Archive for the ‘The Graduate School’ Category

I don’t even know where to begin.

I went back to school Monday morning, bright and early. Things went okay, though it was incredibly overwhelming and absolutely exhausting, but I managed.

The very last thing that I had to do before leaving school was change out of my anatomy lab scrubs and tennis shoes back into my normal clothes. I got dressed, and without even thinking, bent over to pick up my flip flop to put it on. Normally, this would be no big thing. But normally, I haven’t had 3 needles and a crap ton of blood shoved into my back in the past week. I can only describe what I felt when I bent over as unholy, terrifying pain. By the time I got to my car (sobbing all the way, I might add, because crying in public? kind of my thing now) my back hurt from just below hip level to the middle of my shoulder blades.

And then I got to sit in traffic for an hour and a half. (And do a whole lot more crying.)

While stuck in my car, I got a call from my husband.

Important tangent: My husband has a hard time getting work done with noise, so he will often work in the bathtub, with his laptop on a chair. He runs the water and it acts as kind of a white noise machine. Yes, it’s a little odd (and yea, a little mental image-y, sorry about that), but it works for him.

Or it did.

Because the call that I got from my husband? was to let me know that my cat had walked up behind his computer and knocked it off the chair and into the full bathtub.

My husband’s not even two year old MacBook Pro, was submerged in hot water. HOT WATER. In case you were keeping track, that was thousands of dollars, literally down the drain. I don’t even have words for this yet.

After getting home and eating dinner and finishing homework and dealing with a very upset husband, I went to bed early, hoping to help with the exhaustion. I went to bed at 9:30 and proceeded to spend more time awake than asleep before my alarm went off at 5:40 in the morning.

And as if on schedule, on the way to school, I had a total meltdown. For whatever reason, the commute to and from school just demolishes my sanity. It’s like I sit in a river of hormones for those 3 hours each day.

What I realized this morning was that my midterm exams are in less than 3 weeks (I have 6 of them in one week), I have missed 9 days of school (out of 15) and I’m so far behind that I don’t even know what I don’t know except that it’s A LOT.

Another important tangent: In December, Slappy and I had decided that because I had a 3 day weekend that happened to fall on Valentine’s Day, his birthday and the weekend before Mardi Gras, that we could swing a trip down to New Orleans to celebrate. He got a week off work, we bought tickets.

It’s something I’ve been looking forward to so very much. And I realized this morning that I couldn’t go, not with school, not with all these absences piling up. I have insisted that Slappy go any way because he has a week of vacation and loves Mardi Gras, but I’m just bummed as hell to not be there (for his birthday especially). I know it’s the right choice, it’s just a shitty one. I took comfort in the fact that I was scheduled to go to New Orleans for 2 weeks in early March for a clinical rotation for school. It made the decision easier, the disappointment a little less.

So I cried for the remaining 20 miles of my morning commute, arrived at school on time (looking like a hot mess) and sat through a PAINFULLY long lecture that was given by the instructor who is assigned as my faculty “mentor.” After class I went up to him to let him know about the (pertinent) post blood patch restrictions, especially the not pushing, pulling, lifting 5 pounds for 2 months thing. Because in the field I’m going into, and in his class especially, we do a hell of a lot of pushing, pulling and lifting.

And he sighed sympathetically, thought for a moment and told me that I wouldn’t be able to take two of my midterms on time. Both require me to lift much more than 5 pounds and perform exercises that I simply can’t do, at least not in less than 3 weeks when I’m supposed to. So now I have to take 2 of my midterms at final exams. Don’t look now, but it’s LAST SEMESTER ALL OVER AGAIN.

So then I cried some more.

And then he told me that I had to meet with the program director at lunch to discuss other ramifications of the 5 pound bullshit. The first thing she asked me was if I thought I should drop to half time, which would extend my program by a year. She told me that some of my instructors had indicated that they’re concerned that I’m not going to pass and while she has confidence in me, she had to ask. In case you wondered, the answer is no. She and I have had this conversation before and the answer is still the same. I’m not spending an extra year in school. It may sound stubborn, but I’ll quit first. But it feels really GREAT to know that my instructors don’t think I can pass my classes.

And then, when I thought things couldn’t get worse, she informed me that because of the fucking five pound rule, those 2 weeks in New Orleans that I was clinging to? They’re gone.

I can’t go.

