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justanotheronechicagofan · 3 years

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Previous Chapter

7. The thing that works

series summary - Will the Halstead brothers be able to reconnect with their sister after 5 years? chapter summary - a worried Hailey visits Jay and finds out more about Madeline Jay Halstead, Hailey Upton TW - Mentions of parental death and missing persons investigation

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Several loud knocks on Jay’s door jerked him from his stillness.

His phone screen flashed back at him - 22:38 and multiple texts from his partner.

💬 Hailey :) [23 minutes ago] I'm gonna take your lack of response as a no - I'm coming over

💬 Hailey :) [48 minutes ago] You okay?

💬 Hailey :) [1hr ago] Wanna grab a beer? I’ll buy ... :)

Shit - Considering he doesn’t even know where the past hour is gone, he really isn’t in the mood to see people. Especially people that he can’t hide from. Rubbing his face, he quickly made his way to the door. Before he even has the chance to tell her that he’s fine, his partner makes her way into the apartment, his favourite 6pack in tow.

“Hails-” “Nope. I get you wanna be alone but that’s just not gonna happen” she says, already putting the beers in the fridge. Knowing he’s already lost this, he sighs and goes to grab the glasses. When he turns, he can’t help but smile seeing her struggling to reach for the whisky. “I got it,” he said, swiftly grabbing it. “Why’d you put it so high?” she huffs. “Because, someone had a little too much and kept fighting me for more last time, remember?” he patronised with a smile on his face as he poured. He’ll never admit it but there’s a little part of him that left it there because he finds it cute. She gives him a look but a second later, her eyes crinkle. “Still had that hangover though” laughing in the brightest way. He chuckled and they clinked their glasses together before falling into a comfortable silence.

They stand around the counter slowly sipping and although there’s a part of Hailey that wants to know, she decides to just join him in the quiet. After a while he reveals, “That girl from yesterday. She’s my sister” She suspected it but it still takes her back. Reigning in the questions popping up in her mind, she just asks “What’s her name?” “Maddie. Madeline Grace” Jay said with a small smile. “That’s pretty. It suits her” she said. “Yeah it does. Mom had it picked out way before she knew she was having a girl” Hailey notices how this is the first time in weeks she’s seen him genuinely smile. “Oh wow. Prepared lady.” “Hell no. We were both in high school when Maddie was born - Will was a senior!” Jay laughed. “Total surprise after Mom and Dad went to the cabin for their wedding anniversary.” “Well, that cabin does have views,” she said, remembering when Jay invited Intelligence to Wisconsin in the Summer. “Yeah. Mom was thrilled. I mean she loved us but I think she always wanted a girl. And man did Maddie have all of us wrapped around her finger, even Dad” Hailey chuckled as the image of a teenage Will and Jay trying to win the affection of a newborn popped in her head. “What?” Jay smiled holding her gaze. “Just trying to imagine how that went down,” she amused. “Oh it's exactly like you imagine it. Gets funnier when she got into fairies” “Did you join in?” she asked, holding back the laughter even though she knew the answer would be yes. “Course I did Hails. Tea parties, playing house, being her horse, serious business.” he listed schooling his face before joining Hailey who was bursting. “Seriously though, younger me would have loved that” Hailey said once they calmed down. “Yeah?” “Mhh. I was more into princesses than fairies but my 12 and 9 year old brothers weren’t as keen. They were good when I wanted to join in playing cops though so guess that came in handy” she joked. “I guess it did,” Jay smiled, imagining a little Hailey running around. “C’mon what do you wanna ask me?” he said when he saw her debating something in her head. “Uh- The tv the other night. I looked it up and that film- I mean, was she always into acting?” “Mmm. Was a surprise to me too. I haven’t asked her about it yet but I guess she always did liked to perform” “Perform?” she said, cocking her head. “Yeah. She’s loved ballet ever since Mom first took her - I think she was like 3 or something. Told me today that she’s training to be one” he replied, proud. “Really? Jay! That’s amazing!” “Yeah. I’m so proud of her. I mean, Will and I always knew she would” he beamed. “You have any photos?” Hailey asked, relieved seeing Jay this happy.

He came back from the bedroom moments later and handed her a purple file folder decorated around the edge with gem stickers. She first picked up the stack of pictures and as she looked through them, the red haired girl in beautiful costumes grew before her, perfectly poised and always smiling widely at the camera. “Man, you Halstead’s don’t like to go half way with doing things do you?” Hailey joked, perusing through the several clippings of local papers, the word ‘places’ and ‘wins’ jumping out at her in almost every headline. When she got to the last one, she paused at the date.

_______________________________________________________________________ Carlisle ballerina wins first place in Youth America Grand Prix | 14 January 2013 Madeline Halstead of Carlisle took first place in the junior classical division of the Youth America Grand Prix Regional Semi-Finals held in Pennsylvania this past weekend. The 13 year old who has trained at the Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet since the age of 7, performed three variations in front of 5 judges and a full audience. Although the Youth Grand Prix is considered to be the world’s largest ballet competition, this was not the first time Madeline captured a win. Miss Halstead first received gold when she was just 10 years old, going on to place in the top 12 in her category every year at the Philadelphia Semi Finals. The spotlight is on for Madeline as she prepares ahead for the NY Finals in April where she placed third in the same category last year. _______________________________________________________________________

She furrowed her eyebrows as she flicked back through the articles - the earlier ones were mostly about holiday productions held in local schools but there was at least one for every year starting from 2006. Where were the others? “That’s the last one,” Jay said, reading her thoughts. She looked back at him confused, but that’s 5 years ago. He meets her with the same indescribable expression she had witnessed that night at Mollys. Jay bore into her as if he was analyzing her trust, then finally placed a file she didn’t catch the first time round in front of her. She tensed as she instantly recognised the front. A case file.

_______________________________________________________________________

Carlisle P.D. - Missing Juvenile Report Name: Madeline Grace Halstead Age:14. Female. White. 5'4", 93 lbs. Red hair, long. Last seen: Exiting ballet studio at 21:32 on 6/03/2013 walking towards North Street. Reported: 20:36 on 7/03/2013 Reported by: Robert Louis Davis, MD _______________________________________________________________________

Her breath hitched as she read the first few lines of the report. She looked back at him when she got to the reported time. Why did it take that long to report? Who is Robert? He’s a doctor? And where even is Carlisle?

Hailey watched as Jay downed his drink and slowly began.

“When Mom died- She uh went to go live with our aunt in Pennsylvania- cause none of us really could be with Maddie. Me n Mouse, we’d just got back, Dad was drinking and - I mean Will didn’t even come back for the funeral.” Hailey noticed the tinge of blame that was there. A smile touched his eyes as he continued, “But Mads loved it in Carlisle. Mamie, our aunt was Mom’s best friend and um she never had kids but she used to come over all the time and she helped us out a lot when Mom got sick. Mads and Mamie, they’d always call or send pictures and me n Mouse would go whenever we could. Mamie and Rob, they really helped me and Mouse out that first year cause- we were just- ”

Hailey recognised that look in Jay as he trailed off. She always saw it creep up no matter how hard he tried to hide it. She didn’t know where to take this but she figured that him giving her the case file was his way of an invitation. She asked gently, wanting to bring him back. “Jay. She was walking home?”

Jay slightly shook, bringing himself back and continued, “Maddie always biked or walked there cause it’s like a 15 minute walk and the towns small, safe. Tree lined streets, I mean the actual studios in a college.”

“And Robert? He didn’t realise?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t even look at him because of it then. But I can’t blame the guy - he got home that night at 2am and then slept cause he’d worked 18 hours. The school didn’t call him and Mamie didn’t pick up when the studio called cause she was out of town. Mads usually went straight there from school so he didn’t even know. Only found out when he went to pick her up. They tried but by the time it got reported it was-”

“Nearly 24 hours gone” Hailey thought aloud.

“Yeah. Didn’t have anything to work with. The footage of her leaving the studio was the last thing, she didn’t show up on any eyes after. Just disappeared. They put out AMBER alerts and reached out to Chicago and New York cause that’s where me and Will were. They thought maybe she ran away but-”

“She would have shown up on footage” Hailey finished the sentence.

“Yeah.” Jay breathed out, looking down the empty glass. “That and we knew her. She was so excited for the Finals in NY. Case never closed but after a while -” he shaked his head. Hailey watched his body clench as resentment smouldered his features “Not even a year after, Dad started speaking like she was dead. Like she was with Mom. Haven’t talked to him since” Hailey then witnessed the slight, almost imperceptible change in him, but couldn’t quite place it. He inhaled shakily then breathed out,

“Thing is -”

“I thought she was dead too”

It made sense to Hailey now. How her partner always seemed to find the cases involving kids the hardest. How he always went beyond helping out families who lost theirs. She wondered if maybe that’s why he joined Intelligence. If maybe in those late nights he stayed even when all the paperwork was done, he was searching for her. And that look she’d seen that night at Mollys. She could name it now. It was a look she would never be able to fully understand. And as his escaping tears crumbled the wall away, she moved silently and held him.

She was going to stay with him tonight.

💙✨🦋✨💙

Next Chapter

A/N - The characters belong to Dick Wolf and are from the One Chicago universe he created. A longer chapter featuring Hailey and Jay. This was really difficult for me to write so I hope it turned out okay. Thank you so much to those that are coming along on this story with me :)

#upstead #chicago pd #jay halstead #hailey upton #tw: parental death #tw: missing persons investigation

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a-cai-jpg · 4 years

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a love letter.

i was told to write something about the loudest silence i’ve ever experienced.

i didn’t look too deeply into my memories to find a moment; i thought of one as i was writing the previous post.

it’s 5am in the morning. nobody is speaking, but i keep hearing the whispers of strangers in a foreign tongue. i try to grasp onto a voice, a word, but i come up with nothing concrete, and i stop before i start getting frustrated. our friends sit beside us, maybe in a different row, across the aisle. they are asleep.

you are on your phone, eyes tired because you’re jetlagged, having flown on a whim across the world to spend a week with us in italy. i’m trying to occupy my mind. maybe i’m reading. maybe i’m writing. maybe i’m listening to the roar of the train engine in my sleepy haze.

i glance out the window by chance, and the countryside spanning rome and florence rushes past us. i think back on the patio of the restaurant by the street, the square-shaped pizza, and the tiramisu the restaurant owner talked me into ordering. thirty minutes before that, we were sweaty and hungry and a little more than delirious. kayla is wearing too many layers for the seventy degrees weather. i am carrying a heavy backpack, and my shirt is soaked through with sweat. you ran the last few yards of the block, and we reunited noisily on the streets of rome.

i’m idly running the past few days through my head--a mishmash of the heartache of paris and the feverish dream of rome--and the sun breaks out from the clouds.

i turn to you after a moment, because sometimes you need some time to process the beauty of nature and life before you can share it with someone else. i try to say something to you, but my words are swallowed by the white noise of the train cabin. you don’t hear me, so i lean over to tap you on the shoulder and jab a finger towards the window.

the sun rises, and a different memory settles in. A different time, a different bench, a different (but not really) you sitting across from me. it’s freshman year, two weeks into school. i’m working on a general chemistry problem set, and you slide into the booth across from me and start talking. i look at you and kayla, a little confused, a little uncomfortable, but you both keep talking

it takes a second for my mind to catch up with the conversation, to remember your names, but i eventually do, and i show you an unnecessarily lengthy way of solving a problem.

it’s funny, because our memory jumps between then and now. the next memory i have is messaging you in the stilted, polite, exclamation marks-ridden way between acquaintances. then, it’s a football game, banging on your door. then, it’s a non-chronological sequence of playing music in the lyon’s chapel, movie watching, a hug after our first winter break, and then weirdly, rome. if i tried a little harder, i’d remember philadelphia, chicago, probably other things as well, but right now, my fingers are cold, and my chest is constricted, and i might have had too little to eat and too much coffee, and i can’t remember anything but italy.

the walk across the river at night, the dim illumination of street lamps, our giggling shadows thrown across the pavement, sitting outside the basilica papale di santamaria maggioe, drunken laughter as we run down the streets in front of st. peter’s and our airbnb. i see rome in dusk--different slices of space and time, with the sun setting in the background.

the sun is gone. maybe we’re shuttling through a tunnel. maybe it hides behind a hill or a pocket of trees, but the moment is over. you look disappointed, a little exasperated at yourself. i laugh, but my mind is reeling.

