Shift in the Wind

I know I have been an absolutely horrible blogger as of late.  And I know I probably say that every time.  BUT SERIOUSLY!!!  I mean it.  So, needless to say, I have a lot to mention....

I'm going to talk about the boring stuff first, so just bear with me and then I'll talk about my exciting news!!!  I've been diagnosed with Lupus (SLE).  I didn't think it would hurt me as badly as it did, but I was really struck down by it.  I may still be a bit annoyed with the whole thing, but what can I do about it.  At least I have answers when some people don't even have those!  Also, I've been put on umpteen million meds for it, so I guess we will see how those take effect.  I think I"m in a huge flare considering I can't do anything to get myself comfortable.  I feel like I have the flu, only not really.  It feels worse.  And it feels worse every day.  I try to remember, people's worst day of being sick with the flu is my good day.  There are worse days, but never better days.  So, my normal day becomes a good day.  That probably made no sense whatsoever, but there.  I couldn't sleep last night.  I kept waking up in pain and tossing and turning to get uncomfortable (because I was never comfortable).  I won't even go through everything that hurts because I'd never get to the good stuff!!!  SO.....I'm worried about keeping my job, since my body is always sick to work......Anyhow......

A much better topic....Things with Nichole (my fiance) and I have been extremely good.  She has moved in with me and the adjustment has gone quite well.  The families are beginning to adjust, but it seems like no talk is better than any talk.  My relationship with my mom is improving, which is awesome.  Other than that, things with the family are pretty good.  Charlie Triton (the Dragonscale Beta Fish) is doing quite awesome, though he might be on fishy-crack.  And Ashes Cadberry and Emily are doing quite well (the bunnies).  They made the move quick and easy.  ALTHOUGH......All of the animals' homes need to be cleaned, which means the mommies better get to work!!!  ;)

SPEAKING OF WORK....I think I have finally figured out what I want to aim for in my professional life.  I want to be a school nurse.  Now, for those of you who have followed me from the beginning when I was in music education....then communication....then ministry process....then creative writing......then english education........YES...I know.  The average college student changes their major 5 times.  I (technically) have only changed in twice and now a third time.  BUT...I highly doubt I'll be changing it again.  Why?

I love kids.

I love helping people.

I love educating people.

Ever since I was little, I considered myself a teacher.  So, growing up....I was always the teacher, but the side of me that was always kept secret was the "mom" side of me.  I'm the one who wants to take care of you when you're sick and clean up your vomit so it doesn't cause more to spew out of your mouth.  (Yes, I had to make that a vivid description.)  I'm the one who can look into your eyes to know how you truly feel.  But more than that, I love to talk to people about health issues, be it anything.  I also have this skill of being able to communicate something to someone even if I may not be completely passionate about the topic...I am passionate about education though.  And I want that child who just wants their mommy for their sick tummy or that child who deals with pain every day to be able to come to me for help.  And I want to talk to classes about sexuality (yes, a major thing in schools right now) and their own health.  Perhaps I'm crazy.

I've pushed the sciences away for so long because I thought I was more into the side of things that were humane and nurturing...little did I realize I was pushing away the very thing that I should be doing.  A long time ago, I was told that I just wanted to help people....and however I did that and whenever I did that was up to me, but that was what was going to make me happy....helping people.  I want to help people in this way.  And I know that it's going to take me a while to get to the point where I can be in a school setting.......but I will enjoy the journey knowing what will lie ahead.  I am good at the sciences anyway.  They come easily to me.  I can only hope that I can make my way through nursing school.  LOL!!!

While this is quite the shift from the creative humanities, I truly think I will enjoy it.  Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.....someone famous said that.  I think.  I know I'm not going to be happy if I keep doing what I'm doing....so something has to change.

It is certainly a change, but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss things from the creative arts....I don't think I'll be able to keep up in nursing school while doing 3 music groups.  Honestly, I love playing, but I'm going to have to keep it as a hobby, rather than doing it at the professional level.  And I don't think I'll be writing many short stories, but I'll keep my blogs going for peace of mind.  Regardless, I'll have Nichole....and that's all that matters to me right now.

Only the one who feels the breeze is the one who sees the shift in the wind........

Contemplative Thinking

A lot of today, thus far, has been spent in a quiet room thinking about life.  I've thought about school, work, Methodism, Catholicism and the religious orders, Africa, friends, etc.  More and more, I'm beginning to think that I allow myself to be controlled by others.  It isn't in an abusive way or anything like that...It is much more subtle.  I allow other people's opinions and thoughts become my reality rather than creating a reality of my own.  They say that one's interpretations of the world become one's reality.  So, instead of taking in the world for myself, I allow others to create my world view.  In a way, this can be a good thing.  But when it comes to living my dreams or the dreams of others, that's when it gets messy!  

I love the dreams I have for myself.  The dream of becoming the best disciple I can be for Jesus Christ!!!  The dream of going to Africa and LIVING in Africa amongst the people. The dream of learning all I can and serving all I can!  I know these can be pretty abstract dreams, but in reality, they are very simplistic and concrete when broken down...

• I want to go through RCIA and become a Catholic.
• I want to join a class to study Scripture, or start one!
• I want to become an avid prayer warrior...someone that anyone can turn to when in need of prayer!
• I want to crochet a blanket...because I can!
• I want to get my health in order.
• I want to use music to touch people's hearts...to express God in an unspeakable way!
• I want to learn ASL and Swahili!
• I want to teach kids in Africa to know and love Jesus and about the world they live in.
• I want to publish a book...just for fun! :)
• I want to live simply...so no big house or lots of stuff!
• I want to love like Jesus loved and live like Jesus did with no regrets!

