The decisions we make have the ability to change our lives, forever.
One Choice.
After looking back on his, my father always says, as he reflects..."I made some decisions, good and bad" some of which I" am paying a price for today," he recalls.
Much of the reason it is so important to take in perspective the effects each decision will have, before making it. An important lesson one of my college professors shared with me...that I rightfully practiced, making out a list of the benefits as well as the disadvantages yopur decision will have on your life. And though there is not always a major amount of time to do this, the thoughts you give will help assist your choice.
from my perspective, it has made all the difference, making me all the more pleased, and equipt for the life's loop holes.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
The Art of Giving
"Shalom" were her last words, ending our conversation that lasted four whole hours.
"It means peace in Jewish," she shared.
"Really?"
I wondered if it's the same peace that "passeth all understanding" that has the ability to rises above all hurt, to heal, strengthen and as we spoke so freely about, to take one to higher heights in God.
I've always noticed, that God has a way of supplying all of our needs, even at times when we are not always consciousness of it.
Giving us wisdom that helps us through.
My cousin Renee has been one of those amazing assets in my life.
"See God is a mirror, in which we see and gain an image on how to treat others," she shared. "Angel simple means messenger," which constitutes to the very, "way of God getting something to us."
"Messengers come to you by way of dreams...she said "not always limited to some spiritual manifestation of God."
He has send his angels and my cousin has been one of them. I learn so much from our conversations, enough to fill me, to fill others.
In the name of Peace, I am blessed to not only have here as a cousin, but to be in a place where I can truly receive all that God places inside her to give.
"It means peace in Jewish," she shared.
"Really?"
I wondered if it's the same peace that "passeth all understanding" that has the ability to rises above all hurt, to heal, strengthen and as we spoke so freely about, to take one to higher heights in God.
I've always noticed, that God has a way of supplying all of our needs, even at times when we are not always consciousness of it.
Giving us wisdom that helps us through.
My cousin Renee has been one of those amazing assets in my life.
"See God is a mirror, in which we see and gain an image on how to treat others," she shared. "Angel simple means messenger," which constitutes to the very, "way of God getting something to us."
"Messengers come to you by way of dreams...she said "not always limited to some spiritual manifestation of God."
He has send his angels and my cousin has been one of them. I learn so much from our conversations, enough to fill me, to fill others.
In the name of Peace, I am blessed to not only have here as a cousin, but to be in a place where I can truly receive all that God places inside her to give.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Passing ... via my direction
It's a clear day, the sun is out, not too hot, but definitely warm. I'm focused, walking at a reasonable pace. I have on my brown gradient vintage sunglasses, my favorite seven jeans, that are nearly worn out, a nice pair of comfortable Ann Klein shoes, not the ones with the holes, and my funky multi-colored, mature floral leather purse.
A horn honks once, I turn and this handsome man seated up high, in an over sized black SUV with slightly tinted windows, stares with a serious look on his face, gesturing for me to walk his way.
It's amazing how body language goes far beyond spoken word.
I think to myself, If he's a gentleman like he looks, this won't be a long affair...I decide to pull up my shades, place them on my head and glance in his direction.
"Hello there," he said, once he saw that I was looking.
Still walking I shyly whispered "Hi," as I paused, pressed for time.
I take a deep breathe, unsure of what this encounter would turn out to be.
"Excuse me miss," he said clearly, distinctively."
"Do I proceed," I think, "I really don't have time to listen to this thirty-five year old man... Handsome; but I am unavailable, occupied, focused and not interested, asking me anything pertaining to taking me out on a date, going to dinner or especially calling me later, I'm far from available," I remind myself.
He overshadows all assumptions and says sharply,
"I am trying to get to Fenway Park. Do you know the best way to get there from here?"
I chuckle internally for about a split second. "What an unintelligent assumption," I thought.
And quickly before he notices, with poise, I say.
"I do...you want to get on Fenwood road, take a right thereafter onto Brookline Avenue," I say, "and follow Brookline Avenue straight and you'll run into Fenway Park, which will be on the right."
I continue my walk to staples as he drove away.
If every man simply asked for directions, they'd be much better led.
A horn honks once, I turn and this handsome man seated up high, in an over sized black SUV with slightly tinted windows, stares with a serious look on his face, gesturing for me to walk his way.
It's amazing how body language goes far beyond spoken word.
