All posts by Rachel

About Rachel

Rachel V. Stankowski considered herself, among other things, a writer. Primarily due to the positive stigmas that accompanied the label, but also because it seemed to excuse some of her more major eccentricities, vanity included.

Comparison: The (Square) Root of All Evil

The Big Idea, ,

Comparison is an important concept in math and one of the most important math lessons you have to carry over into life.  (I often compare prices at the grocery store, it’s pretty rare that I solve differential equations.)  Comparison also has other useful functions.  Is this bluegill bigger or smaller than this sunscreen bottle?  (Bigger?  It’s a keeper!)  Is that bag of popcorn bigger or smaller than my stomach?  (Answer: it’s always bigger… and my stomach always hurts after a movie.)  But comparison can also be touchy when we apply it outside of math.

In my mind, and probably only in my mind, comparison is at the root of so many of our problems.  For most of my life, I’ve looked at another girl… and then another young lady… and then another woman… and seen how much (fill-in-the-blank)-er she is than me.  Prettier than me, taller, shorter, fatter, younger, older, cuter, smarter, etc, etc, etc… and that has always been my point of reference.  The place from which I begin my relationship with this girl… young lady… woman… before I even know her.

In thinking about these comparisons now, however, I realize that there is no way to truly compare myself to any other person on this earth.  The endless number of physical, emotional, intellectual, and even environmental and circumstantial characteristics that can be used to describe a person truly are unique to that person and are always changing.  I have my own set and it is literally impossible for the same set of characteristics to describe two separate people, even if only because two people cannot physically occupy the same space at the same time, assuming every other single thing is the same (which it’s not and never will be).

So how can I really compare?  It can never really be apples to apples.  So perhaps my life would be more enjoyable if I just enjoyed being an apple and accepted the orange for the orange that she is without feeling the need to point out how, as an apple, I’m more or less anything than the orange.

fruit 1

(Although… edible skin? Apple win!  But that’s not fair.  I really don’t like oranges at all.  Especially the way they smell.)

Granted, comparison isn’t always a bad thing.  We can learn so much from each other’s differences.  But the key is to use comparison to point us toward the unique quality in the other person rather than using it as yardstick for ourselves to measure up to.

Yes, yes, yes… all beautiful and thoughtful things to say.  But how do you put it into action?  How do you make that leap from bad comparison to good comparison?  I wish I had the answer.  I suppose the first step is admitting you have a problem.  So…

Hi, my name is Rachel, and I’m a compare-aholic.

(You, in unison now: Hi, Rachel!)

Thanks, friends.  Feels good to get that off my chest!

The weird thing: you will never be too anything to me.  (Yes, you.)  My comparison is always focused entirely on myself.  (How narcissistic of me!!!)  And as much as I try for good comparison (my friend Melissa is so much kinder than me, being around her makes me feel calm and grounded…) I often find myself focused instead on bad points of comparison (my friend Melissa is so good at eating vegetables, I embarrass myself eating around her).  (Both of those things are true by the way.  Melissa is the kindest, calmest vegetable-eater I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.)

The worst part of this crippling comparison syndrome is that I short change myself and miss out on opportunities for awesome things, like friendship, because I’m too busy comparing.  For example, I work with an amazing pediatrician on a regular basis– she is kind and interesting and so different from me in so many ways, I find her absolutely fascinating and I think I want to be her friend-friend (as opposed to just a work-friend).  (Good comparison!)  But, she is a beautiful and stylish physician (you know, first class doctor), and I hate myself for saying this, she is… thin… and therefore, would never want to be my friend.  (Bad, bad, bad comparison!)  So I find myself hesitating when I interact with her, afraid to say the wrong thing or wear pants that might “make me look fat” when I know I’m going to meet with her.  My rational self says, “Seriously?!  WTF is wrong with you?!”  while my jerk second-track prods me along down that self-limiting path.  Ugh.  That second track.

Am I the only one out there with this crippling comparison syndrome?  (No, pumpkins have it too.  Which is really unfortunate because everyone knows pumpkins actually are the best.)

fruit 2

 

PS: Do you like my math joke in the title?  Not a very good joke since I had to point it out, huh?  But I’m going to force it anyway.

Silver Lining: No Mice

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Have you ever gone to grad school?  If not, the most important thing to know about it is this: all you want, from pretty much the second you start, is to be done.  And the closer you get to the end, the further away it seems.  You spend an inordinate amount of time in the middle of the proverbial tunnel, unable to see the light at the end, and too far in to see the light at the beginning.  I can’t even tell you how many “last” experiments I had.  So, so, so many “last” experiments.  So, so, so many mice.  I have absolutely no desire to ever see, hear, smell, or touch another mouse so long as I live.  (Or taste.  I don’t want to taste one either, but that’s not something I ever tried anyway.  Figured I ought to throw it in for the sake of five-senses-completeness.)  However, when I was nearing the end and I was gearing up for another one of my “last” experiments, all I wanted were those little ladies to come in so that I could get started… and subsequently get finished, and fast!!

