Posts
Once Upon Otero Road
10 years ago
Friday, May 21, 2010
Help!
Ok, friends. I'm in a family ward and I've just been called as the young single adult representative (and primary chorister). For YSA, I could really use any and all ideas you have for fun activities, service projects, self-improvement/skills activities, and fellowship activities (we have many many inactive members...). I would really appreciate any advice of what's fun, good for a large group or small group, and fits nicely in a limited budget (or even advice for ideas that have gone terribly wrong and should never again see the light of day). Thanks in advance for any suggestions you make!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Manders, Scout...and introducing Lizzie
I did something unexpected this week. It wasn't unplanned, just happened a little sooner than planned. I adopted Lizzie.
Over a year ago, Aaron promised me that when I came back to the 505, we would look for a puppy. Some unforeseen events have kept me from having a puppy, but now that summer is nearer, we've started talking more seriously about it. Actually, Aaron conceded to looking for a puppy even though he prefers cats (and has one already). I'm definitely a dog person, but I've warmed up to the idea of having a cat--as long as it behaves like a dog :)
We started looking last weekend, but no luck.
Wednesday, I was at the mall and decided to just peruse the pet store and ended up falling in love with the sweetest black lab/terrier mix puppy. Next thing I knew, I was saying yes I'll take her, filling out forms and leaving the mall with a new puppy. I renamed her Lizzie, after Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (one of my favorite books). Lizzie is incredibly affectionate and well-behaved with just enough puppy spunk. Her first night here, I tried leaving her to sleep in the kitchen and she whined and cried in the most forlorn, please love me sort of way. I opened the puppy gate and she immediately ran into my room, jumped on my bed, lay down and looked at me like "I promise I'll be good if I get to sleep here." And she was. Lizzie stayed snuggled up against my back or behind my knees or under my arm the whole night. She's has had a few accidents, but for the most part, she's learned to ask to go out. Her first full day here, she did pretty well. I came home to find everything in order and calm. However, I had noticed that she seemed a little wheezy the night before and the next day she started throwing up--and didn't stop until late Friday night. She had absolutely no interest in solid food, was extremely thirsty but couldn't keep water down. Poor baby! I called the vet to cash in my free visit card but the soonest she could get in was Saturday morning.
So I started and ended my Friday with puppy vomit. Lovely. I was concerned that I had just adopted a very lovable, very sick little puppy. It definitely seemed like more than just stress induced upset tummy. According to the vet, Lizze had symptoms of puppy Parvo (sp?) but it was unlikely since she's had the vaccine twice. So I sat and waited while they ran tests, gave her IV fluids for dehydration, etc. Ever heard the phrase, "That person has a stick up their butt?" I know have a visual of what that would entail. The vet explained that testing things from downstream tells you what's going on upstream. Fabulous. Oh, and then there was the point in the visit when they brought Lizzie out and said, "Ok, she's looking ready fine...well, except for the bump of fluids in her neck." What?! Apparently, the IV fluid was hanging out in her neck, waiting to make it to the rest of the body. Apparently, it was also ok to massage it out. Yeah, like I'm going to rub down a waterbed in my dog's neck. I have to give her food and water in 2 tablespoon increments all day and sneak her meds in doggie treats, but Lizzie is on the road to recovery from what turns out to be canine Staph infection. Awesome.
But! now that Lizzie is recovering, she is even more affectionate and adorable than the day I brought her home. She's been quick to learn "sit" and "lay down," and mostly stays out of trouble. Lizzie is great in the car, mostly ok with other dogs, loves people, and is pretty good on the leash. I got her a dog pillow, but she prefers to sleep in my basket of blankets...
She has a goofy personality, a sweet temperament, is obedient, smart, and follows me everywhere. And she loves Aaron. She and Scout (my hamster) seem to have an unspoken agreement to be uninterested in each other (except when Scout is organizing her seeds and bedding, which makes funny noises and Lizzie barks in protective concern). It's been a bit of a rocky start, but Lizzie is a good dog. I'm so happy to have a dog, again!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Recipe for success
A few months ago, there was some holiday or other and Aaron's dad put in a request for me to bring cookies. It was last minute (Aaron was on his way to pick me up), but it just so happened that I had made Monster Cookies or something like that early that day. Coincidence? I thought so. I thought that maybe Aaron had mentioned the cookies, so being curious, I asked. Aaron's reply? "White people" usually have some sort of baked good sitting around, waiting for consumption. And I realized, it's generally true. Mr. Sanchez wanted cookies and his son's huera girlfriend had them.
I don't feel the least bit boastful to say that Aaron really likes my baking. He hasn't disapproved, yet. In fact, he wants to learn. So, we've been baking.
At Easter, we made my mom's sugar cookies. His family likes things that aren't too sweet and can be dunked (not too much frosting), so Aaron was content with naked sugar cookies. Half the fun of sugar cookies is decorating them and if I'm going to go to the trouble of making homemade sugar cookies, there will be frosting. We compromised by having a self-serve bowl of cream cheese frosting to accommodate either preference.
This past week was Aaron's mom's birthday. We were both little puzzled as to what to get for her. She likes practical, meaningful things. I found out from Aaron that it's been years since she's had a birthday cake....so, what did I suggest? Let's make her a birthday cake, of course! (Leave it to the huera, right?) From Aaron, I discovered that she loves yellow cake and strawberries. I started suggesting something like a 2-layer cake with strawberry filling, or maybe a citrus cake with strawberries. Aaron was a little miffed. "You mean I've been denied all these years? You can add stuff to the cake mix? You can change it? Why was I never told this?" I assured him that it's ok to think outside the (cake mix) box. He "helped" by cracking a few eggs and mixing the batter and complimenting my work. The final product--2-layer yellow cake with fresh strawberries and vanilla frosting. We filled inbetween the layers with fresh strawberries. The vanilla frosting was a cool whip and pudding recipe, so it had flavor but was light. I didn't have any almond slices, so we used some chopped nuts for a top border. It was so much fun and his mom loved it! We served it for dessert after a bbq for her on Saturday. (I helped in the kitchen and got to learn the secrets to her pico de gallo and guacamole). About the cake, Aaron's dad said, "We're not going to be able to eat this cake. She's going to keep to say "oh look at this cake Amanda made for me.' Three years from now, we'll still be looking at this cake, wishing we could eat it but she wants to save it." Haha.
I enjoying cooking, I really do, but I think my passion leans more toward baking. It links me to my childhood. It carries so many traditions. The handwritten recipe cards are how I have conversations with my mother and grandmothers. I bake when I'm happy. I bake for the happiness of others. I bake because it makes me happy that I have a talent to develop. I bake because having something homemade makes me feel industrious. I bake because it makes a house a home.
Whether it's because it's my huera roots or not, baking is part of my heritage and legacy.
I don't feel the least bit boastful to say that Aaron really likes my baking. He hasn't disapproved, yet. In fact, he wants to learn. So, we've been baking.
At Easter, we made my mom's sugar cookies. His family likes things that aren't too sweet and can be dunked (not too much frosting), so Aaron was content with naked sugar cookies. Half the fun of sugar cookies is decorating them and if I'm going to go to the trouble of making homemade sugar cookies, there will be frosting. We compromised by having a self-serve bowl of cream cheese frosting to accommodate either preference.
This past week was Aaron's mom's birthday. We were both little puzzled as to what to get for her. She likes practical, meaningful things. I found out from Aaron that it's been years since she's had a birthday cake....so, what did I suggest? Let's make her a birthday cake, of course! (Leave it to the huera, right?) From Aaron, I discovered that she loves yellow cake and strawberries. I started suggesting something like a 2-layer cake with strawberry filling, or maybe a citrus cake with strawberries. Aaron was a little miffed. "You mean I've been denied all these years? You can add stuff to the cake mix? You can change it? Why was I never told this?" I assured him that it's ok to think outside the (cake mix) box. He "helped" by cracking a few eggs and mixing the batter and complimenting my work. The final product--2-layer yellow cake with fresh strawberries and vanilla frosting. We filled inbetween the layers with fresh strawberries. The vanilla frosting was a cool whip and pudding recipe, so it had flavor but was light. I didn't have any almond slices, so we used some chopped nuts for a top border. It was so much fun and his mom loved it! We served it for dessert after a bbq for her on Saturday. (I helped in the kitchen and got to learn the secrets to her pico de gallo and guacamole). About the cake, Aaron's dad said, "We're not going to be able to eat this cake. She's going to keep to say "oh look at this cake Amanda made for me.' Three years from now, we'll still be looking at this cake, wishing we could eat it but she wants to save it." Haha.
I enjoying cooking, I really do, but I think my passion leans more toward baking. It links me to my childhood. It carries so many traditions. The handwritten recipe cards are how I have conversations with my mother and grandmothers. I bake when I'm happy. I bake for the happiness of others. I bake because it makes me happy that I have a talent to develop. I bake because having something homemade makes me feel industrious. I bake because it makes a house a home.
Whether it's because it's my huera roots or not, baking is part of my heritage and legacy.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The early bird can have the worm...
There's nothing more ominous (or obnoxious) as a ticking clock when you're running late. Take this morning...
I finally bought a clock for my bathroom because I hoped it would help me discipline my time better in the mornings. Nevermind that I've fallen into the terrible habit of walking up 30 minutes before I'm supposed to leave in the mornings (and have fallen into an even worse habit of leaving 10-15 mins past an already tight departure time). At the very least, a ticking clock mocking me with "late. late. late" sixty times a minute should help, right? This morning, it seemed to be and I was rushing to the kitchen to grab breakfast/lunch...some sort of sustanance...with literally 2 mins max to leave. I grabbed my Costco version of Slimfast, an extra for lunch, my purse, my book bag, and headed for the door. Grab keys, ID badge....is it cold out in the mornings? Maybe I need I jacket, I thought. Grabbed it, threw it over my shoulder....and, forgetting that I had already opened the can, somehow managed to drench my entryway in chocolate diet drink. Eww. It splashed a diagonal of chocolate from 4 ft high in one corner, down across to the floor, then jumped up and coated the front door. Oh, and don't forget the mirror and all behind the coats and purses I have hanging on pegs. How it missed the actual coats and purses and things, I'll never understand...but thank goodness! I stood there in a bit of shock, like I had just walked in on a scene in a slasher movie...(the victim would have of course been a chocolate cow, a thin chocolate cow). I didn't know I was so violent when pressed for time.
I got to work, late of course, and was hurrying to get to my room when the 1st bell rang. And, of course, today of all days, the principal happened to have a front row seat to my parade of tardiness...the late part hasn't been so unusual the past few weeks, but I can usually make it under the radar.
If being late is tardy, then is being repeatedly late re-tardy? Today, it felt like it. This night owl has got to find a way to get the extra 30 mins of snooze on the other end of the mi-mis.
I finally bought a clock for my bathroom because I hoped it would help me discipline my time better in the mornings. Nevermind that I've fallen into the terrible habit of walking up 30 minutes before I'm supposed to leave in the mornings (and have fallen into an even worse habit of leaving 10-15 mins past an already tight departure time). At the very least, a ticking clock mocking me with "late. late. late" sixty times a minute should help, right? This morning, it seemed to be and I was rushing to the kitchen to grab breakfast/lunch...some sort of sustanance...with literally 2 mins max to leave. I grabbed my Costco version of Slimfast, an extra for lunch, my purse, my book bag, and headed for the door. Grab keys, ID badge....is it cold out in the mornings? Maybe I need I jacket, I thought. Grabbed it, threw it over my shoulder....and, forgetting that I had already opened the can, somehow managed to drench my entryway in chocolate diet drink. Eww. It splashed a diagonal of chocolate from 4 ft high in one corner, down across to the floor, then jumped up and coated the front door. Oh, and don't forget the mirror and all behind the coats and purses I have hanging on pegs. How it missed the actual coats and purses and things, I'll never understand...but thank goodness! I stood there in a bit of shock, like I had just walked in on a scene in a slasher movie...(the victim would have of course been a chocolate cow, a thin chocolate cow). I didn't know I was so violent when pressed for time.
I got to work, late of course, and was hurrying to get to my room when the 1st bell rang. And, of course, today of all days, the principal happened to have a front row seat to my parade of tardiness...the late part hasn't been so unusual the past few weeks, but I can usually make it under the radar.
