Prescribing Hope

   I recently re-watched the film Patch Adams starring Robin Williams.  Patch Adams speaks passionately about medicine and health care.  Some of his beliefs include: 

• doctors should do more than treat a disease.  Doctors should connect with the patient.
• doctors shouldn’t just be trying to prolong death, but should be attempting to improve a patient’s quality of life.
• laughter should also be a part of a patient’s treatment.

   I’m thinking of these ideas because they contradict the way most doctors interact with me.  On this medical journey of mine, I have encountered numerous doctors.  Most don’t use my name when speaking to me.  Because I’ve been sent from one “specialist” to another, most are not familiar with my history - the doctors I’ve already seen, the tests I’ve already undergone.

   As my levels of frustration and hopelessness are rapidly increasing, I have turned to  an alternative treatment plan.  In addition to my counter-full of pills, I have begun acupuncture treatments.  Me, the girl who does not watch when blood is drawn, is voluntarily having needles placed in various parts of my body, all in the hopes that something will work, somehow my body will get some relief, and I will feel like myself again.

   It’s too soon to tell if the acupuncture is working.  But my acupuncturist has the right idea.  Before we begin, she talks to me.  Sits down, looks me in the eyes, and talks to me.  Asks me about my health, my eating, my sleeping, my family, my job.  She asks about all the parts of me because they do all influence my physical health and well-being.

   On my second visit, my acupuncturist asked me about my optimism level, with 10 being highest.  She asked if I was at a 10?  a 5?  a 3?  I had never thought of the situation in those terms, but I was honest and told her I was probably a 3.  The longer I suffer in pain, the longer I go without feeling any real relief, the more dejected and forlorn I become.  And I’m sure Patch Adams would say that those feelings aren’t helping my health.

   So, how do I fix it?  How do I do something about my attitude? 

   I don’t know.  I just know I’m not giving up.  I have a son.  A now four-year-old son.  That’s all the motivation I need to keep at it, to keep searching for answers.  And, as an added bonus, my son always knows how to make me laugh.  And it’s been said, laughter is the best medicine.

Being Wendy

   I recently purchased a children’s picture book - for myself.  Being Wendy by Fran Drescher.  I admit; I was first intrigued by the title.  There are only a few claims to fame for fellow Wendy’s:  my name is said to have been invented by J. M. Barrie for his “frendy Wendy” character in Peter Pan, and I’ve got a hamburger fast food chain that shares my name.

   When I was younger, I didn’t always like my name.  A girl can only be teased about fast-food hamburgers and it being “windy outside and Wendy inside” so many times.  As an adult, I still wish people pronounced my name with the short-e vowel sound, making it Wendy, instead of the short-i vowel sound, making it Windy.  There is a difference.  

   Being Wendy is the story of Wendy, a girl who doesn’t want to choose to wear one box for the rest of her life.  In her hometown, the rule is :  “The Boxville way is to choose a box for the rest of your days.”  She doesn’t want to just be a teacher, just be a police officer, just be any one thing.  Her ideas and her dreams are too far-reaching, and one box just won’t work for her.

Lucky for Wendy, she’s got parents who believe in her and support her.  (So do I).

“You’re a very special girl, Wendy,” said her dad.  “You have a lot of different talents that make you you.  And that’s a good thing!  You should do anything and everything you want.  We all should!”

   Wendy and her parents ditch their boxes and move to Freedomland.

   It’s not that easy for me.

   As little-girl-Wendy, I knew I wanted to be an astronaut.  I also knew there would be many other things I would do - I would travel and live abroad, I’d write, I’d learn to swing dance, I’d garden, I’d live by the ocean.  

   I changed, life happens, and as adult-Wendy, I feel like my world has closed in certain ways.  I became a college student.  A wife.  A teacher.  A writer.  A mother.  And as the years go by, and my to-do lists and number of responsibilities grow, the harder I’m finding it to be, or do, all the things I’d like to be and do.

   Me, being the Wendy I am, I try to wear all my boxes at once.  Mommy-wife-teacher-daughter-friend.  Sometimes, I can juggle and do it all.  Other times, I shortchange something in the process (usually myself - my sleep, my peace of mind, or both).

