Post-post Confession

But.....sometimes I do feel guilty because I think I should be able to do *all*

all =s babe, husband, family, teach, research, write, study for GRE, go to Grad school, obtain PhD, write more, teach less, become a special CNN correspondant for International Language Politics.

But some days I'm doing good if I can take a shower.

How do other women/men deal with this? Sometimes I just have to tune myself out.

Going to order the _Mommy Myth_ book....well, gonna put that on my list.

Bad Pooh-Pa

The babe has been having pooh-pa like crazy. (Translation- bowl movements, I just think pooh-pa is so much cuter and so does she because she laughs when I say, "Did my babe just have a pooh-pa or a wee?) Its amazing how much your vocabulary changes with children. A year ago I was saying things like, "through the application of Burke's theory of terministic screens, we can deconstruct.." I think the later statement was filled with more pooh-pa than the babe's diaper.

She is teething and has a bit of a belly upset so that accounts for the pooh-pa.

In my last post I asked about writing and finding time to do my 'work'. Well, you know what I've discovered? Some things don't work like they used too. At one time I taught 6 undergraduate classes (5 comp, 1 lit, and 1 volunteer ESL). Now, I'm teaching 2 paid ESL, 1 comp, and trying to get back into the swing of writing. Its not working. So, I'm stepping down from some of my teaching duties (now just teaching 1 comp) and focusing on moving us into our new house and then working on getting the writing thing going again. I've become much better at balancing since having the babe.

I can totally understand what Tree is going through over at Cheese & Responsibility

I'll call mine, The Stages of Super Woman Overextension

1. I can: wash clothes, feed a babe, pump milk, make breakfast, read papers, post assignments, prepare notes for a meeting, take babe for a walk, record favorite TV show, make grocery list, hire a plumber, find a trustworthy carpenter, research buying a new car, and take a shower before 2 PM.

2. It's 2 PM, I have feed the babe, pumped milk, but have not quite made it out of the bedroom because the babe wants to be really cute and show me how she can roll over and over and over and stick fingers in her mouth. Finding a way to pee when the babe has become mobile takes me at least 2 hours. Its okie, I still have 2 hours before class.

3. Its 3PM, now I panic. I've had no shower, my hair is standing on end (babe looks at it funny), she has been fed again and re-diapered and is happy. I have no notes for class. I didn't make groceries. I think I forgot to eat. Babe needs to eat again. Need more diapers.

4. Time for class. Who wants to write about diapers and wipes?
I'm sweating. Did I put on deodorant? My hair is not behaving. My notes are scattered. I ate gross nuggets and too-sweet tea.
I wonder what the babe is doing.

5. Fuck it, my babe was fed, happy, and I actually got us both out of the house in one piece.

6. I have some time in between classes. I'm reading other blogs. People out there have kids and manage to work, have successful academic careers and families. What the hell is wrong with ME?

7. I call to check on the babe. She is good. I miss her. Daddy says she is eating her fingers and smiling.

8. I try to research for the article I'm working on. I look at babe's pic on my laptop and miss her horribly. I feel guilty. I should be at home with her. I should not make her drink from a 'baba' she should be with me at all times! I want me babe!

9. I see an old grad school friend, she is getting a PhD now. I have stopped my studies for babe, I am good with this, but she makes me feel like I should be able to do it.

10. I'm o.k. Class is almost over. I get home around 10 PM, babe is up and happy. She and I will play until the wee hours of the night and then try again tomorrow.

This is why my lists get longer as the week goes on because I can never quite finish everything. The old me would try hard to do so, I would even cry if I couldn't. But not the new me. The real *super* woman. I realize that my priorities are the babe, myself, and DH. That's it, everything else is just frosting, if the cakes are good the frosting I can wing.

I am re-thinking my plans. I thought I'd try grad school next Fall, but instead I think babe and I might learn a new language, I also think I'll build a play set, I've always wanted to use wood. I'm going to focus on family and my writing. Grad school can wait, for now the babe is in command.

Question:

How do you find time to write? I used to journal while the babe took naps, but she is refusing to nap now. And I need to get an article ready for review, write a book review, and try to pretend that I can write a paper on race and young African-American women.

Umm. Help.

Any suggestions? How do you carve out time to write when you have so many projects....I really need help.

Did I also mention I'm a BIG procrastinator.

