Man, I've noticed so many television shows that are all about learning to love your naked body without plastic surgery.
Those corsets women were socially obligated to wear until just a few decades ago are actually, according to the host of How to Look Good Naked, a great way to embrace your curves. They flatten your fat and give you an hourglass figure.
And if you watch the Canadian show Style by Jury, you will learn that getting porcelain veneers for your mouth and laser treatments for your skin will make it easier for others to look at you and for you to look in the mirror! Have other problems these procedures can't fix? Don't fret! You can layer your face with make up to conceal these imperfections. Soon no one will be able to recognize you! Isn't that what you want?
If you're still ugly after trying all of these things, you could always try Botox. I know for me, it's the only way I'll be able to get rid of those hideous crows feet. You know the ones that prove to people you've laughed and smiled a lot in your life? Ew. No one needs to know that I've been happy! Or how about that disgusting permanent crease I'll probably get between my eyebrows. People will know that I've been concentrating!
Still ugly? I pity you and I'm sorry to have to say this, but you really need plastic surgery. It's the only way you'll feel better. You need to take the risks of anesthetic and endure the pain of surgery recovery. You need to risk the complications like leaking breast implants. Sorry, honey, but that's the way it is. Beauty is pain.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Breakfast
Since I perfected both scrambled eggs and oatmeal, at least the way I like them, I've become a complete snob.
I can hear my dad rustling in the kitchen downstairs. He's probably making breakfast and a huge part of me wants to watch him do it. I used to watch to learn, but now I watch to make sure he's doing it right. Will he beat the eggs enough? Will he put enough milk in the egg mixture? Will he put enough butter in the pan? If he is indeed making eggs, when I eat them I will once again pay close attention to the taste and texture, compressing the egg between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Hmm.
I'm sure he's been making eggs for decades. I've only been making them for a few months. And I always enjoy his eggs. I even like the way his eggs look: perfectly yellow and fluffy on the plate. Still, I expect that he won't do it just the way I like it. I'm very critical considering my expectations are low: I like a simple recipe, nothing too flavourful. Seriously, how many ways could he possibly screw this up? Many, surprisingly. He could burn the eggs, forget to put the milk in, not stir the eggs enough -- okay those are the only screw ups I can think of right now. I don't even know if I would notice if he left the milk out. He can avoid all of these scenarios by paying attention, though. Scrambled eggs is not one of those dishes that very few people can do right. It's simple.
Now oatmeal, I have learned, is a bit of a craft. You see, I like my oatmeal not too thick and not too creamy -- maybe my pickiness is what earned me the nickname Baby Bear, which I absolutely prefer to Goldilocks. I also love brown sugar and honey in my oatmeal, but the first couple of times I put these in, it was too much, not enough or not stirred enough. I wasn't too hard on myself, though. Hard chunks of brown sugar of the brown sugar in my cupboard is mighty difficult to stir after I crush it in the bowl of oatmeal. A couple of weeks ago, I poured some brown sugar in and then pressed the back of my spoon into it. The oatmeal slid over top of the tiny mounds of semi-crushed brown sugar, making it impossible to know how much I should stir it.
Now, to crush and stir the brown sugar into the oatmeal more easily, I wait until the oatmeal cooks enough so that after I put the brown sugar in, the oatmeal won't slide over it and conceal it forever. At this critical stage of thickness, I pour the brown sugar clumps in. Then I put some milk in -- one of the few measurements I am not anal about -- and a sliced banana. I make sure the discs are sliced thinly so they will cook well, then I cut the discs into half. I stir the milk, oatmeal, honey, brown sugar and banana occasionally until the mixture gets creamier and puffier and the banana bits are soft. Then I know it's ready! Then I know won't be any hard banana or oat bits to bite into. The flavour will also be consistent -- no globs of brown sugar or honey. This is the deepest type of pride.
Maybe when my Dad leaves the kitchen I will make some.
