I saw a pink leaf today

I saw a pink leaf today. It was floating on the river, solitary, brilliant, fuchsia. I was on my way to the pharmacy after physical therapy, when I suddenly turned my handlebars to the left and rode through the cold morning air toward the park, telling myself I could try to survive without one more pill. I rode past people who looked at me funny, either because I had shorts on or because the light on my bike was still on. I nudged it off with one foot and continued on ‘til I reached the river—the White Elster, which in reality is not white at all, but brown. Having long forgotten the ugliness of the graffiti-covered metal, I leant my bike and myself against the side of the dew-covered bridge. The rail was the perfect height for me to lean my elbows against and take some pressure off my back.

I thought about the people who were strolling in the park and crossing this bridge with strollers and sitting on benches alongside the river. Are they healthy? Happy? They probably know how to relax their minds and muscles. People take the time to walk in the park to clear their minds, but all I could do was ask myself unanswerable questions that I usually don’t have time to even think about. And yet, when I’m in one of these moods, that’s all there is—time. It is the only thing I can feel. I am numb and dull and emotionless, but time, thick as fog, slides by my consciousness and I do nothing to stop it. Indeed, I could do nothing if I wanted to.

But then there were other people on bikes, obviously riding to work or school or dentist offices or governmental offices. And joggers. These people had a purpose and probably weren’t out there just to clear their minds. They had an end goal, whether money from a job, education from schooling, or health from exercise. They were using time to accomplish things. Are they happy? Do they sometimes feel overwhelmed by to-do lists chock-full of meaningless items or pain? Do they have days where they wake up with good intentions and end up doing nothing? Do they wish they didn't have roommates or jobs so they wouldn't have to get dressed now and then? If so, what does that mean for me? One can either try to use time and never have enough of it, or give up and feel it painfully slide by.

I needed to go to the bathroom. I checked my cell phone, which has become an indicator of the time and nothing more. Not enough time had yet passed for me to be able to go back and be alone. If I didn’t need to go to the bathroom, I might never go back. Physical needs and expectations of others may be the only reasons we ever do anything at all, I thought.

Though the view of the river and the surroundings woods was beautiful, I found myself looking straight down into the water. There I noticed nothing at all at first. I stared simply to stare, seeing how glassy the water was. My sister would look at this water for its water skiing potential, I thought, and wondered if it was even moving. Eventually I took note of the leaves floating on the surface.

One patch of leaves that floated together caught my eye. It had every color I could think of for a leaf, with its greens and browns and purplish browns and reds and yellows and oranges. Atop a brown leaf were spots of silver that made the bunch sparkle. Watching the leaves, I thought about how they didn’t do anything. They floated along, thinking they were getting somewhere and gathering in bunches. I, in the position of a god, could see the bigger picture. I knew what was ahead and which direction they were going. I knew what other leaves were nearby. If they had asked me, I could have told them what to watch out for. But my perspective shifted, and I saw that actually, I had no god-like role whatsoever. Rather, I was an observer and couldn’t control anything of what I saw. The current was in charge. Though the leaves could think they were headed for a certain accomplishment, without the cooperation of the current, they could do nothing of the sort. Like me, they are drifters in the current of time.

Then my perspective shifted again. I saw how small my reflection in the water was. There was sky and the long line of the bridge, and a small head, peering down into the water. What the water could see of me was my brown hair and the red collar of my jacket. It could see that the handle and the brake of my bike also hung out over the water. From those things, what could the water tell about me? I saw that the water was moving more than I thought, for my reflection in it bobbed jerkily up and down and morphed with the small wells that moved along it.

Slowly I came to realize that the trees lining the water still had green foliage. I couldn’t even see patches of yellow or brown or red, and yet, here was the river full of fallen leaves of all colors. I wasn’t sure if the bunch I was watching was going anywhere with the soft current and thought I could come back in a few hours and take a picture of the patch and the impressionist way the water reflected the trees on the shore. Then I realized I’d had to adjust my head to continue looking at it and it was about to go under the bridge beneath my feet.

Interestingly, the bunch of leaves was moving the opposite direction of what I’d always thought to be the Elster’s current direction. As the bunch disappeared, I looked away before the last leaf was out of sight and thought of my fickleness. A moment later, I realized the bridge had slats and I could probably get another view of the bunch, which I did. Briefly, I looked out over the other side of the bridge, but came back to rest my elbows against the side near my bike. Is it possible to write this nothingness, this passage of time, these drifting thoughts?

Every now and then, a solitary person would stand on the bridge like I was doing, and look out over the water, though none of them really leaned over the side like me. One by one, they continued on their way as I stood there. One woman stood before the bridge, and as I watched, she blew her nose. I wondered if she was crying, or if she had a cold or allergies, or if her nose was just runny because it was cold outside. The thought floated by that I myself should have a runny nose in this cold, as I was wearing running shorts and I was leaning against a wet bridge, but I was unaffected by the cold. Soon, a friend met her and they walked back into the forest without her ever having stepped onto the bridge.

