IN THE STIGMA WORLD OF SEIZURES

Caption courtesy of Frank Bryan

IN THE STIGMA WORLD OF SEIZURES

It has been a year since the e-face of my memoir "Seize the Seizures" popped up on Amazon. It is not a doctor's review of the disease; it is just my story -- a story of someone who got sick out of the blue from severe brain infection. The virus died, but it left me memories and a deep scar -- seizures and a lot more. Just like that -- today you are dancing the night away, tomorrow -- your brain is caught by a virus ready to do everything he is 'programmed' to do.

People do not like to read about diseases from non-doctors.  However, the parents of little children with 20 seizures a day have to share what their child and they face every day; the woman, who is divorced, has to find relief. Her children have to know why she does not see them often. She is not a bad mother; she is a sick mother suffering from a disease, which may be with her until her last day. 

If you are a celebrity, it may not be so bad to admit the disease you have. Everything can be used to get the attention on you. If you are a veteran, you have a chance to focus donations in the field of research for these diseases, which are not in the center of medical research. You can do something to change the future of medicine.

I wrote my small book with simple thoughts in mind - to make my family and friends understand what epilepsy is [in simple words]. Writing became my hobby. My daughter spent days editing it. There were many versions; she diligently worked on every one. The linguistics is not the strongest part of the book. What is strong is making the brain a new brain. It twisted and turned for nearly a year. 

In the end, there was a product, a book I love. I have included excerpts from Chapter 17.

17. IN THE STIGMA WORLD

My first office seizure is deeply ingrained in my psyche. I was on the carpet; the whole office had gathered around me. I was already "back." One woman asked if I had a grand mal seizure. Someone, who had seen seizures, answered affirmatively. Up until this point  I had merely talked about my disease -- now my undercover work with seizures was revealed.

I was not scared. The people present were. If I was able to talk, I would have sounded very apologetic. I did not mean to scare anyone. I would have reassured them "I will be fine. I just need to go home and take a long nap."

At this company, I chose the path of saying "I have seizures." It did not mean much to me, so I chose the road of saying it openly. If you have cancer, you go through chemotherapy and radiation; if you have epilepsy, you go through brain tests, plenty of seizures, medications, changes in medications, more tests, and more seizures. Normal stuff... Everyone gets sick.

It is normal to me; it became normal to my husband to get a call about a seizure and drive to pick me up. It is still not normal to the outside world. Unfortunately, the disease still carries stigma, misconception, discrimination, even disgust, if it appears right in front of your eyes. It is a condition that drives people away from you. I could not get my mind off of how I looked when the paramedics arrived one time. I felt small; I knew no matter what I do from that day on, everyone would remember this scene; no one would accept me for who I am.

One day, I fell on the stairs going from one office building to the other. The sidewalk was next to a major street. The vehicles had stopped waiting for the light to turn green. This was a three lane street. NOT a SINGLE person came to check on me. ALL of them witnessed the seizure. It was clear even to someone who had never seen a seizure that at the very least I needed help. I was not able to get up. Then slowly, with bruised knees, all pale, I made it to the next office building. I had a meeting scheduled. The world was not going to end if I did not show up in time for a meeting yet I plodded along to it, dutifully. Sad.

Julius Caesar, Alfred Nobel, Neil Young, Charles Dickens, and Lev Tolstoy also had seizures. Since ancient times In Mesopotamia, the seizure disorder was known and studied. 
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I still do not know if their talent stemmed from epilepsy or if they simply happened to have epilepsy. History books talk about people with epilepsy "being possessed," 'being chosen," men being burnt at the stake, women deprived of their ability to bear children.
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I believe I am hurt more by the PEOPLE, not by the disease. 
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The disease created some idiosyncrasies in my behavior, but they are now a part of me. I am either accepted with them or not accepted with them. This is a package deal.

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WASHINGTON, D.C. & THE KENILWORTH AQUATIC GARDEN

WASHINGTON, D.C. & THE KENILWORTH AQUATIC GARDEN 

My husband and I are some of those people who do not plan weekends. There have been so many events in my life which made me change a plan at the last minute. It maybe disastrous weather, unexpected disease, a broken car, cat's throwing himself in the suitcase trying to convince you to stay home. I worry about worrying.... I worry about planning.

