Why hello there family and friends… it has been a while since I’ve updated and this isn’t much of an update anyway, just some thoughts really…
I am back in Uganda, only for 3 weeks this time, but back nonetheless… The last 2 months have been a whirlwind adventure. From Australia to Colorado to New Hampshire to Egypt, and now Uganda for the rest of January!
Well, today is a big day for many reasons, first, my little brother Ian turns 6 today, and I wish more than anything I could be there to celebrate. He’s come such a long way in just a year… All MRI’s still coming back clear, all his hair has grown back and covers his scar, he’s the tallest one in his kindergarten class and is more active than ever!
Today is also a landmark in my personal life because 4 years ago from today I left for Uganda the first time. 4 years is a significant amount of time to be connected to people and places, the standard length of high school and college in fact.
Yesterday I spent the day in my friend Deo’s village, celebrating his graduation from Cornerstone Christian College in South Africa, it was amazing to see his village gather to congratulate him, and inspiring beyond comprehension to know Deo, and know the way he’s going to change his country.
I think about how the last 4 years have shaped and molded me, how they’ve changed me… how East Africa, Come Let’s Dance, and various domestic and international travels replaced the typical university years in my life.
So as this season of graduations is upon me, Deo isn’t the only one, my sister graduates high school in May, and Susan graduates university in May as well (I apologize Maloneys and Deublers for distracting her for so long) and so many others. I’ve thought of the course work and classes I’ve completed these last few years and I’ve compiled a brief sampling of my pass/fail classes right here for your viewing pleasure:
Making/Saving Money: Fail
Press Release, Grant, Website writing: Pass
Dancing: Double Pass
How to not constantly Facebook: Fail
Cement Mixing: Pass
Flossing kid’s teeth: Pass
Flossing my own teeth: Fail
US Cross Country Navigation: Pass
Greater Kampala Area Navigation: Fail (student gets lost an average of 3 times when out on own)
World Geography of places I’ve been: Pass (which is an ever climbing number of 38 states, 23 countries, and 6 continents, not that I’m bragging… ok, maybe I am)
World Geography of places I haven’t been: Fail (I still don’t know where China is)
Ugandan Community Development: Incomplete
How to Laugh at Oneself: Pass
How to Admit When One is Wrong: Fail
Functioning while hungover: Fail
Macaroni and Cheese, Spaghetti, Ramen, Toast, Gorp making: Pass
All other cooking: Fail
Killing huge effing cockroaches: Pass
Hosting Parasites: Pass
Reading more than 1 book a year: Fail
Keeping in touch: Fail
Speed and accuracy in longdrop and various other outdoor bathroom situations: Needs Improvement
Appearing Successful: Fail
Changing the World: Incomplete
Luckily, I’m the dean as well at this awesome university, so despite inadequate marks, I still say I can graduate quite happily to the older side of 23 even if it’s only for the sole purpose of this facebook note.
Also as I listened to Deo give a speech to everyone at his graduation party, I wondered about what I would say if given a similar opportunity, so here are my “graduation” words, as a sort of commencement speech but without a ceremony, no diplomas, and no list of 300-10,000 names…
MC: And now, for our commencement speaker, Miss Nicole Galovski
Marching Band plays “Life is a Highway” as I walk up on stage…
(Test mic, take deep breath) Wow! Can you believe it? We all made it, another 4 years of our lives completely gone with absolutely no chance of reliving them, and still no scientific bounds great enough to facilitate the production of a time machine. I think we’ve all come a long way in these last 4 years, some of us further than others… if you know what I mean. (Pause for laughter) But on a serious note, I think it’s important to remember the beginning when something is coming to an end. (Look pensive about own words)
When I first started this journey I, like most of you, had just seen Invisible Children and Blood Diamond. I had just listened to Bono explain why we needed to help Africa, and developed a million and one romantic ideas of the adventures to be had saving lives on the dark continent. Needless to say, upon arrival in Uganda, I was completely blindsided by reality. What could I do? Where were all the kids I could save? And there it was, my first important lesson: I don’t know very much, and I can do very little.
Despite being nothing I expected, making me feel of little worth, challenging my world view and forcing me to rethink everything I thought I could do with my life… I still loved it. It was the equivalent of a crazy playground with no rules, the first time you’re at summer camp and can jump in the lake with your clothes on, dorm life with no parents or an RA… Africa is adrenaline junkie, tragedy tramp Vegas.