Old people walked together in groups, the tap, tap, tap of their walking poles following them. Are they happy? They seem happy, but when I see these same people on the street, no one smiles anymore. Is a smile a true indicator of happiness?

I first noticed the clouds as I watched the movement of the sky in the water. Something lit up by a promising peep of sun and so marvelously puffy floating in the air, and it took its reflection bobbing below me for me to notice it. I wanted to want to cry. Suddenly, the clouds reminded me of a photograph, a photograph of a boy in a park who had easily won my heart in a few evenings under the stars. In the picture, he was off-center and backlit by a bluish-grayish sky filled with spreading clouds. His hand supported his tilted head, and the question, “You silly, what are you taking a picture of me for?” appeared on his face.

I’d also stood on this bridge with that boy. It had taken a painful walk to get me halfway there and a pause full of discouragement about my health and a jolting piggyback ride to get me the rest of the way, but I’d made it because of his presence and patience. But we never crossed the bridge, instead going back the shortest way possible.

Like then, I wasn’t going to cross the bridge. But there were plenty of dogs and their owners walking by who were doing so. The dogs, big and small, but all well-behaved, trotted and wagged and panted and smiled and I knew that all I ever needed was a dog that would need me and love me and be there for me and be an excuse for me to take a daily walk even when it was cold. But even then there would be moments when that dog wouldn’t want to be with me, when it would explore the trail ahead without me and be more excited about food than it was about me. My favorite dog breed walked by behind me, its bushy tail curled in the air and wiggling in time to its behind. The owner saw the look on my face and seemed pleased. I considered asking him what kind of dog it was (though I already knew) and if they lived nearby (most likely) and if I could sometimes take the dog for a walk (imagine him backing away slowly).

I continued my water-watching and empathized with all the tragic characters I’d ever encountered—tragic because they thought deeply about life and felt time passing. I thought of the water that meanly laughed at Esther in The Bell Jar and how I had wanted her to succeed. I thought of yellow wallpaper. I thought of The Hours and Virginia Woolf and the girl who couldn’t leave her room because she’d been playing a trick on her brother as he had died outside in the backyard. Then I in all seriousness thought of the boy who wanted to jump off a bridge and when he lost his balance, he landed in a dump truck, and when the garbage man saw him, he said, “That’s a real shame when folks be throwin’ ‘way a perfectly good white boy like that.” These characters were alone. Not that they never saw anyone or had no friends or family, but they were alone among people. Ironically, I’ve learned, when one feels lonely, one wants to be alone, as in, not with other people—at least not with acquaintances, or people who expect answers and smiles. No, it is better to be a silent cipher—a stranger among strangers who stay that way.

But even among non-strangers, there are unforgettable, real moments. In a moment of complete lightness, something completely serious and thought-provoking can be said. Yesterday, when the question “Besides having children, why do people marry?” was posed, I sneered and said, “Good question.” The whole class simultaneously burst into conversations as the teacher tried to find a serious answer that could be heard above the din. Then, in my sarcastic pride, I added, “Ask Petula. Petula, why are you getting married in a few weeks?” Eventually the teacher nodded to Petula, who said she didn’t really have anything to say. “Seriously,” he said, “why?” It seemed that three people were paying attention in that moment—the teacher, Petula, and I—a triangle in the moment of truth. “Naja, damit man nicht allein ist.” Time quickly sped up and the moment went unnoted by anyone but me. When she was surrounded by light-heartedness and my criticism, Petula had spoken out words that rang true.

It’s no wonder women turn bitter who ignore something deep inside that says they need a male companion. But bitterness can also come from recognizing that thing deep inside and having it be constantly battered in its lack of success.

A noise increased in volume behind me, but until I saw the front of a barge emerge from under the bridge, I had thought it was coming from a truck on the other side of the river. The barge had an ugliness that sliced into the river. Its side walls were made of what looked like broken-off cement that had been blackened by years of being submerged in oil. On the middle of the barge was a pile of something also black and oily and shiny that looked small in comparison to the large squareness of the barge. A man drove a small boat that pushed the barge along. The whole sight seemed completely out of place in this relatively quiet, natural setting.

As soon as the wake caught up to the leaves below my section of the bridge, they whirled and bunched up and I thought about how they had had no idea what was coming to them and I could have warned them. But I also knew that before long, they would be placidly floating along again.