I’m sure it sounds silly because it’s not that big of a deal in the long run, but it fucking sucks. I have worked so hard to get to where I am. I worked so hard to pass last semester so that I could do those 2 weeks in New Orleans. I sacrificed time and sanity to be able to make it to this point. And it’s for nothing.

It’s another casualty of my health.

It’s another dream demolished by pain.

And just in case you weren’t keeping track, today, this awful day filled with suck, also happens to be the 6th month mark on this headache. If that isn’t just fitting, I don’t know what is.

I have lost so much in these six months and today, like many other days, I have been defeated by this pain. I have been reminded of all that has been stolen from me. I have been reminded of how my life, my dreams have been forever changed by pain.

And I am a mess.

And I just don’t know how long it’s going to take to clean things up this time.

Some days writing comes naturally. I don’t consider myself an especially great writer, but somedays all I have to do is put my fingers on the keys and the words pour out onto the screen. Other days, like today, I sit, staring at the blinking curser, not knowing what to type.

Tonight I focused on the blank screen, not sure of what to write, not sure of how to follow last night’s post. But I need to write. I need to push yesterday’s post down the screen so that sooner rather than later, it’ll be a part of my archives, not a painful essay staring at me.

Since school started and I’m back around my friends, I have been asked numerous times how I’m doing. I always hesitate to say that I’m doing well, which is the answer I think everyone wants, because, frankly, I’m not. Most days I’m just trying to make it to the end of the last class, the happy face I may or may not be wearing is hanging there by a proverbial thread. But it’s also hard to always say that I’m not well or that I’m just okay. It’s hard to always feel like I’m being negative, always seeing that damned half empty glass.

Being back at school has also alerted my classmates to the fact that I passed all my classes last semester. It’s odd the mix of reactions that people have had. Some are impressed, others are irritated. Those who hear (not from me, but from friends who know) what my grades were, tend to be the most bitter. Yes, I did well. But I also worked incredibly hard to get those grades, to catch back up, to survive that semester. I’m not looking for anyone to give me a trophy for my grades, but people who resent me for succeeding are hard to understand. They are not numerous, but they are upsetting, confusing.

What I want, more than anything else, is to fade into the background. I don’t want all my instructors to know my name, to know my problems. I want my classmates to think of me like any other person. I wish they didn’t know about last semester, I wish they didn’t know about the medical drama and the pain. I often feel like I’m in the spotlight when all I really want are the curtains.

A year ago, when the future was still uncertain, when I didn’t know what school or state I’d be in right now, I never imagined that things would be like this. I never thought that I’d be known for being the broken one, for being the “special case” or for my disability. I thought it would be my chance to start fresh, in a new place that didn’t know about my scars, that didn’t know about my past pain. And the irony of the way that things have instead turned out as the polar opposite, does not escape me at all.

But in all of this, I would be remiss to not see the good, to not see the beauty that has come out of all of this pain. I notice that blog readership has increased tremendously since August, which means people are here, and the emails (which I’m working on responding to) and the comments remind me daily that I’m not alone. Though it feels that way often, I know that there are people thinking about me and worried about me. People who want to help. I notice that my friends and classmates care enough about me to ask how I am doing, even when my answer is negative. I notice that my family (most of it) has rallied around me. I realize that my faith has been tested, but it has not been broken. If anything, I realize that it is stronger than ever.

There is so much ugliness in my life that has come with this pain. But there is beauty too, hidden beneath. And it’s hard not to wonder if I spent more time looking at the good things that I have gained, whether this pain would be easier to bear.

Last night as Slappy and I were driving home from the gym, we saw the most gorgeous sunset. I kicked myself for not having a camera to capture the pink and blue that swirled across the clouds. I knew there was no way I’d really remember the way it looked. The way it seemed like if you really wanted to, you could reach out and scoop a handful of the color right out of the sky.

Since we were driving west, we drove towards the brightly colored sky all the way home. By the time I finally grabbed my camera, ready to document the beauty, it was gone. It was just a figment of my memory, the pinks and blues that had danced before us.

Tomorrow morning, I go back to school. My vacation, my break, has faded before my eyes like that sunset.

I had high hopes for this vacation, because I’m nothing if not freaking awesome at setting myself up for disappointment. I had hoped that in the 4 weeks off, we’d figure out the headache. I thought that I might do some work so that I was refreshed on my knowledge of all the stuff I was supposed to know last semester. I imagined that I might get my sleep regulated and come back relaxed and rested.

