Tag Archives: Music

Meltdown Tuesdays!

This morning when I got up, I was feeling pretty good. I had been studying for days, felt like I basically understood what I had been taught so far, and was ready to take on Tuesday, my longest day of the week at school.

Oh plus, I had my first test of the year yesterday and I aced it. (NURSING SCHOOL I OWN YOU.) Et cetera.

I was even feeling pretty good around 4pm today, 7 hours into my 11-hour day of in-depth discussions about varieties of hideous, crusty, skin lesions and a lecture about hospital bureaucracy in New York State.

(This is where you start wishing you had my life, right?)

Things started to deteriorate about 30 minutes into my advanced physiology lecture, when I realized that I wasn’t entirely clear what the professor was talking about, and broke down entirely at the 2-hour mark (that’s 9 hours into the day, for those keeping track at home), when I realized that I just. didn’t. get it. I could see the professor standing at the front of the hall, and I could hear that there were words coming out of her mouth about the cellular-level workings of the endocrine system, and that’s about it.

I started to panic that I wasn’t ever going to understand this material, or any of the hideous crusty skin lesion material, and that I am going to fail, AND that the real point is that I am possibly a complete dolt.

Good thing that was about when we got a break and I was able to go hide in the bathroom for 5 minutes and collect myself.

I somehow made it through the final two hours of the lecture, had a moment of sanity with a new friend who admitted that she had no idea what a beta-1 adrenergic receptor was either, and collapsed into a mostly empty subway car headed back to Brooklyn. Suddenly, I had a stroke of genius – a moment that clearly proves that I am not a huge dolt – because I knew what would fix the tizzy of utter dejection and despair that I had worked myself into!

THE BOSS. The Boss would fix this.

I will leave you to imagine the break dance I did down the middle of the A train (as well as to ponder how you are going to find a headscarf as fetching as Steve Van Zandt’s).

I felt the panic dissipate, like a fever breaking. (Which is known as the defervescent third stage of pyrexia, just by the way.) I remembered one of my realizations from last week, which was that, as long as I study for hours and hours, I’m going to do just fine. I put my focus on tomorrow, when I’ll get to do such fascinating things as practice physical assessments on my unsuspecting labmates by poking around their ears and inspecting their skin for any suspicious looking moles – and then thought even further ahead to Thursday, when I will spend my first day in a hospital unit. Taking care of actual humans. Who don’t really care whether or not I had a meltdown during my physiology lecture.

And I emerged from the subway, back home in Brooklyn, to a gentle rain falling.

So when next Tuesday comes around and I’m curled up in a little ball on the floor wondering how I’m going to go on – remind me that Tuesdays are the worst, alright?

And that The Boss knows best.

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New Phase, New Blog: This Woman’s Work

Tomorrow begins a new chapter of my life: the first day of class in my nurse-midwifery program. For three years I housed my thoughts on trusty ole BirdAbroad, but this is a transition large enough to warrant a blog makeover. Welcome to This Woman’s Work, where I’ll be blogging about life as a student nurse-midwife, women’s health, healthcare in America, New York City, Jewish life in Brooklyn – and whatever else is on my mind.

I decided to become a nurse-midwife over two years ago, when RP and I still lived in China, and getting to this point has involved endless little steps: postbac prerequisites, training as a birth doula, harassing every midwife from New York to Beijing for their advice and guidance, applications, interviews, and decision-making. Having settled on a combined BS/MS program in New York City, RP and I have moved back here and settled into an apartment on a leafy street in Brooklyn; the thousand tiny tasks a new home demands have distracted me for a solid month from the fact that tomorrow is actually going to happen. It’s time to hang up my frame pack (at least temporarily), go back to school, and finally make this dream real.

What’s with the new blog title, you ask? There’s the Kate Bush reference, of course. For the uninitiated:

But the larger significance of this title is related to how my thought process has evolved about “women’s work.” As a feminist, I have been loathe to be too involved in this category of work – that is, the customary activities and skills not necessarily chosen by individual women, but foisted upon us as a group through tradition and sometimes with force. Care-taking, for example. Home-making. Mothering. Handiwork.

