One year ago today, I was in the emergency room receiving a blood transfusion.

A year ago Tuesday, I received my final blood transfusion of 2013, following surgery that [finally] removed the uterine fibroid that had repeatedly caused my hemoglobin [and blood volume] to drop, leading to the 10 units of red blood cells I received in 2013.

This coming Tuesday will be 365 days after I went from crashing in the emergency room, being taken to resuscitation for hypovolemic shock and rapidly being infused with IV fluids, and then into surgery. And it’s a day I am trying to reclaim as my own. Nearly to the hour of when I was taken to resuscitation, I will be once again on the donor end of the process for the second time in my life. And now I don’t just want, but need, to be on that other side again. To bring that hope full circle. To reconceptualize that surreal feeling of knowing the only reason you might live, is because someone who has no idea who you are or what potential there is for your life if you life—when you live—wants to be the difference between hope and the alternative. I need that day to no longer be about me, no longer to be about that I lived, but be reminded B-postive is far more than my blood type, it’s my nature—and because of these things, someone else will experience hope.

As difficult, as messed up as last April through September were, in many ways, it was nearly as hard as the after has been. And once I make that first blood donation, take that first step, I move forward into further reclaiming my life. The first year is a year of waiting—the aftermath is always about waiting. This time, there is less for me to wait for in anticipation. Unlike 2013, a year at risk of abandoning every plan because maybe my body had other ideas for which there was no plan, I was able to embrace 2014. I actually started embracing 2014 in December, when I finally started getting my head together following the aftermath of my five months of hell—which took two months in itself. I think this is probably a process that, though extremely variable in speed, is probably true for most blood recipients: whether you are receiving blood because of “pure” anemia, or cancer, or following a traumatic injury, or any other number of conditions, the aftermath is similar—we remain in limbo, waiting for a potential sign of recurrence, or adjusting to life as it continues on a totally different path than anticipated, yet we owe the fact that we are alive to a person or people we can usually not thank ourselves.

My limbo, is not knowing what’s going on inside my body: an impossibility without medical imaging. I had a follow-up pelvic ultrasound done in early July. I spent a bit over a week, part curious and part agonizing, about the results. I phoned Alaa’s office—Alaa, who had taken me as a patient when my own primary care doctor refused to refer me—and said it was okay for his staff to leave the results on my voicemail. They actually did. July 14: “Dr. Awadalla said it was an excellent report, only a tiny 1.2 centimetre fibroid noted—otherwise a very good report.” That small fibroid, dependent on its location, could be where this story started: or, it could stay that size for years, and remain totally innocent. I am now simply trying not to think about it and live my life—even more true now after phoning last week to figure out the plan. As I anticipated, I simply continue what I am doing. I am not going to get to come off of oral hormone treatment (the inappropriately titled, in my case, birth control pills) anytime soon—I could be on these pills at least another 20 years if nothing changes, and as backward as it seems, clearly I hope this is the case. Yet, if anything does change, I go in to see him right away (and I’m sure they will get me in right away—they called me twice last week to tell me what the plan was, and the second time was at 7:12 PM) and we discuss probably putting a hormone intrauterine device in (specifically, the Jaydess IUD) to, I assume, better target the hormones. So, some of the lingering anxiety has been eased, because I know that getting taken care of isn’t just a front anymore—I know Alaa cares, like all doctors should. The psychological aspects of much of my experience in 2013 is far more of a burden than the physical aspects are: doing what I can, having a team that engages with me as they can to address me as a whole person, is what makes the difference between using the (sometimes hidden) gifts contained in my transfusions, my team, my experiences… and wasting them.

And in this, also, is my hope. The hope that is only alive in me, because I made it through 2013, because of people. 

If you are an eligible blood donor, please consider donating blood with me on Tuesday, like my friend Heather (who is not even in the same country as I am, so no excuses :]), or any day soon. If you are not an eligible donor, consider volunteering at a nearby blood donor clinic for a few hours: you can still make a donor’s day by being that person to hold their hand through the needle insertion, or being the awesome person hanging out with the juice and cookies afterwards, or providing a financial donation to support the work that organizations like Canadian Blood Services, Hema-Quebec, and the American Red Cross do to help people… like me.

I’ll even buy you a cupcake next time I see you.

Since there are few other ways I can show my appreciation of your gift to others—because that gift is far beyond time or blood or money–

It’s hope.

