Mandatory End of Year Reflection, 2021

 It's been another ridiculous year in the Little Peterson household.  Hell, it's been a strange year for the planet in a lot of ways.  Deploy the bulleted list!

• As a manager at Skyward, one of my major goals was to bring a focus to the emotional needs of the group (e.g. "what do you need to feel ready for X requirement?").  This seemed especially important when we all moved to work from home as the pandemic launched off in the US.  Andy and I were part of the group that elected to work from home prior to the state requirements moving that direction, in part to set an example for our respective groups.  Advocating for my people was the best privilege I had in my time there.
• Andy's position expanded to include direction of teammates in addition to the product, leading to some great growth in management capabilities. 
• In April, I informed my manager that I was leaving the company to pursue nursing.  As vastly difficult as it was to disappoint my team, my peers, and others, I knew that this was the right place for me to be.  I had been preparing for it for some time, but, still, it was difficult to give myself permission to make the leap.
• May was hella weird, trying to put everything together for nursing school and sort out the remaining requirements prior to starting.  Clinicals would not be held in their original location, as our designated places were sorting out their relevant Covid policies, not yet ready to take students in the mix of all else in those moments.  Still, all told, I am now halfway through my nursing program, due to be complete next August.
• Made a friend, lost a friend, made some better friends, found places of common ground, kept my head above water, fell off the face of the earth, came back to say hello in different places, and paid enough attention to politics to get the overview but not to be fully depressed.
• We started our bathroom project back in August--it is still not complete, the ostomy toilet being our most difficult element.  As it stands currently, there is enough pressure to flush but not enough force in the flush to pull everything out of the bowl.  Once we sort out these pieces, I feel that the rest will line up in short order.  We're ready to have all of our spaces back and take it off of the to-do list once and for all.  The closet part of the project is lovely and complete, thankfully creating a useful and practical space for our needs.  In the meanwhile, understanding more about plumbing theory has been fascinating.
• Mike is continuing to work from Starbucks and spend time researching various elements for some big ideas he's preparing.  Selfishly, I have enjoyed learning about Indian, Chinese, and Japanese literature troupes by proxy.  
• We've been working on bettering a space for Andy to work on his project car--the area under our porch is mostly dug out.  
• Oh, yeah, we got a dog!  Luna came in early November, and we're finding a groove with her.  She's very smart when she wants to be--more often she's bored doing a trick rather than not understanding, it seems.  She got a small salivary gland infection right around Christmas, so we're also learning the joys of hiding pills in cheese.
• Luna's current list of nicknames include the following:
• LuLu
• "My little gorgonzola"
• Sweetheart
• Duck
• "Our little revolutionary"
• Baby, as in "you're just a big baby" when she flops over
• Ferocious hunter
• Dingus
• Fuzzbutt
• Incomplete list of songs her name has been incorporated into and/or rewritten around:
• Cancan, "Spectacular Spectacular" kind of style
• Waterloo (Luna-loo)
• Copacabana
• Beauty School Dropout
• Noodle Dance
• Poker Face
• Hooked on a Feeling (Luna-chaka Luna Luna Luna-chaka)

Looking back on last year's post about this time, there are some pieces that felt more prophetic than others, certainly.  2020 I had labeled "The Year of the Shove," the previous being "The Year of the Precipice."  There was a huge push and acceleration into a new future, on many levels.  Yes, I knew writing last year that I had accepted a spot in the Mennonite College of Nursing Accelerated path--January and February were seeing toward the final prerequisite and emotionally preparing as much as possible for leaving Skyward and my team.  I had positioned myself to take the leap, checked and rechecked the rigging, and am still very caught in the roar of the wind at my ears, sometimes finding the vibrations and fluttering fabric its own distraction.  In short, a lot of carefully planned and executed growth.  

I still feel the cliff, the wind, the uncertainty.  And yet, by the end of it, I'm confident that I will find a strong glide path into the next thing, find some rocky soil under my feet once more.  

Entering 2021, I have a few expectations.  Some important goals, but few expectations.  

I don't like long-term planning.  I don't trust the same world, same circumstances to be there for me, and thus find it difficult to plan well for the range of unforeseen circumstances into those master plans.  As such, when I do make plans, there are benchmarks and guideposts but not defined paths.  In another couple months, I'll be working on putting in applications to get a job immediately after graduation of my program, transitioning into some serious self-actualization pieces at the end of the summer.  The transition will be simultaneously fast and slow in those places.  The imposter syndrome elements will be loud.  There will be additional life curveballs and unexpected changes and further places where worldwide impacts send a shockwave through our home.  And the world will keep on turning despite us.  Still, I expect to have a very different ground underneath my feet than I did in starting the year--can't say much yet to said ground's condition or position, but on the ground.  

I wish you similar confidence.  

Three Birth Stories

Last term, I had my Maternal/Infant Nursing class, which had clinical requirements.  I was very anxious to go into this particular class, given the whole societal pressure to procreate thing--honestly, I wasn't sure how much the course was going to be reinforcing a value system that doesn't apply to me and that has actively hurt me on a number of occasions.  

So, yes, I wasn't sure how this was actually going to go.  The professor, though, was unabashedly passionate about what she does and that was certainly catching.  The material was vast, and I was greatly excited to learn something new, particularly comparing it to what colloquial wisdom was already out there with what was backed by data.  

I think it's fair to say that the bulk of the class wanted to see a birth--even members of the group that already had children were sometimes still interested in a different perspective.  I was hoping to see one, but simultaneously I didn't want to take it away from anyone else.  

It so happened that I saw three.  

Birth A:  a C-section for someone that had had one previously.  The mood with the patient was calm acceptance, the group understanding that there would be a quiet anxiousness and then everything would happen at once.  I filled the time while we waited for the patient by asking many, many questions.  We moved into the procedure room, the patient walking up to the table and, from epidural to birth, a whirlwind of thirty minutes.  There was a required sterility in procedure which lent itself to an interesting sterility of emotion, in some ways.  Gloves, gown, more gloves, untouchable tables and untouchable pieces, precise body movements to prevent accidental infringement of sterile places.  The father was present but quietly off to the side until they were given a cue that they could interact, visible to their spouse and a drape between him and the surgical elements.  What was going to happen was understood but still astounding in certain ways.  The care team was divided between mother and child, persons designated toward both and hands ready.  I was relegated to the latter, helping to wipe down and measure the squalling new life at our heated bassinette.  We had our tools and area ready to receive, watching and waiting for our time to act.  Wiping clean new limbs, passing the child to their family, offering to take a picture of the three of them together--so much anticipation for a thirty minute act resulting in a complete and total life-change.  The room was cold and active.

