Time.

Whew! I haven't had a chance to write nearly as much as I'd like over break. I've had the joy of being able to spend valuable time painting, watching movies, sleeping in, having lazy days, catching up with old friends, enjoying time with family and loved ones, going to parties, and reading. I'm in love with break and haven't been bored for a moment.
In fact, if there's anything about life I have learned outside of PT this semester, it's something I was reminded of while chatting with an old friend:

Time is our most valuable asset.

And it is. No matter what I own, nothing beats the freedom of having time to my own. The ability to hike in the mountains or escape for a day, or take a walk in the park, or get drinks with friends. The ability to spend 8 hours straight painting away, or reading a book of my choice. Walking through town just to explore new places. My freedom and my time are so valuable to  me, and so I can't imagine ever being bored, when I have the luxury of time on my hands (which never comes often enough). Maybe that's the reason why I love it so much and can never get enough of it - maybe it's just my nature. It doesn't matter whether it's a day, or a week, or a month of Winter break, or a whole summer - there never seems to be enough time. I live it to the fullest and revel in the breath of each free day as though it is the last one in existence. Every day, chance for a new adventure or new experience or new person to meet, new knowledge to learn. I love having that love for life, that need to feel as though each day is an opportunity to work closer to a goal or better myself in some small way, even if it's just taking a "mental health day" to help myself be more productive tomorrow.

When I was diagnosed with Diabetes, I felt very upset originally because I felt as though this illness was an encroachment upon my personal freedom. And in many ways, more than one, it is - it is so much more than a name, a label, a number on a glucometer screen. Diabetes does a lot of things to you, and I'll say it over and over again - at least half of those things are mental. I wouldn't care half so much about those numbers on the screen or how thirsty and irritable a high made me feel if I didn't also have the worry of potential complications someday - the guilt of "I could have done better" - the conscious worry of conserving my test strips and insulin. Diabetes takes away your ability to be carefree, it's true. I'll never be truly carefree. I have to think twice about traveling and how I will provide medicine for myself and how I take care of my body and how often. So it took a long time to stop feeling as though Diabetes was stealing time and freedom from me, especially in moments when my body is crying "take care of me!", be it a low or I forgot to grab a new insulin pen so I have to leave wherever I'm at to go get a new one from home - and it has to come at the forefront of everything.

You have to shift your mindset - for me, taking care of myself is a price I pay to have my time and freedom, now. Now, as an adult, you realize there are certain needs you have to take care of, be it bodily or bills or making sure you have enough emergency savings in the bank or setting time aside for studying - these eat away at your "freedom", but in order to buy yourself the freedom to use your time as you wish, these are the things you must do.

And you'll find you start valuing your time all the more, then. It is precious. You paid for it. And you can't retrieve it once it's gone. So you must make the most of it - you owe that to no one but yourself. You answer to you at the end of the day -

"Did I spend my time to the best of my ability?" And if not - what can you change?

It makes you a busybody, but it's a happy way to live, and I find that regardless of feeling sad sometimes, my love for staying busy and industrious can always pull me through in the long run. This reminds me to count my blessings, and be grateful for each day as best I can. It's the best kind of therapy I could ask for.

How Frail, the Human Heart Must Be!

I thought that I could not be hurt;
I thought that I must surely be
impervious to suffering-
immune to pain
or agony.

My world was warm with April sun
my thoughts were spangled green and gold;
my soul filled up with joy, yet
felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy
can hold.

My spirit soared above the gulls
that, swooping breathlessly so high
o'erhead, now seem to to brush their whir-
ring wings against the blue roof of
the sky.

(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a fragile, shining instrument
of crystal, which can either weep,
or sing.)

Then, suddenly my world turned gray,
and darkness wiped aside my joy.
A dull and aching void was left
where careless hands had reached out to
destroy

my silver web of happiness.
The hands then stopped in wonderment,
for, loving me, they wept to see
the tattered ruins of my firma-
ment

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep).

Syvlia Plath, I Thought That I Could Not Be Hurt

12/9/2014

I am sad again. I am sad, I am morose, and it is hard for me to be alone with my somber, melancholy thoughts. Life is hard and complicated, and it simply overwhelms me sometimes with the sheer weight of it all - the sheer weight of what is put on the small shoulders of small people like you and I.

And I am happy, but the sadness is there, bleeding into the frayed, grey edges of my tired heart. It takes the colour of life and makes it that less vibrant.

I am tired, I am tired, and still my heart beats on, still it does, and still it will, no matter what life throws at me and what happens.

I want to be happy, but there is so many things right now that prevent that, that weigh on my and burden me, trouble my thoughts and make it hard to sleep at night. I am a ghost in my own head - an occupant, haunted by the troubled thoughts that rule it and are there.

Maybe I should take more walks. I know I should pray more. God is there, and he is waiting for me. Sometimes I just get frustrated, I don't feel like he has any answers for me, and there is no one to tell me what to do. So I push everything away, and live in the echoing, vast space that is my head - my own worst enemy, sometimes.

Sadness and I are not strangers. No one is a stranger to sadness, I think, nor can they be. We all have different ways of dealing with it. I relish in my freedom - in productivity - in staying busy, and doing all I can with my mind and hands and body. I value the ability to do those things highly. I wished that it worked all of the time, but sometimes I simply feel dull and drowned. Can I beat this? Oh, I'm sure, I can. I will be fine again in a few days. I have learned myself well enough over the years to know that sometimes we just have sad days. And you need a day or two - or three or four - to mope and wet your eyes a little and then wake up one morning and find that things are OK again. Not perfect, but okay. Okay. You cling to that word inside your head, and pull yourself upright again. The world is happy again. This is the wax and wane of life, the give and take, the way you cope with the broken and beautiful little and big things.
(Or you're just mad, and go ricocheting in between - )
This is how I cope, anyways. Sometimes I hate sharing things like this because I feel very vulnerable - but writing is also a sense of catharsis for me, and I need it to vent and open up, and get things off my chest. Sometimes, vulnerability is a good thing. Who knows. Maybe you find you identify?

When Diabetes Calls.

Last night I checked my blood sugar before going to bed, and it was 90.
Normally, this is a little low, and in the past I would have eaten something so as to not sleep below 130. However, it was midnight, I had a final in the morning, and I was tired. I didn't care, quite frankly.
Diabetes is a pain sometimes, and you just don't want to deal. So I went to sleep.

Going to sleep itself was difficult, but when I did, I woke up in a drenching sweat at 2 a.m. and immediately knew what it meant.

low.low.low.dangerous. My body hummed. Sweat dripped down my face and made the bedsheets damp and my hair was wet. It beaded at the curve of my back. Holy mother of God, this was a bad one. The depth of how incapacitating it was floored me. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light, knowing I needed to - go downstairs to get something, right?
In my delirium, I couldn't remember that I always kept a granola bar in my nightstand.

The good tasting ones are downstairs.... my sleepy, low self mumbled. If I'm going to be low and I"m hungry, I might as well eat something good.

Instead I stumbled back to the bed, laid on my back and closed by eyes, bathroom light still on. In a second... I mumbled. Will...go down... in a second. When I feel better.
I was so sweaty, so incapacitated, so unutterably weak I felt I might fall down the stairs and not make it at all if I tried to go down now. I'd feel better in a few minutes, right?
In and out of sleep I fell for about 10 minutes, until I came back to consciousness again. I didn't feel any better, I was still shaking, and my mind shifted back into the right state that it was supposed to be in.

Ugh, God, what am I doing? I sat up slowly. I can't wait to treat, I'm just going to get more low. And there's a granola bar in my purse. Why would I think I need to go downstairs?
Just feeling myself, I estimated that I was so low - almost the lowest I've ever been - that I was probably in the high 20's/low 30 mgdL's. I felt positively awful. My purse was lying on the floor against my bag, and I rolled over and grabbed it, fishing around until my fingers grasped the granola bar. I unwrapped it, stumbled back to my pillow and ate it laying down. I just laid there then, still feeling completely like shit - low, sweaty, shaky, not in control.
After about 10 or 15 minutes I still felt terrible. I tested. 40 mg/dL.
I sighed and slinked down the stairs, grasping the rail for balance as I made my way into the kitchen. The light above the oven was on, so in the dark, I slid down to the floor, onto the cool wood. I started looking for Peanut Butter and remembered we didn't have any, so I made some homemade popcorn, stumbling around the counter above me for the popcorn oil and kernels, then putting them into a pot and waiting until they were popped - I poured them into a Tupperware and crawled back upstairs, eating the popcorn until I felt ok again. Sleep was shot for the night - final in the morning, whatever, looks like I'd be sleep deprived all week. So much for that.

When Diabetes calls, even in your sleep, it doesn't matter. You answer.

When You Have Diabetes, It's Not the Only Thing you Fight.

"Hold on a second," I told Dr. Wendland as I grabbed my glucometer from my backpack. We were in open lab, which follows classes every Monday and Thursday and gives us students a chance to practice our PT schools with the help of some of our instructors. I was going over some of my flexibility drills, but in the past few minutes I had started to feel the slight "after-buzz" of dizziness and heat that follow every movement and turn of my head.

44, the screen read. I grabbed my glucose tabs and walked back to the front where Dr. Wendland was lying on the plinth answering questions to someone. When she turned back to me I shook my head. "I'm 44," I told her, as I popped some glucose tabs and tried not to let the low get to me. I could feel that it was a bad one, though, as much as I didn't want to show it. I didn't want to seem like I was wasting Dr. Wendland's time, who was practicing with me. I know I shouldn't feel bad like something about that - but it's the same thing that happens when I get low in line for ordering Chinese and I don't have glucose tabs, or I'm in the middle of leading kids through games during a birthday party.

