I read a tweet this morning about Crohnies and extreme heat and it got me to thinking...
It's been hot here in New York. Really hot. For months (okay, more like a week). I "don't do well" in the heat. I haven't since I was young. I used to play softball in the summer and, while everyone else was doing just fine, my face would turn bright red and I would not be able to cool down. I remember jumping in the community pool after the games and feeling my face burn against the cool water. It would take me hours to return to normal.
Then there's now. We went to a photography school/gallery/cool, temporary space made from freight containers last weekend (http://photovillenyc.org/). The walk to the park wasn't so bad, but we ended up entering the wrong side of the park and walking in the sun for, I don't know, ten minutes? Now, I just want to say here, I am a walker. I live in New York. We walk and we walk fast. It's part of living here. On a normal day, a half hour walk wouldn't even phase me. But this day was hot. It was already in the 90s by 11:00am, and the humidity and sun were oppressive. By the time we got to the lecture I really thought for a few minutes that I was going to pass out. I got to the I'm-so-hot-I'm-cold point and thought that was it. I sat still and drank a bottle of water until I felt back to normal.
For the entirety of this heatwave, the news radio station I listen to has been constantly reminding listeners that the elderly and those who suffer from chronic illness should take extra care in this heat. It didn't occur to me that I belong in that category until today, until I read that tweet. I've been feeling so well for so long that I sometimes forget I have a chronic illness. It hadn't occurred to me that the headache I couldn't get rid of this week was heat related. Or that the heat is the reason I've been waking up in the morning feeling like I haven't slept a wink. Or that the heat is causing the joint inflammation that is causing the feeling that my shoulder bones are grinding together as I type this.
I have been staying indoors in the air conditioning and drinking gallons of water, but maybe it's not possible to totally avoid the effects of extreme heat. I walk around with a lot of pain a lot of the time, I think I'm just used to living with it. But sometimes we must surrender. The A/C is cranked up and I'm going to take a nap.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Day 169
Sometimes other peoples' pain overtakes me. The sadness eats my consciousness until I'm a bumbling half-a-brain fumbling through my day. Sadness replaces my appetite and my ambition. It's too much for me.
It can be a stranger on the street or a disaster half a world away. I have to stop myself from thinking about it or it will take over. There's so much everywhere. How does one avoid it?
A friend passed away yesterday. More of an acquaintance than a friend, I guess. Though I saw him five days a week for almost eight years, I can't say I knew him well. He was the quiet one of the group. Sometimes we talked about his fight against his own illness. I guess we had that in common, though his was potentially fatal and mine, not so much.
He died quietly in his sleep of a heart attack unrelated to the long battle he had fought which, by all accounts, he was winning. No one expected that he wouldn't wake up, too young, too healthy. It was a total shock to me when I found out this morning.
I can't say I understand why I can't get over it. Maybe I'm older now and I know what it means to lose someone. Maybe I know what his mother and siblings and nieces and nephews are feeling today. How hard it must have been for his closest co-workers who spent eight hours staring at an empty chair. Actually, I don't know. I know a fraction of their pain. I can't imagine what this feels like. Maybe that's why...
It can be a stranger on the street or a disaster half a world away. I have to stop myself from thinking about it or it will take over. There's so much everywhere. How does one avoid it?
A friend passed away yesterday. More of an acquaintance than a friend, I guess. Though I saw him five days a week for almost eight years, I can't say I knew him well. He was the quiet one of the group. Sometimes we talked about his fight against his own illness. I guess we had that in common, though his was potentially fatal and mine, not so much.
He died quietly in his sleep of a heart attack unrelated to the long battle he had fought which, by all accounts, he was winning. No one expected that he wouldn't wake up, too young, too healthy. It was a total shock to me when I found out this morning.
I can't say I understand why I can't get over it. Maybe I'm older now and I know what it means to lose someone. Maybe I know what his mother and siblings and nieces and nephews are feeling today. How hard it must have been for his closest co-workers who spent eight hours staring at an empty chair. Actually, I don't know. I know a fraction of their pain. I can't imagine what this feels like. Maybe that's why...
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Day 144
I have been offline for a few weeks, okay probably closer to
a month. The first couple of weeks I had
an amazing opportunity to travel to faraway lands (more on that later). Then two weeks ago my grandmother passed
away. She was matriarch, in every sense
of the word, to her family, her church and her community. She was an incredible, gracious, generous,
beautiful woman. She lived through a
lot but came out the other end of it all with a smile (and a wink).
Her health began to fail her when I was just starting
college. Selfishly, I felt like I was robbed of the influence of an amazing mentor and support
system just when I probably needed it most.