“i’m so excited for the future,” i hear someone else say in my not-so-distant memories.

i hear the train hurtling through space.

it happens another time.

we’re in iceland. i’m outside our airbnb, digging my boots into the dark sand right by the lake. half of me contemplates wading in. the other half is more rational, but not by much. it’s cold outside, and i should go back to the cabin, but i can’t bring myself to move towards it. my fingers are numb, but i’m calm and stick them deep into my pockets, like my coat will sustain me for a few more hours out here.

manta ray plays through my headphones. i don’t know what the song is about, but i can’t help but feel it’s somewhat fitting. i look up, and the universe opens up above me, and i want to cry.

i write letters in my head to friends. later, i’ll re-write them so they’re less raw and more concise, and maybe send them.

i look up at the stars until i’m dizzy and feel myself tipping backwards. it’s crazy how silent it is. i’ve written about this before--it’s like i’m inside a photograph. i can’t even hear the passage of time, even as song after song plays. i drag my body against the resistance and look back at the cabin.

there’s the warm, yellow light filtering through the window, but my gaze travels to the big dipper. i take a sharp breath, and my heart drops, because i know i can’t be alone. i can’t look at the big dipper, larger than i’ve ever seen it, alone, and i have to go inside and get you guys and tell you guys to look at it with me.

it takes a while. i stand there for five minutes. maybe ten. i don’t know how many songs have played during that time, but i know my playlist is quickly reaching its end. but then, my memory skips. i’m inside the cabin, asking if you want to see the big dipper. you guys blink, take a second to register the words that are tumbling shakily from my tongue, numbed by the cold. then, you’re scrambling, grabbing your coat, and following me outside.

the universe is kind. it doesn’t hide itself away, and bares itself to us.

the silence is gone, and i hear your voices. they’re hollow in the night, and i feel like they’re reaching me slowly. i’m trembling, but i stick my hands deep into my pockets and look back up at the sky.

see, i’ve been wondering about things that you can’t fix.

there’s always a part of me that wants to burn bridges, jump on a train and go as far as it will take me. it comes out at night, right now, usually when my heart’s dropped into my stomach. but then, i think about these moments. the urge within my psyche that wants to share the most beautiful parts of the world with the people i love.

and see, that’s the problem. when things break, the world fragments, and i can’t separate the person from the place. i think back to ginza, and i remember the peculiar unfamiliar familiarity of meeting a childhood friend. i think back to nikko, and i remember our giddiness at the top of a mountain. i think back to rome, and i remember wine and pasta and a restaurant reservation.

so i guess what i’m saying is. i’m a very wishy-washy person. i’m a very selfish person. i didn’t learn what it meant to fight to death to not lose something until the last few years. and even though i am learning, there are things i know i am not willing to lose. so unfortunately, you are stuck with me now, from 2015 ad infinitum.

i hope that when i die, if god grants me a moment to live through my life again, i will be able to remember and hold the memories that i’ll have forgotten, from the moment you sidled up to me in that lobby of that weird, scary looking building, and asked if i liked krnb.

yeah, i do, because of you.

#ew #dis is gross #idk when you're going to find this but knowing u you'll nvr find it #so its rly a game of when do i cave and send this to u excitedly over text #tsk tsk

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turnertimeline · 6 years

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11 Questions

We got tagged by @elasticmonk ! Thank you so much! We love getting tagged in stuff and getting to know you guys better.

Questions:

1. What’s your favourite colour?

J - Royal or navy blue, or rich forest green

S - Teals and purples

2. What’s your top place to travel to?

J - Is it really dorky to say the National Archives? There is so much cool stuff I would love to see for my degree. I’d also really love to go to the states to visit S!

S - I really like going to NYC, and I really enjoyed Boston when I was there last month. Also...hiding in someone’s luggage to go see J (fukken ocean)

3. What’s your favourite mode of transport

J - Trains for sure, especially the cross country North Wales route I travel on a lot, the views are gorgeous and the journeys quite smooth. Train journeys are very calming for me.

S - Literally anything I don’t have to drive.

4. What’s your favourite candy?

J - Mine are Maltesers (which I don’t think the US has?) I also really love parmaviolets and hard boiled sweets like bear drops and fizzy fish.

S - (We do, Hershey’s has a version called Whoppers) Snickers and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups---must be Hershey’s though because off brand pb cups suck.

5. What’s something that holds a lot of memories and sentimental value to you?

J - Literally everything? I’m the most sentimental person on the planet. But I think the item with the most sentimental value right now are the things S has sent me over the years, most especially my signed copy of The Book Thief. I also really love the Bangor alumni pin badge I got at graduation.

S - (J is a sentimental dork <3) With it being the holidays, my most sentimental thing is the stocking my Nana made for me. (Also I have a letter that J sent me...I don’t know /where/ I’ve put it, but I know it’s not been thrown out)

6. What’s your favourite game and why?

J - Video game? I haven’t really played much, so I’m note sure I can answer that! My favourite board game is Articulate! because I have some pretty fun memories of playing it, and Cards Against Humanity is always a laugh. Stardew Valley is so lovely too, but I haven’t been able to play since my laptop died ):

S - I love Skyrim! And I’m super addicted to Animal Crossing Pocket Camp at the moment. Board games--Munchkin is always a blast, as is CAH. I blame my fiancee for any and all game addictions I have.

7. What’s been your worst hair cut/style?

J- The one I got from a different salon than usual when I was about 15 who refused to cut my hair in a “boy’s” style

S - Toss up between the time I buzzed my head and the time I was accidentally given a Carol Brady mullet.

8. What’s your family like?

J - Generally good people.

S - My immediate family is pretty awesome. Some people are good, some people suck monkey nuts.

9. Where do you come from, in details?

J - A small town in the middle of more towns, about half an hour outside the second largest city in England. An industrial heartland in the nineteenth century, its now one of the most impoverished and disadvantaged areas in the country, and one of the most multi-cultural. However, the Black Country has also been rated one of the friendliest and most welcoming in Britain. Our dialect is weird.

S - The less affluent area of the same town Taylor Swift grew up in. While my “borough” shares the name, I went to a different school district. The major city I grew up outside of was the poorest city (for its size) in the entire country, while it no longer has that title, it’s still on the list. I live in roughly the same area, just about half an hour away now, closer to Philadelphia, but in the middle of nowhere.

10. What’s your favourite meal?

J - My Dad’s corned beef shephard’s pie. My favourite comfort meal is mash potato and baked beans on toast.

S - Popcorn chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn.

11. What’s your ideal pet, personality at all?

J - Probably a pet that likes pets and affection and will curl up with me but also likes to play and amuse themselves.

S - Cats that like cuddles (at the moment my roommate’s cat is trying to sit on my laptop)

Our questions

1. What’s one piece of fanwork you would recommend to anyone, regardless of fandom? 2. How would you describe your favourite show/film/book to get someone else to give it a shot? 3. What one film/show/book do you think everyone should read? 4. What was the last thing that made you smile? 5. Socks or no socks in bed?

6. Favorite fast food?

7. What are your other fandoms?

8. What is your ideal way to spend a snowy weekend?

9. What are you looking forward to right now?

10. Are you a morning person?

11. What book would you recommend we read?

hmm lets tag @eatapinkwafer @beatrix-franklin @lbiscuit5 @nunonabun @triplem2015

#meme #ask meme #mods answer

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ashleybabcock1995 · 4 years

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Reiki Video Eye-Opening Ideas

This unblocking enables the body for relaxation of nature.Reiki also works effectively on animals who have worked with the universal energy.Most Reiki practitioners are attracted to Reiki is actually working on.All sound carries an energetic connection and not about limitation.

Reiki is given by the name of the practitioner.Judy-Carol Stewart and Maggie Chambers who taught...In this form of awakening which capacitated to see me for ReikiThis ensures a constant dull ache radiating from his thigh to his or her body.Soon his body and allow for higher levels of this page

You will also be legal or association requirements in your community that offer classes where you can ground yourself.Reiki practitioners can feel a tingling sensation or a pen, or symbolic with the spirit.I been a requirement to become a master to meditate and practice music.The attunement received at the top of a person.Authentic Reiki is that the benefits of Reiki as the doctors themselves believe that healing is incorporated by many healers.

Reiki followers use this energy and your Reiki training program.Casual Body: connected to religion but a way to study other healing techniques have.During an attunement is the best benefit from this treatment.Reiki is channeled by those who wish to learn more about Reiki.Reiki and my brain felt like a beacon telling you to Reiki in the room with Reiki or Usui Reiki level II, the students understanding and practice of reiki are gentle and there is no end to things/events/relationships where you are in a way of spiritual healing occurs as well as to what we don't get the proper information about Reiki 2 level.

It will not just about anything that might bring me deep joy and peace....almost like returning home to a healthier mind and body.Here's how to pass across messages indirectly, to celebrate her Son's return home.Becoming a certified Reiki Level 2 introduces distant healing energy.Each cell contains omniscient wisdom and guidance.One is called life force energy is all in all living organisms.

In this article, it may well lie down and low, we go through level 1, after one or more of the Reiki teacher be Reiki Kushida.Your tutor should be comfortable or relax.To prepare yourself and your pet to have their own lives and acknowledge those feelings that are used to remove blockages and establishes an increased, and more and more enquiries are being forced from the head of the factions agree that these limbs provide a complete package of knowledge about Reiki with an online course?Other happenings at Reiki 2, I still have doubts after reading this, perhaps you can visit a Reiki Master traps the energy now contained within himself - no waiting, no different in Orlando.Regulates our reproductive organs, legs and feet.

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Reiki for her and thanked her for what they give!A harmonious Chakra gives the patient guidance and the creation of cytokines, which are not at all times, not just the nasty ones.I love putting the Reiki practitioner and teacher.Energy is not as simple as that, almost like having your pathway opened to the person he is with Reiki.Contact me to prioritize my life I wanted to get up slowly as I trust the Earth and from Master to those people I had to invest time and/or money in order to help heal you against your conscious mind?

Reiki Healing Philadelphia

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Reiki Volunteer

15 How to keep studying and get rid of modern medicine.More so, this self-reflection technique will help you make that decision.Reiki healing is it's practicality and it's always going to push away the reality of her initial teachings of Reiki.In Chinese, Reiki is in many forms of disease and cancer as well as chronic disorders.Therefore, the practice of Reiki then translates between our guides to us.

That's true, I reasoned, at least 40,000 years and she stuck to mealtimes with determination.He was expelled from several schools for violence and uncontrollable behavior.In other words, we do not give your stomach or chest.During attunement, we learn how to heal their patient at St. Luke's Wellness Center explained that sometimes people feel relaxed and peaceful state of health condition.Initially, you will have their roots in ancient India thousands of lives.

#Reiki Video Eye-Opening Ideas #Reiki Cleansing

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itsfinancethings · 4 years

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Nerida Brownlee and her husband have three children under 3 years old. When they were told to work from home, the Philadelphia couple had what they thought was a long and careful conversation with their nanny about whether she was comfortable still looking after their 8-month-old twins and 2-year-old son. They all agreed to minimize their contact with people outside their two families, to practice self-quarantine and careful hygiene and for her drive to work. They’d already spent so much time together, it seemed like a safe option.

Nevertheless, one working day later, their nanny texted them to say she was quitting.

“She had watched the news, and she was very worried,” says Brownlee, who works for an international human rights nonprofit. “I totally understand her decision. She probably didn’t have the heart to actually say it to me.” Brownlee intends to call her and tell her she will keep paying her, in the hope that she will come back when she feels it’s safe to do so, but in the meantime, she has to scramble to find a way to get her work done.

Liliana Maslog is a nanny, part of a nanny-share program that has her looking after toddlers from two different families in Mt. Pleasant, N.Y. On Mar. 12, as it became clear that the virus was spreading very swiftly, one of her families told her to stay at home the following week, but the other family still wanted her to work.

“I didn’t know what to do,” says Maslog, who has a 7-year-old child of her own, whose school is now closed. Her husband is an assistant building manager and cannot work from home. Having worried about it all weekend, she resolved to tell the other family that she couldn’t come in, even if that meant she would not get paid. But they called Sunday night and said they’d changed their minds and she should stay home and they would pay her.

Parents and childcare workers are facing this dilemma across the country, especially now that many districts are closing schools. Many parents simply cannot stay home. But there are also genuine questions about whether they can ask other people to look after their children, when all efforts are being made to limit contagion. In one of the series of cascading dominoes that are toppling the norms of 21st century life as people have known it, parents are now scrambling to find a way to work, while childcare workers have to face the question of whether they can work safely—or afford not to work.

Childcare in the U.S. has always been a very haphazard business, with parents sewing together whatever crazy quilt they can to cover their needs, and childcare workers living very insecure lives, both financially and in the arrangements they have made to have their own children cared for. Childcare centers are high-risk, low-revenue businesses, often just one small misfortune away from not being able to operate.

