The big scary word called Vaccines

We are all allowed the think and feel how we do. I want to clarify this right now, so when I go off about my own thoughts on a subject that is a land mine to some people, I just want you to know that I respect your beliefs even if they do not agree with my own. We got that cleared up? Good.

Let's talk about Vaccination. 

During my childhood, vaccines were the things that doctors gave you before you got a lollipop and were given the all clear to go to school in the fall. I mean, I hated being poked, but what kid doesn't? 

As I learned, through reading, watching historical documentaries (yes I was one of those kids), and learning about the scientific method in my 7th grade science classes, I got to learn why those pokes were important. Now, I know that some of the information that they taught me in school were facts that weren't disproved yet, and some of the things they taught were how people thought about germs, bacteria, and viruses in the "good old days".

My favorite historical misconception was that people used to believe that flies were born from rotting meat. It wasn't until someone did an experiment to prove this belief wrong. A guy put some meat in a jar and left some meat out in the open then wrote down what happened. Obviously the meat in the jar didn't grow flies, because flies weren't able to lay eggs and grow baby flies. Tada! 

I think that science is neat like that. Taking what people believed was the truth and testing it to make sure it is the truth. I personally don't think that science is evil, it's the process of discovery and making sure that facts are facts. 

Now, as I've mentioned, I'm a history buff. I love learning about what people did in the past. It's sad at times. Learning that people, not just children, were so commonly ill, and died from terrible illnesses. It was rare to see people older than 50, or 60, or 70 depending on where you were and how sick the population was. What was also fun about history, is learning these people's cures for ailments. In ancient Greece if you had a cough you were violently shaken until you stopped. Or if you were ill (from the dark ages until the victorian era) they would put leeches on you to remove "bad blood". Tuberculosis patients smoked as a cure for their lungs. I know that to some people, a vial full of disease seems just as ridiculous as a cure as the ones I just mentioned. 

I know a lot about the controversy about vaccines. How people believe they are evil, that they cause autism, that it just gives you the disease. If you believe that. Okay. 

But I thought about it the other day, as I looked at a sight that claimed it had 99 plus studies that proved that vaccines cause autism. Now I was taught to think for myself, to do research, and not take everything at face value. So I read the studies to see if they really were proof, giving the friend that posted the material the benefit of the doubt. Now I didn't read the whole thing, but from the 10 studies or so that I did read up on- the children they were testing for already had prior issues, the study excluded exactly which vaccines they were studying the effects of, and the statistics were skewed, with most of the studies saying that more tests would be needed to be conclusive. If they weren't conclusive, that's not a guarantee that their study was right or wrong. It just means they need more information.

Also, I asked myself a question. Which vaccine is it exactly that causes autism, if vaccines really do cause it? 

Okay, so when a vaccine that causes autism is found, wouldn't that ONE vaccine simply be removed from the list that children are supposed to get? How is it that every single vaccine on the market could possibly cause every single child autism? I don't think the vaccine itself would then be a cause. It would have to be something else, like needle contact, or the plastic/glass that holds the vaccines. If we are still going to blame a vaccine for causing autism. Okay. So if it's the way it's administered wouldn't doctors have changed the way that vaccines were administered by now? 

Also, I can't exclude the fact that Dr. Andrew Wakefield who first claimed that vaccines caused autism was convicted of fraud and is no longer a practicing doctor. 

 

Blaming all of vaccines for causing a neurodevelopment disorder is too broad a statement for me to be taken as truth just yet. 

If those of you reading want to know my position on the issue, I'm going to be honest, and say that I am on the side of vaccines. But I also know that vaccines don't solve issues like the common cold, allergies, and a lot of other things. I know that sometimes home remedies work just as well as prescriptions from a doctor. 

To the people that disagree with me, you are welcome to your opinions. To the parent's reading this, you know your children and their needs better than anyone. I'm glad you are a concerned parent. It's not  my place to tell you what to do. In the end, I simply hope that my perspective on the issue, brings you more clarity of your thoughts and feelings. 