Right before Thanksgiving of 2011, I was expecting a big old shipment of genetically modified mice and I was pumped.  Ready to go, even though it meant working through the holiday.  No biggie.  My then boyfriend, now husband, was already safe and sound in Wisconsin, ready to watch some football without me, and that was fine.  So, day before Thanksgiving I find out: NO. MICE.  None.  Not-a-one.  I flipped… my… lid…  I immediately got on the phone to the hubs and, no preface, just said, “Fly me to Wisconsin.  Immediately.”  A few hours later, I was at Reagan Airport and a few hours after that I was in Wisconsin, ready to eat turkey and pie and mourn the loss of the mice I never even had in addition to the loss of my impending graduation.  Woe was me.  I was practically drowning in anger and self-pity.  It was not a beautiful thing.

While in Wisconsin, one is customarily expected to drink.  Like a fish.  And upon a previous trip to Green Bay (you know, the holy land), we discovered Captain’s Walk winery and the best white wine I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  (Disclaimer: I am definitely not a wine connoisseur and have been known to enjoy what those who are would call swill.  But it suits my taste, and that’s what really matters when you’re the one drinking it, right?)  So as long as we were in the Sconi-land, we thought we’d head on down to the local grocery store (Festival Foods—best name ever, it’s a party every time I shop!) to pick up a bottle (or two, or whatever… it’s really good).

So, the day after Thanksgiving, my in-laws-to-be took us out for a traditional Friday fish fry at the Belvedere Supper Club (my favorite!!), to Festival Foods for wine to smuggle back to Maryland, and then we stopped at the Marshfield Rotary Winter Wonderland to see the Christmas lights (another favorite of mine!).  On the way, we passed the Marshfield Clinic and I thought to myself, “Hey, self, perhaps we ought to check out the Marshfield Clinic online and see what kinds of employment opportunities there might be for a girl like me someday.  Someone who knows a lot about mice and lot about STDs and knows her way around science pretty well.”  Turns out, they were looking for a Scientific Research Writer, which I didn’t even know was a job that existed and I applied.  I interviewed on Valentine’s day 2012 and they must have been hit by one of Cupid’s arrows because they offered me a job and I started in April.

So let’s recap, shall we.  No mice.  Wisconsin.  Graduation (finally).  J-o-b job.  Silver lining.

All that rage, anger, the self-pity, and the anxiety over a situation that was quite literally out of my control.  Worth it?  Absolutely not.  Necessary?  Maybe.  It’s not realistic to expect that the idea of a future silver lining or a blessing in disguise related to a crappy situation negates the crappiness of the present moment.  But cumulatively, every struggle has a purpose and for me, life is better when I spend less time raging about the struggle and more time searching for the silver linings in the clouds.

My New and Improved Emily-Colored Glasses

Story Telling, ,

It’s probably safe to assume that you are familiar with the concept of viewing the world through rose-colored glasses—everything looks beautiful!  Flowers and sunshine!  Positivity and rainbows!  Dinosaurs and chocolate!  (These are MY rose-colored glasses, after all.)

Recently, however, I switched out my lenses.  The rose-coloring was obviously just a pink wash and I was doing a poor job of really believing the rosiness, especially when I looked in the mirror.  My new lenses: they are Emily-colored.

Perhaps I should explain.

Emily is the 7-year-old daughter of my bosom friend Melissa (please refer to Anne and Diana in Anne of Green Gables for the reference).  I absolutely adore Emily.  I love her mom, dad, and little brother too, but my love for Emily is different and confusing because, well, she’s a mini-me.

MINI. ME.

It’s disturbing how alike the two of us are.  Sometimes she gets this gleam in her eye and I know what she’s thinking (and it’s not good).  I can practically see the wheels turning and I know that they need to stop.  Now.  And I say, “Emily Grace, I am in your head.  Don’t even think about it.”  I have to get my serious face on because I am, after all, a very responsible adult.  But it can be really hard to keep the smile off my face… and I know it’s still there in my eyes.

Emily is different from other 7-year-old girls in several ways.  She is exceptionally bright.  Like really, disturbingly bright.  She is logical and reasonable and she communicates very much like a small adult.

However, Emily can’t escape the fact that she is still a 7-year-old girl, and like her peers, she lacks the maturity that can only come through life experiences and growing up… in that context, time is the only teacher.

