i've moved!

don't worry. if you hang on my every word and feel a slight sense of panic right now, visit my new blog at http://allirosen.posterous.com.

it's time for a change: a new look, a new forum, a new perspective.

change is good. embrace it.

happy reading!

radioactive woman

i'm radioactive.

and before you start imagining me firing beams of nuclear heat from my eyes, nothing cool has happened from it. no green glow, no improved vision, no superhuman strength. just fatigue like you wouldn't believe.

on wednesday i went in for a radioactive iodine treatment to kill any remaining cancerous thyroid tissue that might still exist in my body. though the surgery i had a little over a month ago removed my thyroid completely, cancer was found in a tissue outside of my thyroid and this treatment is standard protocol to reduce the risk of metastasis and recurrence.

for the most part, since my surgeries that took place over a month and a half ago, my life has been able to move forward. i returned to work after only a week or two of recovery and my chicago support system was incredibly accommodating, and, well, genuinely supportive.

it was truly humbling to know that the people that were only just beginning to get to know me when all of this happened could then step up and do everything in their power to make me feel more comfortable and more at home in this time when so much was unknown. i was able to truly and genuinely feel optimistic about my health and recovery because i felt so stable and supported in my chicago surroundings.

and i was beyond validated for how well i was coping with everything -- for my seemingly effortless optimism about what i had gone through, and what was still to come. everyone seemed to say,

"oh alli, you're doing so well with everything"

"you seem so strong"

"you're the picture of health"

"your attitude about everything is just inspiring"

and i was feeling good about everything -- my optimism was no act. but i would shrug my shoulders, look down with an air of humility, and respond with my standard - but no less true - answer, "thank you, but i'm just blessed", "i'm really just lucky".

and with each validating statement, i felt more and more like i needed to keep it up, like my strength could never falter. i had been so positive with everyone for so long, to be vulnerable would come as a shock. and i realized, the way i had been coping was 50% that i really was doing okay with all of it, 25% fear of being vulnerable to the people with whom i was still building relationships, and 25% thinking i needed to keep up this front of strength and "no-biggie" attitude.

so when i was finally around the people that know me -- and i mean know me, like in the way they've seen me at my absolute worst, best friends who've been with me since the beginning, call my bluffs and tell me to cut the bullshit, kind of know me -- i finally let my walls down and lost it. i didn't have to be so strong. i cried like a baby, admitted to them all my fears.

and much of my fears were in anticipation of my treatment on wednesday. not really knowing what to expect from scary words like "radiation". but now that i'm on the other side of all of it, it really wasn't so bad. it just wiped me out and left me so fatigued that i slept for hours and hours.

so here i sit, in isolation, so that the government can have sound public policy about using nuclear medicine. i signed papers that i wouldn't go into crowds and spray my radioactive saliva on potentially pregnant women, that i would sit here. alone. with my own thoughts.

and with all this alone time (what i've been awake for anyway), i've been given time to process all that i've learned lately. because the past month and a half has been the most trying time of my life thus far, i've learned a lot. here are 5 things.

1. i have self control -- in preparation for and to increase the effectiveness of the radioactive iodine treatment, i had to go on a very restrictive diet to rid my body entirely of iodine. the list of things i couldn't eat was very long, mainly because iodine and iodized salt are in EVERYTHING. i couldn't have seafood, dairy products of any kind, baked goods, chocolate, or soy products. i couldn't have anything processed or pre-made. i couldn't eat at restaurants. i had to make literally everything from scratch. but what i learned the most from being on this diet was that i really could do it. how many times in my adolescent/young adult life did i try to diet and cheated after only a few days? but this time, my life and generally well-being depended on my self-control to not dip into the "not allowed" foods category. and i did it. i resisted the temptation of kit kats, chobani, and hot sauce. i shooed away my day dreams of dairy. i have self control!

