Moldova

Why aren't more people paying attention to what's going on in Moldova right now? Except for a random drop here and there, I hear nothing about the situation in our media. Perhaps the general public is unaware of what's going on, that people are being put in jail, being threatened, even being killed there. I think everyone needs to know this. I'm posting a link to a blog that is keeping track of news stories related to the ongoing situation in Moldova. I hope you'll check this situation out and spread the information about the shocking conditions there via Twitter and other social feeds since the major media doesn't seem to be noticing. True Moldova

Scars

My knee is going to require surgery; the depth of cutting is the only mystery left. The nurse practitioner, once I finally hacked my way through the Nurse Nazi front-desk personnel to get to her, was sort of astonished that I had not known how bad it was. Apparently I tore out one of the damaged ligaments a long time ago. "Old damage," she called it. "Are you really athletic? 'Cause we usually see this type of damage in people who are..."

It's amazing how much I had hoped that it was all in my head instead of lurking in my knee. Now I'm facing at least six more weeks of crutches, other people doing even the simplest tasks, ever-multiplying medical bills, and another stupid set of scars. It's impossible for me to tell right now which aspect of it is worst.

I can't begin to express how tired I am of people cutting on me. It seems that every epoch of my life has to be marked by a trip to a cold tile room where people made anonymous and sinister by sterile masks and gloves treat me with a certain condescending kindness, render me unconscious, and then hurt me for my own good. How tired I am of waking up with a drip in my arm in rooms with generic art that doesn't quite make "soothing" or "cheerful" despite a lackluster effort. Tired of presurgery paperwork, tired of mean and indifferent nurses, tired of postsurgery checkups, tired of bloodwork, backless gowns, the little barcode I become once I hit the surgery ward the day I check in at whatever ungodly hour I have to report for my "procedure."

Maybe the scars are the worst. Of all of it, the scars don't go away. I've seen the scars that accompany serious knee surgery, too. I just can't wait to add those to my freakshow collection. The set I have on my knee now is not noticeable at all unless you really look hard for them. They're the small old scars of a scope, and they get lost in the freckles that appear on my fair skin with the lightest touch of the sun. Who knows what I'll have to look forward to after this?

I'm trying to put all this in the proper perspective. After all, at least I will get it fixed. I can still walk. I have both limbs. I am alive and can see the tops of the cherry tree outside my classroom glistening in the sun. Life is not ungood. I am just struggling right now with the knowledge that in my future a scalpel is waiting for me like a thin finger of ice tracing its way down my spine.

Missing Yoga

I haven't been able to do yoga in about a month. It's ridiculous how much I miss it. My gear bag is in the back of my car still, and every time I open the back door of the Cruiser to throw my school bags and crutches in, I see the black canvas with its white moon and bamboo design and I yearn. I want to unroll the pretty striped Tappas mat and go into down dog to feel that incredible stretch rolling up the back of my legs. I want to go through the ritual of the sun salutations and raise my hands to the sky. I want to know the stillness of tree pose, find my balance, feel my breath calm and my mind relax.

I can't do any of it right now. I can't even walk for long enough to push a cart through the grocery store without wanting to grit my teeth. It's beyond frustrating. Just when I found something that I really loved and that I felt good doing, my knee came apart on me.

Wednesday's MRI should give me some answers. I only hope that the answers it brings will be ones that will allow me to get back to yoga someday. I have to believe that I will. Anything else is just unacceptable.

Poetry Contest 09

I won! The poem I submitted, "Teaching the Death of Ophelia," won first prize in our local competition. I am so proud. The poem was written about something personal, and I believed in its strength, so I am more gratified than I can say that others thought it was worthy, too. I really want to start trying to see if any of my work is publishable in larger forums, too, but maybe I can start that process this summer. Even though I don't have a lot of time and energy for writing right now, this is an inspiration to try to find the time.