Winter quarter of 2017, my last at Whatcom Community College. It was bittersweet. I was so excited to finish what I had been working on for the last 2 years, to begin the next chapter, but I was sad and rather nervous to leave the nurturing cocoon that was WCC.
That quarter, I had one class that I needed to graduate. As I had switched my Chemistry class to an audit the previous year, I still needed to have a lab science credit. As my goal is to spend a career digging in the ground for artifacts, my adviser suggested a Geology class. I also took Creative Writing and Acting I just for fun. The Creative Writing class was fun. I got to let my mind wander, write what I came up with (within guidelines of assignments), and turn them in. So fun! Acting I was a blast. I have done theatre all my life, both acting and directing. I was even co-leader of a theatre group for a while. I had so much fun playing theater games, writing scripts, and doing monologues. Between those two classes, it felt a little like I was on vacation... Geology class was challenging but fun. The course was called Physical Geology and covered the basics of rock identification and formation and plate tectonics (including volcanoes and earthquakes). The professor of that class was amazing. She had a masters in Geology and a doctorate in Education. That being the case, she knew the subject incredibly well and was fantastic at teaching in a way that engaged every learning style. I never saw one person looking bored. One of the best parts was our research project. A local condo community sits near the edge of a cliff that leads right down to the shore of our bay. They had noticed a growing trench or slump in the ground nearest the cliff and were concerned about what it meant for them. They asked our professor to have her students research possible causes and solutions and then have us present our finding to the community. It was great. We did a couple of field visits to collect data, formed groups, and developed topics of inquiry.
I was interested in our county's mining history. We had a booming coal business in the area for quite a while and I was interested in discovering the pitfalls of building above mines and whether or not any mines existed under the condo community. Several buddies from class joined me and we got to work. We discovered that pretty much our whole city was built above a total honeycomb of coal mines. What was disturbing though, was the discovery that a lot of the mines were never fully mapped and what maps we had were not always all that accurate. For instance, one part of town has sidewalks cracking and buildings shifting. According to the available data, the mines in the area are 300 feet below the surface and lower. This is NOT the case. Construction crews working in the area had run into vast, open mines at just 77 feet below the surface. Yikes! Our research did not uncover any mines directly under the condos, but who knows? The soil content would indicate that there would not have been any mines right there, but the one accurate map we found shows an arm of a mine within a half mile of the community... Other groups looked at seismic activity from the railroad, the seismic activity from the volcanoes that surround us, the presence of local and invasive plant species and their effect on soil erosion... It was an amazing project and I was so glad I got to be a part of it...
My time at WCC ended on a high note. I was excited to discover that, despite some difficulties, I would be wearing honors chords at graduation (GPA of 3.6!). I sent out grad announcements and prepared for my first quarter at WWU, which started THREE DAYS after the end of WCC's Winter quarter. Yeah. They have Spring Break a week before WCC. I got NO break... But I did get to move into a new and terrifying stage of my education.
Continuing soon...
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Emotions and More Mud
Fall quarter of 2016 started off nice and quiet. I eased in to classes and readied myself for work. It was during this quarter that my heart got repeatedly ripped out smashed, returned, and filled. It all started after I walked into my first "Indians of North America" class (that was the name of the class, no offense meant).
This particular Anthropology class was one I had been looking forward to. Growing up in the US, I was taught very little about the precolonial history of North America. What we learned about the history of the area after the Europeans arrived was primarily focused on the founders of a new nation, not the complete change to the way of life to all the nations already existing here. I was very intrigued. I had always been curious and so I had done a little research on my own and everything I learned just opened up so many more avenues of exploration... I was also a little skeptical about the class. I hoped that the high number of Americans of European descent (by the way, I am an American of European descent) involved in the running the school would not perpetuate the rather sugar-coated view of European/Indigenous relations taught in pre-college schools. I was pleasantly surprised by the matter of fact, seemingly true information we were given.
We were introduced to the various "culture areas" in North America: Arctic, Subarctic, Northeast Woodlands, Southeast, Plains, Southwest, Great Basin, Plateau, California, and Northwest Coast and given descriptions of each environment. We learned how each different nation adapted to their differing environments, and the culture that grew out of that... I was instantly all-in. This class was taught by a man who had spent the majority of his long career studying precolonial North America, colonial America, and who worked with modern indigenous peoples. His passion for the people he introduced us to was evident in every word and gesture. I could sit and listen to him forever, but it was not to be. Unfortunately he had a few health problems and had to give the class to another professor, one I knew pretty well. My former Intro to Archaeology professor was now my Indigenous Peoples professor. She was as brilliant as I expected...
I regularly cried in that class, but not from frustration. The first time was as we watched a documentary about the people of the Upper Skagit (Northwest Coast). It focused mostly on a woman who many indigenous peoples now refer to as "Grandma Vi." We were made privy to the struggle this woman was involved in, trying to preserve what was left of her peoples' culture. At one point, she was discouraged at the small numbers of people showing up for cultural events, the documentary cut to a circle if people from the Upper Skagit drumming and singing. That was when the tears began. The beauty of what I was seeing and hearing was truly awe-inspiring, and the tragedy that it was slipping away was heartbreaking. Over the course of the class, I was routinely reduced to tears over the painful history of the Indigenous People of North America, then filled with love for and a desire to help each and every one. One of my professors works with the local nations on repatriation (restoration of previously removed remains and artifacts to the people they actually belong to. Much was taken and put into museums and the like without permission from the nations they belonged to.), and I was fired up to join her... Don't get me wrong, this was not the first time that my heart had sparked. Every Anthropology class I had taken up to that point had a moment of "Ah-ha!" It was what inspired me to pursue Anthropology in the first place. Each culture I have been introduced to through my studies so far, had unique and beautiful facets that my heart loved. But there was something about the indigenous people of North America that I was drawn to. Especially those near my own home, such as those of the Upper Skagit...
