Diagnosis

Because I'm going to be in medicine someday, sometimes I practice interpreting symptoms and potential diagnoses.
For example: young man sitting by me in class with a nervous twitch that makes you raise your hand a lot and saliva glands that projectile gleek onto my arm, you might possibly have Awkwarditis. Inflammation of the Awkward. (It's very common my dear, don't worry, and sometimes curable.)

Another: Oh darling, I'm so sorry you're hunched over and your feet are deformed and you lose your balance a lot. You suffer from Lack of Logic disorder, sometimes referred to as "LOL". This is a big campus. That is a heavy backpack. For goodness sake, leave the six inch heels at home.

And to the professor afflicted with Justin Bieber's Disease, I'm sorry everyone hates you. Stop requiring ridiculous amounts of course work and making us buy $486,987,301.95 textbooks THAT WE NEVER USE. (Yup. I said Never. Deal with it.)

Well. I have a self diagnosed disease, and I didn't even have to use Web.MD to get there.

Dating Anxiety. DA, for short. (Not to be confused with Dumbledore's Army, which would in fact be awesome.)
What causes this, you may ask? Perhaps it was my obscene prom experience, outlined here. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that everything I knew about male and female interaction came from Jane Austen novels, where they don't actually date. They pursued with lovely, eloquent letters, passion filled waltzes, cobblestone carriage rides, and delicately lowered eyelashes. None of this disjointed modern business of guessing and manipulating, and in my case, panicking.

I wish it were different. I wish I could be like my sister, who seems to thrive on going on dates with any nice fellow who asks her, unlike myself who shrivels up like a raisin in the sun (a wonderful play, bytheway).

It's not even that I don't like dating, because I do. I like going on dates. I like gentlemen. I like bowling, and ice cream, and playing hide and seek in the HFAC, and all the other Provo-ish dating things that get recycled every weekend. Its the physical act of going on the date that makes me feel squeamish. 99% of the time I'm fine once I'm gone.

So, I suppose I'm seeking fellow dater's advice. Am I the only one who suffers from DA? How have you overcome it? And don't give me the answer I got from a co-worker: "Take a Xanax and get free dinner!"

(See this?? This is how it should still be done. And all marriage proposals should include "Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend.")

Amor

When Abby slips her little hand into mine and whispers "Let's skip."
When Andrew sees my green face mask and starts to chuckle
When I'm in bed and Chloe flings herself over my legs to talk about boys
When I can hear my Daddy reading books out loud to my Mama
When Emily does her hair to look like mine
When Nate snuggles against my chest at church, or knowing he's in the seat behind me when I'm driving.
When I'm sitting quietly and suddenly remember a happy memory, and can't suppress a smile
(especially thinking that when those memories were made, I had no idea they {you} would mean so much to me years later)
When every love song feels like sunshine on my heart

How I Feel about Airports and Hospitals

I love them. I love the long hallways, the busy-ness, the people, the rushing, the noises, the big glass windows. I love the food sold at both airports and hospitals, and I love the gift shops. In airports I love the flat-escalator-type-things (that's a technical term) and the luggage everywhere. In hospitals I love the really big, wide elevators and the doors that open when you flash your name badge. I love how airports smell like coffee and rubber and plastic and anticipation. I love the smell of hospitals, too: antiseptic and cotton and metal and a lot of hope.
    Most people don't like either of these places. I don't really know why I love them both so much, but I do. I get a thrill when I walk into either. And I've decided, they both have a lot in common.
     The airport is a place people come and go.
     The hospital is a place of birth and death.
     The airport gathers people of every ethnicity, every age, every experience.
     I've only ever seen some of the cultures I've experienced in a hospital.
     Airports have a common goal: get people what they need as soon as possible.
     Hospitals have a common goal: save lives as soon as possible.
     Airports bring loved ones to each other.
     Hospitals do, too.
     Airports also take loved ones away from each other.
     Hospitals do, too.

I guess the underlying common factor is they are both a metaphor for life. Life is hectic and exciting and stressful and fun and full of anxiety, anticipation, faith, and hope. Airports and hospitals are unpredictable and sometimes disappointing, just like life, but also lead to new adventures and experiences.

But the real question is, what would be more fun: riding on the luggage carousel, or having wheelchair races?

Big

WELCOME TO HOLLAND

by
Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reservedI am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Many of you have heard this story before. Sometimes it applies to families with special needs children, or great tragedies that alter the course of their life. I've loved it ever since I heard it, because honestly it applies to everyone in some way. Life never turns out how you plan it. That is what makes it life, and that is what makes it magical. We all need to trust in God a little more.

Um...I have some big news. Some really big news. As in, not sure I'm even going to post this news news.

I went and met with nursing advisement.

I told them how hard I've been trying to make up for past mistakes and be good enough for them. And how badly I want to be a nurse. And how I've always wanted to be a nurse. And how I need to lift up the hands that hang down and strengthen the feeble knees.

And they said "Yes. You are going to be a good nurse. But maybe you need to get there a different way."

You're actually being nice to me? Usually you're so crabby. Okay, tell me more.

So this is the advice the advisement gave me:

Change your major to a quick major

Graduate as soon as possible, so that you have a bachelor's under your belt

While graduating as quick as possible, finish the University of Utah's nursing prerequisites

As soon as you graduate, apply to the U's Accelerated Nursing Program, which is a 14 month program, and requires you to have a previous bachelor's degree.

