Friday, December 26, 2008

Reading on the Bus

After purchasing gifts for some members of my family and riding the bus from Northgate back to Westlake, I saw a poem. It was printed and posted as part of a literacy program on the public transportation.

A dream that really really happened,
And the mother and father didn't know.
And they loved their little little girls,
and they wanted to see the dream,
but they didn't see it,
because it already happened.
And they were poor.


I hastily raced my dying phone battery to enter it into my notepad, because I wanted it to go with me. I'm not really sure why it was important to me. Also it said it was written by a 3 year old. The message of class divides wasn't the real meaning I got from it. I was more concerned with who the girls were and what the dream was. Were they the dream? Were they poor because they didn't see the dream? What does poor mean?

Thursday, December 11, 2008

A Happy Farewell and a Hold on a Minute



Last day at section 2 with the whole group today. I spent most of the time helping get pizza taking secret last day photos and watching the group go through their closure. Everybody took it pretty well as far as I could see.

There were two hard times for me. One was when I was explaining to Alex that Chelsea and Rhett were leaving and not coming back tomorrow. He understood. I also explained that I was coming back Monday and Tuesday. Then one of my favorite workers came over and told him that I was leaving like the snow after winter time. And that just sort of broke me, because I saw him smiling and then give me that, "Say it isn't so," look. And I wanted to tell him it wasn't. I still have two days left with him, which in my mind seem much longer than they really are. I wanted to wait till I was actually leaving to feel anything and she already got us both thinking about it. I felt that wound open a second like picking a scab that isn't quite healed, seeing the blood, and then quickly pushing it back down again. Not yet. But this one just gets worse.

I got to hold and take pictures with some of the kids I adore. Today was just fun. Too fast to feel for too long. The kids unwrapped the presents and loved them. It was so much fun. I can't really say too much more about that. If you see me in person ask to see pictures and I'll introduce you guys. I'll hope not to take too long. It's not that long.

I feel like sometimes I have struggled to get things done and felt hopeless to do so. Other times I feel like my only option was to sit on my butt and not die. Right now it is difficult to see myself in that mindset. It's just like how when I was in that mindset it was like believing in Santa Claus to think that I could be happy and have energy and love. I feel like I can sing that redeeming song. Yeah I remember how it goes now.

It starts with rituals, and persists with remembering, and ends with gratitude. Or maybe backwards. I'll figure it out someday.

That was a parenthetical expression of my happiness.

Another moment that broke the scab again was when Dr. Ciobano looked me in the eyes and told me thank you for working with Alex. She said that he was happy every day when I was here and she really appreciated me spending the time to - I can't remember, because at that point a wave hit me and I sheepishly composed myself against persuasion not to cry. To get publicly praised like that meant a lot to me. Especially since when I came out here the first time, Dr. Ciobano was this mysterious scary lady. I think she's great.

And Teo is a saint. She has made everything possible to do these things with Alex. She lets me use her office every day and sacrifices time (and lots of printer ink thanks to Alex) to help me and provide answers to questions and support my efforts to have things work. She took me out to see Mihai. She got other things to work that I thought would not be able to work. She was behind the scenes making stuff happen.

So another great moment was doing this...



(note don't take candy from strangers...)
(Also check out lady at 43 seconds.)

Not exactly during this time, because it wasn't captured, but on the 1st floor at one point in the cancer and burn unit, we started singing and I looked up for a moment to see a large group of people on both sides of us smiling. I felt great singing the Christmas hymns, but looking over while we were singing at their faces got me a little choked up for a second. And also very happy. Here's another one too.




It was a fantastic day.

I talked through some stuff with a good friend in a late night spazz attack. I'm going to miss Alex a lot, but I think I'll miss the person I am when I'm here just as much. I suppose I could possibly take that guy with me if I want to. I'm not sure which responsibility would be more difficult.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Quick one.

Needed to throw something in quick before I forget. Today was good. Teo got me pizza after we talked briefly. Amazing pizza from the one right by the langosi stand. We talked about the video we're making for Dr. Ciobano (her boss as she refers to her). We also got some time to work with Alex after he got out of school.

A big highlight All quotes are rough translation from romanian: Today we made a board that says "I want" then switches to another one, where the only available option right now is "to go," after which it switches to one that says different places that he can go. When he picked the light room and then put a period and clicked the box that reads the message, I was like, "Oh! You want to go to the light room?!" And then without hesitation I pulled his wheel chair out of the room and ran (about 3 feet because that's how close to Teo's office it is) and pulled him into the light room. We haven't been in there for awhile. He loves it. He started laughing and making that noise he makes like crazy. And we both laughed for awhile before going back into the room.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Saturday, December 6, 2008

DEMANDS



Alexandra: Show me.
Robby: Huh?
Alexandra: Show me!
R: What did you say?
A: Show me!
R: Ah what?
A: Show me.
R: Show it?
A: Yeah. Like that Mr.
R: Did you see?
A: Not you.
R: It's me?
Kinsey: Ah Robby
A: Show the DehoNKnuida (food in her mouth)
R: What do you want? ...(see) Me?
A: Show me the thing too.
R: ... and Kinsey
A: Show me the thing too!
R: ... and Rhett
Rhett: What's up?
R: ... and Andrea.
Kinsey: Alexandra! Look, here comes the train. Chugguh Chugguh, etc. There!
....
A: SHOW ME! SHOW ME!
R: Show what?
A: Show me too.
R: Show what me (?) :\
A: I want water Mr.
R: Water?
A: Give it to the girls.
R: Yeah I...
Kinsey: He's gonna get it for you...
R: I'll get it.
Kinsey: Cause he's my slave.
A: I WANT WATER!
R: What?!
A: HEY I want water.
R: Yeah yeah yeah I'm getting it.

Baptism and 7th Floor


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7th floor

Saturday, November 29, 2008

We Loved the Earth But Could Not Stay

I'm kind of one to let holidays sneak up on me. It's American Thanksgiving Day today. I'm grateful for love in my life, though I'm afraid I don't appreciate the avenues at times. I've never confronted myself on this before, though I've reassured the faint tingling that comes from the emerging threat of this vision to keep it from surfacing.

We prove our existence through love. We prove our worthiness to live through it and when we feel incapable of doing so, we begin to die. The definition of death is something strange we gain from spiritual understanding; death is a separation. Pardon the cliche, but we live in an age of addictive and easy connections. We protrude from the vast unknown with representative descriptions and avatars to others who catch us in similar fashion. We transmit contents of what we wish others to see of our souls and anxiously await the same. We withhold and disclose according to our fears and trust, but we wish for that hit that validates us. It has a familiar fragrance that returns to us with hope. When we experience this for the first time, the miracle is similar to any other times we realized that we had some sort of power over our environment. We find that we are active agents and there are others like us with dimensions limited only to our depth of inquiry and appreciation. They may not ever see this depth in themselves, but it lies there awaiting discovery. And we find a tender voice that lets us inside of something strange, yet comfortable.

We learn a common language, which we soon favor exclusively. Some struggle to force theirs upon others. Some conform desperately to speak others'. On rare occassions, both give each other a choice to learn, and both are joyfully enlightened. They create a city that can only be destroyed from the inside; a delightful kingdom filled with an air of freedom and unity.

I am grateful for the kingdoms I have been a fellow citizen of. I have citizenship to a family that has kept its towers high despite the threats of invasion, assailment, and sedition. I walk freely through the gates of valuable friendships. I have cofounded kingdoms that have grown quickly and fallen just as fast. I have watched some fall apathetically and fought for some voraciously in vain. I have become comfortable in some that were never my home, and I have watched others do the same.

I don't know how to explain that some we leave and expect to never see again.

Strangely these cities become ancient ruins we build upon. We do archaeological work and reconstruct civilizations that once thrived in us. We try to learn from them and take something from them for ourselves. That is the only choice we have. Giving to the dead seems to show a lack of allocation. Many cultures do this. Some place flowers by remains. Others leave food, drinks, toys. The Latter day Saints perform sacred ordinances in holy temples, and the Orthodox light candles and offer prayers of assistance. We believe in connecting this way and sometimes we literally do. Other times it is to fall on our knees in acceptance of reality. How rituals bring closure is not something I understand.

This is something I have thought about in preparing to leave again. I wish I could forget what it was like so I could just let it blindside me again. Experience is a one way steet though, and asking to forget is like asking to be able to sleep in the height of resentment or fear.

