This will be short.
Saw a post in my twitter feed about this- the funeral is currently happening. I was curious. Who was
Gitzen Girl?
Why were so many people sharing information about this woman from Cedar Falls, IA?
The fact that she had just died was news- how? What caused her to die?
I followed the link in that tweet. I found this page and from that page I clicked on another link that lead me to this page and by now I was hooked.
So I pulled up her blog and started back in May 2008 where she began to tell her story. To be honest I've only read the first 5 posts or so, but they've brought tears to my eyes- to read about someone who is no longer here...but was only days, even hours ago! It is interesting to me to read about a person's life- especially from their own viewpoint. She has a strong testimony.
Sara chose joy even though she lived in constant pain!
Choose joy as Sara did! (I say this to myself, as well.)
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Shopping...with Men
I have no brothers and growing up, my dad usually had uniforms to wear so shopping for men's clothing is something I just really haven't done. Once I drove a friend to the mall to find a shirt and tie for a special program he was in, but I wasn't really any help and left him to his own devices while I looked at leather luggage across the way.
This weekend I had a fun experience and while I will not share names (to protect the innocent) I can't NOT share...
There were 7 of us: 2 couples, 2 men and me. We had just finished a light dinner and some great discussion at Panara's and headed next door into the mall. One of the couples had mentioned wanting to ice skate and the rest of us agreed to come watch and continue the conversation. However, I quickly realized that I was designated bag holder because the girls left me with their bags and both couples headed to the rink.
Oh well, I thought, I've got a comfy place to sit and two friends to talk with...
"Yes," one of the guys said. "Now I can go shopping and get some pants for work!"
"All right." the other guy said.
"Oh, sorry, Hannah..."
That did it. I was not going to stay alone with the bags and if the guy wanted to shop for pants, well then ok! I had an idea...I later learned from my sisters that they would NEVER have asked any guy to do this...I won't either after Friday night...
"If y'all help carry these bags we can go." I said.
*Short awkward moment of silence.*
"Oh come on, it'll be fine! Most of the stores are closed anyway." I said- truly I assumed they'd say no. (It was 9pm and most of the stores were closed.)
We'll call these guys: Tim and Bob just to make this story telling easier...those are NOT their real names though...
Tim inched toward the large bag...probably because it looked more like a bag than a purse- despite it's hot pink color.
Bob shrugged the denim purse onto his shoulder, and I grabbed my own leather bag. (Probably should've traded with one of them...)
We began walking the length of the mall looking at all the closing or closed stores and swapping "mall" stories.
At last we reached a large department store. Upon discovering they were open until 10pm the guys headed straight towards the back of the store with all the man stuff. Realizing that this was not my favorite situation I loitered in the main aisle and watched them discuss pants.
Bob spotted a 70% off display and began sorting through the hangers looking for something worthy.
Tim instructed Bob in the "no white pants after Labor Day" rule and I realized that even though I know that rule, I'd almost worn white jeans that night anyway...good thing I didn't.
Still sporting the denim purse on his shoulder, Bob caught a passing saleswomen: "Excuse me, where are the men's dressing rooms?" Eyeing the purse on his shoulder she pointed around the corner: "They're painted blue." she said and walked away with a funny expression.
It was all I could do to keep a straight face. I was standing off to the side a bit and managed to hide my smirk. Bob was very excited about two pairs of pants he'd found- one a blue pair of pajama pants that he repeatedly remarked: "are really soft! This is great!"
"And they're only $10" Tim piped in, "that's a good deal!"
"Great" I said.
Bob disappeared to go try them on, Tim continued browsing pants, and I moved into the tie section- I really like the colors and patterns they put into ties. Poor men. They make ties look so attractive to women, yet men hate wearing them...
Bob reappeared with Tim and seemed to be a tiny bit upset about something. Tim was obviously torn between cracking up and soothing ruffled man-feathers. My obvious look of curiousity somehow broke their reserve and Bob admitted that the pajama pants had been women's. I confess: I laughed. Hard.