2. i am a mastermind in the kitchen -- this diet had me demonstrate some serious creativity in the creation of my meals. despite such limited scope of ingredients available to me, i came up with some baller shit to sustain myself. the first week or so of my diet i was entirely sustained by produce. needless to say, i was always hungry. i then quickly realized i wasn't eating carbs. this was all together a foreign problem to me. but in order to eat bread, i had to make it myself. also foreign to me. so i embarked on a journey to make my own bread, and. it. was. awesome.

do you know how easy it is to make bread? real easy. it's like, 4 ingredients. and yeah, it takes like 4 hours, but it's so worth it! i unveiled a whole lotta kitchen skills i didn't know i had before this diet. my future as the next food network star doesn't seem like such a pipe dream anymore. i can actually make a lot out of nothing.

3. reading the ingredients label will disgust you -- did you know soy is in everything? i do now. "ignorance is bliss" wasn't an option for me for the last 4 weeks. this diet has forced me to read the ingredient label of literally everything i considered eating. i suggest you do it too. you'll learn a lot about what you put in your body.

4. never ever ever go without health insurance -- the bills are slowly coming in from my time in the hospital. i'd share with you the cost of one night in the hospital if i had the strength to type that many numbers. you could buy a very very nice car with that figure. it's horrifying. a year ago i never imagined i would have health problems like i do now. it could happen to anyone, anytime. i am so grateful to be insured.

5. i am loved -- as much as i've learned lately, about myself and about life, what has been most humbling has been the realization of how pure and genuine that is the love and support i have received from my friends and family. i have not experienced any hollow sympathy. i have never felt alone. and though my stock answer was "i'm just lucky", nothing could be more true.

i am lucky. i am loved. and i am thankful.

cancer for a day

it is said that God doesn't give you more than you can handle. and though (for the most part) i do believe this to be true, i was recently dished out my share of hard times. i'll admit that in my life, i've been very lucky. i've lived a fulfilling, (and until now) healthy life. i've seen the world. i've wanted for nothing. so if you'll allow my determined optimism to slip ever so slightly, perhaps what i have been experiencing lately - maybe, just maybe - i had it coming.

8 months ago, in my senior year at JMU and during my social work field practicum, i worked a late night in assisting my field supervisor conduct a workshop on addiction for the JMU Grad Psych program. my part of the presentation was over, so i sat in the back of the classroom, trying to keep a look of interest plastered on my face. i remember leaning my elbow on the table and scratching the front of my neck, only to realize i felt a hard lump right above my collar bone as i swallowed. not wanting to alarm anyone, i sat in silence, ignoring the faint feeling of panic in the back of my mind. i told no one. not my mother. not my roommates. instead, i made the mistake of finding my way to WebMD, typing in my symptoms, to see the scariest of words grace my screen: lymphoma.

denial took over. i convinced myself it was nothing and said nothing. but it continued to fester in the back of my mind. a week later, a blizzard hit and my roommates and i were delightedly trapped inside our big, old house. we entertained ourselves with gin and snow tonics, cheap beers kept cold in 8 inches of porch snow, and spandex dance parties. in my slightly inebriated state, i was overcome with a headache and had a a slight bout of hypochondria, and i revealed to them my worst fear. they calmed me down and broke out their laptops for some good ol' googling, hoping to discount any possibility that what i found was cancer.

then, a ray of hope: the chance that it was a thyroid nodule, perfectly common, and less than a 10% chance of being malignant. i clung on to this possibility with all i had.

and so not to freak out my mother, i waited til i saw her in person to share with her what i found. we made an appointment with an endocrinologist and it was determined that the mass was indeed on my thyroid. my family and i breathed a collective half-sigh of relief as all chances of lymphoma were discounted.

i was scheduled for an ultrasound and biopsy to then determine if the mass had cancerous cells, and after a week of waiting for the results, the last half-sigh was exhaled when the results came back negative. the only concern was that it. was. huge. bigger than a golf ball - and sitting right on the left side of my thyroid.

but it was benign. and thinking the worst was behind me, i moved on with my life and rarely let it cross my mind. i celebrated my graduation and made plans for my future. but days before moving to chicago, i met with my endocrinologist for a follow-up ultrasound to determine if the mass had grown. and it had. so the recommendation was made that i find a doctor soon after moving to keep monitoring its progression.

