notes from the underground--grad school edition, volume 11.

the clinic has been flooded with new students these days.
a bunch of perky first years running around,
all with apprehensive terror in their eyes.

were we that perky?
we don't think so.
gosh, i hope not.

have you ever noticed that the true sign of
feeling like you're getting the hang of something,
is when you're no longer the new kids on the block?

i mean.
we're fully aware of the terror of what graduation means.
we're fully aware of how much we don't know.
we're fully aware of how grossly unprepared we feel for the real world.
but.
also.
we're fully aware of every second of the past year.
we're (becoming) fully aware that.

we really have learned something.
we really have learned a lot.

in this field,
you spend your whole life learning.
any given client can walk in your door,
any given child can walk into your school,
any given patient can end up in your medical facility.
and suddenly nothing you've really learned applies anymore.
suddenly before you is a brand new puzzle.

we can't know everything.
especially considering how young this field is.
oh my gosh is there so much we don't know.

but you know what we do know?
we know how to tackle anything.
we know what to watch for and how to approach things.

the main difference i've noticed in clinic this fall
compared to previous semesters,
(especially compared to back in january)
is the autonomy we're provided.
our supervisors.
generally speaking--
they trust us.
they follow our observations,
validate our line of thinking,
support the conclusions we come to.
i mean.
of course they're still supervising.
of course they're still the licensed authority in the building.
but they've stepped back much more than before in all areas,
not just in the therapy room.

and you know what?
our plans and thoughts and observations?
they're usually on exactly the right track.
they provide guide posts, of course.
but.
it's much less supervision,
and much more corroboration.
the reins of implementation are entirely in our hands.

little glimpses into the eyes and souls of those terrified first-years
confirm this beautiful truth:
the very worst that grad school has to offer?
it's over.
we've long-since embarked on that downhill slide.
and the light at the end?
it's finally starting to appear.

just see how far we've come.
hallelujah.

notes from the underground--grad school edition, volume 7.

i'll write you a postcard, 
i'll send you the news
from a house down the road, 
from real love.

live through this, and you won't look back.

there's one thing i want to say, 
so i'll be brave:
you were what i wanted.
i gave what i gave.
i'm not sorry i met you.
i'm not sorry it's over.
i'm not sorry there's nothing to say.
(your ex-lover is dead, stars.)

that's how i feel about this semester, you know?
there were some really good moments.
there were some really rough moments.
i'm not sorry it happened.
i'm not sorry it's (almost) over.
i'm only a little bit sorry there's little to be said.
living through grad school, i won't look back.
i'll send a postcard someday.

- - - - -

midway through march, one of my clients stopped coming.
(ihatemoneyandinsuranceandmoney.)
it was sudden. and i found out after the best session we'd ever had.
on the corners of a grand transition and elevation in progress
while i didn't realize it at first amidst the uncertainty of potential return,
i grieved that sudden loss.
i grieved what could have been and the progress i wouldn't see.
there, right on the cusp of significant progression along the mountain, that's where we stopped.
and i grieved.

it seems strange, really.
i'm only formally acquainted with this child and his mother.
just these few hours a week we shared.
nonetheless, i was sad to see him go.
sad when i realized, that's most likely it for the rest of the semester.
i was involved in the diagnostic for this client.
i wrote the report.
set his first goals.
watched him make phenomenal progress much more quickly than we anticipated.
the initial sessions entrenched in routine suddenly gave way around february.
and by the end of february, he'd achieved his semester goals.
i'll be brave and i gave what i gave.
i'm not sorry we met,
and, to be honest, i have mixed feelings about the fact that it's over.
i'll send a postcard, someday.

- - - - -

the classes have been much simpler this semester than last semester.
the course-load much less.
sometimes i feel a little guilty about my lack of engagement or focus on school this semester.
i mean, i get everything done, of course.
clinic always is priority over classes.
everything we do is constant triage of simply getting done what needs to be.
doing what you can, giving what you can, and moving on.
sometimes i feel a little guilty for how hard i know i'm not working for this.
it's a rigorous program--it really is.
but not in the ways you'd think for being given the label of graduate school.
you're always busy while actually not always busy.
schedules are somewhat flexible for getting done what you need to,
aside from classes, sessions, and meetings.
i have much more time than i ever did in undergrad--
especially my last couple years of undergrad.
it's much easier than that.

and intellectually.
well, it's not challenging.
it's not.
there's critical thinking,
but a different kind than that required in the intricacies of foreign languages and russian literature.

