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Good News November 18, 2007

Filed under: college,dating,deaf,family,politics,school — bookwritegirl @ 1:27 pm

Okay, this last week wasn’t all horrible. Thursday night was Student Senate. First we rode on a bus to go bowling and have pizza with the chancellors of my school. One guy I sorta like sat in the row opposite of me, and we struck up a little conversation before the bus started, and I understood him okay, even though it was already dark. But once the bus got moving, everybody started talking louder, and so this guy I like still was trying to have a conversation with me. I finally felt brave enough to say, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you very well, it’s loud in here. And he understood, and spoke louder, and didn’t mind repeating himself (sometimes 3 or 4 times before I understood him) and got really close so I could hear. That was really nice of him. He’s a good friend that way 🙂

We got there, and the room where we were had bad acoustics, so I couldn’t hear the chancellor speaking very well, or anybody else for that matter. I asked one of my good Senate friends who sorta acts as a mentor, what was going on. She would summarize what people were saying and whisper it to me while they were still talking, and I could read her lips and get by that way. It wasn’t perfect, but it was very nice of her. She also didn’t mind repeating things for me. About halfway through this long session, where it was the senator’s turn to bring up ideas and grievances and such to the chancellors so the chancellor could know what’s going on at the student level, the guy I sorta like turned to me and asked if I could hear, and I said sorta. Usually people don’t ask, because they fear it would be rude. But I think it’s really nice that they’re starting to be more aware of how to help me hear, and help me in the right way. This other guy who’s also nice to me makes sure I can join in the crowd as well. Sometimes I stand off to the side waiting because I don’t want to be rude and just join in a group of people, plus i have no idea what’s going on anyway. But he would say, here, sit here, we’re talking about such and such. Or like on this night, he said, you wanna bowl? as an invitation for me to join them.

We finally got back to the school, where we had the actual Senate. That’s when I found out that the Executive board had changed Senate around a bit “so everybody can hear”. Originally, the exec board faced the senators, and only the speaker had the podium with the mike. The senate had one podium with a mike, facing the exec board, where only people who had to present a bill spoke. Everybody else on both sides of the room just spoke from their seats, and I had had a hard time hearing everything, and kept asking the girl/mentor what was going on. The had made one minor change before I started, and that was giving the entire exec board more mikes so everybody could hear them.

The big change they made for me was to require everybody who had something to say to come up to the podium. Not just raise your hand and remain seated. Go up to the podium and speak. Wow, what a difference! I actually felt in charge of the situation for once. The speaker made several slips, and so did the senators. The senators kept forgetting, and he kept reminding them, either by pointing, or by saying come up to the mike so (insert my name here) can hear. Man, that was nice, and I forgive him, it still made me a bit embarrased. Sometimes, though, the girl/mentor who sat by me said, “Can you come up to speak, we can’t hear.” Instead of “bookwritegirl” can’t hear, she said “we”. It was a small way, but it was so…nice!

They actually changed the procedures of Senate for me. Yes, it benefits everybody, but the reason why they changed it in the first place was to help me hear. At the end, during for the good of the order, we passed around a gavel and everybody got to say whatever was going on in their lives or such. I said something along the lines of “thank you so much for coming up to the microphone and speaking, it makes a world of difference for me, I appreciate it very much” and after that the senators didn’t forget to go up to the microphone so much. They even went up there for the “for the good of the order” which was not expected, but nice all the same.

So, I really felt happy about this night. You guys probably know that I was feeling unsure that any hearing guy would bother dating me if it takes so much work for communication. Even my friends for that matter. But tonight, mere acquaintances and people I know by name only, went along with this change for me. Willingly. Even the two guy senators I had mentioned earlier, whom I’m interested in, even as friends only, didn’t mind at all. That gave me new hope. “People who mind don’t matter, people who matter don’t mind” How true. I must keep reminding myself this, but now I have proof it holds true outside of family and even friends.

