It Varies.

I don't love being defined by numbers. As compliant or noncompliant. But, this is what you will experience during a typical endocrinologist visit for Diabetes. I don't think people mean to, that's just the way it goes. Diabetes is an illness that a lot of people view as black or white when you have it. When you're a good diabetic: your A1C is good. When you're bad: You ate too much sugar and you just didn't care enough to take care of yourself. I mean, how hard can controlling your levels be? Just don't eat sugar, right?  (This is a common misconception).
I arrived at my endo appointment at 9:50 on Friday, dropped my car off at the valet, and stared up at Emory's towering building and up into the bright morning sky before walking in. I couldn't remember what floor in this massive building that my doctor was on, but I hopped on an elevator and got out with a group of people at floor 15. Turns out I was lucky, as I saw the sign for the doctor's office and walked into the quiet waiting area filled with people. I waited about 15 minutes before my name was called. The medical assistant took my weight, then took my blood pressure, and proceeded to ask me questions. "How much medication do you take daily?" I told her approximately how many units of Humalog I took daily. I always had to guess, since I count carbs, and what I eat day by day varies. I gave my best guess. "And are you more compliant with your medications than last time?" I looked at her. It's true, when I first came in three months back, I hadn't been very compliant. I had promised to work on that. I had - I was injecting into my abdomen more, and my insulin absorption was better. I was keeping track of my blood sugar better. I wasn't perfect though. I was still working on it. Then there was the fact that I was running out of short acting insulin, but it was expensive with the copay... insulin was a commodity and I didn't want to accidentally overgive any of it.
"Yes." I answered.
"And what level do you usually wake up at?" She asked.
"I don't know. It varies. Today I woke up low."
"Well when is it normally high?"
"I don't know... it varies. It just depends on what I eat."
"And are you compliant with a low carb diet?"
"Yes."
"Your A1C was a little higher than the doctor wanted it last time, so we will take it again today."

"Okay."
The nurse was nice about not seeming judgemental, but I sighed inwardly nonetheless. I hate this back and forth, the "it varies" blood sugar levels. It's hard for me to explain why I was so noncompliant the past half year. There were a lot of factors that caused that. But, despite that. I was here now. I was not getting any awards for "best diabetic of the year." I would continue to try harder over the next three months. But it doesn't always matter. When you come in with not the best numbers, that's what you are: noncompliant. You did something wrong to get there. Didn't try hard enough, didn't eat quite right, didn't give enough medication, so on. It's something you did. I suppose that's fair. I didn't try hard enough. I let myself slip too much.

But some days that's heavy - you never wanted this disease, you grew up expecting a fully functioning pancreas. Diabetes makes your life hard, and people don't understand it. People make fun of it sometimes. People don't see how tough it can be. Life goes on; it's still hard. Day in, day out, you're tracking numbers, giving insulin. You slip, and suddenly dozens of little slip ups turn into 3 months and you're sitting there answering questions about how you don't know exactly how much insulin you give each meal or when most of your highs happen; they just do. Burnout happens. I think it's inevitable. But you're stuck in your body nonetheless, and this is the body I'm stuck in. It doesn't matter whether or not I get burned out. The fluctuating sugar levels hurt me more than any judgement from the healthcare practitioners that I'm a patient to. I know they care, I'm just frustrated with having this illness sometimes, but I'm the one that suffers if I don't give it my best effort. I'm young though, I can get myself back to the good A1C I used to have, I can be more disciplined. It's a process, but I can do it, and I do it for me.
I met with the diabetes educator that same day after my appointment. I hadn't been to a diabetes educator since I was first diagnosed. I remember those spring days clearly, years ago. My endo, Marie, who also had diabetes, inspiring me to power through it. She was beautiful and successful and she inspired me to do anything I wanted. She even belly danced. She had told me she was having her first baby and going to be a stay at home mom for a while. I missed her at all my subsequent visits when I still went to my doctor's visits in Florida. I remember attending seminars on counting carbs for apples because the carbs in different apples and apple sizes varied so greatly. I even remember the shade of eyeshadow I wore that day. That whole spring was new and scary as I accustomed to life with a new disease, learning to see the world through new lenses.
 Now, 6 years later, I hadn't had insurance for a long time, and my knowledge of diabetes technology had honestly sort of frozen since the time I was first diagnosed 6 years ago. Back then, continuous glucose monitors weren't covered by insurance because they were new technology. Insulin pumps were not tubeless. There was new insulin I hadn't heard of, like Toujeo. The diabetes educator showed me a tubeless pump called the omnipod and for the first time ever,  I actually thought I'd consider getting on once I got good insurance in August with whatever job I'd be working. I liked the idea of a pod I could refill with insulin every three days. I liked the lack of tubing. No shots every 3 days! I was game. I told her I wanted to get a CGM too - I'd always wanted that little machine to constantly monitor my BG levels. I left a little hopeful that I could have access to this new technology and make diabetes care easier. She gave me a demo kit that I could wear to just see what it would be like to have the insulin pump on. I plan to try it this week and write about it.

