BEE Resilient

 So as many of you know I had two sisters, Jill and Julie, who were born before me. Yet, tragically and like the blink of an eye they were killed in an automobile accident. The girls were 7 and 8 when they died; leaving my entire family lost and devastated.  Despite all the statistics that point to divorce after a traumatic event, my parents defied the oddsand have remained married for 42 years; as they are some of the most phenomenal and resilient people  I know. It wasn't until after many years of grieving  and soul searching that they decided they wanted another baby, and thus marks my entrance to the story. 

So in honor of my sister Jill there is an annual Spelling Bee in her name. I have been told that my sister Jill was quiet and reserved. She had long straight brown hair with  thick coke- bottle glasses that hung heavily on her nose. She would often tell my mother her dream was to win the spelling bee when she got into third grade, the grade when you could participate. Yet, unfortunately she never made it. So today my mother and I  had the opportunity to go to the  Jill Pasko Spelling bee and present the award. 

Walking through the halls of my old elementary school was enlightening. Many things had changed but much remained the same. I reveled in the multi-colored paint smears that populated the walls and the macaroni pasted sheets of paper that were plastered on the bulletin boards. In all honesty I had forgotten what it felt like to be a kid. I had forgotten how much I loved going to school.

As I took my seat in the gym, I looked at the participants of the bee. They were squirrelly with so much energy and jitters that it made me want to go run a lap or two for them. Yet as the contest began, I watched in amazement at their spelling skills. I mean honestly just the fact they didn't have the spell check option was commendable. The words were challenging with words like rutabaga, absurd, centipede and  affiliation. It pained me to be an onlooker as little boys and girls dreams were being smashed one by one like a fly under a flyswatter. One of my favorite participants though was a little boy who stomped off crying and pouting after missing his word. I initially felt for the kid, but then had to marvel at his resilience as he was laughing and pinching the girl next to him within 10 mins. 

Which brings me to the resilience of youth, something I treasure and miss so dearly.  When you were little you would fall and scrape your leg and with a kiss you had magically been healed. Yet, one thing I have noticed as I have gotten older is that the bounce back period seems to be a little longer. Our elasticity to the disappointments that life hands us are not as easy to recover from. We are only left trying to reassemble the pieces of the person we once were. I look at my own life since recently I had an incident with one of my attending physicians. He said some really awful things about me. Why is it that saying sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me  does not work for me anymore?  I am forced to hold my head high and move on. Yet, it is easier said than done. 

Just like a contagious cold that is going around, I wish I could just stock up on zinc in order to avoid any pain I might experience from disappointment and tragedy. Yet, I know that this is not an option, as these experiences are the catalysts and shapers of our lives. They define who we are and the essence of our being. 

This week just remember hat the sting of the bee only lasts a few minutes. When faced with the unexpected and the unkind try to make a conscious decision of being resilient. Because being able to bounce back from what the world hands us is our only ammunition when under fire.

Turning Pages

When I was a little girl I had this favorite book I would read ever night before I went to bed. It was no ordinary book though, oh no it was a Christmas scratch "n" sniff book. I cherished this book more than anyone could fathom. I remember as my little pointer finger eagerly scratched each page and the whiffs of pine cones and candy canes danced through my head. I was in kindergarten, and the biggest excitement a girl could have at this age was show-n-tell day. I didn't even have to think about what I was going to bring in, I mean who else had my scratch-n-sniff Christmas delight. I pranced to school that day with my ruffly ridiculous dress, black patent leather Mary Jane's, and socks with bells on them, as I stood in front of the class proud as punch and showed my book. Yet, I will never forget as the big tears crept down my face when the book was returned to me. Because as I opened up the book and began to turn the pages I gasped in horror as all the pages had holes in them. My fellow kindergartners had scratched my book to an oblivion. I cried all the way home that day from school.

Yet, despite this early traumatic experience with reading materials I have come to find something calming and wonderful in the sound of turning pages. Thus, today my friends I took a field trip. I went to the  Indianapolis Public Library. Here, I found myself lost in the loveliness which is 5 stories of splendid space stuffed with books. I am sure I looked ridiculous as I stumbled around the place in awe by the tall ceilings, the gorgeous array of furniture, and the diverse group of people that populated the building. I don't know how to explain the flood of jubilee that came over me as I took in the aromas of  the musty mildewed books. The smell strikes me like a hot stove as it screams caution mental aerobics at work. I was so happy as I stepped up to the counter and applied for my first library card. You might be laughing, but to me this is a big deal. It warms my soul with memories of my childhood and happy times.  Even thought the old card catalogues have been replaced with super speedy cyber search engines I don't care. The antiquated feel remains; and  it wraps its arms around me just like the tender arms of my grandmother after a hard day. Its cozy and comfortable.

