A Joint Journey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuLBrx0zzCo&feature=youtu.be

About the Video

My project has been going well. I have planned out the beginning of my video. I am going to open up with a really dramatic score. After the dramatic info I’m going to say “Hi my name is Chris Sirico and I am an alcoholic.” The camera person is going to respond “Dude wrong video.” I’m going to respond to that with “Oh s**t, start that over.” The screen is going to buffer for a second, then I will continue, “Hello, my name is Chris Sirico and I have Rheumatoid Arthritis.” OI will then continue by telling my story. “I was 19 at the time, and I had just finished my freshman year of college.” “For the first month I was home, I barely moved.” *Here I will cut to me struggling to wake up, acting sluggish and lazy. “My mother became worried about this behavior because of how active I once was.” *Cut to pictures of the sports I once participated in. I am also getting recordings of my mother and brother talking about my RA. *Here I would cut to my mother speaking on my actions at that time. After my mother speaks, I would then start talking about the initial steps I took to figuring out what was wrong with me. “After continuous days of feeling pain in my joints, we decided to go to a Rheumatologist. A rheumatologist is a doctor that specifically treats patients with rheumatoid arthritis. When we got there, I was initially laughing but my mother was not. After an evaluation of my joints, the doctor did blood work. The results came back a week later indicating that my AA levels were higher than the average, which is commonly seen in Rheumatoid Arthritis patients.” *Cut screen to blackness. “So at that moment I was officially diagnosed with the auto-immune disease known as Rheumatoid Arthritis.” *Go back to video “You know it’s not that dramatic” *Video will cut to blackness; a dramatic score will play. *Go back to video “But seriously stop doing that.” *Video cuts to blackness once again with more dramatic score. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story of not?” Camera man: “Go on.” Me: “Thank you. Now because of this diagnosis, the doctor decided to recommended to take a drug called ‘Embrel’.” *Cut to clip of Embrel commercial. “He recommends this drug for young people like myself, because of the desire to live a normal life. The drug is meant to suppress my immune system and relieve the pain I feel from my aching joints. Side effects of comprising my immune system with this drug would consist of getting sick more often, which is not appealing. Another problem with the drug is the price. To take a weekly dosage of the drug, the cost would reach to somewhere around $20,000 a year. When the doctor mentioned this price point, I immediately thought to myself ‘No way I’m doing this’. I knew my parents were already struggling to stay in the nice area we live in, and the last thing I wanted to do was add another financial burden. After we left that day, many days had gone by without talking about it. Eventually we went back and I received some pills to take for the pain when I went back to school the next semester.” *Cuts to blackness. “During that semester I broke down. I began doing drugs on a more consistent basis, drank till I blacked-out, and spent whole days just lying in bed. My self-loathing had reached an unhealthy magnitude and I began to wholeheartedly believe that my quality of life was not worth living. Because mental prison I had locked myself into, I had received my worst grades yet. My friends worried about me, but I never wanted to talk about it even when they tried. At the end of that semester, I decided it was best for me to go home for the next semester and get my body and mind right.” *Cuts to blackness, with a heavenly score. “That’s when I met Dr. Amoroso.” “Since, my mom was constantly worried about my situation, she would mention it to relatives whenever given the opportunity. One day she mentioned it to my second aunt, who then recommended us to a holistic chiropractor by the name of Christopher Amoroso. My aunt had brought my second cousin, Frankie, to this doctor for his Crohn’s disease. Like myself, Frankie tried to take many different kinds of medications to solve help lessen the effects of his disease, but nothing worked. Eventually, she was recommended to bring him to Dr. Amoroso. Upon the first visit, Dr. Amoroso sold his idea to them, and they stuck with it. After following the regimen closely and precisely, Frankie was finally able to control his bowels. My mother told me this story, and I felt that it was worth the try. When I got there, Dr. Amoroso explained what he does. *Cut to Dr. Amoroso explaining what he does. “He sold me.” “So after sending a stool sample to a lab for analysis, Dr. Amoroso sat me down and went over what was happening in my gut. After this, he had me detox for a month by drinking primarily only chicken broth. After slowly introducing new foods weekly, he gave me natural supplements to help make sure I was getting all the nutrients I need.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PDaer67JMY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PDaer67JMY

Doctor's Office

I remember the constant questions my mother asked me: “Where is the pain?” “How do you feel today?” “Is it getting worse or better?” I often became annoyed at these maternal questions: “I’m fine.” “Stop asking me.” My gratitude for her empathy was nonexistent. I didn’t want to entertain the notion of having a disease. I did not want to believe it was real. I went my whole life without having long-term health detriments; until now.

I walked into an elevator that spanned only 3 floors. My stop was the second one. My mother mumbled some words to me but I was busy listening to the subtle change of floors as we passed them. I had never been in such a smoothly transitional elevator. I stared at the 3 numbers that stacked on top of each other near the exit. Number one was red, and I was hoping, number three would be the next to share a similar trait. Instead, number two turned into a deathly red that I swear was darker than the shade of number one. Seconds later the elevator doors parted. My mother’s heels clacked before me, then I stepped out into the small waiting room. The sound of over-opinionated news personalities filled the room, causing me to turn towards the TV. Quickly my attention escaped to the sound of papers ruffling. I said my name to the first person I saw. “Christopher Sirico”

            “Hello Chris, Doctor Guma will be ready for you shortly.” It wasn’t shortly. I sat in this cramped office for nearly 45 minutes before he saw me. I flipped through magazine after magazine, played all the games I had in my phone, and even felt compelled to try to make sense of the talking heads speaking gibberish on the flat screen. The wait was very tedious to say the least. Once the 45 minutes passed, and right before my mother was about to use Chinese interrogation tactics to the lady behind the desk, a nurse appeared through a door calling my name. “Christopher Sirico? The doctor is ready to see you.”

