Lately I've been hearing about a fancy curling iron called the Beachwaver. Apparently it's what the Victoria's Secret models use for the fashion show, so it's a big deal, etc. So when Nordstrom was having a sale, I thought I'd try one—or in this case, a Beachwaver Pro. Unfortunately, in order to get the sale price, you had to choose the one with Swarovski crystals. I find that pretty embarrassing. Anyway, see how it went:
There are a lot of reasons to love Halloween, but my favorite is the crafting it allows for. I could spend days creating something a la Project Runway's unconventional challenge any day of the year, I suppose, but it wouldn't be appreciated until Halloween. This year, I'm taking a break from all the hot glue and going as a skeleton one night and Chanel Number 3 from Scream Queens at work. Why a break? Because boy, has there been a lot of hot glue the past years. And I always have two costumes. Here's a look at the last two Halloweens... 2015: Black Swan Ballerina and Queen of Hearts 2014: Poison Ivy and Nicki Minaj at Fashion Week Fun fact: I fractured a bone in my foot a few days before Halloween 2014, so all my costumes then had to include a boot brace.
Anyway, time flies! Happy Halloween! This is one of my favorite hairstyles because it took me the longest to figure out. Hope you enjoy! "What did you just say? That's incredibly rude. I'm not having this conversation."
That's probably how I should have responded to the physician's assistant, but instead I just gave a pained smile and nodded silently. It's hard for me to be mean, even if someone deserves it. I was at my usual doctor's office but seeing a different doctor for an emergency strep test. I've seen my chart and I know it says "congenital upper limb loss." Yet when the PA was taking my blood pressure, she initiated this conversation: PA: So how did you lose your arm? Me: Oh, uh, I was born like that, actually. PA: Oh OK. So where do you work? Me [thinking she's trying to make small talk about the rainy day]: The West Loop, so not too far. I just took an Uber. [pause. She's just looking at me.] Me: ...It's a marketing firm. PA: Aw good, that's nice for you. An office job, so you can just send emails and file papers. At this point I realize she thinks I'm some sort of invalid who is lucky to have found a job I can do. But I figure that has to be the end of it, plus I hate confrontation, so I just sort of nod, like "Sure why not." Then there was more. PA: Do you drive? Me: Nah. [I should have seen this coming. Why am I still being nice to her?] PA: Oh, because you have one arm? [I kid you not.] Me: Um no, just because it's annoying to have a car in the city. I can drive just fine. Fortunately that's when the doctor came in, so the conversation ended. But I've never been more uncomfortable in a doctor's office, and that has to be saying something. Friends told me I needed to call and report it, but I wasn't sure how to go about that, and I mostly just wanted to forget about it. I finally mustered up the energy and the courage to call, though, and I'm glad I did. Of course the office tells me I am not the only patient with whom this PA has been inappropriate. I'd better never run into her again, but, like everything, I guess I just chalk this up to life experience? I guess you could say I'm an impatient person. When I move into a new apartment, I want to redecorate the entire thing that same day. During our last move, we bought one of the classic Target shelving units that's an array of squares. The plan was that my sister would build it, but after about 24 hours I was tired of waiting, so I did it myself. Hammering nails can be tricky with one arm. See how I did it (complete with some toe cramps): Hey! I'm doing it right now! No but really, people are often amazed at how well I can type. I'm actually faster than a lot of people—my theory is that it's because of AIM. I was a middle schooler in its height, and I had a lot to say. So every night after school I'd have multiple chat windows open and type feverishly for hours. All the gossip. All the flirting with boys.
But it didn't start that way. I had typing class in 6th grade like everyone at the time. One hour per day (or was it week?) we'd do typing drills in the computer lab with a cloth over our hands so we couldn't look at the keys. We were measured for speed as much as accuracy. At the end of the semester, I got a B. In typing class. My favorite part of the story is that somehow my English teacher, who was also my favorite teacher, heard about it and went to the computer teacher and gave him hell. Something along the lines of, "Are you seriously going to give a girl with one hand a B in typing because she's not fast enough?!" Anyway, I ended up with an A. It took me a while, but my coaches helped me achieve a tennis serve with one arm. Here's how I do it! In 7th grade, I had a friend ask the boy I liked if he would be interested in being my boyfriend (because of course). His reply was that he couldn’t imagine kissing a girl with one arm.