I think we make life too small.  I know people always say that life is too short.  But, we make life small.  We don't ever dream!  Dreams really can come true.  Dreams don't have to be something that we hold in our hearts and never act upon.  Sure, there are limits to what is physically possible...like, you may never be able to learn how to fly (unless you're okay with an airplane or parachute).  Let's not limit God.  Let's dream the impossible because God doesn't seem like the kind of Being that would be okay with just getting through life.  Each one of us can be something great because that's what we were meant to be!!!  It's how we were created!!!!  :-)  So.....

DREAM BIG!!!!!

Reminder

This is a reminder to all who might pick up this blog for some "light" reading that I write for me.  This blog is much like my journal.  I don't always write about happy things.  I don't keep on my mask when I write here.  When I write here, you get me.  You get the me that I am under the smile you see out and about.  You get the me that God is walking with.  This isn't always the me that you imagined.  If I kept the mask down all the time, you wouldn't want to be around me.  You would want to run the other way.  You wouldn't want to listen to "pain pain" all the time.  You wouldn't want to bear the weight that I carry all the time.  Sure, you might want to know how I'm doing.  And you might want to sincerely know.  And, I might actually tell you.  BUT...You can't say that you want to take on the weight of my life along with yours.  So, I rest my burden on God.  I tell Him what I'm feeling.  I tell Him what I'm going through.  And a lot of times, this blog gets those thoughts.  But, I know you would run away if I told you everything.  I know that you would hate to be around me because I would bring you down with me.  I only feel safe doing this with one human being on earth and the One True God!  SO, yes.  This blog isn't always happy.  This blog isn't always about the peace I've obtained through God about my life's circumstances.  But, this blog portrays the real me that many of you can't carry in person.  But, I have to write.  Because when I write, it is one more way that I get the weight of life off of me and onto this computer screen.  No one has to read it.  But, it's there for those who want the reminder that life isn't perfect.  People don't show everything they are feeling or going through for fear of judgment or whatever.  People are people.  And I'm dearly sorry if my writing does not portray that hope that God gives to my life.  HE is the reason I can make it through a day like today that hasn't started well and probably will end worse than it already is. 

Remember...I write for me...and God promises hope...not happiness.  And especially not happiness in the way Americans view it.  So, let me write for me and write what I want!!!

Titles

Titles are so bothersome.  It takes me forever to come up with one that relates to exactly what I want to say.  They say that you shouldn't come up with a title until the end so that it clearly portrays what you want the reader to catch from the writing.  Others say that it gives you some sort of a starting place to go off of.  Today, I find them to be bothersome.  So, here's the rant of the day.

Doctor's appt went well.  It was short.  I had an EXTREMELY low blood pressure and I got lots of samples! :)  My doctor thinks that it is a stomach ulcer or gastritis.  So, he gave me some antacid to take that is stronger than what I would find in a store and told me to call him mid-week if I wasn't doing better.  If I'm not doing better, they will be takin' a scope to my stomach.  (Not wanting that to happen...really hoping it is just an ulcer!)  My medicines and their multiplicity may be eating the lining of my stomach.  Blah.  Anyhow...ulcer anyone???

In other news, the job hunt is going alright.  I applied at lots of hotels today, with a pretty good chance of getting a job at a couple.  So, we'll see.  Only bad part...they are about 40 minutes away from home.  But, it won't be as bad once school starts back up in august. 

My sister is with me these next couple of days.  Not sure how I feel about that.  We'll be sharing the bed and so I guess we will see if we can get along.  I'm not too worried about it.  She's pretty awesome.  And, she's gonna pray the rosary with me tonight.  After I explained to her what exactly it was.  Lol.  She has lots of homework though, and I'm nearly dying, so hopefully she gets done soon so I can pray and sleep!!! 

Trying to stay positive even when all else around me seems to be falling.  So, I'm praying to be able to stay positive, find a job, and stay afloat with my health.  One day, I will go to Africa...and whether my health allows me to go with a program or not, I will still go.  I will not let anything keep me from going...not debt or health or those I love.  And I can't wait to go with my best friend!  I know that we can do anything that God sets in our minds.  I pray we keep the fire burning and do not let it die off like other fires we've had.  It must keep burning.  We must keep going.  No matter what! 

My Role

Today was pretty awesome, aside from the pain.  I was at the women's retreat at my church in my college town.  It was a good retreat, but more than that I was able to educate so many people about fibromyalgia and chronic pain.  I love to tell people all about the illness(es) and what it is like for someone to live with this illness.  I really can do without the pity party.  Sorry-s don't mean much to me when so many people are living in ignorance about this illness.  So, I'd rather educate them and tell them about it.  I'll tell them what medicines and treatments are available and what I do outside of the medical world to get relief!  It's really encouraging to know that others are interested in learning about the illness too.  I just have to make it relevant for them to know in order for the interest to be there, or their already listening heart.  :-) 

My friend Nichole and I have decided that we are going to put together a workshop about chronic pain and living with it.  We want it to be available for everyone, whether one is suffering from chronic pain or family, friends, or a complete stranger to the idea of chronic pain.  I would love for it to be well-known enough that we begin to get requests from those around us to come and do it at their work, hospital staff, church or wherever!  In it, we hope to talk about illnesses that cause chronic pain and how those with the pain cope with it, a list of things to say and things not to say, and to share a few stories from people with chronic pain as well as our own stories.  I am getting SUPER excited to begin preparing it over the summer, which is quickly approaching.

