Introduction to Me and to Vaultopia

Blog Introduction:  Dr. Shauna Lee Eddy-Sanders

Introduction to Technique Equestrian Vaulting Club

 This blog follows the lives of an amazing group of athletes who compete in what is called Equestrian Vaulting.  Equestrian Vaulting is gymnastics and dance on the back of a moving horse; it requires strength, coordination, commitment, and all the positive benefits of any sport, but it is unique in that the athlete is paired with a horse, a thinking, live being who can have a bad day, but bad day or no, these kids (and some of their parents) learn to love and care for horses.  The national organization is The American Vaulting Association; their web site is www.americanvaulting.org       .

 Cambry Kaylor coaches Technique Equestrian Vaulting Club (TEVC) in addition to being a full-time student in a competitive graduate program.  She competed most of her life as an equestrian vaulter until she was paralized from the lower back down; she was rehearsing a Paus de Deux routine with her partner when she fell.  Undaunted, she forged ahead, knowing that though she could no longer vault, she could still immerse herself in the sport she loves.  Knowing that she might not get many students because of her accident, she looked into becoming a vaulting judge (having petitioned to enter the judges program as the youngest judge.  However, and we are forever grateful, she found she truly wanted to coach. 

 Many a parent might wonder at the sanity of the parents of her students, but we not only know we are making wise decisions with our children, but we also know that because of her accident, both Cambry and her mother, Kim (who is the head longer--pronounced "lunger") go out of their way to create both a physically and culturally safe atmosphere.  In the blogs, you will come to know how amazing these two women and the other full-time coach and longer, Jake, truly are.

Introduction to Me, a First-Time Blogger

Honestly, I am so completely new to the blogging world that I find myself intimidated, and that, oddly enough, chipped so insistently at my confidence as a writer that I simply ignored it. Quite successfully for quite some time, actually. Until now. My sons recently entered the Equestrian Vaulting world (as the purpose of this blog is to introduce us all to this amazing sport, I will omit the otherwise obligatory definition and explanation of those implausibly connected words), and as a way of supporting them, their team, the coaching staff, the whole, big wonderful group that is the Technique Equestrian Vaulting Club and as a way of affording such an amazing experience, I offered to write the team blog. Were I a serious texter, I might be tempted to send an “LOL” message to those who know me best. I am not, however, a serious texter. And I seriously have no idea if my approach to this semi-daunting task will effectively not only represent the club and its members as well as the national organization to which we belong (The American Vaulting Association, the AVA) in an appropriate way, but I also wonder if what I write will qualify as a “blog.” Undaunted, I forge ahead. First with an introduction to myself (it feels self-aggrandizing to me to do so, but so much of what I write in the blog entries depends upon an understanding of who I am, some major experiences in my life, and the character of the club itself that I feel it is necessary to begin at the beginning, as it were).

I am a self-professed and self-diagnosed bibliophile. Nothing about books and the act and experience of reading, specifically reading books, ever manifested itself as anything but extraordinary to me. Every single physical sense I can identify, every sensory experience I can identify either comes to life or buzzes along with greater intensity when I encounter a book. Now, I do not rush about in ecstasy over EVERY book. That is quite a different thing. But when I choose the text, I have to say that, indeed, I do rush about (at least in my head) positively giddy with ecstasy. Lest you get the wrong idea: when I relish the experience of reading, I do not react in the same way to every text—nor should I. Nor should anyone, really. Reading about the Holocaust ought to be a radically different reading experience than reading about the whimsical world created in Uncle Wiggily’s Travels. But what the experiences of reading serious literature and guilty-pleasure books have in common is the tactile, sensory-laden encounter between the reader and the print medium. Thus, for me, the reading experience is reading and books rolled into one multi-faceted existence, and I mean existence, not experience—an existence in the normal sense of that word but also in that books have forever been my world. Ironically, my health quite literally gave birth to my existence as a bibliophile and my residence in a literary world, and it is now my current illnesses (alas, they are many and serious though I choose to see them as opportunities) seem to be working tirelessly to exile me from this world into which I was born, to take much of the sensual experience of reading away. Perhaps that is even the reason I began peeking at my book life as both an activity in which I engage and as an actual life.