At least they understand better than my dad, at this rate. People assume because I can hear, I can hear well. But now Senate is learning that that’s not true, I can hear, but not perfectly. Dad forgets that. A lot. I had forgiven him about last night, willing to move on, but now I found that he’s sulking and that’s why he’s ignoring me, I can’t forget what happened last night anymore. Not until he realizes, which may take a while.

News comes in pairs. Good news, then bad news. Hopefully I’ll get more good news tonight to help balance it out, since the bad news is that one of our new kittens is sick and lethargic and the total opposite of his playful self. He’s at the vet now, I’m waiting to hear the news from mom.

 

Bad News

Filed under: college,deaf,family — bookwritegirl @ 12:59 pm

Seems like everytime something good happens, it has to be balanced by the bad. Right now I want to effing scream at my dad! Yeah, sure, I found out through somebody else who told me I wasn’t supposed to know, but thought it would help me put his moods in perspective. Yeah, my dad has depression, and no he won’t get help because he thinks he would be discriminated against. I’m like, nobody has to know, you know?

So, bad news first, since I’m already riled up. The story is that last night I went to go see my mom perform with her singing group, It was a nice little concert, her first one, so I asked off early from work (though I need the money), and even though I had a headache I went with her to the cast party. Before the show, two things happened, and it’s either or both the reason why my dad hasn’t looked at me or responded to me at all today, and he’s in a bad mood. Because of me.

Waiting in the lobby to be let in to the theater to get our seats, my little brother, who’s hard of hearing, happened to be standing near a bunch of old people, sitting down on the bench. One of the ladies said something to him, but I couldn’t hear her, so I’m sure my brother didn’t either. He was looking straight at her, and then he looked to Dad to “translate”, but Dad didn’t do anything, just glared at him, expecting him to respond. My brother knew what Dad wanted him to do, but he had no idea what to say, since he had no idea what the old lady said to him. When this little incident was over, I motioned for my brother to come stand by me to reduce the chance of being in a lopsided conversation. I knew exactly what my brother was going through. I rubbed his back and said you know, if you can’t hear them, you can always ask them to repeat themselves or speak louder. And my brother nodded, I could see him processing the information.

But Dad heard what I told him, and got all curt and his voice tense, and I couldn’t hear him very well either (stupid acoustics in the lobby) but he was saying something about my brother being as stubborn as me and it’s not because he can’t hear, it’s because he knows he should respond but he didn’t. I wanted to whap my dad on the upside of his head and say, I know what it’s like. My brother couldn’t hear her, that’s why he didn’t respond. He’s not stubborn. He tries very hard to please, but you’re always hard on all the brothers and not on my sisters, and my brother has another strike against him because he can’t hear! But I didn’t say that. I knew it wouldn’t be worth the pain of his emotional rollercoaster.

I didn’t hear everything my dad said, and even though I had a basic idea, I asked him to repeat, and he consolidated his rant into one sentence (people were watching, so he couldn’t blow up like I knew he dearly wanted to) and then asked me if my ears were broken. (by ears he means hearing aids/cochlear implant). I said no, it’s just loud. This went on in the same vein for a while, and I still couldn’t understand him. So I looked away. I was done trying to listen to him. I didn’t do it disrespectfully, it was a natural break in the conversation, but I knew Dad wanted some sort of response from me. I wasn’t about to give it to him. My gaze wandered naturally, but purposefully, and it wandered back to Dad, who looked at me, his eyes wide and his lips tense. I smiled like I didn’t think anything was wrong.

Sheesh, Dad, after almost 20 years you’d think you know better?! He still doesn’t get that he has to get my attention first then talk to me. He still calls from another room or another floor, and thinks I’m being stubborn and unresponsive when really I can’t hear him, it’s not until Mom or my brothers or sisters tell me Dad’s calling me. Dad has some sort of primma donna complex, where he thinks the world revolves around him and that we should automatically drop everything and hear and understand and obey everything he says. That’s why I’m trying to teach my hoh brother what I wish I was taught, if you can’t hear, your response can be to ask them to speak up/repeat what they said. That’s why I’m so glad I’m getting more in touch with my Deaf side (as corny as that sounds) because it puts my life in perspective. I was probably no more stubborn than any other kid. I wanted to please my parents, but I couldn’t hear!