i'm always busy,
but mentally--
i'm often far far away.

my russian capstone was completed a year ago today.
our priceless skits of adaptations to chekhov plays.
meaning, a year ago this week,
i graduated.
(kind of. #israel.)

there's still two-and-a-half weeks left for this semester.
and i'm over here like--
are we done yet?

because.
i'm quite excited for summer and my clinic placements.
(i'll be at the children's center and the intensive stuttering clinic!)
i'm quite excited for next spring.
(i was offered a medical externship!)

it's been real, spring semester 2016.
but let's never meet again.

photo credit: nbc.

brought to you by:

the distractions throughout the semester that have kept me sane.

the darling clients who make it worth it.

the spring sunshine and blossoms galore.

the mountains and the blue sky.

the audio books that make commuting more tolerable.
friday mornings working at the preschool.

thoughts of future vacations. 

and also. chocolate shakes.

because--why not?

notes from the underground--grad school edition, volume 6.

guys.
february has flown by.
literally.
flown.

and. you know what?
it's been quite a good month.
a good one, indeed.

do i sound a little bipolar after my last edition of gradnotes?
grad school is my eternal scapegoat for lack of sanity.
and it's been quite an extreme turn around.
take that for what you will or for what it's worth.

i have five trillion things i need to make time to write about in some place or another,
but for now i'm sticking with my aim for having a regular journal of grad school as it goes.
this small portion of life (that most days feels so long), is a pivotal, soul-stretching, soul-enlarging time.
and i want record of that journey.
a qualitative and subjective record of the progress,
separate entirely from any objective measures. (read: gradesandevaluationsgalore.)

guess what?
i see real progress in my clients.
my sessions are going so well.
(almost too well, quite frankly.)
good rapport has been built.
and i've found a groove.
a groove inside the uncertainty.
certainty inside the uncertainty of all that i still don't know.
i'm learning.

with one of my clients, the real secret to planning is not planning too much in advance.
because only a minor portion would ever go as planned anyways.
everything relies upon being in the moment and thinking on my feet.
perfect presentness.
because it doesn't matter so much what the activity or materials are.
it matters what you do with them.
i'm learning.
things hardly ever go the way i plan with my other client either,
even when that plan is loose and tentative from the start.
(six-year-olds, amiright?)
and yet, it still all works out.
i'm learning.

lately, i keep feeling like i'm on the downhill slide, especially after this semester is over.
that the end and the real world are not so far away.
i mean. next year and graduation still feels a million miles away,
but i'm taking that as improvement from being entire light years away, as they once felt.

during class tonight, i was thinking about how different my position is now from where it was at the start.
i was thinking about the nearly-nervous-breakdown that was had in january.
i mean, was it really that big of a deal?
what the capital-h-heck was wrong with me?
why did i have such a profound career/life crisis at that time?
i mean, i know.
kind of.
but.

honestly?



i still don't know.


i wish i could tell you what it was that changed.
i wish i knew.
a lot of things together, i guess.
when it comes down to it, though, i simply know that a change has taken place.
slowly, almost imperceptibly.
oh, the changes that have come.
slowly, almost imperceptibly, as one day stretches into another.
only in quiet moments do i look up for a moment and see just how this experience is evolving.

because.
despite being buried in somanythingstodoandreportstowrite,
and drained with an exhaustion that sinks deep into my soul,
it's a good kind of drained, you know?
a drained that comes from giving your heart and soul to worthwhile causes.
now i am tired, but resolute. (firstaidkit.)
because the general trajectory is a good one.
a really really good one.

in our voice disorders class last week,
we watched several videos of psychosocial interviews.
and. well.
they gave me incredibly heavy boots.
psychosomatic responses.
the way humans react to circumstances, sometimes without realizing it.
it's amazing, really--isn't it?

i often considered going into counseling.
in fact, just before receiving my first grad school acceptance,
it became my plan b--just in case i didn't get in to grad school.
i was worried i wouldn't, worried i'd be left a fool.
and so, at long last, on a simple saturday, i found my plan b.

well, we know how this story ends.
i got into grad school(s).
and am now on this pathway.
to stay--for now, anyway.
but sometimes i wonder.
because i ever so love to dig into people's souls.
to peak inside and help them see.
i don't anymore--not often, anyway.
but these videos we watched--
they reminded me why i don't think i could ever go into counseling--not professionally, anyway.
because i'd take too much into my soul,
and there it would be too heavy for me.
ergo, here we are in another branch of humanity.
they all build on one another, you know.
all these related fields.
and so here i am, in the world of speech and language--
where communication reigns.

i'm self-conscious about my writing lately.
i feel i've lost my touch, insight, or wisdom.

but i just wanted to say--
here i am.
marching on.
we are okay, we are alright. (joshuaradin.)
okay.
and so we're marching on.
okay?
okay.

i'm here.

notes from the underground--grad school edition, volume 1.

all through my aphasia class today we were talking about neuroscience.

all i know is that i kept thinking about brains. and autism. and aphasia.

in my other class, i kept thinking about autism therapy.

we were talking about phonological theories and articulation,

but i kept thinking about autism.

this is the thing about individuals with autism--

they see more than they get credit for seeing.

they see more.