I think to myself, If he's a gentleman like he looks, this won't be a long affair...I decide to pull up my shades, place them on my head and glance in his direction.
"Hello there," he said, once he saw that I was looking.
Still walking I shyly whispered "Hi," as I paused, pressed for time.
I take a deep breathe, unsure of what this encounter would turn out to be.
"Excuse me miss," he said clearly, distinctively."
"Do I proceed," I think, "I really don't have time to listen to this thirty-five year old man... Handsome; but I am unavailable, occupied, focused and not interested, asking me anything pertaining to taking me out on a date, going to dinner or especially calling me later, I'm far from available," I remind myself.
He overshadows all assumptions and says sharply,
"I am trying to get to Fenway Park. Do you know the best way to get there from here?"
I chuckle internally for about a split second. "What an unintelligent assumption," I thought.
And quickly before he notices, with poise, I say.
"I do...you want to get on Fenwood road, take a right thereafter onto Brookline Avenue," I say, "and follow Brookline Avenue straight and you'll run into Fenway Park, which will be on the right."
I continue my walk to staples as he drove away.
If every man simply asked for directions, they'd be much better led.
Lessons from a Wise Man
"Do anything like you do everything," he said.
It's been over a year since I started working on the cardiac medicine unit, at Brigham and Women's Hospital--which happens to be an entirely different road than journalism.
I took this road, this journey I'll call it...unknowing, back then uncertain, of the rich experiences that awaited me. Today, when I look around at every registered nurse that I work hand and hand with, on a day to day basis, I see women and men of purpose, whom after long, extraneous academic journey's, long nights of studying, mastering and finally yearning for to complete that part of their journey, to move on, to put the degree as certified caregivers to the test, Like I, I've found they too have purpose, aspirations, desires to satisfy their craving.
Though the role I play in the business of care giving, deems different to some, my purpose lives within me. My stop at Brigham has had meaning. And in my times of reflection, I think of what he said, that wise man...that cold winter day, when he completely cconsoled me, helping me understand, in my time of wanting to do much more, as a writer, a creative thinker...that simply to "Do anything like you do everything" is a sincere way to live life.
I imagined this and thought:
"Like I meticiously write stories?"
"Like I creatively make gift baskets?"
I can certainly "Do anything like you do everything." It makes me think. Better yet it makes me desire, appreciate that this amongst many more inspiration conversations we engage in, this thought trails with me day to day. And like great combat in any battle in life , just when I need it most what lives within speaks volumes to my situation.
Making me think, live and practice...
"Work[ing] as if you have no money.
Lov[ing] as if you have never been hurt.
Danc[ing] like no one is watching.
Sing[ing] like no one is listening.
Today and forever, I live as if it were my last.
Thanks Mr. Lee
It's been over a year since I started working on the cardiac medicine unit, at Brigham and Women's Hospital--which happens to be an entirely different road than journalism.
I took this road, this journey I'll call it...unknowing, back then uncertain, of the rich experiences that awaited me. Today, when I look around at every registered nurse that I work hand and hand with, on a day to day basis, I see women and men of purpose, whom after long, extraneous academic journey's, long nights of studying, mastering and finally yearning for to complete that part of their journey, to move on, to put the degree as certified caregivers to the test, Like I, I've found they too have purpose, aspirations, desires to satisfy their craving.
Though the role I play in the business of care giving, deems different to some, my purpose lives within me. My stop at Brigham has had meaning. And in my times of reflection, I think of what he said, that wise man...that cold winter day, when he completely cconsoled me, helping me understand, in my time of wanting to do much more, as a writer, a creative thinker...that simply to "Do anything like you do everything" is a sincere way to live life.
I imagined this and thought:
"Like I meticiously write stories?"
"Like I creatively make gift baskets?"
I can certainly "Do anything like you do everything." It makes me think. Better yet it makes me desire, appreciate that this amongst many more inspiration conversations we engage in, this thought trails with me day to day. And like great combat in any battle in life , just when I need it most what lives within speaks volumes to my situation.
Making me think, live and practice...
"Work[ing] as if you have no money.
Lov[ing] as if you have never been hurt.
Danc[ing] like no one is watching.
Sing[ing] like no one is listening.
Today and forever, I live as if it were my last.
Thanks Mr. Lee
Monday, May 28, 2007
Pacing thy thoughts
I'll began by saying:
If I paced every thought, which would never happen, I would find myself in a lot less embarrassing situations, but what the heck, we live once and in my case with a story to tell.