It’s not that I take issue with these activities themselves, but rather that I have a fear of leading a life unexamined, of embracing tradition without challenging it first. (God forbid anyone should think that I baked that bread because it’s my duty as a woman to have such skills, or that I wore a skirt because I think it’s my main job in life to look pretty!…etc.) The truth is that my fear of “women’s work” actually kept me from admitting that the issues I wanted to make my life’s work, the topics that most interested me intellectually, were “women’s issues”: reproductive and sexual health, pregnancy, birth, abortion. I wasted a lot of time trying to divert my mental energies into areas deemed more muscular, more formidable, more estimable.

So please don’t give me a quizzical look and ask whether or not I’ve considered medical school – I’ll get into that later. Please don’t ask if I’m becoming a midwife because I really want to get pregnant and have lots of babies. Please don’t lower your voice and say, “You’re not going to have to, ya know, clean up shit, are you?” (For the record: yes. That’s part of my training as a nurse.)

For the moment, just know that I am embracing what I really want to do in the world – which, I’ll admit, is “women’s work”: the arduous, astonishing, and worthy work of a nurse-midwife.

This is not to say that I’m over all of my hang-ups. When my stethoscope arrived in the mail and was pink, I have to say that my first thought was, “Oh come on! I’m already going to be a nurse, and now my stethoscope is PINK?!” And when I first tried on my regulation white nursing shoes, regulation white socks, and “honey beige” compression stockings, I was not so much thinking, “What a noble profession I’m joining,” as, “I’m pretty sure that nursing school is where radical feminism goes to die.”

At least what goes over this is blue scrubs instead of a little white dress.

My point is that I’ve got plenty of internal mishegas to deal with, which I’m sure will only become more pronounced as I move forward in my education. And tomorrow is Day 1.

After so much wind-up, I’m a bit of a nervous wreck – so let’s just rip the bandaid off and get started.

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This Day, Again

For the past few years I’ve been seeing the 10th anniversary of 9/11 coming, wondering what it would be like when it arrived. Now here it is – and doesn’t it feel terrible?

Anything that happened less than 10 years ago can seem recent, but when you hit a decade you have to admit that, somewhere in there, a new era has dawned. In the past, I’ve referred to 9/11 as the most significant single event to happen in my lifetime, and I still believe that. But it has been eclipsed by all of the terrible events that have come since, in its name, with it as an excuse. The declaration of an ideological war that has created more enemies in the Muslim world that the West ever had previously, the massive and ongoing loss of lives. The implosion of the American financial system, the Great Recession.

It does feel as though we’ve been hiding out over here in China as the West eviscerates itself – there has been a certain blissful distance in this, and some guilt as well. I never know how to mark the more ordinary anniversaries of 9/11, let alone the passage of 10 years. RP and I talked about that day again; where we were; what it has meant for New York and New Yorkers; what has happened since for New Yorkers, the country, each of us personally. I don’t feel a decade older.

How do you mark the day?

*****

Despite all of this, you will be glad to hear that the bad spirit following us around seems to have departed. Thanks to all of you for your excellent suggestions on how to get rid of it! Now that it has gone, what’s left is the sense of being done with Kunming – so done. Beyond done. Let’s-get-on-a-plane-tomorrow done.

As an illustration: if you follow the Chinese human interest news, you may have read that China is becoming more culturally liberal, with such hallmarks of alternative youth culture as multi-day music festivals springing up around the country. RP and I have always been curious about what these music festivals might be like, wondering if these were the places where real Chinese youth culture and coolness could be seen – and, as luck would have it, the first such giant music festival in Kunming was held over the past couple days. Today we went to the last of it, all prepared to have a good time, and particularly prepared to see Cui Jian, the headlining act and most famous rock musician in Chinese history.

