obligatory end-of-year post.

So tomorrow is New Year's Eve - really, it's just another day; I'm over the whole "do something big" thing - but that means bloggers inevitably do those end-of-year postings, rounding up everything they've done, or learned, or loved. This year did not turn out like I thought it would, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

I had two foot surgeries within a 6 month time frame, forcing me to learn patience and appreciate the baby steps and hard work sports rehab takes. It also made me slow down and learn to accept help from others.

I joined a triathlon club team, forcing myself to meet new people in a new environment, and loved it. In fact, I am signing up for another year tomorrow.

I stopped fighting the impulse and urge to be a writer, and finally decided to go with it....and it was like the world opened up again.

A friend of mine died from cancer, forcing me to realize all we have is today, that tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

If you're not going to be self-indulgent, why should anyone else indulge you?

I learned humility when I was taking science classes, and for the first time in my academic life, was not succeeding. I never realized before how demoralizing poor academic performance could be, but I experienced it first-hand, week after week after week.

And of course, once again I learned that no matter what academic program I end up in, or what job I get in the future, or how successful I am professionally, nothing, nothing, nothing can compare to hearing my nephew say "Aunt JJ? I love you", or seeing his face break out into a huge smile when he sees that I've flown in for a few days. Being Aunt JJ will always be my favorite, most important job.

So what will 2011 bring? I have a feeling it will be a great year. I think there are lots of doors opening up, I think I'm taking risks I haven't taken before, and that I am open to whatever life brings me. As the writer Anais Nin said (and it's on a necklace my grandparents gave me for my 30th bday), "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

I think 2011 will be a year of blossoming.

holiday musings.

Trey and Santa

Baby Cole and I.

So Christmas is over....it was a good holiday. Trey got to see Santa Claus up close and personal, and Baby Cole has gotten so big. I love when kids start to actually develop personalities and be fun. :) I can't believe 2010 is almost over. This year has been such a whirlwind for me.....it seems like the last few years have brought many changes, most of them good. This year especially was full of ups and downs, doctor's appointments and surgeries, and tough choices that changed my life for the better. And I don't think I would change a single thing. Really. Well, it would have been nice if Santa brought me a netbook, since I think I've been overtaxing my Macbook because I'm on the computer like 18 hours a day, but that's okay. I can remedy that if I work my butt off. :)

I'm excited, because along with an upcoming job interview/presentation, I am reviewing several books on this blog. I'm just waiting on receiving the review copies. :)

I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season, and many more to come!

140.6.

I am watching the 2010 Kona Ironman that I DVR'd yesterday. I have watched past Kona Ironmans and other Ironmans, but there's something special about Kona. There are the pros, but the majority of the competitors are just like you and me, regular age-groupers. It is these competitors that make the race so darn inspiring. This year, there was a woman who walked the entire marathon with a BOOT on her foot. Yes, a boot - just like the one I wore for nearly 6 months this year. She had a stress fracture. She was able to swim, had a bike shoe, and put the boot on for the marathon and walked it. WOW. Or Lew Hollander, the 80 year old triathlete who has competed in more than 20 Kona Ironmans. Watching Kona always brings tears to my eyes. Yes, really. It reminds me why I fell in love with triathlon. Because it's all about identifying your limits, surpassing them, and finding out that really, you have no limits. You can do so much once you stop placing boundries around yourself.

What was it Henry Ford once said? "Whether you think you can, or whether you think you can't, you're probably right."

for the love of language.

So.....maybe I've been in the sciences too long, where written brevity is rewarded and concise is the name of the game in papers and theses. I've been reading A LOT lately - which is great, I love reading and could do it all day, every day - but it's shown me that there is a huge difference in the way I learn and the way my brain works in each subject. It was the black-or-white, right-or-wrong dichotomies that drew me to science - counseling was too "messy", I brought it home with me. Science either proved something or it didn't. But English and writing....language is caressed, turned over in the synapses and rearranged on the tongue. Analyzation and obsession over the right words or the right feeling are the norm, and while every writer seeks to "tighten up" pieces of writing, it is not as stringent and sparse as the sciences. After years and years of adapting my writing to APA and AMA style, I may need to re-evaluate.

I was reading this blog, by one of the main contributors of the MFA Blog (which every applicant checks a billion times a day), and I found my brain becoming exhausted. Am I really so used to the journal format of: hypothesis, methods, results, discussion? Maybe I am just out of practice with the mental challenge of it all - science is challenging in a different way than language is; I can't explain it well. He keeps mentioning Art. Funny, I never think of writing as Art....but writing programs are often housed in Schools of Art. Writers are seen as artists. Yet I sort of recoil at the thought of being called an artist. I don't feel creative enough. I've fought so hard over the past 6 years to be seen and respected as a no-nonsense, scientific, cerebral person, and being an artist seems so foreign to me. It's weird, right? It sort of requires a paradigm shift.

When I go up North next week, I know I have a Virginia Woolf book and Joan Didion's nonfiction collection waiting for me in my room at my mom's house, as well as my Manual of Sports Medicine that I got for my birthday. I'm still working on Wharton and Steinbeck here, as well as slogging through Franzen's "The Corrections"...am I a traitor to the writing world if I say I find Franzen (and Eggers) kind of pretentious?

I remember reading Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" as an entering freshman in high school, and Carson McCullers' novels for a research paper sophomore year, and being awed at their writing. I feel that way about Didion's writing. Maybe one day someone will say that about my writing.

playing footsies.

This is the plate and screws that are in my 1st metatarsal.

This is the top view.

This was my foot 5 days post-op.

Okay, so these are pictures from the foot surgery back in September. This was my third foot surgery; the 2nd within less than 6 months.....all on the same foot. For those of you who don't know, this surgery was a first MPJ arthrodesis, or fusion. My bunion had recurred AGAIN, and I was beginning to develop arthritis in my first metatarsal. As a (then) 29 year old athlete, the orthopaedic surgeon was troubled by this, and suggested fusion, which is pretty much the most aggressive surgery you can have for a bunion. This surgery fuses the bones of the joint together, so the joint does not move. The top joint of my big toe bends, but the main one does not. My surgery also involved adding a small piece of cadaver bone to the first metatarsal, and shortening my 2nd metatarsal joint. As you can imagine, this kind of sucks. My gait is off with walking, as I cannot toe-off, and right now, I have no idea how I am going to run again - although my surgeon says this is fully possible. But from what I'm reading online, it's hard. Without proper toe-off, the calf is not as developed or strong, and that leg is not as powerful. Right now, 3 months out from surgery, my toe and foot are still pretty swollen. I have pain every day when I walk, and I favor the lateral side of my foot, which worries me about stress fractures along the 5th metatarsal.

So why am I writing about this? Because for some reason, although I knew the surgery would be hard, and rehab would be long, I thought I'd be "okay" by now. I keep forgetting that my body has gone through two major surgeries, which is stressful. As an athlete and someone who relies on running and triathlon training for stress management, this is super hard. It's hard when you have to get off the treadmill in tears because you can barely manage a mile because the pain is so bad. It's difficult when you feel self-conscious even walking around town, let alone walking at a fast pace for exercise. I basically live in sneakers now, because they're the only thing that feels comfortable and lets me walk somewhat normally.

I'm just a little frustrated. I haven't rejoined my gym yet, so I can't even go swimming, and I feel so out of the loop with training. I want to do the Indoor Tri in February, although I know I will be walking the running part very slowly. But I think - no, I know - my tri club teammates will be happy that I am just out there. They're very supportive of anyone.

I can't even wear my Top-Siders, because my foot is swollen and my toe is all weird. Do you know how hard it is to make sneakers "go" with every outfit? ;)

I'm just really hoping my foot gets better soon.

bleeding onto paper.