Grieving for a Friend

It's been a few days since I received the news of my friend.

She died by her own hand.

As I mourn for her, I find that I am angry. Angry that she put on a brave face, too brave to tell anyone that her world was so dark and scary. This hidden world that she would rather face alone because sharing the realities of her broken heart, her struggle to find inner peace, the frustration of  her brain that told her the pain was beyond anyone's help and her need to be free. I am angry because she lied. Lied well enough to give the friends closest to her a sense of security that she was fine, only to sneak out and finish what she was determined to do all along.

And I am angry because I'm sad, and it's easier to be mad then it is to shed tears and cry because I'm sad that I couldn't have done anything to stop her. I could have taken her to a safe place, a place that deals with suicidal people everyday. I could have told her how I understood why she wanted to end the pain, because my mom had attempted to do the same thing only a few weeks ago. I would have held her and told her that she didn't need to be so brave. That I wouldn't judge her for actually crying, or yelling, or screaming, or anything she wanted to tell me about the darkness that haunted her for so long. I would have told her that burdens were meant to be shared, and that keeping them to yourself is selfish. I would have told her that I understood her more than she believed.

This pain I feel for her loss makes me wonder if all my friends lie to me.

I'm an honest and very blunt person around my friends. I own my emotions and perhaps share them so often that they believe that I only focus on my own problems. But that's not true. I tell everyone everything because I believe in being real. I am human for pity's sake. I get angry, I get sad, I get hyper and giggly to the point I don't make sense anymore. I don't hide these moments of emotion because it would eat me up inside. How could my friends help me laugh about silly things if I didn't tell them? How could my friends be real friends if I didn't let them know that I felt overwhelmed and needed a break from the monotony?

But I wonder if owning up to my emotions comes across as being self centered. Sadly, I only live in my skin, so I can only see the world through my eyes. But I can learn how others see the world. That is why I love my friends. I love my friends who come from different backgrounds then I do, who have different personalities, lifestyles, and goals. Because I love them for who they are.

I wanted to share this because I want my friends to know that I am real and I love them. I am here for you. I will drive four hours at all hours of the night to hold you while you cry. I will send you cards to brighten your day. I will pray for you. I'd make you soup if you were sick, or babysit your children so you could have a date with hubby. You can call me at any time to tell me anything, I will listen because I love you. But I can't help you if don't allow me to.

That to me is the biggest act of betrayal. When my friends don't allow me to be a friend.

So yes, part of my grieving is the fact that I feel betrayed. Betrayed that a friend wasn't real with me.

Dear friends, whatever you're going through, whatever your circumstances, know that I love you. I do. We're all human, and life is a lot better with friends.

What I Learned from Muslims

 I had an eye opening experience the other day and I would like to thank the cold weather of my native Logan, Utah for leading me to it. 

For those of you not native to northern Utah, it's freezing here during the months of November through March (even April) and having to expose myself to the elements to get to and from class leaves my very sensitive nose and sinuses to be ravaged by the wind and ice/sleet/freezing rain/snow depending on mother natures mood. After several days of below zero temperatures and the wind, I had to find a way to protect my face because than the constant slipping of wrapping my scarf around my mouth and nose just wasn't cutting it for me. 

So one night after having enough I decided to look up how Muslim women tie their head scarves to veil their face. Now, I knew of the Hijab, the scarf that covers the hair, neck and ears but I didn't know what the term for the style of scarf that veils everything except the eyes. Doing some research, I learned that the proper name is Niquab and now armed with that information I was ready to search for tutorials on how to tie one myself. 

I found so many tutorials on different ways to wear Hijabs, Niquabs, and even Burqa's. Thanks to youtube I found several beautiful women from many different countries (many not even middle eastern) who were sharing many variations of how to wear their scarves. 

What I learned in that hour of my pursuit to find a non claustrophobic way to keep my face from freezing this winter, I found many beautiful women with wonderful smiles, eyes that shone. Women who were happy with themselves and excited to share their love for different colors and styles of garb and best of all... I learned that I had more in common with them than I had thought. 