Birth B:  the first child.  There were a number of unknowns in the situation, firstly the general anticipation of all the new firsts--first pregnancy, first child, and all the uncertainty that implies--as well as some significant complication risks that required additional monitoring.  The anxiety, therefore, was high, but it was more excitement than it was worry.  The spouse stood behind our mother, feeling rather useless.  Myself and a peer held her legs up while we cheered and coached her on, counting her push times during her contractions--when the nurse I was following moved to a different step, I took over counting and prompting in her stead.  The atmosphere alternated between relaxed chatting about how they organized the nursery and what meal the mother was most looking forward to having over to strictly business when it was time to push and cheer.  The excitement and wonder in those new parents, particularly with the bond we had created over those hours of pushing, that was a special moment to be a part of.  The room was warm and wondrous.

Birth C:  the second child.  The family already had had a vaginal birth before--they knew what they were doing, what to expect, and moved with that kind of confidence.  Starting to push from birth was about half an hour later.  There was not as much chatter between contractions--all business.  This is not to say that there wasn't joy, but it was comparatively quieter in a few ways.  There was less connection with the family, but they were connected in themselves, focused on their own experience.  We checked in with them and talked to them, but otherwise allowed them to connect with each other and got out of the way.  The room was businesslike.  

Each event was special--from the cold sterility of surgery to the first child in a family to the child in a family that already knew the ropes.  Each event felt vastly different from the others.  No one birth event was "better" than the others, merely a reflection on their particular family and the needs of the group there.  I'm grateful to have been a part of them, and especially to have had such a variety of experiences.  Seeing one birth was exciting, but to be able to stretch the basis for comparison by such stark differences, I saw greater beauty still.  Different patients, different needs, but all needing their own personal touch.  The true delight in serving is only possible when I tune in to these different needs, when I address what is important to the patient rather than what my preferences might be.

Impact and Intent

I've alluded to this in other places, but I think this is a topic that deserves its own attention.  

Let's set a scene:  

You're with a friend.  The friend says something that you find offensive, where they made a flippant comment about you that cuts right into one of those particularly tender places.  It could have been clumsy phrasing; it could have been a joke that wasn't funny, reminding you of something that you're not ready to laugh about; regardless, there is an immediate pang of hurt and a small sting of betrayal.  

Maybe the friend notices; maybe they don't.  In any case, you point out in your own vernacular "hey, not cool."  

The friend shrugs it off or maybe doubles down (e.g. "what?  It's true/that's what happened."

You insist--it might not have seemed like much, but you're feeling very hurt by the comment and now with a layer of budding frustration from their response.  

Then, the friend says something along these lines:  "Well, I didn't mean it that way."  They continue on to other parts of the conversation.

How do you feel in that moment?  Do you feel that your friend honored your feelings?  Do you feel that they apologized?  They didn't.  However, I have seen many people as the friend in this situation act as though that it counts as an apology, eager to move on.  

"Well, I didn't mean it that way," or "That's not what I meant," and variants thereof are attempts to clarify the intent of the speaker.  The undercurrent of what that speaker is saying in that moment is "you shouldn't feel that way because this was my intent," or "you're overreacting because the only way to understand the situation is the way I intended it."  It is a form of gaslighting, trying to control what someone feels about a situation--if the persons says it was hurtful, explaining why they shouldn't feel the way they are feeling certainly doesn't make that hurt go away.  It might make the hypothetical friend feel better, but it A) doesn't acknowledge your feelings, B) doesn't acknowledge their responsibility for the impact of their statement, and C) ultimately damages your relationship.  

Does the intent matter?  To a point.  Sometimes understanding where someone was coming from when they said or did something can clear up misunderstandings or otherwise grant the offending person some grace.  Sometimes.  As someone who has put their foot in their mouth more than once, I definitely have the impulse to explain.  However, that still doesn't absolve me of the consequences of what I have said.  I need to apologize first, then I can explain my thought process and intent ONLY when that person is ready to be receptive to it.  The hurt has to be acknowledged first.  The impact has to be acknowledged first.  If the house is currently on fire, I care about the reasons why AFTER we've put out the fire--same logic applies, where the pain is triaged first and the reasons can be dealt with after.  If I focus on my need to explain over acknowledging someone's expressed feelings, the hurt often doesn't get acknowledged enough or at all, which means that the relationship remains unrepaired.  

Does the impact matter?  Always.  Careless words still hurt, even if the person did not mean it that way.  Good intentions do not absolve someone of their responsibility for the results of their action or words.  Full stop.  Stepping on someone's foot and saying "Oh, I didn't mean to" doesn't take away the bruise--strictly speaking, an apology doesn't either but at least they acknowledge that person's part of the incident, acknowledge the pain the other person is feeling.  I can think of countless examples of legislation, personal conversation, and all else where folks have praised their own good intentions and fully ignored the negative impact, refused to take culpability where the results did not line up.  

Again, I know that it feels bad to be held accountable for your actions and it feels worse to have that pain as a result of a misunderstanding.  I'm working on taking the "but" out of "I'm sorry, but..."  We cannot--nor should we try to--determine what someone is allowed to feel about a situation, just as we are allowed to feel what we need to feel.  That means biting back a knee-jerk response to interrupt, defend, or explain away when someone is expressing their feelings.  Triaging someone's pain over your own frustration is tough.  Confronting people that have dismissed your feelings is tough.  Carrying the weight of unrepaired relationships is a heavier burden, in my eyes, which means having those hard conversations, accepting correction when warranted, and apologizing well.  

Peterson Family Update #7490-3

Taking a deep breath--had a break for Thanksgiving from classes last week, then one more week of classes this week, and then finals.  Mostly, I've so far taken a moment or two to define what some of my goals are going to be for the longer break this week and otherwise tried to wrap my head around the idea that I don't have to be cramming my readings into every gap that I had been.  

So I'm taking a specific moment to pause, assess, and sort out what the hell just happened these last few months.

Deploy the bulleted list!

• Clinicals are my favorite thing about nursing school.  Finding that I can apply some of the concepts that I'm learning and otherwise get a general feeling for what the job is actually like, well, it's been quite validating.  I've been wondering how much experience in clinicals I needed before I could start talking about the general "oh, once I had a patient that did X" kinds of stories, when there's enough distance and vague-ary to know that I am not going to breech their privacy in any way but still allow for my feelings and interpretations about events to be expressed.  For example, I have now witnessed three births, and I have a lot of thoughts on how they were different from one another, even the general feeling in the room.  I want to share my experience, and I have a lot of thoughts there to process.  More on that later.
• We're continuing to adjust to Luna, and there are places where I find myself looking forward to seeing her--this is good progress in my eyes.  It's still about finding a rhythm, and different interventions and ideas simply take time to test properly.  As a household, we're testing some different boundaries, trying to see what makes sense for all of our needs and meet the places where our communication needs refinement.  She's getting used to us, too, acting much less skittish around the house and greeting us with a dopey grin and ear perks rather than barks.  We have been holding "Potty Parties," where every time we have a successful communication between us and her AND subsequent successful excursion to the yard there are immediate treats and showering of praise and attention.  So the way it works, someone takes Luna out and when she comes back in there's either a call throughout the house or a text of "Potty Party!" and whomsoever is available joins in the kitchen to love on her, rile her up, and whatever else.  She definitely notices the difference when she comes inside without a successful excursion, where we're all comparatively cold in reception--not cruel or scolding, just not enthusiastic.  It's been a brilliant part of our household culture and a such a bright spot to add the day.  