I could go on for days, but I will start with a simple, yet hilarious story...
continued later...
If I paced every thought, which would never happen, I would find myself in a lot less embarrassing situations, but what the heck, we live once and in my case with a story to tell.
I could go on for days, but I will start with a simple, yet hilarious story...
continued later...
Good Ole' Recipes
She stands about 5'6 inches, coco colored flawless, smooth skin. A pleasant voice; she often whispers, "I'm here from the Chaplaincy...here to see if rooms, she'll give me the list, can receive communion?"
After I check the list and verify that they can or cannot.
It never fails, we seem to get into a conversation about something. Whether it is a piece of lovely jewelry from the motherland that she wears so elegantly, that I can't help but to comment on, or her hair, which in this case sparked our two minute conversation about natural, inexpensive ways to treat and condition your own hair, opposed to as we both have experienced going to the salon and spending so much on treatments.
"I have not washed my hair in a few weeks," she whispered bashfully.
I said, "really, I would never imagine that." "Do you get dandruff?"
"No." she shared. She proceeded, "I condition my hair myself," she explained to offset the cost of the beauty salon's pricing.
I noticed that her hair is natural, so I inquired how long it's been for her; she shared for years, many.
Before I knew it she was explaining in detail her homemade remedy for deep conditioners that sounded so interesting, I had to grab a pen, and began writing where I found room--on a small piece of paper with had virtually no room.
"You take the yellow part of an egg, a teaspoon of molasses..."
to be continued...
After I check the list and verify that they can or cannot.
It never fails, we seem to get into a conversation about something. Whether it is a piece of lovely jewelry from the motherland that she wears so elegantly, that I can't help but to comment on, or her hair, which in this case sparked our two minute conversation about natural, inexpensive ways to treat and condition your own hair, opposed to as we both have experienced going to the salon and spending so much on treatments.
"I have not washed my hair in a few weeks," she whispered bashfully.
I said, "really, I would never imagine that." "Do you get dandruff?"
"No." she shared. She proceeded, "I condition my hair myself," she explained to offset the cost of the beauty salon's pricing.
I noticed that her hair is natural, so I inquired how long it's been for her; she shared for years, many.
Before I knew it she was explaining in detail her homemade remedy for deep conditioners that sounded so interesting, I had to grab a pen, and began writing where I found room--on a small piece of paper with had virtually no room.
"You take the yellow part of an egg, a teaspoon of molasses..."
to be continued...
Botox Injection: Not just for Cosmetic Affairs.
May 22, 2007 started out extremely sunny. I remember feeling relaxed; and of course, hearing the blue jays chirping as they flew past my window certainly helped keep my mind stable. I thought to myself: No anxiety, not yet. However, a few hours later, more toward the time my minor surgical procedure was scheduled to take place--i began to worry, as it became clear to me that it was not feasible to locate a cream called KMB-4 to numb the area, that may or may not have worked, but was certainly worth the try.
Every Walgreen's I called had no cream in stock. And of course I tried looking the day of.
Stabilized in my mind, like a big girl would be, i remained calm, situated in my room, staring up at this serene environment, where candles burned a fresh, relaxing lavender aroma...thinking 'how bad could this really be?' It seemed logical to attest that it is only about thirty some odd needle injections in each hand. Though that sounds painful; i really imagined I'd feel the initial injection and be okay.
That was not the case. My eyes saw what my heart could not handle first.
Across the room, on a surgical table across, Dr. Yang began mixing, diluting... and sterilizing the needles--that from where I was sitting were entirely longer than the ones I imagined.
"I will not be using this needle for the Botox treatment, okay?" She said as she noticed my eyes enlarging.
"Okay," I murmured with slight reassurance.
This is when I began to breathe. It was at this moment that I felt breathing was the only mechanisms...one of the only, to maintain what people describe as my calm disposition.
Just when I thought I was okay, my mind raced...and I vividly remembered my recent diagnosis of a mild hyperhydrosis--which, after a year of research I found, that this is a condition in which glands excessively sweat. These glands happen to be in my hands. Other people who suffer from this potentially debilitating condition have the sweating under their arm pits, in their face, feet or other places in their body.
