Episode Two: Ladonna Freidheim And Suzanne Metzel

This episode of Tellin’ Tales Tales Told features inspiring stories of resilience and creativity, including a wheelchair ballet dancer breaking barriers and a breast cancer survivor redefining her path. Celebrate strength and new beginnings!

Featured Stories:

“I Am A Force” - Ladonna Freidheim’s story celebrates resilience and transformation, highlighting how individuals overcome obstacles—like disability and illness—to redefine themselves through creativity, strength, and determination, inspiring new beginnings beyond adversity.

“Still a Woman?” - Suzanne Metzel reflects on her family’s breast cancer legacy and her own journey through diagnosis, surgeries, and motherhood. Despite scars and losses, she embraces resilience, redefining womanhood beyond physical perfection and celebrates survival and strength.

Transcript

Tales Told Episode 2 Transcript

Shui  0:16  

Hey, Robert,

Robert

Hey, Shui, ready for the next Tellin’ Tales Story Corner?

Shui  0:19  

Isn't that Tellin’ Tales? Tales Told?

Robert  0:23  

Yeah, all right, great, great. Cuz we have two terrific stories today. The first one is from Diversecity. Isn't that diversity? Yeah, no, it's Diversecity. Emphasis on the city. Wow.

Shui  0:38  

I thought it was diversity. Are you sure? I think so, because diversity is a series of performances that Tellin’ Tales does, highlighting people who really lean into their disabilities, so that it's not really a disability at all. It's just a different kind of ability,

Robert  0:55  

Huh? Like a dancer in a wheelchair.

Shui  0:59  

Precisely that.

Robert

I'm clairvoyant. 

Shui

I knew you were. So when you think ballet, you think about able bodied dancers in the peak of physical form, and then comes LaDonna Freidheim, just shattering those barriers. LaDonna is the founder of Reinventability, which is all about inclusion, dance and joy.

Robert  1:21  

The peak of physical form doesn't necessarily mean that you have to be able bodied.

Shui  1:27  

You can say that twice.

Robert

The peak of physical form. . . 

Shui

No, no, no, no, no! Let's Just hear her story.

(Music and applause)

LaDonna  2:01  

As performers, we put ourselves out there and smile, lest we be judged, and we will be judged, welcome to Dis Fest behind the scenes where we answer the burning question, what is it really like to be a disabled dancer, I found it just best to enlighten the perceptions of disability and to demonstrate that there is meaning and purpose and joy to be found in a life lived with disability. In an interview, once I was asked, Why do you think that access and inclusion is important for people with disabilities? Because we are people, and people go places. Why wouldn't it be they cut that even though I said it with the pleasant voice and lovely smile that society requires, so as not to seem. too much. It is exhausting. There is a darkness looming nearby. It is always there. Can't see it, but it can be felt

altering the pressure around me, the viscosity of the air. Can you feel it? It's like a storm front that sends out shooting, jabs pain, but you can't hide when the storm rolls in, it surrounds you, engulfs you, drown me. Drowning. It was there when my sad, sickly childhood self buried her face in the thick fur of our gentle giant German Shepherd, sobbing. It was there in the hospital as I lay face down, weighing heavily upon me one time, there was this stream of lightness

that reached through the darkness was still there, but this lightness, it wrapped around me as if to say, It's okay.

My friend Risa, she had a great idea. We were going to live in a lean to on the beach of a tropical. Island, she would fish and I would bathe in the healing warmth of the sun. Of course, in reality, this pale Iris skin would burn and blister. My mom probably got some poisoning, but it's a lovely idea. Grace and I met in dance class when I was still a baby, bunt headed ballerina, ballet was my everything, my source of pride, joy and comfort, until this degenerative disability ripped all that away. It's a, it's a problem with the genetic coding that should have told my joints how to grow, plus a rheumatoid condition and PCOS and AGPS and these conditions, they conspire against me to form these thick strands of disabling strangulation that fold that darkness ever closer. It's a lot, but joy really can pierce through.

I did not get to spend my life lazy about in literal sunshine. Riso went off to become a brilliant physicist. I did get a figurative wavelength. My beloved daughter, Hannah Angelina Freidheim-Joved, better even than ballet. I know it's op, but it's druid. This is my story. She and I. Well, those of you who know me won't be surprised to hear that Hannah enjoyed a childhood filled with boundless creativity. During her rather prolific visual arts phase, she loved to paint, so we got her an easel, which she painted, along with some furniture. One day, she painted her belly swirls of black and drifted around the house singing softly to herself, what are you I asked? Oh, I'm a little black, Red Cloud. She said, it just like Winnie The Poo .

