All About G

I’m a right shoe. My brother is the left. Many people say that we’re good shoes, but for a long time, we believed that we were a very bad pair. When we were in the store, nobody wanted to buy us.

Every day, many people passed by us, and some stopped and admired us, but in the end, they continued on. They would always say things like “These shoes are too expensive!”

We thought that we were worthless. We didn’t know why nobody tried to buy us. Moreover, we knew that we weren’t allowed to remain on the shelf forever. When the season changed, if we weren’t bought, we would be taken away. No one knows what happens to the shoes that aren’t bought, but it’s been said that they’re never seen again. We were very afraid that we would suffer the same fate.

Towards the end of our season, we were given a final hope: a clearance sale, but instead of being happy, we were sadder because the sale was necessary for us. Was it true that nobody wanted us? Why?

On the final day, we thought that this was the end and we had no hope. In that moment, a young man stopped in front of us. And he picked us up. He had a huge grin and he said “You seem really good. I’m in luck!” And so, he bought us and we could finally call ourselves owned.

As time went by, we learned the daily life of our new owner, who was named Mikal. He was a student at the nearby university, and shared his apartment with his three friends. There were many parties. Eventually, we got used to it. We were very happy with our new lives. We had a family and a home.

One day, Mikal and a friend were arguing. Mikal left the apartment very quickly. He was furious. His friend, Raul, took us and left the house. We were afraid because we didn’t know what Raul was going to do. Raul walked to the park, set us underneath a bush, and left us there. He didn’t return for us. The day changed to night, and we were still alone. The dark was very scary and it was very cold. We were very scared, and we wished that Mikal would find us. But, as the hours passed, nobody arrived looking for us. Another day passed and still nobody came. We thought that Mikal wasn’t looking for us and we didn’t feel wanted. We felt lonely.

That night it was even colder. We began to abandon hope that anyone was looking for us and that there was someone that wanted us. Suddenly, there were voices that were getting louder and louder. Then there was a very bright light. We heard a very familiar voice that said…

“Idiot!” Someone picked us up with gentle hands, “These are my favorite shoes! Don’t take them!”

Immediately, we recognized the voice. It was Mikal. He had come to find us!

“I already said that I’m sorry!” The second voice was Raul, but that wasn’t important to us. Our Mikal was with us; he loved us after all. We realized that in reality, we were very important, and nobody bought us at first because we had more worth than most everyone else. Mikal found us the two times we needed him, and we will always be grateful to Mikal.

***

Yea I know the sentences seem a bit elementary. But that’s what happens when your original composition is in Spanish. Yes, this is the paper I wrote (in Spanish) for my Spanish composition project. We had to write in the past tense about something that wasn’t human. I have some editing to do (in Spanish), but overall I think it came out very well. Hope you like it!

(PS – the title is “The Shoes That Didn’t Love Themselves”)

Comments (4) Oct 07 2010

So this past week was quite the adventure, a.k.a. the worst experience of my entire life.

It started out innocently enough. Sunday evening, I had a nagging pain in my coccyx. For those of you non-health-affiliates, the coccyx is the tailbone. Anyway, I had a nagging pain in my coccyx. I didn’t think much of it, because the pain felt like the pain I get when I sometimes plop hard on it, at least enough to bruise it. So I brushed it off.

Monday came and went, and it was around Tuesday that I noticed something was wrong. The pain wasn’t getting better. In fact, it was getting worse… much worse. In the shower, I decided to do my usual awesome assessment. I discovered a lump (omg TUMOR?!?!) and hurt like hell with even the lightest of touches. I began to wonder if I didn’t just bruise it and instead shattered it.

I tried a lot of different things throughout Wednesday. I couldn’t walk without a limp. Just moving hurt. Just standing there hurt. And I had no idea what it was that was causing me so much increasing pain. I tried looking in the mirror. I even tried to take a pic. Yea. Totally failed.

Wednesday night I finally decided that I needed to get it looked at because chances were that I would be in too much pain to move if I waited an extra day. And that’s how I found myself lying on my side and cursing the fact that even that hurt, in a room, in the ER.

I spent the following 20-ish minutes (at least) listening to the kid next to me and his grandmother and father. The kid wanted to go walk around and stuff, and the adults were trying to nicely convince him that he would be better off staying in bed. I wondered to myself if they were that nice to him behind closed doors.

Anyway after waiting for what felt like an eternity (with friend, Drew, who came to keep me company and whom I’m very pissed at for the time being), the doctor, Debra, came in. She asked me some questions, I answered them, and then she took a look. She hadn’t even been poking around for two seconds when she said “Yep. You have a cyst.”

So I asked her “Well, can you take it out?”

And she explained to me that she needed to drain it and that it’d be painful. I didn’t give two fucks, so I then asked “Can you take care of it?”