So I am in the home stretch with applications. Finishing up personal statements, polishing and tightening up of my portfolio, and wondering (for the millionth time) what the heck am I doing? But not in a bad way, per se....more like....in a really excited, tentatively hopeful way. A not-really-believing-I-can-make-a-life-out-of-this way. I am cautiously optimistic though. Writing programs are different than many other programs. They don't put so much weight on GREs or grades. It's all about your writing. And it's subjective - it's all about who's on your committee. Someone could be accepted to Iowa Writer's Workshop (arguably the best in the country) but rejected from UC-Irvine (another excellent school). Hugely subjective. So you never really know how you are.

As we saw with applications two years ago, rejection is....not my thing. Especially from academic programs. It is very, very personal for me, because I place so much emphasis on achievement. I'm working on that; I know that I shouldn't put as much weight on that. It's hard to shake. With writing, especially....writing is intensely personal. You unpeel your skin and spill your soul onto the paper, it's there, laid bare and honest. And for someone to reject that.....ouch. As Hemingway once said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Truer words are hard to find.

Continuing with the literary theme tonight, this is an awesome website with neat shirts. I have the Maya Angelou shirt. For each shirt you buy, they donate a book to children who need them.

Currently reading: Edith Wharton, "House of Mirth"; John Steinbeck, "East of Eden", and Keith Haring's "Journals"

Elizabeth Edwards.

Elizabeth Edwards passed away today, at the age of 61. I was lucky enough to hear her speak at the 2006 Lance Armstrong Foundation Summit on Survivorship, and she was amazing. She handled adversity with class and grace, and remained composed in the toughest of situations. While I am sad that she died, I find myself growing irritated with comments I'm reading on Facebook, about how it "shouldn't have ended this way". We can all agree that cancer takes too many lives too soon. But let me frame it another way: her doctors broke the news last week to her that further chemotherapy treatments would be unproductive. She spent the last several days pain-free, in her own home, surrounded by the people she loves, friends and family. Wouldn't we ALL like to die that way? Instead, too many people opt for painful treatments when they are not likely to work - a recent article said that patients spend the most money, treatment-wise, in the last 3 months of their lives, on invasive treatments that add little to no benefit. Elizabeth Edwards's doctors were compassionate and courageous enough to tell her that their options had run out and prevent her from going through unnecessary physical and emotional demands. They did not let ego or the relentless "fighting against disease" sway them and tell her to keep going with chemo.

Anyway...it's been a long day and my brain is exhausted, but I just needed to vent. Here's an excerpt from a message she posted on Facebook yesterday:

"The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered. We know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren't able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It's called being human...."

dirty thirty.

In three days I will turn 30, and you know, I'm not upset about it. After all, as someone said to me yesterday, what's the alternative? No, but in all seriousness, at the beginning of 2010, I was dreading turning 30 - my own "thrisis", if you will (the new buzzword for the crisis over turning 30) - but now, I welcome it. I think...no, I know, that this decade will be a really good one. In many ways, it feels like my life is only just beginning; that child-like sense of possibility has been renewed and I am excited for what lies ahead.

The past ten years have brought a lot to my life. A college degree, two graduate degrees, a wonderful and sweet little nephew, moving to the South (and liking it, no less), and a new baby cousin. Over the past decade, I have lived in PA, FL, NY and NC. I have seen numerous people - too many people - in my life face cancer, and was reunited with my childhood goal of working in oncology. I have had three foot surgeries on my left foot and learned the lessons of patience and tenacity. I got to work at my dream job for one summer, meeting world-famous cancer researchers whom I had only previously read about. I played college rugby and found triathlon, a sport that has given me back my health and my sense of self as an athlete. The past ten years have been hard and full of struggle and disappointments, but also full of human kindness, relationships, and the work of perseverance. When I first moved to New York in 2003, someone sent me an email with this quote by Freud - "One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful." While I appreciated the quote even back then, it is only now that I fully appreciate its truth.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want to bring with me into my thirties and what I want to leave behind. I hope my thirties are about living life with no regrets, being in the moment and pursuing my heart. Hopefully I will meet my future husband and start a family of my own. And in my heart, I know that no matter what, in the next ten years, I will become a mother, whether it be with biological children or through adoption. My thirties will be about abundance, not restriction. I want to make choices based on love and hope, rather than fear or anxiety. And maybe this all seems naive and foolish, but maybe it's good to set the bar high. I look back at who and where I was at the age of 20, and really like the person I have become since then.

In Judaism, there is a blessing called the Shehechiyanu. It is typically recited on the first day of a holiday or when doing something new. This blessing thanks G-d for keeping us alive and bringing us to this moment. You can bet that on Saturday, my 30th birthday, I will be reciting the Shehechiyanu with my heart wide open.

gratitude.

Thanksgiving is this Thursday, and I am going up North tomorrow. I am excited, but also bittersweetly sad. My aunt has end-stage cancer and now weighs under 100 pounds (and is about my height, 5'6", maybe an inch or two taller), so it's not looking good. My grandparents are getting older - at my age, I am very, very lucky to have three living grandparents - and I don't get to come up North as often as I'd like. I'm excited to see my nephew, who always brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart.

This year has been an eventful year - more so than I would have hoped - but this Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for many things. I am thankful for my health. After two foot surgeries in eight months, I am finally starting to feel like my foot is going to be okay, and I am starting to walk pretty well again. I am thankful for my family, for all of their help and encouragement and support. I'm thankful that I took the risk and followed my heart, committing to writing, even though it scares the hell out of me most days. I am thankful for the family I babysit for down here, who have welcomed me into their family over the past 2 years and bring a smile to my face and make me laugh. I am thankful for friends who remind me of all the goodness out there in the world. I am thankful to all my mentors and guides on this path called life, who have encouraged my writing, believed in me, let me make my own mistakes so I could learn, and who have shown me all the possibilities for the future. I am thankful to be alive, because if anything, the past week has shown me that life is truly a gift. I am learning not to put things off until I have a "real" life, and to live in the moment without regret. This year has been hard physically, emotionally and spiritually, but as the writer Audre Lorde once wrote, "But of course it is out of Chaos that new worlds are born."

my lovely nephew, as always.

I love this picture. It was taken August 2007, right before I moved to Chapel Hill for graduate school. Trey was about 4 months old, and my heart was breaking at the prospect of leaving him. My heart still breaks every time I leave him. It may seem odd to people, how much I love him. I'm not a parent, just an aunt. But I spent so much time babysitting him after he was born, when he was a newborn and infant, that I feel a bond with him. I'm sure part of it is my biological clock in overdrive, because I love kids and want a few of my own, but right now, I am overjoyed to be an aunt.

My mom used to tell my brother and I how much my uncle loved being an uncle. He had no kids, either. When he died, there were gifts in his closet for Brad and I, labeled for different holidays and ages. As an aunt, I finally understand that. I understand the primal, uncontrollable love for a child. The urge to protect them no matter what, the joy of hearing them say your name over the phone, or their innocent, "I love you"s and the feel of their tiny hands around your neck in a bear hug. Trey can bring happiness even on the darkest, stormiest of days. I've said this before and it's still true, his heart is so big, I have no idea how it is able to be contained in his tiny body. He's a lover, not a fighter, and my heart threatens to shatter when I think of him ever experiencing pain or loss. If I could, I would protect him from the injuries of life, but I can't. No adult can do that for a child indefinitely, no matter how much we want to. Broken hearts and injuries are part of life, part of learning and living.

