It’s there…thump…pause…thump….listen for it…thump…an actual heart beat. A tiny, only audible in the exam room, heart beat, but there’s no denying it, it’s there. Yesterday, my co-worker showed me her first sonogram of my 6 inch pseudo niece or nephew. Thump. Yup, that was my heart being taken (who are we kidding? freely given) away. I’m bigger so I get the thump with a capital T.
She and her husband don’t know it yet, but I’m going to be a pseudo aunt (it’s a practice I’m increasingly falling into since I’m afraid the reality of actual blood related nieces and nephews is years away). You can’t have too many cool aunts to help baby sit right?
It’s startling how quickly things fall into perspective when you’re looking at a fuzzy black and white image of an inexplicable miracle. Yes, I was a bio major…I know how babies are made, I’ve taken evolution and genetics…but those don’t come close to explaining this stirring spark of life.
In the past few weeks while we’ve been obsessed with spring projects, a couple of cells have quietly grown into a being with a heart and even a profile (although we can’t tell whose nose it has yet).
And as I try to imagine Grandpa as child, I can’t help but smile.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
10 Weeks
That’s it, not 10 weeks and 2 days, 10 weeks give or take 10 years, 10 weeks and 2 minutes…just 10 weeks.
10 weeks.
70 days.
1680 hours.
Thousands of miles, an ocean, and a 6 hour time difference apart. 10 weeks without treatment maybe, just maybe, a year with treatment.
How can a doctor sum it up so simply? Where’s the equation for how long someone has left and why, why am I here instead of there? How do I convince Gran & Grandpa that I should be with them instead of carrying on?
How do I write my weekly letter to them? Do I carry on, ignore the c word, and tell them tales of my exploits and include them in my life that they helped create and will always influence? Do I send the tear stained letter begging them to let me visit? Do I reminisce about the last meals we had together and accept the fact that even though each time I leave them I think it might be my last goodbye that maybe this time it really was?
10 weeks.
70 days.
1680 hours.
Thousands of miles, an ocean, and a 6 hour time difference apart. 10 weeks without treatment maybe, just maybe, a year with treatment.
How can a doctor sum it up so simply? Where’s the equation for how long someone has left and why, why am I here instead of there? How do I convince Gran & Grandpa that I should be with them instead of carrying on?
How do I write my weekly letter to them? Do I carry on, ignore the c word, and tell them tales of my exploits and include them in my life that they helped create and will always influence? Do I send the tear stained letter begging them to let me visit? Do I reminisce about the last meals we had together and accept the fact that even though each time I leave them I think it might be my last goodbye that maybe this time it really was?
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Waiting to Exhale
I can’t even remember the main plot lines of that movie, but I feel like that’s what the spring is for me and all of a sudden I got to let go. My yoga instructor sometimes has everyone exhale together and then suspend the breath so we all sit together, lungs empty, not holding our breath because we don’t have anything to hold on to, just sitting.
In elementary school I’d hold my breath and fight against the urge to breathe as a I tried to race underwater to reach the far end of the pool without coming up for breath sometimes imagining that a shark was chasing me because of course then I’d be able to swim faster than a speeding bullet. Finally I learnt to embrace the water around me, keep my eye on the end goal, but to admire the beauty of the ripples of light dancing across the bottom of the pool as I pushed forward.
OK, this is starting to sound a bit hippy-ish, so let’s back it up a bit. Exhaling…
On Thursday the pressure of mounting work responsibilities and feeling like I’ve prioritized work over family was draining me, so I left. I was joking with a friend about it, and then all of a sudden something flipped in my brain and I left and it was so simple. I just walked out the door, went home, changed into a swim suit and flip flops, threw essentials in a bag (towel, sun lotion, books, beer), left my cell phone, and went to McKinney Falls. I spent the rest of the afternoon primarily alone: napping in the sun, taking pictures of rocks, having my sore muscles pummeled by the waterfall, and just letting go. After several hours I strolled back to the car with that semi-comatose feeling you get from lazing around in the sun.
At home, I threw open all the windows, took a long hot shower, danced around the apartment by myself, and threw on heels and a dress for the ballet. Instead of fighting traffic downtown, I parked at work and as everyone else was just heading home after spending much too much time in front of a computer I strolled across the Congress Ave Bridge looking at the water with the wind gently swishing my skirt. (One of the main reasons I enjoy being a girl is the feeling of a walking outside on a beautiful night in heels and a soft skirt…little known fact.)