That doesn't mean I don't want to wake up and have this illness be gone one day though. As I was standing out in the waiting room paying my copay at the end of my visit, I watched people outside the doors walk by and get into the elevators. I went downstairs, and watched people around me get into cars. I grabbed my ticket from valet and walked outside to wait for my car to be pulled up. All of the people around me had their own unique problems. They were seeing doctors for one reason or another. Maybe it wasn't diabetes. Maybe they had never known what it was like to give shots all day, to count carbs like numbers in your bank account. To have dreams about eating without giving a shot. To not get blood drawn and pinpricks on a regular basis. They have their own burdens to bear.

Diabetes, whether I like it or not, just so happens to be mine.

It May Be Funny, But That Still Doesn't Necessarily Mean You Should Do It...

I would just like to throw out to the crowd a recent thing that happened to me and put out my thoughts on it. It may make me sound like an uptight Type A with no sense of humour; it may be justified; I don't know. It's just one of many opinions.

When I first got to Mercer, literally one of our first sessions during orientation involved the use of people first language. In short, this basically means that, out of respect, you shouldn't call your patient "your 3 pm shoulder", but rather, should refer to them as, "your patient with shoulder pain (or whatever condition) that has a 3 pm appointment." Taking it further, for example, you shouldn't say "the blind man", but rather, "the man who is vision impaired." It may seem like a subtle difference to some, but I do think it is an important difference. We as people should not be defined by our conditions, our weaknesses, what's wrong with us. People first language gives dignity and respect to your patients. It treats them like people - not diagnoses. And this is why I certainly support it, especially as someone with a chronic disease.

So imagine my disdain when I literally hear my professor last week correcting someone about a patient with (x) condition. "It's a patient with (condition),", not your (condition) patient," she corrected one of my classmates.
20 minutes later we are concluding class, and the topic of diabetes comes up. I give some diabetic blood glucose ranges to the class and our professor apparently remembers something she wants to show us. It's the last 10 minutes of class. She pulls up a video. It's the "diabetes rap", if you've never seen it. I actually hadn't, but I had certainly seen the memes of a white mustached man stating "Diabeetus" for the world to ridicule.

