A Special Sister

I've never had a sister. Not a real one anyways. I have friends who certainly feel like sisters to me, I have more than 100 (actually more like thousands) of Pi Phi sisters, and I now have two sister-in-laws. But no real sister of my very own. Growing up, and to this day still, I am envious of all my friends who have sisters - the unique relationships they share, the fun things they do together. It's quite different when you have a brother.

When I was in Tanzania I met a young girl, about 14 years old, who lived next door to the homebase. Her family ran a small bar/club next to their home. It was always filled with volunteers, sipping their Kili beers or their Orange Fantas. Music was always on and the locals were always hanging out front, creating beautiful artwork. We couldn't come or go from our homebase without passing by SAID'S Club. Said (Pronounced Sigh-eed) is the father to the young girl, Kuruthumu, or Kay as she liked to be called. There was something about Kay that separated her from the other young Tanzanian girls. She was so ambitious, driven, and courageous. She had motherly tendencies and was a very obedient daughter. She was incredibly intelligent and loved to learn. She was also quite stylish. Kay loved American fashion. One day she showed up outside wearing a nearly identical denim jacket to the one I wore on all the cool nights we spent at SAID'S. She told me she wanted to be like me. She wanted to live in America, go to college, and volunteer to help other people. She said she wished she was my sister. She told me how she loved her brother but that she had always wished for a sister. Me too, I told her. It came as no surprise when she said, "Then we will be sisters". Just like that. Since that day almost four years ago, we've kept in contact through emails and letters. While the letters stopped coming nearly two years ago, the emails continued. It had been nearly 5 months since I last heard from Kay so I sent her an email a few days ago. This is what I found in my inbox this morning:

Sister! I miss you. Life is still difficult here. CCS (the homebase we stayed at) is still closed no volunteers come to help us make money to live. I dont think it will be open again. Life is so difficult that I am still in school because mum cant pay the fees so some day I have to sit home and wait for enough money to pay fees. I read books and study language and math at home. I hope to finish next February but there will be no money for university yet. I remember what you always say about praying to God and I ask him to look over my family and give what we need to keep living. I know someday I go to university and everyone will see that I am smart girl like you. And I am praying for your baby that you will bring from Africa someday. Mum and Said are greeting you too and they say they are praying for you too so that all of america knows about africa and the difficult life here. You have a good idea to adopt African child that will make you to remember ME always. I tell mum I will do the same with the orphans in tanzania when I finish university because I have to take care of my own people. I MISS YOU MUCH. LOVE YOU SISTER!

These emails are always difficult for me to read. I know how much poverty the people of Tanzania are facing. I know how much the children want to go to school but cannot afford to pay the fees or buy the uniform. I find myself feeling guilty for being American, for spending my money frivolously, and for not doing more to help. But as difficult as the email is to read, it also gives me happiness and hope. Kay is a young girl with huge dreams and the determination to make those dreams a reality. She is a young girl growing in her Christian faith. She is a young girl with a heart for orphans and adoption. She is truly a remarkable young woman and I am more than privileged to call her my SISTER. I cherish her emails that remind of this.

Me and Kay in our matching denim jackets (pardon how terrible I look, it's difficult to look good while in Africa)

Nkoaranga Orphan Center

After I had decided to go to Africa, I faced the challenge of deciding WHERE in Africa I would go. I had already picked the agency I would be volunteering with and they had a select number of programs throughout Africa, including two in Tanzania. I went back and forth between Ghana and Tanzania for a few weeks before deciding that the volunteer opportunities in Tanzania better fit my talents and interests. I chose the Arusha, Tanzania program because of the lovely description they gave next to "orphan care" on their website. It said something about helping care for infants and toddlers, playing with them, holding them, loving on them - did I really need anything more than that? I wasn't suited for teaching, I had already tried that in Central America. I wasn't quite ready to work in a medical clinic, although at the time I was still a declared pre-medicine major. Something about that description of orphan care stood out to me... I thought I most certainly would be good at loving on some babies!

That is how I ended up at the Nkoaranga Orphan Center. The orphanage was located at the top of a small mountain, with one very bumpy dirt road serving as the only way up. The orphanage, compared to others, was average size. It had three small bedrooms (one for the tiny babies, one for infants, one for the toddlers), a bathroom with two pit toilets and a dingy old tub, a kitchen with a working stove and sink, and an open room that was used for everything - playtime, eating, and sometimes even napping. I can't forget the tiny alcove used for diaper changes.



The orphanage can be home to 15-25 children at any time. When I was there, there were four babies in the tiny baby room, about 8 babies in the infant room, and about 6 toddlers. The tiny babies each got their own wooden crib while the infants (those up to about year and a half in age) shared cribs, sometimes two or three to each one. The toddlers also shared beds. I wish I had pictures of the rooms to share but there really wasn't much time to take pictures. I didn't spend a lot of time with the toddlers because they went to school, at least in the mornings. Sometimes they would be around for lunch. Most of my time was spent with the tiny babies and infants. The only way to really understand life at the orphanage is to describe a typical day.