  

• I'm starting to get to know a few of my peers in the program better now, now that we've gotten some of the initial groundwork done in meeting people that honesty and personality can eek out from underneath more filters.  Plus, there's something special about those relationships that form around mutual suffering, like the true bond of a group of persons hating the same coworker.  
• We've stayed--so far--pretty healthy in this home.  There have been a couple of places where we have been exposed to someone who was exposed, but on the whole are keeping a good "alert but not anxious" bent.  I have few places where I will go off on someone--threatening my bodily autonomy by exposing me to something against my choice or wishes, that's a hell of a way to go about it.  
• Our bathroom project has had a handful of setbacks (as home improvement does), but we're still moving forward and getting to a point now where we can see the end.  In the picture, the ostomy toilet is placed (right side middle).  I'm very much looking forward to that piece, to have a space for me.  It was far and away the biggest hurdle of the project.  We've started moving things into the newly created closet space, too.  As far as other projects, we're working on a better carport situation for Andy's project car, which has required a fair bit of digging clearing out space under our deck.  

• I've been compiling different ideas of things I want to do over break.  Some are house projects, some are personal projects, and some are an interesting kind of in between.  At least part of that is going to be working toward a bit of a blog post stockpile, so we don't have any more gaps this next term.  Otherwise, I'm aiming to draw another family portrait and brush up on some sign language.  Having no structure for a couple of days is fine, but I feel very anxious with no structure for a longer period--it's too reminiscent of times where I was convalescing, literal months of nothing because I didn't have the energy or the ability.  

I've never really tried to draw a dog before.
Getting some practice in before attempting a family portrait.

And that's the short version of things.  Knuckling down for a little bit longer for the term before I can allow myself to relax.  Hope everyone had a safe and brilliant Thanksgiving.  

Batman is the Bad Guy

I was floating through the news recently-ish (definitely taking it in spoonfuls at a time) and somewhere in the absolute deluge of information the past while, I found this:  

Full article linked here.

So, here's the short version:  Florida decided that ex-felons could have their voting rights back BUT they had to pay any fees or fines attached to their sentence.  Whelp, when you've been making prison wages for X years and no one wants to hire you, essentially, this was an insurmountable barrier for a lot of people.  Mike Bloomberg and a few other notable persons stepped up to pay for these fines, to allow these persons agency in the system again--I mean, it would definitely be a case of taxation without representation, here.  There was some pushback, but ultimately there was no clause that said these individuals had to pay the fee themselves, so it went through.  

I had two major emotions with this:

Firstly, delight.  What a wonderful bit of clemency and grace to these individuals, to help persons take ownership of the community again by giving back this piece of agency.  What a beautiful reprieve and a gesture to help reach out to disenfranchised persons.  This lasted for a few beats.

Secondly, a profound sense of disappointment.  WHY don't we see this kind of thing more often?  I'm talking about real philanthropy, rather than the token statements that a lot of billionaires in our country make.  In short, I'm appalled that we have so many billionaires but no Batmans.  Sure, Bezos will throw a couple million around every now and again--but this is literally pocket change to him.  With a net worth of over 184 billion, he could end homelessness or world hunger and still have well over 150 billion left to retire on, let alone give his workers a living wage and better working conditions (example A and example B).  And he doesn't.  And neither do any of the others.  So, no, they don't get credit and goodwill for throwing a couple million dollars at something for the tax break and the positive publicity.  They have the power to make a massive impact on some serious problems, and they are choosing not to do it.  Money and perceived success does not necessarily make someone a moral person, much as we would want to believe it, and there comes a point where someone that is hording resources is inherently no longer" good" by nature of their resource hording.  I don't pretend to know where that magic line is, but it definitely includes one billion and up.  

I'm not advocating for literal Batman--there are a number of issues with vigilantism and parts of Batman are pure power fantasy--but the general idea of using ones resources to tackle a larger community issue would have a much greater impact than punching three people in the face one night.  Imagine if Batman spent all of that money on tech to ensure that everyone in Gotham had a living wage or helped pushed substance abuse counseling to undermine the drug trade in Gotham.  That would reduce crime in Gotham far more than punching people.  

...Do the Robins even get dental or just complex, emotional trauma?  But in any case, yes, symbolic change can be encouraging and inspire other people, but REAL change is all the more inspiring and better reaches those who need the help.  

Every day, Batman, Bezos, and other billionaires have the opportunity to use their resources toward something truly altruistic, and every day they choose not to.

Hello, Luna

So, if you've been paying attention to Andy's Facebook page of late, you might have noticed a particular common theme.  This is Luna.  

So, yep, Luna is a three year old Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever and pretty darn cute.  Andy in particular has been adjusting to working fully from home with some difficulty, with adjusting to my class schedule, reading/homework load, and twelve-hour clinical days.  He has been feeling particularly low without regular human interaction.  At least when we were still working at Skyward together from home back in March and April, we had a similar schedule and understood the flow of the day.  We knew that there was going to be some adjustment in my transition back to school, but that did not eliminate all the reality in processing it.  So Andy began seriously arguing for a dog, a companion to help easy the lonely parts.  

Mike was fine with and even excited at the prospect of getting a dog; Andy was chomping at the bit and would have brought one home months ago; I was the holdout.  Frankly, I wasn't interested.  

I knew that I wasn't keen on taking on the emotional load of caring for something else, feeling stretched between all things anyway.  During adjustment and all else, there would inevitably be pee and/or poop inside the house, something else that did not excite me.  There would be walks and taking the dog out, that no matter how much Andy assured me that he would take the lead in those kinds of needs, inevitably it would be my job, too, somewhere.  And buying food and other care supplies would still be in our collective budget and vet appointments and grooming and other costs.  But mostly it was the emotional costs that I didn't want.  We have enough going on.