In the distance, a bird flew in and landed on the grassy shore. It was a large bird, and when it flew even closer I could see it wasn’t a goose, like I had thought. Its neck and legs were too long and its body too small. It must be some kind of heron, I thought, though I’d always thought they were bigger. The book Dicey’s Song came to mind because its author had also written The Blue Heron, and I thought of how Dicey’s brother and grandma came home to find her without a shirt on and told her that she shouldn’t do that anymore. That was a turning point in her life and I thought of how that awkward point in my life was a difficult one to get through—so difficult that I ignored it until years later when I realized that I had gotten through it, though not unscarred. It shouldn’t have been awkward because it was a normalcy, and it had become my normalcy.

Staring again at the water, I saw movement underneath the surface and was surprised to see some kind of fish, or maybe a tadpole. In such murky water, I’d never seen a fish and would have been surprised if I could have felt any kind of emotion. I watched it flit its tail and now and then cause a circle to spread out on the face of the water.

Then I found the heron again. It walked primly up the hill as if it didn’t want to get its feet dirty, then turned and looked out over the water. No physical need or social expectation is making it look out over the water. Can it see beauty? Or is it waiting for time to pass?

Another glance at the water revealed many tadpoles. Had they been there before, but I’d been too caught up in other things to see them? The sun flashed out from behind the clouds and I had to close my eyes or be blinded, either from the sun itself, or by its reflection coming off the water. I felt my face getting warm. When I could finally look up again, I couldn’t find the heron anywhere. I had even outlasted the heron.

That’s when I spotted the pink leaf. It was a perfect eye-shaped leaf that kept itself parallel to the surface of the water. It didn’t seem to be drifting or bobbing, but floating along, by itself. I immediately noticed how none of the other leaves I could see had such a color. I wished I could pick it out from the water and take it home to see if it really was pink.

Another barge pushed its way through, and glancing between the slats of the bridge, I lost the pink leaf as it got tumbled about in the furious water and pushed together with others. It seemed like the ugly, loud barge took forever to be out of sight.

The time on my cell phone said that most likely enough time had passed. I secured my helmet on my head, turned my bike to face back the way I came, hopped onto the bike while it was standing using my brake (something I never realized was possible until the last six months of bike-based transportation), and rode back through the park.

Wherein I Say Some Things About Health Care

As Jane at Seagull Fountain knows, I've been meaning to write a post on health insurance for a long time. It's not a secret that I despise politics. But I see something brewing that gives me so much hope. Every news source that I actually look at has brought up the subject constantly in the last few years. And though we like to cling to our ways and say that things are working how they are, it seems like a lot of America has finally gotten to the breaking point, to the point where people are realizing that America's health insurance system can't go on like this. For those who don't want to change a thing, I invite you to open your mind for a little while. It's hard to see how good things can be until we try them.

Let's start by taking a look at this map:



(Image found at www.nocaptionneeded.com.)

The orange is Iraq and Afghanistan's universal health coverage provided by the U.S.'s war funding.
Gray indicates countries with no universal health care system.
Blue shows countries with some type of universal health care system.
Green is the countries attempting to implement some kind of universal health care system.

This map seems unbelievably tragic to me. The U.S. is grouped with countries largely considered to be underdeveloped. If you are a modern, powerful (despite the negative sound to this word, let's face the facts), example-setting country, you don't go around with uninsured citizens. Even if you do not fund health care through the government, you make way for your citizens to be healthy. I think this reason to have insurance (as a matter of pride) is probably the weakest reason, which is why I had to get it out of the way. Now on to the real stuff.

The following things sadden me more than any map where countries try to impress each other. American nurses have told me that patients needing emergency care aren't getting it because the emergency rooms are full of the uninsured who go there in order to get some kind of care. That's sad for both sides.

Also, my own parents have spent hundreds of hours, often yearly, filling out paperwork to apply to change insurance companies because of increased costs that they can't afford. There were days of panic when I had appendix and Crohn's Disease problems as a twelve-year-old. My parents have also been denied coverage because of pre-existing conditions--conditions they couldn't take care of because of the money they'd have to pay out-of-pocket. These are problems that really get to me. Why should you be paying for a service that doesn't serve you? Doesn't everyone deserve to be healthy and happy? Doesn't everyone deserve coverage they can afford?

My whole life, I've heard about socialized medicine and its evils--how the doctors have no motivation to be the best, how expensive it is, how it limits insurance companies' competition, etc., etc. But then I moved to Germany and I've found the story to be different than I imagined.

In order to get my student visa, I had to be signed up for health insurance. I walked into DAK, and ten minutes later, I walked out with a piece of paper saying I was covered. No one asked me if I'd had Crohn's Disease when I was 12. No one asked me if heart disease ran in my family. No one even looked to see if I walked like I was healthy. I went in, signed a paper with my bank account info on it (for automatic monthly payments), and left knowing if some crazy health issue were to come along, I'd be taken care of.

