Sometimes, the law library feels like my second home. I spend so much time in here reading (and relaxing, when I have the time); it was almost strange to be elsewhere during break. Yes, my law school classes have started up again... too early! I could have used another week or two of break.
But now I'm back to the daily grind, which honestly isn't so bad. I'm one of those people who's only happy when I know I'm doing something with my life; little breaks and vacations are great, but too much time spent lazing around always ends up making me depressed. I tend to feel like I'm stagnating if I'm not working towards some sort of goal, which is why 2013 was a difficult year for me but also felt like a turning point in my life.
I started off 2013 with the flu and the one-year anniversary of my car accident, where I was hit from behind while stopped. I was depressed that I wasn't in school or employed, and I was really nervous about finishing my transfer applications and pretty down on myself in general. Losing my scholarship in law school, though the circumstances were extreme (shingles during fall finals, allergic reaction and cellulitis before spring finals, a debilitating care accident at the beginning of the spring semester which left me in PT 3x per week and unable to drive for a month, with horrendous, I-need-to-lay-down-NOW headaches, my mother's cancer scare and surgery in February, and there being a power surge that shut down my computer during my Transnational Law final and a proctor with no idea what to do) and my grades weren't bad (loads of B+s, a few Bs, and a B- in Transnational Law), made me question everything. Before starting law school, I was so sure it was exactly where I was supposed to be, and everything devastated me so much that I spent a lot of time wondering if maybe everything that happened was just a sign that I wasn't supposed to be in law school. My boyfriend, who hadn't had a car for over a year and was struggling with unemployment due to the job market and his bachelor's degree in sociology, managed to find a temp position, save enough money to afford to lease a new Nissan at a manageable price, and finally, finally get back into school, something he'd been intending to do since we met. To my surprise, I was accepted into a higher ranked law school than my former law school, AND the higher ranked school, which actually cost slightly less than my former law school, offered me significant scholarship money. (I'll still have boatloads of student loan debt when I graduate, but every bit of help helps!) I was nervous about attending, still in the midst of my quarter-life crisis, but everything ended up working out really well. I honestly believe that everything I went through with my former law school was so that I'd end up here. I hated my first year in law school, but the environment here is so different, so much more open and welcoming. I've made a few friends, gotten involved in a student organization, met some great professors, and I'm about 25,000x happier than I was at my former law school. I didn't apply to this school right out of college for several reasons, all of which I've thankfully found out were baseless worries. I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome in the last months of 2013, which evoked a lot of mixed emotions that weren't always easy to deal with, but at least now I can begin getting the kind of care I need to preserve my not-already-shot joints and my the rest of my health. I found a wonderful online support group for the condition, and I've begun educating friends and family members about EDS, which has helped me a lot.
2013 was also a big year for me in terms of my genealogy research. I found and connected with numerous modern-day descendants of my ancestors on both sides of my family, getting in touch with everyone from third cousins living locally and fifth half-cousins once removed living an ocean away in Denmark. I got all the paperwork together to finally order my great-grandfather's death certificate to find out the names of his parents and be able to start tracing the family back in Italy, and I found out some crazy information about my mother's father's mother's side of the family.
All in all, 2013 was a really big year for me. It had its struggles, but without them, I wouldn't be moving forward. I'm glad to be. 2014 has been fine thus far; my professors don't seem terrible, nor do my classes. My schedule isn't the most convenient thing in the world, but it's not bad either - it should allow me to get a lot of work done at school, which will be nice, since it means I'll have less to do on the weekends. I also did order my great-grandfather's death certificate, and to my surprise, the office was able to give it to me right away - I didn't have to wait the 4 to 6 weeks I thought I would have to for them to send it to me. I've already found another family member on my father's side that's more closely related to us than I thought I'd be able to find, and the grades I've received thus far - and the grades my boyfriend has received in the classes he took this past semester - have been pretty good. I finally got an A in law school (and in a subject in the field I want to work in), which was pretty awesome.
A very happy new year to all of you out there!
How did 2013 go for you? Did you hit any turning points in your life this year?
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Thursday, December 26, 2013
The Outsider
I'll be honest: I'm someone that doesn't usually like change. I know it's inevitable and a part of life, but it's disorienting, and that makes me uncomfortable. I like to always have a plan, and change tends to throw all your plans out the window.
This Christmas was a big change for me. Since I was a little girl, I've always spent it with my family, immediate or extended. Since my parents divorced, our celebrations have been much smaller than they once were, but there has still always been a comfortable familiarity about them. Until this year. This year, instead of my mother doing a Christmas Eve party, she asked my father if he was okay with her doing Christmas with my sister and I instead. Normally, my father does Christmas with my sister and I, since Christmas is also his birthday. Because my father is in a serious relationship with a woman whose family does a big Christmas Day celebration, he told my mother that would be fine. It took the pressure off of him to cook, and he's very comfortable with his girlfriend's family, most of whom neither my sister or I have ever met. So, on Christmas Day, he went off to his girlfriend's mother's house, and I went off to my mother's house.
Every Christmas Eve, my mother throws a party for herboyfriend's fiancé's (they live together and have been engaged for a few years, but there's no serious talk of a wedding) family. Her own family is not invited, except for my sister and I and our significant others, if we want them there. So, this year was no different, it was just that everyone was coming on Christmas Day instead of Christmas Eve. No big deal, right?
Except in some ways, it was a big deal. I had become accustomed to the new normal: seeing my mother Christmas Eve, and spending Christmas at home with my father, having a really low-key day with good food, lots of time to relax, and being in the company of only those people I'm closest to. It allowed me to continue winding down from the day before, which was undoubtedly stressful. You see, I have never liked my mother'sboyfriend fiancé. He and I are civil to each other, but we will never have a familial bond - I accept that he's a part of my mother's life and important to her, but that's where my regard for him begins and ends. He has done things that have had a direct, massively negative effect on my life, my sister's life, and my father's life, and as far as I'm concerned, the actions he actively chose to take - the things he chose to do - are unforgiveable. So... it's really quite awkward for me to be around his whole family.