One must be careful what to write, because a mutation occurs that creates crystallized images of organic and fluid beings. These evolve differently in the laboratories of letters appearing on white flickering screens than in the breathing ecosystems we wake up to the next day. And a wall rises between the writer and subject. Never let them read it for fear that they will prove it a myth. Let the myth live on the paper undiscovered or let it continue to grow in your mind unhindered by the checks and balances of reality. We pen only cross sectionally. We must love longitudinally.

I have seen this time and again as I have gone back to the world I changed on paper, which obviously did not listen to my pen or my will. I can only touch the world when I am in it. That is why there was a council in heaven. That is why that council alone was not sufficient to bring about our progression. I live inside at times exploring only possibility or despairing at my inability to find it. Outside is a diamond mine of truth and renewal and dead ends that must be seen and felt and taken in. But sometimes writing allows us to color our memories. It allows us to unravel knots and sometimes in our groping for meaning to blurred experiences at breakneck speeds or as we pluck some hidden core of learning from a seeming sludge of monotony, we touch truth a moment and feel it.

I found this from T.S. Eliot, who says it much better than what I thought.



We die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.


That last line contains a wonderful and often forgettable caveat: we have depth to find in those we think we have mined to obsolescence. I hear people say that they over analyze. I argue that they were only ignorantly or carelessly analyzing. But we go back to the eye and collect. We may spend our entire lives finding the reason for that collection or we may turn from that to see a world of kingdoms waiting to be built and inhabited. Otherwise we may spend our whole lives in the process of archaeology, but never become part of our own civilization. In this case then, in the previously stated sense of the word, we have already chosen death; having become eternal investigators of ourselves.

Monday, November 24, 2008

There are Things I Cannot See (November 17, 2007)

There's a hole there.
Where?
In your Body
Whose body?
...
Mine.
...
Pretend it's not there.
OK.
Is it still there?
Yes.
Damn. Pretend it is smaller.
OK. I still see it.
Damn.

Who are you?
I am the hole.
Do you have a name?
I have forgotten.
What is your name?
I can't remember.
You have a name.
I know!
What is it?
I don't know! Leave me alone.

Who are you?
I am a hole.
I can help you.
You can? Of course you can't. No one can.
Goodbye.

Who are you?
The hole, but...
But what?
Nothing. I forgot what we were talking about.
We were talking about you.
You don't want to talk to me. I'm just a-
What?
Hole.
Have you thought about doing something about it?
About what?
You know...
I don't know what you're talking about.
Well we can talk about something else.
What else is there?
Everything.
This is me. Take me or leave me.
No that is not you.
What are you talking about?
I know you and that is not you.
Shhh you can't say that, it gets bigger.

Who are you?
The hole. You're just as bad. Don't look at me that way.
I was...
Go away.
OK.

Who are you?
I don't know anymore. Will you tell me?
Well you look like you've got a hole in you. I don't believe I know you.
I am the hole.
Are you then? Well stay away from me!
OK.

Who are you?
If I tell you, you will leave.
No please...
...
Who are you really?
I can't...
I promise you, I will not run. I will not laugh. I will not scream.
Look.
I see.
So?
I can help you.
No you can't.
I can.
How?
Come with me.

Who are you?
I don't know
...
Who am I?
This is who you are.
That is not me.
It was.
But I am...
You are the same.
But I am the hole.
Give me the hole.
I don't understand...
Give it to me.
I don't know how.
Give it to me.
It is difficult.
Give it to me.
It's impossible!
Give it to me.
Please take it!
Give it to me.
Please just take it away from me now!
Give it to me.
Like this? Is that all?
Give it to me.
Here.
Thank You.

But who am I now?
Make a decision.
My 3 hours a day with Alex and my 3 hours a day with the girl Alex don't seem nearly enough, but I'm trying to squeeze more out of them. I've been lucky enough the last couple sessions to see some huge milestones. I'm starting to get into a groove of balancing novel things with things he just wants to do , because they are fun (like painting). The last few projects have been boards to teach numbers, a few simple combinations of 2 or 3 letters and another stab at some social communication.

Friday I had some time and I tried the suggestion of doing the 2 and 3 letter words. It went far better than I had anticipated. This software is amazing and he is obviously aslo. I watch him work with things and tweak things on the fly with him. He's really patient sometimes, while at other times, he can get a little 'ornry. But when he laughs and gets super happy, it is incredibly satisfying.

He is spelling words. And he knows what he's doing. Sometimes I have to explain or show things several times, but others he gets right off the bat. It's a little weird, because for the most part if he figures something out on his own, he can do it again every time; however some things no matter how many times I model it or explain it, he still chooses a different way.

Chelsea is doing a really great job taking notes on everything and definitely adds to the life of the room and the ideas for boards. Sometimes I'm sure I can get a little bit stale even for my son. Yeah... I know, I probably should stop using that one. I love him like crazy though. Today he spelled his name. I know. He's done it before in class and with previous interns, I'm pretty positive, but this time he picked each letter on the computer, heard the computer spell it and then say it, and then he clicked on the button to print it. He went nuts. Big smiles, his signature joy scream, head shakes, and kicks. We held the paper out in front of him for awhile and just watched till his explosion was completed going crazy along with him. When I'm watching him spell a word sometimes it's like a football game or whatever sport you like. You watch with building intensity as he moves from one correct move to another, cringe for a moment as he makes a false move but are reassured as he corrects himself, and then it just builds... and... builds... until... it's... a... (he's on the 40) a... (the 30) A... (the 20) A... (he could- *everyone is out of their seats now talking like the players can hear them, "come, you got this"* Yes?????)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
TOUCHDOWN!!!!!!

Yeah. That's what it's like.

I'm really excited about getting his social communication stuff going. Today we taught him to ask, "how are you doing?" and "what did you do today?" in Romanian. Also to say that he went to various places that are just for fun at this point (a party, swimming, school, to his room, and to the cafeteria) and how it was, (Fun, boring, good, bad). We'll get more complex later, but it was awesome to see him getting to see when he saw what he could do with these. Also he could say how he was feeling, just happy sad and upset at this point.

Last week, I got to feed him alot. It's really a bonding time for us. I see him struggle really hard to get his food down and keep it in his mouth sometimes and he sees me struggling to feed him the right way. Every once in awhile he'll look up and to the left all sinister at a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall behind him. I'll put the food down for a moment and sneak up to it like I'm going to pet a tiger. I slowly reach my hand up to it and then when I touch it... I scream and go into convulsions like I just got electricuted. We both laugh hysterically, and sometimes he spits a filler substance (rice/mashed potatoes/cornmeal) pureed with a meat of some sort (snitzel, mici, or meatloaf)

Today, I also got to change his clothes and get him ready for bed. This is a part of their daily routine that the interns usually do not see, because we're gone an hour beforehand. I can't really say exactly how it felt, but it did make me even more anxious to somehow continue to be a part of his life. One of those times where I get one more glimpse into his real life. I sometimes picture in my mind, if the president of Romania could see how much I love him and he loves me, and he heard the eye witness testimonies of the workers and psychologists and Mario, and past interns, and Dr. Ciobano... he'd have to let me take care of him. I would do it and live in Romania too, because Alex is pretty bad at english. I suppose it's like a 5 year old asking for a puppy. But I mean Jesus said... this right? And sometimes I think I'm different. I'm not just holding the babies (though that is an eye opening and heart capturing experience as well). I'm not just another person passing through to him or at least I'd like to think so. This is gonna hurt like crazy.

Ohh Rob-Rob (I'm still trying not to hear that as eye-rollingly condescending)...


Friday, November 21, 2008

Turburuga? Buturuga!



This is Alexandra. She is cute. That is all.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

How Did I Get Here?: A Brief Flashback

Couldn't sleep, so I had to write something. I started down that way thinking about Alex and thinking about leaving. A specter said to me, "Let him go." I don't know what that means. It means to take time to let the experts help him maybe. I look at the time it will take to get him to do what he needs to and think that maybe he will not live that long. At 2:00 when I woke up after 4 hours of sleep, I think I knew something. I'm alone. I'm alone, because I want to control things that I have no power over. I hadn't planned on a specific intervention before I got here. I needed inspiration from him. I needed to see the potential. I've spent almost 3 years wondering if I had done something horribly wrong at times. I had resented my professors. I had victimized and punished myself. I don't know how to make it work without me there. That's what hurts. I haven't wept over him on this trip until tonight. I can't get everything done and I don't know how to set things in motion so that I can release myself from this responsibility. I can't relinquish control, whether it is a noble aspiration or not. I'm fighting that. Teo asked me the question a couple weeks ago, "You're doing great, but what happens when you're gone?"