Her health declined quickly and her medication kept her in a suspended
state somewhere between knowing and not knowing. Every few years she would miraculously “wake
up”. She would be surprised by the age
of her children, once asking one of my uncles “What happened?” while she
studied his face. Everyone would be
surprised at her sudden awakening but, I think, it almost always corresponded
with an upcoming surgery. Probably one which required a reduction in medication
in the days prior to the appointment.
To listen to the stories told by friends and family at her funeral, you would have thought my grandmother was a saint. I think in her time people kept more to themselves. If she had an unkind opinion of someone she kept it to herself. If one of us disappointed her, she would respond with love. Any scandals within the family stayed with that generation. No one said a word much less tweeted it to the rest of the free world. She was deeply religious, but never preachy. Instead she showed us a better way to live.
To listen to the stories told by friends and family at her funeral, you would have thought my grandmother was a saint. I think in her time people kept more to themselves. If she had an unkind opinion of someone she kept it to herself. If one of us disappointed her, she would respond with love. Any scandals within the family stayed with that generation. No one said a word much less tweeted it to the rest of the free world. She was deeply religious, but never preachy. Instead she showed us a better way to live.
In remembering her long, beautiful life, so much has come back
to me that I had forgotten. Like the shelves
lining the steps to her basement that were always filled with jars of pickled
vegetables, homemade jellies and other things she had canned. The entire days we spent running errands and
visiting people. The countless hours we spent playing cards and cooking in her kitchen. The way her car smelled like her. The music
she listened to (only church music) and her singing voice, always bursting with
love and enthusiasm, even if not always in tune.
She was one of those people who would have done anything for
anyone, but she was one of the few who used that potential. She was so proud of her nursing career and shared her expertise long after she retired.
She would drop everything to help anyone. No request was too bold, not errand to
inconvenient. Everyone knew her and
everyone loved her. My grandma was your
grandma. Just moved here from a foreign
country and need someone to watch your children while you find work? No problem.
Have a health issue and need a consultation before committing to a
doctor visit because you aren’t too mobile anymore? Be right there! Hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, tired, lonely and
need a place to eat, drink, cool down, warm up, rest, visit or play cards for a
while? Come on in! The door was never locked, the fridge was
never empty, Grandma was never too tired or busy.
There were no debates surrounding saturated fat or high fructose corn
syrup at Grandma's house. I don't think she would have believed me if I had told her I don't eat gluten. There was
butter in everything she cooked and her freezer was always stocked with
sweets. Not the homemade kind, though
she was a fine baker, the kind that were full of corn syrup and
preservatives and packaged in bright, child-friendly colors. Grandma knew what it was to do without. She lived through the depression so she kept her freezer full and always had goodies
for the grandchildren in there with the meat and vegetables.
The last thing I can remember talking to Grandma about was where
I was going to school. I had gotten into
some decent schools but was denied financial aid. I was trying to decide whether to take on the
debt or go to one of the state schools I could still apply to. I’m not sure why it came up or how, but the only advice she had for me was that it is important for me to have the same amount of education as my
husband. For my 19th birthday, she gave me
the necklace she wore every day, a gift from one of the doctors she had worked
with, because her initials (the same as mine) were engraved on it. Not long after, Grandma had the first of many
strokes. I visited her in the rehab
facility and we played cards (she still beat me). She came home for a few weeks but was
permanently moved to a home after another stroke. It was all downhill from there.
Grandma hung on for many years after but was never the
same. By the time I was diagnosed with Crohn’s
Disease, she may have still known who I was but she was unable to articulate
much. Crohn’s Disease was probably
beyond her experience, but I know she would have been a huge comfort while I was
sick. I wish she could have met my
husband and taken part in my wedding planning (lord knows she would have
restored much sanity). Most of all I
wish she could have met my niece who is her spitting image. The two of them would have been the best of
friends.
The only thing my grandma did that annoyed me was ask me to
tweeze her chin hairs for her (these things happen as we age!). It looked like it hurt but she always said it
didn’t. Her eyesight wasn’t good enough
and her hand too shaky to do it herself.
She would hold her breath and I would cringe at each pluck. I said every time, "c’mon that
has to hurt!" She would just smile. I would give anything now to have
her hand me those tweezers one more time. It's so cliche, but I want to
ask all the questions I was too young and self-absorbed to ask. I want to tell her about all of the exciting things that are happening to us. I want her to know about all of her great grandchildren, and how her
family has grown and spread out across the country. I want to thank her for everything she gave
me and tell her that I get it now.
Most of
all, I want her to know that, thanks to her, I am drinking from the saucer cause
my cup has overflowed.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Day 110 - An Announcement
Dear Crohnies, take heart. For I have a story to tell. I know not how it ends, but the middle is getting good!
