I haven’t been feeling the best the last few days. It’s been an off and on kind of thing, but I heard that the stomach flu is going around. I have pushed myself to go to the gym anyway, hoping to sweat out any virus I may be harboring. I’m going again tonight and maybe sit in the sauna for a while. I’ve also been taking extra vitamins. I know there’s a lot of controversy surrounding homeopathic medicine, but I do think some things make a difference. Like a positive outlook. I’m trying that too. I’ve been so excited to have gone this far into the winter without my usual bronchitis that I’m really hoping this thing passes. However, I’m thankful that I haven’t gotten full-blown sick thus far. I’m going to bed early, though, just in case.
Feb 11
I read an article about the CEO of AOL using families of premature infants as part of the reason the company needed to make cuts in benefits. Apparently, the costs associated with the care of two infants was upwards of two million dollars. Not surprising. The cost of healthcare in this country is astounding. However, his comments brought upon a backlash and caused him to ultimately reverse the company decision to cut benefits. This article brought to mind a couple of things for me. First, I understand the company’s need to look at the cost of healthcare. I was recently on a work committee that was charged with finding ways to reduce our own healthcare costs and find new plans to offer to our employees. We weren’t privy to the claims made of our employees, and I wouldn’t want to single out anyone who had need of medical services, regardless of the associated costs. After all, that’s why we pay for health insurance–in case we need it. The rising costs of healthcare and insurance is staggering and the impact to businesses is real. It’s a political conundrum that probably won’t be solved by our current policies. But I don’t like to get into politics. The other thing that came to mind, however, is more personal. I was on the receiving end of this story. My oldest daughter was born 3 months premature.
It was a shock, of course. Looking back it seemed there was a warning sign–a constant backache for a couple of weeks–but nothing major. I hadn’t yet gotten to the point in my pregnancy where I was huge and had learned about labor and expectations. The morning she was born, I felt some cramping and eventually called my doctor’s office. I was given an appointment for later in the day. I called my mom and told her I wasn’t feeling so well and described some of the pain. She told me to keep track of it and call my doctor back if it seemed to increase. I was going to simply go back to bed but the pain escalated quickly. To the point where I also realized there was a pattern to it. I called my doctor back and was told to come in, but by then I couldn’t stand straight and knew I couldn’t drive across town. I called a friend to take me. By the time she arrived, I could barely walk. When we made it to the clinic, I was in so much pain, they sent a nurse out to the car and called an ambulance. I was taken back across town, wheeled in to the hospital, moved to a bed and delivered my daughter within 10 minutes of arriving. I remember the room was filled with people, none of whom I knew. But I also didn’t care. It was surreal and frightening. They whisked her away so quickly I didn’t even get a chance to see her. She weighed 2 pounds, 3.5 ounces. I have a picture of her before they put her in the incubator, full of tubes and wires, gripping her dad’s pinky. She was no bigger than her dad’s hand.
My daughter was one of the lucky ones. Well, we all were. She spent two and a half months in the infant ICU and was allowed to go home when she reached 5 pounds. I could write volumes about the agony of that time. The fear, the guilt, the discovering, the elation that went with all the milestones of watching a premature infant finish growing inside a plastic dome. There were so many things that could go wrong. There were many other infants and parents going through the same struggle as we during that time. Not all of them went as unscathed as we did. The only lasting effects of my daughter’s birth were on her eyesight (she needed glasses in kindergarten but grew out of them by high school) and a scar she will always have on the inside of her arm where the pic line was inserted. And of course, the life-changing psychological effects it had on me and her father.
I don’t usually think about my daughter’s tough beginning until I run across something like that article to remind me. I am, of course, always thankful for the outcome we had. But the article also reminded me that I’m thankful I didn’t have the worry of a mountain of medical debt on top of everything else. I had good insurance at the time. I wish that were true for everyone.
