When all that is left of me is love, give me away...

Well. Stephanie Hurley, my friend, my peer, my role-model, my captain, but most of all my Rugby Sister, is gone.
Another Rugby girl called me up. "Steph's dead."
...huh? What? My brain didn't take it all in. Couldn't.
Shock. That's all I felt. I distanced myself from it and felt ...shock.

And then a whirlwind of things- back to work and the everyday, schedule a ticket to attend the funeral, pack up, arrive, and stay at Cassie's house. Meet up with other Rugby Sisters and Norwich-ers one by one. We talked. We ate. We reminisced a bit.

I didn't cry, not once, I couldn't remember my Hurley yet. The Harley-Lee as she was to us, to each of us. I'd lose it. I blocked memories- memories of practice, of scrummaging with my head next to her ass, of hangin' in her room, of borrowing her microwave, of borrowing her perfume (I always do a lot of borrowing with friends...), of having talks with her about everything from the team to boys to my Dad to what was wrong with Norwich...that girl who I knew, who I looked up to, who I loved, could not be dead.

There was time aplenty for tears later. And they came. First at the wake, which was gorgeous, emotional, hilarious, and all the same upsetting and disturbing; I could never fathom the strength it took for Steph's family, especially her Mother and Father, to stand next to the open casket of their daughter for three hours and accept the condolences of so many people. It blows my mind. And seeing her there, like I saw my father 3 years ago... I had to remind myself we were paying tribute to her flesh, but that while the body in that casket housed her spirit for a short 23 years, that was no longer Stephanie.
Of course, all of us rugby girls got a real kick out of the Northeast Championship trophy among her personal NUWRFC (Norwich Univ Women's Rugby Football Club) collection-- because technically, she did kind of 'steal it' from the school, but hell! She was our captain who led us to that victory, she deserved it...oh, and we had all taken shots out of it, haha...

That was the first round of tears. We hit a bar, got a little boozy, and then rested up to prepare for the final goodbye, but I think (know damn well) none of us were ever ready for the funeral the next day.

There is a different kind of sorrow when someone so young and so beloved dies suddenly and seemingly without explanation. I would imagine that, had she died at a later age, her continuous accumulation of friends would have mandated a larger chapel, or perhaps an outdoor funeral.

As it was, we pulled up to a street lined with towering maple trees, grabbed our pocket packs, smoked our last smokes, and packed in to St. Mary's Church in Brookfield, Mass on the 8th of August, a Friday. It was sunny and mild, and the light in the church filtering through the stained glass windows was gorgeous. It was fitting. There was standing room only by the time they invited us to join them in the opening hymn, Amazing Grace. That was when the tears and emotions really started- you can't imagine. The few of those in attendance who were still managing a (remotely convincing) guise of composure attempted to squeeze out some steady strings of syllables to the acoustic accompaniment...

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."
The procession entered. Sniffles all around. I'm in anguish. Did they really have to choose this song?

"I once was lost, but now I'm found..."
Stephanie's casket was cerimoniously carried in, all pallbearers in full dress uniform. Seeing the flag draped over her casket was... I don't know- honestly, the only word that comes to mind is 'numbing.'

"Was blind, but now I see..."
Her family entered just behind her. Seeing their faces broke my heart. People in attendance tried to hold in sniffles and sobs out of respect.

The speeches and readings were wonderful, even if I must admit to getting lost in my thoughts of Steph once or twice, and to regularly fishing for tissue, and even to looking around to make sure I wan't the only rugby girl absolutely losing her fucking mind over this.
A few standouts- I believe it was an Aunt of Steph's who read a few verses, the takeaway of which was: Once one of God's children on Earth has learned all of their lessons, has reached perfection, and has fulfilled their purpose, it is then that he takes them from us, to join him in everlasting peace.
If anyone I know was likely to have learnt and fulfilled thus, it was Steph. I only wished the reward were different.

