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PART 2: I'm done!
Community reminds you that it's not just a "patient". It's someone's son, brother, dad.... it's a person. I wish I could type and tell you how incredible I found the block.. how I loved it and it was inspirational. Because isn't that what you want to hear? But it wasn't... I live in a higher market community and live a relatively sheltered life. And now everyday for 6 weeks I had to be reminded of the cruel hardships of South Africa. That we are a third world country. Corrupt and riddled with poverty. I was exposed over and over again to the shittyness of our systems. Exposed to the lazy slobs hired to make a difference who inexcusably lost their drive along the way. Exposed to the racism. The implications of the effing apartheid. Exposed to the shit show that is South Africa- the litter, horribly "built" RDP houses. I was exposed to the neglect and abuse of children. Over and over again- I was reminded of the things wrong with South Africa. And only on my last day when I was more than ready to leave the place- but not the people. Was I exposed to the potential one person has to make a difference. And that's what I'll try take above the rest. I saw Taylas grandpa walking!!! My boy sitting, my grade Rs playing shape hopscotch!!! We did that. So no... I won't fall into the pit that our health professionals do of settling for mediocre and treating people unethically. Thank you community for being desperate for better standards for our country. Because that's gonna be my drive next block. That I need to get out there and try repair what I can.
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PART ONE
My last blog. I wish I had something amazing to say. But to be honest. I'm just flat and tired. One more block and the year is finished.. and now I'm starting to wonder if varsity is like school. You spend your whole 12 years wishing it was over and only once it is... do you realize how good you had it. Community alone has been a little like that. I'm gonna miss my friends and the way we supported each other and I didn't even take that into consideration these last six weeks. I've just been trying to reach the end and Keep my head above the water. But I guess it's because I know I'll see them again. As with my patients... I don't know. I don't know what will happen to them or even where they'll end up. And that's a really overwhelming feeling of helplessness. I said my goodbyes on Tuesday. I had tea with my patients entire family and they all prayed over me and wished me a life full of abundance. They cried and I cried. But we knew I'd be back on Wednesday with the supervisor and it would be a quick visit. A last little goodbye. Something light hearted to not taint our last memory together which had been only warmth and smiles and happy tears!! In my 6 weeks I was welcomed into the heart of a family system... and in treating the little boy, I was treating them all and in a weird cliche way, they were treating me too. But now I wonder how long it'll take for me to forget the community. To forget the smells and the different things I saw. To forget the familiar faces and the short cuts through the flats. Because ultimately isn't that what we do as students? We learn lessons but forget who or what taught us. We move from place to place, block to block trying to learn, achieve, pass!! Survive... and somewhere along the way, we forget to stop and just appreciate it. That we are quite literally changing lives. That for some, it's highly unlikely they'll ever forget us. I have had a few inspirational patients over the years. Yes, they are all amazing in their own ways. But there are 3 which touched my heart. My GBS patient from 3rd year physical (who still whatsapps me once every now and then to say thank you... more than a year later). My addict from NPC 💔 discharged due to strikes... two weeks before he was ready. I pray for him every night. Wondering if he's still alive. Where he went... and if he's ok. And thirdly... my little CBR boy. But for the first time it wasn't necessarily him who imprinted on my heart. But the whole family. And that's what I'm taking from community. The realization that most of the patients I'll treat have a family or loved ones of some sort. And that my treatment effects and directly impacts on their life as well.