Aside from the emotional roller coaster that was Anthropology class, I was taking a couple of other classes. One of them was Ceramics 2. I loved it so much! I got to learn how to use the potter's wheel, mix glazes, load/unload kilns, and was given the freedom to decide what I wanted to make and which techniques I wanted to learn. Some of the things I made weren't even ugly! I had a blast... You might (but probably won't) be wondering what my third class was. Truthfully, I do not remember. There have been so many classes at different times, that it has become very difficult to keep them all straight. Clearly though, it was not as amazing as that Anthropology class, or as fun as that Ceramics class.
One day during the quarter, I was in the student center doing homework between classes. As I worked I realized something. I would be graduating in a few months, and I did not have ANY memorabilia from my first college! I remedied that right away.
Fall Quarter 2016 ended and I prepared myself for my final quarter at WCC. I was accepted to Western Washington University for Spring and had one class I still needed to graduate.
The story will be continued...
This particular Anthropology class was one I had been looking forward to. Growing up in the US, I was taught very little about the precolonial history of North America. What we learned about the history of the area after the Europeans arrived was primarily focused on the founders of a new nation, not the complete change to the way of life to all the nations already existing here. I was very intrigued. I had always been curious and so I had done a little research on my own and everything I learned just opened up so many more avenues of exploration... I was also a little skeptical about the class. I hoped that the high number of Americans of European descent (by the way, I am an American of European descent) involved in the running the school would not perpetuate the rather sugar-coated view of European/Indigenous relations taught in pre-college schools. I was pleasantly surprised by the matter of fact, seemingly true information we were given.
We were introduced to the various "culture areas" in North America: Arctic, Subarctic, Northeast Woodlands, Southeast, Plains, Southwest, Great Basin, Plateau, California, and Northwest Coast and given descriptions of each environment. We learned how each different nation adapted to their differing environments, and the culture that grew out of that... I was instantly all-in. This class was taught by a man who had spent the majority of his long career studying precolonial North America, colonial America, and who worked with modern indigenous peoples. His passion for the people he introduced us to was evident in every word and gesture. I could sit and listen to him forever, but it was not to be. Unfortunately he had a few health problems and had to give the class to another professor, one I knew pretty well. My former Intro to Archaeology professor was now my Indigenous Peoples professor. She was as brilliant as I expected...
I regularly cried in that class, but not from frustration. The first time was as we watched a documentary about the people of the Upper Skagit (Northwest Coast). It focused mostly on a woman who many indigenous peoples now refer to as "Grandma Vi." We were made privy to the struggle this woman was involved in, trying to preserve what was left of her peoples' culture. At one point, she was discouraged at the small numbers of people showing up for cultural events, the documentary cut to a circle if people from the Upper Skagit drumming and singing. That was when the tears began. The beauty of what I was seeing and hearing was truly awe-inspiring, and the tragedy that it was slipping away was heartbreaking. Over the course of the class, I was routinely reduced to tears over the painful history of the Indigenous People of North America, then filled with love for and a desire to help each and every one. One of my professors works with the local nations on repatriation (restoration of previously removed remains and artifacts to the people they actually belong to. Much was taken and put into museums and the like without permission from the nations they belonged to.), and I was fired up to join her... Don't get me wrong, this was not the first time that my heart had sparked. Every Anthropology class I had taken up to that point had a moment of "Ah-ha!" It was what inspired me to pursue Anthropology in the first place. Each culture I have been introduced to through my studies so far, had unique and beautiful facets that my heart loved. But there was something about the indigenous people of North America that I was drawn to. Especially those near my own home, such as those of the Upper Skagit...
Aside from the emotional roller coaster that was Anthropology class, I was taking a couple of other classes. One of them was Ceramics 2. I loved it so much! I got to learn how to use the potter's wheel, mix glazes, load/unload kilns, and was given the freedom to decide what I wanted to make and which techniques I wanted to learn. Some of the things I made weren't even ugly! I had a blast... You might (but probably won't) be wondering what my third class was. Truthfully, I do not remember. There have been so many classes at different times, that it has become very difficult to keep them all straight. Clearly though, it was not as amazing as that Anthropology class, or as fun as that Ceramics class.
One day during the quarter, I was in the student center doing homework between classes. As I worked I realized something. I would be graduating in a few months, and I did not have ANY memorabilia from my first college! I remedied that right away.
Fall Quarter 2016 ended and I prepared myself for my final quarter at WCC. I was accepted to Western Washington University for Spring and had one class I still needed to graduate.
The story will be continued...
Friday, September 15, 2017
Molding Mud and Counting Tattoos
I said in the last post that my Intro to Archaeology professor is the best. That still holds true. We are even facebook friends! That is one of the odd things about being a 30-something college student, you are generally closer in age to the professors than you are to your fellow students. I have met some great people in my classes, but for the most part, I tend to relate to the professors more. This particular professor comes into the story again. Stay tuned...
