"a fine frontier woman" Archives

Here is a list of all the previous posts published on my first blog - “A fine frontier woman”

Bone Marrow Transplant: Removing the Mystery and The Minority Match Gap


It’s early afternoon of spring 2014 and I get a text from my best friend:


‘Hey, just letting you know I’m in the hospital getting a blood transfusion’

Being the nurse that I am – I immediately call her and say “um..what??”

My 26 year old best friend is living her best life in Baltimore, MD as an educator. She’s going to Orioles games and obsessing over Baltimore Raven football – never mind the amazing food and bev scene of Baltimore. My best friend does not need blood transfusions…

A little back story on her – Erika, by the way – when she was in college she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She had surgery and chemotherapy. My initial thought was her ovarian cancer had returned. But that was far from the case.

Turns out what made her realize she needed a blood transfusion was the moment she passed out from a bleeding uterine fibroid. Or rather, woke up on the floor.

Erika passed out on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

This is not normal.

Nothing about bleeding to the point of losing consciousness is normal. She spent the next several weeks in the hospital while they tried figuring out what was going on.

She was eventually diagnosed with Aplastic Anemia.

A Plastic What?

If you don’t know what Aplastic Anemia is – simply put your bone marrow starts to suck at its job.

There’s no plastic involved – plastic in this sense refers to the Greek word for growth. Throw the letter ‘a’ in front to signify without and you’ll have the basic understanding that important cells in Erika’s body were not growing like yours and mine are.

Your bone marrow creates three vital blood groups:

1. White blood cells – your infection fighting cell
2. Red blood cells – your oxygen carrying cell
3. Platelets – your stop bleeding cells
If your bone marrow starts to fail, these three blood groups will start to fall below a safe number. There are many potential causes of Aplastic Anemia – but most people develop it for unknown, or idiopathic, reasons.

Fight, Breathe, Patch

These blood groups are the building blocks of life and you can get really sick if they are out of balance.  

White blood cells are your warriors. They are comprised of many other cells – neutrophils, lymphocytes, monocytes, etc. This collection of cells is constantly surveying your body and looking for intruders like viruses, bacteria and allergens. That little sniffle you developed last week? Your runny nose was made of white blood cells that are fighting whatever viral junk you caught from your coworker. Those hives you get when poison ivy gets up close and personal? They’ve been triggered by your immune system to fight the toxins on your skin.  

Red blood cells carry oxygen throughout your body. Hemoglobin specifically – and if you’re running low on those little oxygen tanks – things like breathing, thinking, walking become a lot more difficult.

Platelets are your body’s patchwork. When you’re bleeding from somewhere – platelets arrive and start forming little blood clot beaver dams to slow and eventually stop the bleeding. They help the scab form on your skinned knee and they keep that pesky dry-aired winter nosebleed from gushing for hours.

When Your Fighters go AWOL

In addition to Erika bleeding from low platelets and passing out from low red blood cells – a few months later she also encountered something called sepsis.

When your white blood cell count is low, your risk for infection is high.

She was carving pumpkins for Halloween when she realized she was feeling hot and clammy. She then quickly realized she had a fever. Normally a fever acts like a siren to your immune system screaming

‘Hey guys, Erika needs our help! Something has breached the perimeter and we need to rally the troops!’

Having your bone marrow function compromised is like calling 911 and no one answers.

Erika’s bone marrow wasn’t working so there weren’t many fighter cells floating around to hear the call to arms. This allowed bacteria to quickly move in and take over.

When someone has sepsis, or becomes septic, this means an infection has become so severe it’s made its way into your body’s interstate system – your bloodstream. Sepsis is a dangerous condition which kills over 270,000 Americans every year and one out of every three hospital deaths is due to sepsis.

Erika became so sick she had to go to the Intensive Care Unit and she lost so much muscle mass she couldn’t walk. Her body was literally and figuratively defenseless – meaning every day functions had to be supplemented by:
  • IV antibiotics
  • Blood products – Red cells and platelets
  • Oxygen
  • Liquid nutrition through a feeding tube in her nose
  • Nurses, PTs and CNAs helping her with all movement and functioning



Erika spent several more weeks in the hospital learning how to walk again before she was discharged home a second time.

How Do You Treat Aplastic Anemia?

Now that you’ve been brought up to speed on what Aplastic Anemia is and how it can affect your body – you may be wondering what can be done? The only way Aplastic Anemia can be cured is by a bone marrow transplant. Sometimes someone can harvest their own cells to be infused later – an autologous transplant – but in Erika’s case, she had to have someone else’s cells – an allogeneic transplant.

A bone marrow transplant consists of infusing healthy blood forming cells into someone who needs them. This is done through an IV like many other treatments including red blood cell transfusions. In order for this transplant to occur – a couple things have to fall into place:

1. Erika has to have very intense chemotherapy to remove all of the blood-making cells she has in her body
2. Erika has to find someone who she is compatible with in order to accept their blood-making cells

The chemotherapy regimen is several days long and very aggressive. In order to have this chemotherapy, you have to stay in a specially designed hospital unit that has many precautions in place to prevent infection. Patients are usually there for at least a month – long enough to start getting mail!

Finding A Match Is Not As Easy As 1,2,3 – or A, B, O

Finding a bone marrow match means finding someone who has cells that are very similar to your own. It is more complicated than a blood transfusion which mostly looks at A, B, and O antigens. In order to match as a donor, both people have to have similar cellular markers – or tiny proteins on their cells. These proteins create the identity of your cells so your immune system can recognize them as your own. The goal is to find someone with similar enough blood cells to trick your body into thinking their cells are yours – so they won’t start attacking them.

The first place a patient looks for a match is their family members, but this only works about 30% of the time.

That means nearly 3 out of every 4 patients needing a donor have to rely on someone who is not related to them.

Thankfully, Erika’s sister – Bianka – was a match and saved Erika’s life.
Bianka and Erika 6 months post transplant

Erika successfully had her chemotherapy and transplant in December of 2014 and was given a new life. Bianka donated her bone marrow cells during a short procedure and those cells were prepared and then administered to Erika. Bianka’s cells went to work and built a new immune system, new oxygen carrying red blood cells and patch making platelets for Erika to use.

She is now approaching five years post-transplant. Five years made possible because of Bianka’s cells.

Finding An Unrelated Donor – And Becoming One

Since most people don’t find a match within their family, they have to rely on the National Marrow Donor Program to find a donor. There are registries where strangers all over the world can provide a sample of their DNA to be placed in a database.

The registration process consists of using a buccal swab – think giant Q tip – to swab the cheek of your mouth for saliva. This sample is then sent and analyzed into a large database. It’s not painful or invasive and can even be done in the comfort of your home. The registry will mail you the swab and kit and you don’t have to interact with anyone!

There are also registration events that occur and you can look up to see where one is being done near you. That way you don't have to worry with mailing anything or filling any papers out – they can do pretty much all of that for you.

Closing the Minority Match Gap


If you’re white, you have almost an 80% chance of finding someone on that registry who matches with you. Taking into account the 30% chance of finding a family member match and then the 80% chance of the registry having a match – if you’re white, the odds are fairly good.

If you’re  African-American, that number is less than 25%. Erika is African-American. This means if Bianka hadn’t been a match – her odds were lower of finding someone in the registry who is a match.

Even if Erika had endured the chemotherapy and successfully removed all of the illworking blood cells in her body, there would have been a large possibility that nothing further could be done. This does happen – people undergo chemotherapy, get bills, crappy food and mail to their hospital room, and they wait.

And wait. And wait.

Waiting for a match to appear on the registry to give them that chance to continue living their life. The chance to eat more crab cakes and cheer on the Baltimore Ravens. The chance to make a difference as an educator, move to new cities, and support friends in hard times. The chance to fall in love, get their heart broken and fall in love again.

Finding a match doesn’t mean their life will be perfect – it means their life will go on.

If you're African-American you can help bridge the gap of available donors for people of color in need of a transplant like Erika. Your ethnicity and unique cells may be one of the few that someone can match with in order for a new chance at life. Your choice to send in your giant Q tip could mean hope for a child, mother, grandparent, or brother.

The easy and selfless choice to join the registry is something easily forgotten as the days pass after you mail it in, but could mean the difference in a person's every day after transplant.


How Will You Feel When They Call?
If you register by either going to a registration drive or by mailing in your cheek swab – how will you feel if a hospital calls and says you’re a match? Is it scary, confusing, or inconceivable?
I know it can feel overwhelming to think about hospitals, chemotherapy and even blood in general. It’s not something most people want to think about. Worrying about blood counts and infections are not great first date conversation starters.
But that’s the beauty in the registry – once you’ve sent your sample it – you don’t have to think about it. Your donor registry is present and accounted for, always waiting just in case. Waiting to be called when someone else’s bone marrow is no longer in service.
Waiting for you to be the voice on the other end of their 911 call.
Erika has made spreading the word about Be The Match one of her post-transplant missions. Her and her sister are dedicated to bringing awareness to the minority gap when it comes to representation on the registry. If you are interested in learning more about how to register- please go to www.bethematch.com to learn more!


Erika a few months post transplant with her new hair, eyelashes and eyebrows growing
Erika and me on my birthday - 2018

Self Care is Not an Island
If you feel alone as a nurse, you are working in a dangerous environment.  You can’t function as a nurse without your coworkers and peers as support. As an only child I don’t mind feeling alone - but being a nurse can force you into a new persona.  My Type B only child ‘ness’ has been replaced with a Type A communal creature (at least during my 40 hour work week) where my focus is hyperattentive and I need community around me.  Working in a hospital as well as a clinic, I was always surrounded by my peers and relied on them heavily for professional support as well as emotional support. In oncology this sharing mentality seems to be amplified.  We shared patients as assignments, we mixed their chemo and we tried to fix their problems. Together. Hard IV to start? Grab Jodi. Patient getting a little belligerent? Get Chevelle. Not sure what the standard guideline is for a certain chemo regimen? Find Erica.  We all knew who these patients were - by name, by diagnosis, by favorite anti-nausea medication and by what their dog’s name was.


We celebrate victories with patients together and we also share tragedies together.  
I scared the shit out my dad one morning after driving home from night shift when I called him incoherently sobbing.  As a brand new baby nurse in 2009, the first time I experienced a traumatic and sudden patient death happened at six in the morning.  I gave report at 7am and left the hospital to go home.


The reality of what I had just witnessed hit me like a freight train.  I was on the phone saying three words:
He. Just. Died.
My dad did his best to help me (he put my mom on the phone) and I became acutely aware my village of support doesn’t always have to coalesce- you have to figure out out who and when to lean on.  Probably in a perfect world you’d have five people you could come to with any problem that comes into your life, but I have yet to find that world. My husband refers to car ownership as a ‘golf bag’- you have a vehicle for every job (welcome to my world) so I’m stealing that ridiculous analogy and saying you need a golf bag of support--someone for every occasion.  
Going back to scaring the hell out of my dad on a Thursday morning- I was able to find those particular people to be my nursing world support.   I’ll never forget the night I was single and living in Alaska and a patient that I was attached to also suddenly died. The doc came to the infusion room and let us know he had died in the hospital that day.  After this update, I was visibly distraught. I wasn’t crying, more so sitting there a bit dumbfounded. My coworker looked at me and asked if I would get a drink with her after work. She rarely drank, just wasn’t her thing.  I’m sure she had plenty of other things she wanted to do that evening. She asked me not because she needed the drink, but because she knew that I was living in the basement of a middle aged woman who worked at the ticket counter of Delta Airlines and that I needed a little more decompression time with someone who understood before we all left for the day at 5pm.  So we went to TGIFriday’s and had a beer. I don’t think we really talked about the patient that much, but the fact she was there for me meant a whole helluva lot.


Ask any nurse about the camaraderie you develop with other nurses and you will be met with countless stories like mine of support, love, sorrow and empathy.  I’d imagine this holds true for other professions that deal with the mortality of life on a more regular basis - EMT, police officers, firefighters, military members, clergymen.  
In those lines of work people tend to gravitate towards their peers as their social network too.  Ever since I graduated with my undergrad in nursing my best friends, drinking friends, social club and girl gang had always been my coworkers.  I made conscious decisions to be around people that I didn’t need to hide the morbid humor, disgusting stories and tears from. I had other friends who weren’t in healthcare, but by in large my day to day interactions were with my peers.


Fast forward to 2016 - As a brand new Nurse Practitioner and someone living in a brand new city, friends were not something I had plenty of - at least not locally.  It’s different creating that community spirit as a provider than as a nurse. Nurses are constantly amongst other nurses during the day, doing their tasks and working together to get the job done.  Providers are in offices - typically by themselves. Providers are either behind closed doors with patients or behind office walls writing orders, prescriptions and notes. There is a mood of solitude that I wasn’t prepared for when I made this professional transition.  

 Now don't get me wrong - I've made some amazing connections with my current coworkers and there is no way I would have survived my first year as an Oncology NP without those people. But there is a definite difference from floor/infusion nursing connections and provider connections. I found myself struggling to share my work experiences with non-work peers because if you don't deal with cancer every day you probs don't want to talk about it - ever.  

 So I would either:

 1) Depress/scare the hell out of Ben, my dad (again) and random friends with vague stories (thanks HIPPA) to try and decompress
2) Kept it to myself and let it eat at my soul a bit

Actual footage of me internalizing my emotional fatigue

It took me months - yes months - to figure out the reason why my stress threshold was lower than normal. Once I did, I had to realize how to utilize the support I did have and lemme tell you - it's a pretty great support system.


The majority of my friends I made since moving here haven’t been from work-they’ve been from the gym.  I started Crossfit a month after moving to Asheville and it single handedly influenced my current social circle.  
The friends I’ve made from the gym are been some of the most incredible people I have ever met.  Maybe it’s Crossfit, maybe it’s Asheville, maybe it’s who I gravitate towards at this stage in life.  There is an honesty to these people that is often hard to find. Crossfit leaves little to the imagination.  You either did the pull up or lifted that weight or you didn’t. You either climbed up the rope or you didn’t.  You get bumped, scratched, broken, hurt, sweaty, teary-eyed, bloodied and sometimes pukey. And you do or don’t do all of these things in front of the rest of the class and your coaches.  
These friends are both strong and vulnerable.  It’s an honor to witness bravery mixed with apprehension, perseverance led by uncertainty. This spills over into how these people live their lives outside of the gym and they help influence me to have that same confidence (even when it's a complete ruse). Confidence to say "I'm not doing fine today" and having them sit with you for a bit.

 You have to have a certain ‘f*ck it, I'm going to try” mantra at times in Crossfit and trust me- I’ve decided not to try plenty of times.  But, when you do decide to have a little faith mixed with that fear, some cool stuff can happen.


This past July I did something that was terrifying and completely outside of my comfort zone.  I competed in my first Crossfit competition. My friend convinced me that we were totally ready for our first competition (even though I know she was legit saying it outloud to convince herself too).  

 I had crippling anxiety the week leading up to the competition. I couldn't eat or sleep.


Literally no one cared if we won.  

 No one.  

 But we had family and friends coming to watch and cheer us on and that scared the hell out of me.  Having people who mean the world to me - people that were still confused on how you compete as an exerciser - watch me. It was unnerving. Even the day of the event when there was no turning back, I was losing my shit.  I packed my car with so much stuff- food, clothes, water, chairs, chalk, protein. My friend saw me unloading my care and she started laughing at me since I looked like I was packing for a three week cross country trip.  
We got 4th out of 5th place of the scaled division.  So basically we were second to last of the JV squad. But no one got hurt and we had a blast working together as a team.  
Doing some of my first pull-ups ever while my team cheers me on

Doing our best not to die during out last heat
We laughed, we cried, we cussed- together
As I became more consistent with my Crossfit attendance and effort I realized two things:
1) I was becoming stronger - push ups, first pull up, bigger weights with Olympic lifts
2) You couldn’t physically tell I was becoming stronger - in my marginally skewed body image eyes
I’d been following several people on Instagram that were into fitness and nutrition and somehow honed in on a program called Black Iron Nutrition (BIN).  I can’t remember what led me there but I found myself following half a dozen people who worked at Black Iron Gym in Reno and/or were coaches for this online nutrition coaching program.  They focus on macros and nutrient dense food choices and in my own research I felt this method would be something that could work. Something that would be a long term shift in my eating patterns and something that could be sustainable.  
I joined in May and boy those first few months were rough.  Tracking my food (and booze) especially leading into a Memorial Day camping trip was for lack of a better word - sobering.  I thought I made sorta-kinda decent food choices. And I sorta-kinda of did. But for the most part I was wildly ignorant to what my food was made of when it came down to carbohydrates, proteins and fats (the three MACROnutrients) as well as what that added up to at the end of the day.  
Over the weeks and months my coach would cheerlead me and guide me with tips and tools to make baby- read baby sea turtle- steps towards the macro goals she set for me.  BIN not only addresses food each week, they ask about how other things are going in my life so every Friday morning it feels like mini therapy sesh with a stranger. My coach is not a therapist.  She is just another human that I can divulge nearly anything to without judgement. Having the freedom of sharing my drama, worries and doubts with a stranger is something I have experienced once before but that story is for another post…
As time passed and I became closer and closer to hitting my goal macros each week, I started to see changes in two areas- my size shrunk and my strength grew.  I have never in the history of ever worn size Medium. In anything. I do now. I never in the history of ever could do a pull up. I did one in June and I did 28 yesterday.  
The transformation has felt out of body at times because I’ve never been able to stick with something long enough to induce these types of changes.  This is also the first time I have worked one on one with someone to get not only my nutrition in line, but someone to remind me every seven days that I am worth it and I can do it.  