- - -

the brain is so malleable, but damage is damage.

at church on sunday i was talking to someone.

and when i talked about my course of study, he had a real-live response and discussion.

(not just the usual coolokaybye. that means idon'tknowwhatthatmeansbutgoteamokaybye.)

because there was a woman in his ward or somewhere who was brilliant and bright and sharp.

and then she had a stroke and lost her words.

him: you can just tell. the words are right there. it's all still there, but she can't--

me: --yes! it's there, but she just can't get it out.

him: exactly. and now you can tell she's so reliant on her husband for everything.

aphasia is so fascinating, but tragic to me.

because even if you didn't lose your life from the stroke,

you've lost the words that give you life.

in therapy and intervention prognosis, they always talk about influencing factors.

things like age and site and severity of lesion.

family support, previous skills prior to the event.

and motivation.

because with acquired language disorders, so often the motivation comes so hard sometimes.

no one can understand you, or you can't understand yourself.

and so individuals become depressed sometimes and unmotivated to work on treatments.

as if a little part of them knows--

no matter how intensive the therapy,

their gains may never reach again where they once were.

in the beginning of college, i'd always understood that concept--

but only as a concept without really understanding.

then last fall as part of the professional practices course,

we talked about the stages of grief.

for individuals, for loved ones, for caregivers.

and i wonder--

would i lose my motivation and quit trying were i old and lost my words or comprehension?

would i fight?

we all say we would,

but when you've lived most of a life,

your heart and brain worn down--literally--from your battle scars.

would you keep fighting anyway, no matter how small the gains?

i'm not so sure i would.

- - -

there's a linguist in me.

or at least i thought there was.

but now i know.

it's a linguist for other languages, not english linguistics.

i love languages and their rule systems and the way they so eloquently function.

my freshman year i took a french class with this terrifying french woman.

she always used to say, c'est logique, c'est français! [it's logical, it's french!]

russian was more complex, but had all its sound systems and history of morphology.

my professor would put up all these linguistic rules about voicing or softness.

and even the exceptions came together in a beautiful sort of rhythm and rhyme.

not english, though.

i don't care for english linguistics.

we sit and talk of phonological processes and patterns.

language development theories and linguistic constraints.

and in english it all seems so scattered to me,

like groping for some small semblance of explanations.

they haven't found one yet.

because there isn't one.

- - -

that's the thing about graduate school--

it's so much less concrete than you'd think.

the statements of fact handed you as an undergraduate,

are taken away and returned to you as a collection of possibilities.

because everything's an option when it comes to pathologies in the brain and language.

everything's an option when it comes to disorder.

analyze what the child is doing.

figure out the puzzle.

this is what keeps our job so interesting.

because there is no one rule to follow.

they give you pieces of all they know,

they go through the process of solving puzzles with you,

and then they send you off to solve the puzzles yourself,

equipped not with answers, but with the resources to find the answers.

to keep researching until you find information that might work.

might. hopefully.

do the same thing with two seemingly identical individuals--

do you get the same result?

not necessarily.

and so you're left to create an answer yourself.

that's all it is--

a collection of answers for interventions that could work,

some are even likely to work.

but when human heads and hearts are involved, you just never know.

even when it seems they should--

sometimes they just might not.

granted.

but also.

even when it seems they shouldn't--

sometimes?

sometimes they just might.

#emily'sgoingtogradschool

a career in speech-language pathology challenges you

to use your intellect (the talents of your mind)

in combination with your humanity (the gifts of your heart)

to do meaningful work that feeds your soul.