i scheduled an appointment at rush medical center with the best, most experienced endocrinologist they had - a woman who just happened to also be a thyroid surgeon. after another ultrasound, it was determined that the mass was growing rapidly - an entire centimeter in a month. because of its quick growth, the risk of cancer was determined to be higher , though still less than 20%, and she recommended surgery. "you have insurance" she said, "might as well take it out".

and by some fortuitous coincidence, my parents were at that very instant in route for the 900 mile trip to chicago to help move me into my new apartment. they would be here anyway, it made sense. i would have the ring leaders of my support system by my side. so preparations were made for surgery.

was i scared? you bet. but i was so assured that the likelihood of it being cancer was so slim that they would only take out the left side of my thyroid. i would keep the right side to avoid taking medicine each day. no big deal. a little general anesthesia, a night in the hospital - i would be good as new in no time. so i fought off my fears and forged forth. let's get it over with.

i had a terrible reaction to the anesthesia. i was nauseous and achy. i couldn't use my right hand because of the iv. i was cranky, pissed off, emotional, uncomfortable in my surroundings, anxious to get out of there. but it was over. i was released from the hospital the next day with all hopes of never having to go back. they said they would call the following day with the pathology reports, but not to worry - i had no family history of thyroid cancer, the last biopsy was negative. i would be fine.

and though i could hardly move my head and my shoulders hurt from the strain, i felt fine. but i knew one thing for sure: i never wanted to have surgery ever again.

the next morning, at 9:00am, my mom got a call from the hospital. my doctor had received the pathology from the nodule and she was calling with the results. i heard her voice from the next room, heard her say "oh my God". her voice seemed to catch with shock. i knew then that it was not over as the words "papillary cancer" were in the air. i was overcome with anger and denial and fear. all i could say was "i can't do it again. i can't do it again". but of course, i had to. everything that happened next was a blur of emotion and tears. and i was rushed into surgery for the right side of my thyroid to be removed the next day.

so though in all likelihood, i had "cancer" for 8 months, i only knew that i had cancer for 24 hours.

and i surprised myself with how naturally, effortlessly positive i was, and am, about the whole situation. i can see so easily the blessings in this experience. though of course i was angry that i of all people would fall into the 10%-20% (i mean, seriously?!) i know how lucky i am that it was found at all. i am lucky that it was so easily treatable. i am lucky that i had the support and love of my parents and friends through it all.

and though i hardly had time to process it - and i'm only just processing it now, it occurred to me that maybe there's a lesson in all of this. maybe i didn't have it coming - that's a little too cynical for my determined optimist ways - but maybe things were going so well for me that i was starting to take my life for granted. i needed to be knocked down a few pegs to recognize what i have. the blessings in my life that deserve gratitude.

i am infinitely grateful for my life, for my family, for my strength. i now know with such prevailing certainty that i can handle anything this life will throw at me. i understand that the worst may not be over, but it is my sincerest hope that as my scar heals and my health improves, i will not let my gratitude for these blessings fade with it.

and if anything, having cancer for a day may have taught me the greatest lesson of my life.

the odyssey

as an americorps volunteer, i qualify for food stamps. regardless of how you may feel about the welfare system in america, if you were a volunteer in americorps, scraping by on the poverty line, you too would apply for the assistance you so rightly deserve.

now i'll tell you something: this was no easy feat. in fact, i now have a very intimate idea of what its like to live as a low-income person and the structural barriers that stand in your way to obtaining public benefit assistance.

what i love about the fact that i had to go through this experience is that it is one of the core premises of social work: starting where the client is. one of the most fundamental skills in social work is empathy. though i feel this is a skill that can not easily be learned, instead it is something inherent to we, "the socially aware", understanding that you must learn to put yourself in a client's shoes, to imagine their environment and daily challenges: this is the best way to work with a person to help meet their needs.

part of my job at the nonprofit i work for is to work with persons of low to moderate income communities to connect them to the public benefit assistance programs to which they qualify. i can now share with them my story of my odyssey to DHS, my experience with my caseworker, my harrowing tale that i will now share with you.


i first applied for food stamps 2 days after my first day on the job. 2 weeks later i still had not heard anything regarding my application. i tried not to worry that for some reason my application was incomplete and i tried to spend little out of pocket on groceries. i finally received a letter detailing my appointment time as well as the paperwork that i needed to supply in order to be considered. this was a hefty list. the appointment they gave me was for when i was going to be in DC for training and i was instructed to call to change my appointment before that date or risk being flat-out denied assistance. so i called.

