College Friends - Spoiler Alert

I'm not sure what possessed me this morning to watch "About Alex." I'm only 1 hour into it, and already I'm tired.

Somebody obviously thought "The Big Chill" needed a millennial refresh. Or maybe we make a maudlin movie about college friends for every generation in their 30s? And I just thought it was a novel idea when The Big Chill came out, because that's how self-centered you are at 18. And I'm pretty sure there was a Gen-X version, but somehow it's escaping me right now.

I remember sitting in the big lecture hall in Textor, watching The Big Chill right around this time of year, during our sophomore year at college. There were 3 of us who had gone together, all of us connected in some way to Sally. Me, P, and D.  But Sally wasn't there. She was at her Dad's wedding, I think. 

At first, in the opening credits, I didn't understand what had happened. It wasn't until they all started showing up at the church for their friend, Alex's funeral. You see, in The Big Chill, their Alex was successful in his suicide attempt. Not like the Millennial Alex, who survived his. At least, 1 hour in, he has survived it. I haven't watched the rest to find out if he tries again. Don't spoil it for me, I may still watch it.

Anyway, the rest of the movie seems pretty similar so far... old tensions resurface, people start having sex, pot is smoked, alcohol drunk, people fight, etc. One big difference is they all argue about why he tried, including getting angry at him when he intimates that he may have attempted it to get their attention. There aren't as many players in the cast, and don't get me started on the script or the acting. I can't even.

Sally pre-1983

But back to 1984. We are watching the funeral scene, and I turn to P and D and I say "thank God Sally's just not here because she's at her Dad's wedding!" To which one of them replies, "Yeah! Right?" And then we watch the rest of the movie. At the time, I thought that somewhere in the distant future, we would all have some kind of college reunion weekend, and wondered what that would be revolving around. Something to do with Sally. I was sure of it. 

I adored Sally, worshiped her even. She was the first person to ever convince me that I was beautiful and lovable. I met her at a frat party first semester freshman year. She "caught my eye" as I was walking over to the keg, smiling that smile with her sparkling eyes, stuck her hand out, and said "Sally Auchincloss."

The next time I saw her was at a Bob Weir concert. She was a few rows behind me and my "date" -- I thought we were friends, he thought it was a date, then he got removed from the concert for smoking pot, but handed me his stash and pipe right before they nabbed him.  What can I say, life is not fair but sometimes it works in your favor. I digress. As my "date" and I were waiting for the concert to start, I looked around to see who was there, and she caught my eye again, and waved. 

 

After that, we were constantly together. She lived in the next dorm and I spent every minute I could with her. She wrote me little notes about how great I was; she turned me on to Cat Stevens and James Taylor, but mostly Cat Stevens. We commiserated about bad dates and disappointing boyfriends, we celebrated each other's new infatuations. On Valentine's Day she bought me a single red rose. When we were both dating boys and seeing less of each other that spring, we took a Wednesday off, skipped all our classes, and spent the day walking around downtown. She was a Presbyterian and took me inside the church she was going to to show me the rose window.

 

Over the summer, we wrote each other letters about how much we missed each other and how great the other was as a person, about how we couldn't wait to see each other again. I sent her an outline of my hand with the caption "everyone needs a hand to hold onto." When I was reading her letters years later, it occurred to me that these letters were love letters. 

That same summer I was also writing letters to my friend W, and I can tell you those letters, even though he and I were on-again-off-again, were so much less romantic than the letters with Sally.

(Seriously, I had no idea I was in love with her. Up to that point in my life, all relationships were painful, and I thought that to love someone was to be miserable. W was a good example of that. When we were "just friends" he was the kind of friend anyone would want - loyal, thoughtful, present; but when we "got romantic" he became emotionally unavailable. Plus, I thought I was straight, so I couldn't possible have feelings for a girl. I didn't give up that ghost until I was 22.)

