140 Children

My student teaching is going splendidly! :D I absolutely love the school, my mentor teacher (and all the 8th grade faculty, really), and most of all, all 140 kiddos we see everyday. Yes, you read that right, 140 kids, each around 14 years old. If that seems like a large number, it is. That works out to 35 students in each class. Way more than there should be, especially in a room that isn’t all that big. Ms. Eliason has told me that in her first year of teaching she had 24 students. The number slowly increased, and has fluctuated over the years, now settling at a number that isn’t ideal and yet could be worse.

They are really fantastic kids, all with so much potential. One has already given me a hug. One has these big, brown, gorgeous eyes that are pretty much capable of looking into my soul (though I won’t tell her this for fear that she’ll realize the power she holds). One gives me high fives every now and then. One is a class clown, always participating in class discussion but taking time to tell a little comical story with each answer. One is impossibly frustrating, but not openly defiant. One is quite possibly a genius. One seems to be asleep all the time with his head resting on the desk, but he’ll frequently pop up and answer a question, out of nowhere.

I could talk about them all day to anyone who will listen. Any teachers reading this will surely not be surprised - all our kids are fascinating. Middle schoolers are especially fascinating because so many changes happen to them in such a short span of time. Physically, they are going through the joys of puberty. Some are tall enough to pass for a substitute teacher. Some are tiny enough to look like they are lost and need to be returned to their fourth grade class.

In terms of maturity, they are making decisions about who they want to be and what they value. While some are getting more involved with their churches and school sports, others are hanging out with peers who will only bring them down. They are deciding its cool to get suspended for fighting or bullying or stealing. They need to break the cycle, but when their parents don’t help matters and their older siblings don’t set a good example, they take the easier path. Those are the ones that break my heart.

Many of them, in two of our classes in particular, are on IEPs (Individual Education Plans). These are legal documents that specify that the child has been tested for disabilities and needs certain accommodations and/or modifications in order to perform well in a classroom. Cerebral Palsy, ADHD, Bipolar, you name it and one of our kids is dealing with it. Some of them are not much different than any other kid, while others are really struggling. Meanwhile, some kids who are not on an IEP really, really, really ought to be. They are just barely keeping their heads above water.

Some kids are soaking up the knowledge and skills that we teach them, showing us that they are learning all the time. Others look frightened and lost, knowing that something is expected of them but not knowing what to do. Are they learning? If not, why? What can I do? Others are bored to tears, academically way past the majority of their classmates and hoping for a challenge. How can I keep them engaged in the day’s lesson?

There is so much to try to wrap my brain around. One thing I am sure of, however, is that these kids are all loveable. Even the frustrating ones. And they work hard everyday, even if that means just showing up and listening. This has got to be the most rewarding job in the world.

My First Days of School

***Please note that most of this was written several weeks ago, around the end of August. Things have gotten pretty busy around here since then. :)

The first day of school always carries a certain mystique about it, at least it does for a nerd like me. My hopes are high for a super-spectacular year and the possibilities are limitless. I sorta make resolutions, the way people do on New Year’s Eve. Maybe this will be the school year that I find a way to balance everything - school, family, friends, exercise, hobbies, (dare I say?) relaxation. Maybe this will be the year I don’t show up to all my classes late or almost late. Whether it’s truly evident to my classmates and teachers or mainly exists in my mind, I seem to have this reputation as the chick who runs into class at the last minute, out of breath, looking like crap.

At any rate, motivation is high just before the start of another school year. I’m excited to see my friends in class after the long summer and no assignments have been handed out yet...I guess it really isn’t that different for a 6-year-old or a 24-year old in this way!

This year the feeling was heightened, because this year I will be putting much of my studies into real-world practice. Everything that I have learned, everything I was supposed to have learned, and everything I have yet to learn - all of it, with any luck, will go to helping real-live children do some learning of their own. This fall, I am a student teacher.

If you don’t know what a student teacher is, the description is in the title. I am still a student, but I’m very close to being a teacher. I have my bachelor’s degree and am working on my masters, while also doing the training for certification to teach English at the secondary level (middle school or high school). My student teaching is a semester-long internship at a local school and one of the last steps I take to become fully certified (certified to teach that is, though I may go a little insane in the process...). I will be shadowing an experienced teacher everyday, observing her and the students in the classroom and school environment. I’ll then gradually take over many of the teaching responsibilities to the degree that she and I are comfortable. I will have to do at least three weeks of full-time teaching and all the responsibilities entailed.

This is go-time. This is where it all comes together. My college courses have taught me a great deal, but that does not add up to much compared with actual classroom experience. It’s both exhilarating and nerve-wrecking, to be truthful. A friend has told me that I will learn more in this semester than in almost all of my college classes combined. Mind you, this is nothing negative against OU...it’s just that there is so much that has to be experienced and cannot really be simulated in a collegiate atmosphere.

Oh, and did I mention that all of this is free labor for the district? Yeah, I don’t get paid. That’s one reason why so many preservice teachers end up getting certified alternatively, because they understandably cannot go several months without an income (and it’s awfully hard to work while also student teaching, though some have pulled it off). Luckily my hubby can support us, and clipping coupons is a favorite pastime of ours anyway.