Not that I thought we'd never have anything in common. No. I just hadn't taken the time previously to really see and understand who these people were. 

Now before anyone thinks that my pursuits of warmth are a mockery to Muslim faith, rest assured. I wear a hat as well for extra warmth and in the end it just looks like everyone else who wears the "scarf mask". If that still bothers some individuals, please know that I hold other people's beliefs in high regard. 

I admire these women who show their devotion to God by their manner of dress. 

In fact, I admit that I think that all the variations of style and form of scarves are beautiful. I would wear them willingly simply because I think that it's just another beautiful way to express yourself. However, I don't because I respect the Muslims in my community and would never want to make a mockery of something they find sacred.

The other think I learned in such a short amount of time was that there are people in the world who don't have respect for other religions or ideas but their own. They would rather bash and trash and call these women terrible things in the comments sections of these videos simply because they don't conform to their societal norms and upbringing. 

Tell me, is it bad that women of their own free will and choice find joy and peace in one religion instead of another? Is it bad for anyone, regardless of age, gender, race, sexual orientation, to stand firm with what they know is right even if that idea is unpopular? 

I find it atrocious that in the "land of the free" there are people who would want to limit the freedom of others simply because they disagree. 

I hope that I can at least be civil to everyone because I believe every one is allowed to respect regardless if they agree with me or not. 

So if you have an opinion or a comment, feel free to share.  

Fate and the Fisherman

 Joseph Manning bent his head back so far, he could have passed as a yawning sea lion. People wandered around him like a flock of seagulls, constantly moving but without real purpose. If it wasn’t for these walls of steel and glass rising above him like tidal waves, Joseph wouldn’t be standing there, waiting for them to start crumbling down.

“Do you happen to know where Jefferson Street is?” Joseph asked a woman passing by, but she barely paid him any attention. Joseph snorted. “Why Gabe gave up the sea to live in this city, I’ll never know.” 

Joseph attempted four other times to ask strangers for directions, with the same amount of luck.

“What on earth could there possibly be to keep an entire city on it’s feet that someone can’t stop five seconds to help a stranger? Had this place been anything like St. Veronica Harbor I could have been there by now.” A few people gave him funny looks before swooping past him.

“Serves them right.” He muttered. He decided that he might as well start moving in some direction, he’d probably get lucky and just stumble upon the right street eventually. Straight. Right. Left. Dead end. He cursed, and a few people who were watching him scattered away when his eyes met theirs. One of them dropped something and with a huff he went to retrieve it before they got too far away. He picked up the little white ball of string that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.

“Hey! Sorry, but you dropped something!” He shouted, several people stopped to look at him, waving the ball of string in the air. But the woman who he believed dropped it didn’t look back. Joseph slumped up against a wall, too tired at this point to run after her. He looked back up into the blue sky, where ships of white clouds passed by. He looked back down at the ball of string in his hand. He found the fraying end and fiddled with it in his fingers. Now that he noticed, this string felt soft between his calloused hands. He looked back up at the sky as he contemplated what to do next.

“Hi there mister,” a small voice said. Joseph looked down. Big green eyes stared up at him.

“Hello little one,” Joseph said.

“You look lost.”

“As a matter of fact I am. Does a little tyke like you happen to know where Jefferson street is?” Joseph asked.

The little boy blinked at him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just right there.” He pointed to the sign directly across from where they were standing.

Joseph couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks little one.”

“What’s that?” The boy asked, motioning to the string. Joseph looked at his hands, and noticed that the string was now woven between his fingers and thumb.

“Just some string. Would you like it?” Joseph said, untangling it from his hand. The boy nodded and offered his hands out to take it. His fat little fingers found the frayed end and in a flash the boy took off running. Joseph let the boy run, waiting for the string to unravel in his hands till it was gone, but the boy had already run all the way down the large block and turned a corner and the ball in his hands didn’t shrink. He pinched the fast moving string and tugged. The thin line of string broke off and instantly turned to dust. Joseph looked back at the ball of string, but it looked just as it had before. He crossed himself before tossing the ball of string into a nearby trash can. He waited to safely cross the street.