   I bought this book as a reminder, a reaffirmation.  I can’t be confined to just one box, and I shouldn’t be confined to just one box.  Some days, it may feel like I wear one box more than another, but it doesn’t mean they’re not all still there, and all still a part of who I am as Wendy.  

The A to Z List of Things I Question

   One of my college philosophy professors once said that a truly wise person can admit when he/she doesn’t know something.  I admit it - there are a lot of things I don’t know, a lot of things I don’t understand.  Here is my A to Z list of things I question.

A Attire.  Adults make their own money and will buy what they want.  But, kids’ attire is another story.  Someone is buying the clothing these kids are wearing.  Someone is letting a child come to school with a shirt that proclaims “Homework kills trees.”  Someone is purchasing short-shorts for girls and t-shirts that proclaim, “Here comes trouble.”  Why?

B Bathing suits that reveal more than my underwear.  Some neighbors like to sunbathe outside in their teeny-weeny bikinis.  Frankly, I don’t want to see everything they’re showing.  But there’s not much I can do but not look.  It’s allowed.  Yet, if I went outside in my mis-matched bra and underwear I could be arrested for indecent exposure.  Why is it that bathing suits have become an item of “clothing” whose sole purpose seems to be “How much can I get away with showing?”  Why do women want to show everything?

C Curse words.  Somehow I missed it - missed when it became acceptable for certain words to be said on television, during the day.  The “b” word comes to mind; the word my sister and I referred to as a “female dog.” 

D Digital billboards.  There are enough distractions on the streets.  Why are drivers bombarded with multiple advertisements, and now this new wave of digital billboards with images that change every few seconds?  Aren’t we supposed to be watching the roads, checking our mirrors, looking out for pedestrians and cyclists?

E Easter’s observance.  I am not a traditionally-religious person, but I do understand that both Christmas and Easter are Christian holidays involving Jesus.  Why is it that Christmas has a fixed date but some years Easter is observed in March, and other years it falls in April?

F Footwear.  I have read that the foundation for the human body is our feet.  Why then do so many women teeter around on high heels?  I’m not talking about pumps, I’m talking about mega-high heels.  Your whole body is off-balance and improperly aligned.  

G Games.  Specifically, violent video games.  The Nazis were real.  War is real.  People fight, innocent people die.  All these facts seem to run contrary to the purpose of a game.  I thought games were supposed to be fun, a form of entertainment, a source of amusement.  

H Hang-Ups.  If someone took the time to dial the phone, let it ring through, and listen to my out-going message, why not take the extra few seconds and leave a message.  I cannot always get to the phone.  Leave a message - tell me why you were calling in the first place.

I Indifference.  I don’t understand how people cannot care.  I know the world may seem like one big mess, and it can be a bit overwhelming, but we’ve all got to care about something.  For instance, how in the world do adults still smoke in front of young children?  How does an adult drive a car without all children buckled safely and legally?    

J Jam, jelly, and marmalade.  What is the difference?  I know it’s been explained to me, on more than one occasion, but I can’t keep it straight in my head.  And really, does it matter?

K Kids’ items.  Having a child is expensive.  Diapers alone add up.  Then there are all the things that babies and toddlers need - car seats and booster seats, high chairs, potty seats, bed rails, step stools, special plates and cups and utensils.  Why then are so many kids’ items so expensive?  Kids’ clothing rivals the prices of adults’ clothing.  And let’s be honest - kids’ clothing doesn’t last - kids outgrow it, they fall and rip it, or they stain it.  

L Love.  The easiest love I know and understand is the love for my son.  It was instantaneous - from the moment I learned I was pregnant.  The love I have for my son is unwavering and fierce.  The love I have for my husband is not as easy; the person you romantically love can cause you great ecstasy and great heartbreak.  The person you love the most can be the person who hurts you the most.  In my mind, that person should be the last person who hurts you, but romantic love isn’t simple, and it certainly isn’t always easy to understand.

M Meal delivery.  Why is pizza often delivered to one’s home or business?  Pizza is best served hot (at least the first time around).  Yet, businesses work with the added stress of delivering food (I’m thinking of pizza and Chinese food, for example) that must reach its customers in a hot, fresh state.  Why isn’t someone delivering sandwiches?

