Ascendant in Scorpio

It’s strange reading these past few blog posts I’ve written back in 2012. My life is not at all how I imagined it be. I remember taking nursing classes and doing part-time work at a retail gig. I remember feeling excited but anxious, as if I knew I was headed in the wrong direction. I remember folding clothes and failing to sell store credit cards, but loving all my retail warriors. There was an opera singer who would sing at closing time. There were actors. There were models. Many aspired for big six-figured jobs one day. Almost everyone was still in college.

Then I started to volunteer at a cancer organization. Then I was hired and met all these folks from all different types of life. I was helping out those affected by cancer. I ended up being in a video talking about my experience with cancer. Then I was promoted to Office Manager. All this within one year.

I’m now in a transitional period in my life. I could feel it. I have a few goals I want to get started on. Some short-term, some long-term. I’m finally in a favorable position to leave my home. I wanted to buy a condo, but I think I’m going to rent. I may or may not decide to do this with a roommate. I’ve always liked my privacy and my space, but I imagine a lot of people do. I think if I had a roommate, it’d have to be a writer – someone who needs their privacy to write, appreciates inspiration, and enjoys reading. Someone who’ll understand the chaos of NaNoWriMo.

I’m researching right now and hoping to lock down a place sometime before the end of the year. They say November is the best time to move. All the prices are low. Landlords are desperate and it’s far too cold to move items up and down the stairs. Time to pack up my items and set sail.

Start of Something New

I was having a good day last Friday. I wrapped up an interview that went well and brought home lunch. My mother had red eyes when I stepped through that door. She shook her head and said, “I’m so happy to see you.”

Then I saw what was going on in the news.

I can’t even begin to imagine the heartbreak and sadness that these victims’ parents are going through. Burying your own child is the worst feeling in the world. There was a lot of talk about how parents nationwide must be feeling, but as a tutor to first and fourth graders, I wonder how teachers were feeling. I only see my kids a few hours a week, but full-time teachers and teacher assistants are with these kids five days a week for up to nine hours a day. These kids become their kids. They take their work home and continue to think about them as they plan projects, lesson plans, and correct their work. You get to know a student. Even with the few hours I was with my students, I got to have a fair understanding of their personality. I cared for them, encouraged them during their struggles, and reprimanded them when they stepped out of line. These kids became mine for those few hours — so I have but a fraction of an idea of how it must feel for a teacher during this time.

In health-related news, (1) I wrapped up my physical therapy sessions two weeks ago. No one can even tell I had surgery anymore. (2) I managed to lower my cholesterol by 100 points. (3) My weight stopped dropping and it was my oncologist (after doing a bloodtest) who realized my thyroid was acting up, once again. So that medicine has raised from 75 MCG to 100 MCG — I’m now starting to notice a change in weight again. I’m one jean size away from being ME again.

School-wise, I should be a certified nurses assistant by May 4th. Then I can work my way through nursing school and become a full-on (oncologist!) Registered Nurse. In the meantime, I’ve been collecting some more odd jobs that are unrelated to my career but it’s giving me an opportunity to meet so many great people and earn some Christmas money so I can start giving back to my siblings who have been giving me presents when I was unemployed and broke. Why I’m not homeless is all thanks to my supportive parents who are footing a lot of my bills.

Presently I work at a small hospital as their on-call receptionist. I also work at a cool retail store (do not want to disclose in public bc I don’t want to be found out) — which has been a unique and awesome experience full of laughter and WTFery. As much as I could complain about customers, I got to love how energetic this job gets me, how close I’ve become with my coworkers, and just how much I love my employee discount (I was able to buy a $60 coat for my brother for a measly $13). My parents are less enthused. They keep whispering, “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

what my parents see whenever I leave to work retail.

I interviewed for the position of Cancer Support Specialist at an awesome organization this past Friday. Not sure if I got it yet, especially as I have no experience with telephone support but I thought it was still worthy to apply for. It was one of those things that you just gotta go through despite knowing the chances of getting the spot is low. I don’t like “what ifs?”