Another thing that I determined today was that my calling is still to be a pastor.  As much as I want to deny it and avoid it, it is my God-given calling.  I know that I have been through the hell of life to prepare me for this.  I honestly dislike God for allowing it to happen.  But, as we work through our struggles (well, my struggles), I'm finding that my passion still lies in the ministry.  I love writing and editing.  I love reading and playing music.  But, I LOVE being in the church.  I love bringing people to know and love Christ.  Even when I'm mad at God for the crap that I've been through, I still know that He is there.  And I think His presence is what really keeps me going.  I know that I'm not alone.  I may not always believe that He has the best interest in mind for me, but I know that He will always be there.  So, there's my nice little revelation for the day.  I don't know what is going to happen between the chronic pain workshop this summer and the creative writing major, but I know that He will be there.  And eventually, I will be a pastor.  I may still be able to write and edit and play music for a living.  But, it will happen. 

I will say that I am not starting up with the pastoral process right away.  I need time to digest and figure out who I am in Christ. 

So for now, my role is an educator.  To educate people about chronic pain.  To educate people about living a life in God's presence.  And to educate people about Him.  Perhaps not in leadership or in that pastoral role.  But, as an ordinary human being put on earth for the glory of God.  That's my role. 

Alive and ???

As I near the end of my stinkin' long day, I have so much to say and so little time to do so.  I hurt pretty badly tonight, so I don't know how much I will type or if I will even remember everything I want to talk about.  Here's the brief form:  auditions, bunnies, birthdays, Easter, FB fun, sista, life plans. 

Auditions
I'm nervous for them.  I know that I shouldn't be.  But I am.  More than that, I'm nervous about finding my way around campus tomorrow!  I don't want to be "that kid."  So, it doesn't help that I also didn't print the campus map before I left home.  Hopefully I don't get turned around and that the campus becomes home VERY soon.  I am looking forward to it though!  I'm looking forward to being on the campus on a school day, meeting the music department staff and the financial aid counselor.  So yeah!  Wahoo.  I love it when things start getting set in stone!  :)

Life Plans
Yes, I know.  I'm going out of order.  I don't care.  As for life plans, I think I am going to keep up with my creative writing english major.  I am hoping to take some technical writing classes and do editing and publishing as a career.  Not crossing off the other options, just not pursuing them at the moment.

Birthdays
My bro's sixth birthday is tomorrow!  It is SOOO exciting for him.  He was super excited tonight when I saw him.  He looks so grown up too!  I can't believe he is already turning six!  CRAZY?!
Also, I've been thinking about various organizations/charities to donate money towards, so if you have any ideas, post 'em in the comments section!  :)  Thus far, I've been thinking about my child I'm sponsoring from World Vision and donating to her community.  Or the endometriosis association.  Or UMCOR for relief in Japan and/or Haiti.  SO...Let me know your pick and/or suggestion!  :)  Oh, and this would be a donation in place of a gift to me for my bday in June! 

Easter
Easter is almost here, and that means that family drama has picked up.  Hoping it calms down soon.  I'm worried about my Grandma too.  She just seems to be pretty......ummmm......stressed.  So, that makes me crazy.  But, Easter is another holiday with traditions in place, so it's going to be weird when we stray from them and when it doesn't seem to go as tradition says we should.  SO...We'll see.  ;)

FB Fun
And with Easter here, I'm approximately a few days until FB returns.  I'm not giving it up for good.  I've prayed about it, and there's just too much on there that I can use for God's glory as well as a great communication device for college students.  So, yeah.  It's stayin'.  However, I will have to watch myself to make sure I don't become completely dependent on it and that it doesn't steal away time from God.  ALSO - I already know what my FB status is going to be as I get back on it.  Lol.  How crazy is that?!  I'm looking forward to it.  ;)  

Sista
So, tonight, I got this amazing lil' crocheted bunny from my awesome older sista!  And that refers to the magnificent Nichole!  :) She isn't my sister by blood, but our friendship has definitely become more like family than just besties.  Can you believe that she just leaves my orange juice cup sitting on the table until I take care of it?  EVEN if it is like a week later?!  Yeah, we're family.  ;)  Now, if only I could get her to come over to my place enough to have her do that...lol.  Yeah, finances suck and make that nearly impossible right now.  But that's okay.  Soon enough we will be incredibly close!!!  YAY! 

BUNNIES!!!!!
The magnificent sister of mine has bunnies.  They are adorable.  ANYHOW, so I'm bunny-sitting while they are away on a cruise.  And I've been pretty nervous about this whole thing for a while now, right!  It doesn't help when she threatens our friendship based on the survival of these bunnies...and of course, she's said this for MUCH longer than just asking me to bunny-sit.  Ha.  SO, now that I'm bunny-sitting, I have been wondering if I can really handle such precious creatures.  But tonight, as we were chasing the bunnies out from underneath her bed, I got to hold the stubborn one!  :) Her name is Emily, and she is the most stubborn bunny EVER!  I've been scared of her since like...Day one.  (My poor sista who is finding all of this out...haha.  I have been, you should have figured this out by now.)  ANYHOW...I'm not so scared.  I know that she will get to know me and that it will be okay.  And I'm learning more and more how to handle them, which is comforting.  I feel like the worst is over with.  I have been able to hold Emily with her relatively calm as she can be!  SO, I am at peace with the whole thing.  The task doesn't seem so big and scary anymore.  YAY!  :D  I love bunnies!!! 

