Well, that diet went over pretty well

Well, I have to confess something. I, Heather Davies, the founder and champion of HHHPHHSBLP, screwed up on my own health plan. The idea for the first week was to only have liquids after dinner. I know it doesn't sound too hard, but I was so so hungry the other night.
So I totally found a way to rip off the system: I made a milkshake. (Liquid, right?) The only problem was, there was way more ice cream in it than milk. So after I finished that huge milkshake, because of all the liquid, I was craving salt.... I heard my sister crunching on chips. I begged her for just one.
In my mind I rationalized it: it's just like sin, a little one won't matter. (Ha, that's pretty much the worst excuse ever.) So I ate one chip.
And then I thought, if I'm going to sin, I might as well not deceive myself and I might as well just go for the gold (If you're going to sin, sin boldly, as they say. Also a bad excuse.) So I ate a chocolate from my Dad.
Well, the problem with this 'diet', if you want to call it that, was that I was doing it not so much for physical reasons, but I had this sense that if I learned how to have self-control over things that didn't really matter (i.e. chips and chocolates), then I could have self-control over the things that did matter. (you fill in the blank)

That was all well and good. Except: if I am to equate failing my diet with sin, I have to remember the biggest thesis of the Christian faith when it comes to sin: Apart from the grace of God, I have no power to resist sin.
Going on a diet in a sense is trying to resist sin on my own effort. Heather Davies only goes so far. Then, my human nature and everything else kicks in and I screw up. It's only through the power of the Holy Spirit that I can conquer temptation.
I'm not sure if it's appropriate to turn HHHPHHSBLP into a spiritual exercise, so I'll think about that for a bit.... in the meantime I'm going to keep going with my no-eating-after-dinner rule. And next week I'm adding on the next step: drink two liters of water a day. (Not coke, not tea... water)

Crazy things

Well, so far the list of crazy things I've accomplished in my 24th year is pretty short. The stupidest by far (so far) is the fact that I spent 1 hour at my brother's wedding dancing in four inch burgundy high heels. Then I took them off and danced for another 2 hours, which was distinctly more enjoyable.
The other night I contemplated the panic that was setting in, over the thought that I have outgrown my penchant for adventurous, exciting things. Then I realized that the only reason I ever did adventurous exciting things in the first place was because I was just being myself and not caring what other people thought or what the disastrous consequences could be.
Over the last few years I have learned the wisdom of tempering that impulsiveness with virtues such as morality, love and concern for other people, and a little bit of experience that teaches 'ouch, that hurt! I won't try that again!'
All that aside I still think the original is the best. There's no substitute for being yourself regardless of what everyone else is doing. So this year.... I think instead of trying so hard to have adventures, I'm just going to let the adventures happen to me.
And to top it all off, I'm starting a new health kick. This is really and truly unlike any other health kick I've ever been on. I've even given it a new and improved name. It is called 'Happy Heather's Health Program for Happier, Healthier, Smarter and Better-looking people'.
One of the premises of HHHPHHSBP is that it begins gradually. So in case anyone wants to join me in it, for the first few days the only rule is: No food (only drinks) after dinner at night.

24........