And so she did. (She moved me into a private room for this, btw)

My advice to you? Don’t ever get a cyst.

So, she had me strip the bottom half of my being and lie prone on the bed. There were some absorbing pads beneath me. And she was nice enough to give me a heated blanket. It was SO WARM! I want one for Christmas.

So what felt like another 30 minutes later, which was spent listening to the surgical tables being rolled over to right on the other side of the curtain, and wondering if I was going to regret what I was getting myself into (Drew, by this point, had been sent off to the waiting room by the doctor). And then, she came in with the table, with all sorts of tools and whatnot.

At that point, I was thinking to myself “… oh shit.”

So she was explaining what she was going to do, and it reassured me somewhat. It didn’t sound that bad… right?

WRONG.

I learned the cold, harsh truth when she stuck the long ass needle in (to inject some “numbing agents” underneath the cyst). And I’m assuming it wouldn’t be that painful if it wasn’t infected. I’ve given blood with longer, thicker needles, and that didn’t hurt ANYWHERE as bad. I started half-yelling (though with my face stuffed in the pillow that they so graciously gave me, it sound more like I was death-moaning), and half-assed bit down. But, I’m proud to say, my eyes didn’t water at all. Hell yea, I’m not as wimpy as I thought I was.

So according to Debra, I “have good timing” apparently. Originally, she was worried that the cyst wasn’t “fluctuant” if that word even exists… basically ready to drain. She discovered REAL fast that it was ready to drain, when, as she stuck the needle in, pus and other generally disgusting crap spurted out. I didn’t see it, but I sure as hell FELT it when it ran down my leg. IT WAS GROSS!

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Debra then grabbed a scalpel, since the “numbing agent” was in effect, and cut a slit into the cyst. That wasn’t too painful. But when she took the “numbing agent” and stuck it INTO THE CYST, that felt amazing let me tell you.

After that, she began to squeeze the cyst to push as much of the crap as she could out. And after that, she packed the cyst with gauze. That also hurt more than anything. And I thought I couldn’t walk before? Ha! I was perfectly mobile before I got the damn thing drained.

Anyway, she gave me a shit ton of drugs to nuke my body with. Two different kinds of antibiotics (3x and 4x a day, respectively), and a painkiller (that makes me nauseous as hell). And they sent me on my way.

Since then, I’ve been getting repacked daily at the Health Center. It’s never a pleasant experience, but I noticed as the day go by, the pain is lessening. Which is good. I don’t want to have to deal with this anymore than necessary. And the folks taking care of me have been telling me that I’ve been healing really well too, which is good.

And if I get a relapse, someone shoot me.

Comments (0) Sep 19 2010

And so, I will give it to you.

I’m feeling a bit better since that emo episode not too long ago. Mom, bless her soul, gave me some valuable insight. I swear, I think SHE should be my psychiatrist. But I have a lot of work to do, basically. But enough of that, let’s move on with some cooler shit.

So I just got done almost packing (I’m going to pack this laptop of mine and my flatiron tomorrow morning) for my trip tomorrow to Buffalo. And I’m pretty sure no one really knows what I’m talking about so I’ll abridge it for you.

Basically, From the 20th to the 25th, I’ll be working as volunteer medical staff (love being an AT student) at the Empire State Games, up in Buffalo. I’m going to definitely take the opportunity to do some REAL clubbing, and perhaps I’ll even be able to check out the Falls before I go back. But I’m really looking forward to this trip. And I’ll be going to bed shortly after I finish this post though I doubt I’m gonna get any sleep…

One thing I’m going to try and do is record the almost-week-long trip with my phone and post it on Youtube. That way, it’ll be almost as if you were right there with me! Yea, not really, I know… yes it was really cheesy sounding. But what better way to talk about my trip than to show it? Besides that, it’s an experiment with my phone to see just how good the quality of the video is. My old EnV 3 had really good pics, but the video quality was *horrible*. I’m crossing my fingers with my new EnV Touch.

Anyway, I really should get going to bed. I have a long day ahead of me, and it’ll only get dangerous if I fall asleep behind the wheel. I’ll try and tell you how it goes as it goes!

Comments (0) Jul 19 2010

I can safely say that I’ve officially survived what could have been imminent death. I can also say that the accident I was involved in last night was probably, and will probably always be, one of the scariest experiences in my entire life.

It started out as what was supposed to be a fun joyride around the southern tier of NY. My little sister and I were in the back seat; she was passenger’s side, I was driver’s. My two friends Brian and Joey were in front, and Brian was driving.

We had taken the backroads to Oneonta; the whole way there I would warn him about dangerous curves and times when he’d want to slow down. We were going pretty fast, between 60 and 70 most of the time. Luckily, I know those roads like the back of my hand. But I don’t blame Bhoff, I mean, I love driving fast too. It’s fun. We were just unlucky that night.