I wanted a clean slate for this new semester. I wanted to come back refreshed, refocused and pain free.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

The headache has not been solved, studying has not been done and sleep is unsteady and unpredictable.

I am not beginning this new semester with a clean slate. I’m already scheduled to miss the first Friday of the semester for the myelogram, which involves another lumbar puncture, meaning that at best will lay me out for the weekend, at worst until I get another needle shoved into my back for blood patch.

And I know that I’ve perhaps been a little better about keeping my chin up, but I just don’t see this test being the answer. I see this test being the test that finally convinces everyone that there’s nothing to do. I see this test being the true end to all of this. Which, I guess might seem like a good thing, but it’s hard to see the good in giving up.

I hesitate to say that I truly looked forward to going back to school this semester, but I had hopes that it would be different. I had the hope that I’d get to experience a semester like all of my classmates. Where problems arose but they were normal, predictable even. Where the only days of class I missed were from colds or viruses that needed extra sleep and chicken noodle soup. Where I didn’t have to try to focus despite what I feel I can really call never-ending pain.

Perhaps it makes me greedy, wanting all of that. I have so many great things in my life already, to want everything is wrong. But how could I not? How can I pretend that after 161 days of constant pain that I don’t want even just a day without it? I do want that. I want it to my very core. I want it so badly it hurts. Just 24 hours of pain free normalcy. I would give almost anything for that.

But I have nothing to give, nothing to offer for that reward.

Instead I choose to live this life, despite the pain. I will choose to get up tomorrow morning, go to school and keep my chin up. I will choose to remember the wonderful parts of this month off and forget the days spent in bed in pain. I will choose to see the opportunities that lay ahead instead of the obvious barriers that seek to stop me.

I will choose to find the good, even when it has faded into darkness. Even when it is just a memory.

For 16 weeks, I have been fighting an uphill battle.

I’ve been trying to learn when my life wouldn’t allow for it. I’ve been trying to push through pain that I am not equipped to handle. I’ve been fighting emotional demons that have thrown me so far into the valley, that at times, I haven’t even been able to see the mountain I set out to climb.

But today I reached the top of that mountain.

Today, I finished my first semester of graduate school.

I made it.

These 16 weeks have been difficult. Sometimes nightmarish. I wouldn’t hesitate to say that they have been among the worst weeks of my life. They have been filled with more pain, stress and effort than any others.

I’m not going to get a report card with straight As. In fact, I strongly suspect that the Bs will vastly outnumber the As. And I don’t care. What I care about is that (aside from one class that’s still questionable) I passed all 8 classes I took this semester.

I passed.

I know it seems silly to be so elated about this. It’s just school. It’s only one semester out of the 9 I have to get this degree. And nearly all 94 of my classmates can make the same claims of success that I am. I’m not unique, I did what everyone else did, and in some cases, not as well.

But I didn’t think I’d see this day. And I’m proud. I’m elated. I’m beside myself.

I survived this semester of hell.

I climbed this impossibly high mountain. And the view takes my breath away.

So a few hours ago, I typed up most of a blog post about how mad I was at myself.

I had a hugely stressful exam this morning, by far the biggest and scariest of my exam schedule, and I just didn’t do as well as I wanted. It was a practical exam, so no scantron, no desks, no pencil and paper, but rather performing skills and answering questions aloud in front of instructors.

The first station was a patient interview, the second was choosing and performing 2 tests related to that interview and the third station was a “pull card” where you got 3 different tests to perform on your partner. Each station had a time limit (which felt impossibly short) and a different grader.

I killed the first station. My tester told me that I “knocked it out of the park.” I was on cloud-freaking-9.

Then I got to the second station. The freaking second station. It was disaster. I picked 2 tests that had almost nothing to do with the diagnosis I gave. I even SAID one of the right tests to the proctor and then chose not to do it. At all.

It was awful. I knew I was wrong, but I had no idea what the right tests were. And so I committed and went with it. And the instructor gave me that look. The one that says, you know you’re doing this wrong, but way to be confident. And also? sucks to be you right now.

It was just a horrible feeling. My mind was blank, my heart was beating a thousand beats a minute and then time ran out and I had to move onto the next station.

The third station went really well. I lost a point for a stupid mistake, but otherwise, I knew it all. I was prepared. I couldn’t believe it.