You know how old people always lament over another birthday? I know I'm not that old, but I'm sort of feeling that way.
When I was a kid I loved my birthday. Presents! Cake! Balloons! Friends!
It stayed that way until I turned 17. I remember the day well, I had just realized that my first true love didn't feel the same way about me and I was absolutely devastated. Our family had started a new church and I felt isolated and alone at a time when I felt I really needed my peers. There were friends over and I remember the candles on the cake were blurry because there were tears in my eyes. I've never talked to anyone about this, but somehow it seems easier to explain through a blog than in person. Ever since that day I haven't liked my birthday. Somehow it makes me feel alone, even though I have dozens of well-wishers and birthday cards and I know how much my friends and family love me.
Sometimes the loneliness is just there inside and no matter how many people are around, you just feel all alone.
Last night my mom made cupcakes for me and as I blew out the four candles (I told her I was 24, not 4.....), for the first time in my life, I forgot to make a wish.
Every year for my entire cognitive life I have wished when I blew out my candles. I sometimes even wish when I watch other people blow out their candles. And every year, I always wish for the same two things. Even though it's easier to write on a blog, I still can't make myself wear my heart on my sleeve quite enough to tell you all what those wishes are, but suffice to say they have never come true.
It made me wonder when I thought about it today. Wouldn't it be an ironic twist of fate if this year, the year I forgot to wish on my birthday candles, if those two wishes came true?
This seems like a silly thing to do, to sit and blog on my birthday when I should be out partying and dancing and laughing and drinking (just kidding) and enjoying the night. But the fact is, although I am the happiest of all people and have everything I could possibly want and need (just about!) and although I have wonderful friends and family and although I know I am loved by God and have a purpose in life and a passion for what I do; sometimes it's just Heather's hullaballoo, without the happy. Sometimes it just seems too hard to disguise my vulnerability and put on a smile.
We are all human. I take comfort in thinking that we all have times like these. And I take great comfort in thinking that someday, whether or not I remember to wish on my candles, those deep desires that I have inside will be fulfilled.
In the meantime I agree that it is sort of lame to sit in front of my computer on a night as magnanimous as the occasion of my 24th birthday, so at the very least I'm going to go raid my sister's closet and eat as much chocolate as I can fit in my mouth and jump in the hot tub and do something exceptionally crazy tonight. If I'm not dead or in jail I'll let you know what that exceptionally crazy thing is in a couple of days.

To study or not to study

The desire to study almost eclipses the desire to sleep. What should i do? I'd intended to take a week off as soon as I got home, in order to recuperate as I feel incredibly burnt out after my 5 weeks away.
But I keep thinking about the stack of textbooks sitting next to my bed. They are there leering at me as I lay down to sleep and there looking mournfully at me when i wake up. I want to be a doctor, and a good doctor. I have 3 times as much homework as i did last semester. I budgeted my time a bit and planned to take a break. Now i am not sure if i should or not. Should i just try to keep going? if I'm wimping out now about studying, what will I do when it gets seriously hard?
Of course, if I fall asleep while studying then I don't have the dilemma anymore.....

A pensive goodbye

I always find saying goodbye bittersweet. Bitter because of the sense of loss of saying goodbye to people I have come to know and love- a place I’ve become familiar with and that has become home- a way of life that I’ve settled into and am comfortable with, all those things.
And sweet because I know there’s more adventure waiting for me and more people to meet and know and love, and more places to call home. But it seems to take so much bravery, and as I stand on my tiptoes to peer over the horizon and desperately hope for something to set my eyes on and throw my heart towards, I feel so small and alone and afraid.
I’m hoping that we all feel like that sometimes, that I’m not alone in this. Coming home hurts when I’m not really sure where home is anymore- when part of my heart is with my family in Vancouver or in the Okanagan and part of it is here in Antigua (or in France or in Africa or any of the other places I’ve been……)
Coming home hurts when I have in my heart all the amazing things I’ve seen and done and I know that when all the pictures have been seen and the stories told, I’ll still miss it, but no one will want to talk about it anymore. Unfortunately I went on this adventure alone. Who is there to understand?
Nostalgia sucks sometimes. I haven’t even gotten home and I’m already feeling nostalgic. Of the lazy mornings spent sitting on the verandah watching the Carribean sun rise with a cup of coffee in my hand…….. Of the long hours in class pretending to pay attention but actually texting my other classmates on our laptops………Of the hot evenings cooking over a hot plate and a microwave and being pleased when something actually turned out without being burnt or curdled……….Of the sunny Sundays on the beach with sand between my toes and in my swimsuit and wherever else it managed to get, and a sunburn spreading over my shoulders…….Watching the sun set over the craggy mountain peaks and hearing the night insects begin their nightly symphony………Of the long talks and walks and early morning runs and laughing together and praying together and comparing test results and chasing goats and hanging laundry on the line and studying furiously for exams…..
But I suppose if I am honest there are the bad memories, too. Nostalgia is a rose-colored pair of glasses and it only tells part of the story. There were also the nights I went on my solitary walk and found myself at the top of the grassy hill, on my knees, crying my eyes out and asking God if he could please make things work out……..The times I watched some of my classmates whispering and then stop when I came near, and felt like I’d been hit in the gut cause I knew they were talking about me……..There were the nights I was so tired I would fall asleep over my notes, 2 or 3 times before I finally got it done, and tumbled into bed desperately hoping for enough sleep…….. There was the rain that came just as I hung out my laundry to dry……..The harsh words and accusations and lies leaving me wondering what I had done to deserve such cruelty……The disappointment of getting a bad exam result back……
We can’t just take the good and ignore the bad. The reality is that there is both, fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle, each accentuating the other. And I want it to be that way. I want to live in a world of colors, not a world of shades of grays.
I’m coming back home to lots of uncertainty, bills to pay, work, studying, many things up in the air. And I’m coming home to the familiar comforts and my friends and family and a hot shower and a soft bed and good food.
Adventure.
I’m setting my eyes bravely on the road before me. Inside I still feel like a little girl; I still feel like the same Heather I was when I was 8 years old and went for adventures in the woods with my brothers. The only difference is that now I’m almost 24 (and yes, I am accepting presents on February 18^th!) and my adventures are on a little bigger scale than they were before. Antigua, not the back yard. Medical school, not the corner store. Airplane rides, not bicycle rides.
It’s going to be good, I was told before I came here. Take courage, Heather, it’s going to be good. And my testimony of the last month is that it hasn’t just been good, it’s been great. I’ve seen God work in miraculous and exciting ways. There has been tragedy, there has been comedy. Coming home, in a sense, nothing has changed then. It isn’t just going to be good; it’s going to be great. I can already feel it in my bones. From where I stand the horizon may seem too big and scary and far away, but as I set my eyes on the One who went before me, and run towards him with all my strength, I feel as if I could catch the wind under my wings, and I could fly