Also, her sisters and brother went to the podium. Her sister Jennifer read this touching, heart-breaking poem about her sister... you could hear her struggling against tears to keep her voice strong, which of course was making everyone there cry even harder. I admire her bravery for making it a far as she did.
I'm unsure of whether or not she finished it, because at one point, she looked down at her sister's casket, and I could kind of see the realization hit her. She walked down the steps towards the casket and started to cry, really cry. Then she hit her knees and buried her face in the floor, and screamed. And I recognized it. I remembered that grief. I remembered being so torn apart that I was numb, then sad, but sometimes the whole reality of my loss would hit me all at once and I'd feel so absolutely swallowed by the terror of it that I thought the tragedy of it all would rip me apart, it felt so unimaginably painful that I thought it might literally kill me.

But that was my Father. This was her sister, and I imagine it was magnified.

We took Holy Communion, exited the Church after the Family and Stephanie, and gathered outside for the 21 gun-salute and Taps. If you've never been to a full Military Funeral, I'm not sure I can accurately describe this part. I'll try.

It is dead silent. You hear one faint voice, calling the commands: Detail, atten-hut... Ready. Metal snaps on metal as the weapons are cocked. Aim. The sharp rustle of a unified movement. Fire! And the shots go off. Twice more. Seven riflemen firing three vollies.

And then Taps.

Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the hills,
From the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep,
Peaceful sleep.
May the soldier
or sailor, God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,
Must thou go?
When the Day
and the Night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest...

Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
'Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

And Stephanie is gone. So we all just cried.

And I know that no matter how horribly, heart-wrenchingly sad I was, or am, or will be, I'll never understand what Steph's family is battling everyday when they wake up. I don't dare imagine that how I feel even begins to approach what any member of her family is feeling...especially her sisters. And all I can do, all any of us can do- is try and be there for them.

And remember Stephanie.
I wrote this so I'll never forget those days, but I know I'll never forget her.

Who could?

Take it- to the limit- one more tiiiime...

Okay. So, admittedly, when things were really bad and my health was crap and I felt like everything was happening to me...I may have overreacted a bit. The MRSA issue is cleared up, and while my veins are still hardened and painful in my arms from 12 days of heavy-duty IV antibiotics, there are no lingering effects to be seen (that I know of YET) and I'm back on my feet.
And with that comes an astronomical amount of work-teaching, tutoring, prepping, and even learning physics again -not only so I can teach it, but for my own good because I'm re-taking my MCATs in January. And I have a score goal in mind. And it is quite high. And I will get there.
To say I'm working a lot might imply that I'm unhappy, but quite the opposite is true. I love my job, and I love thinking and solving problem and helping students- it just never gets old (or hasn't yet anyhow...). I'm quite happy. I'm using skills I'm proud of and have worked hard at, and I never stop striving to be better and better at it-- oddly enough, never being satisfied is what keeps me satisfied. :)
No time for a long entry now, I'm proctoring a PCAT test- but I'll update more later. I've been remarkably busy, so the updates have been and will be less frequent...but I'll do my best. There is certainly plenty more to write about...mostly good, but some decidedly not so.

Ciao.

All I can say is that my life is pretty plain.

I must have done something truly horrible to deserve the past week or so of my life.

I have a nurse come to my house twice a day to give me the antibiotics..I think I mentioned that...and besides the fact that it stings like all hell, makes me itch unless I get an infusion of benadryl which literally feels like acid and has to be prefaced by an ice-pack sitting on my arm, there's also the added discomfort of the infection barely reacting to the heavy-duty antibiotics, and OH YEAH- the drug is fucking with everything from my digestive system to my sleeping habits to my thermoregulation- sweats, shivers, nightmares...

It's not even worth it. I'd almost rather die of MRSA.

Oh, did I mention that because I'm "only" getting the vancomycin for ten days, my doctor decided NOT to give me a pic line, but a peripheral line. This means the needle and catheter are in my arm, or my hand, or my wrist..well, all of the above because my veins are so intolerant that EVERY fucking line we start gives out on me in the matter of two or three days, so I currently have SEVEN, count 'em, 7 needle sticks in my arm.

Once the line gets clogged, it leaves a nasty bruise and triggers an inflammatory reaction so that the area becomes swollen and red and numb. I have dealt with this. Seven times over. There is only one remaining spot on my arm where it's not so swollen that we can start a new IV (which we'll have to today).