 It helps me to think of that when the darkness descends, pain makes me gasp.  I’m a little black brain cloud. We dance together. Always have our lives. Love her childhood. It was like a musical theater production. We sang and danced at home, in the park, up and down store aisles, errands were so much more fun. Is she 17 now? And says That's embarrassing. I was never embarrassed. My brilliant, beautiful baby girl. I so desperately want her life to be better than mine. She deserves better than to live life in pain. She deserves better than to have a mother who is so often sick or injured.

I struggled with what to say about this disability she inherited.  Sorry for the bad genetics. Sucks to be us, but I really am sorry. What would you say? Would you warn her about the darkness? Does it help you to know and a little bit about the substance behind the smiles? I ended up telling her that it's okay. We spend countless hours trying to hold on to what abilities we can and what we're left with. It's okay. The worst part is judgmental people, and when that happens, it's okay to cry and get mad and yell and scream and throw things. I like to think about throwing things, but not really at people. Yeah. We do have good lives, and it's true that in a life lived with disability, there is meaning, purpose and joy.

Our smiles are genuine, despite the pain that they hide. Disability is like living with a storm cloud, but we are Gene Kelly, 

(Music, “singing in the Rain”)

Robert

Wow. What an inspiration.

Shui  10:54  

I mean, incredible, right? Taking what could have really ended her dreams and converting it into a whole new way to express them.

Robert  11:00  

It's amazing. You know, Tellin’ Tales is all about the stories. How do you move beyond the obstacle that stops you and into the new you?

Shui  11:09  

That's a great way of putting it. Our next story is about a breast cancer survivor. Way to lighten the mood here, well, you know what I was saying? You know that inspiration you felt from Madonna, you're going to feel it from Suzanne Metzel, too.

Robert  11:23  

Is that the same Su I know she used to be a figure skater turned trial attorney?

Shui  11:27  

And now she's on the board of directors for Tellin’ Tales. 

Robert

Wow, so I better like it, right? 

Shui

We’d all better. So here's your story.

Su  11:40  

There's a full length mirror built into the wall of our second floor hallway. It's a lovely old mirror. I pass by it every time I go from the bathroom to the bedroom. My family calls it a fat mirror, but I don't mind standing in front of it fully closed, but the idea of appearing there naked is horrifying. I've lived in the house for almost 30 years. Legend has it that my great grandmother, Lucy Wood was a straight A student with lavender eyes, an accomplished horse woman, and played a great game of golf. She carried on an eight year long distance relationship with my great grandfather, who she had met at her father's Inn in Wisconsin. They finally married when Lucy was 28 and they had three children, but at the age of 40, Lucy Wood died of breast cancer in a last ditch effort to save her life, she joined the Christian Science Church, you know, the one that believes in prayer, mind over matter, but not doctors. I found a receipt for her membership in the church just dated just months before her death. Lucy's daughter, Avis, my granddaughter, was 10 when her mother died. Avis was raised a Christian Scientist, not sure why, since it didn't work, but she hedged her bet on God and relied on modern medicine, and she also smoked and drank. Avis was 75 when she died of breast cancer. She survived the first bout, but not the second. I remember in the early days her lying in bed with a few wisps of white hair sticking out, looking up at me, begging to die. 

Chemo sucked in the 70s. Do you know they used to give it to women at night, hoping they could sleep through the horror. It didn't work. My mother was 60 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She wasn't a Christian Scientist, although she let my grandmother take me to Sunday school, she knew one thing, after seeing her mother suffer, she would never have chemo when the cancer had spread to her bones, and she finally relented. It was too late, and she died at 63 so you see, I've always thought that my body was a ticking time bomb. I just wasn't prepared for it to go off. So soon.

I was just putting my seat belt on, and my hand grazed my breast, and I felt something hard. My heart dropped. I was 39 eight months pregnant, and I just learned that my son, unborn son, had Spina Bifida. Over the next 20 years, the very body parts that defined me as female attacked me and risking my life and left me wondering what happened to that  young woman I used to be. The first insult was lying on a cold operating table with a gaggle of medical professionals there to witness the birth of a baby with Spina Bifida. Thank God there was not a mirror on that ceiling, because that look would be horrifying. 

