What a day! Today was my ensemble audition. It's definitely true that we're our own worst critic. I'm really hoping that I did better than I thought I did. I really, really, really would like to get into the wind ensemble this year-if anything because I do want to be a part of a band, and I won't be if I'm not in wind ensemble because I have a class that clashes with the concert band. But what's done is done. It was good to see my flautist friends again. Being back at the university and playing just felt so good! Even if things don't work out as I would like.
One wonderful thing that I learned today was that a friend of mine is pregnant-and quite possibly with twins because her test was positive too soon and twins run on both sides of her family. I'm SO happy and excited for her! See, it's not just the normal excitement about a pregnancy. My friend, who is an amazing oboeist, is also an amazing surviver. She is a cancer surviver and was one of the first ones I turned to when I found out my mom might have cancer. Not only has she had the maximum number of radiation treatments that a human can handle, but she also exhausted all chemo options. She survived an autologus (her own) bone marrow transplant about two years ago and has since then been cancer free, in complete remission. Now, the fact that she is alive itself is amazing, because she was at one point told she had three weeks left to live. Another time that she described was when she was in the hospital and tired, and suddenly she had a whole bunch of people over her telling her that her body was trying to die. Apparantly, she was mad when they said this and insisted that she was just trying to go to sleep! Anyways, the fact that is now pregnant-and quite possibly with twins is almost a miracle. Chemotherapy and radiation very commonly cause infertility in women-in fact, many young women chose to freeze one of their ovaries if they have the time. My friend, let's call her 'Stacey' has in fact had anaesthesia so often that she cannot have general anaesthesia anymore. She's nothing short of a living, breathing, oboe-playing miracle. And a wonderful person too.
Besides my audition, it was textbook buying day as I had time because I was booked out of work until 11am and my audition was at 9-something. Two textbooks...almost 250 dollars. OUCH. Nothing else to add on that!
This is my last week working at the daycare-at least full-time until next summer. We'll have to see. I'm definitely not ruling out the possibility of working there next summer, or of staying on the substitute list. I love the children, and the staff is pretty awesome too. I really feel like I'm much more of an equal with the staff at this daycare than I did at the daycare I worked at last summer. It's very nice to have a feeling of comradery. It was also two kids' last day at the daycare, and it was a little sad to see the one little boy go. He has a very mild form of autism-very few effects, and he's come far enough that he is no longer classified as having 'additional support needs'. He's charmed his way into all of our hearts though-even mine, and I've only been there for two and a half months. I know we'll all miss him-especially the worker who was his one-on-one when he did need one and one of the other staff...they were crying :(. He's a very special boy, and quite bright too. I don't know how else to talk about it...it's something that happens when you work in a daycare. You care about all of the kids, but there are some that work their way deep into your hearts and never leave, even years later. 'Mark' is one of those kids.
I also got an email from the only other place in my city offering eating disorder treatment services. They don't have any spaces until winter anyways, so the comment by the nurse at the hospital that I should think about that instead doesn't even help, because now is the time to at least start things, not having to wait with much less support until January or even later. When I have that Sept 13th three hour appointment I AM going to mention that. The fact that the other program doesn't have any space until January. What frustrates me about everything is that basically no one does individual eating disorder counselling for those 18 or over unless they are in the intensive program. I think that's a mistake...I really think that individual is the most important part to any treatment and I really find that frustrating. That's another thing I'll talk about at that three-hour appointment.
We found out today that if the chemo my mom's on right now doesn't do much, then there really isn't a 'plan c'. She has two treatments left, one tomorrow and another hopefully two weeks from tomorrow and then they do a CT scan to see if it's working. I don't have a very good feeling about it but I'm trying not to be a pessimist. Plan c is another chemo drug, but it doesn't have a very good track record-not much success at all. And there is always the possibility of side effects. My mom has said that if the side effects sound bad (if the plan b chemo doesn't work) that she probably won't investigate plan c-she'd rather have a few 'good' months than going through a treatment that probably won't do anything except make her more miserable. Which brings me to the idea that I started having a few days ago that I talked about with a couple of my flautist friends today-doing a noon-time recital at the faculty sometime this fall, pretty much on my own, if not totally on my own. Not excessive, just half an hour or forty minutes of music. It's very unlikely that my mom will ever hear my hopefully future performance recitals...I want her to hear and see her daughter performing at least once in such a way. Hopefully, she'll be able to come in person, but I will definitely plan to have someone videotaping the recital. Who, exactly I do not know, but this is something for my mom.
I have to stop, the screen is blurring. I think I'll phone my friend 'Jessie' who's still in the hospital for anorexia. I haven't talked to her in too long.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Friday...
Gosh, was this morning not easy. Started with the nurse phoning once again around 8:30. I'd hidden out in the washroom for privacy's sake, and I must say, it's always weird talking on the phone in a washroom...very echoey. At least I didn't have to do ALL of the questions that I had to answer during my March intake phone call. HOWEVER it was bad enough. The strangest thing is that because of my depressive tendancies, the group 'might not be suitable' for me. Now, that strikes me as very, very odd because every single other person (and the count is at something like 6 and rising) I know that has struggled with an eating disorder has had concurrent depression or bipolar disorder resulting in suicidal thoughts and or self-harming actions. Same when it comes to just reading about women and girls with eating disorders-pretty much everyone has mentioned this. So why would an eating disorder program consider it 'risky' to have someone with these issues involved? Yes, I understand that changing food patterns can make things very challenging. I have no doubt whatsoever that it's going to be **** on earth. The way the nurse described it "Normal eating is meat, veggies, potatoes, bread, hamburgers, french fries". Note that when she said this I thought "I don't even like hamburgers...never have, doubt I ever will...and how is french fries supposed to be on a healthy diet???!"
Once again, it was recommended that perhaps I look into another set of programs, not run through the hospital. Personally, I don't think that's such a smart idea...plus the last time I looked at the only other programs offered, they really didn't seem like they would ever be useful. Unfortunately, that was in march and my memory is a bit foggy and they are not available online. To be honest, I think that in my case, monitoring with a program run from a hospital is probably the smartest option-if anything BECAUSE of the depressive parts. The group at the hospital is a CBT group focused on changing habits, less on body image and that sort of stuff, whereas the groups run out of the non-associated clinic have more body image stuff is what I gathered. At least I've been assured that there is room in this hospital group. I just hope that it's not a huge group. I'd like something small enough that I can feel comfortable...not something with 20 or 30 others.
Basically, the whole phone call was incredibly upsetting, and I ended up talking until about 9:00, so I was 15 minutes late out onto the floor, but no one seemed to notice. Nor did they notice that I'd been crying for that half an hour. Quite a bit, actually. Maybe they did, and just didn't want to say anything, but I really don't think they noticed. Which is good...because how would I explain it? Actually, I figured that if anyone asked I would say that I'd received a phone call (which was why I was late, that part would not be a lie) that a family member wasn't doing very well. All of this is technically true, but was not the primary reason I was upset! It took me about an hour before I stopped thinking so much about all of this and tearing up. I did, in fact, have to hide my silly tear ducts and nose in an allergy excuse three or four times.
