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.