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We are the foundation. And better built than any RDP house
Ugh blogs... good god this is no way to spend a Friday. It should be due on a Thursday. Or maybe I should have some self discipline and do it during the week. But you know... my response to the blogs or essays is very much topic related. As soon as it's a long sentence I've tuned out and decided I don't like it. Which makes it extremely hard to write about. Especially on a Friday night. Ok so primary healthcare. Is it shocking that in fourth year I had to google the definition just to make certain I understood what that is (I can feel you saying yes). Well whatever. Point is I did it. And this is what it says. "health care provided in the community for people making an initial approach to a medical practitioner or clinic for advice or treatment". Well look at that! It's a perfect explanation of our CBR block. So being in the community that we are in: we are the only access to a rehab team. And to be honest... right now we actually the only access to health professionals that give a damn. So no I wouldn't say our role in primary health care is big. I'd say it's bloody vital. We are the core of it in some areas. People may not get our profession and sometimes it's a bit wish washy- I'm not gonna lie. I don't know how many times I look over at the physios or doctors with envy. But when it comes to community. Our role is important. Whether it's respected or understood by other health professions or not. Because whilst physio is brilliant and needed. Gogo Cookie doesn't want to be doing weights. She wants to be able to save herself the dignity and embarrassment and be able to bath herself! She wants to know how she can dress her now heavy and limp arm. She wants to know that she can still bake her favorite Sunday cake despite her poor endurance. And that's were OT is so so so important to primary health care. Because we give back the potential and opportunities to perform the everyday tasks, that actually make up your whole life! So I go back to the same quote I posted in week two. “As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness — just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breathe it; just warmth and shelter and home folks; just plain food that gives us strength; the bright sunshine on a cold day; and a cool breeze when the day is warm.” — Laura Ingalls Wilder, Writings to Young Women from Laura Ingalls Wilder So yes. I've made it evident that we have a huge part in primary health care. Especially in a community where access to health care is poor! We give the people good experiences and we give them hope. Another cool thing about OT in the primary care setting is the promotion we get to do. It's not until you enter the community on your CBR block do you realize. We've done a wide variety of health care promotion. From the real straight facts of hypertension to a group of ladies. To arthritis in the Gogos group. We've targeted the children in directly through providing in services to the teachers. The adolescents with drugs, alcohol, safe sex, peer pressure and decision making talks. We perform health promotion in groups. In our individual sessions and to the worried family of a schizophrenic patient. But that's not even my favorite bit of health promotion in the OT field. Which makes up a huge part of it, incase you're still wondering where I stand on that. It's that being an OT means you gotta have a special kind of heart ❤️. Which means your perform treatment and promotion subconsciously wherever you go. I see it in Faatima showing the ladies how to no bend over their work... or how to lift heavy bags. I see it in Tayla attempting to persuade the children to get an apple instead of chips. See... they might not know it. It might not be the obvious talks and pamphlets. But it's still health promotion. Because with each kind action those OTs do... comes the reason and explanation for why they saying it. And so the health promotion is done. I think OT have a larger role in health promotion and primary care than we get acknowledged for Or even acknowledge. Especially because we get down onto the one on one person to person level. We make a difference in a way other health professionals couldn't. As for the use of media. I haven't really seen anything.. unless I go looking. And who on earth does. So does it make me naive to say that our profession doesn't really have a big role in the media advocacy for health.... or maybe I'm better off just saying there's an opportunity there that's being missed. But for now I think we doing a pretty phenomenal job at this whole community outreach thing.
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Maybe our country actually needs more anger...
It's Friday! This would be a happy occasion if bloody Faatima hadn't given me her swine flu. I've actually been so ghastly Ill all day that I somehow managed not to hear my son wake up from his nap (don't stress- nanny was here, watching her movie and not ready to go home) id passed out on my bed and was awoken to chewing and something cold and sticky dripping onto my face with the odd finger poking of an eye lid. Yup! Max had gotten a pear out the fridge and was now proceeding to not only eat over me but try see if my eyes were sort of like a remote button. Needless to say that by the time my sweet husband got home the nanny was long gone and I was well and truly in need of some sort of rescuing from playing "the statue game" or just "who can scream the loudest". So Dean and Max went out on a boys dinner date and for the first time in 3 years... I was home alone. What a weird sensation. If it wasn't minus degrees I would've taken all my clothes off just for the opportunity to be naked without someone pointing out where all my private parts are. But I didn't... I did what any normal 25 year old does on a Friday night.... I watched the little mermaid. Bliss. So In my crazy celebration- I clean forgot about blogs, which I had been meticulously planning all week (that's actually not sarcasm). But then good old diligent, hard working Tayla reminded me! So here I am. Sitting on my bathroom floor- easy access for toilet paper to blow my nose, not to mention the toilet bowl for a good old vomit- writing my blog on my phone . I was really relieved yesterday when Megan pointed out it was an open topic. Because let's be honest. As a white, "privileged", female South African- anything with the word "Political" in. I shy away from with the