If being late is tardy, then is being repeatedly late re-tardy? Today, it felt like it. This night owl has got to find a way to get the extra 30 mins of snooze on the other end of the mi-mis.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Lunch, Laughs, and Mexican Ballads
Friday, again. I started the day out with my kinder kiddos for SIC (Speech Improvement Class). My preschoolers didn't show up today for various reasons (sad day!), so that left a window of time for me to go to lunch with my Aaron. He finally got to meet one of the other SLP's I work with (Sasha), we stopped by the nurse's office to say a quick "Hi" to Sandra (Aaron, Sandra and I all worked together at Desert Hills Residential Treatment Facility--and Aaron is the only one left there), then it was off to lunch. We went to a nearby Mexican market that also has a taqueria, etc and dining area. It's soo good! It's close to work and it's always an interesting experience.
Today, we decided to try the tortas (a type of Mexican sandwich). We ordered the torta con carnitas, which was amazing! While we were eating, I was trying to interpret the epic Mexican ballad blaring overhead. I asked Aaron, "What did that part just say?" His response? "Oh don't even try to understand those songs. It's worse than the saddest country song you ever heard. When you play these songs backward, you don't just get your house, dog, and wife back...you get your kids, your grandparents, maybe a village, half of Mexico...you get your long lost brother who's become a drug lord back--and he's all cleaned up....the kid you had with your wife turns out to really be yours, again..." Oh how I love that he can make me laugh!
Today, we decided to try the tortas (a type of Mexican sandwich). We ordered the torta con carnitas, which was amazing! While we were eating, I was trying to interpret the epic Mexican ballad blaring overhead. I asked Aaron, "What did that part just say?" His response? "Oh don't even try to understand those songs. It's worse than the saddest country song you ever heard. When you play these songs backward, you don't just get your house, dog, and wife back...you get your kids, your grandparents, maybe a village, half of Mexico...you get your long lost brother who's become a drug lord back--and he's all cleaned up....the kid you had with your wife turns out to really be yours, again..." Oh how I love that he can make me laugh!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A Concept Finally Takes Root
Yesterday, one of my 1st grade kiddos learned a fantastic lesson for following all the directions.
On March 1, he learned that seeds need sun, soil, water, and air. We filled a cup full of potting soil, selected a seed, and then he was supposed to poke a small hole (not too deep), put the seed in, and cover it. Then, add water. We labeled it and put it near the window to get plenty of sunlight.
Every few days, Ms. Lewis has taken care of his little cup of dirt with the seed inside by watering it.
Every week, my little kiddo has patiently waited for his bean to sprout.
Yesterday, my little kiddo asked when he would be able to take his plant home. We checked on his barren cup of dirt and I decided that we should investigate to see what happened to the seed. My thought was that he may have buried it too deep. We rooted around in the top layers--no seed. I dug a little further--no seed. I finally dumped the cup out on the table and we spread out the dirt to search for the seed--no seed.
We laughed when we realized that Ms. Lewis has been watering a cup of dirt for a month.
I think he understands the principle of following all the directions a little more clearly now...
On March 1, he learned that seeds need sun, soil, water, and air. We filled a cup full of potting soil, selected a seed, and then he was supposed to poke a small hole (not too deep), put the seed in, and cover it. Then, add water. We labeled it and put it near the window to get plenty of sunlight.
Every few days, Ms. Lewis has taken care of his little cup of dirt with the seed inside by watering it.
Every week, my little kiddo has patiently waited for his bean to sprout.
Yesterday, my little kiddo asked when he would be able to take his plant home. We checked on his barren cup of dirt and I decided that we should investigate to see what happened to the seed. My thought was that he may have buried it too deep. We rooted around in the top layers--no seed. I dug a little further--no seed. I finally dumped the cup out on the table and we spread out the dirt to search for the seed--no seed.
We laughed when we realized that Ms. Lewis has been watering a cup of dirt for a month.
I think he understands the principle of following all the directions a little more clearly now...
Friday, April 2, 2010
A Good Friday
Today has been frustrating. I don't feel well and I have TONS to do. My cable went out and when I called the cable company, I discovered that my last payment hadn't been received, so...not only was I late, but the bill was much larger than expected. In the course of figuring it out, the sales person kept saying something about "your 2 cable boxes." After asking about this and promising that I've only ever had one in my apt, I was put on hold for a duration that I'm sure sucked away my anytime minutes. It was worth it though, because it turns out that the reason my bill has been so high is because I've been charged for 2 digital boxes for the last 7 months. I now get $104.65 credited to my account. It couldn't have come at a better time.
After I hung up, I made sure to say a prayer of gratitude because, despite the frustration and the worry I've had over these bills, I had been blessed with a small but much needed moment of reprieve.
I'm especially grateful that my cable is back up and ready for General Conference this weekend. I love Easter! It brings fond memories of my childhood--homemade Easter baskets, fuzzy duckies and bunnies, family, and lilies. It refreshes sweet memories I have with my mother. But most of all, I have become more appreciative of the fact that General Conference and Easter occur together. I'm excited to renew and strengthen my testimony through the pure and humble testimonies of our Prophet and Apostles. Although I love bunnies and dyeing eggs, I look forward to the added focus on the Savior that this weekend will bring.
The sorts of traditions that take root in families and cultures around widely celebrated holidays is something that I've been given an opportunity to explore more often lately. I think I took for granted the enthusiasm and effort my mom put into times like Christmas, birthdays, and even Easter. Her special touch and exuberance for family time and celebration is something I've dearly missed these last 5 years. My dad has done a wonderful job in keeping on with most traditions and introducing new ones. But, nothing is quite the same as opening a gift given specifically with a mother's love. There's something satisfying to the soul in sharing a meal prepared by your mama. Sometimes I've worried that amid all the chaos of the Cancer Years, I didn't take good enough mental notes, like I'm missing bits and pieces of our family traditions that only my mother could fill in. I'm desperate to gather these in and shelter them from the decay of time and distraction, to preserve them for myself, my dad, especially my sister, and one day my children.
I've been especially aware of these feelings and the lonely places in my heart now that I've come back to Albuquerque. My dad and I (and my sister, too) are closer now than we've been in a long time. It's made me a much happier person. The instances that dredge up those feelings of loss seem to come when I'm most surrounded by family and love. It's an odd place to be in one's mind. One particular instance that I've been thinking about today happened with Aaron's mom. She has taken me in like a daughter and it's been a very sweet experience. She's told me several times that she wants to pass on the "secret" family, traditional Mexican recipes (posole, tamales, chile red & green, menudo, rice, etc) to me (the huera). I'm pretty excited about this! This morning, I was on the phone with Aaron, and his mom (from the background) wanted to know if I wanted to come over for breakfast (even though it was noon...). She's been preparing traditional dishes that their family eats during the Easter season. It's quite an array. After Aaron relayed the invite, he told me, "I think she just wants you to come over. She enjoys your presence in the house." It really touched me. Since my mom died, I've had several wonderful women step in, and in there own way, fill in the mothering that my sister and I miss. They've loved us, counseled us, and encouraged us. But amid those blessed women, there are a few who have stood out in the influence and healing they have brought to my heart. I realized today that Aaron's mother has become one of those close to my heart. She's a 5 ft spitfire Mexican woman, but I have always been welcome and cared for by her. She sends me soup when I'm sick, speaks highly of me to the relatives, gives me thoughtful and personal gifts at Christmas, and is always quick to invite me to be with the family. Aaron says she has a soft spot for me because she knows what it is to lose a mother. She also thinks I'm a good person. She's genuine in her affection for me. I've never felt like I had to be anyone but myself to be impressive. Aaron's mom, along with a very few others, collectively bring that element of motherhood into my life.
So tonight, I gladly will be sharing in the Sanchez Easter traditions of family and food (whose names I can't always pronounce..food or family!). My heart if full of the blessings the Lord has so abundantly poured out to me. Despite the frustration and worry that at times seems to consume my life, the Lord remembers me. He knows me and sends me exactly the right people in my life to uplift me and remind me of the Lord's love for me. And when I put in the effort, he sends the $104.65 when I need it the most.
Happy Easter! May you remember the our Savior and His love for us, especially in what the Atonement and Resurrection mean for us.
After I hung up, I made sure to say a prayer of gratitude because, despite the frustration and the worry I've had over these bills, I had been blessed with a small but much needed moment of reprieve.
I'm especially grateful that my cable is back up and ready for General Conference this weekend. I love Easter! It brings fond memories of my childhood--homemade Easter baskets, fuzzy duckies and bunnies, family, and lilies. It refreshes sweet memories I have with my mother. But most of all, I have become more appreciative of the fact that General Conference and Easter occur together. I'm excited to renew and strengthen my testimony through the pure and humble testimonies of our Prophet and Apostles. Although I love bunnies and dyeing eggs, I look forward to the added focus on the Savior that this weekend will bring.
The sorts of traditions that take root in families and cultures around widely celebrated holidays is something that I've been given an opportunity to explore more often lately. I think I took for granted the enthusiasm and effort my mom put into times like Christmas, birthdays, and even Easter. Her special touch and exuberance for family time and celebration is something I've dearly missed these last 5 years. My dad has done a wonderful job in keeping on with most traditions and introducing new ones. But, nothing is quite the same as opening a gift given specifically with a mother's love. There's something satisfying to the soul in sharing a meal prepared by your mama. Sometimes I've worried that amid all the chaos of the Cancer Years, I didn't take good enough mental notes, like I'm missing bits and pieces of our family traditions that only my mother could fill in. I'm desperate to gather these in and shelter them from the decay of time and distraction, to preserve them for myself, my dad, especially my sister, and one day my children.
I've been especially aware of these feelings and the lonely places in my heart now that I've come back to Albuquerque. My dad and I (and my sister, too) are closer now than we've been in a long time. It's made me a much happier person. The instances that dredge up those feelings of loss seem to come when I'm most surrounded by family and love. It's an odd place to be in one's mind. One particular instance that I've been thinking about today happened with Aaron's mom. She has taken me in like a daughter and it's been a very sweet experience. She's told me several times that she wants to pass on the "secret" family, traditional Mexican recipes (posole, tamales, chile red & green, menudo, rice, etc) to me (the huera). I'm pretty excited about this! This morning, I was on the phone with Aaron, and his mom (from the background) wanted to know if I wanted to come over for breakfast (even though it was noon...). She's been preparing traditional dishes that their family eats during the Easter season. It's quite an array. After Aaron relayed the invite, he told me, "I think she just wants you to come over. She enjoys your presence in the house." It really touched me. Since my mom died, I've had several wonderful women step in, and in there own way, fill in the mothering that my sister and I miss. They've loved us, counseled us, and encouraged us. But amid those blessed women, there are a few who have stood out in the influence and healing they have brought to my heart. I realized today that Aaron's mother has become one of those close to my heart. She's a 5 ft spitfire Mexican woman, but I have always been welcome and cared for by her. She sends me soup when I'm sick, speaks highly of me to the relatives, gives me thoughtful and personal gifts at Christmas, and is always quick to invite me to be with the family. Aaron says she has a soft spot for me because she knows what it is to lose a mother. She also thinks I'm a good person. She's genuine in her affection for me. I've never felt like I had to be anyone but myself to be impressive. Aaron's mom, along with a very few others, collectively bring that element of motherhood into my life.
So tonight, I gladly will be sharing in the Sanchez Easter traditions of family and food (whose names I can't always pronounce..food or family!). My heart if full of the blessings the Lord has so abundantly poured out to me. Despite the frustration and worry that at times seems to consume my life, the Lord remembers me. He knows me and sends me exactly the right people in my life to uplift me and remind me of the Lord's love for me. And when I put in the effort, he sends the $104.65 when I need it the most.
Happy Easter! May you remember the our Savior and His love for us, especially in what the Atonement and Resurrection mean for us.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
"Have you never heard such a mangaling of the language which we are speaking?"
4 year old as quoted by his mother: "Le pregunte 'quien es tu maestra?' 'maestra Amanda.' 'le gusta ella?' 'si, ella es buena genta. y tambien ella tiene cabello.' 'tiene cabello?' 'si como papi. ella tiene cabello en su brazo." Translation: 4 yr old went home a told his mom I'm good people and I have... hairy arms like his dad. awesome.
Overheard: teacher-"scientists say that the global temperautre has increased by 1 degree. Doesn't sound like much but it's like taking a popsicle out of the freezer. It takes 1 degree more to start melting. ..(later)methane gas can contribute to global warming. We make methane gas when we fart." student "so if i fart on a popsicle, i could melt it?"