This video is funny for like.... the first 30 seconds. I'll give it that. I chuckled a little in class. But by the time we hit minute 3, I start to get really frustrated. Why is it that it's okay for a program that teaches people first language since literally day one to literally mock an illness that kills hundreds of thousands every year? It may not be that serious day to day for people like me. Some days can be totally normal. You'd look at me and never know I have a life threatening illness. But diabetes is life threatening. Diabetes changed my whole life. I've heard stories of people going to sleep and never waking up from lows. There's an American Idol contestant or winner (can't remember) that lived on the streets and couldn't outright afford her insulin for years. People spend more money on insulin than mortgages sometimes...Kids cry over this condition. Kids have eating disorders because of this condition. They are different than their friends because of this condition. Moms worry if their diabetic children will be ok during simple sleepovers because of this condition. I cried three weeks ago because the pharmacy tech essentially mocked the insulin prices I have to pay regardless of whether I want to. I deliberately don't give myself shots in my arm because I'll bruise and bleed there every time if I do, and the fact that I know that (which is sad) is because of this disease.
Whether I like it or not, diabetes has shaped a part of me. But it doesn't define me. And I'm proud of all I have had to do to fight to survive. I fight every day to survive. Every time I prick myself with another needle, I'm telling myself I want to survive. Not everyone can be that strong. And when all of that hardship mixed with triumph in trying to overcome this gets trivialized in a moment to people laughing at videos like these... well, it kind of hurts. It hurts a lot. I don't appreciate it when people decide to define what they think diabetes is on their own and it ends up turning out really derogatory towards people that never did anything to get the disease.

So that is why I started to take some offense to this situation. I don't find it appropriate for someone in a professional position that is not only teaching me but corrected someone that same day on people first language to show a video mocking Diabetes. If my friends do it, that's one thing. If I do it, that's my prerogative. I can deal with some humour. But I get frustrated at the fact that Diabetes consistently appears to be the ONE exception to the rule that it's not actually socially acceptable to make fun of medical conditions. Please don't trivialize such a serious condition in this manner, especially if you are in a professional academia setting... it erodes all of your credibility with me. I hope someday this mindset towards Diabetes changes, because in the meantime, people like me are stuck with a disease that can kill you and drastically reduce your quality of life, but it's okay to make fun of it.
That's all for this evening. End rant.

How Little You Know

Looking back on this last year, I am in utter and absolute awe at how fast everything has gone by. A year ago, I was prepping to complete my final competency for my didactic coursework at school. I was emailing my first clinical instructor and preparing for internship #1! I was planning a wedding.

Fast forward one year. I have traveled out of country. I've completed all of my clinical and didactic coursework for school. I'm graduating May 13th. I've been married for nearly a year. I'm applying for physical therapy jobs. My husband started his own journey in school on the way to becoming a physician.

I'm so content and full with life right now. It has had its ups and downs, but I'm truly blessed. I have a sweet and smart husband who loves me so perfectly everyday. I knew so little a year and a half ago, and when I got engaged! There's so much I could have told myself back then. The wedding was only the beginning of a much longer life; only a small part of the picture of our bigger every day lives. After all, what is life, but thousands upon thousands of little 24 hour days, each with their own unique experiences, events, emotions, memories? You have to learn to love the little days. The "chill" days, the gloriously normal days. Lacy this past year has learned about sharing finances, of letting go of some of her control freak-ness, and learned about trust. You have to trust the other person to act on their judgement. You also have to collaborate to come to decisions; not because of codependency, but heck, out of respect (that's been a big thing for independent stubborn me). That girl, since a year and a half ago, has learned about priorities. She's learned that if you ave one car that week and it's raining but it's you're only day off and you really just want to sleep in, you need to get up and take your husband to class. Because it's so rewarding to your relationship to do good and be supportive. I'll often stay at Kris's work until 10:30 at night just to drive him home so he doesn't have to bike home in the dark, or keep him company. Now I'm the one that drives so my husband can do homework in the car instead of the other way around! I think appreciatively back at the times where he'd stay at work with me until midnight practicing. Where he'd stay up with me studying until he fell asleep.

You do things and you don't keep score. It's not about who emptied the cat litter x amount of times this week. You're a team and you each do your part. My husband is probably never going to clean the same way I do. But he cooks amazing french fries and takes out the garbage all the time. It works out.
I've learned how important it is to care of yourselves and your soul. Be good to each other. Take time to get away. Hike. Hold hands at church. Put your phone away when you're at dinner. You may not even realize that your day to day is wearing you both down, and then suddenly you've been working all week, spent one night alone over dinner and that's it, and you realize you've hardly had time just to enjoy with each other in a long time. For me, I've learned a lot about work-life balance. Sometimes, it's about not taking that extra job and deciding to go out of town, just the two of you, that weekend. It doesn't even have to be anything fancy. You can travel on a budget. But the important thing is, you're taking time to tell the other person they are important.
You learn to listen better. Ask questions. Bring them water when it's 12 am and you just got in bed and you're tired. Let them play the music they like. There's so many things.