The next part is a three-hour or so assessment first with the research person and then a talk with this nurse. It's scheduled for September 13th at 12 noon, so I'm going to have to miss class. Well, can't be helped. I also have to get weighed there...I hope that their scale doesn't read high like my doctor's office does. Every other scale I've been weighed on including the one on the psych ward reads the same as my bathroom scale so why does the scale at my doctor's office read high? I don't know, but it always upsets me. ALWAYS. Okay, at least since I turned 11. A little before I turned 11 I was 48 pounds and 48 inches tall. When I was weighed before starting grade 6, I had increased to 50 pounds and since then, I've been hating my weight. Part of me would certainly like to get back to that 48 pounds, but even at 4'9 that's not really feasible...although probably not a death sentence, really. The nurse says that I have a 'serious problem'. To be honest, I still don't see any of this as a serious problem. I don't know why I hate the number 50 so much, but I think it has to do with the way the number 5 is shaped and the way fifty sounds a bit like fat.
I got a bit frustrated by the two phone calls I received once I'd gone back out after my break today because it was to say that they'd had a cancellation...for this coming monday and could I please get back to them right away? Now, not only would I not be able to take time off work like that given that this is only a summer job and I'm already having to take time off work to go to my audition the very next day but I'm not allowed to have my cell phone out with the kids, so how on earth would I even receive the message? I didn't hear it until 5:30 when I was walking to my bus, and their office closed at 4:30. That and that the nurse is now away on holidays until Sept 13.
It seems like the whole process of getting to this is worse than the actual group will be. Sigh...
Once again, it was recommended that perhaps I look into another set of programs, not run through the hospital. Personally, I don't think that's such a smart idea...plus the last time I looked at the only other programs offered, they really didn't seem like they would ever be useful. Unfortunately, that was in march and my memory is a bit foggy and they are not available online. To be honest, I think that in my case, monitoring with a program run from a hospital is probably the smartest option-if anything BECAUSE of the depressive parts. The group at the hospital is a CBT group focused on changing habits, less on body image and that sort of stuff, whereas the groups run out of the non-associated clinic have more body image stuff is what I gathered. At least I've been assured that there is room in this hospital group. I just hope that it's not a huge group. I'd like something small enough that I can feel comfortable...not something with 20 or 30 others.
Basically, the whole phone call was incredibly upsetting, and I ended up talking until about 9:00, so I was 15 minutes late out onto the floor, but no one seemed to notice. Nor did they notice that I'd been crying for that half an hour. Quite a bit, actually. Maybe they did, and just didn't want to say anything, but I really don't think they noticed. Which is good...because how would I explain it? Actually, I figured that if anyone asked I would say that I'd received a phone call (which was why I was late, that part would not be a lie) that a family member wasn't doing very well. All of this is technically true, but was not the primary reason I was upset! It took me about an hour before I stopped thinking so much about all of this and tearing up. I did, in fact, have to hide my silly tear ducts and nose in an allergy excuse three or four times.
The next part is a three-hour or so assessment first with the research person and then a talk with this nurse. It's scheduled for September 13th at 12 noon, so I'm going to have to miss class. Well, can't be helped. I also have to get weighed there...I hope that their scale doesn't read high like my doctor's office does. Every other scale I've been weighed on including the one on the psych ward reads the same as my bathroom scale so why does the scale at my doctor's office read high? I don't know, but it always upsets me. ALWAYS. Okay, at least since I turned 11. A little before I turned 11 I was 48 pounds and 48 inches tall. When I was weighed before starting grade 6, I had increased to 50 pounds and since then, I've been hating my weight. Part of me would certainly like to get back to that 48 pounds, but even at 4'9 that's not really feasible...although probably not a death sentence, really. The nurse says that I have a 'serious problem'. To be honest, I still don't see any of this as a serious problem. I don't know why I hate the number 50 so much, but I think it has to do with the way the number 5 is shaped and the way fifty sounds a bit like fat.
I got a bit frustrated by the two phone calls I received once I'd gone back out after my break today because it was to say that they'd had a cancellation...for this coming monday and could I please get back to them right away? Now, not only would I not be able to take time off work like that given that this is only a summer job and I'm already having to take time off work to go to my audition the very next day but I'm not allowed to have my cell phone out with the kids, so how on earth would I even receive the message? I didn't hear it until 5:30 when I was walking to my bus, and their office closed at 4:30. That and that the nurse is now away on holidays until Sept 13.
It seems like the whole process of getting to this is worse than the actual group will be. Sigh...
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Deja vu
Well, I talked for about 10 minutes with the nurse from the Eating disorders program this morning. Ten minutes because she phoned at 8:35 and I started work at 8:45. Unfortunately, it was not the most pleasant experience...I felt like I was being accused of things, and I do admit that my own defensive position of worry-when the nurse confirmed my address and I said "Nothing can be mailed there with any sort of descriptive markings"-seemed to frustrate her. Now, back in March, a different person with the program talked to me-this was the first referral there, done by the psychiatrist with the program I work with. In total, the questions that they ask are supposed to take about an hour. The last time I had this done, I was at a very hard point in my life...my mom was in the hospital recovering from her surgery, we were reeling because the diagnosis had been changed (to an incorrect one once again, but that'll be described at a later date...like tomorrow), and I do believe that something else was going on, but I'm not sure. Ah yes. That was the after-effects of the extended essay for my music history course, which involved hiding out in a library across campus from the music faculty to finish, spending about six hours in the library. A wonderful essay-cram, but I got a 92%, so it worked (although I don't want to do something like that ever again). Or maybe I just talk about Beethoven's symphonies rather well. To continue though...when I last had this hour-long phone intake interview, I had to do it in the music lounge-not even fully alone-because I didn't have a cell phone yet. Within a short time, although I hadn't wanted to, I had become a teary, messed up, well, mess. One of the hardest questions is one of the first-weight and height. Height I'm fine about. I have no problems saying that I'm all of 4'9, but I DO have problems saying my weight because I am horribly embarrassed and ashamed of it. So having to answer that first is never a good start to anything.
I'll also admit that summer is a very different lifestyle than the school year. For instance, when it comes to purging. During the winter semester I started this habit, not every day and sometimes not even once a week, but it was occuring not that infrequently, usually on a tuesday or a thursday. Sometimes I'd spend 30 minutes or I think even more on a couple of occasions doing this, because despite-or perhaps because of-all the childhood stomach flus I had, my stomach seems to have a pretty iron-cast resistence to the two-finger trick. I hate to sound morbid, and I apologize for that, but I also want to be honest. This stuff happens. At work, it's just not an option, and really, the only time it is an option for me at home is when I'm running bath water or something like that-and I have done that before. Being at the university presents a lot more opportunities however. The same is true for exercising, and I would say that I definitely eat less during the school year than I did this summer. I have a feeling that in a little more than a week, I'm going to be playing a whole new ball game when it comes to dealing with these things.