I can hear my dad rustling in the kitchen downstairs. He's probably making breakfast and a huge part of me wants to watch him do it. I used to watch to learn, but now I watch to make sure he's doing it right. Will he beat the eggs enough? Will he put enough milk in the egg mixture? Will he put enough butter in the pan? If he is indeed making eggs, when I eat them I will once again pay close attention to the taste and texture, compressing the egg between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Hmm.
I'm sure he's been making eggs for decades. I've only been making them for a few months. And I always enjoy his eggs. I even like the way his eggs look: perfectly yellow and fluffy on the plate. Still, I expect that he won't do it just the way I like it. I'm very critical considering my expectations are low: I like a simple recipe, nothing too flavourful. Seriously, how many ways could he possibly screw this up? Many, surprisingly. He could burn the eggs, forget to put the milk in, not stir the eggs enough -- okay those are the only screw ups I can think of right now. I don't even know if I would notice if he left the milk out. He can avoid all of these scenarios by paying attention, though. Scrambled eggs is not one of those dishes that very few people can do right. It's simple.
Now oatmeal, I have learned, is a bit of a craft. You see, I like my oatmeal not too thick and not too creamy -- maybe my pickiness is what earned me the nickname Baby Bear, which I absolutely prefer to Goldilocks. I also love brown sugar and honey in my oatmeal, but the first couple of times I put these in, it was too much, not enough or not stirred enough. I wasn't too hard on myself, though. Hard chunks of brown sugar of the brown sugar in my cupboard is mighty difficult to stir after I crush it in the bowl of oatmeal. A couple of weeks ago, I poured some brown sugar in and then pressed the back of my spoon into it. The oatmeal slid over top of the tiny mounds of semi-crushed brown sugar, making it impossible to know how much I should stir it.
Now, to crush and stir the brown sugar into the oatmeal more easily, I wait until the oatmeal cooks enough so that after I put the brown sugar in, the oatmeal won't slide over it and conceal it forever. At this critical stage of thickness, I pour the brown sugar clumps in. Then I put some milk in -- one of the few measurements I am not anal about -- and a sliced banana. I make sure the discs are sliced thinly so they will cook well, then I cut the discs into half. I stir the milk, oatmeal, honey, brown sugar and banana occasionally until the mixture gets creamier and puffier and the banana bits are soft. Then I know it's ready! Then I know won't be any hard banana or oat bits to bite into. The flavour will also be consistent -- no globs of brown sugar or honey. This is the deepest type of pride.
Maybe when my Dad leaves the kitchen I will make some.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I have a cold
Despite everything I've been through these past few months -- hell, my whole life -- I never make fun of people for complaining about a cold. It is awful! My throat hurts; my sinuses are congested; I'm coughing. All I wanted today at school was to crawl into bed and rest. Not feel sorry for myself, as I'm actually pretty happy despite being sick, just rest. It is so satisfying to give my body what it needs. I suppose I'm happy because I don't have to go to school tomorrow, and so I won't. There are few things worse than the threat of missing work due to absence. I'm also happy that my instructors are okay with this. Everyone at my school is so nice and seem to genuinely want me and all of my classmates to succeed.
The cold is compounding my pre-existing issues of course. My heart's been extra sensitive since I got the cold and I feel especially tired and wobbly. How I didn't fall asleep in class or on the subway I'll never know, but I sure am proud of myself for staying alert! I've kept my sense of humour too, although it is a tad cruel: I found it therapeutic to laugh at the awful contestants on American Idol. Yes, illness helps me realize my strength. It's a test. After six months off sick, I certainly needed a test.
Other tests will come along, though, that probably will stress me out or have some consequence. When I have a job, work I miss one day will likely accumulate the next day. I may have to be off work sick during a probation period and so miss a day or so of pay. It's okay, though. I have savings in case I get into a real bind and I will disclose my health issues to my employer. I won't work for anyone who will try to guilt me into coming for work, threaten to terminate me, etc. Who knows! Maybe I can do a bunch of work from home. That would suit me well, as I often feel the healthiest when I don't have to exert myself or be consistently active. Plus, I am such a homebody, hence my url name.