Since my schedule is slowly filling up, I’m going to have to adjust my reading goal for the year of 2013. My weight goal will be so much easier to reach than it was in 2012.  I majorly failed on the TV-Front; I think I watched more TV this year than I have in the past four to five years. I also need to think of one “crazy” goal to reach for so if it does happen, then I can go all celebratory with the wine and coffee. Everyone should have at least one crazy goal for New Years.

Moments

Life has been stranger than usual. I’m coming toward the end of physical therapy. I’m returning to the workforce in full force. As if the past two years never happened. My friend’s state, New Jersey, was suddenly destroyed and another friend kept me and a few others informed of her situation in Philadelphia with daily text messages of flooded basements and flickering lights. I was most concerned with the one in Jersey who evacuated but her tweets express such a subtle sadness of loss.

It was strange reading these tweets and text messages and then reading tweets from other friends laughing about TV shows, everyday life and adventures. I felt guilty whenever I invested time watching election news when there were people on the east coast dying and going homeless. This is the sort of thing that happens all the time, though. There’s always some turmoil going on.

I met an elderly woman at work who I kept running into. She wasn’t an employee, but a client. We kept smiling knowingly at one another as we accidentally ran into each other for the fifth time. In our last run-in, she finally asked me a question — assistance with some information. I happily helped her, but that was it. My mind was half-distracted with what I needed to do at work.

I wish I made more of an effort to know her. It sounds strange, but I belatedly felt there was a reason we kept running into one another. I felt I should have stuck around a little longer, asked her a few more questions – like does she need any more help? She seemed eager to talk to me, and I was eager to help. I felt it was a missed connection. I still feel a tiny ache thinking about her.

Like there was something else I was suppose to help her with.

Or maybe this ache comes from feeling like maybe I just lost a potential friend.

Before and After

I was told during my pulmonary function test that I had improved from the two years before. I was afraid I would develop lung issues, but these tests are proving otherwise. A lot has been happening. Attended a writer’s conference and had a lot of fun, met a lot of geeky Chicagoans, and gained a lot of insight into the world of publishing. I was so inspired afterwards.

Perhaps one of the more significant updates in my life was a change in looks with my Mii character on the Wii.

Here you’ll see 2010-2011 Vanessa – portly, bald, and slightly vicious and hungry for some win. I ruled the Mario Kart world.

Now here’s Present Vanessa. Happier, taller, and with a head full of hair. Also, she upgraded her sunglasses. Note that ironic smirk on her face. She’s unfortunately rusty as not many red shells have been attempting to knock her down.

And I do my little turn on the catwalk

Lost the water weight from the latest surgery. I still have about 15-10 pounds to lose before I’m back to the weight I was when I was in college. In my efforts to lose weight, I apparently raised my cholesterol through the roof. (I swear to god, between these hip surgeries and cholesterol issues, I’m wondering if I’m really am in my twenties). “You should be on medication,” my cardiologist said. “However, you’ve lost a lot of weight.” Like, twenty to twenty-five pounds since we last met. We agreed that it was the adjustments I’ve made in my diet. She told me what to re-adjust. “We’ll check back in three months,” she said. “If your cholesterol hasn’t lowered by then, we’ll need to talk about statin therapy.”

New goal! Mission: Lower Cholesterol. Deadline has been set for the week after Thanksgiving.

Both parents fretted and bought me boxes of Cheerios without telling the other, so now I have a healthy supply of cereal. I don’t have to heart to tell them that Cheerios alone will not lower my cholesterol.

My second hip surgery was successful. Maybe even more successful than the first. I’ve recovered fast. The following day I was walking about with the crutches with little to no issue. I think I only used my crutches for about (5) full days before I experimented with walking on my own (whenever my mother wasn’t around screaming at me to sit back down. “I won’t pay for another hip surgery, missy!”) My home physical therapist only saw me for two weeks. They cleared me for outpatient, which starts next week. I was able to get the same home nurse from last time – good times all around. The only unfortunate aspect of this whole ordeal is that I had no real reason to allow myself to float away with my pain killers and sleeping pills for too long.

Nurse practitioners were clapping their hands when they saw me Friday at the orthopedic doctor’s office. It blew me away and left me utterly speechless. One said, “I was really excited when I saw your name on the schedule. I wanted to see your progress!”