and i called.

and i called about 35 times, listening to the incessant ringing with no connection to a voicemail. so to not risk being denied, i decided i should go in person to change my appointment. easy enough, no? it took 2 buses and about 40 minutes to get there: a system i had not yet navigated and in a town i never really intended to go to. but i went. and after standing in line and having my first frightening DHS experience, my appointment was changed.

my appointment was at 11:15am. i left on hour and 15 minutes early: just to be safe. in preparation i re-studied the bus system, detailed my exact route, researched people's DHS experiences online, investigated the ins and outs of the public aid interview process. so i left the office, fairly confident that all would go smoothly.

hiccup #1: the bus never came. i waited and waited next to a shell station right next to the sign for the 97 bus to skokie. there was traffic and construction all around me. it was hot and dusty and i was starting to get nervous. it was almost 10:45. i was feverishly refreshing bus tracker as it fed me lies that buses were approaching.

a group was forming around me. first, just one woman who asked me the time every 2-3 minutes. we chatted and were soon bffs and allies in our frustration with the CTA. soon there was a group of about 7 people standing around me. a very diverse group of 7, to say the least.

we were all going to DHS.

fed up with waiting for the bus that never came and as the youngest and most agile one in the group, i took it upon myself to start calling the shots: we would walk the just over 1.5 miles to DHS.

i was like moses as i led my posse towards our destination - in pursuit of food stamps and angry case workers.

hiccup #2: i got in the wrong line. i waited for about 15 minutes in the line that seemed right for my situation. "stand in this line if you need to see your caseworker". well, i did. it seemed logical. boy, was i wrong. the lady behind the counter just looked at me with a stare that could stop a bullet and said, "wrong. line." she shoved my paperwork back in my hands and yelled "NEXT" with no direction for where i should go. so i picked a different line. success.

the waiting game. i didn't bring a book or a magazine. i couldn't use my phone as there was a security guard roaming the room berating those who tried. there were signs that threatened the implosion of the world if your phone were to ring. so i entertained myself as best i could by making friends around me.

there were 15 different babies crying. so many different languages spoken around me it could put the UN to shame. caseworkers massacring the last names of client after client. "NEXT". doors slamming. friends reuniting. it was humid and loud.

i engaged in a very broken english conversation with a guy next to me who was sketching in a notebook. he was incredible and i told him so. he shared his dream of wanting to be a tattoo artist. i hope he does.

i witnessed 2 identical twin sisters, roughly age 60, linked arm in arm wearing identical outfits of michael jackson t-shirts, long denim skirts, tube socks and sandals stand in line together. quite the sight.

there was one really grumpy caseworker with a sour attitude that verbally berated several people and acted so unprofessionally i was afraid to know if he was a social worker. each time he came out to call a name i was both scared and sure that he was going to call mine. 1 hour went by. another hour. and then mr. grumpy came out, picked up the microphone, and said "ROSEN". like rawsen. the wrong way. but i dared not correct him.

and so not to piss him off further, i scooted my way to the front and followed him through the door. he said not one word to me until we sat down in his office until he asked what i was there for. after telling him i was there to apply for food stamps he looked at me square in the eye and said, "you don't look poor".

uhm. excuse me?

and because i've never been able to keep my mouth shut (ask my mother), i replied, "and what does a poor person look like?"

and to this, mr. grumpy smiled. i did not reciprocate.

we sat in silence while he punched numbers, rifled through my paperwork, consulted other caseworkers. and finally said, "you qualify", handed me a paper outlining my monthly balance, and not so politely told me we were done. elation!

i have now used my food stamps a few times to purchase groceries and i love it. though i was nervous the first time i swiped my card, for fear that for some reason a loud speaker might go off blaring in false accusation, "WHITE MIDDLE CLASS COLLEGE GRAD CHEATING THE SYSTEM AND SINGLE HANDEDLY RAISING YOUR TAX DOLLARS", i have learned to embrace the beauty of my link card.