We got to our seats. I didn’t mind being a few rows back, but I picked front row for us because that way my brother and I could “hear” better since we could see better. See who’s singing at what time, you know? Dad was complaining (no matter how jokingly he does it, I know he really means it) about how my littlest brother and sister couldn’t see, that they would have to crane their necks back to see. (It wasn’t that bad, plus i offered to move a couple rows back.) I sat my hoh brother next to me, on the far end away from Dad. I showed him how my phone worked, and how I could talk to friends with texting, and how it vibrated so I didn’t have to hear it ring. He thought it was cool.

Then my dad asked me, “do you get frustrated with your old man?” I said “sometimes”. It was a safe response, honest, though not brutally so. He said jokingly “all the time, huh?” I releneted a bit and said “most of the time” and then said something about how I was glad I was at school most of the time now, in the same ‘humor’ my dad does, even though it’s honest. I could see a small change, but didn’t realize it at that time, in his manner of acting toward me. I stopped talking after two sentences, to prevent myself from being more honest. Note: I will NOT lie just to stroke his ego. I will NOT lie to make him feel better and wanted. I will NOT grovel and such. I try my best to be as honest as I can, but I also won’t be brutally honest. That’s why I write the blog. I needed a place where I could express all my feelings as honestly as possible, since I have no one person I can share everything with.

Today I slept in, my family went to the 9 o’clock Mass while I decided to go to the 11 o’clock Mass instead. I was in the bathroom, putting on my makeup with the door open. I heard my family come home (and feel the vibrations on the floor too) and said hi to everybody. Dad walked by and I said hi to him, but he didn’t look at me, just walked right past dropping my book bag carelessly from last night that I had left in their car for safekeeping. Okay, I thought. He’s in a bad mood. I didn’t realize I was the cause of it until I asked Mom, and she said it was because of what happened last night. (I had told her about both incidences) She said Dad felt like I disrespected him, and now his feelings were hurt.

Man, did I get mad. Not at her, at Dad, but I couldn’t show it to him. It was HIS fault. His fault for asking me. If he didn’t want to hear the truth, don’t ask me! His fault for not getting it through his head that perhaps me and my brother aren’t stubborn or disrespectful if we can’t hear a darn thing people say, and we stand there, asking to repeat, or waiting, processing what people said in our mind before we figure out what they said, and then respond later. I’m downstairs in my room right now, and I really want to go up there and tell him to SHUT UP and GET OVER YOURSELF and GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD THAT MAYBE YOU NEED TO GO A LITTLE OUT OF YOUR WAY SO WE CAN ACTUALLY HAVE A NORMAL CONVERSATION FOR ONCE!

Ah, well. Soon I will be leaving, for an hour long drive to the capital city because I’m meeting with the president of the statewide university system for my “leadership and/or scholarship” abilities. He’ll probably try to talk to me with the radio playing and the windows down even though it’s cold because it’s so hot in the car and when the siblings are talking and such. My parents are driving because they don’t think I have enough highway experience yet. And Dad did threaten in his stupid hypocritical joking manner that my car is not all mine, it is in his name even though I pay for half the payments and all the insurance.

Wish me luck.