His family loves my mother. They love my sister. They're civil to me, but they treat me like the daughter time forgot - even though I've been spending Christmas Eve with them for the past eight years at least. They all exchange their gifts for the holidays at my mother's house. My mother and her boyfriend buy everyone gifts. My sister and I never do. When it comes time for them to hand out their gifts, at least two or three of them always give something to my sister. I never get anything. And I realize that Christmas is about giving and not receiving, but I can't say it doesn't sting that my sister is always included, and I'm... just not. It doesn't help that it took most of them years to remember my name, and even now a few ask my mother what my name is when they walk in the house and see me.
This Christmas, I felt like an outsider, which is something I don't think I ever expected to feel on Christmas. Even when I realized, after my parents split-up, that someday it was likely Christmas would be celebrated with whoever they chose to be with, I had hoped anyone either of my parents chose to be with would at least try to make my sister and I feel comfortable during the holidays. I didn't expect gifts or to be considered part of the family, but people remembering my name after eight plus years and treating my sister and I the same as far as gifts/no gifts would be nice. I am my mother's daughter, not a stranger or a guest of my mother's they've never met before. I've thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship with someone who also celebrated Christmas and to celebrate with their family instead of my own - even if I felt like an outsider, that would be a situation I chose.
Have you ever felt like an outsider at a holiday celebration?
This Christmas was a big change for me. Since I was a little girl, I've always spent it with my family, immediate or extended. Since my parents divorced, our celebrations have been much smaller than they once were, but there has still always been a comfortable familiarity about them. Until this year. This year, instead of my mother doing a Christmas Eve party, she asked my father if he was okay with her doing Christmas with my sister and I instead. Normally, my father does Christmas with my sister and I, since Christmas is also his birthday. Because my father is in a serious relationship with a woman whose family does a big Christmas Day celebration, he told my mother that would be fine. It took the pressure off of him to cook, and he's very comfortable with his girlfriend's family, most of whom neither my sister or I have ever met. So, on Christmas Day, he went off to his girlfriend's mother's house, and I went off to my mother's house.
Every Christmas Eve, my mother throws a party for her
Except in some ways, it was a big deal. I had become accustomed to the new normal: seeing my mother Christmas Eve, and spending Christmas at home with my father, having a really low-key day with good food, lots of time to relax, and being in the company of only those people I'm closest to. It allowed me to continue winding down from the day before, which was undoubtedly stressful. You see, I have never liked my mother's
His family loves my mother. They love my sister. They're civil to me, but they treat me like the daughter time forgot - even though I've been spending Christmas Eve with them for the past eight years at least. They all exchange their gifts for the holidays at my mother's house. My mother and her boyfriend buy everyone gifts. My sister and I never do. When it comes time for them to hand out their gifts, at least two or three of them always give something to my sister. I never get anything. And I realize that Christmas is about giving and not receiving, but I can't say it doesn't sting that my sister is always included, and I'm... just not. It doesn't help that it took most of them years to remember my name, and even now a few ask my mother what my name is when they walk in the house and see me.
This Christmas, I felt like an outsider, which is something I don't think I ever expected to feel on Christmas. Even when I realized, after my parents split-up, that someday it was likely Christmas would be celebrated with whoever they chose to be with, I had hoped anyone either of my parents chose to be with would at least try to make my sister and I feel comfortable during the holidays. I didn't expect gifts or to be considered part of the family, but people remembering my name after eight plus years and treating my sister and I the same as far as gifts/no gifts would be nice. I am my mother's daughter, not a stranger or a guest of my mother's they've never met before. I've thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship with someone who also celebrated Christmas and to celebrate with their family instead of my own - even if I felt like an outsider, that would be a situation I chose.
Have you ever felt like an outsider at a holiday celebration?
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Holidays from Hell
Okay, so can I just skip the winter holidays this year? Pretty please?
I don't mean to be a Grinch, but I am having the week from hell, and my level of Christmas spirit is at an all-time low. I was looking forward to being done with finals, decorating the house, sending out cards, making cookies, making some money babysitting, seeing my family, and spending time with my boyfriend. Of course, then shit hit the fan, and it took all of my excitement for the season with it.
My week started off with me getting sick again, right after finals. I've felt crappy for days, all stuffed up and gross. Then, the father of the two little kids I babysit for got hurt at work, meaning he was home with the kids instead of me. I love those kids to death, and babysitting them seriously makes my day when I do, so that was super depressing along with meaning that both the father and I were out the cash he'd get by working and I'd get by babysitting, right before Christmas, when it's usually needed the most. My mother then decided to turn everyone's holiday plans upside down and cancelled Christmas Eve dinner, replacing it with Christmas Day dinner - which would be okay, except my sister and I was planning to be with my father, as we have for the past eleven or so years since my parents split up, since Christmas is his birthday. He's okay with it, because now he'll go spend Christmas with his girlfriend and her kids, but my sister and I aren't invited since we're supposed to be with our mother. My mother is having her boyfriend's entire family over, and none of her own besides me. It's awkward, especially since her boyfriend and I have never and will never be on good terms due to the circumstances surrounding them getting together.
As if that wasn't enough, there's relationship crap going on - I couldn't even tell you if I'm in one anymore. I've been really upset, so now in addition to being all clogged up, my face is sore and swollen from crying and I'm nauseous. (And he's not speaking to me.) A bad fight right before the holidays when you've been together for almost three years will do that to you.