And it’s been such a dramatic progress. I remember limping into their office the first time we went. I’m embarrassed to admit I was in tears as I talked about just how painful it was to do anything anymore. I couldn’t walk for more than 15 minutes, I couldn’t even sit down for too long. I talked about how I sometimes laid in bed for hours after waking up just so I can avoid moving. Worst of all, I couldn’t partake in a lot of activities with my students because I couldn’t sit on the floor with them, or even bend down. I left that day in a wheelchair because I just couldn’t make my way back to the parking lot.

Now I’m struttin’ about like that never happened.

I’m getting ready for nursing classes and a big writerly conference coming up in Chicago. Tickets were about $200. I lamented, but paused when I realized that volunteers at the literary program I participate in get free admission (if I commit x amount of hours). I signed up for it. I shot over to my mother afterwards and told her about the conference. She cut me off and asked, “How much will this be? Give me the bottom line.” I told her it was two hundred dollars, then immediately added that I’m volunteering so it’s free for me. I almost teared up when she said, “I would have gladly paid for it. I know how much this means to you.” I truly never thought she would understand my enthusiasm and private ambitions to have a small side job of selling little known paperback novels.

August (and the beginning of September) has been great thusfar. I saw one of my best friends get married to such a great guy, and another just declared her engagement to her long-term boyfriend. Sometime in between the two events, another friend gave birth to a beautiful baby. My second family is growing. It’s still something I’m wrapping my head around, but it’s something I’m happily dealing with.

Hipster Update

I think watching your friends get married is one of those milestones into adulthood. You’re no longer attending family or parent’s friends weddings, but weddings for those you grew up with. Three pairs of friends have gotten married, and one just had a beautiful baby boy. I never knew my heart could swell so much.

It was so good to see everyone again from the good old college days. Coordinating hotels, flights, road trips. Sharing pieces of green cake and candy. The ol’ adage of “the friends you make in college are the friends you make for life” gets more true every year.

This past Tuesday I had my second hip surgery. It was scheduled for September but they gave me priority for any cancellations since they knew I was starting nursing classes. It just so happened that during one physical therapy session, the nurse called to ask if I have such and such date available. Yes! This time I felt a little bit more pain than the last, however my recovery is going super fast. The physical therapist had to slow me down, and the occupational therapist simply signed me off saying, “She knows what to do. There is nothing to teach her!”  I don’t really need my crutches most of the time, but I still use them because the last thing I want is something to go wrong right before nursing classes start this September.

From past experience, I decided to request sleeping pills this time around. It’s really tough sleeping with a bum leg. I remember last time I was only getting about two to four hours of sleep. Now I’m getting all my hours and feeling so refreshed. Though if you combined the heavy duty pain killers and the sleeping pills, you get one tripped out Vanessa. It’s Vanilla Sky all the time with me wondering if this is fantasy or reality, and a condescending mother who simply pets your head when you ask for verification.

In regards to hallucinations, there were less of them this time. However, I kept imagining my sister was by my side. My mother kept telling me I kept talking to my invisible sibling about all things from politics to Kim Kardashian. Also when my brother and sister really were at my side, they said I was playfully shooting someone at the wall with my fingers. So.

Time to chill and wait around as nurse and physical therapist visit me at home. I managed to get the same nurse (I requested her again). My original physical therapist is on vacation, so I have someone else. Funny enough, she has a heavy Russian accent too. I’ll be paying close attention to this as I write dialogue for my Russian characters.

Friday the 13th

M’not one to believe in superstitions or apply special values on certain numbers. I joked with my mother that perhaps getting my scans done on such a date was a bad idea. It was no more than a few hours that the oncologist called me back. I’m disease-free, she assured me, however – and my heart stopped a little at ‘however’ – a hairline fracture was found on my right unoperated hip.

She sounded concerned. Have I been in pain? I said the pain has been minimal on that side, if I even felt it at all. She wanted me off my leg and going back on my crutches until she consulted with my orthopedic about this small discovery. I hung up and went to talk to my mother. Starting with the good news, ending it with the bad.

“You’re going to need to have another hip replacement?”