 

updates on some stuff… October 11, 2007

Filed under: ASL,college,deaf,family,friends,life — bookwritegirl @ 5:54 pm

I was elected Student Senator for my college, with 70% of the votes. Student Senators can plan events in conjunction with other depts. at the school if they’re so inclined, so I’m contemplating (by no means have I decided to do it) on doing an event with the disAbility office, like ASL Awareness Day or something. Any thoughts/tips? Mostly, I want to a) make people aware that being deaf doesn’t mean I need extra time on tests or have to take it in a separate room, etc, like I’ve recently experienced from my professors. They both look at me weird everytime I come into class. I’m not hearing, and yet I’m not deaf, so they don’t really know what to do. And b) I want to drum up interest in ASL as a foreign language at my univ, so that they’ll have to start offering more classes, and perhaps more advanced classes on Deaf subjects. Plus our new chancellor got his PhD in special ed, and once headed up the sign language dept here. So…it’s prime time 🙂 Of course, any thoughts/concerns/suggestions you might have are welcome. If I do this, it will be the same week the DeafNation expo is here.

And on Gallaudet, well, I finally heard from their honors dept. Much faster than anyplace else I’ve emailed. They’re more than willing to have me as an visiting honors student. Geoff’s going to follow up on the admissions dept for me, because he “likes to make the bureaucracy move for people.” How nice 🙂 But he did say that he knew visiting students when he was a student, and they didn’t get any scholarship support from their home institutions.

I hadn’t heard about the financial stuff from my school yet. So I asked the Info Desk where I should start. They didn’t know, but somebody came along and said go to the Registrar. So I did. They didn’t know how to be a visiting student either, and to check with my college or English dept advisor. And they said if my advisor didn’t know either, to come back and they’ll try to help me as best as they can. Great. I already went to my advisor this semster. And I’m sure she won’t know. But hey, I want to go to Gallaudet, so I’ll keep plugging away. If I don’t hear from VR by next week, I’m going to TTY them. “Hey, what’s up? How can I make use of this wonderful resource?”

I guess my ASL teacher had a busy day yesterday. He was going to tally up our grades so we know where we are, but I guess he forgot. That’s okay. I’m not worried, but some students are. I convinced them to give him the weekend, give him the benefit of the doubt. He also forgot to get back to me on the visiting student thingy, but that’s okay too. I’ve got Geoff 🙂 So, it’s starting to work out.

 No, I didn’t win the lottery, but I’ll buy another ticket tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, my ASL teacher, who’s the co-VP of my city’s Association of the Deaf, he sent an email to all his classes about the game night tomorrow night at their hall. Fun! I wanted to go, so I asked my classmate if we could carpool. Sure, she said, the buddy system. Then I text Mom, do you need me? Nope. Can I go to this thing? Where is it? Near my school, and I’m carpooling. Well, she’s nervous about me carpooling. I thought it would make you feel better! Yes it does, but I’m still nervous. Is this girl okay? Mom! I thought. Yes, she’s good. Dad asked, how old is she? 27. Is she safe? Yes! Where is it exactly? I’ll look it up.

Then they started asking if this would take place of the community interaction req. that I was going to do, the football game at the deaf institution. I don’t know, but I want to go to both. They just sorta started giving me a hard time, but I held on. So apparently I can do both (so far). I think they’re catching on to my enculturation.

 Well, my mtg’s starting soon, so I have to sign off for now.

 

Manuscript 3 October 10, 2007

Filed under: ASL,college,deaf,eating,family,food,life,writing — bookwritegirl @ 9:35 pm

Okay, I apologize in advance for any formatting errors (again). This is manuscript 3, haven’t submitted it yet. I will email it tomorrow to my teacher, hopefully. We’ll see what she has to say about it. Here were the instructions: “Imagine a seemingly peaceful family of four–mother, father, daughter, son–sitting at the dinner table. One of them has a confession to make to the family, but is afraid to reveal it. Through the subleties of body language and dropped hints, the confession is divulged, though it is never explicitly expressed. Who has the confession to make? What is it? How is it divulged? What is the family’s reaction? What is the confessor’s reaction to the family? (by Tom DeMarchi, Florida Int’l Univ., Miami). My teacher allows for a little rule bending too. Anyway, this is obviously a fictional scenario (the acceptance letter), but most of the elements are true. This would be exactly how I see my family reacting, if I did ever want to transfer to Gallaudet. Does this sound more authentic?             