...and there was one more important thing.  I don't trust dogs as a general rule.  A dog jumping up on my stomach puts their paws directly on Melvin, just a few layers of cloth and fabric between their claws and my intestines.  I have a panic freeze response.  I know it's an illogical reaction, but my brain has tied fast-moving dog with profoundly unsafe and it hits my PTSD triggers.  A perceived endangerment to my body triggers a particular immediate panic, and I refuse to feel unsafe in my own home when it could be easily avoided.  Even trying to process the idea was pushing some red zones, from the association of the association.  

So why the hell did I say yes?  

We talked about it as a household.  We discussed boundaries.  We made plans.  I feel my anxiety curbed significantly to have a plan.  I knew the benefit the change could bring to the other members of our household.  I had their assurances that A) they would do the bulk of the work and B) they would ensure that the house stayed clean.  We made some boundaries specifically to ensure that I would have some safe spaces.  We also planned agreed-upon commands and strategies for handling certain needs.

A few days in (while we're still trying to encourage the idea that tether time is pee time and otherwise that the carpet is not the same as grass when it comes to finding a place to pee), and I felt vindicated in some ways, as Andy expressed surprise about the fatigue he felt from the emotional load to work through this change and adjustment.  We knew it was going to happen, but once again that's not the same as feeling the weight of it.  Luna is trying to get used to our flow just as we're getting used to hers.  We can't sleep in when she's ready to eat and whining directly above us.  That takes emotional bandwidth.  We can't just turn her off when we're tired.  It's a huge change and demands that energy, particularly when she pees on the carpet once again.  But I made a promise to myself to embrace the experience, to allow time and acknowledge what I'm feeling in those places.  This is pushing my comfort zone, but pushing those places is where growth happens--I want to see which way I will grow in this experience.  I want to see what the experience can hold for me.

There's also this expectation, that I feel like I am supposed to be happy about having a pet all the time.  I think it's similar to how people are culturally expected to feel about parenthood.  I'm not always thrilled about the obligation.  But she is awfully cute when she falls asleep at my feet when I'm doing classwork.  She has a charming kind of derp in her lack of spatial awareness, thunking her head into the coffee table, tumbling off the couch, and all else.  And I have been getting outside more, taking her on evening walks around the neighborhood.  There are shining moments.  I just resent feeling that I have to feel a certain way and getting into a shame cycle if I don't, even though logically I know I am not obliged to feel anything by the people that matter.  I have to fully know that I'm safe before I can be open to that.  Perhaps some of my hesitancy is veiled stubbornness, that I refuse to fall in love just because I'm supposed to.  Probably the best way to say it, though, is I'm leaving room to fall in love but not trying to force it.  In some ways, I'd be fine not to have her anymore; but in the same breath, I'm going to make the effort for as long as we do, for those that it really matters to, Luna being one of them.  Andy's happiness matters; Mike's happiness matters; Luna's happiness matters; mine does, too, and there is a degree of flexibility from all of us that simply will take time.  

And that's an important factor, too--we've had only about two weeks together.  It's going to take time to find a proper rhythm.  I need more perspective.  In short, there's more processing to do yet, and thankfully I've got one week of class, Thanksgiving break, another week of class, and then finals, meaning that some planned rest is forthcoming.  Limping and pushing toward the finish line for this term is where I need to direct my emotional energy as it stands currently.  

And Luna and I will continue to enjoy some private time on evening walks in the interim.  

Jealousy

I've been experiencing a very strange kind of jealousy that I've been trying to put a name on for quite some time now.

I've had a chronic illness for over twenty years now.  When it comes up in conversation or I find a space to relate to someone by revealing it, I will openly talk about my experience with Crohn's Disease.  Hell, I have gotten to a point where I make space as I need it, using this blog as a particular focal point.  In some of those discussions, I undertake the emotional labor of teaching for the bulk of it; in other discussions, I build off of the foundation and educate less but still tend to have some kind of component; in a few conversations, there is a different kind of understanding, where we can get right into the important pieces that were driving the impulse to bring up the subject in the first place.  

In some of these conversations, I've thought more than once, "I wish I just had cancer."

Now, I absolutely do not intend that thought to delegitimize the pain, fear, heartache, and agony that someone with cancer is or has gone through.  Not at all.  It's not the Pain Olympics, where I'm trying to judge nor compare the pain that someone else is going through to my own.  All of that pain is valid.  I would go as far to say that cancer is one of the places many persons first truly confront the idea of mortality.  

Here's what I mean:  a cancer patient doesn't have to explain to most anyone what cancer is.  Most people have some idea of the general process of how cancer works, with vague ideas of treatment options.  That empathy is there IMMEDIATELY.  The sympathy is accessible and available sometimes just by looking at them, particularly when they are in treatment.   

And in my nursing textbooks, there is a whole chapter dedicated to the pain management of cancer patients but not any other condition.  No specific notice in the part that discussed Crohn's, how to deal with its specific pain.  There were two pages dedicated to how to guide someone through some of the emotional changes of a cancer diagnosis, recommendations on how to be empathetic and how to approach the conversation.  In a textbook by the same authors, someone with Crohn's?  Two generic paragraphs.  For an ostomy?  Three paragraphs.  Three paragraphs to gloss over what has taken me many, many blog posts to attempt to address.  

I am envious of empathy that I don't have to ask for.  I am envious that there is a place for these persons to be seen that I cannot access.  I am envious that even in my training to be a nurse there is an implied bias to see these persons differently, just in exposure of information alone.  

I'm aware of what my own biases are--or at least as many of them as I can be.  I know that when I get a patient with a stoma or a patient with some kind of inflammatory bowel disease, I'm going to approach the situation very differently, that there will be an understanding that is unique in those places.  I recognize this.  I don't pretend any differently.  But that doesn't mean that when I get a patient recently diagnosed with cancer that I'm not going to approach them with grace and compassion.  And I still long for that understanding for the persons with the more obscure diseases, for those that don't have that instant empathy, for those whose suffering the same but understanding is obscure, too.  There is extra effort in understanding these persons, and not all persons are willing to put in the extra effort to understand.  

It takes effort to see me.  It takes effort to see people.  I wish that understanding Crohn's was as effortless as understanding cancer, unfortunately reinforced by its prevalence and the related public understanding.  Even in pop culture, I can name characters who have had cancer, but I've never seen Crohn's featured outside of a medical drama.  I would wish this understanding for persons with myasthenia gravis or lupus or SCID or EDS or MS or any number of diseases.  

And that's the trick.  I would want everyone to have accessible empathy.  To not have to ask to for empathy, for immediate access to those human elements that I crave for in places, I would wish that for others, too.  To have nurses primed to meet them where they are, too.  That's what I would want, not to lessen the care those persons with cancer need to but to expand it to myself and others.  