We (myself and the other volunteer, Ashley) would arrive early in the morning. The toddlers would be running around, usually half-naked, and the babies would be crying, waiting to be changed and fed. There were three "mamas" that worked (actually, volunteered) full-time at the orphanage. They were the most compassionate, giving women I have ever met in my life. They did their best to keep up with the demands of nearly 20 children but oftentimes relied heavily on the volunteers to help with the daily tasks of changing, bathing, feeding, and putting to bed. Upon arriving, Ashley and I would be greeted by screaming kids, arms open, wanting to be picked up and held. We would greet the toddlers and then make our way to the baby rooms to begin the morning diaper changes. I had never changed cloth diapers before and now I know why people no longer use them. On top of that, what the babies were fed didn't make for pleasant diaper changes either. Usually diaper changes and changing the babies clothes took a good hour. After a baby was changed, they were placed on one of the mats on the floor in the big open room. I still remember how difficult it was to put the babies down, screaming, to move on to changing the next one. After all the changes, Ashley and I would join the babies and toddlers in the big room for some quality cuddle and play time. There weren't many toys to play with, a few blocks or books. Most of the time was spent encouraging babies to crawl, or stand. Teaching them to walk or to kick. Sometimes I felt like a physical therapist and less like a volunteer. Mostly, Ashley and I would perch ourselves on the mats and let the babies crawl all over us.

Asimwe crawling up my legs


Ashley on the mat with Emmanuel and Dynase


Look who we taught to walk! Nissema (Asimwe's twin)


After a few hours of play time, it was time to eat. The children, including the babies, were served porridge and a rice/beans mix. This was usually their biggest meal of the day. At night they would get porridge and if there was enough, some rice and beans again. Sometimes we were lucky enough to get vegetables from the nearby stand but that wasn't always the case. The kids would all line up on the counter top and be served their rice and beans first. Then porridge in a few cups the kids would share. The smaller babies were fed by the volunteers and mamas - boy was it messy! The tiniest baby would sometimes get a bottle of formula, other times it was a game of trying to get the baby to swallow the porridge mixture.

Aroni eating his rice and beans


Volunteer Samweli helping Tumaini eat her porridge


Esther eating her rice and beans


After lunch time, we usually changed the babies diapers and clothes again. Then we would play for another hour or so, sometimes even outside. There was a small metal swing set with a swing and a slide. We would put blankets on the cement for the babies to crawl on. Ashley and I brought some coloring books and crayons for the older toddlers and the mammas would help them color when they got back from morning school. Ashley brought a CD player and some music that was a HUGE hit. It kept all the kids entertained, mostly because they couldn't figure out where the music was coming from.





Chewing shoes was also a popular pastime. Guess that's what happens with no toys.


After playtime it was nap time. We would get all the toddlers into bed first (usually the mamas took over this task) and then we would get all the babies into the cribs. The babies were usually pretty good about napping and were so used to being in their cribs that they didn't cry. Sometimes Ashley and I would spend some extra time holding the littlest babies. We each took a liking to certain children. I hate to say it, but it happens. There is the one child you fall in love with just a little bit more than the rest. For me, that child was Dynase, the littlest baby girl.



A few other favorites...

Baraka. He died from malaria a few months after I left.


Husseni, with his baby mohawk


The newest baby, abandoned on the front steps


Ashley and I would leave in the afternoon after all the kids were down for their naps. It was always hard to leave, but the last day was especially difficult. I remember crying so hard as I was holding Dynase, saying goodbye as I put her down for one last nap. I think it was at that moment that I realized just how easy it was to love a child that had no one to love them. At that moment, I remember saying a prayer for God to let me use this experience for something great. He certainly answered that prayer, filling my heart with compassion for these precious orphans and igniting a passion in me to not let that compassion die when I left Africa.

If this hasn't explained why I am so passionate about orphan care, I'm not sure what else I can tell you. How can you not look at those beautiful orphans and not be moved? How could I see the way they had to live and not be moved to want to change, to better, their lives? This experience most certainly changed my life.

Tanzania

I had the privilege of spending the Summer of 2006 volunteering in the East African country of Tanzania. Tanzania is a beautiful country - home to Mt. Kilimanjaro, the Masai Tribe, and the Serengeti. It is a country that has been relatively stable for the past decade. It was one of President Bush's stops when creating PEPFAR and Wisconsin's own Mark Green recently finished his service as the country's Ambassador. Unfortunately, Tanzania is facing similar crises as other countries in the sub-Saharan Africa region. HIV/AIDS is rampant, there is lack of clean drinking water, the number of orphans continues to rise, and too many children go without an education. In 2007, there were an estimated 1.5 million people in the country living with HIV/AIDS,with nearly 150,000 dying from the disease each year. It is estimated that there are 2 million orphans due to the disease in Tanzania alone. One in six children will die before their fifth birthday. Tanzania's economy ranks in the bottom 10 percent globally in terms of per capita income and depends primarily on Agriculture for more than 40% of its GDP and 85% of its exports. More than 50% of the country is below the poverty level. Tanzania still hosts more than a half-million refugees, more than any other African country, mainly from Burundi and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, despite the international community's efforts at repatriation. These statistics sound familiar, right? Unfortunately, they are the reality of many developing nations, especially those in the sub-Saharan Africa region.

