Seasons

I love fall. It's a beautiful time of year. The leaves are changing, the people are changing, the schedules are changing...
...the weather is changing... >.<

I will admit, fall is probably my favorite season. Unfortunately, it's not completely fall yet here in Indiana. It is that awkward stage between summer and fall where one day is 65 degress and the next is 95. Of course, the climate really messes with my health and my health messes with my sanity. I start my second job in just 2 days (not counting today because it has already begun), and I have just those two days to get myself healthy again. Nobody wants to buy picture packages from a girl who walks up and says, "Hi, my name is Ariel and I think you *coughcoughcough* should buy a *coughcoughcough* picture package from *coughcoughcough* Olan Mills." Seriously, though, I've been sitting on my Vest treatment for almost an hour hoping something moves the right way and I stop with the *coughcoughcough* and start with the *breathebreathebreathe*. It may help if my mom closed the windows that just bring the climate changes inside, but it's her house and I don't make the rules.

Now, it's about to become September. Which is that month...the totally cliche one...where everything bad happens and people write songs about waking them up when it's all over or when they were once in love for that one month or they want to go back to September (though, admittedly, that may have been December...). So on my Facebook 65 Pennies page I will be issuing a September challenge so we can make September a BETTER month. Maybe I'll even write a song for accomplishing those goals... Hmm... We'll see, alright?

Now, the seasons change, and that's going to happen regardless. And I'm seeing it happen all over. Especially with my friends going off to college. I can't wait, I'm getting too excited!! I don't even start anything for like four months!! Which, of course, gives me pleanty of time to earn money for classes and food and shelter...And it also gives me pleanty of time to get ready to leave. Because me and change aren't exactly best friends. We have sorta a love/hate relationship. We hate each other but pretend we love each other so we aren't crabby all the time. ^_^ But I'm getting through it. It's just something I have to get used to at this time of my life.

Well, I guess that's all for now. Just some thoughts to share about change and the wonderful weather ahead. We just have to get through the rough stuff before we can have the beauty.

Double Shift

I tHiNk WiTh ThE sHiFtS i HiT, i'M gOiNg To AcTuAlLy Go CrAzY.

Subway isn't to hard, actually. I enjoy my job a lot. My coworkers are amazing and I've learned enough that I can do food prep, cleaning, making sandwiches, working the register, dishes, temp checks...everything but inventory and cash checks. It's realy fun, and I like working with the public. But minimum wage, 12 hours a week, 16 weeks before I leave...you do the math. I can cover tution with that. Barely. Before taxes... Okay, so I'm struggling to find ways to increase my income until I can cover my $10,000 a year charges to live, attend classes, and eat.

So when my mom saw a "Now Hiring" sign at the Olan Mills in my local Meijer, I jumped at the opportunity. The next day, as soon as they opened, I called in. Mostly to ask about their lunch hour so I could go in formally in person. But Esther, the lady in charge of the place, is a good friend of mine, so when I told her who I was and what I was looking to do, she was thrilled. So...I filled out an application as a Sales Rep in the Meijer. Which basically means I would get paid $8 an hour for four hours a day on the weekends to sell 4 packages throughout the store. And anything more that I sold I'd get paid a bonus. Not hard right?

Neither was the interview process. I got the job!! One week from tomorrow, I go in for training as an Olan Mills Sales Rep! This job pays about as much as the one at Subway per week, so I could cover tuition and housing for one semester before taxes at this point! Woo!

So, I want my readers to know...I'm certainly not riding on my Sixty-Five Pennies to pay for my college experience. I work hard for anywhere from 24 to 32 hours a week so that I can make it, but times are hard. This is why I'm starting this system. 65 pennies isn't even a dollar. From only 15,000 people, I can make it to college for a year. What better cause for two quarters, a dime, and a nickle?

Again, you can send donations through paypal to my email address: mergirl_93@yahoo.com! I also have a Facebook "like" page where more information can be provided on a more personal basis. Thank you for all of your support!

Takin' What They're Giving...

...'Cuz I'm working for a living!

Well, here goes, my first blog about my new job. Yes, I finally got one. It's not going to pay for college- not even tuition if I'm working the hours they estimated at the rate they are paying- but it's certainly something. And a busy something at that!

