Micha Books, is a good example. At first, it was a vague dream I had of doing something positive with my experience coming to terms with my daughter's stroke, beyond her own progress. Slowly, the idea became a long series of small goals spread out over many years - an outline for a book that I felt I could write, learning how to use a specific software to format what I eventually wrote, learning how to build a website and then slowly building one, writing and developing a children's book, etc. The only resolution I've had really, is in the broader sense of the word. That is, a resolve to keep working on something that is meaningful to me. And that's what I do, from one year to the next.

So, as we start this new year I don't have a resolution, but among my more practical goals, is to figure out how to turn my books into e-books. Hopefully, it will take less than a year to do but even if it takes longer, I will still be "happ-e" with the outcome - whenever that is.

I wish everyone a happy (and happ-e!) new year full of goals of all shapes and sizes, to be achieved, all in good time.

I am so very happy to be writing that the first book of the "Mimi" series is now available online! "Mimi Learns to Walk" or "Mimi apprend à marcher" in French, is exactly the kind of book I wish I could have found when my daughter was a baby and was first diagnosed as having suffered a stroke. 

From the time I first had the idea of creating these books, I knew exactly what I wanted the stories to be and why I felt such a strong drive to create them. What I didn't have (and still don't have...) is the artistic capacity to turn the words into pictures. I am therefore very grateful to have had the opportunity to collaborate with an extraordinarily talented illustrator, Zina Mufarrij. She not only reflected my story beautifully in colourful, adorable pictures, she also did so in a way that conveys the emotions that run like threads through the pages.

As new as they are, I am happy to say that copies are already starting to appear in waiting rooms, libraries and classrooms - because after all, even though the stories feature a young girl who has suffered a stroke, the themes of working hard at something that is difficult, staying positive and persevering, are applicable to everyone. Just like Mimi in "Mimi Learns to Walk", I will keep working at this project one teeny tiny step at a time...

A few weeks ago I visited some dear friends at their cottage in South Eastern Ontario. We've had a long-standing invitation but it wasn't until this summer that I finally managed to get myself and my daughters there. It was a long drive through parts of Ontario that I didn't know but all of a sudden, about fifteen minutes before arriving at our destination, we passed a sign that said "Bon Echo Provincial Park" that looked so very familiar. 

It had been about thirty years since I had last seen that sign but I recognized it right away and it brought back a flood of memories. In my book there is a chapter called "Finding Reasons to Persevere - My Collection of Fireflies" in which I write about how finding reasons to persevere in the context of my daughter's rehabilitation after a childhood stroke was a bit like catching fireflies on a high school camping trip many, many years ago. It's an example that I use quite often, including an earlier blog entry. Well, it was in fact in Bon Echo park that I collected those very fireflies so many decades ago! It's funny how we can think we are so far away from our past but then, unexpectedly, there it is right in front of us once again. 

On the way home after our visit, my daughters and I stopped to take a picture of the Bon Echo sign. Thirty years ago I could never have imagined how my life would unfold between my two visits to that area, how many turns it would take and all of the challenges I would eventually face—including my daughter's diagnosis of a childhood stroke. But all in all, I am grateful for how things have turned out, for the experience of catching fireflies so long ago and for the way in which my past, in this case, is still with me somehow.