the language of love

So it's official, I am Jaime, MS, MPH. 3 more letters after my name. But I just haven't been able to muster up the excitement everyone expects me to feel about this. In many ways, I could care less. Even though I definitely worked my ass off for the past 2 years, I don't feel satisfied. I got an H (high pass) on my Master's Paper, which was great, but at the same time, it leaves me wondering, then why the hell did I get a less-than-stellar rec letter, if my research skills are clearly great? Anyway. 

Now I have a phone interview this week with Memorial Sloan-Kettering, an interview here at UNC, in Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, and I plan on applying for a Student Wellness Coordinator position at the University of San Diego. I don't want to live in Cali, but the interview would be great experience. And who knows, maybe the salary would be pleasantly surprising. I'm running on very high energy right now, mainly fueled by anxiety about money, rent, job, etc. And my nephew. 

It's obvious I adore my nephew. I love him as if he were my own. I never knew it was possible to love this much. And every time I think my heart is at capacity, he manages to stretch it a little more. But something is wrong. And even as I write that, I hate those words, because nothing is wrong with Trey. He is wonderful. He is perfect to me. But he isn't talking. He is 25 months old and if he has 10 poorly articulated words, that is a lot. At this age, kids are supposed to have 50 - 70 words, and are supposed to be putting 2 word phrases together. He is not. He needs to be prodded to speak. His receptive language is wonderful -- he understands absolutely everything you say, and doesn't miss a thing. He is outgoing and social, and physically demonstrative with affection. It's just his expressive language is a bit underdeveloped and/or delayed. As someone who (thankfully) has never had to struggle with learning or anything like that, this breaks my heart. It breaks my heart because I don't want anything - anything - to be difficult for my baby nephew. (Yes, at 2, he is still my baby nephew). I don't want him to have to struggle with anything at such a young age. He is such a kind, happy little boy, with a heart so big I don't know how anything else manages to fit in his tiny body. I know boys tend to mature and develop slower than girls, and this isn't THAT uncommon. But I can't help but worry about him, and I wish I could make everything okay. He will be okay, this I know - I just want to make things easier for him. 

texas toast and texting

Me and my favorite boys. 

It can be so easy to forget the connections we have with other people, maybe because of distance, or time, or lack of communication.....but they're always there. And sometimes, a reminder comes right when we need it most. 

Today I was in the supermarket, and being that my last paycheck was mailed on thursday, and I haven't received it yet, I was really down. (our last paycheck isn't directly deposited, for some unknown reason). So I was trolling the aisles, looking for something familiar to eat that would bring some comfort. And for some reason, I found myself in the frozen food section, staring at Texas toast. Now, for those of you who don't know what this is, let me explain. Because before fall of 2006, I had no idea, either. It's thick garlic bread-type slices of bread, with a yummy mix of butter, garlic, and cheese on top. It is SO good, and SO bad for you. But I had never really eaten it before, until I babysat for Jonel and Michael. The boys loved it, so I would make it for them. So I grabbed a box of it today, and had 3 slices for lunch. As I was heating it up, the toaster oven smelled like it was burning, and I thought back to one of my first days nannying - if not the first day - when I nearly set their kitchen on fire trying to make the damn Texas toast. So I sent Michael a text today about texas toast, and hours later, I get this text back: Remember during your training when it caught fire and we put the toaster oven outside on the bricks? the boys still tell that story. Sad, but true. We had to put the toaster oven outside because it was smoking and everything. Great first impression, huh? I think I took care of that when C got a bloody nose from B going down the slide the first day I met the kids. I'm sure this just added to my Mary Poppins persona. So I texted back that by the end of my time with them, I became a good cook, thanks to them.....and get this text back: Good is one of those relative, subjective terms. Ha ha, point taken, Michael. In all seriousness, I did learn how to cook lots of stuff. And I have many good memories of kitchen lessons and mishaps. But seriously, today was one of those days where I felt very un-anchored, very....not quite homesick, because this is my home now, but I wished that more people I knew were down here, instead of up North. And getting that text made my day. Even if it did highlight my lack of cooking expertise. 

And it just reminded me, that even when we don't think so, we are always tied to those we care about. Maybe when we feel least connected, is when we need to remind ourselves that we are more connected than we know. I've blogged before about how lucky I am to know this family - and even now, when I didn't get into UNC, Jonel was the first person, besides my grandparents and my parents, to find out - and one of the few who saw me in tears over it. During the NCAA tournament, I was waging bets with Chase and Jonel over who would win.....btw, I think I'm owed a cocktail! ;)  In the midst of all this uncertainty of jobs and graduation and moving, this was something that grounded me. Thanks, guys. 