Despite these grim statistics, the people of Tanzania are amazingly happy, generous, loving people. They have so much to give and give they do! They are open to sharing their struggles and honest about their needs. They are intelligent people, most dreaming of receiving an education. I fell in love with this country the minute I stepped off the airplane. The smell, the scenery, the language, the music, the people - I loved, and continue to love, it all.

My favorite part of Tanzania was the simple way of life. "Pole pole" the locals would say to us Americans. "Slowly, slowly" they were telling us. They would laugh as we would rush from place to place. Or complain about hunger, or lack of transportation. They reminded us ever-so-nicely that we needed to slow down. Somedays I whisper "pole pole" to myself still. I was amazed at how people with so little could be so giving. Every house I entered I was offered tea (the best Chai in fact!). Goats were slaughtered in our honor and beds were spared for us to sleep on. Kids wanted to share their English-speaking skills with us, greeting us with "Hello Teacher" or the ever-so-famous Swahili, "Muzungu, muzungu" (white person). They would touch our skin and giggle at their finger imprints. They would run from the hills to greet us with their smiles and hugs. Tanzania is truly a beautiful, beautiful country. It is also a country that changed me forever. Before I went on my first mission trip to Central America, I was told, "Be prepared to be ruined". I didn't truly understand that phrase until I set foot in Africa. Africa ruined me in the best way possible.

There's the background on the beautiful country I've grown to love. Tomorrow I'll be sharing about my experiences at the Nkoaranga Orphan Center, the reason why I choose Tanzania and the reason I am so passionate about orphan care!

The Cab Ride

I am working on the first post sharing my international mission experiences, particularly those in Africa. I have had a lot of questions recently about orphan care and why I am so passionate about it and I figured this would be the best way to explain it. This morning, however, one of my Road to Recovery volunteers shared this sweet story with me that really attests to the fact that we never know the impact we are having on another person's life - how our actions, be they through volunteer work, our jobs, or our everyday lives, impact others. I'm calling this story "The Cab Ride". I have no idea who this cab driver telling the story is or where he came from, but I certainly hope I can spread a little joy and love the way he did.

"I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me.

She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated'.'Oh, you're such a good boy', she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?' 'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice'. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.'

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. 'How much do I owe you?' she asked, reaching into her purse.'Nothing,' I said. 'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. 'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.' I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light...

Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.

For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one".

People may not remember exactly what you did for them or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel. Can't we all just be cab drivers for a day?

A Historical Day Indeed

I had planned to start sharing my mission experiences this week but after last night's health care reform vote, I decided I needed to share a few thoughts on that first.

I've heard people referring to yesterday as a historical day. I completely agree. It was historical in the sense that my generation and generations to come inherited an overwhelming burden of debt and government control. It was a day that bipartisan politics went out the window. It was a day filled with deceit and bribery. It was certainly American politics at its finest. I don't suppose I should have expected anything less from a President who has failed our nation repeatedly since taking office.

Yes, I am a Conservative but that doesn't explain why I'm so disappointed by yesterday's passing of Obama's health care reform legislation. I completely agree that there is a need for health care reform in our nation. As a Social Worker, I see that need every single day. I do not believe, however, that Obama's plan was the BEST solution. It was rushed, it was expensive, and it was incomplete. I don't think passing something without any bipartisan support is consistent with the ideals put forth by our founding fathers.

So here I rant about how terrible this reform is. People tell me I'm a horrible person for wanting to continue to deny the poor health care coverage. That's not what I want. What I DO want is health care reform that that is affordable for everyone. This new legislation will create a government take-over of health care that will likely help the poor but will cause the middle and upper class to join them, as the rest of us will likely lose our own health care coverage when our companies decide it's too expensive to continue to provide coverage. They'd be better off paying the small penalty fees than providing coverage under the new plan. I also don't think taxing the middle class $400 billion over the next decade is effective either, especially when people are trying to make ends meet the way it is. I DO want health care reform that focuses on prevention - something that focuses on the causes of disease. Obesity is linked to heart disease, stroke, cancers. Smoking is linked to lung cancer and heart disease. Why don't we focus on what causes people to need to access the health care system in the first place? Finally, I DO want health care reform that helps ensure a good quality of life for individuals. By eliminating insurance options, by forcing people to choose new primary care providers, and by forcing government control of health care, quality of life will suffer.

Is there anything in the plan I agree with? Yes. I agree that people should not be penalized for a pre-existing condition. I do not believe that children should have a lifetime cap on the amount of insurance benefits they are eligible for. I do believe that everyone should have access to lifesaving cancer screenings. But at what price, at whose expense? At mine. My children's. My grandchildren's - that's who.

So today I am a little bitter at the implications of this historical vote. I'm sure some who will read this supported the reform. I'm sure others don't care and are sick of hearing everyone else rant about it. Today, I share some simple insight from someone who will feel the effects of this reform personally and professionally. Yesterday's vote undoubtedly changed the way medicine will be practiced from here on out, whether we like it or not.