I don't have time to be low then. Just because I'm low doesn't mean I can ask people to cut in front of the line to order my food. And interrupting games for a bunch of little girls at a party - while Rapunzel stuffs some glucose tabs in her mouth while everyone is watching - simply doesn't look proper. I get frustrated about the timing of my low in times like that, and I almost feel ashamed that I can't hold it together.
Does that sound silly? I know it does, but know this if you don't already:

You'll be hard pressed to find a person with a chronic disease that doesn't have some sort of mental impact associated with their condition. Diabetes is a mental disease just as much as it is physical. It gets to you, and there's nothing you can really do about it.

"You seem to have a lot of ups and downs," Dr. Wendland noted as a sat on the plinth across from her, chewing. I had been around Dr. Wendland another time earlier that semester, and had a 40 - so I could see why she would say that. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it this second time, but my brain was turning to fuzz and I couldn't concentrate from the low when I tried to think of any of the answers to questions she asked me so I figured I should make myself known. 
I did my best to explain that I was so worried about coming off hyperglycemic that I tended to try and over-bolus to avoid it. I wanted to get my blood sugars in near perfect order. I put a lot of expectation on myself. I would be lying if all of the excessive talk of Diabetes in class didn't get to me, too. All we ever seemed to talk about was Diabetic complications. Imagine having a disease where everyone either a. makes fun of it everytime they eat sugar and 2. Talks about how extremely complicated these patients turn out to be - foot problems, ulcers, retinopathy, carpal tunnel, neuropathy, decreased sensitivity to hot or cold or finger and foot sensation, numbness and tingling, shortness of breath... the list goes on and on.
I know I have the power to control this disease, and Diabetes is a huge problem in our country today - mostly Type 2. And know that I realize people aren't specifically singling me out in class at all. Type 2 is the Diabetes everyone is talking about. But still, it's something that will inevitably get to you over time, and I realized in that moment trying to explain myself to Dr. Wendland that that's exactly what it had done: gotten to me. I explained my frustration that testing your glucose was like taking a static picture of where you are: unlike using a continual glucose monitor (CGM) which will monitor you 24/7, a glucometer can't tell you patterns or what direction your glucose is going in. So when I tested at 175 in class earlier, I ate a granola bar and counted 6 units of insulin to give myself - 5 units for the 25 g granola bar (1 unit for every 5 grams of carbs) and 1 correction unit to bring myself down to 135, or 30 mg/dL. According to my math that should have been perfect, but I must have been headed down the sugar scale because now I sat almost 100 mg/dL lower than I intended to.
Of course, this is just a regular day to me. Lows suck, and no one wants them. But all Diabetics (T1) know that it happens. Some lows are going to be unavoidable.
I told Dr. Wendland I probably get around 3-4 lows a week, which for me is ok. "I notice them almost all the time - around 95% of the time. On very rare occasions I will test and be low and not notice." Dr. Wendland eyeballed Dr. Taylor, who was standing close by. "It's that 5% I'm worried about!" She kind of laughed. My soul sank a little.

It worries me too, but it's not something that can be avoided.
I then went on to explain that I ate very healthy for the most part - limited alcohol and most processed sugars, starchy carbs. I told them I ended up eating a lot of the same things, because it was just easier to manage my sugar when I already knew what those foods did to me on a regular basis. It sounds ok in living, but I realized it sounded kind of shitty when I explained it out loud. I found a slight pinprick of resentment welling in me for Diabetes again, but I pushed it down. I had to sit down one more time to rest before finishing off practicing flexibility, then I went home for the night.

In hindsight, I felt bad that I couldn't explain myself better. But it's hard to convey the mix of feelings, helplessness, emotions and stubbornness about caring for yourself when you have Diabetes.  The fear - the worry - the what's to come? is so real that it almost makes life worse to live than the disease itself. Dr. Taylor's words echoed in my head when I couldn't quite sense the movement of Dr. Wendland's spine raising during one of the flexibility tests - this is the point at which the test should terminate. "How is the feeling in your fingertips?" He'd asked - and I said, slightly shocked that he'd asked it,
"Oh! Well, it's fine - I don't have neuropathy. I just tend to not use enough pressure," which was true. I had been having to train myself to not have such a light touch with people.
I could feel fine. I could. Could I?
I touched the car window as I drove.

Did it feel slightly less cold? Could I not feel temperature as well with my fingertips? Did I type worse and miss keys more because of my fingers? It was too soon to get complications and I managed my Diabetes well enough, right? My A1C has never been as low as I want, but since being diagnosed it hasn't been over 7.5, and that's why I'm continuously striving to make it better and lower.

But it worries me, don't you know? It worries me so much.
The tingles in my feet, my hands when I drive the steering wheel - and the fact that I have to catch my breath a little every time I go up stairs, no matter how fast - or sometimes when I leap out of bed in the middle of the night or morning my heart pounds fast and I get slightly dizzy - my always-cold hands or feet - they worry me. It makes me upset, because I have always treated my body with care and tried so hard to make sure that I manage my sugar well - but the fear is still awful sometimes. Or reading that Diabetes shortens the average lifespan by 5-8 years sometimes. 5-8 years is a long time.

I hate what this disease steals from me and what it gives me in return. The fear that someday this disease will physically limit me because of any complications it does to my body is something ever present, and each day I just fight and fight to try and make sure that doesn't happen.
Maybe it won't, but I was feeling particularly down about it yesterday and even today. No matter how competent I am, or how well people think I manage my Diabetes, the dark side of my disease lurks on the back side of my mind near constantly, haunting me with the scary thoughts of complications and heart disease.

We all have our own demons to battle. These are some of mine.

Why, Deep Down, I'm Thankful For Having Diabetes (Despite What a Pain It Is)

It's November, and since it's the month of being thankful, I thought it only appropriate if I wrote this post on why, deep down, I am thankful for Diabetes.

My disclaimer is the same thing I've been spouting since blog day 1: Diabetes is a terrible chronic illness to live with. Every fiber of my pancreas, and being, hates it. Diabetes interrupts my life at the most inconvenient of times - during tests, in the middle of work surrounded by children who all want balloons (at.the.same.time.), during walking when I have run out of snacks.
Worrying about where I'm going to get my insulin or test strips from is stressful. It effects almost every decision in my life. Travel is complicated - so is my future career. Will my career provide insurance? How long can I stay out of the country on a trip could be effected - what if I have an emergency? Will my medication be ok? I have to take into account how certain activities will effect my blood sugar - certain exercises and where I inject. Adjust for changing insulin needs in my body. Count every carbohydrate I eat.

But Diabetes, like it or not, has become an integral part of my life. And trust me, when I say that it is integral, I mean I am certain that everyone that knows me is probably sick of my soapboxes on Diabetes, Diabetes treatment, insurance for Diabetics, exercise with Diabetes, what I don't eat with Diabetes, how T1 is different than T2, new clinical trials, etc., etc., etc.
But if you have a disease ticking alongside your life, present in your mind and in your body as often as you blink, and has become that close a part of you -

That's kind of just what happens.

And I'm thankful, in a way. Because it has changed me. I think twice about things. I focus heavily on my health and the things I put into my body. I have an issue to stand for. Something to fight for. I have hope for a cure. I wear blue on World Diabetes Day. I get to have cool experiences where I meet T1's in public or simply have the satisfaction/excitement of seeing someone with an insulin pump or CGM on their person. I am part of a Diabetes Online Community that lends amazing support to this disease we all fight. I can even relate to T2's, in a way, because I understand how hard it is. I'm not just telling them how important it is to check their sugar - I'm living it. This will help me as a healthcare provider someday.

Diabetes, I still hate you. I hate how you level me and turn me into a weaker version of myself. I hate the times I slump to the floor, sweaty and shaky and low, heart racing. I hate waking up in the night drenched in sweat, or the sickly sweet, dry-mouth feel of a high. Being sleep deprived in the morning from it. I hate thinking twice about you when I go out or before I exercise or giving shots in the car over bumpy roads and the big bruises the insulin shots leave on my skin and the pincushions that my finger pads are.
I hate crying over worrying if I'll have insurance or not, or dealing with the frustrations of Medicaid and trying to get coverage and trying to get fair coverage that might actually cover my medications.
I hate doing and being stressed about all of this in addition to all of the other things I am stressed in life about.
I hate feeling as though my life is lived in a glass box and I am trapped. Everyone can see me but they don't know what it's like to have the wall of an invisible chronic illness separating my life experience from theirs, or how quietly, hellishly frustrating it is. T1 Diabetes is a personal hell from which you can never escape - you either live with it, or you die from it.

And that's a solemn thing.

Diabetes turns us all into fighters. Not even because we want to be, but suddenly, we are thrust into a world where we have to be. We fight for ourselves, because no matter how sick your body is telling you you are, you want to spend your days fighting it, telling it it's not so that you don't become sicker. You want to live life just as much to the fullest as everyone else living without a chronic illness. You don't want to be cheated of that life just because you got the short end of the genetic chromosome/environmental factor/whatever causes T1 Diabetes stick.
We fight hard, and we fight relentlessly, because Diabetes takes no break. If you take a break, your body will only suffer more - and the results can be there in mere minutes, hours. It only takes one skipped or forgotten insulin dose to send your sugar skyrocketing, or one forgotten insulin pen to ruin all your plans, or one bruise on your leg or abdomen to make you self conscious about wearing a swimsuit.