I thought of these potential stressors and solutions a lot today because staying home sick tomorrow was a real possibility. Also, my sister just found a new apartment! I'm so happy for her, but very jealous. I imagined myself living in her new place and commuting to work from there. It won't be long before I get to do that too!
The cold is compounding my pre-existing issues of course. My heart's been extra sensitive since I got the cold and I feel especially tired and wobbly. How I didn't fall asleep in class or on the subway I'll never know, but I sure am proud of myself for staying alert! I've kept my sense of humour too, although it is a tad cruel: I found it therapeutic to laugh at the awful contestants on American Idol. Yes, illness helps me realize my strength. It's a test. After six months off sick, I certainly needed a test.
Other tests will come along, though, that probably will stress me out or have some consequence. When I have a job, work I miss one day will likely accumulate the next day. I may have to be off work sick during a probation period and so miss a day or so of pay. It's okay, though. I have savings in case I get into a real bind and I will disclose my health issues to my employer. I won't work for anyone who will try to guilt me into coming for work, threaten to terminate me, etc. Who knows! Maybe I can do a bunch of work from home. That would suit me well, as I often feel the healthiest when I don't have to exert myself or be consistently active. Plus, I am such a homebody, hence my url name.
I thought of these potential stressors and solutions a lot today because staying home sick tomorrow was a real possibility. Also, my sister just found a new apartment! I'm so happy for her, but very jealous. I imagined myself living in her new place and commuting to work from there. It won't be long before I get to do that too!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
He loves me, I love him not
At the end of my Valentine's Day date, my first-ever boyfriend of four months told me he loved me while I was sitting in his lap at the bus station.
I said, "Aw, thanks!"
Of course, I felt pressure to say I loved him too, especially since he had brought a rose and teddy bears to to my house. But I didn't love him. Damn, why did he have to be so serious, I thought. I'm just in this to have fun and kiss you.
I was fifteen!!! I wasn't even ready to let him touch my breasts, but he still loved me? I felt badly for letting him get so attached to me, but I just really loved when he told me I was beautiful. He made me laugh a lot. He said he loved my laugh. I adored the attention, the thought of someone thinking of me as a woman -- he was the first person to describe me that way. I wasn't keen on him -- or anyone -- being in love with me. Maybe I should have seen it coming.
We dated for over a month after the incident and he kept telling me he loved me. Then we both got busy: he with his go kart racing and I with my part in the school play, so our get-togethers tapered off. Then the phone calls did too. I called him and said I knew he was busy, but that it wasn't cool to ignore me. The next day he very softly and nervously broke up with me.
I was relieved.
I said, "Aw, thanks!"
Of course, I felt pressure to say I loved him too, especially since he had brought a rose and teddy bears to to my house. But I didn't love him. Damn, why did he have to be so serious, I thought. I'm just in this to have fun and kiss you.
I was fifteen!!! I wasn't even ready to let him touch my breasts, but he still loved me? I felt badly for letting him get so attached to me, but I just really loved when he told me I was beautiful. He made me laugh a lot. He said he loved my laugh. I adored the attention, the thought of someone thinking of me as a woman -- he was the first person to describe me that way. I wasn't keen on him -- or anyone -- being in love with me. Maybe I should have seen it coming.
We dated for over a month after the incident and he kept telling me he loved me. Then we both got busy: he with his go kart racing and I with my part in the school play, so our get-togethers tapered off. Then the phone calls did too. I called him and said I knew he was busy, but that it wasn't cool to ignore me. The next day he very softly and nervously broke up with me.
I was relieved.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Diary of a Future Spinster
I just woke up wearing the clothes I wore yesterday. Yes, last night I fell asleep wearing them. I wonder if anyone sleeps in their clothes over night and then wears them the next day... Of course some people do if they unexpectedly end up sleeping at the house of a lover. I don't expect that to happen to me, though. I also never expect myself to panic after realizing I haven't worn romance-appropriate undergarments or haven't shaved.