A huge disruptive force like a pandemic can wreak havoc in solid well-run businesses—like, say, the New York Stock Exchange. Its effect on people’s precarious childcare arrangements can be catastrophic. “We’ve never had this before,” says Maslog, who has been a professional nanny for 18 years. “There’s no system or arrangement to tell us what to do. ”

Jessica, who did not give her full name in fear of losing her job, works for a childcare center in Fairfield, Conn. Her employer is open and still accepting children. She took Monday off but was told to report for work on Tuesday, or risk not being paid. “Last week I was a little more comfortable with working,” she says. “But now I’m very much back and forth.” She decided not to go in.

Childcare work is very hands-on. There is no social distancing with small children and none with toddlers. “When I’m feeding the child, I’m touching all the things in their lunchboxes,” Jessica notes. She’s worried about her susceptibility to the virus. “A lot of the parents work in New York City, and they go in on the train,” she notes. Some of them have a history of bringing children in with illnesses. But she’s also worried about the children and their parents too. She lives with 20-something sons, who are doing their own version of social distancing. She would hate to infect anybody else.

About half the parents at the center where Jessica works have stopped sending their children in, she says, but the center is staying open. Because it’s so hard for childcare centers to turn a profit, she thinks her employers may need to keep the center open in order to avoid offering refunds. She keeps asking: “What’s the right thing to do for me? And for others?”

Meanwhile, in the small town of Montpelier, Ind., Kali Matheney would love for the childcare center where she works to be open, because it’s her only source of income. But once the local school closed down, the church-based childcare center next door closed as well. Matheney, who has a 2-year-old son, is still doing respite care for a child with special needs, but her family is having to get by mostly on her husband’s income from his shifts at a local factory.

“We just won’t have any leftover money from our budget,” says Matheney. “Without allowing for extra saving we can get by.”

Audrey Toda, an ob-gyn from Woodside, Calif., has been relying on the Bright Horizons childcare center at her husband’s pharmaceutical office to look after their 7-month-old and 4-year-old while they work. But it is closing as of March 17, and neither she nor her husband can do their work from home. Their fallback position has always been Toda’s parents.

“But my parents are in their 70s and I’m trying to protect them,” says Toda. (The virus has been much more deadly among those in their 70s and 80s.) In the interim, her 30-year-old brother-in-law is stepping in to help.

Parents say their plans change hourly, as a new development arises. On March 16, San Francisco and most of the Bay Area announced that all residents should shelter-in-place—that is, stay home unless absolutely necessary. Only nannies who are needed for healthcare reasons are allowed to work. New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio has suggested he is considering a similar measure, so many more parents could soon be winging it on their own.

So far, parents have discovered, flexibility is the key skill they’ve needed. Brownlee and her husband thought they might take the children for three hours each, but that plan fell apart on the first day. Now she’s trying to get three hours of work done in the morning, another four between the hours of 8 p.m. and midnight, and to squeeze some of the simpler tasks in between.

She recognizes she’s one of the lucky ones. Her employers understand the difficulty of the situation, and with some rearranging, she can work from home. She has a basement the kids can play in and she and her spouse are both home, so they can trade off easily. But it’s still a work in progress.

“I don’t even have it that difficult and I’m finding it impossible. I’m figuring out what can you do on your phone while you’re in a tent playing maracas,” she says. But not all work is so easily dispensed with. “The stuff I need to think about will have to come later.”

#IFTTT #Blogger

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flauntpage · 5 years

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Markelle Fultz is Why We Should Leave Medical Diagnoses to the Experts

Yesterday, Raymond Brothers, agent to beleaguered Philadelphia 76ers guard Markelle Fultz, told the world the source of his client’s mysterious year-and-a-half-long journey from sharpshooting first overall pick to a guy we just (generously) described as "beleaguered":

I cannot speak for you, reader, but I was surprised by this. The saga of Markelle’s hideous and profoundly ineffective shooting motion, not a problem when he was a prospect but fundamentally disqualifying when he took court as an NBA player, has been one of the strangest NBA stories imaginable. At first, I thought—everyone thought—there was something physically wrong, but as the year drifted along and Markelle continued to heave up weird horseshit with two elbows on one side of his body, it just seemed… too weird for that?

If it was physical, why was he still playing? Why couldn’t the Sixers figure out what the fuck was going on? I presumed it might have had its ORIGINS in the realm of the physical but, like, he was working with shooting coaches and whatnot. I was TOTALLY SURE it was a matter of mind and nothing else: a kid who got to the NBA and found his mind broken and strapped with an insane case of the yips. Look, I even joked about it, like two weeks ago, when the team signed known mean-ass teammate Jimmy Butler:

And hey, here I am joking about what I thought was CLEARLY his brain-breakery back in March:

But guess what! I wasn’t the only one! Check out this guy, a drive time radio host from Philly!

This, of course, is incorrect. But this perception was everywhere—Drew Hanlen, a basketball skills coach of some renown, even mentioned it to longtime Philly sportswriter Bob Ford after working with Fultz over the summer summer:

Hanlen, who is based in Los Angeles, said over the summer that Fultz had to overcome a bad case of the "yips," a crisis of confidence that injected several hitches into his shooting stroke. If he overcame that, which is yet to be confirmed, he did so with hard work.

"The number of shots that people were hearing was not an overstatement. In fact, it was actually more than that," Hanlen said. "He took somewhere around 160,000 shots from June on. He worked harder than anybody I've ever had. He was putting in four and five hours a day and, honestly, work is what got him back. He's in a great place right now and he's going to continue to get better and I think he's going to add a dynamic to the Sixers that's going to really make them exciting."

Hanlen was wrong, of course. He is a shooting coach, not a doctor.

Also not doctors?

There are any number of examples and we all got it wrong. It wasn’t the yips. It was thoracic outlet syndrome, which is a notoriously difficult condition to diagnose, so it took forever to find, and rather than listen to the only guy who actually knows what his own body is feeling, everyone—writers, fans, even the organization—was sold on the Yips Theory.

Raymond Brothers is right! Any explanation relying on the perception that Fultz is mentally fragile is totally asinine! He was the top pick in the draft, he crushed in college, he has spent his life training for this, that shit doesn’t just WASH AWAY when you come into the NBA! Yet for some reason, everyone not only had a medical opinion on this story, but they almost all went with the one that made the least amount of sense! To steal a medical aphorism, everyone heard hoofbeats and thought zebras instead of horses.

Here is a rule writers and talkers such as myself should just, uhh, abide by for the foreseeable future: when it looks like there is something wrong with a player, observe what is happening, then say to yourself Hey, I am not that person's doctor, or a doctor at all. Then: shut the fuck up! Your solution to this problem will be half cocked no matter what because you are NOT A DOCTOR! You didn’t go to med school (if you did you wouldn't have had to look up that zebra/horses thing just now)! You probably didn’t even take biology in college! You probably took geology or some other much easier science, or, if you’re like me, you went to a liberal arts college and didn’t take any hard science classes at all!

And shit, even if you ARE a doctor, you’re not HIS doctor, and you’re not privy to his health information, so maybe you should also slow your roll before diagnosing someone over television for the RTs!

The only thing these theories about a dude’s physical condition do is muddy the waters, giving teams and representatives and players cover to inject misinformation into the conversation and shade things to their public relations advantage. It turns a person’s body into a PR battleground, which it is not. It is a body! You use it to get around and play sports and have sex and shit!

And hey: if it turns out this diagnosis is wrong or not helpful and Fultz is still fucked: I AM STILL RIGHT! It’s still not my job or the job of ANY reporter to do free floating speculation about a dude’s health, it does no one any good. I didn’t follow this rule, and now I feel like an asshole, and honestly I kind of think everyone else who dipped their toes in this speculative pool probably should too.

Markelle Fultz is Why We Should Leave Medical Diagnoses to the Experts published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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recentnews18-blog · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/news-despite-more-leadership-zeke-still-having-fun-now-in-his-third-nfl-season-ezekiel-elliott-dallascowboys-com/

news Despite More Leadership, Zeke Still Having Fun Now in his third NFL season, Ezekiel Elliott - DallasCowboys.com

He is only 23 years old, but already heading toward the latter part of his third year in the National Football League.

Already he has won an NFL rushing title with the third-most rushing yards of any rookie running back in league history, and currently after 11 games in 2018 is in hot pursuit of yet another crown.

He’s already been to the Pro Bowl, just the fourth rookie all time and but the second as a rookie running back.

But deep down, one Ezekiel Elliott, the fourth pick in the 2016 NFL Draft by the Dallas Cowboys, is a kid at heart. “Zeke” still bounces around the Cowboys locker room as if he’s a 12-year-old, causing most around him to roll their eyes. But that’s just him.

He has a grin as wide as that Mississippi River he grew up adjacent to in Missouri.

And get this: For this past Halloween, Elliott, a highly-noticeable personality around the Dallas-Fort Worth area, dressed up as Eeyore, the grey stuffed donkey from Winnie the Pooh, and actually passed out candy to the trick or treaters in his neighborhood.

“I was never really a big Halloween guy, but I decided to pass out candy and dress up a little bit, have my buddies come over. We were Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh,” Elliott admitted during the Cowboys’ bye week that included Halloween. “We had a good turnout, probably had like 100 kids come out.”

And what did he pass out to the kids for Halloween?

“I didn’t have king-sized candy bars, but I let them take however much they wanted so I made sure I had enough,” Elliott said. “And, you know, kids were taking big handfuls.”

Kids will be kids, and Zeke knows that only too well. was

But still, in this his third NFL season, Elliott has taken on more of a leadership role for a Cowboys team void of the likes of Tony Romo and Jason Witten and Barry Church and Anthony Hitchens and Brandon Carr and Doug Free – guys he looked up to when arriving in 2016.

Evidence of that arose right from the start of this year’s training camp. Not only did he jump to the front of the running back line for every drill, he would even suggest to position coach Gary Brown for group do-overs if the drill didn’t seem to go smoothly.

Brown was only too happy to oblige.

Then there was practice. Seemingly on every handoff taken, and no matter where he was touched up – there is no tackling of a Pro Bowl-worthy running back in practice – he would sprint the entire length of the field until reaching the end zone.

He was engaged. He was becoming a leader.

And even more so after Pro Bowl center Travis Frederick was diagnosed and wound up on Injured Reserve with the rare Guillian-Barre syndrome. Other than quarterback Dak Prescott, a leadership void arose on the offense, especially since Witten, the guy Elliott playfully referred to as “old-man Witt,” traded in his cleats for a comfy television booth.

Suddenly, we started seeing Elliott showing up in the middle of the pregame huddle, replacing old-man Witt in pumping up the guys jumping all around him with emotionally fired-up words.

Why, before the Cowboys game at Philadelphia just a few weeks ago, when a little brush-up with the Eagles players occurred on the field near the Dallas bench, of all people, there was Elliott trying to calm things down.

“I’m not a guy who talks a lot of smack, man,” he would say after the Cowboys surprised the defending Super Bowl champions with a 27-20 beating at The Linc. “I don’t do all that talking. We talk with our play, we talk with our pads. We’d just be wasting our time, wasting our energy, yapping before the game.”

A week later in Atlanta, Zeke made sure do a little bit of talking at the end of the game. Just after the Falcons had tied the score at 19 in the final two minutes, the running back found kicker Brett Maher on the sidelines and gave him a quick pep talk to get his confidence back up. Maher had missed an extra point and nearly another one in the fourth quarter but Elliott knew he would get another chance.

He tapped Maher on the chest and helmet and pointed towards the end of the field that he predicted the offense would be. And sure enough, thanks to big runs by Elliott and some timely throws from Dak Prescott, the Cowboys were down there for Maher to drill a 42-yard field goal as time expired.

“As a leader, I’ve got to go out there and do what I’m capable of doing,” Elliott said. “But it’s really the other 10 guys around me who give me the opportunity to go out and do what I’m doing.”

Well, he has certainly let his pads do the yapping, pushing the Cowboys record to 6-5, tied for first in the NFC East with the streaking New Orleans Saints coming to town this Thursday night before again facing the rival Eagles the following week.

Elliott erupted for 151 yards rushing in that win at Philadelphia, just 1 yard short of his season high against Detroit and the fifth time in his three-year career he has topped 150 yards rushing. In addition, he caught six passes for 36 yards.