Specialization

 So I have had a few shifts in the hospital under my belt, now, with a week's worth of twelve hour shifts spread out over the course of the term.  As I've worked with different nurses, techs, and other team members on different floors, I like to ask how that individual landed on this particular area of nursing.  I've gotten some great stories.  Most notably, I spoke with a woman who had worked in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit; very sick, very tiny babies) for thirty-some-odd years and could not imagine working anywhere else, for the highest high and the lowest lows.  There are others that landed where they did as a fluke, others that have moved from area to area, and some that came back.  

Sometimes, the conversation came back to me, the "well, do you know where you want to work?"  And I answer, "yes, I want to go into wound and ostomy care."  

The reactions that I get into this have fallen into a few groups:

• An air of gentle confusion, along the lines of "Oh, okay," or "Huh."  
• Outspoken confusion and/or surprise, along the lines of "Why would you want to do that?" or "I guess it takes all sorts!"
• Generally encouraging, focusing on the ability to find a position, "Oh, you'll always have something to do."  

Whether or not someone asks why, I usually follow up with some variant of "I have a permanent colostomy myself, and I want to be with people who are making that transition, to have compassion by identification."  At this point, then, the response is almost always something much warmer, along the lines of "Oh, that makes so much sense."  Then there's support, that having someone with first-hand experience will be invaluable to these future patients.  Occasionally, there is an additional acknowledgement of "yeah, no, I could never do that, but I know there are people who don't want to do this."  

I don't think I had quite realized how much specialization was available in this career.  I knew logically that there were many, many ways where I could take a nursing license, but to work with midwife nurses, for example, and see how their skillset plays in to their role, the specialization of the knowledge that they have to their area is fascinating.  What was "normal" to the NICU nurse compared to the the main floor that I had been working with, there were many different approaches to their patients, their situations, and their resources.  The range of approaches has been vastly fascinating.  I know that in time persons will look to me for different kinds of knowledge, and there will be places where I will only have the exposure that I've had in clinicals and others where I work with it on a daily basis, where I can inform and educate more fully.  I'm aiming to absorb as much as I can to help as many as I can, which puts an interesting pressure on each experience time.  

Many more people to meet; many more experiences to take in.  

Open Letter to Trump Supporters

I had a situation that happened recently that caused me some cognitive dissonance, and otherwise it gave me an important place to put-up or shut-up.  

A friend of mine and I got into an interesting vein of conversation.  I was feeling very uncomfortable with parts of their verbage, that they were embracing a philosophy that views a group of people (specifically women) as a lesser, as a commodity rather than as living, breathing persons with feelings.  After a brief pause, I found some words, stating that these were dangerous ideologies, that the consequences of which have emotionally and physically hurt people (I could easily pull evidence for this in a quick search).  I did not want this person to fall into these ideologies, particularly if it was out of ignorance, and offered that I had the vocabulary to discuss it.  They doubled-down, insisting that it wasn't "bad," and I was judgmental for saying such.  

I can understand parts of that response, that there's a defensiveness that can kick in when someone points out something that you believe, have done, or otherwise conforms to your bias is "wrong," but discomfort doesn't make that wrong thing suddenly not wrong nor does it free you from the consequences.  No one wants to be at fault nor feel the ramifications or implications of they might have done accidently or otherwise--it's embarrassing and difficult to work through--but I respect persons immensely that can hear what I have to say, apologize where needed, and genuinely seem to think about it.  I hold people in my life accountable.  When certain lines are crossed, friends and family members have been told about it.  I have friends and family that hold me accountable, too, and I can feel guilt/shame/whathaveyou in the moment, but I still listen and think about what they have told me.  

I need to be more specific about parts of this accountability and better evaluate what some of my personal lines are.  Some lines are easy:  for example, I don't care what swear words someone uses, but I don't abide words that disparage a group of people, including Gypsy, Retard, gay used as a slur, the N-word, and others.  Some people accept the correction, even if only when I'm around; others double-down and gaslight, saying "oh, you're just too sensitive," trying to control how I feel about the situation rather than respect what I'm telling them I'm already feeling or take any culpability for their actions.  

Part of why this accountability is important to me is in knowing that many times people don't realize that they've hurt others until it is specifically brought up, that being angry with someone primarily because they didn't read my mind is patently unfair.  Additionally, the excuse of "well, no one told me it was wrong" or "why didn't you tell me?" is gone--that person has actively chosen their side at that point and can no longer claim ignorance as an easy out.  

...I think given the title of this post, we can all see where I'm going with this.  There is a saying, that the German people have a word for persons that eat at the same table as Nazis:  that word is "Nazi."  The same goes for racism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, etc.  I want to make racism a lonely hobby.  I want to make homophobia a lonely hobby.  I want to make bigotry in any shape a lonely hobby.  I am willing to discuss if the discussion is from a place of genuine openness, but otherwise I will be putting some additional distance between myself and persons who are Trump supporters.  

Why?  Firstly, I signed petitions against Trump regarding his sexist and racist behavior long before he announced his run for presidency--these traits are not new revelations.  That's reason enough there.  He refused to condemn white supremacy at the first presidential debate recently as a fresher example.  Racism is systemic, subtly embedded into policies and mindsets until we begin to think of its hallmarks as "normal."  If we tolerate racism, we are racist.  I do not condone this behavior.  To pull in a Wesleyan tradition, "Do no harm" means more than not harming someone through our direct actions, but also ensuring that our inaction is not harming someone.  Silence will always benefit the oppressor.  A vote for Donald Trump hurts multiple demographic groups in different ways.

I have those that I love that are afraid of what the state of the country means to their marriages and their rights as members of the LGBTQIA+ community.  As I love those persons, I cannot be silent when they are threatened, when there is already discussion about reversing previous rulings on same-sex marriages.  A vote for Donald Trump hurts these persons directly.  

I have love for myself and others like me who have a chronic illness or will become sick at some point in their life (i.e. everybody).  The Affordable Care Act is back in the courts again now.  This could thrown millions of Americans off of healthcare in the middle of a pandemic.  If you have a pre-existing condition--such as, oh, lingering coronavirus symptoms--then you are guaranteed no protections without the ACA.  Also, healthcare costs are certain to rise when insurance companies and healthcare providers are less restricted in how they set prices.  I have MANY thoughts about the state of our current healthcare system as it stands (exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C):  while I know that Obamacare was not perfect, there are many important foundations that we need to continue to build upon and maintain the security of its presence in the interim.  A vote for Donald Trump hurts me directly.  

Gaslighting is all we're getting out of this administration, eroding our trust and understanding of our own reasoning skills.  This is psychologically damaging to all of us.  Here is an older but still unfortunately relevant article from Psychology Today that breaks down more of what that means.  Anyone who has been a victim of abuse (emotional, physical, or sexual) has likely been greatly triggered by the proliferation of the repeated lies, gaslighting, and all else.  A vote for Donald Trump contributes to your own emotional abuse.  