Originally, I'd planned to make a happy post about holiday traditions, but for obvious reasons, that isn't happening. I'm happy that nothing worse as happened yet (like a death in the family or something), but at the same time, it's hard to be grateful that the worst hasn't happened, you know?
What's screwed up your holidays?
I don't mean to be a Grinch, but I am having the week from hell, and my level of Christmas spirit is at an all-time low. I was looking forward to being done with finals, decorating the house, sending out cards, making cookies, making some money babysitting, seeing my family, and spending time with my boyfriend. Of course, then shit hit the fan, and it took all of my excitement for the season with it.
My week started off with me getting sick again, right after finals. I've felt crappy for days, all stuffed up and gross. Then, the father of the two little kids I babysit for got hurt at work, meaning he was home with the kids instead of me. I love those kids to death, and babysitting them seriously makes my day when I do, so that was super depressing along with meaning that both the father and I were out the cash he'd get by working and I'd get by babysitting, right before Christmas, when it's usually needed the most. My mother then decided to turn everyone's holiday plans upside down and cancelled Christmas Eve dinner, replacing it with Christmas Day dinner - which would be okay, except my sister and I was planning to be with my father, as we have for the past eleven or so years since my parents split up, since Christmas is his birthday. He's okay with it, because now he'll go spend Christmas with his girlfriend and her kids, but my sister and I aren't invited since we're supposed to be with our mother. My mother is having her boyfriend's entire family over, and none of her own besides me. It's awkward, especially since her boyfriend and I have never and will never be on good terms due to the circumstances surrounding them getting together.
As if that wasn't enough, there's relationship crap going on - I couldn't even tell you if I'm in one anymore. I've been really upset, so now in addition to being all clogged up, my face is sore and swollen from crying and I'm nauseous. (And he's not speaking to me.) A bad fight right before the holidays when you've been together for almost three years will do that to you.
Originally, I'd planned to make a happy post about holiday traditions, but for obvious reasons, that isn't happening. I'm happy that nothing worse as happened yet (like a death in the family or something), but at the same time, it's hard to be grateful that the worst hasn't happened, you know?
What's screwed up your holidays?
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
EDS and Law School Finals
It's that time of year again. No, not the holidays - finals season! I had my first final today; I have four more and a paper to write before I'm done for the semester. I'm scheduled to be down with everything at 3PM on December 16th, but it's going to be a crazy couple of weeks.
Originally, this post was going to be a short note to let everyone know that I'll probably be M.I.A. until my semester's over, but I had been thinking a lot lately about how I haven't really posted much about Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and its effects on me yet. I'd really like to help educate people about EDS and the impact it can have on a person's life, because most people haven't even heard of it, nevermind understand how drastically it can affect someone's life. So, today, before I'm away for a couple of weeks, I'd like to talk a little bit about how my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome affects me, specifically during finals.
Finals are pretty much hell for everyone. There's a lot of studying to be done, a lot of stressing out about things you didn't learn during the semester, and the fact that you have to attempt to prove to a professor in a few hours that you know everything he or she taught you during the course. It's not fun.
For me, finals have become a sort of special hell. There are no epic complications that occur because of my EDS, but there are enough little annoying things that happen that serve to make the experience all the more stressful because I have a connective tissue disorder.
So, what's the first problem? Testing rooms. At my law school, there are a number of classrooms that slope downwards; you enter the classroom in the back of the room, and you walk down stairs towards the front of the room. Of course, one of the complications of my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, presumably Type III/Hypermobility Type, is that all of my joints are extremely unstable, epecially in my lower extremities. My ankles are so unstable that I have to wear braces on both of them all the time, and even with the braces, I'm constantly in pain, can't walk significant distances, can't stand for any extended periods of time, or use stairs. Between my ankles, my knees, and my hips, which all sublux (i.e. move partially out-of-joint) regularly (re: almost every time I move them), I'm a huge fall risk, especially with stairs. No problem, right? I can sit in the back of the room. I can get to the testing room a bit earlier so that I don't have to ask anyone to move, no big deal. What about signing in and out of the testing room, like everyone's required to do? That's a bit of an issue, because the proctors always stand in the front of the room with the sign-in/sign-out papers, and it'd be really awkward to try and shout up and down the stairs to them that I'm disabled and can't use stairs. So, again, simple solution: I get to the classroom early, I ask to speak to a proctor as soon as one enters the room so I don't have to broadcast my health problems, and I explain the situation. No problem, they can bring the sheet up to me when it comes time for me to sign out. All I need to do is wait until everyone else has signed out, because when the test is over, everyone lines up in the front. Okay, great. I have to sit in the room until everyone else has left, watching as people stare at me and wonder why I don't just walk down the stairs, since I cover up my braces with pants and most people don't realize I'm handicapped. Even still, it's a small price to pay, right?
Other issues are created by the testing classrooms being located where they are. Most of my testing rooms are on the lower level of my law school, which is basically like a basement... with higher ceilings. As it happens, there are no restrooms on the lower level, which means if you need to use the restroom during an exam, you have to run upstairs. (Most students will literally run as quietly as possible - every minute of time on a law school exam is precious, and the longer you're gone, the less likely it is you're going to have time to finish the exam/write the answers to essay questions as adequately as you should.) As I mentioned, I can't use stairs. Instead, if I have to pee during an exam, I have to wait for the elevator - which can be slow as molasses, since it serves eight floors - to take me up a floor, and then I have to wait for it to take me back down. Once again, it's not the greatest scenario.