Me 1987

My first day back on campus sophomore year, I saw her on the quad. We had this big running toward each other reunion, and a big hug. But I could feel the change in her energy. She was different. And I was scared, so I backed off, kept her at arm's length. Literally at that moment, but also the rest of that semester. We were still friends, good friends. We still hung out a LOT, but she lived across campus and ate in a different dining hall, and had new friends. And I felt awkward and uncomfortable whenever we were alone together. We never actually talked about it, but everything between us was different. Very soon afterward, she started a relationships with P and admitted to me that she was into girls. And yes, I was jealous, but I could not admit it to myself, let alone to her or P. Did I insinuate myself between them at every possible opportunity when we were hanging out together? Yes, yes I did. Did I have any insight into WHY I behaved that way? No, no I did not.

Then we went home for holiday break in December, and I never saw Sally again. She died in early January. And suddenly we were back on campus planning her memorial service. And our comments during the funeral scene in The Big Chill, and our complete lack of awareness about her health problems at that time, have haunted me ever since.

I Am A Work In Progress

I hate my neck. Or, more correctly, I hate my mother's neck, which I have inherited. And with all the video conferences this last year, I cannot get away from it.  I doubt anyone else notices, or if they do, they don't care. Why do I even care? Why indulge this vanity? (I remember learning for the first time in my 20s that vanity cuts two ways - obsession with your own beauty, and obsession with your own flaws - and all that time I thought hating my appearance was a good thing?)

I was driving the other day, listening to P!nk's "I am here," and thinking about how much I hate my neck.

Chorus:

I am here, I am here
I've already seen the bottom, so there's nothing to fear
Know that I'll be ready when the devil is near
I am here, I am here
All of this wrong, but I'm still right here
I don't have the answers, but the question is clear

I've always thought about my history of survival and addiction when I listened to this song - surviving my childhood, surviving foster care, surviving sexual abuse, surviving my eating disorder, surviving my alcoholism. And recovering from all of these things. These are all things I've seen the bottom of, and reasons I know I'll be ready when that devil is near.

The most recent thing I've survived, of course, is my breast cancer. And this was my train of thought while listening to this song the other day. But then it hit me. I am here. Other people are not. All of it's wrong, but I'm still right here.

When I was going through chemo, I got caught up with an infomercial about how to get rid of your wrinkles, and I thought, wouldn't it be nice to live so long as to have wrinkles... I swore I would be so grateful to get through this cancer that I would be happy to get old. And I am happy to have that chance. So, why, then am I obsessed with my neck?

I am still here. Nadine is not here. Karen is not here. Steve is not here. Other Steve is not here. And so on... all lost to cancer, but not me. I won't pretend to know why me and not them; I won't even go down that road at all. There's no benefit to it.

But I was reminded on that day, and as I have listened to this song every day since, that I am so lucky to still be here, that I cannot indulge in obsessing about how much I hate my neck. I'll keep working on it.

What vanity would you abandon, for gratitude of being here?

When it comes to cancer, childhood experiences matter

I am a 12 year survivor of Stage I invasive breast cancer, and a 17 year survivor of non-invasive ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). When I was first diagnosed with DCIS in 2002 and, I confess, again when I was diagnosed in 2007, I allowed myself a few hours of indulgent, melodramatic, self-pity – why me? Haven’t I been through enough already? Why do I have to have cancer, too after everything else!? I think a lot of people diagnosed with cancer go through some version of "why me" as we struggle to cope with the diagnosis and all the fears that come with it.

So many people think that if a person has been through a lot of adversity in their life, they just shouldn’t have to go through cancer, too. Where is the justice in that? We all want to believe that there is a limit to how much pain and suffering one person should be forced to endure. 

Of course, we are learning more all the time about how these early exposures to adversity  actually DO increase our vulnerability to getting cancer. The evidence is growing that there are strong links between childhood adversity, in particular, and health problem like cancer in adulthood.  When I first heard about the research around Adverse Childhood Experiences, or ACEs, I decided I needed to learn more.  

