memories.

It's Easter. But I'm Jewish, so I don't celebrate it. But since half of my family is Roman Catholic, so we'd always go to those grandparents' house for Easter. A few weeks ago I was in CVS and found the Easter eggs my grandfather used to hide for us. They're pure sugar, but I love them. So I bought them, and just ate one, and it brought back so many memories. Memories of simpler times. Before people got cancer, before people died. My brother, my cousin, and I would run around the acre + yard and practically tackle each other to get the most Easter eggs. We would all eat our Easter candy that was overflowing from our baskets, not worrying about being fat or the calories, just trying to trade each other for the candy we loved. And then the rigatoni with the homemade "gravy", as Nana calls it. ('Cause that's the REAL Italian way).

Last week, Passover started, and I really missed being with my family. This year especially, I acutely felt the distance. I missed my grandmother's matzoh ball soup, and making latkes, and explaining the seder plate....I missed outsmarting my brother to get the Afikoman. And the yummy Passover chocolate chip bread, and the cookies....mmmmm. I especially regret that I'm not there to see my nephew during Passover and Easter. He'll be 2 on friday and I could just soak him up all day. 

I wasn't sure how I felt about the holidays this year. I believe in G-d, I have faith......but lately, I kind of think G-d's on my shitlist. And I shouldn't say that. I know I shouldn't. But when bad things happen to good people, when medicine fails, when children get sick, when dreams don't come true despite hard work....I just don't understand. Eventually I always come around and realize G-d isn't really responsible for all that, but still....I was listening to Fireflight, and there's a line in one of their songs - I think this is it - "...faith is moving without knowing...". And to a certain extent, I'm struggling with that in general, I think. My life is up in the air right now. My future has been turned upside down. Don't think that just because I go to class and the gym and do my schoolwork and dress cute that I am over the PhD failure. Don't think that for one minute. I have to fight those feelings every day, still. And I probably will until I am accepted next year (hopefully). I don't know if I will have a job. I don't know where I will live. I am running out of money soon, with not even a summer nanny job on the horizon. I really am trying to let go and believe things happen for a reason, that some sort of faith will help. 

cheating on Manhattan with Chapel Hill

I lived on this block for a year when I was at Columbia. It's the Seinfeld restaurant! They made the best egg creams. Yeah West 112th! 

Upper East Side

Self-explanatory. 

The iconic Old Well here at Carolina. 

It's so funny how two parts of me can coexist in one brain. I love, love, LOVE Chapel Hill, but also love Manhattan. They are DRASTICALLY different from one another, but I love them both. I love how I can walk to the organic co-op in my neighborhood (thank you, new urbanism) and get milk that is produced from a local farm in a glass jar. Something about that is so quaint. Wholesome. And seriously, milk from a glass jar tastes so much better. I love how the coffee girl at the market knows how I like my iced coffee. I've even grown to love the fact that so many people are regulars, that conversations are often struck up at the registers. I love how when I walk my roommate's dog, people on the bike path say hi. So do kids - they have manners here. There is an elementary school in my neighborhood, and kids ride their little bikes to school, and just park them on the grass - no chains or anything. I love how people think $800 a month rent is so expensive. In Manhattan, that'd be a steal. But whenever I get my issues of New York magazine (which is every week, I still subscribe), I find myself missing the city. I miss the noise and anonymity. I love the subway and people-watching. I love having everything at my fingertips. I love feeling like I am living on the pulse of life - trends, movies, music, fashion, everything. 

I am sure I might be idealizing my neighborhood. It's a planned community, a new-urbanist one, if you will. It's a little like Pleasantville, or Stepford, but I think that's what I love about it. It makes me feel safe and secure, and happy. Like nothing bad could happen here. It's a place I'd want to raise a family. You can't say that about Manhattan. 

Kurt Cobain, 15 years later.

Today marks the 15th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's suicide. I cannot believe it's been that long. I remember it so well. I can't believe it's been 15 years already. And he was 27 when he killed himself. That's younger than I am now, which just blows my mind. He seemed so much older at the time, but now it seems so young.....there's still so much I want to do, that I couldn't imagine my life being over. And he had a young daughter at the time - how could that not have given him pause? But, clinical depression is a scary thing, and he was using heroin, which just messes everything up, too. 