"Aw man." Bob said "I've never worn women's clothing before!"
We returned from our shopping excursion to the ice skating rink and were shortly greeted by the couples. "Did y'all take the bags with you?!" they asked.
Instantly the two guys from the couples (we'll call them Mark and Dave) wanted to know: "How did you carry them?"
"Um, like this" Tim said and held the pink bag in his hand so that it was hanging over his shoulder and down his back."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk" remarked Dave. "Here," he reached for the pink bag, "this is how you should carry a purse," and he held the bag straight out from his side as if it were contaminated.
Mark felt obligated to pipe in: "OR, you should just not carry it at all. You know, carrying the bags is probably what made y'all want to go shopping in the first place."
Dave picked the purse back up and illustrated the "worst" way a guy could carry a purse: on the shoulder, like women do...just like Bob had.
Tim and I looked at each other and then at Bob who said, "Aw man!" and blushed a bit. The couples didn't notice- we three weren't going to say anything- why embarrass Bob more?
"If you start carrying bags like that," Mark said "you might even end up wearing women's clothes!"
This time it was much harder not to crack up. I looked at Bob who said, "Aw man!" smirked at Tim, and kept my mouth shut. Poor Bob.
I waited until I got home and then laughed with my sisters as I shared the story. :) It was an interesting experience...and I don't think I'll suggest any more of my men friends go shopping while carrying a purse- unless they have a lady with them and are obviously holding it for her.
This weekend I had a fun experience and while I will not share names (to protect the innocent) I can't NOT share...
There were 7 of us: 2 couples, 2 men and me. We had just finished a light dinner and some great discussion at Panara's and headed next door into the mall. One of the couples had mentioned wanting to ice skate and the rest of us agreed to come watch and continue the conversation. However, I quickly realized that I was designated bag holder because the girls left me with their bags and both couples headed to the rink.
Oh well, I thought, I've got a comfy place to sit and two friends to talk with...
"Yes," one of the guys said. "Now I can go shopping and get some pants for work!"
"All right." the other guy said.
"Oh, sorry, Hannah..."
That did it. I was not going to stay alone with the bags and if the guy wanted to shop for pants, well then ok! I had an idea...I later learned from my sisters that they would NEVER have asked any guy to do this...I won't either after Friday night...
"If y'all help carry these bags we can go." I said.
*Short awkward moment of silence.*
"Oh come on, it'll be fine! Most of the stores are closed anyway." I said- truly I assumed they'd say no. (It was 9pm and most of the stores were closed.)
We'll call these guys: Tim and Bob just to make this story telling easier...those are NOT their real names though...
Tim inched toward the large bag...probably because it looked more like a bag than a purse- despite it's hot pink color.
Bob shrugged the denim purse onto his shoulder, and I grabbed my own leather bag. (Probably should've traded with one of them...)
We began walking the length of the mall looking at all the closing or closed stores and swapping "mall" stories.
At last we reached a large department store. Upon discovering they were open until 10pm the guys headed straight towards the back of the store with all the man stuff. Realizing that this was not my favorite situation I loitered in the main aisle and watched them discuss pants.
Bob spotted a 70% off display and began sorting through the hangers looking for something worthy.
Tim instructed Bob in the "no white pants after Labor Day" rule and I realized that even though I know that rule, I'd almost worn white jeans that night anyway...good thing I didn't.
Still sporting the denim purse on his shoulder, Bob caught a passing saleswomen: "Excuse me, where are the men's dressing rooms?" Eyeing the purse on his shoulder she pointed around the corner: "They're painted blue." she said and walked away with a funny expression.
It was all I could do to keep a straight face. I was standing off to the side a bit and managed to hide my smirk. Bob was very excited about two pairs of pants he'd found- one a blue pair of pajama pants that he repeatedly remarked: "are really soft! This is great!"
"And they're only $10" Tim piped in, "that's a good deal!"
"Great" I said.
Bob disappeared to go try them on, Tim continued browsing pants, and I moved into the tie section- I really like the colors and patterns they put into ties. Poor men. They make ties look so attractive to women, yet men hate wearing them...