It's hard for me sometimes to open up when I'm talking, but I can write about things very easily. Well, most of the time. I wasn't really my true self at work today. Somewhat distracted I guess you could say. I spent a lot of the time dealing with these waves of emotion. I guess it was a mixture of sadness, anxiety, helplessness, hopelessness, frustration...I call it waves because when it would hit I would feel like this strong breeze had taken away my breath and knocked my chest and stomach down...and also stung my eyes. When my break finally came, I was actually able to get a hold of Bethany and we talked for about half an hour and it was pretty relieving actually. I was able to say to her why I wanted this group to work out...and why I wanted the September one. Right now, there is a LOT of things that I'm dealing with. Both my grandma and my mom are, in effect, dying and I'm entering back into school with a decently full course load. Although my friends are wonderful and listen, listen, listen and offer support, I feel somewhat guilty at the same time of always burdening them with what's going on. And there are some things that I don't feel comfortable sharing with them because they are just too dark. I'm really feeling the need for a safe place where others are truly going to understand. Maybe I'm not totally ready to give up my eating stuff yet, but how will I know unless I look into it? Bethany has encouraged me to tell the nurse what's going on and that we think that now is the time to do this. By January...I could lose two of the most important people in my life. I don't want to try dealing with something this big in the wake of that...I want to find the support now. If my mom and or my grandma dies during the fall then that happens and I'll have the group to support and help me through it. I just hope that this gos through....and that tomorrow I don't spend half the day trying not to cry in front of the kids.
I'll also admit that summer is a very different lifestyle than the school year. For instance, when it comes to purging. During the winter semester I started this habit, not every day and sometimes not even once a week, but it was occuring not that infrequently, usually on a tuesday or a thursday. Sometimes I'd spend 30 minutes or I think even more on a couple of occasions doing this, because despite-or perhaps because of-all the childhood stomach flus I had, my stomach seems to have a pretty iron-cast resistence to the two-finger trick. I hate to sound morbid, and I apologize for that, but I also want to be honest. This stuff happens. At work, it's just not an option, and really, the only time it is an option for me at home is when I'm running bath water or something like that-and I have done that before. Being at the university presents a lot more opportunities however. The same is true for exercising, and I would say that I definitely eat less during the school year than I did this summer. I have a feeling that in a little more than a week, I'm going to be playing a whole new ball game when it comes to dealing with these things.
It's hard for me sometimes to open up when I'm talking, but I can write about things very easily. Well, most of the time. I wasn't really my true self at work today. Somewhat distracted I guess you could say. I spent a lot of the time dealing with these waves of emotion. I guess it was a mixture of sadness, anxiety, helplessness, hopelessness, frustration...I call it waves because when it would hit I would feel like this strong breeze had taken away my breath and knocked my chest and stomach down...and also stung my eyes. When my break finally came, I was actually able to get a hold of Bethany and we talked for about half an hour and it was pretty relieving actually. I was able to say to her why I wanted this group to work out...and why I wanted the September one. Right now, there is a LOT of things that I'm dealing with. Both my grandma and my mom are, in effect, dying and I'm entering back into school with a decently full course load. Although my friends are wonderful and listen, listen, listen and offer support, I feel somewhat guilty at the same time of always burdening them with what's going on. And there are some things that I don't feel comfortable sharing with them because they are just too dark. I'm really feeling the need for a safe place where others are truly going to understand. Maybe I'm not totally ready to give up my eating stuff yet, but how will I know unless I look into it? Bethany has encouraged me to tell the nurse what's going on and that we think that now is the time to do this. By January...I could lose two of the most important people in my life. I don't want to try dealing with something this big in the wake of that...I want to find the support now. If my mom and or my grandma dies during the fall then that happens and I'll have the group to support and help me through it. I just hope that this gos through....and that tomorrow I don't spend half the day trying not to cry in front of the kids.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Why I love Penguins
Penguins have held a very special place in my heart since a memorable class back in grade eight. For some reason that I can't remember, my english teacher had asked us to make a list of things that made us happy, and then had us read them to the class. It was an interesting experience to see what made some people happy, but the only one I can remember is the one that struck all of us as strange...at least at first. 'Jerad' told us that penguins made him happy. Penguins??! we all wondered. Until he explained. I believe he put it this way: "If you were having a really bad day, and suddenly a penguin waddled into the room, wouldn't you laugh or at least crack a smile?" I had to admit, he was completely right! For quite some time-in fact, even in grade twelve, those of us who had been in that class would occasionally say something like "I need a penguin today!" Since then, I've loved penguins. My calender for 2009 was a penguin calender, and it was definitely nice to see when I was frustrated during a homework assignment. Also, during a trip with a band that I auditioned and became part of, we visited Niagara Falls. At one of the shops in the slightly-less-touristy-area closest to the falls, I found that they were selling lots of different stuffed animals-including baby emperor penguins. I couldn't resist...never mind that I was almost 18 years old at the time!
I was, however, stuck on finding a name. My mom gave me the hint, saying that she didn't know what to call a penguin either, and that the only emperor she knew was Napoleon. Well, Napoleon stuck. Less than three weeks after coming back from the band trip, I ended up in the C & A psychiatric ward due to extreme stress combined with a depressive episode culminating in a feeble suicide attempt (feeble meaning that it had almost no chance of succeeding but in those moments, I was serious about trying to make it work) right in front of my dad while in the emergency room. The next day, when my dad brought over a bag of my things, my mom had put in Napoleon. Napoleon helped me get through those two weeks, just like a special stuffed tiger helped a friend that I made on the unit, never mind that she was also an older teenager like myself. I guess we all need something to hang onto from time to time.
Summer is definitely starting to come to an end. Although I'm going to miss working at the daycare when I finish next friday, I'm definitely looking forward to getting back to school...being around other crazy young musicians and my friends all the time again! Plus, I'm really looking forward to getting back into lessons for both piano and flute that look at more than just the audition material and starting back at orchestra-all those things. The funny thing is, one of the courses I'm looking forward to the most doesn't start until Winter Semester. It's one of my non-music elective courses (we have to have a certain number of electives). It fits wonderfully well into my schedule and is on a topic that I find rather interesting and want to learn more about-the Vietnam War. It's also a small course-only 15-20 students, and the students who take it will probably be harder working than in the history courses I've previously taken, because it comes with the requirement of 6 credit hours of history with grade of C or better to enroll. All told, I am looking forward to everything though.
Must leave now to get to my flute lesson!