As I walked out of the testing room, the tests that I should’ve done all came crashing down into my brain. And they were such no shit kind of things. OF COURSE I was supposed to do a neuro screen. And OF COURSE the prone instability test was not right because I wasn’t worried about INSTABILITY.

[Forehead slap]

I left school and I obsessed. I obsessed and obsessed and obsessed. I took a walk and jammed out to the Glee soundtrack. And obsessed.

And then I checked our online grade report and pissed a lot of people off.

Because I got a 97%

Um.

I got an A. I got an A on an exam for a class where I missed nearly a third of the class meetings. A class that has kicked my ass all semester.

An A.

I am beside myself and maybe just a little bit embarrassed about my obsessing. Maybe.

An A.

Holy crap.

So it rained in Southern California today. Which means that traffic was a nightmare and people everywhere thought the world was ending.

Having lived in New Orleans for 3 years, where it rains at least weekly, I just didn’t think that the weather was that big of a deal. It’s water kids, chill the hell out.

Since I had a final exam in the afternoon, before leaving into the storm, I put on my finals uniform. A school shirt, sweat pants, a sweat shirt and flip flops. I learned that flip flops are better than good shoes in rain after ruining a pair of NICE white shoes in a NOLA storm. (Did you know that even previously washed jeans will run ink onto white shoes if they get wet enough? I didn’t either.)

So I got to my friend’s house and the very first thing she noticed and commented on was my flip flops. I explained my rationale, feeling super smug about knowing how to deal with rain. Because smugness always leads to good things.

We drove to school and were walking to get lunch when as if out of no where, I was on the ground. I don’t even know exactly what happened. I was upright one minute and down on a knee and a buttcheek the next.

In a puddle.

In sweat pants.

And OF COURSE, a stranger saw and RAN OUTSIDE to make sure I was okay. My friend had almost fallen over from laughing and I was both sopping wet and horrified. But, also? Not surprised. That sounds pretty much EXACTLY like something I’d do.

Since our 3 hour exam was in like an hour and no way were my clothes going to dry out before then, I had to walk to the bookstore and buy new pants and a new sweatshirt and new shoes because my flip flops were so soaked with water that I kept slipping indoors too.

Basically, I walked out of the bookstore looking like a fucking USC ad.

And because I looked so pathetic in my soaking wet clothes, I got a 10% discount at the bookstore. That’s when you feel really good about yourself. When you look like such a huge train wreck that people want you to give you things for cheaper.

My life is all kinds of awesome.

If you’ll excuse me, me and my very sore lower back have a hot date with some notecards.

I had forgotten until my professor reminded us in class last week that we have an upcoming project. We each have to take on a disability for a day and write a paper about what we learned from the struggles of those 24 hours.

I was sort of surprised when my professor, who is not the touchy feely type, looped one of her arms through mine before class to talk to me. To let me know that she was excusing me from a part of the project. You see, I don’t have to assume a disability like my classmates. I just get to write about one of mine.

I’m not upset or offended by this professor, because she gets it. She completed her degree while on chemo for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and has subsequently beaten breast cancer (and had a quadruple bypass) while working and teaching full time.

But the idea metaphorically knocked me on my ass.

My classmates are spending this weekend learning how to function without the use of one side of their body (stroke) or with an immobilized leg (fractured distal femur) and I am living it. I am laid out flat on my couch because my head hurts so much today that simply being upright is almost too taxing right now. I’m studying for a test that I couldn’t take on time because I was literally bedridden with pain while the material was presented.

And yet, when I started thinking about the project, I had to stop and ask my husband if just pain is actually a disability. Because it’s not like a stroke or a broken leg. It’s less tangible, less documentable.

More debatable.

I don’t have a sling or crutches for my disability. I don’t have a placard on my license plate or an assistive device to support me. I have a scar that I can cover with my hair and I have invisible, never-ending pain. I have tingling in my face on bad days and extra weakness in my left hand. I have paralyzing fear over a medical test next week that may very well determine a huge portion of my future. But it’s hidden. It’s not a disability in the way that we usually think of them.

I’m finally realizing after months of pain, that it is a disability. As much as I’d love to have a good reason or ability to deny it, pain disables me.

Pain disables me from focusing on school, on life, on most anything.

Pain disables me from being a normal 26 year old. From going to the gym, from drinking and having fun with people my age.

Pain disables me from making plans more than a week ahead of time.

Pain disables me from sleeping more than a few hours at night.