Yes. Help. Please.

Run, Run Part II

I'm thinking more about leaving and what it means to leave and come back, and what a 'home' is and where it is. I'm staying with my parents now because the county house is not ready yet. It will probably be a good month to two months before we can get in there. Much plumbing, painting, and fixing needs to be done. I'm looking forward to that, sort of. I have huge Basquiat paintings that I was given last Xmas and I'm going to have them framed and put them in the hallway and my 'library'. Yeek! I do get a library.

This past summer I was still thinking that I was going to try and study and take my GREs this fall and try to apply for school again. In my mind I was going to be able to achieve this because babes are supposed to sleep for like 12 hours a night, and take 2 3 hour naps a day, and I wouldn't be digging myself out of sewage or refurbbing a home that hasn't been touched in 20 years. But, as I have learned--when we make plans, God shows us who the boss really is. I'm learning, I'm learning.

I do have so much that I need to do and work on in order to leave, maybe I just wasn't ready yet. When I think about the things I've gone through this year, all the sad and all the beautiful, I can see that things like school and moving are still in my future. I just have some other lerssons to learn first.

My PaPa died about 14 years ago and since that time he has often appeared to me in dreams. One of the most vivid came about a year ago. I was asking whether or not I should go to school and in the dream he showed me 2 roads. One was straight and clear and the other long and curvy and bumpy. He told me to take the long one, smiled, and nodded. Guess I'm not in for any shortcuts.

Babe is crying she wants to blog too. Or maybe its the milk she's after.

Tree makes me think about roots

So my dear friend Tree left a post about my my post yesterday, "Run, run," and tree said:

Tree of Knowledge said...
Re: "what if I don't leave?" It is a beautiul area, not a bad place at all to be rooted in.

You'll make it your own. there's no need to worry about that. It will happen without trying or thinking about it.

You know, the reason I'm afriad of staying is because I've equated staying here with being a looser. In my head, for quite some time, I've always felt that I needed to go away in order to make something of myself. When I was in high school all I could think about was leaving home. That was my sole drive my senior year. I applied to four schools: three in the state, and one in California. I got into all but one instate and I got into the school in Callie. I had no clue about financial aid, loans, or any of that stuff. I just knew my parents weren't gonna give me any money to go to school and unless I could find a way, Callie was going to be near impossible. So, I stayed here and I think that I really regretted that decision for quite some time. I always though that in order to 'make it' you had to leave, go away, then come back and 'show' folks what you had done with yourself. All of my examples of people who had 'made' it, were those folks who had left the area and then came back. I don't know. For so long DH and I have been saying that there just isn't anything here for us, opportunity wise, school wise, career wise. I've applied for several jobs in the area and not gotten any. DH has had a somewhat similar experience in that he doesn't feel like there is any room to grow. As far as education is concerned, there really aren't any places for me to further my school career around here. So what do I do? As much as I want so badly to leave and then come back and show people that I've 'made it' I gues I don't really know what 'making it' means anymore.

And I don't really know who I'm trying to show what to anymore.

My primary concern is babe. I want her to be in a safe, loving environment, where she can grow and thrive. Where is that place? And maybe I need to continue to work to find it.

Or maybe I'm running from myself....

Run, run as fast as you can....

In the weeks immediatly following my grandma's death, sometimes I 'd find myself in the car driving with no real destination. It was the strangest thing. I'd get up in the morning and just feel like I could not stay in my apartment. I'd pack up the baby bag, feed and dress the babe and then get in the car. I'd sit in the parking lot and try to find someplace to go. I usually ended up at the Chic-fil-a near my parents house. If it was before 10:30AM I would order a number 1, chicken biscuit and tots and an iced tea. If it was after 10:30, I'd order a number 2, grilled chicken sandwhich with fries and an iced tea.

I'd park in the lot, eat my food and then drive. I would drive in hopes that I could find a house for us to buy. I knew what I wanted, something small, cozy, with a large yard for the dogs, and a fireplace. I wanted like a coattage style or cape cod. I never found that house.

For the longest time I've been trying to find a place that just feels like home. I can't quite find a place that fits. I know now that I miss the space we (babe, DH, dogs and I) had in the apartment, not the actual apartment, but what I miss is just being able to move around in my own space. I miss fixing tea at 2 in the morning, or pizza, or walking around in my underwear. I miss sharing that space with DH and babe.