 Knock, knock.

 

            Mona was sitting on her bed, leaning up against the wall, re-reading a letter she had gotten in the mail and relishing the absolute silence, when she felt the vibration of someone knocking on her door. She quickly flipped on her hearing aid as she said, “Come in.”

 

            Her mom came in. “Time for dinner,” she said, leaving the door open.

 

            “Just a minute!” Mona called after her, taking the letter and locking it carefully into her jewelry box, the mahogany one with the pearl inlay that her aunt got for her in Okinawa. She heard a loud clatter and jumped, turning around to see if anybody was watching her, before realizing that the sound came from outside her open window—it was an unseasonably warm fall day—her friend was bringing in her trash cans. Mona waved and caught her friend’s eye.

 

            Letter, good? her friend, Sara, signed. Mona had taught her some signs so they could communicate anywhere.

 

            Accepted! Mona replied. Sara smiled and gave her the thumbs up. See you tomorrow, Mona signed, then putting on her cochlear implant processor, hurried to the dining room table, where her family was waiting. “Sorry,” she murmured, scooting in her chair. It scraped painfully loud on the tile floor, but it seemed to bother only her.

 

            “Ready?” her dad asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

            They did the sign of the cross and recited a prayer, “Bless us, O Lord, for thee Thy giveth, from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen,” and out of habit her dad closed the prayer with “the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen,” just like he did when she and her brother were little and needed a cue to remember what to do.

 

            It was spaghetti night, with salad (and Dorothy Lynch, of course), garlic bread, and milk. Everything was already served for them since they were just a family of four, as opposed to Sara’s large family, where all the kids were responsible for serving themselves.

            Mom spoke, “so, Mona, did you get my message? That Sara has your mail?”

 

            Mona was mid-bite, her eyes widened for a split-second before she recovered herself and held up a finger to indicate “just a minute” while she finished chewing. “Yep, got it when I got home.” Her brother then looked at her suspiciously. Mona shot him a look.

 

            “What’s the matter?” Dad asked Mom, his voice rising slightly.

 

            “Oh, nothing,” Mom dismissed with a wave of her hand. “The mailman accidentally delivered her mail to the wrong house.”

 

            “Why didn’t you pick it up?”

 

            Mom shrugged her shoulders.

 

            “Okay…” Dad said, raising one eyebrow again, and ripped off a chunk of garlic bread and popped it into his mouth, chewing powerfully, his gaze wandering over to Mona, who suddenly remembered to eat, taking a large bite of spaghetti.

 

            “It’s just an excuse for them to talk is all,” Mom spoke up quickly.

 

            “Yeah,” Mona agreed out of the side of her mouth, then swallowed. “We don’t get to see each other much anymore.”

 

            “So, when is she graduating?” he asked Mona.

 

            “Spring. One more year.” Mona signed small while she talked.

 

            “And she’s going to go to your college, right?”

 

            Mona opened her mouth and paused, skipping a beat, then replied, nodding, “Um, yep.”

 

            “She getting any scholarships?”

 

            “She doesn’t know yet.”

 

            “But she has the Chancellor’s Scholarship, right?”

 

            “I don’t know.”

 

            A short silence fell, filled with sounds of chewing. It was so loud now, Mona noticed, since she’s gotten the cochlear implant. A car drove my, the sound of its deep engine filling her cochlear ear uncomfortably to capacity, and she cringed slightly.

 

            “I’m glad you have your Chancellor’s Scholarship.” Dad said after a while, in a loud voice. Mona cringed again, disguising it as a smile. Would he never understand that she can’t hear him very well when he talked like that? She thought to herself, then marveled at her own thinking, because she could both see the signs and hear the sound in her mind at the same time.

 

            “You know, we’re real proud of you,” he said, continuing in his loud voice.

 

            “Pardon?” she said, sighing inwardly at the same time. He’s my dad for Pete’s sake! You’d think he’d know better.

 

            “We’re real proud of you,” he repeated, smiling.