Feb 10
I mentioned a few posts back that my class has been a bit blah lately. Well, with school cancellations and the MLK holiday, it’s been a slow start to the semester. It seems as if we haven’t had a full week of classes yet, although we are in week 5. It’s not that my students are doing anything wrong; they’re simply quiet. More quiet than I like. I’m used to trying to corral people and keep them focused long enough to complete an agenda. As an instructor, I’m more comfortable with a class in which students interact and I do less lecturing. And based on a quick learning style survey I had my students take early on, most of them enjoy group work more than solo work as well. So I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get them engaged.
Tonight I decided to take a few minutes at the beginning of class to simply chat. As I took attendance (my habit) I posed the question, Did anyone do anything fun or exciting over the weekend? Silence.
One girl finally offered, I went to the mall, but that’s not really exciting.
No, I said. Not really.
Homework, a guy in the back chimed in. I stopped myself from calling him a suck-up.
Nothing, really? This is probably why they don’t talk. Although, I’ve learned over the years that sometimes, it’s just that they’re afraid to. I finally said, Well, I went to the Zac Brown concert.
A hand shot up. So did I! FINALLY. But why didn’t he mention it immediately?
We talked a bit about that concert and music in general and other concerts people had gone to. I talked about the Stone Sour concert I went to a couple weeks ago, which elicited some laughter and the comment that they didn’t really see me as a hard rock person. Ahhh!..appearances really can deceive. It took less than ten minutes, but there was an tangible shift in the room. Everyone seemed a little more relaxed. For the rest of the class time, they worked in small groups on the current chapter we’re studying. Each group covered a section they will present to the rest of the class tomorrow. It was great to see them interacting. I almost hated to stop them when class time was over. There was a lot of laughter. A bit of chummy arguing, even. And everyone was involved. No one just sat and stared. That’s the kind of class time I find most rewarding. Of course, not every class can be that way. Some material won’t be conducive to group work. But I think a few barriers came down tonight. Now that they have chatted and become a little more personal to each other, it will be easier for some of them to speak up later. For that, I’m very thankful.
Feb 9
I’m lucky enough to have several people in my life to whom I can go to for advice and a reality check. It’s important for me to be able to talk through my problems or worries. I’ve discovered that the quicker I can get out of my own head, so to speak, the easier it is for me to put things into perspective. One of my favorite quotes is “Wherever you go, there you are.” I first heard that when I was kid watching The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai Across the 8th Dimension, and it’s always stayed with me. Even as a child, I got the deeper meaning of that. The idea that you can never be away from yourself. Essentially, of everyone in the world, the only person you’re really stuck with is you. That’s why I’m all for self-improvement. And I’ve had a lot of self to improve over the years.
One of my biggest lessons and ongoing struggles is with patience. I’m not so bad with the daily, hurry up everyone! kind of patience (except in the car), but the big picture kind. The when is everything going to make sense?kind. Once I have something in mind that I want to move forward on, I want to do it NOW. Or if I’m waiting for events to come together, I want to intervene and prod them along. I told someone the other day that if I were given a crystal ball, I’d probably look at my future, just to know the highlights. See if I’m on the right direction. Verify that what I’m doing is working. I have not been the best at sitting back and letting life percolate. But I’m learning. I’ve had people in my life that I think entered just for me to practice on. And then I’ve had people enter who have encouraged me to practice what I’ve already learned. There’s one lady in particular who has been helpful to me lately in that way. She’s so very wise and articulate that talking with her is a blessing. She has a wonderful way of being straight with me, giving advice but in an affirmative way, reminding me that I need to enjoy the process of becoming. Just last week, when I expressed some anxiety over a relationship that’s been complicated, she gently encouraged me to simply let it evolve at its own pace. Apparently, I have a knack for getting in my own way. She’d never say it that bluntly, but in so many nicer ways, that’s what she’s able to remind me to stop doing. And she’s been right. When I’ve taken a deep breath, slowed myself down, and stepped back instead of stepping in, things have had a way of working out smoother and sometimes even quicker than I expected. I’m immensely grateful for her non-judgmental openness and beautiful spirit. Her insight and reminders. I’m thankful today that our life paths crossed when they did. Just when I needed her.