We are working towards getting the county house together, but it just doesn't feel like home. I think its because it still feels so much like the other person still resides there, and well she does. She also has not changed anything in over 20 years or so. I need to find ways to put my own touch on things.

None of this is happening the way I thought it would, but I never seem to be able to have plans that work that way, do any of us?

I'm afriad, even as I post about wanting roots that these might be my roots forever, what if I don't leave? The house feels heavy and I'm really wanting to find a way to make it feel different. Different from the first time I walked through the door and felt like I shouldn't be there. Different from the first time I drove past with DH and knew I wasn't allowed to be there. Different from how I imagined it when I didn't even know the person who lives there.

Everything just feels different. But how do I make different my own? I'm tired of running.

I swear, in another life I was a nomad.

We've moved. This past weekend, actually a week to this night, we were shoveling sewer water out of kitchen window. Trying to call our maintance man and trying to not let the nasty water get into the rest of the deparment. We worked for like two hours and no one ever called us back or came. So, we called the city, the health department, whoever we thought might be able to help. Nothing got done until 2 days after it had all started. Then, a day later the flooring in the living room began to bubble up. At first it just rose in a few spots, then, before we knew it, it looked like a giant ass earthworm was breaking through the floor boards. And, there was brown nasty water leaking out from all over the place. Gross.

So, we got out of our lease and our now living with my parents, sort of. DH is back and forth because our dogs our at his mom's house because she has a yard and my folks are NOT pet people.

I can count how many times I've moved and the all occur with a quickness. Like most folks move over a period of time and plan things out, not me. I usually find out I'm moving about an hour before it happens and then I have to be out. I am really good at packing though. And thanks to Glad trashbags, I always have plenty of luggage.

My first move happened about 6 or 7 years ago. I'd been living at home when I decided I just could not take it anymore. My dad and I have always had a very weird relationship. The problem is we are both just alike. Well, one night we'd both just had it with one another and I called him a dirty ole dictator and might have said a few other things, and then told him I was gonna leave. So, I called DH then DB and was out and gone in like an hour. I fled to my grandma's (rip) house and stayed there for about a year. I lived in a bunk bed with two drawers to hold all my stuff. I shared a room with my 13 year old cousin. It was rough. But I was so thankful to have a place to go that was calm and safe.

And now, I'm back where I was 4 years ago. In my bro's room, but this time with a babe. It makes it harder and its really hard because DH has to be up and down the road.

Did I also mention that I'll be moving again? We got a house in the county but its old and needs so much work that it makes my head hurt. I have no idea when we'll move again. Soon. I hope. I want roots.

Roots.

I think Common said it best, "I just wanna be, be."

One of my students gave me this quote...

And I've got to think about it and want to write about it...just no time today:

Think about the exit, before you even enter.

Rainy Day

Well, I've been meaning to post sooner, but I've been so busy. Between the baby, a busted kitchen sink, preparing to move, and teaching, I'm just plum-warn-oout.

But, I do have some interesting news. The great-aunt who passed, her funeral was two days ago. I wasn't able to attend, but my mom and aunt did. Apparently, folks have been digging around trying to find out more about our family's history. And guess what they have unearthed?! My great-great-grandfather was in the Confederacy. Shocking, but true. My great-grandma was mixed, her father was a White man who was clerk of the county and had a 'hushed' relationship with a Black woman.

I always wondered why I could whistle Dixie.

There is a lot I want to write and say and think about this. So I'm filing this one in my brain and on my blog as something to return to.

I am just going to say a Bad word

Fuck cancer.

I lost my grandma to cancer on June 20, a great uncle on July 14, and now a great aunt on yesterday.

Fuck cancer.

My mother-in-law just finished her last radiation treatment today.

Fuck cancer.

My grandfather lost his voice and life 14 years ago this July.

Fuck cancer.

My father had testicular cancer.

Fuck cancer.

I challenge and ask everyone to find a way to Fuck cancer.

Fuck you Cancer

I am Broke and it ain't No joke

For most folks who are adjuncts, or have been adjuncts, or work as TAs in grad school, or whatever you know what its like to be this broke. I'm just that broke. We have been without two checks since my maternity leave ended this summer and I am feeling it and NOT feeling it.

I'm too broke to publish a free blog post.