I was, however, stuck on finding a name. My mom gave me the hint, saying that she didn't know what to call a penguin either, and that the only emperor she knew was Napoleon. Well, Napoleon stuck. Less than three weeks after coming back from the band trip, I ended up in the C & A psychiatric ward due to extreme stress combined with a depressive episode culminating in a feeble suicide attempt (feeble meaning that it had almost no chance of succeeding but in those moments, I was serious about trying to make it work) right in front of my dad while in the emergency room. The next day, when my dad brought over a bag of my things, my mom had put in Napoleon. Napoleon helped me get through those two weeks, just like a special stuffed tiger helped a friend that I made on the unit, never mind that she was also an older teenager like myself. I guess we all need something to hang onto from time to time.
Summer is definitely starting to come to an end. Although I'm going to miss working at the daycare when I finish next friday, I'm definitely looking forward to getting back to school...being around other crazy young musicians and my friends all the time again! Plus, I'm really looking forward to getting back into lessons for both piano and flute that look at more than just the audition material and starting back at orchestra-all those things. The funny thing is, one of the courses I'm looking forward to the most doesn't start until Winter Semester. It's one of my non-music elective courses (we have to have a certain number of electives). It fits wonderfully well into my schedule and is on a topic that I find rather interesting and want to learn more about-the Vietnam War. It's also a small course-only 15-20 students, and the students who take it will probably be harder working than in the history courses I've previously taken, because it comes with the requirement of 6 credit hours of history with grade of C or better to enroll. All told, I am looking forward to everything though.
Must leave now to get to my flute lesson!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesdays...known today as Hallelujah, the earthquake never happened.
Thankfully...thankfully...thankfully...one of the nurses with the Eating Disorder program called my cell today and now we're playing telephone tag but only with my cellphone. NO phone calls to my house! It must be part of Murphy's law that you'll start getting phone calls three minutes before your break ends. That's how it was today. I was checking something on my phone at 2:27, three minutes before my break ended when my cell, which was set to silent, got a call, forwarded to my voicemail. I finally get through to voicemail when another call gos through-this is the call from the nurse. So, I phone right back...and get her machine. Seriously, two minutes and they're gone? Well, I do know how busy they are. She then phones my cell back while I'm working, and leaves her number, says she can be reached at such and such a number...um, didn't she say that the first time? I'd left a message explaining that I worked that week until 5:30, and would have my break at 1:30-2:30 and she could either try me then, or I'd try her again. Guess things didn't quite translate?
You know, it's not that I mind insects so much...it's just that I mind them when they crawl out from under my bra when I'm putting away laundry. My family generally tends to hang laundry outside in the summer, so I had a stack of laundry-mostly socks and underwear that I had sitting on my bed. Well, yesterday evening, after I had a shower when I was dressed only in my fluffy robe, I decide to put away my laundry. I move a pair of socks and this rather large brown spider crawls out from under the bra on my bed. Needless to say, I was a little bit shocked and then it took me forever to stomp it with my running-shoed hand. Like I said...it's not that I mind insects and spiders that much...I'd just rather not have them crawling out of my laundry on my bed sort of late in the evening when I'm not really very dressed! That, however, is part of life I guess.
Well, off to practice!
You know, it's not that I mind insects so much...it's just that I mind them when they crawl out from under my bra when I'm putting away laundry. My family generally tends to hang laundry outside in the summer, so I had a stack of laundry-mostly socks and underwear that I had sitting on my bed. Well, yesterday evening, after I had a shower when I was dressed only in my fluffy robe, I decide to put away my laundry. I move a pair of socks and this rather large brown spider crawls out from under the bra on my bed. Needless to say, I was a little bit shocked and then it took me forever to stomp it with my running-shoed hand. Like I said...it's not that I mind insects and spiders that much...I'd just rather not have them crawling out of my laundry on my bed sort of late in the evening when I'm not really very dressed! That, however, is part of life I guess.
Well, off to practice!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Mondays (otherwise known as disaster avoided)
Turns out mondays aren't always so bad. Most of the offices at the hospital open at 8:30 in the morning, and this week I start work at 8:45, so I was finally able to talk to someone in person with the ED program-I think the receptionist. Not only do they now have my old number removed and my cell number listed as the contact number, but I was assured that they would not say where they were from unless they were actually talking to me. In fact, the person on the line was rather surprised that the first nurse had even said she was from the hospital. Granted, she did not say what department or anything like that...but still. Needless to say, my stomach was tied in far fewer knots today! Now, I just wait for the next phone call. I'm still debating whether or not to leave my cell phone in my pocket on vibrate tomorrow. I did today and didn't receive any calls. Perhaps tomorrow I'll feel confident enough to just check it during my break and then after work.
Last night as I wrote pretty much the same thing over and over in my journal while waiting for my medication (an anti-psychotic that helps with my OCD symptoms and has the side effect of putting me to sleep) to kick in, I listened to the soundtrack from the movie 'The Mission'. I haven't actually seen the whole film, but watched quite a bit of it in my grade eight bible class while we were learning the Beatitudes. I still have the notes from that course, which as a whole has remained one of the most powerful courses I have taken. The ending of 'The Mission' moved me to tears. I haven't seen it since then, but I have no doubt that it would do the same today. It made me think...would I have the strength to stand up for my beliefs like that and die, or be one of the ones that carries on after the priests have been killed? Having spent grades seven to twelve in a mennonite private school, I learned many stories of martyrs for Christ. Recently, too, I was rereading a couple of stories about the shottings at Columbine High School. Reading these really make me think...do I have what it would take to stand up like that?
I try to live by a few statements...
Mennonite phrase used on almost every missions' t-shirt "Faith alone is not enough"
With God, all things are possible
God never gives you more than you can handle, but sometimes, you have to search very hard for a way to handle them.
The lord will make a way.
Last night as I wrote pretty much the same thing over and over in my journal while waiting for my medication (an anti-psychotic that helps with my OCD symptoms and has the side effect of putting me to sleep) to kick in, I listened to the soundtrack from the movie 'The Mission'. I haven't actually seen the whole film, but watched quite a bit of it in my grade eight bible class while we were learning the Beatitudes. I still have the notes from that course, which as a whole has remained one of the most powerful courses I have taken. The ending of 'The Mission' moved me to tears. I haven't seen it since then, but I have no doubt that it would do the same today. It made me think...would I have the strength to stand up for my beliefs like that and die, or be one of the ones that carries on after the priests have been killed? Having spent grades seven to twelve in a mennonite private school, I learned many stories of martyrs for Christ. Recently, too, I was rereading a couple of stories about the shottings at Columbine High School. Reading these really make me think...do I have what it would take to stand up like that?
I try to live by a few statements...
Mennonite phrase used on almost every missions' t-shirt "Faith alone is not enough"
With God, all things are possible
God never gives you more than you can handle, but sometimes, you have to search very hard for a way to handle them.
The lord will make a way.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Mondays...