After I got home from my exam today, I was notified by e-mail of another issue: parking lot closings. I have a handicapped parking hang-tag, because as I mentioned, walking any sort of significant distance is a problem for me. I sometimes have issues walking 50 feet, so not having parking available close to the building can turn into a huge issue. (Believe it or not, the availability of handicapped parking close to the law school building was a huge factor in me deciding to transfer to the school I'm attending. The other school I was considering didn't have parking nearby, and because it also wasn't close enough to easily accessible public transport, I had to eliminate it as an option.) Now, in addition to studying my ass off, I have to find time tomorrow to call Public Safety and see what's up, because part of the lot I usually park in is supposed to be closed before my final on Friday. If the handicapped parking will be closed or minimized, I have to figure out where to park. The only other lot nearby is a faculty lot, which I could get a ticket for parking in even with my handicapped tag. I can't walk from anywhere further away, meaning that Public Safety is probably going to have to send a Public Safety vehicle or golf cart to pick me up from an alternative parking lot and shuttle me up and back from my car to my final. Considering though that this is Public Safety, I could be totally screwed if they're busy. Public Safety had to shuttle me to and from my classes when I was an undergraduate student when I fractured an ankle and couldn't crutch the mile and a half across campus in the snow, and because of all the stuff they have to do, it could sometimes take them twenty minutes to an hour to get to me. If Public Safety at this school has to shuttle me anywhere, I'm going to have to make sure to arrive extra, extra early in order to make sure I get to my exams on time, all because I can't freaking walk to the building from the parking lot in Guam.
My exams themselves pose further problems. Sitting in a chair and typing furiously for three hours with no break or a super short bathroom break is not nice when you have arthritis in an ankle, a knee, and an elbow, as well as degenerative disk disease in your spine. I constantly have low-level pain throughout my body due to the EDS, and adding the inability to really move for three hours definitely doesn't help matters. As a special bonus, my fingers sublux constantly as I type, and I get horrible muscle pain in my arms from trying to keep my movements controlled. Thankfully, it goes away after a few hours.
Now, don't get me wrong: things could be so much worse. All of these things are relatively minor inconveniences - at the end of the day, I can still take my exam and go home. But as much as these complications are small in the grand scheme of things, they are still complications. They still can and do present additional challenges that I have to overcome in order to accomplish the same seemingly simple task as every other law student - taking finals. It is frustrating, and it's the type of thing I don't just deal with during finals - EDS affects my everyday life in so many ways. Tasks that most people don't even think about can be a challenge for me, whether it's something as simple as brushing my hair (painful wrist subluxations mean constantly dropping the brush while hissing in pain) or getting a drink of water (my shoulder dislocates when I have to get the water jug down from the top shelf of the fridge). I'm so grateful that my problems aren't worse, but at the same time, I wish more people would take the time to understand that a non-obvious disability is still a disability, and it still has the power to impact someone's life in an extremely significant way. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Do you think people should be more aware of the existence and impact of non-obvious disabilities?
See you all in a couple of weeks!
Originally, this post was going to be a short note to let everyone know that I'll probably be M.I.A. until my semester's over, but I had been thinking a lot lately about how I haven't really posted much about Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and its effects on me yet. I'd really like to help educate people about EDS and the impact it can have on a person's life, because most people haven't even heard of it, nevermind understand how drastically it can affect someone's life. So, today, before I'm away for a couple of weeks, I'd like to talk a little bit about how my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome affects me, specifically during finals.
Finals are pretty much hell for everyone. There's a lot of studying to be done, a lot of stressing out about things you didn't learn during the semester, and the fact that you have to attempt to prove to a professor in a few hours that you know everything he or she taught you during the course. It's not fun.
For me, finals have become a sort of special hell. There are no epic complications that occur because of my EDS, but there are enough little annoying things that happen that serve to make the experience all the more stressful because I have a connective tissue disorder.
So, what's the first problem? Testing rooms. At my law school, there are a number of classrooms that slope downwards; you enter the classroom in the back of the room, and you walk down stairs towards the front of the room. Of course, one of the complications of my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, presumably Type III/Hypermobility Type, is that all of my joints are extremely unstable, epecially in my lower extremities. My ankles are so unstable that I have to wear braces on both of them all the time, and even with the braces, I'm constantly in pain, can't walk significant distances, can't stand for any extended periods of time, or use stairs. Between my ankles, my knees, and my hips, which all sublux (i.e. move partially out-of-joint) regularly (re: almost every time I move them), I'm a huge fall risk, especially with stairs. No problem, right? I can sit in the back of the room. I can get to the testing room a bit earlier so that I don't have to ask anyone to move, no big deal. What about signing in and out of the testing room, like everyone's required to do? That's a bit of an issue, because the proctors always stand in the front of the room with the sign-in/sign-out papers, and it'd be really awkward to try and shout up and down the stairs to them that I'm disabled and can't use stairs. So, again, simple solution: I get to the classroom early, I ask to speak to a proctor as soon as one enters the room so I don't have to broadcast my health problems, and I explain the situation. No problem, they can bring the sheet up to me when it comes time for me to sign out. All I need to do is wait until everyone else has signed out, because when the test is over, everyone lines up in the front. Okay, great. I have to sit in the room until everyone else has left, watching as people stare at me and wonder why I don't just walk down the stairs, since I cover up my braces with pants and most people don't realize I'm handicapped. Even still, it's a small price to pay, right?
Other issues are created by the testing classrooms being located where they are. Most of my testing rooms are on the lower level of my law school, which is basically like a basement... with higher ceilings. As it happens, there are no restrooms on the lower level, which means if you need to use the restroom during an exam, you have to run upstairs. (Most students will literally run as quietly as possible - every minute of time on a law school exam is precious, and the longer you're gone, the less likely it is you're going to have time to finish the exam/write the answers to essay questions as adequately as you should.) As I mentioned, I can't use stairs. Instead, if I have to pee during an exam, I have to wait for the elevator - which can be slow as molasses, since it serves eight floors - to take me up a floor, and then I have to wait for it to take me back down. Once again, it's not the greatest scenario.
