Open letter to New York Governor Andrew Cuomo

Dear Governor Cuomo,

I am a native New York who lives with a brain injury. I also head up the Kahrmann Advocacy Coalition. KAC is  grassroots advocacy coalition based in New York, that has, for some time now, tried to work in a cooperative manner with your New York State Department of Health to make sure New Yorkers with brain injuries receive the best possible care and, of course, have their equal rights both respected and protected. 

This not what New Yorkers with brain injury disabilities are experiencing from your DOH. Getting your DOH to work with us (or anyone for that matter) and protect the rights of NYers with brain injuries doesn’t work. Your DOH doesn’t care.

In fact, the dysfunctional and denial-of-rights-respect-and-dignity climate your DOH perpetuates includes the following: anyone providing care to New Yorkers on the state’s Traumatic Brain Injury Waiver Program is not required to have any expertise at all in the brain and brain injury. Those in your DOH who oversee the waiver are also not required to know a thing about the brain and brain injury, and yet, they are the one’s deciding who will or won’t get services as well as who will or will not remain on the waiver.

You are also aware, unless of course the DOH is making it a point to keep this secret from you, that New Yorkers placed in out-of-state facilities receive zero protection or oversight from New York State. Your DOH’s rote response to this is, we have no jurisdiction in that state, a response which is, on the face of it, true, but there is, and the DOH knows this, nothing preventing New York State from filing a complaint with CMS (Centers for Medicaid and Medicare Services), the very entity that allows a state to have a waiver in the first place. And, NY does nothing to protect its own outside NY’s borders, even though millions of New York dollars are spent on their care.

Over the years the problem with those DOH staff involved in the lives of NYers with brain injuries has been pointed out, more than once but these people stay in place. People like Mark Kissinger, Maribeth Gnozzio, Lydia Kosinski, and Shelly Glock, to name a few, should be transferred or fired outright. Their mandate appears to be, Be as uncooperative with members of the public and as unsupportive of the rights of New Yorkers with brain injury disabilities as you can possibly be. I’ll give you an example which, in fairness to you, I know you are not aware of. Some months ago I filed a FOIL (Freedom of Information Law) request asking for the names of those in the DOH who were drafting the TBI Waiver Manual. Before filing the request I asked Mr. Kissinger directly via email and received no response. At any rate, a month or so later I received notice from the Records Access Office letting me know that the DOH (Mr. Kissinger) needed another 30 days  to gather this information.  After more than two months, I finally received the answer to who in the DOH was drafting the TBI Waiver Manual. You’ll never guess. Mr Kissinger and his staff. The delay in your DOH’s  response was deliberate.

Governor, I not only liked your father, I admired him and believe him to be one of the finer governors New York has ever had. At the moment, I do not feel the same about you. I sincerely hope that changes. Overtures earmarked for you are to no avail, they  get waylaid or referred elsewhere, which is why this letter to you is being sent publicly, in the open. This will not be the last letter, there will be more.

Now, you have the reputation, perhaps unfairly, of being  something of a bully. I don’t know if this is true or not. But in the event there is any truth to the reputation, please know  I am not worried about bullies. You see, Governor, I live with a brain injury. In 1984 I was held-up on the streets of Brooklyn and shot in the head at point blank range. The bullet remains lodged in the brain. I was able, somehow, to get back on my feet after getting shot. The two aforementioned realities make two things clear: I do not fear bullies and I do not doubt my willpower and tenacity. 

Sincerely,

Peter S. Kahrmann

We’re still alive

Now here we go

Rim-shot shuckle-sloop

Off sleeping down

Razor blade highways

Shingle shack cigars

Puffing clouds on corners

In the haloed shade

Her slip-sliding hips

Move me into motion

Hair tossing thinking

Don’t stop now

We’re still alive

*

Sister sister I hear

You singing dreams

Heaven sent rhythms

Shuckle-jiving  placing

Hands against hearts

Your smile bedewing

My smiling eyes

Skipping ‘cross sidewalks

Past honky-tonks

Gleaming midnight dreams

You move me thinking

Don’t stop now

We’re still alive

*

Sweet deep sister voice

Moving soul-silk earth-deep

Pulsing muscles move

Dancing joy’s hearts

Yes yes yes

We’re still alive

*

For E.D. with love and respect 

Søren Kierkegaard and weather conditions

I suspect I am one of many who looks for and sometimes finds clarity and support and assurance that the path I’m on is  life as it should be. Poorly phrased, this. Best I can do at the moment.

Lately I’ve read some of Danish Philosopher Søren Kierkegaard’s work. A couple of  salient lines reflect some tenets in my state of mind, all to the fore now given my current life experience (going back on stage): “Personality is only ripe when a man has made the truth his own,” and, “Be that self which one truly is.”