Stage IV

I guess since I'm all done with classes and I'm being lazy, I'll probably blog a lot more. Plus, a lot has been on my mind this semester and I just haven't had the time to write as much as I wanted to. Last week I turned in my Master's Paper, and it got to the point where I was like, enough with the damn cancer. But at the same time, I love oncology. I struggle to find that balance, of loving my work but not letting it consume me and define me. I also struggle with finding hope on a daily basis, in oncology. Are we making strides? Yes. But there is still so much pain and hurt and suffering in it. Adolescents and young adults are the ONLY age group in which cancer survival rates have not increased. 1 in 8 women will still get breast cancer in her lifetime. We still put people through living hell for a bone marrow/stem-cell transplant. Kids still die. Which leads me to this....A good friend of mine, whom I met through the Lance Armstrong Foundation's Summit, was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer, after being cancer free for 17 years. Stage IV. There is no stage V. We cannot cure stage IV breast cancer, only control it. While I am so glad to be there for her, since many people who aren't in the field don't like talking about cancer so candidly (she's also in the field), sometimes it is also hard for me to hear her say things like, "Only about 15% of Stage IV breast cancer patients are alive 5 years after diagnosis", or "My doctor said he's basically buying me time for a few years, and hopefully there'll be something new out." Excuse my language, but fuck that shit. This is 2009. I should not be having this conversation. We need better ways of treating "terminal" cancers, better ways of everything with this. I can't even form thoughts in a coherent way when I think about this, because it's so different than anything I've dealt with. Ever. She's only 54. She should die in her 90s, of old age. Not be on chemopreventative drugs and radiation for the rest of her life. How do we, as people in oncology, as advocates, as physicians, as therapists, help these patients and their families and friends and loved ones? Why is Stage IV cancer still so damn scary? Don't give me lines like 'we have tamoxifen and herceptin and arimidex and aromasin...' - I'm fully aware of what the options are. I'm also fully aware that they might stop working in women, that this does not replace a cure, or better treatments that give better quality of life and aren't so damaging to other parts of the body. 

As someone in the oncology field, I'm not immune to the terror that goes through your veins when you hear Stage IV. I, too, have avoided thinking about Stage IV patients and what it means in general.....until now. That was before. This is after. After is about trying to find a kernel of hope and wrapping it in my fist, hoping it doesn't slip through my fingers. After is about listening to my friend and her fears and concerns, even if it means I get off the phone and cry. And after is definitely about not giving up in oncology, and being part of the change that I hope is on the horizon.

finding a shade of gray

I think we've established who this is, from the million other pics I've posted of him. But isn't he the most adorable thing you've ever seen???

I am someone who thinks in black and white terms. Shades of grey are not typical for me. I think in all-or-nothing terms, usually. This can be good and bad. I think this kind of thinking is typical for driven, high-achieving people, but it can also make me my own worst enemy. I know this. But I was talking with my pcp here today at school, and she's like me - very black and white, etc. - and she said maybe I have to rearrange my thinking. And I know she's right. We talked about this some more, about why I want a PhD, etc, and I know that I have to seek out the gray areas. And I know it's not just black/white/gray; there are gradations of color all around me. Have I finally accepted that I will not be in a PhD program this year? Yes. Does that make me feel like any less of a failure? No, not right now. Maybe I just need time. 

In other news, I have a new family I am nannying for....and they live in my neighborhood, which is super convenient. He's a single dad, a peds cardiologist, with 2 kids, ages 9 and 11. These kids are so wonderful -- they are so mannerly and sweet; I love watching them. The 11 year old, the girl, K, cracks me up. She's so mature for her age and says the funniest things. C, the 9 year old boy, is a sweetheart and really funny. Last week I babysat overnight (b/c the dad is in the hospital on call) twice, and had a blast. We saw a movie the first night, came back and had dinner, then played basketball outside and did some homework and watched SNL, the second night I took them to lacrosse practice and did the soccer-mom type thing, and then went out for dinner. They're smart, sensitive kids. Their parents are divorced, and I know what that's like, so that broke the ice a little bit. I love taking care of children. I don't know why I love it so much. It just feels natural. Sometimes I feel like I relate better to them than adults! Children soften me, I think, which probably adds to why I love babysitting. And as crazy as this might sound, I truly do love each and every kid I babysit. I have to, in order to do my job well. Kids are amazing. They have this way of looking at the world that is so simple it makes sense in its innocence. They show affection freely and without reserve. Life is full of excitement for them. I like being around that -- it reminds me what is really important in life sometimes, and renews my faith in the goodness of people. 