You see, for several years now, I've been trying to figure out if I'm asexual or if I just haven't met the right person yet. For five and a half months when i was fifteen, I dated the only person I've ever been attracted to. I WANTED to kiss him before we even started dating. He made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When we were dating, I remember melting whenever a sappy love song came on the radio, but I didn't love him. He actually annoyed me a lot of the time because he was really socially awkward and tried way too hard to be romantic. I realize now that he was probably just nervous and I should have been more understanding.
The other day when I was dreaming about moving out, I realized that several of my dearest friends have moved out with their serious, long-term boyfriends. Now I feel like I've missed out because I've never been in love, let alone been with a guy I'd want to live with. I feel so inexperienced and immature -- a stark contrast from feeling physically old due to my health issues. I wonder if a guy could ever make me feel mature as a woman, and also help me feel my body is young.
I've known love for my family, friends, writing, animals and music. Is that enough? I just don't know what I'm missing. Did I miss out when I was a kid and never dreamed about having a wedding? Or how about never playing Truth in Truth or Dare because I didn't have a secret to divulge about a boy? It goes back as far as I can remember: I've always imagined myself as a spinster living in a cottage with animals and no people. This is what I wanted, but I don't know what I want now. I can see myself panicking at 30 because I haven't found someone or had a child.
You see, for several years now, I've been trying to figure out if I'm asexual or if I just haven't met the right person yet. For five and a half months when i was fifteen, I dated the only person I've ever been attracted to. I WANTED to kiss him before we even started dating. He made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When we were dating, I remember melting whenever a sappy love song came on the radio, but I didn't love him. He actually annoyed me a lot of the time because he was really socially awkward and tried way too hard to be romantic. I realize now that he was probably just nervous and I should have been more understanding.
The other day when I was dreaming about moving out, I realized that several of my dearest friends have moved out with their serious, long-term boyfriends. Now I feel like I've missed out because I've never been in love, let alone been with a guy I'd want to live with. I feel so inexperienced and immature -- a stark contrast from feeling physically old due to my health issues. I wonder if a guy could ever make me feel mature as a woman, and also help me feel my body is young.
I've known love for my family, friends, writing, animals and music. Is that enough? I just don't know what I'm missing. Did I miss out when I was a kid and never dreamed about having a wedding? Or how about never playing Truth in Truth or Dare because I didn't have a secret to divulge about a boy? It goes back as far as I can remember: I've always imagined myself as a spinster living in a cottage with animals and no people. This is what I wanted, but I don't know what I want now. I can see myself panicking at 30 because I haven't found someone or had a child.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
This is it
I don't feel so invincible today. Sometimes I feel I can do anything sitting down or that I won't feel awful anymore once I sit down. Then there are occasions like this -- okay, more like regular occurrences -- that my legs ache just as much when I'm sitting down. Even if I have been sitting down for sometime, like I have been today. But then I think, I don't feel wobbly sitting down. Surely that makes up for the pain. I have no right to feel upset.
But how can I distract myself from this: not only of the pain, but of the dread of having to get up at some point? Despite feeling the joy of walking and dancing around and laughing, some of my favourite things, I still think of the pain and dread. The pain will get worse after I've been on my feet. The dread is not only of having to get up, but often also of having to sit down or feeling the need to sit down after only a few minutes of being on my feet. If I must endure worsened symptoms in order to live, then I will. Still, I won't forget about my problems. I can't. What human being could?
I used to measure strength as the ability to forget or perhaps not even notice. Until recently I thought I was weak for thinking about all of this, for being distracted or wanting my bed during an activity that any 23 year old should be able to enjoy no matter what she is fighting. (I'm thinking of the end-of-first-week celebration I left on Friday) Now I realize I am not overly-occupied with my health experiences. It is only natural. It would be unnatural to not notice the symptoms, to assume that I'm imagining them, or to try to ignore them. I really am a happy person. That's why I still walk and dance. That's why I'm going to school. I can't help that I feel awful, but I still want to LIVE.