I am so excited to see my nephew in a little more than a week. I can't wait to get off the plane in Philadelphia and have he and my mom pick me up, and see the huge smile on his face because Aunt JJ is home. In that moment, I never want to leave him. To see him grow and get older has been such a treat, and I feel honored to be a part of his life. We are truly the lucky ones, and I am forever grateful that Trey is in our lives.

tomorrow.

A wise teacher in high school once told my class that "No one ever promised us tomorrow." This has stuck with me through the years, because it is something so simple, it seems instinctive, but it is something we all tend to forget, or ignore, or don't believe. But it's true. Tomorrow is not a given for any of us, which is why we should live in the moment and pursue our happiness (as long as it does not hurt others). This isn't always easy to follow - believe me, I know. Daily I am consumed with anxiety, wondering if I made the right decision in following my heart to writing, wondering whether I will be able to make a different with my writing or teaching, and wondering how the heck my finances will turn out. Deep in my heart, I know I have made the right decision and am happier than I've been in a while, but in my head, I don't always remember that.

A friend of mine passed away on Friday night from cancer. He was first diagnosed in 2003, and suffered multiple recurrences, and each time, they amputated further up on the arm, until January, when he had no more arm to amputate and the cancer metastasized to his spine. Despite radiation and chemo, the cancer spread to his liver and lungs, and he and his wife decided to opt for pain management rather than treatment. It was a good choice. They went on trips together, had professional photographs taken of the two of them, and lived life out in the world, instead of in a hospital or chemo waiting room. They have memories of trips and togetherness and laughter. He was 33.

Despite the fact that we all knew he would die from the disease, I don't think any of us were prepared. You can never be "prepared" for that. I remember thinking the same thing about my grandfather. When he died from lung cancer, we knew it was coming; his death was painfully protracted and I had just visited him the previous week and knew death was imminent. But it was still shocking in its own strange way, because how do we prepare for death? Are we ever fully "prepared", those of us still alive? I'm not sure we are.

Death reminds us that it's true, no one did promise us tomorrow. There is no guarantee for any of us. The best we can do is try and be in the moment, love and appreciate those in our lives, and pursue our passions and happiness. When I find myself doubting every decision I have been making, I think to myself, if you were to die tomorrow, would you be happy? And I would be, I think. Would you? Do you make decisions out of fear (which we all do at numerous points in our lives)? Are you willing to make decisions from your heart, despite the anxiety that might cause? Because this is your life. This is it. At the (almost) age of 30, I am tired of thinking "oh, I've always wanted to..." or "I wish I could..." Because none of us know what will happen. None of us know our fates.

It's scary. It's scary as hell, living the lives we want to lead. But what is the alternative?

books and books and books

It's hard to believe that it's mid-November (almost). The days here in Chapel Hill are, for the most part, temperate, with only a fleece vest needed. Today is a beautiful, cloudless day, high of about 65 degrees. If I leave NC I will miss this.

I took the GRE on Wednesday....I did not do as well as I would have hoped, and this was my only chance to take it in time so that the schools would receive the scores by the application deadline. Really, the only school that needed it was UNC's PhD in journalism....I am hoping I didn't shoot myself in the foot with my scores. After all, it's pretty established that standardized test scores like the GRE and SAT don't predict success. I'm hoping my Master's thesis wows them. *fingers crossed*. Other than that, I've been writing for work a lot, trying to find time to work on personal statements and my nonfiction portfolio, and read more books. Every program wants a list of recent books you've read, and again, I'm consumed with the fear of not reading books that are "literary" enough. So now I'm reading Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth", and working my way through some classics that I haven't read yet, like more of Virginia Woolf's books and maybe some James Joyce thrown in there. And I love, love, love Carson McCullers. And Joan Didion. And Jerome Groopman. And Jhumpa Lahiri (whom I got to see in person at Barnard!). So....maybe I can convince them I am literary after all.

I never thought I was creative before. I don't see myself as an "artist", I see myself as a writer. But I was told writers are artists, in their own ways. I don't see myself that way at all. Looking back, I guess the signs were really there all along....in high school, I would write poems during Biology and Chemistry classes. While registering for freshman year classes for college, I actually asked for permission to register for a senior seminar on the writings of Sylvia Plath. I was denied, but the professor met with me that semester to discuss Plath's writings. That was an awesome thing for a busy professor to do. My "Literary Marketplace" class with Dr.Coppa...that was maybe the one class I REALLY looked forward to. She was a hyper-caffeinated, hyper-intelligent version of Janeane Garofalo, from NYC, dressed all in black and super hip. She wore these kick ass black leather boots, her hair was always disheveled, she talked a mile a minute and it was wonderful. I still can't walk through a Barnes & Noble without remembering learning about what makes some books get featured, or placed with their covers facing outward (yeah, it's not random). I also loved my "American Writers" class, in which my professor, who, in his flannel shirts, Wranglers and scruffy beard looked more like the janitor than a PhD, taught us how to be kids again when he took us on the college's front lawn and had us make and fly paper airplanes. My "African-American Literature" class introduced me to Alice Walker, bell hooks and Toni Morrison. For one of my psychology classes, we had to pick someone famous to evaluate....and I chose the poet Anne Sexton.

I do wish I had sat down with someone back then and learned about all the different career options in writing and English. Part of me does wish I had listened to my heart about majoring in English and being a writer, but I don't regret going the way I did. I've learned a lot and had great experiences along the way. And everything I've done has brought me to this moment, right here. How could I regret that?

free at last....thank God, free at last

I got my boot off on Monday! Yay!! This year, in 2010, I have been in a boot/air cast for nearly half the year, thanks to my 2 foot surgeries. This means half a year of figuring out how to tuck my pants into the boot, limping and walking funny, and only wearing one shoe. Needless to say, it gets old. Fast. So I got x-rays on Monday and my foot looks great. The x-ray tech actually came out from the little lair they stay in, and goes, "Wow, you certainly have quite the hardware assortment in your foot!" I explained that yup, I had foot surgery. She asked if I broke my foot and I explained the whole bunion and failed surgery thing, and she just kept talking about the 6 screws and plate in my foot. Yup, that's me. Bionic foot girl. I guess it's fitting, since I WAS named after Jaime Sommers, the Bionic Woman.

One thing I wasn't prepared for, however, was the pain/discomfort when putting on and taking off shoes. Think about it - when you put your shoes on, your big toe flexes and bends. Mine doesn't. That was the whole point of the surgery, to fuse it so it won't bend. I literally started crying in the doctor's office because I could not figure out how to put my sneakers on. Even now, I dread putting my shoes on and taking them off. I grit my teeth and do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-aid. I walk slowly, and my foot does hurt, but that is to be expected, I'm told. I'm not allowed to swim or run yet, but I can bike.

So yeah, that was my big excitement this week. Other than that, I've been writing articles, working on personal statements and my writing portfolio, and studying for my GREs, which I take next Tuesday. I hate the GREs.

Saturn return.

So, as mentioned before, I turn 30 in December. I don't know how many of you are familiar with the phenomenon known as the Saturn Return? I'm not usually one for astrology, but hear me out. Approximately every 30 years (29.5, actually), Saturn returns to the spot where it was when you were born. It is said that between the ages of 27 and 30, individuals usually start experiencing life upheavals, especially as they get closer to 30. The Saturn Return is about finding out your true life path - it typically turns worlds upside down. Major life changes, etc. So let's think about this. When did I decide to focus on writing? June? hmmm. 29.5 years old. All the upheaval the past few years....yup, 27-30. I don't know. There may be something to this.

I've heard many women say they really came into their own in their 30s, and I think they're right. I think I am looking forward to this next decade; I think it will be a good one, with lots of promise ahead.

it's anything but a fairytale, girls.