That was always the question. That was the question the first time. I fell apart for months when I got back. I had a vague idea of what to do when I got back. Just a name: Betty Ashbaker. She gave me hope that it was possible. I gave her assurance that I was capable. I put it in writing. I got back out here and things changed. I had to adjust and I didn't know how to get things done.

The first time I had a reason to be at BYU and I was on the Provo Plan as I have heard it put before. Now I'm already starting to feel like a falling bullet shell jettisoned from a rifle. I've spent the last couple years trying to fix myself. Trying to fill some fundamental flaw. Trying to find some ultimate answer to why I can't seem to get that thing that everyone seems to know about life. The one that allows them to be OK with things not being OK, or at least enough to wake up every morning without ever wondering whether they have something to live for. Not the there's no reason to stay alive type thinking. Forget that. I'm just talking about wondering whether I'm really doing anything worth doing and if not, is there a point?

I thought a relationship or marriage would change that, but it only made me forget what I wanted sometimes. That's not her fault; at some point, I made her my god. Or the idea that she would change me. I can't say this is the reason things went sour. There were other things that choked the rose. The band (the real one) became a superpower in my life and not for sinister reasons. I met and maintained some of the best friendships I will ever have in this small group of people. It felt like we had something special. Sometimes it was spiritual, which may have moved into pretentiousness at times, but we had a higher trajectory in our minds. During that time, real life was a little quieter. That came from the high I got when things clicked. We weren't the most talented musicians in the world, and we didn't write the best songs in the world, but we had love and purpose I learned to find joy in the simple connection of playing together. There's no words for that. That's why I sort of reverence that video and that Iron and Wine song that Dave put together, because it represents a period of purity and joy in the band I loved, with people who were my best and closest friends. When those things left, things fell apart. Personalities clashed and things became less forever feeling. I had found someone I wanted to be with forever and she had to compete with that. She won for awhile and I gave up the band. But in time that feeling of incompleteness came back. I didn't know how to make sense or even acknowledge losses at the time and so I panicked. I put her through some serious bullshit and I spent the year after that trying to forgive her and mostly myself. During that time, my love was the band again. But I slowly watched that hang by a thread and then self destruct.

Where was Alex during this period? He was living the same life he had when I left. He became a myth as I stared at the witch's fire of people convincing me that life had more important things to offer me. The second visit was there somewhere in the transition period between my love for the band and my love for Dorothy. When I met her, the only thing that was keeping me busy was my project with Alex. I had taken the summer off and I found myself blowing things off to be with her repeatedly. I couldn't help that though, and later I realized that all the book stuff I had stressed out about nearly went out the window when I got there. Soon I was in Iasi again. I was happy to be back in Iasi, but there was an urgency in our 3 week operation. Nothing is as simple as you think it is going to be there. We had to solve problems that we never expected in ways we were unfamiliar with, we had almost no communication with our mentors, and we weren't even sure that the solution we provided was adequate and of course the continuity was difficult to establish. I will be forever grateful to Holly for sacrificing time to help us with the project. Being a facilitator now, I start to realize what that meant. And she kept the project alive for the next group, and I am filled with appreciation for her for that as well. I came home to a rush of new commitments and fulfillment, which accompanied by the lack of communication with the faculty connected to the project, led to me losing the vision (or at least the motivation to finish the paperwork).

After I watched the deterioration of my health, my academic balance, and the most important things in my life at the time, I was expected to quickly finish the paperwork I had received no guidance in completing and I submitted it somewhere, but what happened at that point was a mystery. Probably an email error. During that period, I was a mess. I just wanted out. Of what, I don't know. I just felt lost. I had a rebound relationship that was sweet and important to me for a time, but again I felt like things weren't quite right. I was pulled in two different directions. I saw two different lives ahead of me and decided to go with none of the above. Neither shore was one I could swim to, and so I felt like I was drowning.

In the meantime, I received updates on Alex now and then. When I heard he was going to school I felt like at least one great thing had happened as a result of the work I attempted. They believed in him.

I don't know why, but putting those words in front of me brings poignant tears. The feeling is similar to when someone finally helped me in Bucharest to change my ticket, and connect with the group on the way to Brasov. Like being rescued from a sinking ship.

I got back to doing what I needed to graduate and for some reason I kept going to the MTC for Romanian. It started out as some kind of Masochistic punishment by reminding me of Dorothy, but became a boon of support for me, because it provided a spiritual experience frequently. I also enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep up the language and I met some good friends including Viorica my surrogate grandmother who I love dearly now. The band also came back in a different form. We had new direction and adjusted goals, but trying to pull the weight of a couple people got tiring to the rest of us. During this time I got an email that I thought was a mistake from Holly asking if I wanted to be a facilitator for the fall group. I entertained the idea for awhile without telling anyone in the band. Holly and I sent a couple e-mails back and forth and I thought about applying. For a little bit I wondered whether it was possible, but she assured me it was. A few entertaining facebook conversations and talks with Rachel, who revitalized my sense of what the Romania experience is or could be gave me courage to believe I could do it and that it was worth doing. I will be grateful to her forever as well.

During the prep course I was consistently reminded of what happened with Alex. There was even a required reading for the students about the project and why it was culturally inappropriate. That stung. I resented it, but I wondered if the woman who wrote it had spent the time I spent with him and longed like I had to hear him, maybe she would have understood that I was kind of blind to the caution of tip-toeing around the cross-cultural ethical implications. I did realize then however in a different way, that the project was poorly planned and executed. I didn't exactly have a degree in communication disorders though.

I can blame whatever process on the failure of the project in the past, but things work out in the end. I heard that phrase when I woke up in the middle of the night tonight and I thought, "Yeah, but you say that kind of stuff to feel better about what didn't happen. It all works out in the end? Whose end? Mine? The end of what? Of course it all works out in the end; that's what religion is for, to tell us that this isn't all there is and that our decaying bodies become something great, and all the inconsistancies that make us crazy and wonder what the hell is going on, become distant memories. So tell me that again (faceless they), but this time mean what you say. Where is the end? Do I get to see it? Will I want to see it?" Things work out or you decide they are not important. Those are the only options you have next to brief insanity in this life. But Christ makes that sound like a good thing. And it is. But part of faith is believing that our pain will fade when morning comes, that all of our trials are milestones along the way, and that every scar is a bridge to someone's broken heart (Dustin Kensrue).

I turned on the lights for a second. All of the things in the past that I've seen as disastrous have been stepping stones to where I am and what I have to give, whether they crumbled beneath me or remain intact. People heal and people forgive. We reassign meaning to keep going. I saw that, though not everything I've done has been perfect, and I wasn't even going in the right direction sometimes, the work I did before was a preparation and the tool that was payed for can be used to a good purpose. The equipment is better now than they've ever had and more people have had their eyes open to his potential. I'm not done yet here and I've got a whole lot of ways to help from home, but if I cannot do anything else, I have loved this boy and will until the end. Whenever that comes, which thankfully, I have no control over.

It shouldn't be hard to sleep now.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Just a thought

I'm starting to believe that some of the purpose of life is to learn how to love its reward so we are not disappointed when we get there.

It's Not What You Think...

Stark contrasts the last couple days. I went from a murky dungeon to a rejuvenated love for life. I took an involuntary 3 weeks off from my kids. That's the problem. It made me insane. Really. And in that time between, all I had was brief moments of clarity while I fought my strange body's whining adjustments to new germs. And Budapest... Oh and there was the scabies too, but I don't want to talk about that. We all got 'em from our favorite kids so it's the price of loving I guess.

I wrote this whole monologue about what being depressed feels like the day before I snapped out of it, but that's the most overly abused topic of bad "art" that I know of. I'll maybe say two things though? It's pretty real to me, even though its usual purpose and cause is the distortion of reality. And it's an old friend that shows up uninvited that wants to sleep in your bed and eat all your food, and embarrasses you in front of everyone you know. You need to keep him inside the house, but you can't leave him alone in there. You just watch him and hope he doesn't break anything too expensive.

But the cure for that is love. Not the intake, but the output. Seeing their faces gives me a new one for some reason. This weekend once I could finally see straight, I needed to be with them. I had to go Saturday and I got to go Sunday (today/yesterday depending on when I finish this). We did a new board with Alex and he broke new records with the alien shooting. Watching his face light up when I walked in looking for the key to the changing room and watching him gloom as I started walking out, I turned and explained and he turned back into the Alex I know. The mother of one of my best friends said one of the best signals of affection is that you light up when they walk in the room. I don't know how I could say how much I missed him too. So I won't. Chelsea and I helped him through a new board. I hope someday he will be able to tell his own story. One where he doesn't need anyone to speak for him.