ACEs have been proven to harm developing brains, can change how children respond to stress, and can even profoundly damage our immune systems for decades afterward. ACEs can lead to chronic diseases later in life, to mental illness, and to high-risk health behaviors in adulthood. It comes as no surprise, then, to see research that links childhood adversity and abuse to mental illness, drug addiction, and certain disease, including cancer. According to the research so far, two-thirds of Americans have been exposed to one or more ACEs. 

So, I had to see, what are these ACEs, and how many of them did I have when I was a kid.  I started by taking the Adverse Childhood Experiences Quiz, and learned pretty quickly that I had been exposed to 7 out of 10 Adverse Childhood Experiences. SEVEN out of TEN. 

Here are the ACEs the researchers identified:

1.     Physical abuse

2.     Sexual abuse

3.     Verbal abuse

4.     Physical neglect – not having enough food or clean clothes, etc.

5.     Emotional neglect – absence of being made to feel loved or special, or to feel close to other people in your family

6.     Witnessing a mother being abused

7.     Having a family member in prison

8.     Losing a parent to separation, divorce, or some other reason

9.     Living with someone who is depressed, diagnosed with a mental illness, or suicidal.

10.   Living with someone who is a problem drinker or alcoholic, or who used street drugs.

Learning about ACEs really changed my perspective about my cancers. If the link between ACEs and cancer is real, that means that instead  of asking “why me” when kids like me grow up and get cancer, we should be asking “why not me” when kids like me grow up and do NOT get cancer. 

In addition to my cancers, I also have a history of alcoholism and anorexia, and am now dealing with chronic health conditions some which can potentially be the result of cancer treatment or lifestyle choices that I have made. There’s always the chance, based on this research, that many of my health concerns can be linked to ACEs. Which does not mean that I, or any of us, should just throw up my hands and say, “look, I can’t do anything about this, it’s inevitable!” 

Instead, I think this means that we have to fight twice as hard, to counteract our history, if we want to overcome our childhoods and live a long and healthy life.

Which I do.

December 23, 1979

Forty years ago today, an adult in my life made a choice which changed my life forever. He sent me into a ten year long downward spiral of confusion, self-loathing, anorexia, alcohol and drug abuse. All because he believed he had a right to use my teenage body for his pleasure.

I say he made the choice on this date, but he really made the decision to follow this path months before. First though, he had to groom me, which took awhile. He had to test me by disclosing increasingly inappropriate secrets to see if he could trust me to be silent, obedient. Took me with him to places I should not have gone, and told me not to tell my foster mother. Told me personal stories, and asked me to keep them confidential. Said things and did things that I should have reported to my social worker or my foster mother, but swore me to secrecy, and waited to see if I could be trusted. Fed me alcohol at family functions, and waited to see if other adults would challenge him or if I would tell other adults where I got it.

After months of testing and grooming, I was sent to his home to babysit while he and his wife were out at 2 different activities. He came home first, asked for help wrapping gifts for her, fed me wine while I was wrapping them. After a couple glasses of wine, he acted on his decision.

It started like a seduction, if you want to call a 28 year old man molesting a 14 year old girl "seduction." Nothing violent, nothing intrusive, nothing like the events he would escalate to over the next year and sustain until I was 17 and leaving for college.  The first evening was confusing, a mix of gentle kindness, talk about my need for "instruction in sex" and inappropriate intimacy. Leaving me anxious, nauseous, confused and afraid. Swearing me to secrecy, a secrecy that knotted my stomach and left me unable to eat for 3 days.

Three days in which family and friends descended on my foster mother's home, making privacy and alone time impossible. Three days in which I became entirely invisible to any of the adults around me. Three days in which I was scolded for not eating, but in which no other adult in my life had the presence of mind to ask what happened to make me unable to eat. Or they didn't want to know. Three days in which he fed me alcohol and nobody noticed or they chose to look the other way. Three days in which he grabbed at my butt or my breasts in rooms full of other adults and nobody said anything. Three days in which he made dirty and inappropriate comments to me in earshot of other adults and everybody laughed at my embarrassment.

Three days to solidify a pattern of ownership over my physical and mental self, with noone to defend me or challenge his behavior. And three days for me to establish a pattern of coping through starvation and alcohol use.