Physicists and public urination

I swear, one of these days I’m going to get arrested for public urination.
Burton and I were in St. John’s, the capital city, and had spent about an hour driving around completely lost looking for our way. It was quickly getting dark and I had drank a lot of water that day.
“Let’s take this road.” I suggested. “It looks nicely paved and smooth.”
We started down the road and it wound up through some little village. There were kids playing games on the streets, some random guy in the middle of the street sweeping up dirt, several flip-flops and dead cats and a chevy pick-up towing a broken down SUV. The road slowly got narrower and then suddenly it ended abruptly in a rocky driveway that led into someone’s house.
We reversed back down the street until there was a place to turn around, ran over the same flip-flops and dead cats and kept going.
We finally found the grocery store at about 7:30 and shopped as quickly as possible, our stomachs growling. After stowing our groceries in the car, we fended off a crazy bearded man who claimed he was a physicist and wanted to talk to us about something special, and found somewhere to eat.
It was a ‘food court’ in the loosest sense of the word- there were 3 bars labeled ‘Chinese’, ‘Italian’ and ‘Antiguan’. The Antiguan food looked pretty greasy…. the Chinese food didn’t look Chinese, or like food for that matter; but the pizza looked wonderful. We sat down and gobbled it up and drank coke and watched a cricket match on the big television and I looked around furtively for a bathroom. We’d been on the road for a while and my bladder was full but there wasn’t a really appropriate place to stop.
Back on the car we wound through little streets and finally got out of the city and headed back towards the other end of the island to the university.
“You’re going to have to pull over so I can pee in the ditch.” I told Burton.
“Where’s a good place, ma’am?” He asked.
“Anywhere, as long as it’s not in front of a lit house.” I said, taking one last sip of my extra large coke.
He pulled off the road into a deserted lot where a house was halfway being built. I got out of the car and walked behind the house a bit and squatted down…….
You know, while I am generally an accomplished back-woods-woman when it comes to relieving myself in remote settings, and while I am a mature young lady who is in medical school studying to be a professional whom people trust, there are always the ironic happenings of life that get in the way.
I stood up from the ground to find myself staring at a security guard standing with his arms crossed across his chest and a stern look on his face.
Again, when one finds oneself in such a situation, my best advice is not to stop and negotiate, but to run. I bolted for the car as fast as I could and leapt inside.
“Drive! Drive quickly!” I told Burton.
He squealed out of the yard and onto the street.
“What’s wrong?”
“There was a security guard standing right there while I was peeing!” I wailed. “This is a great tragedy!”
Burton didn’t even try to control his laughing.
“Actually, it’s not a tragedy. I’m pretty sure that would be a comedy.”
We hadn’t driven more than 200 meters when we suddenly came upon a convenience station.
“If you could’ve just waited a second longer….” Burton suggested obtusely.
I suppose through the lens of time I might be convinced to view that episode as a comedy. For now I hope for both of our sakes that I never meet up with that security guard again. I don’t think I would be able to explain myself to him sufficiently. Antigua is a small island and this is the second time I have been witnessed doing something embarrassing in front of a security guard. My only hope is that I was sunburned enough that he wouldn’t be able to recognize me next time he saw me.
We drove past the police station at some time in the evening and I had to wonder what a night in an Antiguan jail would be like. I wonder if they would let me off easy cause I’m a tourist. Or because I was delusional from my sunstroke. I’m pretty sure I could pull of a good case of delirium or psychosis if my dignity was at stake. At any rate, I could always claim I was a physicist and had something special to say, and if worst came to worst, I could just run.

