If you, take a moment, to think of all the things you don't need, you will see how empty your life truly is. We fill our lives with "things" and people that we no longer need. We never take the time to remove what is no longer beneficial. We pretend we a are living fulfilled lives. However, there is no room for fulfillment, because we retain what keeps us "content."
Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly ok to always remain "content." However, I believe there is so much more than that. We become so scared to move on, and get rid of what is safe. It's so scary to say: "my life is full, but it's not full of what I want. We are terrified of drawing that "line in the sand" and admitting that we want and require more.
The word "selfish" has such a negative connotation with it. It's socially unacceptable to be "selfish." However, "selfish" and "stingy" are two different human traits. I agree that it is unacceptable to be unwilling to give or to share. Yet, what can you actually give or share if you're deficient in what you need. You can't share what you, yourself, don't have. ... in that is where the problem lies.
We give what we don't have, and the recipient ends up with "junk." - How do you inspire someone when you haven't been inspired, yourself. How do you make someone feel special when you haven't special in years? -simply you can't That's when it feels "mutually beneficial." We accept what the other has to give, no matter how much, or little that is, and we pass on what we are left with. Thus we both feel content.
I've loved, and been liked in return. I've cared, and been adored in return. I've cried, and had my tears dried, instead of the pain being eased.
Many of us fill in the missing pieces with things. My mom died, and I brought a brand new car. My forever came to an end, and went on a 2 month shopping spree. My car doesn't love me. My clothes are inanimate, and my forever could care less.
So it's time to let some friends walk, get rid of many things, let go some old memories (no matter how cherished I thought they were) . it's time to truly purge and turn the page, from content to fulfilled....
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Again ...
I got a call today, from my doctor's secretary. She wants to schedule a consultation with "your Neurosurgeon." Yes, she actually called him MY Neurosurgeon.... Slow down people! I didn't sign any paperwork - YET. I'm confident that this is the route I'm going down, but it's happening on MY terms, in MY time! - The first Brain surgery I had, was not within my control.
I woke up 5 days, after the fact, with a shaved head and my eyes swollen shut. I only know what happened based on stories I've been told, and follow up appointments I had. 4/10/03 is so surreal, and such a foreign memory. This time it's a reality and a decision. A huge part of me is so thrilled, that this is a choice I get to make. I feel so in control right now. But an equal part feels lost, and unsure.
I hear my doctors say: "we'll just remove the original plate, and that will give us access to the affected tissue." Holy shit, I have a plate in my head! - Oh yea, I've been down this road before. That was just a circle, because I'm here again!!! - Seizures were the souvenir from a "near death experience." That once felt like such a small sacrifice. That was before they started to screw with my life. That was long before I started forgetting everything, failing test, and having seizures in my sleep, taking 5,500 mg of anti epileptic drugs daily, and just feeling stifled in my own life.
I'm not afraid, as much, as I am worried. I'm worried about my memory. Memories of my mom are all I have left. I'm worried about my personality changing. I'm finally the woman, I love who I've grown to be that can change. I'm most nervous that all the key players aren't around: It's a brand new team of doctors to put faith in. My mom's not here anymore. She was my security blanket through all my surgeries. She was always the first person I saw as the Anesthesia wore off. - I'll actually mess all her over protective tendencies. Who will stand in the driveway, disapprovingly, as I drive off in my car post recovery?
As stupid as it sounds: Ryan wont be there. Who will look at me bald and swollen, and still call me beautiful? Who else can I get to write a song about me, to lift my spirits? (ok maybe the song isn't that important!) But I felt: protected, safe, and cared for when I was outside of this house, with him. (much to Alex's dismay!) Niki worked hard to make me feel like I still had it all together. She fought Jack, so that I could still feel part of "Anything Goes." She made sure that I didn't feel all the work I'd put into that show wasn't forgotten.
The few original players that remain will greatly needed. (Ali, that means I will probably proclaim "you are the only person I wanted to see!)
Like all great revivals: the come back, years later, with a brand new cast ...
I woke up 5 days, after the fact, with a shaved head and my eyes swollen shut. I only know what happened based on stories I've been told, and follow up appointments I had. 4/10/03 is so surreal, and such a foreign memory. This time it's a reality and a decision. A huge part of me is so thrilled, that this is a choice I get to make. I feel so in control right now. But an equal part feels lost, and unsure.