Weekends seem to go by too fast. Especially this weekend. It's not that I don't love my job, it's that there is a possibility that tomorrow, a secret I have kept from my family since I was ten years old will be discovered. In my opening post I mentioned that I struggled every day with EDNOS, which stands for Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. In my case, this means that my weight still falls into a normal range (according to medical professionals at least...in my firm opinion it is grossly overweight), I do not technically binge (although I call it binging, most people would call it minor over-indulgence), and I do not purge often enough to be diagnosed with either anorexia nervosa or bulimia nervosa. However, the psychological manifestations are present, and many of the habits of those struggling with these disorders present, although perhaps to a lesser extent. I have struggled with intense hate of my body for years, definitely since I was eleven, and I think it started when I was ten.
Although she is technically not my counsellor, for lack of a better term, my counsellor 'Bethany', who has worked with me for nearly two years since my graduation into the adult mental health system, had been on my case about this for nearly our entire relationship. Finally, in November of this past year, I was assessed by the psychiatrist head of the program with which I am affiliated. Her recommendation was that I should get a consult with someone from the Eating Disorders program. I pushed it off, not sure what to do, but eventually figured that it was just a consult, I might as well. After quite some delay (partially by me and partially in problems with the mandatory blood test that I had to get from my doctor's office-it required some tap dancing as I wasn't ready to talk to her about this) I had the hour-long phone consult the same week that my mom had her surgery. The diagnosis was EDNOS. At the time, I was incredibly frustrated. I had decided that I would look into getting some individual counselling from someone with the program, but found out that that wasn't possible-individual counselling was only available if I entered the intensive program system-either day hospital or inpatient treatment. My only option from them was a CBT (cognitive behavourial therapy) group that starts September 15th. Note that this consult was in March. After quite a bit of denying that I needed anything, despite the recommendation that I actually think about a 2-month inpatient stay, I agreed to do the group. This is partially because there are no groups around for young adults who have family members dealing with cancer and although my friends are wonderful and always listen, I feel that it would be useful to have another sounding board so to speak. I thought that everything was fine, sent in etc etc. Well, not so. When I saw Bethany about two weeks ago, she informed me that she needed another referal for me to enter the group-and it had to be from my doctor. I was faced with a bit of a tough decision but decided that I would have to let her in on things. So last week, my doctor's receptionist phones my cell-I'd requested that Bethany put on the referal that that was the way to contact me (I only got a cell about two and a half months ago) and the receptionist is somewhat freaked, telling me that my doctor wants to see me tomorrow morning, that I need blood work and an EKG, all that medical stuff. I'm only in a summer position and my doctor's office is across town from my work-more than an hour's bus ride away, and I work longer hours than my doctor's office is even open. I'm somewhat of a shy person when it comes to asking for things for myself, and so I said that I couldn't come in until my position was finished, two weeks from now. Plus, I knew I needed time to calm down about the EKG. Once again, I am an incredibly private and modest person, and I have a VERY hard time exposing that area even to female medical professionals. This may stem back to an incident where I was inappropriately touched by a boy in my class when I was twelve. Whatever the reason, when I heard that I also freaked a bit! I phoned up Bethany and explained the situation, and she said it was okay for my doctor's office to put 'pending' down for the tests as long as I got in to see her right away when my job was finished. So, the referal got sent in to the hospital with the Eating Disorders program. I guess everything in the mental health program gos to psychiatry first, because on thursday I received a call-on my cell-from a nurse with psychiatry, wondering in part why my referal had almost no information. Well, that was okay, it still got forwarded onto Eating Disorders. Everything was fine until I got home...and found out that my dad had taken a call from this nurse, who said which hospital she was calling from, and had then given her my cell. I was FREAKED OUT OF MY MIND and made a couple of hysterical calls to Bethany and to the person who had done my consult. Of course, because this was 7 at night, all I got was answering machines. I phoned Bethany again before work started on friday, and left another message. The reason I was, and am so freaked out is that if the Eating Disorders program has my home phone number as my contact number, and phones my house and says where they are from, I'm not exactly sure how I can deflect my parents' concerns. I phoned psychiatry personally on friday and also left a message with one of the Eating Disorder nurse's answering machines (it seems that I am doomed to speak to answering machines these days). However, there is no guarantee that everything will get passed on to the right people before they try phoning me....possibly on the wrong number. Although I have a story concocted if they do phone my house and say where they're from, I'm not sure whether my parents would believe it. I'm NOT at ALL ready to let them into this part of my life. Maybe they suspect things, but they have never said ANYTHING, EVER.
If ED does phone my house and announce their identity, I am going to say that I have concerns about a friend of mine (which, if I count myself as a friend, perhaps I do) and that I wanted to investigate what might be available to her before I talked to her about my concerns-you know, have options for her to know about. However, I don't know how well I could pull that off. I do not lie very often...
My parents were freaked out enough about me being phoned by the hospital. Just think what would happen if they found out that their daughter was going to be going to an Eating Disorders group. They have enough to worry about. They don't need to worry about me or nag me and I certainly don't need them watching what I eat or telling me off for exercising or anything like that.
People say that secrets are better when shared. Well, unfortunately for me, as much as my parents do love me and I love and care about them, when it comes to sharing my mental health concerns, the more they know, the worse things get. I have found that it is always better for them to know the least possible. I'm not sure exactly why, but that's just how it is. And especially now that I am an adult, I feel that I certainly deserve a certain amount of privacy-not have something so big brought out into the open prematurely because my doctor's office still had my old phone number and put that on the referal sheet.
Here's the other cruel thing about all this...Bethany mentioned that it 'looked' like the group had space. Not that there was space...when I had thought since I agreed to this in March that I'd been on the list and was guaranteed this space. So in the end, all of this could be revealed and I not even be able to do the group until January, when the next one starts. By then my life could have taken yet another 180 degree turn.
To help keep me less nervous at work tomorrow, I'm going to stick my cell phone in my pocket on vibrate...that way I know if I've been called. See, if I haven't been called, I don't need to worry yet about my parents possibly knowing. If I have been called, I will hopefully get through to whomever is calling and be able to find out if they phoned my house and EXACTLY what they said. Then I can know whether I need to practice my story or whether I'm in the clear. I certainly hope it's the later.