We don't become fighters because we want to be, but eventually Diabetes makes you a stronger fighter than you ever were before. You become stronger than you ever thought possible. You push your limits.Even when you are weak, even when this disease tries to break you, everyone that wakes up every morning, day after day with a chronic disease - with any illness or chronic disease - is making a choice to give it their all. We don't do it for recognition, most of us don't get recognition at all. We just do what we do because we share a common thing: a love for life, and a thankfulness for it that transcends the difficulties and pushes us forward. I believe that anyone that has to fight this disease has at least a whisper of that common thing within them.

And me? I'm thankful for that opportunity to be a fighter. I am an advocate, an educator, a self-made expert on this disease. I am one of the mere few that has the burden of fighting it, but I stand for something bigger than myself for doing so.

And wow, isn't that something to be excited for and truly thankful about.

 

I Can't Do This On My Own (And I Don't Have To).

Work, school, Medication, Bills, Type 1 Diabetes.

I have a lot of stuff to do... 

and generally, if I am to give myself credit, I'd say that I'm pretty good at being an independent, self-sufficient, semi-competent adult. 

I'm 21 now - I enjoy a drink after a long day. Sometimes, I can't get my blood glucose quite right. Or I turn up the music real loud in my car and sing as tears fall down my face because I'm so overwhelmed by the sheer much-ness of it all. I make a lot of mistakes. My search for "find the most efficient way possible" leads me to cut corners or be sloppy sometimes. Most of the time I feel like a mess - but I can get things done, and I guess that's what matters.

My life isn't the hardest or the worst life you will ever hear about. But, I have a lot to handle, and have handled a lot from a young age. 

And I feel proud. I have accomplished a lot for my age. I feel I could have done more, but I look back at my accomplishments - graduating highschool with my Associates Degree, managing a business in college with my mother's guidance, starting a decently sized mutual fund at 19, getting into PT school at 20. Overcoming all of the obstacles and challenges and emotional turmoils I have been through. I've done it, I've triumphed, and I've pressed on. I see what I want from life and I go after it, and I will always do this, so long as I have fight in me left to give.

But if I was really to step back and tell you what the crux of it all was, my triumphs and successes and the things I have overcome really wouldn't be anything that has to do with me.

Because I didn't do all of this. I couldn't have done any of it on my own. From a young age, my mother guided me and taught me to work hard to achieve my goals. She pushed me past my limits, challenging me to succeed when I was simply resigned to settle for failure. She never let me do that. My mother showed me drive, passion and excellence in everything that I do. My mother has a will of steel, and she taught me to live the same. She doesn't settle - she sets out and she succeeds or she fails trying. And even then, if it doesn't work out, she's already planning out the next steps of what needs to be done. My mother didn't baby me. My family hasn't always been able to help me the most financially, but what she did do was teach me something harder but infinitely more important, and that is how to be self-sufficient. She taught me a skill (entertaining at parties) and with it I have done better than I ever would have done had she simply paid the way for me. I learned how to make something from very little - and with that skill, I know that I will always be okay. We have our ups and downs, but my mother is the most amazing woman I know.

I couldn't have made it into PT School without help. Naive, arrogant me applied to only two schools last year - and in light of other candidates applying to the extremely competitive programs, I was good, but I wasn't the best. When I messed up my application to Mercer and had not even an interview to show for 3 years of striving to get into this program, I resigned myself to the fact that I just wasn't going to grad school this year. My chances of getting into UCF were slim. I walked into work at Wesleyan one day and my boss Mary Anne sent me to her supervisor Steve, the VP of Admissions at Wesleyan. I knew Steve fairly well - I'd worked in the same office for 3 years now. Steve wrote a letter tot he VP at Mercer, who wrote a letter to the supervisor of the PT program at Mercer. Magically, when I had been told there was no hope of obtaining an interview - it was too late after I had failed to properly submit my application - I received a letter inviting me to the last interview a week from then. 

I made a huge mistake and maybe I didn't even deserve to get into PT school - but with the help of others, it happened, and here I am almost a year later.

I can think of so many other times when I couldn't have made it through - or wouldn't have wanted to - without others pulling me through. When I got Diabetes, my friends and family rallied around me and supported me. They visited me in the hospital, wrote on my Facebook wall, gave me positive feedback on my blog. The proverbial question I asked in the hospital then went from "Sure I'm alive, but with a disease like Diabetes is this life even worth living?" to, "Why would I ever let Diabetes stop me from living my one life to the best and fullest?". When I got in my car accident last year, my family helped me get back on my feet (albeit it was a rocky experience). My friends gave me rides, encouraged me and sent me uplifting messages. My friends and family and complete strangers reinforce, build me up and uplift me at so many twists and turns, and without them life would be truly black and white. The people that I love and the people that love me make life so worth it. I am so grateful for all of the kindnesses I have ever received, because without those big and little things, truly, I'd be nothing.

And truly, I am thankful to God, because most importantly - thanks to him I will never have to do this thing called life on my own. If I were to examine my actions, my mistakes and flaws and be solely reliant on myself then to get me through the day to day of life - I'd just as soon give up. I am inadequate, incompetent, not strong enough, not capable enough on my own to do this. But with the backing of others - and with the fact that God is my father and he promises us strength and hope in him - I know that God will never put more on my plate than I can handle. God created me with all the skills and the capacity to obtain skills through my life experiences, that I will never have to worry! Yes, even though he tells us not to be anxious, I will have my days and my moments where I am still overwhelmed, anxious, worried.

But the important thing is that I always know there is a light at the tunnel. And even in my darkest moments - in my despair, in my worry, in my overwhelmed times - the people I love and that love me are there, and God is there -

That makes all the difference, because never will I have to walk this journey called life alone.

And that's the important thing for me to remember, because although I will say that one my my best characteristics is drive and resiliency,
I remember that I fight not only for myself,
But for you guys, too. You make my life worth the fight. Strangers, and loved ones alike - living life with fellow human beings, who all struggle like myself - is both a comfort and a source of empowerment in and of itself. Thankful I am.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day, all -

- Lacy.

Can't See the Stars.

I can't see the stars anymore.

It occurred to me as I was driving through downtown one evening. The glimmer and beauty of the lights surrounded me again, filling my heart with hope and reaffirming me that all in this world was ok, was going to be ok - no matter what. 
Faith is a lot like that, I guess. I can't see it, but I know it's there. Even when I can see the stars - outside of the city - the day comes eventually. It takes them away. But still, I know that they are there.

My life has relied on a lot of faith since starting school here. Faith that it's all worth it. Faith that I'll make it through. And lots, lots of faith in God. If you asked me whether I had changed since beginning Graduate School at Mercer, I would reel a little bit. Because the difference shocks even me, despite that I am the same person. I don't feel the same. My life consists of waking up, going to class, studying almost all of the time, getting lunch prepared, occasionally taking a break, and going to sleep to do it all over again. On the weekends - I work. I have to make specific time for "regular daily activities" such as laundry and vacuuming. It's all a numbers game, as to how much time I want to take away from my studies - how much can I afford to take?

When I'm out with friends, I talk about PT. When I look at magazines of clothes, suddenly I don't only see dresses - shirts - I see muscles, acromion processes and forearm tendons. I make PT jokes. My Facebook consists of posts about a. school and b. work, usually. I ask my friends to let me practice Manual Muscle Testing on them. I wear my little orange and black Mercer jacket proudly. PT is what I have that is mine - to hold and to show and to work for as proof of the life that I have worked hard so much of my life for. PT isn't my whole life, but it's undoubtedly a huge portion of it, and that will inevitably change a person. It has become the filter through which I see life.

And life, in the meantime, I realize does not stop for PT school. I'm tired? Too bad... I have two personal days out of the semester and today I am not using one of them. Diabetes? Still a pain - still have to deal. Have to wake up and go to school. I can either chose to get enough sleep and stress about studying later, or get some studying done and be super tired in the morning. I don't want to study? I have to put in more hours... have to pass my anatomy exam. Personal life? It's not nonexistent, as my focus on PT might have you think. It happens all around me, waxes and wanes, makes me happy and makes me sad. And no matter what, I have to live to through it all. Keep pushing forward, push past, push on - life doesn't stop, and neither must I.

I must live in a world where I can't see the stars anymore. I know they are there, but the city lights have taken their place. And everything is still the same, but it's all quite different, because of this fact. I am thankful, nonetheless. I have faith that they will light my way through this journey I have chosen to take. Those lights are beautiful all the same.

21!

The now-annual list of weird things to do for my birthday is up!

- jump into the swimming pool before school with all my clothes on (if the pool isn't covered)
- if pool is covered, find a plan B.
- wake up in time to buy coffee before school.
- wear a nice dress.
- go to the park.
- buy a new music album.
- buy a used book at the bookstore down the street.
- buy this awesome beer.
- take a walk around the school at lunch time (since I can't get out of class). Also, do handstands in the grass.
- call someone I haven't talked to in a while.
- stargaze.
- (like last year) drop 21 pennies randomly everywhere.
- compliment a stranger.

Making my birthday awesome to set it apart from every other day - one random thing at a time!

"If Worse Comes to Worse, I Mean, We'll Just Pay For It."

Those were the words I uttered to the nurse my last day in the hospital after my diagnosis.

