"People on welfare don’t get to live in five star hotels. You can’t use food stamps to eat out at expensive restaurants. Not every accused criminal has a right to representation by Johnnie Cochran or his progeny.
Access to health care shouldn’t be any different, but right now it is the only industry in which, for the most part, the best practitioners get paid the same amount as the worst practitioners."

~

http://www.epmonthly.com/whitecoat/2009/01/radical-ideas-to-improve-the-house-of-medicine-1/

I deal with the idea of social justice differently now.  Before I started grad school, before I got sick, before everything changed, I believed that there was something we could do--as individuals, as Christians, as a society--to make life better for everyone. Or, if not everyone, then enough 'someones' that the world would continue to improve.  My education courses  tell me that by teaching children, we're making the world better.  My history courses used the cop out that "history will judge" if each generation made the world better. (It helps when you don't actually have to make relevant judgment calls)

But reading medblogs makes me feel like there's nothing we can do. Doctors can prolong life and they can perform medical procedures that improve the quality of life, but their system is broken, just like education and academia.  These broken systems can't help everyone.  It doesn't matter how good of a teacher I am, there will be students I don't help.  It doesn't matter how brilliant Obama's new nationalized healthcare program seems, people will still be screwed by the system.  

I don't know why I had such faith in the progressive nature of society as a whole.  Maybe all of those eugenicist writers I spent so much time fawning over seeped into my subconscious. I wonder why I didn't let a little more theology seep in as well.  Since I believe in that unpopular notion of "total depravity," in the individual sinner, I don't know why I hoped that there could be systems that would be free from the same depravity.  Our systems are broken; our world is broken. 

I tutor rich kids.  Because their parents have wealth, they can afford to pay my fees.  If they want a highschool kid, they can pay them $40 less.  There's still a part of me that says I'm not helping the brokenness by taking part in a broken system, but by charging the same as a less-qualified tutor, I'm not helping either.  

I can help one kid at a time.  I'm still struggling with how to fight for justice without declaring war on society, but for now, I can help one kid at a time.

Blogs

I read a lot of blogs.  And webcomics.  But that's not what I'm talking about.

I discovered medblogs.  I'm officially fascinated by the behind-the-scenes stuff of Doctors and Nurses in hospitals and primary care. I love reading what doctors think about national health care programs.....I love to read their opinions on new laws and new drugs.  If you want to hear about No Child Left Behind, ask a teacher.  If you want to know about the failing healthcare industry, ask a nurse or a doctor.

This blog said everything my gut has been telling me about healthcare, but she, well, has almost 30 years working in the industry....

January Gardening

It's January.  January is a difficult month for gardeners, or so I've read on various blogs around the interwebs.  The bulbs are planted, and for those in snow-covered areas, are mostly forgotten as they wend their way toward the sunlight underneath mounds of snow. Those gardeners spend January leafing through seed catalogs and mentally preparing themselves for starting seeds in musty basements or cold windowsills.   I'm starting to believe that gardeners in California run into a far more difficult and less predictable quandary these weeks after the holidays.

It feels like spring. 

It looks like spring. 

I desperately want it to be spring.  Weeds are making the hillsides a delicious shade of green due to our recent rains and the daffodils I didn't dig up and replant are reaching respectable heights while the new bulbs are still sleeping under the soil.  Several rose bushes are blooming and  the soil seems to call to me to plant. Should I weed the area around my irises and plant a wildflower mix from 1999 I recently discovered?  Should I break down and walk down the aisles of Lowe's or the local garden center and buy whatever catches my fancy?  Should I start seeds inside to make sure they come up and can be transplanted safely?  Should I sow wild and think and hope that a good portion come up or carefully plan?  

The prednisone makes my brain go a bit nutty---I can think of a million things I ought to be doing right now---an hour practicing Spanish with Rosetta stone, cleaning my room, doing my reading for my grad school class tomorrow....but all I *want* to do is think about my garden, to plan and dream of a lovely spring and summer.

