“Face the reality.... where the future is not faithless.”

"Once upon a time, an eagle’s egg was found by a farmer and mistaken for a chicken egg. The egg was placed with the other eggs in the incubator at the hen house.

Some weeks later that egg hatched. The baby eagle was raised as a chicken with the other chicks. Along with his chicken peers, he was taught to peck and scratch. He was made to scurry along the ground like the other chickens. He was sternly warned against flying, because chickens don’t really fly, they flutter and fall.

This eagle made a miserable chicken. He didn’t peck well. He hated scurrying because he was always feeling clumsy and falling. He was constantly hungry and irritable, because the chicken feed just couldn’t seem to satisfy him. The other chickens found him disruptive and odd.

After years of struggling to be a normal chicken, this poor eagle’s self esteem was pretty low. He hated himself. “Why am I so big, awkward and different?” he often wondered, “Why can’t I be happy like all the other chickens here?”

“Is this all there is to life?” he agonized, “Where’s the thrill? Where’s the flow?”

He began to do more and more disruptive things just to get a little hit of excitement. He was starved for action and adventure – he desperately craved in his heart that feeling of soaring – only he didn’t even know what that was – so he tried to compensate by making his own thrills around the chicken coop, causing drama and disturbances. Other chickens called him selfish, disordered and a troublemaker. The poor eagle took it all to heart, believed them and became depressed.

One day, high overhead the young eagle saw another eagle soaring in the sky. It took his breath away. For a moment he felt a surge of recognition. He felt something inside him stir. He felt more alive than he had ever felt before.

In his excitement he told his family of chickens what he saw and how he wanted to fly like that too. They scoffed at him. “Are you nuts?!” “You’re dreaming.” “Get real. Chickens don’t fly.” “You are being totally impractical.” “You can’t even cluck and scratch – and now you think you can fly someday!?” the chickens chided. “When will you grow up and join the pecking order of this chicken coop. Why can’t you be more like your peers? What’s wrong with you?!”

The young eagle was shamed and disheartened. He felt hopeless and alone as he fell to sleep at night.

Days later, to his delight, he spotted the soaring bird and this time it let out the cry of an eagle. The moment the young eagle raised by chickens heard this cry something unexpected happened. His body lurched uncontrollably – his entire being responded automatically to that eagle’s majestic cry with a powerful eagle cry of his own. He was astonished. “What just happened?!… Did that glorious sound come from me? Chickens don’t make that sound! Only eagles do… Wait… Only eagles do!”

The young eagle, finally aware of what he truly was, for the first time stretched out his wings and flew. Before he knew it he was soaring. He was no longer imprisoned by the chicken coop, because he was no longer imprisoned by the idea that he had to be a chicken. Nothing could contain him anymore.

There's a heart response inside that cannot, that WILL not be denied!

A chicken coop can only coop up chickens; it cannot stop an eagle from soaring – especially once they hear their call."                                                             

“Face the reality.... where the future is not faithless.”

All it takes is someone who cares

Not knowing what was anticipated more, the groups of little people filled the passage way in an orderly fashion awaiting their upcoming lunch. But the activity on the roof was more intriguing today. The aroma of a predictable lunch was always a welcome comfort to hungry stomachs - yet another need in a never ending vacuum of requirements. When they couldn't contain themselves anymore, a wide eyed little girl sneaks quietly off to get an update on what is happening outside. The whispers of the disciplined queue grows nervously louder until her return, and they are not disappointed. With a light spring in her step, she eagerly returns with the positive news that the task is complete.

With old enamel bowls in hand, they all make a bee line for a spot in the afternoon African sun. As the warmth fills their tummies, it soaks their shoulders in sunlight. As they stare with excitement up at the roof, their souls fill with warmth at the thought of what is about to happen. They are too young to comprehend how loved they are, to naïve to realise how hard it is to fight for their rights. Today is the promise of what the American lady with the white hair and sky blue eyes assured them they would be enjoying really soon. Today was here.

Looking up at this gleaming new structure on the roof, the children knew that there would be no more discomfort at bath time for them. Without the added worry of a soaring electrical bill, this gift was far more than just a convenience in an orphanage, it was a source of new comfort for tiny souls without the burden of more cost. In a country where the sun is also taken for granted, a happy union was forged between children in need of warm water at the end of a day, and a solar geysers sole purpose for being.