Bob reappeared with Tim and seemed to be a tiny bit upset about something. Tim was obviously torn between cracking up and soothing ruffled man-feathers. My obvious look of curiousity somehow broke their reserve and Bob admitted that the pajama pants had been women's. I confess: I laughed. Hard.
"Aw man." Bob said "I've never worn women's clothing before!"
We returned from our shopping excursion to the ice skating rink and were shortly greeted by the couples. "Did y'all take the bags with you?!" they asked.
Instantly the two guys from the couples (we'll call them Mark and Dave) wanted to know: "How did you carry them?"
"Um, like this" Tim said and held the pink bag in his hand so that it was hanging over his shoulder and down his back."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk" remarked Dave. "Here," he reached for the pink bag, "this is how you should carry a purse," and he held the bag straight out from his side as if it were contaminated.
Mark felt obligated to pipe in: "OR, you should just not carry it at all. You know, carrying the bags is probably what made y'all want to go shopping in the first place."
Dave picked the purse back up and illustrated the "worst" way a guy could carry a purse: on the shoulder, like women do...just like Bob had.
Tim and I looked at each other and then at Bob who said, "Aw man!" and blushed a bit. The couples didn't notice- we three weren't going to say anything- why embarrass Bob more?
"If you start carrying bags like that," Mark said "you might even end up wearing women's clothes!"
This time it was much harder not to crack up. I looked at Bob who said, "Aw man!" smirked at Tim, and kept my mouth shut. Poor Bob.
I waited until I got home and then laughed with my sisters as I shared the story. :) It was an interesting experience...and I don't think I'll suggest any more of my men friends go shopping while carrying a purse- unless they have a lady with them and are obviously holding it for her.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Lessons from Lucy
I love "I Love Lucy." She's just such a clown- an elegant clown.
The first time I remember seeing the show (re-runs, obviously...) I was seven. The tirading Cuban husband and her hilarious faces coupled with the outrageous situations she found herself in kept me entertained. Even now, I love to just sit and watch her sneak into Ricky's show, hide a new outfit, or gape at the movie stars in Hollywood (as if she wasn't one of them!)
However, watching Lucy can mess with the mind. Suddenly things seem possible that probably aren't.
My biggest memory of Lucy and how she got me into trouble goes something like this:
It was "move-in" week at A&M and I was a senior. I had gone "potluck" and met my new freshman roommate, Kristin, that afternoon. I was invited to a movie night in the next dorm and took her with me. Several people were new to me, but I knew a couple of the guys from Bible study. We watched an awful "classic": Robinhood, Men in Tights...waste of your life...
Anyway, we had just left the movie night and returned to our dorm room. As we were getting ready for bed I had a mini-project that I wanted to get done: fixing my purse.
I had bought this purse in Branson, MO at a dollar store and was quite fond of it. One of the metal chain links kept coming undone so I had purchased some super-glue that promised to hold metal together. Having to cheat and use scissors to get the little bottle open I managed to get the glue onto the chain. After applying some pressure I let go with a satisfied smile. Only it was hard to let go. I managed. Quickly running to the sink I began to rub my fingers under the running water...only all of a sudden they wouldn't rub...they were stuck!!
What did I think of in that moment? Lucy with Fred's fake beard stuck to her face. They had to go to Conneticut to get the glue remover! ACK! I was suddenly in a panic.
Trying to be brave in front of my freshman roommate I searched for my phone. My thumb and first two fingers were firmly glued together. Pinning the phone to the bed with one knee, I used my good hand to search through my contacts. It was nearing midnight...
Thankfully I knew that one of the guys from my Bible study might still be at the other dorm and he had a car! Also, he was studying chemical engineering and glue is a chemical, right??
Dialing his number I held the phone to my ear, silently mouthing: "pick up, pick up, please!"
"Hey Hannah," he said. Relief!
"Um, Serge," I didn't know how to sugarcoat it, "I glued my fingers together and they won't come apart!"