And everything back then although dark, and brutal still somehow felt safe, that even though there were people dying all around me, death seemed like something very far from me and the people I knew. It’s overpowering the potency of naivety, the durability of the imaginary bulletproof vest youth possesses, and how quickly one sobers and immediately feels defenseless while walking in front of the firing squad of death and catastrophe.
Yes, our first years out on our own are difficult, for many of us it’s the first time we feel thick, cold loneliness, the first time we feel totally and completely meaningless, and leave home not knowing that we can’t ever return to the same place. BUT! This is also beautiful, for there is nothing more important than facing the repugnant truths about life, than diving down into the foul vexatious reality of our experiences and still seeing the grandeur.
And I have seen much grandeur.
(Clear throat) So here I stand, in front of you (consciously look around audience of 7 people), my family, my friends, my fellow learners and live-ers of the last 4 years, and I think it’s safe to say that we know more than we did, which still isn’t very much, and we’ve done more than we thought we could, which again, still isn’t very much… but it’s something. (Bow head and wait for applause)
That’s probably the worst commencement speech that’s never been given, it sure is a good thing I never went to college.
April 30, 2010: Feliz Viajes
So here I sit, at the end of April, again. I wrote a note almost exactly a year ago… thinking I was going to Africa… and instead ended up delaying my trip indefinitely on account of Ian. I recently re-read my updates from the last year and bawled my eyes out, I think I had blocked out much of the pain and scarring that’s happened. But it made me re-recognize how quick life can change, (.00001 seconds, if you were wondering) and not to become attached to plans, and to constantly use the word “tentative” when referring to them.
Anyway, so much has happened in the last few months it’s unreal. Ian’s last chemo session was in January, and every MRI and scan since December has come back completely and 100% clear. Also, all the side effects that the doctors warned us about: loss of hearing, loss of energy, not being able to walk up and down stairs… none of them happened, he’s stronger than ever before, and after the hearing test they said his hearing got even better. His hair and eyebrows are coming in nicely, and I continue to find it unbelievably amazing that the best thing that could have happened… did. We’re all so thankful for the hopes, prayers, and love sent to us throughout this year. We’ve been humbled and strengthened by all of you, and our gratitude is never ceasing.
At the end of February and beginning of March, four of my best friends and I went to Peru for a few weeks. We did the Santa Cruz trek through the Andes Mountains, and then went sight-seeing, and partying in Arequipa and Lima for the remaining time. It was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken, and the fact that I got to share it with my best friends made it all the better. A week after my return from Peru, we took a family trip to Vegas which was extremely relaxing, and fun. About three days after that I had all my things packed up in my last-leg Buick and I made the move out to New Hampshire to live with my Dad. I’ve talked about pursuing writing for a long time, and it’s about time that I actually start to do it… My Dad’s book (Here Be Dragons, you should read it… you’re welcome for the plug Dad!) came out at the end of 2009, and he has some ideas for projects that we both get to work on, as well as being able to use his guidance for getting published in magazines and journals. It was terribly sad to leave Colorado, my family, and the best friends that only come around once in a lifetime, but I am thoroughly excited for this chapter of life with my Dad, getting to be a big sister to Kennedy and Griffin, the beach, and actually trying to do this writing thing…
So that’s what’s up with me, but we all know it wouldn’t be a true Nicole note if I didn’t include some story, and the lofty life lesson I got from it… This one comes all the way from Peru…
The 3rd day of our trek in the Andes Mountains was a short day… we made it to our nearly 14,000 foot campsite by 11:30, and just got to play in the boulder field resting within the torsos of 6 giant glacial peaks. The peaks generated their own weather, and were constantly covered by dark, menacing clouds. One mountain in particular I announced as mine, and as it rained off and on all day I kept a careful eye on it, wishing away the clouds so that its peak could be revealed. We woke up the next morning at just after 4, before the sun rose, and my mountain still wasn’t clear. We started packing our bags, and putting away our tents, which proved more difficult a task than anticipated because our hands were so cold they were barely functioning. All the sudden the twilight clouds loosened their tight grasp, dispersed, and the jagged peak rising high above the glaciers, could be seen in all its Andean majesty. I’ve never seen a mountain so perfect. The girls got their cameras, while I stood and snapped from behind my mental lens for the 2 ½ minutes the clouds allowed us before swallowing her back up. I’m glad I was allowed that glimpse, because life is taking me in so many different directions; to new places and people and experiences, that I have no current intention to make it to my mountain again. But it’s interesting the glimpses life allows.
