A Change of Direction
A Change of Direction
A recent acquaintance, also a Marf (In fact, she’s the one who taught me that word – it’s a lot easier than saying “someone who has Marfan’s!), said “This is a great time to have Marfan’s!” I’m still thinking about that.
I know she meant that medical science has advanced so much over the last 10 years that, with proper diagnosis and treatment, and moderate restrictions to their life-style and activities, a Marf can enjoy normal life expectancy.
Two weeks ago I was taught a hard lesson about those “moderate restrictions” to life-style and activities.
Until I was diagnosed with Marfan’s, I had been fairly active. I had worked in the fields, chopping weeds with a bolo (No big deal – everyone I knew cut weeds with a bolo. It’s the way farmers live in the Philippines!) and played with my classmates. Although I was thin, I was a lot taller than the other kids and I had a lot of leverage with my long arms.
After learning about Marfan’s through the US National Marfan Foundation (http://www.marfan.org/), I had to restrict my activities. The rule is: No contact sports and no sports where I would be hit in the chest or head. So I can shoot baskets, but my cousins can’t pass to me. In volleyball, instead of spiking, I am the scorer, watching my short little classmates scramble around after a ball that sometimes seems bigger than they are. And I remember the time my uncle from California was playing “catch” with my cousins, throwing a tennis ball back and forth. I was hurrying for school, and I knew he wouldn’t let anyone throw to me even if I had time to play, so I was a little angry when he had one of my cousins hand me the ball and told me to throw it to him. Books in one hand, uniform skirt flying, I threw that ball at him just like I had thrown rocks at my cousin and other pests when I was little. He managed to catch it, but I saw his eyes get big! Later, he told me he wished I could play, because I could really throw.
But these restrictions on activity are just nuisances compared to what happened at school two weeks ago.
I had been planning on a career as a nurse ever since I was 14 or 15. I liked the idea of helping people, it seemed to be a way to someday earn a good living for myself and my family, and I really liked the “blood-and-broken-bones” part! I am the one who treats every accident in our 3-family household, I am the one who takes the injured to Madonna Hospital (The ER staff know me by name!) and I am the one who administers the meds. I like the clinical work so much that my uncle once said that I would make a good “cut-man” for Manny Pacquiao!
But, 2 weeks ago, the direction of my life changed. The Dean of the School of Nursing told me I couldn’t continue due to my Marfan’s. The Dean felt I wasn’t strong enough, and that also it was too dangerous to let me be exposed to the various diseases walking into the ER. She made the point that, although I’d really like to work in the post-natal unit, student nurses train in every department, including those requiring heavy lifting and exposure to infectious diseases. She agreed to let me come back the next day with counter-arguments before she made her final decision. At the final meeting I argued that I was at least as strong as some of my smaller classmates, and there was nothing wrong with my immune system, but she wouldn’t change her mind. So now I am a Psych major.
My mother was actually relieved. So was my cardiologist. My uncle was supportive. He wrote, “Dear Precy, I know this afternoon and tomorrow, when you are meeting with the Dean who will decide your future, that you will be worried and be under stress. I ask you to not be worried. You and I have each done our best...there is no more we can do, other than you speaking in the meeting tomorrow. We must believe that the decision tomorrow is God's decision, not the Dean’s. We may think that nursing is God's plan for you, and we may wish that it is God's plan for you, but only God knows His actual plan.
“If God closes this door, He will open another door, and I will proudly walk with you through that other door!
“So, when you pray tonight, perhaps do not ask God to allow you to continue nursing. Instead, ask God to have the Dean make an honest evaluation and make her decision according to God's will, and give us all the strength to accept that decision and to always seek God's path in our lives.
“Know that we are by your side forever. Love, Your very proud Uncle Joe”
Actually, Psych might be a fun major. I liked the one course I took my first year, and my uncle pointed out that I have enough abnormal behavior in my own family for a PhD thesis. That would be funny if it weren’t so true. I have to close this and study now. We have to prepare for a “Patient/Therapist” exercise in Abnormal Psych class. I get to be a “patient.” Easy. All I have to do is figure out which of my weird relatives to act like!