"What?!"
"I can't get my fingers unstuck! They're glued together!" Here the panic was escalating and I happened to turn and see Kristin sitting on her bed staring at me with HUGE blue eyes. Her face would've cracked me up if I hadn't been so close to crying!
"Um, Hannah I can't hear you, can you say that again?" His voice was a bit muffled (laughter...sigh*)
By this point I was almost hysterical: "I glued my fingers together with super-glue! They won't come apart! Help! What do I do?!"
It was then I heard peals of laughter. Serge had put me on speaker phone... I was too panicked at the moment to care.
He told me I needed 100% acetone (that's REALLY strong nail polish remover, ladies...it'll take the varnish off of linoleom...*ahem* yes I have accidentally done that...)
I suppose my panic finally triggered the "hero" in Serge because he came to give me a ride to Walmart for the acetone. I asked Kristin to come along and, her blue eyes still the size of saucers, she curiously followed along. Half an hour later I was getting settled with burning fingers...but they were fingers again and not a blob of glued flesh!
The purse? The stupid super glue didn't even last a week!
The first time I remember seeing the show (re-runs, obviously...) I was seven. The tirading Cuban husband and her hilarious faces coupled with the outrageous situations she found herself in kept me entertained. Even now, I love to just sit and watch her sneak into Ricky's show, hide a new outfit, or gape at the movie stars in Hollywood (as if she wasn't one of them!)
However, watching Lucy can mess with the mind. Suddenly things seem possible that probably aren't.
My biggest memory of Lucy and how she got me into trouble goes something like this:
It was "move-in" week at A&M and I was a senior. I had gone "potluck" and met my new freshman roommate, Kristin, that afternoon. I was invited to a movie night in the next dorm and took her with me. Several people were new to me, but I knew a couple of the guys from Bible study. We watched an awful "classic": Robinhood, Men in Tights...waste of your life...
Anyway, we had just left the movie night and returned to our dorm room. As we were getting ready for bed I had a mini-project that I wanted to get done: fixing my purse.
I had bought this purse in Branson, MO at a dollar store and was quite fond of it. One of the metal chain links kept coming undone so I had purchased some super-glue that promised to hold metal together. Having to cheat and use scissors to get the little bottle open I managed to get the glue onto the chain. After applying some pressure I let go with a satisfied smile. Only it was hard to let go. I managed. Quickly running to the sink I began to rub my fingers under the running water...only all of a sudden they wouldn't rub...they were stuck!!
What did I think of in that moment? Lucy with Fred's fake beard stuck to her face. They had to go to Conneticut to get the glue remover! ACK! I was suddenly in a panic.
Trying to be brave in front of my freshman roommate I searched for my phone. My thumb and first two fingers were firmly glued together. Pinning the phone to the bed with one knee, I used my good hand to search through my contacts. It was nearing midnight...
Thankfully I knew that one of the guys from my Bible study might still be at the other dorm and he had a car! Also, he was studying chemical engineering and glue is a chemical, right??
Dialing his number I held the phone to my ear, silently mouthing: "pick up, pick up, please!"
"Hey Hannah," he said. Relief!
"Um, Serge," I didn't know how to sugarcoat it, "I glued my fingers together and they won't come apart!"
"What?!"
"I can't get my fingers unstuck! They're glued together!" Here the panic was escalating and I happened to turn and see Kristin sitting on her bed staring at me with HUGE blue eyes. Her face would've cracked me up if I hadn't been so close to crying!
"Um, Hannah I can't hear you, can you say that again?" His voice was a bit muffled (laughter...sigh*)
By this point I was almost hysterical: "I glued my fingers together with super-glue! They won't come apart! Help! What do I do?!"
It was then I heard peals of laughter. Serge had put me on speaker phone... I was too panicked at the moment to care.
He told me I needed 100% acetone (that's REALLY strong nail polish remover, ladies...it'll take the varnish off of linoleom...*ahem* yes I have accidentally done that...)