Feb 8
I have a cat. He’s a sixteen pound orange tabby whose name is Sousi. It’s a misspelling of the French word souci, which means a worry or concern. His first vet office spelled it with an “s” so we just went with it. I guess that’s what you get when you’re trying to be clever by choosing a word in a foreign language few Americans speak. Of course, most people hear Susie, figuring its a female cat or, like my mother, have trouble pronouncing it at all and call him Sushi. I usually call him SUESS! or Sousibous or schnooks. Or sometimes it’s damnit cat or stupid cat depending on how precariously I’m about to trip over him.
I found him in an abandoned building on a piece of property I once owned. Actually, the night I spotted him, there were two kittens. My husband at the time said he had seen a cat prowling around, so we left the kittens assuming the momma cat would come back. And she did, but only for one. After a few days, I couldn’t stand it. I was too worried about him left alone in the winter, so I brought him home. (Hence his name.) He was barely bigger than my hand and I had to nurse him with a doll-sized bottle. He was the fluffiest, cutest little kitten. Then he grew. Imagine the most rambunctious two year old toddler you know and put him in cat form. That’s what he was like. He loved to hide in doorways or under footstools and jump out as we passed by, grabbing on to ankles and feet and scaring the crap out of us. He’d run through the house sounding like a little horse, climbing up whatever he could. Yet at night, he’d sneak into my bedroom with only the briefest of sounds and spring onto my bed like a ninja cat, usually directly on top of me. Then he’d chase my moving feet under the covers. It would surprise me every time.
These days, he’s become fat and much lazier. He’s close to 13 years old, so it’s no shock that he’d much rather cuddle than scare us with his antics. He loves to hug and if I put my finger in his paw, I swear he holds it, curling his little toes around as far as he can. I used to sing You are My Sunshine while dancing with him and when he’d gaze at me lovingly, I’d tell him that he was so handsome, if I were a cat, I’d marry him. It makes me laugh to even type that. Funny the things we say and do with our pets. Unfortunately, I’ve been guilty lately of complaining about how needy he is…he insists on being on me every chance he can. He’s not happy simply curled up near me, he wants to be as close to my face as possible. And some nights, I’m just too busy to be that attentive to him. But like most pets, he keeps coming back. Tonight when I got home, he was at the door waiting for me as usual. He followed me every where I went and sat in my lap as soon as I sat. Everyone should have someone or something in their lives that adores them that much. Today I’m thankful for my Sousi and his consistent reminder that I’m loved.
Feb 7
In case you missed it, today was the opening ceremony for the Winter Olympics. I haven’t actually watched it yet, since I didn’t find a live feed, but I plan to later. From what I’ve read and seen online, it looks like quite the fanfare. It should be interesting. I’m not an obsessive watcher of the games, but I do enjoy it catching what I can, especially the figure skating and all of the skiing events. Oh, and the luge; that is amazing. I guess I just listed half of the winter sports, so I probably watch more than I think I do.
When I was a kid I loved skating–roller skating and ice skating. I was pretty good, too. I could skate backwards and make small jumps and go on one leg. In my mind I was graceful and fluid. I pictured myself skating like the beautiful girls in the Olympics and wished I had a handsome, strong partner who could pick me up over his head. Instead, I was stuck my sisters who would rather knock me over than help me with my form. One of them even skated over my hand once and cut my finger almost to the bone. It kind of took the fun out of it. Since I never took lessons, so I’m sure I wasn’t as much graceful and poised as I was slow and careful. But it didn’t matter. I think any kid who loves a sport at some point pictures themselves in the Olympics. It’s the epitome of athletic prowess. The dedication required for an athlete to compete at the Olympic level is beyond me. The personal stories are often so interesting, inspiring and yet sometimes heartbreaking to hear. So many of them give up much of what we call our daily lives to get there, focusing solely on their craft. I find it fascinating.
Of course, I find the whole idea of the Olympics fascinating. The fact that these games have been going on regularly since 1894 and include over 200 participating nations from all continents is mind blowing. We can’t even get our own two political parties to play well together, but we can have thousands of people from that many countries coming together for a common cause? This is like the Super Bowl on steroids. Everything I said about football and sports bringing people closer together is magnified for the Olympics. Whole nations are rallying behind their athletes. I’ve never been to a live Olympic event, but I imagine it’s an overwhelming experience. The energy and pride and competition must be tangible in the air. I’m sure I’d come back home and strap on my skates again, I’d be so inspired.