It took me a while to understand the ins and outs of the system--how I have to pay 10 Euros each quarter of the year that I want to visit a doctor, how doctors have hours when you can just show up and see them, how I must have a transfer form from the last doctor I went to. But guess what happened? I did have a crazy health issue. In the form of a ridiculous toenail that wouldn't let me sleep or walk normally. But I was covered and could go to any doctor I wanted (meaning I went to the doctor suggested to me). When I wanted to go to the U.S. in the middle of this problem, I only had to pay an extra 8 Euros to have travel insurance, and I was able to visit a doctor while I was in the U.S., who gave me an enormous amount of relief and told me how to deal with the problem probably for the rest of my life.

And then came a whole plethora of crazy health issues. First the never-ending throat pain. Then the sledding accident that did a number on my knee. Then back pain that crippled me. And my chronic neck and shoulder pain reappeared. And I had two cases of carpal tunnel. And hayfever. And skin problems. I needed nose surgery. And my tonsils out.

Having grown up where insurance was something you had but that couldn't really help you anyway, I tried to survive through everything, but I learned that wasn't the brave thing to do, that was the stupid thing to do. And then I started being informed about all the options available to me through my insurance. I started physical therapy and voice therapy. I received a wrist brace. I learned about prevention classes for motion and relaxation and back health. And though I'm still fighting through these issues, there is hope. Instead of feeling discouraged because I don't know how to help myself, I am lifted to know that there are people who can teach me how to live a healthier and pain-free lifestyle, and my insurance, which I'm paying for, will guide me to those people and cover most of the cost of their services.

The contrasts between what I grew up with and see my parents dealing with and my experience in Germany has allowed me to do a lot of thinking about the health care issue. A lot of people automatically criticize Obama's plan without even listening to what he's saying. It seems to me that people are very biased when it comes to presidents. They either hate or worship every little move of the president for four years, when in reality, there have to be some things that you like and some that you don't. Regardless if you like Obama or not, please be open-minded. And besides, some of what he is suggesting is coming from candidates you supported. These changes could be fabulous for you and for my peace of mind. I found this video very informative. It outlines the basics of Obama's health care plan in four minutes; I would suggest it to everyone.

In short, here's the plan:

• If you have insurance you like, you are welcome to keep it!
• There will be no denial because of pre-existing conditions (tears of relief)!
• There will be no dropped/lowered coverage when you're sick and need it the most.
• There will be no yearly/lifetime caps on coverage.
• There will be caps on how much you will be expected to pay out-of-pocket.
• There will be required coverage for preventive care. (Instead of waiting for you to become miserably sick, let's help you stay healthy! What an idea!)
• There will be competitive prices in an insurance marketplace.
• There will be low-cost coverage for individuals and small businesses.
• For individuals or small businesses who can't afford even the most inexpensive health insurance, there will be tax credits.
• No one will be forced to take the public health insurance option--there will also be a private option.
• No dime will be added to the national deficit; it will be paid upfront.
• Medical experts will work together to identify waste.
• Waste will be eliminated.
• The prescription medicine "Drug Hole" will die a horrible death. (Okay, so I added that last dramatic part. The original phrase was "be eliminated.")
• Medical malpractice doohickeys will be reformed.

And though I'm not sure how everything will work, I trust that because of the benefits being aimed for and because other countries have accomplished these things, it will work. I suppose most people's argument with me would be that putting the plan in action won't work as smoothly as is thought. But was a big change ever easy?

One person I talked to said that it's not fair to tell health insurance companies who to cover, because that's telling them how to run their business. Letting something so trivial get in the way of people being able to be healthy and more able to enjoy their lives seems wrong to me. He said that he didn't want to pay more so that other people could be covered, but that's what's happening now. People with insurance are paying more and more because they have to cover those who show up at emergency rooms. I asked him, if people were to suddenly be diagnosed with a horrible disease and unable to pay for medical bills, if they should be left to suffer and even die without help. He hemmed and hawed, but in end effect (something my friend Bryan loves to say), he said yes. Then I made it personal and asked if I were the one in that situation, what would he do? More hemming and hawing. Where is the charity?

The concern about competition for insurance companies is ungrounded. With the option of private insurance, insurance companies can still lure richer people to wait in special waiting rooms, have their own hospital rooms, have their own hours, etc. And I don't really care about this difference as long as I'm covered.

I want to know, that if I were to be suddenly sick and unable to pay for care, that there would be hope for me. I want to know that someone would be able and willing to help me. Being on the other side of the world, I worry about my parents. I worry about my siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. And though the German system isn't perfect, it's comforting. I want to know that the same hope would be available to my loved ones. Being suddenly sick is stressful enough without having to worry about how to pay for care.

Some more items I'd like to add:

Yes, things may be more bureaucratic. But I think a bit of paper-pushing is much better than the fear that the day may come where I'm desperately ill and unable to find relief because of money.

Doctors aren't less motivated. They still get more money if they have a good reputation, because more patients go to them.