i am not ashamed to be utilizing the public benefits to which i qualify. i have noticed that it elicits interesting reactions from cashiers (for instance tonight the lady asked me just above a whisper after i swiped my card "are you using food stamps?" accusation dripping from "you" and her volume decreasing in confusion and a failed attempt at privacy on "food stamps"), but i have learned a great deal and i feel as though my experience will be an asset to the clients i help with this process in the future.

and, if anything, it makes for a great story.

chicken soup

chicken soup for the soul.

you've heard of these books, right? even if you've never actually opened one, you've heard of them. but do you know how many chicken soup books exist in this world?

i doubt it.

i doubt it because in the time it would take for you to come up with a number, that number would have become obsolete. because with each passing minute, in some quiet, fertile place, another chicken soup book is born.

i think there is something really powerful in the supposition underlying these books -- that souls are highly specific and custom in design. that souls come in a multiplicity of affiliations. that it would be wrong to lump together the souls of scrapbookers and NASCAR fanatics, because they wouldn't find nourishment and healing in the same recipe of chicken soup.

my mom and i used to read the stories out loud together before bed when i was younger. we got through many a tough time in commiseration with those who submitted entries - those souls with wounds and scars like ours. i liked feeling like a was a member to whatever particular soul group we were reading about at the time. strength in numbers. allies in experiences.

and as i learn to love this new city, to be on my own, to take care of myself, i am learning the right combination of ingredients for my chicago soul's chicken soup.

i got to go home this past weekend. after only 3 weeks of being away, i found my way home again. so soon, you ask? well before you assume that i already had enough of this big city and took off at a swift sprint towards virginia -- i went home for work. we convened as a national organization in rapidan, virginia, nestled into the beautiful blue ridge mountains that i missed so much.

my soul found peace in the community around me as i got to know each and every site coordinator and staff member in the national LIFT network. to know that we are all bound together by the same passion for people and mission to combat poverty and expand opportunity gave my soul a much needed lift. (pun intended). not only was i "home" in the geographical sense, but i truly felt at home with the like-minded people that surrounded me. there were moments where i looked down, half expecting to be hovering inches above the ground, my soul felt so fluffed and full of pride for those i can gladly call my colleagues.

i am in such good company.

after training i spent the weekend with family and friends in richmond -- needless to say, my soul was further fluffed and rejuvenated.

if there's ever a volume titled chicken soup for alli rosen's soul -- and truly, with the rate their pumping them out, it's only a matter of time -- it would not be filled with pages of inspirational stories. if there were to be an anthology chronicling the contents of my soul, i'd much like it to include things far more tangible, but no less inspirational: photographs (ideally scratch and sniff) of meals i have prepared and enjoyed with and for loved ones. sound bites of hearty laughs, my father's harmonica, my mother's advice. vivid descriptions of the perfect cuddle temperature, how it feels to discover someplace new, find something lost, enjoy a comfortable silence. and pages more of the things i love that deserve cataloging.

i have vowed to focus more time each day to giving my soul a good fluff here and there. we must all devote more energy to self care -- to doses of chicken soup throughout the day. it keeps us sane. it keeps us whole.

it keeps our souls fed.

blogging and jogging are the newest ingredients to my chicago soul's test recipe.

so far, so good.

small victories

tonight, i did my roommates' dishes. and i'm not talking a cereal bowl here, a dinner plate there, i'm talking a mountain of dishes. you see, my roommates like to entertain, which i appreciate because they invite me to join them and they luxuriously grocery shop sans food stamps , but they usually wait to the crusty, dried on, stale-smelling state before soaping up a sponge. and as a sub-leaser, i have trouble finding my place to say, "um, maybe you could clean up that gigantic mess you created four days ago?" but my room is also right off the kitchen, and each time i open my bedroom door, i'm smacked in the face with something that looks a little bit like this:

unfortunately, no actual picture of my poor little kitchen was taken, but this is a relatively accurate (if not forgiving) portrayal

and though i'd die a little bit inside each time i'd fail to find the kitchen sink, i resisted the urge to do my roommates' dishes for them. that was of course until tonight. because after a challenging day like today and a long, tiring week of working with people, what clears my mind and soothes my soul best is a simple domestic task. some people go running, some people eat carbs, but me? i iron. and vacuum. and scrub things.