Three days to alter the course of my life forever. It took me ten years to finally ask for help, to address my eating disorder, to get sober. Forty years later, and his choices, and the choices of the adults responsible for my safety and well-being, still haunt me.

What kind of person would I be if I wasn't ...

... born into poverty, would I have compassion for the poor?
... born to mentally ill parents, would I have compassion for the mentally ill?
... female, would I have compassion for women who need access to affordable reproductive healthcare? Would I be pro-choice?
... the daughter of an Irish immigrant, would I have compassion for immigrants from other countries?
... a lesbian, would I have compassion for people in the queer community? Asexual people? Trans people? Non-binary gendered people? Genderqueer people? For people in other minority groups?
... a foster child, would I have compassion for young people struggling in that system? For young people struggling as they age out of the system?
... bullied in school, would I have compassion for the underdog?
... physically and sexually abused as a child, would I have compassion for child abuse victims and survivors of childhood sexual abuse?
... raped, would I have compassion for rape victims?
... someone with an eating disorder, would I have compassion for people struggling with eating disorders or food addiction?
... an alcoholic, would I have compassion for the addicted?
... sober, would I have compassion for people struggling to stay clean and sober?
... a caregiver to parents with dementia, would I have compassion for people with dementia and their caregivers?
... a breast cancer survivor, would I have compassion for people without adequate health insurance? Without access to adequate healthcare? Living with a pre-existing condition?

We are the product of our environments and life experiences, and I know that I have relied on and benefited from the compassion of others as I faced all of the challenges stemming from these different aspects of my identity, my childhood, my adult life.

I would like to believe that had I lived a different life, I would still be compassionate and know right from wrong on all of these issues, but what if that wasn't the case? Every moral, social and political value that I hold dear is rooted in my experiences with different kinds of oppression, with the consequences of being neglected and abused as a child, with facing my own mental health issues, eating disorders, addictions, breast cancer, and the resulting chronic health concerns resulting from these experiences. All of my choices are the result of my experiences. But is that the only thing that makes us who we are?

I am surrounded by people who have not had all of these experiences, who are just as or more compassionate as I. But there are also people in this world who have many of the same experiences who do not seem as compassionate.

What IS it that makes us compassionate? What is it that makes YOU a compassionate person?

Think locally, act locally... to rescue abused and neglected animals

The ASPCA has such heart-wrenching commercials.  Absolutely heart-wrenching. They are designed to make you feel guilty if you don't send them money. 

But what do they do with the money you send them?
These commercials seem to be focused on raising money for a national organization to rescue abused animals. But most of what they raise isn't spent on the animal rescue efforts they highlight in these commercials. In fact, they spend almost $40 to raise every $100. And about $35 of that $100 on administration and overhead. Which is why charity watchdog organizations give the ASPCA only a C+ rating. Additionally, the ASPCA has a long and conflicted history, none of which is reflected in these commercials, and they may not even be that focused on the animal rescue and cruelty prevention that they advertise as their main purpose. They may also be killing animals rather then rehabilitating and rehoming them.

And where do they operate?
They appear to be a national organization, but focus most of their work in the New York City area. And although they may provide links on their website to local shelters in your area, very little (if any) of the money they raise is sent to those shelters.

Other national animal charities have a higher rating. If you are really motivated to donate to a national animal charity, your money might be better spent by A+ rated PetSmart Charities. PetSmart spends 93% of the money it raises for programming, and every additional $100 raised only costs them $4. However, your money may be better spent donating pet food and supplies to local PetSmart stores, who give those donations to local animal shelters. Or adopting the rescue animals that you can find in their local retail locations.

Or, you might want to donate to your local animal shelters or SPCA organization. For me, that's organizations like the Central New York SPCA or the CNY Humane Society. This local organization is NOT related to the ASPCA, so your money stays local, your aid goes to local animals. Donating to your local organization can also mean you have more control over how they spend your money. You can visit or volunteer at the local shelter, and see first-hand how they treat the animals in their care. You can donate food and other supplies, or items on the shelter's wish list, instead of cash, if you want to make sure your donations are going directly to animal care. And, of course, you can rescue animals yourself by adopting them from your local shelter.