May 2018- Dec 2018

Dec 2016- Dec 2018
If you are unfamiliar with macros and want to learn a little bit more, this is an article that may help explain them a little easier.  
If you clicked that link you may recognize the author.  Surprise! I’ve started writing about things other than my thrilling existence.  I began a course this fall the learn more about being a copywriter. It’s super exciting and scary and those two words are becoming a running theme for Steph 2018.  
Speaking of themes, in the echo chambers that are my social media news feeds, self-care has been one of the most trendy topics of 2018.  I didn’t make self-care a resolution or goal but as my year progressed it turned into a year of self reflection and awareness.
Self-care is hella tricky.  Get a massage. Get your nails done.  Take a bath. Read a book.


Those are all examples of how one can care for themselves.  Those are all pretty self-induced acts as well. You got a massage.  You took a bath.  You turned your phone on Do Not Disturb mode for...3-4 minutes.  
This was where the self-awareness came into play for me.  At some point I became aware that self-care doesn’t always mean do it yourself.  When - in fact - utilizing your support network to help out is a huge form of self-care.  
Walking into the gym I am greeted with familiar faces who are smiling (as much as they can at 6am) at me.  At the end of the work out we’re high fiving, fist-bumping and (often cussing) together. I mean, as a 33 year old, the amount of high fives I receive outside of the gym is on average zero times per month.  And the amount of times I get a little endorphin level up boost when I get a high five is on average every. single. time.


Every week I get a pep talk from my nutrition coach.  Yes - I am paying her to cheer me on and provide encouragement but that doesn’t take away the benefit I get from someone who has gotten to know me over the last six months.  Someone who knows my fears and doubts as well as knows my goals and aspirations for myself. She knows I fail a lot at hitting my macros. She knows I want a 200# power clean.  She knows I get crippling anxiety from FOMO and overexerting my social time.

In my copywriter course we learn about setting intentions and making sure goals and values align. I focus on finding my value as a writer and spend time attempting (some days better than others) to validate my goals.
I have really learned the value of quality relationships in 2018 and how to utilize my support to foster this self-care fad.  When we moved to Asheville in 2016 I had a deficit of friendships due to being brand new.  We never said no to going out and meeting as many people as possible. We made some great connections and some pretty shitty ones.  I’ve spent this year trying to nurture the great ones and learning what it means to truly lean on friendships to provide some pretty damn good self-care.


The benefits of the gym, nutrition programming, writing as a business adventure, settling in as a new provider,  ‘self-care’ has spilled into all of my aspects of my life. The friends I have made and support we all have for each other has been so humbling and exciting.  I feel I can be a better friend, wife, coworker based on the lessons I’ve learned from others. I am excited to try and repay those people with the same level of comfort to nurture their self-care.  
I’ve also learned self-care is not an island.  It is not something someone can do in a vacuum of self-help books, candles, podcasts and bubble bath.  It’s something that is shared with others. That can be discussing anxiety and self-doubt openly and it can also mean being honest and saying no to events if you’re a little overwhelmed.  This can be sharing your victories and being proud of your accomplishments without feeling pretentious.

We weren't made to figure this all out on our own. They say it takes it village to raise a child and I wholeheartedly believe you can't get rid of that village...ever.


If we are sticking with golf clubs...this is my driver.  The biggest contributor to my support system
<3

*Disclaimer- although it seems like I'm posting some advertisements for certain programs, I'm not getting paid for any of these comments, these are all my own opinions and thoughts

Boston 2017

It's been a while since I've written anything so I thought writing about my trip to Boston with my dad would be a good way to ease my way back into it. To be honest there is a lot I have been wanting to write about, but time and creative energy have been somewhat lacking since I started my job in January. 

This trip all started last July when my dad turned 60.  I sent him six "presents" for him to open via FaceTime and each gift had a theme of a trait my dad possesses. He has always had a traveling spirit and growing up I was fortunate to have been a passenger to this spirit. We traveled all over the US and to Europe twice before I graduated high school. People always thought I was weird (and I think adults thought my parents were weird) because I always went on these trips with my parents. "You aren't bringing a friend to hang out with?" "You're only going with your mom and dad?"  

Uh, yeah? My parents are the shit. I'm bad at sharing. Any other questions?

Anyways...back to July.  One of the gifts encapsulating his travel bug spirit was a '60/30 father/daughter trip' since I was 30 at the time. Wasn't really sure what that trip would look like at the time, but once we moved to NC, doing weekend trips together would become something that could actually happen versus being 4000 miles apart.

My dad is from upstate New York and has been a dedicated Yankees and Giants fan because of this. I hate NYC so I really didn't want to go to a Yankees game there...but I love Boston and have been wanting to go back ever since in went seven years ago. Just ask Ben- I think I've asked every time we have gone to Vermont "Do you think we can go to Boston this time?"

This led me to figure out when the Yankees and the Red Sox were playing at Fenway. And this is what led to our weekend in Beantown. 

When you arrive to Logan airport you immediately are aware you are in a major international airport. English is no longer assumed and there are all walks of life wandering around. We meander our way to baggage claim and pick up suitcase, navigate the public transit system comprised of shuttle buses and trains to our hotel downtown Boston. 
View from hotel room
After changing clothes to get the airport stench off we head out and about to find somewhere to eat. Dad found this great place from Yelp! that was a nice ten minute walk away.  Saltie Girl is a raw oyster bar as we all as sardine bar. Needless to say, dad and I expanded our palettes that day for lunch- but it was all worth it! Ok, maybe the sardines weren't exactly worth it...
 
Sardines!
Raw clam and oyster
Next on the adventure was the baseball game. We decide to walk the mile or so to Fenway and on the way there we encountered a man in a three piece suit coming out of the many financial district buildings. He saw dad's NY hat and simply said "you're a brave man".
Now up until this point, I had yet to hear a true Bostonian speak. Being in the airport and the hotel, most people were not speaking English, let alone English with a New England accent. 

Then I heard it. 

A scalper talking to his buddy about his recent luck with ticket sales. "I made two hundred fahty dollahs the othah day." 

Ahhhh.  Some people hate- no, loathe - Boston accents. I love em. Don't ask me why. Probably because a lot of my favorite movies are based in Boston- Good Will Hunting, The Town, The Departed, The Fighter, Boondocks Saints to name a few. 

That's when I started to get excited. You turn the cornah (sorry) and see the green metal structures, the "Welcome to Fenway Park" sign and then all the other senses start pouring in. The smells of fried food, hot dogs and cigarettes. The sounds of State Police laughing and BSing with the vendors and the loud call of scalpers selling last minute tickets. You feel the push and pull of fans pouring into the stadium and the steam from the street meat carts. 

 
 We make our way inside, grab some food and beer and find our seats behind third base.  I was told Fenway was small- the stadium is small and the seats are small but I was still surprised. I'm pretty sure the Durham Bulls stadium has more seating. I'm also more than sure that my femurs are longer than the distance between the back of my seat to the back of the seat in front of me. 



 
The Red Sox lost, but we had a great time- dad especially since he was rooting for the Yankees. Really good pitching on both sides made for a shorter than normal game, but it was the perfect experience in my book. 

After the game we walked across the street from the stadium for a slice of pizza and one last beer while we watched the crowd disperse from the open air seating before making our mile long walk back home. My mother in law recommended walking through the 'Back Bay' and I'm so glad we did- beautiful townhomes on either side separated by a nice greenway park down the middle. Was a peaceful walk home enjoying the flowers, cooler air and the more quiet city rustle on a Thursday night. 
 
Friday we head to Cambridge to check out some of the city's mediocre universities. After navigating the train successfully (this time sans a 44 pound rolling suitcase), we find ourselves in the middle of Harvard Square. We are politely approached by a young man as if he could read our minds in our attempt to figure out where to go next and he says "We offer student lead tours of the campus every half hour and one is about to start if you'd like to join us!". At $12/ ticket we said we would love to.   
Harvard Yard
Did you know Harvard predates the Revolutionary War?  
 
After finding lunch after the tour we walk along the Charles River to make our way to Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Again, not really sure what we are looking for we find ourselves heading towards the MIT Museum.  
This is a very, very cool museum. It isn't that big, but it has some amazing exhibits about robotics, kinetics, photography, holograms, etc. We probably could have spent all day there but we had to head back across the Charles to downtown towards Beacon Hill for our beer tour.

 This tour is the only other planned event of the trip besides the baseball game. Dad and I and 13 of our new best friends all piled into a 15 passenger van to start a tour of four breweries in Boston. The guide had us go around and say our names and where we were from. Naturally, a van full of beer drinkers were impressed with our Asheville aka Beer City USA address. 
The tour consisted of going into the brewing area of each brewery, learning a bit about the brewing process and sampling 3-4 beers from each location. We also had dinner at the third brewery which was aptly timed since my food to alcohol ratio was leaning heavily towards the latter by this point of the night. We had a really good time trying out several different varieties of beer as well as getting to know some new folks from all over the country. As is tradition, the more beer we drank, the more sociable we all became. 
Night Shift Brewery- our favorite of the night

Slumbrew Brewery in Somerville
Saturday became what we called the "food tour". We took the train to the North End which is heavily influenced/inhabited by Italian Americans to find some breakfast. The pastries did not disappoint. We found a nice park called Paul Revere Mall (along the Freedom Trail) to eat our breakfast, enjoy our coffee and people watch. Afterward we walked in and out various shops filled with homemade pasta, deli meat and older men talking to each other in Italian wearing wife beaters and gold chains. I seriously considered buying a couple raviolis and eating them raw once the lady said they were pumpkin filled and had been made only a few hours earlier...
 
Later we walked in and amongst a thriving farmer's market packed with vendors, buyers and fresh food as we made our way to Faneuil Hall and ultimately arriving to Boston Harbor. Dad found another Yelp! gem where we enjoyed a literal cup of chowder and shared some fresh clams.  
Once we finished our food and beer we check out the Boston Tea Party ship and museum (because it popped on on my Google maps when I was checking out where we were presently located- online marketing win for sure) which is, naturally, located in Boston Harbor. We thought it was a typical museum where we could read about the Boston tea party as well as see a replica ship, but it actually is a guided one hour tour given by actors portraying people involved in the Boston Tea Party (ie Samuel Adams). The performances and history telling were phenomenal and definitely worth the entry fare. Huzzah! 
We all were given a character to 'play'
To round out our food tour we ended with dinner at Oceanair restaurant and after arriving we learned the majority of their seafood comes from the 49th state of Alaska. Dad and I had to quiet our laughter at the effort from the waitress to sell us their $50 "immaculate halibut" special that "just so happens to be in season, which is incredible luck because it is such a fleeting season!"

I then asked where the tuna was from hoping it was local 'wicked tuna' but she replied Alaska and I said you're probably wrong. She then went to find out and came back to tell me Canada. Saying a fish is from Canada is equally as helpful as saying it is from America, but dad made me stop asking questions about the tuna at that time and we just decide to order it. 

Tuna poke, sherry lobster bisque, blackened Gloucester haddock over caramelized onions paired with two delicious mixed drinks and great company made for an incredible finale to the food tour. 

Oh, did I mention the double chocolate caramel cake a la mode?

We made the final walk back to the hotel after dinner, walking along the freedom trail and in Boston Gardens one more time. The freedom trail is the route Paul Revere rode to warn the people of Boston and elsewhere that "The British are coming" and is identified by a two brick wide trail in the road/sidewalk/parks. I can't not feel inspired by this city. The history and gravity of that history is everywhere.

I will admit I had a twinge of nervousness coming back to Boston. The last time I was here was in 2010 with my parents, pre-Alaska. Pre-Alaska Stephanie liked big cities well enough but wasn't really all that crazy about them. Post-Alaska Stephanie doe not like big cities and is a bona fide country mouse now. My least favorite cities on our six week trip last year were San Francisco and Las Vegas. I was afraid that my disdain for huge metropolis environments would cause me to remove some of the romantic and patriotic lust I have for Boston. I am happy to say that I have lost no love or lust for this town. I'm not quite sure what it is about it, but rather than feeling suffocated and overwhelmed with the hustle and chaos a major city of encompasses, I felt I was able to thrive and embrace all it had to offer. We had no agenda aside from the game and beer tour and yet we made the town our own. We went where the mood took us whether it was eating raw oysters, going into a museum showcasing some of the smartest minds in the world or deciding to hop on the train to the North End because we wanted Italian pastries for breakfast.

We are on our way home to Asheville and as I said coming home from Mexico, I'm not sad to be coming back. I miss Ben and the pups and my bed. Boston was an amazing trip and I'm so happy to have been able to share them with my dad. I look forward to going back again, hopefully with less time in between trips. 

First post since settling (back) into NC- so long 2016!

My dirty hair, last night's make up I'm excited about opening presents face

As far as we got into the Christmas Eve Service so we had to take a picture

When Ben and I were in Revelstoke, Alberta we made friends at the local bar and told them about our trip and that we were moving from Alaska to North Carolina.

The woman looked at us both severely puzzled and said “Why on earth would you move from Alaska to North Carolina? That sounds like a terrible idea.

Alaska is beautiful, with clean air and untouched beauty, why would you ever leave that?”

When Ben and I were making our way across the Midwest I got into a discussion with someone online about how boring and dreadful I thought the middle of the US was.

I couldn’t fathom having to live there and aired these grievances to them.

Then the person replied “I realize that you’d hate me for saying this…but is NC really better? I mean if one has no family/friends there, it’s probably as

good

as Iowa”.

Granted these are the only two occasions in the dozens of times I’ve told people our plans where the persons questioned the reasoning, but they stuck out nonetheless.

Nothing like one bad apple to spoil the barrel? Or whatever the saying is.

Perhaps it was that their statements caught me off guard or that they were strangers, but in any case, it got me thinking more closely about a decision that had become material fact in the last 18 months.

Obviously my dad and other family are in NC, obviously my lifelong friends are in NC, obviously I said I was always coming back, obviously this makes sense, right?

I was obviously leaving my new friends.

I was obviously leaving my coworkers, peers, and the network of providers and resources I had made during school.

I was obviously leaving a job in the field I am most passionate for that was nearly handed to me.

I was obviously leaving a landscape that turned me into someone who loved to camp, ski, four wheel, and hike places with my dogs where they could run as far as the eyes could see.

Not only this, I was bringing someone else with me-someone who had never lived in North Carolina, had only recently gained friends and family in North Carolina and certainly had no intention of ever living in North Carolina until I made it a prerequisite of his consideration to date me.

We have been in North Carolina for 3 ½ months and I am happy to say it has been the most natural transition for us.

I never once had a moment of “I’m not sure if we made the right choice” or even had to have that mental conversation where you reassuring yourself that you did the right thing.

The only obvious is that this town is obviously our scene. 

We stayed in an AirBnB for the first month in Weaverville which is a cute town about 7 miles north of Asheville proper.

We were lucky enough to find a host willing to accept our three LaRgE dogs as well as accommodations for our 37 foot travel trailer.

We used that month to ride around on the motorcycle a ton to get a feel for the geography around the area, look at dozens of houses with our amazing realtor as well as try as much new beer and food as we could fit in our ever growing bellies.

Ben was also able to work quite a bit with his new contracting job and I was able to interview for a job and subsequently be offered my first job as a Nurse Practitioner!

After searching high and low and looking at homes in every corner of Buncombe County, we finally found OUR HOUSE.

It checked all of our boxes- less than 25 minutes to downtown Asheville (only 23 minutes), acreage to stretch out on (7.4 acres), no HOA, potential for farming (zoned open use), and garages (which is the understatement of this blog).

It’s in such a peaceful location, drive through west Asheville a bit, past horses and dozens of black angus and the road just starts to weave and wind around the hills as you reach our place.

We love it more and more the longer we are here and I am very thankful for that.

But before we could move in, we had to wait.

VA funded mortgages take longer than conventional ones because #VA so we were starting a 45-50 day waiting period before we could move in.

We also had to leave our AirBnB fairly soon, so we moved back into the travel trailer and into a campground in West Asheville really close to the huge Western NC Farmer’s Market.

