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see a nuerologist, who after examing little Ksenia, stated in no uncertain terms that the child had a form of cere bral palsy. Ksenia had suffered brain damage either during her mother's pregnancy or delivery, which impaired her balance and affected her muscle coor dination. Confronted with the knowledge of their child's terrible plight George and Christine sought to correct her condition with whatever means were available to them. They had yet to learn that patience is a most nec essary virtue and persistant consistancy is about the only weapon against this terrible disease. The neurologist prescribed exercises. Ksenia began her therapy in a neighborhood hospital, with the pur pose of teaching her brain how to work her almost life less muscles. This therapy was supplemented by a siz able dose of Vitamin B6 designed to strengthen and develop muscle fibers. After some time, Chris and George took their little girl to the Easter Seal Clinic where she also received physical rehabilitation. At night Ksenia's feet were encased in braces to stretch the heel cords. But Ksenia's parents felt the treatment she was getting was not enough and progress was almost non existant. Through an acquaintance they learned of a clinic in Philadelphia, The Institute for Rehabilitation of the Brain Injured, to which they took Ksenia. There, she underwent every conceivable test to determine the extent of the damage and an exercise program was suggested to suit her particular needs. This, program was to be carried out at home, every day, almost every hour for a trial period of 6 months. She was given a diet to control low blood sugar, vitamins to build up strength,. For the first time Christine and George felt that the help their daughter received at the clinic and the prescribed therapy held a promise of positive results. With the help of a neighbor, whose child also was a victim of a similar disease, teams of volunteers were organized to aid Ksenia with the "patterning exercises". Each excersise needed three persons, every half hour, six times a day. Ksenia's excersise theraphy became a way of life for the whole family. Neighbors, volunteers from local church groups, high school students, members of women's organizations, prompted by a family in des perate need to give their child a fighting chance in life, offered their time. Many women — volunteers left their own children with baby sitters and came to be part of the team helping a little girl to learn how to walk. And walk she did. Today, two years later, after countless hours of therapy and many returns to the Philadelphia clinic to update the exercises Ksenia stands up and walks. Her feet wabble, and twist and from time to time she may fall. But that hardly puts a dent in her enthousiasm. Her blue eyes sparkle and she Jaroslava Muzyka Carpathian Mountains. readily joins any group of children for games pnd fun. Ksenia is 6 years old and like any youngster will start school this fall. She, however, may never be able to run, but then running through life makes one miss so many wonderful things along the way. THAT WHICH WE ARE CAMILLE SMORODSKY Very often I find myself discussing "Ukrainianism" with my friends. We speak of our heritage, and of the degree of intensity with which we should pass it on to our children. Will too much be a handicap for them in their American world, will not enough fail to hold them within the sphere of Ukrainian communities? I believe that much of our adherence to a "national identity" idea whether conscious or unconscious is not based on polemics but rather on experiences in our lives, — on our contacts with fellow Ukrainians. Often they are mundane occurences which we seem to forget or judge as unimportant but they leave their mark. Just as we laugh at 15 second commercials on television at Italian Mamas — urging us to "Manga" — or understand what the song "Traditions" in FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, means to the Jews, so we are influenced and changed, perhaps, by our encounter with other Ukrainians. I remember one such incident which I believe I will cherish for as long as memory serves me and it is one I would like to share with you. It took place about ten years ago, in Montreal, where we had gone to visit with some distant relatives.
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