Before I left, I was told that I would not be allowed to leave unless I left with medication. The problem was, I didn't have health insurance then. I had never thought I would need it. People always ask me, "well won't you be covered under your parent's health insurance?"
But, we always self paid. There wasn't any reason not to - my mom and I were healthy people.
It was a decision out of my control anyways, a decision that my mother or my parents controlled. I didn't care - I wasn't paying for any of my medical expenses anyways, of which there were few. Shots when needed (I hated shots so much), the optometrist, contact lenses. I was picture perfect healthy and hadn't been in the hospital for anything since the day I was born.

Rewind back a couple of years, and the picture of me was this:

All I can think is oblivious. Innocent to all of this nonsense that my world now runs amuck in. Diabetes is what I live, breathe, eat, sleep. Do you know what it's like to go to bed every night and in the back of your mind, remember that there might come the night when.... you don't wake up? See posts on your Diabetes Facebook page about another soul lost - another coma leading to death from hyperglycemia, or a night time low caught too late?

The difference between me and a lot of the people I meet every day is that I am bitterly, lucidly aware of my mortality. Every day. That sounds over dramatic. But as it does, it is true. Don't misinterpret that statement, though. I live by the mantra, "look around the room, around the world. Everyone you see has problems that are as big to them as yours are to you." Diabetes is my problem, it's true - and other people have problems, big and small both. We all have our struggles to deal with. This blog is simply my take on how this particular problem of mine effects my life every day. And what I mean by a more lucid, heavy awareness of my mortality is just the fact that someone like me literally has the power to take their life and hold it in their hands. I hold my life before me, close my eyes and see the fragile thread that it is. It is a beautiful gift that God has bequeathed to me. Extinguished in a second, and yet it is the only absolute that I have ever known, is what I have experienced within the walls of this body I call my own.  And every day, I make a decison. 

I will treat myself. I won't give myself too much insulin. I'll give myself the right amount -- how I treat myself today will effect myself 2, 5, 20 years down the road through possible complications. 

My life now effects everything I will every experience in the future. And when I'm low? Sometimes I sit there, and I look up at the ceiling, I close my eyes, I think - my life kisses the lips of death if I choose not to treat. It's literally that easy to slip away. And the beautiful thing is, that I always will treat myself - there is and never will be any doubt about that. But every time I think this, I am reminded again of just all the reasons of why I do. And life means so much more because of that. I fight not because I have to or ever wanted to, but this fight came to me, and demanded that I face it.

And when people say, "I could never have Diabetes. Oh, I hate needles to much. I'd rather die."
Part of me is upset, because I never wanted this struggle, just like you wouldn't want it.
But the other half wants to take their hand, look them in the eyes, and let the walls I have built around my life fall for just that moment as I say:

"That's the beautiful thing about humans. We never truly realize how strong of fighters that we are until that's what we have to be."

And can I take a moment to call that out in regards to myself? I have a lot of flaws, for a human. More than I care to admit. But despite all of my flaws, if I had to pick one characteristic about me that I found most pure and unpolluted, that I was most proud of, that was my shining feature, it would be this:

My drive. That spark within me, a fire that will never go out. I will never give up. I am resilient. No matter what challenges face me, I may need my moment to cry and rebalance - but I will do what it takes to adjust and overcome. And I always, always will. It's who I am, to the very deepest core of me.

And so the point of all this long, drawn out dialogue was this - let me bring it back around -
I never thought about healthcare until I had to. I looked down on government insurance assistance programs. I had lofty views, and now I'm stuck on the receiving end of a government aide program that I am at the mercy of to give me the medicine I need while I am a student with no insurance coverage. And now, I'm losing that too.

The moment in the hospital - when I told the nurse, "Oh, if worse comes to worse, we'll just pay for the medicine so that I can leave." - That was when Diabetes hit me for the umpteenth time in the face:

This singular fact - Living with Diabetes didn't just suck. Living with Diabetes was very, very expensive, as the nurse sucked in a breath, looked at me and said, "It's not likely, sweetie. That medication is very, very expensive."

And sure thing, long story short, life got complicated fast, with numbers like these:

Hospital stay for the 5 days: $21,000.97 (something like that)
Insulin and supplies for the month: $800.00
Doctor's visit: $75.00
Lab work: $400.00

I now have different motivations, different perspectives on health care than I did before. But I will go into politics later. If you're reading this now, just know this - I am scared. I went to the insulin companies themselves and found out I might qualify for patient assistance programs that provide free insulin to people uninsured like I will be. The problem is - Mercer requires health insurance, and health insurance is either expensive, or has huge copays, or doesn't cover the insulin I need, which makes it even worse, in a sense, and more expensive for me to have insurance than to not. How F***** up is that? The very system that is supposed to "help" me requires me to purchase insurance that I would literally be likely better off without. And so now, I'm back at ground one,  and reeling to figure out what to do.

Switch my residency to GA and apply for Medicaid here?
Purchase Mercer's health care policy (which doesn't help my case) and beg the drug companies to still consider my Patient Assistance Program Application? There's another $1800 a year -
Seek insurance elsewhere? If it doesn't cover my insulin, simply depend on what I've saved up for the next few years and buy as needed?

Basically, I realize I'm just going to have to ride out the next couple of years. Three more years, I tell myself. Three years... and maybe I have a shot of finally getting coverage and getting out of this non-insured, or arguably even worse, under-insured nightmare.

I want to cry, but I'm telling myself that God has this covered, and we'll figure it out. I feel alone sometimes, but the kindness and the help of others reminds me that I am not alone, and I'll never have to be. And while I still feel tempted to finish this blog, go sit on a bench in the cool, nostalgic fall weather outside and let the tears of overwhelmed-ness pour down my face, I realize that now is not the time.
Strength is what I need, and strength is what I have. I will fight, like I always have done.

I will make a way.

Detours.

I love Monday nights driving back from swing dancing, and any nights that I get to drive through the city, weaving downtown on the interstate in between the skyscrapers and glowing lights.

It is magical. The city is a heart that beats, and I am part of the pulse that gives it life and light each day. My dreams, my life, my future and my past are entwined with this city. It's especially magical on nights like tonight, when the clouds hover low in the sky, covering the tall buildings in a foggy blanket. Clouds billow past the building tops. They lend the entire city an air of mysticality;  they turn it into an exquisite, beautiful, alluring thing from which I cannot take my eyes away.

And there am I - this one lone driver in a city of millions. I am living my new little life, going to school and running my small business and doing the little things that make me, me and making new relationships and reading books and... this is me. Yet I feel utterly, completely changed from life just a few short months ago. As I drove to work Friday, I was pondering life and thinking about the strange twists and turns that life has taken in just the course of a few weeks.

Of course, my life was completely turned upside down. Leaving the comfort of small-town Macon, I left the friends and people I loved, left the place I had come to know, with its comfortable nooks and crannies, for a place where I was for the first time in my life, utterly and truly alone.
And it was strange. Scary. Exhilarating.

I stepped out of my comfort zone, from a pond to an ocean.

And tonight, I feel like a lot of things and I feel a lot of things about my life. Lately one of the things that I have been thinking of a lot is that I feel as though I have been living in the dark for all of my life... without even realizing it. Physical Therapy school has changed my life in merely the course of the 7 weeks I have been here, and I cannot fathom how much more it will change me in the coming years. I am here not to train for a job, as the panelists at the Physical Therapy Association of Georgia meeting talked about on Saturday. I am here to mold myself, to create and shape myself for a profession. And a profession is not a mere job. It is an investment. It is getting involved in legislature, or making contacts with my fellow colleagues, or mentors or professionals in the field. It is molding myself into the shape of my highest ideals, and constantly refining what my ideals are, seeking better at every turn and angle. It is growing and bettering my mind, body and soul, for the betterment of myself and for others. It is for learning and pursuing knowledge for my field not just out of duty, but for passion and a longing for excellence. It is forming relationships, helping others and making impacts, all of which matter - no matter how big or how small. And once I learned to embrace this... I felt as though I knew that no matter the challenges I face here, that I have what it takes to excel. My name is Lacy Elizabeth Ball, and I can do this. I am going to be the best Physical Therapist that I can possibly make myself, no matter what it takes.

I am pushing myself to be brand new and all the same. I am going dancing for the first time in my life. I am changing the little things - from the way I walk in public to my posture to my observations of people in the grocery store. I am growing more comfortable in my own skin but still have a long way to go. I am recognizing my strengths (resiliency, passion, drive, balance) but pushing to improve on my weaknesses - (patience, accountability, worrying, communication ... so many other things).

What have I been doing all these years? Why do I feel as though I have been living in the dark? Because my eyes have been open more than they ever have before. To know the knowledge that I have been given in only my short time in graduate school so far makes me acutely aware of how far I have to go. But it also makes me realize what power this knowledge is giving me, to know and to do. How it shapes my actions and shapes my role in life. How it gives me responsibility to use it to better the world in whatever way is right. I am humbled and empowered all at the same time.

I feel as though I had taken a long detour these last few years. Sometimes I don't know the point. Sometimes I feel as though I've been wandering, but I know that there was a purpose to it all. There has to be. I feel alive like I never have before - I am the same, but I am different. The experiences of these last years have shaped me and molded me, have hurt me and built me up. They have shown me a life of colour I never imagined, brilliant and bold and vibrant even on the days that I feel down and the world is grey.
It is beautiful, every moment of it.