Since we live close to Washington, D.C., Baltimore, and Annapolis, we try to visit places not included in most guide books. All visitors to Washington, D.C. go to the Smithsonian with its 19 museums. My favorite are African American History and Culture, The Air and Space, The National Gallery of Art (where I had my first date with my husband), U.S. Holocaust. 

Outside of the Smithsonian, everyone's favorites are The U.S. Capitol, The White House, The Lincoln Memorial, Thomas Jefferson Memorial, George Washington, and MLK Monument.

You can visit D.C. for the National Cherry Blossom Festival around the end of March (good luck pushing your way through the crowd!)

I have included a short guide of Washington, D.C. to give you a feel of the city without distracting you from the topic of my blog post.

Before we get to "my garden", take a look at the U.S. Botanical Garden, located on the Mall, right next to the Capitol. I chose this next video, because in 14 minutes you can learn, remember and tell others about it for year after year. You can spend a day there moving from one area to the next with a smile,  collecting answers to the questions you never had answers for before. 

Even if you leave with a tiny bit more knowledge about nature, you will have plenty of "Wow"-s; "Oh, I did not know this!"; "Seriously?" In your mind, you will be whispering, "How can I be so dumb?"; "I better bring my kids here!"

Now I am ready to show you a place rarely visited by tourists. It is The Kenilworth Park and Aquatic Gardens. It is located in the Anacostia Park (Northeast Washington, D.C.) This makes it difficult to get to, unless you travel by car. Do not trust the metro system, the garden is not close to metro. During the day, the area is safe, but you have to know where you are going.... You better drive to the big parking lot inside.

The park is operated daily by a good number of park rangers. There are benches scattered around for a little picnic. Surprisingly, for an area with ponds and wetlands, there are no mosquitoes. 

Birding is not my favorite, but many people enjoy it from the River Trail and the Boardwalk. The trails are very short and comfortable to accommodate disabled people. 

The Anacostia river, the ponds and the wetlands left me reconsider my lack of planning. 

Picture courtesy of G.C.

Lotus seed head

If I had planned this visit, I could have come in June or July to see a sea of water lilies and hundreds of lotus flowers. I still saw some water lilies, peeking heads above the thick cloth of green leaves.

We got close enough to the lotus guys below. Aren't they gorgeous? In some religions (Buddhist, Hindus,) they are a symbol of purity, innocence.

At the end, we caught a glimpse of a white heron. S/he was thinking of eating something for dinner. Well, it was dinner time. After we printed the picture, in the shadow, another one appeared. Both of them were totally oblivious to our presence. Dinner is more important. They are used to people.

Herons

This was our invigorating Sunday afternoon at the Kenilworth Aquatic Garden in Washington, D.C.

GO-ING, GOIN', GONE TO BULGARIA & BACK TO USA

GOING, GOIN', GONE TO BULGARIA & BACK 
TO USA 

Closing the chapter on a summer vacation is a tough thing to do. It is not because the sun will never shine brightly again. Fall is full of colors; winter is innocently white. 

Nature is pretty. If you take the time to look around, you will find screaming beauty. Even a family member, who never talks to you is beautiful. Maybe, you never told him he was beautiful. There must be a reason to become friends with someone on FB, too. Go back and remind yourself of this moment!

In my case, I am friends with Bulgaria. I am not referring to FB. I was born there. Even the customs officer knew it by looking at my first and middle name. My last name is American. My husband is American.

Let's start the story with Bulgaria. 

As far as my native country, I will be frank with you -- I do not read the Bulgarian newspapers, follow the news on Bulgarian TV, or attend any events bringing together the immigrants in USA. I have my reasons for it -- I try to stay away from what may create a misconception and reinforce some preconceived notions in my head. I want to keep my memories solely of the Nature and my people.

This time, just like before, my trip was not well planned, my health does not allow it. It never listens to me. 

After crossing the ocean, my husband and I made a stop in Vienna. The rest of my family lives there. 

It does not do justice to Bulgaria to be compared with one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. Besides, the story is not about Vienna. Vienna is music, culture, art, architecture, coffee and pastries (excuse me, Schnitzel)... and much more. 

If I have to choose a city to live in Europe, it will be Vienna. 

I have a big part of my heart there. I do not have the German language down, but I have always been a good student. 

The Ferris Wheel ( my all times favorite)

Whether I like the name (expat), or a visitor, or a tourist, I am one of those. I was goin' to Bulgaria. 