I hear my doctors say: "we'll just remove the original plate, and that will give us access to the affected tissue." Holy shit, I have a plate in my head! - Oh yea, I've been down this road before. That was just a circle, because I'm here again!!! - Seizures were the souvenir from a "near death experience." That once felt like such a small sacrifice. That was before they started to screw with my life. That was long before I started forgetting everything, failing test, and having seizures in my sleep, taking 5,500 mg of anti epileptic drugs daily, and just feeling stifled in my own life.
I'm not afraid, as much, as I am worried. I'm worried about my memory. Memories of my mom are all I have left. I'm worried about my personality changing. I'm finally the woman, I love who I've grown to be that can change. I'm most nervous that all the key players aren't around: It's a brand new team of doctors to put faith in. My mom's not here anymore. She was my security blanket through all my surgeries. She was always the first person I saw as the Anesthesia wore off. - I'll actually mess all her over protective tendencies. Who will stand in the driveway, disapprovingly, as I drive off in my car post recovery?
As stupid as it sounds: Ryan wont be there. Who will look at me bald and swollen, and still call me beautiful? Who else can I get to write a song about me, to lift my spirits? (ok maybe the song isn't that important!) But I felt: protected, safe, and cared for when I was outside of this house, with him. (much to Alex's dismay!) Niki worked hard to make me feel like I still had it all together. She fought Jack, so that I could still feel part of "Anything Goes." She made sure that I didn't feel all the work I'd put into that show wasn't forgotten.
The few original players that remain will greatly needed. (Ali, that means I will probably proclaim "you are the only person I wanted to see!)
Like all great revivals: the come back, years later, with a brand new cast ...
Saturday, March 10, 2012
You can't apologize for a qustion
I went about my morning, like any other morning. However, I do know that my mornings will never be like yours. Yet they are normal, and mundane, just the same. - A quick cup of coffee, at the house, a stop a the bagel store, a fill up at my local gas station and a 45 minute commute.
Thursday was just a little bit different. I looked at the alarm clock, and wonder why I was getting out of bed? I had spent the night before studying (AGAIN) for a test I didn't want to take. I had no reason to stop at the bagel store, because I was anything but hungry. Coffee is a luxury that I enjoy in secret. On Thursday I felt compelled to follow my doctor's orders. Maybe caffeine was to blame for all my, sudden, educational problems. Maybe if I bypassed my cup of morning Joe I could, once again ace a test. - It was at least worth a shot.
Bleary eyed I walked into the bagel store. If I couldn't have coffee I needed to eat, something. A hush fell over the morning crowd of scrambled egg eaters and coffee drinkers. I wasn't in the mood to be the center of attention, even though I knew I was the cause of the sudden silence. Suddenly a little boy broke the, thickening, quiet. "Mommy, is that a little girl." I was praying that mom would give a half way decent answer so I could take my bagel and run! - She didn't!! "No that's a grown up. No shh!" (Please tell me why the word "that" often replaces "she.") The theatre voice in me said: "Action, Taniya you're on!" And as if on cue, the little boy said "well what's wrong with her?" And the monologue rolled right off my tongue. "Ah I just have short legs!" I said. "But why?" he countered (OK it wasn't really a monologue, because this kid was relentless!) "Because every one's built differently." I told. This went on for several minutes. The whole time mom stood frozen like a deer in headlights. Out of nowhere this 4-year-old hit me with a question that left me speechless. "How do you drive?" You could have heard a pin drop in that room. I was stunned for two reasons. 1) He never asked if I COULD drive. In his world everything is possible. He was curious as to HOW. He was smart enough to understand that my height must impact my daily life some how, but didn't see an interruption. 2) He was 4 years old and had the bravery to ask a question that everyone in that store was curious to know. There wasn't one person that didn't listen, to the answer. once I told him I had long pedals he shrugged a returned to his plate of eggs.