The other day I became self-conscious that this blog and other rants to friends about my health comes off as drama, that people who read this will think I'm exaggerating my issues or obsessed with what I'm going through or that I keep this blog to recruit sympathizers. There is so much more to my life than what I write in this blog, but writing here is my outlet. While training myself to be a writer, I fell in love with the classic teaching, "write what you know." This is what I know and I know it well. This is my catharsis, my outreach to others who may dealing with similar things. I know there are many of you out there who are also suffering. Yes, I'm learning to use that word. Suffering.
But how can I distract myself from this: not only of the pain, but of the dread of having to get up at some point? Despite feeling the joy of walking and dancing around and laughing, some of my favourite things, I still think of the pain and dread. The pain will get worse after I've been on my feet. The dread is not only of having to get up, but often also of having to sit down or feeling the need to sit down after only a few minutes of being on my feet. If I must endure worsened symptoms in order to live, then I will. Still, I won't forget about my problems. I can't. What human being could?
I used to measure strength as the ability to forget or perhaps not even notice. Until recently I thought I was weak for thinking about all of this, for being distracted or wanting my bed during an activity that any 23 year old should be able to enjoy no matter what she is fighting. (I'm thinking of the end-of-first-week celebration I left on Friday) Now I realize I am not overly-occupied with my health experiences. It is only natural. It would be unnatural to not notice the symptoms, to assume that I'm imagining them, or to try to ignore them. I really am a happy person. That's why I still walk and dance. That's why I'm going to school. I can't help that I feel awful, but I still want to LIVE.
The other day I became self-conscious that this blog and other rants to friends about my health comes off as drama, that people who read this will think I'm exaggerating my issues or obsessed with what I'm going through or that I keep this blog to recruit sympathizers. There is so much more to my life than what I write in this blog, but writing here is my outlet. While training myself to be a writer, I fell in love with the classic teaching, "write what you know." This is what I know and I know it well. This is my catharsis, my outreach to others who may dealing with similar things. I know there are many of you out there who are also suffering. Yes, I'm learning to use that word. Suffering.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Why are you crying, Puppy?
Puppy is so adorable! He's resting in the window seat in Mom's bedroom. For an hour before that he was sitting on one of the boxes in the window, observing the activity outside. At first I didn't understand why he was so interested, but then I looked out:
there was a black squirrel running on the power line in front of the window, his tail floating above him; about five sparrows were chatting inside the hedge; a person walked by.
I have to sit here until he -- oh, he just woke up! I look up every now and then when his ID tags jingle to make sure that he isn't trying to climb over the gate that's barricading him in the window seat. Now he's scratching his cocked head with his left hind paw. Now he is lying down again and the jingling has stopped, so I can keep writing. I am so attentive. Oh, my mom has left the bedroom after her a nap and puppy is crying! It's the saddest sound in the world, even though he really has nothing to be sad about. Mom came back. Oh, good. No more crying. She's going to take him outside! She's baby talking the spoiled little brat and waving her fingers in front of him. He's on his back, pawing at her fingers (or hands?). Mom has partially blocked my view of Puppy.
Okay, they're cuddling out of his window seat now. I still don't feel well, so I think I'll go lie down in my bed. Mom might want to sleep in this spot.
there was a black squirrel running on the power line in front of the window, his tail floating above him; about five sparrows were chatting inside the hedge; a person walked by.
I have to sit here until he -- oh, he just woke up! I look up every now and then when his ID tags jingle to make sure that he isn't trying to climb over the gate that's barricading him in the window seat. Now he's scratching his cocked head with his left hind paw. Now he is lying down again and the jingling has stopped, so I can keep writing. I am so attentive. Oh, my mom has left the bedroom after her a nap and puppy is crying! It's the saddest sound in the world, even though he really has nothing to be sad about. Mom came back. Oh, good. No more crying. She's going to take him outside! She's baby talking the spoiled little brat and waving her fingers in front of him. He's on his back, pawing at her fingers (or hands?). Mom has partially blocked my view of Puppy.