Summer Quarter of 2016 was pretty great, especially when compared to that Spring. I took an Intro to Ceramics class and a Technical Writing class. I was not looking forward to the latter. While I (clearly) love to write, the idea of learning more and new citation styles was less than appealing. I had visions of extremely boring textbook reading and accidentally slipping into MLA format when I was supposed to use APA (if you don't understand that, count your blessings. The rules are so finicky). I was nervous about the ceramics class too. I have always loved art, but never really considered myself any good at it. To this day, I have to label the cows, cats, and horses I draw, because they all look the same and as though they were drawn by an 8 year old. I had a little success when I started painting. Let's call my work "highly abstract." I have three brothers who all received the art gene. They can sit down for five minute and create some truly beautiful, identifiable pieces. I have always been envious of them... Anyway, summer quarter, right.
Both classes ended up being a surprise. Technical Writing was unexpectedly fun, if finicky. The main project was a blast. I ended up doing one with another student (one of the few that I really clicked with. We are still friends.) on body modifications in the workplace. He and I both have multiple tattoos and piercings, we were both curious how they might affect our hire-ability once we finished with school. We did online surveys, researched trends, and sat outside a favorite bar, sipping beer and counting the number of visible tattoos and piercings that wandered down the sidewalk. Talk about enjoyable fieldwork... Ceramics class was a blast. I produced some of the ugliest pieces of pottery ever, and I had an absolutely spectacular time doing so. I found the process of creating to be fun, therapeutic, informative, and delightfully messy. It was great to experience the production of things similar to the artifacts I examined in Archaeology class. Understanding how they are made adds a deeper level to my studies. Plus, I have always loved playing with mud. If I had my way, I would always do ceramics.
Comparing summer of 2016 to summer of 2015 is like comparing night and day. From pain and illness, to laughter and fun. When I look back at the first two summers of my academic career, it is a little hard to believe that both were one person's life, and mine at that! At the end of summer 2016, I had two more quarters left at WCC, and was putting in my application for Western Washington University... More new things on the horizon.
To be continued...
Summer Quarter of 2016 was pretty great, especially when compared to that Spring. I took an Intro to Ceramics class and a Technical Writing class. I was not looking forward to the latter. While I (clearly) love to write, the idea of learning more and new citation styles was less than appealing. I had visions of extremely boring textbook reading and accidentally slipping into MLA format when I was supposed to use APA (if you don't understand that, count your blessings. The rules are so finicky). I was nervous about the ceramics class too. I have always loved art, but never really considered myself any good at it. To this day, I have to label the cows, cats, and horses I draw, because they all look the same and as though they were drawn by an 8 year old. I had a little success when I started painting. Let's call my work "highly abstract." I have three brothers who all received the art gene. They can sit down for five minute and create some truly beautiful, identifiable pieces. I have always been envious of them... Anyway, summer quarter, right.
Both classes ended up being a surprise. Technical Writing was unexpectedly fun, if finicky. The main project was a blast. I ended up doing one with another student (one of the few that I really clicked with. We are still friends.) on body modifications in the workplace. He and I both have multiple tattoos and piercings, we were both curious how they might affect our hire-ability once we finished with school. We did online surveys, researched trends, and sat outside a favorite bar, sipping beer and counting the number of visible tattoos and piercings that wandered down the sidewalk. Talk about enjoyable fieldwork... Ceramics class was a blast. I produced some of the ugliest pieces of pottery ever, and I had an absolutely spectacular time doing so. I found the process of creating to be fun, therapeutic, informative, and delightfully messy. It was great to experience the production of things similar to the artifacts I examined in Archaeology class. Understanding how they are made adds a deeper level to my studies. Plus, I have always loved playing with mud. If I had my way, I would always do ceramics.
Comparing summer of 2016 to summer of 2015 is like comparing night and day. From pain and illness, to laughter and fun. When I look back at the first two summers of my academic career, it is a little hard to believe that both were one person's life, and mine at that! At the end of summer 2016, I had two more quarters left at WCC, and was putting in my application for Western Washington University... More new things on the horizon.
To be continued...
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Archaeology, Chemistry, and Mental Illness
Fall quarter melted into Winter, both relatively uneventful. Spring Quarter of 2016 was a biggie for me though...
Still stubbornly sticking to my Bio degree plans, despite increasing love of all the Anthropology classes, I tiptoed into Spring. This was the quarter that I discovered my Achilles Heel... Chemistry. I never took it in high school, as I was mildly terrified of it. I should have been more scared. Between taking Chem for the first time and Calculus for the first time, I pretty much had a nervous breakdown. If you ask my mom, she will probably say I DID have a nervous breakdown.
I probably could have done better in Calc if I was not also taking Chem, but I will never know for sure. All I can confirm is that the combo was deadly. The only light in my academic schedule was my Intro to Archaeology class. That class, and that professor changed my life, but more on that later... I worked my butt off in Chemistry. I did 5 hours of extra homework on top of what was assigned every week. I studied every formula, every table, every page of the text, but there was a disconnect somewhere. I could NOT make the information stick or make sense. My professor was great. She met with me before classes to go over tests and tried to figure out what the problem was. I went to the free tutoring provided by the school. I had friends that had done well in the subject coaching me along. No matter what I did, or who helped me, I spent most of my time in tears of frustration. Every insecurity I ever had about school came roaring back after the first couple of weeks. The parts of Calculus that had been making sense were suddenly trickling out of my brain as I tried to fill it with Chemistry...
