VENDOR WRITING

Doing What Others Say You Can't

BY NORMA B., CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

While writing another story about what I would say to my 18-year-old self, I made the comment, “There will be many people who will tell you what you can’t do. Don’t listen to them. Go the extra mile and prove them all wrong!”

When asked to expand on that and give an example my earliest memory of doing that, I remembered something from shortly after having surgery at the Shriners Hospital in Lexington, Ky. I was five years old. Waking up after surgery, I was surrounded by strangers — doctors and nurses in white coats and uniforms and a lot of men and funny hats with stones that looked like diamonds. I remember feeling helpless, sick, scared and alone.

My mom and her family were back in Tennessee. My dad was in Illinois. Back then, there were no facilities for parents to stay while children were undergoing treatment, and even if there had been I’m not sure my mom could’ve afforded to stay. She was the sole breadwinner for our family, and add to that she had health problems of her own to deal with at the time.

As the strangers in my hospital room were all huddled around my bed, I heard them talking amongst themselves how I probably wouldn’t walk again.

What? How can that be? I walked in here and I am walking out eventually. I could see why it would seem unlikely though since I had to be rotated every two hours (it was like being in a rotisserie) probably to prevent bedsores and blood clots and things like that.

Eventually I was given some freedom in the form of a wheelchair. I discovered I had a real knack for running over and through things that got in my way. Now that was fun! Unfortunately, Mrs. Z (Zimmerman was hard for a lot of us to say), the head nurse on my floor, did not share my enthusiasm. She did however become one of the greatest advocates for getting me out of that chair as soon as possible.

That’s where the physical therapy came in.

My physical therapist was a small older lady (but when you’re five everyone seems old, don’t they?) who spoke with a thick accent.

Looking back, the physical therapy room looked more like a torture chamber or something out of a horror movie — chains, bands, bars, bracing of all sorts of things to get and keep you on your feet. I must say it was quite intimidating to a little kid.

Then, there was the stairs: A small set of wooden stairs that might as well have been Mt. Everest to me at the time. Still, I had to start somewhere, otherwise I would never make it out of the chair.

First things first, I had to learn to stand. Every time I even thought about whining or crying (which let’s face it, is a rite of passage for a kid even in the best of circumstances) my physical therapist would say something like, “Do you want to get out of that chair or not?” Boy, she knew exactly how to motivate me! I soon found myself spending every moment I could in the therapy room with her. In a relatively short time (though it felt like an eternity to me) I did stand and eventually took a few steps on my own without all those contraptions to help me.

I tried out walkers and crutches along the way, but neither of them were a good fit for me. Finally, they gave me something I was very familiar with — braces. I’d worn them 24/7 for as long as I could remember. With them I knew I could tackle those dreaded stairs.

To be sure, there were lots of falls and face-plants along the way. And let me tell you, tile floors and wooden stairs are very unforgiving.

Still, in the end I came off victorious! After two to two and a half months I did walk out the hospital on my own (with my braces). In case you’re wondering how I got through all this, I had a lot of help!

There were lots of cards and letters from family and friends back home. (My favorites were the ones that were so big they wouldn’t fit into the box I made to hold them all.) My kindergarten class each made me cards with colorful construction paper and tissue paper cut in the shape of flower petals.

My mom and dad each visited once (though not together). It wasn’t long enough for me, but I guess something’s better than nothing, right? The Shriners visited regularly (at least twice a week). Sometimes they brought balloons or coloring books and crayons, all kinds of goodies to cheer us up, and there were always plenty of hugs and encouragement to go around. They even made me a “Junior Shriner” with a hat and everything (although mine didn’t have all the sparkles…).

Even the doctors who had once been so doubtful about my recovery proved to be a source of encouragement.

By age 9, I was able to shed my braces permanently. I went back a few times a year for them to monitor my progress. They took good care of me for many years.

On my final visit, no longer with my mother, instead with my husband by my side — The Shriners will treat you until you’re 21 — I proudly showed him around this place that had played such a vital role in shaping who I’d become.

It’s funny, even though so much time had passed, and some things were modernized, for me the place was essentially the same especially the physical therapy room.

In the corner was a small set of wooden stairs. Three up and three down, just like I remembered. I walked over to take a closer look.

Now with my husband holding my hand, what once proved to be so difficult for me was reduced to one step up and one step down.

In that moment, how far I’d come. As I get older, I find walking gets to be more and more difficult, but it’s still worth the effort. And I must admit, I’m in my wheelchair far more than I’d like to be. (But any at all is more than I’d like.)

The bottom line is this: I had 40+ years of walking unassisted — no cane, no wheelchair, nothing!

If I had listened to the doctors initially, (which may have been tempting and definitely would’ve been easier) I wouldn’t have gotten to experience any of that. My life would’ve been totally different (not saying it would’ve been bad, just different).

I guess you could say I got to experience the best of both worlds! *Fun fact: Did you know your local Contributor vendor is not the only one who sells an informative newspaper? Each year, the Shriners have an annual paper sale. In 2020, it will be held on the first weekend in May, (that is if it’s not postponed or canceled due to the Coronavirus. If it is, you can always go online to donate.)

So if you’re out and about and you see those guys in their funny hats please show them some love for me, Norma B. They helped me throughout my young life in so many ways. I guess you could say they were really there for me at a time when I felt no one else was, providing far more than just the orthopedic care and countless pairs of braces my mom could’ve never afforded on her own all free of charge.

Surely that’s gotta be worth something, I know it meant everything to me!

Love for ‘The Contributor’

BY MARY B., CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

Back a couple of years ago, the board at The Contributor decided to switch from a street newspaper (we sold for $2) over to a magazine (we would sell for $5). I guess they saw how sales were up, so they figured the magazine would bring up sales even more, and it would also put more money in vendors’ pockets as well. They were hoping it would help us vendors stay in housing or even get into housing. Well, boy oh boy were they wrong! Sales dropped drastically. No one wanted to pay $5 for the magazine. Our customers said, “it was too much.” With them paying $2 for the newspaper, they were able to keep two vendors. And with them paying $5,they were only able to keep one vendor.

With the switch to the magazine, sales were dropping drastically. This was something the board wasn’t expecting. With sales dropping, the board was wanting to pull out and shut down The Contributor. So on the next paper release, they would be announcing that The Contributor would be closing their doors and hundreds of vendors would be out of a job. With that happening, a lot of them would be homeless again. Thank God that Cathy Jennings, a longtime volunteer and teacher at Belmont college here in Nashville was on the board. Cathy asked the board to give it one more chance. Let’s bring back the newspaper, and no one would be paid. Meaning, anyone working at The Contributor would strictly be there on a volunteer basis and Cathy would be overseeing The Contributor. Well, sure enough, one on the board agreed. Tom Wills came back. Linda Bailey and Amanda Haggard came back as the editors. Even though they had full-time roles (Linda at Open Table Nashville and Amanda at the Nashville Scene). They were more than willing to spend their time to help to help The Contributor because of their love for the The Contributor and they believed in the paper, not to mention the love they had for the vendors.

It has been over a year now and The Contributor is going strong. Our sales are up and rising every week. Everyday, we have a new vendor signing up. With that being said, I want to say thank you Cathy Jennings for believing in (us) The Contributor, and asking the board to switch back over to the newspaper and giving us another shot. Cathy, thanks to you, hundreds of vendors still have a job and at least four vendors, including myself, are now in housing and off the streets.

On behalf of the vendors at The Contributor, we love you Cathy Jennings.

Once again, thank you Cathy Jennings for believing in us. Because of your love for The Contributor, hundreds of vendors, including myself, have a job.