As cliched as it sounds, suicide is really a permanent solution to a temporary problem. No matter how bad things get, people care if you live. It may not feel that way, but it's true. And long after you're gone, people will still hurt because you're not there. 

If you ever find yourself in a hopeless situation, please talk to someone, anyone - a random anonymous caller on a helpline, or your pet, or just go be around people and have a cup of coffee. Reach out to a therapist, be open to medication if needed - depression is an illness, just like diabetes. There is no shame in being treated for it. 

National Hopeline Network 1-800-SUICIDE www.hopeline.com

S.A.F.E. Alternatives (Self Abuse Finally Ends) 1-800-dontcut  www.selfinjury.com

RAINN (Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network 1-800-656-HOPE www.rainn.org

here we are, at your cervix.

So, this article in the NYTimes talks about a new DNA test that could make Pap smears a thing of the past. It still requires a cervical scraping, but the sample is mixed w/various agents and read by a machine. Basically, it picks up HPV, the high-risk ones that are more likely to cause cervical cancer. People are saying this could mean a switch to getting Paps ever 3, 5, even 10 years. But what about those medical anomalies? What about those women whose Paps never show HPV but end up having cancerous conditions? I have mixed feelings about this. I don't think this is a substitute for Paps, but possibly an added test. I know it might not be cost-effective, but I'm just not sure if women are ready to feel comfortable NOT getting Paps every year. I wouldn't want to go every 3 or 5 years. Better to be safe than sorry, in my opinion. 

it's not easy being #1....but we'll take it.

I want this hat. Anyone willing to sponsor me? :) 

Well, we won the NCAA championships....I don't think anyone is too surprised. I'm glad that I'm here to see everything - I went to a Division III school for undergrad, and needless to say, no one ever HEARD of my school, let alone watched them on tv. The student body didn't really care too much about sports, honestly. So this, this school spirit that has tens of thousands of people on Franklin St right now, is completely new to me. I can't even imagine what being an undergrad here is like. 

So instead of working on my Master's Paper and studying, I went out for an amazing dinner and watched basketball. good times. Somehow, I don't think my 2 readers will appreciate that excuse. 

YEAH CAROLINA TAR HEELS!!!!! #1!!!!

when you call my name, it's like a little prayer

Marie Curie once said, Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood. I'd like to think that way, especially in oncology. But it's hard, I'm not going to lie. I have to reach down and really pull sometimes to find hope. Some days are much more difficult than others. Some days I have to pretend, until hope really does finally break through. But I wouldn't be going into the field of oncology if I didn't intrinsically have hope; this I know. 

But what happens when someone might have metastases, years and years after they've been cancer-free? How does one rationalize such an irrational event? How do you start to make sense of it? It's not fair; but then again, cancer doesn't play fair. Cancer cells don't get the message that they're supposed to die (apoptosis), they just keep replicating and invading other organs in its host. They don't really care that they're crashing a party that they'd never be invited to in the first place. And then sometimes, they'll go into hiding, and the patients' treatment team congratulates themselves for their hard work and brilliance...and then months, years, decades later, they surprise us. To paraphrase, metastasis happens. Granted, metastatic disease is not the immediate death sentence it used to be, for the most part. Yes, we can't "cure" the patient, but we can "treat" them and "keep the cancer under control" and preserve quality of life for the patient. And of course, it depends on the kind of cancer, too. 

Anyway, hearing that the lump she has might be a cyst or a metastasis....floored me. Working in oncology doesn't soften the blow any. If anything, it kind of makes news like this worse because we know what we might be up against. I am hoping it turns out to be just a cyst. Hope. Have to hold onto that. Sometimes, though, I just feel like screaming, Seriously, G-d? Can't you give me a break? Don't you think you OWE me one? But that's a whole other theological discussion. 

