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Monday, July 22, 2013

The City that Cried Wolf


"Just a Sharpie and a glass: Kiwi ingenuity leads to easy quake measurer"
The house we are staying in overlooks Wellington. It’s beautiful. The Tararua mountain range in the distance, the Orongorongas stretching down the other side of a harbour on which weak, dappled sunlight wavers. It all seems quite…developed. Affluent. Peaceful.

Yet, “20 seconds of horror” screams the headline. The first seven pages of today’s newspaper are all about the quakes that have shaken the area over the weekend.

Emails with solemn tones have been circulated between journalism students. The expectation is to rush in to the un-earthquake secure building at dinnertime on a Sunday night and excitedly find people who had to rush to shelter, whose bookshelves lost their books or whose vase broke.

It’s not that I don’t care about the earthquakes, or the people who have to pick up bottles or books or even the one person who was injured by their TV coming loose off the wall.

It’s just that, well, I worry.

I worry about the fact that my friends in the US and around the world are being told that an “earthquake more powerful than 100 atomic bombs and the Christchurch quakes of 2011” has hit Wellington. For, on first glance of these articles, they are completely justified in feeling worried that we are in a dire situation.

Beyond that, I worry about what Wellington would do if a really devastating earthquake hit, whether the world would think nothing of it as we think nothing of natural disasters in other small nations. It’s not their fault for not being concerned - they’ve just heard it all before.

So let’s take a new approach.

New Zealand sits right on the fault line where the Pacific plate has been jammed under the Indo-Australian plate. In fact, that subduction line that circles the Pacific and creates the ring of fire is right behind our house.

“Wellington Earthquake free for eight months”

The media reaction to something so natural to the earth as an earthquake serves as an illustration of how humans have unquestioningly come to believe we rule the natural world. Unfortunately, monotheistic religion can take a lot of the blame for that, in propagating ideas of the earth being ours to reap and condemning other belief systems that consider humans at one with nature.

“Kiwis reminded of the incredible power of nature”

For how dare the earth, which formed by these processes over billions of years for us to live on and enjoy now, shake the house we have built with cut down trees or paid for with a concept of money we have created?

“Amazing subduction process going on right under our feet”

Despite my hesitancy at going into a field that expects me to instill fear in people in one of the safest countries in the world for the sake of selling papers, hits or page counts, I do love journalism. I love telling important stories about important issues, I love inspiring people, entertaining and educating them, and believe this is what the media should be about.

That’s why I believe people deserve more than simply fear instilling, sensational reporting. That’s why people deserve to hear more about the plates and the incredible forces of nature than someone falling off their seat in a movie theatre. There is a place for discussing emergency plans, which has been done, but why not find out who has opposed earthquake strengthening and see what they think now?

Yes, I know, because we are writing to that mythical eleven-year-old who reads the news every day but wants his or her entertainment.

How about -

“Hey John, Wellington ROCKS!”*


*Earlier this year Prime Minister John Key referenced Wellington as being a “dying city”. Needless to say, people in the capital weren’t happy about that. Cheers Guy for saying this!

Monday, July 8, 2013

Walking up the hill



Did I tell you how liberating it was when I stopped in my tracks and realized last week I was perfectly okay to pause and catch my breath halfway up a hill?

I suppose I had thought that because I was choosing to carry on as normal, my body should be able to perform as normal.

"How on earth does a poison physiologically make it more difficult to walk up a hill?" I asked in frustration.

Ready to launch an enquiry on the World Wide Web, I was gently reminded it was simply that my blood has less oxygen to carry around, hence, less energy. The chemo wasn’t, as I had momentarily imagined, eating away at my muscles.

***

Yesterday when I was walking home, a group of young adults about my age powered past me on the eight-sets-of-steps hill between downtown and the road above. They were all carrying bulging grocery bags.

A debate began in my mind – another chapter in the ceaseless battle between self-pity and acceptance. It just felt so blatantly in my face this time, watching their behinds bound up the steps in front like.

It was the girl lagging behind that helped win the battle for acceptance. 

Glancing back, I saw her with a nonchalant smile on her face, taking her time, and unhurried by the fact that her friends were up ahead. I smiled at her and said, “they’ve gone and left you behind, huh?”

She didn’t seem to mind.

The thought, “she doesn’t have any excuses like I do” didn’t last long as I realized just how ludicrous it was. Why should she need one? Why do we need excuses? Why do I need to explain myself taking my time walking up a hill?

You could say chemo is an uphill battle and some would try to differ – yes, I know it gets worse and worse. But with every challenge it presents I learn something about myself I wouldn’t have learnt otherwise, and that’s what I call an uphill battle.

Friday, July 5, 2013

Bruises and Brains

You may have seen recently that I've been toying with the idea of changing course in this blog and heading more into research. This, by my journalism instructors definition, is a "rant-style" blog, and is too personal for a journo.

Early last week, James was tickle-attacking me (I call it attack because he isn't ticklish and I am rendered defenseless) and my fingernail brushed my thigh.

It was a light brush, but something in my squealing tone must have changed as I was taken aback by unexpected pain. Tingles shot up into my groin and down to my knee, and a few minutes later tiny, black bruises had splotched themselves on my white, winter skin.

It was all revealed a few days later when I was sitting in the reclining leather chair in the day ward for my chemotherapy, chatting with the nurses and the old man opposite me on his IV line.

"Have you noticed any strange bruising, Bethany?" a concerned nurse asked. I laughed. My platelets are at a record low: 34. The average range is 150 - 450.

Staring down at my now-enlarged bruise the other day, I realized I can't simply research. If I did, the little stupid personal things would be lost, as would my space to express word in whichever way they want to paint themselves on the page.

And so, I made a new site specifically for researching brain cancer. I'm focusing on compiling new innovations, approaches and understandings about tumors of the brain. If you're not of the mind to be bogged down by cancer and all it entails, I've formatted it to make it easy to do a quick scan of the important bits and then take off running!

If you're interested, do check it out: www.brainbuzz.org.