We decided that it would be fun to drive to Delhi from Oneonta, and then take the backroads to Sidney from there via a route that Derek and Mom had taught me. I had driven it a couple of times, and while I didn’t know those roads as well as I knew others, I knew it’d be a fun drive.

We drove up over the hill on route 28 just outside of the city. Brian had just passed a car and was still going pretty fast. I think he was coasting down to speed (I do that ALL the time, seriously. Easier on the brakes). I don’t remember saying it, but Kimmie told me later that I had said “You should probably slow down.” The music, Guns N’ Roses, was blaring though. We were enjoying ourselves, even if we had to scream at the top of our lungs just to hear each other. A car was coming up the other way, and didn’t turn down their high beams as they drove by. It blinded me and I assume Brian too, at the very least, because I didn’t see the sign that warned us of the curve up ahead. When my vision cleared, the first thing I saw were the yellow arrow signs usually associated with sharp turns, and it was about that point that I knew that something awful was going to happen.

On the way down the hill, 28 has a relatively sharp left turn as route 357 splits off and bears right. If I had to guess the speed at which that sign probably says, I’d have to say it probably recommended to take the speed at anywhere between 35 and 45 mph. I can usually get my dad’s car around any curve at approximately 15 mph over the speed listed on the sign. We could’ve gotten around that curve at 50, 55mph maybe even 60 if the recommended speed was 45. I think we hit that curve at speeds closer to 70.

The rear end spun out and around as we entered the turn. I think it actually took Brian by surprise, the way his hands jerked on the steering wheel. I don’t blame him; I saw that turn at the last minute as well. The instant we were off the road, I started to scream. I couldn’t stop screaming. I grabbed hold of Brian’s seat in front of me and braced myself for what I expected to be a very painful end. And the whole time I was just screaming Brian’s name, over and over. Perhaps a small part of me inwardly thought I could somehow channel my energy through to him and give him the power to stop the car. A bit naive of me, if I do say so myself.

We plowed through a road sign, flew off the ground over the slight incline, careered across the road that merged with 28, and slammed into a tree. I’m sure we hit it at speeds anywhere between 50 and 65. Initially, the car was moving sideways. I’m sure that we probably would have started rolling if Brian hadn’t kept his cool as well as he did. And I don’t know how he managed to more or less straighten us out, but he did, and while it resulted in us hitting the tree on the driver’s side, I’m positive that he saved our lives.

I screamed as the car buckled around me. I watched as the tree came through Brian’s door, shattering the glass and smashing the metal. I screamed as debris hit my face and shoulders. The entire side of the car we were on gave way inward. Brian’s seat came back and rammed against me, wedging my foot underneath. I couldn’t budge it. I thought in that instant, that I was going to crushed by hot, twisted metal, that I was going to die right then and there. My sister immediately came to mind; I knew she was right there next to me, and I could only think of the fact that I had invited her to come along and she could be dying right here with me.

We all jerked as the car came to an abrupt stop. I remember half-shrieking “Brian?!” I was instantly concerned about Brian, as I had watched him slam into the steering wheel. His head lolled about slightly for a few seconds before he managed to slur “Is everyone okay?” I went to move, but my foot was stuck. The smell was terrifying, and smoke was coming up from the engine. And I couldn’t move. I had to get out of the car and I couldn’t move. Brian made to move his seat back but I screamed “Don’t move the seat Brian, I can’t move my foot! I can’t move my foot! Oh my God, I can’t move!”

Kimmie was there, asking me about my foot. I pushed her away, not wanting her to stay in the wreckage any longer than necessary. I half-snapped in reply, “It’s stuck!” In a rush of adrenaline, I wrenched my foot out, abandoning my sandals in the process. I didn’t realize it until later, but that sandal probably saved my foot from seriously being crushed.

We climbed out of the car; Brian sat on the trunk (more or less intact, considering the condition of the rest of the vehicle) with blood covering his arm. There was already a couple (married, I assume) at the side of the road, making sure we were okay and calling 9-1-1 (which is good, because I had no service). I went back periodically to check on Brian, who was apologizing over and over and saying how he screwed up and that he was so sorry. I told him to just not think about it; that we’re all alive. EMS arrived and took over, sending me off to get checked. In retrospect, I should’ve provided neck stabilization until they arrived, but I wasn’t thinking about anything other than calming him down. We were questioned about the situation. I think I retold the story like, 50 times in the span of 5 minutes. The state trooper took my license. I haven’t seen it since (that bastard).

The EMS people took Joey, Kimmie and I by ambulance over to Fox. Brian had been back-boarded and transported ahead of us. The EMS crew were very lighthearted and nice and it helped to brighten the mood a little. I’m only amazed at how they can maintain such a cheerful demeanor considering the kinds of things they have to deal with on a day-by-day basis.