About a week and a half ago, my friend Lauren's friend, Jaclyn, came to town to do a reading of her new book, Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World without Rape, and I was lucky enough to meet Jaclyn and go to dinner with her afterwards. Let me tell you, if you have not read this book, go to the bookstore NOW, and read it. It is a collection of essays and each one is so uniquely interesting and thought-provoking. I'm going to put an excerpt from Jaclyn's essay, "In Defense of Going Wild..." -- it's probably my favorite essay of the bunch, but all of them are excellent. 

I am one of Those Girls.

I have taken my shirt (and occasionally more) off for an audience. Sometimes to make a political point. Sometimes just because somebody asked. But almost always for the sheer pleasure of it, for the thrill of sexual power that comes from holding a room in your thrall....Wild sexual behavior is risky at best and stupid at worst, right?

Right?

No. Of course not. Stupid is nowhere near the worst. If you're a woman, wild sexual behavior is downright fucking dangerous. Not only can you "get yourself " raped, but you're also damn likely to find yourself blamed for it. After all, you should have known better. 

I'm over the whole thing. Start to finish. And I hereby declare my right to be wild and still maintain my bodily autonomy. 

Look, life is full of "stupid". Bungee jumping is stupid. Playing football is stupid. Running for president (even student body president) is stupid. Riding a motorcycle is stupid. Public speaking is stupid. Falling in love is stupid. Writing this essay is stupid. They're all likely to end in heartbreak, embarassment, injury, or all of the above. But nobody except your mother is likely to try to talk you out of doing them, and no one, including your mother, is going to blame you or deny you the assistance you need to recover if, in the course of doing them, another person physically assaults you. 

And there's the rub: risks are inherent in any behavior....But rape is not a risk inherent in partying or in "wild" sexual behavior. 

I'll repeat that: Rape is NOT a risk inherent in unregulated partying or sexual behavior. Need proof? Consider this: it's not a risk for nearly half the population. I've never met a straight man whow worried about being raped as he contemplated a night of debauchery. Vomiting in public? Yes. Getting rejected by sexual prospects? Sure. Getting in a fight? Maybe. Getting raped? Come on. ........

.....And yet it's true: women and girls can keep ourselves safe using our very own bodies. No pepper spray. No whistles. Even women who don't work out, or are "overweight" or physically impaired. If we spent even a fraction of the time we use to teach girls to fear for their bodies, teaching them to use their bodies for their own protection instead, there'd be a hell of a lot less for any of us to worry about. Because the most practical way to reduce the risk of rape for all women is to create a culture in which the rapist has to worry that he'll get hurt. 

Will any of this work 100 percent of the time? Nope. Again: life is risk. But this kind of complex message gives women real choices. Equipping them with the information and tools they need to protect themselves, and then trusting them to make their own decisions, will work a heck of a lot better than knowing less and living in fear. And it will give every woman a fighting chance at a world where she can go out and get a little crazy sometimes if she wants to. Where she can dance and drink and flirt and fool around because it feels good. A world where her pleasure is actually important. That's the world I'm living in. Care to join me?

There is so much good stuff in this book that I could keep writing....so just go to the bookstore and buy it. Please. These are fresh, young, diverse voices that have the power to change the way we see things.  

pomp and circumstance. or not.

I am done my Master's Paper, turning it in tomorrow, and tomorrow is my last real day of classes. I have a sports medicine class on monday, but that's it. My MPH is over. I had my exit interview today, and I didn't hold back....for the most part. The truth is yes, in many ways, I am disappointed in my department for many reasons, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love Carolina and Chapel Hill, I have met some truly amazing and wonderful people, and I did learn a lot -- just not in the classroom. Most of the important things that I learned, I learned from my friends and their work experiences. I learned about rural health from Regina, LGBTIQ issues from Lauren, international issues from numerous people in my cohort, and just simply talking with other people who have differing opinions and viewpoints was a learning opportunity. THAT is what I am taking with me. That is what I love most about my program. That is what I will miss.