A recent acquaintance, also a Marf (In fact, she’s the one who taught me that word – it’s a lot easier than saying “someone who has Marfan’s!), said “This is a great time to have Marfan’s!” I’m still thinking about that.
I know she meant that medical science has advanced so much over the last 10 years that, with proper diagnosis and treatment, and moderate restrictions to their life-style and activities, a Marf can enjoy normal life expectancy.
Two weeks ago I was taught a hard lesson about those “moderate restrictions” to life-style and activities.
Until I was diagnosed with Marfan’s, I had been fairly active. I had worked in the fields, chopping weeds with a bolo (No big deal – everyone I knew cut weeds with a bolo. It’s the way farmers live in the Philippines!) and played with my classmates. Although I was thin, I was a lot taller than the other kids and I had a lot of leverage with my long arms.
After learning about Marfan’s through the US National Marfan Foundation (http://www.marfan.org/), I had to restrict my activities. The rule is: No contact sports and no sports where I would be hit in the chest or head. So I can shoot baskets, but my cousins can’t pass to me. In volleyball, instead of spiking, I am the scorer, watching my short little classmates scramble around after a ball that sometimes seems bigger than they are. And I remember the time my uncle from California was playing “catch” with my cousins, throwing a tennis ball back and forth. I was hurrying for school, and I knew he wouldn’t let anyone throw to me even if I had time to play, so I was a little angry when he had one of my cousins hand me the ball and told me to throw it to him. Books in one hand, uniform skirt flying, I threw that ball at him just like I had thrown rocks at my cousin and other pests when I was little. He managed to catch it, but I saw his eyes get big! Later, he told me he wished I could play, because I could really throw.
But these restrictions on activity are just nuisances compared to what happened at school two weeks ago.
I had been planning on a career as a nurse ever since I was 14 or 15. I liked the idea of helping people, it seemed to be a way to someday earn a good living for myself and my family, and I really liked the “blood-and-broken-bones” part! I am the one who treats every accident in our 3-family household, I am the one who takes the injured to Madonna Hospital (The ER staff know me by name!) and I am the one who administers the meds. I like the clinical work so much that my uncle once said that I would make a good “cut-man” for Manny Pacquiao!
But, 2 weeks ago, the direction of my life changed. The Dean of the School of Nursing told me I couldn’t continue due to my Marfan’s. The Dean felt I wasn’t strong enough, and that also it was too dangerous to let me be exposed to the various diseases walking into the ER. She made the point that, although I’d really like to work in the post-natal unit, student nurses train in every department, including those requiring heavy lifting and exposure to infectious diseases. She agreed to let me come back the next day with counter-arguments before she made her final decision. At the final meeting I argued that I was at least as strong as some of my smaller classmates, and there was nothing wrong with my immune system, but she wouldn’t change her mind. So now I am a Psych major.
My mother was actually relieved. So was my cardiologist. My uncle was supportive. He wrote, “Dear Precy, I know this afternoon and tomorrow, when you are meeting with the Dean who will decide your future, that you will be worried and be under stress. I ask you to not be worried. You and I have each done our best...there is no more we can do, other than you speaking in the meeting tomorrow. We must believe that the decision tomorrow is God's decision, not the Dean’s. We may think that nursing is God's plan for you, and we may wish that it is God's plan for you, but only God knows His actual plan.
“If God closes this door, He will open another door, and I will proudly walk with you through that other door!
“So, when you pray tonight, perhaps do not ask God to allow you to continue nursing. Instead, ask God to have the Dean make an honest evaluation and make her decision according to God's will, and give us all the strength to accept that decision and to always seek God's path in our lives.
“Know that we are by your side forever. Love, Your very proud Uncle Joe”
Actually, Psych might be a fun major. I liked the one course I took my first year, and my uncle pointed out that I have enough abnormal behavior in my own family for a PhD thesis. That would be funny if it weren’t so true. I have to close this and study now. We have to prepare for a “Patient/Therapist” exercise in Abnormal Psych class. I get to be a “patient.” Easy. All I have to do is figure out which of my weird relatives to act like!
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