immediate knowledge I shouldn't comment. Most feel I don't have a right to have an opinion. Whilst others just think it's ignorant. (Ah boys are back. That was short lived) Anyway... the more I thought about something political that's affecting the community, the more angry I got in truth. You see this week, Mariannridge were striking about the RDP houses. I asked one of the ladies if her house was RDP- she was super offended. I couldn't really understand why. I mean, id read about them in the news paper. One bedroom, kitchen, small lounge and bathroom. They sounded decent enough. And like a typical ignorant person I took the stance that it was people being greedy. Entitled and wanting more. Well... I took a walk to see the RDP houses of Mariannridge. I got to the informal settlements on the bank, let's be honest- no one calls them that. I got to the shacks. I was a little confused as I had followed directions that were pretty simple to get here. And all that was around me were.... shacks? And I don't mean to sound like a little judgmental white girl. I'm talking about actual shacks. With one room as the whole house. The roof made of scraps with bricks resting on. Some had windows others didn't. (All has satellites) So I decided I was lost. Obviously. These were nothing like I'd read about. So I asked one of the ladies sitting on the side of the road. She laughed at me and told me that I was in fact staring at them. Excuse my language but WTF. No wonder they were striking. Imagine being promised a house and then been given half built cement walls. But the empty promise of the RDP houses isn't even the political bit. It's bigger than that. It's the corruption behind it. The foundation of our government system. It's knowing that a tender of hundreds of millions of rands has been given with the opportunity to better lives... and like many others. It's just been pocketed. So some fat, pig can drive a fancy car and marry his 7th wife. Now don't just assume I'm jumping on the DA bandwagon and shaming all ANC members and what the party stands for. I'm not. But I'm shaming the people that are currently running it. I can't begin to fathom the apartheid or the fear that lingers that it could happen again if they vote for a party with any white face. I really can get why our majority isn't too sold on the DA (even though Musi just has so much potential). But I wish for a second we could take a step back and realize that we not voting for a party... but a president. And no one is currently worthy of that in the ANC. The corruption of our country is my political occupation I'm focusing on. Because it filters through. It's one of the main contributors to our poverty. It's the reason for the regression of our people. And isn't it absolutely terrifying to be able to say it's quite literally a couple people that are holding our country ransom. Promising empty promises with no actual intentions of fulfilling them. Last night the rain woke me. Well... before that was Max. In my half dead state last night I'd put him to bed without a nappy on. I'm not sure how I'd dropped the ball on that. So we woke up to a toddler who was beside himself because he'd wet the bed and was now freezing and wet. After a quick clothing change and stripping his bed, I put him in my bed and sent dean to the spare room. But even with knowing Max was now warm and happy beside me I had a fretful sleep. I woke up with the heavy rain... and all I could think about was those stupid "houses". I stressed about the babies in them who'd need a middle of the night nappy change in that freezing little box of a house. With wind gushing through and probably leaks everywhere: I worried about my amazing nanny and if she was warm or if her arthritis was keeping her up. I prayed for the pitbulls of the community that I knew would be tied and chained in the blizzard. I thought of how lucky I was and how unfair life was. And then I wondered..... Mr Zuma.... do you ever lose sleep over the thought of the cold and hungry that you stole from?
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Don’t distract the children from their suckers and chips.
This week we were told to go and experience a different sort of occupation. As I buy from the tuckshop sellers every day (Their ice lollies are my criptonite) I decided to speak to them and see what this aspect of their life was like.
Well, I learnt that this community is filled with clicks and each have their own individual hierarchies. This included the three tuck shop sellers. The eldest lady was sort of the head of the three. She sat on a little crate next to her DIY table also assembled mainly of crates. She sold a variety of things, including home made cake (which her granddaughter makes) and even hot chips on the odd day. Now the interesting thing here... is that on days when she was selling ice lollies- neither of the other two would. And if she wasn’t there- then none of them were there. But the other too were sort of an equal to each other. They sold more or less the same things. The three were never seen conversing and said they didn’t consider themselves friends but rather working friends.
So, I sat with them in the peace before the storm- right before school came out. That wasn’t too bad. But when the young kids came running out- I’m no t really entirely sure how they kept track of their stock, what was picked up and put down. It was like a made frenzy at a watering hole in a desert. But that wasn’t even the most fascinating thing of all. Nope.. it was the fact that the children “oogled” at me and my blond hair. How some had no sense of personal space and felt it perfectly acceptable to walk up and stroke whatever part of my body was closest. How others spoke loudly about what facial features of mine they found weird or interesting and others even going as far to ask their friends if i was pretty or not. After distracting the children for some time- it was the “leader” of the sellers that told me that I could stay today but tomorrow I cant come back because I distract the children from the sweets and cravings. Have you ever. I had to laugh.
This hierarchy I observed in the women- was noted by the children too. They broached the eldest lady with caution and spoke to her in a respectful tone. They didn’t swarm her table as much and gave her no back chat. When one of the younger boys asked if the other boy had given her his money- she swiftly smacked him across the head and told him to mind his own business if his eyes weren’t working properly.