Upon arrival there, I experienced something totally personal.  One can call it a 'reverse culture shock'.  I go so rarely, for such a short period of time, I have to draw my conclusions about the country from a 6 day visit. I just walk on the yellow pavers and think what I did 20 years ago. Were the pavers different, or I was different. I reminisce about everything and nothing specific. A bird can make me cry, the bird on the next tree may look the same, but it will make me smile. This 'reverse culture shock' goes farther and farther as reminiscencing over the past continues.

In the country you were born, feeling "gone" is not nostalgia,  It is a date with the surreal. Have you experienced a dream, which gives you a smile and tears? I have many of those. I open one of my eyes, look around and run back into my sleep.

At the beginning, going back to Bulgaria resembled that dream. We arrived late, went to the hotel and woke up early. I put on a white dress. I wanted to look beautiful for my morning meeting with Bulgaria. We had just a few hours before driving to the Black Sea. 

We always see The Bulgarian Orthodox Church first. It never sleeps. It always waits there for me; it smells the same; it feels the same. Every time we visit the country we end up with tons of pictures from it and paintings of it from unknown artists sitting at the market closeby. 

It was Sunday; everything was closed [but the churches] and the  currency exchange place. I could not go back to the dream. The Home of God and the currency exchange place woke me up. There were many tears, but I also got a picture in a white dress. That was it.

It was time to be with family, have some nice food and travel to the beach town. 

I wrote two blog posts from my vacation. "Tasty and Testy in Bulgaria" and "The Girl & the Rufa Fish." They are both to be found on colemanwriting.blogspot.com. Those two posts are among my favorite; What upset me, shocked me, made me smile and brought joy to my heart is in there.... 

As they say in the big books, this represents different stages of my 'reverse culture shock'. 

Years from now, I will laugh and frown upon what I wrote.  

When I was living in Bulgaria I was not a close friend with the breathtaking Bulgarian mountains. I was not a mountaineer. Maybe, I never had a good friend to take me to the mountains and introduce me to them. I had one, who made going to the mountains a sprint, not a slow pace enjoyment. I truly regret not finding a real friend for mountain hikes. 

Just look at the mountain pictures of a young Bulgarian photographer --  Maya. I missed on all this beauty.

It is never too late to go back and explore, hang out with the mountains.

I live in USA. My husband was born in Colorado. He is not simply American; he loves nature; he loves mountains; he works and teaches about nature. If asked what he can't live without, he will choose me, I know it, but I will be in the tree crown. This is an envious place to be, isn't it? 

Is there someone born in Colorado, who does not love mountains? If there is one, help him! If anyone who sees them and does not 'awe' at the view, help him!

I looked back at my family albums only to realize that I appear on every picture in the mountains. Next time, I will make sure there are more mountains without me.

Our time in Bulgaria ended after 6 days. We flew back to Vienna and, finally, to USA. Tired but exulted, we did a frantic car race to pic up our third member of the family - Tiger Boy. We all felt like we have not seen each other for years. "Where have you been? I wish we were all together."

This experience makes me wonder, "where is home?" Is it where I an born? Is it where I have a family and friends? Is it where I have a house? To me, there is only one answer. 

Home is where LOVE is. If one has not found LOVE yet, he should keep looking. It comes in all shapes and forms, any season, any place, any time. You may not be able to have a house, but in your heart you have more than enough space for LOVE. This is your "Stairway to Heaven"

 

TASTY & TESTY SUMMER TRIP TO BULGARIA

 TASTY & TESTY TRIP TO BULGARIA

Going back to Bulgaria once in a while is about getting in a world I have left many years ago. I keep coming back to see if the sea is deeper, the mountains are higher, the people are as hospitable as they were before. Did the trials and errors of the politicians and economy have changed them? I kept my eyes wide open. I did not want to miss a thing.

I will not write a tour guide, or a beautiful story of the country, often neglected by foreigners, who favor the bordering countries -- Turkey or Greece. The Internet has plenty of them all. "This is Bulgaria" trailer on YouTube takes you masterfully into this tiny country in Eastern Europe and leaves you in one minute wondering how in the world you did not know about it. 

I am born and raised in Bulgaria. I visited her this summer along with my American husband and my family, residing in other parts of Europe. 

We all admired the beauty of the land, the little villages with churches; some were more preserved than the houses around; the pleasant Mediterranean climate, the beaches and the Black Sea. My husband was very excited about the trip (his second one.) It was supposed to be a laid-back, relaxing vacation, lying at the beach with family, eating nice food, engaging in the endless Bulgarian conversations. No plans, no pressure. 