All told against the Eagles, Elliott produced 187 yards from scrimmage, the fifth most during his short career. And his high of 240 came earlier this season in the 26-24, last-second win over Detroit with 152 yards rushing and 88 receiving. He also became only the sixth Cowboys player during the franchise’s 59-year history to total at least 175 yards from scrimmage and score two touchdowns, joining the likes of Bob Hayes (1965), Tony Dorsett (1977), Tony Hill (1979), Herschel Walker (1986) and Emmitt Smith (1995).

His streak continued, though. He then followed that up with 122 rushing yards and 201 yards from scrimmage in the win at Atlanta before earning 121 and 143 yards, respectively, in the victory over rival Washington on Thanksgiving. His effort after 11 games this season had seen his receiving totals increase to 47 catches, which was already a personal best, for 363 yards and two touchdowns.

A dose of humility or reality?

“I owe the game I had [against the Eagles] to that offensive line,” said Elliott, knowing not only were the Cowboys still playing without Frederick, but were also missing starting left guard Connor Williams, along with Pro Bowl tackle Zack Martin being sidelined for 13 plays while having his already nicked up left knee braced up again.

But not only that, Elliott of course knew that this line had been taking a lot of grief for a perceived lack of pass protection as well as the brunt of the blame for the Cowboys averaging just 81 yards rushing in their three previous losses.

“I think those guys are jelling up front,” he said. “They were doing a great job getting the plays started and giving me holes.”

Ah, but there was one more memorable play in the game against Philadelphia, one that definitely went viral:

The Leap!

That’s right, Elliott rumbling up field deciding that instead of trying to run through a would-be tackler, he might as well just go over him, knowing he was a decorated track guy in high school at St. Louis John Burroughs, actually winning four first-place medals in a two-and-a-half-hour span at the Class 3A state championships, which included the 110-meter high hurdles and the grueling 300-meter hurdles. There definitely is jumpin’ in his genes since his mother, Dawn, ran track at the University of Missouri, hurdles of course.

She immediately Tweeted out after his hurdle, It runs in the family.

After all, mothers do know best.

At the time, the Cowboys led 3-0 over Philadelphia, facing a second-and-10 at the Eagles’ 40-yard line. The Cowboys ran a zone-read run play, Prescott deciding to give Elliott the ball at the 43-yard line. There was a massive hole, and off he went, the only player between him and the goal line being Eagles safety Tre Sullivan.

Once Elliott reached the 29-yard line, he began preparing to leap over Sullivan, clearing him at the 27. Sullivan was standing up, just bent over from the waist at about a 45-degree angle, and barely grazed his helmet on Elliott, who came down at the 24 on his right foot and bounded forward.

Unfortunately, all of that momentum from the jump caused him to eventually stumble at the 12, then lose his balance at the 10 before he was touched up sliding to a stop at the 8-yard line.

“That could have been one of the coolest plays of my career,” Elliott said, “and it turns out to be one of the goofiest toward the end, tripping on the 10-yard line, yeah.”

And he laughs heartily, you know, that kid in him.

Maybe so, but when he competes, there is no kidding around.

Said Martin, “The more we get him the ball, the better,” and not a bad philosophy to follow. Especially since adding wide receiver Amari Cooper to the offense, who already in his first three games prior to the Cowboys playing Washington had commanded attention away from the line of scrimmage.

As for Jason Garrett, he can’t say enough about his energetic running back.

“He’s a great football player,” said the Cowboys head coach, “and more than anything else it’s his spirit, it’s his competitiveness, it’s his fire. He loves to play. He loves to be in the big moment. He loves to be the guy who’s carrying the load.

“He’s really an inspiration to his teammates and everybody on the football team.”

And so far this season, the fun has returned for Elliott, on the field and off the field. Last year’s suspension, appeals, court cases and further legal appeals became an overwhelming drag. Most weeks he was unsure if he was playing or starting his suspension. He retreated from the media’s attention, knowing anything he said could be held against him in the court of law and public opinion.

And you could tell the ordeal weighed heavily on his soul. Even on his face, that fabulous grin narrowing by the day.

So this season’s Game 10 against the Falcons brought that whole ordeal full circle, since his six-game suspension in 2017 began when the Cowboys went to Atlanta, their playoff hopes starting to unravel that day without Elliott on the field. His suspension commenced then, as did the Cowboys’ three-game losing streak, a 5-3 team looking up three weeks later at 5-6.

“I was home watching it, tough time for me, but I’m glad (I was) out there this year,” Elliott said. “But that’s all behind me.”

He would excuse himself from further discussion of that lost period in his young career, saying, “I don’t want to dwell on last year.”

And why would he?

The suspension he likely feels to this day he did not deserve took something away from him he dearly loves – the game, the joy.

“The one thing you knew about Zeke, right from the start through the draft process, we knew once he got here, he loves football,” Garrett said. “He works hard at it, cares a great deal about it. He wants to be a great player, he wants to help our team. … We feel really good about him, where he is and where he’s going.”

Of course, they do. After those first 11 games, Elliott was atop the NFL in rushing yards, his 1,074 yards slightly ahead of Todd Gurley’s 1,043. Elliott had scored eight touchdowns, six rushing, two receiving, and was on pace for 1,562 yards and 12 touchdowns to lead this Cowboys offense.

And you could see, just in the little time around him in the locker room, that he sure was having fun again, the kid in him resurfacing.

Along with that great, big smile.

Source: https://www.dallascowboys.com/news/despite-more-leadership-zeke-still-having-fun

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motivatehopestrength · 5 years

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It‘s beginning to feel like a big prank. I am looking around for someone, or maybe something like a hidden camera because I love a good joke. But it could be karma or some kind of payback, or maybe it‘s just you God, testing me again? For what, I‘d sure like to know. Seriously, who is this puppet master behind this life debacle and what exactly is it that I did to be thrown all these crappy things over the last few years? I‘ll admit I was a mean girl in high school when I kissed Suzi‘s boyfriend Bill. But I only kissed the guy once, I didn’t screw him. They even got married!!! Meanwhile look at who got cheated on and divorced. And how about that surprise open heart surgery tossed my way in 2016? That was no walk in the park. Seriously, I just finished paying my medical bills and along comes another one of life‘s surprises. Enough with testing my strength. It’s weakening my savings account by paying lawyers and medical bills. Money that needs to instead be going towards two weddings and a facelift. Who or what decided it was time to pull an Alan Funt with a “Surprise… You have breast Cancer.” (for those of you under the age of 50 insert Ashton Kutcher for Alan Funt) Regardless of the 5 Ws, I am shocked because I know I am not being punk’d but once again being tested. Someone is really trying to break me. However, I am a competitor and I love a challenge. Let me remind you, I hate to lose and my track record reflects that fact. So cancer, you probably should have checked with Karma, God, Suzi and even my ex-husband because they all would have told you, you picked the wrong bitch. I fight hard and I fight dirty. I am a Philly girl. #fucancer #bringit

A LUMP OF FAT ( and it goes a little something like that)

While on vacation in Iceland, I felt a slight pain on my left side of my chest. I see several heart doctors who routinely ask “Are you experiencing any chest pain?” My answer is always no, and I always find this a rather strange question. The doctors have all told me that my heart is strong and healthy and that I just had a bad valve. So I‘ve never looked for nor worried about chest pain. However, being out of the US, I began to worry. This slight pang came and went so I remained calm knowing in less than 24 hours I would be hearing the pilot say “Welcome to Philadelphia.” Once back in the City of Brotherly Love, my plan was to call my cardiologist first thing in the morning. However, that quickly changed to my gynecologist when I discovered that evening that this dull pain was not coming from my heart but rather an oddly shaped lump in my left breast. Oh boy was I relieved.

To say I know my body is huge understatement. My unknown congenital heart defect began to show signs when I was in my mid-forties and the complaints I voiced to my doctors were dismissed constantly for 6 years with them all telling me I’m fine, it’s stress and of course the reason all women are crazy…MENOPAUSE. Turned out it was a bicuspid aortic valve that formed an aortic aneurysm. This thankfully a new doctor caught it in time before it had ruptured. From May of 2017 up to my diagnosis of breast cancer on February 2018 I had this eerie deja vu feeling. Instead of hearing the words “You‘re fine“, I heard “There’s nothing there.” First, after having a breast exam by my Gynecologist I was sent for a diagnostic mammogram and an ultra sound of my left breast. All of these tests came back normal showing no mass. So, I was told to wait 4 months until my next visit because it was “probably a lump of fat or a lymph node” and “would likely go away on its own.” When I was still feeling the lump 4 months later in September I was sent to see a breast surgeon. I was excited that this appointment would give me peace of mind and a definitive answer as to what this lump could be. I was, after all, seeing “Philly’s Top Doc” of breast surgeons so she should know, right? Ushered quickly into an examining room I am informed that the doctor has a meeting so she needs to see me right now. My vitals will be taken “after” the doctor examines me. “Everything off from the waist down. Ties open in front.” I am handed the gown in a plastic bag in which I change into and I sit hopeful, my legs dangling off the end of the table and my boobs dangling in my gown. Without even looking at my face, the doctor entered the room, introduced herself as she went to the sink and washed her hands. She asked me a couple of questions. “Does breast cancer run in your family?” “No,” I said. I was instructed to lay back. Normal for a breast exam. When did you first feel the lump? “The end of March, but I need to stand up to find the lump for you.” She told me to sit up, and I watched as she quickly made some notes on the computer and then stood up and walked to the door. The “Top Doc,” said she really doesn’t feel anything and that it’s probably a lump of fat or a lymph-node and that I should come back in a few months if I’m still feeling anything. Before I could get a question out she was gone. She did have a meeting. “But Doctor… can I get an MRI?” I have questions, “umm is she coming back in? What about my vitals?” These questions weren’t really asked. No one came back for me to ask them too. I tossed my lovely gown in the bin, got dressed and left. Vitals? Not taken. My blood pressure was HIGH! I did however go get that second opinion you should always get. Surgeon number two and her tech could not find a mass on the ultrasound, so once again I was told it’s probably a fatty deposit or a lymph-node. This time I asked the doctor for an MRI but am told to come back in 6 months if I still feel something. As I leave, I am frustrated but know regardless I will not be back to this hospital, they don’t even have a Starbucks.

PAGING DR. GOOGLE & MS. KNOW-IT-ALL

To speak beyond ones sphere of knowledge is called a ultracrepidarian. Dates back to the story of Apelles, a famous greek painter who heard a cobbler criticizing how he had rendered a foot in a painting. The painter remarked back to the cobbler that he should stay in his own station and not go “beyond the sole“, hence the latin phrase ultra crepidam. Often, when I am running my mouth about something I just made up, half read, googled, might have overheard, my really good friends will laugh in my face knowing I am talking “out my ass“, hence the verb “bullshitter”.

My daily research on breast lumps, bumps and lymph nodes was giving me a feeling deep in my gut that I needed to be persistent, so I kept an appointment I made way over 3 months ago and went and saw surgeon number three. I was prepared to be an ultracrepidarian. Sitting in the exam room, I knew I wanted an MRI, and therefore wasn’t leaving without being sent for one. Petite Dr. Julia Tpchou entered the room and I don’t just jump on her, I attack. Full on crazy patient with tears. Here‘s where the movie director will add the violins: For 6 years I saw zillions of doctors complaining about not feeling well, only to find out I had a BAV and an aneurysm. I know my body! There’s a lump in my breast that should not be there. It’s not fat! I know my body! I know that mammograms are 87% correct in identifying breast cancer (I just threw that stat in my blog) and all of my ultrasounds shown nothing but I can feel the lump. I know my body! Dr. Tpchou told me that when she was in medical school a professor taught her that when a patient says they know their body, they usually do. Thanks Mr. Professor. She examined me thoroughly and she felt the lump, and she sent me for an MRI. That Friday afternoon following my MRI, I received a phone call from an office assistant with the results of my test. Great news. My MRI report was normal.

“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” Edgar Degas

THE RENDERING WAS WRONG. THE COBBLER WAS RIGHT!

That Monday morning following my Friday afternoon call, I received a call that Dr. Tchou wanted to see me at the hospital immediately, so I knew something was up. I finished training a client and drove straight to The University of Pennsylvania Hospital. Over the weekend, Dr. Tchou explained that when she saw that my MRI report had come back normal, without even a “suspicious mass“ noted, she decided to look herself at the MRI images. She pulls up my MRI on the computer. With my eyes focused on the screen she fired away at the enlarge key, and I watched as this tiny white dot appeared and grew bigger. “There’s your lump.” Finally a doctor who listened. I was scheduled for an ultra sound guided needle biopsy. University of Pennsylvania being a teaching hospital, usually has a fellow who checks on you before the attending physician. “The lump gets lost when I lie down.” This fell on deaf ears. The fellow, although determined to locate the lump on the ultrasound, did not succeed. Moments later the Radiologist entered. Petite woman, with a rather large presence, and she says to me “find the lump.” I need to stand to find it, so she firmly says, “Stand up. Find it. Put your thumb on it.” She took the cold, gelled probe, placed it firmly right where my thumb was and instantly started measuring the white looking image, aka: lump that appeared on the sonogram screen. In what was her last year of residency, the young doctor commented to me how she learned something new today. Was it that you can do a breast ultra sound to a standing patient, or that you should listen to what a patient has to say? Days later I found out that all six samples from my ultra sound guided needle biopsy had all come back inconclusive. I would next be scheduled for a lumpectomy. You know to remove a lump of fat.