From an Occupational Therapist point of view- I have to say. These ladies have a pretty good set up. Whilst ergonomically its not the best to sit huddled on a wobbly crate at 68 years plus. But they’ve chosen a very clever situation that the children have to walk past and they have a wide variety of stuff that no table in particular will be favored or left out. It was inspiring to see how these ladies had taken it upon themselves to start their little businesses. Each told her own story how she started buying the goodies from Pinetown in small quantities to sell and now paid someone else to do so- expanding the employment and their own skill set and opportunity.
All I can say, is that I hope the rest of the community- well mainly the ones walking around half drunk and smoking, look at these three ladies- a wide range of ages- and are inspired to try to make something for themselves too. Even if its as small as selling suckers and chips to school kids.
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Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.
Chinese Proverb
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Can I say crappy?
I started writing my blog on Thursday after a particular crappy day. (Is crappy allowed??). And so this is how it started: At this point I feel more like a volunteer than an Occupational Therapist. I’m loving the home visits and I am so beyond touched by the welcoming I get each time I visit my regular patients. I can feel my OT training coming through during my sessions and thinking on how I could better their lives and function… But the projects are sucking the life out of me. I know aspects of it are Occupational Therapy. But I feel the majority are just kinda random assignments that OT often throws at you. Like that relaxation CD we had to make that one time….? Let’s be honest, that wasn’t necessary. We get it- you voice can be used as a tool. Insert rolling eyes emoji- I have the voice of a 12 year old boy.
Some projects I can grasp the concept of. I can get how as an OT you try help your patients function in all aspects, so you help them seek or create a job. But I don’t really see why 5 years later we still holding their hands through some of this nonsense. That’s not OT. OT is about independent functioning, yet somehow on community practice no matter how much you try express that they gotta do it on your own, they know that if they make a mess- students will be there. Maybe not this block but the next, to clean up and fix it- make it all pretty and working again. Its absolute nonsense. How is it sustainable if we need to check in every block and help them come up with new topics to speak on etc…
Well… I left my blog typing on that negative point after we attended a tut where by Chantal continuously drummed into us that the OT profession cannot be confined to a small terminology or box. Kinda like the definition of community ironically. There’s a million different interpretations. Just like OT. There may be one common definition but I’m talking about the personal explanations of what OT is from the actual OTs.
So then I took Chantal’s advice. I started asking why…. Which eventually ked to what? What is OT to me.. what is the importance of OT. So I started researching- which ultimately got me onto quotes.
I believe quotes are vital to our profession. We currently have difficulty defining ourselves- especially to people who’ve never experienced OT themselves. We often shrink from the bold statements about the core of our practice—that daily tasks are vital to healing. I sometimes feel a bit silly or mebarased saying it and (try not cringe or dislike me even more now) I sometimes just find it explaining OT by linking it to the similarities of Physiotherapy.
This is where quotes come in. They give us or rather me, the language to articulate what we intuit and build our practices on.
So here is one or two of my favourites.
“It is neither wealth nor splendor; but tranquility and occupation which give you happiness.”
— Thomas Jefferson, Personal letter to his sister
“As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness — just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breathe it; just warmth and shelter and home folks; just plain food that gives us strength; the bright sunshine on a cold day; and a cool breeze when the day is warm.”
— Laura Ingalls Wilder, Writings to Young Women from Laura Ingalls Wilder
“I think we live in a world where the most important thing is daily life: sharing a space with your family, making meals, being with your people. It’s not only the idea of privacy, it’s the beauty of the moment, at a time in the world when everything goes really fast - too fast.”
— Ana Tijoux
So today was better. I saw the meaning that OT was bringing, within the groups of the creche kids, the home visits with the Gogos and yes, even the projects.- but most importantly I really did see how OT has the pOTential to improve the community though teach self help and correcting learnt helplessness. I know I may come across as a sheltered, idealistic little privileged white girl. But I’m really so much more than that. And whilst my out-look may seem unrealistic.. I look with hope and I look with as much optimism as I can. And I won’t change that. Because we need more people like that in the world- not less.
So whilst today was better. I have no doubt i’ll have some crappy days again (see- I am being realistic). Because that what community is. It’s a shape shifter that’s forever changing and just when you think you’ve touched solid ground, it sends a little tremor.
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So, thats me in the velvet burgundy top- styling right? Freckles in the back is my dearest Rosa. Her siser Cristina in the yellow and beautiful Victorai (Our cousin) in the princess dress.