SLP: "let's talk about our book. Who's the author?" students-"judy blume." "and what's the title? What's the name of this book." student-"oh! Uh uh...Fecal Juice!"
Aaron came to my school today to drop off some things that I needed (such an awesome guy!). I was with a kinder student who jumped up & followed me to the door to find out who this man was who came to visit. Student: "Quien es el?" (Aaron & I panicked...) Me: "Quien es?" Student: "Es tu... papa?" (after much blushing) Aaron: "No, ella es mi novia." haha!(Looking at a picture of the solar system) Me: "Aqui tenemos los planetas. Donde vivimos?" My kinder kiddo: "En el planeta Earth." Me: "Si. Hay otros planetas. Miralos cerca del sol." Kinder kiddo: "Cual es esto bien pequeno? El rojo como se llama?" Me: "Eso es Mars." Kinder kiddo: "Donde viven los aliens?"
Me: "We've been learning about lots of different animals and now we're going to review some vocabulary." (mammals have fur, live birth, babies drink milk, etc. reptiles lay eggs, etc) 2nd grade kiddo: "So...the mom mammals have babies and feed their babies milk and the mom reptiles lay eggs...so what do the boy animals do?"
Me: "What's the capital of New Mexico?" 4th grade kiddo (after a thoughtful pause, and with all sincerity...): "uhh..M?"
(first grade kiddo looking at a birthday calendar): "Look! Someone's birthday is on Halloween (October) and they have one on Christmas (December). And which one is St. Patrick's Day because did you know that one time when I was in pre-school and it was St. Patrick's Day it was gross because in the bathroom there was green pee in the toilet because the Leprechaun didn't flush the toilet."
vocab lesson: perch. "From his perch behind the clock, Hugo could see everything." me:"What does perch mean?" boy:"Like a type of fish?" me:" Yes, but does that fit our story? He's watching the old man, waiting for a chance to steal the toy. How could a fish help him?" boyt:"Well...he could slap the man with the fish. It would work better if it were a really cold fish so he could slap him & get away."
me: "What state do we live in?" 2nd grade kiddo: "United States?" me:"Actually, we live in a state called New Mexico." kiddo:" Oh ya. Hey, I wonder what happened to Old Mexico..."
"Ms Lettuce? I mean...Ms. Lewis?"
(1st grader): "Ms. Lewis, you wanna here my joke now?" "Sure!" "K. Do you know the difference between the bird flu and the swine flu? Well anyway for the bird flu you get a tweetment and for swine flu you get a oinkment."
overheard...teacher: "Who takes care of animals?" kinder: "vet!" teacher: "Who takes care of us when we're sick?" kinder: "doctor!" teacher: "Who takes care of our teeth?" kinder: "The toothfairy!"
lesson: seeds. me-"Peas are seeds. They grow in something called a pod." 1st grader: "Like an iPod?"
4yr old: "Oye! Tengo 10 dedos." me: "Puedes contarlos?" (counts ten fingers). me: "Puedes contar mis dedos?" (counts 1-10) 4yr old (looking amazed):"Tu tienes 10 dedos tambien! Oye! Puedo contar mis dedos del pie, tambien!" me:"Cuantos hay?" 4yr old (1st ft):"1,2,3,4..." (2nd ft) "... 5,7,8,9,10,11,12,14,16, 40,41,42,4...3,44,45,46,47,48,49... 40! 41,42,43,44,45,46,47,48,49..40!..." & so on...
(overheard during a test) SLP-" Finish this phrase -Roberto worries about a lot of things. His friends say he is a _____" student-"Weirdo!"
2nd grade boy" Hey! Can you pull my tooth?" me"That's a job for your mom or dad." boy"Why can't you do it? It feels funky." me"That's not why we come to speech. Maybe you should ask the toothfairy to do it. Leave a note that says if she wants your tooth, it's still in your mouth." boy"What?! She takes them, not pulls t...hem. Anyway, she's not strong enough. She's too tiny. She's not human."
2009-2010 Season Review, in 15 minutes or less
Has it really been since August '09 since I've updated my blog? Wow! So much has happened since then...but instead of totally describing every minute detail, how about some Cliffnoted catching up?
Moved back to Albuquerque at the end of August.
Started a job with Albuquerque Public Schools as an Apprentice SLP (while I finish thesis). I work at an elementary school providing bilingual speech therapy.
Aaron bought me a hamster. I named her Scout (To Kill A Mockingbird...)
Turned 25 in October.
Dressed as the "Princess and the P" (carried a giant letter P) for Halloween at work. Read to groups of parents and kids.
Celebrated 1 year dating Aaron in November.
Christmas with the fam was awesome.
New Year:
Tried menudo. Survived.
Became addicted to Glee.
Got 6 new Spanish speaking Pre-K kiddos. Adorable!
Aaron shared my addiction to Lost. Countdown to the final episode commenced.
Joined Netflix. Turns out, this enabled our Lost addiction. Found some interesting foreign films.
Got a gnarly sinus infection.
Spring Break. Went to Gallup. Came home.
Gnarly sinus infection, part II....or continuation of the first. Plus, double ear infections and bronchitis. Insurance is awesome. So are antibiotics.
I've been sick a lot more this year, which has put a damper on being productive. I also discovered the depressing reality that I now weigh the most I ever have. Good thing my apartment complex has a gym.
I absolutely LOVE working with my students. I'm definitely in the right profession. I've learned a lot about the professional world, the SLP world, and myself.
I miss my friends in Utah, but I'm happy to be where I am.
It's been great to be closer to home. My family and I have needed each other. It's been nice to spend more time with them.
Aaron and I are doing wonderfully :) And I'll leave it at that, for now...
Moved back to Albuquerque at the end of August.
Started a job with Albuquerque Public Schools as an Apprentice SLP (while I finish thesis). I work at an elementary school providing bilingual speech therapy.
Aaron bought me a hamster. I named her Scout (To Kill A Mockingbird...)
Turned 25 in October.
Dressed as the "Princess and the P" (carried a giant letter P) for Halloween at work. Read to groups of parents and kids.
Celebrated 1 year dating Aaron in November.
Christmas with the fam was awesome.
New Year:
Tried menudo. Survived.
Became addicted to Glee.
Got 6 new Spanish speaking Pre-K kiddos. Adorable!
Aaron shared my addiction to Lost. Countdown to the final episode commenced.
Joined Netflix. Turns out, this enabled our Lost addiction. Found some interesting foreign films.
Got a gnarly sinus infection.
Spring Break. Went to Gallup. Came home.
Gnarly sinus infection, part II....or continuation of the first. Plus, double ear infections and bronchitis. Insurance is awesome. So are antibiotics.
I've been sick a lot more this year, which has put a damper on being productive. I also discovered the depressing reality that I now weigh the most I ever have. Good thing my apartment complex has a gym.
I absolutely LOVE working with my students. I'm definitely in the right profession. I've learned a lot about the professional world, the SLP world, and myself.
I miss my friends in Utah, but I'm happy to be where I am.
It's been great to be closer to home. My family and I have needed each other. It's been nice to spend more time with them.
Aaron and I are doing wonderfully :) And I'll leave it at that, for now...
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I'm An Excellent Driver...
The commute from Provo to Taylorsville can be brutal. In reality, it's not the 40.2 mile distance, or even the 6:40 (ish) a.m. departure time--it's the raging river of automobiles and the idiots who "drive" them that fuels my frustration. Of course, I am by no means innocent of tailgating, speeding, or even the occasional knee-steer (remember my nose blowing dilemma?), but I have yet to be in or cause an accident. (Vehicle damage I am responsible for has only happened with fixed objects, like posts or railings, or grandma's moving car that one time...) The commute in the mornings can take 30-40 minutes, depending on manueverability between obstacles. It also depends on speed trap quotas, especially in either of the 2 55 mph construction zones.
I try to leave on time in the mornings, I really do. But, sometimes, when I forgot to gas up on the way home, have overslept, or whatever other excuse pops up, I feel the need...the need...for speed. And in those needy situations, I often encounter the worst case scenarios of bad drivers. There's the cop who does 64 in the far left lane with his convoy of hyper-attentive drivers. (Which, by the way, grouped together like that, I feel is more of a hazard.) There's the suspicious unmarked white Crown Victoria with a spotlight on the left mirror....that turns out to be two old men joy riding at 60 mph with a convoy of hyper-attentive and hoodwinked drivers. Then of course, there are the 2 UTA buses that join us somewhere between Lehi and American Fork and slide right on over 4 lanes to the car pool lane. Sliding a bus (or 2) over 4 lanes in morning rush hour traffic is like Augustus getting sucked up the chocolate tube...things are going to get a bit jammed up until the clog moves on down the pipe.
Another delightful aspect of commuting is observing other drivers. My favorites are the drivers who are absorbed in their own reduced speed world in the far left lane and are suddenly jolted back to a 75-80 mph reality when I try to go around. I try my best to be patient and hold off the urge to leap frog for at least 2-3 miles. But, when I'm late and they're slow, I take action. Some mornings I'm absolutely sure I'm passing Houdini or Copperfield (the magician, not of the Dickens notoriety). I bullet around and pass at an exhilirating 5 mph increase and suddenly, my lethargic rival is gone! Disappeared! I check all my mirrors and feeling a thrill of success, like the hare that passed the tortoise, I begin the merge back into the left lane...and swerve right back because my traveling Houdini has matched my speed and has been lurking in my blind spot the entire time. Why do people go slow until you try to pass, then declare the one-sided challenge of speeding up to keep you from getting around? Why?
I also have noticed that people are very confident in what they can accomplish while driving. Cell phones (calling or texting), eating (sometimes with both hands), navigating radio stations or adjusting the in-cabin temperature. Now, these are the standard multi-tasking activities for driving. These are the courses you passed in the underground driver's ed. But what are some other behaviors I've observed? There are, of course, the nose-pickers (some attempting to be discrete, others knuckle-deep and loving it), the steering-wheel drummers rehearsing a stop-light audition, ladies putting on make-up or doing their hair, the notetakers with pen in one hand and paper in the other and ear to the phone, the readers, or the occassional couple that should have just called in instead of taking their Mature exploits on the road. Elderly people are a 50-50. Do you get mad at someone for being old and cautious or do you smile and just let it go? Depends on the day and how late I am.
Here in Utah, there is definitely a higher proportion of "R U LDS" whizzing by at 80+ or "CTR" stickers practically kissing my bumper. Also being that we are in Utah, I would assume that between 6-8 a.m. and 4-6 p.m. M-F, I-15 from Davis County to Provo becomes a highly condensed corridor of prayers. And, if those drivers are anything like me, they are praying to "get there on time," "get there before my boss," "that this idiot I mean sweet spirit in the car in front of me will move," "that the cops are all headed South/North (depending on if I'm headed S/N)." They probably also pray for things like, "no cops," "a justifiable reason for speeding," "my car won't overheat," "the bumper won't fall off," or that "there will be green lights at every intersection."
And on the days when traffic comes to a sudden stop and a truck bearing the slogan "Disaster's Happen" is hurtling toward me, swerving in time for us to both make it home that night, I also say a little prayer of gratitude. Despite the distractions and dangers inherent to driving, somehow I have continued to be shielded from any serious encounters and for that I am very grateful.
I try to leave on time in the mornings, I really do. But, sometimes, when I forgot to gas up on the way home, have overslept, or whatever other excuse pops up, I feel the need...the need...for speed. And in those needy situations, I often encounter the worst case scenarios of bad drivers. There's the cop who does 64 in the far left lane with his convoy of hyper-attentive drivers. (Which, by the way, grouped together like that, I feel is more of a hazard.) There's the suspicious unmarked white Crown Victoria with a spotlight on the left mirror....that turns out to be two old men joy riding at 60 mph with a convoy of hyper-attentive and hoodwinked drivers. Then of course, there are the 2 UTA buses that join us somewhere between Lehi and American Fork and slide right on over 4 lanes to the car pool lane. Sliding a bus (or 2) over 4 lanes in morning rush hour traffic is like Augustus getting sucked up the chocolate tube...things are going to get a bit jammed up until the clog moves on down the pipe.