What I Learned This Week... That Doesn't Have to Do with Physical Therapy

I have learned a ton of stuff about Physical Therapy this week. I experienced what started to feel like the beginnings of the "it's all coming together *currently" mindset. I'm remembering how bones and muscles work. I can identify the nerves of the brachial plexus on our cadaver and contribute to the conversation confidently in class. We are doing a two-day Diabetes lecture series in Pharmacology as well as Endocrine System, which is kind of my "thing". I'm understanding how to move muscles to make them contract. To be more confident about palpating the body. I passed my first PT skills competency with a 95% in Goniometry, Manual Muscle Testing, Palpation and Special Tests of the shoulder.

Enter personal life. I cried this week. I had to take a "get out of town" mental health day Wednesday to try and get my mind back in the right place. Tuesday I drove home after my competency, turned on some music super loud, and sang with a cracking voice while tears dribbled down my face. Wednesday, as big as Atlanta was, I couldn't stomach being anywhere within the city that day. So, impractically I drove an hour and 15 minutes north up GA 400 to Dahlonega, a little town in the mountains with my favourite Mexican Restaurant and a bunch of cute stores. I walked around, more hobbled because my foot was blistered from swing dancing barefoot Monday (which I loved, by the way). I literally just sat in Starbucks and studied for my two exams the next day. But I had a chance to breath fresh mountain air, get a glimpse of the green mountains I love so much, see open blue sky and get out of bustling, hectic Atlanta for a little while.

It cleared my head. I'm so glad I did it.
I read the Bible a lot this week. I feel as though after a long time, I am back on track to forming a better, stronger relationship with God again.

Today, I found out I got an 85 and a 91 on two of my exams I took yesterday - which after a string of low C's, even D's and low B's in PT school so far, was a victory that really built me up. And I passed my anatomy quiz this morning.  (FYI: I totally crammed for some of those tests like my mother suggested, too, and studied the night before for anatomy). But I've been working my Anconeus off.

And it feels good, too. The weeks prior, I was very frustrated that despite my efforts, I could not seem to get good results. However, I told myself to work harder, not that I wasn't smart enough, and did my best to ingrain this in my brain. This week I spent hours upon hours practicing for my competency and hours studying for exams and working hard, and I have been blessed to see results.

Basically, this week I coped with a lot of victory, growth, loss, and sadness, and defeat. With so much to overcome, and so much I've already done, I feel a little more reinforced that if I work hard, I will be able to succeed as a PT. I feel that this is something truly in my grasp, not just something almost quite there that I'm struggling to keep up with. It's still hard, but when I remember how much this matters, to me and the people I will someday help, I remember that I can do this. God gave me that glimmer of positivity this week, and I'm rolling with it. I feel good. I feel prepared. I feel empowered.

But still, I am somber and hurting at the same time. Today I also found out that I am officially losing my health insurance October 31st. And I'm trying not to worry, but I'm scared. I'm really scared. I'm worried. I'm unsure. I'm upset.

So, what have I learned this week? Besides about the cubital fossa? Or how to do a Hawkin's-Kennedy special test?

A couple of things. I was reinforced that good friends and relationships are the key to keeping your hopes up from day to day. We humans are meant to be social, and to form relationships. They give us strength.

I remembered to pray, and pray all the time, and pray for so long that I forget what I am praying for. Thank God for everything. Praise him daily. Give him your worries, your joys. Constantly.

I learned that for every victory, there are defeats. I have certainly felt the wax and wane of victory and defeat this week, a tenuous balance that seems to have been exemplified ever so strikingly over the last few days. Personal triumphs and failures, failed quizzes and aced exams. Good and bad. Give and take.

I feel that I am becoming a stronger individual, and that finally God is giving me the confidence and preparedness to embrace and become the person he wants me to be. The person he planned me to be before I was ever even a thought - the person I will become for the experiences I will go on to have, the people I will go on to meet, the lives I will impact and lives that will impact me.

So, things in life are changing, are getting better, are ending, are beginning, are tumultuous. But then, I suppose they always are. How relative life is. It seems just to shift from week to week. All I can do is remember to remain calm, try not to worry, take time for myself , work hard and keep pushing forward in spite of the challenges.

After all, we live amidst a world of chaos. What is order but a different perception on chaos? Praying for strength, courage and perseverance for all that is currently happening and all that is to come.

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." - Jeremiah 33:3

Phenomenally Human

If there's anything major that I have learned since starting Graduate School, it's that I am utterly, completely and phenomenally human. I am flawed, I am tired, I need to work harder to improve my results. Aware of my perceived limits more than ever, I have tried, I have experienced failure, discouragement and I have pushed myself to be better than ever before. And it's hard - with seven classes on my plate plus working parties on weekends, life is much like it was during undergrad, only completely different. My life seems to literally revolve around school. I have to set certain times of week to take breaks from studying, otherwise I will literally just go to school, come home or go to a coffee shop and study all the time.

So, one of those set times just so happens to have become every Monday night at 8 PM. Last week I sought out swing dancing events in Atlanta, only to stumble upon Georgia Tech's Swing Dancing Association's Swing Night. I arrived, a little late, in the large ballroom at 9PM that night for an hour of lessons and my very first experience doing any kind of structured dance outside of the Chicken Dance and Cha Cha Slide. Awkward and with seemingly two left feet, my friend Chelsea and I practiced in the large room, switching from partner to partner, counting out 6 counts, rock steps and inside-outside turns. Then, at 10 we were released on the dance floor with the other dancers. I was a little nervous, but the experience levels were all varying. I didn't feel so bad, then. I discovered that all of the leads were different - hence I danced a little differently - learned to better hold my frame, pay attention to pressure and be parallel to my partner. I loved to spin around, even if I had a little trouble counting out my steps on occasion. After 3 hours I was left sweaty, heart rate up, blistered feet, sore calves and with a blood sugar of 60 from being on my toes almost nonstop. I was exhilarated. Craving more, the following Monday I attended Hot Jam Swings in Atlanta, hosted every Monday in a cozy cabin in the middle of Buckhead. It is a delightfully rustic, close-quartered room surrounded by trees where people dance until late in the night. It's an awesome way to unwind on a Monday, and there is some incredible talent there.

And so, it turns out that swing dancing is quick becoming a love of mine. I discovered with it, a way to relieve stress and tension. It was amazing therapy. I felt free, unburdened and unworried when I could dance and forget my troubles. It was amazing! Those too-brief moments when I dance, I can block out the world and I feel such a rush of elation and joy, it makes me want to go back and dance every night. Every Monday will have to suffice. It's also great blood sugar regulation, too. ;)

So, in short, I have been trying to coach myself out of being stressed from school and all of the things I have to do. To take walks, exercise, rock climb, dance, call people on the phone, write blogs and poetry, go to the park (never often enough)... to live in spite of school, not just trying to hold myself above the swiftly moving current that is the heavy grad school workload.

 If anything, it gives my imperfect, stretched slightly too thin, Diabetic, flawed, very phenomenally human self a way to recharge and press on through the rest of the week. And it shows me what an incredibly delightful, joyful experience that dancing can be - what a joy it is to discover these little things in my life here in Atlanta.

Enchanted.

Between all of the gloomy and morose blogs that I have posted lately, I thought it might be nice to post this blog as sort of a disclaimer. Just to say, that truly, despite everything:

I am more enchanted with life than I feel I've ever been.

I think that I've had to do a lot of growing to say that. These past few years, I have loved where I was in life. Truly. I also didn't know what was awaiting me  here in this big, grand adventure that has become Atlanta. Moving to Atlanta has been one of the big events in my life that is among the most important. Thinking back on the last couple of years, I can summarize the most important events of my life into just a few short bullet points:

- Starting gymnastics
- choosing to homeschool
- enrolling at Smith Prep (homeschool school)
- going to VSO Summer Camp in 2008
- being diagnosed with Diabetes
- choosing Mercer for PT school

All of these events have, in some way, shaped the course of my life. Gymnastics introduced me to some of my best friends - that I still have today. Gymnastics introduced my mother to the homeschool community, which introduced me to it, by extension. Gymnastics led to my decision to homeschool, which shaped my education... and introduced me to more amazing  people, while developing my love for learning and strong relationship with God in the meantime. Smith Prep introduced me to the very best friends that I would have, even to this day. Smith Prep introduced me to my friend Erica, who implored me to go to VSO camp that summer on the very last day of school, which gave me ties to Macon, which introduced me to Wesleyan. Living in Macon gave me my first  taste of spreading my wings away from home, implored me to start a business, helped me to grow, and helped me to again appreciate the place from which I came - Orlando, which I had been so ready to leave as a highschooler. Diabetes changed my personality and gave me something big to stand for. It taught me how to fight and reminded me of why I appreciate life. Diabetes, believe it or not, even prompted conversations with people that have led to incredible relationships. And choosing Mercer, finally, even though I didn't think for a time that I would get in - that experience in itself humbled me, and beginning at Mercer has helped me to learn to embrace change. It is helping me to experience a bigger and brighter world than I ever would have been able to imagine on my own.


Atlanta is changing me. I am realizing what an immense place the world is. I can't imagine currently living anywhere else. I am realizing that Wesleyan taught me about myself, but now is time to truly shape myself and embrace the life I am living. To embrace new experiences, and go with the flow, and grow up into the person that I am supposed to be.

Before moving here, I thought I would hate it. All you have to do is read my posts to see how much I was worried about this move. I thought the city would be too big, would make me feel too lonely. But the contrary happened - this city has so many niches, so many secret places, I have just the mix of social interaction and introvertedness my psyche needs. I have discovered my favourite nooks, new coffee shops, little parks no one knows about. I can ride my bike around the park, try new shops with every outing, discover new friends and be myself without facing judgement in a city so big that self expression is as natural as breathing. In this city, life is happening everywhere, and you don't have to force yourself to fit in anywhere There is so much here that there is a place for everyone. I feel at home. I feel at peace. I feel brand new.