I suppose my panic finally triggered the "hero" in Serge because he came to give me a ride to Walmart for the acetone. I asked Kristin to come along and, her blue eyes still the size of saucers, she curiously followed along. Half an hour later I was getting settled with burning fingers...but they were fingers again and not a blob of glued flesh!
The purse? The stupid super glue didn't even last a week!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The Schwinn 250p- hunting!
Dumpster diving is a unique sport...actually it's a lifestyle in 3rd world countries...
Really it can be considered strange, disgusting or even degrading or on the other hand: life-giving, necessary and essential.
All I need to know about dumpster diving I learned from my dad. It's a gift, my friends. I was the first born...usually people go all out on sterilized NEW furniture for their precious first baby...but not my parents! My dad hunted the streets for pieces of wood and old furniture. (Granted he did pay for some secondhand pieces too.) My nursery would have caused some moms to faint...it was clean and neat though...which is all that mattered. I didn't have a crib, instead I had a rocking cradle bed that my dad built...as I grew up it became a bed for stuffed animals and one day we dumped it during a military move. A part of me regrets that we did.
Today we have some stools, a rocking chair and a couple of hutches that my dad collected from the side of the road and refurbished. It's amazing what a new weave will do for a rocking chair...or paint for a stool...or a new block-counter my dad created and installed on one of the hutches. My parents are frugal...I'm working on it...
There were many other items dad brought home that left when we would move (that's military life for you...can't take it all to Hawaii...) the rest we outgrew. Most notable was the paddle- not one for boats- this was for spanking. I can't BELIEVE my dad jumped into a dumpster to bring home that awful piece of trash. Who would want a paddle?! I bet it was thrown away for a reason by the previous owner...probably by the kid who was spanked with it. My sisters and I were NOT pleased and I do remember trying to hide it on several occasions.
All of this is to explain how life is today. When I see something on the side of the road on "trash night" I get excited. I have to get a closer look. So naturally, this past Tuesday as I was cruising home and spotted something it was a sure bet I was coming back for it. First I needed some muscle.
"Dad, guess what I saw on the side of road just now?!" I exclaimed as I entered the house. "What?" he asked. "An exercise bike!" I stated with a smile and watched as his eyes sparked with interest.
"Will you come and look at it with me?" I asked...pretty sure it'd be a yes. "Lets get a flashlight." he said. It was on. Dumpster diving...doesn't necessarily have to be inside a dumpster you know...
My dad is a teacher at heart. He loves to explain the back-story of everything and share knowledge. He got excited when we parked the car and got the flashlight on the label of the bike: Schwinn. "Oh these are made to last!" he said. Trying it out he turned the knob that controls the amount of pressure you need to turn the wheel. It still worked. However, he was a little disappointed about the small computer part not turning on. "We should leave it, Sweetie." he said. After a little bit of pleading I gave up and we headed home.
Once there I began to describe it to my sister and mom. "It's FREE and I could use a pedometer to track myself on it!" I stated. "But where would you put it?" my mom asked. Then my sister had the brilliant thought: "You could put it in one of your alcoves in your room." she said. I have two small alcoves with windows that are only about 3.5 feet wide. They are VERY hard to decorate and I was still trying to figure out what to put in my 2nd one. This solved the problem! "Come get it with me!" I said- as dad had already gone to bed. "WHAT?! We'll look like criminals!" she exclaimed. Obviously only a few of us get the genetic urge to hunt for things and take what's cast aside... "Oh it will be fine!" I said. "It's dark and it doesn't weigh that much. Let's hurry." Muttering and thinking of outrageous ways that this could go wrong she slid into the car.
"Can they see us??" she asked. "No and the lights are out. Come on, we're already here." I replied. Opening the trunk we examined the bike a moment and then lifted it...or attempted to. I had the "light" end. "Oh it's not that heavy!" I said. Unfortunately, she had the end with the wheel. "Ooof!" she strained to lift it. "It is too heavy!" she exclaimed...and then looked over her shoulder should anyone be watching us. "Switch with me" I said- I was determined to have that bike. And I'm pretty stubborn.