Yes, Donald Trump is a symptom and not the system himself, not instilling these problems necessarily, but allowing us to see the severity of the existing problems in greater focus, when allowed to run unchecked.  Sending a signal that these actions are not acceptable is important.  Choosing that we will no longer tolerate these immoralities is important.  A vote for Donald Trump extends and emboldens these problems.

Now, let's address an elephant in the room.  I know some persons considering voting for Donald Trump specifically with their eye toward the issue of abortion.  Mostly, I see these persons eager to see the dissolution of the Roe v Wade decision, as though this is the only way to possibly attack this concern.  This would eliminate abortion the same way that prohibition stopped alcoholism--it seems simple, but it would greatly increase the amount of unsafe abortions and therefore maternal death rates.  (Check out the highlights section of this document from the UN.)  If one truly wants to reduce the rates of abortion, then supporting education (including vasectomy), access to birth control, and bettering social safety (such as maternity leave, access to health services including screenings, etc.) are the more complicated but true answers.  These policies more frequently align with the democratic ticket.  In short, a vote for Donald Trump does not further the goal of reducing the rate of abortions.  

SO.  What does all this mean?  The short version is, please, as you love me, others, and people in your family, do not vote for Donald Trump.  I will also be retracting myself from persons who support Trump--no, I'm not disowning these persons over politics; I'm disowning these persons because of morality.  Politics are disagreements about the best way to zone the new park; questions about whether my gay friend is entitled to the same rights as someone else is a morality question.  We can argue about the best ice cream place in town; someone who thinks black lives aren't as important as white lives will be eating their ice cream without me.  

I don't take this lightly--it's going to be tough as we're approaching the holiday season.  I've been frustrated at myself for not posting something sooner.  There are going to be difficult choices.  I will disappoint some persons with this stance and persons that I did not expect will disappoint me.  Here's another portion of the Wesleyan tradition:  "Do all the good you can."  Not harming is not enough--a vacuum of "lack of injury" requires proactive steps to sift out the negative and replace it with a positive.  Love can still be there; love can look like holding someone accountable and letting them serve the consequences of their choices.  Love can also look like respecting yourself enough to distance oneself from hurtful persons, family or otherwise, intentionally harmful or otherwise.  I have to cultivate a healthy circle, mindful of the company I keep as a reflection of myself and where I want to grow.  I will still continue to recognize the humanity of persons that I may now exclude.  I wish those people well, and I am accessible for earnest discussion and rekindling down the road.  

The excuse of ignorance is no longer there.  If we're honest, it's been gone for a while now.  I have no idea whether folks will double-down from here or pause, but my silence would be doing both myself and others a disservice.

Please vote.  And please wear a mask.  

Compliments

I can have a hard time accepting compliments.  There is a pattern, though, where I find that I have an easier time accepting praise for what I've been mentally labeling "transient things."  Transient things--a fashion choice for the day or a clever move in a game--are small, chewable, a direct result of my recent choices; longer term pieces or elements that are more permanent to my character--adjectives like kind or witty or references to overarching ideas--I have had a hard time saying a simple "thank you" and instead reflexively resist them in some capacity.  I have worked on this with some some intentionality, but I am still at a place where if the praise is "too big" I'll deflect it.  I have gotten to a point, too, where I can recognize where that line of comfort is and choose to ignore it on occasion.  

I have not much assessed the why, why there are feelings of discomfort in accepting praise.  To some extent, it can be simple anxiety, a complex blah of "they're going to think I'm full of myself if I agree with them" and a whole swirl of overthinking that can come with it.  I don't want to get to a point where I become so full of myself that I take myself too seriously.  I am ridiculous in a number of ways, and I find that laughing at myself is a great source of enjoyment.  I find it gives me a good grounding as I grew and continue to grow in self-confidence, certain of who I am and what I'm about at the end of the day.  And yet, I still find that some of the things I like most about myself, when someone points them out, I have a hard time agreeing with the complimenter, downplaying the compliment or making a flippant joke.  As an example:  I was discussing some of my clinical experience with my therapist, particularly that I had the opportunity to pause and really talk to a couple of patients.  I talked to them about their emotional experience with where they were in the hospital.  More importantly, I took time to earnestly listen to them.  Both of them told me in their own words that I was well-suited to the nursing profession.  To my therapist, I expressed my wish that I hope I don't lose the humanity of my patients in the minutia of their care.  He then replied something to the effect that he recognized and honored my compassion.  Initially, I deflected it, that this was no big deal, basically.  Then I stopped myself, said "Actually, no, I don't have to fight you on that, and I agree with you.  Thank you."  

There is a part of me that is afraid of seeming egotistical.  I feel that most people wrestle with something similar but all of us to different degrees and in variance to how we may be feeling that day.  There may be some correlation in accepting a compliment with what degree of self-confidence is present in that moment.  On some level, one may need to feel good about themselves to accept that others appreciate things about them.  I like things about myself:  to what degree am I allowed to celebrate that?

Upon reflection, I have witnessed a swath of reactions to praise.  I have a few people in my acquaintance that cannot take compliments well, for different reasons.  Some are gracious and do not seem to be bothered, pleased to be acknowledged.  There have also been some persons in my life that deflected compliments as an underhanded way of asking for more attention, a means to procure additional praise.  There have been others where an individual's sense of self was not in a place to accept praise.  There have been some that were simply conditioned not to, even though they had a decent self-image.  I wish I could always tell these apart, but it doesn't necessarily matter--I want to continue to voice praise where I see it and not because of some outside pressure.  

What kind of outside pressure?  As an example, I've noticed a pattern people feel that if they receive a compliment, they have to give one in return.  I've been trying to stop this habit in myself unless I have something genuine to add.  I want my compliments to be sincere rather than generated out of necessity.  This is coupled with an objective to voice more of the positive things I think.  

In short, once again way too much overthinking into a small set of interactions, but it is so very fun to dissect those moments, to inspect our own wiring, training, and experiences.  How much is trained?  How much is cultural?  Which of these habits is worth changing?  

Atmospheres and Other Invisible Weights

I've talked to a number of people that have been feeling this particular phenomena lately, and I'm going to do my best to try to explain it.

So, the atmosphere is always weighing down on top of you.  Layers and layers of air and vapor held to the Earth by gravity, cumulatively putting 760 mm Hg of pressure on top of you or, appropriately, one atmosphere.  We're used to this pressure, this weight, so we don't tend to think about it much.  

When we travel to somewhere of a higher elevation, we feel it differently, the pressure lessened slightly and certain properties are similarly altered, such as boiling points and freezing points, and one may struggle to adjust to the difference in combating lightheadedness among other symptoms.  After literal weeks of adjustment, your body will find more efficient ways to manage your oxygen, but this takes time.  