I still remember that. To be fair, that boyfriend said a lot over the years that stuck with me, slash scarred me for life, and that was a pretty stupid thing to say. He ended up writing an apology note a few days later and stuck it in my locker. My memory is that his mom made him do it, but I might have made that up. Anyway, we did end up in a relationship for a while. And as it bounced back and forth in complicated ways over the next seven years, I lived through plenty of other experiences to remember, but that phrase is nonetheless seared into my mind. Is this what it feels like when kids are called fat in middle school and never really get over it? Even if it was only said once? It means nothing. Seriously, let’s all count the stupid things middle school boys say. So, moving on, I think about how my arm plays a part in my romantic life today. I was definitely in the midst of the hookup culture through college and after—go to a bar, find someone and go home with them. I don’t know if I’m the only one of my friends who never did that. Sort of because of my arm. I feel confident, and am happy with who I am, the way I look. But—and maybe this harkens back to what he said in 7th grade—in college I could never get the image out of my head of a guy coming home the morning after being out, saying to his friends, “I hooked up with this girl with one arm.” That would give him too much power. Way too much power. Plus I was afraid I wouldn’t be shielded by the veil of anonymity that most other girls have after one-night stands. I was the only one on campus with one arm, so if he said that to his friends, they might see me someday, and know. This is the point where I’m now thinking, “But God, who cares?” And I’m right. But I cared back then. Everyone struggles with identity in college, and I just wasn’t up for doing that while also giving people extra reasons to talk about me. Fortunately, it’s not like I really wanted to pick guys up at bars. So I wasn’t denying myself anything. It’s not like that. Or did I tell myself that to make myself feel better, because really I was just scared? Maybe because of my arm, because I was embarrassed by it, but maybe also just because… I was scared, like everyone else (of rejection, of new things). My arm would undoubtedly be a good crutch, if that were the case. I still believe that I truly had no interest in the hookup culture. But it does get me wondering… How much of what I do is because of what people say? Or what I even only think they will say? xo,julieo Every few years, there's a new exercise fad. Barre, spinning, CrossFit, whatever—it's usually a class. And as all my friends sign up, I always consider trying them out myself. But then I remember that I'm not like everybody else, and if there's one place where it matters, it's an exercise class.
Take pilates, for instance. I signed up for a class at my college gym freshman year. I mostly kept up with everything, but when it came time for planks, I did them with one arm, fully extended. One day I looked at my arm and realized my bicep had red spots all over it. Yeah, apparently I had burst blood vessels in my arm doing one-armed planks. So that was the last time I tried that. Yoga was similar. It's supposed to be relaxing and smooth. But try doing a sun salutation when you only have one arm. Not very smooth. It was just annoying, and frustrating, so basically... I don't like yoga. Why does all this matter? I can just avoid pilates and yoga, right? Yeah, but when my friends want to go to barre together, and it requires buying a package of classes, I can't know for sure beforehand how much I'll be able to do in the class. I really don't want to spend $150 for a package and then only get half of a workout. Like, maybe I can do the leg and ab work but then spend the time during arm work trying to figure out an alternative. I don't get a great workout, and I end up sitting there for longer than I'd like. And don't even get me started on CrossFit. Would I want to do it, even if I had two arms? Probably not. But it does suck to be unable to try. There's really no way to do a clean and jerk, or whatever they call that stuff, with one arm. Massive bar bells over my head? Not gonna happen. I'm thankful that the thing I'm so limited by is only workout classes. Plenty of people live without them. It's not that big of a deal. And my yoga teacher back in the day was really good about helping me find my own ways of doing things. But I'm interested if other amputees have had similar experiences. Are there any workout classes that are actually a good fit regardless of how many arms you have? (I'm sure spinning is fine, huh? Probably don't need two arms on a stationary bike.) Also, do you long for the feeling of doing a normal plank? I want to know what it feels like to have two strong arms you can lean on, do cartwheels with, lift bars with. I want that symmetry when I do yoga. But on the bright side, at least it's a good excuse to not have to try CrossFit. xo,julieo I'm sort of afraid of kids. Not of having my own. And not because I think they're secretly all adults with murderous tendencies like in that Orphan movie. I guess 'dread' is a better word for it. I dread meeting or even sometimes just passing by children, because most kids don't know how to react to something out of the ordinary.
I've received many varieties by this point, and if you have a noticeable physical difference, you've probably gotten them too. "Mom! What is that??" "Dad, why does she...why is her arm...?" Or there's the version that comes without sound and instead manifests itself as a kid bending his or her arm at the elbow and waving it around. I get it when I'm taking the bus to work in the morning. I get it in the grocery store. I get it when I'm introduced to a family friend's child. Even my cousins who are too young to remember who I am frequently voice confusion the next time they see me. It really helps brighten your morning and make you feel like a normal human and everything, let me tell you. So I've had times when I tried to hide my arm from kids—maybe I have my winter coat on and I just turn away from them. It seems better than having to hear their disgust, fright, confusion, whatever it may be, about me. But at the same time, how wrong is it that I'm hiding who I am on a weekly basis? And hiding from children, no less? I don't know what the answer is. Maybe someday, when all kids are the spawn of millennials, or they're even further generations out, we'll/they'll all be progressive enough to understand that people are unique and there's no reason to freak out. But maybe kids will always have that fully candid and curious way about them. It's what makes them kids, right? I'm working on being OK with their reactions. I'll admit that it comes in phases. And of course, how I feel about it depends on the kind of day I'm having. In theory I could directly address each kid who asks his or her parents about me; make it a learning moment, tell them about how I was born with one arm but can still do everything they can. Buuut, I've chosen to take the 'I can't hear or see you, kid, unless you address me directly' approach. I feel better that way, and feeling better is the best I can do. xo,julieo |
AuthorJulie O. Archives
March 2016
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