N Narcissism.  All people are self-absorbed a certain amount, sometimes.  But there are people who are completely oblivious to those around them.  I’m talking about the people who double-park their cars without the thought that they may be blocking the way for someone else, or the people who place their shopping cart dead-center in the aisle without regard to the other shoppers in the market.  Our planet is big, but our population is many - probability dictates that our actions will certainly impact someone else.

O Outward appearances.  There are whole department store floors designed to sell women cosmetics because we’re not enough the way we are.  We’re not beautiful enough, young enough, thin enough, blonde enough.  Just women, mind you, not men.  Now, I wear lipstick, I periodically polish my nails, but that’s about it.  I don’t want to be younger.  I want to be my age, I’m fortunate to have 36 years worth of experiences.  I want to celebrate that.  And while there are certainly things about my outward appearance that I wouldn’t mind changing, I am who I am.   

P Phonics.  I didn’t make the spelling rules - that’s one of my first disclaimers to my students.  Why don’t letters always maintain their sounds?  Why is a “c” sometimes sounding like a “k” (as in coffee) and other times it sounds like a “s” (as in Cinderella)?  Why does a “g” sometimes sound hard (as in gopher) and other times it’s soft (as in giraffe)?  

Q Quadrilaterals, specifically the rhombus.  In fourth grade math, students (and their parents) learn that a square can be a rectangle but never vice versa.  Students learn that the shape they have commonly referred to as a “diamond” is now a “rhombus” - a quadrilateral with four equal sides and equal, opposite angles.  Why not just teach kids the term “rhombus” from the beginning.  Why make math more complicated than it already is?

R Restrooms, with “energy-saving upgrades.”  I’m talking about automatic flushing toilets, hand dryers (I miss paper towels), and automatic sinks.  Do they really save water?  I wonder, especially when a toilet flushes while I’m in the midst of taking care of my business or the hand-dryer finishes its cycle and I’m forced to use toilet paper to try and finish drying my hands. 

S Streets change.  Here in Los Angeles, I can drive down Sunset Boulevard and be in tourist-heavy Sunset Strip.  Drive west a bit more, and the tattoo parlors, eateries, and clubs have given way to multi-million-dollar mansions.  How does one street evolve that way?

T Tardiness.  I know - things happen - accidents on the freeway, intersection lights that don’t work, flat tires.  Life is unpredictable, but those incidents are exceptions; they’re not everyday occurrences.  Somehow though most people think it’s okay to be late, it’s okay to keep a teacher waiting for a conference, keep a friend waiting for dinner.  It’s not okay - but a genuine apology goes a long way in making things more right. 

U Upside-down bottles.  Ketchup bottles are now being made “upside-down” - it’s a matter of allowing gravity to do its thing.  Why hasn’t this trend spread to shampoo and lotion bottles?  I wind up turning the bottles upside-down anyway, seems to me Suave should be doing it.

V Vehicles.  Gasoline is over-priced.  We’re running out of oil.  We’re concerned about our environment, our ozone layer and smog.  Why then are large, tank-like cars still manufactured?  For most people, they’re not necessary.  Most people don’t need them to haul heavy cargo.  Most people aren’t transporting people or things that couldn’t fit in a smaller, more fuel-efficient vehicle.  Stop producing those cars.  People will buy something else.  They can’t buy them if they’re not for sale.

W Wealth.  Some people have more money than others.  It’s always been that way.  How much money does one person need?  Shouldn’t there be some sort of a cap on the amount of money one person can have, or what they can spend it on?  Does anyone really need multiple cars or a handbag that costs thousands?  I can’t afford those items, and it doesn’t mean I’m not as hard-working or as deserving. 

X Xylophone.  When you’re teaching a child the alphabet, there aren’t a lot of items that start with “x.”  So the xylophone is the object most closely associated with the letter “x.”  Except, xylophone sounds more like a “z.”  The “x” sound you hear in “box” and “fox.”  So, why confuse a kid?  Spell xylophone with a “z,” and be done with it.

Y Youth, and things people do in their “youth.”  I’m thinking of tattoos and piercings that, let’s face it, won’t look the same when someone is in their 60’s.  Why would anyone want to stretch out their earlobe?  Why put a spike in your chin?  (Yes, this is the letter where I appear judgmental.)