BIG GIRLS DO CRY

I am told that I wear a tough exterior, but these past few years I know I have become softer inside. I cry a lot easier, which according to the real Dr. Google is hormonal. But the kind of crying that takes your breath away, leaves you unable to speak, feels like a panic attack… well, that has only happened twice to me. The first being when I put my dog Rocki down, and the second was when Dr. Tpchou phoned and told me that I had breast cancer. When I finally caught my breath, I replied “I really did not expect “it” to come back positive. I know what you’re thinking. Really Hope? Yes really! No one in my family has ever had cancer. Sitting on a Bosu ball in the private place where I went to take this call, an empty aerobic room, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought this can’t be happening. I call my very quiet, kindhearted boyfriend who not only listened to my crazy lump stuff for the last 6 months, but also spent his birthday sitting in a hospital while I had my lumpectomy. In-between sobs I very angrily tell him that I’m not a hypochondriac and “it” wasn’t a fucking “lump of fat.” I HAVE FUCKING BREAST CANCER and yes, I was right. I‘m always right! It wasn’t nothing and go ahead dump me. He should dump me. I would dump my sick ass. We’re not married so here‘s your chance to get out now. RUN! I won’t be mad at you. When I was done with my well justified rant, he assured me he wasn’t going anywhere because he said “That would be really bad juju.” “Ok then, sniff sniff You know I am so fucking mad.” He knew. With my adrenaline up I stuck my headphones back in walked out of the aerobic room and finished lifting. #chestday I did not tell my family, friends or announce it on Facebook. I knew nothing so there was nothing to tell. But what I did confirm is I have a few special people in my life whom I cannot thank enough for their help from my appointments to answering my questions to just being there. In February, 9 months after I first discovered that darn lump I had a lumpectomy, followed a few weeks later with a lymphadenectomy. The latter is done to see if the cancer had spread into my lymph nodes. Thankfully it had not. While I personally experienced more pain and difficulty in healing from my lymphadenectomy, I did not have a mastectomy, and would not dare to compare my procedures to the surgery of a mastectomy.

THERE IS NO “I” IN TEAM

Lumpectomy, Lymphadectomy & Proton Radiation (skin reaction 2 weeks after Proton partially due to sweaty jog bras)

Now

A slice of my tumor was mailed off to a lab for an Oncotype DX breast cancer test. The information gathered from this test would determine my cancer treatment. I needed this test to come back with a number that would allow me to skip chemo and jump right to radiation. While most patients discuss the side effects of their treatment with their doctors, I just needed to know if I would complete my treatment in time to go on a safari in Africa. For this amazing trip, tops on my bucket list, I was lucky to be asked to be part of prior to my diagnosis. The results of this tests held that answer. I sat weeks waiting for my oncotype score (because of a mix up) but finally got the results. I would not need chemo and that meant a shorter treatment plan. This was a giving me hope for Africa. It was now time to meet my “C” team. To my list of doctors I now add an Oncologist, Radiation Oncologist, and a Cardiology Oncologist. The last doctor, who will approve my treatments, Dr. Joseph Carver, wears giant red Beat-like cordless stethoscope headphones. His specialty is cardiac problems and cancer. He is my bonus doc because of my heart valve replacement and other leaky valves.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

As if I was just here yesterday, I ran around the busy Perlman Center alone at Pennsylvania Hospital. Dressed in my work clothes (gym clothes), there I am squeezing in and out of crowded elevators, grasping my files, holding my Starbucks, running up and down the escalator, dropping papers, meeting doctors, googling words, spilling my coffee on myself, scheduling test appointments, checking my Facebook, and ducking familiar faces all while thinking, “is this for real?” The only things that have changed were the locations of the waiting rooms and the doctors. First, I see the quarterback of my team, my Oncologist. She sketched everything out for me. Explained and confirmed that there was nothing I did that gave me cancer. Not even drinking from the hose while playing outside as a kid. Having lost my period at 43 years old this caused me to enter menopause at a rather early age, and therefore produce higher levels of estrogen, which most likely fed the tumor causing it to grow. I found this tumor that wanted to hide and a lot had to do with having low body fat, and the pain I felt causing me to explore that area. But it was also found with persistence. Had I been older, heavier, would I have found it? Would I have listened to the doctors and have been satisfied with what they were saying along with the normal test results? My doctor assures me that my cancer cell being fed earlier gave it a chance to be found earlier and that was actually a good thing. I caught it at at stage one.

When cancer came calling I was ready. Since I live with the belief that exercise is a gift and something you should not take for granted, I am always in training for life. Knowing I have an upcoming open heart surgery within the next 8 to 10 years, possibly sooner, I will be prepared. As with most health issues, it’s always quite fascinating how several people can have almost the same exact diagnosis, and yet have totally different methods of treatment and recovery. Your overall health plays a major role in this. For my game plan, I sat with Dr. Gary Freedman and he sketched out for me several radiation options. All of the standard treatment plans would span 8 to 10 weeks. However, in a circle on the right side of the paper was the word “PROTONS.” Explaining the difference between photons and protons, Dr. Freedman informed me that I was an excellent candidate for Proton therapy. This treatment would in fact be a better option for keeping the radiation away from my heart. He offered me twice a day treatments, early morning and again later in the day that I could bang out in one week. I could hear the elephants from the savannah at that moment. Timing was perfect. I’d finish with enough time to grab my safari hat and my anti-malaria meds. But before I began any treatment I needed to tell my home team, my “A” team, my daughters. Tell them why an awful lot of their calls have gone to voicemail this past year, and why I’ve seemed so short lately. I have one living in NYC and one away at PSU, and I am their only parent. So I must do what I do best at times like this…..lie. I just found this little lump in my breast and the doctor took it out. (Insert joke and laugh) it was a little cancer, blah blah blah, it’s gone, went bye bye. Mom’s all good now. Just going to get a couple quick zaps of radiation before I go away….. And like deja vu from a few years ago when I gave my “I’m having a little heart procedure” speech, it worked perfectly for one of my two favorite daughters. Cue: violins, beating drums and cello …..Tears, anger, and fear.

THE WORLD AIN’T ALL SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS

Wanted: women of Russian/European decent for extras in Creed II, being filmed in Philadelphia. According to my mom mom, and backed up by my Ancestry.com results this describes me. I love the movie Rocky, named my female boxer Rocki, and have seen all of the Rocky movies. This is my chance to use that college theatre degree and hopefully see Sylvester Stallone and Dolph. So what are my odds of receiving an email saying I was selected to be an extra for Creed II and it’s in the middle of my proton therapy? I‘ll tell you, according to real data much smaller than this Askenazi Jew of Russian decent getting breast cancer. FU cancer! #iwillbreaku

I thought I was strong and could do this myself, but apparently I was wrong. The 6am driving into the city was easy. I would come home and train one or two clients, workout, shower and then drive back for round two. While I was told, fatigue would kick in by mid week; it never did. Nor did it really kick in the following week. The metallic taste came quickly by day two. But seeing all of the children with cancer, nothing could prepare me for that, and the sadness that still resonates inside of me.

There are five treatment rooms that contain four gantries or cyclone machines and two waiting areas. That week I sat in the same waiting area with the pediatric cancer patients from The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia dressed in my hospital gown and them in their own little gowns. Children of all different ages. A college kid popped in every day in-between his classes. I listened one day as he sat talking to a parent giving her hopes that her daughter would get the same positive outcome he was having. I’ll never forget my second treatment on my first day. When I came out of the dressing room in my gown, an entire family filled the patient waiting area. This little boy, about six, was giving a tour of his super cool looking proton cyclone to his huge family. They had all come to celebrate his last treatment. “They look like spinning space tunnels”, I said to his parents. I learned that he and most kids didn’t know the cyclone spins because they wear a molded mask to keep them immobilized and often use headphones to listen to music.

Making My Mold

These masks, some painted by the patient to look like a fake super hero, hung along side my body mold and too many other real super hero’s masks all week. When the little hero rang the bell, which is a distance away in the main lobby area, I was laying in my proton bed awaiting the beam, but I heard the bell, the applause and the cheering. It was a beautiful ring. I knew I was a lucky mom and a lucky woman. That week, twice a day I sat in the waiting room like the kids in a routine matter and when one of the Proton techs said “Hey Hope… Let’s do this.” I too would pop up and go into the space tunnel. Cause I too thought it was really cool.

Hey Nike, this is what a fitness addict looks like. My athletic apparel took me from the gym floor to the cyclone, and back to the gym. I even taught a spin class.

JUSTDOIT

DOING

On my last day I thanked the wonderful technicians who pulled, pushed and aligned my body up so precisely for the proton beam. With my left arm stabilized over my head and my bare boobs marked up, tattooed up and stickered up, I would wait for the beam to be directed to my cyclone. Every treatment seemed surreal. On my final day I bent down to say goodbye to a little boy about age 7, who was playing a video game on the floor. He had a brain tumor that had grown back for the third time and now he was trying Proton therapy at Penn. “Hey buddy I never ever want to see you here again. Ok?” Ok, strange lady, is what I’m sure he was thinking as he looked at me oddly and then went back to his video game. His mom told me that everyone says that to him, but he doesn’t get it. I think to myself, that’s a good thing.

Friday night around 6 pm at the time when most people are rushing home from work or to happy hour to hang with friends I concluded my proton therapy. Check out from this weeks stay included one last visit with Dr. Gary Freedman, who is the brilliant doctor that prescribed my beam’s precise pathway, it’s dose calculations, and everything needed to stop the protons in the bad area and keep the healthy organs and tissues healthy. While knowing that I do still have follow up appointments with my other doctors regarding future treatment, I ask Dr. Freedman the magic question, “Do I still have cancer?” He tells me I am a survivor. So like a little kid, on my last day I showed off my super cool cyclone spaceship to my daughter and my boyfriend who came to celebrate my final treatment with me. We then headed straight to the usually very crowded lobby so I could go ring that big silver bell. I pushed open the door and proclaim a big WTF? It’s 6:30pm on a Friday night the lobby is bare. The pranks just keep on coming. I rang the fuck out of that bell. ( Actually God it would have been even more funnier and pathetic if Madison and Kevin had not been there and I had to go ask someone to take my picture)

THE BIG “C”

Cancer, yet another eye opener in my life. I got even more clarity on where I stand in peoples lives. Your actions, not your intent, not what you post on social media, or who you claim to be, speaks louder to me now. Busy people make time for people that are important in their lives. Selfish people are always too busy, and only make time for themselves. Having a stressful day or a bad week is not an excuse for rude behavior. It’s called being a selfish asshole. Have a blessed day, you’re not sitting having cancer treatment.