I've been numbering my posts this year because I decided this year would be different. I decided this would be the year I changed my direction and change my life. I wanted to see how long it would take.
For the past eight years I've been working for the same company, in the same position for the past five or six years. I can't say I've always hated my job but I can say I have never loved it. It's not a horrible place to work; my coworkers are great, I've learned so many things about so many things, I've saved some money, I have health insurance, they let a lot slide through my Crohniest of years... But there are also some cons; women are not exactly treated as equals in the office, the health insurance hasn't always been the best, I don't get a lunch break, my boss can be incredibly demanding, I almost never leave the office on time, I have taken on so much that I barely have time to get a drink of water most days, my stress level is frequently off the charts... I'm not going anywhere in my company, it's too convenient for my boss to keep me where I am. I've gotten several raises and a few meaningless "promotions" that came with title changes but no real job promotion. I am comfortable, stable but not happy with where I am.
I've also been taking photos for most of the eight years I've been working there. I became enamored with photography the minute I learned how to use a camera. Puppy love became obsession which turned into an old, comfortable love then eventually just became a part of who I am. There are millions of people out there who are content with photography as a hobby, but not I. I decided I wanted photography to become my livelihood. You know the old saying about do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life (or whatever). I want to be that person.
I spent several years trying to figure out how I was going to do it, all the while taking photos. I've taken photos of parties, babies, families, children, burlesque performers, famous actors, not-so-famous actors, friends, family members and total strangers. I've spent months learning Photoshop and figuring out how to set up a website. I've printed business cards, changed my website and printed new business cards, changed my name and printed yet more business cards. I've applied for assistant jobs and entered contests. I've gone to classes and lectures. I've watched countless tutorials online and viewed millions of photos. Now, I think I'm ready.
In the beginning of the year; amidst figuring out how my parents will go on after my father's stroke, traveling with my husband's hugely successful film, and busting my Crohn's addled butt at my aforementioned job; I put together a portfolio and an artist's statement and applied to a graduate photography program that seemed designed just for me. The school is well-known, well-respected and smack in the middle of New York City. The program accepts only a few people each year. Crohnies, I GOT IN! I still cannot believe it.
In August, I will leave the office I've been practically living in for the past eight years to follow my dreams. I have never been so excited about anything in my entire life. I know it will be difficult and stressful. Of course, I am worried that I will have problems switching to a new health insurance provider with my pre-existing condition. I'm afraid that the stress will cause sleepless nights and flares, but far stronger than the fear is my excitement and hope for the future. Who knows, maybe I'll fall flat on my face, but I'm a strong believer in hard work. I think anyone can reach their goals if they are willing to do the work.
Crohnies, I am living proof. Take care of yourselves, be patient, keep a positive attitude, work hard and good things will happen. We can have Crohn's Disease AND follow our dreams.
I've been numbering my posts this year because I decided this year would be different. I decided this would be the year I changed my direction and change my life. I wanted to see how long it would take.
For the past eight years I've been working for the same company, in the same position for the past five or six years. I can't say I've always hated my job but I can say I have never loved it. It's not a horrible place to work; my coworkers are great, I've learned so many things about so many things, I've saved some money, I have health insurance, they let a lot slide through my Crohniest of years... But there are also some cons; women are not exactly treated as equals in the office, the health insurance hasn't always been the best, I don't get a lunch break, my boss can be incredibly demanding, I almost never leave the office on time, I have taken on so much that I barely have time to get a drink of water most days, my stress level is frequently off the charts... I'm not going anywhere in my company, it's too convenient for my boss to keep me where I am. I've gotten several raises and a few meaningless "promotions" that came with title changes but no real job promotion. I am comfortable, stable but not happy with where I am.
I've also been taking photos for most of the eight years I've been working there. I became enamored with photography the minute I learned how to use a camera. Puppy love became obsession which turned into an old, comfortable love then eventually just became a part of who I am. There are millions of people out there who are content with photography as a hobby, but not I. I decided I wanted photography to become my livelihood. You know the old saying about do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life (or whatever). I want to be that person.
I spent several years trying to figure out how I was going to do it, all the while taking photos. I've taken photos of parties, babies, families, children, burlesque performers, famous actors, not-so-famous actors, friends, family members and total strangers. I've spent months learning Photoshop and figuring out how to set up a website. I've printed business cards, changed my website and printed new business cards, changed my name and printed yet more business cards. I've applied for assistant jobs and entered contests. I've gone to classes and lectures. I've watched countless tutorials online and viewed millions of photos. Now, I think I'm ready.