On the other side of the world, the person who made this promise to the children of Sinethemba is just as thrilled as they are. Karen Sorbo is the most compassionate of human beings, spending the very little free time that she has from being a professional fundraising auctioneer on seeing to the needs of those more in need. When I reached out to her about the needs of these children, she did not hesitate in offering help. Her journey to South Africa to come and see for herself how she can make a difference in their lives has diverged into her involvement in bettering the lives of orphaned children living on the streets of Southern Africa.
http://www.karensorbo.com/

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth

GEZA - THE FINAL HOURS

by

Dr William Fowlds

This is the story of a white rhino callously mutilated by poachers and left alive with his horns and part of his face hacked off with pangas

On the 11th February 2011 I found myself forced into a personal experience of the most horrific, man-inflicted animal suffering. An experience that has affected me beyond what I thought was possible. More than five months on and I still struggle to contain and express the emotions burned within me, that churn to the surface every time I talk about that day.

I don’t expect to make sense of it, or the similar rhino deaths that take place daily in my country. I do intend to ensure that the account of this one rhino’s tragic end, will reach into the conscience and hearts of all men and woman, and compel each of us to do something towards stopping the suffering of this magnificent species and others like it.

I count myself truly blessed to be able to live my dream as a wildlife vet in a part of Africa that satisfies my senses and fills my soul. One of my many privileges is that I get to work with rhino in the wild. These living dinosaurs are truly iconic symbols of our successes and failures as custodians of this planet. The current rhino situation is a dying testimony of our conservation efforts. If we are not able to save the rhino from extinction, this flagship species that’s larger than life, what hope do we have of saving the rest?

On that fateful morning in February, I was called by Mike Fuller of Kariega Game Reserve, in the Eastern Cape, who informed me that one of their rhino had been poached. My heart sank, as I relived that dreadful feeling, a few months before, which had hit me when news of a rhino poaching on my own game reserve came through.  Knowing how slow the initial crime scene proceedings can take, I expressed my heart-felt remorse and said I would get there later in the morning. There was a silent pause before the sledge-hammer ..... ”William, he is still alive!”

Images of the hacked bone and bloodied tissues I had seen previously came flooding back, doubting the truth of this outrageous claim. As I fumbled for questions to check my own doubts, the description of this poor animal began to take shape. “The horns are gone, it’s a bloody mess”, added Mike. I had seen one picture of a rhino who had suffered the same fate and the anger when I saw it the first time, crowded my thoughts as I tried to listen to directions and get my planned day out of the way.

As I drove rapidly for 30 minutes following the directions; the location, the description and the circumstances around this animal started to sound familiar. I remembered that two rhino from my own reserve, Amakhala,  had been moved to Kariega three years before and had been joined by another two animals from a different reserve, making a sub-adult group of four rhino. At least one of these four, was now in an unthinkable situation and I prayed it wasn’t one I knew.

On approaching the location where the rhino had last been seen, I was struck by the tranquil beauty of the place.  A small, open area alongside a meandering river with broken vegetation joining up into thickets of valley bushveld on the hill slopes. A picture-book setting which could have been used to depict a piece of heaven.  It just didn’t seem possible that somewhere here, there was an animal that was going through a living hell.

Mike could not bring himself to accompany me, having been to hell and back already that morning. I grabbed my small camera and began working my way into the wind to where I was told he was last seen.

The horror of that first encounter will remain branded in my memory forever. In a small clearing enclosed by bush, stood an animal, hardly recognisable as a rhino. His profile completely changed by the absence of those iconic horns attributed to no other species. More nauseating than that, the skull and soft tissue trauma extended down into the remnants of his face, through the outer layer of bones, to expose the underlying nasal passages.

 

                                                                                   

Initially he stood on three legs with his mouth on the ground. Then he became more aware of my presence and lifted his head up revealing pieces of loose flesh which hung semi-detached from his deformed and bloodied face. He struggled forward and turned in my direction, his left front leg provided no support and could only be dragged behind him. To compensate for this, he used his mutilated muzzle and nose as a crutch and staggered forward toward me. His one eye was injured and clouded over, adding to his horrific appearance.

At first I stood shocked in front of the sight before me, then I struggled to comprehend the extent and implications of the jagged edges and plunging cavities extending into his skull.  As he shuffled closer in my direction, now scarcely 15 meters away, the realisation of his pain overwhelmed me. I had been so stunned by the inconceivable, I had neglected to consider the pain. What possible way could I have any reference of understanding the agony he was in? How long had he been like this? Were his efforts to approach me a weakened attempt of aggression towards the source of his suffering or was there a desperate comprehension of finality, a broken spirit crying out to die.

I crouched down trying to steady my shaking hand which held the camera, as I realised that this was possibly Geza, the young rhino I had sent to this sanctuary three years ago. Thoughts and emotions raged through my head. How low had we fallen to inflict so much suffering on such a magnificent creature whose care had been entrusted to us? Could any reason justify this happening?  Without thinking I apologised under my breath, “I am sorry boy, I am so, so sorry.” His breathing quickened in response to the sound. Was he trying to smell me, was this their characteristic huffing which is part of natural investigatory behaviour or was this a pathetic version of rhino aggression in response to a source of threat. I was close enough to see the blood bubbling inside his skull cavities and wondered how every breath must add to the agony, the cold air flowing over inflamed tissues and exposed nerves.