I have struggled with depression and anxiety for years. At my worst, I was almost hospitalized for suicide watch, twice. With counseling and doctor monitored medication, I can usually keep it under control, feel "normal" and even happy. My pets, friends, and family provide an amazing support system. When my depression and/or anxiety rears its head, they are there. I have mentioned my dog multiple times in this blog already, but I will continue to. She calms me faster and more completely than anything else. Putting my arms around her can cause my whole state of mind to shift. I have toyed with the idea of getting her certified as therapy animal, so that she can be with me in all of the situations that cause my conditions to flare up. A while back I read an article about a program that is gaining traction in the US. It involves having dogs present in courtrooms or interview rooms, sitting with the victims of crimes, giving them love and peace as they relive their trauma or face their attacker. I totally get it. I hope it becomes the norm. In the midst of an anxiety attack, when you literally feel like you are dying (can't catch your breath, everything gets hazy and seems far away yet so close at the same moment, you lose control of your limbs), having the peaceful, non-judgmental, unconditional love of a dog beside you can bring you right back from the brink. This effect isn't exclusive to dogs however, I know people who have similar relationships with cats, rabbits, and bearded dragons.
Anyway, all of that to say that Spring 2016 was one of the top 3 worst times for my anxiety and depression. My support system and Archaeology class saved me. My mom listened to me yell and cry in frustration, and my dog put her head in my lap. My friends gave me little vacations from the drama, complete with pizza and Coke. Archaeology class gave me something at school to look forward to. Every text reading, quiz, or practical lab lifted my spirits and brought me my only school-related joy I had that quarter. I ate up every bit of that class, starved as I was for something fun that I was good at. My Archaeology professor was one of the most approachable I have ever had. She made me see that I had potential... Two thirds of the way through the quarter, after receiving a Chemistry test score, I spent some time walking around campus, on the phone with my ever-supportive mother, crying in public and not caring a bit, I made a decision. I went to my adviser's office, turned my Chem class to an audit and changed my major to Anthropology. The weight, almost physical, that I had been carrying all Spring vanished in an instant. Some asked me why, if I no longer needed the credit, and I was not getting any now anyway, I would stay in Chemistry. And I did. I finished the quarter, but took an audit so that the grade wouldn't affect my GPA. Why? Because I had put so much effort, tears, sweat, time, and work into it, I didn't want to just give up. I kept working hard, did all of the work, took the tests to see how I was going, and then walked away feeling good about trying my best, despite how disappointing that best turned out to be. Like I said, I'm stubborn.
To be continued...
Still stubbornly sticking to my Bio degree plans, despite increasing love of all the Anthropology classes, I tiptoed into Spring. This was the quarter that I discovered my Achilles Heel... Chemistry. I never took it in high school, as I was mildly terrified of it. I should have been more scared. Between taking Chem for the first time and Calculus for the first time, I pretty much had a nervous breakdown. If you ask my mom, she will probably say I DID have a nervous breakdown.
I probably could have done better in Calc if I was not also taking Chem, but I will never know for sure. All I can confirm is that the combo was deadly. The only light in my academic schedule was my Intro to Archaeology class. That class, and that professor changed my life, but more on that later... I worked my butt off in Chemistry. I did 5 hours of extra homework on top of what was assigned every week. I studied every formula, every table, every page of the text, but there was a disconnect somewhere. I could NOT make the information stick or make sense. My professor was great. She met with me before classes to go over tests and tried to figure out what the problem was. I went to the free tutoring provided by the school. I had friends that had done well in the subject coaching me along. No matter what I did, or who helped me, I spent most of my time in tears of frustration. Every insecurity I ever had about school came roaring back after the first couple of weeks. The parts of Calculus that had been making sense were suddenly trickling out of my brain as I tried to fill it with Chemistry...
I have struggled with depression and anxiety for years. At my worst, I was almost hospitalized for suicide watch, twice. With counseling and doctor monitored medication, I can usually keep it under control, feel "normal" and even happy. My pets, friends, and family provide an amazing support system. When my depression and/or anxiety rears its head, they are there. I have mentioned my dog multiple times in this blog already, but I will continue to. She calms me faster and more completely than anything else. Putting my arms around her can cause my whole state of mind to shift. I have toyed with the idea of getting her certified as therapy animal, so that she can be with me in all of the situations that cause my conditions to flare up. A while back I read an article about a program that is gaining traction in the US. It involves having dogs present in courtrooms or interview rooms, sitting with the victims of crimes, giving them love and peace as they relive their trauma or face their attacker. I totally get it. I hope it becomes the norm. In the midst of an anxiety attack, when you literally feel like you are dying (can't catch your breath, everything gets hazy and seems far away yet so close at the same moment, you lose control of your limbs), having the peaceful, non-judgmental, unconditional love of a dog beside you can bring you right back from the brink. This effect isn't exclusive to dogs however, I know people who have similar relationships with cats, rabbits, and bearded dragons.
