Open letter from a distance learner

I am tired of the debate over distance learning. I've been a distance learning student. I know how hard people work to balance their regular lives with trying to fight to study and find a way to make things better for themselves and their families. If I could take time off from work to sit in a classroom I would. If I could afford to spend the time and the money to do it that way, I would have. I have kids. I have a mortgage. I have responsibilities that someone who is 18 or 20 or 25 generally does not have. If I could put everything on a back shelf just to go to school, I would. My options have been to attend and online program that was at no cost to me or to try to put everything else on hold just so I could go to school to make things better for my family. They needed me here NOW. I didn't want to add tens of thousands of dollars of debt I'll never be able to pay off to my already unbearable debt load just so I could try to give them a better life. I would like to be able to do things like take them on vacation and send them to college without depending on the generosity of others. But I can't do that without an additional degree. And now I'm being told that other people who didn't have to do it this way are refusing to validate my degree. I'm sorry I didn't grow up in a family in which paying for college was part of the master plan. I'm sorry I was disowned for not doing it the way my daddy would have done it. I'm sorry I don't want to be a burden on anyone else. I'm sorry I don't want my children to be anyone else's burden. But 'you people' are making this tough. You want us to be educated, but only if we're able to do it when we're young. Only when we're young enough not to be able to afford to be able to do it on our own. And if we can't then you tell us that the best option is to seek federal aid. And then you beat us up for taking that option. So you're basically telling 'us' that the only way we should be going to school is if we have someone who is willing to foot the bill for us. And that's only okay if that 'someone' is family or a friend or ourselves. And it's not okay if we decide to make it work by dancing in dark clubs on weekends. And it's not okay if we prostitute ourselves. And it's not okay if we do it in any number of ways.

So who the FUCK are you?

You had a family that would support you. Your parents took out a second or third mortgage to put you through school. They supported you so you could do internships and community service that allowed you to make the connections you needed to get the job you have now. And you had no debt upon completion of your degree.

And then there are the rest of us.

Those of us who can't be in a classroom every Wednesday at 8am because we can't get the time off from work. Those of us who can't afford a sitter several nights a week when we're already paying for daycare during the regular work week just to keep the jobs that pay us just well enough to not be eligible for stipends and food stamps. Those of us who have family obligations.... no.... let me be specific here... I cannot leave my children alone with my husband for hours at a time because he is an alcoholic. He thinks leaving my 6 year old in charge of my 2 year old is responsible parenting. He lacks the ability to be responsible for my children. I cannot leave him in charge. And I cannot afford a sitter because I make about $1000 more than the 'poverty level' that would qualify us for assistance. So we have a place to stay and we pay the bills. My children go to school clean, fed and ready to learn. And you would not be able to pick my family out of my neighborhood as being more deficient than any of the other families in my blue collar, 1600 sqf neighborhood. But I don't want this to be what my children think is 'the best we can do'.

I want to make a difference.

I want to pull us up that class ladder.

And, contrary to Mitt Romney or anyone else who would have you believe it, I am not waiting for a hand-out. If I were waiting, I would not have gone back to school to try to re-train myself for a better position and a better life.

But the people who are putting themselves in the place of the Star-bellied-Sneetches are making this really difficult. This is no longer about working to the best of your abilities. It's about whether your 'stars' are as 'good' as ours.

To have someone tell me that my degree earned through a regionally accredited college via a distance learning program is worth less than a degree earned in an on-campus setting because I didn't have as much face-to-face time with my instructor is just offensive. I've spent more time interacting with my instructors and fellow classmates as an online student than I ever did in my undergraduate 'on-campus' classes. When I was in elementary school I learned that people in general hated the kid who could answer all the questions the teacher asked. If you're that kid, you raise your hand a lot and eventually your teacher quits calling on you because other kids need a chance to try to answer the question. And your fellow students hate you for being the 'teacher's pet'. So you do what's expected of you and nobody's happy. When you get to Jr High the teachers still love you, but won't call on you, and your fellow students still hate you for being a 'smarty'. And High School is no different. But by then you've learned who you can 'be smart' in front of and who you can't. And then you go to College. And the same kids you went to High School with don't want to deal with the smart kid, even though that's why you're all there. So you learn to stay back. Sit in the back of the room. Not answer unless asked.

It stifles the learning process.

And then some of us find distance learning.