I think sometimes in life we just need to be visited by a blast from our past, even if it is the library. Even though the pages of our lives continue to turn, its never to late to revisit those things from our past. It often can be a lovely reminder to how sometimes the most simple things in life, can bring a sense of security and joy. 

So this week I encourage you to turn back some pages and revisit some happy past times. You'll be so glad you did.

Relishing in Rebellion

Perhaps its the fact I love a little spice of life, or maybe just the sheer excitement one gets when breaking the rules, but I love a little good old fashion rebellion. I honestly think it is because I led such an angelically pristine childhood. I mean I was practically  a 5 year-old adult. However, it has been this last month that has reminded me how much I love to walk a little on the wild side.

A couple of weeks ago in clinic, we had  a patient come in who had developed a groin infection after a prior surgery. He was a quirky man with a thick country accent and a charming disposition. He was surrounded by his wife and child when we informed him he would need to stay in the hospital a couple of more days to have the wound drained. The basics of draining a wound include inserting a hollow tube into the netherlands (or at least very close to them) to drain the multiplying pus and bacteria. Over the next couple of days, this man would become my favorite patient on our morning rounds. Regardless of what unthinkable time we arrived in his room in the morning, when asked how he was doing he would always reply "still kickin." The man was discharged home only to return back to the office to have his staples removed. I will never forget with the staple remover in my hand as the doctor asked the man to drop his drawers, the smile that spread across his face is truly inexplicable. He turned a ruby shade of red as he said while letting his pants fall, " I guess I am kind of a rebel today, as I am low-balling." This being said I realized that the man had forgotten his briefs that morning, now there were two ruby red faces in the room mine being the other as I tried to maintain my composure.

So perhaps my definition of rebellion has changed over the years, perhaps it is not about wearing all black and being defiant, but more about being the unique and different. While I will be the first to admit that I have no body piercings or tattoos to talk about I do have an appreciation for the odd and creative soul. I think that adult life can easily become a monotonous quest to conforming to the status quo.  Maybe it is as easy as going bare buns to work, but I believe that toeing the line of what is accepted by the public eye is truly scintillating.  

I think in darkest depths of our souls we all have a yearning to be the next Thelma and Louise. I have lived the life of walking the a thin line and what I have learned is that my world has been painted with bright new colors when I have redefined the boundaries. I may not be a thief, but I am a rebel with a cause. You see I feel that it takes a little bit of rebel to be bold enough to know thy self. It might require baby steps at first, you know, perhaps wearing mismatched socks is a great start, but little by little you will reveal the rebel that ultimately is the best version of you. 

Thus, as I slipped out the back door with bags in tote yesterday, my heart palpating under my shirt, I escaped from a 2 hour lecture on family violence. While I never looked back as I felt the adrenaline pounding through my internal vasculature, I realized I was a bona fide rebel and I loved it.  

Thus this week my hope for you is to dabble in rebel-dom. Don't be afraid to be bold and different. Redefine boundaries. Because what you will find in the process is a better version of you.

Fabulous February

So as many of you know I have been on my surgery block for the last 4 months. While in all honesty, I find something tantalizing about the world of surgery; its all about cutting, creating, and making someone happy, and beautiful again which are all things I enjoy. The problem, however, is that in these past 4 months I feel that I have been worn down by the 3:45 AM mornings and late nights. And although I am a huge proponent of loving life, I feel that some of the things I cherish most these past months have been stripped from my little paws. Thus in attempt to redeem these 4 months of deprivation, I literally intend to dedicate the entire month of February to me. 

While this might sound selfish to some, it really is about self-preservation.  The bits and pieces of the person that I am are highly influenced by my environment and my inner feng shui. Thankfully, I am on my research elective in plastic surgery, which equivocates to chart reviews and lots of free time. In this month I plan to indulge in myself.  The way I figure is that since I have no man in my life bringing me flowers, chocolate, and making me dinner I will just have to do it for myself instead.

One of my friends and I joked that my twenties love life could really just equivocate to me dating myself. So since this month is dedicated to couples and love, I encourage you, married, dating, or single to really hone into the most important kind of love... self-love.

I am highly intrigued how my friends see me so differently than I see myself? How can we be so confident in some areas of our lives, but yet so meek and unsure in others? Trust me, I am far from a self-lover, but I will have to say that I am a work in progress, but in a way aren't we all. Thus this month I will be incorporating some of the very things I need and love to restore my inner zen. 