Just Exactly HOW Does Someone Overcome Poverty? It's Not Easy.

I saw a post on Facebook today about how it is virtually impossible to save money when you are poor. It reminded me of a book review I read last year that argued that for someone living in poverty to lift themselves out of poverty, they need nearly 20 years with nothing going wrong. 

I remember - having grown up on welfare and then in foster care - how difficult it was to gain financial traction in my early and mid 20s, and to finally leave poverty behind me in my 30s.  And now in my 50s, I still live with a very real, although more and more faint, fear of falling back into poverty, especially in old age. I think once you have been poor, you just never forget how it felt. You might be more equipped to cope with poverty again as opposed to someone who has never been poor, but you also know you never want to be in that position again because you know how hard it is to live in, and to overcome poverty.

Multiple things - some positive, some negative, some resulting from my own efforts, some a matter of good fortune, helped me climb out of poverty in those 15 years after college. Not the least of which is the color of my skin, because White privilege gave me access to understanding, support and assistance from friends, landlords, employers, loan officers, etc. that I might not otherwise have had.

The more I wrote about this, the more I remembered about the events that facilitated my overcoming poverty. It's complicated. There are actually many, many details that I am not including here (like how many times I moved during those years, or how many roommates I lived with so I could afford rent, etc.), but I think this will give you a pretty good picture of how overcoming poverty, at least for me, was a combination of education, good and bad fortune, hard work, and the emotional and financial support of other people: 

1. My first job out of college at age 21 was walking distance from my apartment, so I didn't have any transportation costs for the first 3 years on the job, which helped me save up for a down payment on my first used car at age 25. Even then, I could only buy that car after a friend promised me that I could live with her if I became homeless because I couldn't keep up with rent, student loans, AND car payments. I never had to take her up on that promise, but I needed the security of it to take what felt like the huge risk of  taking on car payments.
2. I worked full-time in a corporate setting where I had access to health insurance and paid time off benefits.  And where I was able to start saving, however slowly, for retirement through a 401k. And I was lucky enough to stay with that corporation for 13 years, and to advance in responsibility and income over that time. Stable employment and advancement in employment are a MUST if you are going to overcome poverty or become and remain financially stable.
3. My landlord for my first apartment was also my landlord my senior year in college. I graduated from college 5 months behind in rent to her, and she allowed me to set up a payment schedule to make up that debt while paying rent on the new apartment.
4. During my first year on the job, I moonlighted as a bartender, and the tips from that second job helped me pay my landlord that back rent and also save money for rent and security deposit for a new apartment.
5. My landlords for that new apartment were VERY flexible about my paying rent on time and not charging me late fees. Which was helpful because I got paid weekly and lived from paycheck to paycheck. So some months I had to delay my rent check by a week so that I could make my student loan payment on time. And anyone who has ever been poor knows how late fees can be the bane of your existence, keeping you from getting ahead of your debt no matter how hard you are working.
6. That second job also resulted in my getting sick often that year, which ultimately cost me that second job and extra income. However, I had insurance to get medical care and paid sick time from my day job, so I didn't lose any of THAT income when I was sick. 
7. There were multiple providers in my town that offered sliding fee scales for care - like the therapist I needed for several years to cope with childhood trauma, or Planned Parenthood, which was my only affordable provider of OB/GYN care during my 20s. And my primary care provider, who was willing to prescribe antibiotics over the phone for my *many* bouts of sinus and respiratory infections during those years, so that I didn't have to come up with copays every time I got sick.
8. Being anorexic (from age 14 to 28) meant very low food bills, so I never had to choose between eating and making student loan payments or paying rent or making car payments. Thus helping me to avoid catastrophic financial setbacks, although also contributing to my lack of stamina in terms of working second jobs and my tendency to get sick.
9. My first car was a used car, and I had an honest mechanic who accepted payment over time for major maintenance. For example, when my car died outside of Scranton, NJ, and he had to come and tow me back, he let me pay for the tow and the subsequent repairs over time. And he fixed the car just enough that I could trade it in for another car.
10. My second car, at age 28, was the smallest, most stripped-down new car for which I could afford payments, thus reducing the risk of catastrophic car problems. And it was this car that enabled me to keep my job when the office moved out of our downtown location to a more rural setting.
11. And actually it was a car accident in that new car, and a small insurance settlement from that accident, that enabled me to build up enough savings to qualify for a mortgage on my first little house at age 32. And again, I had health insurance and paid sick time to cope with the back problems that resulted from that accident, and which also led to that insurance settlement. 
12. I was still poor enough to qualify for a subsidized second mortgage to help with the down payment and closing costs for the house, and the house and accompanying mortgage payments were small enough that I was actually able to start saving money on housing costs after purchasing the house.
    