In the beginning of the year; amidst figuring out how my parents will go on after my father's stroke, traveling with my husband's hugely successful film, and busting my Crohn's addled butt at my aforementioned job; I put together a portfolio and an artist's statement and applied to a graduate photography program that seemed designed just for me. The school is well-known, well-respected and smack in the middle of New York City. The program accepts only a few people each year. Crohnies, I GOT IN! I still cannot believe it.
In August, I will leave the office I've been practically living in for the past eight years to follow my dreams. I have never been so excited about anything in my entire life. I know it will be difficult and stressful. Of course, I am worried that I will have problems switching to a new health insurance provider with my pre-existing condition. I'm afraid that the stress will cause sleepless nights and flares, but far stronger than the fear is my excitement and hope for the future. Who knows, maybe I'll fall flat on my face, but I'm a strong believer in hard work. I think anyone can reach their goals if they are willing to do the work.
Crohnies, I am living proof. Take care of yourselves, be patient, keep a positive attitude, work hard and good things will happen. We can have Crohn's Disease AND follow our dreams.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Day 106
Oh Paralyzing Nausea, I'd all but forgotten you!
Things have gotten really stressful at work. It's making me sick. I wish I didn't care so much. Why do I CARE? WHO CARES? Anyway, I felt more nauseous today than I have since my Crohn's went into remission. I just looked that post up and - holy crap - that was well over two years ago.
So I've been really spoiled with good health for a long time and I hate to complain but I will anyway. I was feeling incredibly nauseous and walked into a hot, smelly theater to watch shaky footage taken from a car accompanied by horribly loud, scrambled audio that wasn't synced properly. I almost died of nausea. I am sure that's possible now.
Okay, whining over. Tomorrow will be better.
Things have gotten really stressful at work. It's making me sick. I wish I didn't care so much. Why do I CARE? WHO CARES? Anyway, I felt more nauseous today than I have since my Crohn's went into remission. I just looked that post up and - holy crap - that was well over two years ago.
So I've been really spoiled with good health for a long time and I hate to complain but I will anyway. I was feeling incredibly nauseous and walked into a hot, smelly theater to watch shaky footage taken from a car accompanied by horribly loud, scrambled audio that wasn't synced properly. I almost died of nausea. I am sure that's possible now.
Okay, whining over. Tomorrow will be better.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Day 86
I'm not really a carsick person, but I am in the back of a cab right now and I'm not sure if I'm going to make it home. I could roll down the window or I have a plastic bag in my purse or I could open the door if traffic stops again. Having a plan makes me feel better, but this gum is not helping. Oh man, we just passed the the water treatment plant. Maybe I should just ask him to let me off here on the side of the highway. Nauseated ramblings...
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Day 88
My days are often a blur.
I got up early this morning to load equipment into my car. I then sat in so much traffic that I was late for work. Before I got to my desk I had three messages and at least six emails waiting for me. I took on an extra project at work so I spent the first hour catching up on the usual stuff before spending a couple of hours taking head shots for my company. I spent lunch catching up with a friend who had to see her grandfather off to hospice over the weekend, then ate at my desk while I tried again to catch up on my work, give my sister beltway directions around DC from my desk in NY and find a replacement flight for my mother whose flight back from Florida was cancelled. I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on work and editing photos then finished the day with a call from my boss (ten minutes before I was supposed to leave) who had a few more things for me to work on. I took a short walk with a friend before heading off to a lecture, then met my husband at the subway station where we picked up tacos from a truck to eat on the train ride home.
I long for moments of silence or a few minutes to read something for pleasure or catch up on the news. My father, however, spends his days waiting for something to happen, for someone to stop by, for the phone to ring. He recently had a stroke and was forced to retire. He can't drive himself anywhere or reload ammunition (formerly his favorite hobby). Phone calls from his children are sometimes the highlight of his day so I do my best to call him at least once each day. I called him, today, on my walk from the lecture to the subway. It was a short walk, but it was the only time I had. He was disappointed that I only had a minute and couldn't talk longer. He told me I always call when I only have a minute.
If only I could swap some of my crazy for some of his calm. The way this whole life thing can pan out is so cruel.
I got up early this morning to load equipment into my car. I then sat in so much traffic that I was late for work. Before I got to my desk I had three messages and at least six emails waiting for me. I took on an extra project at work so I spent the first hour catching up on the usual stuff before spending a couple of hours taking head shots for my company. I spent lunch catching up with a friend who had to see her grandfather off to hospice over the weekend, then ate at my desk while I tried again to catch up on my work, give my sister beltway directions around DC from my desk in NY and find a replacement flight for my mother whose flight back from Florida was cancelled. I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on work and editing photos then finished the day with a call from my boss (ten minutes before I was supposed to leave) who had a few more things for me to work on. I took a short walk with a friend before heading off to a lecture, then met my husband at the subway station where we picked up tacos from a truck to eat on the train ride home.