Of course, we all know that even when things improve, we still find things to complain about. Please just weigh all the benefits of such a change--America will measure up to the times, you won't be denied care or expected to pay amounts you can't afford, every suffering father, mother, and child in the country will be covered, and you won't have to fear going without care if you were to suddenly become sick.

And now the statement that frees me from attacks and never-ending arguments in my comments: I'm not here to debate; I'm just giving light to my personal observations. Please don't take your frustrations out on me.

Goings-On

My paper proposal was accepted to a Women's Studies conference in San Diego next summer. I would love to go. Should I, though? I won't be a student or even a scholar at that point in time, I would have to pay $100 for the conference, my own flight, and for a hotel and transportation. Hmm.

The doctor told me that I need to go for a walk every day (resulting in a few good chapters of Wuthering Heights being read in the park today, praise the good weather!). And he said to eat a lot more vegetables, so I bought everything I could find at Aldi and am trying them all out. I've made some really awesome recipes (with peppers, cucumbers, potatoes, beans, nectarines, endives, lentils, garlic, onions, etc.), but it has me wondering two things: 1. If vegetables are so great, why is it that when they are in a good recipe, what makes it good is not the vegetable? It's always the spice or cheese or whatever else. 2. Is it really practical to spend so much time cooking? Who knows. Oh, and so many dishes! Plus, I find myself craving, craving, craving something sweet. Savory never was really my thing. (Sorry, Sica.) I thought yogurt was a good fulfiller of that sweet tooth requirement of mine, but the doctor said not to have so much dairy (and not so much white bread).

He's also suggesting I try acupuncture. I don't know anything about acupuncture, but after Tuesday I will, hopefully. I don't even know what questions to ask. I went swimming like he and my physical therapist have suggested, and that seemed to be the perfect solution to not being able to be active recently. And, for Andromeda, I'm posting the exercises I've been doing at home (I'm also doing motion exercises on a small ball, foot-strengthening exercises, carpal tunnel exercises, looking for a Pilates ball to use as a desk chair, and drinking a ton of water):





My nose is still numb and the one side is still bugging me (I think it grew crooked after my surgery at 12 and will never fully recover since it's not growing anymore). Plus, the skin is still so weird. I've never seen anything like it. Tanya suggested a face cleanser, so I made one from oatmeal, cucumber, and yogurt. Its results were very short-lived. Voice therapy is coming along, but applying what I learn to everyday life is hard. I fought with the physical therapist this week. She was really mean and said I couldn't have my last appointment because I hadn't cancelled on time. But the other lady hadn't told me that and had scheduled a new one. If I had known that was the deal, I would have taken that appointment! Lame!

I've really got to learn to relax my muscles, especially in my neck and shoulders--they're always tight. For the mean time, muscle relaxers are getting me through the nights.

I've been loving the quiet around here (and I've been ignoring a lot of phone calls and emails and texts . . . sorry people) and I am not looking forward to having a full apartment again. Plus, where will I put all my vegetables? The fridge is overflowing and I don't like to shop every other day the way Germans do . . .

I may go to Austria and Hungary for a weekend soon. Poland and some specific cities in Germany are also looking good, if I can find some time and some cheap deals.

I dragged my moping self to the stake ball yesterday, a novel in hand (Wuthering Heights). I can't believe I didn't take a picture. That is now the third one I've attended here. Wow, it's interesting to think about all that has happened since that first year. Each time I've spent a lot of time with Jenny and Seppl--the first year, Seppl asked for advice about her as his date. The second year, they had a week left until they got married. I ended up dancing more than I thought would happen. I laughed my head off when I was dancing with Seppl and he asked me how they dance in America. I put my hands around his neck and he yelped, "Stop that! Only married couples do that here!" even though I've never seen anyone do that. Ha ha. At least he got me to laugh a few times. Brother Baasch across the table, who is hilarious and 45 or something, also danced with me after he danced with his wife. Then I danced with Andy and this other guy who whirled me around the dance floor when a waltz was playing (yes, I can waltz now) and we were the only ones. The fact that everyone was watching me just made it nerve-wracking. Funnily, I kicked him over and over because it was way too fast for me, but people said I looked professional. I think they couldn't see my feet under my long skirt. Ha ha. (I wore the long lavender one mom made for me in high school.) Here's at least a picture of my hair before I left:





The water heater has been making weird sounds for longer than usual, so I just turned it off. I'm wondering if I will turn on the heater this winter. I'm already shivering and walking around with a cold nose and using my rice bag for my feet at night . . . and am I ever going to eat chocolate again?

And two surprising developments: I've signed up to take Chinese and Spanish. Both seem to be very useful languages. Wahoo!

Is that enough of an update?

