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| I've told this one many times, and it's funny, but true. |
Lots of people learn things in a different ways, and I used to tell this to my students. When they had that panicked expression in math class, that "I don't get it!" look, I would remind them that it was MY job to help them "get it", and if they weren't getting it, I need to try some other way to teach it. And passing out papers or quizzes, an F is not for "failure". It's feedback that we need to try some other way to learn something.
Some learners are auditory, others are more visual, etc. And the brain learns thing best by connecting it to something it already knows. LIke the ABC song, for instance. I have heard that the Japanese have a song for teaching the multiplication tables similar to that. I don't speak Japanese, nor have I ever been there, so I have no confirmation. It would be great if we had that for English, too, huh? Anyway, that's why teachers use music or analogies to connect new learning to what your brain can "hook" to that.
I wanted to try to write to you all about how Steven and I have gotten through all the decisions about my treatment plan with our medical team...I thought before I was fully awake about writing a song to the tune "Purple Rain"...starting "G=B=M, G-B-M..." But after I was more awake I thought it might be a bad idea...percieved as tasteless and #toosoon? Yea, I know it's too soon. No disrespect! Hey, I was part of the Prince generation - blaring his music in our dorm rooms and dancing around like maniacs. (although, I think Prince was so cool, he'd appreciate the effort.)
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| R.I.P. Prince. |
Here we are in our situation right now:
Last MRI has shown disease progression after a string of clean, stable MRI's. (the primary site is still looking stable, BTW). So, we're facing the decision making of options for treatment presented to us.
I began to think of a possible analogy...here's what I came up with:
Imagine Steven and I are hiking on a beautiful trail. All around us, there are beautiful things to see and hear - wind rustling the leaves above our heads ... occasionally, 'rounding a corner, viewpoints to look out all the way in the horizon and seeing green, green mountaintops and valleys...
and we gather our things and leisurely continue our hike,pointing out to each other bright yellow wildflowers just off the trail, ..And just feeling peaceful and calm.Sometimes just enjoying chitchatting, other times no talking, just enjoying each other's company.
But the wind kept getting stronger, and if we looked up into the sky, we could see dark clouds starting to move in over us. It started to rain. At first, it's no problem. Little drip-drop-drip...we stopped for a minute on the side of the trail, and pulled our rain gear out of our packs because we're prepared. You never know, but sometimes, it just starts raining in the middle of a hike. NO biggie.
Then the wind started to pick up. And the sky became ominously dark. It's like we were hiking in the night. But again, we stop and pull out our headlamps so we can still see in front of us on the trail. No more chattering and joking around. But it's not altogether unpleasant. The smells of the wet bark and dirt of the trail are different than before.
The rain is coming down harder and harder
We can hear water rushing as we approach a trail crossing. rocks and boulder we have to hop on, leapfrog, to avoid falling into the rushing water. The second crossing, the water has splashed on one of the rocks and Steven sees me starting to wobble on it, reaches out, and grabs me tight, pulling me to the side of the trail, so I don't fall in. Because of the intensity of the storm, it's clear that if we turned around and tried to attempt to go back the other way, we would probably not be able to get back to trailhead with these treacherous conditions.
At each trail crossing, we have to make a decision. And as the conditions worsen, we rely on each other more and more - remembering advice and experience and that "gut feeling" to help guide us to safety... We can't see the end of the trail. We are in the moment, focused on the Now.
It's getting tense. Shouldn't we be close to the destination we'd planned out? Nothing looks familiar to the maps and guide books we looked through so many times before the beginning of this.
And here we are now. We've reached a trail crossing that nobody told us about. No earlier advice, no notes or map. The water seems to be rushing by like a freight train, and we look to each other as we had each other time. "What do you think?" We each say.
Yea.
It's kind of like that.
I'm ready for the rain to stop and the water to dry up some more. Or just find some safe spot for Steven and I to find a place that we could sit on a bench together to rest for a few and then grab ahold of each other's hands and walk out of this shit storm to safety.I think we need a brain cancer sherpa or something. Do they exist? They should.