Pain disables me from being the person I used to be. From being happy.

Pain disables who I am, to my very core.

And so my classmate will turn in their slings, crutches and braces tomorrow, marking the end of their day of disability at the very same time I mark the 106th consecutive day with mine. They will consider what the day was like and write a paper, I will consider my life and write one. Some of them will forget the 24 hours they had to play this part and live this life. Some will be annoyed at the inconvenience.

But all of them get to go back to normal. All of them regain the use of their arms and legs, hands and feet.

There are few things in the universe that I wouldn’t do to have that luxury, to be able to return this disability. To be normal. To forget this nightmare and move on with my life.

To be abled again.

I had another exam this afternoon, making the 3rd in 3 weeks. And of course I have 2 more planned this month because I just can’t get enough of them.

But I only took one of the two tests that my classmates took today because I realized last week that there was simply no way that I would be prepared for both tests on time. The volume of material that I missed was enormous and if I want to pass (which, today, I sort of do), I knew that I would have to start asking for help.

Which I freaking hate.

The test I took today was an anatomy practical, which consisted of 80 questions from the cadavers and 20 questions from bones. For the practicals we are given 90 seconds to answer 2 questions at each station and then everyone shifts to the next table until you get back to where you start. Aside from one extra 90 second period, you can’t go back and re-examine anything.

During the last anatomy practical, I nearly cried. It was too much material, too little time and my brain couldn’t keep up. I was beyond panicked and while I passed the test, I didn’t do nearly as well as I could or should have.

And so after that, I contacted disability services, who had already granted me note-taking accommodations, and asked for more help.

And so today I got my 90 seconds at each station, but then when the test was over and everyone else had to leave, I got an extra 20 minutes to go back to any stations I needed to. And internets, I NEEDED that time. I wish I could better explain how ruined my concentration is, but you’ll just have to believe me. It’s like my brain is so saturated by pain that knowledge bounces off instead of being absorbed. It’s not good.

There were a few other students (with accommodations) in the room with me and one of the professors, NOT QUIETLY, asked the other what we were still doing in there. After all, we’d far exceeded our limit.

The head instructor answered, “oh, these are special cases.”

Special cases.

I know you’re all going to tell me not to let this bother me, but it fucking hurt.

It hurt my pride. It hurt my hope and my heart. I don’t want to be a special case. I’ve NEVER had to ask for extra time on exams. I’m always finished first, I’m always ready to go, able to answer questions and rarely unsure of my answers. I’ve never been special in any way that wasn’t good. I’ve never been one of those kids that everyone else feels sorry for.

And it’s like I’m living in opposite land. All the things I never had, I have now. All the things I never wanted, are controlling my universe. And I’m just not me anymore.

Instead, I’m a special case. And I absolutely hate it.

I wish I could come up with a better way of telling you that today was a rough day. It seems like every day is a rough day lately, but today was a different kind.

In my morning class, we went over hand functionality. I don’t talk very much about it anymore, but shortly after my brain surgery, something went awry and I’ve lost strength and sensation in my ring and pinky finger of my left hand. I’ve learned to compensate for it in most ways. I still drop a lot of things. I still carry almost everything in my right hand. But mostly I don’t notice it.

Today it was on show for everyone to see. Today, my classmates saw how dramatic my troubles are. Today there was no hiding.

Today a classmate asked me if I thought that I could handle the career I’m training for. My staged answer has always been “of course.” I have always had confidence that I can overcome the pain in my head to focus. I have always had confidence that my hand weakness is negligible.

But this morning I was speechless.

The question wasn’t intended to be mean (and I didn’t take it as such. Truly). We’re studying musculoskeletal dysfunction, it’s the same question that we’ve been trained to ask patients. It’s a question that should have a black or white answer. But I didn’t have one.

Because I don’t know.

My head hurt on a ridiculous level today. My face has been tingling incessantly since yesterday morning. I am struggling to focus, even in writing this blog, even in things I want to do and even more when trying to learn new information.

So when faced with the question of whether or not I can handle my education and the profession I’ve chosen, I can’t give an answer. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to hear or acknowledge what that answer is. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to admit defeat.

The reason doesn’t change the answer.

I have been trying to find control again in my universe. I have been trying to find the answers. But they’re not there. I simply do not know if I can do this. I do not know if I should be doing this.

And it’s growing harder and harder each day to hide that uncertainty.