The problem with an intelligent, rational, exceptionally communicative 7-year-old girl is that’s it’s hard to remember sometimes that she is, in fact, SEVEN.  Not twenty-seven.  Not even seventeen.  But seven.  And as a 7-year-old girl, she still behaves like the kid that she is.  Sometimes that can be hard for adults to accept, because they somehow expect more.  Someday, it may even be hard for Emily to accept because she somehow also expects… or feels she should have expected… more of herself at that young age.

At this point, you’ve probably realized that I am projecting.  Projecting like crazy.

My mom always says that I was born 40.  I was bright, like Emily, and for the most part acted and communicated at a level higher than my age would suggest.  (I used to dress up like an old lady and invite my mom to make me some tea so we could discuss her daughter’s (i.e. my) behavioral issues.  Truth.)  But, also like Emily, I was only able to function at a maturity level consistent with my age.  (Obviously, maturity level is relative, and at the ripe old age of 29, I still make bathroom jokes… so… not sure how trustworthy I am on this subject,  but I’m trying.)

I know these things about Emily.  I know them and I accept them and I love her for the intellectually mature kid that she is.  When she gets tired and has a meltdown over crayons at a restaurant, it’s because she’s seven.  When she takes me for a moonlit walk in the snow and talks to me about Sonya Sotomayor and the infallible love of God…  Well, that’s something else altogether and it amazes me.  But it doesn’t detract from the fact that she’s a KID.

And yet, for a long time I have thought of my young self in such a different light.  I reflect on previous choices with my current maturity level and have a very hard time reconciling my actions then with the path I might choose now.  I spent an inordinate amount of time as a child (you know, until I was like 27) desperate to be liked and my unique abilities in alphabetization of rock flash cards (how I loved those cards!  how I loved my rocks!), to name dinosaurs (I could always name the most different kinds!), and experiment with the coefficient of friction* didn’t seem to be doing the trick.  So I resorted to other tactics.  I said things I thought people wanted to hear, I obsessed about the way that I looked, I shared confidences I shouldn’t have shared, I failed to be the supportive friend that I should have been, and so on and so forth.  And to this day, I have an extremely difficult time reflecting on these things without feeling a truly overwhelming sense of guilt.

My old rose-colored glasses made me defensive.  I tried to justify my actions, find reasons for behaving the way that I did.  My new, Emily-colored glasses provide a very different perspective.  A perspective that revolves around the idea of maturity.  I was immature.  I was desperate and sad and  I was trying way. too. hard.  That doesn’t mean that I was a bad person then.  It means that I was immature and struggling to grow up… just like everyone else.

That all sounds nice, doesn’t it?  But it’s still a struggle and I often still fall into those patterns of guilt and shame.  I’m working on it.  It’s getting better.  And in an effort toward kindness, I often prompt myself with: “What would I say to Emily about this?”  And I’m looking forward to the day when Emily is all grown up and amazing (because she will be a game changer in this world, I have no doubt) and I can have this conversation with her.  It will be fascinating, to be sure.

Emily is an amazing little girl, but right now, she’s a little girl.  I love the little girl that she is, and she’s helping me to love the little girl that I was.  My hope for Emily is that someday she will love the little girl that she was– no guilt, no shame, just a happy recollection of the trials and triumphs that growing up entails.

 

*I learned about the coefficient of friction between two surfaces when I was in in high school physics (Ms. Betrus– excellent teacher, by the way).  I was a smart kid, but I certainly wasn’t given the gift of common sense.  One night, I was outside with my friend Kelly in the driveway.  I took one look at my brother’s skateboard ramp and I said to Kelly, “Hey… I wonder what the coefficient of friction is between my shoes and that ramp.”  (Which is essentially a nerdy 16-year-old girl’s version of, “hold my beer” or “hey, watch this.”)  I slowly walked up that ramp, one foot in front of the other, until I effectively overcame the coefficient of friction between my shoes and the wood and… BOOM.  I slid down the ramp, on my face, and ended up underneath my parents’ van in the driveway.  This.  This is why I was trying so hard.  But thank goodness for kind people like Kelly– she seemed to like me anyway 😉

Begging for Belly Rubs

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A quick Saturday afternoon post over this lovely Labor Day weekend. (We’re spending it in Green Bay– the Holy Land. Go Pack Go!!)

Every morning while I get ready for work, my dog Curly (for Curly Lambeau– I told you Green Bay is our holy land) follows me around. Just before I head out the door, she rolls over on her back to let me know she wants a belly rub. It puts a smile on my face and I happily oblige. (Metaphorical smile– I’m totally not a morning person. Regardless, I do oblige.)