Z Zombies.  And vampires and werewolves.  I don’t know where or how this preoccupation began, but suddenly, every other television show or movie seems to involve characters of the zombie persuasion. 

Popping Pills, Crunching Cucumbers

   For almost two years now, my son has known that Mommy’s legs have boo-boos.  He knows Mommy has to call the doctor.  He knows Mommy goes to the doctor.  He knows that sometimes Mommy comes home from the doctor feeling tired, with a big band-aid on her arm.  And, as the years go by, he has seen the number of prescription bottles grow.  Mommy has many medicines to take.

   It’s a part of our life.  I try not to make it the forefront of our life, but it’s there.  And the other night during dinner, Ryan showed me just how much he’s aware of my medical condition.

   Ryan was eating cucumber salad, bite-size pieces of cucumber he was picking up with his fingers.  Ryan took a bite, then reached for a sip of his milk.  He told me he had to take his medicine.  Like Mommy.  He did this several times.  A bite of cucumber, a swallow of milk to wash it down.

   Innocently enough, my son had me in tears.

   Things could be worse.  I know that.  I am able to drive, to pick up my son (most days).  I can dance (somewhat).  I can do a floor-size puzzle and play a game of tickle and squish.

   But, things could be so much better.  I can’t take Ryan for walks like I used to do.  I can’t get up easily after completing our floor-size puzzle.  And I never know when a bout of pain will hit, leaving me writhing and crying in agony.

   I used to look at my life as B.R. and A.R.  Before Ryan and After Ryan.  I still do.  But there’s a new equation to add to the mix.

   B.J. and A.J.  Before July 2010 and After July 2010.  That’s when this medical journey began.  That’s when the fates made sure I knew I was vulnerable. 

   It’s a continuous journey, trying to live with an autoimmune disease that is still not under control.  

   And while I’m struggling with the pain and the uncertainty, I’ve got my son to remind me that we’re in it together - cucumber salad medicine and all.

  

Wintering

           Wintering is a time of waiting.  Waiting to see what survives;  what will thrive from what’s been left behind.  Wintering is a time for discovering the beauty that exists in the quiet, in what remains.  

   I think much of my teenage years and early adult years were spent in a period of waiting.  Working and studying, and waiting for the time when I could do what I really wanted to do.  And, it doesn’t always feel like much has changed.

   The older I get though, the more I seem to question things, question myself, and question my choices.  And instead of taking action, I wait to see how things will play out.  I’m not quite sure that’s such a good thing.  I fear that all my wintering will strip me of who I am, and I’ll lose sight of what I really want.  

   I wait for relationships to heal, for a phone call to end the silence that has stretched between my brother and I for over ten years.  I wait for my sister and I to regain the closeness we shared as little girls who called each other “Best Friends.” 

   I wait to feel pleasure again in my career.  Teaching used to be fun and exhausting, exhilarating and demanding.  And I loved it.  I don’t anymore.  I can’t teach grammar, long division, and California history in the midst of chaos caused by thirty-plus children who need lessons in respect and compassion, manners and tolerance.  

  Sometimes my life feels like a test.  How much can I handle and how well can I handle it?  The answer remains to be seen, and sometimes I feel more up for the challenge than others.

   The pink flowering blooms are blown off a tree on a neighbor’s front yard, but the strong trunk remains.  That tree is grounded, it’s got a solid foundation, and I know I do too.  I’ve got to wait it out.  Take stock of what it is I can change, what I can’t change and will accept as is, and what I can no longer tolerate.

   Winter can be a time of great desolation, sadness, and loneliness.  And that’s okay.  

   But, there’s a flip side.  Wintering is also a time of renewal; a chance to hibernate and recharge.  A chance for me to take stock of my life, to inventory of what I want to keep, what I want to change, and what I need to let go.

   Things I waited for haven’t turned out the way I thought they would.  Teaching was supposed to be the career I’d retire from.  Now, I worry how I’ll make it to June.   My siblings were supposed to be my constant source of comfort not pain.

   In the quiet of this wintering stage, I can pause and reflect on the many blessings that do fill my life (a ten-year-plus friendship with a former co-worker), the happy surprises (discovering my favorite local-vacation spot along California’s central coast), the evolution of my life (I’m a mother).  