Okay, they're cuddling out of his window seat now. I still don't feel well, so I think I'll go lie down in my bed. Mom might want to sleep in this spot.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
What a horrible day
This morning I had oatmeal, scrambled eggs and a glass of milk for breakfast. I felt well and happy until sometime during my commute. Then during my walk from the subway station to school I noticed my legs were weak and aching and I kept losing my balance. The snow didn't help.
It just got worse from there. I got REALLY tired, even though I slept for more than seven hours and ate a nutritious breakfast. And I felt dazed too -- like I hadn't slept at all. I generally felt really unwell. This was all in addition to the leg and balance problems. I found it hard to concentrate in class. I only had two classes, fortunately. What should I do if I feel unwell and I have three classes, plus a lunch hour, plus homework? I'm really concerned about this. This kind of day normally puts me in bed or on the couch, but I'm commuting and going to classes! It won't be long before I'm doing homework too. It seems so crazy now. I love the classes, assignments, instructors, campus and my classmates, but still, I don't feel ready to leave the sick life. This is so freaking hard.
What made the day suck even more was that I found out OSAP (loan service) was holding my grant money, which I need to pay off my tuition. The representative on the phone had no idea why my money was on hold. It will take at least two days to get an answer, and even then the problem might not be solved. Then once it is solved, it will take a week for the money to get into my bank account. What am I supposed to do until then? This term's tuition was due to be paid in full on the first day of classes, which was yesterday. I'm dreading waiting in the long line to speak to financial aid at my school about this.
It just got worse from there. I got REALLY tired, even though I slept for more than seven hours and ate a nutritious breakfast. And I felt dazed too -- like I hadn't slept at all. I generally felt really unwell. This was all in addition to the leg and balance problems. I found it hard to concentrate in class. I only had two classes, fortunately. What should I do if I feel unwell and I have three classes, plus a lunch hour, plus homework? I'm really concerned about this. This kind of day normally puts me in bed or on the couch, but I'm commuting and going to classes! It won't be long before I'm doing homework too. It seems so crazy now. I love the classes, assignments, instructors, campus and my classmates, but still, I don't feel ready to leave the sick life. This is so freaking hard.
What made the day suck even more was that I found out OSAP (loan service) was holding my grant money, which I need to pay off my tuition. The representative on the phone had no idea why my money was on hold. It will take at least two days to get an answer, and even then the problem might not be solved. Then once it is solved, it will take a week for the money to get into my bank account. What am I supposed to do until then? This term's tuition was due to be paid in full on the first day of classes, which was yesterday. I'm dreading waiting in the long line to speak to financial aid at my school about this.
Friday, January 8, 2010
I'm old and Prepared
Well, I start school in three days! I am so happy that I will have a life again.
I have defined "a life" by school and a career. I have had a good life since I got sick last June: it's been wonderful to bond with my mom and the animals that I love, to celebrate Christmas, to write in my diary and this blog. None of these things have made me feel like I've been living a full life, though. Perhaps these simple pleasures would be enough for me if I'd already experienced my post-graduate education and the career that will come with it. This will give me independence and help me make a difference in the world. I know I've positively impacted the lives of my friends and family, but that isn't enough for me. I want to enact social change.
My goal is to write press releases, public service announcements, newsletters and magazine articles for a non-profit organization, preferably one that deals with social health issues. I'd also like to work on marketing, advertising and event planning. My program will help me with all of those things and qualify me for jobs that ask for a certificate in public relations or something like it. That, combined with my Professional Writing and Health and Society degree, will surely make me extra attractive to employers.
Once I've settled into a job, I really want to start looking for an apartment. My really good friend I have been talking about getting a place together in a couple of years and my twin sister and I want to move out together this year. As much as I've dreamed about having a place all to myself, I think it would be more fun and less lonely to share a place with someone I love! Finally I won't have to rely on my parents financially. They've been so good to me, though. I will miss living with them.
I've decided to speak to my instructors and disability counsellor at school about my health issues. Well, mainly I just want to warn them that I may have to miss school because of illness or a medical appointment. I don't want to pretend that my issues won't continue to play a role in my life. The conditions are permanent and I'm sure the symptoms will continue to play a role in my life in one way or another. I must learn to live with them.