After I got home from my exam today, I was notified by e-mail of another issue: parking lot closings. I have a handicapped parking hang-tag, because as I mentioned, walking any sort of significant distance is a problem for me. I sometimes have issues walking 50 feet, so not having parking available close to the building can turn into a huge issue. (Believe it or not, the availability of handicapped parking close to the law school building was a huge factor in me deciding to transfer to the school I'm attending. The other school I was considering didn't have parking nearby, and because it also wasn't close enough to easily accessible public transport, I had to eliminate it as an option.) Now, in addition to studying my ass off, I have to find time tomorrow to call Public Safety and see what's up, because part of the lot I usually park in is supposed to be closed before my final on Friday. If the handicapped parking will be closed or minimized, I have to figure out where to park. The only other lot nearby is a faculty lot, which I could get a ticket for parking in even with my handicapped tag. I can't walk from anywhere further away, meaning that Public Safety is probably going to have to send a Public Safety vehicle or golf cart to pick me up from an alternative parking lot and shuttle me up and back from my car to my final. Considering though that this is Public Safety, I could be totally screwed if they're busy. Public Safety had to shuttle me to and from my classes when I was an undergraduate student when I fractured an ankle and couldn't crutch the mile and a half across campus in the snow, and because of all the stuff they have to do, it could sometimes take them twenty minutes to an hour to get to me. If Public Safety at this school has to shuttle me anywhere, I'm going to have to make sure to arrive extra, extra early in order to make sure I get to my exams on time, all because I can't freaking walk to the building from the parking lot in Guam.
My exams themselves pose further problems. Sitting in a chair and typing furiously for three hours with no break or a super short bathroom break is not nice when you have arthritis in an ankle, a knee, and an elbow, as well as degenerative disk disease in your spine. I constantly have low-level pain throughout my body due to the EDS, and adding the inability to really move for three hours definitely doesn't help matters. As a special bonus, my fingers sublux constantly as I type, and I get horrible muscle pain in my arms from trying to keep my movements controlled. Thankfully, it goes away after a few hours.
Now, don't get me wrong: things could be so much worse. All of these things are relatively minor inconveniences - at the end of the day, I can still take my exam and go home. But as much as these complications are small in the grand scheme of things, they are still complications. They still can and do present additional challenges that I have to overcome in order to accomplish the same seemingly simple task as every other law student - taking finals. It is frustrating, and it's the type of thing I don't just deal with during finals - EDS affects my everyday life in so many ways. Tasks that most people don't even think about can be a challenge for me, whether it's something as simple as brushing my hair (painful wrist subluxations mean constantly dropping the brush while hissing in pain) or getting a drink of water (my shoulder dislocates when I have to get the water jug down from the top shelf of the fridge). I'm so grateful that my problems aren't worse, but at the same time, I wish more people would take the time to understand that a non-obvious disability is still a disability, and it still has the power to impact someone's life in an extremely significant way. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Do you think people should be more aware of the existence and impact of non-obvious disabilities?
See you all in a couple of weeks!
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Spirit of Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving for Americans is tomorrow, and it's always been a bit of a strange holiday for me. There's always the normal stuff: food, family, and watching at least a little bit of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. But... Thanksgiving has always been a bit different for me, because I literally would not be here without it.
Since I was a little girl, I knew that I was descended from one of the Mayflower Pilgrims. Our genealogy is well-documented, and I grew up fascinated with my father's copy of the Mayflower Compact and all the information about my ancestors that came along with the book on the first four generations of that family in America. My 9th great-grandfather was one of the few who survived the first harsh New England winter; around half of the original passengers died. Not only did he survive, but he went on to have... more children than I could ever fathom having, went from being an indentured-servant to a well-off landowner, and died when he was in his eighties. None of that would have been possible without the help the Pilgrims received from the Native Americans that permitted them to get through another winter.
A lot of people like to talk about how Thanksgiving is a BS holiday, given the many conflicts between the Europeans and Native Americans that came after. As far as I'm concerned, those people are missing the point. No matter what came after, the First Thanksgiving was the result of people who could hardly be more different coming together, working together, and tolerating each other. What's more, the Pilgrims expressed that they were grateful for it. In a nation built on personal freedoms, it's easy for us to get caught up in idealogical battles and forget what we can accomplish when we set aside our differences and prejudices and simply try our best to tolerate each other, whether or not we actually accept each other.
For me, Thanksgiving has always been about the virtue of tolerance, of being grateful we live in a society where people are different, because when we pressure ourselves to get along, we can accomplish great things. The fate of our nation depends on our tolerance of differing points of view, of realizing that we all have something to bring to the table, if everyone can be respectful enough to let us.
My family has never been the type to go around the dinner table and have everyone say what we're thankful for. That isn't because we're not thankful, it's because we're hyperaware that we have so much to be thankful for, including the fact that we're even here to celebrate the holiday at all. This year, I discovered that my family is actually descended from another Mayflower Pilgrim, a few generations down the line, one of my 9th great-grandfather's descendants (who was also a great-grandfather of mine) married a descendant of another man who came over on the Mayflower, and I'm descended from their children. This wasn't unexpected, since most of the families in the area married each other at some point or another, but now I know there wasn't just one person that needed to survive that second winter for me to be here, but two. I am thankful I was given the opportunity to be alive, to be on this earth and breathing. I've been through a lot of ugly stuff, but I'm still here. I'm still breathing; I'm still living. I don't need to "count my blessings" - I'm aware they're numerous. And isn't that the point? To realize that no matter how hard things may be, we still have hope, because we're here, aren't we?