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Does it make me ignorant to call it child neglect?
Blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs. I have been reassured and promised I will get into it. My word I hope that’s true.
I didn’t give much thought about community block, which is odd. Maybe it’s because I didn’t know what to expect, so I just shut it out. But now that I am here and in it- I think I’m going to enjoy it. Well… at least parts of it.
I had a really harsh academic supervisor on my last block. Like soul crushing, typical private school attitude stuff. I was so discouraged and by the end of it I felt like not only was I an inadequate OT but I was a stupid human being too. So, I think this is just what I need to get my love for OT resparked and my confidence in myself back. Because like we discussed in the TUT. It’s up to me, the block and what I make of it- is entirely up to me. I get to see that my work matters- and that people do need me and my sessions aren’t stupid or mundane. For the first time this year- I’m a little bit excited! I cannot wait to get working in those creches! I’m even excited for the CVA’s.
First week in and the experiences (although limited so far) have been eye opening. The children are what stick out most for me. I don’t know if it’s because I have Max, that I realise really how amazing kids are, how innocent and how that should be persevered and guided. How important adequate child care is and a nurturing environment and what a blessing it is to be a parent. Also that your child is your responsibility. Also… this Friday is my best friends 25th birthday! Ironically, she was apoet and writer and I know she’d think this whole blogging thing was fantastic. Although she would’ve used a word more like “majestic” or something way more articulate. Her mom published a book for some of her close friends compiled of her own poetry and it begins with “I write because it’s the right means. For me. I’ve got plenty in me for 20”.
I say was. Or would’ve. Because on Friday, it’s also the 4th anniversary of her death. Yup… it was her 21st birthday. She was sitting talking to us on a balcony which was a thick wall. She adjusted her position, lost her balance and fell the story down to the road. She was dead on impact. We stood and waited 6 hours for the crime scene photographer to come…there was only one working that night. So we stood on the side of the road.. waiting, we’d put a table cloth over her from one of the restaurants… but her blood ran down the road regardless. I guess that’s maybe why I was so sensitive this week. Why my heart felt heavy but its also how I came to realise how fragile life is and how unnecessary and avoidable some deaths are. That’s all I could think of when witnessing the children in the communities. That parents aren’t meant to bury their children. That they won’t know what they have until it’s too late… and that 21 is too young to die. So imagine a 3 year old.
Walking to home visits I saw little toddlers, stumbling around glass bottles on their fat legs being followed by mainly their fathers. At first glance (mind you, I had no contact lenses in) I thought, well at least they trying, good on the dad! But as I got closer, I realised. It was actually the father who was doing the stumbling, with half a smoked joint hanging loosely from his mouth and a beer bottle in his hand.. and it wasn’t the toddler he was stumbling after but rather the distance between him and I he was trying to shorten, so that he could pass some revolting profanity about my “backdoor”. That is what shocked me. Not that this is a father figure. But this is the child’s protector during the day. But it’s the norm…. if it’s not a drunk and disorderly looking after the child, then it’s no one. I had a child ride into the back of my leg on a mini car on the side of the road. Just looking at her face you could see she was under 2. I looked around for her mother..or anyone. But there was no one. Nothing. And that’s the community in a nutshell. 3 year olds walking home from school, leaving the creche to by sweets from a dirty looking man. Playing unattended in storm drains and in litter piles. But in this poverty stricken predominantly coloured community. It’s almost culturally accepted for your kids to be independent from such a young age and essentially raise themselves street wise, or accustomed to it. So, does it make me ignorant to call it child neglect? Because to me that’s what it is. I understand that mothers are out there working. That having day care for your child is a luxury. But surely there has to be some sort of a better system than letting them just fend for themselves on the side of a busy road?
These children are our future and if they are being raised in an environment where they are exposed to the dark taboos of their community, as well as the risk of having it happen to them daily! Then how do we expect them to grow up with hopeful, refreshed views for our country. How do we expect them to raise their children any different when the level of care they get is sub-standard. But they don’t think it is. And that’s what I love about children. They laugh unaware of the dangers as they run down the sidewalk, shoes laces undone and cars zooming past. I guess I have to try and focus a little less on the children’s situation and surroundings, and rather on the state of these children themselves. Most in beautiful new uniforms, with enough money to buy an ice lolly or some cake. And that’s the parent doing their best. But even saying that. I could never do that. Go to work each day knowing that today might be the day Max gets hit by a car, raped, stolen! Anything…. Because he was left to protect himself at age 2/3/4/5/6 even!