Asking for what you want– what a concept. I don’t think I consciously learned that from Curls, but it seems to be something I put in action lately. To my husband, “I love you– do you love me?” To my boss, “I’d like to work on this project, here’s why…” And it works!

Although, I can’t imagine that I’m as cute as Curls begging for a belly rub.

My sister called me homely, and I think she’s right.

Story Telling, , , , ,

A few years ago, I was at my parents’ house for the Christmas holidays, baking cookies in the kitchen and singing along to Christmas carols on their early 1990s stereo system when my sister looked at me sweetly, cocked her head like the most adorable little puppy that she is, and said:

“Oh, Rachel, you are so homely!”

Oh my goodness.  Could not.  stop.  LAUGHING!!

It would be easy to be upset, but I know my little sister and despite her brilliance (no, seriously, she is a genius chemical engineer), her vocabulary is a wee bit limited on account of her general dislike of reading when not absolutely necessary.  What she meant to say, and essentially thought she was saying, was that I was being homey.  Domestic, if you will.  Homey.  Ahhhh…  what a difference a single letter can make.  (Remind me to tell you a great joke about celibacy my dad sent me one time…)

Anyway, it’s hard for me not to think of that day, those feelings, every time I do something “homely.”  And since I’ve moved to Wisconsin, I’ve gotten homelier and homelier 😉  (And NOT just because I do most of my clothes shopping locally.  Although, I am concerned because either Penny’s clothes are getting cuter, or I’ve been here too long…)

In the past couple of years, I taught myself to sew (yay, books!  They really can teach you anything!) and to really bake, like from scratch-scratch.  (Scratch-scratch is essentially the opposite of done done.)  More recently, I’ve been doing some crazy experimenting in the kitchen, and being the scientist that I am, here is my lab notebook:

Cookbook in Progress

Love the mess, the work in progress, the chance to experiment again and again, and that unlike PCR, my life doesn’t depend on it.

Even more recently, I learned to freeze corn.  I know what you’re thinking: Seriously?  Like put corn in a freezer?  But no!  Not just that!  Like I went to the farm (lots more on that later), picked a couple rows, shucked the ears, cut the kernels off the cob, roasted it, portioned it, and froze it to eat all winter.  Like the ants.  (Please tell me you know Aesop’s fables, otherwise this is about to get confusing.)  I’ve always been more the grasshopper, waltzing my way down to the store to buy some corn in the middle of winter (or grabbing it from my mother-in-law’s always-well-stocked-with-delicious-things freezer).  But this… this was a thousand times more satisfying!  And my house smelled so good!

With this recent success under my belt, things are about to get even homelier.  I recently completed a test batch of homemade pizza sauce with tomatoes from my mother-in-law’s garden (seriously, what can’t she do?!) and it. was. AMAZING!  Best homemade pizza I have ever made.  My husband agreed through his mouth full!  Next up: learn to CAN!  (And then after that, maybe I’ll can can, but we’ll see…)  I can’t wait for the gorgeous rows of mason jars to be lined up in my basement pantry!  (I’m planning to make spaghetti sauce too, so if you’ve got extra tomatoes in your garden, you let me know and I’ll take care of them for you!)

I may be homely, but this DIY thing is so ridiculously satisfying to me.  I was a little bit bored for a minute when I finally got out of grad school and entered the real world (i.e. left academia).  What do you do with the rest of your time when you’re only working 40 hours a week?  I watched a lot of tv at first, but then that bored me too.  (Note: that is totally NOT a dig on tv, I still love it, and thanks to the magic of DVR, I still watch a considerable amount.  Especially when Lifetime, Hallmark, and ABC Family start playing holiday movies– I am such a sap!)  So I started to learn stuff, do things from scratch, and now I can’t find enough hours in the day!  I feel like every little thing I take on leads to something else and my life just keeps unfolding in new and exciting directions right before my eyes.  (Ok, freezing corn may not be what you might consider new and/or exciting, but for me, this is a big deal.)

Once upon a time, I thought that a life full of “simple” things and “mere” happiness in the absence of recognition and “success” wouldn’t be enough for me.  I stressed over every little choice and the abstract idea of the future weighed heavily on my mind.  But I love the simplicity, I love the satisfaction that comes from hard work combined with creativity, learning, and experimentation.  I love doing my own thing.  As far as I know, a scientific research writer slash blogger has never been asked to host Saturday Night Live, and I doubt that I’ll be the first (it’s not like I’m a model slash actor up for a slashie or something, le sigh…), but I’m ok with that.  I’m more than ok with that, because my definition of success has changed dramatically over the years (oh man, that’s a complicated one, worthy of it’s own series, perhaps) and I find that I really prefer going with the flow rather than constantly trying to swim upstream.  I’m a lady, not a salmon, after all.  (And maybe part dinosaur, but it’s hard to say for sure…)

 

DISCLAIMER: No little sisters were physically hurt in the writing of this post.  Although, she may be feeling embarrassed.  Seriously though, she’s too cute for words and doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body (nor does she know what malicious means– omg, I can’t stop!) so I know for an absolute fact that she had no idea the difference between homely and homey when she said it.  Which leads me to another funny story that is just begging to be told right now.