Studies in JAMA show that people, somehow, heal faster and more complete when they're prayed for. It doesn't even matter if the people who are praying know the people they're praying for. Somehow, prayer works sometimes. So if you have a minute, pray for the people you know and care about. You never know. 

Look to the living, love them, and hold on. - Douglas Dunn

back in the game

How can I possibly be sad when I see this face?? Slowly, very slowly, I am getting up and on with life. Am I sad? Of course. But you know what? All my life, I have not been the type of person to let others assign a value to me and I'm not going to start now. I'm going to channel my energy into writing the best damn thesis ever and prove that I would have been a kick-ass doctoral student. And I will have a thesis I am proud of, that I poured my heart and soul into. And it will be that much more gratifying, because I will know that it didn't come easily. 

I had an appt with my pcp here at Student Health today, and she knew about the whole PhD decision, etc etc. She knows me pretty well, and is very observant and intuitive. But she said something that pretty much gave me a kick in the butt and made me open my eyes. She said that things happen for a reason, and our experiences help make us who we are. And she's right, I know she is. People have said this to me before, but for some reason, today it sunk in. Maybe the world needs me out in the field right now, and I'm not supposed to be stuck in a classroom. Maybe this is teaching me persistance. Endurance. Tenacity. Maybe it is teaching me how to appreciate it more. But it really made me think hard about myself. All my life up to this point, I have not been the type of person to be easily defeated - I fight back. I speak up, I get loud. I do not go gently into that great night, so to speak. So why am I starting now? Why am I getting so defeated now? No way - I will get up, dust myself off, tend to my wounds, and get right back in there. 

As soon as I finish this latte. 

out of ashes, still I rise.....but not today.

Phoenix Rising

I am still on the metaphorical floor, trying to catch my breath from the past week. I can't believe it's been a week. The past 3 Fridays have brought rejections; I wonder what this one will bring. My rough draft of my thesis is due.....and I'm not quite there yet. Not by a long shot. So it will be a late night. It's just been a little distracting, you know, having my life plans crushed. Not that I'm bitter. 

The other day I was woken up by a phone call and my baby nephew on the phone. And he can say "Jay-jay!" Not quite "Auntie Jaime", but it's a start. And yes, it occurred to me that that's really what matters in this world, but it didn't quite take all the sting away. 

Right now, this weekend, I will allow myself to focus on little things, "trivial" things. I will get my work done and out of the way early, and I will let myself do NOTHING if I feel like it. I will lounge in sweats and read magazines. I will not tell myself I am a loser and a failure. I will remind myself that I am loved by many people in many different ways, and that I'm never really alone. I will allow myself to obsess over the new issues of Vogue and Elle. 

Now for the really important question - is it ever appropriate to wear hot pink Juicy velour sweatpants to class? And what does one wear with them? 

Anyway....I've tried to paste this YouTube video in, and I'm tired and it's not working, but click this link to hear the song I've been loving lately. It's set to the Twilight movie, but it's a song by Barlow Girl, "Never Alone". 

even Supergirl can't fly all the time.

All my life, it feels like Great Things have been expected. To whom much is given, much is expected, isn't that how the quote goes? And for the most part, I think I've delivered. Reading at 2, kindergarten at 4, graduating college by 21, and entering a clinical psychology doctoral program, ensuring that I would be a doctor by the age of 26. And then it went horribly wrong. I left clinical psychology, tried social work, returned to psychology, got an MS, and am getting my MPH in 2 months -- in a field I am finally passionate about. I've interned at HUP, worked with the LAF, interned at Memorial, lived in Manhattan for over a year -- but it all seems like nothing to me right now. It looks great on paper, doesn't it? I feel like I've worked my butt off since I was 4 years old, trying to Do Something Wonderful. When I fell into oncology 5 years ago, it seemed like it all fell into place. When I decided to either do public health or medicine, I thought to myself, I can't make a wrong decision, I love them both. And I do - I love what I do, and I'd still love to be a pediatric oncologist, although that's pretty improbable. 