I expected at any moment for his suffering to snap into a full blown rage, but it never came. I backed away slowly and he kept staggering in my direction, not showing any aggression, just one agonising effort after another. For a moment the thought even crossed my mind that this animal, in an incomprehensible amount of pain, acting completely out of character, could be desperately seeking something, anything, to take away the pain.

I didn’t trust my own eyes to recall the detail of these injuries and so I recorded some images, and backed away from this vortex of emotions and pain.  On the walk back to the vehicle where Mike now waited, the weight of responsibility began to descend on my shoulders. This poor animal, suffering at the hands of my own species, through at least one night of absolute agony, now relied on me for relief from this torture. My gut instincts told me he had little chance of healing even though I had experienced rhino making some spectacular recoveries from severe injuries. I recalled having heard of a few other cases of rhino having survived and scrambled for the details somewhere in my swirling mind.

Thinking I should be fairly hardened to trauma and the sight of poached rhino and mutilated bodies, I had to re-assess my own reaction to what I had just seen. This took things to a new level. This stirred up anger and despair and regret and shame more than anything I had ever experienced. This brought the suffering of this and many other rhino right into the living room of my soul. 

Surely, I would never be able to think of a rhino poaching in the same way ever again.  If we are shaped by our experiences, then this experience was a watershed moment in my life. Part of that watershed was out of my control, but the other part involved decisions which were optional and would take me across an ethical line which had been formed by a lifetime of nurturing and training.

Knowing that this reserve relied on my professional opinion on what to do next, I buried my personal emotions and approached Mike with three recommendations. Firstly, I confirmed their fears that, in my opinion, there was no chance of saving this life and the most humane thing to do would be to end this tragedy by euthanasia for this animal. Secondly, I asked for time to consult with some of the other vets who had experienced similar survivors just in case there might be some hope for this animal.

Thirdly, with considerable trepidation, I asked if they would consider allowing the world to see the horrendous suffering that was taking place a short distance from where we stood. The practicalities, though, would involve getting a camera on site to take broadcast quality footage, something that would take a few hours to happen in this remote part of the reserve.

Could a vet, who is supposed to care deeply for animals; who is trained to be the mouthpiece for those that can’t speak for themselves; who more than most should understand the extent of suffering that this animal had gone through and was still enduring, be at ethical liberty to extend the suffering of this animal a little longer.  Would those who do care, and even those who purport not to care, be shocked out of their complacency at the sight of such inhumanity?

The request sounded irrational to my own ears, and I wrestled with the thought of it. For the previous three years our association of private game reserves had built up measures to combat the looming threat of rhino poaching. I had seen the mortality figures escalate in 2009 and double again in 2010 despite a series of attempts to curb the carnage. Seven animals had been poached during this escalation within 60km’s of me, and there was still no sign of the public or the law enforcement agencies finding the will to stop it.

Many of the animals poached were being immobilised with veterinary drugs before having their horns and underlying skull bones hacked off with pangas and axes. The assumption is that these animals are under anaesthetic and so don’t feel anything. I assure you, they feel; as, in many instances, the amount of drug used does not kill the rhino. If they don’t bleed to death, they wake up under circumstances which I am finding difficult to describe.

I had always wondered why the poachers made such a mess of the rhino’s faces when their modus operandi suggested that these were well organised criminals. The sight of Geza that terrible day brought the realisation that many of these animals were probably still alive and responsive to the mutilation that they were being subjected to; hence the panga marks chaotically arranged around the facial areas.

My mind was telling me that to keep this animal alive was wrong, but somewhere inside I felt certain that the story of this despicable suffering could get to even the most hardened minds. The people driving the demand for this bizarre product, who say they take rhino horn to feel good - surely, they couldn’t feel good knowing that animals are suffering to this degree at their hands. If they could, in some way, be made to feel part of the massacre, then perhaps this cruel and senseless killing might stop.

It was agreed to call in a camera to get the footage while I phoned colleagues for second opinions. For the next three hours I went back several times and agonised over my decisions while watching his condition deteriorate. During those hours I learned that this rhino was indeed “Geza” – the Naughty One - a male born on Amakhala, the reserve on which I live. He was born in January 2006 as the second calf of “Nomabongo” – the Proud Lady. His mother was the first rhino to come to our reserve, which like many in our area, was a reserve which had transformed previous farm land into protected areas.