Reading

I love the smell of newly minted books, and I love smell of older and rare books. When I walk into a bookstore, I always take a number of deep breaths, feeling connected to the scent of paper and bindings. Tactile: The texture of the covers; the texture of individual papers used by specific publishing houses; the ability a book in hand offers the reader to essentially narrate their thoughts, ideals, and passions through annotations. There is nothing not to like about books. I find the recent move in the globalization of our world to electronic books, electronic mail, electronic conversations with someone in the same house—indeed, in the same room—staggeringly sad. Because of this, I have resisted much of the technological advancements because the pace at which we live our lives in this beautiful, crazy world terrifies me to some extent. On the other hand, without these advancements and all it says for advancements in other areas that dramatically affect my life, I would not be here, I would never have met my husband, and, thus, I would never have had the family I have. Without these advancements, I would not be able to talk with my mother-and father-in-law (sadly, my mother-in-law passed away this past May, but that speaks to the immediacy of life in the 21^st century); my boys were able to establish a tighter relationship with their grandparents because of technology: Marvin’s mom and dad are Deaf, and we were able to allow our boys to talk to them on the video phones that preceded the mass distribution of skype. And my father has battled cancer three times (the third this past month) successfully because of technological advances. It is not that I do not benefit from or enjoy these advances. I just resist them when it comes to books and communicating with people nearby. I fear, to be honest, that we will lose just a bit of our humanity if we do not hold on to something.

One area I resisted (until now) was blogging. I figured that not a person in the world could possibly care about the minutia of my life—I hereby relieve anyone needing to hear what I am doing or thinking at any and every turn of that duty. I simply will not announce my whereabouts nor the content of my dinner. However, I am excited about reaching a small audience (our wonderful Technique Equestrian Vaulting Club family) and, hopefully, a growing audience of horse and gymnastics and dance lovers. I hope my musings will make somebody smile, but, more importantly, I hope that what I write will facilitate and even stronger bond (if that’s possible) within our vaulting community.

Some Background

All my life I had great vision. I mean really, really good vision (20/10 when I hit 40). And then I became very ill. A little over five years ago, I gave birth to our youngest child. During the very difficult pregnancy and the even more difficult delivery, I worried incessantly about our baby, but I could never find the words to ask the doctor about what I was feeling. Eight days later, literally the day after we brought our son home from the NICU, I woke up in screaming pain in my left eye--and completely blind in that eye. Because of the pregnancy and delivery, we worried that I was having or had had a stroke or an embolism; and so, my husband rushed us to the nearest emergency room. The ER doctor, while very nice and very concerned, had no idea what was wrong. She did know, however, that something was wrong because my eye was bulging out a little and I clearly could not see out of it, so she called an opthamalogist and got me an immediate appointment. We got back in the car and drove 10 minutes to that appointment. This doctor said very little, but he gave me the most thorough eye exam I have ever had and then disappeared down the hall for about five minutes, only to return with, and this is absolutely true, six huge tomes on eye surgery, eye conditions, eye diagnoses, etc., and spent the next 40 minutes trying to figure out what was wrong. He also took a picture of the eye and the optic nerve and everything around it. When he saw the picture, he practically ran down the hall to his office and called an eye surgeon who specializes in uveitis; within five minutes, I was headed down another five minutes and was rushed right in to see the surgeon. It only took about two minutes for him to correctly diagnose me with the rarest form of uveitis, posterior schleritis; and of that rare form, I had the more rare of the two.

The next two years I did everything I could to raise my children, continue teaching at two universities, and continue my volunteer work. But I was also put on the highest dose of prednisone allowed outside of a hospital stay, and I began chemotherapy. I lost all of my hair, but my eyesight began to come back. After a few months, my surgeon felt I could discontinue the medications, and I rejoiced inside. All of that medication made it impossible to nurse my baby, and I had loved nursing my older son. I really looked forward to the month after the medication left my system so that I could nurse him. Alas. That was not meant to be, I guess. Two weeks after I stopped the medication, one evening while watching the news, my left eye began to hurt and within 30 minutes, I was blind in that eye again. I called my surgeon, but he was in Hawaii with his family, and so I talked to his partner who asked me to restart the medication (take a double dose, he said) and meet him at his office in the morning, first thing.