And I love life, so much, for every perfect and imperfect facet that it is.

A Pretty Old Soul, For Only 20 Years.

I am sitting in a coffee shop in Decatur, and an elderly man I was talking to in line just bought my cup of coffee for me before smiling and walking out the door. I smile at this small act of kindness - I feel that God has been especially kind to me the last two days, to make up for the terrible and down week I've been feeling like I've had.

In truth, I'm really discouraged. I've been exceedingly discouraged, and wasn't sure how to express that on my last blog post. I feel ashamed, actually, because I almost feel as though, at 20, I have more pressure on me to be smart and pass things, to prove that I am good enough to be in Grad School. But...I feel as though I am drowning in PT school. I am trying my hardest, but I feel as though I'm learning the muscles slower than everyone, I got my first 80 in 7 years on a paper (in case you didn't know.... I kind of consider writing my forte...) and I'm not getting stellar grades on my quizzes. Goniometry sounds kind of like an STD (teach me how to Goni!), and the grades of Manual Muscle Testing seem so subjective that I don't know what to assign them to. 3? 2+? 4-? Seriously?
Actually, the only things I really seem to "get" are pharmacology and everything Diabetes related which, thank God, is actually quite a lot. I'm pretty good at skin too, but everything on the quizzes seems to be about planes of motion and is it a conVEX on a conCAVE or the opposite way around. P.S., subscapularis inserts on the crest of the lesser tubercle of the humerus, not the inferior facet of the greater tubercle, and yes, there is a difference, because I got it wrong on the god**** anatomy quiz that I spent half the night studying for.

So now that I've finished speaking what sounds like mumbo jumbo to any of my non-PT friends, what here is my point? Well, ladies and gentleman, I am very much human and my emotions have run wild the last few days. Between my personal life and quizzes and worrying about non being smart enough for PT school, Friday I walked out in the hallway after anatomy and just started bawling. Everyone treated me really nicely for the rest of the day and my friend Robert sat me down for what actually turned out to be a very helpful coming-to-Jesus talk, but it was rough, and so Friday evening my friend Chelsea and I escaped to Little Five Points where I attempted to nurse the fragile pieces of my self efficacy back to functional level. I've felt more down than I have in a while, and my blood sugar has been pretty wonky the last 4 days, too, higher than I want it to be again - I'm chalking it up to stress, though really I don't know why I've been eating breakfast and coming back at 250 and then 327 even after bolusing for a protein shake. Breakfast is usually my worst time of day blood sugar wise, and I got so angry Friday about my sugars that I rage bolused (give myself x amount of insulin just to bring it down ---> leads to subsequent string of lows) that I was low for the rest of the afternoon and had a mini breakdown in applied anatomy again after my third low and feeling as though my brain was sufficiently frazzled. Saturday, despite having a hectic day of 4 parties, helped get my mind off things, and getting to "sleep in" until 8:30 today was really swell, too. My roommate Hans and I chatted over the kitchen counter a little and I felt brighter about things again.

And so, now, I'm sitting in the coffee shop --- hoping I won't be down again for a while, and doing all I can to take it easy and not feel overwhelmed. I feel old. I feel like an outsider to my own life sometimes. All my life, I've been me. And by "me" I mean I feel as though I am not quite genuine enough to be a stellar-ly sweet person, but not quite genius enough to be smart enough to fit in with that crowd, either. I'm not blessed with incredible social skills, even, I'm just an introvert that has managed a business so long that I can mimic extroverted-ness enough to seem like I know what I am doing. I like to study a little but too much, I am kind of nerdy, I listen to weird electronic music (and quite frankly, everything else), I sing off-key, my definition of a good book usually ranges from fiction to intense political theory, and I'm not even old enough to drink. I am a 20 year old thrown into the life of someone much older, feeling too old to connect with most people my age but too young for most people to take me seriously. Most of my friends are 24/25 because that's just who I connect with, but I'm still stuck in the awkward "am I an adult or teen" phase. The answer is I am very much an adult, but at the same time I feel as though I missed out on a lot of my teen years, albeit voluntarily. I just never quite fit in to the teen years either, so I let those skim by.

Ooh, I don't know quite what I am supposed to be, in short. I am an old soul, and I guess I have to embrace this weird, slightly outsider life that I have been given. Observe, not quite be a part of, the world, except for the few souls I manage to find a genuine connection with, and I am so thankful for them.

As I approach my 21st birthday, I will look back and I think that I will be pleased with how far I've come, but there are still a lot of questions left unanswered that I have yet to discover. That's what makes life a journey, no?

Refining.

It is a rainy morning in Atlanta, and I find I am struggling between allowing my life to fit into the structure of a new routine, and reveling of the newness of it all. Class runs about 8-4 or 5 most days, with no class on Wednesdays. On the weekends, I work parties, some weekends more than others. I am actually very surprised at how "normal" life seems here. Graduate school is a more academically intense and rigorous place than undergrad ever was, but more than being intimidating (which is still is) 1. Life is, surprisingly, going on normal as usual and 2. it really just makes me feel like I just spent the last 3 years of my undergraduate career in a repeat of high school.

I still have time for activities, phone calls and exercise. If anything, I am living in a more structured way, so while writing is about all I have time for as far as an outlet (and physical exercise), I feel I am living more efficiently. More than anything, Graduate school is a whole-self and whole-life transformation. I am different. I am becoming different. Undergraduate was a rather sloppily, beautifully thrown together mix of things such as "discovering who I am" and "growing confident with myself" and "putting myself out there". It was a honing of who I am as an individual and an opportunity to explore, connect and discover new passions, people, options, adventures and routes.

Graduate school is different in that respect. It is definitely a more "mature" setting. People are here for a much more specific purpose, a subset of life that we have all chosen to devote our lives to. We are passionate about it. We vary in our knowledge of this career. There is a sense of cohesiveness among my classmates that undergrad, where everyone had their own major and did their own thing, never had. And I feel like where undergraduate school and graduate school are both opportunities to refine myself, such as something being welded - that undergraduate was the opportunity to be shaped and have a good outline of what I will become - whereas in graduate school, I have already been shaped into a "draft" - and now it is time to be re-refined, and to remove and smooth out the imperfections.
Graduate school is a place to perfect one's concept of who they are, truly. Graduate school pushes your limits. It makes you realize how little you know, on one hand, and that you know more than you think.

And oh, am I in the process of discovering this.

I am more than ever aware of my age and my young years, but at the same time, we all seem to be on such even playing ground that I forget this. I feel that these first few weeks I have been swimming faster than the current one moment, and the next a wave crashes over me and I am struggling to stay afloat. I know so little! I am shocked at all of the information that there is to learn, and I'll admit that studying doesn't seem to come as easy as it used to. Sometimes I second guess if I selected the right career. Am I smart enough? Everyone else seems to know so much more than I. But I feel that if I continue on and push past this, that the burning in my arms and legs from swimming this heavy current will subside and I will grow stronger in the process. Now is the time to rise to the challenge. And I have my strengths, too. My gymnastics background helps me. I have a good knowledge of drugs and diabetes and skin and body mechanics. I have so much to learn, but now is the time to let my thoughts take the backseat and set my doubts aside and realize what the human mind is capable of. To hone my study techniques and apply myself adequately. To learn to still live and enjoy experiences and go on trips even when I am busy to allow myself a break. Just because I am very busy with school, doesn't mean that I can't enjoy life - this isn't just graduate school and the means to an end, but this is an experience, this is the next beautiful, wonderful and incredible 3 years of my life. I can try new things, I can learn an impossible amount of knowledge, and I can learn, with guidance, to push myself harder, to become a better professional and to fulfill my dreams. Graduate school is not a means to an end at all - it is a gateway to the rest of my life!

And truly, I am learning so much. I am struggling to learn the muscles and their origins, insertions and innervations - but I study every opportunity I can and I am learning the information and I will continue to push myself to be all that I can be and succeed. I will succeed. There is no other option.

I am refining myself. I decided when graduate school started that enough was enough, and it was as simple as that. I was going to get my sugars in order and lower my A1C from the 7.4% that it last was. I am aiming for under 7 next time or in the next 6 months, and I am determined to succeed. I have lowered the number of instances over 200 mg/dL drastically. I still have some bad days, but I am refining my treatment, making notes of my meal and insulin effects on my calendar, eating healthily and though I am low sometimes as a result, I am learning so much and I feel like I am finally taking the reigns over control of my Diabetes again after living in a fog so long of never knowing if my sugar will be high, low or just right when I test. Now I usually know exactly what to expect, I test more often, and I have started exercising more so I have been able to lower my Lantus by 3 units every day - not a huge amount but still a big deal. When you exercise more and keep the amount of sugar down in your blood more regularly, it becomes more easy to manage blood glucose and it requires you typically need less insulin. I have to stress that I have not been entirely perfect, but I am doing better than I have in a very long time.

I am learning about myself. (I am green according to the True Color's Test we took in class). Realizing the things that drive me, that motivate me - my love for and endless pursuit of intellect and knowledge, when I feel deeply, and how to be patient and effectively control my emotions - letting them have their say without setting them aside, but allowing to function in sync with them, effectively no matter what I am feeling, too. Because I feel a lot of things - a lot of sadness, joy, hurt, heartache - but life presses on, and I have to learn to let myself feel these things without bottling them up but not let them interfere with the tasks at hand. This is a difficult thing to do but I guess it is also a sign that I am growing older.