    I would say that it was the purchase of that little 700 square foot bungalow that marked my exit from poverty. The challenge then was to stay out of poverty.
     
13. When I sold this house 3 years later, I had improved upon it enough, and the market had gone up enough, to make a small profit on the sale.  Which resulted in my having more savings after selling it than I had from the car accident settlement when I bought it.
14. By then, I was in a stable relationship with a fiscally responsible and non-poor partner, so we could take the profit from this house and invest some of it in improvements to the house that she owned and that I was now living in with her. And the rest could be kept as savings and a cushion against emergent needs in the future. This was a luxury and a sense of security that my always-poor parents never had.
15. I did not encounter my first breast cancer until I was 35/36 (my second was 5 years later). By then, I was financially stable because of that first house, and I had the financial support of my partner to help with my cancer-related costs. And health insurance, and paid time off. The importance of these benefits cannot be overstated. My total bill for radiation therapy for my first cancer - just radiation therapy alone, this does not include the multiple biopsies and surgeries for that cancer - was over $15,000.00. However, the portion for which I was financially responsible was only $700. If I had to pay that full bill and the bill for all of the procedures and surgeries out of pocket, it would have exhausted our combined savings and perhaps even required me to take out a personal loan or borrow money from my 401k.
16. Finally, I had my savings from that home sale and the financial support of my partner, both of which enabled me to go to graduate school after recovering from my first cancer, at age 37.

As you can see, it was a combination of fortuitous and not-so-fortuitous life events that helped me overcome poverty. Not everyone is as fortunate as I have been.

For example, owning a car can enable you to find a better paying job, which could be the first step out of poverty. However, if you are poor and own a car, it is probably a used car (because poor people cannot afford or do not have credit ratings to finance affordable new cars). Used cars require more maintenance and are at greater risk of breaking down. If you are forced to buy another car because your current used car has broken down more than once, and you need that car to keep your better job, then any money you have accrued from your better paying job could be lost to that one catastrophic event, which means it will take longer to get out of poverty.

Similarly, many lower-income workers work 1 or 2 or even 3 jobs to make ends meet or, if you're lucky, to start saving money. Usually the poor need multiple jobs because most employers (think retail, food service, manual labor, "unskilled" labor, etc.) restrict hours to avoid providing benefits like health insurance and paid time off. Working multiple jobs, none that offer health insurance, exposes workers to higher levels of stress, increasing the likelihood of getting sick. Getting sick without access to paid time off means losing income from all of your jobs. And without health insurance, getting sick can also drain your finances if you need medical care. So any extra money you had been making is lost, which means it will take longer to get out of poverty. And if you have a catastrophic illness like cancer, you may never get out of poverty.

If you take the time to consider it, I'm sure you can see how life events that don't derail the finances of the non-poor can be devastating if you are poor. Whether they were born into poverty or ended up there because of catastrophic events in their lives, it's this understanding that people in poverty need. It's this understanding that can inform our political support for safety net programs and ensure access to services and supports that address these risks and enable people who are poor to one day overcome poverty.