I will be 30 in December. I am single. Normally, this does not bother me. But I do feel some pressure to find someone and "settle down" and start having kids. After all, my brother already had a kid. Although I'm not sure the family could take another child out of wedlock. I would rather be single than settle, and I would definitely rather be single than be with a bum, a loser, or someone who really doesn't love me. I am a headstrong, independent fireball who likes to challenge and be challenged, and the man I end up with will complement this. I want an intellectual equal and a homebody. I want to marry someone who is not only the love of my life, but my best friend. And I haven't found him yet. My friend Lauren found her girlfriend on a certain dating website, and I was like, hey, okay, maybe I can find a guy here. So I joined. Yes, I've met some NJB's (nice Jewish boys); in fact, one asked me out for coffee (although I'd like to email a bit more first). But I've also been met with a whole host of...umm...interesting candidates. I am telling you, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

There was the guy last week, even though my preferred age range is 27-37 (and 27 is even pushing it; ideally I'd like an older guy), this 22 year old emailed me, telling me he's "attracted to older women." I'm sorry, was that supposed to attract me? No woman likes to be told she's the "older woman", especially at the age of (almost)30. Delete. Then there was the guy who had the numbers "69" in his screen name, and his profile picture was his pale white, hairless, not-so-toned chest. I'm sorry, but first, get a tan. Second, don't put naked shots of ANYTHING on your profile picture. Lastly, if you do put naked pics up, at least have the body to back it up. And, really? Are we in high school? Drop the "69" from your screen name. NOT cute. Delete. Then, there was the Jewish guy who seemed smart and funny. His profile was him and a little kid, and I'm a sucker for boys with babies. Although I'd prefer a potential boyfriend not have any kids or ex-wives, I'm open. So I'm reading his profile - his email was nice - and it turns out that he is, in fact, in a committed relationship but they are "polyamorous" and it's an open relationship. I kid you not. First of all, this is not Utah. Second, I'm not doing the Sister Wives thing. I was like, really? REALLY??

This week alone has brought guys to remember. There was Buttfister. Yes, I swear on a stack of Bibles (preferably Old Testament) that his screen name was Buttfister. And he was straight, looking for women. He is studying pharmacy. Ah, the future of medicine and science, right there. I'm sorry, but a mature woman - or any woman, for that matter - isn't interested in a guy whose screen name was Buttfister. And yet this is who I attract, apparently. Then - ah, yes - THEN there was a guy whose email promised me a "night to remember" because of his "huge....personality", and how he promised to make me "laugh, scream, and enjoy myself". And he promised not to "ask to video cam". And he closed it by saying if, for some "unknown reason", I'm not attracted to him, to let him know. There was more, I just can't think of all of the obnoxiousness. I nicely wrote back and said that mature women usually are looking for more than a "night to remember", and I'm sure his "personality" only looked huge from his vantage point. And then I blocked him.

And I can't even tell you how many guys email with horrible spelling, incorrect grammar - not a minor mistake or two, I mean, hello, did you go to grade school types of bad grammar. Not a good sign for me if you can't spell basic words. Or how many guys send a one-line email like, hey sexy, what up? or hey cutie. First, even IN a relationship, I don't want to be called "babe", "cutie", hon, or anything like that. I just don't go for it. And if I don't even KNOW you, I kind of take offense to that. How many women really go around emailing guys with, "hey sexy" or "hey stud". Not many, I'm sure.

Where are the guys who see my book and music list and appreciate the books I read? Or the music that's on my iPod? Where are the guys who have the decency to say, hey, I think you're really pretty AND I saw you're a writer, tell me more about that? Or even just a hi, how are you?

It's really discouraging. And in the South, it's especially hard to find a Jewish guy. I'm amazed with how many agnostic and athiest guys are out there. But I'm putting myself out there, and hoping for the best.

At the very least, I'm being entertained in the process.

the journey.

My brother and I are very different. Always have been, always will be - even from the womb. I was the first kid, so anxious and overeager and competitive to get out that I arrived preterm, stubborn as a whip from the get-go. Brad was over a week late, which suits his easy-going, relaxed, never in a hurry nature. I've always followed the rules and done what was expected of me. Brad has never followed social convention, has struggled with problems along the way, and ended up having a child while not married. And now he owns a house, has a great job and has a kid. I don't know if he ever looks back and wonders how things might have been. I don't think he does. He lives in the moment, something I admire about him and try to emulate.

I am one of those people who always looks back at life, and sometimes wonders how things would be different if I'd chosen a different path. And believe me, I've had PLENTY of opportunities to do so. But lately, when I think about it, I really do believe that the choices I have made and the places where I've found myself are the perfect ones for my journey, because each one has taught me something about myself or life, or enabled me to meet wonderful people, or simply taught me what I DIDN'T want to do with my life. Don't get me wrong - if I'd followed a straight line I could have saved myself thousands in student loans and heartache, but I wouldn't be the person I am today, for better or worse.

My senior year of undergrad, I was poised for doctoral programs in clinical pychology, notoriously the most competitive field of psych. I was terrified of making the wrong decision about where to go. I was accepted to an MA program at NYU and a doctoral program at Nova Southeastern. I chose Nova. I'd been set on psychology since freshman year, and it was the only thing to which I'd given any thought. Well.....except for English. I had toyed with majoring in English to be a writer, and was told it wasn't "practical". (No comment). So at 21, I moved to Ft.Lauderdale to start a doctoral program. Looking back, I was too young and should have thought about it. It was way too "clinical" and focused mostly on cognitive-behavioral therapies, and I was more holistic, Rogerian and Jungian. But do I regret it? I don't, not now. I met a great group of girls with whom I am still in touch - Carrie, Kay and Christy - and lived with my roommate Erica and was a bridesmaid in her wedding to Brian.

I then moved to New York to go for social work at Columbia - which, if you ask the 2 people I'm still friends with from there - was probably a mistake for all of us. Both of them aren't doing anything related to their Ivy League degree. Although it's a top-ranked program, it has, um, some issues. It was so NOT clinical that I found myself back in psychology, for clinical health psychology. But from NY I gained two wonderful friends - Olivia and Jessi - and found one of my adoptive homes, Manhattan.

I had to choose between University of Miami and the Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine. Here's where it gets a little sticky. I actually made myself physically sick over this decision - I had to get muscle relaxers from Student Health because my neck got a crick in it and was stuck for hours, in intense pain. I made my decision - UM - and sent the email. Then I panicked and called them and told them to hold my acceptance. I then chose PCOM, went to the post office across from my apartment, and mailed the letter. Ten minutes later, I realized I had made a HUGE mistake, ran to the post office and had the mail person dig through a huge bin to find my letter to PCOM and give it back to me. That should have been my first clue......but I ended up going to PCOM anyway. Did I learn a lot? Well....sort of. I have to admit, A LOT was review from undergrad. But I got my MS and knew I wanted to be in the health field.

I worked full-time for a year at the ob/gyn office I'd been previously working at part-time, and knew I wanted to be in health/medicine, but didn't know how. I found public health, and applied to a variety of programs. I actually applied to UNC on a total whim, because I knew it was a top program and didn't think I had a chance in hell. I ended up getting into GW and UNC, and without a doubt chose UNC. I don't regret that at all. I love it here, and public health is a HUGE field. I consider my health writing part of public health. I found wonderful friends, wonderful families for whom I babysit who have adopted me into their homes, and found a neighborhood I adore. I found peace, my soul has calmed down here in Chapel Hill.

We all know what happened with PhD applications in 2009....if you don't, just read last year's blogs from March - June. That should explain it.