                                                                                   

I vividly recall the day Nomabongo arrived in 2003. Her presence, just one rhino, immediately transformed the whole atmosphere of that landscape from farmland into wild land. I also remembered the first week of Geza’s life. Unlike Nomabongo’s first calf, which she hid from us for 6 weeks, the “Proud Lady” showed off her boy calf within a few days of giving birth to him and a photographer friend captured these moments in some breathtaking photos.

Geza's name came about because from a very early age he would challenge older rhino in a mischievous manner and then bundle back to the safety of his ever protective mother. In social gatherings with other mothers and calves, Geza was always the instigator in the interactions, always playful to a point of seeming to show-off. 

Typical of normal rhino social structures, when Geza was two and a half years old his mother pushed him away as she prepared to give birth to her next calf. During this time Geza joined up with another rhino cow and her female calf named Spamandla, who was born in May 2006.

Geza stayed with Spamandla and her mother. The mother provided the protection from mature bulls that Geza now needed as he was still not old or big enough to protect himself. This grouping remained until it was decided to remove some rhino off our reserve and Geza and Spamandla were relocated in August 2008 as a pair. They adapted well, as they knew each other and, as young rhino in a new environment, this helped ensure a successful relocation.

The group of four young rhino, were the first to be introduced into this section of this sanctuary and their presence there had the same effect of transforming the reserve back to wild land. Now two and half years on, Geza was critically injured and the other rhino had disappeared into the thicket vegetation. Even if they were still alive, this event would ensure their removal from this area and with them a part of the soul of the land would die too.

As the hours passed slowly by, the location of the actual poaching was discovered and a crime scene investigation commenced, piecing together the train of events which had taken place there. A large pool of blood marked Geza’s initial fall and where the hacking took place. Pieces of flesh and bone lay in the blood stained grass nearby. He had stood up at some stage and staggered about ten paces before falling on a small tree, where, judging by the signs of his struggling, he had lain for some time. Again, a large area of blood stained earth bore testimony to his solitary ordeal. Every dozen or so paces another pool of blood marked where he had stood a while.  I imagined his body going through the phases of drug recovery which, without an antidote, would have taken him through cycles of semi-consciousness before he was plunged back into the reality of his painful wounds. It could not be accurately ascertained how long he had been left in this state. Could this have possibly happened two nights ago?  We were not sure. The possibility of this was too much to comprehend so, for now, I kept it out of my mind.

His front left leg had been cut off from circulation while he struggled on his side and this accounted for his eye injuries too.   When cells get starved of oxygen they die off and release inflammatory chemicals inducing a cycle of swelling, pressure and pain ending in necrosis.  By the time Geza was found, he had lost all use of his left front leg. Through blood loss, shock, dehydration and pain this animal was paying dearly for man’s senseless greed.

The wait for what seemed like ages eventually passed. The camera-crew arrived and I was finally able to bring this nightmare to an end. The most humane way to end it all was to administer an overdose of opioid anaesthetic. The method would have to be the same way the poachers did it, with a dart. A heavy calibre bullet to the brain would ensure finality - no return to hell. 

As the dart penetrated his skin I wondered if this rhino had any mental association of being darted all those long hours before and the agony that ensued.  Would he recognise that dart impact and the ordeal that followed shortly after? Would any feelings of helplessness suddenly be overcome by one final fit of rage as I would expect it to be?  His response was to take only a few paces in our direction as the dart penetrated, before his injuries stopped his advance.

Within a few minutes the drugs were taking effect and even though his final conscious moments could have been extremely painful, I knew that the pain would be subsiding as he began to slip away. One final close up inspection of his wounds confirmed there was no going back and I injected more anaesthetic directly into his bloodstream. A sense of relief mingled with sadness, disgust and shame descended over that small piece of Africa, which for long hours had been gripped in tension and violation. The heavy bullet slammed though his skull, with the noise and shock wave blasting out across the landscape, heralding the end to a tortured and agonising struggle.

Geza, the Naughty One, who had touched my heart as a playful calf, died while I held my hand over his intact eye, his shaking body growing still and peaceful.  Geza, who had his horns and part of his face hacked off while he was still alive by poachers feeding a chain of careless greed and ignorant demand. Will this rhino, whose suffering I prolonged, so that the world could get a visual glimpse of this tragedy, end up as just another statistic in a war that rages on? Or, will this rhino’s ordeal touch us in a way that compels us to do something about it? What I have witnessed ensures that I will never find peace until the killing stops.

As I write this, news reaches me of seven more rhino killed yesterday.  Please help all of us on the frontline of this war against rhino poaching. If we can’t save the rhino, what hope do we have of saving the rest?

Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

Dr William Fowlds.