The First Day of School

Labor day weekend always brings back very fond memories for me. When I was in elementary school I loved planning my first day of school. As soon as August rolled around I'd start scanning the newspaper for binders, notebooks, and bookbag sales. Because I went to private school and we wore uniforms, the only flare I was allowed came by the way of the supplies I choose. The only problem, my mom wanted to buy in bulk and find value, I wanted to get the flashy cool stuff. Strawberry Shortcake pencils, glitter pens, Trapper-Keppers with puppies and kittens, these were my items of choice.

Once I had my school supplies, which it normally only took us a day to get them because I was quite anal and would not leave the store unless we had purchased everything on the school's list, I would take my supplies home and spread them out on the coffee table and sofa. I LOVED labeling my supplies. I would prnt my name on each item. And I do mean each item, even crayons, last name, first initial. I would put masking tape on each of my magic markers and then print my name on those. My mom would order labels from the locak five and dime and I'd watch as she ironed my name into my shirts, uniform jumper, and sweathers. I can stil remember how the uniform felt soft and worn because we'd buy used, in grades 1-3 I wore a white peter-pan collared shirt, and burgundy plaid jumper with white socks and burgundy shoes.

I would line up my uniform in order of how I'd put my clothes on. That meant that the jumper was last, the shirt on top, them my t-shirt, socks, underclothes, etc. My sweater and jacket would be by the door, shoes under the rocking chair with the clothes.

My lunch-box was another matter. In the early grades, my grandma would pack my lunch because I caught the bus from her house. She would pack whatever she knew I loved. This made for a very interesting lunch, some days I'd have hamburger patties on white bread with the edges of the bread neatly trimmed off, and a pat of mayo. Or, a ham sandwhich with the same neatly lined bread, small plastic bags of chips, a cold drink in my thermos and a twinkie. Once, I was so excited by my lunch that I ate the twinkie with the wrapper partially on. Yum.

I remember that I would pack my bookbag several times, trying to find just the right way to line up notebooks, binders, and the pencil box. Pack, unpack, pack, unpack, trying to get everything in and snug. To this day, I am the best packer in my family. I can work wonders.

The beginning of the school year was my favorite time of the year. I always felt like I could turn over a new leaf, make changes, become a new person, I felt like anything was possible as I began this new year.

I want to label crayons again. I want to turn over a new leaf. I miss my grandma.

I am my grandfather's granddaughter

My grandfather (on my dad's side) used to wrap his hair. For those folks who don't quite know bout this, Lucy, let me splain:

He was bald/balding (not exactly certain which state his hair was in) around the center of his head. However, he had very long hair around the sides and the back. Long and black. So what he would do was to wrap his hair around his head, all the way around to cover the balding front hairline and the center. Then, sometimes, or most of the times he'd wear a hat. So he kinda had a turban of hair.

I am now doing the same thing, my hair is thinning horribly because of post-partum hair loss.

I now don the turban-o-hair.

Rock on.

the rise of the phoenix

Today I ran into the store to get a few items to tide us through this storm and I ran into an old friend. The last time she saw me was when I was preggers so she asked how the baby was, how I was and then she asked a question that people very rarely ask, how was the birth?

It made me stop and think about my answer. For the past few months its something that I've thought quite a bit about. Her birth was long and arduous, but in the end I got a wonderful baby girl. Of course normally when people ask I don't go into great detail, but today I did, and I think it was good for me. I finally admitted to being a bit disappointed. I had been in hopes of having a totally natural vaginal delivray. I'd taken the classes, done prenatal yoga, walked, squatted, drank mother's tea, and read all the books. I thought surely, I'd be able to handle this, certainly I could let go and do this one thing that women had been doing for thousands of years before me. But I couldn't.

I went into labor on May 3 around 2 in the morning, when I woke up to pee. I waddled into the bathroom and noticed my underwear were wet. Thinking I'd just leaked a little, I washed off changed underwear and went back to sleep, or tried to. Because I was laying down for only about 10 minute when I noticed I was feeling wet again. Up I went, back to the bathroom. This time I woke DH up and told him what I thought was going on. We paged the doula and called my mom. Both told me to take it easy and just try to get some rest to prepare myself for the long day ahead. That was easier said than done. I slept off and on for maybe about 3 hours, before the doula called and asked how I was. She suggested I eat a light snack and continue to get some rest because I couldn't feel any contractions.