Holding a baby in the hospital I thought and went down one of those dark mental halls.

Deprivation is a difficult word to stomach. It's a word that conjures up feelings of vindication. It's a word like rape. It provokes quick judgments and the Christian suppression of them that grasps awkwardly for any reason to forgive this circumstance. To find an "at least..." or a "Someone probably..." to force it to make sense when we really don't know. When we stare at babies we don't just stare at a creature formulated to incite a feeling like compassion by the composition of its facial features and body proportions, which feeling we follow and utter uncontrollably the word cute (there is no derision in me pointing this reflex out). We stare at potential. When I hear deprivation, I see this potential shaved in places like an ice statue. He is a good baby, because he doesn't cry. It's hard at first to see that he's already losing something. He's losing his ability to say that he is a human being, because he has been told by the actions of those around him, who cannot be held completely accountable in no uncertain terms that he is like a human being, but something less. This, because there is no one in the room who consistently considers this person one of the most important things that has ever happened to them. What more can we give him? There is no room in our realistic inns. Slowly I had lost this feeling that there was some kind of fight going on. But the burden of responsibility can't be underestimated, especially in relation to human life. But then, do I value the life of anyone? Do I have time or energy to truly value human life or should I be expected to? I find it difficult to allocate time to accomplish menial tasks sometimes or allocate energy and attention to maintain relationships with those closest to me. I have to set apart my life for a few months to be there for children who rarely see a sphere greater than a few yards sometimes beside their frequent trips to the meal table or resident therapists.

Years ago I came here to save them from drowning with a 5 dollar bill. This time I came for me, because I understand that I don't understand. I just wanted to see them again. I left the first time with that bitter resignation and ignorantly said "La revedere," which this year I learned literally translates, "to reviewings/reseeings" implying that we'll see each other again. It's a wish we say every time we leave, because we never know when we will see them again. Sometimes we mean it more than others.

I'm in this mode of thought, because we recently got e-mailed about a closure assignment and I looked back on how much it hurt to be going. This time I'm looking at that day like more than a dentist appointment.

Sometimes it's maybe better to leave people so that you can let them live their optimal life in your mind, so you can be surprised when you hear what really happened and have the fun of wondering what they're doing now. They stay that magical age forever to you and you can bring that memory back whenever you want. If you don't leave, you see the monotony, the power struggles, you feel the stress that is necessary to love them and you must choose how much of yourself not to give them every day. I find myself clinging to the edge of the pool, clawing the floor beside the surface. It is good that these children are across an ocean, because the symbolism appropriately describes the chasm you feel open as you leave.

But perhaps that's a natural reaction, when you fear that you may never love like that again. This is a false belief, of course. I had to learn to love some of these kids like smokers have to learn how to smoke. And I had my coughing fits like anybody else, Jesus excluded. I made a plan to love them before, I just didn't know what it would be like until it happened.

At the end of the day it's easy to say I'm tired or drained or saddened by events or the lack of certain events. Then in the shower I remembered that I signed up to be sick and alone at times wishing I could be somewhere else, get my heart broken, be tired, fall apart and sometimes want to escape, hear about things going on at home without me, dealing with personalities that see things differently than me, be overwhelmed with not understanding the language at times, bodily fluids including my own, and to frequently readjust my belief system. That's what I paid for. It's calculated to do that to people like me that live their lives mostly in theory. Then I felt clean.

I can't communicate this to the members the group very well. Sometimes I feel I'm not really needed for what I have to give, because I don't have the administrative and people skills, though I may have claimed so in my resumes and interviews. I just have the purpose. And despite all my bleeding heart rhetoric, sometimes I don't even have that. That's the other thing I payed to have again. The smiles and laughs are just a hefty bonus.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Paper referred to in Earlier Post from October 9th

Uh, I said something about this earlier... Here it is.
Pardon the Jargon; hope it doesn't suck?

The readings introduced to me some really interesting ideas and concepts, challenging the way I looked at development. The Overton chapter was something I had to read at least 3 times to get the gist of, but I gleaned that the importance of a definition of development is crucial to the inquiry process and that we frequently err and must reevaluate what that is. Overton emphasizes the importance of recognizing transformational and variational changes in the expressive-constitutive and instrumental-communicative features of behavior. The dichotomous ways of considering behavior can be integrated by taking them as lenses of equal importance. We do Brigance tests out here as a way to operationally define and quantify the progress we seek, though it is based on observed behaviors and there is little expressive-constitutive consideration. This can be found in our conversations with one another and within our records and case studies to a certain degree, but we have little training in the collection of data and so are prone to attributing our findings to our own perceptions, which can be skewed by our love for the kids or how much sleep we got last night. We tend to want simple answers to the silent questions posed by our orphans. How do I help (insert name of child) with (insert maladaptive institutional behavior or disciplinary issue)? And we are infants ourselves in the understanding of normative/non-normative development; ignorant of the intricate multivariate reciprocal relationships and multisystemic processes in play. Let’s go back to changes and developmental lenses, though.

On a personal level, my work with Alex is an attempt to produce a man-made transformational change in his communication by teaching him to use technology that opens his capacity for learning. The initial change is happening as is a variational change in building his vocabulary. I realize a little each day to a certain extent that the technology is not the change, but it has been a means of making the staff at section 2 more aware of his development from an expressive-constitutive perspective (his cognitive potential) by allowing a greater amount of observable behavior through the instrumental-communicative lens (his assisted communication). On a global level, I can compare this to what was mentioned in the Horowitz article about the assistance of neuroimaging technology. It states the growing consensus that “…the regularities of development are constructed as a result of the transaction of the individual with the seemingly big, buzzing, confusing, noisy environmental surround…” (p. 5). This technology gives greater insight into the internal workings, whereas the outer behavior was once a sealed vault. It allows new data to be produced where once theory was the only alternative in some cases.

The Hinde article had a wealth of content, but I chose to focus on the conclusions of questions related to cross cultural values of biological predispositions and adaptation. It is difficult to see a worker in the orphanage here implementing parenting strategies far different from those I’ve experienced in my own home and been made aware of in the classroom. I’ve placed value on them, because in the cultural context within which I live, the behaviors and attributes that lead to success are supported. Initially the contrast can spur feelings of anger and confusion. The ambiguity lies in the fact that I have not spent enough time within this cultural context nor do I have the language skills to understand what normative parenting values are here, and I assume that they are the same as my own, especially if I do not identify and acknowledge my own biases. My inquiry will then be tainted by my lens that seeks to “fix” this behavior and reconcile it with my truth. Furthermore, if I seek to discipline the children in a different way than is prevalently employed in an institutional setting, perhaps I may put them at a disadvantage within their social demographic when placed in another setting. Common sense and human decency suggest otherwise, but whose common sense and human decency? What is the result we are striving for? On the other hand, a strictly observant stance seems to illicit the feeling that I am cruelly permissive, like watching a person fall down the stairs.

The lifelongings article struck a chord with me. It emphasizes in my mind, the wild card aspect of development, which is that drive toward some life pursuit and ultimate happy ending. This statement reverberated for me, “Development is a process that strives toward optimality, that in human reality, however is never completed and perfect.” It explains in a way, the function of tricking our minds at times, to get to something we value highly. Finding and continually adjusting the balance of fantasy and realism seems to be an aspect of successful development. I can take the quest for marriage and a happy family as a Sehnsucht, for instance: In my mind I see myself marrying someone for love who shares my core values and with whom I can develop sexual, creative, emotional, intellectual, aesthetic, recreational, work, crisis, and conflict intimacy, avoid the four horsemen of the apocalypse, maintain appropriate differentiation, raise obedient children who follow normative development as constituted by the cultural context (and many other things I’ve learned from various classes). I see a story from my time before, I see where I am now and I can create a story of us growing old and happy. I feel incomplete and ambivalent about this fantasy, especially if I pull someone else into it. I am hopeful, but incomplete. I am eager, but restrained, because they say you can chase it away. In my career path, this (a happy marriage and family) is a symbol of reassurance of my legitimacy to future clients. In my sub-culture, this is a symbol of victory over a major stage of life. It is a symbol of resolution to some conflicts to stories I’ve created and represents to a certain degree even ultimate success in life and eventual godhood. Being outside of that can seem like staring up from the terrestrial kingdom at times, especially when this tri-time focus is present. I’m also aware that when it happens (I came back to this after writing it and realized that I said “when it happens,” which is further evidence of the hold this personal utopia has on me) , I will be part of the world of people who understand that it is never perfect (and how). As we grow old, we don’t all become astronauts and fire-fighters (nor do we want to usually). We realize that our life functioning is a bell curve and not an endless graph of positive correlation and we must make adjustments to our life longings or depress/live in a fantasy world. This longing however is a sustaining internal motivator. It needn’t be a source of depression. All of these concepts have initiated some paradigm shifts, and refueled my fascination with human development. And I’m happy to be at development camp again, which drives things home for me.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Morr Morrr

I haven't really felt like writing for awhile. I liked being in Budapest. I wish I hadn't gotten sick. I'm still recovering a little bit from the whole thing. I've been feeling like writing these things is reaching into my laundry bag and realizing there's nothing in there; it's just been folded and lumpy. There are a few experiences now and then that I learn, but now and then I'm ashamed of putting something on here even I can throw stones at.

I'm also a little guilty, because every minute I write on here is another minute I should be working on doing a reading response or another paper or working on a speech board. So I play launch the hedgehog into space so I don't have to think about any of those things. At least I'm honest right? It's mostly, because thinking rationally or critically isn't required by the task of launching hedgehogs into space. I can't BS my school work. I really really REALLY want to, because I've been doing this class for so long. And I thoroughly enjoy the stuff I'm learning and the subject matter is directly applicable to my experience here. I've just been disengaging. Maybe I'm just lazy or maybe I'm trying not to get hurt. Once I got told I have Gilbert's syndrome which basically means that you're stupid and lazy when you're sick. I think I might have started the pneumonia path though because I just started coughing tonight and it's ugly.

I miss Alex.

There. Said it.

Scabies---->Budapest----->Whatever this is

I haven't wanted to write one of these for fear of being a major bummer, but usually writing helps me get from point A to point B-lessSSSed. Man I'm clever.

I think tomorrow I'm going into work whether I'm sick or not. What's more selfish and inconsiderate, staying at home because you need to rest/quarantine or going to see the kids you love even though you might infect them with something (that they probably infected you with in the first place anyway, right?)?

You don't have to answer that.

Maybe I'm still reeling from my experience in the hostel. I don't know whether I helped a brother out or fed his paranoia, but I was pretty drained from talking someone through a bad trip. I worry and hope he's ok, but I have to be ok with not knowing what happened to him. He took off the next morning in a rage and left the staff a little bewildered. Maybe my sister will baptize him haha.

I finally finished my report about what happened with Katy in Bucharest. That's another ghost I can say goodbye to. I think it's difficult for me to be responsible again. In Budapest everything was up in the air, but I wasn't in charge. People did what they wanted. Now I need to do assessments of everyone in the group. "Halftime assessments." I have to grade them on things like attitude and obedience, and punctuality, and creativity and enthusiasm, self motivation, problem solving, adaptability. And not based on how I want them to be, but how I think they are doing. It's way past the halfway point too so this will be difficult. Again back to the stone throwing. Keep it profesh right?

I've been feeling a huge distance that perhaps I've created. I'm content to be alone working on this stuff and I'm caustic in this state. I got a powerful blessing from Rhett and the Elders though and that made me feel like I'd be ok. That doesn't have much to do with those assessments more the overall picture.

See how less interesting these blogs are without my kids to write about? I should sleep soon.

Universally and slightly detached love you for reading this.

P.S. I ate a whole package of bear meat...

Saturday, October 25, 2008

C.S. Lewis stole my Blogger Password!

You have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw—but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported . . . All the things that have deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it—tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest—if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself—you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say 'Here at last is the thing I was made for.' We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want . . . which we shall still desire on our deathbeds . . . Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it—made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.

-
C.S. Lewis from The Problem of Pain

Sometimes when I'm with Alex and laugh with him and watch him come alive and cheer with him, I get a glimpse of this and that's what is painful about walking home after everyone else; across the screaming street, through the muddy alley, up the breaking stairs, past the pleasant pastry stand, and up the busy sidewalk toward the mall and up the stairs to my 4th floor apartment, where I turn the key 3 times. Some of them see him succeed and do impressive new things. I see a glimpse of my place in heaven.

This is what I tried to write last Christmas about the "standing before some landscape" aspect of this. I hadn't read the quote before.

Content with Humble Admiration
(Dec 22 2007)

Plaster milky porcelain dream
It cracks in wind swept swells
From a privileged balcony, I take in an inch, a foot, a mile, a city
Two majestic pines rise to smell the clouds
And my hands take the sweet perfume
Hiding it in my lint scattered pockets
Like a secret music box, it sings to me when I'm away
To romanticize this place. It is though.
To me it's an oasis.
Though I try, it never becomes less breathtaking.
I can scan its promises for days.
Spoils of the sacrifices of a life of grinding focus.
A life I never earned
I play naively upon this floor.
Like the man who knows not God.
But I take the chorus with me.
I may never collect again.

The sigh I took when I walked back inside from that view from my
father's balcony is the same sigh I let out on that walk home.
Something just happened. I don't know what it is, but it was important,
and now a dull pain introduces itself as I must return to what is less
clear, but louder and anxiously repetitive.

And I wrote this in early November.

If I could forget me for that brief moment it could make a difference in them.
I wanted that desperately. I had to see it in them. I had to feel it in Him.

Not emotion. Confirmation. Assurance. Like a bulb which lights when the clean circuit is complete. It is fragile, but understood it is systematic. Not in a cold and lifeless way. On the contrary, this system brings life and warmth.


...They are systems that can only be truly integrated with each other. We reach up in hopes that we may fit, but fail to recognize that this is the only true fit and the only one that really matters. At times we shave parts of ourselves off or plaster and weld excess on so that we may more easily work in the places which accept us temporarily. Eventually we are left alone when these machines break down or become unsatisfied with us. At that point, we may regret what compromises we have made to our design. Though it is with relief and awe that we find our true integrative shape. And with great joy do we become one again.

2 Peter 2:3 John 14:6

I have since changed my mind about some of those statements. I believe there are connections we find temporarily, which bring us familiarity with that final glove. Sprinkling hints of what we really are. And while they touch us they can help us see clearer that part of us we love.

Eph. 1:13
D&C 88:3



Tuesday, October 21, 2008

For My Fridge Y'ALL!

This is a picture Alex drew for me today all by himself with Eagle Eyes Paint. We killed some Aliens for a little bit, but it was too easy for him. Really. There's these aliens that pop up and you kill them by just moving the cursor which is actually a crosshair on the game and it tells you how many you get and how quickly. The only time it didn't work is when he swung his head so wildly that the tracker that recognizes the inside of his eyebrow shifted to his ear or a stationary part of his wheelchair. I call it muci (boogers, as in aveti muci in ceai?), because it is a green box that goes somewhere on his head in the camera monitor. I hope that my description of the technology is sufficient. If you have questions leave comments?

I also got to hang a picture of us that we printed out by his bed. Teo took the picture we promise, there's no need to involve child protection services, I swear.

I went home so happy today. I felt so much love for Alex. I can't really write it right. So I won't. But it's there.

Went to the hospital and played with Alexandra. This time I pretended to swallow and spit back up every single object in or around her bed. She laughed hysterically each time. I thought it would get old, but that's 4/5 year olds right? She's a little stinker though. She went poop (sorry those who are deeply offended by this word) in her diaper and I had a nurse come help me change it, because it was way complicated with her cast on. During the changing process she started pooping again and laughing. And I was like "Hmmmm who does this remind me of...?"

I also had a pleasant surprise. I was leaving Alexandra's room to go to the store downstairs for some things and who should I hear calling me from behind but Florin! He was back in the Hospital since the day before. We obviously went down to eat pizza and beg for free stuff. We sat down and talked a little bit and then he sat down by two young men whom he seemed to know. I just kind of sat there dumb, but every once in awhile I reminded him we had to go back upstairs.

I was supposed to leave early to chaperone one of the girls home and I didn't have much time with Alexandra. I went back up and played with her for another 15 minutes or so then headed down to meet the girls. There are two probably about 10 year old boys on the 3rd floor which I passed each time a trip was mentioned in this narrative. They clinged to me and asked me where the girls were every time. It's more than a crush for them. But when you ask me the same questions over and over, it's more than annoying for me when I'm running out of time. The girl found someone else to go home with early so she could talk to her boyfriend and so I went back up to the 5th; I still had another 20-30 minutes or so. We played with one of those 3 lei mingea's and she kept asking me to wash it. I did once and then I realized it was a game so I pretended to eat it to change the subject.

Then the nurse came in. It was time for her to go get her cast off. The nurse brushed her hair with a comb gently and put a clip in her hair. The nurses on this floor were super 1337 and so it's really fun to be on this floor, because they are cooperative and friendly and incredibly kind to the children. I watched them take her out on a stretcher. The whole time she was asking the endless (And if you can picture the cutest little kid voice I've ever heard perfectly calm without crying or complaining, just questions that rise in tone at the end of every sentence), "Are you leaving? *The nurse answers that we are leaving* Where are we going? *The nurse answers, "down stairs"* Downstairs? *Yes to take off your cast* To take off my cast? *Yes* Where is that? *Downstairs* Where are you going? Why? Why? Hey what are you doing? Why? Why? Are we leaving?, etc." I finally had to say bye and she smiled and said bye. It was kind of like a resolution of the time I was like "Ho doctors better have my cast!" last time I was here.

We went out for Pizza tonight. Rhett, Michelle X 2, Chelsea, Alexis, Mary, and Rosi, and Monica (Mihai's sis). It was fun.

I found out later tonight that the software we've been waiting for was sent and delivered and is going to be coming with Ashley this weekend. This kind of struck a chord of resolution for me. I don't mean to dis these phrases, but I don't want to use them, because they make me feel like I'm in a seminary video, but they describe the situation a little: tender mercies, overwhelming feeling of gratitude, wave of comfort, o caldura in inima mea (the default phrase for whenever the missionaries asked me how I felt about something and I didn't know what to say "a warmth in my heart"). Maybe I didn't have as many as I thought. I felt sick with gratitude. Now I'm just getting sloppy tired.

I'm feeling a little 2 Nephi 33:6.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

An Unexpected Friend

I need to do more homework and less blogging. Katie is home. That makes me happy and sad. Happy, because she is safe. Sad, because she added so much to our group and had a passion to do the work with a good attitude.

Today I had a sort of mind warp when I met a kid whose name I've heard mentioned, but never met. Her name is Alexandra. She is an orphan and very cute. She also knows how to work the system to her advantage. I've noticed a difference between those who have been able to get what they want and those who can't. They play the game. They have something that draws you. Since their lives are often so desperate, when they find the thing that is actually working to get what they want or desperately need, they press the button all day. Maybe it is a smile. Maybe it is their voice tone. Maybe it is a certain phrase that they say, or even a problem behavior like spitting or pinching. I've seen it work. It works on me. For some of them (Alex is probably one), it is the reason they are still alive or have the quality of life that they now enjoy. But they are in a sense caricatures. They have unique functions and attributes that emerge, but many of the ones that would allow them to integrate with a normative social environment atrophy and are all but dead, because within their environment, they are not stimulated or not necessary. Whether those things can be revived, let alone supported to a thriving vitality, is another discussion completely and I won't dwell any more on that subject. It saddens me and this is what we come to study here. That principle is the question that burns.

Alexandra had something that I couldn't quite put my finger on when she spoke her nonsense. It took me a minute to realize after doing her bidding, that she had some of the same tendencies as Larisa. Having a marginal knowledge of the language creates an interesting balance to where I'm intensely focused on what this 4 year old has to say, but I can also recognize some of the things that she is saying and why they don't fit contextually. Plus nostalgia kicked in, but it was like going back to your high school 5 years after you graduated and seeing people like the ones you remember doing the same things you did, but knowing that they are not those people. I fell in love, but it was a consolation to regain my memories. I tried to feed Larisa every day when she was losing weight rapidly. She would throw inconsolable fits that were foreign and intense. I read and sang to her. We had games and inside jokes (and really she still remembers). I'd fight her for toys that I knew she would destroy 20 minutes after I left and she would go nuclear. I watched her fall asleep with difficulty as she slowly let down her hyper-vigilance and steady flow of anxiety, closing her eyes slowly then quickly opening them like a monster in a horror movie coming back for one last scare. I stayed up at nights worried that she would never get her cast or the other surgeries she needed. I felt like she was mine. I loved her.

This girl was more even tempered and she made more sense. I almost wasn't sure if she was an orphan or not, but through time I got to understand her a little more. I'm going to be fighting some of the people in the group for the time with her. I don't need it; someone else deserves some of the feelings and learning experiences I had, however I can't help but feel selfish sometimes. It really consoled my loss of 2 really great kids I got to see every day for awhile, Florin and Marian. That hurt a lot for some reason. I like to anticipate where the hurt is going to come from and this caught me by surprise in the sense that I didn't know it was going to happen in the case of Marian (I showed up one day and he was gone) and I didn't anticipate not being able to see Florin again to affect me as much as it did. At least I got to give him the picture though. That gave me a sense of resolution. I suppose I have it easy in comparison with the children here, who may look forward to their brief time with one of us each day, and must unavoidably deal with that loss again and again. Or perhaps that part of them is also numb. I can help them feel happy today though.

A little footnote after reading this over... Sometimes I forget that they also have the rudimentary attributes of God in embryo and unlimited divine potential.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Watching Space Clear From a Taxicab

I woke one day to spinning foreign fields
A parallax of three panoramic plains
And why I thought next of what Ive collected in years,
I can't tell.

Whom I've chosen as my face
Where I've paused to drop sand from my only hour glass
To bitterly throw it in the eyes of those I make my enemies,
Which pieces I've used to mold my own wings.
And laughed nervous strains
while watching them crumble under shore breaks,
Like a child's castle dulls and erupts.

Then come powerlines.
And the front plane thickens.
And one tree becomes a smeared and massive screen.
And the warm cottages become cold blocks.
And the stories become laws.
And the words of a loving parent become religion.

That first plane thins to brief wisps and a sky is born.
And I see evidence of the work of centuries we learned.
Error, sacrifice, and adaptation.
Construction of life support, strength, and unity.
Duty and survival. Loyal support and love of man.
We find and share bread. We speak universes.

But behind these lie beauty man can only mock.
Essential, slow moving, and joy to discover daily.
Mountains unconcerned with the rising tides.
And complex and reciprocal union.
A sacred dance few take time to learn.
It is then I comprehend what kingdom I make my home.

The Words You Scribbled On The Wall, With The Loss of Friends You Didn't Have

I got tagged to do an internet survey-esque blog post. I haven't written anything substantial in a couple days and I'm down with the sickness at home so...

7 TV shows I like to watch:

1. Arrested Development. Me and people that don't think this show is funny tend to disagree on most other essential parts of life. There's always an applicable place to quote it. Pacing and interlocking stories is amazing. It's the first place I ever heard of a Spanish Novela. "What do you know about... Hermano?"
Also it pokes fun at your racist grandmother, your Uncle Bradford (or some other family member with the last name Bradford), ignorantly frivolous activism, mental health professionals, lawyers, the world's ridicule of family values, parental pressure to succeed, triangulation, the sick role, the conflict in Iraq, business meetings, prison, and the blue man group among other things. I could probably devote an entire blog to my love for this show...

2. The Office. Haven't gotten past season 2 and I catch glimpses of current episodes, well last year I did. I suppose I'm not a true fan per se, but I do think it's really funny and the romance thing was pretty well orchestrated. I just sometimes want to puke all over myself when Michael opens his mouth and that can make things difficult, but some lines are golden: "Fool me once, shame on me... Fool me twice, strike three."

3. House. It got a little formulaic for me, but I love the "I just don't give a F-" ness of his character. I liked the way they portrayed him as vulnerable, but before you could feel sorry for him he was too much of a douche. It made for a very dynamic character. I love the other doctors as well. Almost always very clever and the mystery got solved in a way that made you go OoOOooOooo. I sometimes wished House was in Buc with us when Dr. Brady left, but he probably would have made everybody want to punch him by the end.

4.  Quantum Leap?

5. Venture Brothers. Also very clever.

6. Robot Chicken (I know... but when you see the thundercats living in a trailer park, Optimus Prime giving public sevice announcements about prostate exams, and VH1's behind the music sadly explaining why they had to put animal from the muppets to sleep, you can't look away...)

7. Teenage Mutant Mormon Mermaids. Ask Rhett.

7 Things I did yesterday:

1. I went to the hospital early to catch Florin before he left. I gave him a laminated picture of us which is on the post here. It was really cool. And pretty sad, because I don't know if I'll see him again and it was like one of those times where you wonder if the afterlife is just something people have made up so they don't have to deal with meeting people and leaving them. But then I remembered that I surrendered to the spirit.

2. I went and paid bills with Mario. I love Mario. There was this one moment where she was telling me something important about the group right before we went inside to pay a bill and then I couldn't respond, because we were being quiet and then we walked out of the place and for like 10 minutes it was silent and I was like, I've been quiet, because I've been trying to remember what we were talking about and she was like me too I can't remember! Then we went to the post office and picked up 4 packages for the girls. Merry Christmas! We hurried so she could get to the church for Sfanta Parascheva.