So after a fairly eventful month of exploring, house hunting, job finding, etc, we hit this dormant period all while confined to a 240 sq ft living space.

Talk about an exercise in patience and tolerance? It’s a wonder Ben and I still have all of our limbs and eyeballs…

Since I accepted a job at the major hospital system I knew it would take some time before I could start working, but I had no idea it would take

this

long.

I was offered the job Mid October and my orientation date is January 9 which is something I did not even have until yesterday afternoon.

I could go on about the trials and tribulations of getting this process complete, but all I will say is that it has taught me you have to be your own advocate; relentlessly, tirelessly, diligently.

I haven’t been completely graceful in this waiting period to start working, I get down at the fact that I have not made a substantial contribution to my family’s finances in over three years, I get bored and irritated, but I have tried to make the most of this ‘free time’.

It’s no secret I am most happy when I am working (Ben will aggressively attest to this), but I have found other ways to help keep busy.

Working on getting the house where we want it including having every room painted except for one room.

That was such an adventure in paint picking out!

If I can offer one piece of advice if you are considering overhauling several rooms/entire home- invest in a paint consultant.

When I first hear that title I thought it was some made up job, but paint colorist are totally a real thing and invaluable.

The one I worked with listened to what I wanted and knew how to interpret that into color schemes that flowed perfectly with our home.

It looks 10,000% better than it did with the other colors.

Master Bath Before

Master Bath After

Laundry room and living room before/after

Ben digging the trench for the invisible fence which has be AH-MAZING for the dogs

Hiking up Mt Pisgah

Something else that I have gotten into to help use my time is working out regularly again.

Ben and I did a beginner’s CrossFit- GASP! – class in October and we both really liked it. I had been skeptical of CrossFit for several years because we all know

those people

who don’t stop

talking about it

, all the crazy rhabdo stories, and insane competitions.

I knew I wanted no part in that nonsense.

But in the last year or so I noticed that most of the fitness accounts I followed on Instagram had sloooowwllyy morphed into people that used CrossFit to help reach their goals.

I don’t just mean really fit competitors’ pages, I follow a lot of women who are trying to reach simple, obtainable goals and had found CrossFit as a way to help reach them effectively.

They were trying to become strong, not just lose weight which is a main goal of mine.

I also liked the way their bodies were changing in addition to the comradery that always seemed to accompany their posts.

All this to say, I made several goals for when we finally moved to NC and trying CrossFit was one of them.

Due to some physical limitations I am working through right now, yoga is not a healthy option for me unfortunately.

I hope to one day be able to go back to yoga, but I thought trying CrossFit would be a fun new adventure.

I just so happened to have an old ECU classmate who is in the area for grad school and she goes to one of the local gyms here.

After looking online at several gyms, I decided to give her gym a try.

I won’t go on (and on and on) about how much I have enjoyed going to CrossFit, but I will say that I am really enjoying going.

I have met some awesome folks in the classes I am attending who are encouraging, down to earth and genuinely excited to work out together every day.

The team mentality is amazing for my workout performance as well as mental health.

I am looking forward to seeing what changes come for me as I continue to learn and grow there.

Here's to making my baby muscles grow!

Another thing on my list is take a pottery class.

I have found several around here, which is no surprise, but I will wait until I know my work schedule before I pull the trigger to sign up for one.

Next is buy a piano and dust off my piano skills from 20 years ago.  

Non grad school goals are so fun!

Especially when you are living in a city that is so conducive to creativity.

Our realtor is a life long Asheville resident and she says that the reason Asheville is full of artists is not because native Ashevillians are so creative and artistic but rather the native people were so welcoming to artists over the years.

Asheville became known as a safe haven for expression and non-conformity and over time, it has become a hub for artists from all over.

We went to a fall festival when we first arrived and I was AMAZED at the artistry there.

It’s definitely not your average arts and crafts event by a long shot- these people are making careers and livelihoods out of their creative outlets which is hugely inspiring to me.

My mind has always shifted to science, medicine, coloring inside the lines, following the recipe by the book, etc.

I have tried to be more conscious in allowing things to get a little more messy creatively- now more than ever since school is finished!

I can focus on learning things that I want to and only because I want to.

Pottery? They have a class for that.

Chicken rearing? They have a class for that.

Animal husbandry? They have a class for that.

Glass blowing/jewelry making/metal smithing? They have a class for that.

My crazy hair fun

You want crazy colored hair and piercings I’ve never heard of? They’ll love that.

You want to build a terrarium and grow your own herbs?

I’ve seen at least three stores/floral shops that will help you with that.

You want to be considered a non-binary vegan Christian who is a member of the NRA? Step right up. 

You want to brew your own beer/cider/liquor? Well, duh. This is Appalachia after all in addition to being Beer City USA according to some famous travel site.

And don’t get me started on the creative realm that is the food here.

I.

Can’t.

Even.

I am stoked to see where our creativity takes us in this new place and what amazing things we can make with it in our new home, careers, and social circles.

I am proud of myself for the connections I have already made that were NOT work related which I think is a huge accomplishment and cannot wait what else we can get our hands into.

We

obviously

picked the perfect place for us in this season of life and that’s just simply a fact.

Thank you for all who have been a part of our 2016, we feel honored to have so many wonderful and inspiring people in our lives (and to be living closer to many of them now). 

Happy New Year!

O, Canada



I’m sitting in the laundry room at this misfit KOA reject campground (more on that later) waiting for our clothes to dry, so I figure I would do a little trip update.  Today marks day seven of our travels out of Alaska and by all intents and purposes, it has all gone quite according to plan- and if you know Ben or myself- this makes for some happy campers. 

Our trip technically started nine days ago after we closed on our house and the house was officially put in the buyer’s names.  We still had two nights before our trip was scheduled to begin, so our friends kindly let us camp next to their house for those nights.  We spent those days and nights hanging out with Jimmy and Hannah and their kids, watching some movies, bowled some games and got our ducks in a row for the trip. 
 
I will miss my Hannah!

Add caption

After saying our final ‘see you laters’, we headed to Tok, AK where we stayed at a campground that Ben always tent camps when he goes to Dawson City, YK for his motorcycle trips.  We felt especially fancy because this was the first time we had full hook ups for our trailer which meant we didn’t need to worry about conserving battery for lights, turning water pump on and off, and we could use our coffee pot for coffee in the morning!  We were really feeling high class in that moment.

The border crossing went off without complication- even with two guns, three dogs and all of our worldly possessions on board.  We have since been exploring the great land of Canada.

As anyone who has driven the AlCan knows, it is a lot of Canada to explore.  Days of it even. 
 
Good ol Watson Lake Sign Post Forest




We were convinced to check out Liard Hot Springs, BC on our travels and we were pleasantly surprised at how nice the campground was at the hot springs.  No hook ups (no coffeepot), but the spots were beautifully kept and we could walk right to the hot springs from the trailer. 
 
Ah the smell of sulfur in the evening


After our dip in the springs!


While driving, we saw some awesome wildlife- as one is apt to do driving in British Columbia.  Lots of buffalo, a few bear and one ornery caribou who took its sweet time crossing the road in front of us.  

Baby!

Momma and her cub

Speaking of wildlife, the dogs are doing amazing.  Hannah and her litter went with me to see Secret Life of Pets the day before we left and I think it was good for me to be reminded how much our pets love us and how much they just want to be a part of our lives.  Ben thinks I anthropomorphize the dogs too much as it is- but I often lose sight that they can’t understand us beyond yes, no, sit, stay, don’t poop there, you stink, go to bed.  I knew getting them adjusted to the camper-life would be a challenge, as our already small trailer would be even smaller chock full of a motorcycle and lots of totes.  So I have definitely been trying to be a lot more patient and calm when trying to get them to understand that they need to stay on their dog beds or under the couch and not under our feet in the kitchen area or bedroom.  They seem to really enjoy hanging in the back of the truck bed, always trying to jump up in there when we have to go from place to place.  The KOA in Hinton (north of Jasper) even had a neat off leash area with all kinds of obstacles.  I read after the fact that people were not allowed on the obstacles (whoops). 
 
Can I haz some cheez?


Goat

The lake matches my collar mom- take my picture



The trailer has also done really well- we are proud of ourselves for how well we were able to secure all of our things inside.  With the shit conditions of the highway, we knew that everything would be put to the test and anything that was not strapped, bungeed, closed in a closet or pinned in a corner would be sent flying everywhere.  The only issues thus far is the piping on the hot water heater has a propensity to blow off.  It did this in Kenai and Ben tried to rectify it as much as possible, but in Hinton, the end blew off again sending hot water everywhere in the bedroom hallway.  So he fixed it.  And then the other end blew off 5 minutes later spewing more water.  And then Ben is laughing hysterically.  And then he fixed it again.  
 
Pretty view from Hinton KOA with some monoliths in the way back
Our other more pressing- pun intended- issue was that due to some still unknown reason, in Jasper and Banff, the trailer tires started touching the trailer.  This caused a nice burning rubber smell.  Luckily Ben identified the issue after a few stops before anything broke or blew- he needs some spacers to add a bigger gap between the tires and the inside wheel well.  Unluckily, we were in the middle of the Ice Fields Parkway where there is nary an auto parts or even hardware store to be had. 

So the next 2-3 hours were filled with bated breaths and ‘oh shits’ at every bump, just waiting for one of the four tires to blow (we only have one spare).  
This is what I do while Ben checks the tires for mishaps


Pilot enjoying the Ice Fields in Jasper


Oh, and on top of that we were not able to go see Lake Louise or Moraine Lake due to the insane amount of tourists.  So add a crying wife who can’t see the one place her parents loved so much when they visited ten years ago and the only thing she wanted to see in Canada, combined with the ridiculous amount of traffic and bad drivers to Ben’s stress of the trailer catastrophically failing with no solution in sight and you have a pretty good idea about how he was feeling yesterday afternoon. 

Thankfully Ben is Ben and Ben is not Steph and he managed to get us safely to Banff to find some lunch and a hard ware store sans major issue or meltdown.  He was able to find a solution to the spacers by purchasing washers at the local Banff hardware store.
 
We had no idea it was a vegetarian restaurant, but it was really good!

Bean, hummus, veggie burger on black bean bun, Yum!

The least of the rubbed carnage

Yay for having all of your tools on hand!

After Ben fixed the trailer we made our way to Revelstoke, BC.  This made for a very long day of driving…lots of overpasses, lots of hills, lots of descents, lots of truck transmission bitching and moaning, lots of alarms going off on his gauges and fans kicking on to cool the engine.  But we finally made it.  To the misfit, reject KOA campground.  We know that it used to be a KOA because it is located off KOA Rd and all the signage has the infamous KOA mustard yellow and red writing.  We have collectively decided they were fired from KOA rather than disbanding on their own because everything is a little more haggard, a little more overgrown, a little less polished than the KOA we stayed with in Hinton. 

In any case, Revelstoke the town is a really rad place.  I say rad because it is clearly a ski town, full of ski shops, ski type locals as well as tourists.  [Side note: We have encountered several Australian servers in the last few days so I asked a bartender why Aussies come to Canada and he replied “Why do Canadians come to Australia?” *shrugs* Apparently the two countries have a very amicable work visa situation making movement between countries fairly fluid.  He also said Aussies tend to flock towards ski towns.  Interesting, eh?] 
Anyways, we stumbled upon a German Indian restaurant last night (they even had a small Thai section).  As soon as we walked in Ben starts cooing over the spätzle smell and I’m cooing over the curry and naan bread smells.  I had the best schnitzel I have ever had and Ben says he had the best spätzle he has ever had outside of Germany (when I went to Germany I survived off of cold cuts and bread- stupid 15 year old taste buds).  It was awesome to hear the cook hammering out the schnitzel in the kitchen while we were munching on garlic naan and smelling a variety of curries being prepared. 

Today proved to be another culinary success of Revelstoke.  We arrived to town fairly early to check out the farmer’s market that our waiter from the German Indian place suggested which was full of fresh produce, honey, jewelry, pottery, etc.  We had brunch at a taco place which provided us a front window seat to people watch the market goers.  For dinner we checked out a pub called Village Idiot and had an awesome time sitting at the bar chatting with several folks about our travels, their travels and the Olympics.  One rather drunk patron basically said “WTF are Americans doing in Canada during the Olympics?? We are at like MACH WAR WITH YOU!”  (mach war?) to which Ben calmly replied “It’s not the Stanly Cup, it’s the Olympics-calm down.”
 
Columbia River in Revelstoke, BC


No smiling on road trip!

People watching cove

It was fun watching USA win the majority of what was on as well as chat with the bartenders while eating more good food.  Not sure if it’s a Canadian thing but both bartenders shook our hands when we got there and introduced themselves to us- as well as when we left.  If it’s not, then it is one more reason why I like Revelstoke, British Columbia. 
The only reason we are staying here is because we had to move our departure date back in order to be at the house while we had new windows installed.  All the campgrounds in Banff were booked by the time we went to change our reservations, therefore leading us to Revelstoke- to which we are quite happy!

Tomorrow we head to Vancouver to round out our Canadian tour.  We are looking forward to becoming more of tourists rather than travelers in these next few weeks as the ‘work days’ as Ben called them are pretty much over.

Au Revoir Shoshona!

Calling all wanderers, vagabonds and travelers!




We need you.

Well, I guess, we want you.  We want you to tell us all the secret, special, awesome nooks and crannies of the places we will be rambling through on our six week ‘venture across the great (yes, I still think it’s great) US of A.  

My co-pilot already posted a map on Facebook regarding our trip, but I wanted to ask about specific places, things, doings, to see if my wonderful traveling people had some extra insight for us. 

When we got married we drove in our truck from Middlesex, Vermont to Wasilla, Alaska in 6 days.  We slept in the back of the truck on an air mattress in Wal-Mart parking lots, next to bridges, and in gravel lots on the side of the road (talk about regretting an obsession with Criminal Minds in those moments).  We stayed in hotels two of the nights so we could shower, we drove for 18 hours a day, only stopping to pee, get diesel, and eat all the Tim Bits I could physically manage stuffing into my mouth- as well as poutine.  We had no time (or energy) to do any touristy things, visit any cool places, or take any pictures that did not have the Alcan in the background. 

This was our NOT honeymoon.  

Here we are nearly two years (exactly) into our marriage and we are finally taking an epic road trip to add to our not honeymoon. 
 
That being said- we cannot wait to hit the road!  See some things!  Hike some things! Eat all the things! Drink all the things!  Here is where you come in…

Jasper and Banff Alberta, Canada- any amazing trails, roads, or lesser traveling sites to enjoy these beautiful places in Canada?

Vancouver, BC- Ben has been here before and has a few things planned out thus far, but any favorite activities or restaurants worth trying out?

Aberdeen, WA- what to do in Aberdeen??  Or in between Vancouver and Aberdeen?  We are doing our best to bypass Seattle, which could give way to some quaint Washington towns- WA peeps??

Lincoln City, OR- at this point, we are making our way onto the PCH- any favorite dog-friendly beach access locations? Restaurants? Artsy towns?

Redwood National Forest, CA- I have looked online and there are several trails to choose from, any favorites?  Any favorite places to eat around the parks? Any dog-friendly trails around the park (as far as I can tell you cannot bring pups into the forest)?

San Francisco, CA- I know, I know, the options are endless for this place!  We will be there for three nights, so hopefully we can get our lion's share (or at least a start) of San Fran. Food, drinks, hikes, shops, boardwalks, people watching- just looking for some help to steer us in the right direction.  My friend Maria already sent me an awesome ‘hikes with your dog in the Bay area’ book, but any other pearls are welcome.

Morro Dunes (near San Luis Obispo), CA- don’t really know anything about this place, but this is where we are turning east.  Any places or beaches to check out?  Favorite farmer’s markets or U-pick places to get some yummy Cali produce?

Zion National Park, UT- we visited Zion two years ago and hiked Angel’s Landing.  This was pre-diagnosis of Ben’s atrial fibrillation, so needless to say, he struggled a bit.  Okay, he struggled A LOT. There’s a story he loves to tell about him telling the cardiologist that he was short of breath, dizzy, borderline blacking out and I’m standing there yelling “This is why you need to work out! You can’t even handle a simple hike!” and the cardiologist said “yea, you were probably in continuous A fib during that if you take into consideration the exertion and the elevation…basically you were dying”.  ( 2014 Wife of the Year Winner right here) AnYwAyS....we would like to try Angel’s Landing again, for science, to see if his ablation helps him survive it more smoothly.  Anyone been through the Narrows?  Are they worth it?  Do you need a ton of gear to make it through there safely?  Any other hikes in the park that are your favorites?

Bryce Canyon, UT- Ben has gone through here before, I have not.  Any favorites here regarding activities, food, scenery along the way?  We will have the motorcycle too- any favorite roads or routes to ride on?