His mom looked at me, and could not have been more apologetic. "He does this to me all the time." I desperately wanted ask her: what is "it" that he does to you? She apologized profusely. I told her not to apologize for having a child who is inquisitive. Her son did something few PEOPLE do: He treated me with dignity, and respect. He asked the question that he was curious about, and let me answer. He acted with maturity far beyond that of a 4 year old. And most importantly he was brave enough to ask. At 4 years old he opened a forum for me to educate a room full of people, without any of us realizing it. He'll probably never think of me again, but hopefully when he sees someone "different" he'll remember that "everyone is built differently."
As I got in the car I was asked how I drive, I thought: I'm heading to take a test when I have all the education I need to do what I'm meant to be doing. I'm meant to be speaking to people. My career was always meant to have an audience ... since my life always has been.
Thursday was just a little bit different. I looked at the alarm clock, and wonder why I was getting out of bed? I had spent the night before studying (AGAIN) for a test I didn't want to take. I had no reason to stop at the bagel store, because I was anything but hungry. Coffee is a luxury that I enjoy in secret. On Thursday I felt compelled to follow my doctor's orders. Maybe caffeine was to blame for all my, sudden, educational problems. Maybe if I bypassed my cup of morning Joe I could, once again ace a test. - It was at least worth a shot.
Bleary eyed I walked into the bagel store. If I couldn't have coffee I needed to eat, something. A hush fell over the morning crowd of scrambled egg eaters and coffee drinkers. I wasn't in the mood to be the center of attention, even though I knew I was the cause of the sudden silence. Suddenly a little boy broke the, thickening, quiet. "Mommy, is that a little girl." I was praying that mom would give a half way decent answer so I could take my bagel and run! - She didn't!! "No that's a grown up. No shh!" (Please tell me why the word "that" often replaces "she.") The theatre voice in me said: "Action, Taniya you're on!" And as if on cue, the little boy said "well what's wrong with her?" And the monologue rolled right off my tongue. "Ah I just have short legs!" I said. "But why?" he countered (OK it wasn't really a monologue, because this kid was relentless!) "Because every one's built differently." I told. This went on for several minutes. The whole time mom stood frozen like a deer in headlights. Out of nowhere this 4-year-old hit me with a question that left me speechless. "How do you drive?" You could have heard a pin drop in that room. I was stunned for two reasons. 1) He never asked if I COULD drive. In his world everything is possible. He was curious as to HOW. He was smart enough to understand that my height must impact my daily life some how, but didn't see an interruption. 2) He was 4 years old and had the bravery to ask a question that everyone in that store was curious to know. There wasn't one person that didn't listen, to the answer. once I told him I had long pedals he shrugged a returned to his plate of eggs.
His mom looked at me, and could not have been more apologetic. "He does this to me all the time." I desperately wanted ask her: what is "it" that he does to you? She apologized profusely. I told her not to apologize for having a child who is inquisitive. Her son did something few PEOPLE do: He treated me with dignity, and respect. He asked the question that he was curious about, and let me answer. He acted with maturity far beyond that of a 4 year old. And most importantly he was brave enough to ask. At 4 years old he opened a forum for me to educate a room full of people, without any of us realizing it. He'll probably never think of me again, but hopefully when he sees someone "different" he'll remember that "everyone is built differently."
As I got in the car I was asked how I drive, I thought: I'm heading to take a test when I have all the education I need to do what I'm meant to be doing. I'm meant to be speaking to people. My career was always meant to have an audience ... since my life always has been.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The C word
Giving up has never been my thing. It's what I preach against, to everyone speak with. "Never say you can't." Don't give up, and all the over used euphemisms I can think of. Yet, here I sit, ready to quit!
I'm not sure about this school thing, anymore. I'm not a "C" student, yet suddenly busting my ass leaves me marginal at best. Between having seizures, and medications that cause me to forget everything; studying is proving to be useless. There are times, when, I'm surprised I remember who I am. I asked my doctor about the changes in my memory and she said it's partly the medication but mainly a result of the "brain damage."
"Brain damage??" WOW Why is a stupid Brain Hemorrhage, that happened in 2003 wreaking havoc on my life life now? Almost 10 years and worlds later, I feel like I'm starting all over.
I would never throw around the "fair " word, because I'm smart enough to know life's not fair. However, I know paid a huge price, when this disaster happened. I walked through hell and back in 2003. I don't have it in me to fight this residual crap that decided to come back and haunt me! Seizures weren't part of the deal; nor were medications that left me feeling like a zombie.