Once upon a time, my beautiful littler sister was honeymoon shopping with her fiance (now husband).  She was surfing the web, researching locations, doing what engaged ladies do, when she stopped short, got on her I’m concerned voice, and said to us, totally seriously:

“All these places say they’re exotic, but what if we aren’t really in to that sort of thing?!”

Because, you know, tropical flowers, beautiful sunsets, azure seas, and white sand beaches… it’s all so scandalous!  So, I had to reply, “Exotic, Shabs… not erotic.”  And then I laughed.  For years.  Literally.  Like if that scene pops into my head while I’m standing in line at the grocery store, I’m going to laugh out loud about it.  I just can’t help it.  Oh, my little sister, she’s really the best– you’d love her!  (And you will love her, because keep reading and I will make you!)

There must be some toros in the blog-o-sphere…

Awesome Things, , , ,

Do you like blogs?

Hint: the correct answer is YES because unless you hate the internet, which you obviously don’t, there are tons and tons of blogs out there and there’s bound to be at least one that’s just right for you!  For example, Under the Tapestry.

(See how I just linked you right back here?  Clever, girl*…)

Personally, I looove blogs.  Some because they are written by people I love.  Some because the content is absolutely fascinating to me.  Some because the people are so different from me and incredibly knowledgeable about something that is otherwise very foreign and I find them completely engrossing.  I love different blogs for a lot of different reasons, but every day I think I am becoming more and more blogophilic.  (I’m hyrodphilic too– always thirsty.)

For that reason, I thought I’d share some of my favorites from each of the aforementioned categories.

I know lots of people with awesome-dot-com blogs.  (Awesome.com is a trademark of one of my former labmates.  It’s his, totally his, I can claim no credit for that excellent turn of phrase, but I use it anyway.  Hopefully, he’s out there somewhere, like beantown, saying dang, dang, dang.  Because then we’re even.)

First and foremost is my good friend Chris Lema over at ChrisLema.com.  He’s a big WordPress guy and knows pretty much everything there is to know about the interwebs and how to make it work for you, plus a little bit (ok, a lot) about everything and anything else.  (Except being a mom.  His wife is waaaay more knowledgeable about that.)  While his subject matter truly boggles my mind, he speaks my husband’s language, and he’s married to the most amazing woman on the planet, so I follow him.  Every once in a while I learn something– you know, like how to pay for lunch.  (True story: TWO times, I have managed to pay the check while out for a meal with Chris.  I’m still waiting to hear back from Guinness Book, but all signs point to a world record.)

My cousin Holly has a great blog too (well, she’s my husband’s cousin’s wife, but cousin works here I think… we have the same last name).  It’s called Mom Taught Us and she shares all sorts of amazing and delicious kitchen creations.  Yes, I’ve actually had some in her kitchen.  Jealous?

My friend Dawn has a beautiful, beautiful blog at cupsruningover.com.  She’s.  Flipping.  Fascinating.  You will love her, she’s impossible not to love.  Go read her blog, be impressed, be inspired, but then come back and love me too!  (The fact that we recently reconnected at this moment in time is absolutely bizarre and I can’t wait to write all about it in some sort of super special feature sometime very soon.  Plus, we wear the same size shoe, which means I automatically love her.  Without giving anything away, it’s larger than average, to be sure.)

Another grad school friend, the very talented doctor Lara Lacombe is a real life writer– of romance novels!  How sweet is that?!  (Yes, I am technically a writer for a living, too… but my writing is significantly drier than Lara’s, to say the least!  Except one time I did write a case report about a woman who suffered a stroke as a result of sexual intercourse.  Decidedly un-sexy.)