I met my cousin Dorothy there and was thrilled to walk into the new Ballet Austin studios to find our seats were front row center. I could hear the dancers breathe, see every sinew, and practically feel their excitement of performing in such an intimate setting. At first I was a little distracted by the over the top costuming, but was quickly whisked away by the almost tribal musical score, the humor, and sensualness of the performance. It was truly what art is meant to be where people gasped, laughed, and everyone had something to discuss and not in a stilted I’m so cultured I go to the ballet and opera type way, but the type of conversation that flows and everyone excitedly pitches in their thoughts.
After lots of discussion and several hugs good-bye I strolled back across the river, and maybe did a few sashays and twirls here and there.
Sounds like a phenomenal day right, the kind you should only be allowed one of in a week?
Saturday
I spent Friday night renewing my love for salsa dancing, and woke up Saturday morning a little sore but content. Rode the new love of my life, Eva, from my home to the Gus Fruh entrance of the Barton Creek Greenbelt to help with “It’s My Park Day!” Due to a pulled back muscles I ended up checking folks in and out, answering basic questions, putting band-aids on kids, giving out t-shirts…instead of my normal gung-ho workdays of removing invasive species and hauling rocks. At first I was a bit disappointed to take a back seat to the action, but as I sat in the sun chatting with people and finding so many connections I didn’t see coming I began to really enjoy it.
When we wrapped up I had a leaisurely ride home, took a long nap with the breeze blowing over my bed, and headed out to meet some volunteers who’ve been kind enough to water 300+ trees that fell in my lap.
I got to the Austin Biodiversity Greenhouse a bit early, and strolled through rows and rows of trees that by this time next week will be distributed throughout Austin to new homes in public space. I only meant to stay 15 minutes or so to snap a few photos for a newsletter, but had such a great time talking with Jeri & Rene that I ended up watering trees and dreaming about future possibilities for almost an hour.
Now this is when the day gets really good. While whiling away the time at Gus Fruh I’d called a friend to see if I could use him for his hot tub (selfish I know). Thankfully he’s not as selfish and said of course, so once I wrapped up my volunteer time I drove up to his place and had one of the most relaxing evenings I’ve had with no pretenses, no drama, no expectations just conversation, hot water, music, laughter, food, and calm. When I got there instead of rushing off to jump in the water, relaxation should never be rushed, we got caught up on what’s been going on with each other for the past couple of months while laying on couches sipping fresca. Then we headed down to the hot tub and almost turned into prunes as we alternated between the churning hot water and the calm cool pool less than a foot away. Having only known each other a few months it’s almost eairy how comfortable we are, almost like immediate family, alternating between teasing and serious topics. Eventually, I tore myself away from the water and we headed back upstairs and I read while he cooked an impromptu dinner. As we shared an ottoman as our table and enjoyed pasta with vodka sauce, garlic bread, and French fries he thanked me for coming and said that I make it feel like home. Maybe it’s having such an amazing family and home growing up, but to me I think that may be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given. After strolling around outside for a bit to see if we could see the shuttle passing over (I think we were late) we took a brief nap on couches, had some lemon tea, and went our separate ways. He went to join a friend’s celebration over a new job, and I drove along the Capital of TX Hwy looking at the stars before crawling into comfy pjs and getting the best nights sleep I can remember.
...and suspend the breath.
In elementary school I’d hold my breath and fight against the urge to breathe as a I tried to race underwater to reach the far end of the pool without coming up for breath sometimes imagining that a shark was chasing me because of course then I’d be able to swim faster than a speeding bullet. Finally I learnt to embrace the water around me, keep my eye on the end goal, but to admire the beauty of the ripples of light dancing across the bottom of the pool as I pushed forward.
OK, this is starting to sound a bit hippy-ish, so let’s back it up a bit. Exhaling…
On Thursday the pressure of mounting work responsibilities and feeling like I’ve prioritized work over family was draining me, so I left. I was joking with a friend about it, and then all of a sudden something flipped in my brain and I left and it was so simple. I just walked out the door, went home, changed into a swim suit and flip flops, threw essentials in a bag (towel, sun lotion, books, beer), left my cell phone, and went to McKinney Falls. I spent the rest of the afternoon primarily alone: napping in the sun, taking pictures of rocks, having my sore muscles pummeled by the waterfall, and just letting go. After several hours I strolled back to the car with that semi-comatose feeling you get from lazing around in the sun.