Throughout this whole time, I wrote. I wrote poetry, I journaled, I wrote essays, I blogged. But I didn't think it could actually BE anything. Then I started writing for health websites and thought, hmmm......

And because I still didn't think it was "practical", took some classes in nursing and failed miserably. My brain just doesn't work that way. And you know, that's okay. I would have always wondered if I never tried. And while some people may think I'm flaky or indecisive, let me ask you this: how do you know if something's not for you, unless you try it? How do you know you'll be bad or good at something, or if something's the right choice, unless you jump off that ledge and do it? So I do not apologize for all my detours, my wild ideas, my false starts and my crash landings. I used to. I used to beat myself up and compare myself to others' smooth rides, their straight paths that never wavered. And maybe that works for them, which is great. But you know, that's just not me.

So here I am. Writing in Chapel Hill, looking at my next journey. I am trying not to regret paths I've taken to get here, because when I think about it, I've gained so much from each twist and turn. I've learned perseverance and how to brush myself off when I find myself on the ground. I've become intimate with disappointment, but also grown close to happiness, laughter and joy. We're all on our own journey, and for some of us, it takes longer to get to some destinations than others. But you know, I don't think I'd change a thing right now.

they don't call MFA programs MaFiA programs for nothing....

So.....I assume for those of you who read this regularly, most people know that I have been concentrating on writing, more specifically, health and medical writing. I write regularly for livestrong.com and just had the opportunity to write some articles on breast cancer for the website sheknows.com. I really love it, and I get to use my education and talent (see, family - it's not for nothing!). But, like all talents, my writing needs practice and nurturing. Some people say writing "can't be taught". I have mixed feelings about that. Do I think some people have an innate talent and ease with writing? Yes.....but someone also once said that a writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for everyone else, which is also true to an extent, because writers are always so critical of their writing - there is always a more perfect word, or more beautiful way to say things. Nonetheless, talents can be refined and nurtured and benefit from instruction. After all, people take dance lessons and music lessons. THAT can be taught....so why can't writing?

So I have decided to apply to various programs in order to enable me to pursue more careers in this field. You'd be surprised how many jobs want a PhD, or more education in writing. I am looking at journalism, medical-science writing, and MFA programs. I'm nervous about the MFA programs, because so many of the students I read about on MFA-application blogs are super-literary, super well-read and incredibly creative. I don't think I'm that creative - I mean, I've spent the past how many years trying to tamper that down and focus on the practical, science side. And though I'm fairly well-read and always reading, I feel like I'm not reading the "right" books. I'm not reading the "literary" books. I have no idea who many of these authors are that many applicants are mentioning. It's intimidating. Super intimidating. Every program wants its applicants to write about the books they are currently reading.....and I want to sound smart, so I doubt that "the latest issue of Vogue" and "True Prep" are the kind of books they want to hear about.

But when I read about the classes and writing workshops and literary seminars students have to take, I am so jealous that students HAVE to take these classes, because I would love to have to go to them! I would love to have my days filled with reading and writing and rewriting and such. I don't know if any of this will work out. I am cautiously hopeful. I still love science and oncology, obviously, but this finally lets me use my talent to be involved in that field. I still get a thrill when I think to myself, I'm a writer. (Sort of). It's scary, though. Reading and writing have always come fairly easy to me. I tear through books like there's no tomorrow. I'm constantly reading one or more books at any given time. But I'm applying with hundreds of other students who will put my reading lists to shame. Who majored in English or Comparative Literature or Poetry. Who read literary works instead of what's on the "new in paperback" table of Barnes & Noble. Don't get me wrong; I've read ZZ Packer and Zadie Smith and Joan Didion. But I also love me some brainless reading.

What is my end goal? I'd love to write for a science, health or cancer magazine, or a hospital or health center or website. I'd love to do research and disseminate the findings to the public via journalism. It's not so different from public health and health education, when you think about it. I know it's been a circuitous journey. I'm slowly finding my way and finding my strengths. I just hope I'm not wrong about this path.

Previvors

Do you know what a previvor is? It is someone who does not have cancer, but who is at higher risk of cancer because of a strong family history or because of a genetic mutation. Dina Roth Port has writen a book about five women who are previvors and have a patchwork of breast and/or ovarian cancer running through their families. When I found out about this book, I was lucky enough to have a copy sent to me, and wanted to review it on my blog.

In this book, each woman tells her story of how the different cancers affected their decisions to get tested and their subsequent decisions. More importantly, the book describes options previvors have, what each option entails, and what an individual can expect, with surgical decisions, genetic testing, disease surveillance, breast reconstruction, body image and sexuality issues post-cancer, fertility, and how to tell your children. The book is a comprehensive how-to guide with personal journeys woven into the narrative, which makes it feel like you are talking with girlfriends about their personal decisions and concerns.

Personally, as someone with now breast and ovarian cancer in my family, but no known mutation, I found this book incredibly helpful. When the time comes, if need be, I will think about my options and what each path would mean for me. Right now, at the age of almost-30, this book helped dissipate some of the fear that I have of getting breast or ovarian cancer, and provided an informative, personal and empowering book to read and learn from.

Go to the book's website to learn more about the author and the previvors, and to learn how to order your copy.

think before you pink, PLEASE.

It's October. Breast Cancer Awareness Month....in case you missed it, despite the commercials, pink ribbons adorning everything from potato chips to wine (ironic, since even one drink a day raises your risk of breast cancer), and the senseless Facebook status updates. I am all for raising awareness. But we are aware of breast cancer. Ask women what the symptoms of ovarian cancer are, and a lot less women will know that. Or colon cancer. Or thyroid. Or pancreatic. Or, hell, the number one killer of women - heart disease. A lot less women will know all of those symptoms.

We still don't have screening tools for many cancers. Our treatments are extremely toxic, no matter what cancer we're talking about. A lot of misinformation is still out there.

And don't even get me started on those "I heart boobies" bracelets and "Save the ta-tas". It's similar to the infantilizing Barbara Ehrenreich talks about in her "Welcome to Cancerland" essay, with the stuffed animals with pink ribbons on them. The "boobies" and "ta-tas" breast cancer stuff objectifies women's bodies, and once again, places our bodies as something for others to look at. What, did these kids who wear them not care about breast cancer before, but because it says "boobies", it's cool? Women are more than breasts; the focus should be on women's health, and not "saving the ta-tas". It sexualizes an issue, and in the end, has a degrading tone (in my opinion).

Breast Cancer Action put together the Think Before You Pink campaign, and it's worth a look. Find out how much money is actually being given to the cause, and to what organizations and programs. Komen may be the bully of breast cancer, but many other organizations are out there - Bright Pink, FORCE, and others. Find out just how much these organizations are doing for breast cancer, and for which population - does most money go to younger women, or older? High risk women or metastatic?

Don't get me wrong - pink is one of my favorite colors, and I am guilty of having pink ribboned things. But if you want to make a difference, donate to the organization directly. Do BSE. Make sure you and other women in your life get clinical breast exams and mammograms, if necessary. Let's talk about triple-negative breast cancer and inflammatory breast cancer; cancers that don't respond to hormones or have lumps. Talk openly about reconstruction and even the choice NOT to have breast reconstruction. Let's destigmatize prophylactic mastectomies and refuse to live in fear. All of this will do much more for breast cancer than buying a bag of chips with a pink ribbon on it.

sweater weather and such

This time of year is the kind I love - sweater weather (I have a better fall/winter wardrobe), scarf weather, crunching through burnt vermillion and butternut squash yelloworange leaves, and drinking hot apple cider.