   And, life will go on.  Seasons will change.  Bits of me will too.   

The A to Z List of My Disease

   In July 2010, my left calf was sore and hard for two days.  On day three I woke up with my left calf extremely swollen and unable to bear weight.  I was hospitalized for four days, and since then, my legs haven’t been right.  I have been on a quest for a diagnosis and a treatment plan.  Here, is my odyssey, the A to Z List of My Disease.

A Autoimmune.  Meaning my body is attacking itself.  No rhyme or reason behind it, my body has turned on itself.  I suffer from an autoimmune disease.  

B Biopsy.  January 2011, I underwent a muscle biopsy in my upper-left-calf that I now think may have left me worse than I was before the procedure.  Doctors were sure that by examining a piece of the muscle, they would clearly be able to solve the mystery of my ailment.  (They were wrong).  

C CAT Scan.  Another way doctors have of trying to look inside my body, decipher the symptoms, and offer a diagnosis.

D Discoloration.  Those are the bruises that remain on my arms after nurses have acted like vampires during my monthly blood tests.

E Experts.  For almost two years, I have been on an odyssey, telling my story to doctor after doctor, one expert after another.  When one doctor can’t figure out my condition, I’m referred to another, most times needing to repeat my same story, explain my symptoms, undergo some of the same tests.  I’ve seen a geneticist, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, an ophthalmologist, a neuromuscular specialist, and a vascular surgeon.

F Frustration - at what I can no longer do, at my limitations, my weakness, my constant pain, my continuous search for answers.

G Gratitude.  For as awful as this condition is, I am grateful.  Grateful that nothing life-threatening has been diagnosed.  Grateful that most days I can walk and drive myself.

H Heart Test.   That’s what I called the EKG, the electrocardiogram, one of the least-painful tests I’ve experienced.  One more test, one more possible answer, and one more “Nope, it’s not that.”

I Invisible injury.  Others can’t see it - I have no cast or outward sign of an ailment, save for occasional limping.  I work, care for my son, go about my daily routines as best I can, trying to mask my daily discomfort.

J Justice (or lack of).  Bad things happen to good people sometimes.  Life isn’t always fair.  And I have to leave it at that.

K Kinesiology.  The human body is miraculous - with all its strengths and weaknesses.  

L Lab Work.  That’s what they call it in the doctor’s office; I call it blood tests.  It hurts, makes my arm sore, leaves a bruise, and often times leaves me nauseous afterwards.    

M MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging).  From a science point of view, I can look at that machine and see it as a marvel.  From a personal point of view, I look at the machine in a panic.  I do not handle well the idea of my body being “put” into this extremely loud tube-like machine affording barely enough room for my arms to fit.  A sedative did nothing to relax me and disguise the feeling that this machine is reminiscent of a coffin.

N Never.  Never say never.  Never did I fear problems with my legs.  (I always worried about breast cancer).  Never did I think my first night away from my son would be spent in a hospital room.

O Ophthalmologist.  On my quest to find out what was wrong with my legs, I was referred to an ophthalmologist.  Apparently, certain cancers first make themselves known by appearing in eye exams.  (Who knew?)  My eyes were fine.

P Prescriptions.  As of last count, I’m up to seven pills, daily.  Another prescription is taken once a week - 4 little pills that are supposedly so potent they only require a weekly dosage.  I constantly monitor the clock and my meals.  Some prescriptions are taken with a full stomach, some on an empty stomach.

Q Questions.  During these two years, I have more questions than I have answers for.  “Will this condition get worse?”  (Don’t know).  “Will it spread to other parts of my body?”  (For a while, I had symptoms in my arm, fingers, and toes.  My medication has helped those areas, but we don’t know).

R Referrals.  Before I can see a doctor, I need a referral.  A referral that can take weeks to process, making me wait before I can even call a doctor and make an appointment.  So, part of the reason I believe this whole process has taken so long is because I have spent considerable time waiting for “necessary” paperwork.

S Side effects.  For every pill, there’s a side effect.  And no matter how “tough” I try to be, how much I try to ignore them (I don’t read the side effect labels on my prescriptions), some of them are impossible to ignore, namely my nightly wake-ups due to night sweats and my upset stomach.  