Sitting in the Crotch of a Fig Tree

There were days in my young life when I would go to the library once a week and check out seven books so I could read one each day. I remember putting them in order so that the ones I was most excited about were last in the pile. Opening each book was like Christmas--I was breathlessly excited for whatever awaited me.

Like those days, I went to the library this week and checked out five books on hold for me. Every one is a book I've been meaning to read for a long time. And the first one I popped open engulfed me, so much so that I thought, "Wow, interesting how this author didn't split the book up into chapters" shortly before turning the page and discovering chapter 8. Just like old times, I was so glad to be reading and every moment I wasn't, I wished I were, until there were no more pages and I mourned their loss. Books can have such a marvelous effect on me. I delve into the characters and learn new things about myself through them. This last book especially did that and I hope the next will, too.

Before I start the next book, though, I wanted to share a passage with you.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.(85-86)

Without using some online search tool, who can tell me what book the passage comes from?

Pioneer Woman

I have no idea how I missed the famous blogger, Ree Drummond, a.k.a. "Pioneer Woman," for so long. I did, after all, write my master's thesis on mommy blogs. But anyway, I found a link to her blog and ended up reading her novel-sized, dramatic, post-by-post story of how she, a city girl, fell in love with a cowboy. I won't lie. I was addicted after a few paragraphs and couldn't wait to read each chapter. I finished before the day was out, though I had a lot of other things to do.

She is so funny and her writing flows really well. Plus, the story is the kind that makes me sigh.

And I love how after a lot of lovey-doveyness, she gives her male readers a break by showing pictures of a baler. Ha ha. Here you can find the baler post (James might like this).

This is my favorite chapter because that's the way I want to feel about someone, that it's just right.

Here you can find all the chapters (warning, they're addictive!). So go read Black Heels to Tractor Wheels.

What I Wish I'd Known Before I Had Surgery in Germany (and Pictures)

Sorry, Tanya, that I didn't post pics of me, post-bandage/splint removal, earlier. Just beware. These pictures are without makeup, and my skin was (and still is!) very angry about having been under a bandage for two weeks. Also note that I have no idea/no feeling for if my nose looks different. I do know that the point of it is now directly above the middle of my lip (that's what the doctor said, anyway).



I also took a side picture for your enjoyment analysis. Sorry I don't have any pre-pictures. I always hated side pictures.




I was telling some friends of mine that I felt like I was very uninformed before and after surgery, something that might result in lawsuit in the U.S. I was assured that my experience was nothing compared to that in the GDR. Yeah, don't even want to think about that. Many Americans have said I was brave to do surgery here, but Germany is very modern and efficient, I felt good about the doctor I was referred to, and I'm actually insured here (thanks for covering all my health issues this year, DAK).

But anyway, I wish I had known:
-That German hospitals do not give out towels or soap.
-That I could ask for a sleeping pill (I discovered this two days too late) and muscle pain salve.
-That the water and such in the hall was for patients to stock up on.
-That there is no phone in the rooms and no free wifi (a girl can dream, can't she?). There were phone jacks and I heard that you could pay to make phone calls somehow, but mostly patients are expected to use their cell phones. (Mom, thanks for making your way through German to talk to me.)
-That five or so different doctors would be responsible for my recovery (this might just be because the head doctor went on vacation the day after my surgery).

Specific to the nose surgery:
-That I would have black eyes.
-That I would need to ice my nose and eyes.
-That I would have nose stops for the first night and major trouble breathing for the first two weeks.
-That the cleaning out of my nose would sometimes hurt my vocal cords or something else deep inside my head . . .
-That I would have an intensely dry mouth and sore throat from breathing through my mouth (I would have brought all my anti-sore throat stuff).
-That I would be able to smell rotting snot in my sinuses. (Believe me, it's not any more pleasant for me than it is for you.)
-That they would let me go without any instructions or pain medication.
-That the nose oil would smell like orange and greasily run everywhere.
-That I shouldn't buy saline spray because three days later I would be told to only use the nose oil.

Specific to me:
-That the pain medication in my IV after the surgery was not a good idea (Dormicum).
-That my skin would react very badly to being under a bandage for two weeks. The way it's looking now, it's going to take longer to get better than it took for it to get that bad.
-That my back would hurt more than my nose ever would.
-That the nose oil would cause some major oil problems under my nose.

What I still wish I knew:
-Why I'm supposed to stay out of the sun for six weeks. Is that for my nose specifically?
-Why one side is still weird. Three doctors now have said it's just swollen still, but I don't trust that because the two nostrils are shaped so differently. Is it because it healed crookedly when I was 12 and then grew that way? I guess this doesn't matter that much since I can breathe, but after going through all that, you would hope . . .
-Why is the skin on my nose so weird right now? I don't think they did anything with it during surgery, did they? Is that going to go away?
-Why I won't have another appointment with them for a year (at least they suggested I see my normal ENT, who cleaned out my nose yet again).