He stepped out onto the street but his leg got caught, he looked down to see the white string wrapped around his fingers, his waist, and his leg. Suddenly a black car came swerving crazily down the street. The car whooshed past him and almost missed the left turn at the light. The air was soon filled with the sound of car horns and angry shouts.  

Joseph crossed himself again as he backed up onto the sidewalk. There it was again, the soft white string. Muttering a prayer, he double checked the street before attempting to cross the street again. Before he did a woman ran in front of him. She grabbed his wrist. Joseph noticed the tears streaming down her face.

“Please, sir, have you seen him. I told him to wait right there for me. I was only gone two minutes. Please, tell me have you seen my little boy. He’s this tall,” she said holding a hand out to her waist, “he’s got the sweetest big green eyes. He has blonde hair and he was wearing a train t-shirt. He’s not hard to miss. Please tell me you’ve seen him.”

Joseph’s stomach plummeted. What had happened to the boy after the string broke?

“Ma’am, take a deep breath. It’s all going to be okay. Your son was just here just a minute ago. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten far.”   

The woman nodded and gave a small smile. She breathed in deeply. “I’m sorry. I’m not the kind of mom who just leaves her son somewhere. I really don’t. I just was trying to hurry so we could get home. I should have known better. But he’s normally so good and stays put. I don’t know what could have made him run off like that.”

Joseph swallowed down the hard lump in his throat.

“Don’t blame yourself. I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother. I saw him go this way.”  He breathed in shakily as she let go of his wrist. She kept up a brisk walk as she walked down the sidewalk. When they turned the corner, the woman stopped walking. Cars were still honking their horns and a large crowd was gathered around what appeared to be an accident. Joseph couldn’t help but notice a black car, similar to the one that had almost ran him over smashed up against another car. An ambulance barreled past, sirens blaring.

Joseph put a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Maybe he’s watching with the rest of the crowd. You know how little boys are interested in danger.”

The woman nodded in reply, but Joseph could see the worry in her eyes. She walked stiffly beside him. As they got closer, Joseph saw paramedics rolling out a stretcher. A police man was yelling at people to back off.

“I’ll look over here,” the woman said as she walked past him. Joseph nodded in agreement. He started to look through the crowd. Though there were many boys watching the scene, none of them looked at all like the little boy who had talked to him earlier. He clenched the ball of string hard in his fist. Though no matter how hard he squeezed, it still felt as fresh and soft as ever.

Somehow he made it through the crowd and was now up close to the scene. The familiar black car was smoking, the windows were all smashed. It looked more like a beat up dingy than a car. With the front end all mushed up. There were two other cars smashed and wrecked, but it was obvious the black one had taken the most damage. On the black road there was evidence of some kind of liquid, but it could have been anything.

Then he saw something that made his knees wobble. Lying on the ground was little hand with fat fingers clutching a broken white string.

“That’s my son! That’s my son!” the woman screamed, she tore past him and ran to the paramedics. A police man stopped her and began talking to her. Joseph wanted to move, wanted to run. He wanted to shout to the world that somehow this whole mess was his fault. But all he could do was stand there and watch. Moving with the crowd like a buoy.  

Then somehow the scene was gone. The ambulance had driven off with mother and son in tow. Tow trucks had cleared away the wreckage. All that was left now was a large red stain on the ground and Joseph watching the street return back to its normal quick paced and unfeeling current.

“Similar to the sea…”  Joseph thought. His hand felt heavy. Though he wanted to chuck the string again, he felt like it wasn’t going to leave him alone. So he put it in his pocket. He back tracked the way he had come, he could see the faint white line of dust still and he followed it back to the spot where he had met the boy. He stood there for a moment wondering how to make sense of it all. The more he thought about it, the heavier the ball in his pocket felt.