                                                                                     

Help us spread the word on what is happening to the species by getting this message out to those who believe that the rhino horn is a valuable product that can enhance their well-being. Rhino horn has absolutely no medicinal value nor does it offer the most suitable material for ceremonial daggers. The visual images of this story are being used in awareness campaigns run by numerous conservation NGO’s. Some of these images can be accessed by following the Wilderness Foundation web-link below.

                                                                    http://bit.ly/p9nk5G

You can do something about rhino poaching NOW!

Watch the video, sign a petition and send a letter.

Private game reserves have employed armed security guards to patrol and protect the rhino, with the recent addition of ex-military foreigner volunteers being brought in to assist the war against poaching syndicates.

                                                                                   

The above story with thanks to Dr William Fowlds.

"It is not the mountain we conquer...but ourselves"

                     

So, the question everyone is asking is how I beat MS, after being shot, car accidents, a gas explosion, snake bite, repeated attacks from a lynx, wild animals and recent artery disease.

It has nothing to do with taking every possible treatment such as corticosteroids to constant shots of Interferon, and even Stem cells. You can read about treatments such as high dose cortisone, methotrexate, Low dose naltrexone, cannibus, physiotherapy and acupuncture, and a thousand other treatments. Years ago it was ‘The Myelin project’.  Now people are all getting excited about Dr Zamboni’s liberation treatment theory of angioplasty to open the carotid artery, claiming a link between Chronic CerebroSpinal Venous Insufficiency and MS…( the latest CCSVI treatment everyone is raving about)  Years ago everyone was trying to get approved for Beta-Interferon. Before that it was Linoleic oil to evening primrose oil and every supplement you could swallow.

The first thing is to go on the famous MS diet, go vegetarian ! Cut out all fatty saturated meats, fatty oily fish and deep water fish, all dairy milks, cheeses, butters, bread, rice, tea, coffee, sugar, sweats, jam, and everything you have ever eaten. Vegetarian specific for MS, not so simple, they claim that some fruit and vegetables are harmful to the blood brain barrier, such as the innocent Avocado pear…yes it could kill you, or even worse, turn you into a lifelong suffering paralysed quadriplegic. In other words, stop eating anything that is available from the grocery shop or supermarket. Do not dare eat anything at a restaurant. This is the point at which with shock you start to think that you are really more ill than your Neurologist even told you in his diagnosis, because what you and the internet have just discovered is that anything you eat will simply speed up your progression of this disease. So as you starve, you get weaker, compounded by the fact that you already believe the scientists that you are immobile.
The next step, you’ll probably be told to have all your old toxic dental fillings removed, but by now your medical aid or health insurance is maxed out, and besides, you have so much neuropathic pain in your arms and legs that you don’t need a dentist drilling and chopping your teeth up. Like myself, you may even have optic neuritis with partial blindness, or Bell’s palsy, so rather just leave your teeth alone!

Everyone has a relative or a friend who has MS, and most uninformed people think it has something to do with ones muscles. Well, it is not muscular dystrophy, because that is what most people confuse it with! Multiple Sclerosis is a demyelination of the nerves. Due to an auto immune disease the white T-cells destroy the myelin sheath around the axons, also causing lesions on the brain.

Everyone reading this already knows these facts, because I assume if you don’t have MS this would not interest you, and you would have just skipped past this boring subject that could never affect you...because people such as the ones not reading this right now never get sick, it only happens to sick people. In other words, we are alone here, just a handful of sorry looking MS people, the same as at those stupid support group tea parties they have once in a blue moon.  Someone who does not have MS  came up with the great idea of putting the worst decrepit half paralysed MS sufferers often with their irritated spouses or partners all in one room together, so that they could compare symptoms, see people in worse condition than themselves and all become suicidal or immediately give up on life altogether. Usually this is a benefiting pharmaceutical company, so they create what we all know to be called a ‘support group’.

This brings me to finally answer the question, how do you really beat MS ? After trying all of the above treatments, and then after attempting a home liver detox and kidney cleanse from the damage all the above chemicals have caused, you find yourself going away to a far away Indian Island to….’ Think’.

As soon as you start to think clearly, which doesn’t actually happen with MS because we do get confused and forget things, you will then take a step in the right direction. Now, let’s assume that you are not in the sweltering heat of Africa and stuck to your bed with the weight and heaviness, or that you are actually in north America in six feet of winter snow; it actually does not matter where on earth you are.  Crawl to the front door, then drag yourself outside into the blazing sun or ice cold snow. You have just started your journey to complete recovery and will soon be on your way to not only walking, but to feeling both physically and mentally better. Alone you have just accomplished what no doctor or medicine could achieve, you have taken an active decision to help yourself. This is the road to recovery, a long and often lonely road, but worth all the effort.