My natural instinct is to fight back. But I can't fight against my own Brain. This isn't like fighting the way I think, or do things. This is fighting the very energy that powers my own "self" How do I fight back against that?
So here's where I am? Do I throw my hands up, and say I can't do this anymore? Do I give up and say it was a nice try, but it's not working out. Or do keep at it? Do hold in the uncertainty? Stuff down the fact that I'm not sleeping? study information that I wont remember in an hour? Or do I find another path to try walking down?
I gave this a shot, but I'm not sure that I can see this through ...
I'm not sure about this school thing, anymore. I'm not a "C" student, yet suddenly busting my ass leaves me marginal at best. Between having seizures, and medications that cause me to forget everything; studying is proving to be useless. There are times, when, I'm surprised I remember who I am. I asked my doctor about the changes in my memory and she said it's partly the medication but mainly a result of the "brain damage."
"Brain damage??" WOW Why is a stupid Brain Hemorrhage, that happened in 2003 wreaking havoc on my life life now? Almost 10 years and worlds later, I feel like I'm starting all over.
I would never throw around the "fair " word, because I'm smart enough to know life's not fair. However, I know paid a huge price, when this disaster happened. I walked through hell and back in 2003. I don't have it in me to fight this residual crap that decided to come back and haunt me! Seizures weren't part of the deal; nor were medications that left me feeling like a zombie.
My natural instinct is to fight back. But I can't fight against my own Brain. This isn't like fighting the way I think, or do things. This is fighting the very energy that powers my own "self" How do I fight back against that?
So here's where I am? Do I throw my hands up, and say I can't do this anymore? Do I give up and say it was a nice try, but it's not working out. Or do keep at it? Do hold in the uncertainty? Stuff down the fact that I'm not sleeping? study information that I wont remember in an hour? Or do I find another path to try walking down?
I gave this a shot, but I'm not sure that I can see this through ...
Sunday, January 22, 2012
It could always be worse ...
At least that's what I tell myself when I feel I've found the bottom of this bottomless hole. They say you find a point where you hit "rock bottom." I've never found that true. Bottom is an illusion. Bottom signifies a finite end to something. - I'm not sure anything ever ends. The entire world, as we know it, is a cycle of repetitions.
Science tell us that energy cannot be created or destroyed. Therefore the essence of energy just lingers until it is reclaimed by something, to be used again.
So do I, naively, believe that I can put an "end" to all the rapid, electrical energy that causes my seizures? I've been told that the electrical surges in my Brain run too fast to fully be controlled by drugs. But I struggle with that concept. Is it possible for anything, about the Brain, to run too fast? I talk too fast, I think rapidly, I think too much, I can create and analyze at the same time. I have anxiety, born out of a desire to be perfect. I knowingly, take on more than I can juggle.
Good bad or indifferent that's who I am! And I wouldn't change that. The biggest concern, about this damn surgery is that it might change "me" in some small but significant way. Yet, one by one these seizures keep coming, and I desperately want to end that. Here's my question: where will all the extra energy go ...
Science tell us that energy cannot be created or destroyed. Therefore the essence of energy just lingers until it is reclaimed by something, to be used again.
So do I, naively, believe that I can put an "end" to all the rapid, electrical energy that causes my seizures? I've been told that the electrical surges in my Brain run too fast to fully be controlled by drugs. But I struggle with that concept. Is it possible for anything, about the Brain, to run too fast? I talk too fast, I think rapidly, I think too much, I can create and analyze at the same time. I have anxiety, born out of a desire to be perfect. I knowingly, take on more than I can juggle.
Good bad or indifferent that's who I am! And I wouldn't change that. The biggest concern, about this damn surgery is that it might change "me" in some small but significant way. Yet, one by one these seizures keep coming, and I desperately want to end that. Here's my question: where will all the extra energy go ...
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
The Science of being short.
Hey guys! Now I'm not one to bitch ... at least I don't think I bitch? (you guys read my blog ... do I bitch?) That was so off topic ...
I knew when I decided to go into medicine, that things would not be easy. I'm not just talking academically, either. I knew there would would be physical roadblocks to jump over. I knew labs would physically be a challenge. I've never seen a lab table that I could reach. I also can't stand for extended periods of time. I took all the necessary steps to circumvent any problems. Faculty told me all about the newly built Science labs with stools, and adaptable equipment. (whatever that is.)