Let us start at the beginning of my day. I started off with waking up at 8:55, running late for my volunteer job cleaning the church. Several families took on the task, so it wasn't the worst thing I'd ever done, but it was an hour and a half of cleaning for no pay and not even my house. But it was well worth it, I will say. Very satisfying. By the time I got home (after my dad was finished chatting with some other men from church...and they say the women are the talkative ones!), it was just after 10:30, and I wanted to be at work a little early. Ya know, set a good standard? So I had one hour to shower, get dressed, find 2 forms of identification (one being a social security card that my parents had lost somehow), eat, and get "made up" and presentable. Which wasn't a HUGE deal until somehow the sink magically turned on while I was trying to get ready for a shower. The sink is where I store my clothes while I shower in that tiny bathroom. Needless to day, the rampant search for my clothing was a little intense. And time consuming. My half bowl of cereal and barely thrown together purse was going to just have to do. I was at work 15 minutes early.

~~Looking like this~~



And totally excited to fill out tax forms...for over an hour. Then I was given my uniform and introduced to the team (or part of it), and was shown around. Just as the manager was leaving, she gave me over to another employee named Ashley. She is secretly my favorite; she is really sweet and very patient. Which is just what I needed. She had me practice cutting bread. This is apparently a learned art. It is way way way harder than it looks. I practiced with two whole trays of bread! After that I was to watch. I wasn't going to be touching food for the first long while and certainly not the cash register...

But I guess they just couldn't resist throwing me into everything. Maybe I just looked too good. ;) So they pulled me up front, had me watch her put together meat and cheese, then let me try adding veggies to my first sandwich. And it was a beauty, for sure.

And then...lunch rush hit. I was making sandwiches, toasting things, adding veggies, cutting more bread, wraping things...And when the lunch rushed slowed down a little, Ashley (under a slightly disapproving look from another employee who didn't seem to like me a lot) decided I should work the register. So one man came and she had me take his order, make is sandwich, put it in the bag (complete with napkins), take off my gloves, ring up his order, and make change. Keeping in mind I had just put on the uniform probably only an hour previous. I was kinda in shock, really.

Nex they had me cleaning up and restocking. Washing glass, sweeping floors in the back, restocking apples and drinks and chips. This is also when they told me about one employee perk- free fountain drinks. Just refill it all day and chill when you can. So I finally had a drink and swept and sorta just watched what went on in the back. I feel like I will NEVER get the hang of preparing food in the back and counting things and keeping track of the store. I'm more of a customer person, I guess. But I'm sure eventually I'll get there.

By now it is 3:00, I have worked everything but food prep, and I'm really not sure how to spend an entire hour. It's like...almost boring when you have down time. And kinda awkward because I didn't know what needed counting and stocking and preping and cleaning...I just sorta quitely asked for what else I could do.

Dishes. Yup, I'm the newbie so they can give me the icky chore. To be honest, it's my favorite job at the store. Usually Sarah does it (she is very quiet and nice, but she wasn't really a take charge kind of person so she didn't help me lots, just sorta did her thing to herself) but I don't think she liked it all that much. I LOVE doing the dishes there, though, it's really quiet and fun and relaxing. Hopefully I'll get that job more often. I washed dishes for an hour, then quietly asked how to clock out. That took, surprisingly, about 15 minutes while they showed me the ropes. Then they asked if I wanted to, quickly before I clocked out, have a 6 inch sub. Another employee perk. But my fingers were pruney and I didn't want to look at meat or cheese again for at least another 24 hours, so I declined.

So there. I worked every position except inventory (which they said I won't have to do for a while anyway). And I am sore and tired. And I earned like $20. Which was followed by doing dishes for my family (for free) and going to a training for the workers at church who help teach and lead the children under 12 years old (which I also do for free) where I was served my second meal of the day- dinner- at a leader's house (also for free).

So to sum up being an official working adult: You do a lot in a day. And a lot of it is for free.

Introducing my mom!

Alright, time for you to hear a voice from me that isn't promotion of my idea or essays for my teacher. It's time to talk to "the real me". What's going on in my life, what's happenin'. Word up, yo.

(I don't really talk like that for starters...)

Anyway, today was a pretty basic day. My mom apparently texted me right after I fell asleep last night to tell me to do a breathing treatment. My coughing from right below her room kept her up a bit. And then our pet cat woke her up early. Gotta love moms. They do what they can, but they don't always get what they need. Like sleep. I'm hoping to be a mom one day. Yeah, so some kids may end up sickly and deformed (just kidding, I'm not deformed!), but it's so worth it.

That woman is pretty much the coolest person ever. No, I don't mean the future me who will have kids and a family (and not an annoying real live cat alarm clock). I meant my mom. Okay, when I say "coolest", I do not give her permission to start hanging out with my friends, doing cartwheels, or wearing low-rise jeans. These are things moms are not allowed to do. But, I do say she handles things pretty well.

For one, she handles FOUR children, a cat, a bunny, a husband (more of a handful than all of the above at times), all in one house. One child in Elementary school, one in an Intermediate school, one in high school, and the oldest in college, she certainly has a lot on her plate- especially at this time of year. How she does it, I don't...well, I do know. With lots of chocolate ice cream and crime dramas when nobody is looking. But how she gets the motivation to get up and handle it is a mystery to me some days.