Hoisting the bike into the trunk we realized that a part of it was sticking out. "It'll just have to stay like that. Hurry!" my sister said. We jumped into the car and drove home. Lugging the thing up the stairs we set it near my room. Amazingly the computer had turned on! Thrilled I pushed every button figuring out how to navigate from calorie counting to distance and speed! I have decided that it is probably one of the best trophies I've ever had while dumpster diving...at least so far.
Really it can be considered strange, disgusting or even degrading or on the other hand: life-giving, necessary and essential.
All I need to know about dumpster diving I learned from my dad. It's a gift, my friends. I was the first born...usually people go all out on sterilized NEW furniture for their precious first baby...but not my parents! My dad hunted the streets for pieces of wood and old furniture. (Granted he did pay for some secondhand pieces too.) My nursery would have caused some moms to faint...it was clean and neat though...which is all that mattered. I didn't have a crib, instead I had a rocking cradle bed that my dad built...as I grew up it became a bed for stuffed animals and one day we dumped it during a military move. A part of me regrets that we did.
Today we have some stools, a rocking chair and a couple of hutches that my dad collected from the side of the road and refurbished. It's amazing what a new weave will do for a rocking chair...or paint for a stool...or a new block-counter my dad created and installed on one of the hutches. My parents are frugal...I'm working on it...
There were many other items dad brought home that left when we would move (that's military life for you...can't take it all to Hawaii...) the rest we outgrew. Most notable was the paddle- not one for boats- this was for spanking. I can't BELIEVE my dad jumped into a dumpster to bring home that awful piece of trash. Who would want a paddle?! I bet it was thrown away for a reason by the previous owner...probably by the kid who was spanked with it. My sisters and I were NOT pleased and I do remember trying to hide it on several occasions.
All of this is to explain how life is today. When I see something on the side of the road on "trash night" I get excited. I have to get a closer look. So naturally, this past Tuesday as I was cruising home and spotted something it was a sure bet I was coming back for it. First I needed some muscle.
"Dad, guess what I saw on the side of road just now?!" I exclaimed as I entered the house. "What?" he asked. "An exercise bike!" I stated with a smile and watched as his eyes sparked with interest.
"Will you come and look at it with me?" I asked...pretty sure it'd be a yes. "Lets get a flashlight." he said. It was on. Dumpster diving...doesn't necessarily have to be inside a dumpster you know...
My dad is a teacher at heart. He loves to explain the back-story of everything and share knowledge. He got excited when we parked the car and got the flashlight on the label of the bike: Schwinn. "Oh these are made to last!" he said. Trying it out he turned the knob that controls the amount of pressure you need to turn the wheel. It still worked. However, he was a little disappointed about the small computer part not turning on. "We should leave it, Sweetie." he said. After a little bit of pleading I gave up and we headed home.
Once there I began to describe it to my sister and mom. "It's FREE and I could use a pedometer to track myself on it!" I stated. "But where would you put it?" my mom asked. Then my sister had the brilliant thought: "You could put it in one of your alcoves in your room." she said. I have two small alcoves with windows that are only about 3.5 feet wide. They are VERY hard to decorate and I was still trying to figure out what to put in my 2nd one. This solved the problem! "Come get it with me!" I said- as dad had already gone to bed. "WHAT?! We'll look like criminals!" she exclaimed. Obviously only a few of us get the genetic urge to hunt for things and take what's cast aside... "Oh it will be fine!" I said. "It's dark and it doesn't weigh that much. Let's hurry." Muttering and thinking of outrageous ways that this could go wrong she slid into the car.
"Can they see us??" she asked. "No and the lights are out. Come on, we're already here." I replied. Opening the trunk we examined the bike a moment and then lifted it...or attempted to. I had the "light" end. "Oh it's not that heavy!" I said. Unfortunately, she had the end with the wheel. "Ooof!" she strained to lift it. "It is too heavy!" she exclaimed...and then looked over her shoulder should anyone be watching us. "Switch with me" I said- I was determined to have that bike. And I'm pretty stubborn.