Not to my surprise, it's time to use the microscopes and I can't see into mine. Not the biggest deal in the world, I just climb up onto the lab table, cross my legs and begin my lab. (much to the school's dismay I'm sure- being that these are brand new labs and all.)
Me and my microscope are drawing lots of attention. (but when do I not draw attention.) Suddenly some peppy blond girl says to me: "why don't you just raise the chair?" Now, I'm sure that was a genuine idea, but I've been 4' tall a majority of my adult life. And the time that I wasn't 4' I was 3'. Raising chairs, and sitting on things is lil people 101. Did she really think I didn't try that?
Getting up and down to mount slides, get new slides and all the other happenings becomes taxing. (Plus I'm trying not to fall in front of a class of 24 people. - Well all know I fall alot!) The professor sees me struggle, and offers to excuse me from the lab. Is she serious? I'm going into medicine, and she's willing to let me skip a lab of looking at bacteria through a microscope? Probably now her best idea! I tell her I want to participate. I want to mount smelly pound water on a slide, and look for miro-organisms. After all they do have me paying 500.00 a semester for "lab fees." I want my 500.00 worth of pond water! We settle on me working on her desk. That was successful(none of her papers were lost or damaged by the pound water. And than peppy blond comes back: "I think those chairs go pretty high!" She has now turned her lab exercise into testing the hight of chairs??
I learned long ago that the world wont change for me. I have to literally, and figuratively, rise up to meet the world. At 31 years old it's my way of life. It's not even something I'm conscious of, anymore. While other people might notice me climbing up on a table or standing on a chair, it's something I do without thought. What I have become aware of is that every time attention is drawn to me, it's usually also drawn to something that needs to change. I'm not naive enough to think I'll change the world. Although I would love me headstone to read: "Here lies Taniya, the girl who changed the world." That won't happen. But I can change a bio lab.
I walk into banks, and see lower ATM machines, with an option to have it speak to you. Why is that slight change in place? Because enough people noticed the little person jumping up and down to try and get his ATM card out. Or the blind or illiterate man ask a passerby to please read the choices to him.
That's what peppy doesn't understand. In this world I am a micro organism, and this lab is so much bigger than me. I know how to adapt. I'm confident enough to have the class stare at me while I sit on top of the lab table. What about the kid that comes after me? What happens to the shy, fresh out of HS disabled kid, who just wants to use that microscope? What if he's afraid to ask for what he needs, so he does accept the offer to be excused from the lab? Where does that leave him? Behind his classmates, academically? Or behind his peers, socially?
So while I know all the "peppys" are well-meaning, they are quite counterproductive. It does the world no good, if I just find a way to raise MY chair. I'll always find a way to "make it work." But in the process, let me make it a bit easier for others to be able to HAVE it work!!
And that's my rant for the night!
I knew when I decided to go into medicine, that things would not be easy. I'm not just talking academically, either. I knew there would would be physical roadblocks to jump over. I knew labs would physically be a challenge. I've never seen a lab table that I could reach. I also can't stand for extended periods of time. I took all the necessary steps to circumvent any problems. Faculty told me all about the newly built Science labs with stools, and adaptable equipment. (whatever that is.)
Not to my surprise, it's time to use the microscopes and I can't see into mine. Not the biggest deal in the world, I just climb up onto the lab table, cross my legs and begin my lab. (much to the school's dismay I'm sure- being that these are brand new labs and all.)
Me and my microscope are drawing lots of attention. (but when do I not draw attention.) Suddenly some peppy blond girl says to me: "why don't you just raise the chair?" Now, I'm sure that was a genuine idea, but I've been 4' tall a majority of my adult life. And the time that I wasn't 4' I was 3'. Raising chairs, and sitting on things is lil people 101. Did she really think I didn't try that?