ALRIGHT...So I think that's all I have for you tonight.  I'm in pretty intense pain from writing that, so I'm going to attempt this thing you people call sleep.  Not sure how it will go, but hopefully it will go well.  :)  For now, I am alive and....BUNNIES!!!!  :)
 

Packing Procrastination

While I'm waiting on laundry to finish in the dryer, I thought I would write a blog post.  :)

So, I definitely should have started packing this morning because all this at once is making me hurt even more, and it's starting to get late, so exhaustion has taken over!  Let's see...what else?!

Oh...I'm learning a new language.  Swahili is incredibly hard to learn...not as bad as it could be, like Hebrew or Arabic.  HOWEVER, I seem to want to learn it in a hurry.  So, it's taking more time than I want it to.  I have so much more to learn in this life.  I just don't feel like learning one language should take so long.  It's not fair to those of us who want to know everything.  Haha.  Suppose that's why God created so many languages.  :)

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life.  I'm getting a bit frantic about figuring it out too.  I suppose this is what many of my classmates went through a couple years ago, but I thought I was so set on what I wanted to do, that I didn't worry about it.  Now, that's changed...so, life goals are being reevaluated.  I'm a little nervous to see if I can be a starving author in this world.  I feel like I would be a complete failure at being an author as a career.  I'm not scared of it.  I can write when I really want to, and I know with training I can be better.  I just don't know about it as a career, especially since I've loved it as a release for so many years - I don't want it to turn out like my love for my flute did.  NOW...with that being said, I think I could manage being a teacher.  I might even enjoy it.  Although, I have no clue if I could manage MS or HS, so I'm not too sure about it.  And I don't know how much more it would add to my schooling either.  I think I would go nuts in teaching classes.  Plus, the CBASE just doesn't sound entertaining since I haven't done math in forever, nor any of the other things covered on it.  Lol.  SO...That doesn't leave me with too many options if I cross off teaching...on the surface.  On the contrary, it leaves the entire world of English untouched.  I think I would love to work for a publishing company.  To be an editor would be a huge deal for me.  I'm horrible at editing my own work, but I can criticize others and edit others.  So, right now, I think professional writing would be awesome.  Even further than that, I'd love to work with a textbook company for Elementary, Middle, and High School textbooks.  I would want to be the editor to make sure everything is clear and that it looks attractive to students to have them actually read it, rather than let it collect dust. 

Anyhow, those are my current professional what I want to do with my life thoughts.  I think if I sit much longer, I'm not going to get the rest of my stuff done, so that's all I have for ya for now!  Home-bound tomorrow afternoon!  YAY!!!  Adios!!!

Desires

Tonight was hard.  I watched a movie while curled up in a ball trying to ignore the pain.  It was not the typical love story, as one might imagine.  But it portrayed one of our desires as humans to be more than one.  So, I wrote another haiku.  Call me crazy.  I'm still not the greatest with them...yet.  But, I figure I'll master this, as one says that it is the hardest type of poem to write, and call it quits on poetry.  Anyhow, although it wasn't the typical boy meets girl, they fall in love, have sex, get married kind of movie, it still got the point across.  Not going to lie, I want more than just me.  It's been just me for almost 20 years now.  I know that people say that I have plenty of time left, but I want someone who is willing to take my mind of things when I need them to and to talk about the serious stuff when needed.  Someone to cuddle into when I feel alone.  I desire more than just me. So here is the haiku, The Desire for More...

The Desire for More 

A Haiku by Samantha Fomera

Sense of loneliness.

Lacking, only one am I.

Two will come in time?

Hidden Pain

Most of you will recognize this story if you read my blog on a normal basis, but there are a few plot revisions.  The story seems much more stream-lined now, in my opinion.  Feel free to comment on it below!  Here is the revision of the story No Blood.  Here is Hidden Pain:

Hidden Pain

            I’ve always hated hospitals.  So when my friend, Rory, asked me to take her to the emergency room after our all-night marathon of movies, I was not the one who jumped right in and screamed “YES!”  In fact, I tried to figure out every possible way to get out of taking her.  However, since her mom was out of town and every other person in this world was busy, I was the only possible answer.  She pleaded with me to take her as tears strolled down her face.  Thus, I drove Rory, in my 2001 Chevy Malibu, across town to the emergency room. 

            This wasn’t the everyday sort of issue that you would think to see in the emergency room.  There was no blood.  No broken bones.  It was just excruciating body-wide pain caused by another lupus flare.  One would have thought that the exceedingly large amount of pain killers that she’s been prescribed would have stopped the pain long before an ER visit was necessary.  I found it bizarre that I was going to spend a glorious Saturday afternoon in the emergency room. 

            Registration seemed to take forever.  Rory had nine medications that they had to enter into their system.  Some were taken only one time a day and then there were others that she would take two pills here and two again later and if it was really a bad day then she could take this medicine.  Needless to say, I had a headache by the end of it.  All of Rory’s vitals were normal.  No surprise there.  She looked fine to me and perfectly fine to the registration people.  So, we were directed to go to the waiting room.  Actually, we had our choice of three waiting rooms.  Big whoop; I think we chose the worst one, but Rory didn’t want to move. 

            The room was plain.  The lights were dim and the walls were beige.  Nothing hung on the walls except a clock.  It was a big clock.  The clock had a second-hand that counted the moments spent in the waiting room.  The moments I was wasting away, on my only free weekend, sitting in a room that smelled like my grandma’s attic.  I was beginning to think otherwise about this friendship.  I had things to do, people to see.  I didn’t understand.  Rory has had these flares before.  Why did she have to come to the ER today?  Rory seemed fine all night.  Except for the few dizzy spells she had, but she didn’t seem to be caught off guard by them.  I didn’t want to be there.  I felt like I was getting sick just sitting in that room.  My mind was racing!  I even began to feel a bit light-headed. 