Anyway, all of that to say that Spring 2016 was one of the top 3 worst times for my anxiety and depression. My support system and Archaeology class saved me. My mom listened to me yell and cry in frustration, and my dog put her head in my lap. My friends gave me little vacations from the drama, complete with pizza and Coke. Archaeology class gave me something at school to look forward to. Every text reading, quiz, or practical lab lifted my spirits and brought me my only school-related joy I had that quarter. I ate up every bit of that class, starved as I was for something fun that I was good at. My Archaeology professor was one of the most approachable I have ever had. She made me see that I had potential... Two thirds of the way through the quarter, after receiving a Chemistry test score, I spent some time walking around campus, on the phone with my ever-supportive mother, crying in public and not caring a bit, I made a decision. I went to my adviser's office, turned my Chem class to an audit and changed my major to Anthropology. The weight, almost physical, that I had been carrying all Spring vanished in an instant. Some asked me why, if I no longer needed the credit, and I was not getting any now anyway, I would stay in Chemistry. And I did. I finished the quarter, but took an audit so that the grade wouldn't affect my GPA. Why? Because I had put so much effort, tears, sweat, time, and work into it, I didn't want to just give up. I kept working hard, did all of the work, took the tests to see how I was going, and then walked away feeling good about trying my best, despite how disappointing that best turned out to be. Like I said, I'm stubborn.
To be continued...
Monday, September 11, 2017
Mathematics and Oddities
Fall quarter was... Interesting. This applies particularly to my Math course. The first evening, I was pleased to discover that a friend was in the class. She was the mother of a former preschool student and a nursing assistant that had cared for someone important to me. Knowing someone in your classes is a major relief. No matter how long I have been in school, the anxiety of starting new classes and being in a room of new people still hits. Sure, you may get to know your classmates and even become friends, but that takes time... It turned out having a friend in the class right from the start had unexpected benefits.
I have had quite a few professors over the last 2+ years, and each has his or her own quirks just like anybody else. One of the challenges you face as a student is to find a way to get your learning style and the professor's teaching style to work together. I always find this enjoyable. Sometimes your styles click right away, sometimes it takes a couple of weeks, and once in a while you finish out the quarter still scratching your head. This quarter of math class was one of those times. My friend, and apparently the rest of the class had a similar experience.
Our professor seemed to have a lot going on. This person was teaching classes at three local schools, raising kids, and (we were informed) was newly single. Could this have contributed to the oddities we students experienced? Perhaps. This professor was very kind, passionate about the subject, and seemed genuinely invested in student success. Nevertheless, I honestly cannot remember a single student, at any point in the quarter, who didn't look puzzled for the entire duration of every class. I have spoken to other students who had this professor at different times, and none of them seemed to have been faced with this problem, but everyone in our class was at a loss. None of us clicked with the professor's style, none of us seemed to understand anything that was said in class, but most of us ended up doing well in spite of that.
My friend and I talked it over many times. We still cannot quite figure out what happened that quarter. We spent time discussing the work and helping each other out with different sections of work. That was one of the reasons we did fairly well and why I was glad to have a friend right at the beginning.
Every so often, I think back on Fall quarter, 2015. Every time I do, I feel my forehead furrow, my head tilt slightly to the side, and my brain fill with confusion. I still do not understand that professor's teaching style, nor do I understand fully how we all got through. But the fact is, we did.
I have had quite a few professors over the last 2+ years, and each has his or her own quirks just like anybody else. One of the challenges you face as a student is to find a way to get your learning style and the professor's teaching style to work together. I always find this enjoyable. Sometimes your styles click right away, sometimes it takes a couple of weeks, and once in a while you finish out the quarter still scratching your head. This quarter of math class was one of those times. My friend, and apparently the rest of the class had a similar experience.
Our professor seemed to have a lot going on. This person was teaching classes at three local schools, raising kids, and (we were informed) was newly single. Could this have contributed to the oddities we students experienced? Perhaps. This professor was very kind, passionate about the subject, and seemed genuinely invested in student success. Nevertheless, I honestly cannot remember a single student, at any point in the quarter, who didn't look puzzled for the entire duration of every class. I have spoken to other students who had this professor at different times, and none of them seemed to have been faced with this problem, but everyone in our class was at a loss. None of us clicked with the professor's style, none of us seemed to understand anything that was said in class, but most of us ended up doing well in spite of that.
My friend and I talked it over many times. We still cannot quite figure out what happened that quarter. We spent time discussing the work and helping each other out with different sections of work. That was one of the reasons we did fairly well and why I was glad to have a friend right at the beginning.
Every so often, I think back on Fall quarter, 2015. Every time I do, I feel my forehead furrow, my head tilt slightly to the side, and my brain fill with confusion. I still do not understand that professor's teaching style, nor do I understand fully how we all got through. But the fact is, we did.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Surgery and Room Service
Summer quarter ended, and once again I surprised myself with my grades. Perhaps high school lied to me? Was I actually good at school, but high school a bad environment? Whatcom Community College is a GREAT environment! One of the best things about it is that as a student, I felt, almost tangibly, that everyone at the school was invested in helping me succeed. From the faculty to the office and advising staff, the grounds keepers and custodians... I was surrounded by optimism and encouragement and never felt that asking for help was inconvenient for those I asked.