Things I did hear about for which I'm grateful:
-That I should bring slippers.
-That I should bring shampoo.
-That I should bring normal clothing.

Here's what I look like twenty days after the surgery (you can see the weird side really well in this picture):





But in the end, none of the negative things matter. I lived to tell about it and I'm breathing sooooo deeply. Mmmmm.

Russian Tongue Twisters

Just a test to see if my brother ever reads my blog.

Klara ukrala u Karla Korally, a Karl u Klary ukral klarnet. (Clara has stolen corals from Carl, and Carl has stolen a clarinet from Clara.)

Na dvore - trava, na trave - drova, ne rubi drova na trave dvora. (There is grass in the garden, there is firewood on the grass, don't cut firewood on the grass of the garden.)

Shla Sasha po shosse i sosala sushku. (Sasha was walking along the street and eating a biscuit.)

And finally, I think this is the one he told us:

Yekhal Greka tcherez reku, vidit Greka v reke rak; sunul Greka ruku v reku, rak za ruku Greku tsap. (Greka was walking across the river, Greka saw a crayfish in the river; Greka put his hand in the river, and the crayfish snatched Greka's hand.)

I have no idea how to say any of them, but I wish now I'd recorded Jeff saying the last one. Who knows? Maybe he'll read this post and send me a youtube link of himself.

Update:

And he does! What do you know? (Actually, I suspect he heard about this post from Amy, but okay.)

Happy 96th!

This favorite old guy of mine turned 96 today. It was great to talk to Uncle Al. He said, "Well, call me again when I turn 97, okay?" I think I'll call him again before then, but I hope to sing happy birthday to him again next year too.





You can read a little about him here and see pictures of him here.

Oregon Trail

Did you ever play the computer game Oregon Trail? We had it at school and I always wished I had it at home. I remember somehow getting the Amazon version of the game and loving it. I think those games were precursors to reality shows.

Anyway, if you at least know something about Oregon Trail, I think you will laugh as hard at this video as I did:

Yes, You May Read My Thesis (But You Don't Have To)

After making some post-published edits for my own peace of mind, here is my thesis for anyone who would like to read it. I'm not forcing anyone. It's long. And jargony in places. And not as good as it could be. But please agree not to point out any petty mistakes as they will only drive me crazy. (Yikes, okay, maybe point them out because it might bug me not knowing what you discovered!) The Mommy Blog Thesis Michelle Glauser 2009.

Sächsische Schweiz August 2009

Oh, people, I have to tell you about finally going to the Sächsische Schweiz (Saxon Switzerland). It was simply lovely.

As a reward to myself for having turned in my thesis, I drove with the Austins to Schöna (the "schön" part means "pretty"), and we were a bit early. Then, because a semi fell off a bridge, we waited several hours for the key to the cabin (everyone was sleeping there, though I had planned to sleep outside). We ended up starting a fire and roasting Bratwurst, which worked out beautifully and kept us distracted. I was dealing with a lot of neck, shoulder, and back pain, so Sister Austin kindly gave me a massage for a bit. I slept outside on top of the picnic table. Aaron considered it, but decided against it, so I was alone under a star-filled sky. I tried to stay awake as long as possible to see a lot of shooting stars, but I was so tired. I think my final count was 4.

The next morning, we took a ferry across the Elbe river to Schmilka, from which we could see Czech Republic five minutes down the road. There were numerous trails winding through the forest, and we took a lot of them.

My back was in really bad shape, which made every step painful. I relied a lot on a stick I'd picked up along the way. Luckily, one of the girls with us is a nurse who has been dealing with back pain. She gave me some salve and pain killers at lunchtime as well as some advice on how to hold my back (and about my upcoming surgery), which made the best part possible--we climbed straight up rocky crags on metal re-bar that had been pounded into the rock and leapt over crevices. (Funny story: this kid behind me assumed I needed help at one point and put his hands right on my bum. I yelped and practically jumped up to the next bar. I said, "DON'T DO THAT!" He apologized and said he thought I needed help, and I said, "I'LL TELL YOU IF I NEED HELP!" He kept apologizing and everyone kept laughing at me. Later, he asked Antje if she needed help. She instantly said, "NO!!!" and then we all started laughing again.)

The views were amazing (yay for something not completely flat!), and I thought of Amy, Paul, and all their rock-climbing family and friends. They would love this place. There was even a small arch.

One guy had glasses and a long walking stick, so I named him "The Blind Wanderer" and took pictures of him standing next to cliffs. Ha ha. I got to know a really nice girl named Katharina who is starting to study to be a nurse. After hiking for a good seven hours or so, we went back to the cabin, and the Austins and I left. They showed me Bad Schandau, a nearby town with an enormous health treatment center (Germans have this thing called "Kur" where their insurance pays for them to go to a spa-like place for a few weeks and get healthy), buildings with markings of how high the last Elbe flood was, and a good Döner shop owned by a man the Austins had talked to many times over their mission.