I was asked if I was going to go to graduation, and the answer is no. I was asked whether it was out of principle or if it conflicted with something else, and I answered honestly - out of principle. But not the principle people might think. Honestly, yes, at first, it was mortification about walking in front of the HBHE people who voted against me. But it's become more. I feel betrayed by my department a little bit - I got more support and better recommendations from those NOT in my department. I got more guidance from people in other departments and people not even in SPH. To be brutally honest, even my PCP at student health showed more interest in my career plans and gave more emotional encouragement than anyone in my department. I mean, hell, I'm under orders from her to email her about jobs when I hear *anything*, and she also had wanted me to email her each time I heard from a PhD program. If I sound bitter, I'm not. I'm being honest. I know that no graduate program is perfect. I love UNC, and most of the people in my department. Would I have applied to HBHE instead 2 years ago, if I knew then what I know now? Possibly. But I would, in the end, not trade this experience for anything. Like I told my advisor today, I have gained things from the past 2 years that no one can teach in a classroom, but more importantly, no one can take away. I have gained self-reliance, I know more about who I am and what I stand for, and I've learned that sometimes, speaking up isn't popular, but necessary. I've learned resilience and perserverance, gained some confidence about my abilities, and become more secure with myself. The past 2 years have reaffirmed my interest in oncology, and has shown me how much I still need to learn. The best summer of my life came out of being at UNC.

But all that aside, another reason I am not going to graduation is because, even now, weeks later, I am not happy with the MPH, knowing this is it for now. This was not my plan. This is not how it was supposed to be. I'm sure you're all sick of reading about this and hearing it, but let me have this for now. The PhD has been a general goal of mine since undergrad, and once I found psychosocial oncology, I love the field so much and am so passionate about it, that I wasn't going to settle for anything less than a PhD, so I could fulfill my goals. There is no joy in this degree right now. I am still very, very disappointed with myself, and very angry at myself. I still feel like I failed, every day. When you've wanted something so badly for so long, and planned your life around it, it's devastating when things go wrong. I am not "over it" yet, and probably won't be fully vindicated until I get into a PhD program, hopefully next year. I cannot sit there at graduation and be proud of myself right now. I don't want my family to celebrate this, because I'm not celebrating anything. 

Columbine, revisited.

Monday, April 20, marked the ten-year anniversary of the Columbine High School shootings. I remember that day so well. I was a freshman in college, and saw students being interviewed on tv -- and realized, belatedly, that I recognized my distant cousin being interviewed, because she went there. I remember the candlelight vigil held that night, and everyone trying to wrap their heads around it. When I was in high school, this was unimaginable. We were able to come and go as we pleased, no one needed to wear an ID, the doors weren't locked to the outside, bags weren't searched.....we were safe. We felt safe. We were safe. I look back and see it as such an innocent time. I graduated high school right before all these school shootings happened, and it really was a different time back then. Even when I was in college, I never ever gave thought to the idea that a shooting could take place on my college campus. I mean, who does that? It was inconceivable. Is bullying getting worse? Are we getting more violent as a culture? Are we getting angrier, meaner? Are we becoming less tolerant, rather than more accepting? Or are more students daring to be themselves and are getting bullied because of it? Is mental illness increasing among teens? It could be none or all of these, but more likely a confluent mix. I can't believe it was 10 years ago. I was 18. Many of the kids who were shot were my age, or close to it. They would be adults now, possibly starting families or careers. And yet because of two young boys who cold-bloodedly hunted students down and taunted them before killing them, they're not here today - and their parents have that pain every day.

What's happening in our world?

a reminder.

My friend David, a pediatric oncologist at Hopkins (his blog is on my blogroll), posted this video. He wrote that sometimes, we need to be reminded why we do what we do. And he's right. Sometimes, especially lately, with my thesis, I ask myself time and time again, what the hell am I doing? Can I really stand to watch children get sick and not save them? I'm not even a peds onc; why am I still doing this? And I have to keep reminding myself why I do it, why I love it, and who pushes me to this. Lately I've been having thoughts like cancer just really sucks. People die. Good people die from it. Good people get really sick, get Stage IV cancer, and can't be cured. And I don't have answers to any of this. I wish I did. But then I watch a video like this and think, okay, maybe it will be okay. 

cute pictures of my cute nephew.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Trey!!

My brother Brad and Trey, opening up gifts. So cute. 

I love this. 

Making Easter cookies!

Dyeing Easter Eggs!

These are pics that I just couldn't help downloading. I wish I could be there for Trey's second birthday. I miss him lots. He's like, this....person now. I talked to him on the phone this morning and it was just the best thing to wake up to -- a little voice saying, "hiiiiii". The next time I see him I am going to scoop him up in a giant hug and tell him how much his aunt has missed him!!

Love you boo!!!!!!

a letter to my nephew for his second birthday.