            Rory got out her cell phone.  Can you believe that she texted me?  I was sitting right next to her and she sent me a text rather than just talking to me!  I can’t even remember exactly what it said.  Something along the lines:  “Sorry for making you wait so long.  Hope you don’t mind waiting with me.”  At least she tried to show that she cared that I was here. 

            A young man walked into the room and took a seat across from Rory and me.  His cap nearly hid his black, shaggy hair.  His wire-frame glasses did not provide much protection from the sight of a tear sliding down his acne-filled face.  Why was he here?  What was wrong with him?  Again, there was no blood.  I didn’t understand. 

            Rory began to stare at this young man.  He was probably about our age anyway.  Except for the puffy eyes, he wasn’t too bad to look at.  Tears started rolling down Rory’s face.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  Was she crying because this man was crying?  He hadn’t said a word to us.  But something about him must have struck Rory strong enough to cause her to cry. 

            I tried to focus on what I was doing.  I was evaluating the room and counting the seconds spent in this boring, badly-decorated room.  Rory got out of her chair to throw away her tissues she had used to wipe her tears.  She took great care with each step, making sure she didn’t put too much pressure on either leg.  The way she hunched over reminded me again of my grandma.  I shook my head as if I were shaking out the memory. 

            When I came back to real life, Rory was pushing the buttons on her phone ever so slowly as if it was work to do so.  I wondered if she was back to texting me.  No, she must have updated her Facebook status.  If that was the case, it would only be moments before it would arrive at my phone.  A few weeks ago, I had set my Facebook settings to allow it to send her status updates to my phone as soon as they were posted. 

            Yes, she had updated her Facebook status, but her status confused me.  “Rory Holland is in the ER again.  Ugh.”   Again?  What did that mean?  Had she been in the ER before?  She did seem to breeze through registration as if she knew exactly what to do.  Although, Rory was older than me and she had been a nurse for a few years now.  Maybe she knew what to do because of her work experience.  Still, it didn’t explain her status.  What did “again” mean?  I resolved to ask her later, though I have yet to ask her and it’s been years since that Saturday spent in the ER.

            As I was saying, the young man that had come in earlier seemed atypical.  He had stopped crying now.  His eyes were focused.  I tried to trace what his eyes were looking at so intensely.  When I realized it was a red light switch, I chuckled.  Everyone in the room gave me a death glare, as if I were some crazy, old woman cackling in the quiet library!  It was only a red light switch.  What was so fascinating about it that his gaze would be fixed on a light switch?  Hadn’t he seen a light switch?  Sure, it was red but there was nothing special about it.  It worked the same way as every other light switch in the world.  It was the only colorful thing in the room, where everything was beige.  I wondered if Rory understood why he was staring at the red light switch.  In fact, after updating her Facebook status, she too began to stare at the switch like it was some magical switch that wanted to be turned on so that everyone could be cured of their illnesses.  It was ridiculous.  I whispered her name, “Rory.  Rory.”  It seemed useless to say it a third time.  I opted to poke her.  Her body was hot, as if it had been in a sauna, rather than this waiting room.  Rory swatted her hand back at me.  She hated being poked.  She said that it hurt when people touched or hugged her.  If that was the case, I can’t imagine what it was like to have the blood pressure cuff on her arm when registration took her vitals!  Her gaze moved away from the switch.  I still did not have any clue what the magic was behind the switch. 

            Rory got up.  She went to sit next to this guy.  I didn’t think Rory was one to pick up guys in the emergency room, so I eavesdropped. 

            “Hey, my name is Rory.  How are you doing?”

            “I’ve always hated that question.  It’s not like it matters anyway,” he said.

            “I hate that question too.  Sorry.  So, what are your plans tonight?” asked Rory.

            There it was.  Or so I thought.  Rory was picking up a date at the emergency room.  How unfair!

            “Nothing.  I don’t have plans,” he said.

            “Okay.  That’s cool.  You can sit back and chill at home.  I told you my name.  But, you haven’t told me your name yet.”

            “It’s Dylan,” he said as they shook hands.  He pulled his hand away quickly as he pulled his long sleeves back down across his forearms that looked like they had been in a losing battle with a cat. 

            Rory and Dylan didn’t say much to each other after that.  She just sat across the room with him.  I wasn’t really sure what to think.  She didn’t set up a date or anything with this guy.  She just sat there with him.  Rory reminded me of a visit to my grandma.  My grandma simply sat in her faded, pink recliner rocking back and forth clinging to her favorite afghan.  She never said a word my entire visit.  All of her memories were gone.  She had no idea who was sitting next to her.  She had no idea who her granddaughter was, nonetheless, the girl who learned how to cook at her grandma’s right-hand.  She had no idea that I admired her more than anyone else in the entire world.  So, for two whole hours, I sat on the loveseat where we used to cuddle, share stories, and eat the most delicious macaroni and cheese that anyone has ever tasted.  That time, I did nothing, said nothing, and didn’t cry a single tear. 

            “Mr. Stevenson,” the nurse called, “We’re ready for you.”

            The nurse’s deep voice brought me back to reality.  I watched as the middle-aged man, who was sitting under the clock, limped across the room.  “Looks like a sprained ankle,” I whispered under my breath.  Rory nodded my way in agreement.  I smiled back in hopes that she was feeling better and we could just leave.  I was tired of sitting and waiting.  Patience has never been a virtue I’ve been blessed with having. 