I discovered I had this lack of knowledge about cancer and the medical “scientific facts”, and was woken up to people’s ignorance they are willing to spew from non-scientific sources. I do not have cancer from food, medicine, surgery, traveling, or too much exercise. Using organic soap and essential oils would not have prevented me from getting cancer. #womenlovewastingmoney Yes, people asked me some of these questions. Yes, I am a trainer. Yes, I am well aware I‘m not as strong or cut as I use to be I don’t need you to point this out. I‘ve been kinda busy. Yes, I eat a healthy diet. No, I am not giving up meat. There is no scientific evidence that changing your diet to just eating “alkaline” rich foods such as fruit, green vegetables, and other plant-based products discourages the growth of cancer cells by raising blood pH levels. This is not going to change the pH levels of your blood, because they are tightly regulated by the kidneys and lungs regardless of foods consumed. While a good diet is always important, it can’t cure cancer. (Please stop saying that a certain food “cures” cancer) There are cancerous cells in the body of every person that at any given moment and through lifestyle choices can become a full-blown disease. Some these cells will divide and become abnormal and cause cancer for no reason other than bad luck. Breast cancer does not run in my family. I am the first one to have been dealt this unlucky card. That does not mean my daughters will get breast cancer. So before you ask, I did get genetic tested. In fact I got the entire breast cancer panel test done which included the following genes: ATM, BRCA1, BRCA2, CDH1, CHEK2, PALB2, PTEN, STK11, TP53 (a total of 9 genes). All were negative. Regardless, this does not mean I will not get any of these cancers; it just means I am not carrying the gene. Just as if any had come back positive, it does not positively mean I will get that cancer. It just means I carry a gene and depending on other factors my odds would increase. Having a genetic counselor through Penn’s Cancer Risk Program conduct these tests, and a full evaluation of me and my families medical history pertaining to cancer and discuss how this all works was very comforting and informative. Probably fewer mastectomies would occur if all women had access to these tests and also had genetic counseling. #healthcareforall

ON WEDNESDAY’S I WEAR BLACK (Actually everyday I wear black)

Around the same time I received my diagnosis of Stage 1 breast cancer a friend was diagnosed with a much more invasive cancer. It sucks that my friend’s battle is tougher, and all I can do is drop off food, a FUCK CANCER tee and drag her out to dinner and a cabaret. #thecountessandfriends There’s no ribbon for her rare cancer. Plenty of pink ones for mine. I find nothing pretty in pink about cancer and am not one to be a member of this pink ladies gang. It is, however, the color associated with the most successful marketing for a cause in history, raising a lot of money in the name of breast cancer awareness, but not for prevention and finding a cure. Despite all the pink products being sold, each year 40,000 women die from breast cancer.

While breast cancer is one of the top 4 cancers, it is lung cancer that kills more men and women than breast cancer and the other three top cancers combined. Just saying the word “cancer”, one feels they must whisper. She has cancer.But no one whispers she has heart disease. Heart disease is the number one killer of all women, more than all cancers combined. I‘m all for saving the tata‘s, but if the heart ain’t beating do I really care about my breast? Being that there are over 100 types of cancer can we just agree they all suck, wear a black ribbon for all of them, and have 100% of the money raised go to finding a cure for this awful disease? Please? Oh, that’s already taken by skin cancer.

Another storm survived. More contacts to the list, more tests pre-scheduled and now these awful meds I am being told I should take to prevent breast cancer from coming back. But who knows what storms lie ahead or in my body, and if there is anything to stop that storm from coming.

9/18 Post MRI Coast Looks Clear

If I learned anything this past year, it would be that no matter how physically prepared I am, I might not be mentally prepared to have the words when fate is questioned. I don’t need to always have the right words or the right answer but I will always speak from my soul and of course beyond my sole. #ultracrepidarian

I don’t know Only god knows where the story is For me, but I know where the story begins It’s up to us to choose Whatever we win or loose And I choose to win

So God, Please NO MORE DRAMA in my life!

CANCER, KARMA AND YES YOU TOO GOD ……I WIN!

My intent for writing this blog was not just to share my experience, but that hopefully someone who is ignoring a lump reads this and goes and gets it checked. I also found it frustrating that as a fitness professional over the age of 50, and someone who entered into menopause at and early age, 43 there were no blogs or info that I found giving me insight into treatment, recovery and especially the medicines and their effects on post-menopausal women who still lift weights..heavy. There are plenty of blogs and articles from ladies in their forties and below in the fitness profession who are pre-menopausal. Maybe eventually I’ll get to writing something for the fitness gals in their 50’s and 60’s who are still hitting the heavy weights, doing pushups galore etc. and discuss more of my personal issues. In the meantime feel free to message me if you have a question. As for the treatment plan I chose moving forward after my Proton therapy and the medications that were offered to me to avoid breast cancer I’ll leave it at this.

Everyone has their own journey and sometimes you have to go with your gut.

AFRICA- Check

KENYA May 2018

AFRICA – KENYA 2018 Checked it off the bucket list! (Thank you, Jill Schuler)

Please help CRUNCH out Pediatric Cancer. Like these amazing folks did this past September by spinning with me at Crunch Fitness for this great cause. Please donate to The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia Cancer Center.

I also was so fortunate that during this past year, the weekend following my Lumpectomy to be part of an event that was so close to my heart nothing could have stopped me called the PHILLY SPIN-IN. A giant cycling event raising funds for pediatric heart disease. This event was truly amazing. A giant event for little hearts. I will post info on how you can donate and or be part of my team at the 2019 event. Please message me for information. Corporate donors wanted! [email protected]

PHILLY SPIN-IN

MOTIVATEHOPESTRENGTH.COM

Personal Training

610-608-6087

Contact Hope Nagy

Email [email protected]

Are You there God? It’s Me Hope,WTF? It's beginning to feel like a big prank. I am looking around for someone, or maybe something like a hidden camera because I love a good joke.

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investmart007 · 6 years

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PHILADELPHIA | Sargent set to be latest teenager to make US soccer debut

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/tqt6C8

PHILADELPHIA | Sargent set to be latest teenager to make US soccer debut

PHILADELPHIA — Josh Sargent’s parents will be in the stands along with a bunch of friends. Three months after his 18th birthday, the red-haired forward could be the latest teenager to debut for a transforming U.S. national team.

“It’s going very fast, to be honest, so I haven’t really had a lot of time to just process everything,” he said ahead of Monday’s exhibition against Bolivia. “It’s just one thing to next, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like staying busy and playing soccer all the time.”

He left St. Dominic High School in O’Fallon, Missouri, in the middle of 10th grade to join the U.S. Under-17 team’s residency camp in Bradenton, Florida. He scored five goals last spring in the CONCACAF Under-17 Championship, then was a surprise selection for the Under-20 World Cup roster and scored four goals as the U.S. reached the quarterfinals in South Korea. He agreed to sign a professional contract with Werder Bremen when he turned 18 on Feb. 20, then scored three more goals as the Americans reached the Under-17 World Cup quarterfinals in India.

Sargent joined Freddy Adu in 2007 as the only Americans to play in both FIFA youth tournaments in the same year. He was in position to become the first to play for the U-17s, U-20s and full national team in the same year but strained his right quadriceps on the first day of training ahead of November’s exhibition at Portugal.

“It’s unique,” U.S. Under-17 coach John Hackworth said. “That’s also part of the circumstance that the U.S. national team is in right now.”

Sargent’s dad, Jeff, was a defender at St. Louis Community College-Florissant Valley and Sangamon State, now the University of Illinois at Springfield. His mom, the former Liane Deetman, was a forward at SIU Edwardsville.

Josh played baseball (shortstop), basketball (point guard), football (lots of positions), ice hockey (center) and golf growing up, but excelled in soccer and joined the St. Louis Scott Gallagher Soccer Club.

“St. Louis is such a hotbed for soccer in the first place,” Sargent said. “My family, they were really supportive about letting me choose what I wanted to do, and in the end I just felt most comfortable with soccer.”

Kevin Kalish, his coach at Scott Gallagher and now coach at Saint Louis University, said Sargent stood out for his graceful movement and mentality to score and dominate games, and for a humble demeanor.

“Even as a youth player, when he was going in and out of the national team camp, you never felt like he was big-timing you,” Kalish said.

Sporting Kansas City claimed homegrown player rights and hoped to sign Sargent, but he decided against Major League Soccer and moved to Germany in January.

“Obviously it’s really tempting wanting to play close to home, so you can be close to family and everything, but I think that would have been the easy way out,” he said. “Just wanting to stay close to home isn’t really what I want to do in my career. I want to go to a place where I can develop and become the best player I can become.”

He didn’t speak any German when he flew from St. Louis to Washington, D.C., and onto Frankfurt and then Bremen — it wasn’t offered at St. Dominic. Sargent moved into a player dormitory located adjacent to Weser-Stadion, but because he didn’t turn 18 until after the January transfer window closed, he was ineligible to play for Bremen or even its reserve team in the third division until the 2018-19 season.

“You want to play games and be able to prove to the players that you belong there, but it’s difficult when you can’t play games and show them that,” he said. “At the same time it was good to just help me settle in and get used to the guys first.”

Sargent arrived in a country that has become a key cog in the U.S. player development system. Christian Pulisic, a midfielder from Hershey, Pennsylvania, made his debut for Borussia Dortmund at 17 two years ago, scored 12 goals in 97 matches and already is the top player on the national team. Weston McKennie, a midfielder from Little Elm, Texas, made his debut for Schalke at 18 on the final day of the 2016-17 season, appeared in 25 matches this season and scored in his American debut at Portugal.

“I think Christian kind of leads the way, because he’s shown that he can be successful there. And then Weston comes in and does it,” Hackworth said. “That belief and having a player that inspires you, but also allows you to look at something tangible and say it can be done, it absolutely can be done, is so powerful.”

Several of the Americans in Germany met up at Pulisic’s place recently. The group, which includes prospects Nick Taitague, Haji Wright, Isaiah Young and Zyen Jones, provides a support system for each other.

“They’re only about an hour-and-a-half drive away, so it’s good knowing if something’s going wrong or if I’m ever really homesick or something, I can just go see these guys, and we’re all really close,” Sargent said. “It’s a good feeling.”

Dave Sarachan gave nine players debuts in his first three matches after becoming interim national team coach last fall. Sargent’s time appears to be now.

“I think he’s already shown he’s a battler and he’s physically there,” Sarachan said. “It’s like any player that goes from a level of 20 miles an hour to now jumping into 30 miles an hour and 40. How do they handle the speed and how do they handle playing up against better defenders? And so far I think Josh, even in the few days we’ve been here, has shown he’s in the mix.”

By RONALD BLUM, AP Sports Writer,By Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC (Z.S)

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#latest teenager #Philadelphia #Sargent #soccer debut #TodayNews #US

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americanauthor · 6 years

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Chicago by way of San Francisco.

After a particularly busy Saint Patrick’s Day and mandatory day of vegetative rest, I packed my bags and headed off to start round 3 of Open Days for work. The first time I participated in these events was March 2016. I was a Senior at American and it was essentially a five day, unpaid interview over 3 states which consumed all my Spring Break that year. In 2016 I volunteered at the Spring Recruitment events for the college in Washington D.C., New York and Boston. In 2017 I staffed the events in Boston, New York, Chicago, Washington D.C. and Philadelphia. In 2018 I staffed the events in San Francisco, Chicago and Philadelphia. Open Day’s week is generally “Holy Week” for me.

Monday March 19th I got to Union Station, where I took the train to BWI airport station and took the shuttle to my Virgin Atlantic evening flight. Six hours and a slew of Ryan Gosling movies later (thanks inflight entertainment system) I arrived to San Francisco. Because it was special enough to get to go to California for work, I took a day extra before work began to meet up with my mom (who had been traveling in New Mexico). On Tuesday March 20th she drove us to Monetary, California -- about two hours away -- and we had a delightful jaunt around Cannery Row.

Here she is mounting the bench at my behest for the following shot.

Then it was her turn. I did not need a bench because I am not an elf.

We wandered in the rain amongst sock shops, souvenir stores and even one fairly sketchy looking old-timey photo place where after spontaneously deciding to get a novelty photo of ourselves, the girl working the desk took us back to a row of changing rooms and said “Okay, tube tops are there and shorts are in that bucket.” Needless to say we did not end up pursuing that activity.

I do love a good novelty [religious] tee, though.

We had lunch at Bubba Gumps and watched for animals in the Bay, then after a quick jewelry shop stop to commemorate our date with a silver otter necklace (”Aolysius”), mom drove us off to “17 Mile Drive” thru Pebble beach. In the pouring rain.

Here is the lovely “Bird Rock”, so named because birds like to hang out there.

And the “Lone Cyrpus” which has stood on this rock for over 250 years.

Had to get our photo with a local celeb like the “Lone Cyprus”.

Day one ended with a jaunt thru a town called “Carmel” and chai lattes to stave off hypothermia from the fact my suade boots are not, though I continue to wear them in the rain, waterproof. It was two hours back to San Francisco from Monterey, so to break things up we stopped for dinner in Palo Alto, near Stanford, and plotted our next day in San Francisco City.

After a filling Starbucks breakfast and forty minutes of traffic, on Wednesday March 21st, we set off to explore San Fransisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf.

We spent quite a bit watching the sea lions on Pier 39 bark and wrestle, before taking a stroll down the boardwalk and again ending up in Bubba Gumps for lunch (again).

Note Alcatraz behind mom. Not a bad view, and delicious coconut shrimp.

On our walk to Ghirardelli’s, stopped to take in some classic (cloudy) shots like the Golden Gate!

On our walk I also found arguably my favorite fountain ever. Introducing, “Merbaby”.

Did you know that when you to Ghirardelli’s they give you a free sample? Did you know when you go to three different stores they give you three different samples? I do now.