I long for moments of silence or a few minutes to read something for pleasure or catch up on the news. My father, however, spends his days waiting for something to happen, for someone to stop by, for the phone to ring. He recently had a stroke and was forced to retire. He can't drive himself anywhere or reload ammunition (formerly his favorite hobby). Phone calls from his children are sometimes the highlight of his day so I do my best to call him at least once each day. I called him, today, on my walk from the lecture to the subway. It was a short walk, but it was the only time I had. He was disappointed that I only had a minute and couldn't talk longer. He told me I always call when I only have a minute.
If only I could swap some of my crazy for some of his calm. The way this whole life thing can pan out is so cruel.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Day 72
“I think I've discovered the secret of life - you just hang around until you get used to it.”
― Charles M. Schulz
― Charles M. Schulz
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Day 64
I had a very strange and vivid dream this morning. It started with a subway ride. I had accidentally gotten on the tourist train and it took me to a track side ice cream stand instead of my office. Most of my aunts were on the train. All of the ice cream had gluten in it. Eventually the train dropped me off at high school. I was a little late for class but I wasn't in trouble. I went to a couple of classes then the dream proceeded to cycle through all of the loose ends in my life until they were all neatly tied up. The super even showed up to fix the holes in the ceiling!
I woke up to the clanging of the radiator. But a dream within a dream...
I woke up to the clanging of the radiator. But a dream within a dream...
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Day 50
Day 49 was a busy day but, once again, we put in the hard work and everything was great in the end. Well, until I ate those wings. They looked so good(!) and I let my guard down. I really thought it was just the skin but... I got the headache almost immediately and woke up with stomach cramps in the morning. I've spent two days in the can.
The wings were delicious but nothing's that good.
The wings were delicious but nothing's that good.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Day 45
It's Valentine's Day and I'm going to take a moment to Oprah it out.
I find this to be a silly holiday. I have a valentine, my husband. He is amazing and treats me well every day. We enjoy each others' company every day and enjoy splurging on expensive dinners if we have something to celebrate. Deep down in my heart, I see no reason to do it up for Valentine's Day. I hate that people actually feel pressure to spend money or do something crazy so their girl can go tell everyone at work the next day how wonderful her man is. I hate that everyone asked me all day what I am doing for Valentine's Day, what did I get for Valentine's Day. It kind of reminds me of my wedding.
We got married a few months ago. I haven't gotten the photos back from the photographer yet and I'm kind of relieved. I'm sure I could have pushed the issue a little harder but, truthfully, I'm nervous about getting them back.
On the day of the wedding, I was totally on that bridal high. You could have shown me cold, hard proof that the Earth was going to explode the next day and I wouldn't have cared. Everything we worked so hard to DIY together looked just the way we wanted it. Logistically, nothing went wrong, my husband looked amazing, everyone we cared about was there, but some people (on both sides) let me down and, as hard as I try, I can't let it go. I'm not talking about Bridezilla craziness, I'm just talking about letting me down when it meant the most.
We mostly did what we wanted to do but, in the end, we dumped a boatload of money on certain things that I would have been happy to budget up on. We invited a bunch of people we don't know well, some of them hurtful people, and I'm not sure why we did that. Looking back, I think I would have pushed harder for barbecue and a smaller guest list. I wish I wouldn't have cared about pleasing people who don't care about us. Sometimes, looking back, I feel embarrassed and icky.
I'm afraid to get the pictures back. I'm afraid I won't like the way I look. I'm afraid that I will be upset all over again. I'm afraid that the pictures will be up all over Facebook so that, not only the people we did invite, but hundreds of other people we didn't invite will have a ticket to the show. I'm afraid I won't have control over what happens to my own wedding photos.
I created my own insurance policy before we got married to make sure that no one else had any say in how my marriage began and it was probably the smartest thing I've ever done. This is not about my marriage. It's about the show we put on for everyone else. It was something that happened because we were expected to make it happen, just like the roses that show up on everyone's desks on February 14th.
My relationship with my Valentine is serious, and private. I don't need to be told how or when to celebrate our relationship, it's not meant to be entertainment.
*No harm meant to V-Day lovers. Go for it! Maybe you can send me your email addresses so I can divert the questions to you tomorrow?