My husband knows the food in Bulgaria is fresh and he will eat a LOT of it... I don't blame him. Americans love to eat. Without good food, the vacation is never complete. 
 
The first meal did not disappoint. It was sooo delicious, all countries' representatives at the table gave it a "hands down."  We called it "Bulgarian version of the Mexican fajitas." 

In my opinion, it was 10 times better. It had an abundance of vegetables -- eggplants, squash, onions, potatoes, garlic, peppers. Meat was represented by pork and chicken. Many spices, herbs, flavors... It was cooked in a deep cast iron pan -- slowly, very slowly, to allow each ingredient to have enough play time with the others.
 

I already said the blog post is about "tasty and testy." We already had the tasty. The testy, annoying, making you scream part was the customer service. 

My husband was the only one at the table not speaking Bulgarian. The rest were multi-language speakers.  Sometimes, among Bulgarians, I get away with not translating everything to him. Not this time. When I translate with one sentence a long conversation, it is clear to him, I am skipping what he is not supposed to know. So, I translated every word the waiter in a restaurant said to us. The commotion, the facial expression spoke for themselves. In response to our question about the wait time, he answered,"Do you expect me to go to the kitchen and cook for you?"

Just like that! Testy, uuuhhh. In a split second, the kitchen magic was gone. Our jaws dropped. 

We are both foodies. In the restaurant world we live, we have not witnessed anything like that. But, the good food compensated for the bad customer service. The waiter "took the cake."

It was a complete relief to see a  totally different type of service in a small village restaurant. What we did not find in the big city, we found it in the village. We saw the true, down to earth, friendly people, unscathed by any filth in life. They did not care who is from where. They smiled... They showed all they are capable to cook and it stood up in our minds. Everyone back in USA heard stories about the village, the hospitality and the smiles.

The Black Sea resorts offer in many areas the "Everything Included" business model. Extended eating hours, bars, restaurants. Variety was there, but cooking for hundreds of people coming at the same time always affects the taste and abundance of the most popular dishes. I could never get up early enough to get all the fruits I like, nor did I get the signature sweet bread. At least, I boast about making it around Easter in USA. However, all the kids were happy; they did not ask for variety.

Keeping it real, there is food and drinks all the time, clean pools next to the hotels, work-out areas, entertainments for children and adults -- tennis, children shows, saunas, massages,  aerobics. The Sea itself presents a memorable view. 

We snuck out one day to see a small little town close by. The old part with the souvenirs and handmade crocheted table cloths, the rose oil and rose beauty creams filled my bag. Excellent presents. All my friends smell like Bulgarian roses now. 

The cobble streets took us to a fantastic little restaurant. My husband got the fish of his dreams - turbot, the famous Bulgarian salad, and fresh mussels. It is all captured in the pictures below.

We had 3 hours of food blitz. I wish it was more. We met a young man, who served us. He was very serious at the beginning, but once he learned I was Bulgarian, he warmed up. He told us that every day they serve fish, whose road from the net to being cooked and served is very short. "Come again in the evening. There is music playing. I will save you a table!" He offered. We wish we could.

I am trying to save the real testy for last. It was again customer service, who made us think of not going to the same hotel again. It must have been our bad luck. 

It really weighs heavy on my heart. Americans say "nothing hurts like the truth." I debated a lot if I should be the one to criticize constructively, or I should be like most of the other expats in USA -- soaking in nostalgia, enjoying every visit without being bothered by the sand in my shoes.

I choose to stay true to myself.

It is not unusual to have problems with Internet connection in most European hotels. We had to find this special corner in the room or in the common areas, where the signal is strong enough to connect with my husband's office. Both of our phones could not be used at the same time. I gave up my rights in favor of the work my husband did. He needed to be in touch with  his office and did real work during vacation.

One day, the internet was down in any location of the hotel. We went to the reception area to explain the problem. The answer from the front desk was, "This is not my fault!"; "This is not my responsibility." After my husband asked for the manager, he was told that the manager was in a meeting. There was no "I am sorry, Sir. We are working on it. I apologize for inconveniencing you." An hour later, I tried to use my Bulgarian language. The manager was around this time

I have no clue how I kept my composure.  Maybe, living in USA really changed me.... The internet was back on shortly, but my husband did not get any "sorry."

You may argue, that this is not a big deal. The big deal [to me] is the lack of regret and respect for the customer.