It's in my hand, which I'm dreading, because the last time we even attempted to start a hand line I was in tears because it hurt. So. Fucking. Bad. And then it moves and aches when I'm teaching or tutoring, which I've actually had to cancel twice because of my fever spiking more than once (which makes no sense...)and it's embarassing and I have to cover it up with this cotton fucking sleeve thingy in goddamn 90 plus degrees with humidity so bad I'm sweating even without the thing on.

And I haven't been able to run, swim, or rollerblade in over a week because if I sweat into it it can...get this...get infected.

Fucking A.

And I've been shut-off and out of the life of someone I care about. Which I keep trying to convince myself is minor, because I have my own life here, and my own friends, and my own future. But when I can't even turn on the FUCKING radio without some stupid song coming on that freakishly keeps following me (see title of entry), it reminds me that rejection on this scale smarts no matter how far away I run or how I swear to myself that it's "for the best."

But other than that. Enlistment's going well. I'm teaching and tutoring quite a bit, and slowly climbing out of debt, the weather is nice when it's not shitty, and I'm averaging 2 books per week. And I've been getting hit on a lot. So at least I know I don't look like complete shit, even if it's how I feel. Bleh. My arms are killing me and my fever's 101, so I think I'll go nap now.

IVs and Awkwardly Long Hugs

Wellll this has been interesting...

Some thoughts- the idea of a New Year, turning over a 'new leaf' and making resolutions, all of that tomfoolery I don't really buy into that occurs on Jan 1st every year-- it's kind of off schedule. I mean, unless you were brought into the world on Jan 1st, your new year isn't really then... of course chronologically speaking it's the day the new calendar begins, but in terms of each individual's life, the start of your New Year is your birthday.

I am now on my 22nd year, and so this is my New Year. And I'm really embracing it this time, because this one is mine alone (well... not totally alone, I know, but stay with me.) I've started Dance classes as my birthday gift to myself, it's cool 'cause they're close to my job and have a flexible schedule. I'm surprisingly coordinated and feel lighter on my feet already (mostly just in my head, but I like to think I look gracefull, lol) I'm having so much fun, and it breaks the monotony of my workout routines. Speaking of which, I have to stop swimming for 2 weeks because my "New Year" started off to a less-than-desirable start. :(

My fever spiked and I had to go to a specialist in infectious diseases (an "ID Doc" if you will, the specialty I'm interested in,) because the medications I've been on weren't fighting my infection well enough. They decided they needed to give me IV vancomyocin, which is the BIG GUN in the fight against MRSA (what I regrettably recently found out was the cause of this whole mess, it's a good thing I insisted on a culture!) So NOW I have an IV line in my right arm for the next 10 days and a Nurse has to come to my house twice a day to give me the medication.

And today, during the first infusion I was like "Oh, I'll be fine, I never get any side effects..." Sure enough, right as the infusion wrapped up, I got this horrible redness and flushing all the way from my abdomen up my neck and face! I felt like I was being attacked by tiny ants under my skin and I burned everywhere and turned bright red...so THEN they had to shoot me up with IV benadryl, and lemme tell ya, that shit packs a PUNCH. I was woozy and acting really high, apparently. But I had this awesome Nurse Kim, and she sat with me while we talked about how much we loved our Microbiology classes in college and also had an awesome conversation on the development of drug resistant bugs around the world. There was some malaria discussion in there as well, and the doctor (who gave me more than one awkwardly long hug, over by like 2 seconds- hence the title of this entry) joined in. So all in all it was pretty cool, and just reaffirmed my decision on Med School.

More on that later- but suffice to say that I'm on the right track, be it a roundabout one. It involves enlistment, but I'm really excited about it! I can only teach (and have this much time on my hands) for so long before I get antsy and, for fear of stagnation, get back on the course I'm passionate about. Can't wait for boot camp, to be perfectly honest.