Keep moving and very soon your mind will forget and not have time to think about the hundreds of different twitches, spasms, numbness and pains that you had while lying around waiting for the inevitable Grim Reaper to eventually appear. Each morning may feel as though you are starting all over again, the same as a climber on the face of Mt. Everest caught in a blizzard, but you cannot afford to give up, because each day of the climb is one step nearer to the summit. With each step you will be conquering the MS mountain. This first effort is the most difficult climb of your life, and when you finally succeed, you will go on to find real mountains out there in exciting places to walk and climb. This is the real turning point of your life, and as long as you are climbing, you’ll never look back.

               “It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”

Sir Edmund Hillary

                                                                                                           

                                                                                                       

Slideshow of how I enjoy cats in Africa

Click on the slideshow link below :

http://www.kizoa.com/slideshow/d1988955k6451600o1/seans-cats

This is the moment that we can do something

These are the moments, not tomorrow, but right now. While we have breath in our lungs and a beat in our hearts, we are able to help others........ death will inevitably come and steal that opportunity from us.

The weekend newspaper had a small article about a young girl who suffers from a disease called Fibro Muscular Dysplasia. FMD is a disease that causes arteries to have irregular cell development, causing the artery to become narrow in some places. When the artery becomes narrow enough, blood flow slows down and symptoms of FMD occur.
Ashleigh's form of the disease causes her blood pressure to soar dangerously high. This has taken a toll on her kidneys; her right kidney functions at less than 30 percent, and her left 60 percent. She suffers daily from pain and migraines, but cannot take pain medication due to her condition. In addition, Ashleigh has a spine condition called spondylolithosis, causing her spine to bend 39 degrees off centre. She may need to have a steel rod inserted into her vertebrae to help to correct it. US doctors believe there may be a link between Ashleigh's artery disease and spine disease.

                                                                             
The article caught my attention as my daughter Rachel also has had a rare illness from birth. The article went on to describe how Ashleigh Botha needed to have urgent treatment and bypass surgery in Cleveland, Ohio; a long distance from where we live in South Africa. I immediately phone the number in the article, and donated jewellery from my shop to assist with fundraising. My next thought was to reach out internationally through social media networks. After  posting a photo of Ashleigh and her plight, I was saddened to receive a message from a well known network marketer in Kentucky, saying that he is "a very busy man and has no time for this". While gathering my thought and emotions, another message suddenly appeared from a friend in Ohio named Sherri Fuller. Within minutes she had called me to offer their help for Ashleigh. Her husband Ray Fuller is the Blues Guitarist in Columbus, having shared the stage with with Stevie Ray Vaughn, BB King, Muddy Waters and other legends.

                                                                               
Soon Ashleigh was on her way from South Africa to the USA. Another kind and wonderful friend in America, Kari Ulrich, who also suffers from the same illness, was there to assist Ashleigh in every way that she could. After an exhausting few flights and in a very weak condition, she arrived at the Cleveland Clinic, where she underwent tests and renal bypass surgery. While in hospital, Sherri and Ray drove from Columbus to Cleveland to visit and lift Ashleigh's spirits. A kind act of compassion to be followed by their ongoing generosity towards Ashleigh - a young foreigner from a distant country.

                                                                               
As Ashleigh recovered, Ray Fuller sat in the hospital room and sang one of his songs to her. Within a few weeks, Ray and Sherri had rallied the help of other musicians and arranged a benefit concert to aid Ashleigh's growing hospital bills. On the 23rd of August 2009 they performed this concert in Columbus. This was the beginning of what would eventually bring Ray and Sherri all the way from America to South Africa. In April 2010 they arrived on African soil to perform yet another benefit concert for Ashleigh Botha in our home town of Port Elizabeth. The kindness, compassion and willingness of this couple to give their help is a quality so rare and wonderful.

                                                                               
Ashleigh is scheduled for another trip soon to the US in November 2011. Another concert for Ashleigh has been arranged by Ray and Sherri featuring Ray Fuller & The Bluesrockers,  Big Bill Morganfield, (the son of Muddy Waters), Sean Carney Band, The Petcrow Band at the Woodlands Tavern in the USA.