-megan hodge.

if you were to ask me five years ago when i first entered the major why i switched and was choosing communication disorders, i couldn't have given you a clear answer. it seemed like a good career path. it seemed interesting to me. it seemed like a good idea. but i didn't know why. it just seemed right. it seemed like it was an excellent fit for my aptitudes. and i've spent these five years learning why--not only why i'm here in this field, but also why i'm staying.

four years ago i was recently-returned home from romania. that beautiful, blissful summer of mine in a little corner of eastern europe. that place where there never was a happier time. because i love people. i need people. not in the kind of way that i want them always around to interact with and learn their stories, though that's also true. but because of what comes from truly meaningful experiences when working with others--experiences that leave one or more of the individuals involved forever changed. because of what comes from facilitating growth in others and enabling them to become more fully who they have the potential to be--whatever that means in whatever the capacity.

because this work is all about people. individuals. it's about a study of communication in all its varieties and the repair thereof when something goes amiss in those dances of interaction. and so we marvel at that early dance of interaction. don't you love that? the early dance of interaction. because communication is completely and entirely socially driven. it gains validity and utility in interaction, whether that interaction be with oneself, others, or some piece of the surrounding environment. because when else do we communicate? it's always driven by some interaction, as earliest evidenced by that dance of interaction from infancy between caretakers and little babes.

i think the ability to effectively communicate can change the world--both the world at large and each individual among the millions of orbits of humans living lives of their own around the globe. because to be able to communicate is to be empowered to act for oneself. to be human. furthermore, to facilitate that process when some missteps are encountered in that process? well, to do so is to enable and empower someone else. and so we study disorders of communication. this is why the field of speech-language pathology exists, in its multi-faceted spread of opportunities.

and, you guys! it's just so. dang. fascinating. every little piece. in all the courses i've taken as an undergraduate studying communication disorders, or in volunteer experiences, or even in my study of other languages. over and over again i see what it means to be able to speak. to have a voice and let it be heard. and in learning a language foreign to my own mother-tongue, i have experienced multiple times small glimpses of what it means to have one's voice muted for a time. to be frustrated and trapped inside oneself when there is an inability to communicate or express what's inside you and is itching to be let out. because a voice takes many shapes and lengths and breadths. a voice in speaking, yes. but also in writing, in art, in music. because those are all just as much communicative tools as words themselves, aren't they?

i could go on and on about why i'm shocked more people don't become a part of this rewarding, meaningful, challenging, and beautiful line of work. (to say nothing of the incredible job security.) literacy, voices, articulation, neurological disorders--these are just the tip of the iceberg of areas of the field that exist. in addition to the fact that i so earnestly need to be part of meaningful things in my life, lest i go completely insane from being mired in selfish or insignificant daily acts. but i'll stick with the gratification of knowing that i'm lucky enough to be a part of it. with knowing that the education i receive is empowering not only myself, but those whom i will be able to serve in the future, allowing me to be a force for good. all my experiences up to this point have worked together to lead me to being always among people. with individuals. with being enabled by my own experiences and skills to help others and truly change the course of their life. to empower. and grad school. well, grad school is just another step. perhaps the most important step. to truly enable me to facilitate real growth in both myself and others. and that? well that never stops being invigorating.

last october there was an information meeting at the university of utah regarding their master's program in speech-language pathology. october eighth, to be exact. and that was the day i knew. that was the day i became conscious of a desire deep within me more earnest than almost any other desire ever experienced. that's the day i realized how badly i really really want this. with all of my beating, significance-craving heart. i wanted to be a part of this field. a part of their program. a part of their clinic. a part of all of it. because i love the way they give a broad education that allows you to glimpse into every part of the field. because i love their clinic. because i love the professors. because i love salt lake city.

when i was in that meeting, i was overcome with the way being there made progress and growth and getting where i'm going feel possible. everything felt possible. and despite this program (no matter where you apply) being incredibly competitive, it was a profound recognition to realize that not everyone in the meeting would necessarily be my competition. more than that, i just fell in love with that place. and my soul was screaming that it needed to be there someday soon.

i'm a fairly easy-going person, driven almost entirely by pragmatics and perhaps sometimes flirting with the line of being too practical. more than that, i'm a minimalist. i like simplicity. and i'm far from materialistic. i don't want often. not in a real way, anyway. i want a drink on a hot summer's day just like anyone else, but i'll oblige to depriving myself of most things if necessary. because most things really aren't necessary. most of this modern world would be shocked if they ever truly discovered how little it takes to live. to keep surviving. but this. i wanted it so badly it nearly started gnawing its way through my skin. because it seemed like this program was screaming at me. because it seemed like i belonged there. in ways i myself could hardly explain, i knew i had to go there. and i wanted it so badly, despite only a certain portion of getting there being in my control.