Students are not only encouraged to respond, they're REQUIRED. So I no longer have to risk raising my hand and being thought of as a 'smarty' if I get the answer right. I'm REQUIRED to answer. And if it's an asynchronous classroom, I can post my answer first, or last, and it DOESN'T MATTER as long as I post it before the deadline. I'm either right or wrong. And then it's up for debate with my entire class, not just the one or two people my instructor wants to call on before class is over. And the people who have really interesting ideas get feedback not only from the instructor, but from EVERYBODY in the class. Nobody cares if you're the smarty, or the guy who shows up late every day, or the guy who's never participated before because he never cared about that part of his grade. The important thing becomes WHAT YOU WROTE (or said). People then need to judge you on what you THINK instead of what they think about you. It promotes a much less biased environment than the 'traditional' classroom.

And I'm beginning to wonder if that's what bothers the 'traditional' students about distance learners.

It's no longer just the pretty or the confident who are allowed to control the classroom.

In a distance learning environment, students have an EQUAL voice. The only thing that matters is your ability to express yourself in written form. Your 'attractiveness' could be equated to your ability to command the English language. This is not something genetic. It has nothing to do with physical capability. You could be in a classroom with Brad Pitt or Stephen Hawking and the only way you would know the difference is by how they express themselves.

We're all learning that even if we're not going to be on People or Time or US Weekly, what we think matters. THAT we think matters. That we exchange ideas MATTERS.

New ideas in any industry come along 

For most distance learners, our instructors are people who work in the professions in which they teach.
We propose ideas and they provide insight as to what may or may not have worked in the past. They remind us of who built the history on which we stand. To dismiss their instruction is to dismiss their expertise and understanding of the world in which they thrive.

So do you dismiss them and the distance learner who has chosen to sit and listen to their advice? Or do you simply find that advice less valuable than that gained from an instructor who has been hidden within the walls of academia for decades? In an 'academic' position in which the teacher's assistant does more classroom time than the actual 'professor'?

Or has the time come to begin evaluating learners not by the method through which they seek enlightenment, but by the enlightenment they bring to your table?
 

I am not a beautiful butterfly

Some days are spectacular. And you breathe it all in, and exalt in the joy of living, and are glad for every moment the day brings because you know nothing could be better. You revel in it and live in the moment, making a hug last for hours and a kiss for days. You feel the warmth not only of the sun, but of everyone and everything around you. And you feel at one with it all and wish the sun would never set.

Some days are, well, just days. And you get up and feed the fish and wash the dishes and do the laundry and change the diapers and go to work because you need to and come home feeling less than excited about how you spent the last 12 hours and sorry for the time you missed with the people you love before you kiss them and put them to bed and try to ignore all the little voices in your head that speak of things better left in the dark.

And some days you fall down that hole that the voices come from.

They remind you of your failings. The time not spent with people who need you. The bills unpaid. The grace others have offered and you could not find a way to repay. The forgotten dates. The ways in which you have disappointed the people you love the most. And continue to disappoint them. The number of ways in which 'they' were all right about this missed steps and poor choices that led you to... now. The now in which you are struggling and still failing by everyone's standards. And you wonder... if your inadequacies were removed... would they be better off? How much better could someone else do the things at which you are currently horribly inadequate? And how long would it take those left behind to appreciate the improvement when they realized the albatross had been cut free of the ship? Hours? Days? And in the end, how long would it take to remove the ugly black stain you'd created on their lives?

I am not a beautiful butterfly....

Who knew the cocoon would produce such a bent, mutilated worm....

Things Change

I feel a bit like a player in a video game... "Full health restored". Good times. And then the rest of it sounds unnervingly like The Game of Life. We added a boy to the family (add little blue peg to the plastic SUV), Husband lost his job (go back 5 spaces), Husband went to rehab (go back 10 spaces) and then I got laid off (return to start). So now I'm sitting here with a little blue plastic SUV, 2 blue pegs and 2 pink ones, one card that says I have a college degree and another card that says I have a mortgage to pay. I had insurance, but the game never really covered COBRA and the fact that keeping it for a family of 4 costs more than the mortgage on our house. And for some reason the possible salaries you can make with a college degree in the game never seemed as hard to get by on as they are in the real world.  Especially when you're the sole supporter of a family of 4 and starting your career over in a recession. Suddenly I find myself wishing I had sucked it up and decided to take on 100K in student loan debt to become a lawyer or a doctor when I was 20-something. Or any of those other things I told myself I couldn't have because they were too expensive. Suddenly that decision I made to stick with the major I was no longer in love with and go ahead and graduate because I would at least have a Bachelor's degree and a manageable level of student loan debt seems... irresponsible. I now have Responsibility. With a GIANT CAPITAL R. I keep telling myself that the stuff is replaceable. But the people aren't. They still need a place to live. A sense of security. Insurance to pay for visits to doctors for earaches and surgical procedures and counseling. Food on the table at meal times. Electricity to cool the house during scorching heat waves and running water to keep things sanitary. And some days I'm looking at that GIANT 'R' in the middle of my life and start to panic because I have no freaking clue how I'm going to do it. And then I get a hug from a little guy who just learned to walk. And a new painting from my pretty little artist. And I remember that sometimes we don't get to control how we do it. Sometimes you just have to roll the dice and take your chances. Things can and will always change.

GAME ON!

Calcifications. I supposedly have calcifications in my lungs and that is supposedly normal for someone my age. It doesn't sound normal. It sounds ominous. Like my lungs are going to turn to cement when I least expect them to.

And now my allergies are out of control because it's spring and things are blooming and I'm sucking on an inhaler several times a day which is not good.

And I'm wondering about that whole 'lungs of cement' concept.

I need more albuterol.

And a vacation.

And a raise.

things that go bump in the dark

I decided to do the responsible adult thing and go to my doctor to have a complete annual physical. 40 is creeping up on me faster than even I can fathom and I assume this is one of those things I should start doing to make certain I'm around to meet my daughter's kids. The last one I had two years ago was fun (no, not really) and included my first mammogram. They should give you a book that outlines the things to expect when you have a mammogram (ouch) complete with a gift certificate for a pedicure or something equally fluffy for when you finish. The grown-up girl equivalent of getting a lollipop after you do something you really don't want to do or is painful (both of which are possible). But that's a story for another time.

The physical went off without a hitch, bend here, look there, poke, poke, poke, prod, prod, breathe in, hold it, breathe again, hold it, etc. I got a booster tetanus shot because I honestly can't remember the last time I had one. I think I had one before I went to Russia in '94, but I really can't remember. That was a whole different me ago. And then they took a blood sample, urine sample and a chest x-ray. There's something about leaving a urine sample that just feels downright uncivilized. Here.... pee in a cup. Nothing says modern technical analysis more than peeing in a cup and leaving it on a tray in a bathroom with 20 other pee filled cups. It looked like a bizarro-land lemonade stand. I was just glad mine didn't look like the orange one on the tray. That must be one unhappy camper. Mom told me that chest x-rays are a common part of annual physicals these days so I didn't think much about it after the day was over.

Until the doctor's office called.

There's something surreal about having a disconnected voice on a telephone tell you that your blood and urine tests look fine but there are some small shadows on your lungs in your chest x-ray. It's probably nothing but we'd like to have you come in for additional testing. When was your last menstrual period?

Shadows? That can't be good. What causes shadows? What does that mean?

January 25th.

When will you start your next cycle?

February....20th? Maybe?

So we'll schedule your CT scan for February 26th.

26th is bad. Sister's coming in for my birthday that day.

Can we do it the 25th?

Not a problem! February 25th at 7:30 am.

Gulp.

So I immediately freaked out and started doing research on abnormal x-rays. Lots of information about the big C. Lots. Just about everything with an abnormal lung x-ray. No no no no no.... Pneumonia! Tuberculosis! Cysts! All fun things, but much easier to think about than that other thing. That other thing I don't want to name. That other thing that scares the hell out of me because I have a beautiful little daughter who needs me. My grandfather died of lung cancer but he was... I think he was 65 when he died. Not 38. Nope. Not going there.

So I'm hoping I have pneumonia. Or a fungal lung infection. Or bronchitis.

Just not that other thing.

So (welcome to TMI) my cycle started early. So I asked to move the CT scan up so we could get it over with. So we did it this morning.

CT scanning is.... weird. This is the second time I've been stuck in a tube so someone could take pictures of my corporeal being. The first time they were looking at my head because I had spot specific pain they couldn't explain. It turned out to be an early symptom of pregnancy. Who knew? This time they were looking at my chest. I went in early, did my paperwork, joked around with the girl at the front desk who was dealing out legal medical forms like they were cards in a poker game. I asked when the cocktail server was coming around again. The girl at the desk laughed which made me feel better. They injected me with... something. I have no idea what it was. The CT tech was really nice. She wants to be a sonographer but can't go to school during the day. I wish our school had a sonography program so we could help her. She showed me into the exam room and had me lay down on the table.

Some wonderful person painted an image of mountains, pines and streams on the ceiling to give patients something soothing to look at while they're freaking out. It reminded me of Alaska which made me feel a little better. And then I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at the equipment while being slid into the ring. Breathe in.... out.... breathe in... hold it.... good. And then the tech was back and stuck a hose in my IV. It reminded me of the tubes they use at the oil change places, to pump new quarts of 40 weight. Except I got a dye job. This is going to feel a little strange. You may experience a warm sensation as the dye moves through your body and you may feel like you wet yourself. This is just part of the proces.. Like I wet myself?!?! What kind of weird dye is this? And what if I DO wet myself?!?! I closed my eyes again and felt my head going warm from left to right and then my right arm and then.. it felt like I'd wet myself even though I hadn't... what kind of weird dye is this?... and then the machine was moving into the ring and the voice came back and said breathe in.... and the warm that had been spreading through my body was suddenly a HOT FLASH in the middle of my chest and I couldn't breathe in any more... out.... good choice cuz I can't breathe in because it hurts... breathe in.... and hold it... and just when I thought I was going to be in trouble for not taking a bigger breath in and my brain is scrambling to figure out if I can and what happens if I move and wanting to curl up in a ball and knowing I can't and panic panic panic And Ms Silverman you're all done. And that was it. She let me off the table. And as I was putting on my jacket I asked when my doctor will know the results. And there was something about her face... Something... not happy... not like when we were talking about her becoming a sonographer... not like when we were joking around about the wet feeling... something... controlled... your doctor will have the results this afternoon. The controlled response scares the hell out of me. People who see bad things have controlled responses. People who can't tell you anything because it's the doctor's job to tell you have controlled responses. People who are used to managing other people's panic.

I'm hoping that I'm wrong this time. I'm hoping the x-rays were wrong. Or it's pneumonia. And the girl was just cryptic because that's what she does during exams. It's the practiced response.

I'm hoping my doctor will call this afternoon and tell me it's nothing. The dark spots were some bad x-ray film or they're gone or something else equivalent to go back to sleep baby... not all the things that go bump in the dark are things that will hurt you.

That's what I'm hoping.

Super...

I've never been a big fan of SuperBowl Sunday. My dad was never a sports fan. We never did the 'athletic bonding' that I saw other kids do with their dads over a bowl of chips and dip on Sunday afternoons. We were more likely to spend the day on a snowmachine or sledding with my godbrothers.

How I ended up marrying a sports nut I'll never know.

But I'm beginning to turn from being mostly apathetic about the day (okay, other than the commercials) to really not enjoying its arrival. Increased drunk driving arrests and increased domestic violence issues get media coverage and those would be reason enough, but to have it at home.... sucks. Don't get me wrong, my husband isn't that evil abusive bastard who gets drunk and throws things so I really have nothing to complain about, but what I saw yesterday wasn't fun.

It wasn't the beer consumption throughout the afternoon. It wasn't the domination of the TV and stereo for the game. I expected that. It was the cranky grump who got angry with me and our daughter for playing blocks because we were being "too loud" during the game. Really? Angry because you can't hear 200 pound men bashing into each other over the sound of your daughter giggling? Annoying. But throwing a fit when I didn't hop up to run to the convenience store to buy your cigarettes and then kvetching and stomping around until I put her to bed was childish.

This is why we told you to quit drinking in the first place.

This is why telling you it was okay in the name of 'Super Bowl Sunday' was dumb.

This is why next year I'm taking her to grandpa's house. There won't be enough snow to go sledding but I'm certain we'll find something to do that's more entertaining and a lot more family oriented than anything related to the SUPER bowl.

Summer of our discontent

I walked away because I had finally figured out that you would never care for me the way I cared for you. You were the center of my universe. I had already given up the things that meant most to me just to be with you. You travelled. I followed. I left the comfort of my forests for the shadows of your monuments in concrete. I allowed my family to disown me so I could be at your side. I put myself into phenomenally uncomfortable spaces just to spend another hour with you. And you couldn't have cared less. Or at least that's what you showed me. Hate would have been preferable to the utter lack of concern you mustered. Hate would have been something. Caring enough to tell me to go away would have been a nightmare come true, but it would have been better than feeling my soul ice over while you told me about the women you slept with while I was lighting candles in your name. I thought about living with that for the rest of my life. Trying to hold it together while you continued to travel and send home postcards with a new photo and stories of a new tryst. Pretending like I knew my turn would come. Pretending like it didn't matter. Pretending that it didn't feel like you were ripping my spine out through my chest and laughing about it with your most recent conquest. In the end I just couldn't do it. I decided that I deserved to be loved rather than tolerated. I knew there was someone... there had to be... and it didn't matter if I was tearing my own heart out of my chest...

I spent two weeks sobbing on the floor with a gallon bottle of cheap white wine, chain smoking and wandering through seedy neighborhoods at 3am just to prove that they wouldn't screw with someone who was already dead.

They didn't.

And it didn't bring you back.