 

            “Thanks.” Mona drank her milk. She knew what was coming next. She shifted in her seat, and so did her brother.

 

            “When we found out you were deaf, the doctor s aid you would never learn to read, write, speak, or hear, or amount to much of anything at all.”

 

            Mona just knew it. She sat there. Anxiety flitted across her face.

 

            “And now look at you! You’ve accomplished a lot. You have what, a 4.0?”At least he was sounding more normal now, Mona noticed.

 

            “3.975. That one stupid A minus.”

 

            “You know, I was just telling my students about you. They were impressed. Remember Lisa?”

 

            “Yeah, she dropped off her paper the other night,” Mona remembered, poking at her lettuce casually.

 

            “She said she didn’t know you were deaf. She said you sounded normal.” Dad ate another forkful of spaghetti.

 

            Mona half-smiled. “Cool.” She wasn’t sure what to say. “Yeah, a lot of people at school think I’m hearing, too,” She took a small bite of her salad, “but then they see my hearing aid or cochlear implant—”

 

            “Processor,” Mom corrected.

 

            “—processor, whatever, anyway they start talking really loudly, or sometimes they’ll sign. Like. This,” she mimicked their awkward slowness,” and I’m like, um, hello, I heard you before, so what changed?”

 

            Her brother laughed; he was taking ASL 1 now and thought he was completely enlightened as to Deaf issues.

 

            “People are stupid,” her dad said, scraping his entire plate with his fork, then helped himself to more spaghetti.

 

            “When hearing people see my hearing aids and read my stories, they think I’m deaf and not hearing.” Mona continued impulsively. “Then when Deaf people see the same things, they think I’m hearing and not deaf.” She sighed, and her shoulders sagged, but she quickly turned that into a shrug.

 

            Mom looked at her, coming to a slow realization, but said nothing.

 

            Dad didn’t notice; he was shaking Parmesan onto his plate. “So, how is sign language going?”

 

            “Great! It really seems to make sense, like I just understand it, you know?” Excitement crept into her voice. “It’s really cool. I can’t believe I have only two more levels to go after this; I want to take more classes; I don’t want to forget anything! Oh, I almost forgot, I got an A on my ASL midterm.”

 

            “Good for you!” her dad said, pleased.

 

            “My midterm is tomorrow,” her brother said, getting up from the table. he put the silverware on his plate—how loud it was!—and took it out to the kitchen.

 

            “It’s not too hard,” Mona told him when he came back to finish his milk. “He repeats the questions if people didn’t get it the first time around.” She put her napkin on her plate. “And did I tell you our teacher is Deaf?” she asked Dad. “He just graduated from Gallaudet.” She said all of this quickly, still signing simultaneously, because she was glad she knew sign.

 

            At the mention of Gallaudet, the corners of her brother’s mouth turned up, sensing her excitement. “Was that letter from Gallaudet?”

 

            “Ye—” Mona said, cutting herself off, and looked at her parents bewilderedly, searching for some sort of reaction.

 

            “Gallaudet? Why?” Dad asked, dragging his hand across the top of his head, as he tends to do when stressed, his voice getting loud again. Mom looked almost sad.

 

            “Oh, um,” Mona bit the inside of her lips. “Did you know that vocational rehabilitation will pay for your school costs?”

 

            “Really? I didn’t know that,” Mom said, smiling tremulously. “That’s nice.”

 

            “Mona,” Dad said, his voice deeper. His face was turning blotchy white and red, and she could see the redness through his thinning hair. He always groused that his receding hairline was due to the stress of trying to raise Mona and get her to sit still long enough to listen. Mona’s brother slowly sidled out of the room. “Did you know about this, son?” he asked him before he had the chance to disappear. He shrugged his shoulders.

 

            Mona’s face was a deep red, and a tear of frustration streamed down her cheek. “You guys never will understand,” she said, struggling to keep her voice and hands steady, “will you?”