A few times during the trek I caught myself just speedily walking along, tunnel-visioned on the trail, not grasping the beauty of my surroundings, not consciously inhaling the freedom of life without cell phones and facebook, I was just focusing on getting to the campsite. But the trek wasn’t about the campsite at all… it was about the hike, the continual placing of one, tired, heavy foot in front of the other… it was nice to take off my pack and rest at the campsites, and the summit made me feel like a badass, but that wasn’t what made the trek… it was stopping to take every corny picture imaginable (if you’ve looked through the albums, you know exactly what I mean), it was falling in cow crap, and making Susan clean me off, it was not being able to contain my amazement at the beauty surrounding me, it was screaming the f word at the top of our lungs because we lost the trail in pouring rain, and the sun was about to go down… clichés become clichés because they’re true, and destinations really aren’t what life’s about.
My lofty life-lesson is to be appreciative for the glimpses along the way (even if they’re not good ones), to play in boulder fields, to scream when necessary, to take as many corny pictures as possible, and to laugh so you don’t cry…
And even as I pursue writing… Actually arriving (whatever that means, and hopefully I do it) I know will not be nearly as awesome as getting there.
Hope this note finds all of you well, thanks again for your love and support this last year!
Feliz Viajes, (“Happy Travels” the standard goodbye of Peruvian trek guides)
Nicole
Anyway, so much has happened in the last few months it’s unreal. Ian’s last chemo session was in January, and every MRI and scan since December has come back completely and 100% clear. Also, all the side effects that the doctors warned us about: loss of hearing, loss of energy, not being able to walk up and down stairs… none of them happened, he’s stronger than ever before, and after the hearing test they said his hearing got even better. His hair and eyebrows are coming in nicely, and I continue to find it unbelievably amazing that the best thing that could have happened… did. We’re all so thankful for the hopes, prayers, and love sent to us throughout this year. We’ve been humbled and strengthened by all of you, and our gratitude is never ceasing.
At the end of February and beginning of March, four of my best friends and I went to Peru for a few weeks. We did the Santa Cruz trek through the Andes Mountains, and then went sight-seeing, and partying in Arequipa and Lima for the remaining time. It was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken, and the fact that I got to share it with my best friends made it all the better. A week after my return from Peru, we took a family trip to Vegas which was extremely relaxing, and fun. About three days after that I had all my things packed up in my last-leg Buick and I made the move out to New Hampshire to live with my Dad. I’ve talked about pursuing writing for a long time, and it’s about time that I actually start to do it… My Dad’s book (Here Be Dragons, you should read it… you’re welcome for the plug Dad!) came out at the end of 2009, and he has some ideas for projects that we both get to work on, as well as being able to use his guidance for getting published in magazines and journals. It was terribly sad to leave Colorado, my family, and the best friends that only come around once in a lifetime, but I am thoroughly excited for this chapter of life with my Dad, getting to be a big sister to Kennedy and Griffin, the beach, and actually trying to do this writing thing…
So that’s what’s up with me, but we all know it wouldn’t be a true Nicole note if I didn’t include some story, and the lofty life lesson I got from it… This one comes all the way from Peru…
The 3rd day of our trek in the Andes Mountains was a short day… we made it to our nearly 14,000 foot campsite by 11:30, and just got to play in the boulder field resting within the torsos of 6 giant glacial peaks. The peaks generated their own weather, and were constantly covered by dark, menacing clouds. One mountain in particular I announced as mine, and as it rained off and on all day I kept a careful eye on it, wishing away the clouds so that its peak could be revealed. We woke up the next morning at just after 4, before the sun rose, and my mountain still wasn’t clear. We started packing our bags, and putting away our tents, which proved more difficult a task than anticipated because our hands were so cold they were barely functioning. All the sudden the twilight clouds loosened their tight grasp, dispersed, and the jagged peak rising high above the glaciers, could be seen in all its Andean majesty. I’ve never seen a mountain so perfect. The girls got their cameras, while I stood and snapped from behind my mental lens for the 2 ½ minutes the clouds allowed us before swallowing her back up. I’m glad I was allowed that glimpse, because life is taking me in so many different directions; to new places and people and experiences, that I have no current intention to make it to my mountain again. But it’s interesting the glimpses life allows.
A few times during the trek I caught myself just speedily walking along, tunnel-visioned on the trail, not grasping the beauty of my surroundings, not consciously inhaling the freedom of life without cell phones and facebook, I was just focusing on getting to the campsite. But the trek wasn’t about the campsite at all… it was about the hike, the continual placing of one, tired, heavy foot in front of the other… it was nice to take off my pack and rest at the campsites, and the summit made me feel like a badass, but that wasn’t what made the trek… it was stopping to take every corny picture imaginable (if you’ve looked through the albums, you know exactly what I mean), it was falling in cow crap, and making Susan clean me off, it was not being able to contain my amazement at the beauty surrounding me, it was screaming the f word at the top of our lungs because we lost the trail in pouring rain, and the sun was about to go down… clichés become clichés because they’re true, and destinations really aren’t what life’s about.