The whole process will take just as long, and likely even shorter, than it would take to sit around BYU trying to get in to their program.

Oh, and did I mention you can still apply to our program again whenever you want, if you feel like it?

I saw a sign walking to one of my new classes that said "The Whole is More than the Sum of its Parts."

That really stuck on me. This whole major change and everything is just a different means to an end, what matters is that I get to that end. And even grander, I am a daughter of the most High God. I am more than my degrees and accomplishments.

So.

That is my plan.

I'm thinking of majoring in Human Development. Something I've always been interested in, and now the Lord has given me the gift of being able to study both fields that I love.

So I'm going to Holland instead. And it will be beautiful. And it is still hard to think of doing things differently than I had always hoped and dreamed and planned. Its hard to even publish this post, because I feel self conscious and insecure about it. But I'm choosing faith. I'm choosing happy. And it's going to be a lovely ride. 

How to be a Saint

I would be a friend to the friendless and find joy in ministering to the needs of the poor.

I would visit the sick and afflicted and inspire in them a desire for faith to be healed.

I would teach the truth to the understanding and blessing of all mankind.

I would seek out the erring one and try to win him back to a righteous and happy life.

I would not seek to force people to live up to my ideals, but rather love them into doing the thing that is right.

I would live by the masses and help to solve their problems that their earth life may be happy.

I would avoid the publicity of high positions and discourage the flattery of thoughtless friends.

I would not knowingly wound the feelings of any, not even one who may have wronged me, but would seek to do him good and make him my friend.

I would overcome the tendency to selfishness and jealousy and rejoice in the success of all the children of my Heavenly Father.

I would not be an enemy to any living soul.

Life Creed of President George Albert Smith

Out of Sorts

Oooh my life.

I was researching a professor on Rate my Professors (dot com) (which has changed my academic life, bytheway) and almost died laughing. The first rating said this "You will learn a lot about ducks but it is all part of the fun." I thought: Alright. I've fed ducks before. I can handle ducks. A few more ratings down made me laugh so hard Emilie thought I had lost my mind: "He pretty much talks about ducks all day." Whaaat?? Oh I hope he looks like a duck....or walks like one. I will hereon out refer to him as Professor Mallard. And he would like us students to attend Utah Bald Eagle Day as well as the Utah Snow Goose Festival. Prime.

HFAC: What the HFAC?? Who designed this building??? (correct answer: the same people who run tests on mice in mazes. Or terrorists.) Who puts a room on the outside of the building?? and out of numerical order???

On that Note: Who designed the Tanner Building?? Most beautiful building on campus. I can't handle it.

That awkward moment when there's a knock at the door and you yell "COOOOME IN!!!!!!!" and its a member of your bishopric....asking you to teach gospel doctrine on Sunday, last minute.

If a professor begins the class/semester by putting a list of chick flicks up on the powerpoint....you know that I love him. And when he follows that list by letting us watch the original President Hinckley reading of the Proclamation to the World.....<3

Also, my adorable co-worker Malae who is super talented and super beautiful and I like her super a lot, has pointed out that I yell talk to myself while I work. Usually when I'm frustrated: "Ah!" "No!" "Why?!" "Stop! Stopstopstop!" "Go back!" "I hate this!" "Uuuuuugh!" And the more polite I talk on the phone, the more annoyed I am: "Hello, you've reached BYU Law Career Services, this is Bethany, how may I help your day become the best day you've ever had? *silent screams and gritted teeth*"

That was a very random assortment of information. That's basically how my life is right now. I feel a little like a paint ball that has exploded all over a painting. The painting was already complex and beautiful and inspiring, but now there is all this color all over everything that makes the image unclear, although parts of it peek through.

Also, to my moms: thanks for coming to see me tonight. I didn't know I needed you. Sorry I was so crabby.

The Way I Am

If you were falling, then I would catch you
You need a light, I'd find a match

Cuz I love the way you say good morning
And you take me the way I am

If you are chilly, here take my sweater
Your head is aching; I'll make it better

Cuz I love the way you call me baby
And you take me the way I am

I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair
Sew on patches to all you tear

Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise
And you take me the way I am
You take me the way I am
You take me the way I am

There have been times in my life where I have customized myself for a certain person. I don't do it consciously, and I don't believe in doing it, but I've noticed that it is something I do.

For the senior boy when I was a sophomore, I was the constant shoulder to cry on, innocent and disposable.

For the teacher my last semester of high school who was more lost and confused than I have ever been, I was the adult with a clear head and all the answers.

For the arrogant gentleman who took me on a date, I was sweet and shy, something pretty to drape across his arm and then to put away later.

For the girl that got hurt, I was brave and confident, firm and unyielding. Untouchable.

So, that's the goal. How often do people tell me to be myself? The problem is sometimes I don't know what that means, what version of 'myself' I'm supposed to be, because I've spent so much time being someone's custom order. I'm realizing there are very few people I am who I am with. Very few people who "take me the way I am".

I hope I can pull Bethany out of all the hybrids this year. I wanna be who I wanna be. Feel comfortable. Let go of anxieties. Find the people that take me the way I am.

The Way I Am, Ingrid Michelson