 

Gallaudet info stage…waiting… October 9, 2007

Filed under: ASL,Catholic,college,deaf,family — bookwritegirl @ 7:49 am

Okay, I finally sent off those emails to the Honors Program at Gallaudet, plus my state’s VR office, to see what they offer. I tried out the SSI screening tool, and it looks like I’m not eligible for benefits, because I have a job, and my deafness isn’t a “severe” kind, I mean, I’m pretty functional. It doesn’t keep me from working. It says to be eligible you’re supposed to have only 40% or less word comprehension (or whatchamatcallit). With my implant alone I get about 60% in moderate noise. With hearing aids I get maybe 80%…it’s been a while since I did my last testing. But if VR says so, I’ll look into SSI more.

 Now, this is just the waiting stage…I got an email back from my school’s Engl. dept, and they were quite sure that my scholarships wouldn’t transfer. And they wanted to make sure I understood that I have to take my “final credits” here in order to graduate. I’m like, I’m only a sophomore! It’s going to be a 5 yr degree! I have  PLENTY of time. (but I didn’t put it like that…). They haven’t answered my question as to how Gally’s engl classes will transfer. *sigh*.

 No info yet from financial aid, the dean’s office, Gally’s admission office (for more info about the visiting student program), VR, Honors prog, etc etc.

I’ve told many people online, but out of all my family members, I’ve only told my brother. And his reaction was, they might not like you because you’re not capital D Deaf. And CIs can be pretty controversial…(he’s taking ASL 1). Other people online expressed concern about Gally’s accreditation status (Gally’s on probation did you know?) and the safety of the area. But they all said it would be an experience, because DC is cool, and that there’s a big Catholic presence in the area. So that’s cool too 🙂

 Will keep you updated…perhaps I didn’t hear anything yesterday because it was a gov’t holiday. (though we still had school). I’m going to ask my ASL teacher today after class, to see what he knows about visiting students. 🙂

 

He’d better be darn appreciative–for women only September 19, 2007

Filed under: Catholic,college,family,happiness,life,Love — bookwritegirl @ 7:35 pm

All I’m saying, my future husband had better be darn appreciative of all I’m going through for him.

Stupid horomones.

My cycles are really irregular, spaced really far apart typically. Perhaps that’s normal for me. But it’s not healthy, because when the lining isn’t shed, it just builds up and turns cancerous. Cancer aside, it would make me infertile. So that’s why my doctor put me on the ABC when I was 14. Quite young, you’re right. I almost wish I’d never gone on them. I tried quitting them completely, because a) I don’t like taking unnecessary medicine and b) I don’t like them as a principle.

But every time I got off of them, it’d go normally for two months maybe. Then it’d start getting very light and irregular again. And I’d get terrible moods. Seriously, I’d laugh one moment, then get angry the next, and right after that I’d cry, for no reason in particular. Last time I was off the pills was for most of my senior year of high school. I went fine for a few months.  I lost the 5 lbs I always gain while on it. Then I gradually sunk into a kind of depression. I also started getting very dizzy–turns out that was b/c of migraines. And graduation day, I was still miserable–I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. Off the pill, I was hardly hungry, too. I actually lost 5 more lbs on top of the usual 5. Everybody was complimenting me! But I wanted to get my body under control again for my first year at college, and got back on the pill. I gained those 10 lbs back now. It was 5 at first, but then after this sophomore semester started, I think I’m gaining more weight. I’m just really hungry. Sometimes I can deal with it. But if I go too long without food, I start feeling faint and a general sick feeling.

And I’m sick of being…well, I know people say I’m not fat, but I feel that way. My stomach isn’t flat. It sorta bulges out. (And no, I’m not pregnant. In fact, I’ve even never had a boyfriend. Ever. But even if I did have one, I’m firmly set on waiting until marriage.) I should exercise more. But I have no time to do so. Note to self: Don’t take 18 credits next semester.

