Back in the 84405

the next step.

What do barbeque, Elvis, the Mississippi river, and Danelle all have in common?
They all make their home in Memphis, Tennessee!! Well, almost. Yep, that's right, come September 1st I'm moving to Memphis! Why the 1,000 mile/17 hour move from Philadelphia for a girl that has become accustom to East coast living and abhors country music? Well, this might help explain it...


I was accepted for the nurse practitioner fellowship in pediatric oncology at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital and will be spending September-December there soaking up all the knowledge I can. It is a really exciting opportunity. I can't wait!

I guess I should buy a belt buckle or something so I fit in...

.

I just might make it...

Do you see those small branches? They've had a rough winter. They've been haggard by the wind and weighed down by the snow, yet somehow they survived. I feel a lot like those little branches these days--beaten and worn. But budding inside of me is the smallest flicker of hope. I think I might live to tell about Spring Semester 2011. It has been by far the most intense, exhausting, overwhelming, and frustrating time of my life. Yeah, I'm sure one day I'll look back at Penn and thank them for kicking me down so that I could figure out how to rise up, but for now I'm glad I'm still breathing. And glad that my manuscript is almost complete. Glad that in a few weeks time I don't have to get up to an annoying 5:15am alarm clock. Glad that in August I'll have a degree.

Thank goodness for Spring!

An unwarranted, non-preventable tragedy...

It's called pediatric cancer.

Yeah, that's what I do. I take care of sick kids with cancer. I've done it for awhile now-6 years to be exact. Sometimes it seems that bald heads and feeding tubes are the norm. Chemotherapy, radiation, and blood counts are all very routine words in my day-to-day. But it is an awful concept to wrap your head around...Kids-with cancer. But somehow in a world that should be dripping with depression and heartache we manage to make it okay. We laugh, we smile, and we survive.
However yesterday was different, very different.

Reality became clear as I witnessed a painful and harsh introduction of pediatric cancer to an unexpecting, undeserving family. This is NOT normal. This is NOT okay. This IS a tragedy.

However, the physician delivering this tragic news did it beautifully, with compassion, and an honesty that you could trust. The parents sat there stoically as the arsenal of information was delivered-diagnosis, prognosis, treatment. Their faces were brave, but I could tell they were trembling inside. I'm sure all they could hear was lkdsfjlasdkj CANCER alkdflaskdjfks BRAIN TUMOR ioojhtdfslkdj UNFAVORABLE tyrdcdlasjdk CANCER adlkfalskd 25% CHANCE of SURVIVAL adaksdflks BRAIN TUMOR arebuyldflskj 25% lonmgt;skdjflksdjeklwd CANCER.

Now the words chemotherapy, radiation, and blood counts felt different; they seemed to stab their way though the conversation, rather than casually roll off the tongue as they usually do. I felt miles away from normalcy. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to make the situation not seem so hopeless. I wish I could have told them death was NOT imminent, but I couldn't. There is a ZERO percent chance that this tumor will go away. With chemo and radiation it can shrink in size and thus hopefully provide the family with more time together, but even that is not guaranteed.

I've never seen fear like the fear I saw in this dad's eyes. It was anguished and piercing. I almost lost it as we all sat huddled in the tiny conference room discussing the details of an invading brain tumor. As I scanned the room, unable to maintain the gaze of this heart-broken dad, I saw a simple, generic poster that caught my eye. I don't even recall what the poster was about, but it contained The Children's Hospital of Philadelphia's trademark line "Hope lives here." As over-used as this simple statement is (it appears on EVERY poster or document from the hospital), it really hit home to me that day. "Hope does live here," I thought to myself, "and it starts with me." Sure, this is the WORST possible situation. I can't think of a scenario more horrible to be confronted with as a parent than this, but there is power in HOPE. That is the reason I moved across the country to go to grad school in pediatric oncology, because on days like today I wanted to be the one to provide hope-realistic hope. I'm not talking about empty promises and delusions of reality. I'm talking about gutsy, diligent, unwaivering hope. We have tools to fight this invading astrocytoma and it's my responsibility to arm these parents with them. Discouragement and despair aren't part of the protocol.

As I walked with the family back to their room I paused for a minute and told them, "You can do this and we are going to help you."