Getting up and down to mount slides, get new slides and all the other happenings becomes taxing. (Plus I'm trying not to fall in front of a class of 24 people. - Well all know I fall alot!) The professor sees me struggle, and offers to excuse me from the lab. Is she serious? I'm going into medicine, and she's willing to let me skip a lab of looking at bacteria through a microscope? Probably now her best idea! I tell her I want to participate. I want to mount smelly pound water on a slide, and look for miro-organisms. After all they do have me paying 500.00 a semester for "lab fees." I want my 500.00 worth of pond water! We settle on me working on her desk. That was successful(none of her papers were lost or damaged by the pound water. And than peppy blond comes back: "I think those chairs go pretty high!" She has now turned her lab exercise into testing the hight of chairs??
I learned long ago that the world wont change for me. I have to literally, and figuratively, rise up to meet the world. At 31 years old it's my way of life. It's not even something I'm conscious of, anymore. While other people might notice me climbing up on a table or standing on a chair, it's something I do without thought. What I have become aware of is that every time attention is drawn to me, it's usually also drawn to something that needs to change. I'm not naive enough to think I'll change the world. Although I would love me headstone to read: "Here lies Taniya, the girl who changed the world." That won't happen. But I can change a bio lab.
I walk into banks, and see lower ATM machines, with an option to have it speak to you. Why is that slight change in place? Because enough people noticed the little person jumping up and down to try and get his ATM card out. Or the blind or illiterate man ask a passerby to please read the choices to him.
That's what peppy doesn't understand. In this world I am a micro organism, and this lab is so much bigger than me. I know how to adapt. I'm confident enough to have the class stare at me while I sit on top of the lab table. What about the kid that comes after me? What happens to the shy, fresh out of HS disabled kid, who just wants to use that microscope? What if he's afraid to ask for what he needs, so he does accept the offer to be excused from the lab? Where does that leave him? Behind his classmates, academically? Or behind his peers, socially?
So while I know all the "peppys" are well-meaning, they are quite counterproductive. It does the world no good, if I just find a way to raise MY chair. I'll always find a way to "make it work." But in the process, let me make it a bit easier for others to be able to HAVE it work!!
And that's my rant for the night!
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Accepted
Self acceptance is a strange thing. It's an elusive ideal, that you can: believe you have, want to have or pretend to have. Yet, it's not until you've really discovered it that you realize what you've you never had.... I always felt that I accepted myself, but in recent months, I realized that I haven't. 31 years old and I'm just learning to accept myself.
OI was this gorilla on my back. I tried for years to carry it effortlessly, and succeeded. If I pretended it wasn't there than it wasn't. But that lack of acknowledgement, became a sense of denial.
Sure I loved my "parlor tricks." I have double-jointed fingers, I broke 92 bones (yes, I got an extra one over the summer!!) and have been been broken apart and put back together more times than I can count. I love my scar stories. I tell them and love the responses they illicit. In that respect I hold my OI in high esteem. However, I never wanted that "stigma" of having OI.
I just started referring to myself as a "little person." I've accepted that this is a characteristic, and not an all-encompassing definition of me.
I've accepted that I will be a PA and still have OI. I will be a mother that's the same size as my child. I will be a wife who happens to have seizures. I have to be able to incorporate, and these own these characteristics just another adjective. I would never deny being black or being female. Why are all my medical adjectives, so hard for me own?
My love life has been at a standstill, and I've seen great relationships fall apart ...
Maybe the the old adage is true - Who will love you if you don't love yourself.
My confidence is finally matched with my own acceptance.
OI was this gorilla on my back. I tried for years to carry it effortlessly, and succeeded. If I pretended it wasn't there than it wasn't. But that lack of acknowledgement, became a sense of denial.
Sure I loved my "parlor tricks." I have double-jointed fingers, I broke 92 bones (yes, I got an extra one over the summer!!) and have been been broken apart and put back together more times than I can count. I love my scar stories. I tell them and love the responses they illicit. In that respect I hold my OI in high esteem. However, I never wanted that "stigma" of having OI.
I just started referring to myself as a "little person." I've accepted that this is a characteristic, and not an all-encompassing definition of me.
I've accepted that I will be a PA and still have OI. I will be a mother that's the same size as my child. I will be a wife who happens to have seizures. I have to be able to incorporate, and these own these characteristics just another adjective. I would never deny being black or being female. Why are all my medical adjectives, so hard for me own?
My love life has been at a standstill, and I've seen great relationships fall apart ...
Maybe the the old adage is true - Who will love you if you don't love yourself.
My confidence is finally matched with my own acceptance.
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