I promise the rest of the week will be posts about mission work and won't be nearly as political as this one :)

Christian Alliance for Orphans

Since my post yesterday I've gotten a few emails and facebook messages asking me what the Christian Alliance for Orphans Summit is all about. Well I'm certainly no expert on orphan care and I've only known about the Alliance for a short while but I thought I'd post a little more information and share my reasons for participating in this year's Summit.

The mission statement for Christian Alliance for Orphans explains that the Alliance's purpose is to "motivate and unify the body of Christ to live out God's mandate to care for the orphan with the vision to have every orphan experience God's unfailing love and know Jesus as Savior." Simply put, the Alliance exists for the purpose of helping individuals and churches to answer God's call to care for orphans. The Summit takes place each year to help individuals, advocates, pastor's, church leaders - anyone with a heart for orphans - come together to share their passion and build their knowledge, resources, and skills in the area of orphan care.

This year the Summit is in Minnesota and will feature more than 50 workshops and fabulous guest speakers including Steven Curtis Chapman, Tom Davis, and John Piper. I must admit I am quite excited about hearing Steven Curtis Chapman sing (my dad and I danced to his "Cinderella" at my wedding) and share his adoption stories. What I am MOST excited about are the workshops that will give me the knowledge and skills necessary to engage my church in orphan care ministry. I will be participating in workshops about starting orphan care, foster care, and adoption ministries within the church. I will also be learning how to engage church leadership in orphan ministry work. I'll be opening the eyes of my heart a little further to struggles and joys of adopting HIV-positive children. Overall, I'll be filled with knowledge, insight, and hope! And of course spending two days with people who share my passion for orphans is a blessing in itself!

Some people have asked if I'm traveling alone or if my church is involved in orphan ministry work. I will not be traveling alone but instead will be joining the only Wisconsin church that is a part of the Alliance. While I am not a member at Oakwood Church, I have been involved in Mission:Hope, their Orphan Care Ministry, since last Fall when I participated in their Orphan Sunday event as a guest speaker to the high school youth. I have been talking with leaders at the new church Dave and I are joining and hope that after this Summit I will be more prepared to help the church more forward on integrating orphan care ministry into the church's mission work. I'm not sure the church realized just what they were getting by inviting us to become members! Dave will not be joining me at the Summit but he is looking forward to hearing all about what I learn (and even if he wasn't, he'd still be hearing anyways). I promise I'll be sharing here too when I get back.

Another question I've been asked recently is how I even became interested in orphan care work to begin with. Certainly my mission work in Central America and Africa has influenced this significantly but so has hearing about orphan care work from others. So I am hoping to pass along a little inspiration myself. I'm also planning to post next week about my experiences in Africa that led me this passion.

It's not too late to sign up for the Summit if you're interested. You don't have to know a thing about orphan care or have ever been abroad. All you need to do is open your heart and mind and prepare to be changed by this experience!

Life Updates

I was reminded yesterday of the fact that I created this blog for the purpose of keeping friends and family informed as to the happenings of the Irish family. I guess I've been on my soap box a bit too much lately because I really haven't been writing about us at all! I guess I think our lives are rather normal (and boring at times) and that my thoughts and opinions are much more fun to read. Well, in case you're sick of my rantings about orphans, cancer, and homeless men, you're in luck because today is simply an update day!

So, what have the Irish's been up to lately? The usual.

I'll start with me. It'll be a year next month since I started my job with the American Cancer Society. That means nearly a year of being out of school. I must admit, I'm still adjusting to this whole work all day thing. I miss the flexible lifestyle of a student more each month that I'm in the "real world". I'm starting to like my job a little more and have found that I'm good at working with the newly diagnosed breast cancer patients. I have an extra soft spot for working with the Hispanic, Spanish-speaking breast cancer patients - they always give me a challenge. Keeps me busy. I just finished teaching my first grief support group for children who have lost a parent. I really enjoyed it and it reminded me of how much I miss working with children. I'm continuing to follow God's call to care for orphans and will be attending the Christian Alliance for Orphans Summit at the end of April in Minnesota. Not only will I get to spend time with others who share a heart for orphans, I'll be learning more about how to start an Orphan Care/Foster Care/Adoption Ministry in our new church (more about that later).

As for Dave, he's still working with US Bancorp in the legal department. He recently got promoted and has suddenly been overwhelmed with work. He's been learning how to do things around the house (I'm talking renovations here people) with the help of my dad - I've got a honey-do list a mile long for him, afterall! Dave's itching for golf season to officially begin in Wisconsin and is looking forward to heading to Whistling Straights in August for the PGA event. He's even happy Tiger's back in action (while I on the other hand still plan to "boooo" him).

Together, we've been diving into those home projects we neglected for the past 9 months. We had been using the "we've been so busy with the wedding" excuse but that one doesn't work anymore. Then it was the "we just moved in" excuse but we'll have been there for a year in June so that one's out too. Our first project was the half-bathroom renovation downstairs. It's ALMOST done - this weekend we'll begin the painting process. We also recently decided it was time to get rid of the "red room", the second spare bedroom. It's all painted and in the process of being decorated by yours truly! I promise to post pictures of both soon. We plan to tackle the landscaping this Spring (if I can find the motivation to care about plants). Then onto the Dining Room/Kitchen area. On a different note, we think we finally have found our new home church. This will be another blog post when we officially become members this Spring but after months of searching, we've found a church that's perfect for us and we're already getting involved! Such a blessing!