Because that person will do the same things for you. It's a privilege to share my life with someone who is just as devoted as I am. To know I have a permanent advocate for me, a forever teammate in life. Someone I enjoy not just the big things, but the every days, with. I've enjoyed these past 11 months of learning. I look forward to a lifetime of it.

Maybe There's a Coupon?

Yeah, so, I had a little bit of a bad day. As you might recall from my post a few months ago, I had a somewhat successful visit to my endocrinologist a couple of months ago, but hadn't yet gone to fill my prescriptions. Looking at my dwindling supply in the fridge the other day, I figured it was time, because that supply was not going to last me until August when I start working. I filled them last week. I went to the pharmacist with about 6 prescriptions, and she came back with 2 that were covered by my insurance out of those: the Lantus and my test strips. When I read the copay, I looked at the Lantus and looked at the One Touch strips. "How much is the copay on each of those?" I asked. "The Lantus is $9. The strips are $70."
I sighed. The strips were obscene. So, I opted out of those (I can get them for cheap using a cheap meter on amazon) and bought the Lantus, which I couldn't believe was so cheap. Mind you - this was the first time I'd filled an actual prescription covered by insurance in almost 2.5 years. I was ecstatic, but a little confused. My insurance benefits didn't look like they covered that much of my insulin, but I didn't question it.
My short acting insulin (Humalog) hadn't been filled though. "It's not covered by your insurance. They prefer Novolog," the pharmacist said.
I called my doctor the next day to ask him to call in a Novolog prescription instead. I liked the Novolog pens a little better anyways. For once, I actually felt really... hopeful? I had not expected my insurance to make my insulin so affordable!

So imagine me walking into the pharmacy today, expecting the same great copay on insurance. I'm so naive! I walked up to the drop-off counter and waited for someone to notice me. A man looked up from giggling with some girl that looked like a student and asked if he could help me. I was still wearing my Mercer "student physical therapist" name tag. I know this pharmacy used a lot of Mercer pharmD students.
"Is there any way I can check to see if my doctor called a prescription in?" He looked at my name tag, then asked my name and DOB. And then that's where the frustration began. "Yeah, you've got a few..."
"Is there one for Novolog?"
He looked at the screen. "Yeah. Ooooh, but ouch," be sucked his breath in. "Wow, but it's expensive! Are you sure you want that?" He looked at the student and they looked at me and smirked a little, giggling.
"Umm. How much?" I asked, blinking, somewhat abashed. He told me the number. I swallowed hard. Was that funny? Was this a joke? I needed it to live. It's not like affording it was even an option.

It was a lot more than $9, or some test strips I didn't want to pay for.
"But... aren't they covered by my insurance?" I asked. "Yeah, well, maybe it's not preferred by them."
"It is. They said they preferred it over Humalog. Why is it so much more than the Lantus?"

"Oh, well, that was paired with a coupon that week. You just got lucky I guess. Normally that would have been... wow, $400 for you! Could be that your insurance just isn't that great."

"Oh." I said, my spirits falling. "Well, what about this prescription savings card?"
He looked at it. "Yeah, um, that's just a generic card."
"Check. Please. I don't really know how this works or what else I can do."

He typed it into the computer. "Yeah, it'd be a lot more than even with the insurance. Maybe there's a coupon online?"
Someone else walked up behind me to fill a prescription. I frantically pulled up my phone and searched for any coupon. I downloaded one and got back in line after the other person had finished.

"This one is just like the other card you handed me. You didn't get a Novolog coupon?"

"They don't have any. Um. Are the vials any cheaper?" I asked.
He typed some more into the computer.
"So what program are you in at Mercer?"