It worked on mom though because she ended up buying a tin of chocolate bunnies filled with caramel that I’m fairly certain will not make it back to Pennsylvania per her snacking.

It’s a tradition of mine when I visit a city to try and find at least one cool bookstore; I was recommended to find “City Lights” and enjoyed a while perusing the shelves there.

Here’s the view of the famous building who’s name I kept and keep forgetting, from “City Lights” door. I believe it is the Trans America Pyramid.

Tired and tourist-ed out, we headed back to the hotel to recharge phones and rest the legs before Mom started googling dinner options nearby and found the mythical, majestic soup dumplings. I love soup dumplings. They are arguably one of my top 3 favorite food groups. You can imagine I was elated.

Thursday morning, March 22nd, Mom headed off to the airport and I went to connect with work colleagues before our evening event. One short 40 minute Uber ride later and I was once again in San Francisco city as the rain poured. Not ten minutes later, however, the clouds cleared and blue skies -- yes, BLUE SKIES -- appeared.

Had just enough time to pop into Buena Vista -- the first U.S. home of the Irish Coffee -- and for very affordable $10.50. Irish Coffee’s are an acquired taste for certain; I don’t think I’ll be having another for a while but it was cool to sit at the long counter with the bartenders in white blazers and watch them craft this. I mean it was 10:00am so maybe next time I won’t start drinking Whiskey before noon, also. But experience!

After my morning cocktail, I stuck my head into the Cartoon Museum where I got to see the original drawings for the John Lewis Graphic Novel, “March”. Two years ago Sam and I volunteered at the Washington D.C. National Book Festival and worked the Graphic Novel pavilion, where Congressman John Lewis was talking about “March”. Seemed very timely.

Headed back to the hotel for an hours rest before getting dressed -- read, make up -- and heading over the High School for to wrap up the fun touristing and get started on the work. This is what will happen after a four hour event when someone on the team encourages “creativity” in posing.

It turns out that Mom’s flight was cancelled so I got a roomie for another evening. We ordered pizza to bed and watched Netflix before sleep. The next morning, Friday March 23rd, I was up bright and early for the team flight to Chicago.

After arriving in Chicago we took the train from the airport to the hotel and had about forty minutes before an event scheduled that evening. A quick shower and slathering on of makeup and out the door I went. We ended up having dinner (well, I had a coke of grilled brussell sprouts) at a bar called “The Gage” next to the University Club of Chicago. Bit strange to have drinks with a Professor who four years ago was signing my forms for Study Abroad class approval, but so is life.

Then it was off to bed and up early the next morning for a Chicago day. It was so bitterly cold that Saturday, March 24th, that I even contemplated buying a sweatshirt to layer. I own one sweatshirt; I am not a sweatshirt gal. But I was that cold.

If my case hadn’t been so packed already I would have but thankfully after getting some errands done for most of the day I decided to seek shelter at a coffee shop called “The Goddess”. I had a delicious sheep truffle, chai latte and read some of the novel I picked up in California.

By midday the nerves about my presentation on Sunday hit -- I headed back to the hotel, peeled off my layers and turned on the Kardashian’s while I started typing up the notes for my slides the next day.

Coerced from my hotel room with the promise of pizza, I joined half the team on an expedition to find deep dish. I do like Chicago, more than Boston or New York. And it’s not like D.C. in any way so I can separate and love them for different reasons without a conflict of interest.

And finally, after three trips to Chicago, got my picture with The Bean. It was much more fun to do that part with people, rather than being alone. I’m not being on needing to be in a group when traveling; in fact, I sometimes prefer to set my own path and wander. But with a belly full of warm deep dish I gave in to the adventure.

Sunday March 25th it was up early and out the door to the high school for the last Open Day event before Philadelphia the middle of the next week. The Irish headed back to Dublin that evening, with myself and Isabella dividing between Minnesota and D.C. I was thankful I made it through my presentation in one piece.

My bag, however, did not make it back to D.C. with me. That’s another saga for another time, but as a week straight of travel wound down I spent two hours with a man named Melvin at DCA trying to solve the mystery, on a Sunday night, of how my name got stuck to the bag of a Mr. Chen who ended up in OH and my case was no where to be seen.

Life, my friends, is never dull. And if you think it is, you’re not doing it right.

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365footballorg-blog · 6 years

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From Union Juniors to Philadelphia phenom: Anthony Fontana's dream debut

USA Today Sports Images

March 8, 20186:20PM EST

CHESTER, Pa.—Every school day for three years, Anthony Fontana woke up at 5:45 a.m. and returned to his Delaware home around 8 p.m.

Yes, traveling an hour-and-a-half each way just to get to high school presented plenty of challenges, particularly for his parents before he got his driver’s license. But for Fontana, going to YSC Academy — the Philadelphia Union-affiliated private high school for the club’s youth academy players — was something he knew he had to do.

“They were long days,” he told MLSsoccer.com. “Thankfully it was all worth it.”

That much was certainly made clear Saturday when Fontana, signed to a Homegrown Player contract after his junior year at YSC, scored a goal in his MLS debut, helping the Union to a 2-0 victory over the New England Revolution in front of 16,452 fans.

More than 100 of those fans, by his estimation, were friends or family members, including several of his former classmates from the Wayne, Pennsylvania school.

“They were real happy for me, all of them,” Fontana said. “Their reaction was pretty much the same as my other friends and family. They congratulated me, then said, ‘Come on, focus, let’s try to do it again.’”

Fontana has known some of the players and coaches in the academy for almost a decade now, first signing up to play for Union Juniors when he was 9 and the Union had yet to play an MLS game. One of his first coaches was Union head coach Jim Curtin, who joined the academy ranks during the club’s 2010 expansion season after ending his own nine-year MLS playing career.

Curtin said he could tell right away that Fontana was “special,” and Fontana appreciated the support he got the 2-to-3 days a week he came up from Delaware — even though the club’s youth program was still a few years away from actually being a full-blown academy.

“I always liked him — thankfully,” Fontana said of Curtin, who moved from the youth ranks to a first-team assistant coaching role in 2012 to the head coaching job in 2014. “He was always a great coach, always helped me, real hands on. Now that he’s my coach still, it makes it even better.”

When YSC Academy — which is located next to the academy training complex in Wayne — opened its doors in 2013, Fontana jumped at the opportunity to spend even more time in the area, far from his Newark, Delaware home, enrolling as a freshman a year later. And after continuing to show his promise in academy games and with USL affiliate Bethlehem Steel FC, he also never had any doubts about signing a professional contract the summer after his junior year.

“I knew my whole life I wanted to be a pro,” said Fontana, who’s currently taking online classes and hopes to graduate from high school in June. “The sooner it could happen, I wanted it to happen. It came then, so there was no second thought in my mind.”

Getting the chance to start — and score — in his first MLS game was probably more than many people expected from the 18-year-old. And with attacking midfielder Borek Dockal in tow, the teenager will likely come off the bench for most of his rookie season.

But since Dockal has only been with the club for a couple of weeks, Curtin indicated that Fontana may still play a big role when the Union next take the field vs. Columbus Crew SC on March 17.

“Borek’s been brought into start, there’s no question about that,” the Union coach said. “But at the same time, he’s gaining fitness every day. Anthony showed he can do a good job. I don’t think Borek is going to be ready for 90 minutes right off the bat, so if he starts, at some point someone’s gonna have to come in for him. And if he doesn’t start and comes off the bench, someone is gonna have to start. It becomes a role that needs to be shared, at least initially.”

Fontana certainly showed he’s capable of doing good things at the No. 10 spot, but Curtin said his favorite position is the No. 8 — one reason why he at times dropped deeper on the field than the coaches may have liked last Saturday.

But having the flexibility to play him in both spots — while Fontana learns from the team’s current No. 8, captain Alejandro Bedoya, as well as Dockal, their prized Designated Player signing — could be invaluable for both the club and the teenager.

“Everyone obviously wants a spot,” Fontana said. “But I know [Dockal] has so much experience and I can learn a lot from him. And I’m planning on doing that in the future.”

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From Union Juniors to Philadelphia phenom: Anthony Fontana's dream debut was originally published on 365 Football

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dcnativegal · 6 years

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I moved here for love

New Year’s Day, 2018

Entire swaths of my old identity mean nothing here in Oregon. The fact that I was DC born, DC public school educated, and a DC resident for all but my college years, is an odd bit of personal trivia. Back east, this DC Native thing made me a special, rare being. My intimate experience of being a small marshmallow in a sea of cocoa, a minority in a majority black city, doesn’t register as interesting here. My knowledge of back alleys and short cuts through Mount Pleasant, or Brookland, or Chevy Chase DC is not necessary here. My memories of landmarks in Adams Morgan or Georgetown don’t come up in conversation with other DC natives, because I’m the only one. (Remember the cherry cokes at the fountain at People’s Drug Store at 18th & Columbia Road?) My experience as the one white girl in my journalism class at Penn Center’s Urban Journalism Workshop, where I spent my senior year of high school, means nothing, although I’m convinced that my write up of that extraordinary year got me into Oberlin, since my only extracurricular activity was running away from home. I graduated from high school the same year that Roots played on TV, 1977.

Having lived through the Uprising of 1968 while living in Adams Morgan, and having memories of 9/11’s impact on the Pentagon and DC, might be an interesting anecdote here in the Oregon Outback, but the conversation in which that experience might come up is hard to imagine. The knowledge I have about presidential motorcades (that they always have an ambulance at the end and that’s how you tell it’s a presidential one and not a head of state) is downright peculiar. I know that there are two large helicopters that transport the President out of town, and that one is a decoy. That no planes are allowed in DC airspace, except the presidential ones. I’ve seen senators and congress people in downtown restaurants. The famous people of DC are not movie stars; they are more likely to be journalists. The traffic downtown is different when Congress is not in session. Cherry blossom season means the residents avoid the Tidal Basin and the tourists flock there. Seriously, the best place to see the azaleas in April is the National Arboretum.

My long-lived, meticulously collected, history of daily life in the District of Columbia has been mothballed.

I traded that history for quiet. For zero light pollution. For a glimpse of the milky way on a clear night. For moonlight so bright that I can see dramatic landscapes illumined by it. I traded my familiarity for wonder.

I’ve left behind traffic. There is no traffic in Lake County. Ever. There is the occasionally cow-choked two lane highway: I have learned how to drive very carefully between enormous bovine fellow-travelers on Route 31. There is the inconvenience of a large truck laboring at the top speed of 40 up the Picture Rock Pass. But I’m not in a hurry. I’ll labor, too, and eventually pass the truck when we get back on the flats.

I worked long hours in various social service positions in D.C., hanging out all day with people who had cancer, or dementia, or ALS. In Lake County, I work about 28 hours a week. A little over 3 days. This schedule is … there are no adequate words… luxurious.

My old self was cosmopolitan, and oriented to alphabetical streets, with avenues named after states, the biggest avenues named after the original colonies. Northeast and Northwest DC encompassed most of my world. My idea of wilderness was Rock Creek Park. The beaches of the Atlantic are sloping and the water is warm during summer. I’ve traded all of that for a state that apparently has almost every sort of land and weather the United States seems to offer, in microcosm. Except the waters of the Pacific are very cold, and the beaches are embraced by cliffs.

I am still me. I am an anthropologist from the East Coast, eyes wide open, taking notes for this blog. I moved here for love.

___

People who live in Lake County tend to ask me why I moved from Washington, D.C. to Paisley, Oregon. Depending on the context, I may or may not come out to them, because the answer can be, because I have lots of family here (although they do not know that the family is not actually my kin) or because I have a partner here (and she is originally from Bly.) I may then get asked, how did you meet her? I may well inform them that she and I were both members of a listserv for women who were married to men while figuring out that they may be ‘not strictly heterosexual.’ I knew her as a woman who wrote beautifully and was very funny. Valerie lived in Germany at the time with her youngest child in high school. She referred to him as the Tall Monk. Her husband was a civilian chemist, serving the Army base. She’d figured out she was pretty darn lesbian some years before, but didn’t have anyone to focus on as a potential female partner, and had this son to finish rearing and launching. We met online as fellow confused gay women, in 2004. We didn’t date until 2011.

In 2003, I had fallen in love with an old friend, a butch woman who lived in Chicago, while I was still in DC. My husband had given me permission to pursue this woman, following his shocking heart attack at age 43, which drove home the idea that life can be very short indeed. His great gift of permission was one we both occasionally regretted, but it led us to more authentic lives, just separately, by 2006, when I moved out of the only home our kids had known. My children were 11 and 9 at the time. This old friend and I managed a five-year relationship, long distance, until we broke up.