I find this to be a silly holiday. I have a valentine, my husband. He is amazing and treats me well every day. We enjoy each others' company every day and enjoy splurging on expensive dinners if we have something to celebrate. Deep down in my heart, I see no reason to do it up for Valentine's Day. I hate that people actually feel pressure to spend money or do something crazy so their girl can go tell everyone at work the next day how wonderful her man is. I hate that everyone asked me all day what I am doing for Valentine's Day, what did I get for Valentine's Day. It kind of reminds me of my wedding.
We got married a few months ago. I haven't gotten the photos back from the photographer yet and I'm kind of relieved. I'm sure I could have pushed the issue a little harder but, truthfully, I'm nervous about getting them back.
On the day of the wedding, I was totally on that bridal high. You could have shown me cold, hard proof that the Earth was going to explode the next day and I wouldn't have cared. Everything we worked so hard to DIY together looked just the way we wanted it. Logistically, nothing went wrong, my husband looked amazing, everyone we cared about was there, but some people (on both sides) let me down and, as hard as I try, I can't let it go. I'm not talking about Bridezilla craziness, I'm just talking about letting me down when it meant the most.
We mostly did what we wanted to do but, in the end, we dumped a boatload of money on certain things that I would have been happy to budget up on. We invited a bunch of people we don't know well, some of them hurtful people, and I'm not sure why we did that. Looking back, I think I would have pushed harder for barbecue and a smaller guest list. I wish I wouldn't have cared about pleasing people who don't care about us. Sometimes, looking back, I feel embarrassed and icky.
I'm afraid to get the pictures back. I'm afraid I won't like the way I look. I'm afraid that I will be upset all over again. I'm afraid that the pictures will be up all over Facebook so that, not only the people we did invite, but hundreds of other people we didn't invite will have a ticket to the show. I'm afraid I won't have control over what happens to my own wedding photos.
I created my own insurance policy before we got married to make sure that no one else had any say in how my marriage began and it was probably the smartest thing I've ever done. This is not about my marriage. It's about the show we put on for everyone else. It was something that happened because we were expected to make it happen, just like the roses that show up on everyone's desks on February 14th.
My relationship with my Valentine is serious, and private. I don't need to be told how or when to celebrate our relationship, it's not meant to be entertainment.
*No harm meant to V-Day lovers. Go for it! Maybe you can send me your email addresses so I can divert the questions to you tomorrow?
Monday, February 13, 2012
Day 44
I'm sitting on a train, heading home to see my parents. More specifically, we are going to the hospital tomorrow for my father's one month, post stroke visit.
I've lived through enough to know that this was another turning point, when Dad had his stroke. We will tell stories now about before Dad had his stroke. We will talk one day about Dad never being the same after his stroke. We've already worried over what we should have done differently when Dad had his stroke. For several weeks prior to his fall, we noticed that he wasn't the same. Something about his facial expression. He seemed slower, less alert. Something just wasn't right. We should have done something then. But we did! Mom made him go to the doctor who said his thyroid was low. He wasn't home when they called so they told me about his thyroid. I knew it was nonsense. I cursed the lazy, overbooked family doctor I saw as a teenager and young adult. But I didn't do anything.
Then he fell. He told us some story about taking his meds without having had breakfast. We gave him some crackers and water and didn't call the ambulance. He told us not to. We knew he was going to fall as soon as we left him by himself, but we still didn't call the ambulance. We waited until he fell again. We learned not to question ourselves, our instincts.
This brings me back to healthcare and how far we still have to go in this country. Living in New York where the best of the best are available if you have enough money (this absolutely includes healthcare), I've forgotten how mediocre the healthcare is in my hometown and probably in most other rural communities. I've had enough hour-long visits with my New York doctor, his door closed, phone muted, to forget what it was like. I've forgotten how frustrating it is when the one person who may be able to help you leaves the room every two minutes of your fifteen minute visit. I've forgotten how scatterbrained the doctor can be when he has three other patients waiting in other rooms. I've forgotten how devastating it is when the doctor is in such a rush that he mixes up your paternal grandmother's diabetes with depression because it's the next disease on the list, then prescribes antidepressants instead of doing his best to find out that you have Crohn's Disease.
There is no reason why a DOCTOR should see a 64 year-old man with high blood pressure who is having trouble walking and is confused and NOT suspect a stroke. Looking back now, it is so obvious. Thyroid medication? A higher does of blood pressure medication? Did he really not suspect a stroke? Did he not think for a second that he should do the simple motor skills tests the doctor used at the hospital to help diagnose my dad's stroke? The simple, free tests that would have cost him only an extra five minutes? Where was his mind? On the insurance checks that would come rolling in after he cycled through the waiting room full of people?
So here I am on the train. I have to fight for my dad because he won't fight for himself. I'm not ready to let him die because the doctor is too busy.