Here are some pictures for your enjoyment. I hope you can see how beautiful it was.

Nose OP

On Monday, Seppl drove me to Borna. Things went so quickly after that. I was given a hospital gown, a pill to make me sleepy, and rolled into the OP room. The next thing I knew, I woke up and knew it was over. The doctor there asked me if I had pain and I said a little, so she gave me some pain killer in my IV, and that's when all the craziness started.

As they rolled me back to my room, I barfed. As I lay completely weak in my bed, I barfed. As I tried to breathe through my mouth without dying of a dry tongue, I barfed. Every time a nurse came in, I was told to drink lots of water. But I was so weak that I could barely reach the water and lift my head to drink, and when I did, I would get dizzy and barf. My roommate, Nadine, was awesome and rang the nurse each time I threw up. One of the boys who is doing his civil service at the hospital brought me a new hospital gown at least 5 times, and the last time I couldn't help but cry. I really think it was the pain medicine.

But the night, oh, the night. I was tired and weak and had an empty stomach and dirty (yeah, they left the personal cleaning up of the barf to me, but I couldn't see it myself), but worst of all, my back was in really bad shape. No matter what position I was in (and I was so weak and dizzy it was hard to shift), it hurt and I don't think I slept more than a couple of hours.

The next day, things were much better. I ate a normal breakfast and had no pain (in my nose anyway), just one hardcore black eye. Mike and the Austins visited. David visited. The Heidlers visited and helped me learn some exercises to help my back. Friends from the ward called and sent text messages, though I hadn't told many people about the OP. One day, a man walked in and my roommate and I glanced at each other to see who knew him. It turns out he was the doctor I'd talked to on the phone who suggested I do the OP in Borna and not in Leipzig. He suggested I wait a year to get my tonsils out, since they could have had problems because of the nose problem. I was getting myself ready to do it in October, but I have now heard several opinions about that, so we'll see.

The last couple of days in the hospital took a lot of patience. I sat around without energy, tried to read with an ice pack on my face, prayed on a bench outside, etc. I was so glad that my roommate Nadine was so nice. She had no black eyes whatsoever. Whenever people came to visit me, they asked her if she still had to go into surgery. We joked that we boxed and she won. When she left a day earlier than I did, I gave her a Book of Mormon with my information in it. I hope we can stay in contact. Less than 30 minutes later, a new roommate came in--this time an older woman who had a lot of questions. I was so glad to help her and we immediately struck up conversations about faith. The missionaries visited me and talked to her too.

I paced the hall several nights and one night randomly discovered that an office was open and a computer with an internet connection was on, resulting in some nice email reading. After I discovered the joy of sleeping pills and muscle pain pills and salve, I was able to sleep a bit better.

Hospital food was better than I eat myself.

On Thursday, David and I were rebels and took the bus into the town of Borna. We got a pizza that really hit the spot since I could actually taste the pepperoni. I was really tired by the time we got back to the bus stop, and there some drunk homeless men talked to David about young men shooting at them.

The doctor said I should stay until Sunday, but I said no, because I had promised to play the piano at a girl's baptism. Somehow they thought I was a concert pianist because of that and because of my carpal tunnel braces.

Bruder Werner brought me back to Leipzig on Saturday, where I was lucky to have a personal nurse (David) take care of me. The baptism went well, though I seemed to scare children or just get confused stares. Jenny and Seppl and David had to schlepp a completely pale and weak Michelle to a nose cleaning on Sunday after three hours of church, which included singing, giving a lesson while holding a screaming 3-year-old, playing the piano, dealing with pain and lack of easy breathing, but above all answering the question, "What happened to you?"

The doctor asked me how the concert went, and I asked her several questions about my tonsils, pain killers, etc. before I started to faint and she had to put my chair back. That nose-vacuuming is just as uncomfortable and disgusting as I remember. It seems to hurt my vocal cords, they stick that thing so far back. But that doesn't hurt nearly as much as when she tried to pull something off the side of my nose that was stuck to the threads they'd sewn in (yeah, too much information, sorry).

Tomorrow they'll change the splint, next week they'll take the bandage off.

The first steps in getting healthy are underway. It's going to be a long process, but I have faith that it will work out and the support I've received in the last while has already helped me so much. (Then I can wait another 12 years until it's time to be unhealthy again, ha ha.) So now I leave you with a wonderful picture of my black eyes. (Every day leaves me looking a little different, but you get the idea.)

EFY Sumarai

During the variety show at EFY, the brother of one of my girls did a comedy act. It. was. hilarious. and I wished I had recorded it to share with you. Luckily, someone else did. Also, luckily, you don't need to speak any German to understand (though at second 59 or so, he says, "In German . . .").

Enjoy: