Aerial Gilbert’s entry into a place of loss was traumatic, sudden and like most loss, it was profound and personal. This is just a glimpse into what she has done with her loss, her heroic journey and teaching us what is possible. She is one of the most inspiring human beings I have known from my past, and have been so blessed to recently reunite with her. She was my Uncle’s wife and such a gift of a human being to me as a child. The imprint she left upon my heart was indelible, and I am sure, the brilliance of her courage will leave an imprint on your heart you will not soon forget.

With gratitude and Grace, Anna

“March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over…” Read on

A ROW IN THE DARK
by AERIAL GILBERT

Carey Chenoweth, Aerial Gilbert and Perry Heffelfinger
The fog was dense and the sun would not be up for another hour. Somewhere behind us was Catalina Island, somewhere in front the California coast. Just moments before my rowing partner, Perry Heffelfinger, and I had put our oars in the water for the start of the 1999 Annual Catalina Crossing, a 33- mile race across open ocean. Perry tried to keep Melee, our escort boat, and her husband, Carey Chenoweth, rowing his single scull nearby, in view, but with the fog and the ocean swells, it became increasingly difficult. I felt the fog on my face and the only sounds were our blades entering the water, the creak of the oarlocks, and our nervous, rapid breathing. Soon I could feel Perry’s oars chattering on the water, and her voice became increasingly tense. “Let’s try the walkie-talkie and see if we can raise Melee,” I suggested. No response. Next we tried the cell phone and again there was no response. Perry saw lights from other escort boats and decided to chase down one of them. We increased the power, but after a few minutes it was no use; our escort was out of sight and seemingly unreachable. Shut in as if in a shrinking room, walls and ceiling closing in, Perry and I suddenly were on equal footing—because I am blind.

We now had to rely on our navigation equipment: a compass and the Geographical Positioning System, or GPS, which we were not very familiar with. We set our compass heading for Marina del Rey and rowed on alone.

In the silence I thought about when I first began rowing in college. I had participated in other sports, but none gave me the joy that rowing provided. The physical skill and teamwork balanced with power was as beautiful to experience as it was to watch, for I still had my sight back then. I looked at rowing as a metaphor for life, individuals working together to eke the most out of their effort. After college, I joined the Sausalito Rowing Club and enjoyed all that San Francisco Bay had to offer—the sea life, the birds. Rowing opened up a new and versatile way to explore Richardson Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge, through Raccoon Straits and around Angel Island. I could imagine the region at different periods of time—when the Indians lived on the land, when Jack London stole oysters from the bay, or when the Liberty Ships were built in Sausalito.

March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over. Then an acquaintance from the boathouse called and said, “I am taking you out rowing in a double.” She told me that I didn’t need to see to row and that she would steer the boat. The skeptical owner of the boathouse nervously agreed to let me try. I instantly remembered my technique and realized that sight wasn’t important. For the first time I was able to escape for a few moments the ever-present awareness of being blind, and just feel the boat and the oars as I moved my body in the coordinated rhythm of the stroke.

Over the next couple of years I mastered techniques that would allow me to live a normal life without sight. I attended the Orientation Center for the Blind in Albany, California, where I learned independent mobility with a cane, reading and writing in Braille, how to cook and live independently. I attended Guide Dogs for the Blind, where I got my first Guide Dog, Webster, a yellow Labrador retriever. On my first walk with Webster I got an inkling that I could walk as fast as everyone else and I could move without evaluating every step I took. With my regained dignity and self esteem, I went back to work at Marin General Hospital, first developing x-rays, and then as a medical transcriber. I also volunteered at Guide Dogs, giving tours of the their campus. In 1994 I was hired full time as their Director of Volunteers, and currently manage 425 volunteers who work in many capacities on the San Rafael campus.

Aerial (left) and her rowing partner Perry Heffelfinger prepare for the 1999 Catalina Crossing.
On New Years Day 1998 I was introduced to Perry Heffelfinger, who had rowed the Catalina Crossing for nine years in a single rowing shell. Perry wanted to row Catalina one last time in a single, but asked if I would consider rowing with her in a double in 1999. Could I row for six hours continuously? Was I strong enough? Could I endure the pain? Was I good enough to row with Perry? In 1998 we tested the waters together. Perry hadn’t spent much time rowing in a double. It was awkward at first, having to consider another person in the boat, keeping our strokes in unison, Perry talking me through what she wanted me to do. In the beginning we were like two teenagers learning how to dance together—we needed some time to get coordinated in the boat. We decided we would first attempt a short race before committing to Catalina. We entered the Open Ocean Rowing Regatta (OORR) in May 1999 and came in second behind the US Women’s National Rowing Champions, with a respectable time of 1 hour 15 minutes in this 8 mile race. Perry realized I had the stamina and strength to match hers, and that Catalina in a double was possible.

We needed a double rowing shell we could borrow for the race, a rack and vehicle to transport the boat, and a powered escort boat to transport us out to the island and guide us through the race with a crew to cheer us. Bill Erklans at the OORR agreed to let us borrow his double for Catalina, a 29-foot Maas Dragonfly.

Aerial and Perry still smiling after a hard workout
Twice a week Perry and I would row for two hours, and, if conditions allowed, we would row around Angel Island. I joined a local gym and did weight training to increase my strength. We also did one twenty-mile row in preparation for the distance. Many details had to be considered–what to drink and eat during the race, what to wear, equipment such as life preservers, a compass, a Global Positioning System device, walkie-talkies, a cellular phone, seat pads, lights, and flares. I read the few accounts of the race that exist and talked to veterans of the race. The one common thread that all agreed to was that the race doesn’t really begin until the last two hours. The contest is truly against yourself, against your desire to quit because of the pain. I heard stories of seasickness, near-misses with freighters, and rough conditions. However, they were unanimous in their sense of great satisfaction in completing the race.

To be continued….in the next issue of Incredible People you’ll read about Aerial Gilbert’s amazing 32 mile race in the Catalina Crossing. Don’t miss it!

You can read more on Aerial and her current pursuit and triumph of heading to the Beijing Paralympics in 2008. I have posted a link to her blog which has amazing photos, more of her words and some incredible films on her rowing, training and achieving her dreams.

http://home.earthlink.net/~gdbdeanne/worlds2003/

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Aerial Gilbert’s entry into a place of loss was traumatic, sudden and like most loss, it was profound and personal. This is just a glimpse into what she has done with her loss, her heroic journey and teaching us what is possible. She is one of the most inspiring human beings I have known from my past, and have been so blessed to recently reunite with her. She was my Uncle’s wife and such a gift of a human being to me as a child. The imprint she left upon my heart was indelible, and I am sure, the brilliance of her courage will leave an imprint on your heart you will not soon forget.

With gratitude and Grace, Anna

“March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over…” Read on

A ROW IN THE DARK
by AERIAL GILBERT

Carey Chenoweth, Aerial Gilbert and Perry Heffelfinger
The fog was dense and the sun would not be up for another hour. Somewhere behind us was Catalina Island, somewhere in front the California coast. Just moments before my rowing partner, Perry Heffelfinger, and I had put our oars in the water for the start of the 1999 Annual Catalina Crossing, a 33- mile race across open ocean. Perry tried to keep Melee, our escort boat, and her husband, Carey Chenoweth, rowing his single scull nearby, in view, but with the fog and the ocean swells, it became increasingly difficult. I felt the fog on my face and the only sounds were our blades entering the water, the creak of the oarlocks, and our nervous, rapid breathing. Soon I could feel Perry’s oars chattering on the water, and her voice became increasingly tense. “Let’s try the walkie-talkie and see if we can raise Melee,” I suggested. No response. Next we tried the cell phone and again there was no response. Perry saw lights from other escort boats and decided to chase down one of them. We increased the power, but after a few minutes it was no use; our escort was out of sight and seemingly unreachable. Shut in as if in a shrinking room, walls and ceiling closing in, Perry and I suddenly were on equal footing—because I am blind.

We now had to rely on our navigation equipment: a compass and the Geographical Positioning System, or GPS, which we were not very familiar with. We set our compass heading for Marina del Rey and rowed on alone.

In the silence I thought about when I first began rowing in college. I had participated in other sports, but none gave me the joy that rowing provided. The physical skill and teamwork balanced with power was as beautiful to experience as it was to watch, for I still had my sight back then. I looked at rowing as a metaphor for life, individuals working together to eke the most out of their effort. After college, I joined the Sausalito Rowing Club and enjoyed all that San Francisco Bay had to offer—the sea life, the birds. Rowing opened up a new and versatile way to explore Richardson Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge, through Raccoon Straits and around Angel Island. I could imagine the region at different periods of time—when the Indians lived on the land, when Jack London stole oysters from the bay, or when the Liberty Ships were built in Sausalito.

March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over. Then an acquaintance from the boathouse called and said, “I am taking you out rowing in a double.” She told me that I didn’t need to see to row and that she would steer the boat. The skeptical owner of the boathouse nervously agreed to let me try. I instantly remembered my technique and realized that sight wasn’t important. For the first time I was able to escape for a few moments the ever-present awareness of being blind, and just feel the boat and the oars as I moved my body in the coordinated rhythm of the stroke.

Over the next couple of years I mastered techniques that would allow me to live a normal life without sight. I attended the Orientation Center for the Blind in Albany, California, where I learned independent mobility with a cane, reading and writing in Braille, how to cook and live independently. I attended Guide Dogs for the Blind, where I got my first Guide Dog, Webster, a yellow Labrador retriever. On my first walk with Webster I got an inkling that I could walk as fast as everyone else and I could move without evaluating every step I took. With my regained dignity and self esteem, I went back to work at Marin General Hospital, first developing x-rays, and then as a medical transcriber. I also volunteered at Guide Dogs, giving tours of the their campus. In 1994 I was hired full time as their Director of Volunteers, and currently manage 425 volunteers who work in many capacities on the San Rafael campus.

Aerial (left) and her rowing partner Perry Heffelfinger prepare for the 1999 Catalina Crossing.
On New Years Day 1998 I was introduced to Perry Heffelfinger, who had rowed the Catalina Crossing for nine years in a single rowing shell. Perry wanted to row Catalina one last time in a single, but asked if I would consider rowing with her in a double in 1999. Could I row for six hours continuously? Was I strong enough? Could I endure the pain? Was I good enough to row with Perry? In 1998 we tested the waters together. Perry hadn’t spent much time rowing in a double. It was awkward at first, having to consider another person in the boat, keeping our strokes in unison, Perry talking me through what she wanted me to do. In the beginning we were like two teenagers learning how to dance together—we needed some time to get coordinated in the boat. We decided we would first attempt a short race before committing to Catalina. We entered the Open Ocean Rowing Regatta (OORR) in May 1999 and came in second behind the US Women’s National Rowing Champions, with a respectable time of 1 hour 15 minutes in this 8 mile race. Perry realized I had the stamina and strength to match hers, and that Catalina in a double was possible.

We needed a double rowing shell we could borrow for the race, a rack and vehicle to transport the boat, and a powered escort boat to transport us out to the island and guide us through the race with a crew to cheer us. Bill Erklans at the OORR agreed to let us borrow his double for Catalina, a 29-foot Maas Dragonfly.

Aerial and Perry still smiling after a hard workout
Twice a week Perry and I would row for two hours, and, if conditions allowed, we would row around Angel Island. I joined a local gym and did weight training to increase my strength. We also did one twenty-mile row in preparation for the distance. Many details had to be considered–what to drink and eat during the race, what to wear, equipment such as life preservers, a compass, a Global Positioning System device, walkie-talkies, a cellular phone, seat pads, lights, and flares. I read the few accounts of the race that exist and talked to veterans of the race. The one common thread that all agreed to was that the race doesn’t really begin until the last two hours. The contest is truly against yourself, against your desire to quit because of the pain. I heard stories of seasickness, near-misses with freighters, and rough conditions. However, they were unanimous in their sense of great satisfaction in completing the race.

To be continued….in the next issue of Incredible People you’ll read about Aerial Gilbert’s amazing 32 mile race in the Catalina Crossing. Don’t miss it!

You can read more on Aerial and her current pursuit and triumph of heading to the Beijing Paralympics in 2008. I have posted a link to her blog which has amazing photos, more of her words and some incredible films on her rowing, training and achieving her dreams.

http://home.earthlink.net/~gdbdeanne/worlds2003/

Campbell, a December 2005 Murray State graduate, was snorkeling in Florida when she was fatally attacked by an alligator in early May.

An art major, Campbell devoted much of her time to drawing, printmaking and photography. Dawn Yankeelov, Campbell’s mother, said art was a constant presence in her daughter’s life. “When I was a reporter in Florida, I used to take her to meetings I would cover and she would take a box of crayons and color pictures for people at the meetings,” Yankeelov said. >More…

These poems are from Dawn Yankeelov. Her daughter Annmarie was killed on 14 May, 2006. I believe this was Mothers Day. >More…

I’d rather eat ten penny nails than go to a victim’s impact panel and listen to a lineup of broken people tell the story of how their life was forever changed by a drunk driver.

But a friend of mine asked me to go for support as she told her story, an ordeal she goes through every month the panel meets.

After promising to go, I put it off for months. Finally, I could put it off no longer. I went. Her story and the others broke my heart. These are tales of dreams destroyed. Get a tissue before you start reading one story, the story of Grace. You are going to need it. >More…