On the top of the list of things to do is yoga. I know some people think it is voo-doo magic but I am here to tell you all that breathing and stretching does something to my inner soul. I am so ready to put the books of anatomy and Pre-test aside and dedicate my reading selection to books of enjoyment and People magazine of course. I will be creating delicious delicacies and having people over for wining, dining, and good old fashioned company. Currently  every weekend has a new brunch locale that my neighbor and I have been dying to try mapped out. And most importantly are my plans of reconnecting with friends and family who have been neglected by my incessant busyness and studies. I want to be adventurous, try new things, and go new places all within the span of 28 days. So my goal for the month is to document its fabulousness, and bring blogging back to my life for an entire month and hope that you too will follow.

Thus in the weeks to come, I hope that you too will dedicate some time to your own self-preservation and most importantly LOVE and appreciate YOU. Restore your inner zen and truly relish in how beautiful life truly is.

A Paramount Idea

I have no idea where this year has actually gone.  School has engulfed me, leaving little time for things that I truly love like blogging. Thus this post is months overdue and really another ode to brunch,  one of my favorite meals of the day.  I just happened to be going over some old emails when I ran across this picture. I normally don't post pictures of myself since I am a non-photogenic person, but this one I had to post because it adequately reflects the joy I am experiencing at this moment.  You can mark this as the carbo loaded pancake fruit glow.

No in all seriousness, this picture was taken at Paramount, a little restaurant on my favorite street in Boston, Charles St. Not only was I in my favorite city, but I also was with one of my best friends since about the age of 12.  I have many happy thoughts about this visit as it came at  just the right point and time in my life.

There are many aspects to this restaurant that I appreciate. First and most importantly is their no saving seats mantra, one of my pet peeves of life.  As if elementary school wasn' t bad enough, the fear of not having a seat at the coveted "cool" table has been obliterated.   It is a sort of a cafeteria style, watch it while they cook it place. I don't know how they do it but serendipitously as you are paying for your food a table opens up. The place itself is in a tiny corner tucked away, quaint, and eclectic. Exposed brick and old school diner like feel give the venue an added charm. It radiates a warmth that is not found in many places and a long line that continues far past the front door.  The smells of roasting coffee permeates the air while the sounds of a nearby newspaper rustling in your ear is like a harmonious melody.

I absolutely adored my dining experience, but perhaps more importantly the company I shared. I believe that in a  greater sense brunch is this magical time where you catch up on all the things that are going on while life is happening.  It is a pause, a refresher, and better yet a life saver when the weight of life is dragging you down. I feel that brunch has brought this added sanity to my life a time to cut up, shut up, and actually listen to the people around me. Thus I encourage you to endulge and experience the loveliness, which can only be called Brunch.

Starting from scratch

As many of you know I celebrated the 26 th anniversary of my birth this past Wednesday. While the birthday itself was uneventful; I just did my daily duties at school and had a quiet evening of pilates to celebrate. Yet in the scheme of life this birthday was a milestone for me.  As I look in retrospect on the last year I realize that it was as tumultuous and trying as any year thus far.

I would define the last year of my life as my year of "starting from scratch."  You see I might not be the domestic diva that my mother is, but I do have a great appreciation for things that are crafted from scratch. I honestly believe that food just tastes better when two loving hands are preparing the meal. Perhaps it is the added pad of butter or the sprinkle of sugar, but nothing can compare to something homemade. I love the whole concept of how ingredients  that should never go together are placed in a bowl beaten, stirred, and baked to come out with a product of sheer goodness. I guess in short, I feel like I have been a product of scratch this year; drained, whisked, and pureed only with the hope of good things to come

I feel like we grow up with this blanket of security tightly wrapped around us. It is constant and unchanging, and thus when it is ripped from our little paws we are left standing there shocked cold and unsure of what's next. I guess this is how I felt this year after the death of both of my remaining grandparents. While my relationship with both was very different, still I realize that they are irreplaceable. I think in life you only have a select group of people who are dedicated to being your biggest fans. It is quite a loss to your team when you lose two in the same year. Thus, the traditions and constants in my life are changing and I have no choice, but to start over.

New beginnings can be fresh and invigorating, and just what the doctor ordered. After spending 2 years in Bloomington this summer I was forced to pack up my sweet little apartment and move to Indy. I will never forget as the tears rolled down my eyes as I left beautiful Bloomington with all my bags in tote and headed to the concrete palace of Indianapolis. While I fell upon a gem of an apartment, there still comes a lot of unneeded stress from rebuilding and starting from scratch. I feel if we are honest with ourselves we care a great deal about what others think of us. Therefore starting at a new campus, a new year of school, and meeting a large handful of people comes with the added worry of "will people appreciate the person I am."