Another delightful aspect of commuting is observing other drivers. My favorites are the drivers who are absorbed in their own reduced speed world in the far left lane and are suddenly jolted back to a 75-80 mph reality when I try to go around. I try my best to be patient and hold off the urge to leap frog for at least 2-3 miles. But, when I'm late and they're slow, I take action. Some mornings I'm absolutely sure I'm passing Houdini or Copperfield (the magician, not of the Dickens notoriety). I bullet around and pass at an exhilirating 5 mph increase and suddenly, my lethargic rival is gone! Disappeared! I check all my mirrors and feeling a thrill of success, like the hare that passed the tortoise, I begin the merge back into the left lane...and swerve right back because my traveling Houdini has matched my speed and has been lurking in my blind spot the entire time. Why do people go slow until you try to pass, then declare the one-sided challenge of speeding up to keep you from getting around? Why?
I also have noticed that people are very confident in what they can accomplish while driving. Cell phones (calling or texting), eating (sometimes with both hands), navigating radio stations or adjusting the in-cabin temperature. Now, these are the standard multi-tasking activities for driving. These are the courses you passed in the underground driver's ed. But what are some other behaviors I've observed? There are, of course, the nose-pickers (some attempting to be discrete, others knuckle-deep and loving it), the steering-wheel drummers rehearsing a stop-light audition, ladies putting on make-up or doing their hair, the notetakers with pen in one hand and paper in the other and ear to the phone, the readers, or the occassional couple that should have just called in instead of taking their Mature exploits on the road. Elderly people are a 50-50. Do you get mad at someone for being old and cautious or do you smile and just let it go? Depends on the day and how late I am.
Here in Utah, there is definitely a higher proportion of "R U LDS" whizzing by at 80+ or "CTR" stickers practically kissing my bumper. Also being that we are in Utah, I would assume that between 6-8 a.m. and 4-6 p.m. M-F, I-15 from Davis County to Provo becomes a highly condensed corridor of prayers. And, if those drivers are anything like me, they are praying to "get there on time," "get there before my boss," "that this idiot I mean sweet spirit in the car in front of me will move," "that the cops are all headed South/North (depending on if I'm headed S/N)." They probably also pray for things like, "no cops," "a justifiable reason for speeding," "my car won't overheat," "the bumper won't fall off," or that "there will be green lights at every intersection."
And on the days when traffic comes to a sudden stop and a truck bearing the slogan "Disaster's Happen" is hurtling toward me, swerving in time for us to both make it home that night, I also say a little prayer of gratitude. Despite the distractions and dangers inherent to driving, somehow I have continued to be shielded from any serious encounters and for that I am very grateful.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
A Grim Fairytale
No matter your role in someone's life, it's difficult to watch that person begin to decline. Often, in my personal trials, optimism has been the secret ingredient that flavors an otherwise bland or bitter situation, making it easier to swallow. As an SLP, it's difficult to be optimistic with a chronic or degenerative course of treatment. Some patients can recover nearly full capacity, others will maintain, while others decline. I suppose it's like anybody else in this world. We really are all terminal. But, our rate and level of capacity is as individual as our fingerprint. I've been working with a Dementia patient who we recently determined is slipping more decidedly into a more acute phase. Sometimes, it's like watching a child trapped in some unsettling fairytale. A grim divergence from the reality of family, friends, familiar routines. Losing independence.
Alzheimer's in Wonderland
Some days, the illogical ramblings reveal a mind that fell down a rabbit hole. She knows that there is reality, where order and reason govern. This nonsensical existence is in fact nonsense, but still remains reality. To her, my supervisor and I might as well be the Mad Hatter or the Catepillar, sitting there spouting ideas and notions, giving her exercises and memory aids. We might as well spread our pocket watches with jam and dip our saucers in tea. Or turn into butterflies.
Most days, at meal times, we find our Alice wandering the halls of the facility. Lost. She doesn't know where she's been, where she was going, or why she's even there. We stand at the nursing station, the crossroads of the facility, and debate about which path she was on to determine her destination. I point or escort her in the right direction for a short while, then with a Cheshire grin and a schedule to keep, I leave her to navigate the rest alone. Twenty minutes later, we meet, again. She's lost and confused, wants to go back to her room where it's familiar and secure, but doesn't know how to get there.
Oldie-locks and the Three Beverages
What would happen if Goldie was indecisive, not because she was a spoiled little girl, but because she suffered from some sort of amnesia? What if it were the same bowl of porridge three times, or the same bed three times? What if she simply didn't remember she liked it the first two times? That seems to be the case with my patient. Bring her a cup of cranberry juice. This one's too sour. This one's too sweet. Ooo, That's good. Same cup. Same juice. Three different responses. Offer her a plate of eggs and toast and it's like a meal time with a three year old. I don't think I'll liiike it. Oh, why don't you try a little and make sure you don't like it. Bite. Mmm. That's good stuff. Not to mention, as soon as she decides it's "good stuff," she's always trying to feed me, always wanting me to taste her food or drink. I decline with Oh, this one's yours. I've already had breakfast. You eat it first. I usually get called a chicken. Five minutes later, we rinse, lather, repeat.
Magic Porridge Pot of Ensure
One of the most critical safety concerns with dementia is not only getting lost, confused with medication, or leaving the stove on, it's forgetting about food. The first day I sat with my patient at breakfast, I noticed that she wasn't recognizing her food. Sure wish I knew what that was. Pancake. This stuff, well, it's just...bleh. Sausage and egg. Why don't you try some of your pancake? Oh--where've I got some of that? Try this stuff...that's your sausage. Well, I guess....mmm I like meat.
With a lack of orientation to meal schedules or being unable to recognize food on the plate, the risk of inadequate nutrition increases. My supervisor and I have developed the routine of stopping at the nurse's station and getting a cup of cranberry juice and a cup of Ensure to take to our patient. Especially when she's having a particularly strong dementia day. We employ different strategies to encourage her to drink. Hydration and calories are critical. The advantage of poor short term memory is that she doesn't remember that she thinks she doesn't like the drinks, can't recall that we've already given her two cups worth, and doesn't register that she was refusing to eat today. So, we keep topping off the cup. It's like the magic porridge pot--it keeps refilling because she doesn't know the magic words to make it stop. Everyday, no matter what she's feeling like, we bring drinks, the nurses send a calorie enhanced snack, and the CNA's bring juice and water. Our little magic porridge pot plot is just one way we're optimistically trying to keep her healthy and safe.
Each of these tales has a moral that can describe the harsh realities and the rewards of being an SLP. Maybe it will make you afraid of old age. Perhaps the moral is to make you appreciate the circumstances you enjoy now. Whatever moral you come away with, it's still hard to watch someone living through circumstances you can't change or control. Sometimes the hardest part is realizing that as much as you can do, it won't be enough. Sometimes you can really only do so much and then you, as the giver have reached the max potential of what you have to offer to that situation. But, no matter how long or short the plot, the moral of every story should show your character as unwavering, unfailing in fulfilling your role in someone else's life.
Alzheimer's in Wonderland
Some days, the illogical ramblings reveal a mind that fell down a rabbit hole. She knows that there is reality, where order and reason govern. This nonsensical existence is in fact nonsense, but still remains reality. To her, my supervisor and I might as well be the Mad Hatter or the Catepillar, sitting there spouting ideas and notions, giving her exercises and memory aids. We might as well spread our pocket watches with jam and dip our saucers in tea. Or turn into butterflies.
Most days, at meal times, we find our Alice wandering the halls of the facility. Lost. She doesn't know where she's been, where she was going, or why she's even there. We stand at the nursing station, the crossroads of the facility, and debate about which path she was on to determine her destination. I point or escort her in the right direction for a short while, then with a Cheshire grin and a schedule to keep, I leave her to navigate the rest alone. Twenty minutes later, we meet, again. She's lost and confused, wants to go back to her room where it's familiar and secure, but doesn't know how to get there.
Oldie-locks and the Three Beverages
What would happen if Goldie was indecisive, not because she was a spoiled little girl, but because she suffered from some sort of amnesia? What if it were the same bowl of porridge three times, or the same bed three times? What if she simply didn't remember she liked it the first two times? That seems to be the case with my patient. Bring her a cup of cranberry juice. This one's too sour. This one's too sweet. Ooo, That's good. Same cup. Same juice. Three different responses. Offer her a plate of eggs and toast and it's like a meal time with a three year old. I don't think I'll liiike it. Oh, why don't you try a little and make sure you don't like it. Bite. Mmm. That's good stuff. Not to mention, as soon as she decides it's "good stuff," she's always trying to feed me, always wanting me to taste her food or drink. I decline with Oh, this one's yours. I've already had breakfast. You eat it first. I usually get called a chicken. Five minutes later, we rinse, lather, repeat.
Magic Porridge Pot of Ensure
One of the most critical safety concerns with dementia is not only getting lost, confused with medication, or leaving the stove on, it's forgetting about food. The first day I sat with my patient at breakfast, I noticed that she wasn't recognizing her food. Sure wish I knew what that was. Pancake. This stuff, well, it's just...bleh. Sausage and egg. Why don't you try some of your pancake? Oh--where've I got some of that? Try this stuff...that's your sausage. Well, I guess....mmm I like meat.
With a lack of orientation to meal schedules or being unable to recognize food on the plate, the risk of inadequate nutrition increases. My supervisor and I have developed the routine of stopping at the nurse's station and getting a cup of cranberry juice and a cup of Ensure to take to our patient. Especially when she's having a particularly strong dementia day. We employ different strategies to encourage her to drink. Hydration and calories are critical. The advantage of poor short term memory is that she doesn't remember that she thinks she doesn't like the drinks, can't recall that we've already given her two cups worth, and doesn't register that she was refusing to eat today. So, we keep topping off the cup. It's like the magic porridge pot--it keeps refilling because she doesn't know the magic words to make it stop. Everyday, no matter what she's feeling like, we bring drinks, the nurses send a calorie enhanced snack, and the CNA's bring juice and water. Our little magic porridge pot plot is just one way we're optimistically trying to keep her healthy and safe.
Each of these tales has a moral that can describe the harsh realities and the rewards of being an SLP. Maybe it will make you afraid of old age. Perhaps the moral is to make you appreciate the circumstances you enjoy now. Whatever moral you come away with, it's still hard to watch someone living through circumstances you can't change or control. Sometimes the hardest part is realizing that as much as you can do, it won't be enough. Sometimes you can really only do so much and then you, as the giver have reached the max potential of what you have to offer to that situation. But, no matter how long or short the plot, the moral of every story should show your character as unwavering, unfailing in fulfilling your role in someone else's life.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
That's not my name! That's not my name!
The first day of my internship, my supervisor introduced me to the first 20 people I met as Amber. My stack of notes and papers even had a bright green post-it with Amber scrawled across it.
To my dementia patient, I'm Lady. I'm You. I'm Whooeru? I'm a nameless face.
To one of my favorite elderly men, I'm Amanda Acres. Apparently, as a brick mason, he helped build a neighborhood named after the planner's daughter, Amanda. Since he remembers building the neighborhood, calling me Amanda Acres helps him remember Amanda the Intern.
To my young brain tumor patient, I'm Student Visitor. Even with virtually no short-term memory, she still had a quick wit. My name tag is a generic student badge that says Student Visitor so that's what she called me when she had to "cheat" and look at my name tag.
To my newest man patient, I'm Kid. Honey. He's kind of a flirt, but overall pretty nice. Today, he told his visitor that out of any of the nurses, CNA's, or therapists, I'm also his Favorite.
To my favorite white haired ladies, I'm Dear.
To my 90 year old peach of a woman, I'm Nice To Hug. She needed to be repositioned in her bed and no CNA's or nurses were available, so I told her to put her arms around my neck like she was giving me a hug so I could move her. She sweetly told me in my ear, in her high, whispery voice, that I was nice to hug.
To the family of my dysphagia (swallowing disorder) patient, I'm a Good Girl. He passed his swallowing test (and I got to be there when he did) and got to go home today. Through tears and gratitude, a member of his family embraced me and told me over and over how greatful she was for what we had done to help. She is a nurse and, just like all the friends and family who came to visit, was very involved in our patient's treatment course. She told me I was going to do great as an SLP and am such a Good Girl. She shed some tears. And so did I.
And as it turns out--
To most of my patients, I'm a lovely and kind young lady who they enjoy seeing every day. So, even if no one can remember my name, at least they remember what I do, which is really the most important part :)
To my dementia patient, I'm Lady. I'm You. I'm Whooeru? I'm a nameless face.
To one of my favorite elderly men, I'm Amanda Acres. Apparently, as a brick mason, he helped build a neighborhood named after the planner's daughter, Amanda. Since he remembers building the neighborhood, calling me Amanda Acres helps him remember Amanda the Intern.