My lofty life-lesson is to be appreciative for the glimpses along the way (even if they’re not good ones), to play in boulder fields, to scream when necessary, to take as many corny pictures as possible, and to laugh so you don’t cry…
And even as I pursue writing… Actually arriving (whatever that means, and hopefully I do it) I know will not be nearly as awesome as getting there.
Hope this note finds all of you well, thanks again for your love and support this last year!
Feliz Viajes, (“Happy Travels” the standard goodbye of Peruvian trek guides)
Nicole
May 23, 2009: News
Hey everyone,
Well, it’s been over three weeks since the surgery, and Ian is pretty much back to normal, his recovery after such a thing has amazed everyone. We also finally got some results from Johns Hopkins… I don’t like that I’m the one that does this, I can’t imagine being a doctor or someone that bears bad news consistently…
Basically, our oncologist, has never seen anything like this in all his years… and the doctors at Johns Hopkins (the ones that examine every tumor ever) said they’ve only seen it a few times, but only in adults… they’ve diagnosed it as “primary adenocarcinoma of the brain” and that it’s one in millions of millions. So there is no protocol, there is no standard, there are no stages, there are no predicted outcomes.
They originally wanted to stay away from intense treatments as long as possible because the short term and long term side effects are drastic at his age, but we are now aware that the tumor is very aggressive, and we need both radiation and chemo.
Here’s our schedule as of right now: On Wednesday, he’ll have a PET scan to search for tumors elsewhere in the body. On Friday, the doctors will insert a port to make any type of IV issues easier, they’ll also do a bone marrow biopsy. Radiation will start on Monday June 1, and will be everyday Monday-Friday for 6 weeks. He’ll have a break for a few weeks, and begin chemo the third week of August, and be done in March. And then no one knows…
We’re in a daze to the say the least; there are many tears at unexpected times. These last few weeks have felt extremely eerie… because everything was feeling back to normal, and there were small moments that I could pretend like it was all going to be ok… but it’s like we’re in the eye of a very massive storm, and we just found out that the worst is yet to come. It’s unbelievable to think that the surgery was the easy part.
Well we have this week of playing, and parks, and bike rides, and then treatment starts. We’re in for a battle, and ready or not, we’re going to fight… Thanks for your continued thoughts and prayers, and standing by us. Keep it coming…
Still in shock,
Nicole and Family
Well, it’s been over three weeks since the surgery, and Ian is pretty much back to normal, his recovery after such a thing has amazed everyone. We also finally got some results from Johns Hopkins… I don’t like that I’m the one that does this, I can’t imagine being a doctor or someone that bears bad news consistently…
Basically, our oncologist, has never seen anything like this in all his years… and the doctors at Johns Hopkins (the ones that examine every tumor ever) said they’ve only seen it a few times, but only in adults… they’ve diagnosed it as “primary adenocarcinoma of the brain” and that it’s one in millions of millions. So there is no protocol, there is no standard, there are no stages, there are no predicted outcomes.
They originally wanted to stay away from intense treatments as long as possible because the short term and long term side effects are drastic at his age, but we are now aware that the tumor is very aggressive, and we need both radiation and chemo.
Here’s our schedule as of right now: On Wednesday, he’ll have a PET scan to search for tumors elsewhere in the body. On Friday, the doctors will insert a port to make any type of IV issues easier, they’ll also do a bone marrow biopsy. Radiation will start on Monday June 1, and will be everyday Monday-Friday for 6 weeks. He’ll have a break for a few weeks, and begin chemo the third week of August, and be done in March. And then no one knows…
We’re in a daze to the say the least; there are many tears at unexpected times. These last few weeks have felt extremely eerie… because everything was feeling back to normal, and there were small moments that I could pretend like it was all going to be ok… but it’s like we’re in the eye of a very massive storm, and we just found out that the worst is yet to come. It’s unbelievable to think that the surgery was the easy part.
Well we have this week of playing, and parks, and bike rides, and then treatment starts. We’re in for a battle, and ready or not, we’re going to fight… Thanks for your continued thoughts and prayers, and standing by us. Keep it coming…
Still in shock,
Nicole and Family
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