And for those who don't live in the fabulous state of Wisconsin, the snow has finally melted and we're hoping to hit the 60-degree mark today. That's enough to make this girl happy. To bad I'm inside at work all day - again, missing the life of a student. Although, this is Wisconsin and snow is in the forecast for the weekend so we can't get too excited yet!

So there ya have it, the exciting life of the Irish's. Now do y'all see why I find it much more interesting to write random antics than to share what we've been up do?!

If I Had a Million Dollars

Today has been the sort of day where I really wish I had an extra million dollars lying around. Today I realized that so many of my work frustrations could be resolved if only I had a million dollars lying around. That caused me to think about all the other things I'd do if I had a million dollars. And before long, I was singing my own catchy little version of the song "If I Had a Million Dollars".

So, what would I do if I had a million dollars?

Make sure cancer patients had access to better resources and programs. The reason I thought of this today is because money seems to control every interaction I have with every cancer patient. Cancer is financially draining, even for those who are well-off to begin with. Now imagine the patients I work with: uninsured, usually unemployed, tendency to be first-generation immigrants or undocumented citizens, very low literacy level, and living in one of the poorest, crime-ridden cities in the United States. Cancer is more than financially draining for people who are already financial drained. My job is to provide these individuals with access to programs and resources to help make their lives a little better. Well, recently I'm being told that the money within the organization is tight (what company isn't feeling the pinch of Obama's terrible economic policies?!). When money is tight, services and programs get cut. One of the biggest barriers my patients face is transportation. People don't have it. So, if I had a million dollars, I would create some sort of public transportation company that would help drive cancer patients to and from treatments, doctor's appointments, and hospital stays. It would be completely free! This may seem like a small thing to most but once you've worked in oncology you'll realize that transportation is key to everything. Today, I could have used a million dollars, that's for sure! Truth be told, if I had a million dollars, I would quit my job to focus all my energy on the next point.

If I had a million dollars I'd start an organization specializing in Orphan Care Ministry work including global orphan care, foster care, and adoption services. Being a social worker myself, I am certainly more than qualified to run such an organization. With this organization I'd help families fund their adoptions by using a good hunk of the money to create adoption grants. And I'd use a little bit to help us bring one or two (or three!?) kids of our own home.

Other things I'd do with a million dollars...you can bet I'd donate money to various organizations that Dave and I are both passionate about and whose missions we feel are worth supporting. I'd put some extra money in the church offering, too. Dave would probably take some money and buy tickets to every major PGA event and I'd go with because let's face it, they only play golf in absolutely beautiful places. Dave would also probably want to start a foundation of some sort related to children and sports. I could see us running some sort of foundation for children in developing parts of the world to help get them sports equipment, sports camps, and scholarships to play in college.

And since it's my million dollars I'd be a little greedy and use some to pay off all my student loans, to build my dream house (nothing too fancy, just something perfect to grow a family in), and take Dave to Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. I'd put a little away in savings, our kids college savings accounts, and my 401K and use the rest to fund all the brilliant ideas I talked about before.

Yes, if I had a million dollars I'd be singing my own song. Only difference between mine and the original is that my song doesn't end in the words "I'd be rich!". I'd likely be pretty broke. With the exception of the money I put away in savings, I'd probably spend every single penny. Yet, I know my life would feel so much richer. I would finally get to help people have access to services they need to have a good quality of life. I'd be able to start an organization or foundation that supports the things I am most passionate about. I'd get to see the joyous smiles and feel the loving embraces of sweet children every day who were united with their forever families thanks to our million dollars. Using my million dollars to help others - now THAT would make rich!

Babies, Babies Everywhere

There are babies everywhere. Pregnant women, too. Maybe I am just noticing it more because of what has has happened in the past few months, but I am seriously convinced that there are babies and pregnant women everywhere! And this weekend, for some reason, I found that realization made me sad. This weekend I was making my way through an incredibly packed Costco when it hit me. Aisle after aisle was filled with expectant moms with their round, swollen bellies and expectant fathers, pushing gigantic carts filled with gigantic-sized boxes of diapers and formula. Then there were the new moms, the ones pushing carts with pink and blue car seats, with tiny little babies. They too were stocking up on the baby goods. After surviving Costco on a Saturday, I decide to tackle Target. Big mistake. There were more babies. Lots of them. New parents picking out spring clothes for their infants. Expectant parents with those magic little guns that allow you to register for all the things you want the doting grandparents-to-be to buy you. I cried all the way home. Church was really no different this week - more babies and toddlers too. There was even a baptism. On the way home I told Dave it wasn't fair. The entire weekend was one big constant reminder that I'm not pregnant and that we don't have a baby of our own to stock up on diapers for, or to pick out spring outfits, or to baptize. Yes, this is me complaining.