The unknown scares me a little bit. I'm sure the workload won't be too difficult or strenuous, but what about walking to and from the subway station? Up all of those stairs at the subway stations and on my campus? What other issues might come up? I will feel better once I let the right people at the campus know what's going on with me. I'm not stubborn anymore and I'm going to ask for help!
Well, scared isn't really the right word because I'm fully aware that there are resources at the school to help people like me. I don't worry about discrimination or anything. I think excited is probably the better word. I am definitely about to embark on a rite of passage and this is the one that will propel me into adulthood. I feel excited and curious like I did when I started my undergraduate studies at York University over five years ago, only now I feel really old. I guess that's what illness does to you.
I actually just visited York a couple of days ago to FINALLY pick up my diploma. The campus felt so alien to me, like I'd never been a student there. I felt the same way I had when I came to the campus for the first time, only the students walking through the halls looked really young to me, not older. I felt like yelling to them that the world is nothing like York. It's better and more exciting once you figure out what you want to do with your life. Then I realized that maybe some of those kids already knew what they wanted to do, or maybe they would never know. Maybe they weren't dying to get out of York. Maybe they wouldn't have such an aging experience as illness. Instead, they may feel unprepared for the grown up world. I can't imagine.
I have defined "a life" by school and a career. I have had a good life since I got sick last June: it's been wonderful to bond with my mom and the animals that I love, to celebrate Christmas, to write in my diary and this blog. None of these things have made me feel like I've been living a full life, though. Perhaps these simple pleasures would be enough for me if I'd already experienced my post-graduate education and the career that will come with it. This will give me independence and help me make a difference in the world. I know I've positively impacted the lives of my friends and family, but that isn't enough for me. I want to enact social change.
My goal is to write press releases, public service announcements, newsletters and magazine articles for a non-profit organization, preferably one that deals with social health issues. I'd also like to work on marketing, advertising and event planning. My program will help me with all of those things and qualify me for jobs that ask for a certificate in public relations or something like it. That, combined with my Professional Writing and Health and Society degree, will surely make me extra attractive to employers.
Once I've settled into a job, I really want to start looking for an apartment. My really good friend I have been talking about getting a place together in a couple of years and my twin sister and I want to move out together this year. As much as I've dreamed about having a place all to myself, I think it would be more fun and less lonely to share a place with someone I love! Finally I won't have to rely on my parents financially. They've been so good to me, though. I will miss living with them.
I've decided to speak to my instructors and disability counsellor at school about my health issues. Well, mainly I just want to warn them that I may have to miss school because of illness or a medical appointment. I don't want to pretend that my issues won't continue to play a role in my life. The conditions are permanent and I'm sure the symptoms will continue to play a role in my life in one way or another. I must learn to live with them.
The unknown scares me a little bit. I'm sure the workload won't be too difficult or strenuous, but what about walking to and from the subway station? Up all of those stairs at the subway stations and on my campus? What other issues might come up? I will feel better once I let the right people at the campus know what's going on with me. I'm not stubborn anymore and I'm going to ask for help!
Well, scared isn't really the right word because I'm fully aware that there are resources at the school to help people like me. I don't worry about discrimination or anything. I think excited is probably the better word. I am definitely about to embark on a rite of passage and this is the one that will propel me into adulthood. I feel excited and curious like I did when I started my undergraduate studies at York University over five years ago, only now I feel really old. I guess that's what illness does to you.
I actually just visited York a couple of days ago to FINALLY pick up my diploma. The campus felt so alien to me, like I'd never been a student there. I felt the same way I had when I came to the campus for the first time, only the students walking through the halls looked really young to me, not older. I felt like yelling to them that the world is nothing like York. It's better and more exciting once you figure out what you want to do with your life. Then I realized that maybe some of those kids already knew what they wanted to do, or maybe they would never know. Maybe they weren't dying to get out of York. Maybe they wouldn't have such an aging experience as illness. Instead, they may feel unprepared for the grown up world. I can't imagine.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
MRI POWER/HAIL TO THE WHITE NOISE
WOW. Yet another lazy day... I'm terrible! I think I'm nocturnal. I stayed up all night writing, listening to music and playing on my Nintendo DS. It was great fun, though. I love being alone at night. I read somewhere that when the sun goes down, a hormone is released in our bodies to make us sleepy. I think this is probably why I feel creative, dazed and reflective at night. My symptoms are also much better at night too, but I don't know why that is! You may have noticed that I publish most of these entries way after midnight.