My adorable nephew, who turns 2 tomorrow!

Two years ago today, it was snowing in NJ in the morning and they were calling a state of emergency. Two years ago today a gunman went into an auditorium and proceeded to carry on the largest college school shooting in history. It was unthinkable. We heard stories of dead students being carried out, their cell phones ringing because their families were calling them to make sure they were okay. Two years ago today, I got my tax refund, and proceeded to go to J.Crew, the Apple store, and Borders. And it was two years ago today that my brother's then-girlfriend went into labor. It was a long labor, obviously. I spent the night at the hospital to support my brother....it was an interesting night. And two years ago tomorrow, I met the best thing that's ever come into my life. 

Dear Trey,

My sweet, sweet nephew. I cannot believe you will be two. Where has the time gone? I wish I could be there more with you, but I love talking on the phone with you and the cell phone pictures your mommy sends me. I remember you when you were born, and my heart was yours as soon as I saw you. I couldn't believe this person was my nephew, that I was an aunt. It was the most exciting day of my life. 

Watching you grow into an actual person has been magical. You were always a happy, smiley baby, and that hasn't changed. Your smile melts hearts and breaks down barriers. Your laugh is infectious, and your kisses are full of love. You are so giving with your affection that I marvel at you sometimes. In the past year, you've learned to walk, say a few words, and become your own person. Sometimes I look at you, and I swear I see your daddy in front of me. When he was your age, and a little boy, he looked just like you. It's amazing. I love the tiny surprises you bring to my life, like when you busted out with dancing in your car seat to Britney Spears' "Circus". Who knew you were a fan! I love the way you hold munchkins in your hand, just carrying them around with you, until I break off a little piece and let you eat it. I love the way you make my family happy. 

I have a nearly 2 minute message from you on my cell phone, just repeating "hi" in all sorts of ways. Do you know how many times I've listened to that, to brighten my day? You remind me what's important to me, and what I love. I knew I would love being an aunt, but I didn't know how consuming love for a little kid can be....I mean, I love the kids I babysit, but you are my blood. I look at you and I hope you have all the opportunities in the world. I hope you are loved and protected and cared for always, and I hope you develop resilience and passion along the way. I hope you know how many people love you -- a whole village, baby -- your mommy's family and your daddy's family.....there is no shortage of people who adore you. I hope you are able to carry this love with you in your heart and return to it when times get difficult. I hope you stand up for what you believe in, and don't let anyone else determine your worth. I hope you cultivate your sensitive spirit, and always lend a hand to those in need. 

Trey, I don't even have the words anymore for what I want to say. I wish I could be there this year for your birthday, and I'm very sad that I'll be in NC. The past 2 years have been such a huge learning experience, of the heart and of the soul. I can never give you what you have given me. I am so proud to be your aunt. 

Love you boo.

Love,

Aunt Jaime

what's in your bag?

Okay, so I don't know about anyone else, but I like to procrastinate by browsing the Internet. And lately I've become obsessed with Timbuk2 bags, and gone on flickr to see different color combinations. And there's this thing called "what's in your bag?" where people photograph what's in their bag. And share it with the world. So, wanting to not write my Master's Paper, I decided I would do that. 

So. Obviously, that's my medium Timbuk2 bag, in grey and scarlet. Funny, but I didn't realize until I got home that those are my undergrad's colors. Ironic. Then there's my Sharsheret folder that contains all my work on my reproductive health policy paper, my Vera Bradley little bag that holds some good luck charms, and some TWLOHA promo stuff. Next to that is my Crabtree & Evelyn Nantucket Briar hand lotion, my inhaler, and custom made calling cards. Then there's my mesh cosmetics pouch that has about 4 lip balms, a lip gloss, powder, and a lipstick. Above that is my patchwork Vineyard Vines folder that has all my Peds Pharmacy schoolwork in it, a library book on breast cancer/feminist views on the post-surgical body, a bottle of Advil, an iPhone that I use as an iPod, and the current book I'm reading - "How Starbucks Saved My Life". There's a card I recently got from my uber-cool friend Jessi in Cali that I carry with me to cheer me up, my MSKCC lanyard for luck (yes, I'm a nerd), a whole bunch of pens and highlighters - I am fanatical about pens and highlighters. This is just a sampling of how many I really have in my bag. There's my bus schedule, a foil packet of Sudafed, my pink Kate Spade wallet, purple iPod nano, Carolina planner, my BlackBerry, and my Life is Good Nalgene bottle. 

Usually I'll also have some sort of coffee/soda, too. Good times.