I feel young, but I feel old for my 20 years. I see details that people do not see. I see the man at the rock climb gym scaling the wall impressively, but really what I notice is the man climbing the rock wall as a new tattoo because he keeps scratching the ink. I see the cadaver lying on the table, but really the first thing that my eye is drawn to is the faded tattoo on the underside of his arm. I hear pieces of conversations I was not supposed to hear and I piece together stories and histories very easily. I see someone's drivers license when they pull it out, and my mind files away their birthday because it remembers it without trying to. There is beauty in seeing what more there is aside from the surface, as the world holds so many answers if we only remember that we are meant to ask questions and take the time to look. People have answers - we have answers - without even being aware that we do, we must channel a greater depth of ourselves and allow ourselves a sort of transcendence, a within and without from this world, the ability to see close and step back and let the thoughts settle so that we can analyze what we see and feel. I am not very in sync with my own nonverbal emotions and truly, I struggle with taking the immense things that I feel and think and translating them into something conveyable to the world - I am at a disconnect with my emotions sometimes - but progress is being made and I am learning that through understanding the key things that drive me, that I will better be able to channel my strengths and improve on my weaknesses.

To notice - observe - listen - feel - understand - we have important tasks as individuals, a right we owe both to ourselves and to this world. I am learning to grow in this transcendence of myself and reach new heights of knowledge, emotions, understanding and channel abilities I never realized I had. I am strong, I am able, I am ready.

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” - Eleanor Roosevelt

"Is That For Real Or Are You Just Paranoid?"

I had the strangest CPR class experience on Sunday.
CPR is required to be a PT student at Mercer - I received instructions for matriculation rather late into the summer, and in my haste signed up for a free first aid CPR class offered by the local fire station in Macon. Thinking that I was set for the next two years, I began class at Mercer... only to find out that I had neglected a small piece of fine print on the CPR directions:

"Only BLS for healthcare providers CPR will be accepted."

And so, $65 later, I found myself enrolled in BLS for healthcare providers. I breezed through the online test (Considering I had *ahem* already taken the same...exact...test...) and found myself Sunday morning at the physical location of where my CPR exam would be.

In about 5 minutes, I had gotten out of the car, made friends with a blonde girl who looked equally as lost and sketched-out as I, and learned that Kacey was a 1st year PT student at Emory. There was a hobo sleeping on the sidewalk and we couldn't find an open entrance to the building. After calling the CPR company number we discovered that the instructor was running behind, so we waited until a man came running up in green scrubs with an "Atlanta CPR" label embroidered on the back and opened the door. About 5 other people shuffled in at about the same time and we sat in small wooden desks inside the CPR exam room, which was just a room in an office building filled with dummies of various sizes and breathing masks.

About 2 minutes in I noted that we had a rather vivacious CPR instructor who spent about 20 minutes of the allotted hour highlighting his life, from his divorce to the woman who had hit on him a couple of months ago, to his early experiences as a male nurse.

"You're PT? He laughed at Kasey and I. Oh, so I should go easy on you, because PT's don't do any work, isn't that right - ha - ha!"

I was not amused, and I imagine Kasey was not, either.

The test finally proceeded, and I was rather relieved to discover that the exam was not individual - we did everything together as a group - and I am fairly sure there was no actual way to fail the exam (I'll admit I had been getting a little stage fright prior to this exam, worrying I'd forget how many times I'm supposed to do the Heimlich maneuver before lowering a patient to the ground to perform CPR and breaths).

Towards the end of the class, after the CPR instructor seemed to have hit on about 2 of the 5 women in the class, and after he had demonstrated literally punching a dummy in the chest. "Was that two inches?!?" he asked.

It was finally time to conclude this test, and I pulled out my meter. I tested to reveal a 90 mg/dL much to my delight.
Mr. CPR instructor came over just then, and in a booming voice, asked,

"Is that for real  or are you just paranoid?"

I stared at him for a second, tilting my head, perplexed. "Uhh.... no, it's real. I'm Type 1."

CPR Instructor went on. "Because, you know, a LOT of healthcare providers get paranoid that they are catching whatever their patients have! You treat a patient with an ankle injury and next thing you know, you wake up and have one! HA!"

I stared at him some more. "Were that it only a figment of my imagination, except it's not," I retorted a little snidely.

"So what are you? HIGH or LOW?" he asked obnoxiously.
"90,"  I remarked proudly.

"OOH, hear that class, Lacy is 90! WOW! Stellar Diabetic, STELLAR!" I laughed a little, shaking my head, wishing I could just get my CPR card and leave. Finally, about 20 minutes later (and 20 minutes after we were supposed to leave, I finally filed out of the cramped room with my $65 BLS healthcare provider card, shaking off the weird experience as just another "strange Atlanta thing."

The things I do to be a PT.

Glucometer and insulin, please!

I was about 30 minutes away from Phenix City and on the way to work this morning when I realized my glucometer was nowhere to be found. I spent a moment rifling through my bags, but had the sinking feeling that I had left it exactly where I had set it down: on Crystal, my former College roommate's, living room floor. I sent Crystal a quick text when I had a moment:

"Left my glucometer and insulin at your place... no time to get it. FML :("

I had to go straight to work, and I was already running behind. I sighed, looking at the yogurt, rice cakes, granola bars and crackers I had packed... all carby.

I don't always feel like I am Diabetic when I am normal and managing things well, but when I forget my meter and insulin, I often like to make the metaphor that it is like driving a car blindfolded. You might have done it thousands of times before, but if you can't see, you're pretty much inevitably headed for trouble - all of that past experience won't help you. In Diabetes, you are nothing without the fundamental tools, and today I had none.

"Ok, be calm," I said. Chances were, I wasn't going to go into a coma and die after only a day of no short acting insulin. I had taken my Lantus last night, and I still had Lantus. I thankfully had put some almonds into my bag, so I at least had some almonds to munch on and get me through the day, although I wouldn't dare eat anything else since it was all carb-laden. It was just too risky. I hated feeling the limitations my illness imposed on me, but there was nothing I could do for it if I wanted to be on time to my face paint gig. I pressed on. Keeping my calm, I gave myself 6 extra units of Lantus, and pulled out 4 water bottles when I got to my gig to drink throughout the day. With lots of water, I should be able to keep any extra sugar out of my system more effectively. Face painting for 5 hours would be good to lower my sugar, too. I don't know why, but working with kids at gigs always lowers my sugar, provided I don't eat any of the birthday cake at parties!

Thankful that I was very adept at noticing highs and lows, I steadfastly painted for the next 5 hours. Thankfully, I was so busy the entire time that I don't think I would have had a chance to eat any of the food I brought, anyways. I munched on some almonds here and there and drank water. Finally, off at 5, I vaguely remembered forgetting to take my glucometer out of my balloon bag from back in March. When I got to my car, I silently prayed it would be there, and as my hands clasped around the familiar camera-sized rectangular bag I pulled it our from amidst the colorful strings of latex. I eagerly sat down into the front seat and tested......

82! I was ecstatic. No highs, I didn't feel miserable or thirsty - I felt great. It had been stressful to go through that situation, especially considering my own oversight had caused the problem, but I felt very proud of myself for keeping my sugar so in check every day. I think I just needed some schedule (which PT school affords) and greater discipline, which school is giving. And when you start to manage your sugars well, it makes it easier to exercise and keep those blood sugars down even more. It's a win win.

Nonetheless, here's hoping I don't forget my meter or insulin any time soon. I much prefer driving cars without a blindfold on, AKA knowledge is power when it comes to Diabetes management, especially. I'll take my glucometer and insulin pen ALL the time, please!

Lows or Cadavers - Pick One.

I approached the door to the lab, took a deep breath, and donned one of the white coats hanging on the rack. I stepped inside, feeling the chill of the air through my scrubs and coat. I started walking over to our table. "Glasses, oh, I forgot glasses," I muttered. I proceeded back to the table, where I exhaled shakily and gave my lab group a nervous glance. I mustered as much toughness as I could.

On the table before us was a large blue bag, and inside of it was our first cadaver.

I listened to our professor intently, but was ever conscious of the blue bag on the table in front of me. I couldn't stop looking around. I was morbidly scared but curious. I had only seen a body once before, and I had a feeling that this would not be similar. "They're not there anymore," I consoled myself. "This is an immense gift to science." I silently thanked the cadaver in my head for their incredible gift. It must take a very selfless person to donate their body to science, I thought. It would not be an easy decision, if you think about it.

Time passed, instructions were given, and then I was in this singular moment before me:
It was time.
My lab group started unzipping the bag.
I took a step back, unsure. And there he - she? was, face down, pale as paper. The cadaver had been old. Maybe it shouldn't, but it made me feel a little better. I think I would have been a lot more sad if it had been young. This way, at least I hope it had lived a full life. A good one.

There was still a bandage on its back. There was a large bruise on the shoulder and a pressure wound on the lower back. I couldn't suppress the morbid need to look around the room at the other cadavers around me. Some were a lot larger. Others were small, and almost looked caved in, withered. They were all face down. The cadaver next to me had a tattoo on his arm. Dr. Fabrizio's cadaver still had her toenails painted pink.