I recalled all the phone calls that I made in the last year to one of the leading hyperhydrosis medical clinic's in Miami pertaining surgery for this condition--to
my consistent research that landed me in the hands of a leading thoracic surgeon at Brigham And Women's Hospital, who actually diagnosed me as a mild case, last summer and suggested that I give it some more time and thought--considering that the procedure that he does involves overnight surgery, cutting the nerve. Which in turn has some repercussions that can cause horner's disease. After taking some, doing some research I'll call it. I came across Dr. Williams at Carney Hospital in Dorchester, who referred me to a leading surgeon: Dr. Andrew who went as far as scheduling an appointment for the Botox procedure to be done. It was during that time that Dr. Williams informed me that I would most likely grow out of this condition by the age of thirty--which is in fours years for me. He suggested that I consider botox injections, explaining that the radio active frequency ablation, paralyzes the gland so it won't produce sweat. Which is a less risky, not permanent more reasonable approach.
I agreed and appreciated his insight, which brought me on a totally different research avenue. Botox Injection.
As I considered the treatment and even set up an appointment with Dr. Andrew one of Carney Hospital's pain management doctors, there was a discrepancy with my Carney's Hospital gaining the approval to preform this procedure at the facility. That fell through....
But I continued with the faith that this road to a cure for my condition will prevail. And it did as I met a dermatologist Dr, Andrew Werchniak, at Brigham who, after performing a biopsy on my to figure out what I had, which turned out to be eczema, answered my question about, "How I go about getting Botox treatment," for this condition. I explained what I knew: He enlightened me on some more facts.
Except that this would be the most painful experience, I've encountered to date.
And it was.
More details forthcoming....
Every Walgreen's I called had no cream in stock. And of course I tried looking the day of.
Stabilized in my mind, like a big girl would be, i remained calm, situated in my room, staring up at this serene environment, where candles burned a fresh, relaxing lavender aroma...thinking 'how bad could this really be?' It seemed logical to attest that it is only about thirty some odd needle injections in each hand. Though that sounds painful; i really imagined I'd feel the initial injection and be okay.
That was not the case. My eyes saw what my heart could not handle first.
Across the room, on a surgical table across, Dr. Yang began mixing, diluting... and sterilizing the needles--that from where I was sitting were entirely longer than the ones I imagined.
"I will not be using this needle for the Botox treatment, okay?" She said as she noticed my eyes enlarging.
"Okay," I murmured with slight reassurance.
This is when I began to breathe. It was at this moment that I felt breathing was the only mechanisms...one of the only, to maintain what people describe as my calm disposition.
Just when I thought I was okay, my mind raced...and I vividly remembered my recent diagnosis of a mild hyperhydrosis--which, after a year of research I found, that this is a condition in which glands excessively sweat. These glands happen to be in my hands. Other people who suffer from this potentially debilitating condition have the sweating under their arm pits, in their face, feet or other places in their body.
I recalled all the phone calls that I made in the last year to one of the leading hyperhydrosis medical clinic's in Miami pertaining surgery for this condition--to
my consistent research that landed me in the hands of a leading thoracic surgeon at Brigham And Women's Hospital, who actually diagnosed me as a mild case, last summer and suggested that I give it some more time and thought--considering that the procedure that he does involves overnight surgery, cutting the nerve. Which in turn has some repercussions that can cause horner's disease. After taking some, doing some research I'll call it. I came across Dr. Williams at Carney Hospital in Dorchester, who referred me to a leading surgeon: Dr. Andrew who went as far as scheduling an appointment for the Botox procedure to be done. It was during that time that Dr. Williams informed me that I would most likely grow out of this condition by the age of thirty--which is in fours years for me. He suggested that I consider botox injections, explaining that the radio active frequency ablation, paralyzes the gland so it won't produce sweat. Which is a less risky, not permanent more reasonable approach.
I agreed and appreciated his insight, which brought me on a totally different research avenue. Botox Injection.
As I considered the treatment and even set up an appointment with Dr. Andrew one of Carney Hospital's pain management doctors, there was a discrepancy with my Carney's Hospital gaining the approval to preform this procedure at the facility. That fell through....
But I continued with the faith that this road to a cure for my condition will prevail. And it did as I met a dermatologist Dr, Andrew Werchniak, at Brigham who, after performing a biopsy on my to figure out what I had, which turned out to be eczema, answered my question about, "How I go about getting Botox treatment," for this condition. I explained what I knew: He enlightened me on some more facts.
Except that this would be the most painful experience, I've encountered to date.
And it was.
More details forthcoming....
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