Although she is technically not my counsellor, for lack of a better term, my counsellor 'Bethany', who has worked with me for nearly two years since my graduation into the adult mental health system, had been on my case about this for nearly our entire relationship. Finally, in November of this past year, I was assessed by the psychiatrist head of the program with which I am affiliated. Her recommendation was that I should get a consult with someone from the Eating Disorders program. I pushed it off, not sure what to do, but eventually figured that it was just a consult, I might as well. After quite some delay (partially by me and partially in problems with the mandatory blood test that I had to get from my doctor's office-it required some tap dancing as I wasn't ready to talk to her about this) I had the hour-long phone consult the same week that my mom had her surgery. The diagnosis was EDNOS. At the time, I was incredibly frustrated. I had decided that I would look into getting some individual counselling from someone with the program, but found out that that wasn't possible-individual counselling was only available if I entered the intensive program system-either day hospital or inpatient treatment. My only option from them was a CBT (cognitive behavourial therapy) group that starts September 15th. Note that this consult was in March. After quite a bit of denying that I needed anything, despite the recommendation that I actually think about a 2-month inpatient stay, I agreed to do the group. This is partially because there are no groups around for young adults who have family members dealing with cancer and although my friends are wonderful and always listen, I feel that it would be useful to have another sounding board so to speak. I thought that everything was fine, sent in etc etc. Well, not so. When I saw Bethany about two weeks ago, she informed me that she needed another referal for me to enter the group-and it had to be from my doctor. I was faced with a bit of a tough decision but decided that I would have to let her in on things. So last week, my doctor's receptionist phones my cell-I'd requested that Bethany put on the referal that that was the way to contact me (I only got a cell about two and a half months ago) and the receptionist is somewhat freaked, telling me that my doctor wants to see me tomorrow morning, that I need blood work and an EKG, all that medical stuff. I'm only in a summer position and my doctor's office is across town from my work-more than an hour's bus ride away, and I work longer hours than my doctor's office is even open. I'm somewhat of a shy person when it comes to asking for things for myself, and so I said that I couldn't come in until my position was finished, two weeks from now. Plus, I knew I needed time to calm down about the EKG. Once again, I am an incredibly private and modest person, and I have a VERY hard time exposing that area even to female medical professionals. This may stem back to an incident where I was inappropriately touched by a boy in my class when I was twelve. Whatever the reason, when I heard that I also freaked a bit! I phoned up Bethany and explained the situation, and she said it was okay for my doctor's office to put 'pending' down for the tests as long as I got in to see her right away when my job was finished. So, the referal got sent in to the hospital with the Eating Disorders program. I guess everything in the mental health program gos to psychiatry first, because on thursday I received a call-on my cell-from a nurse with psychiatry, wondering in part why my referal had almost no information. Well, that was okay, it still got forwarded onto Eating Disorders. Everything was fine until I got home...and found out that my dad had taken a call from this nurse, who said which hospital she was calling from, and had then given her my cell. I was FREAKED OUT OF MY MIND and made a couple of hysterical calls to Bethany and to the person who had done my consult. Of course, because this was 7 at night, all I got was answering machines. I phoned Bethany again before work started on friday, and left another message. The reason I was, and am so freaked out is that if the Eating Disorders program has my home phone number as my contact number, and phones my house and says where they are from, I'm not exactly sure how I can deflect my parents' concerns. I phoned psychiatry personally on friday and also left a message with one of the Eating Disorder nurse's answering machines (it seems that I am doomed to speak to answering machines these days). However, there is no guarantee that everything will get passed on to the right people before they try phoning me....possibly on the wrong number. Although I have a story concocted if they do phone my house and say where they're from, I'm not sure whether my parents would believe it. I'm NOT at ALL ready to let them into this part of my life. Maybe they suspect things, but they have never said ANYTHING, EVER.
If ED does phone my house and announce their identity, I am going to say that I have concerns about a friend of mine (which, if I count myself as a friend, perhaps I do) and that I wanted to investigate what might be available to her before I talked to her about my concerns-you know, have options for her to know about. However, I don't know how well I could pull that off. I do not lie very often...
My parents were freaked out enough about me being phoned by the hospital. Just think what would happen if they found out that their daughter was going to be going to an Eating Disorders group. They have enough to worry about. They don't need to worry about me or nag me and I certainly don't need them watching what I eat or telling me off for exercising or anything like that.
People say that secrets are better when shared. Well, unfortunately for me, as much as my parents do love me and I love and care about them, when it comes to sharing my mental health concerns, the more they know, the worse things get. I have found that it is always better for them to know the least possible. I'm not sure exactly why, but that's just how it is. And especially now that I am an adult, I feel that I certainly deserve a certain amount of privacy-not have something so big brought out into the open prematurely because my doctor's office still had my old phone number and put that on the referal sheet.
Here's the other cruel thing about all this...Bethany mentioned that it 'looked' like the group had space. Not that there was space...when I had thought since I agreed to this in March that I'd been on the list and was guaranteed this space. So in the end, all of this could be revealed and I not even be able to do the group until January, when the next one starts. By then my life could have taken yet another 180 degree turn.
To help keep me less nervous at work tomorrow, I'm going to stick my cell phone in my pocket on vibrate...that way I know if I've been called. See, if I haven't been called, I don't need to worry yet about my parents possibly knowing. If I have been called, I will hopefully get through to whomever is calling and be able to find out if they phoned my house and EXACTLY what they said. Then I can know whether I need to practice my story or whether I'm in the clear. I certainly hope it's the later.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
1 Corinthians 13
Since I was twelve years old, and in grade seven, I've had 1 Corinthians 13:4 in my school locker. For a time, my sister, who is 4 years older than me, ran a bit of a youth group at our rather-lacking-in-young-people-around-my-age (but wonderful in every other way!) church. From what I remember, she had us memorizing bible verses for a while, printing them out on strips of paper to carry around and think about. 1 Corinthians 13:4 has stuck with me for nearly eight years. I still keep that original strip of paper in my locker during the school year, and on my filing cabinet beside my desk during the summer break.
Although the whole of 1 Corinthians 13 resounds with me very deeply, verses one, four and thirteen stick with me the most. Verse one, as per the NIV translation reads "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal". For a musician, this analogy really makes sense. A band or an orchestra needs more than just a gong or a cymbal to work. The same is with us. If you're doing good deeds for selfish motives, no matter how much good you provide, they are hollow. Sometimes, it seems that celebrities and political figures do 'good deeds'-providing food to famished countries, adopting children, going on missions trips-to show that they're somehow worthy of their position. I'm not saying that all of them are like this at all. I'm sure many ARE doing deeds because they are guided by love, but it doesn't seem like this all that often at times. At work, and in everything I do, I try to ask myself why I'm doing something. Is it because I want to look good or is it because I care about what I'm doing, feel honoured that I have been given the responsibility to take care of children and give them love when their parents aren't able to take care of them? Love has to be my guide.
Verse four is in some ways, I think, the heart of the chapter : "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud". Working with children, I can certainly relate to the word PATIENT. Children have a way of occasionally trying the patience of even the most patient caregiver! When it's hot outside, or raining, or the room has become very loud, I try to stop for a minute and think of patience, and remembering how much these children need the loving kindness of all of the teachers. They simply don't have the abilities yet to think "Oh, it's raining. I guess I should really calm down today because we're not going outside" and respond to that thought. I've been coming to realize that this verse must also apply to how I react towards myself. Love is patient, love is kind. I've been told time and time again that we are our own worst critic, and that is certainly true. I'm guessing that no one besides me can even tell that I've gained five pounds since summer started, probably because I have been eating snack with the children like all the other teachers and have found it hard to exercise after coming home from work (which is very strange in some ways, as exercising has always been a very key component to my life). However, instead of being patient with myself and kind, I spend hours each day beating myself up mentally for this. God doesn't want me doing this. I'm sure God would like to see me getting back out and exercising more often, but he's not sitting there counting my calories or how fast my heart rate got up to while cycling.