Secondly, she handles the diseases. Yeah, she's not some disease-free wonder woman, so she has some of her own stuff to handle. But she also puts up with the health issues of family. When her grandmother was on the downhill, she up and left for a week or two to New York to be with her and help her parents and sister handle the stressful time. When my grandfather had a stroke, she almost dragged us all up there, too! When I was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, she helped me through it. I don't think she left my side unless she absolutely had to through it all. And when my sister was diagnosed with a swiftly progressing case of Scoliosis and was going to need major surgery on her spine to fix it, she managed to arrange everything she needed to as well as manage a move to another state in the same few months.

And lastly, she dutifully reads my blogs and facebook posts as any good mother checking up on her daughter would. All the comments, all the photos, all the laughs, and all of the angsty, angry teenager posts I can't control myself in posting. She "likes" pretty much everything, comments on everything else, supported my Sixty-Five Pennies page, and continues to collect coins for me as I prepare for college.

Here's to my awesome Mom. =)

Being Strong

Just over a year ago, still in high school, I had to write a paper about something that changed me- for better or worse. This is what I wrote about. I titled it "Being Strong".

“Mommy, I can’t breathe.”

            The year was 1999, in late March, as my 5 year old body went from playful and energetic to fighting for every breath. I had already been diagnosed with asthma, which at the time explained my frequent episodes of wheezing and breathing trouble. But that was not very high maintenance, especially since I was young; my body could bounce back better in those days with simple treatments. But asthma was soon to be the least of my worries. It was the start of a whole new life, though I did not realize it at the time. Late one night, my old trailer home had gone dark and silent; I suddenly awoke, desperately trying to catch my younger sister’s attention. Confused and groggy, she went to parents’ room and alerted them to my sudden panic. As the lights turned on and I could see her face, I released my terror and allowed it to consume my mother, uttering four words- “Mommy, I can’t breathe.”

            Soon after, I was lying in the Elkhart General Hospital, in the pediatrics ward. It was an easy diagnosis in the end, after a few chest x-rays and oxygen saturation tests– I had Atelectasis. The lower lobe of my left lung had collapsed, completely full of mucus and causing my abrupt drop in lung capacity. With shallow breaths, I took in my surroundings, trying to be strong for my mom. I was only about 5 years old, but I knew that I did not need to be afraid and the whole family needed me to be strong. The first time the needles came, my mother was almost hysterical at the idea of my pain and has to leave to ‘fill out paperwork’. I watch in amazement as they slip the thin needle into my right wrist, stop, and remove it, explaining that ‘it will be ok, we just missed, and we have to poke you one more time’. Finally, I am set up with some medications in my wrist and the crook of my elbow and a glowing, soft clamp-like device that measured my blood’s oxygen saturations levels. I didn’t mind, I just watched. It was as if I knew that something bigger was to come, and I just had to hold on for the ride.

            Though the needles and the tests and the attention did not seem to phase me at all, there was one aspect of life in the hospital that I could not stand- the nasal tubes for my oxygen- they were ugly, inconvenient, and a hassle in the mind of a fairly active 5 year old. I was only allowed to remove the tubes to blow my nose. I blew my nose whenever believable. One such day full of ‘blowing my nose’ yet again, I fell asleep with the tubes on my chin and the oxygen flowing into my mouth. About 15 minutes into my blissfully comfortable sleep, my mother glanced at the machine showing my oxygen saturation levels. The number had gone up, enough to urge her to call a nurse even. A few x-rays and a mask for oxygen later, it was confirmed. My sinus cavity was 100% blocked, and I was to prepare for surgery. In the questionnaire for pre-surgery knowledge for my doctors, it asked if I had Cystic Fibrosis. My mother had never even heard of that, and was not sure how to answer. The doctor suspected enough to do a few tests. My mother did not know what they were going to do, why they were doing it, or how life would change if the results were positive.

I sat in the lobby of the hospital with blankets piled high in the attempt to cause me to sweat. This sweat could be tested for sodium chloride levels, which are high in those with CF. The test was positive, but not by a large enough margin to convince the Cystic Fibrosis specialist completely. Doctor James Harris ordered a fecal sample as well as a fasting blood draw. I watched patiently; I could be strong. My mom was not, however, and almost passed out. Nothing pointed to having Cystic Fibrosis, and the specialist figured it was possible to get a false positive on the sweat chloride test. He made the final decision and ordered a genetic study to be done. Shortly after, my mom received a phone call that brought her to her knees, sobbing for the unknown. She would not go into this blind, however; she did research and found that the average life span of one with Cystic Fibrosis was approximately 16 years- her oldest daughter had possibly lived half of her life already. I was not aware of the risks, though. I just knew that I had something that would make it harder to breathe for the rest of my life. Doing my percussion therapy and nebulizer treatments would be habit and my mornings would begin an hour earlier to make time.