Grand Junction and then Julesburg, CO- we will be passing through these two towns, one night a piece, which puts us in Denver mid- day.  Any favorite things in these two towns or anywhere in between?  I’ve been to Red Rocks, Mt. Evans, Avon and Golden (Ben has probably been to other places too), anywhere else that has awesome hiking in the mountains or along rivers would be fun by us!  

This is where the answers may be scarcer as far as things to do/see/eat- no offense mid-west folks…

Des Moines, Iowa- passing through here on our upswing towards the northeast- anything to see or do in and around Des Moines?

South Bend, Indiana- we are most likely going to try and see some family friends here, but any suggestions are welcome as well

Buffalo, NY- Is this really where buffalo wings originated from?

From Buffalo, we will be in Vermont for a week or so, harassing Ben’s parents and eating all the Ben & Jerry’s, then heading to PA to harass more family friends, to finally end up in Bristol, TN!

You thought we were moving to Asheville?  Psshhh, Bristol actually seems to be the cultural hub we’ve been searching for all along. 

Just kidding.

But we will be stopping there and camping a few nights so we can see Virginia Tech and the University of Tennessee play football at Bristol Speedway!  It’s been at least five years since I’ve seen the Hokies play and Ben never has, so I am looking forward to this- as well as seeing my dad, niece, cousin, and some more family friends!

** In addition to points of interest- if anyone has any books to recommend for reading on the road, games to play in the truck, or ‘tips to avoid killing your spouse while living in less than 200 square feet with 3 insane dogs for six weeks’- I would be greatly appreciative :o) 

Thanks in advance for the help!!
 
-S

"The size of your dreams must always exceed your current capacity to achieve them" -EJS



               
I have always been afraid of the stillness.  People would call it ‘settling down’ or ‘putting down roots’ and I would always call it ‘stagnation’ or ‘being trapped in your own life’.

Stagnant. 

                If I play a little personal Rorschach test with words rather than inkblots, the first thing that comes to mind is bacteria and mosquitos. I think of stagnant, stale water. Muddy water that has mosquitos flying around them, laying their eggs with bacteria abounding. If you’ve ever been mudding in a truck or pretty much ever visited Alaska in the summer time, you have probably encountered such water. It’s vile, it’s gross, it’s the water I always do my best to keep my dogs from drinking. 

I blame society.

                From the moment you start Pre-K, you are preparing for NEXT. You do well in grade school and high school for the next thing- college. You take the SATs, you get good grades, and you volunteer at the local shelter because those things look good on college applications. You go to college. You join honor societies, you get good grades, you volunteer some more because those things look good on resumes. You get a job. A job being whatever the first step is you take once you graduate, because the first job is never THE job. Your job out of college is never the job you see yourself doing 30 years from now (If it is, I envy you). You do well at this job. You get your preliminary certifications, you take continuing education courses, and you complete projects because those things look good on yearly evaluations and what comes with yearly evaluations? Raises, promotions, ladder rungs or even grad school admittance. 

I feel a Fight Club quote is trying to appear. Fine, I’ll let it.

Single female. “Are you dating anyone?”
Dating female. “Are things getting serious?”
Seriously dating female. “When is he going to pop the question?”
Married female. “When are you going to pop out babies?”
One child bearing female. “When are you going to give little child a baby brother or sister?”
And I can only imagine once you do have kids, the questions shift slightly but ever more relentless regarding said child’s series of NEXT.

I'm sure men have a different but equally annoying series of questions regarding careers, toys and money.
 
                I’ve read many articles about my generation (I am a Millennial because I was born between 1980-2000s), specifically pertaining to this topic. To grossly generalize (read: stereotype) the difference between Millennials and their parents (presumably Baby Boomers-ish), Baby Boomers are hard workers, color between the lines, play it safe, save it up, live in the suburbs with the spouse and 2.5 kids, retire and drive around the country or just fast forward to Florida. Baby Boomers had to earn it, work harder and they worked hard to give their children “what they never had”. Millennials are lazy, pretentious, self-entitled, live paycheck to paycheck, don’t get married, don’t buy houses, don’t have children (or if they do, it’s usually later in life and fewer quantities) and don’t save. Every Millennial has a Participation Award trophy collecting dust in their childhood bedroom from when they played t-ball, or cheered or played football in 3rd grade.  Every Millennial expects the NEXT to be handed to them and only puts actual effort forward if they are truly inspired and deeply moved by something [thus happily negating some of that Fight Club sentiment I might add-but also creating even more difficult questions to answer regarding passion and 'callings'].

We were taught that showing up was enough and that we were all ‘good’ enough. 

                I would say I fall in the moderate category of my gen. As an only child I would say I am fairly self-entitled, but I know I have to earn it (well, most of it at least). My parents gave me the tools to become successful but never allowed me to just laze around on their support.  I didn't have to work my way through college because my parents saved my whole life for it, but I did get wait listed to nursing school, applied to 8 state schools to increase my odds of admittance, took the GRE twice in an effort to get into grad school, didn't get into one, worked my ass to get into another program, etc. I don’t live paycheck to paycheck, but my bank account feels it when I miss one or two. I’ve never owned a home and I still can’t believe I’m married. I’m 30 and have no children and do not feel that I’m missing out on anything in life just yet.  The only reason I have a retirement account is my clinic manager made one for me unbeknownst to me several years ago.  

                But, I am finally finished with school.  I have graduated, I have defended my final project, and I have passed my certification exam.  I have applied to reinstate my NC nursing license as the first step to getting my nurse practitioner license in North Carolina. 

                A vogue title going around is “extroverted introvert”. I do not think I am one of these, but it makes me like the idea of hypocritical descriptors. I would classify myself as a “gypsy with a plan”. Some people think some decisions I’ve made were crazy, out of control, risky, etc. But most decisions (not all) that I make come with meticulous planning. 

                Since graduating high school I had never lived anywhere for more than 18 months until I moved in with Ben.  Dorms, college roommates and apartments, more apartments, townhouses, and lower level of a split level home. This was always because I was preparing for the ‘next’.  The next school, the next job, the next adventure.  Never settling for too long because wherever I was currently, was not where I wanted to be for very long, not because I hated where I was, but because I was always wanting more.  

                I moved in with Ben after we had been dating for six months- living an hour apart from each other was getting tiresome.  He bought this house with his ex-wife, so it has remained ‘his house’, although I have done my fair share of making my own in several ways.  Always working on the next project, painting the next wall, replacing the next bathroom.  

Never ending, never becoming ‘still’. 

All of this to say, I think I ready for some stillness. 

                As someone who has an aversion of being still, change has always been an exciting challenge for me.  I look forward to it, I crave knowing that things will be different and that I will start something new.  

                I get a feeling that this sensation starts to dissipate as we age.  The older we get, the less apt we are to embrace significant changes.  The words “adventurous” and “thrilling” are replaced with “foolish” and “risky”.  Have you ever tried to convince you Gramps to try a new way of grilling his steak, let alone move?  Have you ever tried to convince your mom to sit in a different pew in church, let alone change careers? 

                I hope to never fully lose that drive for change, but I can definitely see the appeal in these last several months for settling into some roots or however you want to call it...  

.    .    .

                So many people in my life are in a state of ‘flux’- when my dad and best friends came to Alaska for my graduation and we were all sitting around the table (including Ben)- we were ALL facing some interesting changes and shifts in life.  Graduating college, selling houses, starting new jobs, restarting careers after some time off to face a serious illness, deciding to go back to school and changing careers to name a few.  Not to mention to smaller, more nuanced changes. 

                It was interesting to discuss many of these changes with everyone because people all process challenges and the ‘unknown’ differently.  There seemed to be a theme of cautious optimism as well as some fear mixed with excitement.  Kind of that feeling where you know it will be a good thing you just haven’t convinced yourself yet.  We all seemed to benefit from going around the table to have the other 4 people tell us how excited they were for us, as a way to provide reassurance that we were all going to be OK and treating the unknown as an choice rather than a punishment.  
Two of my favorite people exploring Hatcher Pass



                I’ve also learned that people around you may be more worried about you that yourself. When I decided to visit Alaska for the first time, MANY people told me not to go because my friend was going to kill me and lock me in a freezer.  When I decided to move to Alaska, even more people had things to say, worries they felt they needed to express to me on my behalf- for my own well-being of course.

                When we discuss moving to North Carolina and our plans, our dream house, our dream job, our dreams in general- we are often met with questioning, worrisome eyes.  People cannot always handle your dreams and path, and this is OK.  What’s not OK is to let their worries exacerbate yours.  This is really hard to do.  It is really hard to not be able to answer a question about your future because you haven’t gotten that far yet or you are still waiting for those steps to appear- and to have someone look at you and say “well…what ARE you going to do???”.  I can’t recall how many times I’ve wanted to say “I don’t fucking know and I’m fine with that.” (even if I wasn’t completely fine with it).  [This is a great excuse to stop worrying so much about yourself, because everyone else will do it for you].

                All Ben and I know is that we are both excited to start a new chapter in our lives- a chapter that is being started not out of necessity, out of illness, out of hardship, out of practicality- but out of the desire to go somewhere new together, to explore a new part of the country together, to buy our first house together, start new careers together, and just be…together. 
.     .     .

                We had such a great time in North Carolina a few weeks ago- although a very busy trip.  My dad sold his house the second day we were there so we spend several days and evenings helping him clean out, clean up, donate, sell, and pack up while we were there.  
 
Boogie boards anyone?

Ben modeling one of the comfy camping chairs

Enjoying some of dad's flowers while we clean

Cute little pig I found while cleaning out the attic...not sure who this belonged to originally, but I claim it as my own for now :o)

My baby clothes I decided to hold on to


 I also was a scout and visited several apartments in Durham for him to check out and luckily we found one that will hopefully be a great fit for him and Joe!
 
Apartment shopping!



                 
In between all of this, we went to the mountains of Western NC to watch my beautiful niece marry her high school sweetheart in a picturesque outdoor wedding.  It was wonderful to see her and meet her new husband.

Helping lace the beautiful bride up like she helped me on my wedding day


Beautiful setting for a wedding!


                After the wedding weekend, Ben and I spent some time driving around the Asheville area to try and get a lay of the land.  I have not spent much time there and he hasn’t spent any time there other than passing through on a motorcycle trip several years ago- so we felt fairly foreign at first.  Luckily we were able to feel pretty grounded by the time we left regarding what towns offered what and where we felt we would fit in best.  We also saw 3 houses with two different realtors and we both felt like we have found ‘the one’.  It is a very unique home in a town not too far away from Asheville and we are very hopeful we can find a way to make that home ours. 
Enjoying some of the local Asheville flavors after a long day of house hunting
 
Last night in NC- colorful martinis at Dick & Jane's!


Martinis make me happy


                Once we returned from NC, we turned into home reno fiends.  Finishing bathroom, finishing trim, painting, staining, cleaning, donating, packing, dump runs galore, staging and organizing.  I had new injuries every day- splinters, scratches, pulled muscles, headaches from fumes.  I’m sure my friends grew tired of my complaining, so I had to keep reminding myself of something my mom once said- one day we were encountering this woman who was 6 months pregnant and she walked like she had been hit by a truck and complained incessantly about the hardships of being pregnant. Once we parted ways with this woman, my mom looked at me in her sweet southern charm and said “that poor woman is acting like she’s the first woman to be ever be pregnant”.  

                I feel like I’ve been acting like the first woman to try and sell a house.  I could blame my generation, being an only child, being 30 and thinking adulting is still stupid and waste of time- but it mostly boils down to it is something I have never done before and never realized the magnitude which goes into selling a home. 
 
out with the old door pulls, in with the new

Staging! (insert jazz hands)



Taking my union appointed lunch break in between loading trash into the truck

But my splinters and inflamed discs have been worth it.

We received a full price offer after the first showing on the first day of the house being on the market.

We are currently under contract.

We just found out ‘the one’ we want is currently in negotiations with another buyer.  

Whoops. 

So where are we going to live?  

We don’t f*cking know and we are fine with it ;o)

In between the sweat and blood, we took time to enjoy the outdoors on the 2 year anniversary of my mom's passing

The dogs totally hated every minute...

9pm hikes carry a special ambiance



She is never more happy than when she is outside in the mountains
This was taken right after we found out our counter offer had been accepted and were officially under contract :o)

First Post-School Ramblings

Lexi and I enjoying the view from Lost Lake trail
                Why is it that those who are facing death make the most prolific statements? Do you reach some sort of literary enlightenment in those moments?  A friend and I once postulated that the reason words the dead have spoken carry more gravity is that the person will say no more words, so we hold on to those final ones, because what else is there to hold on?  There will be no more clarifying, expounding, redacting or changing of minds.  It was said and that is that.  The antagonist of one of my favorite books, Looking for Alaska, had an obsession with famous people’s final words, so it’s clearly ‘a thing’.  


                During my first two years of being a nurse, I had the honor of taking care of many patients who were facing death and ultimately met their death, either at home or in our custody at the hospital.  They poured their hearts to me, let me pour mine to them, and provided such great insight to a young 20 something year old who was trying to weave her way in the world, usually around 2am when the best conversations seem to happen.  


                The name of my blog came from one such patient- an 80 year old man who had leukemia and also happened to be born legally blind.  He found a career which he was able to successful in and prided himself in never being ‘on the take’ from government programs for people with disabilities, even though he rightfully deserved such support.  He was stoic, strong and resilient throughout his entire disease and progression. 


                I discussed my plans to move to Alaska with him, about the beautiful wilderness and my hopes of graduate school in addition to all the unknowns I was sure to experience.  Since he was mostly blind and could only see shapes and shadows, his other senses were more astute.  This led him to overhear a coworker flatly state to me waaaay down the hall one night- “you’ll be back in 6 months, you’ll never make it in Alaska.  You’ll be back”.  This person wasn’t the first to say such things to me, so I disregarded the comment without much further thought.  But, as I went into this patient’s room a while later to give him some evening meds, he said to me-


“You’re going to make a fine frontier woman.” 

Me- huh? 

Him- “I heard that person say you weren’t going to make, but they’re wrong. You’re going to be a fine frontier woman”.  


I don’t think he ever knew how much his faith in me, from our limited encounters, meant to me. 


Another patient was equally, if not more, excited about my adventures.  She was also in her late 70s- early 80s and had lived a rich life full of family and love.  She loved to hear me talk about my plans and was always curious as to my progress on my adventure (getting nursing license, finding roommate, etc).  One day her and I were talking about my move and she said something to me that has stuck with me ever since.  She told me “traveling is something no one can ever take from you.  You can get a degree and a license, and something can happen one day that makes you lose it all.  You may get a great job or house, but something can happen and you can lose that job and that house, but the memories and experiences you have from traveling- no one can EVER take them from you”.  Such a profound message, huh? [side note- I called this patient a couple of times after I moved to Alaska, and I cannot say who was more elated to talk with the other about my new adventures…]


                All to say, as I am winding down into the last season of my Alaska adventure, I have caught myself becoming quite sentimental.  Since school is for all intents and purposes finished, I plan to utilize these lasts months to the fullest and it started this past weekend.  Ben was driving to Canada to help someone buy a camper this weekend and I was wanting to break up the monotony of sitting around the house by myself with the dogs, so I texted my friend who lives in Seward to inquire about motels that allow dogs.  


Her response was – “I don’t know what motels allow dogs, I’m sure they exist, but you should just stay at my house.”


So, I made plans on Tuesday to go to Seward on Friday after work and crash my friend’s (and classmate) house for the night.  


Here is are all 3 dogs in my itty bitty German car as we head to work (yes, they all came with me and they all hung out in the car for 8 hours while I was at work).



Here is Buddy displaying his disdain of being in the car for 8 hours and then being in the car for 2 more hours driving to Seward.  It gave me a lot of practice for the future “are we there yet?!?!?!” comments.  Hopefully my children have better smelling breath, but I won’t count on it.



In all of my recent nostalgia, I decided to buy a pair of Xtratuffs since my $40 Wal-Mart boots started leaking last summer- nothing is quite more Alaskan chic than a pair of Xtratuffs and a dress.  I wasn’t wearing a dress, but I was waiting to go to the bathroom at the gas station in Girdwood.  




Here is the view from where we ate dinner- Chinook’s.  It’s a fairly new restaurant and I highly recommend it if you are in the area! I had some delicious crab cakes, salad and seafood chowder.  We watched several people wandering around the docks, going in and out of boats, starting to get things out of hibernation mode like most things in Alaska during the winter. 

 
Shawna and I enjoying live music and the local nightlife in Seward


I had to sleep on the couch, which turned out to be phenomenally comfortable and the view outside of the window was unbeatable- that is Mount Alice peeking through the clouds across the water.


We took the dogs on a few walks around the neighborhood, which was two blocks from the water.  This is where we saw this regal looking bald eagle just handing out on an old post Saturday morning.  It was as if he was posing for us.  We also saw a younger eagle up in a tree who looked to be taking pointers from his elder.  