Happy Thanksgiving to all of the Americans celebrating tomorrow - and a Happy Hanukkah to those who begin celebrating it tonight!
Since I was a little girl, I knew that I was descended from one of the Mayflower Pilgrims. Our genealogy is well-documented, and I grew up fascinated with my father's copy of the Mayflower Compact and all the information about my ancestors that came along with the book on the first four generations of that family in America. My 9th great-grandfather was one of the few who survived the first harsh New England winter; around half of the original passengers died. Not only did he survive, but he went on to have... more children than I could ever fathom having, went from being an indentured-servant to a well-off landowner, and died when he was in his eighties. None of that would have been possible without the help the Pilgrims received from the Native Americans that permitted them to get through another winter.
A lot of people like to talk about how Thanksgiving is a BS holiday, given the many conflicts between the Europeans and Native Americans that came after. As far as I'm concerned, those people are missing the point. No matter what came after, the First Thanksgiving was the result of people who could hardly be more different coming together, working together, and tolerating each other. What's more, the Pilgrims expressed that they were grateful for it. In a nation built on personal freedoms, it's easy for us to get caught up in idealogical battles and forget what we can accomplish when we set aside our differences and prejudices and simply try our best to tolerate each other, whether or not we actually accept each other.
For me, Thanksgiving has always been about the virtue of tolerance, of being grateful we live in a society where people are different, because when we pressure ourselves to get along, we can accomplish great things. The fate of our nation depends on our tolerance of differing points of view, of realizing that we all have something to bring to the table, if everyone can be respectful enough to let us.
My family has never been the type to go around the dinner table and have everyone say what we're thankful for. That isn't because we're not thankful, it's because we're hyperaware that we have so much to be thankful for, including the fact that we're even here to celebrate the holiday at all. This year, I discovered that my family is actually descended from another Mayflower Pilgrim, a few generations down the line, one of my 9th great-grandfather's descendants (who was also a great-grandfather of mine) married a descendant of another man who came over on the Mayflower, and I'm descended from their children. This wasn't unexpected, since most of the families in the area married each other at some point or another, but now I know there wasn't just one person that needed to survive that second winter for me to be here, but two. I am thankful I was given the opportunity to be alive, to be on this earth and breathing. I've been through a lot of ugly stuff, but I'm still here. I'm still breathing; I'm still living. I don't need to "count my blessings" - I'm aware they're numerous. And isn't that the point? To realize that no matter how hard things may be, we still have hope, because we're here, aren't we?
Happy Thanksgiving to all of the Americans celebrating tomorrow - and a Happy Hanukkah to those who begin celebrating it tonight!
Saturday, November 16, 2013
A Little Piece of My Heart
It's been a few weeks since I last blogged; unfortunately, I got caught up in school stuff for about a week and then came down with an illness that I've been calling the Plague. I don't know what happened, but a week ago I started feeling horrible - my ears hurt, my throat hurt, I lost my voice, my sinuses were clogged like no one's business, I had a really bad headache, my muscles hurt about 10x more than they usually do, I kept getting chills, and I even ran a slight fever (which is insane, because I've only ran a fever once since I was two, despite chronic bronchitis, sinusitis, and ear infections). After a few days, I thought I was getting better. Then, I woke up and couldn't breathe - whatever it was moved into my chest and gave me a horrendous cough on top of everything else. It's been horrible, and unfortunately, no matter what I do, nothing seems to be killing whatever this is! I'm on antibiotics, taking my allergy medicine with decongestant as often as is safe, I'm on steriodal nasal spray, I'm taking my asthma medicine and my rescue inhaler every four hours, I feel like I'm drinking my weight in water, I cut out pretty much all dairy from my diet, I've been resting and really not doing anything... so why do I still feel so disgusting? I don't know. Moving on...
In the past few days, I've been thinking a lot about something that always has made me feel a little bit out of place living on Long Island in suburban New York, and that's my family's non-obvious country roots. On my father's side of the family, I'm descended from a long line of people who only ever knew wide-open spaces, the kind of quiet and solitude interupted only by a bubbling stream or the occasional wandering bear, and simple living, consisting mainly of working to live and going to church. I have never, ever been a country girl, and I never will be, but part of my heart will always be tied to those roots in a way I can't seem to put into words.
Most people in my geographic region see nature in parks and zoos; they keep a safe distance from nature even while they're experiencing it. They don't know what it feels like to go swimming in a lake and have a turtle shoot out from underfoot or see tiny fish flitting through a stream. They don't know what it's like to breathe fresh mountain air in the morning, to wake up to a bear trying to get into the birdfeeder or a group of deer grazing behind the house. The story of how your family cleared some land in the mountains and built their own house on it from the ground up - completely by themselves - is something they can hardly believe. They don't understand why anyone would have a shotgun to defend their family from animals, because wolves, coyotes, and bears are something they've never come close to seeing in the wild.
People in my area don't know what it's like not to have basic things instantly available to them. They have no idea what it's like to drive through the mountains and the fields to reach town and get the mail - and they don't understand how a post office, a general store, and a couple of old houses can be considered "town." They don't understand why someone would need to drive to a neighbor's house, because they can't fathom their nearest neighbor being well over a mile away. They don't know what it's like to have to drive forty-five minutes to a supermarket or an hour to the family doctor's office.
When I'm explaining to friends and acquaintances that my father is a hunter who has two hunting dogs, they're usually intrigued. They generally only think of dogs as companions, and they think of guns as something for police. They usually ask how the dogs know what to do, what my father does when he goes out east to train them each week. Sometimes they ask if the dogs are vicious, which is funny, because they aren't at all. My dogs are extremely friendly (usually too friendly!) and wouldn't hurt a fly; there isn't a mean bone in their bodies.