psychosis is hunting me down

I find myself dreaming about being able to sleep. It has become a pseudo-psychotic obsession.I’ve decided to categorize the reasons why I am finding it so hard to get enough sleep here.
First of all there are the owls, doves, katydids, crickets, frogs, goats and birds calling outside my window all night long.
Secondly, there is the sun that shines in at about 6 in the morning, and since I don’t have proper curtains when it shines in my face I wake up.
Thirdly there is the rain. At various times throughout the night it may start raining, and the sound of a Carribean thunder storm on a flat tin roof is loud enough to wake a dead person.
Fourthly there are what I would classify as the random night noises. They include a) my roommate getting up to use the bathroom and flushing the toilet, b) someone in another building flushing a toilet and my toilet flushing in response, c) the air conditioner deciding to turn on or off, d) the fridge deciding to turn on or off, e) the light deciding to turn on or off, f) mosquitoes buzzing around my head, g) security guards randomly deciding to roar across campus in their truck in the middle of the night, h) various shouts, screams, goat calls or gunshots from far away.
And finally, the number one reason of course is that I’m studying so much that I don’t have time to sleep.
But it all catches up eventually. The day before yesterday after classes I got some groceries and cooked dinner. I had envisioned in my mind roasted chicken, salad and potatoes. I got it all ready, and because the air conditioning was off, by the time I was done I was drenched in sweat and irritated and tired and hungry.
The phone rang and my roommate had to take the call. I waited for a while and then finally was too hungry and we started eating without him. The chicken was dry and rubbery, the potatoes were mealy, and there was something funny about the cucumbers in the salad. Then I accidentally knocked over Vem’s cup of coke while trying to kill a large insect and it spilled on the carpet and the bed.
Every night, no matter how I’ve arranged the room, Burton always sits down at my desk and moves my computer and books and puts his dishes there. It has begun to be a little irritating, but I had decided to let it slide. Until this night. He made some sort of joke about Canadians and my cooking and I’d had enough. I opened up the door and pointed out to the porch.
“That’s the way out.”
Both Vem and Burton gave me surprised looks and started to laugh, most likely at the absurdity of me telling a 6’3” football player to get out of my way.
“And just how are you planning on kicking us out?”
I didn’t stop to negotiate, I took hold of the back of his chair and began to drag him towards the door. I fully intended to tip the chair backwards out the door and let him crash over the sill.
“Stop! Stop!” Vem yelled.
The legs of the chair had caught on the vinyl flooring and due to the large amount of effort I had exerted and Burton’s heavy weight, had torn 3 huge gashes in the floor, extending a couple of feet right across the middle of the room. There was a deep silence. I could see engraved in the floor the last vestiges of my damage deposit.
I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh. And Vem graciously told me he’d wash the dishes, which is probably what saved him from having his head cut off. Burton went and got a tube of super glue which he just happened to have, and we got down on our hands and knees and patched the floor together with an entire tube of super glue.
Later in the evening I went out onto the porch and Burton asked me how I was feeling.
You don’t want to ask, I told him, because the tide is out, and if I talk about anything serious I’m just going to start crying. Just don’t talk to me about anything serious when I’m this tired.
“Oh.” He said. “The tide is out. That’s good. I like that rule.”
And he had the good sense to just stop right there.
So, like I said, this sleep deprivation is getting to me. Sometimes I force myself to stay awake and study 5 more minutes, sometimes I ask a classmate to wake me up in 5 minutes so I can keep studying, sometimes I just sit and cry and pray. Learning about mental illness is not helping me stay sane, but that’s okay. Apparently there are some great anti-psychotic medications out there. And they help you sleep.