They always say that you want what you cant have. In my case, I want what I DON'T have. If you would have asked me last summer, up until about December if I noticed babies and pregnant women I would have told you no. Then I found that I was pregnant and my whole world shifted - the focus was babies. From the moment you find out you're pregnant you become a mother. You feel like a mother, you act like a mother, you notice other mothers-to-be. When our pregnancy ended a few weeks ago, those feelings didn't end for me. It was so weird to not feel pregnant anymore... I had gotten used to the nausea, fatigue, and constant hunger. I got used to protecting my body from harmful things like caffeine and stress. Now I'm not pregnant and my body has returned to normal. Well, a new normal I suppose. Needless to say, Dave and I went from being completely content newlyweds, to longing to grow our family together. Contrary to what others may say, including those pesky ladies with their miscarriage advice, we ARE ready to have a family and we WILL be great parents.

Patience. It's what I told myself I was working on this year during the Lenten season. This weekend I not only realized that I was being completely impatient but I was being envious, jealous, greedy, and a down-right terrible Christian. Maybe it's delayed grieving. Or maybe I'm just really really bad at practicing patience. Either way, this weekend showed me the ugly side of myself. I should have looked at those parents-to-be and new babies with happiness, and love, and gratitude. I don't know their stories. I don't know whether they too suffered the pain of a miscarriage or two. Or whether they had fertility problems. Or even whether their children were biological or adopted. I need to learn to not only be patient, but to be non-judgemental and to rid of envy. For the remainder of lent, I'm expanding my focus to include both of these things (I have a slight feeling they may extend beyond lent, just saying). Because someday I'll be the new parent stocking up on mega-sized boxes of diapers at Costco and I want to be an example of hope and grace for those women who might silently be hurting, too.

I'm still convinced that babies are everywhere, though. Must be something about the fresh, spring air!

Big Mike

There's a homeless man that I see every day while I'm waiting to pick Dave up from work. Now, I've never asked him if he's homeless but given my experiences working with the homeless population, I'd say it's a pretty good bet that he is. I've started to refer to him as Big Mike, mostly because he reminds of the kid from The Blind Side. He's tall, weighs probably a good 250 pounds, is African American, and appears to be about 20-25 years old. Every day he is wearing the same outfit: maroon sweatpants, a camouflaged sweatshirt, a black winter hat, and those tan worker boots. Every day he carries a small black duffel bag that appears to be rather empty. Every day I pull up next to the US Bank Tower downtown Milwaukee, call Dave to tell him I'm outside waiting, and wait for Big Mike to appear from around the corner. Sure enough, every day for the past few months he's appeared, at the exact same time. I'm not sure where he comes from but I'm assuming it's from one of the buildings across the street - he always emerges in my review mirror as he rounds the corner to where I'm parked. He walks really slow with his head down. People carrying brief cases, dressed in suits, walk past him every day, hop into their parked cars (mostly the fancy type - BMW, Lexus, Audi) and flea the city to their warm, suburban homes. I sit in my warm car, radio on, wondering about this man I see every day. The Salvation Army shelter isn't far from where I see him and given the time I usually arrive to pick Dave up, I'm assuming that he's walking to the shelter to get in line to wait for the doors to open, hoping to be one of the few who actually finds room in a shelter that night. Every day I wonder about his story - where did he come from? Does he have any family? Is he educated? Where does he spend his days? Mostly I wonder if there's anything I can do to help him. I remember a day in January where there was a good foot of snow on the ground and it was still falling - Big Mike was trudging along as usual, without any gloves, without a warm winter coat. I wanted to roll down the window and tell him to hop in - he'd be coming home to the suburbs for a warm meal and a warm place to sleep. I WANTED to do that but didn't for many many reasons - mostly because I knew my husband would divorce me, right after committing me to a psychiatry hospital.

I've been thinking about Big Mike for a while now and wondering what, realistically, I COULD do. I realized that what I CAN do is continue to care about him. I CAN donate money to the local homeless shelters in hopes that it helps Big Mike have a place to stay, food to eat, and rehabilitation services to get him out of his current situation. I CAN encourage others to look beyond the stereotypes of poverty and homelessness and support finding solutions that work. I CAN be part of the solution rather than a part of the problem. Most importantly, I can PRAY for him - that he stays safe, finds comfort in knowing that God uses all bad things for good, and that he eventually finds a place to call HOME.

Making Strides

This morning I had the privilege of attending a kick-off breakfast event for the American Cancer Society's Making Strides Against Breast Cancer event taking place this May. While I attended as an ACS employee, I was surprised to see nearly 400 other people who were not ACS employees. While most of the other people represented various businessness and hospitals, nearly half of them were cancer survivors who were in attendance as just that - breast cancer survivors.