I stared at our cadaver and couldn't take my eyes away. I wasn't feeling as though I would throw up or pass out. No.
Instead, I started to tear up. I felt overcome with emotion.
"You okay?" my lab partners Jason, Robert and Victor asked with raised eyebrows.
I nodded, still teary-eyed, fighting the urge to wipe the moisture pooling in my eyes. The pungent smell of formaldehyde was a good reminder to not do that. But still I started to lift a hand. "Don't touch your face," Jason reminded me. I put my hands down.
"What do you want to name him?" Robert asked me. I shook my head. "I don't know," I replied. "Think about it," he said kindly.
"Well, we're not certain it's a him. It's just... so amazing. It's beautiful. It's such a gift," I say, sniffling. I can't get over it. I stare at the table, I am too hesitant to touch the cadaver yet, I can only watch. I am still scared, full of trepidation. What was the cadaver's story? Why did it choose to donate its body to science?

"We need to name him," Victor said later as Dr. Nelson passed by. "Her," she corrected Victor, as she stopped at our table. We all looked at the cadaver. "It's a her," she said, gesturing her eyes - and we looked at each other kind of embarrassed, as we realized all of the cadavers had shaved heads - not just the males.

"I like the name Julia," Robert said. "I do too." I agreed. And so, with that, we named our cadaver Ms. Julia. The guys started marking with sharpie the areas on the cadaver to cut, taking scapels and beginning. I waited a few minutes still and then, still trying to get over how overwhelmingly amazing, macabre, upsetting, emotional and overall strange this whole situation was, I swallowed and took hold of a scapel.

"Now's as good a time as ever," I told Robert and Victor, as I began to slice.

Later at lunch, I walked upstairs, and my blood sugar was 35 - I could hardly feel it. I had been so hyped up from cadaver lab that I hadn't noticed my low or any of the symptoms, although I started to feel them then, the all-too familiar wave of numbness of my mind and shakiness setting in. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the next few minutes of being out of control of my body.
But it had been an experience, and an amazing one, at that, for the first time in cadaver lab. I was imbued with so much new respect for the human body and for the gift that our cadaver was, as strange a thing as it was to confront dissecting an actual human being.

PT school has been an adventure so far, and there are many more to come.

First Week.

I am exhausted. Exhilarated. Empowered. Overwhelmed. Refreshed. Busy. Joyful.
The first few days of PT school have been a whirlwind. From day 1, we hit the ground running, and I feel as though I have been flooded with a wealth of information. My mind expands to envelop new knowledge every day, and it startles me both at how much there is to learn and what the mind is capable of doing.
It is enough to make me feel like it is too much to handle, but I know that I can achieve getting through graduate school. My typical day involves waking up at 6, getting ready, leaving for 7 at school, getting there early before class at 8. Changing between lab clothes and professional clothes, scrubs and tennis shoes, spending hours in class and tons of extra hours in anatomy lab is all part of daily life now. I assume the responsibility as best I can because I know that it is what I need to do to achieve.

I feel as though I am refining my life to live for others, and this is both a worthwhile task, a great honour and a huge responsibility.
I feel passionate for what I have chosen to do because I am surrounded by so many others who love their career. In the last few days I have learned so much more about Physical Therapy, the human experience, and what it truly means to better life through movement. I have learned about the goals I need to perfect and refine, I have learned how far I have to go and I have set myself to the task as best I can. In the last few days I have learned the power of preparation, calendar usage and I have tightened control of my Diabetes. My sugar has not been over 200 once in 2 days which is a big accomplishment for me, as in the past I would usually slip up at least once a day. I am very proud of this control and feel glad to be in a career that encourages my own wellness as much as it encourages the wellness of others. I feel like Physical Therapy is the perfect reflection of what I aspire to be both for others and for myself. I want to be a role model to my patients and to individuals in general that you can live a healthy, well life in spite  of the many obstacles you will face. You have to assume the task with passion, diligence and patience. Sometimes you will fail, but you always have to try to succeed. If I can do this for myself, I know that I will be able to help inspire others to do so, too.

Just wanted to write something short and sweet for now - let you guys know that I'm alive (haha), I have very little free time and it's back to anatomy studying. But I'll write more this weekend.
Until then!

P.S. I added a poetry section  on the "pages" tab! Do check it out. I'll update with more poems periodically.

Physical Therapy School is Here!

Tomorrow is the first day of physical therapy school, and as much as I would like to proclaim to the world that I am ready and three steps ahead, the *honest* truth is that I am anxious, a little worried and very, very aware of what an exhilarating but weary journey this will be.

Orientation didn't get off to the best start, but I guess that is to be expected when you leave for home at 6... with 7 hours of driving to go. It's ok, think of me as you wish. I totally deserve it. The trip from Orlando to Atlanta was gruesome. I had to take a ton of breaks, stop at a gas station at 2 for a twenty minute nap, and ended up getting in at 3 instead of the 12:50 a.m. arrival time that I should have had. I stumbled home and up the stairs to pass out, setting my alarm for a bright and early 5:40 a.m. Naturally, this meant that I got about... 2 hours of sleep. The alarm went off entirely too soon, and having drilled into my brain that this class was more important than 8 a.m. Physics (which I always managed to oversleep for), I wearily pushed myself out of bed and into the shower, got dressed, got my bag, made a protein shake and was out the door. I wasn't sure what to expect with traffic, so I left about an hour and twenty minutes early. I hit traffic as soon as I got on the interstate, although even with the crazy stop and go, which somehow seemed to still be functional, I arrived at school in 24 minutes, so I had plenty of time.

I had chugged about 2 bottles of water before arriving in an attempt to wake up, and arrived at the Trustees Dining Room at Mercer bright eyed and bushy tailed to meet my fellow PT students and faculty. Likely the last free breakfast of my Graduate career: check. Ice breaker: check. Professor that researches Diabetes: check, and yay. Don't get me wrong, orientation was a really helpful experience, but it was extremely hard to sit for almost 9 straight hours until 5. We had another tour of the campus, had several of the staff and faculty come to brief us on different aspects of the school, talked amongst ourselves, had a couple of lectures, lunch and shared a lot of laughs. I ashamedly started nodding off a couple of times, simply out of pure exhaustion; when I got home, I went for a walk to the local farmer's market to try and get my mind going. I saw "Guardians of the Galaxy" with one of my friends at the Drive-In movie theatre here. I got home, tried to chill out, and did my best to tackle the huge mound of emails from clients that I had completely neglected during my time in Florida and the terrible endocrinologist appointment (more on that later). I folded laundry. There was so much computer work to do that I started falling asleep on the couch. It was 2 a.m. before I stumbled up to bed, and it was much too late for me chastise myself for not going to bed sooner. I was still adjusting from summer and had forgotten I had another early morning.

Thus, the next morning was even worse. I slept in a little later since I knew that it didn't take 1.5 hours to get to class, but 6:20 a.m. still came far too early for my taste. I stumbled out of bed. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll. My face was drained of colour, I looked like a ghost, and my mind felt as though it was operating at about 65%. I felt terrible. I stumbled to Day 2 of orientation, putting on my best face, drank about 3 bottles of water, met with my academic adviser Dr. Fabrizio, and by the time we breaked for lunch at 12, I made my way to the car to drive home since we had 2 hours and I had forgotten a pair of pants for one of the two birthday parties I was working later. I hit traffic, which I was not expecting for the middle of the afternoon, though now I hear Fridays are just bad traffic days. I had enough time to take a 20 minute nap, and for my non-nap inclined self, was startlingly happy about this. I had never passed out sooner in my life I think. I woke up to my alarm going off 20 minutes later, having collapsed face down on the couch. Drool and all, seriously, my level of exhaustion had reached critical levels. I made it on time to the white coat ceremony, while trying to fight dozing off again. I left the white coat ceremony, and by some freak of nature, as I mentioned earlier, had TWO parties to do that evening, back to back. I rushed to the first one, fighting traffic and wrong turns the whole way until I was finally there. I did that party, then rushed to the next one. The party lasted until about 10:30... I stumbled out at 11. My hair drooped. My head  drooped. My eyes were sandbags that wouldn't stay open. I was so tired that as soon as I got on the highway I had to pull off at an exit and rest at a gas station. I locked my doors, but this time I was so tired I slept through my alarm and when I awoke, it was after 1:00 A.M. the lights were dark and it was scarily quiet. I sighed and couldn't believe myself. By some miracle I made it home. I stumbled into bed, all of my more tired that I had ever been.

Saturday I had two parties, but thankfully was able to sleep in until about 8; still tired, but the tiredness wasn't critical as it had been. I was able to relax the rest of the evening, go for a run, make lunch for the week and unwind. Today was even better; I had a relaxing morning and even fit in some studying amongst my ritual weekend chores (vacuuming, tea making, organizing my balloon aprons, paint brush cleaning and remembering that I should wash my sheets). I managed to get it all done, go to a birthday party as the Frozen Queen up in Jasper, get a pretty view of the mountains and stop there for a Walmart shopping trip, since I have yet to find the Walmart in ATL and don't know that if I find it that I'll necessarily like what I see (Atlanta is sketchy enough as it is!)

So this weekend has been good for me, and I learned a very important lesson on the power of sleep. If I keep myself centered and focused, I think I will be fine. I know PT school is going to be hard... but I know that everytime I think of the people I am passionate about helping, that I will remember how worth it this journey will be.

It's here, guys. My dream of being a Physical Therapist is here, and it begins with this single step, this single first day.

Here goes nothing, and here's to getting used to having males in my class again after 3 years at a women's college.
Go Bears! ;)