Last, but most certainly not least, is my favorite day-job client and friend Dr. Rajan Kanth.  His website is full of all sorts of wonderful medical and self-learning tools!  Dr. Kanth is always teaching himself new things and I love it when people love to learn!!  Also, before I met Dr. Kanth, the only thing I knew about Nepal was that it was the location of Mt. Everest.  Now I know that Dr. Kanth is from there, too 😉

Then there’s all those other people.  The internet people that I don’t actually know, but that I absolutely adore.  For example, I’m pretty sure that if I saw CaitlinHTP on the street I would give her a hug, behave as though we’d been best friends a while, and then be hauled off to jail for being the biggest creep ever.  Seriously though (the other part is only not serious because I am not much of a hugger by nature), Healthy Tipping Point is a revelation.  I love it.  I also love Bridget from Stumbling Towards Perfect because she makes me smile and makes me cry.  It’s heartfelt, nearly local, and gorgeous.  I love Jeannett at Life Rearranged because she’s totally mom-spirational, even though I don’t have any kids, and I love her take on life in general.  Her Sunday Smiles are 100% inspirational 100% of the time and InstaFridays are genius!  Same goes for Tsh & Co. at SimpleMom.  Speaking of amazing mom’s, I can’t forget the Crappiest mom of all.  Seriously, go read her Target post, catch your breath, and then come back.

Did you read it?  How hilarious is she?!

And the subject matter people.  They are amazing too.  I wonder if I could ever write something so meticulously researched, so very expertly explained.  (But then again, that is my day job… which is precisely why I don’t do it here.  It is really, really nice to write without citing, to just say whatever you want with the justification of “because that’s what I think.”  I don’t think most reviewers would buy that.)

My favorite ever is Dr. Yoni Freedhoff of Weighty Matters.  Dr. Freedhoff is an MD and when I say MD, I mean it like he’s an actual, practicing physician who isn’t trying to make money selling you the latest miracle weight loss drug (ahem, “Dr.” Oz).  He presents the radical notion that the best life to live is the healthiest one you can enjoy and I love him for it.  If you know me, you know that weight is a thing in my life.  Something that plays on that dreaded second track and cultivating a positive attitude toward myself and others in that respect is paramount to me.  Dr. Freedhoff has a great perspective if that’s something of interest to you.

Other subject matter experts I love to follow include Oh She Glows (even though I am far from Vegan), PhD Comics (because Jorge Cham gets it), PostSecret (because yes, I consider Frank the world’s leading expert on the subject of secrets), I F*ing Love Science on Facebook (I learn SO much!), and the list goes on.

If you’re a friend of mine and blogs have never really been your thing, I would encourage you to branch out and try subscribing to one or two.  Perhaps even this  one 😉  I used to use Google Reader to subscribe to blogs, but switched to Feedly when they shut down.  Feedly is super simple… I highly recommend giving it a try.  But there’s also the email subscription option (see the box on the right).  If you subscribe by email, every time I update, it will come straight to your inbox.  I’m nothing if not convenient.  (And begging for subscribers.  Is this begging?  It might be begging.  Subscribe.)

If you’ve been around the blog-o-sphere for a while and you find me somewhat intriguing, then I am truly delighted to be part of your life!  Thank goodness for the internets, yes?!  Bringing people like you and me together since… ummm… what year was it when I first started IMing via AOL?  It’s been a while anyway.  (I wonder if I still have an away message up…)

So glad you’re here!!

 

*Clever girl… that’s what the dinosaur hunter says in Jurassic Park when he realizes that the velociraptors** teamed up to hunt him.

**Trust story: I look an awful lot like a velociraptor when I run.  Ask any of my high school cross country teammates.

Silver Lining: Precancerous Tubular Adenoma

Silver Linings, , , , , , ,

Let’s just get this out there: if you’re embarrassed or grossed out by so called “bathroom talk,” this may be a post you want to skip.  But, as the book says, everybody poops.  So maybe talking about it is sometimes ok.  It can certainly be funny.  So here I go.

Bathroom talk is pretty much my first language.  I know what you’re thinking– didn’t you say that science was your first language in your last post?!  Good point!  And bonus points for observational skills!  But here’s what you may not know: the thing I studied for so very, very long in grad school was STDs.  Gonorrhea and chlamydia to be specific.  Boom.  Bathroom talk.  But I digress…

I love to run, but my intestines seem to resent me for even trying and I end up in frequent, urgent need of the facilities.  (Euphemisms… something else I’m good at.)  Twice, I didn’t make it.  (J, you know who you are, I’m so sorry for all the jokes!  I can totally relate and you can feel free to take a shot or two at your convenience!)  At least one of those times I made it to the woods.  The other time it was blessedly dark.  I have been frustrated and I have raged.  I have seen doctors, read books, searched the internet (wowie zowie, right?! the internet is pretty sure I am dying), and finally managed to get an appointment with a gastroenterologist who ultimately recommended that I undergo a colonoscopy and endocscopy to try to locate the source of the problem.  Cool.

(Well, not so cool when the doctor who actually did the colonoscopy turned out to be someone I work with on a regular basis professionally.  Pretty sure I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.  Thank goodness for email.)