Hoisting the bike into the trunk we realized that a part of it was sticking out. "It'll just have to stay like that. Hurry!" my sister said. We jumped into the car and drove home. Lugging the thing up the stairs we set it near my room. Amazingly the computer had turned on! Thrilled I pushed every button figuring out how to navigate from calorie counting to distance and speed! I have decided that it is probably one of the best trophies I've ever had while dumpster diving...at least so far.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Ultimate Frisbee- The last trip to the ER...in College Station...
Actually, technically that isn't quite true...
A) I think my last post about the ER (which also involved ultimate frisbee) came after this one...
B) My last semester I spent over an hour in the waiting room of the ER...but that was for a classmate.
Regardless:
Spring 2009
Frisbee, one of the highlights of my week, was in session...and maybe it shouldn't have been.
It was chilly, we were in between rain storms, and the field was MUDDY.
Deterrent to college students who've been in the library all day? Of course not! (Not that I was in the library all day, mind you...but some diligent students had been, I'm sure...)
Mud and cold were only inspiration to keep moving, play harder...and NOT fall.
Unfortunately, several falls and splashes occurred but that game was wonderful!
The cold/wet was so intense that my numb foot couldn't feel the pain.
That night, I knew I'd done something to my foot...it hurt REALLY bad. But hoping it would go away, I ignored the pain and went through the weekend. On Sunday I had a hard time finding comfortable shoes...but I solved the problem by only wearing them from the car to a seat in the church and then kicked them off during the service (something I do normally anyway...but it was necessary that day, I assure you!)
Once Monday hit and classes resumed, I realized that this pain was pretty annoying. Hoping it would get better I developed a knack for riding the A&M bus system and found more opportunities to park as close as possible to my classrooms. I admit- I also *ahem* skipped some classes that I just didn't have the energy to walk to.
Adapting to the pain I made it to Thursday night. After the weekly meeting with The Navigators, called affectionately "NavNite," there was an opportunity to play volleyball at our "Rec" (school gym). Unable to turn down this chance to be with people and play a sport I opted to go. Why not? Sure my foot was killing me, but in volleyball you can stand mostly still...
HA!
Two hours later I barely had the willpower to drive myself back to my apartment off campus. I crawled up the stairs unable to put any weight on my foot. It hated me, that much was obvious.
The next morning I considered going to class...
As I crawled down the stairs my roommate said "You should go to the emergency room, Hannah. If you can't walk on it, it's probably broken."
By this time I was in so much pain I had no arguments. I managed to crawl into my truck and drive to the Scott & White Clinic. Slowly hobbling from my car to the front desk I asked the ladies:
"I think I broke my foot. Where is the emergency room?"
Why I said it like that, I don't know! You should've seen the doubt in their faces as they pointed in the right direction.
Unfortunately it was almost 100 yards away. I wanted to cry thinking about how many steps that would be, but I was a big girl. I winced all the way.
When I was finally called back to have my vitals checked I barely made it from my chair to the back room. Thankfully, it was pronounced necessary for me to be placed in a wheelchair. I was immediately wheeled back through the ER and down the long hallway, past the gaping front desk ladies (I think they believed me now), and to the other end of the large clinic.
Once the X-rays were taken, I was wheeled back to the other end of the clinic and left in the middle of the ER with my foot up and wrapped. I had the honor of being the only one with a "visible" injury and thus was the object of speculation and some whispering.
At last I was wheeled in to see a doctor. He pointed out the broken area in my foot. I was torn between yelling "I knew it!" and crying.
My FAVORITE part of our conversation:
Sure he gave me a boot to wear for the broken foot and told me how long to wear it, etc. But he was REALLY focused on something else.
I apparently have extra bones in my feet, near my ankles.
He pointed that out several times:
"You know, that's unusual!" He claimed, "I could remove them for you if you like!"
"Um...that's ok."
"Seriously, we could fix that." he said.
"If I've had 'em my whole life, I don't see the point. I can't afford to be off my feet right now."