They sliced me open, whisked my son off to Children's Memorial Hospital. They evicted me from the maternity ward, returning me back to General Surgery floor to recover. A couple weeks later, the biopsy came back positive. We sat down with the surgeon, and he offered to consider doing a lumpectomy, and my husband and I said, you know, just save her life. That's the most important thing. The breast is not of course, he did stop the surgery halfway through and went down to ask my husband's permission to take the breast. We that's probably a little unfair. 

We also saw a plastic surgeon to pick out a new breast. He showed us pictures of perky breasts with Frankenstein stars and scars, and we learned how they make nipples with the help of tattoos. He even said he could do it all at once, Out with the old in with the new. I kind of felt like Humpty Dumpty, and I didn't think they could just put me back together again, besides, I had some bigger fish to fry. I wanted to live long enough to see my children grow up, and I had to learn how to parent a child with a disability. Figuring out how I was going to fill out my bathing suit, had to take a back seat.

For years after that first surgery, I lived with one breast. Yeah, yeah. I was fitted for fake boobs. They were heavy and uncomfortable and nothing like the real thing, but they even had one you could stick on your chest, which I could have used when I was on a work retreat. You see, I was down in Florida with a bunch of mostly male partners, and we were supposed to play golf of course, but rain had other ideas, so we decided to go bowling, and I stepped up to take my shot and leaned over and out popped that boob. Mortified, I slipped it off the floor and ran to the bathroom. 

At 55 I decided to take care of another female problem, fibroids. This surgeon said he could take it all ovaries and uterus laparoscopically, yay, no scar. It turned out that was a bit of a gamble, because my uterus was the size of a 20 week pregnancy. While the nurses were ignoring me, my blood pressure plummeted. I had to have a blood transfusion, and that stalled, and I finally said, let me go home. I was happy not to have those heavy periods anymore, but that estrogen that was coursing through my body was being shut off, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

A couple months later, I found the lump in the other breast. The radiologist offered to call a surgeon across the hall, and I saw him that day, and he offered to do a lumpectomy. What is it with male surgeons? Are they obsessed with breast?  After listening to Shui? I'm thinking I would have to go to a mental institute if I didn't want to opt for a lumpectomy. I'm like this thing these breasts have been trying to kill me for 15 years. Why am I trying to save it? My oncologist was thrilled to hear that I no longer had ovaries, but this time I did lose my hair. My family made fun of me. They said, I look like the bald guy from The Great America commercial, you know, but their laughter was preferable to the looks of pity on from strangers. That was the punch in the gut. Real punch in the gut. 

I did get a fake wig and put on a baseball cap and went incognito for a year, fooling nobody but myself. But that was 15 years ago, and I have to say that I really love my body, despite all of its scars and imperfections and not to mention missing body parts, it pulled through with flying colors, and I'm now a 70 year old, active, healthy woman, and the sun with Spina Bifida is a 31 year old college graduate from NEIU, and I did ultimately get some genetic testing, not for me, but you see, I also have a daughter, Ava, and she has a one and a half year old daughter, Lucy. And although they carry the names of their ancestors, the curse stops with me because they don't have the gene. I don't plan on standing naked in front of that hall mirror anytime soon. That desire for Barbie doll perfection was ingrained in me years ago, and it's kind of unshakable. You know, I got that doll when I was six years old, and I loved it. But also, being a woman is a hell of a lot more than having a couple of boobs, and it's great never having to wear a bra. Happy Women's International Day.

(Music)

Robert  21:14  

Wow, go Su.

Shui  21:17  

Everyone has a story. Robert.

Robert

I can't wait to hear more. 

Shui

Hey, I've got a great idea. Let's tell the people at home how they can get their stories to Tellin’ Tales. 

Robert

Well, take it away. Shui.

Shui

All right, hey, you at home, why don't you check out Tellin’ Tales website, we're tellintales.org or you can just shoot us an email at info@tellintales.org and we'll get back to you.

Robert  21:41  

Maybe.  No we will seriousl.

Shui  21:43  

Maybe we'll hear your story on

Robert and Shui

Tellin’ Tales Tales Told.