I looked at him, then looked down at my name tag with the big "student physical therapist" across it.
"Physical Therapy."
"Oh, cool. What year?"
"I'm finishing up in May."
"Wow, congratulations!"
I looked at him, with what I'm sure was exhaustion and frustration emanating from my face.

"So. Vials. They're $70 per vial."

"Per vial?" That's more than they would cost individually in the 5-pack. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Well didn't Novo Nordisk just partner with some pharmacies for cheaper insulin? What about that program for $25 insulin at CVS?"
"That's probably just coupons too."

"There are no coupons. It's not. Isn't there something?"
"Well, no, probably not. So, do you want me to go ahead and fill this?"

I looked at him, swallowing back what were the familiar hot tears of years of frustration, underinsurance, exasperation, exhaustion, sadness. God, I didn't want to be diabetic anymore. I never asked for this.
"Um, no. No. I'll check back later," I said, turning away, holding back the tears again. The same old tears I'd cried for years, remembering these hard years, grateful at least that they were almost over.
I went to my car, let some tears fall down my face, looked up some patient assistant programs.
And you know what sucks about this all? I looked at the patient care assistant programs. They don't help you pay for your insulin unless you don't have insurance... which I was forced to get. Sighing, I put my phone away and drove home, giving myself a pep talk.
It was going to be okay. God had provided for me for years, through all of this hardship. Somehow, despite all of this difficulty, I had had insulin, whether through luck, the generosity of others, the foresight of doctors... somehow, I had had enough through all these years. And I'm frustrated, especially by the insensitiveness of the tech at Kroger today, but I'm thankful that I'd had enough. Here's hoping the blessed end to this struggle finally comes soon. It can't come soon enough,

Stress, School, Work, and Staying Positive.

Sitting in the white coat ceremony that afternoon, I kept pinching my leg not to fall asleep. My eyes opened and closed. They became dry from staring intently at the podium in front of me. I tapped my foot against the floor, trying every trick I could think of to not doze off.
I left the white coat ceremony in a hurry. Shedding my coat and placing it on my back seat, I donned a colorful tutu, shirt, and hairband and made the hour and a half trip in traffic to Stockbridge for a ninja turtle party. Pasting a smile on my face, I face painted and balloon twisted everyone's share of Leonardo and Michelangelo turtle faces, and then hopped back in the car and drove an hour and a half north to Cumming to do another party that Friday evening.

I'd just gotten back from Florida two days prior, then turned around at awoken at 6 to get to my first day of PT school Wednesday orientation at 8 am. I had a long stretch of 3 years ahead of me. I was excited but it seemed like a mountain I had yet to climb, and I wasn't even at the base of it yet. I was staring at it in the distance, not even knowing what I was fully in for...
I finished my second gig, stumbling out at half past 10, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
Suffering from an intense lack of sleep, I pulled my car into the side lot of the QT at the nearest exit I found, pushed the seat rest in my car back, and passed out for 2 hours, still in princess garb I'd changed into at a stoplight between parties that evening. It was almost 12 am when I awoke in the lot. I was exhausted. I somehow made it the 30 minutes south to my new home in east atlanta with the cold air blasting, windows down and music blaring.

It was only my second day of PT school orientation. The weekend was ahead of me, but I had 4 parties the next day and one on Sunday. I sighed. My first party was at 10 am in Macon, so I would have to wake up at 7 am to get ready...