I said, “Looks like it.”

I’m bummed, because I’m afraid the orthopedic doctor is going to call me to schedule a surgery as soon as possible. I’m afraid this is going to interfere with the nursing program I plan on attending this fall. I feel like I’m this broken doll that keeps getting fixed with band-aids and tape. Part of me was momentarily upset. Then, after distracting myself by making twenty little paper cranes without stopping, I smiled for a ridiculous realization that had just hit me.

I’m gonna be 5’2 after this second hip surgery. I’m no longer going to be 5’1.

Today I canceled my physical therapy without any guilt. Hairline fracture, I explained, waiting to hear back from my orthopedic to see what my options are. Mom and I shared some coffee and talked about this fall. We don’t know if I have to go through any surgery yet. My oncologist said it’s quite possible she’s overreacting. Nonetheless, my mother explained that even if I have to undergo surgery, I’d probably still be able to take my nursing classes. Hope is not completely lost. If anything, it’ll be a huge plus in my life. I’ll be 5’2. No more pain. No more wondering when my right hip is going to give up on me.

I’ve been told many times that the second round of hip surgery is a lot easier than the last. People recover much faster. The body “knows” what to expect. Aside from being an inch taller, I can’t help but look forward to the hallucinations. I can’t remember half of them, but my sister told me afterwards.

My sister said, “You would whisper to me about a little white dog eating your food.” I don’t remember this at all. What I do remember is getting a visit from Precious (yes, the girl from the movie), and having her tell me that she’s okay. Her life isn’t so bad anymore. I should stop feeling bad for her. I remember pointing at her while looking over at my mother and saying, “She’s going to be okay.”

(why are small dogs always paying me a visit during hallucinations?)

Sometimes it’s really easy to feel sorry for yourself. Anger festers and teenage melodramatic “why me” happens. It gets kinda easy to pick on yourself and take a few lazy steps back for the sake of comfort. But the good doctor called with excellent news. I’m disease-free. Having to deal with physical therapy and crutches are nothing compared to what could have happened if the news were reversed: your hip looks swell, but your disease reemerged. Just have to deal with the cards dealt and my hand doesn’t look bad at all. I feel like I’m still on some winning streak.

Tomorrow I prepare for my “evaluation” for the nursing program. I’m ironing my blouse and shining my shoes. The only issue I have will be existential in nature. Just when does one become more android than man?

Goodbye, Power Port

This must be a week of surgical announcements. It’s really interesting how people approach these little bumps on the road. One wrote an introspective private entry on her blog about a decision that took her two full months. I admire her courage in going forward with this surgery; I don’t know if I would have had the courage to go down that specific road. Another friend called me because she needed to have knee surgery and there wasn’t a hint of fear in her voice. I had another who made a simple tweet about her surgery.

Me? I’m dancing, comrades. Hear that music? It may or may not be Justin Beiber because I am willing to dance to any beat at the moment. I just got off the phone with the surgical department that will be removing my power port. This ugly, invasive power port is finally going to be out of my system! By Friday afternoon! I have been looking forward to this since February 2011.

For those who don’t know what it is, it’s this catheter of sorts that’s connected to a larger vein in your chest so nurses don’t have to keep picking at the arms every time you went in for blood draws or chemotherapy. It also makes these picks nearly painless, and for things like chemo, the process goes a lot faster with this on. The power port was great for these times, but it’s visible, protruding out of your chest. I didn’t mind it then, but now that it’s all over, this is just an ugly reminder for me. It’s usually a year-long wait (at least by my hospital’s policy) after your last chemotherapy to get it removed just in case the cancer returns. It’s an ugly, anxious wait. This could have been done sooner but with this hip surgery, I decided to wait afterwards so nurses wouldn’t take turns trying to find a vein in my arms during my in-patient stay at the hospital.

Though three of us are having what seems like minor surgical procedures, I can’t help but think of my one friend who’s life is forever going to be changed by this. I’m storing away some spending money to go visit her in Pittsburgh for whenever she’s prepared to celebrate the start of her new life. Few of us are planning to share a hotel room. There will be drunken revelry.