At night it's dark and there's no one to disturb me and if I want to, I can have complete silence, except for the furnace. I think the furnace would bother me if the air came out in perpetual "whooshes," or if the sound of the furnace was inconsistent -- some "whooshes" being louder and lasting longer than others. Well, maybe that wouldn't bother me. I like the sound of waves rushing to the shore and that sound IS a "whoosh" sound and also very inconsistent! Why are some sounds more relaxing than others? Why are some people bothered by certain sounds and others are not?
I'm reminded of the MRI I had this week. It was relaxing BECAUSE of the "clunking" sound of the machine and the loud beeping sounds it made while the machine took the pictures. I remembered enjoying previous MRI's I'd had before, so I put myself into the same head space I'd been in during the previous scans:
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the background clunking. Gradually it became white noise and I started to fall asleep. Then the beeping started -- well, actually it's more like "honking". The first couple of "honks" annoyed me, but I concentrated on them also and they too became white noise. The honking created this buzz in my head that I liked. The machine wasn't vibrating; the buzz was caused by the loud volume of the "honking."
My head was secured in a brace with padding on the sides and a strap over my forehead to keep my head from shifting. The technician had also tucked me in tightly with a blanket. These constraints, combined with the restriction of being a tunnel, made me even more comfortable. A lot of people get claustrophobic during MRI's, but I always enjoy the privacy and coziness of it. The technician had put an emergency button in my hand to squeeze if I needed her, but I wanted to throw it onto the floor. I couldn't possibly panic in this situation. Plus, my bladder was empty. Yep, I had no reason to get out of that thing and I was disappointed when, after about twenty minutes to half an hour, it was over. Perhaps I especially enjoyed the experience because I wasn't wondering about what the results would be. I'm going to seek help regardless.
At night it's dark and there's no one to disturb me and if I want to, I can have complete silence, except for the furnace. I think the furnace would bother me if the air came out in perpetual "whooshes," or if the sound of the furnace was inconsistent -- some "whooshes" being louder and lasting longer than others. Well, maybe that wouldn't bother me. I like the sound of waves rushing to the shore and that sound IS a "whoosh" sound and also very inconsistent! Why are some sounds more relaxing than others? Why are some people bothered by certain sounds and others are not?
I'm reminded of the MRI I had this week. It was relaxing BECAUSE of the "clunking" sound of the machine and the loud beeping sounds it made while the machine took the pictures. I remembered enjoying previous MRI's I'd had before, so I put myself into the same head space I'd been in during the previous scans:
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the background clunking. Gradually it became white noise and I started to fall asleep. Then the beeping started -- well, actually it's more like "honking". The first couple of "honks" annoyed me, but I concentrated on them also and they too became white noise. The honking created this buzz in my head that I liked. The machine wasn't vibrating; the buzz was caused by the loud volume of the "honking."
My head was secured in a brace with padding on the sides and a strap over my forehead to keep my head from shifting. The technician had also tucked me in tightly with a blanket. These constraints, combined with the restriction of being a tunnel, made me even more comfortable. A lot of people get claustrophobic during MRI's, but I always enjoy the privacy and coziness of it. The technician had put an emergency button in my hand to squeeze if I needed her, but I wanted to throw it onto the floor. I couldn't possibly panic in this situation. Plus, my bladder was empty. Yep, I had no reason to get out of that thing and I was disappointed when, after about twenty minutes to half an hour, it was over. Perhaps I especially enjoyed the experience because I wasn't wondering about what the results would be. I'm going to seek help regardless.
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