We decided to go on a hike in the morning, so after my friend cooked me a yummy breakfast of bacon, eggs and English muffins on a cast iron skillet, we headed to Lost Lake.  I had never hiked this trail before so I was super excited to try something new.   

The beginning of the hike looked like something out of a fairy tale due to Seward being located in a coastal rain forest- moss, budding trees and bushes were all around.  The rich earth below our feet smelled so lovely compared to the somewhat arid, moon-like surfaces I typically wander around in the Valley.  





 

It did not take us long to climb out of the lush green and find ourselves in some snow!  My hiking shoes are vented so my feet were almost instantly soaked, but luckily it was sunny and warm enough that it didn’t prove to be an issue- but definite poor planning on my part.  Here are some pictures of all the mutts involved as well as traversing some of the snowy areas.  We punched through the snow a fair amount which led to a lot of falling on my part and exertion of energy (read- I am out of shape AF).  I kept having to remind myself that my friend is training to hike Denali this summer (she was wearing a pack full of textbooks to help her train) as to not feel too sorry for myself.



 

 
"Come on mom, just walk across that little piece of snow"
More proof of my lack of preparedness- only wore cotton clothes- yes that is sweat.  I present exhibit A titled "Cotton is Rotten"
We finally made it to the cabin at the top of the hike which provided beautiful 360 degree views of the mountains, Seward and Prince William Sound. 

My favorite views consist of nature's beauty and a dog butt
Sun finally poked through
It is safe to say the Lost Lake hike kicked my butt (and I didn't even do the whole trail, we only did a 6 mile hike), so before I left Seward I got a nice big sandwich, chips and Gatorade from Carrs and chowed down to try and restore some of my electrolytes before driving 3 hours home.  Interestingly enough, the dogs didn’t give me much trouble on the way home other than a lot of heavy breathing and snoring…



Listening to a CD my wifey made me and enjoying the beauty of Turnagain Pass on the way home
Once I hit south Anchorage, Ben tells me we’ve been invited to go camping in Palmer with some friends who were taking their new camper on their maiden voyage and wants to know if I want to go.  My canned response for the last 8 months would be “Uh. Um.  I have a lot of homework…SOAP notes…manuscript writing…etc to do.  I don’t really want to go.  I’m really tired.  I just want to sit on the couch and do nothing….” And Ben would heavy sigh and say “ok, I’ll tell them we can’t go”.  


  It was like he has existed with this person with horrible depression, generalized anxiety, situational anxiety, social anxiety, chronic fatigue syndrome and probably 7 other mental illnesses combined this whole time.  He likened me to a piece of furniture one time referring to how interactive (or lack thereof) I had become.  I couldn’t argue with the analogy.  


So, when I replied “Sure! Sounds fun! I’ll be home in an hour” I could almost hear the surprise in his silence.  


I picked up some Thai food to bring home, we ate, packed the camper up and headed to Palmer.  We blew a tire on the camper on the way there, but managed to change it without major mishap and got to the campground just in time to watch the sunset over Matanuska Lake. 


“Didn’t you just post something in Seward this morning? And wasn’t Ben in Canada last night?”


Checking out the lake in the morning
Ben and I haven’t been the most adventurous people by a long shot- life has just gotten in the way- but we hope to make the best of these last few months by spending time with those we care about, doing things we love, and making memories that no one can ever take away from us. 



Looking forward to sharing more of those adventures here in an effort to chronicle them more efficiently :o)


Project Defense




Today was a big day.  A day that can be called surreal and something I was always hoping would happen but not something I could accurately envision. 

I successfully defending my Master’s project. 

Uh, ok, huh-what?

For those of you that have not fallen victim to my stream of consciousness regarding this project, here is the Reader’s Digest version.

When you start the Nurse Practitioner Master’s program you are told that you need to complete a scholarly project or thesis.  They tell you that it will consume your life and will prevent you from graduating on time.  They tell you that you will work harder on this than any other assignment in the program.  They say you should start thinking about your “question” or “topic” NOW.  You have to understand this is our first meeting with any of our future faculty members and we are inundated with information, advice and caution.


Life consuming. Check.
Most important assignment.  Check.
Prevent you from timely graduation. Check.
Figure out ‘question’ ASAP. Check.
…
Then it is put on the back burner because you have things like “Learn how to look in the ear of a screaming 3 year old while his mother is screaming at you” and “paint the brush on the cervix” on your radar.  You don’t have time to come up with an earth-shattering ‘question’ that is worth answering.  Your faculty don't really mention it either.  If there is ever a time when self-motivated learning and doing is at an all time low- it's when you are in a master's level nursing program. 

All the while I am determined- come hell or high water- to graduate on time.  By this time in my life I was dating this guy named Ben and we have grand plans for our lives and one of those grand plans include moving out of Alaska as soon as I graduate to find our next adventure.  I do not have the time or money to enroll in another semester of school.  On top of that, I had already been taking classes since 2011- before I ever even moved to Alaska.  I started taking 1-2 classes per semester to help bolster myself and my resume to get into the program.  I took the GRE twice.  I got A’s in all of those first few classes.

I was still wait-listed the first year I applied.

Once I finally was accepted, a now-retired faculty member who was filling out my “course study plan” (which is basically a table stating at which semester I would take the required classes, providing an ETA of graduation), said-
“Wow, I’ve never had to include so many years and semesters into a plan before…can you hold while I edit the template?”

Now you may be thinking “You are probably kind of stupid if it took you that long to get in”, but I don’t care.  I look at it as perseverance.  Every manager and BFF I’ve ever had has described me as type B, laid back, chill, etc.  But one thing I also am is stubborn.  If I want something, I don’t really care what I have to do to get it, I will make sure it happens.  Granted, these notions are not common due to my Type B-ness- I tend to not give a shit more than most- to the potential chagrin of most- but when I do find something that lights that fire in me, I cannot help but hold tightly until I’m bleeding at the palm.  If you need more illustrations of this trait, just ask my husband (that Ben guy from earlier), he would be more than happy to offload some of the stressors that come from my stubbornness.

Back to this project.  A faculty member just so happen to voice a potential topic at that same meeting.  She said she wanted someone to do a project evaluating the states Prescription Drug Monitoring Program (PDMP).  For those that do not know what this is (and I did not at the time), the PDMP is a database which houses any controlled substance prescription written for any given state.  The pharmacies have to report to this database monthly, so as a provider if a patient comes into your clinic asking for Percocet for their back pain- you can log into this database and see if this patient has received pain meds for any other provider or clinic.  Pretty awesome right?  I thought so.  So I said, sign me up! This project sounds legit.  

Unfortunately another student wanted to do to the same thing, so we were forced into a ‘group project’ scenario, which no one likes. Ever.  But we were willing to try, we felt it would be a hook-line and sinker project so we were willing to work with each other.  But after a while, this other student said “I don’t really have much interest in this topic after all, so I’m going to switch to pediatric nutrition.”  Sure, fine.  Good luck.  So around Christmas 2013 I start doing my literature reviews (finding past research regarding this topic) and making decent headway. 

January 2014, my mom finds out she has cancer again and I head to North Carolina, taking a year leave of absence off from my NP program to care for her.  I thought about this project maybe twice in 8 months.

Fall 2014, I return to Alaska to start where I left off after my mom dies and I get married (it was an eventful year).  Well, come to find out, said student said they wanted that topic after all and started working on it.  Their response to me when I said “this was what I was planning on doing…so, uh..what’s up with that?”
“I didn’t think you were actually going to come back.”
…
Fair enough.  You don’t really ‘know’ me, as gangster as that sounds (I mean that in a more tortoise and the hare way than Debo and Craig way)

Somehow we are able to split hares/hairs and do two different projects on similar topics. 

I spend the majority of summer 2015 (in between camping and adventuring in Alaska) geeking out over the information I’m discovering about opioid prescribing, use and abuse in the last 20-30 years.  It’s really incredible the story of opium in the modern era- I would love to bore you with data, stats and earth-shattering fallacies, but I recognize it may not be as riveting to most as it is to me. But I’m here for you whenever you’re ready. 

Keep in mind, I have just buried my mom who suffered from chronic pain for the last 12 months of her life and I witnessed great discrepancies in her care-so this topic was even more acutely visceral to me.  

My project consisted of sending a survey to 615 Nurse Practitioners in Alaska asking them about their practices when managing chronic pain with opioids to determine if they were adhering to recommended guidelines- as well as identifying perceived barriers to guideline use.  Did I lose you yet?

If you’re still here, I collected data in October and November and spent a majority of my Christmas break (after my dad left) analyzing this data using this hella fancy and complex program from IMB called SPSS.
I then started writing my results and synthesized my data to try and extrapolate some useful information from it.  I sent my findings to my chair member as well as my committee member who both (after a few edits) said I was ready to defend my project.

Defending consists of standing in front of other faculty members and presenting your findings via power point and discussion.  It is quite unnerving because you have no idea what the audience may throw at you by way of questions and clarifications.  Once you do this, it is mostly just clerical edits and bureaucratic paperwork to get your project approved by the university’s graduate school. 

This is what I did today.   I successfully defended my final paper.  I got the go-ahead from my faculty and dean of nursing that I completed what was required of me.   I did the thing that has kept the majority of previous cohorts from finishing once they are finished with their clinical and class requirements.  It had become a culture of finishing your project after clinical was over.

This was my pre-defense fuel
I’m not saying all this to brag.  I am just really happy and proud of myself right now.  I’m not saying I am better than other classmates who did not finish at time of graduation because that would make no sense at all. I feel like I am finally finishing a piece of a goal that I started 5 years ago.  I started slow and steady and I feel like a burst of energy (exhausted, tattered, emotionally spent energy) plummeting to the finish line. 
I am happy to know that there is tangible finish to all of this hard work and sacrifice.  I was going to move back to NC if I did not get into the program, but I did.  If I had not, I would have seen my mom tons more before she died because I wouldn’t have been in Alaska.  But I was.  She would not have had it any other way.  

Ben has watched me claw my eyes out over reading articles, making 15th and 16th edits to papers and computing the data from the surveys.  He has helped keep things in perspective and also kept driving me to be the best I can be.

I am thankful for all the people that have listened to be bitch, moan, preach and educate about this topic.  I am thankful for all the well wishes and votes of confidence.  

YAY!



Lexi approves


Rachel successfully confused the shit out the flower delivery lady- love you Bru!

Mom made a cameo

DURM for life

Post Defense bathroom selfie

Howdy 2016

Makeup-less, haircare-less (slightly filtered) me


As I enter a new year I, naturally, think about resolutions/goals/promises/improvements to make.  I have never been a huge fan of resolutions because I have never kept any of them (other than switching from regular soda to diet soda back in college). So in the tradition of my skeptical outlook, my first thought is “why set myself up for a bunch of stuff I am not going to commit myself to?”
All that being said, I have been fairly impressed with my ability to be mindful of goals (mini goals) I have set along the way these last several months and have been able to continue to work on them. They have mostly been small, but they consist of goals that come up frequently, therefore requiring some sort of vigilance and I have been proud of that.  Like I said, they weren’t earth shattering changes or goals but some of them included

1)  Shake hands more often: definitely more of a hand-shaker now-check.

2)  Do things that are not required of me: secretary of oncology nursing organization, auditioned for story-telling show-check.

3)  Stop saying the word ‘just’: do not say, text or email this word hardly at all now- check.



Those goals were in an effort to build confidence, step outside of comfort zone and increase assertiveness. Sometimes easier said than done, but I plan to continue to work on these.



Evaluating my previous goals helps me work on my current ones, so here they are:


1) Minimize. This is something fairly en vogue right now, so I am sure that social media and advertising (as well as the new year buzz) has implanted this idea in my mind like Inception, but it makes sense to me right now.  I spend an enormous amount of time cleaning and organizing the things Ben and I own. Washing clothes. Washing dishes. Folding blankets on the couch. Sorting laundry. Searching for a certain piece of clothing. Soaking pans. Emptying dishwasher. Organizing to make room for said stuff so there is room for it or, more commonly, make room to merely walk around or set something on flat surface. Clearing off counters. Rinse. Repeat. I’ve been reading a fair amount about decluttering, minimalist lifestyles, the Marie Kondo method, the Japanese art of tidying up, purging, whatever you want to call it. They all say the same things in varying ways. Some of the statements that have stuck for me include:

-Does the item spark joy? If not, get rid of it. (Marie Kondo’s phrase, not mine)

-Does the item have more than one purpose? If not, get rid of it.

-If you have less ‘things’ you can focus on the important things.

-It is liberating to purge things that no longer serve you.

-Just because an item has a story, does not mean you need to keep it to keep the story.

-If you have things that don’t fit because you are waiting to lose weight to fit into them, get rid of them. If you lose the weight, you will want to reward yourself and buy new things and not wear old stuff!



I have started to do this, I have roughly 8 trash bags full of clothing that are on their way to Value Village.  It was interesting to examine my feelings while going through my clothes. I learned that most of my clothes do not ‘Spark Joy’. A lot of my clothes are generic, cheap, old, faded/worn out, fit poorly or just plain boring. Those were easy to toss. I had a fair amount of clothing that had stories to them- they were from high school/college/first years as a nurse at Duke, they were from a concert, or they were given to me by my mom or they were my mom’s.  When she survived the earthquake in Haiti, she flew to Chicago in a C-17 military plane before flying home and bought me a sweatshirt that said “The Windy City” on it. I wear that hoodie all the time, therefore it went into the keep pile.  She also bought me a sweater when we were in Homer that is now ripped, outstretched and torn for wearing it. I hardly ever wear it now, so it went into the donate pile (reluctantly). I kept several of her blouses and tops after she died in hopes of wearing them in clinical and beyond, but I rarely do, so they also reluctantly went into the donate pile.  I found comfort in doing this by reminding myself of this: I felt I needed to keep these things because they helped remind me of a time, place or person, but if those times, places or persons were actually important to me, I didn’t need a shirt or hoodie to remind me. My closest friends from high school are only a phone call or text away, same with my old Duke family- I don’t need to go to a shirt to remember them and I definitely don’t need a shirt to remind me to think of my mom. I think of her constantly and no removal of clothing from my view or touch is going to minimize that.

The other big reason for hesitancy to put something in the donate pile was that it was expensive, especially if it was expensive AND I had hardly worn it. I hated that I paid so much for a sweater and did not get the use out if it. I used that notion as a reminder to be more mindful of what I do spend my money on- if I’m going to splurge I better be damn sure I love it. Which correlates well with number 2. 
Fraction of the clothes laid out for sorting

Hugging my clothes goodbye

Not nearly all of it, Ben is clearly disgusted


I am going to try and apply the minimalist principles to things beyond clothing, things such as cosmetics and personal care. I parred down my make up routine quite a bit last fall (mostly due to not have the money to spend on it), but it ramped back up over the holidays. I thought it would be interesting to write down what I used to do as a visual cue that it was rather OOC:

-          Wash face with Purity Philosophy face wash

-          Color correcting serum

-          Blemish correcting serum

-          Under eye serum

-          Moisturizer/SPF

-          Concealer under eyes

-          Bb cream on face

-          Eye lid primer

-          Powder

-          Bronzer

-          Blush

-          Highlighter

-          Eye shadow

-          Eye liner

-          Eye lash primer

-          Mascara

-          Eye brow powder

Probably wondering what the hell I actually look like since transforming my face into something else- but the ironic part is I did all of this to achieve a ‘natural’ look! I put all of that on my face so I would look naturally…normal? Pretty? Youthful? But I wasn’t. Since I turned 30, I feel I notice every blemish, wrinkle nook and cranny on my face and my current regimen was just accentuating, caking, and amplifying it. So my goal is to limit my face care routine as much as possible to include:

-          Wash face with Dove bar soap-because I can wash my body with it too and use it to shave my legs doing 3 tasks with 1 item

-          Moisturizer/SPF -because it helps mitigate break outs in this dry climate and both of my parents have had skin cancer so I need the SPF 24/7

-          Under eye concealer -because I seriously have had coworkers ask me if I was punched in the face when I didn’t wear something to cover my dark circles- hopefully will decrease need with increased exercise/sleep quality and hydration from number 3

-          Bronzer -because contouring

-          Mascara

-          Eye brow powder

-          Lip color -because I never have been one to wear lip color and I think it makes a difference and my mom always would tell my “I needed a little rouge on my lips” and I think it does Spark Joy to wear some lip color!
Playing with color

Practicing with lip color, but not with minimizing face stuff


I also plan to minimize things which do not serve my time and this includes social media (reading and posting), Netflix/Amazon prime (this will be easier once we finish binging on Scandal) and people. Life is short but not that short- we can waste hours and days on purposeless things. My intention is to minimize this.  Tackling other things in the house will be slightly more difficult, as we are still in the first few years of our marriage- a lot of things are still ‘his’ or ‘hers’ and I respect Ben’s things (or at least his right to have things) too much to mindlessly start tossing his belongings. 