I felt somewhat guilty canceling my physical therapy this Friday. Then, I started to dance again.

I got 99 problems . . .

But writing ain’t one.

I’m a few pages away from being done with the second draft of my novel, and a few pages into a novella I’m working on. It started out as a pet project over a song but after talking to a few of my closest online buddies (all writers), I realized I wanted to work on this new idea I kept bouncing off them for the past few weeks. I’ve been dedicating myself to this craft and forcing myself to forge relationships with those of similar interests and attitudes. What started out as a small amicable writing community really expanded beyond that. I not only enjoy the stories they put out, the critiques they leave behind for my random flash pieces, but they’ve become a great group of friends. Their lives outside of writing, their relationships, etc — all part of the general dialogue these days.

I’ve also notice a drastic improvement in my writing since. I’m starting to be more aware of common issues that arise in my pieces and become more conscious over what people really like and want to see more of. The idea of getting publish is actually becoming a realistic possibility.

Once I’m comfortable about my leg, I’ll start some independent traveling around the city and see if I can join some writing groups. I’ve met some great folks at an organization I volunteer at (Open Books, LTD) – some of them writers, but we’re too busy doing our stuff that we rarely have time to sit and talk about ourselves.

This past Saturday I was spent the night dancing with some of Chicago’s eligible young bachelors. To be specific, I was one of many volunteer chaperones at a prom hosted by the Starlight Foundation — an organization dedicated to children struggling with chronic and life-threatening illnesses. It was an internet-themed party. Screens were up, flashing tweets from those on Twitter. Decorations were that of internet icons. Prizes being won by everyone. Every year, they gather and reunite with their friends (in some cases, their only friends) and dance the night away. There were a couple of heart-wrenching moments where I needed to take a breather. How can one possibly complain about anything when these strong group of kids are fighting against unfair forces in their lives that limits their physical and mental capabilities? It makes me angry, but sometimes you have to be angry to provoke change.

the kids allowed me to take two of ’em home.

Met my new physical therapist, Craig, yesterday. He’s quiet. The opposite of my former physical trainer, who was jovial and teasing. The doctor recommendation was six weeks but Craig quietly assessed my walking and strength, and said, “I think I can have you done in four weeks.” Let’s do it.

525,600 minutes — 525,000 moments so dear

Today is the second to the last time I’ll see Jeff the Physical Therapist. He’s been visiting me since the day I came home from the surgery. Thrice a week he would ring my doorbell and have me do all sorts of leg exercises. He’s calm and patient. Sometimes he can be hilarious, making random observations. “I’m going to steal your pink post-its,” he once told me, as he proceeded to take some into his work folder. On his second visit, he said, “I should make your grandmother do some of these exercises with you. How about that?”

Almost every time he’s around, my little shoe lace unties and he bends down to tie ’em up again for me.

Last week was the last time I saw my home nurse who came twice a week at the same time. She dutifully pricked my finger and tested my blood, called my doctors, and ensured I was up to date with everything that was going on behind the scenes. She always seemed concerned and she was always bringing in my mail and newspaper so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. On her last day I gave her a Starbucks giftcard.

“Just a very small token of my gratitude and an apology for being chased by my dog,” I explained. “… He really just wanted to play.”

She unexpectedly teared up.

We hugged, said our goodbyes and well wishes, and that was it. This is a woman who entered my life, got to know intimate details from my blood type to my full medical history to my family arrangement. She even knew the color of my hipster underwear I wore when she inspected my incision. It was just for a few weeks but she knows more about me than most do. Jeff will be next.

I’m starting to learn to appreciate these short encounters with strangers. It’s fascinating learning about them and finding out just how they ended up in my living room. What made them become these people? What happens after they leave? Who are they going home to? Such a short time but they made an immense impact on my mood that would carry out throughout the day.

It’s never more than an hour, but in those 60 minutes, my life was better with them in my life. I should slow down more often and be mindful of how I’m treating someone (anyone) within any given minute. I need to be more mindful of the fact that this may be the last time I see someone. I don’t know anyone’s full history. I don’t know if they’re having a bad day or are going through a difficult period in their life. Moments add up. This one insignificant hour together may become something quite extraordinary.