The Tour de Good Things was a way i could summate the crazy journey I took to culminate August and begin September—both on an extremely high note. It has been nearly impossible to come down from the high that begun prior to Medicine X 2014 at Stanford University [disclosure], especially since the journey encompassed 7,227 kilometres (or about that). The last Thursday in August, I got into a car with a 60L hiking backpack of necessities and a drawstring backpack of medications, my only “prepared” travel document being my passport, and left home for 12 days. I arrived back into Winnipeg by plane last Monday after a red eye flight via Minneapolis—my initial destination.

There are many posts in here waiting to be written, and a video to come. But as many, many others have summated, the power, the magic, the amazing of Medicine X is in the people: This is a theme that would cover the entirety of the Tour de Good Things.

Minneapolis.

This kid (my cousin, Dean) headed down to University of Minnesota to start becoming an engineer of the probably civil variety, not the train variety [though, train engineers are probably also very civil]. So thanks to him I got a really long ride to the airport.

I also had grilled cheese and an awesome conversation on the parallels of asthma and T1 diabetes with these lovelies, Scott and Heather.

SFO. All over the East Bay. Santa Cruz. Davis.

My awesome aunt, Linda, and my grandma dropped me off at MSP after a 4.5 day drive to the airport […okay, the airport truly is only 8 hours from home. Not that that’s close.] and a four hour flight, I hit ground at SFO and was swept up into my “Cali-bestie” Steve’s truck, where (after picking up pizza), I FINALLY got to meet his long time partner and now husband, Doug (finally. On my third visit to the Bay Area—third time’s the charm, right? Doug is, of course, to a tee of how Steve describes him, and a total sweetheart just like Steve). We headed to Santa Cruz the next day, and San Jose where I finally got to meet his mom, Claire, his sister Sheree, and Sheree’s husband, Dan, who had us over for lunch on Monday.

The next day we headed over to Davis to get Steve’s new bass set up by a cool dude named Harrison.

San Francisco.

Steve drove me out to SF on Wednesday [because he is the best] to ensure I made my connection with my friend Carly (whom I met at MedX in 2012!) at the Twitter building. Carly’s friend Samantha was [at the time] working for Twitter, and had invited Carly for lunch—and opened up the invitation to any of Carly’s friends who wanted to come, too, which was beyond awesome :). (Samantha on the left, Carly—our link!—in the middle :].) Thanks, ladies!

Carly and I made a brief stop in Japantown after lunch and our tour around Twitter with Samantha, and then headed for Palo Alto. Not long after arriving, we had a spontaneous MedX ePatient gathering by the pool—meeting, and reuniting, with a lot of kickass ePatients—friends.

Carly and I (left, of course), [fellow Canadian!] Annette, Liza, Meredith, Dee, Marie (from Ireland!) and Michael (from England!) at the Sheraton. (Thanks to the Sheraton team member who ran out to take this shot for us!)

The next day, the fun really got started when Dr. Larry Chu [the beyond awesome MedX Conference Director!] introduced us to the Selfie Stick [here’s a professional picture (source) of Leslie, Emily, Karen, Rachel [TEAM CANADA!], myself, and Nikki selfie-ing with a selfie-stick on pre-conference workshop day!]

Of course, Ryan had to give it a go once we hit MedX full-stride—he had to make himself short for me so that a) I could adequately put my arm around his shoulders, and b) because he is too tall and was blocking the world medicine :).

No selfie stick for Brett and I, though (…everybody is SO TALL). He yelled “Oh hey, it’s Kerri!” in the corner right by the selfie station, and then we hugged, and I was like “okay we need to selfie so we don’t forget!” :]

We don’t always selfie in front of the selfie wall—sometimes we selfie in front of the gold badge door. Not only was Devon, below, a hit among the crowd at MedX, I was super excited to find another lunger on the scene [I mean, asthmatics DO hide everywhere, but… they hide].

Devon spoke on a panel about “the non-smartphone patient”, and has COPD. And, though he seemed adamantly against it before I showed him everybody tweeting his quotes, I did get him signed up on Twitter!

My super sweet roomie, Karen, and behind us, her poster presentation on the metaphorical dance that is chronic illness. Karen is a sport psychologist from Mexico and is generally amazing, so we never had a shortage of fun things to talk about :).

And on the subject of roommates, my 2012 roomie, Kim, and I—clearly in the club, and not at a medical conference. #ClubMedX

And, Miss Zoe Chu. While puppy, and not people, she lovingly made MedX granola for me and we had selfie times, so she clearly belongs on this list :].

Joe from Eli Lilly’s Team of Good People and Awesomeness (aka Lilly Clinical Open Innovation) and I—we look less like a painting in person. Probably. 🙂

And, Jerry from Eli Lilly, who was in the elevator on Thursday morning before Partnering for Health when a bunch of ePatients yelled my name and hugged me as I got on the elevator. Except we didn’t know we were supposed to know each other yet, and then he sat down beside me at Partnering for Health and identified us as the people from the elevator and said he was wondering if we were Medicine X people. Because I am all class, I was like “Yeah, we were the people yelling and hugging in the elevator—did you feel left out?! Do you need a hug!?”—he accepted this crazy Canadian’s hug, so we are clearly meant to be friends. Also, he’s awesome. And broke into a presentation during Partnering for Health when all the patients were very confused on Twitter.

Alan, Britt, Leslie, myself and Julie (Photo grabbed from Britt via Facebook!)

Sarah—one of the awesome ePatient advisors—with her CANADIAN SCARF, Rachel and I, after the closing ceremony of Medicine X.

And below, Britt (on the ePatient advisory team), Marvin—who is super sweet and I didn’t get to connect with nearly enough! :)—Rachel and I. 

And, my own ePatient advisor and friend from 2012, Chris (he’s laughing about attempting to hug me with the giant hiking backpack on)—just before Joe (below!), Marie and I headed to the airport (where I almost lost my phone and Joe totally provided an amazing Joe-hug to alleviate my stress, and told me how I could get the Delta people to bring it to me to avoid having to go back through security, since I’d left it at the check-in kiosk). 

These people—and ALL the people I met and interacted with at MedX

(I can’t even source those photos anymore :])

—are not the entirety of the story of Medicine X: but they are the part that matters most. As are the people that preceded my arrival for Medicine X to my own part of the journey, and the people who engaged in #MedX via Twitter: WE belong here.

(Photo of photo cred to Joe Riffe)

And here isn’t always a place: often, it’s a state.

And I love each and every one of you, and I hope our stories continue to connect in a way that makes a difference: Remember to not lose sight of where you were—where we were—hold on to that feeling.

We’ll change the world together.

I was really excited tonight when my friends at the Asthma Society of Canada shared an article entitled Six research developments in asthma via Healio. I think it’s important for patients to know what’s going on in research, and hopefully, the more people see what’s going on, the more people feel the desire to volunteer as participants in asthma research studies (like the Severe Asthma Research Program) or clinical trials that they are eligible to participate in.

The disappointing reality, though, is these “research developments” really contain little new knowledge. Some of these facts have been circulating around for a few years if you’ve been paying attention—and others, well, while I have a larger knowledge base on asthma than the average person with asthma [and, admittedly, some medical professionals], I am not a medical professional or researcher, and . . . I could have concluded the same thing, just less scientifically. Some others, well, point six for example? I knew from the title I wouldn’t understand, so I am admitting defeat on that right now.

Note that while I’ve linked a lot of studies here, I tried to keep my explanations basic [because, that’s the only way I actually understand].

 

1. “Asthma inversely linked to lung cancer.” Allegedly, the more atopic diseases one has, the lower risk that they’ll develop lung cancer—asthma was the least protective compared to eczema [middle-ground] and hay fever [most protective benefit—I actually want to put “benefit” in quotes.] So the finding that perhaps there is a [weak?] correlation between the inflammatory/allergic disease process and cancer is interesting, but, is it something that I can apply to improve my own outcomes? Nope, not really.

2. “E-cigarettes may worsen asthma, respiratory disease among youth. You’re joking, right? Inhaling a nicotine based chemical vapour might cause asthma symptoms? “Among youth” is also the key phrase here—for only the reason that it should be “among people”. I react to chemicals–from perfume or cologne, to body lotions, to Lysol—with exposure, never mind with purposefully inhaling stuff.

3. “Asthma relapse more likely after use of short-acting beta-2 agonists.” A beta-2 agonist is just the fancy term for a bronchodilator [a medicine that widens narrowed airways]; short acting ones [SABAs] are the common rescue inhalers that work within a few minutes and last for 4-6 hours. In more detail, the study reports that if SABAs are used prior to going to the hospital, relapse—or what some hardcore asthmatics would call rebounding—is more likely to occur. I actually need to quote this one out here because it’s so ridiculous:

Children who took short-acting beta-2 agonists within 6 hours before hospital admission and the presence of retractions on physical examinations increased their risk for relapse after the treatment for asthma exacerbations, according to data.

