This was a fun interview I did for La Jolla Light:

What brought you to Del Mar?

A spur of the moment decision created by finding the perfect house on the perfect beach in the perfect town in the US’s best city, San Diego!

What makes this town special to you?

The beauty, the quiet and the people who live here, all add up to a uniquely personal hometown kind of feeling.

If you could snap your fingers and have it done, what might you add, subtract or improve in the area?

I would like to see more successful businesses lasting here. We need some unique boutiques, specialty store and mom and pop establishments. Even a few more restaurants would add to the charm.

Who or what inspires you?

I have worked with hundreds of families with children of special needs. These parents’ courage, perseverance and determination to help their children achieve their potential against huge odds are my greatest inspiration.

If you hosted a dinner party for eight, whom (living or deceased) would you invite?

Jackie Kennedy, Meryl Streep, Eleanor Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan, Stephen Hawkins, Franklin Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, Governor Sarah Palin

Tell us about what you are currently reading.

SHANTARAM HALF BROKE HORSES, CITY OF THIEVES

What is your most-prized possession?

My husband of 56 years – Don

What do you do for fun? (or What are a few of your all-time favorite movies?)

I always have fun just by living, I love being with my whole family on family adventures, traveling, movies: American in Paris, Shindler’s List, Blind Side, Slumdog Millionaire.

Please describe your greatest accomplishment.
#1 Having our children
#2 Founding KIT, making a difference for ALL kids
#3 Writing Dana’s Legacy, helping families grow despite their traumatic lives

What is your motto or philosophy of life?

“Stay with it, Go as far as you can with your dreams”
“Pay attention to your instincts, when it’s time to stop what you’re doing, you will know”
“Live by the wants, not by the shoulds”

A beautiful girl

“Gayle! Gayle! Wake up!” The nurses were calling out my name and shaking me to try to awaken me. I began to open my eyes, lying very still and feeling heavy. My body was as sore as if I’d been hit by a two-ton truck. They continued to shake me, saying , “Gayle, Gayle, look at your baby!” I slowly turned my head and saw a beautiful little baby, my daughter Dana. Don and I had said if we had a girl, we’d call her Dana, a beautiful name that made us smile every time we said it.

Now there she was, more than eight pounds, not at all the small baby the doctor had predicted. With light reddish-blond hair and big, brown eyes, she was beautiful! Through my tears, I saw that she was crying, too. Though still heavily drugged from the anesthesia, I noticed that Don still wasn’t in the room. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here?

But before I knew it, the nurses took Dana away—even before I could ever hold her. I fell back into a gas-induced stupor and slept until the next day.

For the rest of the story, pick up a copy of Dana’s Legacy and be INSPIRED! bit.ly/amagft

In the hands of strangers

The whole experience seemed surreal. It was as if they didn’t even see me. I was in the hands of strangers, a doctor who seemingly didn’t care and an anesthesiologist that knew next to nothing about me or my condition. It was doubly hurtful to go from a caring physician who’d left explicit instructions for my care, to being treated by Dr. Bradford who willfully ignored those directions and an anesthesiologist who went along with him. They gave me no words of comfort, no words of encouragement. All I saw in their faces was grim determination.

The delivery room became frantic as the doctors shouted directions to each other. Clearly, they were now panicked and working under tense conditions. They had to deliver this baby quickly. Hours and hours had passed since the evening, when my water bag broke, to now, the wee hours of the morning. Finally, they could see that my baby was in distress and that if it stayed any longer inside of me, more damage and possibly death could result. Seeing all this happening while still sitting on the edge of the operating table, I wanted to scream at the green-garbed, masked hospital staffers, “What’s going on? Tell me the truth. Now!” But I couldn’t scream, and even if I had, no one could or would have told me.

I felt totally deserted. They worked on me as if I were an inanimate object. I remember wanting to freeze time and yell, “Stop! Listen to me!” At that moment, a mask was pressed over my face. And the next thing I knew I was spiraling downward into darkness.

I was out cold. Later, I was told they’d administered gas because the baby’s life was seriously threatened. Now knowing that our baby could die, they performed an immediate Caesarian. Complications arose, which I’ll share with you shortly, but I was advised after the fact that gas is extremely dangerous, even deadly, to a baby in the womb.

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on my life. Attitude to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company…a church…a home.

The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the string we have, and that is our attitude… I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you…WE ARE IN CHARGE OF OUR ATTITUDES.”

-Charles Swindoll

In the hands of strangers

The whole experience seemed surreal. It was as if they didn’t even see me. I was in the hands of strangers, a doctor who seemingly didn’t care and an anesthesiologist that knew next to nothing about me or my condition. It was doubly hurtful to go from a caring physician who’d left explicit instructions for my care, to being treated by Dr. Bradford who willfully ignored those directions and an anesthesiologist who went along with him. They gave me no words of comfort, no words of encouragement. All I saw in their faces was grim determination.

The delivery room became frantic as the doctors shouted directions to each other. Clearly, they were now panicked and working under tense conditions. They had to deliver this baby quickly. Hours and hours had passed since the evening, when my water bag broke, to now, the wee hours of the morning. Finally, they could see that my baby was in distress and that if it stayed any longer inside of me, more damage and possibly death could result. Seeing all this happening while still sitting on the edge of the operating table, I wanted to scream at the green-garbed, masked hospital staffers, “What’s going on? Tell me the truth. Now!” But I couldn’t scream, and even if I had, no one could or would have told me.

I felt totally deserted. They worked on me as if I were an inanimate object. I remember wanting to freeze time and yell, “Stop! Listen to me!” At that moment, a mask was pressed over my face. And the next thing I knew I was spiraling downward into darkness.

I was out cold. Later, I was told they’d administered gas because the baby’s life was seriously threatened. Now knowing that our baby could die, they performed an immediate Caesarian. Complications arose, which I’ll share with you shortly, but I was advised after the fact that gas is extremely dangerous, even deadly, to a baby in the womb.

A terrible urgency

Then the mood drastically changed. A terrible sense of urgency emerged in the faces of the hospital staffers.  I was suddenly whisked into an austere operating room where an anesthesiologist was waiting. Before I knew it, they had me sitting on the edge of the operating table, bending over my very large, swollen, and lopsided stomach. The anesthesiologist inserted a large needle into my spine. I didn’t know which was worse, the pain in my spine or the pain in my belly. As awful as the injection felt, it wasn’t just done once. Three times they tried to insert the needle filled with spinal anesthesia before they figured out that was futile. All the while I was thinking, “Don’t any of you doctors know this won’t work? Don’t you know from reading my health history that spinal anesthesia wouldn’t work?”

Still, I was too panicked and scared to accuse anyone. I needed their help desperately. Even if I’d the courage to speak out, I certainly didn’t have the energy. I was too afraid an accusation could potentially cause even more pain and suffering for me and my baby.