Around 6 that morning I noticed blood when I went to the bathroom and decided it was time to try the hospital. So, I called and the doctor told me to come on in. I showered, got some yogurt, had some tea and did my hair. Yup, I was calm enough to do my hair.

We got to the hospital around 7, got checked in and the nurse told me to put on a gown. I was feeling good, real good. She checked me and hooked me up to the monitors and told me that I was already having contractions, they were about 3 minutes apart. This is nothing I thought, I'd noticed my tummy tightening, but nothing major. I knew I'd be able to handle this.

My doctor came in and checked me, I was only about 3 centimeters dilated and the baby's head hadn't dropped down. So, he broke my water and started me on pitocin. This is where the story starts to get foggy. I remember laying down in the hospital bed, water spilling out of me everywhere, the doctor, nurses, doula, and DH standing around my bed. Pretty soon I had IVs hooked into my arm, and I was feeling out-of-it. The pitocin made the contractions stronger and my body had a hard time adjusting. My blood pressure began to shoot up, at one point I just remember it being like 150/111 or something and the nurse made me lay down on my side. I'd planned to be able to walk around, do yoga, get in the tub, walk the halls, but none of that happened.

My progress was extremely slow, I just remember the doctors and nurses coming in ever so often to check my pressure and my progress. Not much changed. They tried to have me sit up occasional, but my pressure would go up again. I'd move in the bed from side to side, but still nothing. Finally, after a day of moving, peeing, water dripping, and the bed being turned almost upside down I was told that I'd have to have a C-section. At that point I think I was so tired and out-of-it that I didn't care. I just wanted to know how fast it could be done. At 9:30 PM the decision was made that I'd have a c-section and by 10 I was being prepped.

I'd known all along that because of my low platelet count, if I had to have a section, I would have to be put out with general anesthesia, but I don't think I fully prepared myself, but how can you? The anesthesiaologist came in and told me about all the horrible things that can happen and asked me if I could manage to drink a yucky liquid to settle my stomach acids, I chugged it like it was a jell-o shooter. The next thing I new my belly was being shaved and a folly-cath being inserted. From that point on, I kept my eyes closed.

DH whispered his I love yous, my mom rubbed my hair, and my doula said she'd come back to take pictures. But other than that, I was on my own. They rolled me out of the room and into the OR, I opened my eyes twice. The first time I was in the hall and the second time I was in the OR. Once there, the room was cold, they made me recite my social security number and asked me if I knew why I was there. I rattled off the numbers and told them I was having a baby, I was so afraid that if I didn't get it right they wouldn't do it! I looked up and just saw a huge light. It reminded me of an X-files episode where there were examining an alien on a table. I was the alien.

I remember a cold brush going across my belly and I could hear them talking about my case, "low platelets, examined the case earlier, 40 weeks, first pregnancy." The next thing I knew there was a voice coming from behind me telling me to breathe deeply and that she'd take good care of me.

In less than 30 minutes I had a baby and was back in my room. I looked around to see all the faced I'd left and then I looked down and there was my baby, attached happily to my boob.

I think my emotions have run the gambit when I think about my labor and delivery. Certainly, I'd wanted a natural birth and ended up with anything but that. But what I've got is so much more awesome, a healthy babe. I've also decided that out of this birth I learned about my own stregnths, ones that I never before thought I'd had.

Most people know I am HORRIFIED about doctors and hospitals. I mean a horrible fear, but I did it. I never once freaked out, got loud, or tried to control the situation. The entire time I kept reminded myself to just be like water, let the pain, the fear, all of it just wash over and out of my body. That got me through those long hours. I was able to just focus on each contraction and let it go. Before the c-section I was able to focus on the event and let go my fears and worries. I learned from this a very valuable lesson, one that I should have learned a long time ago, but it took this to really teach me.

What a wonderful way to learn, I got the best gift of all.

ernesto

We're getting hit hard with rain from ye ole ernesto. That combined with the fact that the babe is feeling sniffly and teething means that I'll be staying in most of the day. No complaints with that, just wishing that I had some better snacks in the house.

I looked back over what I wrote earlier about feeling crazy. And I can answer my own question, LOL, no I'm not crazy. I'm just having a hard time dealing with the way things are:

I miss my grandma horribly. The raw hurt that I feel will heal with time, but maybe it would be helpful to do something to try and get myself to think more positively about her. Most of the time I focus on her last month which was so difficult and full of so much pain. Maybe every Friday I'll post a story or memory. I think sometimes I'm afraid I'll forget.