The sign you see to the left of the paragraph was put on my fridge upon my return. It reflected the predominant business attitude. 

Then, I took it down and replaced it with a beautiful picture of the Black Sea.  

One hotel will not put a stain on the restaurant and cleaning crew trying to earn a living there. Tourism provides the major employment in the area. These people did quietly and diligently their jobs. 

We Thank All of Them.

Blog Disclaimer: Some characters appearing in this blog are fictitious or composite. Any resemblance to real situations and real people are purely coincidental. The owner will not be liable for any errors or omissions nor for the availability of this information. The owner will not be liable for any losses, injuries, or damages from the display or use of this information.

 

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

This a story about a girl I met at a rufa fish treatment spa.

While vacationing on the Black Sea in Bulgaria, I chanced upon a spot where rufa fish are used to feed on the dead cells on your feet. Two water tanks with warm water are filled with little fish, hundreds of them. They feed on the dead cells and exfoliate your feet. 

I am not an adventurous type woman. But when I saw something unusual like that, I jumped at the chance.

The place was not terribly busy; it was around noontime.

Photo courtesy of artztsamui/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Then, I met the young girl. Rosy cheeks, long brown hair, clear bright eyes. She asked me if I had any lotion on my feet and directed me to the water faucet nearby. I came back clean and the fun began -- for the fish, for me , and the girl. She set the timer and sat across from me. 

Our twenty minutes together was all we needed to get to know each other in our own special way.

The questions and answers were flying in both directions. She was a natural-born journalist. She had the passion and the wide eyes.

While she stayed with me, she kept her eyes closely on what was going on in the shop. The books were in order; the payments were in order; the smile never left her face. 

New customers came. Since there was no sign about the requirement to have the feet clean from any lotion, it became obvious the foreign customers did not understand what she asked them to do. She was quick on her feet -- she put me to work. Good thing I did not say to the clients "Wash your damn feet. The fish are crying!" I wanted to, but I was not the boss :)

After we took care of the newcomers, she was back, dangling her feet and writing in her memory notebook all she asked -- where we live, how far it is, when did I go to the USA, why, what do I do, what does my husband do. She told me about her family, her love for reading, learning English. 

Once she was done with this, she sized me up real well. She said, "Keep you sunglasses on. You look much better with them!" My response was, "You mean much younger." She smiled. 

The girl went on to tell me something no one mentioned to me in Bulgaria. Everyone complimented my Bulgarian.

"You know, your Bulgarian is very different." She spread her arms in the air, like the wings of a bird. 

I had to help her. "Give me an example!" 

"You do not say 'I am going,' you say it like 'I am gooooo-ing.'"

She said it like a little actress. I had to agree that may be my Bulgarian had become  a little "dramatic."

Once she was done with me, she moved on to asking my husband questions. I told her he was American. She guessed he taught English. I explained his occupation, which she liked. 

My husband was watching on the side the conversation between us -- the two chatterbox children. He jumped in,  shaking the girl's hand and introducing himself. She shook his hand. She was touched by the attention. The red cheeks were red from the sun, but the eyes were not lying. 

My time with the rufa and the girl was up. I gave her a hug and we said good bye to each other.

I will certainly forget a lot from the Black Sea vacation, but I will not forget the girl and the rufa fish. 



Blog Disclaimer: Some characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real situations and real people are purely coincidental. The owner will not be liable for any errors or omissions nor for the availability of this information. The owner will not be liable for any losses, injuries, or damages from the display or use of this information.

LOOK, STORKS!

LOOK, STORKS!

Fresh picture taken by G. Coleman

I had not seen any storks  since I immigrated from Bulgaria to USA 22 years ago. One of my older blog posts was about wearing a martenitsa -- a pure Bulgarian tradition. True to the tradition, I also have martenitsa hanging on a tree in my little yard. Spring came, then summer started... It is way past the time to take off the martenitsa from the birch tree. There is no doubt what so ever winter is gone... It is 80 degrees out. True, but the martenitsa is peaking sadly from behind the leaves and reminding me of being a child many years ago. I am waiting to see a stork....

Then, a miracle occurred. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Stork during our trip in Bulgaria. Upon my return to USA, I gleefully took the old martenitsa down. On next March first, a new one will be hanging on the tree, along with the new expectations for love, happiness and health for all of us.

In many mythologies the stork is a symbol of prosperity, fertility, commitment in marriage. It is not just a big bird; it is a creature of significance for everyone's life. 