            I hoped that we would get a room soon.  I was tired of this plain room.  I was tired of seeing hurting people pile into this small room.  Of course, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that I was annoyed with the people who were able to get a room before us.  I just wanted to be home.  I didn’t like just sitting.  I didn’t know what to say or what to do.  Rory seemed to have everything under control. 

            Dylan got up.  I wondered where he might be headed.  He was the only one we had talked to the entire time we were here, not counting the registration nurse. 

            “Where’s the bathroom?” Dylan asked.

            I overheard the nurse, who had sat outside the door ever since Dylan arrived, say, “It’s this way.  I have to take you there.  It’s part of procedure.” 

            Dylan was at the restroom for a long while.  Guess he had some business to take care of.  I chuckled again.  This time, the only stare I received was from Dylan who had just walked back into the room.  It wasn’t an evil stare, just an acknowledgement of my laughter.  The nurse returned his station outside the door, looking in the room every couple minutes.  It was like Dylan had a baby-sitter, someone to look after him to make sure he didn’t do anything wrong or hurt himself.

            I looked at the big clock.  I was more than impatient.  We had been at the ER for over an hour and a half and I was ready to be home.  I wanted to get home in time for dinner.  Dad had told me last night before I left for Rory’s that he was grilling for dinner tonight.  I pictured a big, juicy steak with grilled potatoes covered in butter and seasonings.  Yes, I was hoping to make it home in time for dinner. 

            It had been months since I last missed dinnertime.  In April, I went to see my grandma in her assisted living facility.  By this time, her memory was gone entirely.  I don’t think she knew where she was.  She would utter things, but they wouldn’t make sense.  She didn’t move at all.  They had moved her pink recliner to the assisted living facility, but the nurses had trouble lifting her out of such a well-loved chair.  Many times when I had gone to see her, she was in bed, with nine or ten pillows surrounding her and underneath her providing support from any potential sores.  It was a pitiful sight.  She wasn’t even able to be in her own bed.  They had to bring in a hospital bed.  Machines were all over the place; cords traced along the baseboards.  Nothing in her apartment-like room seemed like the grandma I once knew and loved.  I tried to talk to her like I used to, but it just wasn’t the same as before she lost her memory.  The conversations were awkward.

            I heard grandma mumble something incomprehensible.  The machine flat lined.  I didn’t know what to do.  I felt so helpless.  I frantically called out for the nurse.  Within minutes they were rushing my grandma out the door and into an ambulance.  I was left standing in the room to decide whether to go to the hospital or stay behind. 

            I called my mom as I was on the way to the emergency room.  She was going to meet me there.  I wasn’t sure how much good it would do.  I hoped and prayed the doctors could bring her back to life.  After hours of sitting in a plain ER waiting room with bad magazines, the doctor informed us of the news.  Grandma didn’t make it.  I ran out of the hospital crying and vowing never to return.

            But, there I was.  I was in the very hospital waiting room that I learned the news of my grandma’s death.  I was in the very hospital that I vowed never to return to at the request of my best friend.  Exactly six months later, I was sitting in the very spot where I learned of my grandma’s death. 

            Rory handed me a tissue.  “Oh, thanks,” I said, sniffling and wiping my eyes.

            “No problem.  Is everything alright?” she asked.

            I wasn’t sure what to respond.  I nodded yes.  I hated crying.  I just missed my grandma so much.  And I had never thought I would return to this place.  “How are you feeling?”

            “Like shit, but hopefully I’ll be able to go back soon.  My chest hurts so badly!  I feel like I’m having a heart attack,” Rory said.

            “Are you having a heart attack?”  I asked frantically.

“No.  That’s highly unlikely.  It’s just what it feels like.  Not too pleasant,” Rory said.

“Well, sorry you feel so bad.  I hope the doctors are able to stop the pain.”  I said this in hopes that it would perk up my mood towards the doctors.  Perhaps there was still a chance that they could earn their spot on my good list.  They didn’t do so well on the last attempt.  But somehow, I knew that my grandma was already dead to me before the doctors even made it to her bedside.  She had slowly died over the months and years of her memory loss. 

            “Me too,” Rory said with a hint of optimism. 

            Rory’s optimism always kept me going.  It was her shining feature.  Even when the worst of situations were at hand, she was always the encourager who was helping everyone to keep going no matter what.  Rory was the kind of person that stood up for what was right, even if she was standing alone. 

            I glanced over at Dylan.  “Is he alright?” I asked Rory.  His hazel eyes squinted and were focused once more on that red light switch. 

            “No, he isn’t right now.  But he will be.”  Rory gave a soft smile.  She must have known something that I didn’t know.  I probably had missed some conversation in the midst of my wandering mind. 

            The red light switch had seemed so insignificant before now.  The big clock ticked the moments away from my Saturday.  But it was still plain; the most colorful thing in the room was the red switch.  Why was it red?  Couldn’t they have chosen a color other than the color of blood?  Why didn’t they choose a color different than that which provokes anger and pain? 

            It was noticeable.  I had finally found an answer to my question.  In the emergency room, the color red is noticed.  I just wasn’t in a place to notice it before.  Rory had no blood.  No broken bones.  Yet pain was evident.  Even Dylan, who was eventually taken to the psych ward, had pain.  I just had to learn to look past the obvious to see the hidden pain. 

           

I have a secret!

This is a post saying that there is a post to come about something I never would have ever dreamed EVER happening to me.  And there will be many stories and wonderful things to come of it.  I might even write a poem about it.  However, for now, I cannot tell the online world about such a thing.  So until then...