He looked back across the street. There it hung in green for all to see, “Jefferson Street”. Joseph looked both ways, then calmly crossed the street. Nothing stopped him. He continued on his way, ready to tell Gabe about his interesting adventure to the city. He never noticed the ball of string fall out of his pocket. And there the string sat, waiting for another hand to hold it.  

Writing prompts are fun! :)

So I made my own random list for writing prompts for my weekly short story challenge.

Three seperate lists Genre, A Random Object that must be included, and Occupation of my main character. There are fifteen items (currently) on each list. So today I asked my cute seven year old cousin for 3 random numbers from 1 to 15. She gave me 10, 5, and 15.

So my short story that i get to post next Friday shall be an Urban Fantasy, must include a ball of string, and my main character is fisherman.

I've got some cool ideas already bubbling in my head and I'm excited to get to work. 1500 words, here I come. :)

My challenge for the year

We've all been there. That day when we realize we aren't challenging ourselves enough. For me, I love to write... though of course you wouldn't know that. I don't like to share everything that pops in my head on the internet. That would just be silly. 

Last November I participated in NaNoWriMo and won. Yes I wrote 50,000 words. Thank you for all the applause. I do my humble Princess Diaries wave to you all. Next month, I am participating in Camp NaNoWriMo, where I again set my sights on writing a new 50000 word novel. Wish me luck.

But wait! I'm going to be even more crazy and give myself even more to chew. 

Starting next week, I am going to write a 1500 word short story once a week. I will post it here, every Friday for all the world to see. So now that I've posted it on the internet, I gotta stick to it. :0) How's that for motivation? 

Of course, I'll keep doing book reviews and sharing whatever is on my mind because that's what blogs are for! :0) 

Yep. I'm just cool like that. 

Thoughts on Tough Stuff

I wanted to write my thoughts about bullying for a while now. Not too long ago I was having a conversation with a woman I babysit for. She confessed that if her children were ever bullied, she'd probably home school them.

I in turn confessed to her that when I was growing up I hated school, mostly because I was bullied there. It made me think about what I went through as a kid. 

I have a unique name that I was taught to be proud of. I wasn't a Sarah or a Katherine. I was the one and only Daria. But no matter how awesome you think your name is, kids are crafty and mean and will eventually turn something beautiful into something ugly. So I was teased. I was called horrible things. And I cried and I hated my name for a while. 

But I was bullied for years, no matter where I moved there was always a boy or two who would find a  way to make me cry. It didn't stop after elementary school. When I went to a Jr. high where I didn't know anyone, I was always the victim of one joke or another. 

The only way I broke free from the bullying atmosphere that had followed me everywhere I went, was that I learned to stick up for myself. When I got hate letters, I simply threw them away. When boys called me names or told me I was stupid, I laughed. I learned to simply stop caring about what they thought. What do two random guys I only see for maybe an hour a day, know about me? That's right, absolutely nothing! 

What I learned from my experience of being a victim of bullying, was that the only person who really was going to stop it was myself. Because kids are going to be kids when there isn't adult supervision close by. Parents, Teachers, and Counselors can only do so much, but in the end it really is going to be between the victim and the bully. I as a victim had to learn that the bully only had power, if I gave it to them. 

I think what's wrong with our society today, is that we take everything at face value. Doesn't matter where, when a victim begins to believe the words they hear, that is when they are letting the bullies win. We see it everywhere, on facebook, twitter, forums, chatrooms, playgrounds and neighborhood parks. When another person tells us something negative, we are inclined to believe that they are right. We give way too much power to other peoples opinions. Today, I see so many people who are basing their worth on the random comment a complete stranger said years ago. 

I suggest to all, that you need to learn to fight for YOU. I'm not saying that if you're being bullied you need to learn how to throw a punch or take revenge. That just makes you a bully too. But learn to have your opinion of yourself. Not what the world expects you to think. 

As a wise person once said "What Sue says about Sally, describes more about who Sue is, than Sally."

So there you have it, some food for thought. I'm interested on what you think.