I've lived through enough to know that this was another turning point, when Dad had his stroke. We will tell stories now about before Dad had his stroke. We will talk one day about Dad never being the same after his stroke. We've already worried over what we should have done differently when Dad had his stroke. For several weeks prior to his fall, we noticed that he wasn't the same. Something about his facial expression. He seemed slower, less alert. Something just wasn't right. We should have done something then. But we did! Mom made him go to the doctor who said his thyroid was low. He wasn't home when they called so they told me about his thyroid. I knew it was nonsense. I cursed the lazy, overbooked family doctor I saw as a teenager and young adult. But I didn't do anything.
Then he fell. He told us some story about taking his meds without having had breakfast. We gave him some crackers and water and didn't call the ambulance. He told us not to. We knew he was going to fall as soon as we left him by himself, but we still didn't call the ambulance. We waited until he fell again. We learned not to question ourselves, our instincts.
This brings me back to healthcare and how far we still have to go in this country. Living in New York where the best of the best are available if you have enough money (this absolutely includes healthcare), I've forgotten how mediocre the healthcare is in my hometown and probably in most other rural communities. I've had enough hour-long visits with my New York doctor, his door closed, phone muted, to forget what it was like. I've forgotten how frustrating it is when the one person who may be able to help you leaves the room every two minutes of your fifteen minute visit. I've forgotten how scatterbrained the doctor can be when he has three other patients waiting in other rooms. I've forgotten how devastating it is when the doctor is in such a rush that he mixes up your paternal grandmother's diabetes with depression because it's the next disease on the list, then prescribes antidepressants instead of doing his best to find out that you have Crohn's Disease.
There is no reason why a DOCTOR should see a 64 year-old man with high blood pressure who is having trouble walking and is confused and NOT suspect a stroke. Looking back now, it is so obvious. Thyroid medication? A higher does of blood pressure medication? Did he really not suspect a stroke? Did he not think for a second that he should do the simple motor skills tests the doctor used at the hospital to help diagnose my dad's stroke? The simple, free tests that would have cost him only an extra five minutes? Where was his mind? On the insurance checks that would come rolling in after he cycled through the waiting room full of people?
So here I am on the train. I have to fight for my dad because he won't fight for himself. I'm not ready to let him die because the doctor is too busy.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Day 40
I probably spend a half dozen weekends in Toronto each year. Last weekend was my first visit this year. We usually have some family (and lately other) obligations. This weekend we had some extra time to spend downtown.
One way in which Toronto has New York beat is in gluten free dining options. It's been a few years since I gave up gluten and it definitely limits my restaurant options in New York. Toronto has several dedicated gluten free places and tons of restaurants and bakeries that serve gluten free options, a few of which we checked out last weekend.
After years of hearing and reading about it, I finally made it to Kensington Market. It was a little grungier than I was expecting but a good time. I think I would like to go back when the weather is warmer and really spend some time there. We had lunch at Kensington Cornerstone, a lovely little place with an entirely gluten free menu. There were chicken fingers! And sandwiches! And FISH AND CHIPS! The fish and chips really blew me away. It was so light and delicious. Go! Eat!
We also stopped at Haymishe bakery before heading out of town. The bakery is on Bathurst a couple of blocks south of Lawrence (I have no idea what I'm talking about, you might want to check that). They had a HUGE selection of gluten free foods. There were several different types of bread (I bought one after the proprietor insisted I squeeze a loaf), cookies, an amazing blueberry tart, rugelach, knish, rolls, schnitzel (!), more cookies, flatbread... I'm sure I'm missing some things. So I left with far more than I intended but everything was delicious, literally everything. Especially the dulce de leche cookies and the blueberry tart. And the flatbread. Oh, and the garlic/dill cream cheese. The bread was perfectly squeezy but I didn't get to it for a few days. I'll definitely get another loaf one day and eat or freeze it immediately.
I am so carbed out right now. Thanks for the memories (and the extra five pounds), Toronto!
One way in which Toronto has New York beat is in gluten free dining options. It's been a few years since I gave up gluten and it definitely limits my restaurant options in New York. Toronto has several dedicated gluten free places and tons of restaurants and bakeries that serve gluten free options, a few of which we checked out last weekend.
After years of hearing and reading about it, I finally made it to Kensington Market. It was a little grungier than I was expecting but a good time. I think I would like to go back when the weather is warmer and really spend some time there. We had lunch at Kensington Cornerstone, a lovely little place with an entirely gluten free menu. There were chicken fingers! And sandwiches! And FISH AND CHIPS! The fish and chips really blew me away. It was so light and delicious. Go! Eat!