2) Waste less. Do not buy things unless they Spark Joy or have multiple uses or will be purposeful. I already put this to the test at the mall. I was going to try and find a reason to buy some tops from Banana Republic because they were on a hella clearance and then I stopped and examined the “why”.  What is the point of buying something solely because it is cheap and on sale? Especially if I don’t particularly like it, let alone LOVE it. 
  
    Do not buy groceries because hopefully I will eat that lettuce and those carrots, buy them with intention and stop letting food go bad or expire before eating them. Alaska produce has an exceptionally short shelf life because it has spent half of its life in a truck making its way here, so it is really easy to have a fridge full of wilty, mushy, brown and black lettuce, zucchini and asparagus. Therefore I need to start shopping with a game plan, meal plan, use plan for everything I buy. Not just because I think I may potentially cook with it at some point this month.Additional motivation for me is that since I am in grad school, I have a very limited income. I only work 1-2 days per week so I cannot afford to buy food and throw away half of it out every week, although that is roughly what I currently do.



I want to start recycling because even if I am done using something, it can be made new again and therefor not wasted. I purchased a little bin that is in the closet by the kitchen and it is already filling up with glass and plastic and it’s kind of weird (sad?) how exciting it is.  It’s the law to recycle in NC, but not in AK so I really fell out of habit moving here. I am hopeful the trend sticks and we will recycle more and make less trips to the dump with trash. It’s a little too late in the year to start composting in Alaska and I don’t want to have too many large expectations/changes of myself, but composting is definitely something I want to get into when we move, especially when we get more into farming/gardening.

3) Move more. I really fell out of my groove this fall in regards to going to the gym, yoga or hiking outdoors.  There isn’t much else to say about it other than motion breathes life back into me and I need it. For further explanation, please refer to this post here.


These three resolutions are full of bullets, subtitles and expansions but they are full of overlap. They overlap because in the end, I want only one thing- to pay attention to the details. 
I want to minimize so I can pay attention to my husband when he is having a rough week or needs some affirmation from me rather than focusing on the mountain range created by our laundry and dirty dishes and bitching about how tired I am. 
I want to pay attention to the articles and readings assigned by my professor for school that will help me with my future career because she picked them for a reason rather than worrying that we don’t have an idea of what to do for dinner, or that all the food I bought is now gone bad and we are stuck ordering pizza. 
I want to focus on honing my history taking and assessment skills in clinical rather than focusing on the faded, shrunken cardigan I’m wearing because I had so much laundry I missed not throwing it in the dyer and providing the proper care for it. 
I want to pay attention to the excitement of my yoga class or weight lifting routine in the morning, rather than worrying if I have packed my gym bag with all of my make up, special face wash and flat iron or that we have food to pack for lunch. 
I want to pay attention to the exciting story my patient is telling me while they receive treatment for their colon cancer and not worry about how bloated and tired I am from poor food choices and lack of motion.

If I have less, I have less to plan/prepare so I can make last minute decisions, augmentations in schedule which Spark Joy.  If I waste less, I have more resources to spend towards things which make me happy (such as our trip to Hawaii in February!). If I increase my motion, I have the energy and confidence to do things which make me happy (like take a picture in a bathing suit while paddle boarding in Hawaii!). It all comes back to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. If you don’t have food, shelter and safety, you cannot begin to work on relationships, knowledge building and self-fulfillment.  By minimizing and being less wasteful, those base layer needs are less complex.


We all pay attention to different things and consider different things lazy or halfassed.  My lack of properly appointed focus has admittedly led to a lot of halfassery in certain aspects of my life. I need to finish tasks, button up, double knot and polish what I am doing. 


I want to shift my focus in order to refine my focus.  


Intentional living and mindfulness aside, I just want to spend my time and energy paying attention to what really matters to me and that starts by paying attention to everything.
Focusing on everything, I cleaned my engagement ring for the first time. If I have less, I need to care for what I do have and what is important

The Trip that Never Happened



April 2014 was when it was confirmed that mom’s cancer was growing, rapidly. Significant disease progression was the phrase written under the “Impressions” notation of her CT scan. Progression is potentially the worst verb used in the oncology world. I knew this would be true, but like most things, having it said out loud, seeing it in black and white, just makes it more true. 

A week later my dad and I finally coaxed out of my mom a place she would want to visit before she died. She had seen so much in her life, loved so many places. I wonder if she didn’t want to ruin any memories she may have had there when she was healthy...Finally her answer was to see Zion National Park, Bryce Canyons, and to see Celine Dion in concert at Caesar’s Palace in Vegas. 

We booked 4 flights (mom, dad, Steph, Brittany), booked 5 different handicap accessible rooms spanning 3 states, reserved a rental car and bought tickets to see Celine. 

Mom died the day we were supposed to leave. 

I won’t go as far as to say she willed herself to die before we left and not in the middle of Utah or Arizona, but if there had ever been an example of divine intervention, that may have been it. 

Every single place refunded our reservations excluding the lodge in Springdale, Utah- right outside of Zion National Park. We were given a credit for the deposit to be used in a year, a gesture I found offensive and useless at the time. 

My husband (still weird to say that) wanted to go to Las Vegas so he could attend one of the world’s largest car shows, SEMA. Our friends also wanted to go and had rented a house that we could stay in for basically free. We said why not? Let’s go to Vegas. 

The last time I booked flights to Las Vegas and intricately planned a trip, someone died and the trip never happened. This left me with not even an ounce of desire to plan anything beyond purchasing place tickets. So I didn’t. I barely looked at Groupons or deals in the surrounding area. I was just planning on showing up and playing it as it went. 

Las Vegas is not in my top 5 places to visit, probably not even in my top 50, so in my limited thoughts about going, I proposed we go to Utah and use that credit at the end of the trip. Add a little vacation at the end of our vacation. As it turned out, the prices are drastically reduced in the off season, by half to be exact, so for the price of one night’s stay in June, we were able to stay 2 nights in November. 
Watching the volcano show at the Mirage

We had fun in Vegas with our friends, Ben and Erik went to the car show, Amanda and I did some hiking and shopping. We enjoyed the sun and being able to wear shorts and flip flops again. When we rode by Ceasar’s and the Bellagio, I would tear up slightly wishing mom could see the water show and marvel at the extravagant excess that is Las Vegas. 
Red Rocks Canyons, NV





  It wasn’t until we got to Utah that I really began to envision her with me. Ben and I just saw Interstellar and there is a line that says “A parent’s job is to become their child’s future memories”. Their child’s future memories. Laws of relativity aside, this is a profound and confusing statement (to me at least). My mother was here and her job was to create memories for me in my future life. How incredible of a task?

I know this to be true because as I rode through Nevada, Arizona and Utah to get to Zion I saw and heard her as I heard her on every trip we took together. ‘Steph look! Isn’t it amazing?’ ‘This is so cool!’ Her hand in mine. Her never ending quest to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I hear her in myself. ‘Look Ben!’ ‘How wonderful is this?’ I heard her in the encouragement of a stranger on Instagram to hike one of the more treacherous hikes in Zion because mom was always the one to push me to my outer limits of comfort. My memories of those places now include thoughts and visions of her. 

The view from our patio at the lodge



Horses at the lodge



Hiking in Zion on a beautifully sunny day


holding on for dear life

This valley reminds of the final scene of Land Before Time

We hiked a monolith called Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park. It was named Angel’s Landing by a Methodist minister who saw it and envisioned it being a place that angel’s would come and land, sit and watch. 
Angel's Landing

Once we got to the top, I looked up and wondered if she was there, sitting there with other angels. Watching Ben and I hike together, out of breath, taking breaks to snack and talk to other adventurers, reveling in seeing us create memories together. I wondered if she was telling them look at us, smiling.
Interstellar also discussed the idea that our parents become our ghosts. Ghosts that help guide us in life. That really resonates with me right now. As a new wife, starting another job, continuing school. I have so many questions I want to ask her. Questions I never knew I needed to have answered so soon, questions about how to be a supportive wife, how to make stuffing on Thanksgiving, how to balance work, school and happiness. I know those questions will only grow larger as I embark on other new things like becoming a mother myself for instance (not anytime soon!). 

She isn’t here to answer those questions, but I know I can turn to her ghost, angel, spirit, omniscient being, whatever you want to call it, and I can find clues. Memories I am making include her now, perhaps only the idea of her or an unrelated experience with her, help me discover my own answers. I see her in my dreams a lot lately.  She usually never says anything, most times the dreams are of me bouncing an idea off of her and she is just listening to me speak. I find my own answers looking to her. 

We took the trip that never happened, or at least parts of it. Created new memories of her with it.  She would have loved Zion. So I loved it for her. She did her job so well, it is impossibly easy to have her presence felt in my future memories.

Side Effects

There is a poem written by an unknown author titled "What Cancer Cannot Do". If you have spent any time in a cancer treatment arena as a patient, family member or healthcare provider, you have undoubtedly seen it in a frame on a wall, in a pamphlet about 'coping', or in an inscription of an inspirational painting. I first saw it on the wall on 9100 in Duke Hospital as a new oncology nurse.  It was hanging on the wall to the right as soon as you turned down the main hall.  It was in an unassuming frame, in an unassuming size 14 font, but I felt compelled to stand there and read it. If you have never heard of this poem or read it, you can find it here.

The take home message of this poem (or what I perceive it as) is to point out how weak cancer is. It names 10 things cancer is incapable of doing. I assume this is an effort to empower whomever is reading the poem against cancer and all its shortcomings. 

 One thing cancer can do is kill my mother. With a rather abrupt quickness I might add.  But that's just one thing on a list. A single item, a single act, a single ability.  On the list of what cancer couldn't do to my mom, well, that list is rather vast and substantive. That list is full of innumerable examples of what it could not do to her. 

The insufferable truth of my mom's cancer journey was that it, by in large, took a back seat to the debilitation and pain she had to endure from her back injury.  Her excruciating pain was due to this injury. Her inability to walk or use her legs was due to this injury.  Discovering her cancer had returned has been a byproduct of a work up done to help with her back and spinal injuries.

This leads me to title her list not just things cancer cannot do, but more so things pain and illness cannot do.  Or even the shortcomings of the knowledge of imminent death. John Green says pain, depression, fear are not side effects of cancer, but that they are side effects of dying.  So many variables at play as to what challenges, obstacles, slip ups, falls can occur within this complex scenario. So many things create all the more powerful act to bear witness to someone illustrating what ALL OF THEM cannot do. fuck em. 

I started taking candid pictures of my mother the week in January we knew this would be the beginning of the end. I wanted to capture the essence of what all Joan could do and expose the weakness of what all the side effects of dying cannot do.  

Dying cannot take away the ambition and goals to work on physical therapy in the pool.

 Dying cannot take away the intricate perfectionism of crimping apple pie crust.
 

 Dying cannot take away the beauty of creating a fresh arrangement of flowers.


 Dying cannot remove the joy of crafting a perfectly sloppy, freshly made s'mores,

Dying cannot take away the will to get into the seat and have a look into the witchcraft that is 'the eye exam'.

Dying cannot take away the desire to have impeccable highlights put in you hair. 



 Dying cannot dampen the warmth of towel drying your own hair.

Nor the happiness of blow drying and curling your hair just the way you've always done. 

Dying cannot take away trips to Barnes and Noble to refresh the mantra that "YOU are a Badass".

Dying cannot prevent the salty, savory deliciousness of freshly boiled oysters in the company of great friends. 

Dying cannot take away the display of unending love. 

Dying cannot eliminate the opportunity to contribute to the navigation attempt, however archaic that tool may be. 

Dying cannot remove the feeling of sand on your toes, salt in your hair, and sun on your face.


 Dying cannot take away the pleasure of a long needed pedicure.

 


 Dying cannot prevent you from falling asleep on the couch watching TV with your honey.

Dying cannot prevent your preference to make Mexican rice to go with our fish tacos. 

Dying cannot take away the special, pretty feeling from a  mini-makeover at Nordstroms. 

Dying cannot take away the power that comes from a loving touch over pizza night. 

Dying cannot take away aggressively enjoying cake batter. 

Or aggressively enjoying freshly picked strawberries in the car. 

Dying cannot cripple creative thinking to paint a wine glass. 

I love that wine glass. 
 

Dying cannot remove the pleasures of coffee and homemade scones in the morning with the company of your love. 

Dying cannot eliminate curiosities to try different flavors of Amish chow chow. 
Dying cannot dampen the excitement of looking at bridal magazines and wedding planners with your daughter. 



 Dying cannot remove the hope that your daughter may find 'the one' during this trip.
  

Dying can do so little really, when you think about it. A singular act, albeit a grave one, but a single act no less. Everything else that comes with it are merely side effects.  Side effects we do our best to offset and moderate in whatever ways we can. When you take the time to see how much you can do compared to what it cannot, those moments make life worth living, if only for an instant.
 

How yoga helps me take better care of my mom





I played competitive sports for 12 years.  Competitive being relative of course because I’m not really sure what they consider 6 year olds playing tee ball…In any case, I loved being on a team; tennis, softball, marching band, basketball.  I was never a big talker or motivator, I was more of a quiet ‘doer’, much like my mom.  I wasn’t all that graceful either, my nickname given to me by my high school basketball coach was Barbie and it wasn’t solely due to the blonde hair- I was a klutz and often in the wrong place at the wrong time, but when I got it right- I could block shots for days, Deebo you out of the paint with my horse legs; pretty much just be an all-out menace to the opposing teams much larger players.  

I would do near anything to help protect my team and more importantly-defeat THEM.  Whoever Them was, I was going to be better than them, work harder than them, last longer than them.  Was I the best player? Of course not.  Was I a great teammate?  I would like to think so.  As long as I knew it would benefit my team, I didn’t care what it entailed.  

With all of the above in mind, you may think I have adequate discipline and motivation as a person, period.  Even I thought that for a while.  But it turns out I do not.  When it comes to me, personally, Stephanie, I don’t always have the best self-discipline and at times to be honest, character.  I have relearned this several times in my life but only in the last few years have I actively attempted to improve upon it.  

Moving to Alaska alone exposed this weakness tremendously in many forms.  

My mom having her cancer recur and my life being uprooted suddenly not only exposed it but exacerbated it like grinding coarse salt into a fresh wound.  

The first two months I was in North Carolina with my family were rough.  I drank, medicated, and smoked.  A lot.   When I wasn’t eating fast food going to and from the hospital and doctor’s offices I was gorging myself on comfort foods that so many gracious people provided (If you know anything about the south or the word Comfort you know it always involves butter, frying, and bread).  I was a poor excuse for coping and self-care in general. I felt like shit and hated myself for allowing this perpetual cycle of regret and self-pity justifying my actions to occur.  I smoked because my mom has cancer again and I was stressed out (and no, the irony is not lost on me).  I medicated because I was under undue stress and I deserved some reprieve damn it!  Excuse after excuse I repeated in my head over and over.  But I knew it was unacceptable and this only perpetuated things.  Why couldn’t I just get it together?  How hard is it to not buy another pack? 

All while this is happening there is my dad.  A pillar of exemplar character.  I would say strength but I don’t want that to be misconstrued as ‘he is so strong, he can handle anything’.  But that’s what it boils down to- strength is recognizing your suffering and making the decision to cope in a healthy and ultimately constructive way.  He went for walks with Joe the dog and by himself to clear his mind.  He read books called “Handbook for Mortals” and “The Bible”.  He got up day after day doing the best he could.  Some days the best was just getting out of bed and other days it was orchestrating a ramp to be built in the garage.  

Henry T inspired me then and every day since.  I knew I needed to get it together because in the end- the care I was providing for my mom was suffering due to my poor decisions.  I was irritable, exhausted, bloated and weak.  All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and sleep to deal with this awful situation, let alone help someone else. So I set a goal:  Once I returned from my two week trip to Alaska in March, I would be a different person.  No more smoking, no more gorging, no more fast food, no more pity party filled with excuses.  

I also had the perfect vector to this new and improved ‘me’.  My beautiful friend Daisy had been inviting me for many weeks to come to the hot yoga studio she attends.  I knew I liked yoga and how I felt after I did yoga but I never was able to get into a routine (read: never was able to motivate myself to get into a routine).  But now that I am here in NC, no longer in school or in a conventional occupation, in desperate need of a healthy outlet to deal with my stress, perhaps I would be able to commit?  After all, they have a sweet first time student deal and I would get to spend some time with my friend. Furthermore, this studio has classes (brace yourselves) at 6:15AM Monday-Friday.  This may sound awful but it is the only way I could make this work.  I would get up, drive to Durham, go to class, drive back to Mebane, shower and drink some coffee all before my dad had to go to work and more importantly, before my mom wakes up.  This way I don’t need to recruit anyone to help out (any nurse will tell you that asking for help is learned skill that is still hard to do at times).  I can get it all done before 8:00AM and it’s like it never happened!