To my young brain tumor patient, I'm Student Visitor. Even with virtually no short-term memory, she still had a quick wit. My name tag is a generic student badge that says Student Visitor so that's what she called me when she had to "cheat" and look at my name tag.
To my newest man patient, I'm Kid. Honey. He's kind of a flirt, but overall pretty nice. Today, he told his visitor that out of any of the nurses, CNA's, or therapists, I'm also his Favorite.
To my favorite white haired ladies, I'm Dear.
To my 90 year old peach of a woman, I'm Nice To Hug. She needed to be repositioned in her bed and no CNA's or nurses were available, so I told her to put her arms around my neck like she was giving me a hug so I could move her. She sweetly told me in my ear, in her high, whispery voice, that I was nice to hug.
To the family of my dysphagia (swallowing disorder) patient, I'm a Good Girl. He passed his swallowing test (and I got to be there when he did) and got to go home today. Through tears and gratitude, a member of his family embraced me and told me over and over how greatful she was for what we had done to help. She is a nurse and, just like all the friends and family who came to visit, was very involved in our patient's treatment course. She told me I was going to do great as an SLP and am such a Good Girl. She shed some tears. And so did I.
And as it turns out--
To most of my patients, I'm a lovely and kind young lady who they enjoy seeing every day. So, even if no one can remember my name, at least they remember what I do, which is really the most important part :)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Bethany, this is for you...but really, not :)
I was talking to my good friend (and fellow BYU ComD-er) Bethany online earlier today. We were commiserating about Praxis woes and such, and of course, the topic of Aaron came up. She asked how we're doing, etc and commented about enjoying reading my blogs about the A-team (Aaron and Amanda).
So Bethany, this blog was inspired (and written) with you in mind...
What I realized as I was telling B some snippets from the 7 month long adventure of dating Aaron is really, Aaron and I have shared quite a bit together and it made me smile, complete with warm a fuzzy feelings in my guts.
There was that time we drove 4 hours to Mel and Terry's wedding reception in Deming. My car was full of stuff I was bringing back up to Utah and his car, well...it's probably best not to let it wander too far from home. So we tried to rent one. Tried, and failed. There were complications with debit cards with a VISA logo vs a full-fledged credit card, a mother with no driver's license, and rapid fire discussions in Spanish at the Enterprise counter. There may have also been a particular Enterprise employee behind the counter who impeded our efforts with a snooty air of self-importance. What we all thought of him involves using some selective "french" words. Because Aaron's cousin had dropped us off and disappeared to parts unknown, Aaron's parents had to come pick us up. They took us to lunch, which apparently was a huge milestone because Aaron doesn't really do family outtings. As we were leaving, the cashier asked Aaron's mom (a hispanic woman who is about 5 feet tall) if I, the 5'10" huera were her daughter. We all laughed all the way to the car. We had resigned to taking Aaron's car when a silent but understood agreement between the Sanchez party transpired and I found myself with the keys his dad's car. Apparently, no one is allowed to even look at it, let alone take it unsupervised to a far-off destination. When we met up with Aaron's brother in Deming, he looked at me in disbelief. He's never been allowed to borrow the car and he's 28 yrs old. And family. Warm fuzzies :) There was also the part where I found out Aaron gets so nervous about long-distance driving that he gets sick...so he slept most of the drive back up.
Then there was the time before we ever started dating and Aaron, our good friend DeAnn, and I all met up at the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. DeAnn and I arrived on time (5:45 am-ish) and Aaron...well we had to hunt for him...for nearly an hour. It was too windy for any of the balloons to launch, so we went to the Hot Air Balloon Museum instead. Aaron paid our admission prices and we toured the place. It was interesting, and given that all of us were extremely tired, it was much more hilarious than normal. At one point, DeAnn and I contributed to the Breast Cancer cause by getting massages at a booth. Aaron was a trooper and sat in the corner, the lonely source of the highest concentration of testosterone in the room. He was patient while we looked through the purses, the scarves, and the cancer patient hats. He kept us company through the Breast Cancer Awareness Exhibit. But he had a small melt-down in full, red-faced giggly fashion, when DeAnn found the silicon demo boobs for self-breast exams and put one on his leg. I like that he gets embarrassed about stuff like that :)
Because no one at work knew we were dating (except for DeAnn), we gossiped about it in code during our shift. We didn't want the clients or other staff meddling. We also didn't want to end up getting Aaron or I transferred to another unit. So, Aaron became "Rico Suave." This alias was inspired by one of our first few dates. We were at Village Inn (or some other 24 hr breakfast serving establishment), and our food had just arrived. Aaron's was dripping, drowning, deluged with gravy. Can anyone predict what will happen when you put a clumsy-when-nervous man in front of a plate full of gravy on a second date? If your inferencing skills are still in the early developmental stage, I'll paint you an awkwardly adorable picture. First, picture in your mind, as Aaron picks up his fork and in one, painful, slow-motion move, the fork flips out of his hand and does a 2 1/2 twist dive into the gravy. Droplets of gravy are displaced in a radial spray around the plate. As Aaron goes to retrieve the fork, his hands are submersed in the thick, hot goo. Now, with scalded fingers, useless fork, and wounded pride, Aaron attempts to wipe away the embarrassment with his napkin. In doing so, he unknowingly is dipping the other end of his napkin in the gravy while cleaning off his hands and fork. Threat neutralized (for the time being.) I sat there, fighting the urge to laugh out loud and feeling sympathetic to his plight, thinking how adorable it was that in his efforts to be impressive and suave, one mishap after another was intruding on his "manly" display. After a few silent bites, I watched as Aaron picked up his napkin to wipe his mouth. It was like watching a car wreck. You don't really want to see the carnage, but at the same time, you can't quite force yourself to look away. I watched as he brought the gravy-ladden napkin to his face and paused, then began smearing gravy all over his chin and beard. He was frustrated, but we managed to laugh. That's what I love about us--I never feel like I have to take myself so seriously. We're both nerdy and awkward, and it works. I think it makes us more forgiving of each other's faults, too.
Like Thanksgiving Day when Aaron took me out to a movie. We had only been going on dates for about 3 weeks. I didn't know it, but later that night he would ask me to be his girlfriend. But the point of this snippet is in finding joy in always being able to laugh together and be ok with being dorks, even when one of us isn't feeling so awesome about ourselves. I was teasing Aaron about his driving or parking or something, as we were walking through the parking lot toward the theater. I was laughing, which apparently is hazardous for a blonde while walking because my shoe caught on an uneven spot in the sidewalk. I was in the middle of mocking Aaron and about fell flat on my face. He grabbed my hand just in time and saved me from injury. He still teases me about it...and I don't mind one bit.
Aaron is my protector and defender. He always tells me that he would protect me with his life. But, sometimes, I wonder if I need to be protected from my protector. One night, after Aaron had made an amazing crab/chicken/beef/veggie stir-fry at my apartment, he decided he wanted to be manly and show off his brutish strength by sweeping me off my feet. Dinner was over, dishes were done, and we were going to watch a movie. Aaron impulsively decided to carry me to the couch. I'm not a petite girl, at all, which didn't seem to be a problem for Aaron, until we got to the narrow spot between the wall and the counter. I was impressed that he was even able to overcome earth's gravitational pull. Isn't that most girls' fantasy--to make eye contact with her man across a hazy meadow filled with sunflowers and run open-armed toward each other in slow motion until you meet, embrace, and be picked up and twirled in his arms? Maybe a small flock of bluebirds will flit about, crowning you with a chain of blossoms. And fawns and bunnies will sit and sigh at the spectacle, or a wisened owl will congratulate you on your twitterpation. But we weren't in a Disney delusion, we were in my tiny apartment and as he walked me past the counter, I cracked my knee dead-on with the corner and had a large, painful bruise for at least a week.
I think dorkiness is the definition of our understanding each other so well. A few weeks after he asked me to be his girlfriend, Aaron took me to what he now calls, "our restaurant." It's a small, upscale place in Old Town in Albuquerque called Restaurant Antiquity. We dined on a delicious meal, desserted on a shared serving of creme brule, and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. It was a romantic, intimate setting. The waiter called me Mrs. Sanchez and I blushed and Aaron looked smug. While waiting for our table, couples would come into the front waiting area and sit on the opposite side of the room from us. No one! would sit by us. We were a respectable looking couple, dressed up in a modest dress and suit, but apparently our sweetness is of cavity proportions and no one would sit by us. Some couples even stood, rather than intrude on our side of the room. I think we were barely even holding hands, so it's not like we were that kind of couple. I amused myself with making Aaron blush by suggesting he put his hand on my knee, which of course there was no threat of him actually doing it, but it was cute to watch him blush and giggle at the thought of touching my knee covered in nothing but dress. As we were leaving, Aaron told me he needed to use the restroom, which is a common trend in our relationship. When he gets nervous, he guzzles water. This was our first fancy date, so by the time we left, he was desperate. I waited. And waited. And waited! Guys shouldn't take this long in the bathroom, I thought. Where is he? He finally came out and looked really fidgety and odd. I didn't say anything. We went back to my apartment, where I invited him in to do what new, amorous couples do best...watch TV and make out :) The evening was wonderful and perfect. I found out later that my assumptions about it being a hitch-free evening were very, very wrong. I uncovered the cover-up when I was commenting on how long he always takes in the bathroom at restaurants. For instance, that one time in Old Town was like ten years! Aaron owned up to his delay by revealing that behind that occupied sign, he was having a small melt-down panic attack. His underwear had ripped! And not just a small, uncomfortable tear, but a full-out torn off kind of ripped! He has no idea how or why, but the rip was so severe that he ended up having to ditch them in the trash and go commando in his slacks. No wonder he was such a nervous wreck the rest of the night! He tells me that he was so nervous that somehow I would find out his dilemma, especially when we were cuddling. Now, we are a kosher kind of couple so I don't how in the world I would have ever discovered he was free and breezy in his slacks. Never a dull moment with my boy :)
So Bethany, and anyone else who happens to read the snippets from being loved by my crazy Mexican, I hope you continue to enjoy my adventures. I hope they at least make you smile, because for me, I've never been happier :)
So Bethany, this blog was inspired (and written) with you in mind...
What I realized as I was telling B some snippets from the 7 month long adventure of dating Aaron is really, Aaron and I have shared quite a bit together and it made me smile, complete with warm a fuzzy feelings in my guts.
There was that time we drove 4 hours to Mel and Terry's wedding reception in Deming. My car was full of stuff I was bringing back up to Utah and his car, well...it's probably best not to let it wander too far from home. So we tried to rent one. Tried, and failed. There were complications with debit cards with a VISA logo vs a full-fledged credit card, a mother with no driver's license, and rapid fire discussions in Spanish at the Enterprise counter. There may have also been a particular Enterprise employee behind the counter who impeded our efforts with a snooty air of self-importance. What we all thought of him involves using some selective "french" words. Because Aaron's cousin had dropped us off and disappeared to parts unknown, Aaron's parents had to come pick us up. They took us to lunch, which apparently was a huge milestone because Aaron doesn't really do family outtings. As we were leaving, the cashier asked Aaron's mom (a hispanic woman who is about 5 feet tall) if I, the 5'10" huera were her daughter. We all laughed all the way to the car. We had resigned to taking Aaron's car when a silent but understood agreement between the Sanchez party transpired and I found myself with the keys his dad's car. Apparently, no one is allowed to even look at it, let alone take it unsupervised to a far-off destination. When we met up with Aaron's brother in Deming, he looked at me in disbelief. He's never been allowed to borrow the car and he's 28 yrs old. And family. Warm fuzzies :) There was also the part where I found out Aaron gets so nervous about long-distance driving that he gets sick...so he slept most of the drive back up.
