Time Capsules

As a child I was obsessed with time capsules. I buried them probably every week for a month. I would make little maps and swear to myself that I wouldn't dig them up for years. But each time, after a mere few days I would find myself digging them up- fearing that they had somehow changed or were no longer there. The only one I left buried I ironically cannot find now because the landscape of my mother's backyard has changed. My swing set, which I always used as my main marker because I assumed it would be there like my father who installed it but unfortunately neither is there any longer. My father died when I was 18 and my swing set came down shortly there after. Even the indents in the ground that showcase where the legs of the swing set had once been have long been filled and grass grown over. My hopes of finding this lost time capsule are all but nonexistent.

I started writing this blog as I sat in the ER waiting room. Once I went back to the room where they kept my mother, she was the child and I the adult. I was not comfortable with this switch. When we become the caretakers of our ailing parents, it's a special kind of heartbreak. When I followed the ambulance to the hospital, I was sure to put my sunglasses on so that my mother wouldn't be able to see me crying through the windows. I was glad I did when we were in the ER and she asked me if I could see her waving. I couldn't because they had the American flag painted on the outside of the windows for patient privacy. I was glad I had the foresight to hide my tears. My mother was very apologetic as it was, she didn't need to worry about me. My mom apologized for being sick and for ruining my evening, as though there was anywhere more important for me to be.

As the time dragged on and we weren't getting any answers from the hospital staff I began to feel as helpless as the child who buried those time capsules. And then I started to get angry. Having to hunt down hospital staff is one of my least favorite activities and yet one I find myself doing frequently at this particular hospital(my sister spends a lot of time in the hospital). Waiting for 2 hours to have an IV put in after the doctor requested it is unacceptable in my world especially since my mom was dehydrated when she came in. But at least having someone to track down and being slightly murderous kept me from having to dwell on my Mom being in the hospital. Having only one parent left, and her being the most important person in your life, makes one a little panic stricken. My mom was often my only playmate growing up (at least the only human one). I couldn't imagine living in a world without her and the knowledge that one day I will have to isn't something I can even bare thinking about.

One thing that I was extremely touch by were the friends both old and new who were willing to come and sit with me at the hospital. And my wonderful roommate who brought me food when I had been at the hospital for six hours and was desperately hungry. My anger level also went down once I ate. The moral of this story is if I am ever really angry, feed me and I will no longer be murderous. Who knew those Snicker's commercials were right?

A little Notoriety

Much to my delight this blog has been highlighted as NEPA's blog of the week and featured on PA LIVE! Here are the links to both the short write up and the video clip that aired on Tuesday April 22nd. Video that aired

The write up

A Feminists Adventures in Bro-dom Take 2

Any tomboy will tell you, boys play rough. Well, when boys grow into men, they still play rough. And while I wouldn't categorize myself growing up as a tomboy, I certainly learned and liked to play rough. Most of my guy friends are around the 6 foot mark. I am 5'2 1/2, THE HALF MATTERS! Ask any short person and be sure that on legal documents I round up! Now let me dial down my crazy. Because I'm generally close to a foot shorter than the guys I tend to be the perfect size to try and throw into a snow bank or pool depending on the season. Obviously they do this out of jest and not as a means to try and injury me. I am not treated as though I am a breakable doll. And honestly, if they tried to I would probably actively physically annoying and taunt them until I broke them of such a habit. I find physical humor hilarious, which explains my love of pro wrestling. (I know, I know. Boo. Hiss.)

One thing that has backfired on me however is that along with being taller than me, the guys tend to outweigh me significantly. This is not to say that they're a bunch of fatties. Muscle and bone weigh more than fat after all and believe me, it feels like a ton when it is crushing down on you let's say after your cousin has stuffed you in a laundry hamper or your friend is sitting on your chest cavity. Something that I know first hand.....

Around two month ago I was hanging out with some friends, having a couple drinks and playing Just Dance. Don't let anyone tell you that Just Dance isn't fun. I don't care who you are, if you have functioning legs it's the bomb! Anyway, at one point my one friend Tim had picked me up and thrown me on a couch and sat his fanny on my abdomen. It was funny, we were laughing. Another friend-Vin- sat on top of Tim, who had been attempting to stand up. Vin then started to bounce. The 400+ lbs bouncing on my internal organs and ribs was no longer amusing. I couldn't breath. Unfortunately, only Tim could hear me say this and it took him what felt like minutes, although it was most likely half a minute, to get Vin to stop bouncing on us and to get up.

My body and brain were in complete panic mode. And once they were off of me, while I wasn't in pain any longer, I couldn't stop the tears. I only had maybe only one of two tears escape but I felt completely embarrassed and stupid at the same time. I especially didn't want Tim to feel bad because it wasn't his fault and I knew it was a joke, it just went wrong. No one had meant to hurt/scare me, accidents happen. But more than anything else, I didn't want them to view me differently or to be afraid to rough house with me. When I reviewed these thoughts it caught me as strange that I was worried I had violated some kind of unspoken pack that if I wanted to hangout with the boys and be treated equally that I had better not cry.