No, we wont' cure this malignant disease, we may not even give them 5 more years, but we will help them fight this battle with courage, strength, and hope.

If only...

I'm here.



Reading these.



Wishing I was here...



Laying in this...

Christmas break was kind of great.

I got to hangout with these people...







Eat food like this...



Make exciting gingerbread huts complete with water slides...



Oh yeah, and then I died and had to use A LOT of this...



But it was okay. I still had a great time. Thanks Utah! Always a pleasure.

2010 Rewind.

How about an update? Who knew it has been nearly 8 months since I updated this little gem. I'm no blogging professional, in fact, I have no idea how people get those fancy backgrounds or cool fonts, but I sure do have a lot of random thoughts and just wish I had more time to throw them to you via cyberspace, but alas an occasional post and an entirely random update will have to suffice for now. Thank you grad school.

January: I learned how important it is to follow specific instructions.



February: It snowed and snowed and snowed! And school was cancelled! How glorious!


March: I got a new friend from Ethiopia and made a quick trip to Utah to attend to some bridesmaid duties in a dress I ordered from China that I had never tried on until the day of (luckily, those chinese seamstresses were right on with their measurements...phew!)



(oh, and you should also note that I caught the bouquet).

April: My best friend's wedding.




and I studied for some finals.



May: I took some finals, partied with some out-of-towners, turned garbage night trash into treasures, planted a garden, made an appearance on the food network, had a campfire or two, and spent an exciting weekend at Duck Beach in a swanky beach house.











June: I worked A LOT and spent a little more time camping.

Mediocrity.

I have a fear, a big one. I am terrified of mediocrity. Not in a crazy-perfectionist-I-have-to-be-the-best sort of way (because I've realized there is no use trying to be "the best" because there will always be someone "better"), but in a wow-I'm-grateful-for-all-the-opportunities-I-have-been-blessed-with-and-I-hope-I-don't-mess-them-up sort of way. And even after that largely over-hyphenated thought, I still don't think the feeling I was going for was generated entirely. Let me explain... You see it's about progress. It's about growth. It's about not going through the motions in life. It's about reaching and learning from the details. It's about having no regrets. It's about movement and effort. The more experiences I have, the more places I live, and the more undeserved blessings I receive all make me keenly aware of an innate responsibility to succeed.

And I guess what it all boils down to is...What am I doing with the time I've been given to learn and what patterns am I setting so that progress in imminent?

have a NORMAL day...

I love a fantastic day. You know, the kind where nothing can wrong? The kind where you wonder what you did right to have the stars align so perfectly to create such a great day. Yeah, I love those days. Its hard NOT to smile on days like that. I look forward to those kind of days, but I'm realizing life isn't defined by the great days. Its defined by the "normal" ones, the routine, and the mundane. Sure its easy to show up and be happy when things work out according to your expectations and when good fortune seems to flow your way. But that just isn't life. Now, don't think I'm saying life should be dull, mundane, and "normal" because if you know me at all you know I don't subscribe to the "dull" or "mundane" mentality. Life is too short to be boring. But I think there is a lot we can learn about ourselves as we glance introspectively and look at how we respond to a generic day. This isn't a post about choosing to be happy where ever you are (although I whole-heartedly agree with that philosophy). This is a post about realizing life isn't about the extremes, the great days or the horrible ones. It is a post about setting realistic expectations (while still dreaming big). It's about realizing that most often people are just people. Life is just life. School is just school and days are just days. I've realized lately an interesting fact about myself...I love living in extremes (which could describe why I am a slightly dramatic person and excellent story teller). But I'm starting to realize the wisdom in balance. The purpose of steadiness and the need for "normal."

So everyone, I hope you have a "normal" day.

Survival Mode...

The last few weeks of my life have been nothing short of insane! I just got a new job at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia and, unbeknownst to me, learned that I would be working full time during my orientation period of 4 weeks. Yeah, that's great; I'll make money. But it just so happens that these last two weeks have been finals week. That deadly combination made for an interesting experience and threw me into what I so dreadfully call "survival mode." No, I'm not talking about being stranded on a desert island with a match, compass, and canteen, kind of survival mode. I'm talking about making it to the end of the semester with out a) pulling all my hair out, b) quitting school, c) failing school, d) killing someone (accidentally or on purpose), and e) living to tell about it. These last two weeks were an interesting test of character. Its interesting what takes a priority and what doesn't when time is of the essence. My days were planned out to the very minute (wake up at 6:00. School until 3. Work until 11.) I hate that. I hate being so fixed in my time. No spontaneity. No fun.