As for my professional views of this week so far…. I saw some really average teachers. But I also saw some amazing ones. The teachers that truly care about their students. That are going the extra mile and it made me so proud to be a part of their “team”. To know that whilst I may be able to help and make a difference, the child still had a fighting chance even without me! And I saw a lot of that in the community members too. I visited a little boy with CP and I watched how the neighbours “ummed” and “ahhed” over him as he smiled. It was so amazing to see that they in no way were shaming the mom or discriminating against the boy and that was beautiful…. Because often people are afraid of what they don’t know but this little community was welcoming this boy and all his disabilities with nothing but love and warmth. It’s moments like that that are going to get me through this block. When humans show a little humanity.
So, since its Rosa’s day! Lets end off with a poem written by her:
“A COINCIDENTAL MEETING
Tonight I spied with my unlidded eye
A gentle, curious face glazed in a shadow;
The mind that might coerce my mind awry
And spur my exit from this shallow hollow.
Ideas of a freer, simpler way
Master the cure for abstract minds.
Refractive tangents certainly delay
The knowledge of a better humankind.
Thus, perchance to have met at this junction,
is a work of subtle necessity.
Desperate truths resolve all compunction;
And solve my fates nervous perplexity.
To look not on radically inquiring,
Invites a twist of fate quite inspiring.”
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I did it. It's over
Closing blog. Finally. Can't believe this day is here. Let's just get real and talk about the marks for a second. I know that's not what prac is about but ultimately... it kinda is. I don't think I've ever worked as hard as I did this finals. I mean like heart and soul kinda stuff. My case study was so pretty! I made diagrams, printed in colour- I've never been so proud of something in my entire life. I kept to the required number of pages and added everything I thought would be slightly relevant. It was my first time using the PEO-P model and I think it's now my favourite. I was so worried about my demo. I tried to hard and I evaluated to the best of my ability. And it paid off. But my hard work can't take all the credit. Without sounding like a suck up- Megan was easily the best supervisor I've ever had. She was so insightful it was frightening- no matter what question we asked her, she had some sort of feedback or guidance. She showed now favouritisms or discrimination to any of us. When I first got told I had Megan... I won't lie... I wasn't too stoked. For midterms I didn't work too hard and very rarely handed in two write ups a day. Megan told me once what was required and then left me. I had so much going on and I thought she was a push over. Well I was wrong. My marks reflected my effort and Megan politely told me that if I wanted the marks I'd have to show her, that I wasn't spiting anyone but myself. If Megan gave you 60%, she gave you 40% worth of feedback and guidance. I've never had that in a supervisor and it was incredibly refreshing. So often you get 75% and the response of the lecturer or supervisor is : "you can't get any higher." Or "if you got any higher you'd be in fourth year".... thathekos squat. Megan was just what I needed this prac. After a two year break from psych I was terrified. Megan was encouraging and not over bearing. She was everywhere all the time- never far from sight and very hands on. Im going to miss her as my supervisor! As for the end of prac. It's always bitter sweet isn't it? I think of my clients sitting in their rooms doing nothing. No family. No love. Just abandoned and left to rot. Because that's essentially it. They cried when I left and hugged me so tight I could feel the desperation and anxiety. Working in government facilities is always depressing... it is. Sometimes you have a great nurse or doctor that is doing their best to make a difference. But most of the time the neglect and treatment the patients experience from the staff members is just too revolting for words. Unfortunately this was ANOTHER one of those facilities. Where the staff loved the idea of having some power. Who didn't see the clients as people. But rather "retards". I know that's not PC but that's exactly it. Prac was long and disjointed but I feel 100 times better about the next psyc block now. I understand how to assess but more than that I understand how to treat! End of prac. Is the symbol of end of year for me. And I can't explain how I feel, looking back on my year, knowing I not only "did it" but I excelled. I can't believe it.
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When Max does a poop on the car seat. Good summary of my week so far.
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~ You are my blue crayon, the one I never have enough of, the one I use to colour my sky ~ 🔵🌍 The rain can't stop us!