I do have a baby now and that means I can't get things done the way I used to. Tough tits. (literally) This just means I will have to pick my projects carefully and work even harder. That's a challenge that should be good for me.

I do want to be a teacher. There's no denying that. I am also disappointed that I've not been able to start school. I'm sick of the adjuncting game. But I've got to look at what I do have, a beautiful, wonderful, daughter.

Now, the hard part is just applying and remembering.

putting it into context

I feel like i have to put my last post into context, to be fair to myself and others.

1. Yes, I was admitted into a PhD program but didn't go because my MIL got sick and I got pregnant. My own choice and one I do not regret.

2. Maybe I don't regret number one, but in some ways do I regeret not going to school earlier?

3. I am sick of the bull-ish that goes on in school. And I think more than anything I just need to get away.

4. I'm tired of myself.

5. I'm sad, I miss talking to my grandma who would have been able to solve all of my problems and I would be feeling much better by now.

6. I don't have the focus on school that I used to.

7. Sometimes I wish I did have the focus, or the ability to do things other than the stuff I've got not.

8. I don't know who I am.

9. Do you think I'm crazy?

do you think i'm crazy?

I really dig the Gnarles Barkley song. My bro and I have been saying that it really relates to how we're both feeling at the moment. Kinda down, missing our granny, wondering what's up with the world, and how in the hell we fit into this atmosphere. I just don't know. Some days I feel like I have no answers at all.

Like today for example. I have so much that I need to get done: an article to review, lessons to plan, GRE to study for, contacts for Grad school, clean the house, do laundry, and the list goes on. But I didn't do any of it. Some days I just don't see the need, or better I should say, I don't have the want to do things, not like I used to.

I'm trying to avoid comparing myself too much to how I used to be, because the person I was no longer exists. At least in parts she does, but she's different now. Why am I referring to myself in 3rd person? Maybe because I'm trying to distance myself from myself (mmm) and try to take a look at who I've become. I don't know, it's really cliche to say that having a baby changes you. It does, I don't argue that at all. But how does it change you? I guess its different for everyone. In some ways I think it makes you more focused, in my case, my little one commands attention and it means quite often I have to put other things on hold. I don't complain about this though, because it has taught me how to prioritize. I can now quick-spot-clean our apartment in 20 minutes, or fix myself something to eat, or grab a shower and check email. There's a lot that can be done in that amount of time. But having her has also made me re-examine exactly what's important to me. And to long for things to be simple.

Some days I just don't give a who about theory or writing or teaching or learning, not unless it has to do with my baby. It scares me though, because some days I just don't see the point of the work I've spent so much time on, so much time thinking about, and really trying to work my way up that ladder. Some days I wonder if I've fallen, out of the 'ivory tower' wanna-be syndrome and if I've plummeted to where I was before I knew what academia was about.

My first experience with teaching came about 5 years ago. I taught immigrants and refugees English. I loved it. I would have a classroom packed with 20-30 people each night, friends would bring friends, mothers would bring grandma, grandma would bring aunties. And I would work on the most basic things with them, learning to read signs, reciting the alphabet, counting money, filling out forms for the doctor's office. It was tiring and I spent way more time prepping those lessons than I did working on my own stuff for grad school, but I loved it. I felt like I really had the power to change lives, to help people. It made me feel good when a student would come back and tell me she'd gotten a job or when they would thank me in English. I really felt that I made a difference. Now, I don't know. I don't get that feeling. I think I'm really disillusioned from with the world of academia right now. Working as an adjunct also doesn't help any. No benefits, no ability to travel, and no hope for promotion unless you adjunct for a gazillion years and are willing to kiss ass. I'm just not at that point in my life anymore.

I guess its more just a part of me being able to see that there are other ways to claim success in life, and they don't always have to do with titles or status.

I'm wondering if I don't need to seriously rethink my career choice. I used to see the benefit of my going to school and pursing comp studies/rhetorical analysis stuff, but now I just ask myself why? And who am I going to help that way? I know I need to be a teacher, its just what I am, its what I do, its a part of my core. But how can I help those who need it the most? That's what I feel called to do.