Obviously the best line is “according to data” (which you can find here—the full text, however, costs $30 despite that I am on my university’s database network—so, I, possibly like the authors of this article, won’t be digging any deeper). Given the line about SABA use, clearly this is useless data: if a person has an inhaler accessible, why would they not be using it? That’s what it’s for.
We get a bit smarter when we note the “presence of retractions” (decreased ability of the lungs to move air causes the muscles attached to the ribs—allowing the space around the lungs to become larger or smaller [more here on respiratory mechanics]–start working overtime, pulling inward to compensate for respiratory distress. Like I said, I’m not a scientist… but, I’m pretty sure recovering respiratory distress pretty automatically qualifies you to rebound. That, or tapering from the high dose steroids they suggest as a positive measure in preventing relapses. The final point, providing a written plan, is clearly a good one, and if anything is being done to be useful, probably more psychosocial research should fill the gap for what medicine is having trouble providing.

4. “Antibiotic use in first year of life associated with asthma by age 3.” I was diagnosed with asthma in April 2008. Like any sixteen-year-old, I read Wikipedia. Know what Wikipedia told me six years ago? That I had a higher chance of developing asthma because I was a) given antibiotics early in life, b) born premature, c) born by caesarean section. Wikipedia revealed this to me in 2008. Nope, I wasn’t diagnosed when I was three [or seven] but obviously, this is hardly new. If you’re already tired of my links and didn’t click through, that first abstract above [Droste et al.] is from 2000.

5. “Vitamin D3 treatment did not significantly affect asthma patients with low vitamin D levels.” This one is a newer area of exploration [but certainly not as new as 2014…], and to its credit [in my books, at least], its potentially tangible to patients. Initially, studies suggested that vitamin D might alter immune response to some degree (2007 article here for those smarter than me). While the article cited by Healio bases its notation on a single study, a meta-analysis and systematic review of the literature (Zhang, Gong & Liu, 2014) note that among 10 studies, while asthmatics were more likely to have vitamin D deficiency than control subjects [non-asthmatics], their vitamin D levels didn’t alter their asthma symptoms. Thus, what I take from this, is I can continue to avoid the outdoors as much as I want. [Kidding :).]

6. Hardcore science. The sixth point is far too complicated for me to even begin to discuss, so you smart people who understood that 2007 article up there on vitamin D, can please feel welcome to report back to us about elevated urinary diclorophenol and asthma morbidity. Because, like I said, not a scientist, and that is clearly not applicable to my life.

 

Research is research, and I’m happy it’s being done—but, I am here now. The above findings are not affecting my daily reality, and I’m not sure they’re getting us any closer to doing so.

While a few legitimately new asthma drugs have hit the market recently (primarily biologics like Xolair) I—and most asthma patients—are either using medications developed 30 or 40 years ago, or variations of medications developed in that timespan The medicine every asthmatic should have access to, most commonly known as Ventolin (salbutamol/albuterol in the US), was developed in 1968. Yet, here I am, forty-six years later, still taking this same bronchodilator medication because the alternatives aren’t available, and even if they were, aren’t really proven to be any more effective (Xopenex, to name one, is not available in Canada—levosalbutamol/levalbuterol is alleged to have fewer cardiac side effects, but… at a much higher price, thus, its much more rarely prescribed). Next up as the most-common asthma medicine type? Inhaled steroids—initially developed in, you guessed it, the 1960s.  We’ve had a few more advances in terms of, say, long-acting bronchodilators, but salmeterol (Advair/Seretide/Serevent)—and less dramatically, formoterol (Symbicort/Dulera/Zenhale/Foradil) carry a black box warning of increased risk of asthma related death.  Know what else causes asthma related death? Asthma.

Knowing that my risk of lung cancer is reduced is great, but maybe that’s not so much a “protective effect” but a biased finding as asthmatics [especially lesser-controlled ones] are often asked if we smoke by medical people—thus increasing our chances of smoking cessation intervention if perhaps we do smoke.