Even though I've been working in Oncology for almost a year now, it hasn't become a passion area for me yet. I didn't really choose to work with cancer patients, rather the job sort of landed in my lap. I was about to finish graduate school, the economy was continuing its downward spiral, and I was about to buy a house a get married - I needed a job, and quickly! After applying for several, ACS was the first to call me back and the first to offer me a job. So I took it. Why gamble with the chance that something else would or wouldn't come along? At first I was excited about the job, excited to be working for the nation's largest voluntary health organization. I thought over time I'd become as passionate about cancer as I am about other things - orphan care, adoption, impoverished children, HIV/AIDS, everything Africa. But that never really happened. I've come to accept that maybe this isn't my calling but just a temporary stop in finding a career that aligns with my passions and interests a little more. This morning, sitting in a room filled with so many breast cancer survivors, talking about one of the biggest breast cancer awareness events in the nation, I couldn't help but feel a little emotional, a little excited, and a little passionate about helping these women continue to survive and helping to prevent so many more women from having to fight to survive.

A young 33 year old woman shared her story of being diagnosed with breast cancer last year. She shared the struggles of losing her hair from chemotherapy, finding the strength to tell her two small daughters of her diagnosis, and trying to work full-time as a second grade teacher while battling the never-ending side effects. She shared her story with such honesty and compassion. She made me realize that breast cancer, or any other type of cancer for that matter, is something all young women should be thinking about - whether diagnosed or not. For some reason, SHE is the woman that put a face to breast cancer for me. I see nearly a hundred women a month that are diagnosed with breast cancer as a part of my job and none of them have ever stood out to me the way this woman did. Maybe it was how young she was, or the fact that she found the lump on her own. Maybe it was the fact that she was so honest about her cancer diagnosis and how unexpectedly something like this can happen. At some point, I knew it would happen - I knew that cancer would go from being a job to something more. That some point came today. While I certainly wouldn't call it my life passion, I've realized that the job I do impacts the lives of those living with cancer, those affected by a family member or friend's diagnosis, and those calling themselves survivors. My job allows me to participate in the fight against cancer every single day. My job isn't about raising money, it's about raising spirits, hope, and courage and that is equally as important in fighting cancer as raising money. I thank the woman this morning for sharing that with me, although it was likely something I already should have realized.

The Making Strides events are taking place across the nation in upcoming months. I plan to tell all my patients about the Milwaukee event taking place on May 1st and will encourage them to fight back by participating. I encourage you to do the same. With multiple events in each state, I'm certain you can find an event near you. By participating, you help raise awareness, hope, and dollars that are used to make sure people like the 33 year old woman I met this morning don't have to be the face of breast cancer anymore. So that WE don't ever have to be the face of breast cancer. That's a pretty powerful thing if you ask me.

A House with a Little History

I've always wanted to live in a new house. One that I designed and built (okay, had people build for me)...one that nobody else has ever lived in. I especially love that with a new house, nobody has ever lived in it before. There is no need to scrub the place from top to bottom before moving in. There have been no memories made in build a brand new home. That was until we started house-hunting this time last year and I realized just how expensive houses were. My fantasy bubble was burst. I'd have to settle on one of those old, already-lived in, dirty houses. Okay, that's a little exaggerated. Our house isn't really all that old and it wasn't all that dirty, but it was certainly lived-in. It had that lived-in look: scratches in the hardwood floors, dings in the kitchen cabinets, traces of dog hair on the trim from the previous owner's dog. For the past few months I've complained about these things and we've been working to fix the house up, make it feel more like our home. But I learned something on Saturday that made me take a step back and appreciate our already-lived in house a little more.

We've heard a little about the history of our house from our neighbors. The addition that was added in the back a few years ago. The couple that didn't take care of the lawn. The family with the dog that would terrorize anyone walking by. Our neighbors graciously shared all that up front. What I learned on Saturday though from my kind old neighbor was that our house had a history to it worth getting excited about (if you're me anyway). It turns out that two of the previous owners had adopted children. Imagine the big smile that came across my face. We already knew that the couple we purchased the home from had an adopted son - an African American boy from the inner city of Milwaukee. I had met him before. What I didn't know was that another family that previously lived in our house had two adopted daughters. They were also adopted domestically, although my old neighbor couldn't quite remember from which state. Some might just call this a coincidence and laugh at my excitement. But not me. I know how rare it is for people in our community to adopt. Adoption, especially trans-racial adoption, isn't something that people in our community talk about, let alone do quite frequently. So to think that three precious orphans were welcomed into their forever families in our house made me smile. Someday we'll be adding to that history. I'm so thankful for my neighbor who helped me to realize that my old, already-lived in house was absolutely perfect - it was filled with great forever family memories and a rich, beautiful history that only He could shape. My old, already-lived in house is as good as new!

I'm thinking someday when we sell our house and move onto the next one, we'll have to put a pre-requisite in the listing: must have a heart for orphans and be open to adoption.

Conversations with an Alzheimers Patient

My great grandma is one of the funniest, strongest, feisty, hard-headed, loving people I know. She also happens to have a good case of dementia, and is slowly being overtaking by Alzheimer's. While I have to remind her who I am every time I see her, she has her moments where she'll recall things from her past. Usually she remembers the trivial things, like who she's beat in Bingo and the prizes she has won. Sometimes she'll tell a story about when she lived up north - like the time the bears tapped on the bathroom window. My great grandma has quite the potty mouth, especially for an 88 year old. In her mind, it's completely acceptable to say "Bullshit" and "Hell" in normal conversation. I'm not sure she even knows what those word mean anymore.