Then there was the time before we ever started dating and Aaron, our good friend DeAnn, and I all met up at the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. DeAnn and I arrived on time (5:45 am-ish) and Aaron...well we had to hunt for him...for nearly an hour. It was too windy for any of the balloons to launch, so we went to the Hot Air Balloon Museum instead. Aaron paid our admission prices and we toured the place. It was interesting, and given that all of us were extremely tired, it was much more hilarious than normal. At one point, DeAnn and I contributed to the Breast Cancer cause by getting massages at a booth. Aaron was a trooper and sat in the corner, the lonely source of the highest concentration of testosterone in the room. He was patient while we looked through the purses, the scarves, and the cancer patient hats. He kept us company through the Breast Cancer Awareness Exhibit. But he had a small melt-down in full, red-faced giggly fashion, when DeAnn found the silicon demo boobs for self-breast exams and put one on his leg. I like that he gets embarrassed about stuff like that :)
Because no one at work knew we were dating (except for DeAnn), we gossiped about it in code during our shift. We didn't want the clients or other staff meddling. We also didn't want to end up getting Aaron or I transferred to another unit. So, Aaron became "Rico Suave." This alias was inspired by one of our first few dates. We were at Village Inn (or some other 24 hr breakfast serving establishment), and our food had just arrived. Aaron's was dripping, drowning, deluged with gravy. Can anyone predict what will happen when you put a clumsy-when-nervous man in front of a plate full of gravy on a second date? If your inferencing skills are still in the early developmental stage, I'll paint you an awkwardly adorable picture. First, picture in your mind, as Aaron picks up his fork and in one, painful, slow-motion move, the fork flips out of his hand and does a 2 1/2 twist dive into the gravy. Droplets of gravy are displaced in a radial spray around the plate. As Aaron goes to retrieve the fork, his hands are submersed in the thick, hot goo. Now, with scalded fingers, useless fork, and wounded pride, Aaron attempts to wipe away the embarrassment with his napkin. In doing so, he unknowingly is dipping the other end of his napkin in the gravy while cleaning off his hands and fork. Threat neutralized (for the time being.) I sat there, fighting the urge to laugh out loud and feeling sympathetic to his plight, thinking how adorable it was that in his efforts to be impressive and suave, one mishap after another was intruding on his "manly" display. After a few silent bites, I watched as Aaron picked up his napkin to wipe his mouth. It was like watching a car wreck. You don't really want to see the carnage, but at the same time, you can't quite force yourself to look away. I watched as he brought the gravy-ladden napkin to his face and paused, then began smearing gravy all over his chin and beard. He was frustrated, but we managed to laugh. That's what I love about us--I never feel like I have to take myself so seriously. We're both nerdy and awkward, and it works. I think it makes us more forgiving of each other's faults, too.
Like Thanksgiving Day when Aaron took me out to a movie. We had only been going on dates for about 3 weeks. I didn't know it, but later that night he would ask me to be his girlfriend. But the point of this snippet is in finding joy in always being able to laugh together and be ok with being dorks, even when one of us isn't feeling so awesome about ourselves. I was teasing Aaron about his driving or parking or something, as we were walking through the parking lot toward the theater. I was laughing, which apparently is hazardous for a blonde while walking because my shoe caught on an uneven spot in the sidewalk. I was in the middle of mocking Aaron and about fell flat on my face. He grabbed my hand just in time and saved me from injury. He still teases me about it...and I don't mind one bit.
Aaron is my protector and defender. He always tells me that he would protect me with his life. But, sometimes, I wonder if I need to be protected from my protector. One night, after Aaron had made an amazing crab/chicken/beef/veggie stir-fry at my apartment, he decided he wanted to be manly and show off his brutish strength by sweeping me off my feet. Dinner was over, dishes were done, and we were going to watch a movie. Aaron impulsively decided to carry me to the couch. I'm not a petite girl, at all, which didn't seem to be a problem for Aaron, until we got to the narrow spot between the wall and the counter. I was impressed that he was even able to overcome earth's gravitational pull. Isn't that most girls' fantasy--to make eye contact with her man across a hazy meadow filled with sunflowers and run open-armed toward each other in slow motion until you meet, embrace, and be picked up and twirled in his arms? Maybe a small flock of bluebirds will flit about, crowning you with a chain of blossoms. And fawns and bunnies will sit and sigh at the spectacle, or a wisened owl will congratulate you on your twitterpation. But we weren't in a Disney delusion, we were in my tiny apartment and as he walked me past the counter, I cracked my knee dead-on with the corner and had a large, painful bruise for at least a week.
I think dorkiness is the definition of our understanding each other so well. A few weeks after he asked me to be his girlfriend, Aaron took me to what he now calls, "our restaurant." It's a small, upscale place in Old Town in Albuquerque called Restaurant Antiquity. We dined on a delicious meal, desserted on a shared serving of creme brule, and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. It was a romantic, intimate setting. The waiter called me Mrs. Sanchez and I blushed and Aaron looked smug. While waiting for our table, couples would come into the front waiting area and sit on the opposite side of the room from us. No one! would sit by us. We were a respectable looking couple, dressed up in a modest dress and suit, but apparently our sweetness is of cavity proportions and no one would sit by us. Some couples even stood, rather than intrude on our side of the room. I think we were barely even holding hands, so it's not like we were that kind of couple. I amused myself with making Aaron blush by suggesting he put his hand on my knee, which of course there was no threat of him actually doing it, but it was cute to watch him blush and giggle at the thought of touching my knee covered in nothing but dress. As we were leaving, Aaron told me he needed to use the restroom, which is a common trend in our relationship. When he gets nervous, he guzzles water. This was our first fancy date, so by the time we left, he was desperate. I waited. And waited. And waited! Guys shouldn't take this long in the bathroom, I thought. Where is he? He finally came out and looked really fidgety and odd. I didn't say anything. We went back to my apartment, where I invited him in to do what new, amorous couples do best...watch TV and make out :) The evening was wonderful and perfect. I found out later that my assumptions about it being a hitch-free evening were very, very wrong. I uncovered the cover-up when I was commenting on how long he always takes in the bathroom at restaurants. For instance, that one time in Old Town was like ten years! Aaron owned up to his delay by revealing that behind that occupied sign, he was having a small melt-down panic attack. His underwear had ripped! And not just a small, uncomfortable tear, but a full-out torn off kind of ripped! He has no idea how or why, but the rip was so severe that he ended up having to ditch them in the trash and go commando in his slacks. No wonder he was such a nervous wreck the rest of the night! He tells me that he was so nervous that somehow I would find out his dilemma, especially when we were cuddling. Now, we are a kosher kind of couple so I don't how in the world I would have ever discovered he was free and breezy in his slacks. Never a dull moment with my boy :)
So Bethany, and anyone else who happens to read the snippets from being loved by my crazy Mexican, I hope you continue to enjoy my adventures. I hope they at least make you smile, because for me, I've never been happier :)
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
10 things I learned today
1. Elderly men are stubborn.
2. I will always laugh (on the inside) when my patient wants me to help her escape from physical therapy.
3. I can't efficiently blow my nose with one hand while driving.
4. I can steer with my knees.
5. My denture-less patient saying, "my dee-zeeze" will also bring an instantaneous (on the inside) riot of laughter.
6. Some 90 yr-old women may not want you to shout at them to be heard.
7. Don't give a dementia patient a bracelet and then be surprised if it's MIA the next time you cross bewildered paths.
8. If dentures aren't in the mouth or the dresser, check down the blouse.
9. Even after quizzing patients all day, I can't remember the date when I do my paperwork.
10. At the end of a long day, I am easily amused, especially when my boyfriend is rambling about cats, togas, and dominating a nursing home after my demise...and possibly erecting a shrine in my honor resembling the parents' yard in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Mexican status.
2. I will always laugh (on the inside) when my patient wants me to help her escape from physical therapy.
3. I can't efficiently blow my nose with one hand while driving.
4. I can steer with my knees.
5. My denture-less patient saying, "my dee-zeeze" will also bring an instantaneous (on the inside) riot of laughter.
6. Some 90 yr-old women may not want you to shout at them to be heard.
7. Don't give a dementia patient a bracelet and then be surprised if it's MIA the next time you cross bewildered paths.
8. If dentures aren't in the mouth or the dresser, check down the blouse.
9. Even after quizzing patients all day, I can't remember the date when I do my paperwork.
10. At the end of a long day, I am easily amused, especially when my boyfriend is rambling about cats, togas, and dominating a nursing home after my demise...and possibly erecting a shrine in my honor resembling the parents' yard in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Mexican status.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Just a spoon full of Thickit makes the medicine/OJ/milk/H2O go down...
Week 2 of my internship and my tolerance for thickened liquids and thickened phlegm doesn't seem to have improved much. I am getting the swing of things, though. I'm a little nervous because everyone is getting the flu or pneumonia but I'm sacrificing moisturized hands for the amount of hand sanitizer I lather in frequently throughout my day...
I've seen television specials where local youth detention centers include, as part of their intervention, a trip to a prison or morgue. It's supposed to create a wake-up call for the teens and deter them from the dark, delinquent path they were headed down. I've come to the conclusion that a similar intervention should be used to warn against be imprisoned in your own body by the diseases that come from neglect, over-indulgence, and an under-active lifestyle. Spend a few days watching CNA's changing Depends, nurses pricking fingers for blood sugar levels, insulin injections, O2 respirators, wheel chair confinement, throat cancer from tobacco use, cranes for obesity, thickened foods for safe intake, and so forth, it becomes much more emergent the need to take better care of the body. I know there are so many things that come, regardless of age, circumstance, or how well you take care of your body, but so much of it is preventable.
I have one particular patient who wants "just a cool glass of water" because "this orange juice doesn't taste the same..." and "well, the milk...I've had better." I feel the same way and I don't even drink honey-consistency milk or OJ. I don't blame her one bit for wanting just a simple glass of water. She's caught on though, that I'm mixing something into her water before I give it to her. Poor dear. She's coming along nicely and hopefully one day in the very near future, we'll both have graduated from our morning dose of thickened liquids, pureed french toast, and ice cream scoops of dark gray playdoh-looking sausage.
The things that get me through my day are:
-a smile
-the dear group of white haired ladies who are always so friendly and kind
-my supervisor
-caffeine
-a sense of humor
-looking away when congested patients cough
-breathing through my mouth
-rubber gloves
-kind and willing nurses and CNA's
-the prospect of solid, salted and sweetened foods for dinner
-knowing I can feed myself
-patient humor
-patience. especially when hearing the same 5 stories from the same patient in the same 48 minute session...day after day.
-minutes toward my ASHA 400 hours
-silent prayers
-naptime when I get home
-progress in both myself and my patients
-my paycheck....wait, I'm PAYING to be here. Oh, well.
I've seen television specials where local youth detention centers include, as part of their intervention, a trip to a prison or morgue. It's supposed to create a wake-up call for the teens and deter them from the dark, delinquent path they were headed down. I've come to the conclusion that a similar intervention should be used to warn against be imprisoned in your own body by the diseases that come from neglect, over-indulgence, and an under-active lifestyle. Spend a few days watching CNA's changing Depends, nurses pricking fingers for blood sugar levels, insulin injections, O2 respirators, wheel chair confinement, throat cancer from tobacco use, cranes for obesity, thickened foods for safe intake, and so forth, it becomes much more emergent the need to take better care of the body. I know there are so many things that come, regardless of age, circumstance, or how well you take care of your body, but so much of it is preventable.
I have one particular patient who wants "just a cool glass of water" because "this orange juice doesn't taste the same..." and "well, the milk...I've had better." I feel the same way and I don't even drink honey-consistency milk or OJ. I don't blame her one bit for wanting just a simple glass of water. She's caught on though, that I'm mixing something into her water before I give it to her. Poor dear. She's coming along nicely and hopefully one day in the very near future, we'll both have graduated from our morning dose of thickened liquids, pureed french toast, and ice cream scoops of dark gray playdoh-looking sausage.
The things that get me through my day are:
-a smile
-the dear group of white haired ladies who are always so friendly and kind
-my supervisor
-caffeine
-a sense of humor
-looking away when congested patients cough
-breathing through my mouth
-rubber gloves
-kind and willing nurses and CNA's
-the prospect of solid, salted and sweetened foods for dinner
-knowing I can feed myself
-patient humor
-patience. especially when hearing the same 5 stories from the same patient in the same 48 minute session...day after day.
-minutes toward my ASHA 400 hours
-silent prayers
-naptime when I get home
-progress in both myself and my patients
-my paycheck....wait, I'm PAYING to be here. Oh, well.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Pureed Eggs and Ham, Sam I Aren't
I've only been at my internship a week, but it's given me a lot to think about...
Today, as I helped a patient eat ham and eggs, both still in the shape of an ice cream scoop, I decided that there should be a dysphagia-themed Dr. Seuss-esque book. She would not eat them with a cue, she would not could even chew....
And so you know, just because you have to chew your milk, it doesn't mean it's rotten.
Just because the lawn mower shredded your dentures, it doesn't mean you can't still enjoy a majority of your favorite foods...they can be prepared in a variety of textures.
If your patient is going to forget who you are every time she looks away, it's a sign of progress when, upon re-introducing yourself for the 10th time in 30 mins, your patient says, "Amanda? oh. right. You're the funny one."