Lots of people look at me strangely if I tell them about raising pheasant chicks, and/or how we actually have a pheasant pen in my backyard. They have no idea that there are actually codes regulating these things or that my father actually had to get a license to be able to have them. They assume we get baby chicks from somewhere and then feed them up; they're in disbelief when I tell them how we keep one rooster and several hens, and then when mating season hits, we collect the eggs and put some of them in an incubator. They get turned several times a day, and after a certain amount of days, they all start hatching at once. It's a pretty amazing thing to watch baby chicks finally push their way out of the shell, all wet and tiny and exhausted from pecking their way out. It's also pretty funny holding the last two to get out in your hands to keep them warm while the others are transferred to a brooder, a big refrigerator-sized box with a heat lamp, water, and food. Coming home one day and realizing that several birds are missing from the brooder is a nerve-wracking experience, and it's a sure sign that they're all learning to fly. It's funny going around and finding them all with one of the dogs on a leash - they'll end up behind a couch, comfortably nestled in a pair of your dirty socks, or perched on the top of a lampshade.
These types of things are something I wonder if my children will someday get to experience, provided I'm someday blessed enough to have them. I wonder what "normal" to them will be if they don't, if I'll always feel like they missed out on something. I suppose children will always grow up in a different world than their parents did; maybe that's why children and parents have so much tension with each other at times - they just can't understand.
Is there a part of your heart that people around you just don't seem to get?
In the past few days, I've been thinking a lot about something that always has made me feel a little bit out of place living on Long Island in suburban New York, and that's my family's non-obvious country roots. On my father's side of the family, I'm descended from a long line of people who only ever knew wide-open spaces, the kind of quiet and solitude interupted only by a bubbling stream or the occasional wandering bear, and simple living, consisting mainly of working to live and going to church. I have never, ever been a country girl, and I never will be, but part of my heart will always be tied to those roots in a way I can't seem to put into words.
 |
| Mountains and fields on the way to my grandparents' former home in Massachusetts |
Most people in my geographic region see nature in parks and zoos; they keep a safe distance from nature even while they're experiencing it. They don't know what it feels like to go swimming in a lake and have a turtle shoot out from underfoot or see tiny fish flitting through a stream. They don't know what it's like to breathe fresh mountain air in the morning, to wake up to a bear trying to get into the birdfeeder or a group of deer grazing behind the house. The story of how your family cleared some land in the mountains and built their own house on it from the ground up - completely by themselves - is something they can hardly believe. They don't understand why anyone would have a shotgun to defend their family from animals, because wolves, coyotes, and bears are something they've never come close to seeing in the wild.
People in my area don't know what it's like not to have basic things instantly available to them. They have no idea what it's like to drive through the mountains and the fields to reach town and get the mail - and they don't understand how a post office, a general store, and a couple of old houses can be considered "town." They don't understand why someone would need to drive to a neighbor's house, because they can't fathom their nearest neighbor being well over a mile away. They don't know what it's like to have to drive forty-five minutes to a supermarket or an hour to the family doctor's office.
 |
| A younger me at the Chickley River in Massachusetts, after crossing |
When I'm explaining to friends and acquaintances that my father is a hunter who has two hunting dogs, they're usually intrigued. They generally only think of dogs as companions, and they think of guns as something for police. They usually ask how the dogs know what to do, what my father does when he goes out east to train them each week. Sometimes they ask if the dogs are vicious, which is funny, because they aren't at all. My dogs are extremely friendly (usually too friendly!) and wouldn't hurt a fly; there isn't a mean bone in their bodies.
Lots of people look at me strangely if I tell them about raising pheasant chicks, and/or how we actually have a pheasant pen in my backyard. They have no idea that there are actually codes regulating these things or that my father actually had to get a license to be able to have them. They assume we get baby chicks from somewhere and then feed them up; they're in disbelief when I tell them how we keep one rooster and several hens, and then when mating season hits, we collect the eggs and put some of them in an incubator. They get turned several times a day, and after a certain amount of days, they all start hatching at once. It's a pretty amazing thing to watch baby chicks finally push their way out of the shell, all wet and tiny and exhausted from pecking their way out. It's also pretty funny holding the last two to get out in your hands to keep them warm while the others are transferred to a brooder, a big refrigerator-sized box with a heat lamp, water, and food. Coming home one day and realizing that several birds are missing from the brooder is a nerve-wracking experience, and it's a sure sign that they're all learning to fly. It's funny going around and finding them all with one of the dogs on a leash - they'll end up behind a couch, comfortably nestled in a pair of your dirty socks, or perched on the top of a lampshade.
These types of things are something I wonder if my children will someday get to experience, provided I'm someday blessed enough to have them. I wonder what "normal" to them will be if they don't, if I'll always feel like they missed out on something. I suppose children will always grow up in a different world than their parents did; maybe that's why children and parents have so much tension with each other at times - they just can't understand.
Is there a part of your heart that people around you just don't seem to get?
Monday, October 21, 2013
Finding "Home"
I think most people have heard the quote, "Home is where the heart is." Since it's craft fair season, I've been seeing it a lot on homemade items for sale - dish towels, wooden plaques, wall hangings, etc. The emphasis is clearly on home as a place, and it makes me wonder if "home," for most people, is a place. For me, "home" is sometimes a place, but sometimes it isn't. Sometimes, home for me is a person - or a feeling.
This week, October 20th to 26th, makes me dwell on the concept of home. If my Nana was still alive, she would have turned ninety-five this week, and this week also marks the nineteenth anniversary of her death. Nineteen years. How have nineteen years passed since she died? It seems absurd. She still has such an active presence in my life, yet she's been gone nineteen years already. Where did the time go?