Anyway, I was sick of the pill again. Plus I sorta started a week early, even while on the med! So I went to see a diff. doctor about it today. My gyno just didn’t take the time to listen to me. The pill was the solution to every female complaint. So I, red-faced and teary for really no reason (I’d explained the whole thing to my mom matter-of-factly only the last week…darn horomones), explained the situation. He said that I should stay on the pill. After all, it regulates my cycles most of the time and my moods, it prevents cancer and a few other things I can’t remember. And the other synthetic horomone he mentioned, Depo-Provera, it causes women to gain on average 30 lbs, and he didn’t think I’d like that. (I don’t!)

He said I could also quit cold-turkey if I wanted. But if down the road I got married (he said 5 yrs, which is too long for me), taking the pill up to that point would make me more fertile. That was the shocker. I had heard other women say that they’ve heard of women becoming infertile while on ABC, and I didn’t want that. So, I talked all this over with, with my mom, and she thought that would be a good idea to stay on it.

Not what I wanted to hear, exactly. But now I’ve come to the realization (still under the influence of horomones) that this would be a sacrifice on my part for my future husband. Weight struggles, horomone struggles. All for the sake of future fertility. He’d better be darn appreciative.

On another note, there’s DUI. Driving under the influence (of alcohol.) There should be a DUIH. Driving under the influence of horomones. I had a hard time staying in my lane today. And I never play music, talk or text. I also kept driving 5 miles under the speed limit on average. I wasn’t tired. It was just horomones.

A second note: I’ve come more and more to realize that I’m meant to marry. But where are all the guys? I know of 6 single Catholic guys. D’you think one of them would ask me out? Yes, friendship comes first. But I dunno, are they afraid of being friends with me? B, Z, Jo, A, Ja, Ju…Not that it would be meant to be or whatever, but the irony of it…

 

Snowflake Babies August 12, 2007

Filed under: Catholic,family,life,philosophy,religion — bookwritegirl @ 10:45 pm

I know I’m not married yet. I don’t have a boyfriend. In fact, I’ve never dated. But I often think about what would happen when I got married. I’m casually thinking about the wedding, but am avoiding looking at any bridal magazines because a) it would only depress me and b) it would freak my mom out. (“You’re getting married?!” “No, just looking…”) She would give me a lecture about how marriage takes work and that nobody is perfect, etc etc. I roll my eyes, and kind of resent it since I’ve never dated yet, but a part of me is listening. And that part is worried I won’t be up to par in “working” on my marriage, afraid I’ll fail miserably.

When I get married, I want to have children, lots of children, and homeschool them all. However, I’m afraid I may be infertile. My mom was a bit infertile, needing lots of help to conceive (naturally–we’re Catholics, you know). She did get a large family, but it took a long time. There’s a few things wrong with my system, as far as I can tell from my cycles.

So, I’m quite prepared to adopt–I’m looking forward to it, saving children from foster care (In fact, I’m considering becoming a foster care family). But there’s a whole generation of children that are hidden…these are the frozen excess embryos from IVF, the so-called “snowflake babies”. You see, the Catholic Church hasn’t offered any insight on this issue officially; only a few Catholic people have touched on the issue. Is it moral or is it not? I don’t believe in IVF, which is an unnatural way of making a human…isn’t sex supposed to be fun? (To tell you the truth, I’m terrified of it). Anyway, a child should be made lovingly (in a literal way), and IVF is a cold, sterile environment.

 Is it morally acceptable, or not? After all, these embryos weren’t made in a natural way. But they are still human (“a person’s a person no matter how small”). I believe that we shouldn’t begrudge these children for other people’s errors, the same way we shouldn’t abort children because of a “mistake”. I believe that these children are deserving of a full life, instead of being frozen until the apocolypse or thrown away like trash. I believe we should give them a chance. I would like to adopt the “snowflake babies”, should I be infertile or even merely have trouble conceiving, and be able to give them life. And I sincerely hope that the Church will share my same views, for how could they not?

 Free the Snowflakes! Free the Snowflakes!