The good news is that this internship is also an extended job interview at the school. The teachers and I will be seeing a lot of each other and learning if I am truly a good fit to work at this school. If all goes well, I may be lucky enough to get a job offer in the spring or next fall, if they are hiring. I will certainly fight for a teaching job here in Norman, and the first step is working hard during these upcoming months.

So. That’s how it all works. Nervous for me? I sure am. One of my professors reminded all of us student teachers that we are college graduates and we are capable. I think I needed that.

The hubby and I returned from a trip about a week prior to the start of classes and this is also when I found out where I would be student teaching, who my mentor teacher would be, and what grade level of students. Yeah, I know, nothing like waiting until the last minute, right? The schools, the district, and everyone has to coordinate to set up these student teaching placements, so it can be a long and arduous process. Also, and I didn’t know this before, we at OU are competing with other universities around the state for many of the same placement spots in Norman schools...I guess everyone wants to be here!

Initially I was placed at Irving Middle School, with Carol Wahpepah as my mentor teacher, in an 8th grade language arts classroom...Based solely on the grade level, I was immediately disappointed. I had been hoping for a high school assignment. I had indicated only high schools on my list of preferences when I filled out the form to student teach. Quite frankly, I had expected to get assigned to one of the high schools. I had always thought that OU tried to give you a middle school experience and a high school experience, so that you could try them both on for size. I loved the 7th-graders that I observed at my field experience at Whittier Middle School this past spring. They were positively adorable! But I was psyched for high schoolers this time around.

So I did what any overeager rookie does, especially one that thinks first with her heart and then with her head as I do - I went straight to my advisor’s office the next day, a Monday afternoon. No appointment or anything, just showed up. I was tired of only communicating through email and just wanted to talk this through. Of course he was busy when I first arrived, talking with another student about her dissertation (Hi, Kimberly!). I waited outside for my turn and then calmly explained that I was “a little upset” about this placement. He then explained the rationale as such: 8th grade is as close as I can get to high schoolers if I want to student teach this fall. Many new teachers have been hired recently at the two local high schools, and they cannot take on a student teacher until they themselves have been teaching for awhile. It isn’t fair to them or me; the idea is to give us a highly experienced teacher to learn from and one who won’t consider me a burden to their own growing pains. Also, there are four middle schools here and that means more openings, both for student teaching placements now and for jobs (hopefully) afterwards. Moreover, by doing my first field experience in a 7th-grade classroom and my student teaching in 8th grade...that gives me lots of training in the middle school environment, making me more appealing to a middle school looking to hire someone.

I accepted this explanation. It made sense to the rational part of my brain. At this point, I started getting excited again for the placement. It may not have been my first choice, but then again my life seldom goes as expected, and the changes have overwhelmingly been for the better. I read about my mentor teacher on the school website and looked at the reading list for Norman Public Schools and that’s when I saw it. A single book title. One word: Night. As in, the novel by Elie Wiesel chronicling his experiences in the Holocaust, and the first book that haunted me, grabbing hold of my soul as I read. I was in 10th grade, the only Jewish girl in my class, when I read it. I was now beyond excited that my 8th graders would get to read this and that I would get to reread it, seeing their reactions to it at the same time.

The hubby and I went away for another quick trip out of town, one last hurrah for the summer. As such, I had no time to meet with my mentor teacher before Monday last week...more on that in a second. :)

We got back Sunday evening last week. Orientation for student teachers was Monday morning at the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. There were maybe 60 or 70 of us, from all subject areas, in the auditorium, though I am terrible at judging numbers of people in a given room. We were all excited and nervous to begin this new journey. The dean of the college spoke to us and noted that we have the potential to have an impact on thousands of lives...thanks, that really helps with the nerves! But, of course, it’s also very exciting. The one thing I’ve always wanted to do with my life, in some small way, is make a difference. Teaching is the best way to do that, and in spite of any nerves, I am sooooooo excited! Then last year’s Oklahoma Teacher of the Year spoke with us and shared some of her stories. I think she really put many of us at ease, for some reason I can’t even pinpoint...just the fact that she knew what it was like to be in our shoes. :D

I got some lunch after orientation, and opened my wallet to discover that I had been driving without a license. When travelling, my camera bag often doubles as my purse and I put my ID and a money inside. Not having that bag with me, I was just lucky to have a credit card so that I wasn’t stuck paying for Bison Witches with dishwasher duty. Anyway, this gave me the perfect excuse to run home and get my ID, along with much needed hugs from my husband. He is really my rock. When I need support and my world feels like it’s spinning a little too fast, he is there for me and I am grateful.

Next it was off to Irving! I arrived to find that my fellow student teacher, Jordan, was right when she said it was under construction. Of course, I had expected a portion of the building to be under construction, maybe a single hallway or something, but no. In fact, the entire building is being remodeled, with wires hanging from the ceiling, wet paint on the walls, ladders and equipment here and there. I really wondered how kids were supposed to start showing up in two days. Couldn’t they have picked a better time to do this? Say, I don’t know, summertime??

I met with my mentor teacher, who seemed glad to see me. One of the first things she said was that it was odd that my advisor had referred to her in the email as an eighth grade teacher. She used to teach eighth grade but was teaching seventh grade this year....

Crestfallen once again. This was beginning to feel like a roller coaster ride.

I did my best to hide my disappointment. We talked a bit more and I helped her do a few things to set up her classroom. They had only been allowed into the building a couple days ago due to the construction, so every teacher was scrambling. In her words, they had all agreed “to plaster smiles on our faces and get through this construction, knowing that it’s worth it”.

That’s what I was doing, too, plastering a smile on my face. I told myself that it would still be a great experience no matter what. Seventh graders here, at this Title 1 school on the other side of the railroad tracks, would be a little different. And I wasn’t blaming my advisor, the district website still had her listed as an eight grade teacher. Besides, I hate causing any trouble, and I felt like it would all be just fine.

Thankfully my husband stepped in again when we got to discuss it that evening. Reminding me that this was my career we were talking about and that I would only get one shot to student teach, he said I should at least let my advisor know the situation. One polite email later, he did feel badly for the error and said he would do what he could. I resolved to make the best of it if I was to stay put and yet hope for a last-minute switcheroo to an eight grade classroom.

Tuesday was a kind of open house for the incoming sixth grade students, fresh from elementary school and mostly scared out of their gourds. Ms. Wahpepah and I did some more work to set up her classroom while the kids and parents toured the school. Then, after lunch, I came back to another surprise, but this time it was the one I was hoping for - I now had a home in an eighth grade classroom! :D Ms. Wahpapah understood that my two internships shouldn’t be at the same grade level and joked, “You’re fired.” I’m still not sure if it was Ms. Wahpepah or my advisor who did the work to get things changed, but at any rate I was set up to student teach for Ms. Maren Eliason now. Same school, different hallway. It happened really fast, but I thanked Ms. Wahpapah for everything and took off. I texted my husband that I had been “promoted” to eight grade, and went to meet my new mentor teacher.

So, the roller coaster ride was finished on a high note - or maybe the ride was just beginning, depending on your perspective. Stay tuned. :D

"Deal Or No Deal?"

Over the Independence Day holiday weekend, my husband and I took a road trip to Houston. We met up with his sister, Andria, one of my most favorite people, and her fiance', Victor, who has quickly become the newest addition to our crazy-awesome-loud-funny family. We enjoyed two Red Sox-Astros games at Minute Maid park, along with the excellent fireworks shows afterward. They just retract the roof of the dome and set the fireworks to popular music. The best part is that there really isn't a bad seat in the house; anyone in the ballpark can take in the 15-minute show with a nice view. Apparently, this happens after every ballgame on Friday nights - "Friday Night Fireworks" sponsored by Marathon Oil. Oh, to have that much money.

On Saturday we walked around the mall without purchasing very much at all. We frankly don't have the money to spend and have enough bills to think about that we can talk ourselves out of buying almost anything. We ate yummy Mexican food, sat around the hotel room and talked, talked, talked. Sunday was the second ballgame and another win for the Red Sox - there were a significant number of cheers and our fan base must have outnumbered the home team fan base quite a bit. Embarrassing, I know, but what can I say? New Englanders take their baseball more seriously. :D Sunday night's post game fireworks were a special event, unlike the typical Friday night ones. They were set to patriotic music for the one holiday that brings all of America together, Independence Day. These were sponsored by Chesapeake Energy, if you were curious.

Later that day we went to Dave and Busters - a really, really fun place, kind of a grown-ups version of Chuck E Cheese. You can play different arcade-style games, eat at the restaurant, or play billiards. The four of us are definitely just big kids, so it's perfect for us. I even won a stuffed dolphin from one of those big bins with all the stuffed animals in them and the claw that grabs them after you get it positioned just right (no idea if these things have a formal name). Anyway, I NEVER win at those things! The dolphin's name is Astro and he lives in my office now. :D

One of the coolest games at D&B's, however, was the arcade version of "Deal or No Deal?" You've probably seen the game show while flipping through the channels on TV. It's a game of statistics, in which you select and open briefcases with a mysterious amount of cash, hoping to hit the jackpot. As you narrow down the briefcases, you can decide whether to take the offer suggested by "the Banker" - money in your pocket - or risk winning more from the briefcases that are still left. Playing it at an arcade like this is great because you get to gamble without losing any actual money. It's almost like a game of chicken - the game is fun until you walk away with nothing. You have to balance risk with reward, of course, and think sensibly.

I wish I could translate this kind of thinking into the thick heads of our government.

Our weekend was fun and whimsical; we were free from responsibility for a moment. We always have fun just spending time together, and a weekend like this before returning to work after the holiday is always refreshing. It was only for a short while, though. We know that if we were to just stop going to work altogether we would lose our jobs, our paychecks, and the fun would NOT last. Now that our government is mere days away from a financial Doomsday, any fun political bantering and debate is long gone. Someone has to swerve their car in this very dangerous game of chicken, or a huge chuck of America (and many beyond our borders) will suffer. Seriously.

The natural next step, to me and others, is to withhold the pay of our elected officials. If they aren't doing their jobs by attempting to end this stalemate and keep the country running, they really don't deserve their paycheck. They need to work like the rest of America, balancing risk with reward and thinking sensibly. They need to speak with one another as competent adults, with mutual respect and compassion. They need to shut up and listen to one another with a bit of humility, checking their enormous egos at the door.

Is this really too much to ask from the people we charged with the leadership of our nation? I would be willing to bet that many Americans had never heard of a debt ceiling before this whole ridiculous thing began. We have our own problems and responsibilities to juggle without becoming experts on politics. This is why we elect people that (presumably) we feel we can trust - they do their part, we do ours. We work, pay taxes, and know that our government is there to support us. Now they are not holding up their end of the bargain. I love my country and I want to keep faith in my federal government, but this current situation has me feeling exasperated.

Can we make a deal already? Can we compromise, the way that coworkers, family, friends, and spouses compromise everyday? Can we just put aside the part lines and do what needs to be done? We've already gotten a tiny preview of what can happen when governments shut down in our own state of Minnesota. They were shut down for nearly two weeks at the beginning of this month. State workers had nothing to do but wait and the state lost millions in revenue. Of course, political bickering has always been crazy, but it seems to have amped up in intensity. It all seems more childish, with both sides claiming that the other stole the toy out of the sandbox that was meant for them! Feel free to picture me crossing my arms and pouting my lips defiantly at this point.

Let's move beyond the soundbites and the empty promises. Beyond the symbols that politicians love to wave in our faces, like those little American flag pins you always see them wearing on their jackets at a press conference. Let's do away with the tweets that barely scratch the surface of the problem and actually sit down and discuss the issues that deserve discussion. Let's do so with an open mind. We all have life experiences and knowledge to contribute to the discussions of important issues, and we need to be open to these views if we're ever to learn and grow - this applies equally well to federal governments as it does to individuals.

So, let's get to work. If necessary, let's confine all of Congress and President Obama into a bunker somewhere in D.C. As my mom pointed out to me, we can "slip them pizza under the door and not let them out until they come to a compromise!" They could wear pajamas or whatever they're most comfy in, with some coffee provided, too. No cameras or press would be allowed, no stenographer to keep track of who says what. No entertainment, no internet access. Just a room with a locked door, forcing them to all speak with each other.

Quite the fantasy, right? It's kind of funny but also kind of sad to picture such a scenario. Has it really become this challenging for our country's leaders to sit down together and talk? Part of the problem has to be that politician's are always worried about offending their base and getting enough votes for reelection. In fact, how would they behave if there was no possibility of reelection? If they only had one shot, one term in office, from the lowliest mayor to the President himself?

Mayor Michael Nutter, a Democrat from Pennsylvania, was recently a guest on the Rachel Maddow Show. He mentioned the 9% unemployment rate in Philadelphia and said, "When people in Philly talk about the debt limit, that's usually them talking about their own personal debt limit and how much debt they're accumulating in their own lives". It's got to be true elsewhere as well. We have our own lives to manage and we take them seriously. And we expect the government to do the same. Mayor Nutter went on to say, "Folks [in America] are truly suffering...and we don't have time for this kind of gamesmanship".

Treatment to Keep Arthur Subdued

Those of us with RA sometimes like to refer to our disease as "Arthur"...get it? Arthritis sounds like Arthur? :D Okay, so it's not exactly laugh-out-loud funny, but a little sarcasm never hurt anyone. What do you expect from a group of people living with a chronic and painful disease? We need humor. If we don't laugh, we might cry. I think we can all agree that laughter beats tears anytime. So, we personify our disease and refer to it as if it's a living and breathing entity all its own. RA can certainly feel this way at times, because it's always with us. There are a lot of different treatment options, but Arthur doesn't always respond to them or may only respond for a limited time. He's always hanging around, impacting our daily lives to a greater or lesser degree, being kept at bay with medication or raging through our bodies unchecked.

Arthur is a sneaky little devil. He can be subdued for a long time, and just when you start to forget about him "he taps on your shoulder (or any other joint or organ for that matter) and says, 'Hey, I'm still here!' Let's just say it's a little annoying!" (quoted from a friend of mine). Arthur also does the majority of his damage on the inside of us, making ours an Invisible Disease. In other words, it's usually not immediately obvious from looking at us that we have RA. Unless we have massively swollen joints, you might not notice anything unusual about us. You can't see the disease eating away at our joints, or inflaming our lungs to make breathing harder, or inflaming our heart and upping our chance of a heart attack. You can't see the fatigue, the low-grade fever, the full medicine cabinet that allows us to function. It's often invisible but no less real. There is one excellent blog that focuses on this, www.butyoudontlooksick.com. Written by a woman with lupus (similar to RA in a lot of ways), the blog describes what life is like when you don't look as sick as you truly are.       

Treatment for Arthur is complicated because there are a lot of factors in play. How effective is the treatment? How costly is it? What are the potential side effects? How does the treatment help with both the short-term and long-term consequences of RA? These must all be considered, there are no easy answers, and RA patients must make decisions about treatment for themselves because it is very personal. What works for one person with RA doesn't work for another. What works at one time for one person with RA doesn't work later on, because drugs lose their effectiveness or our bodies build up a resistance to them. For some, the benefits of a drug outweigh the risks. For others, the high financial cost of a drug may make it an impossibility. Of course, there is a lesson here - when making decisions that impact our health, it's good to be a little selfish. We have to live in our bodies and we have to feel confident about the medications and treatments that we choose. Your neighbor who tells you that a mango drink twice a day will cure you? Pay her no mind. You cousin who thinks it's all in your head and can't understand why you take such expensive and dangerous medication? She doesn't have a disease attacking her body from the inside out, so it's very easy for her to roll her eyes. Even your doctors don't fully understand what you're going through. Some do more than others, of course, and they usually mean well. But don't let them pressure you into the newest drug that promises a miracle - it's your life. 

There are the day-to-day struggles to be faced; extreme fatigue and pain are chief among them. Even for those like me who live a relatively normal life with RA, the fatigue is something we constantly battle. There isn't much to do other than take it easy, get plenty of sleep at night, and rely on caffeine. I need at least 9 hours of sleep at night to really wake up feeling refreshed the next day. Some people with RA need even more rest, especially if they're having a flare (that's the term for when RA is really active - it could be a few weeks at a time, a couple months, or for the ones who really hit the jackpot it could be that they live everyday in a flare, never seeming to find treatment that works for them). 

Then there is the pain that most people with RA live with, which is usually lessened by medication. Drugs like NSAIDs (pronounced "n-sad") taken at a high dosage can really help. Naproxen is one such NSAID that many of us take; I take 500 milligram tablets once a day. You might recognize Naproxen as the main ingredient of Aleve, except that in Aleve it is only available in 200 mg tablets. Let's look at that name for a second - NSAID stands for "non-steroidal anti-inflammatory", meaning that it works differently from a steroid drug and it works to combat the inflammation the RA causes. This is significant because steroids can also be taken for pain management. Prednisone is a commonly prescribed steroid, and it's usually taken at a high dosage for a short period of time during a flare...*sigh* Ahh, prednisone. We love it and we hate it! It can make you feel like a superhero, but it also makes you eat everything in sight so that you inevitably gain 5-10 pounds. It can affect your mood drastically, so that PMS feels like a peaceful holiday in comparison. My friend, Carol, has a great blog about her experience with RA, and you might like her assessment of prednisone: www.tenn2texas.wordpress.com. 

Then there is the depression. Let's be real right now and admit to ourselves that half the country is taking anti-depressants. It isn't something to be ignored or whispered in hushed tones, it's a reality. It's even more prevalent among people with an incurable, lifelong, painful disease such as RA. Most of my friends with RA take Zoloft or some other anti-depressant medication and find that it helps them. I'm extremely fortunate to have a mild case of RA and I can lead a life closer to normal than many of them. But faced with pain every single day that ranges from  a throbbing 3 on the pain scale to a gnawing 13.5? That would likely depress me, too. During my last flare in 2010, I had a supportive family and a happy life (and still do!) - these are a huge help! Others aren't as fortunate, and I believe depression finds them quickly when their family is unsupportive and other stress factors are in place.

Equally important, there are numerous treatment options for the long term consequences of RA. Even if our day-to-day pain, fatigue, and depression can be managed, that is only the beginning. We have to do all we can to prevent further damage to our joints and organs, or we risk making our situation much worse. Thankfully, there are medications that can suppress our overactive immune system and help slow the inflammatory process. Maybe we can keep the disease from moving onto different parts of our body with these drugs and a little hoping and praying. None of these drugs comes with a guarantee, though. In fact, they come with more side effects and risks than we would like. I'll write more on this important subject later, but for now I'll bring this long post to a close. More on the pricey and dangerous treatments of RA coming up soon! For now, here's wishing everyone a happy fourth of July weekend!! :D

Bittersweet Diagnosis and Living with "the other Arthritis"

Most diseases progress like this: diagnosis, treatment, cure. In my lifetime I sincerely hope to see that third and final stage happen for me and all the rest of my arthritic friends. Anyhow, getting the diagnosis is a big step for anyone. It's a little bittersweet because it involves feeling enormous relief ("Thank God! This thing has a name and I'm not the only one in the world to have experienced it!") followed by overwhelming helplessness ("There's no cure??...Wow, There's no cure - now what?!).

This helplessness is exacerbated by the fact that JRA is somewhat rare. Everyone has at least heard of diabetes and cancer, and even other diseases that are less common than JRA get a lot of publicity (Lupus, Parkinson's, etc.). With JRA and other lesser-known diseases, we have to explain ourselves to family and friends who want to know what's wrong with us. Explaining our condition is not so bad - I do like to spread awareness and generally respond to people with "I'm glad you asked!", followed by my launching into an explanation.

Complications arise when people have misconceptions about the disease, however. JRA and (the adult form) RA are NOT the same as the arthritis your 90-year-old grandmother has. No offense to grandma. I'm not knocking her condition. But what she has (more than likely) is osteoarthritis (OA), brought on by the wear-and-tear of joints from many years of use. OA is the most common form of arthritis and when elderly people suffer from stiff and painful joints, OA is usually what is behind it. Many medications, like Tylenol and Aleve, are a big help to these folks. Their pain is very real, but at the risk of repeating myself I have to emphasize that it is not the same as Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Actually, the word "arthritis" in the name is truly a misnomer, and many are calling for a name change that will reflect the disease's true characteristics. A friend of mine has suggested "RAID", to stand for "Rheumatoid Autoimmune Disease". I like it and I kinda hope it catches on! :D As long as "arthritis" is in the name, many people will confuse it with osteoarthritis. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say "Oh, my grandma has that! You're way too young to have that!". I smile sweetly while in my mind I'm frustrated. I explain that autoimmune diseases do not discriminate - they attack people of all ages, genders and ethnicities. They attack organs, tissues, joints, blood vessels. They require lifelong treatments that can be very dangerous in and of themselves (more on that later).

Now for a real definition, finally: JRA and its adult cohort RA are autoimmune diseases characterized by inflammation of the synovial lining of multiple joints. Inflammation is the cause of those red and swollen joints I was describing in the previous post. What happens is that the body's immune system goes haywire. The same immune system that helps us fight off colds and infections gets confused. It starts attacking the lining of the joints, in this case, and sees it as a foreign object. Yep, you read that right: the body attacks itself! A very similar process occurs in other autoimmune diseases, in which an overactive immune system turns on the body and attacks healthy tissue and bodily organs. Heart, lungs, kidneys, you name it - there is an autoimmune disease for them all. One example is Type 1 diabetes, also known as autoimmune diabetes, which attacks healthy pancreas cells in children (so, so heartbreaking!!).

This is probably a good time for some perspective, and numbers help with that. RA affects approximately 1.3 million Americans (that's about 1% of the U.S. population), and I've already mentioned the 300,000 children with JRA (under the age of 18). The cause is unknown, but scientists have isolated genetic markers that are associated with RA. With this genetic predisposition, all that is needed is something to trigger the disease. Physical or emotional trauma can set the disease in motion, as well as a virus or bacteria. Even smoking can be a trigger (one more reason to quit, readers!). The idea is that the body's immune system starts to attack the virus, or the carcinogens from the cigarettes, or the body moves to correct an injury after a car accident...and after it's attacked the bad "stuff" (enough technical terminology going on here!) it just doesn't know when to stop. It turns on healthy "stuff" and the rest as they say is history. The Arthritis Foundation has a nice description on their website, if you're interested. Visit arthritis.org and click on 'who gets RA?".

What triggered my JRA at such a young age? I had choked on some carrots a few weeks before I first woke up with swollen knees. The doctors had to do an emergency broncoscopy on me - basically sucking all the little carrot pieces out of my throat and lungs - and we believe that this surgery was the physical trauma that set off the disease. Crazy, huh? To this day, whenever I feel myself start to choke on carrots, I can't help but smile. What's even crazier is that many with the genetic markers for RA never get it, and and not all people with RA have those genetic markers. Like I said, the cause is unknown and much more research needs to be done.

JRA: Juggling Radical Ailments

I'm not sure what a "normal" childhood is supposed to be, but I'm certain I didn't have one. And so much the better! Juggling radical ailments in addition to the minefields of a typical childhood made things interesting. I not only grew up much faster than my peers but also learned to appreciate the blessings in my life very early on - two wonderful parents, a happy home, a loyal dog, and an excellent education, among others.

My journey with JRA began when I was 18 months old and will follow me forever. I had been walking just fine at that age, when one morning I woke up with knees that were swollen, red, and painful. My mom tells me that I crawled into the kitchen, mostly using my arms, sobbing in pain. My knees were more than twice their normal size and it was clear that something was very wrong. You can imagine how this would make any mother feel, of course. Here was her only child, healthy and happy just yesterday, in agonizing pain that she couldn't eradicate.

Pediatricians weren't much help. They suspected that I had been abused, or was having a bizarre allergic reaction to something (even after negative allergy tests disproved this theory). My parents were determined to get a diagnosis for me, however, and would stop at nothing. It helped that both of them were in the medical field - my dad was a cardiologist and my mom an EKG technician - and so they knew the sooner I got care, the better.

The orthopedist did x-rays, an MRI, all that fun stuff, and quickly realized that I needed to see a rheumatologist...which was much easier said than done. There is a terrible shortage of pediatric rheumatologists in the U.S., and the waiting lists to see these specialists are ridiculously long. We waited a couple months, and that was a short time. In fact I think it would be easier to get 5 minutes with the President than with a pediatric rheumy as a new patient. (From here on out, by the way, I'll refer to my doctor as a rheumy. Makes for a nice abbreviation.)