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More like a basket of golf balls
The Jar of life- well done, Chantal! A really brilliant Topic-I approve. I think I am exceptionally blessed when it comes to my “Jar of life”. I think I have a lot more golf balls at this stage of the game, than anyone else my age. Whilst it adds to my responsibilities and sometimes makes the jar extremely heavy and yes- some of the golf balls are a little cracked…. It also means that my life is unbelievably full. I spoke about my life in my former blog- which is ironic considering that I didn’t know this would be the next topic- and how I find it overwhelming at times and sometimes a bit much. So this blog actually kinda goes hand in hand with the promise I made; that I would come up with strategies to help me cope with my million and one golf balls. The jar of life talks about finding balance… something I am not very good at. I always say to Dean that I am a jack of all trades but an ace of none. It’s a really sad feeling but something that I am working on. Despite what you may or may not think- I have a pretty crappy self-confidence. I don’t know why, it’s not that I think that I am incapable or unworthy, or ugly or stupid. I just think I am bang average. I rode for South Africa for 5 years and was crowned champion horse and rider for 3 years in a row… yet if you asked me if I have any talents…. I’d still probably say no and that’s just how I kinda see any “achievement” in my life. Not really anything to brag about. I don’t know why…. I guess I’ve never really felt exceptional at anything. I battle to give myself recognition and I battle to find draw the standard to which I am constantly trying to push myself to. Nothing is ever good enough…but why? No one has ever said that to me. BUT having said that…. I’m an ACE when it comes to being a mom. I have that priority straight that’s for sure. So yay for me for managing to balance that golf ball. It seems to be the hardest to challenge because separation anxiety and guilt is a big part of trying to balance it. So I’ve come up with a solution. I never do any work whilst Max is awake. I don’t even look at my laptop. I try to be 100% present and I try to incorporate any OT skills I’ve learnt into my activities with Max and Seb. (I am not Sebastians mother….but someone’s gotta be?). Doing one really silly and fun activity with Max-no matter how small or big makes me feel like I definitely do not neglect or take him for granted. It makes me feel less guilty for the long hours at varisty or the hours I miss at varsity. It makes me feel proud enough to feel good about myself, which is huge. So that’s my first coping step 1. A new activity with Max. It makes me feel like a better person; I’ve sacrificed my whole life for Max… but I don’t wanna be like every other young mom that can never let go of the jol and uses their child for photos but drops them off every weekend. I want to embrace it, whole heartedly. I have embraced it and I prove this to myself everyday by doing something little with Max. Like I was saying, I don’t do any work whilst Max is awake and I give Dean 30minutes every night. That’s all he requires. 30 minutes where he makes me tea (One of Deans “love languages” is acts of service. This involves him making me tea every ten minutes-I hate tea…. But I don’t tell him this- and breakfast in bed, almost every morning, or tea. God the tea. It never ends. Do you know how yellow it makes your teeth???!!!) and then he tells me about his day, something he watched on facebook, something about Liverpool (that’s usually where I tunrn off) and then something about his dream for the future (Never in my life have I met a more success hungry person, well maybe my dad.) So that’s how I prioritise my family. Then I do my OT work. I try to go to bed before 1 am because our darling “angel” who slept through every night until he turned one, now wakes up every 20 minutes to check I’m still in the same place he left me. Yup, separation anxiety is on both sides it seems. I seem to have a kind of good balance going between varsity and family. But the balls start dropping when it comes to myself. I hate to feel like I am lazy. Which is stupid because I am not... but deep down I think I am. And my mom has always said “Laziness and guilt are traits of the devil”. SO I battle to stop. I battle to unwind. Reading isn’t good for me because once I start the book I need to finish it. And I am talking about right then and there-stay up all night kinda reading. So Chantal, my second strategy to coping, to getting through the year, to managing: 2. Horse Riding. I don’t know if you have ever ridden? Well… I have since I was 5. My parents worked extremely hard and I had a house full of 5 other siblings. So I was often dropped off at the riding school as the sun was rising and fetched when it had turned dark and cold. On longer holidays I would move in with my riding teacher for a week, Marie. She was a General in the German army-she’s now 87 and is still walking round with her pack of dogs to feed the horses carrots. She is terrifying! Horse riding is my sanity. It was once a hobby… now it’s a luxury. It’s an hour where I am not anyone other than hops. I’m not a student, mom, sister, daughter, wife. I’m just me- my mind is consumed with my beautiful Sol (I have the most amazing story to tell you about her!) and releasing all my tension- to top it all off Jax now teaches me and has for the last 7 years. She’s pretty much my under paid psychologist. Her heart of gold shines outwards and she always lightens my load with her little giggle and crazy stories