Women and girls always are put under this pressure to not cry. Men are too and that pisses me off just as much but the reasons that both are shamed for their tears is because they are acting like "little girls". As though little girls are deficient in some way. At least little girls are allowed to cry whereas little boys are not. Males are chastised from birth into adulthood for crying. One of my guy friends from high school told me he refuses to let his  2 year old son to cry. Whenever he starts crying his father yells at him "Hey! Boys don't cry!" I calmly as possible reminded him that I have vivid memories of him crying well into our 20s. And added in that he is basically attempting to turn his son into a sociopath. He laughed. I wasn't amused.

Most of my guy friends are NOT like that I would like to think. My friends that squished my organs haven't really treated me differently. However, Tim did make the comment about a week ago that I cry "at the drop of a hat". I reminded him that we have been friends for almost a decade and in that time he has seen me cry twice: once at my father's funeral and then the night of the organ crushing. I would like to think that my generation is rising above the prejudices of the past. But what I see in the media doesn't seem to support this.

Life Overhaul

In the past month, while I have not been updating this blog, I have moved, started a new job and run my first half marathon as well as started a new romantic relationship. 2014 has been a year of change for me and all positive changes. This has been a rather exciting and crazy time in my life, especially since with my new job I can now  take classes for free. I love learning. I always have. My desire to constantly be learning, for life not to be stagnate is something that I can recall feeling for my entire life.

I started school when I was four years old. My mother enrolled me early in Kindergarten because whenever I would see a school bus go by I would start to cry. This was not solely based on a desire to learn. I also wanted to make friends and I knew that kids made friends at school. To say that I am a social person would probably be an understatement. I love people. I believe that all people have the potential to be good. This amazes most people when they realize that I have worked with anti human trafficking organizations as well as with parents who by no means should have children. I have seen some of the worst parts of humanity and I still believe that people, as a whole, are good. It is this belief and my social personality that have found me at my current job. I work enrolling students in school who otherwise may not be able to attain an education. Talking to people who want to better themselves or provide a better life for their families makes talking to the people who want to rip my head off over the phone worth it.

My new apartment still doesn't have internet. We are paying for internet but there is something with the modem or router that is not allowing us to connect. I let my roommate handle that, since that's what her degree is in. We have a deal: I don't touch that technology and she doesn't touch the plants. Usually this agreement allows both the flourish and go about their natural functions.

Running the half marathon was a new experience to say the least. About 3 years ago I injured my knee bad enough that it landed me in physical therapy for 3 months. They told me then that running was a thing of my past, as well as yoga and other things that I loved. I decided I wasn't going to settle for that answer. I was 24 at the time and the idea of being told "no you can't ___ anymore" was not something I was going to be satisfied with. It took me years to build up the strength in my knee but I found when I started to run and do kickboxing the pain I felt in my knee all but disappeared completely. I no longer even feel the need to wear my knee brace. This is not to say that everyone should follow my example. All injuries are different. I also had a chiropractor who told me that my plans were definitely doable. And I will admit I was one of the last 500 people to finish race but I did finish. And I have a sweet ass medal to prove it.

Change is scary. But I have never felt better mentally, physically and emotionally in my life. I regret nothing I have done this year. And I look forward to conquering new challenges that come my way!

*update

Sorry everyone.  I just moved and I do not have Internet. I am hoping by the end of the week I will have Internet. Again my apologies.

Be The Match

Like some of you, I listen to Kidd Kraddick in the morning on my way to work. During their I have a dream segment/contest in Feburary, someone wrote in about how her cousin found out she had 4 days to live because of a rare form of cancer. She started treatment and was lucky enough to find a bone marrow donor quickly. The cousin wanted to connect her cousin Katie with the donor who saved her life, Thomas. Thomas lives in Germany and while the two had exchanged emails they had never talked on the phone or met. Kidd Kraddick in the morning flew Thomas to the US to meet Katie and her two young children. The show was obviously very emotional so much so that I was moved to sign up to become a potential donor.

I signed up at bethematch.org and they ask you some questions making sure you are healthy. Two weeks later you receive a kit in the mail to swab your cheek, you send it back and you are then added to the donor registry. The registry is international, so you could be a match for anyone in the world, just like Thomas (Germany) and Katie (US). Once you are in the registry you are contacted only if they find a match for your marrow. As a potential donor you can decline for whatever reason (pregnancy for women is an example). But if you do go through with your donation you literally save a life with mild inconvenience to yourself. You can also stay anonymous if you prefer. 

We never really think about mine marrow transplants unless someone we know needs a transplant. I'm sure many people assume that if someone needs a transplant that someone in their family will be a match but unfortunately that is not always the case. For example, Katie's sister was not a match her. The choice to join the registry was easy for me because I thought about if my Mom needed a transplant and how I would feel if she didn't have a donor. I realized that I could potentially keep someone from losing a loved one. We take so much for granted while we are healthy. Why not pay it forward and potentially save a life when we are healthy?