3. I found out one of the Mickey rooms has Scabes. Including Alex. Mega-bummer.

4. I played in Mickey Mouse and got to sit with Irina out of her chair for awhile. She's way big now. I wasn't sure if she got excited and happy about my singing or if she was just wishing she had the motor capabilities to get away from it, but I think she had a good time.

4. I bought lamb and it was totally worth the smoke in my face.

5. Went to the hospital and one of the kids got in trouble, because he got on the lift without me. I taught a romanian guy 7 ways to say drink. He taught me a couple ways to say climb. I tried to figure out what he meant by kind of like a tree, but not when referring to a pillar. I schooled some fools at macaua.

6. I felt awesomeness effulgent.

7. I went to a concert and saw this guy and it was pretty funny. Just pretend when he says Bulgaria, he really said Romania and simplify the stage and take out the back up dancers, and you got my experience.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Friday, October 10, 2008

Holy Crap!

Today was so fun with Alex! He's getting better everyday. I spent 2.5 hours with him, because Sfanta Parascheva smiled upon the children and allowed them to skip school. But I was schoolin' Alex teh whole time. That teh was actually an accident... I promise. We discovered the joys of boxing and the printing of nonesense phrases. The level of control he has with his head is improving already. He understands when the thing is working and when it isn't.

We played the color memory game too and he totally pwned this time. He's even getting better at holding the cursor at the smaller boxes. I'm going to make more adjustments to some of his boards, but it is an amazing joy to work with him. I'm not sure how to think about what happens when I leave or in several years. I wish we could do one of those Team Marius ventures with him except keep him in Romania, because he knows his shiz here anyway. And I don't think I can keep him, although that is a dream down deep somewhere that grows in the dark and doesn't get easily uprooted.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Getting Katie to Vienna Part 3

We stayed the night in the Mission home. This is where we got to know Sora Lundberg, Pres. Lundberg and their son Joshua. As mentioned before, Joshua was born in Barlad, Romania, and was adopted by the Lundbergs about 5 or 6 years ago at the age of 3. Sora Lundberg saw Josh and fell in love with him and devoted the next few years of her life to the adoption process. I have a soft spot in my heart for those who adopt children from these places, except Angelina Jolie, I don't know about her.

I have a lot of good painful memories about this mission home. It was really weird being back there again. I'd been there 3 years ago, because Dorothy was well liked by President Ashby and was finishing her mission tour and they let us stay there before Andrew and I took the train to Iasi. There is a lot of ambivalence there for me. I was really excited and stressed to go back and see Alex then and I was in the honeymoon stage of a new relationship with lots of longing absences and missing and you know all those romantic things that consume you and you look back later and wonder why. I'm in a good place now, but it was mildly difficult to be in those locations again if I didn't focus on the tasks at hand. It was a symbol of an important period, and that's all.

I spent most of my time there out of the apartment. I was looking for a place to charge my cell phone and it turns out they don't make a charger anymore. That quest went in several different directions and I thought of the triumph of finding the blasted thing, but that never came. I got used to the subway system though and I brought home shwarma. I felt like it was a pretty big deal to stay connected with the school, but I never found the charger.

The calls continued through thursday and Friday. Thursday morning, we went to Dr. Hanson's office, where Dr. Brady gave us a prescription for more drugs and a little more advice for Katie. We went straight back to the mission home and I went out looking for a pharmacy after failing to get the Wii to work for Katie. The rest of that day isn't important, except that I started calling some of our emergency contacts again. Also after a frivolous search, I wish I would have stayed with her.

Friday is when things got real. Katie started hurting really bad. The pain and fear(?) got to her a couple times and I couldn't do anything but be there with her. We called the doctors and they came down a couple hours later. I called home (Iasi) and had Mario make sure two students came down with our passports, some clothes, the charger and all of Katie's things just in case we had to go to Vienna, Austria. I'd heard stories about how things went in the past and so I also knew where we could end up. Also, the doctors were informative about the care she needed.

Katie had a fever of 101 and the pain was spreading up her thigh. I was running up and down the stairs getting information to call SOS, our medical relief program and various errands for the doctors. I called Ashley and Landes and her parents called us. There were at least 3 phone calls going at a time. I started understanding the reason they called our insurance company HTH highway to hell. The delays started there as well. They didn't want to evacuate her without the approval of an approved doctor who would have to see her at Floreasca. Katie was pretty upset about that and I was dreading going back there.

We drove on significantly less crowded streets to the hospital around 11:30. Dr. Brady and Dr. Hanson and I and Sora Lundberg all went and waited for her to be seen. Dr. Brady started talking to the Emergency admittance doctors and giving them the diagnosis. They informed him that she needed to stay in the hospital. This process took several minutes of waiting that seemed much longer. They eventually kicked everyone out except Katie and Dr. Brady. Then they kicked Dr. Brady out. Eventually they put her in a wheelchair and took her to get her chest x-rayed for any signs of the clot moving that direction. Lungs = death.

Dr. Brady convinced them to get her a private room, which after passing by the normal rooms where 10-15 people on beds were lying in pain in the dark, we realized was a blessing from heaven. One of those deep fried chicken tender mercies. With bbq sauce. And honey mustard.

This room looked like America. I don't know if that makes sense, but it did. And the nurses seemed more cooperative and the harshness dr. that followed us left. We spent awhile with Katie and figured out a plan for tomorrow. I think I was on the phone half the time. Dr. Brady would stay with her, while we went home and rested. He was flying home the next day after all and so he wouldn't be able to stay with her after 11:00AM, which would then be my turn.

Dr. Brady ensured her care would be better as he could spot the facade care vs. the necessary motions. They put an IV in her with saline water and gave her anti-inflammatories. I trusted her with Dr. Brady. He was smart, fiercely loyal, and defiant to the prevailing errors. I respect those things.

Katie is an amazing girl. She kept a level head through what most people would be freaking out about every 5 minutes. She kept her sense of humor and her faith. She took strength from the support of her family and fiance and the people around her. She even had fun.

I'll continue the last couple days in another post.

I Believe in Your Victory

Today I showed up tired and went to isolation. Rachel has the scabes and Katie is in Vienna de-coagulating. There is one girl that I love to see when I go in there especially. She smiles and melts me everytime. I wish I could post pictures. I just played with her for about 20 minutes or so and then hobbled into the main isolation room and started playing with another kid that I don't know. He was autistic and I just echoed the things that he was doing he smiled and we had fun.

Then enter Sera, while I continue to play with this kid. First commenting on my beard, then waiting a little bit watching me play with this kid. I'm like brother better watch himself. Then he's talking with one of the other workers and then he asks me if I'm mormon. And I was like, "No, I'm Robby. Nice to meet you though." Then he started asking me about various points of doctrine. Whether I believed Jesus would return to a holy land in America. And I'm like there's actually 3 places he's coming, but ya know whatever. He was not listening; he came to me to teach not to be taught. There's a difference between curiosity and logical manipulation through questions or the socratic method or like just generally being a jerk. He could use a little more teaching experience. If he was my greenie, I would have made him shine my shoes and go tracting in the white neighborhoods. Then he went on to ridicule several other points of doctrine and I was like, "Dude what is your point right now? What are you trying to say? You seem upset. Or at least very passionate about something. Can we talk about this later, like maybe outside of work?" And he was like, "I care about your soul." And I was just thinking, if you care about my soul you'll stfu and stop trying to attack my core belief system. I know that we all need a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I believe in the bible. I have first hand experience with feeling the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ, so it was just like listening to my mom nagging me to do my homework. Then Mario came in while he was still going and I was like, "Thanks Mario, this guy keeps trying to convert me to pentacostalism." This man doesn't seem to believe what is being taught. That's how I be receiving your teachings, Mr. Sera. Not professional. You don't see me in the mickey mouse room busting out like,

"Listen Larisa, most people believe in a supreme being even though they may call Him by different names. We know that God lives and we want to share with you our feelings about Him. God is perfect. He is all wise and all powerful. He is also merciful kind and just. We know that we can have faith in Him. We can love Him with all our hearts."

And boy he got his mission accomplished, because I was just thinking, like I don't know how y'all do it Romania, but where I reside you can get canned for pulling that kind of stuff at work. But you know some people have calls and I'm pretty sure his was to tell me to shave on my way to hell.