On Thursday, August 27th, Beck's fourth birthday, we dropped her off at the home of some of my best friends, and her dog friends to spend the night and following day. Friday morning, I woke up at 3 to shower with the disinfectant surgery scrub, put on my Batman pajama bottoms and a cozy shirt, my friend arrived to ride with me and my mom, and we were out the door at 5. My oncologist works out of Seattle, a good 1.5 to 2 hour drive. With all the prep appointments leading up, we spent a lot of time in the car on I-5...
On Thursday, August 27th, Beck's fourth birthday, we dropped her off at the home of some of my best friends, and her dog friends to spend the night and following day. Friday morning, I woke up at 3 to shower with the disinfectant surgery scrub, put on my Batman pajama bottoms and a cozy shirt, my friend arrived to ride with me and my mom, and we were out the door at 5. My oncologist works out of Seattle, a good 1.5 to 2 hour drive. With all the prep appointments leading up, we spent a lot of time in the car on I-5...
(Heading out!)
At check-in at the UW Medical Center Surgery Pavilion, we met up with my dad and step-mom. and went about waiting. We were supposed to check in by 7, which we did, but because other surgeries in the OR ran long, etc. they didn't call me back for pre-op until after 9. I finally got into the OR around 11. My doctor greeted me, I opened my mouth to answer, and next thing I knew I was slowly waking up in the recovery ward. Success! I did NOT end up having to get a hysterectomy, something that was a big possibility. The doctor was able to remove the tumor and a good margin of tissue around it. Yay!
The next few days were kind of amazing. While there was surgery pain, it was so much less intense than what I had been dealing with for months, I barely noticed. Plus, IV pain meds are really helpful. I had a private room on a very peaceful floor. Compared to my previous hospital experiences, it was nearly heaven. It was less like a hospital than like a posh hotel that occasionally sent in nurses and medicine. I even had 24 hour room service! Any time I was hungry, I called the kitchen and ordered off the menu.
I was discharged on Sunday afternoon. My mom and my auntie came to get me. On our way to the car, my mom almost lost control of the wheelchair. It was more terrifying than the surgery if I'm honest. My whole life flashed before my eyes, there was a slow motion quality, and everything was strangely muted. Scary stuff... When I got home, this is what happened:
Beck got as physically close to me as she could, and refused to leave me. She was NOT okay with me being gone... For the next few weeks, I did a lot of resting, but never alone...
I got some funny get well gifts.
As well as an exciting new book.
And I got visits from friends and family.
Three weeks after my surgery, it was time for Fall quarter to start. I wasn't technically supposed to lift anything over 10 pounds for another month, but I needed my backpack full of books. 😕 It was a little rough. Recovering from abdominal surgery is no joke. Stamina/energy was still an issue, as was the pain. I felt so good compared to the last few months though, that I faced it all with good cheer.
To be continued...
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Struggles and Loves
There I was, 32 years old and in classes full of 16-20 year olds, interspersed with the odd "old person" such as myself. As this school has a Running Start program with the local high schools, the number of 16 year olds was a little alarming. I was LITERALLY twice their age. Damn I felt old. I would overhear conversations about prom or driver's tests while I was planning my next dye appointment to cover up the grey that was now threading its way through my hair. I have to tell you, it was a little (and by that I mean "a lot") weird. As the crew chief at my volunteer job, I had spent a lot of time around teens. The ones that stuck it out always displayed maturity and responsibility. I guess I forgot that not all teens (myself probably included, I'll ask my mom) are that way. I often heard "what did you put for the third question?" answered with "I didn't do it, I had a Breaking Bad marathon instead. Hey, did you hear Anna dumped John in front of the WHOLE school?!" Don't get me wrong, I did projects with a few teens who were a little further along on the maturity and responsibility timeline... But while occasionally dumbfounded by the conversations I was hearing, it was also refreshing. Teens are SUPPOSED to be immature and naive, they are young and have less experience. It's funny how old you feel when you are 16 and then when you reach your late 20s to early 30s, you realize how very young you were back then. It was fun to see that stage of life being enjoyed.
Looking back on that time, I can actually relate with those kids (teens, please pardon the use of the term, but, well, it's accurate). They were experiencing new things as they approached adulthood, enjoying the ride and lamenting the bumps. I too, was in a brand new world. I was in an unfamiliar environment full of new people, new experiences, and new struggles. One of the biggest struggles at the time, you know, other than everything related to school, was my health. In addition to pain, I had no appetite, I was completely exhausted no matter how much rest I got, and I had no stamina. I managed to make all but 2 (non-consecutive) days of school that quarter. Those 2 days, the pain had me stuck in bed.
When I wasn't in class, I was in my bed attempting to do homework. There were a lot of breaks, a lot of pain meds, and some pain-induced vomiting, but I got it done. I really do not know how I did it. Having school gave me motivation to get out of bed, but when I couldn't my wonderful dog Beck was always right beside me, occasionally accompanied by my cat Seymour (both pictured below).
For a highly energetic and bouncy dog, her intuition was astounding. On bad pain days, she would lay next to me unusually motionless, with her head on my lap. On days where it was worse than bad, she would be a little further away (to avoid jostling) and would occasionally give my elbow a gentle bump with her nose, reminding me that she was still there. I am tearing up as type this. I have had some great dogs in the past, but never have I had one that was SO bonded and connected with me. She always knew/knows exactly what I need(ed). My mom took care of me (quite spectacularly I might add) and Beck was with me.