i think its the instant gratification of something being dirty and it taking mere seconds for it to be clean that brings me joy -- the simplicity of it all. i can have an instant positive effect with simple, tangible actions. i love that. i LOVE that.

because working with people isn't quite so simple. it takes a while to see results. successes can be few and far between. progress can be slow. a lot of the time, you don't really feel like you've made a difference at all. and like dishes, the problems keep coming.

so when people are the medium with which you work, you learn to celebrate small victories. and you learn to laugh. a lot.

i work with some incredible women. this summer, the interns in my office are 99% female*, and 100% unbelievable. several of our interns commute 2 hours each way to get to our office to engage in unpaid, personalized, one-on-one client service provision. their dedication and genuine compassion for client service is powerful and the energy in our office has a palpable, positive vibe that i know our clients must feel upon walking through the door.

*we have one male, bless his heart, who is also fabulous.

there is so much laughter and joy among us that i have no doubt i will continue to find happiness in my job with each new day. i have the pleasure of working with socially aware, down to earth, service-minded college students - something i absolutely love about the structure of LIFT. because since college student volunteers can still easily dwell in the possibility of change - the real world has yet to callous them - clients who have been shuffled around the system in efforts to get help benefit tremendously from our volunteers' unjaded approach to client service.

it's beautiful.

so though poverty will continue to stack problems higher and higher in our proverbial sink, and though society will likely pass them by, busy with other things (for far more than four days), we'll keep doing our part, poised and at the ready, to tackle each round of dishes as they come.

bottom dwellers

"being an activist, being a leftist, being a person who is concerned about more than just yourself: you have to be in it for more than just the glory. so if you aren't getting any glory right now, hang in there, and hopefully you'll see it in your lifetime. but if you don't, then still do it. because its the right thing to do. that's how i wake up every morning. just do it. because you have to." staceyann chin

staceyann chin is a strong, verbally combative, powerfully passionate, bad ass female. she is a spoken word performance artist, political activist, and advocate for change -- a woman i so greatly admire.

today was a good day because the above quote was the last thing i read before walking out the door. what a timely reminder!

in the work that i do, i sincerely try to dwell in the possibility of change. it is far too easy in the human service field to start to believe that change isn't possible for someone. that they might never really get there. but staceyann chin -- oh, she keeps me believing.

she is an artisan of speech, crafting concepts out of words and verbally chronicling her memoir as a Jamaican/Chinese/American lesbian. her speech is so fluid that as her proverbial soapboxes stack higher and higher with each powerful verse, you can hardly help but to climb up there too, raising your fist in indignation right along with her.

"equality has to be more than a word. the future must become a door we all can walk through. we have to be willing to fight for more than what makes us comfortable."

though i would hardly put myself on the same plane as staceyann chin as far as advocacy and activism go, i have chosen to commit my life to working towards positive change -- towards widening the door. as a woman, as a leftist, as a social worker and community activist, i too wake up every morning and try to do my part each and every day to expand equality. i work one on one with clients to help them navigate their path out of poverty. to help steer them straight for that doorway.

poverty is complex, multi-faceted, and institutionalized in our society. capitalism is structured so there are winners and there are losers. there is a top and there is a bottom. and unfortunately, in our society, the losers are the underdogs that have little chance of pulling ahead, catching a break, coming from behind for that applause-evoking victory.

but in true determined optimist fashion: there is hope.

each and every person has inherent strengths: an inner toolbox to access when the pieces start to fall out of place. and there are agencies like the one i work for, and people like me (and staceyann chin), who want nothing more than to build on those strengths and to create a society that is sturdy from its foundation.

so though poverty is complex and far too complicated to reflect in one blog post, getting help doesn't have to be. and though i may never have the linguistic confidence to give the artistry of spoken word a try, to lay it down on you in a way that is both heavy and uplifting, i like to think i do my part. and so do each of us. as long as you never give up on believing that change is possible. no matter how frustrating it is. we are all capable of change.

dwell in it. sit in it for a little while. and eventually, you'll start to believe it too.