My foot is healing well. Next week I go for x-rays, but it is coming along, says the surgeon. I have no pain now, which is great....of course, if I walk a lot I have pain, but for the most part, I am pain-free, which is something relatively new for me. Even after the other surgery, I still had pain. I don't know what my gait (both walking and running) will be once I am out of the boot, but the surgeon said that people can still run after a joint fusion, and I am choosing to believe him. I am just anxious to get back to the gym and work out. :)

This Saturday is the most celebrated triathlon in the tri-world - the Kona Ironman World Championship. I am so so SO excited to watch it on television. And if my foot were better, I'd be competing Sunday in my triathlon. As it happens, I STILL have not withdrawn officially. I will be there saturday to pick up the damn race packet, because a tiny piece of my brain is still like, welllllll....even though I know full well I am not swimming, biking or running anywhere any time soon. Oh well. A girl can dream, right?

rainy days and Mondays always get me down....

I thought I had that Carpenter's song on my iPod, but unfortunately, I don't. It would be the perfect song to play today, since not only is it Monday, but it's raining. And I'm feeling down. I had my orthopedic surgeon appt today. Very gross. The skin is breaking down and the top layer of skin on the top of my foot came off. It was so disgusting - you could see the blood below the surface where they operated and everything. It looked like raw, bloody meat. I couldn't even take a picture of it. So he bandaged me back up....oh yeah, and my blisters from my toes and foot being compressed are bursting, which just adds to the attractiveness of my foot. It's making me very self-conscious.

I don't know, today, was just hard. I haven't been able to work much because of the pain meds and exhaustion, which is stressful financially, and I'm nervous about writing programs. I haven't felt especially creative lately, and my brain is just worn out and tired. Add this to the constant agitation I have because I can't get rid of nervous tension physically by running or biking, and that's where I am.

I'm still sad about the triathlon and GOTR. Fellow athletes will understand - going from being very active to not active at all is torture for many of us. When I asked my surgeon today, he said I should be able to run about 9 weeks from now. Which is December.

pain meds ramblings

Things have been rough, recovery-wise. I got my stitches out Monday, but am still taking pain medicine pretty regularly. I get super tired really fast, and tried to do some food shopping today and was ready to burst out in tears after less than 10 minutes of walking around. Don't think that's happening any time soon. Thankfully, I only had to pick up Coke Zero and crescent rolls. I was watching the Women's World Championship triathlon yesterday, until I started to cry after the first 15 minutes. Today I went to Fleet Feet with my roommate, so she could get new sneakers for her half-marathon training...I guess I am a masochist. When I really think about it, I get really upset about the upcoming triathlon. I haven't withdrawn officially yet, because there is a part of me that will continue thinking maybe I will be able to do it until the very morning of. I will pick up my race packet the day before, and I will probably be in some sort of cognitive denial until the morning of the tri. Maybe it's misguided hope or some sort of protective thing.

I can't really write anything meaningful, since the pain medication has been kicking in. I haven't been doing as much writing, work-wise, because of the meds, which is incredibly frustrating and stressful for me.

it's a long road.

I am back at my house in Chapel Hill, on the road to recovery. The pain is still there; I described it today as constant. The medication dulls the pain to the point of me being able to function, but it never fully goes away. I keep saying to myself this is just temporary, this is temporary....it does not always work, but sometimes it does. It didn't help that this week was the kick-off week for Girls on the Run, so I keep getting emails about it....as well as I keep getting emails about the triathlon, telling me I need to change my swim times if need be. I have not officially withdrawn from the tri, and most likely will not. I'll be there the day before, picking up my race packet, damnit. Somewhere in my head I keep thinking, well, maybe I will be better by October 10th. I know this isn't possible. Not even remotely. But I still think it.

It's just, I don't think anyone REALLY thought I would do the tri. I've never done anything like it in my life, and it scared the crap out of me. But through training, I got myself back and fell in love with the sport. I worked my BUTT OFF, and it felt good. I pushed myself to my supposed limits and then surpassed them, and set the bar higher. I found a community of friendly people and was the healthiest I've been in a while. It's frustrating when I've worked so hard and this surgery has derailed my goals. I'm not a D-1 athlete, I'm not a pro. But it made me cry last night, because I really, really, really wanted to do the tri and run across that finish line and be able to call myself a triathlete.

I cope with stress by working out, and I can't do that. I can't even walk at a normal pace. I am getting applications ready, working on my writing portfolio, trying to work up motivation to study for the GREs and working for livestrong.com. Stress is ever present, and I've never wanted to run more than I do now. I cannot wait until I can even swim. I am trying not to be a Debbie Downer; maybe it's the pain meds making me this way. I'm hoping that this spurs my writing and I get some good pieces out of this emotion.

Reading: "someday this pain will be useful to you" by Peter Cameron (a New School MFA author); "the hunger games"; "warrior girls" by Michael Sokolove, about female athletes and injuries.

Listening: the new Anberlin album, "wildflower" by The JaneDear Girls

one day at a time.

So here I am, about 6 days post-op. This surgery was by far the most aggressive and the most painful surgery. They put in a titanium plate and screws in my foot, as well as a bone graft from a cadaver. My mom came down for the surgery and I spent Thurs-Mon at her hotel room, where she took care of me, gave me pain meds, and cleaned up after me when I was sick (thanks, Dilaudid....not eating pizza again for a while!). When I wasn't in pain, we had a good time, watching "Back to the Future" and ordering food. The pain was unbearable this time around, especially at night, when the pain was so bad I would beg for more pain medicine. Now I am at my dad's, because his house is mostly on one floor, and I am on crutches for at least this week. I've tapered pain meds, and now I am on Percoset, compared to the Oxy I was on. It's slow going, and little things exhaust me, but hopefully things will keep getting better.

I'm still bummed about not coaching Girls on the Run, and not competing in the tri. Very frustrating. But, I also have to realize that my body's been through a lot in the past 6 months. Two surgeries on the same foot - not minor surgeries, either. The shock to my system has been significant, and I have to take extra care of myself so I can return to sports stronger and better than before.

I haven't worked since last Wednesday, which makes me very anxious and stressed, but I'm hoping that starting tomorrow, I will be on as little pain meds as possible so I can start working more efficiently on both my articles and my applications. *sigh*.

breaking bones.

I mentioned a few posts ago that my foot surgery needs to be redone. I first had bunion surgery in May 2002, 2 days after my college graduation. Turned out that she had only shaved the bone, which is called a Silver bunionectomy. When I started tri training in earnest this year, my foot was acting up, and the bunion had recurred, causing my pain. So in March 2010, I had an osteotomy. They broke the first metatarsal and rearranged the joint, tendons and ligaments. When I started physical therapy in August, the 2 PTs took one look at my foot, looked at each other, and innocently mentioned that it looked like a "failed surgery." No lie, I cried right then and there. The toe was horribly curved, and I cannot stand flat on that foot; my weight is on the lateral side. I knew they were right. I saw another orthopedic surgeon, one specializing in only foot and ankle surgeries. He agreed that not only has the bunion recurred, but recurred WORSE, and I have developed arthritis in the first metatarsal joints. So I am having a THIRD surgery on my foot on Thursday. They say third time's the charm, right? This surgery will be fusing my bones, lengthening the first metatarsal joint, shortening the second and the fusion will fix both the arthritis and the bunion.

Needless to say, the October triathlon is not happening, the November triathlon is not happening, and I will not be a Coach for Girls on the Run this fall.