By the time I saw this rheumy, my symptoms had gotten worse. Now the joints in my fingers and toes were red and swollen as well as my knees. Looking back, I realize it was a blessing in disguise - my symptoms looked very "textbook", and my blood tests matched them. Diagnosis: Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, also known as JRA. The more specific diagnosis was Polyarticular Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, to give you a real mouthful. This name was just fancy doctor-speak for "more than 5 joints affected".

Today, the disease is known as Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis, or JIA. The distinction isn't all that significant, but it does make one aspect of the disease quite clear: there is no known cause. Lots of studies have been done to look for a definite cause, but the word "idiopathic" means that a cause cannot be pinned down. Some studies emphasize a genetic component, others an environmental one, and still others some combination of both. At any rate there is no definite cause and, more importantly, no cure for the 300,000 children in the country with JRA.

I promise I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth...

...I've just been very busy! :D I apologize for being such a terrible blogger to the point that it's been months since I've posted anything. I do have lots of ideas for upcoming posts, so not to worry. Check back in the coming days! :D

Taking a Red Pen to History

I’ve just learned from a recent Entertainment Weekly article that a new edition of ‘Huckleberry Finn’ is being published in which all usages of the “n” word are removed. They’re being replaced with the word “slave”, if you’re curious. Many people have already jumped to call this an act of censorship and/or have rolled their eyes at this obvious attempt to cater to those who value “political correctness”. I have to say that I wholeheartedly agree with both of these assessments. This is an act of censorship because I would be willing to bet that Mark Twain is rolling over in his grave at this version of his classic. The fact is that if he wanted to call black people slaves, he would’ve done so in the book’s original publication. Changing his language in the name of “updating” the book is not in keeping with the author’s wishes, and I don’t care if that author is alive or dead. In truth, he called black people “niggers” because that was the language used in that time period.

Yes, I did just type that. I almost can’t believe it myself, because I hate the “n” word. It is just as degrading, downright awful and simply unacceptable as any other racial slur. One of the worst things in high school was going around the room and reading passages of Huck Finn out loud, so that we were all forced to actually verbalize the word. It was offensive and it kind of burned your throat to say it, and of course this is still true today. Now, in the name of being politically correct, this edition of the book is being published so that the offensive word can be avoided, and I believe that nothing good can come of this. As terrible as it is, the word has to stay in the book and its meaning must be addressed.

How else will students learn about life in the South long before the civil rights movement? How else will students be able to fully realize the asinine point of view of the white slave owners who considered themselves far superior to any other race? Furthermore, once we start editing books in this way, aren’t we looking at a slippery slope? What would be next – editing Hitler’s speeches to Nazi Germany in which he called the Jews “vermin”, among other things?

This hateful speech has to remain in its original format and its historical context must be fully explained to modern readers. To me, history must be portrayed truthfully and realistically if it is to be meaningful. How are students to understand women fighting for suffrage and factory workers fighting for their rights and any other movement for change unless they know the conditions that led to that movement? Otherwise, we risk students memorizing a date and a few key terms in a textbook and forgetting it a week after the exam, bereft of any meaning.

Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the relevance that this novel still holds today. A friend of a friend had some wonderfully-phrased thoughts on this: “…All because some privileged people think their kids shouldn't be subjected to the word "nigger" when in reality the parents should not only be making sure the book stays around (it's considered one of the principle works of American literature for crying out loud), but making their kids get out in the world and see how that word is used today. The idea behind the word, the sentiment it carries forth, is still very alive today. This edited book shouldn't exist because it eliminates the learning about that sentiment and how it still affects America and the world - that's the point of the book that hasn't lost an iota of meaning since Twain put it to paper….We're nutering this book - it will no longer give birth to an understanding of American racism.” Indeed, I couldn’t have said it better myself, and I thank Daniel Edward Onley for articulating this thinking so well.

Here’s a related example based on my experience: In my sophomore year of high school, in a very small North Carolina town, we spent about 5 minutes discussing the Holocaust in my history class. (Not exaggerating, I timed the teacher). Then we simply moved on to the next event, as we were behind schedule and had to get through the Second World War before the next test…Now I ask, isn’t that ridiculous? Doesn’t that make you angry? “Oh by the way, millions of people were brutally killed and tortured because they were viewed as sub-human. Now on to the next item on the agenda!” Anyway, it sure angers me. The only way that any of my peers truly understood the Holocaust was through my English teacher in that same year. For her class, one of the assigned books was Elie Weisel’s ‘Night’, still one of those that I count as amazingly influential to me. By reading and analyzing this book, along with its historical context, the full meaning of the Holocaust and its relevance in the past and present became clear.

As soon as we start taking a red pen to history, eliminating those words and photos and events that make us squirm, we drain it of its meaning. How are we to learn from our mistakes and avoid repeating them in the future if we don’t truly know and understand our history? Let me end by quoting Mark Twain himself, “A person who won’t read has no advantage over one who can’t”. It’s so true – if we won’t read the stark truth of our history, we have no advantage whatsoever over an illiterate person.