Firsts and Lasts (hopefully!)

These last few days have been full of a lot of firsts for me.

1. For the first time in my life, I jumped off a balcony and landed in a fire-ant nest and got bitten all over my feet, ankles and hands. Now my feet are covered in yellow pustules that itch all the time.
2. For the first time in my life, I sat in a little apartment with six professors and sang karaoke and drank cheap Caribbean beer until 1 in the morning.
3. For the first time in my life, I celebrated Mardi Gras by wearing purple, orange and green beads and taking photos with a skeleton.
4. For the first time in my life, I cooked a perfect chocolate cake that wasn’t burnt, sunken on one side or undercooked. And in my rice cooker, to boot. (Just kidding!)
5. For the first time in my life, I was licked under my skirt by a dog during a church service. (But that was because the service was on the beach and I was in the middle of some intense worship and thought I was just feeling some supernatural expression of the Holy Spirit.)
6. For the first time in my life I explored a haunted anatomy lab in the middle of the night with a classmate.
7. For the first time in my life I have locked myself out of my room three times in one day with my key on the inside.
8. For the first time in my life I am too sleep deprived to even think but so happy that I don’t even care.

Lots of love to you all, and thank you for your prayers.

One day at a time

It’s amazing what comes out when one is under pressure. I was thinking about this last night as I violently threw a package of plates at my roommate after he left them in my room for the third time. He actually had the gall to suggest that my mood was a result of my estrogen level at this particular time of the month. I think I threw a pen and a package of cue cards at him as well.
And when a mosquito flew up my skirt the other night and bit me seven times on one thigh before I killed him, I had seven choice words to say to her. (By the way, female mosquitoes are the only ones that bite.)
The plumbing here is very unique; my toilet flushes whenever anyone else’s toilet flushes in any of the other dorms. Also, my sink sings (actually, roars) when I turn it on. Sometimes I can get it to stop by jiggling the tap, sometimes I can’t. And it decides whether or not to come out at a trickle or to come out with so much force that it splashes me from head to toe. I always joke that when I wash dishes, I get a shower as well. And the other day I had just about enough and when it splashed me again and decided to leak all over the floor, I got so mad I left my dishes all night without washing them. (Horror of horrors!)
But a different kind of response came out yesterday. One of my classmates came and told me that she’d overheard some gossip about me and thought she should tell me. Some of the other students had been spreading lies about me and my housemate Burton, most of them nasty, unnecessary lies, and the rest of them damaging and hurtful suppositions. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me.
In a moment, everything changed. I felt really disappointed. But I said to my classmate, most of those things are lies, and I’m not going to take them seriously. Don’t worry about what they said. I’m not angry at all.
I went to my room and cried, but there wasn’t a hint of anger. The only thing I felt was sorry for the people who felt compelled to gossip, tear down, and hurt others. There wasn’t even a question about forgiveness.
I wish I could say that I always respond in the right way. I wish I was always filled with forgiveness and love. Yesterday I made a choice not to get bitter, and to keep opening myself up and being friendly and loving to those around me. I made a decision to keep living my life as an example of God’s light.
So perhaps all these little exercises of a whiny sink and a spontaneously flushing toilet and a cockroach infestation and a dead rat decaying in the rafters and an aggravating roommate and not enough sleep are just exercises, to teach me how to respond so I am prepared for when it really matters.
That’s what discipline is, in a sense. Elisabeth Elliot says “It is in learning to eat that living bread (Jesus!), sufficient only for one day at a time, that we are taught and disciplined and prepared for later things in life.”
One day at a time, one day at a time.