about her animals- she literally supports all the stray animals in Hammarsdale, its ridiculous- she saved a big rooster from being slaughtered and has now named him “Basil”. I arrived the other day to Basil sitting on the couch in the office, with the aircon on because Jax felt he was too hot outside... Anyway, when I ride, I come home calm, happy and reenergised. Its something I need to do more, its healthy not only for me but for Dean and Max. It’s my me time where I’m still being productive. So my first strategy is to ride. As often as I can- at least twice a week, it’s a little bit of my former life I get to hold on to. So Sol Azul (Blue sun in Spanish) is my little Filly who’m Dean bought for me 3 years ago. Long story short, we tracked down her stud farm which is Spanish to find out some things about her history and it turned out one of Lara (My late sister) best friends owned it and Lara had been there the morning sol was born and had named her. See Lara came from Honduras and is Spanish. The Stud name all their horses Spanish names and it was Melissa’s turn to name a foal (All three daughters take turns naming the foals based on their breeding but sometimes just random) as this wasn’t something unusual for Melissa, she found it quite a hack and asked Lara to think of a name. How special is that…. Lara had already been dead 3 years when I got sol. So it was a huge deal for me. Sol recently turned 6. Lara’s anniversary of her death was 5 years in June. I don’t think the pain will ever go away. I’m not big on materialistic things-but I am incredibly spoilt and I know this. There was a stage in my life where I didn’t have a bedroom. We had had Christopher for a year (Sharing a room with my brother- who I had actually been sharing a room with), I was now sharing with m sister (Good god. Sharing a room with Grace. That was awful). And then we got Lara. Lara took my spot in the room with my sister and I slept in the lounge. My mom was very sweet about it and felt bad- they moved a cupboard to the corner of the room, so that the actual room corner was my two walls (Left side and back wall against the bed) and the cupboard was my right wall. Grace was really not happy with Lara coming… She didn’t adjust well (I think it’s one of her biggest regrets now) and it wasn’t long before my parents tried to renovate the other end of the house to resemble something like a room for her to move into. This was a huge mistake on their behalf because it took us years to notice Graces depression. Her room was so far away from our unusally long shaped house that we didn’t notice the amount of time she spent by herself with the door closed. Anyway… I moved back into my former room with Lara for 7 years. It was during this stage that we lived off mince and rice, my mom worked extra hours and my dad was gone for months on end. He’d arrive home after 10 most nights and 8 on a Sunday. He had black rings around his eyes and would usually fall asleep where he sat- still in his suit and tie. But every now and then he’d come home early, taking time to read to each of us or sing us to sleep, he’d get a Sunday off where we’d spend the day gardening. He didn’t balance his golf balls. He was so busy planning for the future that he missed out on the present. He retired when La was 21 and she died the following year. She’s still the background on his phone. Anyway!!!! My point is that at some stage my dad “made it”. He became a highly successful, well known businessman who’s name was ushered around town and splurged on the newspaper. We upgraded our little house to a bigger one- we moved in the day before my thirteenth birthday, Lara slept in my bed for a month. We’d never been apart. Anyway, I had my own bathroom- on suite thank you very much! All 6 of us kids did. We swapped the mince and rice for woolworths and from then money was never a worry for me. I think because I had lived the best of both and been as equally in happy or unhappy in both, I understood that money didn’t and cant buy you happiness. So I don’t think I need to worry about filling up my jar with sand before the things that count. I watched my dad and I understand that sometimes sacrifices being made for the future, really do need to be in moderation. No amount of money can buy back time missed or bring someone back to life. Dean on the other hand is self made, he’s come from absolutely nothing (Montclaire…… I try say it not sounding like a snob. I fail). He got a full scholarship to school based on rugby aswell as to varsity. Every penny he has-hes worked hard. But its also blinded him. He often fulls his jar with sand first. Something I can definitely help him with. I know this is an extremely long blog and Ive gone way off topic often- sorry- I guess I feel that I’ve gone through enough death and loss to realise the importance of my golf balls. My issue with balance surprisingly doesn’t come in there. If anything- it comes in with the golf ball that is me (That I often leave out of the jar completely) and pouring in the beer. Finding time to be social puts so much pressure and anxiety on me. I don’t like leaving max on the weekend because I feel…. I feel like that’s not being a mom. I know I’m human and allowed to have a break etc. But he’s MY responsibility. So I battle to draw he line there. Im very good at keeping in touch- but seeing someone is a whole different issue. I wanna say my next coping strategy would be to make time to socialise but I think that just adds waaaaay too much pressure! I just cant im sorry. But I will continue coming up with strategies.
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