                                                                             

"We can do no great things, only small things with great love"
                                                                                        Mother Teresa

 Ashleigh Botha 18 Has been ill since the age of 11, but it took numerous doctors over 4 years to diagnose her illness as Intimal fibromuscular Dysplasia, a very rare form of the rare disease called Fibromuscular Dysplasia (FMD). Intimal FMD is far more aggressive and progressive than FMD, and extremely difficult to treat and control, with only 2 known cases in the world. This disease causes the inside of the arteries to grow closed with a long, smooth narrowing, called stenosis, reducing blood flow to all major organs, causing function loss, damage, and further complications. If this narrowing is not treated in time and the artery grows completely closed, it could be fatal to Ashleigh.
Fibromuscular Dysplasia cannot be cured, but can be controlled through regular and thorough testing of all arteries, enabling doctors to immediately operate on the artery and restore blood flow to the organs. In Fibromuscular Dysplasia, the cells in the arteries grow like a string of beads, which still allows a bit of blood flow through the artery, and usually only affects one or two arteries. Once these arteries are treated, they remain open.
The Intimal form of FMD, which Ashleigh, has causes her arteries to stenos (grow closed) within 3 months, and her arteries are far more fragile. The more Ashleigh’s arteries are treated, the faster they grow closed. Doctors in South Africa do not have the knowledge, equipment or testing facilities to correctly treat Intimal FMD, and we cannot risk our daughter’s life allowing them to attempt operating on her, as any incorrect treatment could be fatal. If Intimal FMD it is not managed correctly, there can be major complications, causing aneurysms, artery dissection, strokes and heart attacks. 
Ashleigh’s arteries cannot be stitched, after being operated on, and if an inexperienced doctor nicked an artery accidentally, he would not be able to save Ashleigh from bleeding to death. When Ashleigh has angiograms (a camera inserted into her artery with a catheter), or angioplasty (when a balloon is inserted into an artery and blown up to try and stretch the artery open), surgeons use a Star Closure device to close the artery, together with pressure bandages from her feet to under her arms, which are kept on for 12 hours. As far as Ashleigh’s doctors in USA and SA know there are no other South African patients with Intimal FMD, nor have there been any before, and our SA doctorsdo not have enough knowledge, or the time to learn about it to treat just one patient.
In 2009, after 7 angioplasties to her right renal artery, Ashleigh had a self medicating stent inserted into her renal artery by doctors in SA, which was not the correct treatment. The SA doctors hoped the stent would keep the artery open and the self medication in it prevent the artery growing closed, but Ashleigh’s body rejected the metal stent and her artery crushed it, within 3 months of it being inserted. This resulted in doctors at Cleveland Clinic, Ohio, USA, having to bypass this artery completely, using a vein from Ashleigh’s leg, as there were no doctors in South Africa who could help her. 
Cleveland Clinic has the only specialised FMD unit consisting of specialists in their own fields, who also have knowledge of FMD, which affects many different parts of the body. These doctors at Cleveland Clinic have special testing facilities and theatres for treating FMD, and even they referred to Ashleigh as a most unusual and complicated case. They also discovered that every artery in Ashleigh’s body is showing signs of Intimal FMD, after doing a 3 hour arteriogram, which is why they had to use a vein from her leg for her aorta renal bypass. Doctors expected this vein graft to last for 20 to 30 years, as FMD only affects arteries and not veins. 


Ashleigh now needs to return Cleveland Clinic very urgently to have her mesenteric artery, which grew closed from 60% to 95% within 3 months, bypassed to restore blood flow to her digestive organs. Ashleigh is unable to eat much and suffers dreadful abdominal pains after eating or drinking. This has caused rapid weight loss and Ashleigh is very weak, always tired and has no strength or energy as she is not getting enough nutrition. During this bypass, the surgeons will also attempt repairs to her aorta where her celiac and mesenteric artery, have the same origin. Her renal bypass, after only 7 months, dilated to four times its size and has a very bad narrowing where it enters the kidney and needs to be attended to. It is difficult for Cleveland Clinic to give us a complete quotation for Ashleigh's treatment and surgery, before the doctors have seen her, and determined how much work is needed to her arteries. Her surgeons are not happy about having to delay this surgery, as Ashleigh could become too weak to have it, or the mesenteric artery could grow closed completely.

Expenses to take Ashleigh to Cleveland in 2009 amounted to R1.4 million, and only a small portion of this was for travelling, accommodation and living costs. We need to raise our own funds to pay for Ashleigh’s medical expenses in Cleveland. The doctors there work for the hospital and we have to pay the full 100% amount upfront before Ashleigh can even get an appointment, have tests performed, or book a theatre for her surgery.