But one of the coolest things, in my opinion, about the entire Olympics is the Olympic Creed: The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well. I’m sure every one of the athletes in Sochi right now are hoping to win a gold medal, yet that’s not really the point of it all. The point is simply to be there. To have practiced endlessly, competed for years, and shown up to do their best, against the best. It’s a good reminder that the win isn’t everything. Sometimes the win is the end. It’s the getting there that matters.
Feb 6
I’m seriously tired of the cold. The snow. And the wind. I’m trying really hard to find some good things in this miserable weather. I was talking with a co-worker the other day about winter. We agreed that it isn’t that we hate it. After all, there is still fun to be had in winter. I do like sledding and ice skating, snowmobiling and skiing. It’s just that with this particular winter, it has been too cold to be outside much at all. Going from my car to my office requires a sprint because the wind is brutal. By the time I get to my office door, I look like I’ve been sobbing. My eyes have watered up, my face is chapped. And I don’t think my feet have been completely warm since October.
Yes, this winter has been challenging. However, I did actually note a few things on my quick jaunts outside today. Have you noticed how when the sun reflects just right on the snow, it sparkles likes glitter? I love that. It seems magical. And there’s a tree in my yard that hasn’t lost all of the berries. They’re hanging like small little ornaments. It attracts birds, and a cardinal sitting on a branch against the white snow is a sight that’s always lovely to me. I’m also fortunate enough to work on a campus that has a park-like setting. There is a pond that attracts a large amount of geese, which typically roam the grounds at will. The buildings are separated by a creek and a large stone bridge and two smaller footbridges connect the sides. There are groves of trees and landscaping that includes a large amount of flowering bushes and native plants. In all seasons, it’s truly a beautiful place to come to on a daily basis. Of course, when something becomes the norm, it’s easy to forget how unique it may really be. Yet there are times I’m reminded. Like today when I was crossing the bridge and a bunny hopped towards me. Or the other night, when I was on that same bridge and the lamps reflected off the frozen creek and outlined the trees and rocks and nature, and the stillness of the setting somehow seemed alive.
As much as I’m counting down the days until Spring (42), I am thankful for the nature around me. Winter can beautiful, even the miserably cold ones.
Feb 5
I noticed online that there was quite the stir surrounding The Biggest Loser’s weight loss today. I didn’t watch the show this season, although I have seen it in the past. Apparently the winner lost about 60% of her initial body weight, causing many people to say it was too much. Some even went so far as to claim she looked anorexic or sick and unhealthy. I quickly stopped reading comments, but I’m sure not everyone was nice about expressing their opinions. I had other headlines to investigate, such as Lady Gaga’s eating disorder and Gwen Stefani referring to her younger self as “chunky.” I followed that up with an article about the 12 foods that all dieticians keep in their own houses.
Obviously, there was theme today…What is it about body issues that is so universal? And what makes us so wildly judgmental about them? I don’t have an opinion on the headlines I read today except that they made me sad. It reminded me of how obsessed our culture is with looks and how adversely affected we all are by it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no Pollyanna. Every society in every time frame has had standards by which they mark beauty. It’s probably always going to be that way. We love beautiful people. I just wish we could shift the definition of what we find beautiful. Healthy is beautiful. Happy is beautiful. And you know what, those two things come in all sizes.
I remember being a teenage girl. Crazy time. And that was before Instagram and Facebook and cellphone camera selfies. We didn’t have images of ourselves plastered every where for everyone to see and judge. But the pressure was there to be thin and model-like. I’m only 5’2″ and built like a gymnast. I was never going to be waiflike as I desired to be. I think I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from hating how I was, as I called myself, short and stocky. And I had my own measurement of whether or not I was getting fat. I’d place my hand, fingers wide across my leg when I was sitting down. If my thighs were larger than my hand, I needed to quit eating. I spent way too many hours of my day worrying about how much I was eating. Trying to see how long I could go without eating. Judging myself against every other girl I thought was thinner that I. The life of a teenager girl is oftentimes constant comparison.