When

This post stems from boredom.  

When.  It's such a simple word, but it holds so much meaning.  It's used everyday by so many people.  When is the paper due?  When will you be home?  When do you want to see a movie?  When will it end?  When are you going to be feeling better?  

When.  It is so futuristic.  It is like you know what is going to happen in the future so that you can put a date or a time stamp on it and make it final.  However, dreams are crushed when the deadline isn't met.  People cancel.  Due dates are moved.  Sicknesses aren't cured, if ever cured.  Things last longer than expected.  

When.  It is one of the many question words:  Who, what, where, why, and how all keep it company as it is snuggled in the middle of them.  But perhaps we should look to the others and leave the time-keeping to someone else...   

I Write

Words are poured out onto a page.  Each are typed as separate entities, but only when combined do they grasp the whole meaning.  This is why I write.  I write for me.  I don't write for anyone else.  I don't even write for my readers, though there are very few who follow this blog and keep up with it.  Haha.  

My heart goes into this blog.  Initially, if you remember (or even knew about it at all), I started it because I wanted an outlet about my parents' divorce.  So I write without judgment.  I censor some of my writing, but definitely not all of it.  I know that someday someone will ask me why I put all of this out on the internet...I know someone will.  I already have people that ask me.  But it is because I want my life to carry on some legacy.  Even as an ordinary person, I want to have some sort of an impact on this world.  I don't want to "raise" heroes...I just want to be able to help an ordinary person understand life itself...with all its ups and downs.  So, in a way, I write for some person way down the line who discovers the old age of computers and the internet.  But it is merely my story that I want to share.  

I want to be able to put anything on my blog.  

Not gonna lie, I never intended on anyone I knew ever reading this blog.  And perhaps I should have never posted it anywhere that people could find.  I'm not sure why I wanted it to be so private...I think it just became a great outlet that I'm able to say you read my blog at your own risk.  

BUT...For those of you out there who know me and read my blog, my disclaimer stands.  Words rarely have any meaning at all unless they are put together.  But sentences that stand alone are just as meaningless until they are put into a story.  And one wouldn't just read a chapter of a book and judge the entire thing (unless it was just a REALLY REALLY REALLY bad book).  You have to read it all to understand the story.  Each post, and even just what I've made available to my readers is only one chapter.  It's only one chapter of my life.  So don't judge.  That's not why I write.  I write for me.  I write merely to write. 

Behind the Mask

Today was an alright day.  But last night, I was struggling.  It had been a long, rough day and I was ready to be done with everything.  However, in the midst of everything, a friend was struggling too.  And it reminded me of the mask that people with chronic illness wear just to get through each day and allow everyone else to see them as more than a weak human being. Especially when the illness is unseen.  So here is my little excerpt on Behind the Mask...

Behind the Mask

            It’s with me no matter where I go or what I do.  Whether I am at the grocery store or church, it is on.  Whether I am at work or at home, it is on.  But, when I’m alone in my room at night and have snuggled into bed that is when it comes off.  It hangs on my bedpost as I sleep.  No one can see it, but I know it is there.  Sometimes it haunts me more than protects me.  Some people call it face.  Others call it nothing.  I call it my mask. 

            It didn’t used to be this way.  I used to move about my life freely.  I was myself!  I laughed when I wanted to, and I cried when I wanted to.  I was human.  But being human led to human illnesses.  Chronic illnesses even.  My life became about medical doctors and every specialist out there.  My dietary regiment became whatever was needed to suit my medicines and my purse became my personal pharmacy.  My checkbook wrote more checks to doctors’ offices than to anywhere else a normal young woman would go.  A girl’s day out became a thing of the past.  My life was stolen from me by chronic illness. 

            Very few people see the me behind the mask... 

Wishful Thinking

Wishful Thinking

            She peers into the door of a first grade class, watching the children as they color.  The teacher has asked them to draw what they want to be when they grow up.  The children gleefully held up childish pictures of astronauts and ballerinas.  Some held up pictures of classrooms where they hope to teach, and others held up pictures of pets they hope to cure and take care of.  In the corner of the room, a girl with wide-hazel eyes and pigtails held up a picture of a house.  Next to the house were a family of three with a swing-set and a big tree with a tire swing and a big, blue arrow pointing to the slightly taller stick-figure.  The picture was advanced for a six year old child.  The teacher walks over to the child shaking her head.  The lowered eyebrows express the teacher’s disapproval. 

            “Emily, you were supposed to draw what you wanted to be when you grew up,” the teacher says.

            “I did,” the girl says cheerfully. 

            “Okay.  Then tell me what you want to be when you grow up.”

            “I wanna be a mom.  Can’t you tell Ms. Evans?”  The girl seemed so innocent in her request, as she points to the taller stick-figure.  “That’s me, and those are my kids.  Lizzy and Elliott.”  

*****

             I was the secretary of the Estacada Elementary school.  Each day classes were held, I worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon answering the phone and emails, handing out visitor’s passes, and making the coffee.  Instead of teaching children how to read and write, I taught parents how to write legibly and behave like adults.  Instead of a classroom I had a wooden desk outside the principal’s office with a computer, phone, calendar, and stack of “sick” notes.  I was only the secretary.  But working in a school gave me a bit of flexibility.  The evenings were mine to spend as I wanted. 