i worked my tail off. i volunteered in specific areas of the field more interesting to me. i studied. i researched schools over and over again. i did things like an internship in romania not because it looked good on a resume. (though i can't lie that i'm grateful it does.) i did it for the experience. because it just seemed right. because it seemed so important to my life and who i am, who i'm becoming. in addition to being, on a simpler level, incredibly appealing to me. suffice it to say. i worked because i wanted to. because i cared about these things. because these are things that were worth being exhausted for and getting out of bed to embrace each morning. because i really, truly love it. because it starts a fire in my blood that courses out of my heart and burns through my veins.

and after all that wishing, and dreaming, and hoping, and praying (plus incredible amounts of hard work, late nights, and that horribly tedious application process), i got my letter to my own kind of hogwarts. back in march. march sixteenth. (i know it's august now. lifebebehindlikethatsometimes.) and while i pretended to consider my options, i was granted what i'd always wanted all along. my choice was simple, and i always knew. now. i get to study as part of an incredible program in a city that i love. last week i was in the clinic observing, and before i left i met a professor with whom i had a great little discussion about the field, autism, being in school, and how great it all is. it was thrilling. and he said in all his years in the field, he's never been bored. and let me just tell you. there's nothing so invigorating about that either. i'm so excited i could burst.

because.

hashtag. emily'sgoingtogradschool.

(now trending.)

(and yes. these photos are real life. i don't even know what came over me. #shameless.)

1:68. 1:42. 1:189.

april, did you know, is world autism awareness month?
april 2nd is world autism awareness day.

the cdc recently released new and startling statistics, perhaps you heard?
1 in 68 children has an autism spectrum disorder.
1 in 42 boys. 1 in 189 girls.
and. the numbers in utah are even higher.
yes, diagnosis abilities have improved. that can't be denied.
but. that cannot be the only explanation for such a rise in prevalence.

a few years ago, i began to fall in love with autism.
all because of a little boy named ghița.
(pronounced like pizza with a g at the beginning--gizza.)
one of those one in forty-two boys.
but to me, he was just ghița.
my ghi ghi.

i might be volunteering at a school for children with autism soon.
i walked in to drop off paperwork today.
and.
there's something in the air there.
something that makes me feel like i could and should spend my whole life in that kind of environment.
i don't mind working in an office.
but.
in the end.
i want to work with people. in a direct way.
and something in the air revived that today.
a reminder of the future, if that makes sense.
a tender mercy message moment from god.
a reminder of who i will be. and what i will do.
of who i'm becoming in order to give my life to helping others become.
doing something that truly changes a life.
that.
that is why i will be a speech-language pathologist.
that will be my specialty: the art of becoming.
to elicit that greatness which is already there.
for expression, for speech, for communication, for relationships.
autism speaks.

moments. days in the sun.

. hearing a story about a child's speech pathology successes and having those little taps on my heart saying, 'yeah, that really is what i want. to facilitate real growth. this really is the means through which i will do as i'm meant to do.'

. coming home to a sunny balcony when i know no one is home. because a balcony to read is better than harold.

. thriving. finally. almost. thriving.

. seeing how far i've come. seeing a difference. seeing the change. seeing perspective. this is a landmark. this is not the end. (something is coming.)

. god telling me to go to the stake easter musical fireside. and going and being richly rewarded. all the day long. lord, i would follow thee. blessings: a marvelous work and a wonder.

. the support and encouragement of members in ukraine for my missionary loves in this time of trial. the way they are stepping up. (more about ukraine and my heart will be coming, obviously.)

. teaching me to hope again. learning how to breathe.

. the stark contrast of new spring life to the still-mending browns and blues of nature. the week of blossoms.

. i listen to the wind on my soul. i sketched a kite on my russian paper that i was revising this weekend. probably symbolic.

слушаю ветер.

"i listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul.

where i'll end up, well i think only god really knows.

...

i listen to my words, but they fall far below.

i let my music take me where my heart wants to go."

the wind, cat stevens

yesterday someone gave me a pinwheel.

it seemed metaphorical for my life.

i listen to the wind of my soul.

i'm restless like the wind.

(sister andrade appropriately named me a sappy hippie.)

where i'll end up?

only god really knows.

i had a knowing today.

a knowing that i'll get into grad school.

that it'll all work out.

and. i'll be a speech pathologist. err sumfing.

a dang good one.

something that advocates people.

something that opens people right up and allows them to better be.

so that they can become 'a dang good one' at whatever they're becoming too.

"whoever you are, be a good one."

thanks, abe.