Well…Cui Jian was pretty good. The rest of it was sort of disastrous.

It was actually a great venue, a beautiful night, and a hilarious crowd for people-watching (old ladies bopping around – check. Wannabe Kunming hipsters – check. A healthy sampling of goofy Kunming foreigners attempting to dance with the cops – double check.)

But China just doesn’t know how to do this kind of thing. The music was mostly terrible (because no self-respecting Chinese band stays in Kunming for very long). The whole festival venue was submerged in corporate advertising of a kind I have never seen before: giant screens showing ads on a loop for Mercedes-Benz and Budweiser while the bands played in front of them, occasionally cutting off the bands’ sounds systems so that the ads could play with sound for a few minutes. The crowds stood there, mesmerized, watching the screens.

When Cui Jian finally came on at people cheered and hollered – he’s a big deal. It’s kind of like seeing Bruce Springsteen play, if America hadn’t produced another rock star since.

But the overwhelming feeling that came over me was that it’s time to go. Kunming and I are done with each other. I’m like that random guy still hanging out on the college campus a couple years after graduation – not cool.

Fortunately, my ticket is purchased – I’m on a plane to Beijing on Wednesday afternoon, to begin almost two weeks of a very happy tour guiding opportunity: my mom is coming to visit! She’s playing ambassador for my family, an emissary from Manhattan, here to check up on China and what on earth I’ve been up to for the past couple years. I’m totally thrilled.

And after that – the open road, as it were. Taiwan, Xinjiang. The great beyond.

Don’t you worry (weren’t you worried?!) – I’ll be keeping you all regularly updated with tales and photos. First up (tomorrow) pictures from our awesome trip to Tiger Leaping Gorge and Shaxi. Stay tuned.

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Back in a Minute

I have a lot on my mind right now about my work and life in China, so much so that I haven’t been sleeping. I’m trying to figure out how to put it to you all. I’ll have it figured out in the next few days.

In the mean time: even though we were more of a Billy Joel kind of family, for some reason listening to Bob Dylan always makes me think of my parents. So for now I’m drinking a glass of cheap Chinese wine, listening to this, and missing my mom and dad.

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Getting Back in the Swing of Things

Sorry for my absence, All. I’m here, but have being doing a lot of scheming and thinking and haven’t been prepared to set it down in words. Still not prepared – maybe tomorrow.

I will say that the prospect of a wedding and – much more importantly – a marriage brings up many more thoughts and questions for me than I had ever anticipated. There have been few traditional rites of passage in my life, and this one comes after a period of many years of tumult and change, at a time of both uncertainty and deep hopefulness.

On a related note, today I’ve been listening to the album “Saints and Tzadiks”, a collaboration between Susan McKeown and Lorin Sklamberg celebrating Yiddish and Irish folk music. All at once! Lots of violins and phlegm-y consonants. Check it out. (Sorry for the linking- WordPress won’t let me upload.)

Saints and Tzadiks

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Tonight, with a Whiskey

Thinking about my sweet sisters.

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除了爱你没有真理!

I’ve been going through phases of how I feel about our pending move to China over the past week. I’m edgy because I haven’t yet set a start date with XYZ and no contract has been signed. I’m nervous, feeling sure that somehow my Chinese language skills have been totally overestimated and that, when presented with simple questions or tasks, I’ll just stand there staring blankly like a cow.

But for the past 24 hours I’ve been feeling excited. We’re finally moving back to China, and we’re doing it with purpose, with interesting plans and with no certain plan of when to leave. I think working for XYZ is going to be the start of an actual career for me – and I can’t wait!

I will admit to using a little outside assistance to augment my feelings of excitement, in the form of singing along to the following song. VERY LOUDLY.

I know, I know. But it’s one of the only Chinese songs that I know the words to – as anyone unfortunate enough to be walking through Midtown yesterday at 5:15pm can attest to. BRING ON THE MOVE TO CHINA! BRING ON THE CHINESE POP MUSIC!

S.H.E. 第一!

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