At the end of my first quarter in college, I miraculously had a straight As, and my tumor resection (removal) was planned for August 28. So naturally, I signed up for Summer classes. There were a couple of reasons for this; first- I want to get through school as quickly as possible, second- I needed something to do as I waited for my surgery, third- ummm, well... I know there was a third reason, but it escapes me at the moment... Anyway, it was this Summer quarter that was physically the most difficult for me, but also the most academically eye-opening. Having been a fan of the show Bones, I decided to take an anthropology class to fill one of my credit requirements. I took Introduction to Cultural Anthropology and I fell in love. I have always loved history, learning about other cultures, bones (go figure), human/animal interaction, etc. I had entered school thinking I would do a Biology degree, after Summer quarter I began to toy with the idea of a change.
As I plugged along at school, the pain got worse. there were moments when the pain was so bad that even on prescription pain medication, it was was still so intense that my body curled into a ball and I couldn't uncurl it. I physically could not get the muscles to do anything. My mom would come bring me something and try hard to hide the fear and worry in her eyes, but I saw it... I couldn't voice my pain. I felt that if I could cry out, yell, grunt, that it would lessen the intensity of what I felt, but it took all of my focus to keep my breathing normal. It tended toward hyperventilation at the most excruciating moments of pain. At those moments, without any conscious indication from me, Beck would begin to quietly whine. Hearing her voice what I was feeling actually lightened the pain a bit. Knowing that she was always there, and empathizing... Well, let's just say that I never felt alone in my pain, even when my mom was away from the house.
It wasn't all pain though. I had good moments too. I got out a bit. I did more walking and hiking that Summer than I did the entire year before. When I could move, moving felt so good! When I couldn't, one of my closest friends sent me funny pictures of her son, my nephew, that always brought a little joy to my day. It would have been so easy to feel isolated and depressed, but my friends, family, and pets wouldn't let that happen. I'm a lucky woman.
This story will be continued...
Looking back on that time, I can actually relate with those kids (teens, please pardon the use of the term, but, well, it's accurate). They were experiencing new things as they approached adulthood, enjoying the ride and lamenting the bumps. I too, was in a brand new world. I was in an unfamiliar environment full of new people, new experiences, and new struggles. One of the biggest struggles at the time, you know, other than everything related to school, was my health. In addition to pain, I had no appetite, I was completely exhausted no matter how much rest I got, and I had no stamina. I managed to make all but 2 (non-consecutive) days of school that quarter. Those 2 days, the pain had me stuck in bed.
When I wasn't in class, I was in my bed attempting to do homework. There were a lot of breaks, a lot of pain meds, and some pain-induced vomiting, but I got it done. I really do not know how I did it. Having school gave me motivation to get out of bed, but when I couldn't my wonderful dog Beck was always right beside me, occasionally accompanied by my cat Seymour (both pictured below).
At the end of my first quarter in college, I miraculously had a straight As, and my tumor resection (removal) was planned for August 28. So naturally, I signed up for Summer classes. There were a couple of reasons for this; first- I want to get through school as quickly as possible, second- I needed something to do as I waited for my surgery, third- ummm, well... I know there was a third reason, but it escapes me at the moment... Anyway, it was this Summer quarter that was physically the most difficult for me, but also the most academically eye-opening. Having been a fan of the show Bones, I decided to take an anthropology class to fill one of my credit requirements. I took Introduction to Cultural Anthropology and I fell in love. I have always loved history, learning about other cultures, bones (go figure), human/animal interaction, etc. I had entered school thinking I would do a Biology degree, after Summer quarter I began to toy with the idea of a change.
As I plugged along at school, the pain got worse. there were moments when the pain was so bad that even on prescription pain medication, it was was still so intense that my body curled into a ball and I couldn't uncurl it. I physically could not get the muscles to do anything. My mom would come bring me something and try hard to hide the fear and worry in her eyes, but I saw it... I couldn't voice my pain. I felt that if I could cry out, yell, grunt, that it would lessen the intensity of what I felt, but it took all of my focus to keep my breathing normal. It tended toward hyperventilation at the most excruciating moments of pain. At those moments, without any conscious indication from me, Beck would begin to quietly whine. Hearing her voice what I was feeling actually lightened the pain a bit. Knowing that she was always there, and empathizing... Well, let's just say that I never felt alone in my pain, even when my mom was away from the house.
It wasn't all pain though. I had good moments too. I got out a bit. I did more walking and hiking that Summer than I did the entire year before. When I could move, moving felt so good! When I couldn't, one of my closest friends sent me funny pictures of her son, my nephew, that always brought a little joy to my day. It would have been so easy to feel isolated and depressed, but my friends, family, and pets wouldn't let that happen. I'm a lucky woman.
This story will be continued...
Friday, September 8, 2017
New (and some old) Territory
So here's the deal...
At the age of 32, I decided to go to college. I had been a preschool teacher for 12 years and felt it was time to move on to something new. I looked for a different job for months, but there weren't any. Time for a new plan. I started college for the first time, in the Spring of 2015.