Like so many other chapters of the bible, the final verse closes it so well "and now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:13, NIV). Back in March, when my mom's health was extremely fragile as she waited for surgery following chemotherapy that hadn't worked, my hope and my faith that things would ever be 'okay' again was gone. I felt for sure that the day of the surgery something would go drastically wrong-either she'd have catastrophic bleeding, or react to the anaesthesia, or they would make the incision and find that there wasn't anything they could do. Never a moment passed though when I didn't feel torn apart because of my love for her, and her love for me and the rest of our family. Although my mom and I aren't often able to share very personal things, we are quite close in many other ways-we have many of the same interests, and have a real understanding on a number of subjects. Love is truly the most intense feeling in the world. Hate and anger try to be, but love turns around and gives that anger a great big hug and a mug of creamy hot chocolate with two marshmallows.
Love never fails. I think of the kindness and patience and love that my parents, who are completely human and did make their fair share of mistakes as I was growing up, gave me and know that this is just a taste of the love that God gives me all the time, unconditionally. Sometimes it's hard to remember, amidst the hate and anger that brews, but in the end, love always comes through. My friends are also a wonderful provider of love and patience. Some of them have been there since we first started grade seven together and have walked with me through the angst of the early teenage years, many embarrassing moments (on all of our parts!), music triumphs and disappointments, my struggles through depression including a hospitalization, and this past year's situations. No matter what, they listen and remind me of not only how much they care, but how much God cares. Finally, I see the love that the children have for me. Yesterday, I was rather stressed out. A perceptive six-year-old came up to where I was sitting supervising on the playground and just wrapped her arms around my waist for a little while. No words, just silence for a minute as I hugged her back and looked into her eyes. It was if she knew exactly what was wrong and was saying "You'll get through this. God is with you and so are so many people". Although we adults tend to think that children lack perception and are somewhat self-centered, they often prove that this is wrong. Jesus's famous words that we must become like little children are so true.
Although the whole of 1 Corinthians 13 resounds with me very deeply, verses one, four and thirteen stick with me the most. Verse one, as per the NIV translation reads "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal". For a musician, this analogy really makes sense. A band or an orchestra needs more than just a gong or a cymbal to work. The same is with us. If you're doing good deeds for selfish motives, no matter how much good you provide, they are hollow. Sometimes, it seems that celebrities and political figures do 'good deeds'-providing food to famished countries, adopting children, going on missions trips-to show that they're somehow worthy of their position. I'm not saying that all of them are like this at all. I'm sure many ARE doing deeds because they are guided by love, but it doesn't seem like this all that often at times. At work, and in everything I do, I try to ask myself why I'm doing something. Is it because I want to look good or is it because I care about what I'm doing, feel honoured that I have been given the responsibility to take care of children and give them love when their parents aren't able to take care of them? Love has to be my guide.
Verse four is in some ways, I think, the heart of the chapter : "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud". Working with children, I can certainly relate to the word PATIENT. Children have a way of occasionally trying the patience of even the most patient caregiver! When it's hot outside, or raining, or the room has become very loud, I try to stop for a minute and think of patience, and remembering how much these children need the loving kindness of all of the teachers. They simply don't have the abilities yet to think "Oh, it's raining. I guess I should really calm down today because we're not going outside" and respond to that thought. I've been coming to realize that this verse must also apply to how I react towards myself. Love is patient, love is kind. I've been told time and time again that we are our own worst critic, and that is certainly true. I'm guessing that no one besides me can even tell that I've gained five pounds since summer started, probably because I have been eating snack with the children like all the other teachers and have found it hard to exercise after coming home from work (which is very strange in some ways, as exercising has always been a very key component to my life). However, instead of being patient with myself and kind, I spend hours each day beating myself up mentally for this. God doesn't want me doing this. I'm sure God would like to see me getting back out and exercising more often, but he's not sitting there counting my calories or how fast my heart rate got up to while cycling.
Like so many other chapters of the bible, the final verse closes it so well "and now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:13, NIV). Back in March, when my mom's health was extremely fragile as she waited for surgery following chemotherapy that hadn't worked, my hope and my faith that things would ever be 'okay' again was gone. I felt for sure that the day of the surgery something would go drastically wrong-either she'd have catastrophic bleeding, or react to the anaesthesia, or they would make the incision and find that there wasn't anything they could do. Never a moment passed though when I didn't feel torn apart because of my love for her, and her love for me and the rest of our family. Although my mom and I aren't often able to share very personal things, we are quite close in many other ways-we have many of the same interests, and have a real understanding on a number of subjects. Love is truly the most intense feeling in the world. Hate and anger try to be, but love turns around and gives that anger a great big hug and a mug of creamy hot chocolate with two marshmallows.
Love never fails. I think of the kindness and patience and love that my parents, who are completely human and did make their fair share of mistakes as I was growing up, gave me and know that this is just a taste of the love that God gives me all the time, unconditionally. Sometimes it's hard to remember, amidst the hate and anger that brews, but in the end, love always comes through. My friends are also a wonderful provider of love and patience. Some of them have been there since we first started grade seven together and have walked with me through the angst of the early teenage years, many embarrassing moments (on all of our parts!), music triumphs and disappointments, my struggles through depression including a hospitalization, and this past year's situations. No matter what, they listen and remind me of not only how much they care, but how much God cares. Finally, I see the love that the children have for me. Yesterday, I was rather stressed out. A perceptive six-year-old came up to where I was sitting supervising on the playground and just wrapped her arms around my waist for a little while. No words, just silence for a minute as I hugged her back and looked into her eyes. It was if she knew exactly what was wrong and was saying "You'll get through this. God is with you and so are so many people". Although we adults tend to think that children lack perception and are somewhat self-centered, they often prove that this is wrong. Jesus's famous words that we must become like little children are so true.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Why music?
In many ways, I was almost raised to become a professional musician. Both of my parents are musical-until a few years ago, my mom conducted the church choir in addition to singing in a choir outside the church. My home radio was always turned on to CBC radio two, which at that time played classical music almost all the time. I loved saturday nights because my parents often went to the symphony, and my sister and I would have a baby-sitter (funny how much kids love good babysitters...I notice it myself as a babysitter!). I began piano lessons when I was four years old, through a program called Music For Young Children. Music For Young Children is a wonderful program, created by Francis Balodis, who literally has more certifications including an A.R.C.T and a Master's in early education than can be written out. It combines keyboard training along with singing, notation, composition, movement, theory, and rhythm instruments in ways that are completely appropriate for children ages 3-11. Kids can start learning piano in either the Sunshine program at ages 3-4 as I did, or in the Sunbeams program at ages 5-6 or the Moonbeams program from ages 7-8. In addition, a more recent addition to the Music For Young Children program is the Sunrise course, a pre-keyboard program designed for children anywhere from ages 2 1/2-5 years old.