Ever wondered what life in survival mode is like Philly style? We'll I'll tell you...

1. Laundry. Its been weeks since I pulled my clean laundry, folded out of a drawer. It goes from hamper, to pile on the floor, to washer/dryer, and back into the hamper (clean) where I pull it out each morning. Once the hamper is empty I gather up the clothes off the floor and wash them (usually at midnight because I realize I have no clean underwear for the next day) and the cycle repeats. Pathetic, I know. But for some reason the 10-15 minutes it would take to fold all that laundry and put it away just seems like too much of a sacrifice for a brain in the time crunch of survival mode. So if you're pulling your clothes off a hanger or out of a drawer your not doing too bad in life!

2. Food, yet another thing to take a hit since survival mode set in. Survival mode food=quick food (and most times that is not the most healthy). There is just something wrong about eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner out of your backpack. I've had many days where I've questioned the integrity of said food; I've learned that 8 hours in a room temperature backpack is not the best environment for yogurt or even string cheese (I now eat those at the beginning of the day). The last time I really went to the grocery store was the weekend after Thanksgiving (yes, really) and while there I bought myself some spinach. I love spinach, especially in salads, so I thought this would be perfect. Well 3 weeks later that spinach tub is still in my fridge UNOPENED, I haven't even taken the plastic off of it. Don't ask me why, but the idea of taking spinach leaves from one big tub and transferring them into a little, backpack-friendly tub with a side of dressing seemed all too complicated for this finals-focused brain. And obviously if I haven't gone shopping for 3 weeks I don't have that much food to stock my backpack with, this is where one of my favorite Philly things comes in...the Chinese carts. Maybe you've all seen them in other cities, but they are just these mini kitchens in a portable trailer. There are tons of them out on the sidewalk right outside the library. You can get a myriad of creations (a new one everyday) for$3-$5, and they are delicious! So lets just say the little Chinese cart man knows me by name now :)

3. Sleep. The longer you live in survival mode, the more you convince yourself you can live on less and less sleep. It starts out with a few late nights and an average sleep time of about 6 hours. Then as the tasks to complete increase and the time available to complete them decreases your brain begins to feel okay about 5 hours of sleep, and then 4 hours of sleep. Before you know it a week has gone by and you've averaged 28 hours of sleep--for the entire week. There is a frontal lobe headache associated with such a sleeping pattern, not to mention decreased cognition, and an inability to remember what the heck you did with your keys.

And that is only the beginning...

However, I'm happy to say that I am transitioning out of survival mode and am getting ready to fold my laundry right now!