Right now, the pressure of the pandemic, our political climate, our literal climate, etc., feels like instead of losing atmospheric pressure by changing to a higher elevation, we've managed as a world to figuratively double the pressure of the world around us, changed it from one atm of pressure to two, maybe even three.  We can still do everything that we would be doing normally, but this invisible weight now means that everything takes just that much more energy to accomplish.  Things that we used to be able to do in a normal day now feel like an impossible load, because the world weighs just that bit more.  

We're carrying a lot of things about now, and the invisible weight of those things is hard to quantify, yet they're embedded in our atmosphere at the moment.

That's grief.  Grieving the loss of normal; grieving the certainty of tomorrow; grieving the missing security; grieving the opportunities lost.  And it's heavy, coloring and weighing down those "normal" tasks.  

I mean, kind of, Doc?

Yes, that invisible weight has been settling on other people, too.  Yes, your normal tasks are harder to do when you're carrying extra invisible weight.  It's not a failure to acknowledge that or that you are differently capable at other times when there is less anxiety and dread circulating around us.  When we're unconsciously picking up on the emotional weight, it is as though the air is heavier around us.  This in turn requires more effort, and we're exhausted for it.

If you've been feeling this sensation and/or have been upset with yourself for not being productive enough in these last few months, I have two points I would want to stress to you:  firstly, your worth is not tied to your productivity; secondly and more importantly, you're not alone in feeling this way right now.  

Background, Connections, and Context

My brother and I were having a discussion the other day.  He was asking me about a resource that might help him understand biology better.  Condensing his words, a list of symptoms and treatments did not help him much understand what was happening; he wanted to understand the context of what was happening in the body to better understand a condition.  

I currently had my pathophysiology textbook in front of me, which was exactly the right resource at the time.  Pathophysiology is the study of how a disease process works within the body, what it does, what it effects, what processes it interferes with, what symptoms this ultimately drives, all in one place.  For this course, it's also paired with pharmacotherapeutics, looking at how these are treated with medicine and, again, how that medication is working to restore what processes, etc.  

I picked an example:  the pathophysiology book chapter assigned that day was a review about the gastrointestinal system (discussing normal anatomy and physiology functions) and then a chapter about a number of specific conditions that affect this system.  We talked about the stomach, how a process of ions creating a particular flow of ions are referred to as the proton pump which then triggers the secretion of hydrochloric acid in the stomach.  Too much of this could cause heartburn if it is regurgitated into the esophagus, ulceration on any exposed areas, indigestion, etc.  So if we take a proton pump inhibitor (e.g. Prilosec), this interferes with this pathway which means less HCl in the stomach, which means a higher pH/less acidity, which can then mean less symptoms.  

It all fits together.  There's a logical flow in how these pieces create the symptoms that they do, how they effect different systems.  The body is an ecosystem--everything effects everything else.  Nothing exists in a vacuum.  There's a narrative that unites these pieces, between the body as its designed to function and the disease process how it's altered that function, all still in the context of what is "normal" for that person.  

It made me think of how I think about history.  My brother greatly enjoys literature and history, finding that an understanding of one greatly enhances the other, seeing things in the context of the time and noting their different effects on one another.  Neither literature nor history exist in a vacuum:  there is something that connected those pieces together.  There is a greater weight to the context of what is happening in the story based on what history is happening around them; there is greater weight in the historical context in understanding what thoughts and ideas were prevalent in the time.  I have reflected more than once that history is better when it is told in the context of people, a round story of X led to Y which led to Z and effected these people in these ways at each step, seen through the lens of humanity and which led us to this next point--that sticks with me far better than regurgitating a series of trivia questions.

Sterilizing pathophysiology into a list of symptoms is convenient, but it is also robbing us of an understanding of the wider ramifications and decreases our overall scientific literacy.  Reducing history to trivia bullet points takes less time to digest but robs us of the rich context of how we got there and where we're going.  

The narrative matters.  The story is what sticks with us.  Connecting to what we know is what builds our knowledge base.  I just hadn't thought of it in my own context before.

This matters when trying to understand people and politics, too.  The story matters.  The context matters.  How we got here and how it leads to the next thing matters.  That gives the subject in question a richer meaning, a fuller depth that sticks with you, remembering the drive and connection if not all the minutia.  

Melvin & Me, Part 33: Melvin in the Media

In the last few weeks of my anatomy class at Heartland (before nursing school, back in April-ish), we started to cover the digestive system.  I sent a message to my instructor asking without pressure or expectation if she would like to use my experience to supplement any discussion.  She took me up on it.  Given our transition to online classes, I ended up leading an AMA (Ask Me Anything) discussion board for the class.  They were given a link to one of my blog posts to read through and then a forum to ask any question that they'd like.  A few mentioned that they had known a someone with an ostomy or helped folks through some health related experiences.  On the whole, I would say that most of the questions were in two main camps:  specifics about my particular situation (how I got to this point in the first place) and the emotional impact of it all.  

I have to consider time to time that because I'm open about having an ostomy, there is a sense of responsibility that comes with that.  I represent a community.  And I was grateful for the opportunity to speak with folks, to show a slightly different side of life.  

There are many other people here, too, but how often do you get to see something like this?

A genuine, positive representation?  Huzzah!

Ostomies are an odd kind of disability, in that I can be invisible about my ostomy maybe 75% of the time.  I don't have to talk about it.  But I need to.  I don't know how to be anything else.  I've developed techniques and scripts on how to talk about it, particularly as I'm fortunate enough to have a great therapist and people close to me that would willingly listen--not everyone has that.  And other people don't talk about theirs openly for their own reason.  What concerns me is if one of those reasons is that lack of positive representation.  

There's a difference when I talk to someone who has heard of an ostomy before to someone that has not.  For example, other nursing students have a base level of understanding and I can get right to the interesting stuff.  Seeing an advertisement that features a model with a colostomy was someone's first experience to ask "what's that?" which ultimately makes it easier to have a conversation later.  Someone starting from scratch, there's just a bit more emotional work to do, that momentary pang in the pit of my stomach:  I have to work to be seen today.  And mostly I'm happy to do that, but it does have that small emotional stumbling block.  Imagine telling someone about your home who had never heard of your country before.  There's a split-second moment where you realize something that was formative and had a depth of meaning to you didn't exist as far as the other person knew, an accidental invalidation.  You recover quickly and then try to find a sensible starting point for what that person is familiar with.  Learning starts by finding what someone already is familiar with and building off of it; finding that starting point takes time and energy to hone down.  