As a child (and now for that matter) I loved to sing, and enjoyed dancing (although I have never been very good at it!). With all of this, and such a supportive music atmosphere, it seems as if music would have come incredibly naturally and easily. The answer is both yes and no. From the time I was about 9 or 10 until I was about 12 or 13, piano lessons were an ongoing struggle. My mom had always maintained that before I (and my sister before me) could stop piano lessons, we needed to have taken the Grade Six Royal Conservatory Exam. Perhaps it was because I was somewhat forced to take these lessons and practice, or perhaps I simply needed to decide for myself, but either way, for quite a while, although not every lesson or every day, piano was a struggle. Things tend to work themselves out, and gradually, throughout grades six to eight, I began to enjoy and push myself forward in piano lessons once again. One of my main inspirations was my grade seven choir teacher, who was a brilliant pianist in addition to an excellent choir director. Hearing her play, and hearing her talk about her own decision to continue her piano studies helped push me forward, and for that I am grateful.
Despite my struggles with piano lessons, other areas of music have been different. Many students really don't have an idea of what they'd like to play before they try out instruments. I was different. Although I can't be sure exactly how old I was, I think I was about 4 years old when I decided that I was going to play the flute. It was for the strangest reason too. While watching Mr. Roger's Neighbourhood one day, he met with a few young people-I don't remember how many, this was 15 or 16 years ago-and they played different instruments. One of them played a flute, and I remember being fascinated by the way it was played, and liking the sound. I decided then that I someday wanted to play that instrument. By the time I was 7 years old, when my sister started grade six band, I told anyone who asked that I was going to play the flute. When I picked up my first flute in the summer before grade six band, it was love at first blow. Although there have been a few small rough patches, I know that this is definitely the instrument that I was meant to play, and the one that I am studying at the University.
Although I have always loved music and have usually been involved in several musical activities, for many years, I was certain that I would be going to med school, with the ambition of becoming a pediatrician. It seemed like a good fit-I love children, and I was (and am) very interested in health, biology, chemistry and even physics, all important aspects for doctors. Sometime during my grade eleven year however, that changed. It wasn't that I liked my subjects in the sciences any less, or that I loved my music any more. After achieving the Silver Medal for my grade six flute exam (highest standing in my province for woodwind and brass on exams of that level for that year) I felt that God was calling me to study music and not medicine in university. I've always trusted that God will push me in the way that I'm meant to go, and so far, this push has worked. An experience later that school year confirmed to me once again that medicine, although a wonderful career option and one I would likely have succeeded in, was not where God was wanting me. My faith is important. I believe that each one of us has a life plan, a course that we're meant to follow. My life plan involves music as the main focus. At the same time, I am still interested in health and health care and I am looking into the possibility of music therapy.
There's so much I could write about music and my feelings about it, but at the moment, I have to go practice for an audition :)
As a child (and now for that matter) I loved to sing, and enjoyed dancing (although I have never been very good at it!). With all of this, and such a supportive music atmosphere, it seems as if music would have come incredibly naturally and easily. The answer is both yes and no. From the time I was about 9 or 10 until I was about 12 or 13, piano lessons were an ongoing struggle. My mom had always maintained that before I (and my sister before me) could stop piano lessons, we needed to have taken the Grade Six Royal Conservatory Exam. Perhaps it was because I was somewhat forced to take these lessons and practice, or perhaps I simply needed to decide for myself, but either way, for quite a while, although not every lesson or every day, piano was a struggle. Things tend to work themselves out, and gradually, throughout grades six to eight, I began to enjoy and push myself forward in piano lessons once again. One of my main inspirations was my grade seven choir teacher, who was a brilliant pianist in addition to an excellent choir director. Hearing her play, and hearing her talk about her own decision to continue her piano studies helped push me forward, and for that I am grateful.
Despite my struggles with piano lessons, other areas of music have been different. Many students really don't have an idea of what they'd like to play before they try out instruments. I was different. Although I can't be sure exactly how old I was, I think I was about 4 years old when I decided that I was going to play the flute. It was for the strangest reason too. While watching Mr. Roger's Neighbourhood one day, he met with a few young people-I don't remember how many, this was 15 or 16 years ago-and they played different instruments. One of them played a flute, and I remember being fascinated by the way it was played, and liking the sound. I decided then that I someday wanted to play that instrument. By the time I was 7 years old, when my sister started grade six band, I told anyone who asked that I was going to play the flute. When I picked up my first flute in the summer before grade six band, it was love at first blow. Although there have been a few small rough patches, I know that this is definitely the instrument that I was meant to play, and the one that I am studying at the University.
Although I have always loved music and have usually been involved in several musical activities, for many years, I was certain that I would be going to med school, with the ambition of becoming a pediatrician. It seemed like a good fit-I love children, and I was (and am) very interested in health, biology, chemistry and even physics, all important aspects for doctors. Sometime during my grade eleven year however, that changed. It wasn't that I liked my subjects in the sciences any less, or that I loved my music any more. After achieving the Silver Medal for my grade six flute exam (highest standing in my province for woodwind and brass on exams of that level for that year) I felt that God was calling me to study music and not medicine in university. I've always trusted that God will push me in the way that I'm meant to go, and so far, this push has worked. An experience later that school year confirmed to me once again that medicine, although a wonderful career option and one I would likely have succeeded in, was not where God was wanting me. My faith is important. I believe that each one of us has a life plan, a course that we're meant to follow. My life plan involves music as the main focus. At the same time, I am still interested in health and health care and I am looking into the possibility of music therapy.
There's so much I could write about music and my feelings about it, but at the moment, I have to go practice for an audition :)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
First blog...ever!
I'm rather new to the blogging world, but I felt somewhat inspired to share about my life. Or maybe I'm simply trying to 'keep up' with my older sister, whose blog has been mentioned as a 'must read' in the social work world. However, it just makes sense for me to blog as well (and I marvel at how many new verbs the english language has added since the start of the internet), given that I love to write, and have a lot to say.
The basics: You've probably assumed that I'm female. I'm 20 years old. I'm a third-year music student. I'm christian, and it is a very important part of my life. I work in a daycare, and babysit frequently. I struggle from time to time with depression and anxiety, and every day with EDNOS, which stands for Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (I'll explain more about that at some point). My mom is dying of cancer.
That's my life in a nutshell. The next few months prove to be a journey, as I embark upon my third year of music studies, start teaching music, begin treatment for my eating disorder, and continue along with my mom as she journies through cancer.
The basics: You've probably assumed that I'm female. I'm 20 years old. I'm a third-year music student. I'm christian, and it is a very important part of my life. I work in a daycare, and babysit frequently. I struggle from time to time with depression and anxiety, and every day with EDNOS, which stands for Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (I'll explain more about that at some point). My mom is dying of cancer.
That's my life in a nutshell. The next few months prove to be a journey, as I embark upon my third year of music studies, start teaching music, begin treatment for my eating disorder, and continue along with my mom as she journies through cancer.
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