something good for something better

We all know the beloved American classic, Napoleon Dynamite. Well tonight I had an "Uncle Rico moment." You know, a moment where I wanted to go back, to live in the glory days, and remember the past with rose-colored glasses. A moment where I wanted to believe that the past was better than the future could ever be (a false idea, I know, but I entertained it nonetheless). Perhaps it was because I was on a 3 hour car ride by myself, my mind sure does wander into some random corners when its left to think about life, or maybe it was the fact that I had to participate in my favorite Jeppesen Family party via tele-conference, not to mention the fact that while they are all enjoying Mickey Mouse waffles and breakfast by Grandpa, I will be buried away in the biomedical library working out the details of a qualitative research project. Well, whatever the reason, tonight I wanted to go back. Back to life before piles of student loans. Back to a life of vacations and adventures. Back to a life of sleeping on the lawn under the stars. Back to 3 days on and 4 days off--no responsibility attached. Back to ICS. Back to seat heaters and sunroofs. Back to sleepovers with the crazies (my nieces and nephews...crazies is an endearing term, I promise). Back to a 20 minute drive to the temple. Back to parking lots and freeways that are actually FREE. Back to Cafe Rio. Back to friends and people I miss. Back, I just wanted to go BACK.
But that's just it, I can't go back. That was then and this is now... That is definitely the life I sometimes crave. However THAT is not the life that Heavenly Father wants me to have; Philly is where I belong. I have had confirmation after confirmation that this is where I'm supposed to be. I have fallen in love with this city and a whole new crew of friends. My life out here is great, really it is. However, sometimes I crave the security blanket of Utah with a life and a career so clearly mapped out. Out here the options aren't so transparent. The future is uncertain, and we all know my brain needs a plan. I have goals to accomplish that span far more than the next two years. I need to know what to expect. I need to prepare my heart and my mind for the course I am about to follow. Life in Utah was predictable. Expectations were clear.
Really, this is all a matter of trust. Trust that things are working silently together for a much larger purpose than my vision can currently see. Trust that best is yet to come. In the middle of this whirlwind of thoughts, a talk by Elder Jeffery R. Holland came to mind. He discusses Lot's wife and the dangers of looking back..."I plead with you not to dwell on days now gone, nor to yearn vainly for yesterdays, however good those yesterdays may have been. The past is to be learned from but not lived in. We look back to claim the embers from glowing experiences but not the ashes. And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future. Faith always has to do with blessings and truths and events that will yet be efficacious in our lives. So a more theological way to talk about Lot’s wife is to say that she did not have faith. She doubted the Lord’s ability to give her something better than she already had. Apparently she thought—fatally, as it turned out—that nothing that lay ahead could possibly be as good as those moments she was leaving behind." Okay, I get it. Really, I do. I am being molded by opportunities I could only find here...

Then I exited the freeway and drove right on through center city, nuzzled my way into a parallel parking spot, and realized that this is home.

I've traded in something good for something better...

That should be ILLEGAL!

I am highly opposed to celebrating Christmas, or even thinking of Christmas, before Thanksgiving. It just doesn't seem right. That being said, you can imagine my annoyance with those November-1st-Christmas-music-ers and those that consume holiday beverages (aka Egg Nog) before the official season is upon us. Please, let me enjoy my apple cider and pumpkin flavored everything before I rush off into season stuffed with baked goods, peppermint, and parties.

I have remained strong and resisted such temptations...until tonight.

It has been years since I've had egg nog--YEARS! That egg nog experience was not pleasant, nor memorable, thus I have yet to consume that Christmas tradition since. In my mind egg nog was gross. In fact, I scoffed at friends for loving such a beverage (especially before Thanksgiving). However tonight I was stuck waiting in the car with some newly purchased egg nog (note: I was not the purchaser of said egg nog) and my mind began to wander. The curiosity to taste, again, this beloved drink began to work inside me and before I knew it I was sneaking a drink of that blasted egg nog...and you know what? IT WAS GOOD! Really good. Surprisingly good. Refreshingly good. Excitingly good. Before I knew it, I had well exceeded the suggested serving size of a 1/2 cup and I couldn't stop. That thick, creamy, flavorful beverage kept calling me back. Before I realized it my friend and I had finished off the jug! Yes, the jug! It was a small jug (a quart), but it was a jug nonetheless. In a moment of regret, I peered at the "Nutrition Facts" on the back to see what the damages were; that is where the devastation set in. It was the "servings per container" line that really did me in. It was 8!!! Eight servings in this little ol jug?!? You've got to be kidding me! I just drank 4 servings of egg nog without even a hesitation. A quick calculation left me even more shocked...180 calories and 4 grams of fat per serving...times that by four...and AGH! 720 calories and 32 grams of fat!!!! WHAT?!? I just drank a Big Mac and a half! 720 calories and 32 grams of fat is what an entire family in a third world country consumes in one day. How did I manage to do it in a few sips? How can they put that artery-clogging goodness in such an easily drinkable carton without a warning. Seriously that should be illegal!

a proud moment...