Review of 'Tunneling to the Center of the Earth'

New year, new books to read! :D Here’s a review I did for my Young Adult Literature class on a book of short stories, 'Tunneling to the Center of the Earth'. Since there are so many stories, I’ve decided to just discuss on here the stories I found most compelling. I will issue the disclaimer that this book isn’t for the faint of heart. All sorts of real-life issues are brought up and (as in real-life) not usually resolved. On the whole, the book has a very “Southern gothic” flair a la Flannery O’Conner. Hope you enjoy, and I know you’ll be interested. :)

1. Title: Tunneling to the Center of the Earth by Kevin Wilson, ISBN: 9780061579028, New York, New York, 2009, $13.99, 208 pp.

2. Genre: Short Story/Fiction Grades 10-12.

3. Characters: The characters in each of these short stories are such that they stick in the reader’s memory, unlikely to be forgotten anytime soon. They are all unique and disturbingly true-to-life characters. Since they are impossible to describe separate from each story’s plot, I will discuss them in tandem.

4. Plot: First, we meet an older woman who is hired by families seeking a grandmother figure for their children. In many cases, the real grandmother is dead, dying, sickly, or just not a nice person. Our protagonist pretends to be the biological grandmother of the children, and puts on the act very well, complete with stories to tell the kids, photos of them on display in her house, and favorite foods to cook for them. After some fond memories are made her job is done, and she is “killed off”, in an effort to teach the children about death. At first she finds it easy to “disconnect” from each of her “grandchildren”, but when a unique family situation presents itself, she soon decides to quit the business. Next, we meet a young man who works at a Scrabble factory, sorting letters all day long in search of the elusive letter “Q”. He lives with his suicidal brother, he is in love with his neighbor’s daughter, Joan, and he is obsessed with the prospect of dying as his parents did, by spontaneous combustion. He quits his job in the end as well, determined to make a change in his life. In “birds in the house”, we meet a young boy who’s helping to carry out his dead grandmother’s last wishes. His father and three uncles are folding paper birds (a family tradition) as part of a contest to win the family mansion, and the boy watches as they all continue to fight with each other as they’ve always done. We never learn the winner of the contest, but the boy hopes that his grandmother is happy and at peace; we feel that this boy will break the pattern of his previous generations. Next, we meet three recent college graduates who are trying to delay entering the real world. They dig intricate tunnels underground and live there for months before finally surfacing and getting jobs. They always think fondly of their summer of digging, though, and feeling the soil makes them happy. In “the shooting man”, we meet a man who works at a noise factory and goes to see a magic show in which one man shoots himself in the forehead and supposedly lives. He is forced to sign up for the act himself, but wonders if he’ll make it out alive. Next, we meet a married man and woman who’ve just had a baby, born with a full set of teeth. The man is having an affair with another woman and finally leaves his family to travel to Europe with the mistress. Interestingly, this story is written in second-person, and it’s unclear if the “you” is meant to be a man or a woman. Next, we meet a sixteen year old cheerleader who feels very uncomfortable in her own skin. She starts a relationship with a boy four years younger then her who has obsessions with flying, fire, and this girl. After an accidental fire in which they both get burned, Penny discovers more about herself and learns to accept her uniqueness. In “the museum of whatnot”, we meet a woman who lives alone as curator of a museum filled with other people’s curious collections of junk. She doesn’t seem to want anything or anyone in her life, but by the end she has met a man who helps her realize that it’s okay to hang onto some things. Finally, we meet an insecure and slightly paranoid man who helps people determine the worst-case scenarios for their particular businesses or family lives. He is always the bearer of bad news with his job, but by the end he is willing to accept that other equally good outcomes are just as possible as the horrible ones. In sum, each story is tremendously unique and leaves the reader wanting more from this author.

5. Touchy Areas: There are so many different touchy areas in these stories that I wonder if I could get away with teaching this in a public school without lots of parents becoming very angry with me. Everything from suicide to drug use to homosexual scenes to extremely depressing family situations are all included. To avoid getting fired and/or scarring kids for life, I would only select a few of the more tame stories, such as “grand stand-in” (the story of the fake grandmother), to use in a classroom.

8. Evaluation: I greatly enjoyed this collection of short stories, and I would recommend it to anyone interested in some disturbing stories with a “Southern gothic” flair. The characters and their transformations are haunting, and leave you creeped out but wanting more. I see this as appropriate for people of all ages and backgrounds, and in a high school setting I believe that juniors and seniors would enjoy it the most.

As I said, in order to teach this book I would only select a few of the short stories, such as “grand stand-in” and “birds in the house”, to use in the classroom. I would teach them alongside other absurdist literature such as Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find (1955). I might also incorporate poems that go along with central themes in the stories, such as A Dream Deferred (1951) by Langston Hughes. Other works, such as absurdist artwork like The Fountain (1917) by Marcel Duchamp, would be perfectly applicable as well.

I would rate this book a 10 out of 10, and will be one of the first people to buy Kevin Wilson’s novel next summer.