But it did happen.  And it is noticeable. I am rejuvenated after class.  I have energy.  I was able to stop smoking with the help of profuse sweating in a 95 degree room followed by re-hydration purging my body of nicotine. I am more flexible and I am stronger.  I am also down 10 pounds. I just plain ol’ feel better.   

Back to my earlier comments about fighting Them.  You see, I have learned that having self-control is entirely different from competitive sports because the only Them is You.  There is no one to fight or beat or defeat because what you are up against is yourself.  I can’t stare across the court at someone and build a desire to conquer Them because I am the only one in this fight.  Yoga has taught me that.  Although it would be more interesting at times, the fact is I am the only one on the yoga mat.  There is no one trying to beat me and that is why it is so easy for me to allow myself to not try as hard to be disciplined (since there are no winners or losers, what’s the point, right?) There are seemingly infinite ways to hold each pose starting at novice, inflexible level all the way to insane X-Men powers level.  This allows you to conquer the pose in whatever level you are currently in.  “Go where you can go” is said more than once in those classes.  And although at first I took it as a taunt and a challenge (Oh I’ll show you where I can go), I have learned to embrace it.  I am where I am today and the hope is tomorrow I will be somewhere else.  That is the victory- the movement from one place to another.  

This isn't your stereotypical yoga class either.  We aren't in there chanting with singing bowls in our perfect headstand poses smiling and speaking Sanskrit fluently to each other (although there is nothing wrong with that, I am just here to tell you that Arrichion is not one of those types of studios). I have dreaded waking up at 5:25AM and driving 30 minutes.  I have cried on my yoga mat when I cannot escape my thoughts about CT scans and tough decisions (I blame Eddie Vedder for the majority of that).  I have had excruciating headaches during and after class from not hydrating well enough.  I have seriously had to think about what the best way to fall would be if I pass out standing up.  I have bruises up and down my triceps trying to attempt Crow pose. 

 I wake up most mornings with a now familiar feeling of impending doom weighing down inside my gut.  But once I am in that room, trying not to pass out and pushing my own limits of strength, flexibility and balance, I finally have what can only be described as reprieve.  But what is better about this reprieve, as opposed to what I gained earlier from poor coping- is I am not merely escaping my suffering- I am actively embracing and working through it and that allows me to carry it on after the class. When it comes down to it, yoga helps me take better care of my mom.

I have more energy to be kind and patient when caring for her day in and day out.  I am more flexible so I can reach across and down to my mom so I can adjust her feet under a table in a crowded restaurant.  I am stronger so I can help lift her when we get in a bad place that she is unable to transfer herself.  I am more present when it comes to listening to my mom voice her fears and uncertainties.  

It seems as if nothing in my life is controllable at this time and even if it were, most things I want are attached to catastrophic caveats.  I want to return to Alaska so I can finish grad school- but when I do, it means my mother has died.  I want to be with my boyfriend and my dogs- but when I am, it means my dad has lost his best friend forever.  I want my mom to be here as long as she possibly can- but that means I am here with my life on hold. There is no answer, nothing to conquer that will make everything alright.  Things are going to get worse before they get better. The Them in this case is cancer. We know what the final score will be. We know that cancer will eventually take her life but that doesn’t mean it is the victor.  It merely means we have to reshape what our victories are. 

In finding what I CAN control, things like what I put into my body and pushing myself in my yoga classes, spending quality time with my family, these are the victories I can create today.  I hold onto those things dearly.  Because when I am able to be self-disciplined and have self-control in that process, it allows me to take better care of my mom.  

Happy Mother's Day Mom- I love you severely :o)


The story of the three M's



It’s currently 11pm and I am sitting at my parent’s house in Mebane, NC typing this post.  14 hours ago my family was told that my mother has cancer.  

If this is the first you are hearing this devastating news, you now know about as much as we do at this point.  Please do not feel left out or unloved, it has been a very trying week with information and processing for my immediate family...

If this were the whole story, it would be heart breaking enough, but if you know me or my family, you are aware that this is not the whole story.  As I sit here trying to process this information, I can’t help but reflect on the story of me, my mother and malignancy.  I can’t help but think about the past, in some way to try and find direction and this is why I am writing this post- to try and find clarity for myself.  If you would just like to know the current situation, please scroll to the end of this post.

September 2001

I am 16.  I am a sophomore in high school.  I am fully engrossed with classes, marching band, football games, basketball practice and the daily ins and outs of high school drama.  My mother was also apparently diagnosed with colon cancer.  She had surgery and subsequently 11 months of chemotherapy.  I was not helpful.  I was not supportive.  I demanded things of her, things she had always done as my mother and would get angry when she could not do them.  I was in denial that my mother had anything other than strength and normalcy.  My mother did not have cancer.  My mother was not sick.  I don’t remember sharing this news with many people.  I do remember I started dating someone and after a month I mentioned something about chemotherapy and he was shocked that I never said anything before about my mom having this illness, this battle that could have killed her.   I don’t think I ever coped with her having cancer.  I got into the only fist fight I have been in that year though, during a basketball game.  Subsequent counseling visits diagnosed me with ‘clinical depression’ and I started one of the run of the mill SSRI therapies until I graduated.  

December 2005

                I am 20.  I just completed my first semester of sophomore year at UNC-Charlotte.  A school I never felt I fit in with and was planning on transferring to Durham Tech for the spring semester, mostly to be with my newly acquired boyfriend who lived in Durham as well as my parents.  I always knew I wanted to be in the nursing field so I was eagerly learning about anatomy and microbiology.  My mom and dad tell me in a car ride that her last colonoscopy showed some lesions of suspicion and they were awaiting cytology reports.  One week later they told me she had colorectal cancer.  No, her previous cancer did not return because the cells are different.  She has a new primary cancer, completely independent of the first.  She has major surgery in January to remove the tumor and subsequently completed 6-8 months of even more intense chemotherapy with the addition of radiation. 
                Now you would think, being 4 years older and wiser, I would have developed a sort of compassion and care to help.  I had not.  I was equally as apathetic as before.  My mom did not have cancer.  When my mom’s hands were so sensitive to cold due the drugs running thru her veins that she couldn’t get a simple glass of ice water, I became enraged with her.  Why couldn’t she just get me some cold water?  Why couldn’t she touch anything from the refrigerator?  Why was she in bed for 4 days every two weeks following treatment?  I do remember attending more radiation sessions and visiting her at her chemo appointments more than I do when I was younger, but by in large I was mostly absent.  

February 2009

                I am 23.  I start working as an RN at Duke University Hospital on the Hematology-Oncology floor.  I begin treating patients mostly with leukemia and lymphoma.  I took many ‘core classes’ on cancer, what it is, what it does, what treatment is, and what treatment does to the human body.  This is the first time I began to understand what my mother had been enduring for those many months.  I became overcome with regret, guilt and sadness for my behavior during those times.  I tried to make amends with these feelings by providing the best care I knew how to of my patients and their families.

December 2010

                My mom takes me to the airport so I can fly to Alaska to meet a man I had never met before.  I man I might by accident on facebook who had become a dear friend to me over the last year.  Many people thought I was crazy.  If the show Catfish had been around back then, I may not have ever gone. Many people told me not to go, that it was dangerous and foolish.  But my mom knew I needed to take risks and chances in life.  Risks she felt she didn’t have the chance to take.  So she drove me to the airport and wished me well.  I had an amazing 5 day trip to a new place with new people.  

February 2011

                I decided to take another chance and made the decision to try and move to Alaska.  To work, to explore, to find new people to take more chances with.  I began the process of looking into grad schools in Alaska and getting my AK RN license.  

March 2011

                I am 24.  I am still working at Duke.  My mom has an abnormal PAP smear.  She is diagnosed with uterine cancer.  A third primary, a third new cancer that has invaded her precious body.  She has a total hysterectomy, one that was very complex due to her previous surgeries for cancer and a third one to remove adhesions in her bowel caused by the other surgeries.  She endures another five months of chemotherapy.  This was the first time she lost her hair.  This was the first time I was painfully aware of what her body was going through.  I tried my best to rectify my previous reactions and support to her previous adventures with cancer.  All in all, I feel I did a fair enough job.  I went to treatment with her.  I helped my dad manage her medications to control her nausea, vomiting and pain.  I was present for the first time.  

September 2011

                I move to Alaska.  My mom was one month out from completing her chemotherapy with a clean bill of health and no traces of cancer remaining.  Many people felt and advised me that I should not go.  I am sure many other felt I was being selfish for leaving so soon after treatment and for leaving at all after my mom could have potentially died three times in the last ten years.  But not my mother.  Not only did she drive me to the airport, she insisted that she come with me and my dad to help me move.  Her blood counts barely recovered, she made the 12 hour journey to Alaska and spent a week helping me get situated in this foreign place.  We enjoyed seeing Alaska together.  They even came three months later to spend Christmas with me there.  She spent the next year or so recovering her body from the trauma of chemotherapy and the trauma of her youngest child moving 4,000 miles away, but never wavering her support in my decisions.

July 2013

                I am 27.  I am working in Alaska at an outpatient chemotherapy infusion center.  I had been accepted in the Family Nurse Practitioner program at the University of Alaska Anchorage and was slated to start in August.  My mom had been having debilitating back pain and leg pain for several months which led to her having a laminectomy of her L1-L4 vertebrae.  I returned to North Carolina the day after surgery to spend 10 days helping her recover from surgery and the assumed road to recovery.  She was in pain and very weak.  I made a medication record spreadsheet for my dad to help organize the ever evolving need for pain medications.  I was her nurse and tried to be a mentor to my father who would be in charge of her care.  I returned home, hopeful for a speedy recovery.    

December 2013

                I am recently 28.  My mother has lost 45 pounds.  My mother now uses a walker to move around the home and a wheelchair outside of home.  Her pain is still unbearable.  Her anxiety and depression, equally as debilitating.  I return home for three weeks to, again, try and expedite her recovery with my constant care.  I help her buy Christmas presents on Amazon because she was unable to go shopping.  I help decorate the home with Santas and Christmas décor.   I help my dad cook meals with my mom’s guidance as chef.  We enjoy the holidays in a new way that was at times insufferable.  I take my mother to physical therapy where the therapist reassures us that things like this just take time.  A few people said what I am sure many others felt, that I should not be in Alaska at a time like this.  That I was unequivocally needed to help.  I struggled with this for many months prior.  The remarks cut my soul.  But again, my mother said I needed to be in Alaska.  She said if she felt she needed me and that she was dying, she would want me there.  She said “and I don’t think I’m dying”.  She said I needed to go to school.  I needed to continue to live these risks and adventures that she felt she never got to take.  So I return home, again, still unsure if what I am doing is the right thing.

January 7, 2014

                My father texts me at work and says they’ve taken mom to the emergency room, that her weakness and pain have escalated since my leaving and she needed to have further work ups.  An MRI of her back shows areas of inflammation.  We wait another day and have an abdominal CT performed.  I am driving to my first day of school when I call my father to hear any updates.  He tells me it’s not good news.  He tells me as I drive through the ice and falling snow that there are suspicious areas on her scan that they are worried about.  I don’t remember much from that first class.  That night I purchase a one way plane ticket home to be there when more worrisome results come.  Luckily my job and school are very supportive and sympathetic to my sudden departure and become one less thing I need to worry about at the present time. 
                This morning we find out that there is cancer in my mother’s body again.  We do not know what kind, but most likely a form a lymphoma.  Another primary.  A fourth new cancer that has found its way into the woman I most cherish.  I immediately feel the familiar tones of apathy.  I immediately feel fear because the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ does not apply to me this time.  My mom doesn’t have cancer.  Her back is hurt.  That is why we are here.  She can’t have cancer, because that doesn’t make any sense.  I look around the room at people who love me and whom I love.  At times I can’t understand why they are crying.  Other times I can’t understand why everyone isn’t crying. 
I am in a building where I was always the caregiver, comforting others with bad news, providing a tissue and steady shoulder.  I know the tests, I know the results, I know the way of hospital life. I get frustrated when doctors speak to me as a lay person all the while not wanting them to know my profession, my craft, my too deep depth of understanding of what they are saying to me.  I don’t know what to be now.  I don’t know if I need to be the removed caregiver, always pushing forward with the next plan, the next goal, and the next step.  I don’t know if I need to be the weeping daughter making everyone feel uncomfortable because they don’t know what to say to me.  I don’t know if need to be strong for my dad or show him it is ok to cry and hold each other up in the process. 
I do know I am better than I was 13 years ago.  I know I can provide more to my family than I have ever been able to.  I know I will do my best to help guide them through this process I know very well.  Too well.  Too well to differentiate between being the consoler and being consoled.  I know this journey of me, my mom and malignancy too fucking well. 

To those of you who would like to be on the daily update list, please send your email address to - smg1125@gmail.com.  So many people love my mom and want to be informed and I know that being informed is the best way to be, but rather than email/text/call myself, mom or dad for updates, please just wait for the email at the end of the day and if you have further, more specific concerns or thoughts, please feel free to reply them.

Thank you for reading this, for helping me work through my own troubles as I begin to try and work through an entirely new set. 

-Steph
 


Night we shaved her head 2010
Facial Fun


Lake Fun


Christmas in Alaska with mom's mohawk


Hokies game Fall 2012
Christmas 2013

The last of summer 2012 in the last frontier


Tonight feels like Christmas Eve!!  Tomorrow I will be boarding a plane (first class no less!) to go to North Carolina AND Mumford & Sons sophomore album Babel is released!!  I’ve already preordered the album on iTunes, so I cannot wait until it just pops up in my playlists ready to serenade me on my 12 hour journey to NC. 

                I haven’t been back to the South since March – six months is such a long time but it feels like it was just last week I was coming home for the first time.  I’m so anxious to see how things go, how things and people make me feel.  Six months ago I was in a completely different place, physically and mentally.  I had just quit a job that was slowly killing the person and nurse I am, I was living the Valley, which was a great place but severely lacked the social scene to keep me busy, and I was also in the home stretch of enduring one of the most epic winters south central Alaska has ever experience.  So needless to say, I was emotionally spent on all accounts.  Going home was an escape of this life I had in Alaska, a break in the constant challenges I was facing. 

                Now, I am in a much better place.  I immensely enjoy my new job.  I haven’t mentioned much about what my new job entails, but in a nutshell I work at an Oncology clinic where I administer chemotherapy and supportive medications to patients currently being treated for various cancers.  It was definitely more a comfort zone feeling than the hospital in the valley because of my previous experience at Duke, but since it is an outpatient setting, the cancers we deal with are mostly solid tumor which uses completely different chemotherapy treatments.  Learning about all of those drugs and also the flow of outpatient (8-5 M-F, no nights, weekends or holidays, woohoo!!) working, made for a lot of learning.  My coworkers are great and very supportive and I am happy to go to work every day.   

                I also live in Anchorage now, which has been night and day in my social life.  Only living 5-15 minutes from pretty much anything and anywhere in town, it is so easy to make plans and to get out and do different things.  Anchorage isn’t the most exciting place as far as variety in things to do, but just to be in a place with options and more people has helped me a lot. 

                This summer has been disappointing according to the locals.  It has rained a lot and been pretty cloudy/chilly.  The sunny days were few and far between, but I did my best to make it what I could.  The 22 hours of sunlight were definitely something interesting to experience and to get used to.  It was really easy to have the time fly by and next thing you know its 11pm and you just ate dinner. 

                One of the best endings to my Alaskan summer was the AK State Fair!  Was a typical fair experience, with fatty food and fast scary rides.  But what made it awesome was that I got to see the Avett Brothers there!  First time seeing them in concert and they were great.  They’re a fold rock band that originated from Concord, NC, so it felt a little like home hearing their accents in between songs. 




                The other great thing that happened this summer was my first roommate in Alaska got married!!  Marie has been such a great support to me in my AK adventure and it was wonderful to see her so happy and in love.  The venue was at her parents property on an air strip.  They had a taco bar and eventually flew away in a Cessna!! How much more Alaskan can you get????  Then they flew back over the crowd and Marie threw her bouquet and cake out of the window.  Then they went to Hawaii the next day for a 2 week honeymoon. 










 

                I’ve gotten some good hiking and adventuring in while trying to squeeze the last out of summer that I can.  Even went ‘mudding’.  Was more like rock climbing and river hopping, but was very fun to get muddy for a while.











 
             Another fun thing that happened was my coworker Candice's bachelorette party! We had a blast playing with penis shaped, well everything.  Straws, pasta, necklaces, stickers, you name it!  Cant' wait to see pics of her wedding she is having in Hawaii next month.