Two words: Parallel Parking. Yes, I know you just got a little nervous as you flashed back to drivers' ed and the infamous parallel parking test you were forced to complete as a young sixteen year old. Well, the nervous feeling only quadrupled when I arrived here in Philly. Parking is a nightmare, and EVERY parking spot requires the dreaded act of parallel parking. The streets are narrow and the native Philadelphians leave only inches between their car and yours; all these elements combine for a rather stressful experience to the naive city parker. In fact, my first night in Philly it took me 8 tries, a nice, big, black man giving me step-by-step instructions from the sidewalk, and my roommate backing me in, to successfully park in a tight little pocket on our street. Once I was in a spot I found myself avoiding all types of driving just so I didn't have to move my car, only to later attempt an awkward parallel park. I've never craved parking lots more than I do now. What a treat it is to pull in and park wherever and however you want! Suburbia, I thank you!

But they do say "practice makes perfect," and after 2 months in this concrete paradise I have improved. My heart no longer starts to race at the thought of fitting into space only inches bigger than my car; I have acclimated. It feels good; it feels real good. My skills are still mediocre at best, but I can nuzzle in with the best of em. But I'll be honest, I still love parking lots.

(Yes, that's my little Corolla parked Philly style. Impressed? I would be.)

Final Score: Danelle & Amber: 2 Mouse: 0

Confused by the picture are you? Well, good. You should be.
Let me explain. Here in this fabulous city of Philadelphia we have seemed to encounter a bit of a mouse problem, and by problem I mean they are taking over our house. Okay, okay, so we've only seen them twice, but their presence is well noted by hollowed out loaves of bread, chewed up plastic baggies, and an occasional scamper across the bathroom floor, all of which have been equally disturbing. So we decided to take matters into our own hands and reclaim our house. (Note: you should know there are few things I HATE more than mice. Spiders: no problem. Snakes: I can handle them. Ear wigs: gross, but I can deal. Mice, nope, can't do it! Disgust, fear, and invasion are the range of emotions I feel when I have a mouse encounter. Perhaps its because when I was a child I found a dead mouse (that had fallen prey to my dad's trap of D-CON) in the middle of my room one morning. As a kid, that kind of thing can traumatize you for life, and in my case it did.)
Step 1: How do you kill a mouse?
Well thanks to the handy guys down the street, and their rodent knowledge, we were provided with the "gold standard" of mouse traps. We immediately set the trap in our bathroom and awoke the next morning successful. We caught the mouse. We breathed a sigh of relief and resumed normal activity, no more barricading the vents and shoving towels under our doors; we were safe, or were we? A few days later another unpleasant visitation of a furry friend was noted.
Step 2: Get ANOTHER trap.
The results of step 2 were not nearly as quick as the results of step 1, but were they ever more dramatic. My roommate and I came home from a weekend in Boston only to find our bathroom was the scene of a murder, yes, a murder, and a messy one at that. Blood had splattered all over the tile and up the wall. My immediate reaction was to grab my toothbrush and sleep at someone else's house that night. But the interesting part about this homicide scene was that there was no victim, or trap to be found--just blood. Confused, my roommate and I began to cautiously search around for a half-dead mouse and his trap. In the process of the search I found the bag with the new slip I had just bought (and conveniently forgotten to take on the trip to Boston-the whole purpose for buying such a slip in the first place). However, tucked in with the slip I noticed a piece of wood. "Ugh, Amber," I stammered, "I think I found the trap." I was not about to dig through the bag to discover whether or not there was the trap and the mouse nestled in my slip, in fact, we were so grossed out by the findings we left immediately.
Step 3: We need a hero.
After abandoning our findings, my roommate and I went down the street to the guys house and told them of our terrible encounter. They, of course, were unsympathetic to our plight. "You guys are dramatic." "Its just a mouse," they responded. Sure, sure, they say that now, but if their bathroom was covered in rabies-tainted mouse blood, they'd be singing a different tune, guaranteed. So after some mild convincing, and pretty intense begging, we found our hero to locate and dispose of this hemorrhagic mouse. We, of course, stayed put far down the street at the guys house while Ben went back to the crime scene to investigate.
Step 4: Found!
Ben located said slip bag, and bravely began to peer a little more closely into its contents. As he did so he found, tangled in a sea of slip, with one extremity pinned to the trap, the mouse. The mouse was indeed alive, but moving rather slowly as you can imagine with one limb stuck to a big would block, the other caught on a silky slip, and all the while he was slowly bleeding to death from his trap wounds. We had given Ben strict instructions to dispose of the mouse and get it as far away from our house as possible. Easy enough, right? With the bag, slip, mouse, and trap in tow, Ben vacated the premises looking for a dead mouse receptacle. Now you're thinking, "Great, problem solved." Oh, if it were only that easy. You see, Philly has some of the most narrow streets and little row houses stacked on top of each other, leaving no room for garbage cans, nope not a one on the entire street. So Ben, feeling a little anxious to dispose of this dying mouse, makes an executive decision, and throws this piece of trash where everyone else throws their unwanted trash--an empty construction lot in between houses. He flung that mouse and slip combo into the air, over the chain-link fence, to its final resting place on a muddy mound of earth next to other random bits of Philadelphia garbage. So if you're ever in Philadelphia walking along about 20th St. and Clymer St. glance over at the small construction site and there you will find my slip and a dead mouse. (If you look closely at the above picture you will see our protagonist, the mouse, stuck to his trap, and yes, that is my slip)