So why am I writing about a potty-mouthed, Bingo-playing, 88 year old woman? Because this week I've had the privilege of interacting with her when the dementia and Alzheimer's had really really taken over. She's been in the hospital since Monday - the same hospital where I work. I stopped up on her floor to visit her Monday morning. My mom was there, too, and according to my grandma, the room was filled will lots of other people too. Obviously I need to have my eyes checked because I didn't see any other people - not even a nurse or a doctor. From time to time, grandma would just giggle and stare high into the ceiling.

Me: Whatcha looking at up there grandma?
Grandma: The people. Flying around my room.
Me: Hmmm what do they look like? Who are they?
Grandma: There's Anne, with pretty brown hair. And look at those birds!
Me: Hmmm I don't know anybody named Anne (mom didn't either).
Grandma: Carol (my mom), I don't like your hair. You need hair like Anne's.
Mom: Well that's not very nice to say to me. What's wrong with my hair?
Grandma: It's ugly.

A few minutes after the flying people conversation, grandma says to me, "I was wondering why Stanley never comes to visit me anymore. I found out today that he's dead. For nine years!". She laughs. A lot. Stanley was my great grandpa and she's right, he died nine years ago. Grandma LOVES her some male company. When we moved her into the senior home, she kept asking for a male roommate - there were 12 female residents so her wish wouldn't be granted. Last time she was in the hospital, she kept telling the male doctors they were good looking, telling us they just kept getting better and better looking each time they walked into her room. This hospital stay, she finds out her husband's dead and she asks for a new one. A part of me thinks she wasn't joking.

I feel so blessed to have grown up with my great grandparents and to still have one great grandma alive today. When I visit with her, I like to remind her of all the fun things we've done together throughout my life. On Monday I told her stories of how we used to pick raspberries and make home-made jam in her kitchen up north ("Oh I remember", she says). Or the time she won that big camper at the casino up north and all of us kids decided to sleep in it until great grandpa told us to watch out for bears ("Oh, I remember that too", she says). Or how she used to make us homemade pancakes in any shape we asked for, even Mickey Mouse ("Oh, yes, I remember", she says). I have a feeling she doesn't really remember but it's always fun to see a smile come across her face as I share stories of what her life used to be like before dementia and Alzheimer's invaded her memory.

Let me tell ya, if you ever have a chance to interact with an 88 year old Alzheimer's patient, I encourage you to. It will make you wonder what they see and what they think. They will make you feel imaginative, like a child again. And just when you think they are crazy, seeing flying people in their room, you might believe that just maybe there are angels visiting them instead, and that they're really not all that crazy afterall.

Where DIDNT I go to College?

Today someone asked me where I went to college. I responded with, "Undergrad or graduate school?". Graduate school. Oh, that's easy! I went to UW-Madison, I told them. Then they asked the question I hate the most: "What about undergrad?". Ummm, not so easy. I always hate being asked this question. Most people are so proud of their Alma Mater and beam when telling others about where they graduated from. Me, not so much. Maybe this is because my undergraduate career was a little different than most.

Whenever I'm asked this question I say that I started at Marquette University and eventually graduated from UW-Milwaukee. People look at me funny for a few minutes and wait for me to explain. So, here goes. I started my freshman year at Marquette University. I loved it. LOVED IT! My freshman year I joined Pi Beta Phi, became involved in Hall Council, and played intramural soccer. I made some great friends and truly enjoyed being a freshman. I started sophomore year as a Resident Assistant in Cobeen Hall, was Hall Council Advisor, Program Assistant for the Center for Community Service, and a member of the International Marquette Action Program team in Belize. First semester Sophomore year was my favorite of all of college. I met Kelly and Lizzy who a few weeks into RA training became my better halves (or thirds). So if everything was so great, why in the world did I decide that second semester of my sophomore year I would leave? Well because I was in love, obviously (or so I thought at the time). I had been in a long-distance relationship with my high school sweetheart for a while and eventually we decided that if we were ever going to move forward in our relationship we should be at the same school. So, I packed my bags and moved to Minnesota.

I spent one semester at the University of Minnesota - Twin Cities. Why only one semester? Well, there are many reasons for that. The first is probably the most obvious: I am a Wisconsinite and I missed home, my family, and everything cheese far too much to be 6 hours away. The second reason: my highschool sweetheart and I were no longer sweet. Clearly we made a better long distance couple; it helped us to not see the obvious fact that we had both grown and changed a lot since high school. And the third reason: I went to Africa, fell in love with the area of service, decided to change my major from Medicine to Social Work, and needed a school with an undergraduate Social Work major. Cue the second transfer and third school - The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. In my heart, I knew I wanted to transfer back to Marquette after realizing that Minnesota was a terrrrrible fit. Unfortunately, they didn't have my newly-chosen major. So I started my Junior year at UWM majoring in Social Work. And that is where I graduated from the next year.

Yes, I went to three different undergraduate schools. I had three different majors. I still graduated in four years, though. And I still had an amazing college experience. Now you can see why answering the question, "Where did you go to college?" can be quite daunting for me.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, of all those schools I went to, Marquette was my favorite :)