The procedure was pretty much a piece of cake.  Yes, even the prep.  You know things have gotten out of control in your life when drinking a gallon of laxative is more pleasant than your basic every day experience.  (No cramping!  No pain!  You know it’s coming!  What’s not to like?!)  After the procedure I was truly hoping for the worst—obvious inflammation, a biopsy result indicative of something real, but also treatable.  Anything to slap a label on.  Someone to tell me that the craziness of my intestines was not just a figment of my imagination.  But, alas, that was not the case.  All of the biopsies from the small and large intestine came back negative, no indication of what could be wrong.  From here, we will proceed with a lactose intolerance test.  (Ummmm… yeah.  I’m lactose intolerant.  I don’t need a test to tell you that.  Give me some ice cream and you’re going to want to leave the room within 30 minutes.   Guaranteed.  But I’ll do the test, whatevs.)  So that was disappointing to say the least.

But wait… there’s more…

During the procedure, the doctor also removed a polyp that proved to be a precancerous tubular adenoma and you’ll be scheduled for routine screening colonoscopy every 5 years from here on out.  Ok, bye.

Literally, that was the end of the conversation.  Um, dang.  Drop the mic, walk away… at least that’s what it felt like from my end.

I’m 29 years old and have no family history of colon cancer.  In fact, I have very little family history of cancer at all.  I’m like a dang mosquito when it comes to family members getting screened (“Have you had your annual mammogram yet? Now?  How about now??? … No???  Would you get a mammogram if I sent you some data about mammograms???”) and I spend the vast majority of my working life studying breast, colon, and prostate cancer.  So I did some math (got to put that PhD to work!) and realized that I’m not technically due for a colon cancer screening of any sort for another TWENTY-ONE years.  Twenty.  One.  And it dawned on me… if my intestines hadn’t gone bananas, I would have gotten cancer.  Colon cancer.  Before the age of 50.  And it would have been diagnosed by symptoms, which means it probably would have been advanced.  Wow.  Silver-freaking-lining.  My oops-I-crapped-my-pants moment (have you seen that SNL skit—so funny, YouTube it.  But look, a hyperlink, I did the work for you!) prompted me to go back to the doctor (for something like the 5th time), which prompted my referral to GI, which prompted my colonoscopy, which may have literally saved my life, or at the very least prevented a whole boatload of unpleasantness.  Again: wow.

That tangled mess of intestines was like that tangled mess of threads… it was confusing, troublesome, a literal pain in the butt.  But wow, did that turn out differently than I expected.  It all seems to have been part of something so different than I could ever have imagined.  I love that.

PS(A): Are you over 50 years old?  Yes?  Have you had a colonoscopy?  If not, pretty please just do it.  It’s so worth it.

PPS:  I’d still love a diagnosis on the intestinal trouble, but considering the whole removal-of-precancerous-polyp thing, I’m going to give them a minute to figure it out…

Life is But the Weaving… and Spooky Action at a Distance

The Big Idea, , , , , ,

First, as promised, the poem for the more spiritually-minded:

 

Life is But the Weaving (The Tapestry Poem) by Corrie Ten Boom

 My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;

And I in foolish pride

Forget he sees the upper

And I the underside.

Not ‘til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;

Nothing the truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those

Who leave the choice to Him.

The idea of life as a tapestry, a needlepoint, or a cross stitch isn’t particularly novel, but for some reason I had either (a) never heard of it or (b) never registered hearing about it until recently.  I heard about it at church and it just resonated with me.  It was one of those days when you sit there in the pew, certain that the priest/pastor/rabbi/whatevs is looking straight at you, into your soul, and telling you the-exact-thing-you-absolutely-must-hear-at-this-moment.  It made me think about all those times I’ve ranted and raved about this, that, or the other thing only to find out later that it was just a necessarily dark thread in a much bigger and more beautiful picture.  Something I couldn’t have imagined, something I didn’t think I wanted, but something I, in fact, needed.

If religion/spirituality isn’t your thing, I totally get that.  And I can speak your language too, because science, you see, is my mother tongue.  That’s where I’m really fluent and that’s where I feel most comfortable.  (Writing in medical-ese is my day job!)  So, when I think about this concept, this tapestry thing, in more scientific terms, two ideas come to mind:

1)  Schrodinger’s (someday I’ll learn how to add a diaresis above the o, sorry Schrodinger, friend!) theory of quantum entanglement, or what Einstein (rather jerkily, actually) dubbed spooky action at a distance.  While Einstein’s intent was definitely not kind, I actually like the phrase spooky action at a distance.  It sounds so… Halloween-style fun, doesn’t it?  Anyway, in very, very rough terms, this is the concept that two particles that share a quantum state can never truly be separated even if they are no longer in the same vicinity.  That is to say, if you know something about the one particle, you automatically know something about the other particle because they are inextricably and forever linked.  Inextricably.  And forever.  And since every atom in your body has at one point in the history of time been a part of something else– a stick of gum, a bumblebee, a dinosaur, a blade of grass, a distant star– it’s hard not to believe that all of these things, all of us on this earth, all of us in the universe, are somehow, at least in some small, quark-scale way, connected.  (As a side note: I’m pretty sure most of my atoms come from dinosaurs.)