Those of you who are athletes will understand this; let me describe to non-athletes what this is like for me. It's devastating. Sure, I'm not a D-1 athlete or a professional. My tuition or my salary do not depend on my athletic accomplishments. But I am an athlete. Always have been, likely always will be. Sports is a stress reliever for me, it makes me feel confident, it makes me healthy and it makes me strong in all possible ways. Going for a run or swim does more than work and exhaust my body; it allows me time to empty my head of all the demons that have taunted me that day - will I get into an academic program, will I get a job, what if I'm not good enough, why is my bank account balance so low, why aren't there any decent guys out there - and it brings me back to myself. I can't explain it any other way. Feeling my muscles burn and work fills me with gratitude that I am able to do these activities and reminds me that my body is an amazing thing that needs to be cared for and fed and listened to. Finishing a 20 mile bike ride or a 3 mile run or a hard swim workout helps me realize that the only limits I have are the ones that I place on myself.

This year, I got into the best shape of my life, physically and mentally. Going to the gym was the one place that I felt at ease; it was the one place that I felt like a success. Like I was good at something. Now that I won't have that after next week, I need to focus on my work, my writing portfolio and my personal statements.

What brought this on, aside from my impending surgery? I'm watching the US Open. Watching tennis always reminds me just how much I love the sport. In high school, I lived and breathed tennis in the spring, summer and fall. I would have my dad drive me to the tennis wall at the high school near my house and spend hours hitting the ball against the wall. When he had the chance, my dad would play tennis with me, and he would hit that ball so hard that by the time tryouts came around, any serves or volleys that these girls had against me felt weak, compared to what I'd been playing against all summer. I developed a not-so-attractive John McEnroe-like habit of throwing my racquet when I was annoyed or not playing well, but I also developed one hell of a two-handed backhand and great serve. In mid-August, before tryouts, going to get my racquet restrung and shopping for new tennis shoes was a bit of a tradition. I'd pack my racquet bag with my racquets, cans of balls, headbands, wristbands, handle grips, vibration dampers for the strings....I'd dissect the games of Steffi Graf, Mary Jo Fernandez and Pete Sampras. I'd debate the merits of white versus blue tennis skirts, and wind up with both.

Because God has a wicked sense of humor, the day after I was told I needed another surgery, the newest issue of Runner's World arrived in my mailbox, and the next day, the new issue of Triathlete came in. I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be running a half-marathon on my 30th birthday in December, as I had wanted to, and that I would not be an "official" triathlete until some time next year. I guess maybe my half-Ironman within the next 2 years may also have to be postponed. The only triathlon in my near future is the Kona Ironman, which I will be watching on television, the day before my would-be first triathlon.

My surgery is on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and one of the holiest days of the Jewish calendar. I didn't know this when I scheduled it. Would it have made a difference? Probably not. But maybe this is a sign. Maybe it signifies that the coming year will be a sweet one, because of all the struggles this year brought. Maybe it signifies a new start with a stronger body.

They say that when you break a bone, it heals stronger than before. At least that's what I've heard. I am choosing to believe this. I am choosing to believe that after this surgery, my foot will be stronger than before and I can resume my triathlon training and become even better and stronger and more athletic than I was.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

Planet Cancer.

My friend Heidi Adams, the founder of the organization Planet Cancer, sent me a copy of her new book, titled, appropriately enough, "Planet Cancer:The frequently bizarre yet always informative experiences and thoughts of your fellow natives." It is basically a book tailored to AYAs (those 15 to 39) diagnosed with cancer and those who love them. But really, cancer survivors and family members and friends of all ages will find this book entertaining and informative. There are stories from "real" people as to what it's like to participate in a clinical trial, what it's like to experience "roid rage", and what it's like to have your leg amputated. Sprinkled throughout the book are the Planet Cancer infamous "Top 10" lists that will make anyone crack up laughing. But all jokes aside, the book provides easy to understand, clear information about treatment, diagnosis, various tests, side effects, returning to the "real world", cancer in the workplace, relationships and cancer, and so much more. The book is informative and urges patients to be proactive without being preachy, and though it obviously deals with heavy stuff, nothing is sugar-coated or overly dramaticized. It reads like a conversation with a sarcastically funny, well-informed cancer advocate who doesn't shy away from some jokes that may seem inappropriate to some people. The book "goes there", and that's great. Having read many, if not most, of the books out there on cancer for "laypeople", this book ranks up there with the best of them (and I'm not just saying that because I know Heidi). AYAs especially are often forgotten about, and this book helps them feel like there are other people out there who can understand. There is also a large resource section at the end with books and websites and organizations where readers can find more information about everything mentioned in the book.

One of the Top Ten lists, contributed by other people I am lucky enough to "know" through the internet, JT and his boyfriend Michael, is this one:

Top 10 Attractions at the "Michael Diaz Dream Cancer Center for Young Adults"

10. Radiation laser tag.

9. No candy stripers - just strippers named Candy.

8. Try your luck at a basketball shooting game, only the rim is about a foot away. Face it: none of us has the strength to shoot a normal distance.

7. Win cool prizes, like, like....insurance coverage for another year! Keep the fucking stuffed animal.

6. Those mist things spray the med of your choice. (Imagine that. Now imagine that spraying Dilaudid. Hellz yeah).

5. All nurses' stations double as full-service bars. Push your nurse call button and order whatever the hell you want.

4. Vincristine or [insert name of your chemo here] is called "motherfucker": "Hey, I don't want any more of that motherfucker."

3. When you're prepping for surgery, you don't use any anesthesia. You just have sex until you pass out.

2. Everything is a game. You know, if you need to vomit, we bring in people you hate so you can vomit on them. Or we can line up the vomiters and see whose vomit is most toxic.

1. And how about the section where they give out nice, sensual massages to anyone who wants one? And you get a happy ending!

writing icons.

"Those that don't got it, can't show it. Those that got it, can't hide it." - Zora Neale Hurston

So it's been several weeks at this "writing thing" and I feel pretty good about it. Part of me still can't believe that I actually am getting paid for what I do all day. Part of me is also feeling the pressure, since I am finding it hard to motivate myself for writing my personal statements and writing portfolios. I keep waiting for that "flow". But working writers have to write even without the "flow".

I was thinking about an event I attended back in 2005 -- "Great Writers at Barnard", at Barnard College, in NYC. It was a one-day event where alumnae writers from Barnard came and spoke on panels, and there were various breakout sessions you could sign up for. I signed up for a session on finding an agent and publisher, and one on science writing. Natalie Angier, the author of "Woman:An Intimate Geography" was at the science writing panel. I got to the city early, and since I was familiar with the Columbia area, went to one of the Starbucks' near the school. Standing on line, I realized that who should the woman in front of me be, but none other than ANNA QUINDLEN. I was awestruck. Then, walking down a hallway at Columbia during the panel, Jhumpa Lahiri, the author of "The Interpreter of Maladies" passed me. wow. The panel included Ann Brashares, of "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" fame, and other alumnae there that day included Erica Jong ("Fear of Flying"), Edwidge Danticat, Delia Ephron, Nieca Goldberg, Naomi Foner Gyllenhaal (mother to Maggie and Jake), Mary Gordon, Stephanie Klein, Daphne Merkin, Eliza Minot and Suzanne Vega. In an elevator I found myself riding with the special guests of the event, Jonathan and Faye Kellerman. It was an awesome day. That day, though I would never admit it, I probably knew that I would end up as a writer. It was a magical day for me, seeing these people in person. The above quote by Hurston, herself a Barnard alum, is Barnard's motto. I think it's awesome.