Step 5: Lessons learned.
Buy d-CON instead.

looking back

Two and a half years ago I sat on this bench, in the sacred grove, as a brand new missionary. It was my very first day "in the field" and my mind was a blur. I remember feeling excited and overwhelmed all at the same time. "How did I get here?" I remember asking myself. This was never the plan. As I sat on that bench contemplating the reality of the first vision, I had no idea what was in store. There was no way I could have known how Heavenly Father would transform me over the next 18 months. The crazy part was that it never felt like it was "about me"; it was always about someone else.
One year ago I sat on this bench on the LAST day of my mission. My heart had been changed. "When you give your heart to inviting others to come unto Christ your heart will change. You will be doing His work for Him...as you invite others to come unto Him you will find you have come unto Him yourself" (Pres. Eyring). Palmyra New York was where I really came to know Jesus Christ. But as I sat on that bench at the end of my mission my feelings were much the same as the first day of my mission...excited and overwhelmed by what was to come. I really had no idea how my plans would change and how I would change over the next year.
Sunday I sat on this bench, no longer a missionary, and reflected on the last two and a half years. One word came to mind, gratitude. Gratitude for what I have experienced, for who I have become, and for the opportunities that have yet to unfold. A year ago my life had a different plan; I never would have believed that I would be in Philadelphia doing a nurse practitioner program at Penn, but now I can't imagine my life any other way. But as I sat there on Sunday, much of the same feelings were there as I thought about this new path. Excited. Overwhelmed. But I guess I've learned that those two variables are the predecessors to happiness and growth. So, bench, I guess I'll see you in one year, a different and a better person.

back to my roots--palmyra

Thank you TIO!!

Who's Tio and why are we thanking him? Well you see, my roommate and I happen to be quite poor individuals. I'm in grad school accruing all sorts of debt (its an investment they tell me, sure sure) and my roommate has just started her first job as a high school science teacher...you get the picture-no money. Well I guess I should say small amounts of money. So back to Tio...you see when we moved into our apartment we decided that we didn't want to waste our time or our money getting cable (a decision I was proud to make...No, I will not get caught wasting hours at a time mindlessly watching TLC, the Food Network, or re-runs of the Office and Seinfeld). However, in not purchasing cable we inadvertently decided against internet. It was just kind of a pain to set up and of course the Comcast man was going to hassle us to buy the "package combo" with cable, internet, home phone, so we just didn't ever set it up. But lucky for us "Tio's Network" and "Scott's Netowrk" popped up and were unlocked and available for Wi-Fi usage. Great! However, in the last week or so we have noticed that Scott has caught on to us and locked his network. :( One down, and one remaining. Tio we love you. Thank you for sharing your network with the poor girls down the street. We are ever indebted to your kindness. Oh, and did I mention that only a few select spots in our house actually pick up the wi fi for this "free" network? Yeah, our kitchen and my bedroom. So needless to say, my roommate has become quite inventive with her use of our kitchen/home office space. Regardless of the inconvenience we'll take it. Free is free. Tio we owe ya one!

Home Sweet Home!

Yep, it seems I have traded in a quaint Sugarhouse house and a fun SUV (with two sunroofs, mind you, my favorite thing) for a new city "row house" and a fuel-efficient, Corolla. My, my, how things have changed! But I think I'm being converted...I love it here!