And that's partly why I'm vocal about mine, to at least be a starting point for persons that don't know how to talk about it.  This is media.  I'm a part of it.  I want to present it truthfully, which involves both positive and negative elements.  I want to be someone that others can point to or reach out to with "hey, I have this friend who was just diagnosed with Crohn's" or "I know someone whose son is getting an ostomy" and be that starting talking point.  When I get my nursing license, I want other nurses to know that they can snag me to help answer some of those deeper questions that patients have or for advice on how to approach a teaching situation for someone not past those initial grieving points.  And then when I can focus more on wound/ostomy specifically, I want to be a presence on the floor, even elect myself as a posterchild, if need be, for living a life successfully and openly with a stoma.  

Then the imposter syndrome kicks in.  Can I elect myself as posterchild?  Can I claim a public space like that?  Whelp.  Time will, I think, will make the difference:  the best way to establish myself is to work toward living my most authentic life.  The rest will come in time.  

Nursing School Update: In the Hospital

 It's time for another nursing school update, I think.  The week off between classes was regrettably not much of a week off.  There were several little things that needed doing that week:  we met in person for the first time to practice and test out on skills that required manikins and certain guidance; a number of training pieces for our clinical settings needed addressing prior to clinicals starting; we had to get tested for our N95 masks for our maternal infant clinical; a dozen and a half mini-paperwork moments; and, oh yeah, our basement is in a particular state of shambles as we continue in our renovation process.  

Just like with the basement, though, everything is starting to take shape.  

I had a 22 gauge needle in my hand.  I've had so many IVs in my life, and the needle that I had in my hand was for going into someone else's.  Well, specifically a rubber arm, but, still, there was that moment, that rush of excitement when I saw a flash of "blood" return on my first stick.  The rest were more of a struggle, but that first one, that was edifying.  It will only get better.  It's a matter of time and practice.  It's starting to feel more real.  

We also have had the opportunity to meet some of our peers in person, after months of shared virtual space.  And it's fascinating to see how tall folks are in real life, if nothing else, yet the conversation is different, too, without folks worried about computer lag or whether someone else will speak up by the time they unmute themselves.  Now folks moved with a particular freedom among one another, while somehow still holding on to the awkwardness of moving through an unfamiliar space.  In short, it was an interesting balance between tentative and confident, that we knew one another in a sense but still didn't know how to know each other in this space.  We all had to find new ways to sort out the politics of a strange world--this was a small microcosm of that which fascinated me.  

And now, I can also include some generalities of my first clinical day, which happened last Sunday.  What do I mean by "clinical"?  Great question; glad that I pretended you asked.  It's a place and time where we are in some kind of care setting as students, to work with real patients and situations while supervised.  Most of mine happen to be at Bromenn in town, and I am working through a particular program that has twelve hour shifts, following a nurse for their whole shift.  

I certainly cannot get into the specifics of the persons or cases I saw, but I was astounded that in my first actual day doing anything on the floor, I found some very specific parts of my health history reflected in three individuals that I worked with.  There was an immediate sense of "I know this and I know you in this moment" that I felt for each of them.  In short, I'm going to be processing parts of that for a while, both the edification that my own suffering can benefit my empathy and response to the current suffering of another and sorting out what the bombardment of trauma triggers meant in those moments.  

Other than that, I fought with blood pressure cuff cords, changed linens with the patient in the bed, realized just how long a minute can be when you picked an awkward position to take pulse and respiration counts, hid computers so that I would have one when I needed one, stared at the wall of supplies trying to find that one thing, talked to a patient that was genuinely confused on where they were, pilfered thermometer covers from another room when mine had run out, loaded my pockets with saline flushes and alcohol swabs all used by the end of the day, figured out when to peel off and grab a swig of water, clicked through four screens trying to find where to document a urine output in the right place, rushed to help encourage a patient to sit back down after their bed alarm went off, and all around started to feel like maybe this could very much make sense.  And I'm sure that it was a slow day.

Staring at the patient med list, I'm acutely aware of how much I have to learn.  I still haven't started an IV on a real person, for example, nor have I experienced a number of things outside of a textbook.  Yet, I'm also ready to ask questions, be helpful in turn, and to try.  The time management pieces, I can do that with confidence; the experience pieces will come in time.  I feel a sense of belonging and rightness in these places but without a magical, glowing light or rose-tint around the edges--it's both real and right.  

We're in to week two of classes and many more adventures ahead!

Melvin & Me, Part 32: Public Ostomy Toilets

So, I've mentioned recently that we're working on an ostomy toilet in our house.  Truth was, I didn't even know this was an option or an idea until a few months ago.  

See this picture?  I knew what it meant immediately.  This is placed outside of some public restrooms in Japan.

I have found a couple of articles (here and here) that broke down what needs an ostomate has in the bathroom, what went into the decision to make ostomy-friendly spaces, that they have been available since 1998. The general idea was noting that when a public safety emergency forced Japanese citizens into a shelter, it was realized that the needs of these individuals was not well met within the shelters as they were built--in a box of "medical supplies," one is generally unlikely to find ostomy appliances.  And thus, there was a response to that need, leading the the design and implementation of these in certain places.

I have so many feelings about this.

Firstly, anger.  I have been a part of this world since 2012 personally, 2000 peripherally.  People have had ostomies for FAR longer.  Why the HELL are these not showing up over here?  Do I just need to go to bigger cities to have visibility?  I can't recall ever seeing something like this at stopovers in O'Hare or even the Mayo Clinic.  I feel so unseen--if I come out of the handicapped stall because I needed space to better tend my ostomy, I don't look disabled enough for some people, in my mind's eye.  I plugged in ostomy toilets into Amazon and got mostly results for smell-masking products--when I'm looking for accessibility and to be seen, the pieces recommended to me were about covering up.  I mean, heaven forbid that I go to a bathroom and take care of my bodily needs, right?  

And then comes a fair bit of grief.  How many people feel unseen and unwanted when there isn't a space made that can include them.  What nonverbals are we sending when we don't make a place wheelchair accessible, for example?  How many persons we don't realize we are excluding is sickeningly high.  It takes intention to learn how to see people; it takes practice.  And I am intent on growing that for the sake of others I will come across.  I'm sad for myself and the pressure I have felt in those spaces; I'm sadder for others that don't know how to break past that.  

Then there was a lot of spiteful resolve.  Spite is a mighty, mighty motivator.  I will have a bathroom space that does not make me feel like an outsider.  I will not feel like an inconvenience in my own home.  And many other affirmations as we started planning out some significant changes to the bathroom.  

And here we have a lot of rather loud sounds and rumbling from our basement at the moment--the whole floor is shaking as I write, actually.  It feels...fitting.  

I'm not done with this idea.  

...Also, when we're allowed to travel again, I may genuinely plan travel with specific intent to see these spaces in person.  Thirty-some-odd hours of flight, just to see some bathrooms.