School and work. Work and school. Tired, tired, tired. I have climbed that mountain for years now. I had nights where I cried from the sheer overwhelmingness of it all. Afternoons I'd come home from school and I'd fall asleep in my car the moment I turned it off, not awakening until it was dark out. I remember one afternoon during my first semester of PT school where it all felt like too much. I had too much personal stuff going on, my ex was badgering me, I couldn't handle it. I started sobbing at my locker before cadaver lab. I remember crunching it in spring, clenching my teeth, hoping I'd skin by in classes and make it through the hardest semester. Someday, this was going to be worth it, I hoped. Even if I didn't feel like I was "getting" it and I struggled more than everyone else. I could do it. I stayed up a little later at night to finish homework during the week because I didn't have the time on weekends. 5 hours of sleep was lucky for me. Rare Sundays I had off, I savoured like candy, soaking in the sun at bright, warm coffee shops, feeling normal for a second. I put myself through that, yes. Part of me likes the struggle, running a business, working. Honestly, I loved what I did - I still do. When I felt like I failed at all things physical therapy, I knew I was good at parties. At being a princess. It made me feel empowered and good about myself. Able bodied. Someday, I'd have enough experience as a therapist that doing physical therapy would be as comfortable to me as doing a party. Besides, I like to do things. I like to stay active. I have a very hard time staying still. I should in fact, be better about living in the moment instead of planning every little detail. I don't regret any of it - working and doing school. I've hated and savoured all the moments of the past 2.5/3 years. I've learned so much about myself. I've grown more confident. I've learned better communication. Better responsibility. Become a harder worker. Perhaps more importantly, I have more of a hunger to go farther, to learn more, I realize I've only reached the tip of the iceberg in what there is to know so far.

As I worked in clinic today, I had the privilege of going out into the waiting room and calling my patient back. He lept up as soon as he saw me...with a cane in his hand. A cane! He had been walking with a rolling walker the past few weeks with a horribly unsteady walk, one leg crisscrossing over the other in a pattern that was sure to cause him to fall if he wasn't careful. He looked so proud, and I was proud, too. He hand't just gained the safe ability to walk back. This was the demeanor of a man who looked confident and strong. And if I helped facilitate that a little bit, then I was blessed to have done my job. I was working with a woman somewhat less than ecstatic about being in therapy today. Her hat fell off revealing a head full of newly curled hair, which I told her I loved. She beamed at the acknowledgement, her face lighting up. "I just went out to get it done," she said. "I haven't been able to get out and get my hair done in a while, but I'm more comfortable about walking now," she said. (Sometimes it's not just about the physical therapy. People need to feel good about themselves).
There's a poem by Emily Dickinson that goes, "if I can help one bird into his nest again, I shall not live in vain."
These past few years have been hard, but they have not been in vain. I have discovered a lot of keys to staying sane, to using every moment wisely, to still finding things to love in life. Setting aside time for hobbies such as my dancing. Going on little day or weekend trips - to the mountains, or to Asheville, or Charleston - that breath of fresh air out of the city enlivens my soul and helps me breathe again. Those escape days to the mountains refreshed me and made me feel at peace and ready for the next day. And the nights I laid alone, feeling alone in a big city where I hardly knew anyone? I wrote them down in journals, and now I look back on them, at a time that now feels like it ended almost as soon as it began. You don't stay alone forever. Things fall into place. They all fell into place when I met my husband, and so much of my crazy, sometimes overwhelming life made sense. The world I'd tried very hard to learn to love alone became one I could share with a second person. The places I learned to love with the spirit of adventure on my own, simply for the sheer joy of loving them - became fond memories with the person I loved. The sadness of my past became things I chased away as we talked late into the night. And I had a helping hand to guide me through the difficulties as they still unraveled.

Wow, these past few years have been crazy. But as I'm nearing my final two weeks of clinic as a student physical therapist - man, have they been worthwhile. My life is still going to be full of struggles, but I'm here now. For a little while, I can start to breathe.

2 More Months!

Reality is setting in around me as I am in clinic for the last 4 weeks. Next week will make 3 more weeks until I'm back at school and getting prepared for graduation. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! In little over two months I will be Doctor Lacy Mason, PT, DPT. I couldn't be more thrilled. Everything I've dreamed of the past few years is coming to fruition. The struggles of endless nights staying awake trying to study, the nervewracking competencies, staying at school until 11 pm (even when I desperately didn't want to be there) practicing this one last skill or that one presentation... this time in my life is coming to a close. My days are filled with seeing patients, documenting, clinic life. The work is hard, but I much prefer it to the rigours of school and the endless pounding out of assignments. Studying for boards is something I am imminently nervous of, but I plan to study over the summer so I'll be ready in July. Until then, I've filled my time looking into part-time jobs to make extra cash over the summer, made plans with friends to see them, and checked out my heart's content of books at the library to last me all throughout the upcoming months.