We also stopped at Haymishe bakery before heading out of town. The bakery is on Bathurst a couple of blocks south of Lawrence (I have no idea what I'm talking about, you might want to check that). They had a HUGE selection of gluten free foods. There were several different types of bread (I bought one after the proprietor insisted I squeeze a loaf), cookies, an amazing blueberry tart, rugelach, knish, rolls, schnitzel (!), more cookies, flatbread... I'm sure I'm missing some things. So I left with far more than I intended but everything was delicious, literally everything. Especially the dulce de leche cookies and the blueberry tart. And the flatbread. Oh, and the garlic/dill cream cheese. The bread was perfectly squeezy but I didn't get to it for a few days. I'll definitely get another loaf one day and eat or freeze it immediately.
I am so carbed out right now. Thanks for the memories (and the extra five pounds), Toronto!
Monday, February 6, 2012
Day 37
I had a strange dream last night. I can't remember the details, just that it was weird and stressful. It threw off my whole day. I'm sure this is why I destroy my teeth in my sleep. These dreams.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Day 30
Some days (weeks, months) are taken over by difficult decisions based on difficult facts and difficult conclusions... not what I had it mind for this year.
No one ever tells you what this part of life is going to feel like. Adulthood can be a lonely place.
No one ever tells you what this part of life is going to feel like. Adulthood can be a lonely place.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Day 24
Sometimes, not often, I take a car home from work. The city looks so different from the car. It looks so much bigger. The number of buildings and cars and people and restaurants... There are thousands of restaurants and all that food must be shipped in every day. Nothing grows in Manhattan. There are more people dining out in Manhattan right this minute than live in my entire hometown. Crazy.
Thus ends my stream of consciousness for the evening.
Thus ends my stream of consciousness for the evening.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Day 23
After all the hype (and enough clips that we had seen most of the movie already) we watched The Help tonight. The story was inspirational, I suppose, but not likely at all to have happened.
I couldn't help but relate to some of the characters. Obviously my life is far easier than those depicted by the help, but working in an office that is not exactly leading in gender equality, we are sometimes treated like we are not fully human. Sometimes it's more like we are 80% person and 20% servant robot. Other times it's a fantastic place to work. Also, there's health insurance.
Anyway, I guess The Help was entertaining for what it is and another reminder that I need to do something with my life.
I couldn't help but relate to some of the characters. Obviously my life is far easier than those depicted by the help, but working in an office that is not exactly leading in gender equality, we are sometimes treated like we are not fully human. Sometimes it's more like we are 80% person and 20% servant robot. Other times it's a fantastic place to work. Also, there's health insurance.
Anyway, I guess The Help was entertaining for what it is and another reminder that I need to do something with my life.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Day Nineteen
First goal reached. Stopped obsessing, hit "print" and sent in some grad school applications. Nothing left to do but wait and keep shooting.
Friday, January 6, 2012
2012, Day Five
I think I am pretty cool under pressure. I can handle travel emergencies, weather emergencies and medical emergencies but I cannot handle drama. Drama, especially drama just for drama's sake, makes me a total panicky mess. I can't handle it at all.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
2012, Day Four
I am spreading myself too thin. I know what my problem is, but how do you fix a lifelong habit of making sure everyone's okay?
This year I gotta make some moves. Right now, there's a lot to do and only a few days to do it. I need a gigantic "Do Not Disturb" sign.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
2012, Day Three
Some days I feel like I'm on top of the world. Some days I feel like I'm stuck under a Rock. Day 3 was a Rock day.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
2012, Day Two
It's always unnerving when something jolts you out of your daily grind, the thing I despise most but is sometimes oddly comforting.
One of my all-time favorite commercials is for the New York Lottery Instant Games. The commercial features New Yorkers in their everyday routines wearing outfits that indicate what they would do if they won the lottery. So there's a woman in her office filing papers in a wedding dress and a barber wearing a captain's hat and life jacket. The song playing in the background asks "Are You Ready?". The premise is that everything can change in an instant and those people on the subway platform in their bathing suits are ready, are you? I love this commercial because I am definitely both a planner and a dreamer, and I so love the imagery. That bus driver in his tennis gear got the facial expression perfect.
I think we've all dreamed about what we would do if we suddenly came into a bunch of money or what our lives would be like if we landed that dream job, owned the house we've always wanted in our minds, had those kids we've always planned for. I've never dreamed about what would happen when my parents get old and can't care for themselves anymore. It sneaks up on you then, one day, smacks you in the face. I'm not sure anyone can ever be ready. To see the strong man who took care of me all of my life reduced to a pile on the floor who cannot help himself up is earth shattering. It changes the way the world looks. I definitely wasn't ready.
Monday, January 2, 2012
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