            I owned a cute, little house on Sixth Street.  I did all the landscaping; the small garden, stepping stones, and the little pond with a fountain were all the work of my hands over a couple short summers.  In the winter, the hill outside my back porch is covered in snow as well as the swing set left from the previous owners.  On snowy days, kids from my block rush over to ask to borrow my hill for sledding.  The kids would sled down the hill doing all sorts of tricks to avoid the swing-set.  Inside my small kitchen, I would have hot chocolate and marshmallows ready to hand out when they were finished in the snow.  The kids would knock the malted snow off their boots and lineup to receive their mug of hot chocolate and scoop of marshmallows.  After a few snowy days, I was widely known throughout the small town as the marshmallow lady. 

            Beyond my marshmallow generosity, no one knew much about me.  Staff Christmas parties were painful as I sat in the corner alone as people chattered and exchanged gifts.  I had grown up in Portland and moved to Estacada after graduating High School.  It was a short drive home for the holidays.  I took online classes through the Portland Community College, traveling back as little as possible.  The college had a teaching certification program that I was slowly making my way through. 

Working at an elementary school taught me most of what I know about kids.  I grew up in a small family that was rooted in a large family.  My mom and dad decided to only have two kids, but after complications with the second pregnancy, they decided not to try anymore.  My dad left my mom, sister, and me when I was three.  I don’t know anything about my dad except what my mom has told me.  I grew up without a dad.  I didn’t know the difference, until high school.

Unlike other kids who could skim by in high school without a job, I couldn’t.  I worked as often as I could as well as carried on a full load of classes.  I paid the bills and took care of the house while my mom was in and out of town with work.  My sister, who was two years younger than I was, led the life that I wanted.  She never had to work and she got all the boys.  Most nights, I knew my sister would be out with a guy she had been dating for a while off and on.  She could care less about me or mom.  I managed to get by and graduate high school.  Because I didn’t have the money to go to college, nor the grades for scholarships, I decided to hunt for work outside of Portland after high school.  Due to my work experience in high school, I was able to get this job at Estacada elementary school. 

By this time, I was a quarter of a century old, and I was still not doing my dream job.  I was not married and I didn’t have any prospects.  Estacada wasn’t exactly the place to hunt for the man of your dreams.  In fact, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find a guy around my age in Estacada.  Most men who grow up here begin working on the family farm right out of high school, if they even finish high school at all!  Needless to say, a man didn’t look like he will be in my near future.

On the holidays, I travel back to Portland.  I try my hardest to behave for the family gatherings.  I hardly get in the door before aunts and uncles overwhelm me with questions like “Are you married yet?”  I remain as calm as can be expected.  I don’t know if they realize where I work, but there aren’t many men lying around a small-town public school. 

The last time I went home for Christmas, I was twenty-four years old.  I had been having some severe abdominal pain and wanted to check it out so I made an appointment with my doctor.  The troubled look on my doctor’s face had me worried.  He immediately referred me to a gynecologist and I sat in Dr. Stevenson’s office within the week.  After numerous tests and visits to his office, we sat in the plain white examination room as he told me I had stage two, ovarian cancer.  I didn’t know how to respond.  It was as if my mind went blank.  Nothing else mattered at that moment.  I arrived back in Portland on Monday, January 26^th to receive a total hysterectomy.  As my doctor tried to explain what was happening, I zoned out.  My entire life seemed to be ruined.  Every life plan ever constructed by my hands went down the drain.  Apparently, my surgery went well.  I haven’t had any complications since.  The cancer is gone, but the damage remains.

I went back to work soon after I fully recovered.  Seeing the kids play on the playground was torture.  Picking up sick children for the parents from the nurse’s office seemed to tear me apart.  I would return with tears strolling down my face as I gave the child’s hand to his or her parent.  Unruly parents bugged my core.  But I made it through. 

Spring came and so my gardening work began once again.  I was working outside the day the invitation arrived.  A baby shower invite for one of the staff was being held in a couple weeks.  Anger bubbled from within me as I ran inside the house slamming the door behind me.  I threw myself onto the couch where I had spent nearly six weeks of my life recovering from the wretched surgery that tore my childhood dreams apart.  I wondered how long this feeling would last.  This feeling of anger and resentment toward any young couples with children dwelt within. 

I was not looking forward to the approaching Easter holiday for the resurrection of the dreaded question from family members.  My mom and sister hardly knew about the hysterectomy, none the less to tell more people that I will never be able to have children of my own.  The house went quiet as I walked in for the Easter afternoon festivities.  I wasn’t sure how everyone knew, but they all did.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  Luckily, my grandma announced that lunch was ready and so the awkward silence was broken.  No one asked about it, but everyone asked how I was doing.  I replied “Fine.”  Not once did I mention my sudden urge for a child, to behold it in all its glory.  Not once did I mention that I wouldn’t mind the smell of the poopy diaper or the constant waking in the night to feed my child.  Not once did I mention my childhood dream of being a mom.  After everyone had gone their separate ways, my mom gave me an envelope on her way out the door.  Inside was two pieces of paper.  One was a letter that said:

My Dear Emily,

I know that things have been rough and I know I haven’t always been around for it all.  But know that I love you and I am here for you now.  Never lose sight of your dreams.  No matter what.

                                    Love Always,  Mom

            Behind the letter there was a piece of white paper folded in quarters.  I unfolded the paper to find my drawing.  My mom had kept my picture of me and my two invisible kids all those years.  Tears streamed from my eyes.  I wasn’t sure how it was going to happen, but I was going to help make my dream come true.  It may have been wishful thinking back then, but it isn’t today.  Just ask Lizzy and Elliott, who spend their snowy days sledding down the hill with the marshmallow lady, their mom, me. 

*****

________________________________

© Copyright 2011, Samantha Fomera

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