I used to be afraid, deep inside. I used to cry while I did my special percussion therapy. I used to hit and scream and throw tantrums if my mother told anybody I was different. I used to hide my disease beneath a charming but shy smile and youthful energy and fun. I used to be ashamed. Today I do my own research. I go for blood work every six months to make sure I am digesting and absorbing nutrients properly and do not have diabetes caused by mucus blockage in the pancreas. I do treatments to keep up what health I do have and learn to manage my time when I miss school due to illness. I get good grades, have a driver’s license, and keep a steady boyfriend. I entertain my friends with my percussion therapy jacket and teach them the sign language alphabet for when I can not talk during treatments. I tell people myself that I am different, that I am special, and I wear it with pride.

I may have Cystic Fibrosis, but that does not mean I can not live. Through the entire process I quickly learned that you do not always have to be brave. You can let things hurt, you can be scared, and you can get through it. My motto has become “We feel pain and sorrow and fear because we are human; we push through it and survive because we are strong”. I can be strong even if my body is weak, and I can be proud even if I am different. Am I scared? Absolutely, but I do not have to live in fear. My current family and my future family will one day live without me, and I could land in the hospital any day. But that does not mean I am not strong. Anybody could learn the lesson I learned when my life changed completely. Push through the rough times and live- because that is what strength is.

Welcome!

My name is Ariel Anastacia Wilson, and I am here to prove them wrong.

I have Cystic Fibrosis (CF). This chronic, genetic illness mainly affects my lungs, though it can create further complications in my life. My junior year in high school, I caught a sinus infection which, due to my friendly neighborhood disease, turned into Bronchitis. Before I knew it, I was lying on the couch with fevers reaching to 102. Pneumonia, though, was what finally landed me in the hospital for 8 days.

When I came back to school, my fellow students were preparing for finals in classes I hadn't been able to attend. In our free time, my anatomy teacher started a casual conversation with the front row about future plans. When it came to me, I said,  I want to be a teacher. I'm going to attend college in Idaho and get a degree and make something of my life." My anatomy teacher looked at me as if I had suggested the sternum was connected to the metatarsals (it was, after all, an anatomy class). "You can barely make it through this year in high school," he said, "How do you expect to attend college. And even assuming you can do that, who can say you'll be able to show up to the classes you are intended to teach? You can't do it--"

"You're just too sick."

Watch me.

Through this illness, however, I did pass my other classes, including my American Sign Language (ASL) class. My love for this form of communication led me to not only take all three years offered in my high school, but I also continued to come back as a student assistant for my amazing ASL teacher. On several occasions I was administering tests and helping students prepare for presentations. One day I found myself interpreting a substitute teacher's instructions in ASL. It was then that I realized American Sign Language was another passion of mine. I wanted to help more than just high school students. I wanted to turn spoken language into signs and gestures to help in the Deaf community.

Watch me.

Now I have been accepted to BYU-Idaho, where I had planned to go from the start. I am travelling from Indiana to Idaho in January. The transition will not be easy,  nor will it be financially friendly as I am attending school out of state. I have been applying for jobs and babysitting and helping where I can, but I'm struggling to reach my goals. So I'm asking for help from those I can help someday. I will be teaching your children, your friends' children, your nieces and nephews. I will be making this world a little easier on men and women who cannot hear, men and women in your communities who need the assistance. I want to prove I can do it, and I need help to get there. Because I am determined to get there. 

Watch me.

When children diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis are learning to say their disease (because it is a tricky one for a 4 year old, I will say), they are told to say "sixty-five roses". Coloring contests and programs bearing this idea, these 65 roses, are everywhere. I want to reflect this concept here, and ask for 65 pennies. It's pocket change, but it adds up from those out there who are willing to assist a girl with goals and dreams and a desire to help. My goal is to reach one million pennies. I will be able to make it through my very first year of college with 65 pennies each from only 15,385 people (that's my million). Though I will (obviously) accept donations of larger value, my only request is 65 pennies for the sixty-five roses I have going for me.

Watch us.

Because with your help, I can prove them wrong—

With your help, I'm going to make it.

In order to help, you can email PayPal donations to mergirl_93@yahoo.com. You can also "Like" this on Facebook! Just search Sixty-Five Pennies and "Like" the link! I really appreciate all of the support and encouragement I can get here.

Thank you,

Ariel Anastacia