I know my family is proud of me no matter what, and they try not to put any expectations on me. I am my own worst enemy - I am harder on myself than anyone could ever be. I hold myself up to near impossible standards, as do many of my friends -- I think that's a reason they're all so accomplished and amazing and wonderful. But sooner or later, even Supergirl falls from the sky.

I didn't get into UNC. Yeah, you read that right. I didn't get into the school I am ALREADY in. To say that I feel like I failed is the understatement of the year. I am hurt, angry, mortified, sad, humiliated - devastated would be an appropriate word, I guess. I had planned to possibly buy the condo I am living in, stay in my neighborhood.....and now, all of that is up in the air. I haven't heard from Columbia yet, but I am not holding my breath. Apparently, there were record numbers of applicants. I am meeting with the Chair of the department next week to discuss it. All of this does not make me feel better. So I am trying to look for jobs at UNC, Duke, NC State, RTP.....but it doesn't take the sting of failure away. It doesn't take away any of the disappointment I feel. For quite possibly the first time in my life, living in NY might not make me happy. I want to stay here, in Chapel Hill. If, by some miracle, I did get into Columbia, I guess it was meant to be. But I am still waiting. I never saw the MPH as my end goal -- it was supposed to be a stepping stone to the PhD. Right now, there is no joy in this degree. I know how that sounds, and I'm sorry. But right now, it's how I feel.

No one can say anything that will make me feel better right now. I have to figure this out on my own. This has completely floored me. But sooner or later, I know I'll get up off the floor. But not today.

"...Then, when it seems like we will never smile again, life comes back." - Source Unknown

one year later.

I turned in the first couple pages of my thesis last night, and I have LOTS of work to do. It's so completely overwhelming. My topic has evolved once more, and now it is: Second Malignancies in Survivors of Childhood Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, Hodgkin Lymphoma, and non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. wooo!! fun. 

I got rejected from the PhD program that I applied to at Hopkins. I was pretty bummed. Honestly, I cried like a baby when I got the rejection letter. I'm hoping I get better news soon. Very soon. 

On a more serious note, tomorrow, March 5, marks the one year anniversary of Eve Carson's murder. I don't know why she has struck a chord with me for some reason. Maybe because it's Chapel Hill, where nothing ever happens, and it could have been anyone. Maybe because her vibrant, full life is in sharp contrast with her violent, lonely death. But this time last year, she was probably doing homework, emailing friends, talking on the phone - not knowing that in a few hours, she'd be taken from her house, held at gunpoint, and according to new documents, be tortured and physically abused, and finally, killed in the middle of an intersection. She had no idea that her spring break plans would never happen, or that she wouldn't be in class on March 5. I guess the psychologist in me wonders about her roommates, how they are holding up, and the daughter, the human in me wonders about her parents and brother. I often think about them, and what their life has been like since receiving that phone call. I think of what must have been going through her mind when she was taken - if she knew in her heart that she wouldn't make it back home, or if she truly believed they would let her go. I think of how scared she must have been, but also how brave she was to run. It is all truly beyond the scope of my brain. It doesn't seem real, still, in some weird way. The violence contrasts so much with my view of Chapel Hill, with the life I have created here. The fact that we got an email on March 5, notifying us about an unidentified female's body that was found -- as one of my friends said over lunch that day, "This is like, if your roommate didn't come home last night, you'd better call us....." But none of us really thought it was a UNC student....things like that don't happen here....yeah. 

But on March 5, I think Eve should be remembered for a life richly lived. I read about her and I am in awe of how much living, how much life she lived in her 22 years. She was truly present in her life, and incredibly giving and accomplished. I think it would do us all good to remember that lesson - that life is meant to be lived, because no one ever promised us tomorrow. 

This is one of the last, if not last, pictures of Eve, taken 2 days before her murder. 

I wish her family and friends strength and love and resilience, and I hope they find some solace in knowing that while she was alive, she truly did live. 

"Study hard and work hard. Play hard. Keep an open mind. Take pride in yourself, in your school, in what you produce and the way you help others. If you make mistakes, make sure you learn from them, and never give up -- stay strong to the finish." -- Eve Marie Carson