It's also progress when your elderly memory impaired patient is aware enough to quiz you. Patient, "What's this? (pointing to a blanket)" Amanda, the intern, "Hmm...can you tell me what that is?" Patient (smiling mischievously), "It's a blanket. Just thought I'd through in some humor."
Just because you aren't 5 ft 2 inch Reese Witherspoon, it doesn't mean you can't still be the star of your own awkward moment. Male elderly patient, "[incoherent mumbling]...Wendover or Vegas." Amanda, still the intern, "What's that? I didn't catch what you were saying. Remember to think LOUD!" Male elderly (and married) patient, "Are you married?" Amanda, the unassuming intern, "Nope, I'm not. Ok, so next is 'Deep breath, and OOOOO." Male elderly (and undeterred) patient, "Why not?" Amanda, the sometimes unprepared intern, "Oh, no one has asked me, yet. Ok, let's here a nice, clear OOOO." Male elderly (and you can see it coming now, can't you) patient, "I do! I'll marry ya!" Amanda, the aspiring cool as a cucumber intern, "You already have a wife and that's not what we talk about in speech therapy." Male elderly (and insisitant) patient, "But I love you!" He doesn't have a bus pass, but he does have a motor home...
Chinese is truly a tonal language. If you don't understand the words, you will understand the tone of voice.
Some patients should come with subtitles.
Don't wear undershirts/tank tops under a sweater if it closely matches your skin tone. Without glasses and from a distance, some patient's will deem your outfit scandalous.
Phlegm is not my phavorite.
When inquiring about patient charts, introduce yourself to the head nurse at the nurse's station BEFORE you ask about confidential matters...or else be prepared to be recieved as a wandering patient.
Don't laugh at inspirational quotes posted in your facility. If you must, laugh to yourself.
For example: “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall” --Confucius
Above all, remember that moment by unpredictable moment, you are serving God's children. Treat them as such.
Today, as I helped a patient eat ham and eggs, both still in the shape of an ice cream scoop, I decided that there should be a dysphagia-themed Dr. Seuss-esque book. She would not eat them with a cue, she would not could even chew....
And so you know, just because you have to chew your milk, it doesn't mean it's rotten.
Just because the lawn mower shredded your dentures, it doesn't mean you can't still enjoy a majority of your favorite foods...they can be prepared in a variety of textures.
If your patient is going to forget who you are every time she looks away, it's a sign of progress when, upon re-introducing yourself for the 10th time in 30 mins, your patient says, "Amanda? oh. right. You're the funny one."
It's also progress when your elderly memory impaired patient is aware enough to quiz you. Patient, "What's this? (pointing to a blanket)" Amanda, the intern, "Hmm...can you tell me what that is?" Patient (smiling mischievously), "It's a blanket. Just thought I'd through in some humor."
Just because you aren't 5 ft 2 inch Reese Witherspoon, it doesn't mean you can't still be the star of your own awkward moment. Male elderly patient, "[incoherent mumbling]...Wendover or Vegas." Amanda, still the intern, "What's that? I didn't catch what you were saying. Remember to think LOUD!" Male elderly (and married) patient, "Are you married?" Amanda, the unassuming intern, "Nope, I'm not. Ok, so next is 'Deep breath, and OOOOO." Male elderly (and undeterred) patient, "Why not?" Amanda, the sometimes unprepared intern, "Oh, no one has asked me, yet. Ok, let's here a nice, clear OOOO." Male elderly (and you can see it coming now, can't you) patient, "I do! I'll marry ya!" Amanda, the aspiring cool as a cucumber intern, "You already have a wife and that's not what we talk about in speech therapy." Male elderly (and insisitant) patient, "But I love you!" He doesn't have a bus pass, but he does have a motor home...
Chinese is truly a tonal language. If you don't understand the words, you will understand the tone of voice.
Some patients should come with subtitles.
Don't wear undershirts/tank tops under a sweater if it closely matches your skin tone. Without glasses and from a distance, some patient's will deem your outfit scandalous.
Phlegm is not my phavorite.
When inquiring about patient charts, introduce yourself to the head nurse at the nurse's station BEFORE you ask about confidential matters...or else be prepared to be recieved as a wandering patient.
Don't laugh at inspirational quotes posted in your facility. If you must, laugh to yourself.
For example: “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall” --Confucius
Above all, remember that moment by unpredictable moment, you are serving God's children. Treat them as such.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Hungry dogs, Japanese tourists, and brine stank
My wonderful boyfriend Aaron was here for the weekend and we had ourselves some funny adventures. We had other not-so-noteworthy ambitions for the weekend, but here are some of the funnier moments.
1. We had a picnic at Veteran's park next to the Utah State Capital building in Salt Lake City. It was a beautiful park, complete with a cool breeze, warm sun, babbling brook, and hungry dogs. We picnic-ed with a bucket of KFC chicken and soon discovered that even the most well behaved dogs can't resist the aroma of Original Recipe. I was surprised to discover a wet nose sniffing inches away from my chicken and biscuit. His master called and he very slowly heeded the call. The other dog that was with them took a little extra encouragement. For about 3-5 minutes, the dog stood staring at us, tail wagging, and obviously suffering from the internal battle of "to chicken, or not to chicken." It took a collar and leash to pry that poor pooch away from our bucket of deep fried temptation.
2. We (independently) toured the Capital building. After our picnic and after dragging ourselves back up to my car at the top of what seemed a very steep ravine (that's what we get for eating so unhealthy...), we decided to take a tour of the Capital building. As we were crossing the street, a large yellow tour bus pulled up to the curb. We weren't sure if we could just walk in and take our own tour, so Aaron joked that maybe we could try to blend in with the yellow tour bus group. I said that with our luck, it would be a bunch of Japanese tourists....and as we reached the sidewalk, we watched as the first of many Japanese tourists unloaded from their big yellow tour bus! What were the odds? We laughed and laughed, and then took pictures so we could laugh for years to come. (If you look at the people taking pictures in the background, you'll see that they really were Asian tourists...) When we finally got inside the building, neither one of us wanted to wait another 10 minutes for the guided tour, so we improvised.
3. We went to the Great Salt Lake. As soon as we stepped out of the car, Aaron started gagging on the repulsive and pungent odor of the Lake. He couldn't understand why anyone would use it as a recreational destination. ("Surf board rentals?! really?!?") On our way to the water's edge, we had to navigate our way through dozens of seagull carcasses (carcaci?..) Eww! At one point, I stepped in a particularly soggy spot, slipped, and fell. I landed pretty gracefully, though. Aaron was mostly concerned that I now had "contamination" (smelly sand) on my hands and I needed to wash it off immediately. As we approached the water, we quickly changed course because Aaron spied "fermenting stank." I washed off my hands and we stood there, not breathing through our noses, and enjoyed the view. Every now and then, Aaron would forget and would end up with a hefty whiff of the "putrid stank." My favorite quote from that adventure was, "No wonder these people were so industrious. Somebody must 've stood here and said, 'Look, we can either stay here and smell the stank, or we can go to work. Maybe we should build something to shelter us from the stank." Aaron was definitely not a fan of the the Great Salt Lake..but he is a fan of me, so he was a good sport about it. I even made him touch the water, so he could feel how warm it was...the results are in the video below :)
1. We had a picnic at Veteran's park next to the Utah State Capital building in Salt Lake City. It was a beautiful park, complete with a cool breeze, warm sun, babbling brook, and hungry dogs. We picnic-ed with a bucket of KFC chicken and soon discovered that even the most well behaved dogs can't resist the aroma of Original Recipe. I was surprised to discover a wet nose sniffing inches away from my chicken and biscuit. His master called and he very slowly heeded the call. The other dog that was with them took a little extra encouragement. For about 3-5 minutes, the dog stood staring at us, tail wagging, and obviously suffering from the internal battle of "to chicken, or not to chicken." It took a collar and leash to pry that poor pooch away from our bucket of deep fried temptation.
2. We (independently) toured the Capital building. After our picnic and after dragging ourselves back up to my car at the top of what seemed a very steep ravine (that's what we get for eating so unhealthy...), we decided to take a tour of the Capital building. As we were crossing the street, a large yellow tour bus pulled up to the curb. We weren't sure if we could just walk in and take our own tour, so Aaron joked that maybe we could try to blend in with the yellow tour bus group. I said that with our luck, it would be a bunch of Japanese tourists....and as we reached the sidewalk, we watched as the first of many Japanese tourists unloaded from their big yellow tour bus! What were the odds? We laughed and laughed, and then took pictures so we could laugh for years to come. (If you look at the people taking pictures in the background, you'll see that they really were Asian tourists...) When we finally got inside the building, neither one of us wanted to wait another 10 minutes for the guided tour, so we improvised.
3. We went to the Great Salt Lake. As soon as we stepped out of the car, Aaron started gagging on the repulsive and pungent odor of the Lake. He couldn't understand why anyone would use it as a recreational destination. ("Surf board rentals?! really?!?") On our way to the water's edge, we had to navigate our way through dozens of seagull carcasses (carcaci?..) Eww! At one point, I stepped in a particularly soggy spot, slipped, and fell. I landed pretty gracefully, though. Aaron was mostly concerned that I now had "contamination" (smelly sand) on my hands and I needed to wash it off immediately. As we approached the water, we quickly changed course because Aaron spied "fermenting stank." I washed off my hands and we stood there, not breathing through our noses, and enjoyed the view. Every now and then, Aaron would forget and would end up with a hefty whiff of the "putrid stank." My favorite quote from that adventure was, "No wonder these people were so industrious. Somebody must 've stood here and said, 'Look, we can either stay here and smell the stank, or we can go to work. Maybe we should build something to shelter us from the stank." Aaron was definitely not a fan of the the Great Salt Lake..but he is a fan of me, so he was a good sport about it. I even made him touch the water, so he could feel how warm it was...the results are in the video below :)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Culattes (cu-LA-teez) and Culinary Ambitions
So I've spent the last few days cooking and preparing for my fiesta tomorrow night. This blog has opened up a whole new world to me and totally prompted photo documentation of my life. Today, I managed to multi-task like a champ. Thanks to Larkin and her willingness to put up with my multi-tasking while we worked on our project for Dr. Culatta's class, I was able to accomplish quite a bit today.
I've also decided that Dr. Culatta's projects (even the assignment directions) are like mental stretches to tone and shape. It's more than mental yoga, less than Tae-Bo, so I've decided that it's like pilates...or in this case, Culattes. (cu-LA-teez)
When Larkin arrived, is was total chaos. My dad had just called. The vent over the stove wasn't sufficient venting for the amount of smoke billowing from 2 pans of roasting chiles..so the smoke alarm was going off. Larkin was given the post of fanning the smoke detector with a small cutting board while I scrambled from room to room to open windows and doors. I'm proud to say that we only managed to let in 1 or 2 flies. My poor roommate Alfreda was upstairs in the shower and didn't know I was downstairs cooking. She heard the alarm mid suddsing and panicked. She came flying downstairs in her bathrobe to find out which part of the house was burning down and why. Shak made a cameo which involved the "Harriet Tubman Dance." Larkin, Shak, and I all decided that the "Harriet Tubman Dance" would probably get us banned from public schools and so we shouldn't use it as an extension project for Culattes.
Eventually, the smoke vented. The project projected. And I further added to Aaron's belief that he is turning me into a Mexican.
Yesterday, I made salsa (red and green).
Today, I made:
RED CHILE SAUCE FOR THE ENCHILADAS...AND...
ROASTED GREEN CHILES FOR CHILE RELLENOS...AND...
CALABACITAS (ZUCCHINI, YELLOW SQUASH, ONION, GREEN CHILE)...AND...
CUT UP FRUIT FOR THE FRUIT SALAD...AND..
am currently attempting horchata....no pictures, though because, really, rice soaking in sugar, water, and cinnamon just isn't that exciting.
Tomorrow, I'll make the spanish rice, approve/reject the horchata, and finish up some other last minute tidbits before all my lovely friends arrive!
Courtesy of Larkin...