2)  Or, in slightly more simple, Newtonian-physics, equal-and-opposite-reaction terms: the butterfly effect.  Like the movie.  Like the phrase, “a butterfly flaps its wings in China…” you get the rest.

Of course, if you’re like me, all of these ideas– spiritual, religious, scientific, and proverbial– appeal to you.  In that case, I would highly recommend Thank God for Evolution by the Reverend Michael Dowd… it’s a great read!  The way he blends science, spirituality, religion… the universe… it’s beautiful and makes such lovely sense.  I really enjoyed it.  (Thanks, Dad!)

Regardless of how you want to think about, it’s hard not to believe, for me anyway, that the things that happen to us and the things that happen because of us don’t happen in a world that revolves around us.  (Double negatives much?  I’m leaving it…)  Therefore, the implications, the ramifications, the causes and the effects, the bigger picture, is really something we can’t entirely wrap our heads around.  No matter how much we think a decision through, there will always be consequences we can’t anticipate.  No matter how much we analyze something, there may always be a cause we can’t even imagine.

That’s not so say that planning and analysis, careful consideration of causes and effects, can’t be beneficial.  But it is to say that there’s more to this world, this life, than we can really comprehend.  I’ve only very, very recently, and very, very inconsistently found the ability to sit back and put a little bit of faith into the idea that the whole, big picture, the one I am completely incapable of comprehending at this moment, is exactly what it’s meant to be.

So, back to the analogy of the tapestry… sometimes the threads are chosen for us, sometimes we get to pick out a strand or two.  Sometimes we think we know what comes next better than the “weaver,” but perhaps that’s not the case.  And the more I think about it, the more I find reasons to be grateful for the blessings in disguise and the silver linings that seem to line even the darkest of clouds.

Finally, I promised some pictures.  My mom recently taught me to embroider, and I’m pretty psyched… but as in life, the back side is not so pretty.

Underside 1

Of course, if you’re like my mother-in-law at cross stitch or my friend Ellen at embroidery, even the back looks good:

Underside 2Dang, that’s impressive…

But that’s the idea.  In words, of the garden and medical variety, and in pictures, of the messy and the so-good-it-hurts variety.  The underside’s not so bad, but the underside doesn’t make nearly as much sense.  It’s that picture on top, that story we tell when the whole thing comes together, that makes life beautiful.

 

What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

The Big Idea, , , , , , ,

Have you read the book Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg?

Yes?…  Excellent!

No?… I highly recommend it!  It’s truly excellent.  Link again, so you don’t have to scroll up.

Throughout the book, Sandberg asks her readers to “lean in” and actually do the things that they would do if they weren’t afraid.  My thing, my dream: start a blog!  (Should I be dreaming bigger?  Maybe…  this is just a start.)

Even the mere thought of putting myself out there makes my stomach churn and my second track (the negative, ever present, stream of thoughts that constantly plays through my head) say things like: “isn’t it a bit narcissistic to write about your own life?  who cares what you have to say?! no one is even going to read it!”  (Then my third tracks says: “and you’re going to put that on your blog?  You sound like a paranoid schizophrenic!”  But that’s a whole other series…)

So, I am working very hard to forget that track, to be done with the second guessing and the negative nelly-ness, and to lean in and do it anyway.  (Oooo… lean in italicized, that’s clever, I like it.)  To silence that second track: who else would I write about besides myself? Isn’t it a bit narcissistic, really, to think I could write about anyone else?  And if no one else wants to read it, that’s fine, at the very least, my mom is obligated.  (Hi, mom!  It’s cool if you just catch up before I visit.)   At any rate…  This is what I would do if I weren’t afraid.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still afraid (omg, do you hate me?!), but I’m also leaning in and leaning past that fear and doing this thing… this thing I really want to do.  Woot woot!

Right, so the blog does have a point besides just being a thing I really, really want to do.

This is a blog about looking for the bigger picture, the blessings in disguise, and the long-awaited silver linings.  The name “Under the Tapestry” is based on a really great analogy for just that… the idea that we’re looking up at the messy underside and the tangled threads of a tapestry that, from the other side, is really rather nice.  More on that to come, of course– tomorrow, I present the idea in the form of a poem, a picture, and as a pseudo-quantum mechanical theory.  You know, for fun 😉  See you then!