It doesn’t change that right now, today, I’ve used four different inhalers to stay feeling decent. Nope, not normal, not magically controlled… but decent. It doesn’t change that I’ve tried most available asthma medications and while the ones I am on now are the best fit for me so far, I still don’t know when that next thing that could be my “wonder drug” could come along—or if it ever will. We still barely know what causes this disease—other than it’s probably a combination of environment and genetics—so how can we even consider having the ability to find an actual cure for this disease? I honestly don’t think we can—and, here’s where my optimism severely drops: I very much doubt we will in my lifetime.

I just hope that next time I see a top six in research developments, that instead of telling me nothing that changes my daily life, that maybe we know what causes this disease and that it’s become preventable. That maybe they’ve developed an accessible system to phenotype asthma (nod to researchers like Dr. Sally Wenzel working on this right now!) and from that, can throw—hopefully new, and not just newly reformulated—medicine at me that will be guaranteed to work.

And even, most simply, that the psychosocial, emotional, and developmental aspects of the disease are addressed and that this knowledge is applied everywhere possible: to promote better patient and community education that’s developmentally and culturally appropriate for every community; to provide better patient-to-patient support—in a way that’s implementable and sustainable; and to ensure people understand their asthma and understand how to self-advocate.

The science is cool, or at least on its way to being cool—the science will eventually be awesome—but even when new ways to manage—or even cure—asthma arise, I know that if I’m still around that I probably won’t be able to trust the process fully if I don’t have a community of people sharing my story, sharing in similar circumstances, alongside me in whatever that undiscovered path might look like to be adjusting alongside me, too.

Stanford Medicine X is “a medical conference for everyone”.

Everyone includes a lot of patients—including myself, and people like my friends Kim and Carly [and many others!] who also attended #medx in 2012 and will be back this year.

Cherise, Kim, Chris and I in 2012!

More importantly right now… everyone includes YOU—or, anybody who is chilling at home on their couch, or at their kitchen table, or anywhere there is internet, thanks to the Medicine-X Global Access Program! Through the Global Access Program you can join the main stage fun of Medicine X, check out how technology is evolving and changing healthcare, and how that is becoming more and more accessible to both patients and care providers*. Med-X is taking place from September 5th through 7th [with workshops happening before as well].  And, it’s free! [I know right?! Free is my favourite price, too]  If you’ve never attended a conference virtually before, Carly is a master: she has even written an amazing virtual conference attendance how-to guide to help make the most of your experience.

Remember: Medicine-X… is for everyone. Everyone who participates in Medicine X — whether in person or online — is there for similar reasons: We believe our stories can make a difference; we recognize the potential technology has to improve healthcare—to improve patient outcomes; to change the way we think of–and manage–our own stories that involve chronic disease or another circumstance that has caused us to more deeply invest in healthcare; in changing our own outcomes and interactions within our care. And we all believe that we can be part of a bigger story, where the patient truly becomes the centre of care—not the system.

I guarantee Twitter will be on fire, so if you’re watching from home [or work… Not that I’m encouraging that :].], ensure you jump on that before the conference if you’re unfamiliar. [My soon-to-be-roommate, Karen, even tweeted last year in both Spanish and English—clearly she is magic. She’s also a sport psychologist and also has asthma, so we were totally meant to be roommates and I’m beyond excited to meet her.] And, while I could tell you what I’m excited for on the main stage, we might be here all day: so check out the program here and get stoked yourself!

Curious? Check it out. Register. [Remember, it’s free.]

And if you have questions, ask away below, or on twitter at #medx—we’ll help you out.

 

*Access to technology among providers in the Western world probably varies much on your geography/medical system. Just because it’s available, doesn’t mean that—for example—iPads are popping up in Canadian hospitals. Here in Winnipeg, electronic charting is sometimes either a) a new thing, or b) not even happening yet.  Which is among reasons why having international input and attendance at these conferences is so important: we can’t improve care through technology we don’t have access to—and, beyond financial constraints, knowledge of value in application is the other huge barrier to integrating technology to improve patient care, or improve the lives of all people. Knowing what I know, I shouldn’t have been shocked when my new-ish gynaecologist, Alaa, pulled up my pathology report on his computer at my first appointment. And I should probably stop being so shocked when I find someone I know wearing a Fitbit or using MyFitnessPal. And, for those of you Canadians who are in this boat with me, don’t worry: there are a handful of Canadians in the crowd, and we’ll do our best to get our voices out there, too.