 

                AH! Can’t wait to go to NC tomorrow to help celebrate Emily and Tommy’s wedding and to see my family and friends :o)
 

Battle Royale

As I sit here, beaten, sore and bruised I couldn't be happier.  The way I feel (and quite possibly look) this morning reminds me a line in one of my favorite movies, Accepted: "BATTLE ROYALE!!!" 

Here is a run down of my current state of affairs:

Scratches over 4 fingers - apparently there is a right and wrong way to fling a fish back into the water.  chucking them by their gills (or teeth...?) will result and scraping (something) across your hand.  I am astutely aware of said scratches every time I use our waterless hand sanitizer at work. 

Bruise on left thigh - these are called 'Halibut Hickeys' by Cap'n Steve and this results from misplacing your fishing rod when you are reeling in that biggan...just think of how you bruise the crap out of your shoulder if you hold a shot gun the wrong way, same concept.  clearly i was holding the rod the wrong way (that's what she said).

Although invisible, my left forearm and shoulder are KILLING me.  I hardly ever, probably never, work out my upper body.  I just hate the feeling of trying to push something away.  It's a very vulnerable feeling to me.  Now my legs, they can dead lift a small Volvo, but I just hate having to use my arms.  And fishing requires using your arms more than your legs, hence the soreness. 

Now onto the right forearm...I love fire.  Just ask my parents, I was the kid burning sh*t at 10am when we would go camping at Kerr Lake.  When it was 96 degrees.  I just saw so much potential with all that shrubbery! and sticks! and logs! and pallets!  So needless to say when my friend Ben said he was going to have a fire to burn some of his decking Friday night- I was in there like swimwear.  Even though I love fire, I am still blond to my core and when I pick up things and put them in a fire, I tend to forget how hot they probably are.  Needless to say, the wrong end of the metal pole was picked up and now approximately 8 freckles on my arm are rocking the blackened look.

Last but not least is my most epic injury of the weekend - the hole in the bottom of my left foot.  As mentioned above, I love fire.  I am blonde.  I make irrational decisions often and with record speed.  Luckily Ben doesn't judge me for my ill decision making skills, rather he sits back and waits for the show to begin.  As we are burning the pieces of decking I come up with the grand idea of putting one of the 20 foot boards across the fire.  So I do.  And it burns, and as its almost in half, I decide we need to expedite this process and jump on the ends like a see-saw to snap it (and possibly send flaming debris into the air-but it would look so cool! right?).  So, Ben stands on one end gingerly weighing it down, and I (of course) JUMP onto the other side.  Board snaps.  Success.  Just as I am reveling in my perfectly executed plan - the bottom of my left foot starts burning and as I lift up my heel in my white flip flop I see a nice stream of blood filling up the shoe...Whoops.  Boards from decks usually come with nails.  Rusty nails.  A rusty nail that so kindly made its way from the board, thru my flip flop and now had a new home in my foot. 

I'm guessing I've had my tetanus shot in the last 10 years...but seriously, whoever died from tetanus?

So I guess the point of all I stated above, is that despite the beating I'm feeling right now, I am happy.  Most of the injuries incurred are from my very first halibut fishing adventure in Alaska, one that I had to take on my own due to the lack of space available on the boats (another nod to my procrastination).  So after a 3.5 hour drive to Ninilchik, I boarded a boat with 5 other fishermen, 1 captain and 1 deckhand.  I was the only girl and the only one who didn't know anyone else on board. I was slightly apprehensive/nervous but I did my best to not be the quiet awkward one and started conversations as quickly as possible.  Luckily all the guys were super nice and did their best to teach me how to fish and I'd say we all had a really good time.  I caught 5 total but AK law is you can only keep 2, so now my freezer has a decent stash of halibut steaks just waiting for some marvelous recipe.  Also had a moderate crush on the deckhand by charter's end, and I'm not gonna lie when I handed him the tip afterwards I felt slightly trashy like I was paying him for something other than his charm...

I am extremely proud of myself for going fishing!  It isn't going to be a new past time of mine by any means, but who can say they've been halibut fishing in the halibut fishing capitol of the world?  I can.  And I'm damn proud if it.


Now this isn't just another fishing tale...but going on the trip reminds me to never stop the adventure.  Take risks.  I have done many (many) stupid things, but its the things I didn't do that pop in my mind more so than those dumb things I did commit to do.  I'll probably always remember that I chickened out of singing "Jackson" by Cash & Carter at the karaoke bar on a first date.  I should've asked that deckhand out for a drink after fishing but I wussed out.  (Don't get me wrong, the hour I spent going over what I should've said on the way home made the time pass in the car, but I'm sure it would've made for a much more interesting story if I had just tried.)  What was I going to lose?  I will surely never see any of those people again, who cares if I crash and burn.  But alas, I didn't.  Heavy sigh...

It's not to say that the inaction of those two examples caused traumatic consequences in the grand scheme of Stephanie's life,  in fact it affected nothing, but that's the point, I'm finding the regret of inaction far outweighs my regret of the actions I did make. 

Every action creates an equal and opposite reaction.  Simple law of physics.  So it's safe to say that inaction creates nothing.  Without reactions, where does the growth, progress, insight, dare i say- happiness- come from?  Sure, without reactions there would be no bruises, rusty nail holes, or sore appendages.  We would all be in pristine, perfect, flawless shape like those Barbie dolls kept in their boxes in mint condition. 

Our bodies would have no scars or aches. 

And even more damaging, our hearts would have no scars or aches.

I read something last night that reminded me that our bodies are made up of semipermeable membranes.  Letting some things in and keeping some things out.  Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spirituallyl.

We are our own gatekeepers. 

No one is guarding our moat.  It is up to us to make those actions and fully embrace the reaction. 

I'm quite impressed with how I have handled the reactions of my actions in the last few months to be honest.  Definitely showing some positive growth and that makes me feel really good.  It's an indescribely wonderful feeling to know that what you are today is slightly better than what you were yesterday. Be it going fishing by myself and getting physically dinged or opening my heart up to let someone in (which I haven't been able to do in a very long time) and welcoming all the consequences of those emotions with the comfort of knowing yes, they are still there, yes i can still feel, emote, connect.

Let's not let the could've would've should'ves haunt us. 
Let's not sit in that nursing home in 60 years regretting our inactions with no grand stories to tell the youngsters - becuase after all, if I learned anything working with the geriatric population, is when you're body is failing, all you have left are the memories you've made.  Nothing else. 
Let's not go to Camelot. 'Tis a silly place. 
Let's get out there, get hurt, scraped, exhausted, and love and embrace every bleeding, aching second of it.

-S
 I can't even begin to explain how happy I was to have my BFF Erika come up and spend a week with me.  We did so many amazing things together and further solidified why the two of us are meant to be in each other's lives.  She supports me in ways she will never know and I will always cherish our friendship.
 Some of the most fun I've had in Alaska were the two weeks I spent with this guy. 

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.
But the Skin Horse only smiled.

Dating in Alaska 101


As I sit in my shared townhouse, enjoying the last few weeks here before I move to the ‘big city’ (Anchorage) I can’t help but be reflective on my 8 short months here in Alaska.  That combined with recent events that I’ve been occupying my thoughts with for the last several days; I sit here and think about dating.  The select few people I indulge my deepest regrets with have often said I should write a book about my adventures dating because they are, quite frankly, ridiculous and questionably entertaining.  I don’t know about a book, but I would like to share (mostly for future selfish reasons) some of my experiences. 

I waited about two months before creating my online dating profile.  I waited until the shock of my decisions sunk in and I felt I had ‘settled’ into some sort of routine.  I chose one of the free ones, as to try to not put a price on the worth of my affections.  Sounds good right?  Actually I chose a free one because I didn’t think it made a difference either way, and I could find more useful ways to spend $40 odd bucks a month. 

The very first date was normal enough, drinks and appetizers at a local quaint restaurant.  He was nice and decent on the eyes, but there was no spark.  We didn’t share the same humor, so it created some awkward silences.  He was an Alaska State Trooper, and according to some, it’s no surprise that he had no sense of humor.  We never talked again after that.

There have been about 5-8 dates similar to the first.  Decent food and alcohol, but no real conversation to speak of.  One of those where you can’t wait for the next drink or meal to arrive so you can stop asking questions about how many siblings you have, or what’s your favorite color.  That’s always been my cue that it is going downhill.  NO ONE cares how many siblings you have, so whenever a date (or a new hairdresser) asks me that I can’t help but roll my eyes and keep from saying “if you can’t think of anything else you’d care to know about me, just be silent. Please.”

Now I have had my fair share of “WTH just happened?!” moments.  I’ve been taken to a strip club as a second date.  A strip club named ‘The Alaskan Bush Company’.  I’ve been refused service at a restaurant because my date was too intoxicated to be served.  I’ve had dates show up wearing a book bag that I had to legitimately prepare my swift exit, for fear of what might be in that bag (rope? Chloroform? Porn? Skittles?).  I’ve been asked what kind of ring I’d like to be proposed with by one, and what kind of wedding I’d prefer by another (remember, FIRST date).  And although I love technology as much as the next 20 something year old, it can make sharing things almost too easy.  I don’t think I need to go into detail on this one, just use your imagination and whatever you come up with, yep, that’s it. 

Now that’s not to say I haven’t had my fair share of fun.  I’ve been sledding, hiking, out to movies, karaoke, dancing and eating some of the finest seafood in Alaska.  I’ve learned about others Alaskan experiences and learned so much about this state from those who’ve lived it.  I’ve tried new and different drinks, learned to like wine, dark beer, and when to call it a night and pay your tab (or have him pay it…).

I’ve probably been on upwards of 20 first dates.  Around 5 second dates.  Only 2 did I go out with for more than 3 times.  You learn a lot about people, men, boys, alcohol, but most of all you learn about yourself.  I’ve learned that trying to get someone to know who you are, makes you have to figure out who you are in the first place.  You have to figure out what your interests are: favorite movies, favorite music, favorite beer, favorite hobbies and activities.  For those certain few that want to go deeper: your ambitions, goals, fears, values and view on religion.  I have learned a lot about what makes Stephanie different (and the same) from every other woman out there. 

I’ve been wooed, lusted after, liked, loved, swept away and desired.  I’ve been disrespected, disregarded, let down and abandoned.  I’ve had promises made and broken in the ways of trust and motive.   I’ve learned that people treat you the way you allow them too.  That’s not to say you can force a person to treat you one way or another, because that’s a fruitless task.  It’s to say that the way you present yourself to people (conscious or not) gives them cues (conscious or not) as to how to treat you.  If they abide by these cues, FANTASTIC!, keep them around.  If they don’t, remove yourself.  If you continue to entertain the way they treat you by allowing them to be around you, then you are giving them permission to continue to treat you in such a manner.  You have so much power, so much control!  I’d like to think I’ve become more powerful in all of my adventures.  Realizing I have power over things I thought was left to fate or to others.  That you can’t go around feeling victimized.  That you have to own up to the way you’ve allowed others to treat you, and know that you can be the change that you have wished to see in others (I know, lame Mother Teresa quote, but it fits, ok?).  I can’t wait to see where this power takes me. 



“Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us.” –Romans 5:3-5









Where am I?

Since it's been a while since I've posted I figured I would just do a massive picture post with less narration to sum up the last, eh, 2-3 months of the life of Steph.  Pretty much I went home for the first time since moving here, had a great surprise birthday party for Matthew, attempted to hike Hatcher's in the snow and started a new job which I thoroughly enjoy. 

My homemade strawberry cake that awaited my arrival to my parents house

Feet in the grass for the first time in 5 months

Dad making homemad BBQ

Missed them. and Wild Wing Cafe.

Wifey on St Patty's day

Missed

Irena!

Thai Lana love

Buttery love

My Yayo

Dockside

Wrightsville


Birthday cake for Matthew I was very proud of making

Best surprise Bday party ever

enjoying karaoke

shooting with my BullCity hoodie on

Started a new job! which is fantastic

Hatcher's Pass missed the memo it was spring

Epic failure at hiking in 4 feet of melting snow

Bonfire on the river side

Valley Trash and the Bull

As I have lived in Alaska for four months (4 months!!!) I’m starting to learn the characteristics and stereotypes given to certain regions of the state.  As someone new, you just assume one Alaskan is just like another, no matter where they’re from.  But you gradually learn as you meet people and they share their opinions that there are vast differences. 

I should have realized this just from the sheer fact that I met someone up here and when I said “I’m from Durham” they said “Oh, so in Chapel Hill basically?” and my blood started to boil.  They are NOT the same place. 

Alaska is a huge state so I’ve only learned about a small part but this is what I have gathered so far (again, these are the stereotypes and not facts, just things I have been told by the people who have lived here a long time):

-Anchorage is called “Town” (ie. I need to go shopping so I’m going to head into town tomorrow).  I made the mistake many times when I first moved up here referring to Wasilla and Palmer as town and saying things like ‘oh I moved here because I have some friends in town’, was very confusing to a lot of people so I’ve had to learn to refer to Wasilla/Palmer as the Valley.  Anchorage is where the sophisticated people live and work.  It is also where all the young and single people live.  There are many bars and restaurants, a couple big malls and tons of strip malls.  You go to Anchorage if you need something that you can’t buy at Wal-Mart, Target or Sears because those are the only shopping options in the Valley.

-Girdwood is where all the rich hippies live.  Hippies that are hippies by choice.  I’m not talking about the non bathing, no bra wearing flower power types, but the free spirited, well off, pot smoking folks.  Girdwood is where Alyeska (ski resort) is so there are a lot of beautiful quaint cabins and chalets where (apparently) the wealthy liberals reside.  Alaska is, in general, a very conservative state so when there is an entire community that is full of liberal minds, word gets around. 

-Homer is the other liberal community.

-Eagle River is the bedroom community to Anchorage aka the Cary of Anchorage.  Eagle River is pretty much located on the sides of the mountain range so I doubt any home there has a bad view.  With that being said, it is also more expensive to live in. 

-Wasilla and Palmer = the Valley.  Most people refer to those from the Valley as Valley Trash.  Yes, Valley Trash.  The Valley is where class goes out the window and pajamas with snow shoes replace skinny jeans and heels.  Like I prefaced this list, I will reiterate again that these aren’t MY judgments; these are statements and opinions of people who have lived here for a while.  The Valley is where you go to raise your family or just to raise hell.  There are limited bar selections and even more limited dating selections.  There are three fancy restaurants and Chili’s teeters back and forth on being added to the list. 

Most people have noted that my moving to the Valley instead of Anchorage would not have been their initial decision.  As a single gal with less than 5 friends, moving to a rather small town (oops, village? area?) full of families and married people has created extra challenges in meeting people.  When people scoff at the Valley and insult the cumulative IQ of its inhabitants, I never felt embarrassed or ashamed.  I would actually get a slightly comforted feeling to be honest and I’m shocked it has taken me this long to piece it together.

I live in one of the (many I’m sure) misfit communities in Alaska. 

I am from Durham, which is arguably THE misfit community in North Carolina. 

Being from Durham you develop a toughness to you.  Now I don’t just mean the gun totin’, dope slingin’, gang associating toughness, I mean a certain underdog mentality.  If anything bad happens within a 40 mile radius of Durham County, it is inevitably assumed that someone from Durham is responsible.  Apple Chill was cancelled due to the ruckus caused by kids from Durham; Halloween on Franklin Street has security that rivals the FSA due to too many kids from Durham showing up with guns.  People from Raleigh would rather risk being stranded on the side of I-40 before stopping for gas in Durham. 

Growing up knowing that you will be blamed creates a camaraderie with the other Durhamites, hell it’s not called Bull City for nothing.  There is so much culture and diversity in Durham and yet most people tend to focus on the select bad stories.  I love that I grew up and went to one of the top ranked high schools in many scholastic and athletic aspects, that the parking lot was full of redneck trucks lifted off the ground, low riders with blacked out windows and bass bumping, and Barbie jeeps.  That you knew what nature looked like due to the Eno River, Duke Gardens and Jordan Lake and that you also knew what colors to not flaunt in which neighborhoods due to the gang presence in places like Macdougal Terrace and Hartside.  You learned sophistication, swag, and what it meant to be from the South.  I can’t think of another place like it nor have met any people that combine those characteristics so perfectly. 

I guess I said all that to say this; I know the Valley isn’t perfect, but no place is.  Living in a town that is considered to be an embarrassment to some makes me want to embrace it even more.  The people who live in the Valley hate those living in Anchorage just as fiercely, and those who live here would not dream of living anywhere else in Alaska.  I can’t wait to further find out the little nuances that make the Valley what it is and will proudly smile whenever someone says in reply to my saying that I live in Palmer: ‘Oh, you’re Valley Trash.”



 This song was written by a guy who grew up in the Valley and he sums it up quite nicely in this song called "When the codiene is gone"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtzUHZMZp4w
“the pills have been harder to find these days because meth is the craze”