T Terror.  I’ve heard possible diagnoses ranging from cancer to rheumatoid arthritis to blocked arteries to leukemia.  All results have proven negative.  But it’s the waiting for the results that produces full-on, crying, howling terror.  My number one thought, “I’ve got a young son.”

U Ultrasound.  When I was pregnant, I loved my ultrasound 

appointments - it was an opportunity to see my growing baby.  Now, each ultrasound appointment I attend with trepidation.  I don’t want to hear bad news, but I do want news, I want answers, I want a resolution.

V Veins (and arteries).  They’re not blocked, and although I do have some varicose veins, they aren’t enough to be causing my pain.  Yet, you can look at my left leg and know that something isn’t right.  My legs look like a map of a busy interstate - red and blue and purple trails criss-crossing my skin.

W Walker.  I was released from the hospital in July 2010 dependent on a walker and wheelchair to get around.  After my biopsy, the walker came out of the closet.  It’s folded and hidden back in the closet, and I hope it remains there.

X X-rays.  One of the first ways doctors try to determine what’s going on inside my body.  No broken bones, no clear evidence showing the cause of my underlying problem.

Y Yearn.  I yearn to be “me” again.  The person who didn’t have a multitude of prescription bottles on my countertop.  The person who could go for long walks with my son.  The person who could enjoy a shower or a bath (the hot water often makes my pain worse).  The person who felt young and healthy and wasn’t worried about the “What if...”

Z Zap.  In yet another test, my left leg and back were subjected to a series of zaps and shocks in one more attempt to discover if my condition was more muscular in nature.  

The A to Z List of Occupations that Interest Me

   I’m a public school teacher.  And as much as I may fantasize about it, I’m not quitting my job anytime soon.  But that doesn’t stop me from imagining myself in another occupation - some real, some imagined.  

A Astronaut.  It was my first career goal.  And there’s still a part of me that wonders if I would have been able to do it.  If I hadn’t gotten scared, hadn’t decided to stay local, would I have gone after my dream?  Would I have achieved it?  And what must it be like to leave the confines of gravity and see our planet in a way few others have?

B Bookmobile Driver.  I’d be “book lady.”  I’d drive and bring books to people who want them.  I’d be able to get books into the hands of those who didn’t have a library nearby.  

C Caterer (with a twist).  My husband tells me that his lunches are often the envy of his co-workers.  His lunches are often just left-overs from dinners I’ve made the night before.  So, I could start a niche side-business, catering to employees who desire simple, home-cooked lunches at reasonable prices.

D Decorator, specifically classrooms.  Each summer, I go back to a barren classroom and convert it to a room that is colorful and welcome and engaging for students.  Not all teachers have classrooms that show any sort of decoration (or effort).  That’s where I’d come in.  I’d design a cozy library corner.  An attractive bulletin board with a fun border.  

E Event planner.  I am inspired by Franck Eggelhoffer, the wedding-coordinator in Steve Martin’s Father of the Bride.  I am an organized, detailed person.  I could coordinate a florist, a caterer, a photographer and the multitude of others who help to create a glorious wedding.  And without tooting my own horn too much, I’m sure I could be just as effective for any special occasion.

F Florist.  For approximately four years, I worked in a flower shop, an over-priced flower shop with a boss that was utterly a mean person.  But the flower part I enjoyed.  It’s an honor to help create flowers for someone’s wedding, someone’s prom, someone’s family dinner.  Working with flowers, there’s daily beauty and elegance. 

G Grocery shopper.  I could be a personal shopper for others.  I’m a good grocery shopper.  I shop with coupons and the weekly sale paper.  I load up my cart each week, with necessities and extras, all the way saving a multitude of money.  For those who don’t have the inclination or who don’t feel the thrill of a good deal, I’m their gal.

H Handwriter - as in, one who does handwriting.  Since I was in elementary school, I have been told that I have neat handwriting.  What if I could use those skills to make some money and work at home?  Addressing envelopes, gift tags, place cards.

I Instructor.  (And yes, there’s a difference between my 

current public-school teacher job).  As a teacher, I attempt to maintain my students’ focus and attention.  An instructor teaches students who voluntarily enroll for his/her courses.  These are paying adults who want to be in a particular class.  You automatically are working with a different audience.  You teach differently; more effectively, certainly more efficiently.