Sam and I sitting on the floor practicing [my] shot put form.Sam and I met one day in the Accessibility Resource Centre last Winter (because it took until my fifth year of university to identify as a student with a disability, and then make a bunch of friends in the ARC). Not long later, a shot put lesson possibly happened on the floor one afternoon [see picture]. Another day, we went to the gym, where (God knows why) Sam had me chucking a medicine ball at him repeatedly while I did bosu supermans and yes 97% of these throws non-intentionally hit him in the man parts. I’m not even trying to make myself sound nice with the non-intentionality because seriously, I am not good at accuracy. Also one day we explored Toys R Us, then a thrift store, to find a stuffed pig to make him fly.

Like so:

Anyways, there’s my back story [stories?] about Sam.

Now it’s his turn to tell you his own story–many aspects which he and I have parallel views on even if we didn’t know it yet. Thanks, Sam!

———-

I am Sam. Sam I am – without the joys of green eggs and ham.

I was born in 1990 with Myelomeningocele – commonly referred to as Spina Bifida. Medically speaking, it is a defect in my spine that has rendered my legs rather useless, and has left me confined to a wheelchair. However, thanks to my parents and my upbringing, my wheelchair was rather invisible to me until Junior High School when social classes become more important.

While my preamble makes disability sound like a horrible thing, it actually has taught me some important life lessons that simply cannot be taught by another person. These lessons include the power of sport, the importance of community, the strength of advocacy, and patience.

The first lesson is advocacy. This lesson is two-fold; one for knowing how to advocate for your person and the other is to advocate for a better life. While they seem all the same, the later is to advocate for a society that benefits all. Advocacy and patience goes hand in hand because while you know what’s needed to change for full inclusion of all members of society, you consciously know it isn’t going to happen today, or tomorrow, or this year. It’s hard to advocate for change when you can’t see it, but it remains an important feat as change wouldn’t occur without those efforts. The advocacy for one’s person though is a more gratifying form, as results are generally seen and noticeable. While becoming a product of Child and Family Services in my late teen years – I learn this lesson rather quickly. There, a system, which is designed for my protection, was attempting to charge me, a paraplegic from the waist down, with assault for kicking someone. Clearly, I couldn’t let this pass by.

Patience is another thing that I’ve learned, and although a lot of it is learned through advocating for better accessibility, the other aspects in life that have required it is in health and in love. Medically, things don’t always go according to plan – and usually, it is just out of your control. Love is the same way. It takes a special person to accept a disability and to love the individual for who they are. Society is too caught up with the media-influenced attributes and preference isn’t given to the person for who they are. And although this special person comes along, you still need to be patient with them as it takes time for them to learn and to understand – and that time we generally undervalue.

Sport is another huge part as it gives a person with a disability an opportunity to tangibly achieve something that is comparative to their able-bodied counterparts. Athleticism is a measurable attribute, however, the comradery that comes with disabled sport is equally important. Here, there is a community that is entrenched, and willing to support you in many ways. You are now one in the same, and that is incredibly powerful.

We often look at the negatives of disability – the what we can’t do, or the what ifs, or the what it could’ve been. However, looking through a lens of how disability can shape an individual is an intriguing perspective. Here, lessons of love, understanding, caring, comradery, patience, can embody these people. However, the comprehensive understanding of these lessons doesn’t make an individual exceptional – but instead, just simply shows the desire to have a good life. Disabled or not, we embody and share those desires. I share these lessons because disability isn’t just negative – it has become a part of my identity. Without my disability, I am not sure if I would be as humble as I am today, or if I would be as accepting of people who face comparable adversities.

So when you see Sam I Am wheeling down the street, pushing with all his might with groceries in tow – just remember, they are just as heavy sitting down as they are standing up.

———-

Sam is a business administration student about to complete his final year in his degree. Sam can occasionally be found singing and playing the piano in front of downtown Winnipeg establishments while waiting for the bus [except not now because they removed most of them. The pianos, I mean], but more often right now you’ll find him with a tennis racket. Sam is a multi-sport athlete (it’s a long list, but let’s just say he’s working at getting me out for wheelchair tennis, basketball and para-athletics. And I’m sure sledge hockey when the city freezes over again), and is active in promoting wheelchair sport to the community.

You can connect with Sam on Twitter at @samunrau–and, Sam has just started a blog so new that nothing is really on there, so you should probably go Roll Along With Sam–even if a suspenseful ride at present!