At home, I threw open all the windows, took a long hot shower, danced around the apartment by myself, and threw on heels and a dress for the ballet. Instead of fighting traffic downtown, I parked at work and as everyone else was just heading home after spending much too much time in front of a computer I strolled across the Congress Ave Bridge looking at the water with the wind gently swishing my skirt. (One of the main reasons I enjoy being a girl is the feeling of a walking outside on a beautiful night in heels and a soft skirt…little known fact.)
I met my cousin Dorothy there and was thrilled to walk into the new Ballet Austin studios to find our seats were front row center. I could hear the dancers breathe, see every sinew, and practically feel their excitement of performing in such an intimate setting. At first I was a little distracted by the over the top costuming, but was quickly whisked away by the almost tribal musical score, the humor, and sensualness of the performance. It was truly what art is meant to be where people gasped, laughed, and everyone had something to discuss and not in a stilted I’m so cultured I go to the ballet and opera type way, but the type of conversation that flows and everyone excitedly pitches in their thoughts.
After lots of discussion and several hugs good-bye I strolled back across the river, and maybe did a few sashays and twirls here and there.
Sounds like a phenomenal day right, the kind you should only be allowed one of in a week?
Saturday
I spent Friday night renewing my love for salsa dancing, and woke up Saturday morning a little sore but content. Rode the new love of my life, Eva, from my home to the Gus Fruh entrance of the Barton Creek Greenbelt to help with “It’s My Park Day!” Due to a pulled back muscles I ended up checking folks in and out, answering basic questions, putting band-aids on kids, giving out t-shirts…instead of my normal gung-ho workdays of removing invasive species and hauling rocks. At first I was a bit disappointed to take a back seat to the action, but as I sat in the sun chatting with people and finding so many connections I didn’t see coming I began to really enjoy it.
When we wrapped up I had a leaisurely ride home, took a long nap with the breeze blowing over my bed, and headed out to meet some volunteers who’ve been kind enough to water 300+ trees that fell in my lap.
I got to the Austin Biodiversity Greenhouse a bit early, and strolled through rows and rows of trees that by this time next week will be distributed throughout Austin to new homes in public space. I only meant to stay 15 minutes or so to snap a few photos for a newsletter, but had such a great time talking with Jeri & Rene that I ended up watering trees and dreaming about future possibilities for almost an hour.
Now this is when the day gets really good. While whiling away the time at Gus Fruh I’d called a friend to see if I could use him for his hot tub (selfish I know). Thankfully he’s not as selfish and said of course, so once I wrapped up my volunteer time I drove up to his place and had one of the most relaxing evenings I’ve had with no pretenses, no drama, no expectations just conversation, hot water, music, laughter, food, and calm. When I got there instead of rushing off to jump in the water, relaxation should never be rushed, we got caught up on what’s been going on with each other for the past couple of months while laying on couches sipping fresca. Then we headed down to the hot tub and almost turned into prunes as we alternated between the churning hot water and the calm cool pool less than a foot away. Having only known each other a few months it’s almost eairy how comfortable we are, almost like immediate family, alternating between teasing and serious topics. Eventually, I tore myself away from the water and we headed back upstairs and I read while he cooked an impromptu dinner. As we shared an ottoman as our table and enjoyed pasta with vodka sauce, garlic bread, and French fries he thanked me for coming and said that I make it feel like home. Maybe it’s having such an amazing family and home growing up, but to me I think that may be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given. After strolling around outside for a bit to see if we could see the shuttle passing over (I think we were late) we took a brief nap on couches, had some lemon tea, and went our separate ways. He went to join a friend’s celebration over a new job, and I drove along the Capital of TX Hwy looking at the stars before crawling into comfy pjs and getting the best nights sleep I can remember.
...and suspend the breath.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
“You Don’t Have a Ring on that Finger”
a stranger remarked as he passed me on the Lady Bird Lake trail during my lunchtime walk. True. I don’t have a ring on “that” finger or any other finger as a matter of fact.
Does that preclude me from walking on the trail or should I throw myself at his feet and beg him to make me the happiest woman in the world and please pretty please put something sparkly on my finger?
I didn’t even know that men look for wedding rings on women. After a certain age it’s the first thing a girl looks for on interesting guys, it’s a crucial survival strategy to avoid getting into sticky situations. You also look for a ring tan line which is worse than an actual ring, and should send a girl sprinting in the opposite direction as if her life depended on it.
My response to this unusually observant comment… “Nope, just an umbrella.”