Of course, now I wish I had worried more about what I was eating. I wish I had realized that what mattered most is being healthy. Being strong. I’m thankful I never developed a full-blown eating disorder, and I’m thankful that I don’t let my body issues override my life anymore. Of course there are things I don’t love about myself. But my short, muscular body has served me well over the years. I plan to take care of it, so it continues to do so.
Feb 4
It was a difficult class tonight. It felt frustrating and unproductive. Maybe the winter is beginning to weigh on everyone because there seems to be little energy left in my students. And in me, if I’m honest. It reminded me of something I had written a few years ago that still seems to apply. I’m always thankful for being able to lose myself in writing.
it seems like
every year they get worse
come late
leave early
skip at least once a week
even when they show up
they’re not really there
it’s just luke-warm bodies
sitting glassy-eyed toward the back
of the room
most days I’d like to skip
myself give in to the defeat
protect the mythical reverence
I still hold for the beauty
of writing
even on the best of days
they don’t really get it
there’s no passion developing
no sense of urgency of needing
to know
apparently the future doesn’t
exist in any rational form
in their futures someone else
does the thinking
on those days I feel like a mime
explaining to the silence
that words really great words
can taste amazing
on the tongue
yet they refuse to taste
and every year I try harder
every year they remain
the same
Feb 3
A friend of mine asked me if I’d like to help out with a fundraiser she’s in charge of planning for an organization in town called Healing Pathways. It’s dedicated to providing free psycho-social services to cancer patients and survivors. The fundraiser is an annual Bow Tie March/5K run for men’s cancer awareness. I went today to the committee’s monthly meeting to get an overview of what they’re doing and how I may be able to help out. Of course, I knew by simply going, I was dedicating myself to the cause. But I wanted to. I wrote previously about my sister’s battle with breast cancer and mentioned briefly that my dad was also diagnosed with cancer. Two months prior to my sister’s diagnosis. His was in his stomach.
According to my friend, one reason they are doing a specific event for men’s cancer is because a lot of men put off seeking medical advice, even when they suspect something is wrong. And as we know, when it comes to cancer, early detection is crucial. Women have been told for years to do self-checks and mammograms; who hasn’t seen or heard of the pink ribbon campaign? It’s hard to miss. What are men told? Get a yearly exam? And how many really do? Let’s face it. There is one gender stereotype that has a lot of basis in fact. Men typically don’t discuss problems, especially health-related concerns, with their buddies. And often not even their family members. Women, on the other had, typically do. I have four sisters. We’ve had group discussions of aches and pains, menstrual issues, childbirth, mood swings, bathroom habits…you name it, we’ve discussed it. And with women, the discussions aren’t always limited to family members. It’s not at all out of the ordinary for a phone call from a girlfriend to start with, Can I ask you a personal question? followed by Have you ever experienced (xyz issue)? By this difference alone, women are more prone to make appointments with their doctor to check out something that doesn’t seem normal.
My dad’s cancer diagnosis was a shock. He got the confirmation just weeks before Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, stomach cancer doesn’t always have early warning signs. But we all wondered. He suffered from heartburn for years. He’d drink Pepto Bismal and Alka Seltzer on an almost nightly basis. I remember my mother telling my dad more than once that he should go to his doctor. And I’m sure he did go at some point. But I’m also sure he wasn’t really persistent about issues, nor was he willing to go for every thing that may have felt strange. Like most men I’ve come across, that wasn’t his thing. But he’s one of the strongest men I know. And like my sister, he met his fate head on. Mayo clinic doctors are probably still talking about him. He had his stomach taken out and left the hospital ahead of schedule, in time to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. In a wonderful, unexpected stroke of luck, his cancer had not spread, like a lot of stomach cancers do. He was blessed in that regard. But, of course, cancer has left an indelible mark on my dad. He’s literally almost half the size he used to be. Life has been drastically different for him. But he’s a survivor of a long, hard battle. Again, another courageous role model I look up to in my family.
I’m thankful today that I have the opportunity to help out with this fundraiser. It’s important. This one’s for my dad.
melissagratitude 