Both guidances underscore the fierce allegiance one must have to honesty. Honesty with self. Honesty about one’s being. The unflinching or flinching capacity to accept the reality you’re in. Flinching is okay as long as you reach acceptance. Trust me; I’m a flincher from way back.

We are each our own “weather condition,” never still, always moving, always changing. Our planet, our armature, is our being. Any quest to move through our “weather conditions”absent pain, sadness, fear, confusion and so on, is doomed. It’s simply not possible. Those “weather conditions” along with delicious ones like love, joy, laughter, wonder, ecstasy, and so on are all part of  life – and that’s okay. It’s as it should be. The sooner one recognizes one’s very being is (unless one seeks confirmation of one’s worth in the “weather conditions” of others) is the fountain of self, the freer we are to live, to be. And was not Oscar Wilde right when he said, “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken?”

Far too many of us, me too for a time, rely on the  “weather conditions” of others for our sense of value and worth. That’s like leaning on smoke and hoping not to fall.

Don’t fall. Be.

Confessions of a Goofball – April 21, 2015

On or about the time I moved Massachusetts someone I love and care about called me a Goofball April 2015goofball. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed being called a name as much as I enjoyed being called a goofball. 

The Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines goofball, in part, as one who is “silly”  and defines goofy as “being crazy, ridiculous, or mildly ludicrous : silly <a goofy sense of humor>.”  Guilty on all fronts, particularly that last part about having a goofy sense of humor.

I am firm in the belief that a sense of humor – even a goofy one! – is a sibling of courage. I know no one who is functioning well in life after taking some of life’s more formidable beatings who does not have a sense of humor.

These past three years the goofball part of me has seen a lot of action. First, I was determined to give community life another go when I moved here. Ever since the shooting – I was held up and shot in the head in 1984 – and the attending brain damage and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) that ensued, living in isolated fashion has been my preference.

Re-entering community life has at times been terrifying. The thing is, each time I’ve climbed over or broken through a “fear wall” I am always glad I did. Now, three years since my arrival in Berkshire County I am more involved in community life than I thought was possible, for me. So much so that I find myself in rehearsals for a play by Samuel D. Hunter called “A Bright New Boise” produced by Mill City Productions.

Returning to the stage for me has, in more ways than I ever imagined, brought a large part of me back to life. I danced with the Joffrey Ballet years ago and was a member of the Quena Acting Company, an offshoot of Joseph Chaikin’s, The Open Theatre. By returning to the stage I’ve reclaimed a cherished part of life. Last night as we arrived for rehearsal the house lights were down and the stage lights were lit, the set well on its way to completion. There’s magic in them there lights.

When I got home last night I danced around the house with Charley, my black-lab mix, doing a rather admirable job of following suit. He’s a goofball too. Once a goofball always a goofball.

I’d have it no other way. 

Confessions of a Goofball – April 21, 2015

On or about the time I moved Massachusetts someone I love and care about called me a Goofball April 2015goofball. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed being called a name as much as I enjoyed being called a goofball. 

The Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines goofball, in part, as one who is “silly”  and defines goofy as “being crazy, ridiculous, or mildly ludicrous : silly <a goofy sense of humor>.”  Guilty on all fronts, particularly that last part about having a goofy sense of humor.

I am firm in the belief that a sense of humor – even a goofy one! – is a sibling of courage. I know no one who is functioning well in life after taking some of life’s more formidable beatings who does not have a sense of humor.

These past three years the goofball part of me has seen a lot of action. First, I was determined to give community life another go when I moved here. Ever since the shooting – I was held up and shot in the head in 1984 – and the attending brain damage and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) that ensued, living in isolated fashion has been my preference.

Re-entering community life has at times been terrifying. The thing is, each time I’ve climbed over or broken through a “fear wall” I am always glad I did. Now, three years since my arrival in Berkshire County I am more involved in community life than I thought was possible, for me. So much so that I find myself in rehearsals for a play by Samuel D. Hunter called “A Bright New Boise” produced by Mill City Productions.

Returning to the stage for me has, in more ways than I ever imagined, brought a large part of me back to life. I danced with the Joffrey Ballet years ago and was a member of the Quena Acting Company, an offshoot of Joseph Chaikin’s, The Open Theatre. By returning to the stage I’ve reclaimed a cherished part of life. Last night as we arrived for rehearsal the house lights were down and the stage lights were lit, the set well on its way to completion. There’s magic in them there lights.

When I got home last night I danced around the house with Charley, my black-lab mix, doing a rather admirable job of following suit. He’s a goofball too. Once a goofball always a goofball.

I’d have it no other way.