At the hospital, my hand, clavicle and shoulder were x-rayed. Nothing was broken, to my surprise (well, not the thumb because I already knew it was sprained). They gave me a sling and a splint for my thumb and sent me off. No offense, but the ER doctor was kind of an ass. Mike, the receptionist that Kimmie had told me about when her throat was bleeding after her surgery, was around, and he was pretty awesome in the few seconds that we interacted. Yes, he looks like he should be in Green Day’s band.

I plan on following up with Dr. Wiesner (an orthopedic) and Dr. Aaronson (a dentist… one of my teeth was knocked out of place and it HURTS). I sprained my right thumb, and SOMETHING happened to my left clavicle, I’m sure. One of my teeth, like I said, is out of place. Scrapes and bruises here and there, and a very sore neck are the only injuries besides those three.

The ride home was terrifying. Mom drove slower than she usually does, and I was pressed as far back against my seat as I could get. My shoulders were so tense, I could feel the knots forming.

Since then, I keep replaying the crash over and over in my head. Sucks that I couldn’t just close my eyes so I didn’t have to watch it happen. My mind prevented me from doing so, as if I could somehow see what was coming and dodge whatever came my way. If I don’t actively stop myself from thinking about it, the images come back as strong as ever.

I don’t think we’ve ever been as lucky as we were last night. I feel like if we had hit that any different, I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this blog post. All I know is, I’m just extremely thankful that we’re all alive and okay.

Comments (1) May 31 2010

Wednesday, after writing that blog post, I went to talk to Coach Quigg. I think it was probably one of the more terrifying moments of my life.

I don’t know if you would ever guess looking at me, but when it comes down to my skills, I’m not confident at all. Playing in high school, I was told I was good, but I was also told that I wasn’t good enough. I don’t think the people who talked to me realized what they were saying when they said it, but the message came across as clear: “You did good, but that girl over better is even better.”

Was it to try and motivate me (I’m a highly competitive person) to work harder? That might have been their intentions. Unfortunately, while I’m competitive, my self-esteem is terrible, so if someone tells me I’m not good enough, then it comes across as “You’ll never be good enough.”

I’m not trying to single him out, but Dad did that a lot. I don’t think he knows that he was even doing it (he tends to be oblivious to absolutely everything). But hearing him critique my gameplay, and then turn around and talk about how Mike Guerriere was “amazing,” (And yes, Mike is/was(?) an amazing player, probably one of the best in our region. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made it as far as the National Team) really ground it into my skull that my skill level had reached a plateau and that I couldn’t climb any higher.

What knocked me down and out were tryouts my freshman year at IC. I didn’t make the first cuts, and it was so disheartening for me; it just solidified my belief that I’d never be good enough. I wasn’t fast enough, my footwork wasn’t accurate enough, my leg wasn’t strong enough, I wasn’t good enough.

It was when Kristen talked to me that I thought “Well, maybe I am good enough after all.”

It was just a Friday AT hour in the training room, and Kristen and I were talking about soccer. She had nearly made the varsity team herself, but was cut after injuring her ankle. And I’ve seen her play. Hell, I’ve played against her. I played her team in the championship intramural game last block, when I sustained my concussion. She’s an amazing player. And we were just talking about soccer and missing it, and she then suggested that the two of us work hard over the summer and then try out in the fall.

At first I was resistant. Why bother, knowing that I surely wouldn’t make it? And I let her know that I probably wouldn’t make it. That I felt like, ever since the cut, the varsity team was on an unreachable level.

And then she had told me “I’ve seen a lot of people play, in intramurals and stuff. And I really think you could make it.”

Coming from a peer in the sport, especially one who was as good of a player as she was, gave me that spark of hope.

So I went to see Coach. I told her about the mistakes I had made, and how I missed playing and how I wanted to try again. She didn’t turn me down whatsoever. Instead, she told me “Come up to practice Friday at 6.”

And I did. And I was amazed with myself. I’m behind a little with skills since it’s been a really long time that I’ve played on that kind of level, but I held my own. I did good. And Coach agreed with me. She had let me know that I was a little behind, but I had very good speed (I’ve always been fast on the green — I was known as the deer/gazelle, when I played in high school). And she was very encouraging that once I got back into the swing of things, I’d be on that kind of level. And she invited me to go back again, tomorrow morning at 8am.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am now. And I’m going to go to bed now, before it gets too late. I gotta get my rest (at least some) so I can manage to get up early.

In the meantime, I’m going to bed thankful that Kristen talked me into trying again. If she hadn’t, I’d still be miserably living in my room, wishing I could be as good as them, instead of knowing that I’ve got the potential, and that I will be as good as them, if not better.

So thanks a ton, Kristen. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.

Comments (2) Apr 09 2010