There are many storks in Bulgaria this summer (I was told). I met The Storks on the way to the Black Sea. Standing in all their glory in their big nest, completely unperturbed by the cars driving on the highway. 

I never thought there was a chance to meet The Storks right there, on top of an electrical pole. "Here you are! Sitting all pretty, while I have been waiting for you in USA. Hi, there!"  

Suddenly, Monday's driving to the Black Sea got very exciting. Even with a guide like my brother-in-law, who is a real history buff and story teller, there was not much to catch the eye. There were not even enough bad drivers. He saw The Storks first. I was more excited that the 9-year old in the car. The car stopped; pictures were taken. Not only did I see storks, I remembered how important they were in my childhood. What does Santa do? Santa brings presents. The stork brought the neighbors' boy. There is no place for comparison.

Pic courtesy of njaj/Digitalphotos.com

When you think about it, it is not a bad cop out for parents to use the stork as a sub for serious conversations about love and babies and sex. Even nowadays, there are celebration cards with a stork when a baby is born in a family. 

After we passed The Storks the conversation started in my head. I had to look into their life more when back in USA. 

The long legs, black and white wings, long necks, and bills, making a strange clattering noise.... My relative focused on what he thought I had to remember first: "The storks build big nests and return to the same nest every year." He continued, "they are monogamous; they do not change nests or partners." 

Well, this may, or may not be completely true, per Wikipedia, but I will trust my relative. He cannot be convinced that "may" is sufficient proof for birds infidelity after migration.  

How can storks play such an important role in mythology if they do not possess the value to be faithful to their partner? If I discover this, I will fire them in a minute. There are many birds waiting to take their important job.

I will finish this post with an Aasop's fable, which my babysitter used to read to me as a child. It was one of my favorite. She was a good reader, too. I still enjoy it. 

There is moral to every story....

SOCCER, MY FATHER & I

   SOCCER, MY FATHER & I

Sketch by Frank Bryan

This post was started a month ago. My vacation in Bulgaria brought back memories of the days when my parents were still alive. Every time you go back to your native country someone, something somewhere will emerge in your brain as fresh as the Black Sea fish we ate at the local restaurants. 

I always felt, I did not know my father well. He was not much of a talker at the time I was growing up. Back in the communist days, both members of the family worked; yet the burden was primarily on the women to raise the kids and do the house work. Dad was not an exception. He really knew how to weasel out of house resonsibilities. Yes, he was a bit lazy as far as house work. His work time ended at the hospital. The rest was all on my Mom's shoulders. 

He never allowed himself to look as the guy on the picture -- carrying 2 watermelons on the way home. There were no cars these days. Carrying a juicy, 10 lbs. each heavy watermelons was not a simple task for my Mom, but she did it. An officer cannot be humiliated to walk with watermelons on the street. No, no... He was given a break, because he always provided a dramatic picture of how he would look in the eyes of people with the watermelons.

It was a different story as far as sports were concerned. Attire did not matter. The most popular sport in Europe is soccer. My father loved soccer. He made me love soccer, too. It was not easy for me. As a young girl and later -- a teenager, soccer was not the first thing on my mind. But then, I fell in love with the game, the crowd, the noise, the excitement ... We went to all the games together. The little girl was there with her father no matter what. Dad did not just loved the game. He was ready to jump and help the team doctor at any second if some injury happened. In his mind he believed such a moment would come... The doctor in him did not let go even for a second. When there were head injuries, he would say in his sarcastic manner, "if this guy has several more concussions in the future, do not expect him to be exceptionally bright after he finishes his sports career." It is hard to say if he was right. Even nowadays, no one openly admits a concussion. 

Yes, I was seriously into soccer until I came to USA, where professional soccer was not popular. I want to brag about the Bulgarian soccer since it is part of my past, but since the World Cup in USA in 1994, when Bulgaria reached the semi-finals, there isn't much to brag about.  World Cup 1994 was the biggest success of the Bulgarian soccer. OK, eventually we ended up fourth, but we still have the history to remind us of the "Golden Generation" of Stoichkov (who scored 6 goals during the cup games.

Since then... I have nothing very impressive to report about soccer. I will blame it on the very tough qualifying groups for the Bulgarian team, bad luck and [who knows] big, huge, gigantic, to kill an elephant concussions.  

Picture courtesy of khunaspix/Digitalphotos.net