We are motivating with our medical Aid to urgently assist us with some of the medical costs, but their rules do not allow this, and they do not normally relax this ruling for any patients. Our Medical Aid also does not have Ashleigh’s disease on their data base of rare diseases, so we also have to pay for a lot of her

medication, tests and treatment here in S.A. The FMD Association of America has written to our SA Government requesting them to recognize FMD as a rare disease, but this has still not been done. We are a family of 5 and in a very desperate and stressful situation as we still have a lot of debt from Ashleigh’s surgery in 2009, where we only managed to fundraise R370 000. Ashleigh has to fly to Cape Town every 10 to 12 weeks to consult with her Spinal Professor and vascular surgeons, and we have to pay for these flights, car hire and accommodation. Ashleigh is unable to travel far by car, as the base of her spine has crumbled and is unstable, causing her dreadful pain. 
Ashleigh suffers extremely high blood pressure, severe headaches, frequent migraines, dizziness, weight loss, abdominal pain and burning, always feels cold, weakness, numbness and pain. She has lost sensation in her hands to feel heat or cold, so often burns herself. She continually feels ill, dreadfully tired and has no energy, but does not look as though she is this desperately ill from the outside, which is very deceiving to people, especially when they see photographs of her modelling. She is only able to manage to do anything for 2 to 3 hours, before needing a long rest, which means she is unable to attend school much, and has been mainly self studying at home since grade 10.
In addition to her Intimal Fmd, Ashleigh also has Spondylolithesis which has caused her spine to become unstable at the base where vertebra have slipped and crumbled and caused spinal stenosis. This has caused a 40 degree scoliosis (curvature of the spine). If Ashleigh was healthy, Her Spinal Professor would operate and insert a titanium rod, with screws coming off it, into the spine, and the screws are adjusted as the curve in the spine worsens. In Ashleigh’s case, this is not possible because of her vascular problems, and renal bypass in the area he needs to operate on, and an anesthetist would be reluctant to put Ashleigh under anesthetic for so long. Ashleigh suffers severe pain in her back and neck, muscle spasms, thigh and leg pains, and weakness, and is unable to have any pain medication or anti-inflammatories so has to live with the constant, unbearable pain.

Nearly every rare disease has many different offshoots, caused by the main disease. Ashleigh’s eye sight has deteriorated rapidly in a short space of time. It is always difficult for doctors when treating patients with rare diseases, as there are so many different symptoms, which may just be a common cold, or something really serious or dangerous.

www.helphealashleigh.com 

"Give me what you have within ........"

There was once a wise woman travelling through the mountains, when she found a precious stone in the stream. The following day she met another traveller. He was hungry, so the wise woman opened her bag to share her food.
He saw the precious stone in her bag, and asked the woman to give it to him. Without hesitation, she gave it to him. He left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew that the value of the stone would give him security for the rest of his life.

But a few days later, he came back to return the precious stone to the wise woman.
"I've been thinking," he said. "I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back to you in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me this stone."
Sometimes it is not the wealth you have, but what is inside you that others need.

~ 

I was being continuously pestered for one of my Corvettes by someone who just wanted, but could not afford one. Eventually worn down, I let him take the car, hoping to make arrangements for eventual payment. Soon afterwards he was divorced, and then lost his business (and conveniently also lost contact with me). Recently I saw my old Corvette for sale in an advertisement. On further investigation, I learnt the man who just had to have my Corvette had died, broken and miserable.

'Excuse Me, Your Life Is Waiting' is Lynn Grabhorn's attempt to re write 'The Law of Attraction'. After reading her book, and not being convinced by nor comfortable with her energy, I set out to research her, only to discover that she had died. While she had penned about positive thoughts and feelings, I have my doubts whether or not she actually mastered the art of fine tuning and releasing her inner demons.

Lions in the wild, after making a kill, do not then proceed to drag all the useless bones around with them. After all, they are not bone collectors. Once they have eaten their fill, they move on without hoarding the weight of useless, material junk. This allows them to laze in the sun for days on end, without a single worry.

Hamsters are famous hoarders. In fact, their name originates from the German word 'hamstern' meaning 'to hoard'. The downfall of hoarding comes when the collection is raided; all possessions, as well as non replaceable time, are lost. Hoarders spend most of their lives strongly defending their possessions. Hamsters and mice are constantly in the proverbial 'RatRace' to snatch, gather and hoard. They are notoriously suseptable to diseases and the spread of them. Their stressed temperment ensured that their worried little lives have a very short lifespan. 

Throughout my life I have happily given to people who wanted what I had. Interestingly enough, once they were in possession of what their greed had lead them to want, they had absolutely no idea how to appreciate their new aquisition. It would soon be abandoned as that person spiralled downwards in a displaced attitude.

Sadly, most people believe that taking possession of something will bring contentment. Some of us know for a fact that true happiness is simply enjoying the contentment of being alive - everything else is merely incidental.

So the question is ........ Do you wish to live the life of a lion, have the lions' share and live in the sun, or are you living the life of a diminutive hamster in your quest to build a personal empire of material wealth and worry? 

"Happiness is wanting what you have, not having what you want"