My Nana died when I was five years old. She was a huge part of my upbringing from the time I was born; I saw her almost every day, I was constantly sleeping over her house, and in many ways, she felt more like my third parent than my grandmother. All my early memories are of her; I have almost none of my parents. My parents and I lived with her for the first two years of my life, and then while my parents were at work or needed some time for themselves as a couple, she was the one who watched me. When I was an infant, she was one of people who got up at night when I cried. From the day my mother brought me home from the hospital until she went to the hospital days before she died, she soothed me. She fed me, she changed my diapers, she bathed me, and she tucked me in at night. She held me, she played with me, and she helped me learn to walk and talk. She took me everywhere - to the park, to the docks, to my friend's house... had she ever learned to drive, she probably would have taken me to school. She loved me to pieces, as I loved her.
When she died, the one thing I never did was blame her. I felt absolutely shattered, but I knew that if she had the choice, she wouldn't have left me then. I learned, at a very early age, that even when people want to be there for you and say they'll never leave, sometimes they don't have a choice. It doesn't mean they love you any less. It doesn't mean they've abandoned you. And the one thing I've constantly thought since then is that even though in a way she left, she's never really ever left me at all.
My home was her. My home was a person, the person who made me feel safe and protected and loved. It wasn't a building, it was her. When she died, I craved a place to feel close to her. My parents and I used to drive past her house every holiday on the way to or from my aunts' house. It was almost like visiting her grave, since she had chosen to be cremated and have her ashes scattered. For the longest time, I thought it was the place that felt like home, but it isn't so much as the place itself as it is the feelings it allows me to bring forth. It's painful to think about loss, and being in that place helps me get home; home to her and those feelings of being safe and protected and loved.
Over the years, my home has expanded - it's been places, mostly, and sometimes feelings. The feeling of freedom that college provided me with and my dorm room were my home for a few years. My father's house has been my home, on and off - or rather, my bedroom has been, maybe even just my bed, at times. My Nana, to this day, is still a part of my home. When people say you can't go home again, I think they're wrong - sometimes you can. Some homes will always be there for you to go back to.
It took my boyfriend saying that his home wasn't a place, it was a person, for me to finally understand why I didn't feel like my house was my home. It took him telling me that I was his home for me to realize that he has become a huge part of mine. When I was around my Nana, she made me feel like I could do anything; I didn't have to fear the world. I knew she'd be right there to help me back up if I fell, and she'd never love me less for trying. He makes me feel, in many respects, the same way. Around him, I can do things I never believed I would be able to, because I finally have the ability to let myself. He's reminded me that I have a home, that I don't need a place. And all I have to do is look into my heart, because the people and feelings that are my home can always be found there. I can be home anywhere, as long as I remember my heart.
What is "home" for you?
This week, October 20th to 26th, makes me dwell on the concept of home. If my Nana was still alive, she would have turned ninety-five this week, and this week also marks the nineteenth anniversary of her death. Nineteen years. How have nineteen years passed since she died? It seems absurd. She still has such an active presence in my life, yet she's been gone nineteen years already. Where did the time go?
My Nana died when I was five years old. She was a huge part of my upbringing from the time I was born; I saw her almost every day, I was constantly sleeping over her house, and in many ways, she felt more like my third parent than my grandmother. All my early memories are of her; I have almost none of my parents. My parents and I lived with her for the first two years of my life, and then while my parents were at work or needed some time for themselves as a couple, she was the one who watched me. When I was an infant, she was one of people who got up at night when I cried. From the day my mother brought me home from the hospital until she went to the hospital days before she died, she soothed me. She fed me, she changed my diapers, she bathed me, and she tucked me in at night. She held me, she played with me, and she helped me learn to walk and talk. She took me everywhere - to the park, to the docks, to my friend's house... had she ever learned to drive, she probably would have taken me to school. She loved me to pieces, as I loved her.
When she died, the one thing I never did was blame her. I felt absolutely shattered, but I knew that if she had the choice, she wouldn't have left me then. I learned, at a very early age, that even when people want to be there for you and say they'll never leave, sometimes they don't have a choice. It doesn't mean they love you any less. It doesn't mean they've abandoned you. And the one thing I've constantly thought since then is that even though in a way she left, she's never really ever left me at all.
My home was her. My home was a person, the person who made me feel safe and protected and loved. It wasn't a building, it was her. When she died, I craved a place to feel close to her. My parents and I used to drive past her house every holiday on the way to or from my aunts' house. It was almost like visiting her grave, since she had chosen to be cremated and have her ashes scattered. For the longest time, I thought it was the place that felt like home, but it isn't so much as the place itself as it is the feelings it allows me to bring forth. It's painful to think about loss, and being in that place helps me get home; home to her and those feelings of being safe and protected and loved.
Over the years, my home has expanded - it's been places, mostly, and sometimes feelings. The feeling of freedom that college provided me with and my dorm room were my home for a few years. My father's house has been my home, on and off - or rather, my bedroom has been, maybe even just my bed, at times. My Nana, to this day, is still a part of my home. When people say you can't go home again, I think they're wrong - sometimes you can. Some homes will always be there for you to go back to.
It took my boyfriend saying that his home wasn't a place, it was a person, for me to finally understand why I didn't feel like my house was my home. It took him telling me that I was his home for me to realize that he has become a huge part of mine. When I was around my Nana, she made me feel like I could do anything; I didn't have to fear the world. I knew she'd be right there to help me back up if I fell, and she'd never love me less for trying. He makes me feel, in many respects, the same way. Around him, I can do things I never believed I would be able to, because I finally have the ability to let myself. He's reminded me that I have a home, that I don't need a place. And all I have to do is look into my heart, because the people and feelings that are my home can always be found there. I can be home anywhere, as long as I remember my heart.
What is "home" for you?
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