Does that preclude me from walking on the trail or should I throw myself at his feet and beg him to make me the happiest woman in the world and please pretty please put something sparkly on my finger?
I didn’t even know that men look for wedding rings on women. After a certain age it’s the first thing a girl looks for on interesting guys, it’s a crucial survival strategy to avoid getting into sticky situations. You also look for a ring tan line which is worse than an actual ring, and should send a girl sprinting in the opposite direction as if her life depended on it.
My response to this unusually observant comment… “Nope, just an umbrella.”
Thursday, April 3, 2008
THIS Is Why
I’m not a lawyer, or a doctor, or an entrepreneur. THIS is a 60+ hour work week. When it’s Monday night and you realize you’ve already put in 20 hours and you’ve still got five more workdays ahead of you, you know you’re in trouble.
What could possibly motivate people to do this on a regular basis? Folks talk about 80 hour workweeks and that just doesn’t seem humanly possible, do people really do that? There’s no way that they’re doing it just for money. It would mean that you really have sold your life, maybe not your soul but definitely your life.
I LOVE what I do and the flexibility that it gives me. Plus I get time and a half for every worked over 40/week so I’m looking at a good 4 days of paid leave thanks to this spring craziness, but that didn’t stop the tears that spring from pure exhaustion and questioning of choices.
Last night I left work to walk to a 2 hour meeting at City Hall for yet another advisory committee I volunteered for (well had arm twisted and gave in), and as I was walking back to the office for another couple hours troubleshooting the tears just started flowing. It was a beautiful spring night, the downtown skyline and the moon reflected in the lake below me, couples strolling along, and all I could think was that I’d inadvertently become a nun.
I’ve always been drawn towards being a nun, but there are a few big obstacles in the way, mainly not being born Catholic and wanting kids (but that’s a whole other story). As I sat in a fancy meeting room with a bunch of middle aged men haggling over wording to amendments, I looked out the window and saw girls my age in beautiful clothes laughing on their way to dates at fancy restaurants or maybe out salsa dancing and I’ve really got to question my priorities.
I devote my work and a lot of my free time towards trying to make the world just a little bit better, but have I sacrificed my future for it? When did I marry public service or at a minimum move in together? Now that I’m trying to get back into dating, how do I find someone who’ll understand the value of my commitments but help me ease out of them so one day I could conceivable spend a Sunday in bed? Inconceivable…I know.
What could possibly motivate people to do this on a regular basis? Folks talk about 80 hour workweeks and that just doesn’t seem humanly possible, do people really do that? There’s no way that they’re doing it just for money. It would mean that you really have sold your life, maybe not your soul but definitely your life.
I LOVE what I do and the flexibility that it gives me. Plus I get time and a half for every worked over 40/week so I’m looking at a good 4 days of paid leave thanks to this spring craziness, but that didn’t stop the tears that spring from pure exhaustion and questioning of choices.
Last night I left work to walk to a 2 hour meeting at City Hall for yet another advisory committee I volunteered for (well had arm twisted and gave in), and as I was walking back to the office for another couple hours troubleshooting the tears just started flowing. It was a beautiful spring night, the downtown skyline and the moon reflected in the lake below me, couples strolling along, and all I could think was that I’d inadvertently become a nun.
I’ve always been drawn towards being a nun, but there are a few big obstacles in the way, mainly not being born Catholic and wanting kids (but that’s a whole other story). As I sat in a fancy meeting room with a bunch of middle aged men haggling over wording to amendments, I looked out the window and saw girls my age in beautiful clothes laughing on their way to dates at fancy restaurants or maybe out salsa dancing and I’ve really got to question my priorities.
I devote my work and a lot of my free time towards trying to make the world just a little bit better, but have I sacrificed my future for it? When did I marry public service or at a minimum move in together? Now that I’m trying to get back into dating, how do I find someone who’ll understand the value of my commitments but help me ease out of them so one day I could conceivable spend a Sunday in bed? Inconceivable…I know.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Cheese comes in 120 ct.
Above is an actual first sentence from an email I got this morning. The week before an event all of the big strategic planning has been taken care of, obvious issues have been dealt with, my cell phone’s charge and ready to trouble shoot, and it comes down to the details. Do we order 600 slices of cheese or 960 or more? We’ve got 4,000+ people pre-registered for the event but how many will actually come to another location for a party and of those how many want cheese on their burger? Is this what program management comes down to, and heaven forbid we run out of cheese…will I face an inbox of hate email next week?
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