On the flipside, my husband recently started school this Spring to pursue his dreams of becoming a doctor. It's weird, having our roles reversed. When I first met him, I was a PT student just barely beginning my third semester of school, tired and frazzled and overwhelmed. My husband gently accompanied me through all of those difficult months. He was a patient practice subject for my friends and I, and he didn't laugh too hard when I did an evaluation component wrong or asked him to act as though he had a flaccid arm during an evaluation. He would brew me coffee late and night or in the early mornings, or make breakfast for me before leaving for school. He'd share lunch breaks with me in between class and keep me company while I studied at coffee shops. He drove me to work so I could study in between jobs, or drove us to hiking on Sundays off to allow me to finish my assignments and still have fun with him. My husband got me through my difficult coursework and some of the hardest semesters of my life, and it's in such huge part to him that he gave me the patience and confidence I needed to flourish both and school and as a significant other.
The roles are reversed: I drive to hiking now while he does school work. I keep him company at coffee shops while he studies! He's up late doing schoolwork and juggling classes while I am learning the finer points of working life. I don't mind the role reversal. I don't envy him - I'm glad I did my time and I'm also done. But I'm glad that it's my turn to mentor and encourage him, to let him know that the payoff will be worth it. The payoff is worth it - it's incredibly hard to juggle school and life and take risks for your future and apply to schools that dictate your future that you aren't sure you'll get into. It's hard having your entire life pretty much come down to a transcript. But we'll get him there.

This spring has got me thinking, "what's next?" I'm 23 - I'm married - I'm about to graduate. I've nearly met my "big" life goals. We aren't really thinking that we want kids. What kind of things do you do when your accomplishments have been met, when you've met the big goals? How do you fill your days? I've done a lot of soul searching these past few weeks to try and figure this out. We've attended church regularly. Made plans to hang out with old and new friends. Got library cards. We take weekend and day trips. We swing dance. I write. We still go on dates. I'm nerdy and I make 5, 10 year financial plans. I guess what I've found from this is that you need to continuously pursue growth and hobbies and passions. Do things that excite you, whether it's coffee once a week, biking, working out, dancing, seeing friends, visiting new places. Enjoying the here and now. For so long, I have had my eyes on the future. "When I graduate..." and, "when I'm done with school I'll do this, or this", or "If only I wasn't in school".
Those what-if's and when's are here now! Now I'm faced with their reality and I'm learning what to do with it all. I can't complain, though. I could certainly have worse problems than figuring out what to do with all of my days. Maybe my plans will involve more school in the future - I'm not really sure - but for now, I'm excited to begin job searching and beginning my career as a physical therapist. The future isn't without it's stressors, its ups and downs and trials, but it's looking bright.

Why I'm Glad I Went to a Women's College

Women are a popular topic in the news lately! Women's protest, women's empowerment, the birth control/abortion/etc./etc. debate... it's been interesting to watch. It started me thinking on how going to an all-women's school gave me a very unique perspective on what it is to be a woman.
I want to preface this by saying that my decision to attend Wesleyan was never actually because it was all girls'. In fact, this was almost a downside for me when I decided to attend, although I found it interesting and unusual for most colleges of today. I chose Wesleyan because they had wonderful scholarship opportunities, amazingly small class sizes, the faculty and staff was warm, personable and easy to get in touch with and, to be totally and fairly honest, because Wesleyan was in the same city as a guy I was dating at the time (judge as you desire haha).
I heard a lot of mixed things about Wesleyan prior to attending. "It's for Lesbians," and, "There's so much drama! Stay away!" and, "It's a really amazing school." "I can't see why it wouldn't be your first choice." And, from Grandpa, a solid nod of approval, "I like that it's all women. No men to bother you!"