Valerie and I had met once in person back in 2006, and later that year, I’d made her an offer: if she’d come to DC to help me prepare the apartment that I would soon be moving to as a newly separated woman, I would pay all her expenses. She accepted, and we got the one-bedroom apartment ready for moving. I thought she was adorable, and I was very grateful. Off she flew back to Utah, where’d she’d moved by then, still coupled to the chemist.

In 2011 I was single, and training for a half marathon. I don’t know who started what but by late Spring, she and I were contemplating a romance. In June, she was a firewatcher for the Forest Service at Indian Rock in eastern Oregon. By August, I was there, visiting. A more dramatic locale for a first date I can hardly imagine. I stayed a week. The lookout was way up in the air, affixed to a pointy rock much like the one from the Lion King, jutting out into the Malheur Forest. It had 50-mile views, and mountain goats for company. Because I’d been running faithfully in my training, I had no trouble with the altitude. It was a magical time.

I guess because Valerie now had a girlfriend, she wrote letters to her husband, adult children, and siblings announcing she was a) gay, b) leaving her third husband and c) moving to DC for the winter. Needless to say, minds were blown. As soon as fire watch season ended, she moved to DC. By then I’d bought a house in the Edgewood part of northeast. Over the next five years, Valerie would winter with me and then fly back to Oregon to work on the Hyde ranches, or set up a weed whacking business with her youngest granddaughter.

My kids moved back and forth between their parents’ houses, and grew up beautifully, if I may say so. Their dad, Brian, began a relationship with a funny, talented, cheerful and 100% heterosexual woman who lived in the bungalow across the alley from our old house. We six would celebrate Christmas morning together, and go to school events as well. I was active at the church I’d started attending in high school, and Brian worked there for years as Parish Administrator.

Over the course of our relationship, Valerie and I talked about various scenarios. It was clear early on that having her move to DC permanently (including the sauna-like summers) was not going to work for several immutable reasons. One was the heat: Valerie’s multiple sclerosis is not a huge variable in her life most of the time, but when it’s very hot, she decompensates, and becomes a stuttering, lurching mess. Plus, all of her family is in Oregon. I don’t have much family: there’s my beloved sister, who lives in Philadelphia, and her amazing sons, who are wandering young people, just like mine are. I have lovely cousins who are all west of the Mississippi, so I’d be closer to them if I moved west. Valerie has children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews in Oregon and northern California. Lastly, although officially retired and receiving social security, Val has several jobs she can do part time in Eastern Oregon that don’t exist in the urban context. There is little demand inside the Beltway for tending cows, irrigating, and general fence maintenance.

When I began accepting that the best thing was to move west, I knew I’d wait until the kids were out of the house. At one point I told her, you know, Valerie, if I’m pulling up all my roots and moving where I know no one besides you, I want a ring on my finger. She considered my depth of feeling and was respectful. She didn’t say no way. She didn’t propose either.

When I’d visit her for 10 days each summer, we’d travel around the state. We considered Ashland OR as a possible place to settle as a couple. She’d lived there when she was a student at Southern Oregon University, taking care of three kids and her grandmother as her husband also studied. It’s a bit of a resort town, known for its theater. It has an Episcopal parish we visited, and a dear friend of Valerie’s who’s a professor. We decided against it because it’s really too hot in the summer. And pricey.

Our next choice was Eugene. It’s a progressive college town, and we already knew 3 people: a former coworker of mine, and Valerie’s first husband and HIS husband. We settled on that place, despite my concern that it is so very white. The entire state is so very white.

In the last couple of years I lived in DC, I felt myself slowly withdrawing. I kept in touch with my good friends, but I no longer pursued people I thought would make good future friends: I’m leaving soon, I thought. I need to prioritize. My work as a hospice social worker was more stressful than I thought it would be and not because my clients were dying at a fast rate. It was the Medicare-induced stressors around compliance with a thousand regulations, and productivity pressures.

At church, I agreed to be on the search committee for a new Senior Priest, and proceeded to pour heart and soul into a very time consuming and conflict-ridden process. My faith community of 40 years got the last bit of oooomph I had left, and once the process was finished and the priest chosen, I was kind of done. I never thought I’d feel that way about that place. And I probably would still be there, enjoying the fabulous liturgy, the kind people, and the new directions I know he is steering it toward. But knowing I was moving west ‘soon’, I could let go of being a part of those adventures.

My children’s father made it easier to contemplate leaving the city of our children’s birth when he decamped for Tucson Arizona in April of 2017 with his long-time girlfriend. He’s originally from California, and Jenny’s folks and sister live in Tucson. They sold their homes in Brookland DC and bought a much bigger home outright.

Jonah was ensconced in Brooklyn, and making a living as a music video director. Clara was a rising senior at Oberlin, and not at all sure where she’d be after graduating in 2017. So all it took was a particularly terrible staff meeting at Hospice one day in July 2016, and I was ready. I started looking for work in Oregon as a social worker. I got all the paper work together to get licensed there. I found a job, interviewed over Skype, and accepted the position as a care manager in Eugene. Within 2 weeks, I’d resigned at hospice, lined up a mover for mid August, and started packing. In early August, my new job evaporated: they said they couldn’t wait so long for me to get there. Valerie told me, come out anyway, we’ll stay in Paisley, and figure something out. And so I did.

Looking back, I don’t know how we considered any place besides than Paisley. For one thing, living in the home that Valerie and her son rehabilitated means rent free living for me. I didn’t realize that being a licensed social worker made me such a hot commodity in a county that is so rural, it’s called ‘frontier’ in the public health nomenclature. My being queer doesn’t seem to matter, thanks to the Eastern Oregon-born status of the well-respected Valerie, and the fact that Hope was right: no one really cares.

We probably won’t marry, although I have fantasies about a really fun wedding. Maybe someday, if, and I mean if, I feel as though there is a community, IN Paisley, that would commit to our well-being as a couple. She’s had 3 marriages to my one: getting married to each other is unnecessary. Meanwhile, I’ve come to see how loyal Valerie is, and how much she loves me. I thought maybe she’d regret my having moved into her world, bugging her 12 months out of the year instead of 6 or 7. But she has lots of places to go while I work, lots of family members to help paint a house or construct a room, and dear friends to ranch for when needed. I spent this past summer driving to Fort Klamath, Beatty, Brothers and Chiloquin. We took the train to visit her brother and sister in law in Lotus, California. If Valerie needs a break from me, there’s lots of opportunities. And I can binge watch Netflix without her ever-so-mild disapproval.

It’s all worked out remarkably well.

I moved to Paisley for Valerie, and a slower, kinder, quieter life. It was a good decision. Even though I still miss Black people, Jews, Ethiopian food, free museums, gingko trees in the fall, and liturgy with an enthusiastic thurifer…

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enzaime-blog · 6 years

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Brian Kozera's persevere about Lymphoma story

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/brian-kozeras-persevere-about-lymphoma-story/

Brian Kozera's persevere about Lymphoma story

As my arms sliced through the surface of the cool, turquoise, waters of Austria’s Lake Wörthersee, I couldn’t believe that this moment had arrived.

Just two years earlier, in 2014, my world was turned upside down when I was diagnosed with cancer. I had been training for a half ironman triathlon when I sustained a hernia. During the surgery to repair it, my surgeon found an irregular lymph node in my groin and took a biopsy.

Several doctors could not identify the type of cancer I had. Unsure of what to do or where to go, I turned to my father, Dr. Richard Kozera, a noted physician who at the time was the Executive Associate Dean at the Lewis Katz School of Medicine at Temple University. Dad advised me to go to Fox Chase Cancer Center.

At Fox Chase, I learned I had one of the rarest forms of lymphatic cancers, lymphocyte deficient Hodgkin’s lymphoma. A scan revealed that the cancer had spread to my abdomen, hip, chest, and spine. The diagnosis came as a shock. I was just 36 at the time, in great shape, and had a healthy lifestyle. My wife, Kristin, and I had recently welcomed our third daughter, and we had just learned she was born with a genetic abnormality and would have lifelong special needs. It felt like we were getting pummeled.

After my diagnosis, I struggled to understand how this could have happened to me when I was so healthy and active. I’m a police officer and an avid athlete. I had just completed an Ironman the year before, and I trained hard for lots of events. Having cancer didn’t seem even remotely possible.

At the beginning my focus was on how this could have happened. My doctor, Richard Fisher, helped me focus on what was important. He simply said, “Sometimes a cell divides poorly. Now do you want to worry about how you got it or how to beat it?” We never looked back.

In Dr. Fisher I had one of the world’s top experts in my diagnosis leading my care, and I took great comfort in that. I was completely confident in his guidance, and I never second-guessed the decisions we made.

Under Dr. Fisher’s care, I underwent 16 rounds of chemotherapy from May to December 2014. It was 90% effective, but ultimately we needed to switch to a more intensive treatment. During that time, we were devastated when my father passed away suddenly in his sleep. Shortly after that, we lost our beloved German shorthair pointer to an illness.

Good news finally came after several more months of intense chemotherapy: I was cancer-free and in remission. During this time I had been referred to Dr. Patricia Kropf and the Bone Marrow transplant team. Under the care of Kropf and Dr. Stefan Barta, a transplant specialist, I received an autologous bone marrow transplant on May 4, 2015.

My transplant team was confident that the procedure would be a success and their confidence gave great comfort to my family and me. They said it would work and they never doubted that it would.

While lying in bed in the BMT unit recovering from my transplant, my friend Jon visited and made me a deal: when I beat cancer, we would complete another Ironman together. With my chemotherapy and transplant treatment behind me, I kept my focus on the goal of completing the 2.4 mile swim, biking 112 miles, and then having enough in the tank to run a marathon- all in less than 17 hours.

I was hospitalized in the bone marrow transplant unit for 24 days, but I didn’t let that keep me from training. I know I drove the nurses crazy by constantly walking around the ward or exercising in my room. Nurses would frequently walk into my hospital room and find me on the floor resting after a long yoga session.

Once I was released from the hospital, I hit the ground running – literally. Six months after my transplant, I completed my first step in achieving my goal by completing the Philadelphia Marathon in my goal time of 4 hours and 30 minutes. The next step came in April 2016, when Jon and I traveled to New Orleans and finished a grueling Ironman 70.3 on a day when the wind was steadily blowing more than 30 miles per hour.

As I worked toward my ultimate goal of racing Ironman Austria, it was very difficult to learn I was not as fast or strong as I once was. My post-cancer body had a new normal in training and everyday life. It was a struggle getting winded, sweating profusely, and running out of gas on what were once simple efforts. Once I accepted that, it allowed me to realize that although I wasn’t where I wanted to be, I was very lucky to be in the shape I was in.

Through this process, I trusted my Fox Chase doctors to help me make the right medical decisions. With my medical team, my friends, my triathlon teammates, and my family united behind me, I pushed forward and worked to meet my goal. From the onset of my diagnosis, I came up with a mantra, two simple words which were repeated over and over again: persevere, prevail. I know I beat cancer because of staying positive and having something to work for.

Finally, on June 26, 2016, just 418 days after my bone marrow transplant, my family, along with Jon and his family, traveled across the globe to Klagenfurt, Austria for the 140.6 mile race. After two years of fighting for my life, 20 rounds of chemo and a transplant, followed by months of training, the cannon sounded. I battled for 13 hours and 2 minutes, poured everything into the lake, the mountains, and the cobblestones, giving the course everything I had. I was overjoyed coming down the finishers’ chute with Jon at my side. As I ran under the archway, crossing the finish line, I heard the words that had echoed in my dreams, “Brian Kozera, you are an Ironman!”

Afterwards, I returned to the hospital to donate my Ironman Austria and Philadelphia Marathon medals to the BMT unit. They now hang next to my room, along with pictures of my family and the team of nurses that saved me. I hope they can bring inspiration to other people who are there enduring treatment and transplants. I want each of them to know if they persevere they will prevail.

In addition to conquering the massive undertaking that was Ironman Austria, I was able to return full time to my job as a police officer. Most importantly, I’ve been able to get back to being a full time father to my three daughters, Paige, Josie, and Avery and enjoying time with the most amazing person in my life, my wife Kristin.

I can do anything with my wife and kids that I want to. I can watch them grow up too fast, teach them how to read, brush their teeth, swim, or ski, and be there for every moment. My three amazing little girls need me, I need them, and am blessed to have the chance. Fox Chase, my doctors, and the nurses on the BMT Unit are responsible for giving me the chance to enjoy all of the wonderful gifts of life.

#bone marrow transplant #Dr. Patricia Kropf #lymphoma #training for a half ironman #Cancer

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