So, I did.

When I got there, he examined my eye and said it looked normal for a person who had had a very acute episode on posterior schleritis. But I knew something was wrong, so I asked him to take another picture of my eye and the optic nerve. He did, and then he showed it to me, pointing to where the disease had been and to the scar tissue left behind (from multiple injections directly in to the eyeball of intense steroids). As he handed it to me, I noticed a bulge around the optic nerve and asked him about it. He stopped, looked closely, and then grabbed me by the elbow, shouting at my husband to grab our baby and our things and to follow us. Luckily, we only had to walk across the lobby of the Physician's Plaza to yet another eye specialist.

Dr. Cook came out immediately, leaving behind whatever he was doing. He brought some tools with him, looked into my eye, turned to his assistant and told him to get a wheelchair. Confused, I told him I was capable of walking, that while I had just had a baby, I was quite ambulatory. He held onto my elbow until the wheelchair arrived, sat me down, and then told me that I had a tumor on the optic nerve, and it was so large that if I were to move anymore, I would risk severe brain damage and possibly die. Quite sobering when one thinks back. He admitted me to the hospital, started pumping as much steroids into my system as it could take, and then scheduled me for surgery the next morning. He was not able to completely remove the tumor because of its location, but he was able to get two mentos-sized biopsy samples, and that decreased the swelling (he had to break my nose in about six places and add spacers in my eyebrow bone to accommodate the rock in my head and to buy us time to figure out a treatment plan).

I could go on in detail, but I will sum up: With the first surgery, some of my eyesight came back. With the third, I was unable to get any vision beyond light and dark. But I'm okay. I am still on chemotherapy, but much lower doses, now, and I am on oxygen because the autoimmune system in my body "forgot to read the textbook," as my primary care physician tells me. I did finally have to stop being a professor because I could no longer see well enough to drive (or to grade papers and prep for lectures). For the second and third years, I spent at least a week a month in the hospital as my immune system went crazy and attacked major areas (lungs, kidneys, bladder, etc.).

And then I found horses. I am still as sick as I have been, and in some ways, worse, because I was finally diagnosed with both lupus and MS, but I have not been admitted to the hospital for over a year, now, and I am positive (as are my doctors, though it baffles some) that it is because of the horses. That I am able to get out of bed for huge portions of the day, now, and spend time with my boys and the sport they love so much, is a huge blessing. My husband's family noted the difference, as well, and so his cousin, who breeds Friesians, gave us a horse--Bree. I am so very grateful for that; I can go to the barn anytime (as long as I get a ride since I still can't see well out of my right eye and not at all out of my left eye) and spend time with her. She joins my labs in their effort to take care of me, and she is teaching my family the value of work, of relationships, etc.

The Derivation of this Blog’s Title: Vaultopia

I absolutely cannot take credit for the christening of the term “Vaultopia.” That honor lies with Jake Fluekiger, one of the coaches, the head horse trainer, one of the longeurs, and one of the silver-level vaulters.  Not only does this talented young man do all of the above, but he also writes amazing children’s books (I’ve read one; it was truly fantastic) and, most importantly for me as a parent and most applicably for the title of this blog, he is a gifted storyteller. One of the blogs addresses that particular gift, so I will not spoil it here. Suffice it to say that Jake dubbed the club Vaultopia, inducted the vaulters into Vaultopia as citizens, and wrote the lyrics to the Vaultopian National Anthem.

I have been writing these entries for more than a year, now, and I decided it was time to just put them out there.  They are intended to help newcomers to the sport and/or the equestrian world navigate the new territory.

I am humbled, honored, and thoroughly excited to introduce this amazing sport, this even more amazing club and its participants/citizens, and to a magical encounter with the equine world. Sit back and enjoy.