Aaand most everything else is going smoothly. Making friends down here is easy, but I've stuck mostly to Catrina, Karla, Jesse and Brooke because they've been there through everything (and know how to have fun.) I suppose I am really enjoying being home and reading books and visiting my old haunts, mainly the Barnes and Noble across the street (where a manager I know gives me his employee discount on the books I buy-shweeet!), the movie theater, and some local sushi bars. Mmm. Sushi.

Until next time...read this book: Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart by Dr. Gordon Livingston. I finished it, it's awesome, and I'm now on My Sister's Keeper, which I heard was great.
And to those of you who e-mailed me, I really appreciate the encouragement. :P

Ciao Bella!

Pshaw.

I am totally screwed up.

On another note, I hate songs that have sirens or police sounds in them because if they come on the radio whilst I'm driving, I get that rush of adrenaline and the sinking feeling that accompanies being pulled over and cited for speeding/ doing lines of coke off my dash board (which is REALLY difficult while multitasking with driving!) Upon realizing the frightening noises are coming from my stereo, I get angry at the song.

More later. :)

No Mayo, Please

I was in Blockbuster today renting an action movie for my uncle to watch when I heard a movie clip with a young actress saying this line... "I hate being smart."

Well, I call bullshit on her character. Not her, as it was just a line she was reciting, but her character... yeah that's bullshit.

No one who is smart truly hates being smart. We love it. I mean, the occasional bitching about how other people are dumb, and how annoying it is, and how seeing and hearing and processing things from a smart point of view makes the future seem desolate when surrounded by so much idiocy- and even sometimes the angry claim that "ignorance is bliss" are to be expected. But that is simply out of sadness that you can't find a guy who knows how to pronounce "feta" cheese or the meaning of the word "existentialist" ...or from frustration that your sandwich was made incorrectly ("How hard is it to NOT include mayo? I specifically asked for no mayo. Twice.") It doesn't reflect how smart people truly feel about being smart.

It offers a wide range of perks. Feeling mean? Great. Be condescending to a person you just met at a bar who seems to think they know what they're taking about when it comes to gas prices- but have no idea what prospecting is or how it affects the price per barrel of oil. This little trick can be used in a wide array of situations and on a multitude of subjects- and you'll probably come out feeling much better about yourself after making somone else look/feel like a total ass. You can forget your own problems for a while. :)

Get into a tiff or argument with some asshole? This could be after a minor traffic accident, at a strip club, or- again, in a social situation where there's a disagreement and you are clearly right- just start using the best selection from your vocabulary (in the correct context, now, there may be other smarties near by! You know we love to eavesdrop)- and make sure the words are polysyllabic and obscure!- and you can smart your way right to the high-road of glory by confusing your opponent.



Oh, and just so you know, the truth is you probably asked for no mayo in a rather impolite way because you're sooo smart (and thus better than everybody, right?) and so you came off as a condenscending asshole to the poor sanwich girl behind the counter (use the condescention only when it's absolutely needed!)- who just so happens to also be smart (and is paying her way through Dartmouth College with that job, damnit!) and so she wanted to teach you a subtle lesson involving an extra 200 mayo calories.

Just sayin'.

But I like mayo. :)

OH! And I have an awesome male mockingbird out front of my house and his territory is in the nearest tree-- I get to hear his melodic and varied song everytime I go outside...it's like being Snow White!
Only no Evil Queen. (Unless you include the mean gay guy who lives down the street.)

Yay!

So. Getting back into shape.

Harder than I expected. And I don't mean the running so much as I thought I would... I mean everything else. Yeah my legs aren't nearly as solid and toned as they were when I played Rugby- but that is on it's way. I combine running and calisthenics with some physical therapy exercises to rehab my left knee (which is apparently still an ongoing thing!), but when it comes to doing pushups like I used to-- WOW.
Man that shit goes fast. And it's hard to regain!

Looks like wile I have the free time I'm gonna have to turn it up and actually add in weight lifting again. Only this time I'm attempting to avoid bulk- so that means less weight, more repetitions and a LOT more cardio work. Getting a membership at the Aquatic center helped- I can use their gym AND start swimming as much as I used to. I'm also considering a membership at the indoor rock climbing gym- but I won't commit to that until I'm sure I'll go often.

One thing is for sure- I reallly missed this. :)

Pics updated!