J Journalist.  I imagine myself a journalist, working on my contribution to create a newsworthy, comprehensible, intelligible publication.

K Keyboarder.  Typing can put me in a zen-like state.  I don’t have to be fully present and on-alert the way I do when I’m teaching.  More and more, I believe my state of mind would greatly benefit from a job that was still productive while not being as emotionally, and physically, draining as my current teaching career.  

L Librarian.  I am a book lover.  How peaceful I imagine my days to be surrounded by books, assisting others in locating a book or information.  A place where yelling and running isn’t allowed.  A place that is a sanctuary.

M Marine biologist.  I know it doesn’t fit with my life now, but there is a part of me that is intrigued by the prospect of observing whales in their natural habitats.  Surveying and studying these graceful giants.

N NASA educational representative.  Working within NASA’s educational offices would allow me to marry two of my passions - teaching children and space exploration.  

O Outfit Coordinator.  Nothing fancy; I don’t want to dress anyone for a red carpet.  I’m talking about putting together cute outfits for children (I enjoy selecting my son’s clothes) or matching a shirt with a pair of earrings and complimentary necklace.  (I am a person who changes my jewelry daily to match my outfit).

P Proofreader.  I’m good at finding typos; a trait I inherited from my mom.  At school, I’m often asked to proofread a letter before hundreds of copies are made and distributed to our students.  What if I got paid for that?  I could work from home, and set my own hours.

Q Quintessential Me.  Whatever I’m doing on a particular day - whether more mom, more teacher, more housekeeper, I need to be the best version of “me.”  Sometimes it’s so easy to lose sight of the things that make me a better me (sleep, down-time).  

R Reader.  I’d love to be the person who reads aloud to children each week at the local book store.  As a college student, I was a reading volunteer in a Los Angeles classroom.  I love reading aloud to my students.  And as a parent, I become frustrated at the lack of enthusiasm some readers demonstrate when they read aloud to a bookstore audience, including my son and I.  (First off, the book should be held open and facing your listeners!)

S Stay-at-home mom.  Before I became a mother, I never knew if I’d really want to be a stay-at-home mom.  It wasn’t easy getting my college degree, acquiring my teaching position.  Did I want to give it up?  Did I want to define myself solely as someone’s mother?  Now, as the mother of a toddler, the answer is “yes.”  My job as mother is completely more fulfilling and more rewarding than that of public school teacher.  But, finances dictate both my husband and I work.  

T Tutor.  Sometimes I think being a tutor would better satisfy the need I have to teach children, interact with children, and make a difference in a child’s life.  So much of my day is spent doing non-teaching-related tasks (being mediator, therapist, nurse) for my students.  A tutor can focus on a small group of students (versus my 32).  

U University student.  I feel like I missed so much during my college years.  For me, it was purely a means to an end.  I wanted to be a teacher; I needed a college degree.  College was a challenging time of riding public buses, working part-time, getting married, maintaining “A’s.”  I didn’t enjoy it.  I’d love to go back and take classes for the pleasure of learning.  

V Visual Merchandiser.  I think I was first intrigued back in 1987 with the Andrew McCarthy film Mannequin.  I imagine a land of make-believe, creating window displays and floor plans that entice browsers and shoppers. 

W Writer.   I’ll admit it - I fantasize that someone, somewhere will read my blog and “discover” me.  They’ll realize I should be writing everyday, or at least every week, and getting paid for it.  I will not just be a writer - but a paid writer.

X Movie Extra.  I have no interest in being an actress.  But, speaking as someone who has never worked as an extra, I am intrigued by the idea of being a part of the background - a guest at a wedding, a woman sitting at a nearby table in the restaurant, one in a crowd at an athletic event.

Y Yes-woman.  As in, “Yes, I’m happy with the way I spend the majority of my day.”  “Yes, I find fulfillment in my career.”  “Yes, I feel appreciated.”  “Yes, I feel my efforts are worth my time.”  Currently, I cannot truthfully speak those statements.  Maybe one day.

Z Zoo writer.  One who writes for the zoo.  Writes the blog, updating the world on the adventures of a new panda.  One who writes brochures.  One who writes information for child-friendly websites.