"Ok, well if you change your mind...here's my card." Boy did he ever sound disappointed.
I showed up to frisbee that afternoon...but I was in a boot (I wanted to shock most of my friends. :) Why not?
I became a devoted frisbee cheerleader for the next several weeks!
A) I think my last post about the ER (which also involved ultimate frisbee) came after this one...
B) My last semester I spent over an hour in the waiting room of the ER...but that was for a classmate.
Regardless:
Spring 2009
Frisbee, one of the highlights of my week, was in session...and maybe it shouldn't have been.
It was chilly, we were in between rain storms, and the field was MUDDY.
Deterrent to college students who've been in the library all day? Of course not! (Not that I was in the library all day, mind you...but some diligent students had been, I'm sure...)
Mud and cold were only inspiration to keep moving, play harder...and NOT fall.
Unfortunately, several falls and splashes occurred but that game was wonderful!
The cold/wet was so intense that my numb foot couldn't feel the pain.
That night, I knew I'd done something to my foot...it hurt REALLY bad. But hoping it would go away, I ignored the pain and went through the weekend. On Sunday I had a hard time finding comfortable shoes...but I solved the problem by only wearing them from the car to a seat in the church and then kicked them off during the service (something I do normally anyway...but it was necessary that day, I assure you!)
Once Monday hit and classes resumed, I realized that this pain was pretty annoying. Hoping it would get better I developed a knack for riding the A&M bus system and found more opportunities to park as close as possible to my classrooms. I admit- I also *ahem* skipped some classes that I just didn't have the energy to walk to.
Adapting to the pain I made it to Thursday night. After the weekly meeting with The Navigators, called affectionately "NavNite," there was an opportunity to play volleyball at our "Rec" (school gym). Unable to turn down this chance to be with people and play a sport I opted to go. Why not? Sure my foot was killing me, but in volleyball you can stand mostly still...
HA!
Two hours later I barely had the willpower to drive myself back to my apartment off campus. I crawled up the stairs unable to put any weight on my foot. It hated me, that much was obvious.
The next morning I considered going to class...
As I crawled down the stairs my roommate said "You should go to the emergency room, Hannah. If you can't walk on it, it's probably broken."
By this time I was in so much pain I had no arguments. I managed to crawl into my truck and drive to the Scott & White Clinic. Slowly hobbling from my car to the front desk I asked the ladies:
"I think I broke my foot. Where is the emergency room?"
Why I said it like that, I don't know! You should've seen the doubt in their faces as they pointed in the right direction.
Unfortunately it was almost 100 yards away. I wanted to cry thinking about how many steps that would be, but I was a big girl. I winced all the way.
When I was finally called back to have my vitals checked I barely made it from my chair to the back room. Thankfully, it was pronounced necessary for me to be placed in a wheelchair. I was immediately wheeled back through the ER and down the long hallway, past the gaping front desk ladies (I think they believed me now), and to the other end of the large clinic.
Once the X-rays were taken, I was wheeled back to the other end of the clinic and left in the middle of the ER with my foot up and wrapped. I had the honor of being the only one with a "visible" injury and thus was the object of speculation and some whispering.
At last I was wheeled in to see a doctor. He pointed out the broken area in my foot. I was torn between yelling "I knew it!" and crying.
My FAVORITE part of our conversation:
Sure he gave me a boot to wear for the broken foot and told me how long to wear it, etc. But he was REALLY focused on something else.
I apparently have extra bones in my feet, near my ankles.
He pointed that out several times:
"You know, that's unusual!" He claimed, "I could remove them for you if you like!"
"Um...that's ok."
"Seriously, we could fix that." he said.
"If I've had 'em my whole life, I don't see the point. I can't afford to be off my feet right now."
"Ok, well if you change your mind...here's my card." Boy did he ever sound disappointed.
I showed up to frisbee that afternoon...but I was in a boot (I wanted to shock most of my friends. :) Why not?
I became a devoted frisbee cheerleader for the next several weeks!
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