Honestly, it's been the years following my graduation that I've really started to garner a deep and abiding appreciation for the education I received in undergrad. I have come to love Wesleyan more and more as the years have gone on. Wesleyan was full of its ups and downs. It's true, it was very small (less than 700 or so students) meaning fewer fancy amenities, so-so cafeteria food, and not really your "traditional" party or fancy college experience. It was quiet, downright ghost town-ey sometimes, and the weekends even more so. Geese wandered around campus and you could take quiet walks in the arboretum. Foggy mornings walking to class and quiet hallways. The dorms were cute and old and kind of retro, the library was no bigger than many small public libraries. The gym was tiny and no frills, the pool literally looked like something that belonged at the Biltmore estate, and forget Chick-fil-a or Starbucks on campus.

But Wesleyan gave me something a lot better than fancy amenities, quite honestly. Being a female majoring in science, my class sizes were never bigger than about 20-30 students at any given time. Some classes had only 8-10 students. This meant incredible one-on-one time with professors, and it meant we got to do hands-on techniques that some schools with bigger class sizes couldn't do (such as breed real fruit flies and hook up still-beating turtle hearts onto EKG's). It meant, if I had a problem with financial aid or classes, I could just walk in to see who I needed to without having to take a ticket and wait 2-3 hours. And I knew those people personally. They cared about my problems. My professors knew me by name. If I skipped class and they saw me on campus later, they'd hound me about it. The people in the cafeteria knew you and what you usually ate.

And other really unique things: class dynamic are just different when there are no males in the classroom. I'm not saying that having males is a bad thing. But honestly, it was such a safe and comforting space to be surrounded by nothing but other fellow, driven, hardworking females there simply to better themselves. There was less pressure to focus on looks, more space to excel academically. There was a sense of camaraderie and willingness to help your fellow women out. Women felt safe walking around campus - and it was a welcoming environment to really focus on education, not just boys or parties or whatever. There was a sense of empowerment that I think you can only get by interacting with other strong, focused, driven women.

Honestly, while I was going to Wesleyan, I wasn't really big on feminism. I never really have been. But over the years, I suppose I've come to realize that I do support feminism of a kind - recognizing the glass ceiling is there. Supporting fellow women in their endeavors. Supporting women who seek high level professions. Striving to rise up in a career of my choosing with no limitations. I'm a person that seeks success because I want it - not just a woman seeking success. I recognize that women from all different walks of life have different goals and ideals, whether it's stay at home motherhood, doctors, lawyers, CEO's, small business owners, travelers, you name it. There's so much beauty and freedom to pursue what you want. And it's all thanks to brave women in past decades who fought to help make the workplace more welcome for people like me who want to have successful careers. We aren't striving to simply catch up to men. We are equals who will not be held back. Feminism doesn't have to be what you think of it at its extreme: it can just as much be, being thankful for how women have fought for us over the years to change the workplace and give women all the opportunities that any person should have or want. That's why it's important.

Wesleyan helped me see the importance of femininity and womanhood all while empowering me to simply be the best person I could be. It built my focus, drive and confidence and helped provide an atmosphere that felt safe to grow as a person. It encouraged a good balance of femininity and grace, while encouraging drive and passion. Looking back, I had a really special experience, being empowered by fellow women of all races, nationalities and walks of life, striving for their own version of greatness in their lives, striving to be the best they could be. No, it wasn't the typical college experience... but to me, it was the only one I would have wanted. Yes, I had to get used to all-male classes again when I went to grad school (lol).
But Wesleyan was one of a kind, and it made me who I am today: a career-focused, proud, passionate woman who learned so much through having caring professors who took the time to really teach and push me. It was a comfortable place to let myself grow during the transition from a teenager to an adult.
It made me the kind of woman I always wanted to be, and I will always be proud to say I went to an all-women's college!