I think that a lot of emphasis is placed on the way we define ourselves and the people "we claim to be." As for me I believe that I would describe myself as runner and actually take a lot of pride in that. Yet, I was given a very big blow this fall after the Chicago Marathon, where I had to end my euphoric run at the 18 mile due to an injury. For future reference, this is an awful feeling. You have been working towards this one day for months and to have to fail at completion of the task in unnerving. I remember how humbling the next 2 months and even still today have been, not  being able to run and hobbling around like Tiny Tim. I realized that I was starting from scratch. The girl who could go run 10 miles without a blink of an eye couldn't even fathom running 10 yds. Yet, today I realize that my running woes have forced me to slow down and take in some scenery and to appreciate the one body I have been given and to use it wisely. Have no fears I still intend on continuing my marathon wonders.

Perhaps the most entertaining of all of my new beginnings has been my own quest to use cooking devices such as the stove and oven. I too am trying to be a creative and healthy cook. And they say that some people can't change. Ha. I have found some cathartic element in my kitchen. It has become this sanctuary where I can allow my creative juices to flow and at the end have something to show for it. I honestly have no idea what I am doing with some of these utensils, I might even be making new uses for them, but hey I am trying. 

Thus in closing, I guess we never no what a year will bring. We can hope, we can guess, but we will never know. What I have learned in the last year is that starting from scratch might feel as awkward as putting your shoes on the wrong feet, but in the end there has to be something gained from the experience. I often wonder what the perfect recipe for happiness might be for the next year. We all have been given the same potential ingredients for a gourmet gift of glee, but in the end in comes down to how we deal with a little burnt around the edges or the cookie that does raise. Its about dealing with the unexpected --the good the bad, taking chances, and above all making moments to remember all year long.  

Talking to Strangers

When I was little my mom used to dress me in these huge dresses with socks that jingle. Literally everywhere I would go you could hear me jingle down the hall. My mother probably had no idea how humiliating this was as a small girl, her only goal was to keep good tabs on me as I jingled around stores. You see, my mom would continually sit me down and talk to me about the importance of not talking to strangers. While the reiterated words of my mom still ring in my ears today, I just couldn't help the fact that I loved talking to strangers.

We would be at the mall and my mom would be making a purchase transaction and I would be standing next to her patiently. She would be checking out with that pretty plastic card and in that short duration of the transaction I would be gone in a flash. Of course my mother in a panic, is calling my name, looking in between the racks of clothing , and then her gaze falls upon me. There I was sitting next to a nice old man chatting it up. My mother would kindly grab my arm and thank the man for chatting and then scold me for running away and talking to a complete stranger. I will never forget the threats of my mother as she looked me in the eye and said with all honesty," Do you want to be the next face on the milk carton? "

What is even more enjoyable is that not much has changed over the years. I love strangers and I always have.  I get this uncanny delight in meeting new people.  Whether it be on the subway, school, or the airport I love striking up a conversation with the person next to me. While some of my friends would die if they knew that I was the chatty cathy next to them on the airplane, I feel that some people are actually glad that someone is willing to listen to them. I have had coffee, dates, and heard life stories from the most interesting and charming strangers. Yet, perhaps this is where my interest lies, How can a stranger feel so comfortable telling me there most secret and personal of stories? How did I become the lucky one?

I can say that through my many escapades with strangers I have heard stories of struggle, death, and happiness. I feel that for the most part people are just yearning to connect with another human being and if I can be that person for a 2 hr plane ride so be it.  Or maybe it is the way we project ourselves to others. A smile is one of the most welcoming and inviting signs a person could ever give me. I am not saying that all strangers are good, but what I am saying is that some of my greatest life altering moments have been while in the presence of strangers.

I will never forget the woman I sat next to on the plane on the way home from Atlanta after a trip to Boston. I remember as she asked me what I did and if I had a husband. To that I responded in my normal fashion, " I am a medical student at IU, no husband I repel men." With that small gift the woman began to share that she had survived a thirteen story fall from an elevator that had snapped. She talked about her rehabilitation and the new view on life she had received. She told me how it actually had been one of the best gift she had been given. She spoke of her daughter who knowingly married the love of her life who had a congenital heart disease and was dying unless he received a heart transplant. I listened while she taught. There are moments when I think to myself I am so glad I am here right now, how blessed am I, and this was one of those moments. She spoke as if she knew me in such a surreal way. She spoke words of wisdom ... Things that I needed to hear. Words about true love and partnership, words of lost opportunity, and words of living a life of purpose. As we both sat on that plane crying together, I realized that sometimes it is the stranger among us who can reveal the most sincere and honest parts of our being.  

Thus this week I encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and do the unthinkable...Talk to a stranger. With it I hope you can find the sheer delight that I receive from these encounters and more importantly I hope you see that it is one of the most unguarded and real conversations you will ever have, because there are no expectations and no preconceived opinions of you. So go out and meet some strangers!