I've also decided that Dr. Culatta's projects (even the assignment directions) are like mental stretches to tone and shape. It's more than mental yoga, less than Tae-Bo, so I've decided that it's like pilates...or in this case, Culattes. (cu-LA-teez)
When Larkin arrived, is was total chaos. My dad had just called. The vent over the stove wasn't sufficient venting for the amount of smoke billowing from 2 pans of roasting chiles..so the smoke alarm was going off. Larkin was given the post of fanning the smoke detector with a small cutting board while I scrambled from room to room to open windows and doors. I'm proud to say that we only managed to let in 1 or 2 flies. My poor roommate Alfreda was upstairs in the shower and didn't know I was downstairs cooking. She heard the alarm mid suddsing and panicked. She came flying downstairs in her bathrobe to find out which part of the house was burning down and why. Shak made a cameo which involved the "Harriet Tubman Dance." Larkin, Shak, and I all decided that the "Harriet Tubman Dance" would probably get us banned from public schools and so we shouldn't use it as an extension project for Culattes.
Eventually, the smoke vented. The project projected. And I further added to Aaron's belief that he is turning me into a Mexican.
Yesterday, I made salsa (red and green).
Today, I made:
RED CHILE SAUCE FOR THE ENCHILADAS...AND...
ROASTED GREEN CHILES FOR CHILE RELLENOS...AND...
CALABACITAS (ZUCCHINI, YELLOW SQUASH, ONION, GREEN CHILE)...AND...
CUT UP FRUIT FOR THE FRUIT SALAD...AND..
am currently attempting horchata....no pictures, though because, really, rice soaking in sugar, water, and cinnamon just isn't that exciting.
Tomorrow, I'll make the spanish rice, approve/reject the horchata, and finish up some other last minute tidbits before all my lovely friends arrive!
Courtesy of Larkin...
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Academic Bulimia
For the past 24 hrs or so, I've been binging on every scrap of SLP-related material I could find. It was a crazed, driven need to consume as much knowledge as I could stuff into my brain. I barely slept. I lay in bed last night, thinking about where I could get another fix. I woke up this morning with a buzz from all the words and concepts I'd consumed. I was so full but I knew I wanted more. I needed more.
I scrounged in my desk for every learning addict's favorite tool...my #2 pencil. I found 2...but no sharpener! Feeling anxious and rushed, I added a stop at Allen's to my itinerary. I hurried through the aisles and in the bad, yellow lighting, I felt like I was in some Napolean Dynomite horror-flick. I grabbed premium grade pencils..the ones that were already sharpened, and headed to the cooler for a juice. From there, it was to the bakery for a convenient breakfast donut. I realized that my 2-day binge on communication disorders was hitting critical when I passed a tottering old woman shuffling by me with her cart. Patient displays tremor in the neck and shoulder areas. Gate seems unaffected. How's her speech? Oral-mech. Assymetry? Weakness? Dysarthria? type...Degenerative. Parkinson's? LSVT. Motor-speech. Dr. Dromey!
On my way out the door, I passed a girl about my age, hovered over the trash can. As I passed by, I realized we were the same. She was hurridly sharpening a handful of #2 pencils. "I bought the pre-sharpened ones," I said. "Oh. I thought about that, but they were more expensive," she replied. "I know, but today I decided to go for conveience instead of cost." I got in my car and drove away.
After circling all the faculty and staff lots like a vulture waiting for the lions to have their fill of the wildabeast, I finally settled for the long walk up the hill. I wanted to get out and find my testing center, my desk, a place to organize my #2 pencils, but I couldn't get out of the car without one more fix from the large blue book of SLP knowledge sitting in my front seat. I kept flipping pages. One more fact. One more scrap of knowledge to get me through the test.
Mentally licking my fingers from the quick fix I just had in the car and literally wiping chocolate frosting off my face, I trudged up the hill to the Praxis. The lobby was buzzing with elementary ed teachers, health ed, chemistry majors, and more. I found the only other aspiring SLP and we engaged in nervous small talk until we were ushered in to take the test. I lined up my #2 pencils and waited to vomit my knowledge into 120 small ovals in varying columns of A-E. Two hours later, after having regurgitated what felt like everything I had pumped into my system, I walked out, came home, and crashed. Now the 3 week wait begins to see if I passed my standardized intervention or if the binge will start all over, again.
I scrounged in my desk for every learning addict's favorite tool...my #2 pencil. I found 2...but no sharpener! Feeling anxious and rushed, I added a stop at Allen's to my itinerary. I hurried through the aisles and in the bad, yellow lighting, I felt like I was in some Napolean Dynomite horror-flick. I grabbed premium grade pencils..the ones that were already sharpened, and headed to the cooler for a juice. From there, it was to the bakery for a convenient breakfast donut. I realized that my 2-day binge on communication disorders was hitting critical when I passed a tottering old woman shuffling by me with her cart. Patient displays tremor in the neck and shoulder areas. Gate seems unaffected. How's her speech? Oral-mech. Assymetry? Weakness? Dysarthria? type...Degenerative. Parkinson's? LSVT. Motor-speech. Dr. Dromey!
On my way out the door, I passed a girl about my age, hovered over the trash can. As I passed by, I realized we were the same. She was hurridly sharpening a handful of #2 pencils. "I bought the pre-sharpened ones," I said. "Oh. I thought about that, but they were more expensive," she replied. "I know, but today I decided to go for conveience instead of cost." I got in my car and drove away.
After circling all the faculty and staff lots like a vulture waiting for the lions to have their fill of the wildabeast, I finally settled for the long walk up the hill. I wanted to get out and find my testing center, my desk, a place to organize my #2 pencils, but I couldn't get out of the car without one more fix from the large blue book of SLP knowledge sitting in my front seat. I kept flipping pages. One more fact. One more scrap of knowledge to get me through the test.
Mentally licking my fingers from the quick fix I just had in the car and literally wiping chocolate frosting off my face, I trudged up the hill to the Praxis. The lobby was buzzing with elementary ed teachers, health ed, chemistry majors, and more. I found the only other aspiring SLP and we engaged in nervous small talk until we were ushered in to take the test. I lined up my #2 pencils and waited to vomit my knowledge into 120 small ovals in varying columns of A-E. Two hours later, after having regurgitated what felt like everything I had pumped into my system, I walked out, came home, and crashed. Now the 3 week wait begins to see if I passed my standardized intervention or if the binge will start all over, again.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
La Huera Loca
La huera loca means "crazy white girl" and it's the name some crazy Mexican gave me at a job I worked at last fall. I was living in Albuquerque for an externship for my grad program through BYU and worked an evening shift at a residential treatment facility for at-risk youth. Intense! Teens screaming, threatening to hurt you, trying to commit suicide, or attempting escape. In the midst of all the chaos, I met my best friend, Aaron. It still amazes us to look back and see the evolution our relationship has taken from the day we became co-workers through now, where we have been dating for the past 7 months.
I went to Albuquerque expecting to spend my days fixing bad "r" sounds and teaching social skills as an SLP intern. I worked with an amazing SLP who taught me so much and treated me like a collegue, took me to lunch, and became a dear friend. I LOVED working with my kiddos! After a full day of playdoh pies, go-we-ha-has (gorillas), and predicting just what might happen if you did indeed Give a Mouse a Cookie, I would dash off to work and spend the rest of my day asserting myself against angry, hormonal, slightly (sometime clinically) psychotic teenagers. Somewhere in the midst of keeping me safe from the danger, making me laugh to relieve the stress, and hiding in the "attic" after work (my friend's car...so the 3 of us wouldn't get in trouble for chatting in the parking lot), Aaron fell in love with me. And I fell in love with him.
Our first date was a late night venture to IHOP after work for hot chocolate. Two nights later, we went to Village Inn. Then it was IHOP, again. We talked for hours, sometimes til dawn. Aaron says he knew from the
first day he met me that there was something different about me that he was really fascinated by. He liked me from that moment and spent the next few months getting up the courage to ask me out. We had about 4 or 5 dates in the first week after he first asked me out. That Saturday, he showed up dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, holding a single rose, ready to take me to a local art museum. Later, we walked around Old Town, went to dinner, and then went back to my apartment to watch a movie. It took him nearly all the way through Count of Monte Cristo to commit to holding my hand! I knew exactly what he was up to because every time I left the couch for something, I would come back to find that the space on my side of the couch had significantly decreased... When he was getting ready to leave, he very respectfully asked if he could kiss me goodnight....and I said...no. not tonight. I still can't believe I told him no, but it seems to have added to the gold star count I was racking up because it showed him I was a "respectable woman." He's been the first guy to ever bring me flowers. The first to make me a candlelight dinner. The first to show up to make me dinner when I'm sick. The first to give me a card on my last day with my students because he knew I'd need cheering up. He's been the first man to really, really love me.
My crazy Mexican has gradually been trying to convince me that he's turning me into a Mexican, too. The day we went to meet his mother, I got a nervous and rushed crash course in Mexican etiquette. Turns out, I've been practicing Mexican etiquette all my life and didn't even realize it.
I spent Christmas Eve with Aaron's family and what an adventure that was! I'd been battling allergies all day and so was drugged up on Benedryl. Aaron's mom gave me an extra strength Benedryl when I got to the house and I spent the next few hours trying to keep up with an entirely spanish-speaking family through the haze induced by one single little pink pill. I also managed to pass the 4 Tamale test. Apparently, Aaron decided it would prove to the family that I was a good woman if I would eat the LARGE bowl of posole and the FOUR tamales he served me for dinner. Now, I'm a girl with an appetite but that was a LOT of food. I couldn't bring myself to waste the homemade food, so...I ate it all. And now I'm totally in with the extended family.
This past Valentine's Day, my crazy Mexican came to see his huera and we had a wonderful weekend.
La huera loca is the name some crazy Mexican gave me at a job I
worked at last fall and what I've learned is that was really
his way of saying, "I'm going to love you someday."
I went to Albuquerque expecting to spend my days fixing bad "r" sounds and teaching social skills as an SLP intern. I worked with an amazing SLP who taught me so much and treated me like a collegue, took me to lunch, and became a dear friend. I LOVED working with my kiddos! After a full day of playdoh pies, go-we-ha-has (gorillas), and predicting just what might happen if you did indeed Give a Mouse a Cookie, I would dash off to work and spend the rest of my day asserting myself against angry, hormonal, slightly (sometime clinically) psychotic teenagers. Somewhere in the midst of keeping me safe from the danger, making me laugh to relieve the stress, and hiding in the "attic" after work (my friend's car...so the 3 of us wouldn't get in trouble for chatting in the parking lot), Aaron fell in love with me. And I fell in love with him.
Our first date was a late night venture to IHOP after work for hot chocolate. Two nights later, we went to Village Inn. Then it was IHOP, again. We talked for hours, sometimes til dawn. Aaron says he knew from the
first day he met me that there was something different about me that he was really fascinated by. He liked me from that moment and spent the next few months getting up the courage to ask me out. We had about 4 or 5 dates in the first week after he first asked me out. That Saturday, he showed up dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, holding a single rose, ready to take me to a local art museum. Later, we walked around Old Town, went to dinner, and then went back to my apartment to watch a movie. It took him nearly all the way through Count of Monte Cristo to commit to holding my hand! I knew exactly what he was up to because every time I left the couch for something, I would come back to find that the space on my side of the couch had significantly decreased... When he was getting ready to leave, he very respectfully asked if he could kiss me goodnight....and I said...no. not tonight. I still can't believe I told him no, but it seems to have added to the gold star count I was racking up because it showed him I was a "respectable woman." He's been the first guy to ever bring me flowers. The first to make me a candlelight dinner. The first to show up to make me dinner when I'm sick. The first to give me a card on my last day with my students because he knew I'd need cheering up. He's been the first man to really, really love me.My crazy Mexican has gradually been trying to convince me that he's turning me into a Mexican, too. The day we went to meet his mother, I got a nervous and rushed crash course in Mexican etiquette. Turns out, I've been practicing Mexican etiquette all my life and didn't even realize it.
I spent Christmas Eve with Aaron's family and what an adventure that was! I'd been battling allergies all day and so was drugged up on Benedryl. Aaron's mom gave me an extra strength Benedryl when I got to the house and I spent the next few hours trying to keep up with an entirely spanish-speaking family through the haze induced by one single little pink pill. I also managed to pass the 4 Tamale test. Apparently, Aaron decided it would prove to the family that I was a good woman if I would eat the LARGE bowl of posole and the FOUR tamales he served me for dinner. Now, I'm a girl with an appetite but that was a LOT of food. I couldn't bring myself to waste the homemade food, so...I ate it all. And now I'm totally in with the extended family.
This past Valentine's Day, my crazy Mexican came to see his huera and we had a wonderful weekend.
La huera loca is the name some crazy Mexican gave me at a job I
worked at last fall and what I've learned is that was really
his way of saying, "I'm going to love you someday."
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