I chose to start out at a community college, Whatcom Community College in Bellingham, Washington to be exact (Go Orcas!). I was terrified. High school had been rough for me, especially (shudder) math. I was never a very confident student, and here I was deciding to go to school after 14 years?! What the hell was I thinking?... Anyway, I was psyching myself up to take this huge step, and I was being tormented by nightmares of being 80 years old in rooms full of 12 year olds who all knew so much more than me. It was around this time that I started having some worrying physical symptoms.
Seven years prior to this, I had been diagnosed with Endometrial Stromal Sarcoma (ESS). I had been cancer free since then, but some of the changes I had back then, started to appear again. So yeah, great timing. Begin something new, that I wasn't even sure I could do, and get sick again. Yay...
I contacted my doctors, bought school supplies, and went through the process of telling my friends and family that I may have cancer again. It was a lot. The thing is, the cancer didn't worry me all that much. I had been through it before, I had a complete inner belief that I would come out on the other side fine, and I knew exactly what steps to take. School on the other hand, freaked me the hell out. I had no idea what to do or what I was getting into. Cancer I could handle, but college? *gulp* My friends and family had a stronger reaction to the whole cancer thing. Especially those friends that had not known me back in the days of my first fight. I tried to be upfront, factual, and express my true lack of concern for this whole thing. I got a lot of "You are being so brave." I did not feel brave, because (to me) bravery is carrying on to the best of your ability in the face of fear and uncertainty. The only thing I was fearing and uncertain about was this whole "college" thing.
I went to my first class, loaded up with Ibuprofen to dull the pain in my abdomen, and carrying pictures of my dog to keep me calm. (Side note: I have the most adorable female Black Lab named General Diane Beckman AKA "Beck," and she is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.) The first thing I noticed as I walked into my first classroom was a woman who was a good 15 years older than me. Yes! I was NOT the oldest student in the class! I picked a seat in the front row as I probably need new glasses and I did not want everyone in the room to see the terror on my face.
To my incredible relief, I found that I was not completely unable to do this school thing. Surprisingly, even math class was making sense. Although, the very fact that math was making sense temporarily convinced me that maybe I was SO wrong, that I thought I was right... Anyway, I dove in... A few weeks in, tragedy hit, my beloved car, Gloria, died! 😠Great. Just perfect. The beautiful, black, 2002 Subaru Impreza TS, was dead by the driveway. Didn't I already have enough to deal with?
I have the world's best mom. She completely rearranged her life in order to give me rides and/or let me borrow her car, Helga... So there I was, 32 years old, and my mom was dropping me off and picking me up from school. Life's weird that way.
This story to be continued...
At the age of 32, I decided to go to college. I had been a preschool teacher for 12 years and felt it was time to move on to something new. I looked for a different job for months, but there weren't any. Time for a new plan. I started college for the first time, in the Spring of 2015.
I chose to start out at a community college, Whatcom Community College in Bellingham, Washington to be exact (Go Orcas!). I was terrified. High school had been rough for me, especially (shudder) math. I was never a very confident student, and here I was deciding to go to school after 14 years?! What the hell was I thinking?... Anyway, I was psyching myself up to take this huge step, and I was being tormented by nightmares of being 80 years old in rooms full of 12 year olds who all knew so much more than me. It was around this time that I started having some worrying physical symptoms.
Seven years prior to this, I had been diagnosed with Endometrial Stromal Sarcoma (ESS). I had been cancer free since then, but some of the changes I had back then, started to appear again. So yeah, great timing. Begin something new, that I wasn't even sure I could do, and get sick again. Yay...
I contacted my doctors, bought school supplies, and went through the process of telling my friends and family that I may have cancer again. It was a lot. The thing is, the cancer didn't worry me all that much. I had been through it before, I had a complete inner belief that I would come out on the other side fine, and I knew exactly what steps to take. School on the other hand, freaked me the hell out. I had no idea what to do or what I was getting into. Cancer I could handle, but college? *gulp* My friends and family had a stronger reaction to the whole cancer thing. Especially those friends that had not known me back in the days of my first fight. I tried to be upfront, factual, and express my true lack of concern for this whole thing. I got a lot of "You are being so brave." I did not feel brave, because (to me) bravery is carrying on to the best of your ability in the face of fear and uncertainty. The only thing I was fearing and uncertain about was this whole "college" thing.
I went to my first class, loaded up with Ibuprofen to dull the pain in my abdomen, and carrying pictures of my dog to keep me calm. (Side note: I have the most adorable female Black Lab named General Diane Beckman AKA "Beck," and she is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.) The first thing I noticed as I walked into my first classroom was a woman who was a good 15 years older than me. Yes! I was NOT the oldest student in the class! I picked a seat in the front row as I probably need new glasses and I did not want everyone in the room to see the terror on my face.
To my incredible relief, I found that I was not completely unable to do this school thing. Surprisingly, even math class was making sense. Although, the very fact that math was making sense temporarily convinced me that maybe I was SO wrong, that I thought I was right... Anyway, I dove in... A few weeks in, tragedy hit, my beloved car, Gloria, died! 😠Great. Just perfect. The beautiful, black, 2002 Subaru Impreza TS, was dead by the driveway. Didn't I already have enough to deal with?
I have the world's best mom. She completely rearranged her life in order to give me rides and/or let me borrow her car, Helga... So there I was, 32 years old, and my mom was dropping me off and picking me up from school. Life's weird that way.
This story to be continued...
Meet Beck!
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