Anyway. I will have plenty of time to write even more in the near future. My foot surgery has to be redone. It will be done next thursday, and I am NOT looking forward to it.

falling out of love letter

Dear J.Crew,

I went to the mailbox today and was overjoyed at the sight of the new, thick September catalog. When I perused through it, though, I was sorely disappointed. I've noticed this growing trend toward poorer quality clothes but more expensive prices, as well as increased trendiness, deviating from your classic, preppy roots. Nearly all my sweaters are from J.Crew, most of which are from undergrad. I consider this to be a hallmark of well-made, classic clothes. I have been wearing these same sweaters since 1999, 2000, 2001, etc. They never go out of style and retain their fit and shape, so I found them to be a good investment and well worth the money. After all, if you have sweaters for 10+ years, that's pretty good. I don't see myself getting rid of the sweaters anytime soon, and I know that they will never go out of style because they are classically cut and fit me well. Your new sweaters are full of sequins and bling and asymmetrical zippers, and are just so garish....and you charge two and three times what you used to. Who is buying this? Certainly not me. Not to mention, your autumn palette for the Jackie twinset - a staple for casual and office wear for me - is muted and gross. What happened to pumpkins and cinnamons and rich marigolds? Or pine greens, chocolate browns and candy apple reds?

Oh, J.Crew. I will hold out hope that you will come to your senses and go back to your quality, classic clothes. The clothes that we could buy now and wear for the rest of our lives. Your new catalog is full of trendy, in-style-for-the-minute clothes that many people can't pull off in the office, or even real life.

Get it together J.Crew, or else I'm going to have to find someone new.

Love,

Jaime

dragonflies and butterflies.

You know, ever since I made the decision to write, things have been sort of falling into place. I'm almost afraid to write that, for fear things will start to go wrong. But it's true. It's scary - I don't know what to expect, but I also have this sense of calm that things will be okay. I have dreams every night, with the thread of what are you doing??? You don't think you can ACTUALLY write, do you? Who the hell do you think you are? running through them. I wake up panicked, but feeling excited and inspired. I don't want to sound New Agey or anything, but I think the energy around me is just different - I don't have that constant anxiety of test grades hanging over me, or the sense of failure that I had with science. It's this eerie sense of calm. And though I'm afraid the other shoe will drop, someone said to me that inevitably, it will, because we need both feet to keep on walking.

And to continue the New Agey stuff, ever since I made the decision to write, I've been seeing tons of butterflies and dragonflies. Everywhere. Dragonflies are a symbol of change, of transformation, as are butterflies. I'm sure there's probably a scientific reason for this, or maybe I'm just noticing them more, but it sure seems odd when I'm sitting at a stop light and a dragonfly hovers in front of my windshield.

Of course, perhaps the other shoe has already dropped. My foot surgery might be a "failed surgery". I am seeing another orthopedic surgeon for a second opinion. Needless to say, that wasn't what I wanted to hear from my physical therapist yesterday. And though I was very upset and crying and felt pretty devastated, I know in the grand scheme of things, this is minor. I have my health, my family is well, and my nephew is wondrous. What more could I ask for?

bring on the wonder.

"Bring on the wonder, bring on the song. I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long..." These lyrics from the Susan Enan song "Bring on the Wonder" have been in my head for several weeks now, but are especially appropriate lately. Anyone who reads this blog obviously knows I have been taking prerequisites. While I may love oncology and medicine, science classes do not love me. I can read an oncology textbook and understand it and explain it to you, but basic physiology and microbiology, I just can't do. My brain does not work that way, with rote memorization of endless facts. I gave it two semesters, and after less than stellar grades (and that's putting it nicely), I had to re-evaluate things. I would study and study, and be met with terrible grades....for someone who thrives on positive reinforcement and achievement, it got really demoralizing and discouraging, day after day, week after week.

I've always been a writer. When I was little, I would write stories, books, anything. I was - and am - a voracious reader, and reading and writing has always kinda been my thing. I'm good at writing. Last year, I started writing health articles for websites, and got a cancer blogging job. I've always said that I'd love to be a writer, but it just wasn't "practical". It felt self-indulgent. But as someone said to me last week, if you're not going to indulge yourself, who will?

So I have decided to focus on writing. Will it be hard? Yes. It will be incredibly financially stressful, especially in the beginning, but I have faith that it will all work out. Does this mean I am abandoning oncology and my past education? Of course not. I'm still looking for cancer research positions, and one way or another, I will remain in oncology. Who knows, maybe one day I will write a book for kids with cancer, or for parents whose child has cancer.

A large part of me was choosing nursing because it was PRACTICAL. There are tons of nursing jobs. But I wasn't passionate about it. Passionate about cancer? Yes. Nursing? No. I've been fighting being "creative" for so long, because it just seemed "flighty", or impractical, or whatever. But maybe I'm just a creative person at heart, under all this logical science stuff. I was creative as a child; we all are, to an extent -- where do we lose that, along the way? Ever since I made the decision to focus on my writing last week, I can't stop smiling when I talk about it. It's scary as hell. But in a good way. It's simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, all at the same time.

So what does this mean? I am buckling down and really focusing on producing a set number of articles each day....after all, that's my income. I'm looking for writing opportunities and research positions. And.....looking at MFA programs, so I can get a teaching job in higher education. I know you don't need an MFA to be a writer. But it helps with teaching jobs, especially at the college level, and it does open doors and facilitate connections, which is how the world works. I'm looking at a variety of programs, mostly non-fiction, including one medical-science writing one.

Right now, the MFA program doesn't feel like the be-all, end-all. I can do many things right now, and I'm keeping my options open, while still focusing on and allotting significant time to writing. I'm following my passion and talent, as ridiculous and scary as it may be. And you know what? I haven't felt this passionate, this excited, about my life in a long time. I haven't felt wonder at the possibilities like this in ages.

So life isn't turning out the way I, and many other people, thought it would. But I think it may be turning out exactly how it's supposed to.

"Show me someone not full of herself and I'll show you a hungry person." - Nikki Giovanni

women's lib....from a skirt?

When running skirts first came on the scene, I resisted them. I couldn't decide whether I liked them or hated them, and I've come to read on various message boards that that's a common sentiment among women - they love them or hate them. Yes, I love the color pink and make sure I match when I go to the gym, but I also want to be taken seriously and respected. And for some reason, I didn't see that happening with a running skirt. I (obviously) wore a skirt playing tennis throughout high school, but I didn't think it transferred over to running.

But for some reason, it just wouldn't let go. I looked at the SkirtSports website a while ago, and absolutely LOVED the Kendall Collection, since the proceeds helped a cancer charity, but honestly, the stuff is a little pricey and I couldn't see myself buying anything. But then I got a gift certificate to Fleet Feet and NC tax-free weekend is here. So not only was the skirt significantly discounted, but no tax! I settled on a black GymGirl Ultra skirt, their basic, popular model. I tried on other brands - Nike, Brooks - but they were a little short and I wanted something a little longer.

So last night I went to the gym wearing the skirt and a sleeveless Under Armor teal v-neck. Yes, part of me hoped the cute boy at the gym was working, but part of me liked how sporty but girly I looked in the skirt. I decided to try running and see how my foot felt, and let me tell you....running in a running skirt.....as cheesy as this may sound, there's something to it. The skirt swirls around your legs, you can feel it flying behind you, and you kinda feel like a little girl again, running in your dresses. But there's also something that feels slightly....empowering about it. Who says we have to deny any of our femininity in order to be taken seriously? I know, it's ONLY running. But it kind of felt like, okay, yeah, I'm wearing a skirt, but I can still kick your ass. Although, I couldn't really, being that I could only run a half mile before my foot started hurting. (and it's only 2 months and 2 days until the triathlon...). But when I was lifting weights, I found the juxtaposition amusing - me, the only girl in the weight area, wearing a skirt, doing deltoid lat raises, among these meatheads. (although, at my gym, the only meatheads are the college guys, and there aren't that many). But it gave exercise a little bit more fun, and who doesn't want that?

I think I'm a convert to the running skirt.