But yeah I'll need to repent for being angry at him pretty soon and maybe something good will happen if I keep my head up or whatever. I realize in conversations I have trivialized my beliefs in some ways for humor's sake and to deflect criticism, but I'm going to say this once. The things I believe are true and very dear to me. Lifesaving in fact. And I don't enjoy defending the truth when I don't have to. That's something I work through. Leave it alone. We all die. And truth will swallow all of us, whether we hang by the tonsils kicking and screaming or dive headfirst down the esophagus. Anyways part of this is the self preserving Dinosaur brain that we all switch on every once in awhile.

I'd rather talk about Alex though. Today I tried out some boards with him that I've been working on to teach weather and time. Mario watched us work and she seemed very impressed with Alex and his ability. I had been worried about whether I made a mistake and he should just use a switch, but I also have prayed about it and it seems like this solution is better for now. I was surprised by how accurate his head motions were this time. He also answered more complex questions instead of just pointing where I wanted him to. It was so fun to watch him get the right answers. I'd ask him stuff like what goes on your head? And he would point to the hat. What do you wear when it's a little cold outside and he'd point to the jacket. Then we did this thing where he can make little sentences with symbols and then spell them out. He made this really long thing that didn't make sense but we just started laughing when the computer started saying it. Something like Robby joaca Alex Puzzle Alex Puzzle Puzzle peste Afara Camera Lumina or Robby plays alex puzzle Alex puzzle puzzle fish, outside, light room. Then he found a way to print what he wrote by putting the cursor over a certain button. We watched it print and I was like, "Dude what did you do? Look what you did!" And then when I pulled it out and read it for him and he recognized it he just started going crazy with laughter and happy. It was like probably the most I've seen him ever get excited. I just started laughing and cheering and yelling bravo look what you did. Cristina, one of the psychologists came in and we showed it to her and she started laughing a little too. Everyone is amazed by what he can do. Viorica, one of the workers who has been known to be pretty rough with the kids, came in and watched him do it. She was like, "How is he doing that? How does it work?" And I explained and showed her how he could get around all these boards. She was surprised and started asking him questions too and she saw him answer them as well. As I've written in a paper I'll probably post on here in a little bit, part of the purpose of my work with him is to open the eyes of those around him to his capabilities. Today has given me a little more motivation to continue working on this project. It made me so incredibly happy. I love him so much. And it made me feel clean and beautiful, as I have heard the terms used.






Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Getting Katie to Vienna Pt 2

Joseph Smith said something about starting right that I can't exactly remember. That was our big problem at Floreasca. I think we went in the wrong entrance and were looking for the wrong place. Find the Ecografie room and ask for an ecografie dopler. Easy enough right? We walked in and followed the sign to a dead end hallway and they all said it was closed. So we made our way to the emergency room. We stood outside for a minute and then realized we just need to walk in. A lady told us to go to the place that we had just gotten back from. I told her we were already there. She walked down with us to make sure and see if someone would let us in. She joked a little about Katie's limp and kind of urged her to go faster. We didn't really think it was funny. There was no one there. This person told us to go back to the Emergency room. So we did. They told us to get paperwork, so we did. They checked her vital signs and drew blood. I asked if they were doing a PTINR. They said no. I stabbed a bit with broken romanian but then I let them go ahead. They took the blood. They made an attempt at bedside manner. Smile, I said to Katie as they drew the needle, the nurse and I chuckled a little to ease the tension and then I translated. "Look, american blood!" the nurse mused to her colleagues. I told her to be careful, because it was precious. She probably thought I meant expensive though (it's the same word). If I would have done it again I would have said, "Hey look, it's red! What color is yours?" But I'm neither Ghandi nor Martin Luther King. I was also beginning to feel the angry guard dog emerge from me. That probably doesn't seem like me too often, but you don't eff with my interns... They are ineffable.

Eventually we got pointed to the radar... er ultrasound. I had to wait outside, but they spoke english so I felt a little better about her going with them. I sat for a minute and answered a few calls. There were phone calls going on between all of these events between me and either 1) Matt Brady, our doctor/vindicator of medical justice, 2) Sora Lundberg, our surrogate mother, and 3) Katie's real mother or father, duly distressed. I also started noticing the people around me. This is a difficult one for me to venture towards, because I can trivialize our experience or theirs. Ours is a shock, because it was deathly serious and the care was not particularly trustworthy (we were warned of this by Dr. Brady, and it was confirmed through some of our experience). The hard stuff to see on their side was the fact that if they didn't have money some things they needed would never be done. This was the best hospital in the entire city. Beyond reruns of ER and scrubs, this is the best they got. It was a hospital, but for some reason seemed a little more grave. Back to me: I came to a realization on a call with Dr. Hanson that there was pretty much no chance that we would make our train back. I was OK with that. I guess that's when we were introduced to Sora Lundberg (Sora means sister; she's the mission president's wife here).

She seemed a little overwhelmed by our request for some help finding a place to stay for a few days. I would find out later that their car was broken into a couple days before and that they frequently had missionaries in and out for health problems. Sora Lundberg is an amazing woman. She had been to Romania about 25 times for a couple days or weeks each time in the process of adopting their son Joshua (formerly Marian) from Barlad. It took 3 years and the starting of an NGO to place him in their family. Her NGO is called Bridge of Love. I recognized the organization, which was fun, I think I e-mailed her for help with Alex a couple years ago. Her story is incredible and she understood the pain and joy of loving these kids, which was a breath of fresh air for me.

We got the results from her test and this is where things began to change. I read the concluzie. I didn't need to be fluent in romanian or have a medical license to see that it said she had a big problem by the words intinsiv and thrombo in there. Well I had a doctor help me with that one before. We called Doctor Brady and he told us to go get the perscription filled. We would have gotten away too, but we thought we had to pay. We showed the results to the nurses. Everyone stopped joking around after that. They looked over it and told her to go to the emergency room emergency room across from the room we were in (the check you out and stuff emergency room). She got pulled into the room and it seemed like nobody really knew what to do with her, which kind of set me into let's get the f out of here mode. They eventually put her on a stretcher in a spot in the room and I was like showing people the prescription and I was like OK so are you going to give her this and they were like no, we don't have it. I told them we can go to the pharmacie and buy it and give it to her and that we don't need the hospital. They didn't really listen too hard. Then I was concerned, because the beuracracy smell was coming through. I stood next to her as one of the doctors asked her questions and then he told me I had to go sit beyond a curtain away from them. I couldn't hear, but I kept looking and Katie's body language and voice tone implied that she was resisting which relieved me. I don't know why, but the entire experience was comparable to being arrested and detained for several nights, although let's not get ahead of ourselves. When finally, after sitting for awhile and anxiety building sufficiently I lost my patience, I started making some noise. I didn't see that doctor which was good because then I wasn't worried at all about offending him. I started saying "Nu vrem sa asteptam, vrem- sa- PLECAM!" as if I was talking to a disobedient 5 year old (which is the demographic I'm most comfortable speaking to in romanian). Oh yeah that means, "We don't want to wait, we want- to- LEAVE!"

The doctor got defensive at that point and said OK, she has a blood clot, every step she takes puts her at risk for the clot to break off and move into her lung (close but also bad diagnosis #2). We need to keep her here; she could die. This is nothing to smile about. This is nothing to laugh about. This is nothing to shout about (which he said as he looked at me). We were in the process of signing a paper in which we were instructed to write: I understand the risks of leaving this hospital. Doctors kept telling her more things to write afterwards which she scrawled quickly and haphazardly as additions and afterthoughts. Of my own will. Including the risk of death. "Any thing else?" we asked. This may have been where the laughing and smiling lecture came in, "Who was laughing when she led us to the radar and took her Sangele Americane?" I thought, but held my tongue. Then we left.

We asked some nurses where to pay. They told us it was free. We figured it was probably because they thought we were crazy for leaving the hospital. We walked to the Pharmacie. I kept hearing, "break off into the lung," in my head and saw a 3D animation from an episode of HOUSE. Too much walking. We went to 3 pharmacies before we found the medicine we needed. We took a half hour taxi back to the clinic.

I felt like we just outran the cops. I can't really emphasize enough how difficult it seemed to get in, get what we needed done and get out of there. We'll come back to the hospital in a later post though.

Katie got a crash course in the administration of the Romanian version of Lovenox, a blood thinner. Dr. Brady sobered us a little bit with the gravity of the situation. We were aware of the gravity, but sometimes we have to keep the laughing going. Sometimes I think we take pictures and document things to distance ourselves from the reality of the situation, by becoming spectators in our own lives. I'm starting to get epic thoughts like a stoner so it's probably getting late. We'll come back to this one.