On Selfishness

My cousin is getting married in 6 hours.  The rest of the bridesmaids are getting their hair and make-up done and I'm snuggled in bed, elevating the lower half of my body and mentally preparing for the walk down the aisle, the 30-odd minutes of standing in front of a congregation and the reception to follow.  It goes against my nature to say no, especially to family.

  In the last couple of days I've had to say no.  No, to my cousin's daughter who wanted to play our old (physically draining) games.  No, to the girls at the bachelorette party when I turned down drinks and spending New Year's Eve partying on the town.  No, to standing up through the rehearsal and going to get made up by professionals.  Instead, I'm saving spoons, rationing out energy so I can sparkle through the ceremony and reception.   It is far from easy.  I cry, not because I wish I could do all of those things and know I ought to rest instead, but because I am, at my deepest core, a people-pleaser, or at least a family-pleaser.  I wish I could save my family the heartache of watching my body slowly deteriorate, of watching me stagger like a drunk because, despite the excess fluid chilling out around my ankles,  I'm dehydrated and dizzy.    But I can't.  Because this is who I am, at least for now.  

  It feel selfish to take care of myself instead of sitting at the salon with my cousin, teasing her and calming her nerves.  I just have to constantly remind myself that it would be far more selfish to ruin the wedding by a display of weakness that could have been easily avoided if only I had rested, doing my own hair and makeup in a fraction of the time and spending the other hours calmly preparing myself.   Selfishly, I'll show up, sing my song,  do the bridesmaid bit,  kiss my cousin's cheek as she heads off for her honeymoon, hold nothing back once I begin, and then return to California to start treatment. 

Saving

I'm an obsessive saver.  I always have been.  Back in 4-H days when I received my goldmine of a couple hundred dollars for a few months work, I would squirrel away the majority in hopes of buying an aquarium, a goat, or a hypothetical trip to Canada.  (Seriously, when I was 10, I bought an aquarium  and stand, and when I was 14 I bought a baby goat---no trip to Canada though)

Not working for months ought to have changed the way I save.  I had a difficult time pulling cash out of my savings account to buy my Wii last spring (great investment) and my first impulse as I deposit checks from my minimal tutoring jobs is to replenish my savings account.

I know that, because I have incredibly supportive parents, I'm experiencing illness and my early 20's through different eyes than most. I know that the majority of the nation  is having a hard time meeting basic needs, much less thinking about  saving, but my compulsive saving habit has been eating away at me, urging me to save...

So, I thought of what I can save.  Spoons, obviously. (The spoon theory? ringing  any bells? no? ok) But really, I can store up memories. 

Saving memories?  How lame is that!

No, really.  When I have the energy, I'm saving up memories and stories. When I was sick, my poor parents heard me tell the same story over and over again.  "Did I tell you that _____ called?  She's doing ______ now.  Yeah." (insert bored grunts of agreement here)

  Life outside my bedroom is full of interesting stories---good memories like having a delicious dinner out with my mom and not-so-good memories like the student who was just not into tutoring today.   I want to have good stories to share about this very strange period in my life.

I don't have the energy for my old crazy adventures, and I don't have oodles of money to replenish my savings account or splurge for Christmas, but I can store up memories, saving them for a rainy day or perhaps a "splurge" of a book or paper down the road.

Tutoring

I've talked about writing a book about my experiences tutoring incredibly spoiled children and children who live in situations that make me cry.  Like most Americans, I will talk about writing a book, but never actually accomplish it. I will go into detail, but never sit down and outline it.  But maybe I should start.  I think I need a place to vent about the ridiculousness that I see and feel whenever I walk into a new house.  

I'm assuming that it's my health that's keeping me from being the whirlwind I once was, but a part of me is worried that I'll never be strong enough to be back in a full classroom again.  I enjoy tutoring, not just for the social perspective, but also because it's invigorating to watch a kid "get it." 

Taking classes, tutoring a bit, and not student teaching is the right choice.  The correct choice.  The smart choice.  It doesn't matter how I or anyone else express it---it was a really hard choice.  I want to be as energetic and strong as I was  before---I want to be an amazing teacher, not only a tutor.