My initial reflex was to say “Oh, he’s finally done contemplating life?” But instead, I acted like the goody two shoes no one knows me for being and continued through the doorway. The nurse took me down the hall, to the left, and into a room for my examination. I immediately jumped onto the hard leather seat that was semi-covered with a strip of rough paper. She instantly began to ask me questions. After surpassing the generic information to confirm that I am “Chris Sirico”, she asked me about my past medical history.

 “Any surgeries?”

“Nope”

“Any chronic illnesses?”

“Nope”

“Do you currently have to take medication?”

“I am pill-free lady” I smiled at her, but she seemed rather annoyed with my arrogant humor, so I quickly put that smile away. “Any other questions? I can do this all day”

“No that will be it. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Alrighty then.” The nurse left the room. After the exchange I quickly turned my attention to my mother sitting in the corner. I was looking to see if she would give me the stop-being-an-asshole face like usual, but instead I only saw a wrinkling forehead and anxious eyes. The worry on her face made me look away instantly, in fear that it would completely shatter my heart if I looked for any longer. Luckily the doctor came in before I had the chance to take a glimpse at her again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjwkbhrzHck

Michael Ondaatje Reading

Michael Ondaatje’s reading held much importance for many people, but for me, held a position very low on the rankings in the standings of what is important to me. The event was run poorly, considering it didn’t start till at least 15 minutes after the announced start time. So while I twiddle my fingers and tired my thumb out from scrolling through endless feeds, finally a man appears onto the stage. This man is not the old timer pictured on the back of the books that greet your entrance to the reading, but instead a middle aged man filled with subtle flamboyancy that becomes more prominent with every word he speaks. He attempts to introduce Michael Ondaatje. His essay seems cohesively written and his meter is nothing but smooth. But the context is his downfall. He uses a metaphor about writing that he must’ve thought to hold beautiful elegance, but the crowd simply just became confused when he used “word” too many times. Near the climax of this opening, he made his first attempt at trying to be funny. His overdeveloped joke left the audience laugh less, and he noticed that when he looked up for clarification. Overall, this sad little man showed that he has a passion for good writing and still was able to shine light on the man of the hour, but his words held less importance when he attempted to be the great writer that he just isn’t. Either way the speech ended with claps, some for pity, and most just thanking him for finally finishing.

            Near after, Michael Ondaatje took stage. His presence was rather dull, but highly sophisticated and easy to listen to. The old man with coke-white hair read three passages from his newest work. He described this novel to be some sort of autobiographical fiction about his childhood life in Sri Lanka. Each of the excerpts were very well written. The description given to me prior to hearing his works was that he blends poetry and fiction beautifully. Because of this predisposition, I was listening for it to be true. I do agree with the statement about his ability to blend the two, but I feel that sometimes that blend could add unnecessary description for the sake of trying to sound more descriptive than the next guy. His ability to add humor into his passages was exquisite at times, but failed to catch chuckles with the audience. Ultimately, the reading left many of the people near me either struggling to stay up, or stuck in the endless loop of social media. Though I’m sure many of the listeners up front were captivated by his word use, this reading did not do a great job of marketing why he is unlike the next old guy who has enough time on his hands to write a book.

The most I got out of the reading was the number I exchanged with a beautiful girl who just happened to sit next to me. So thank you Michael Ondaatje, your writing was quite a bore but it made some girl horny enough to go on a date with me this week. Maybe I’ll use some of your lines.

            

Writers' House

Going to the writers’ house on Thursday was very appropriate for the class. Both Daisy and Rebecca shared useful advice for the students listening. First to talk was Daisy Johnson. She skyped in from the UK. Daisy started off sharing an excerpt from her most recent book. After that questions were asked and something that stood out to me was when she said “write or die”. Apparently, this is her motivation to write every day. The concept is clear, concise, and most of all, easy to remember. When encountering writer’s block, Daisy bakes. She didn’t elaborate much on the subject, but I found that technique to be interesting. One of Daisy’s favorite influences is Stephen King. According to the professor in the room with us, her writing is much like Stephen King’s and involves similar storylines. Lastly, Daisy made a statement that brought relief over any aspiring writer in the room. She told us how it took her 9 years to get published. She described her previous failures and encouraged us to keep trying no matter what. This helped me relax a bit about my own writing career and put in perspective just how much time I have in this life. I found Daisy very helpful and delight.

Rebecca Schiff was a shift into not-safe-for-work writing. Rebecca shared a short story entitled, “Little Girl”, which told of a girl who very much enjoys having sex. This girl shares multiple partners throughout the story, though none of them ever being thoroughly described with major significance. The origin of the title derived from a professor who used to call her “little girl” when he saw her at the copying machine. I think she had sex with him too. The story’s words move through each sexual encounter quickly and unfazed. Much like the character, the writing seems to lack romanticism and any desire for connection with the reader. The tone is numbing and direct, never stopping to offer the character much greater substance. This tone is perfect for the subject of the story, considering the character’s lack of affection toward her sexual partners. After reading the story, some questions were asked. I became extremely annoyed, when hearing some girl in the front ask a question. “So like what’s the point of this story? Is she a prostitute? Who are you trying to target as your audience for this?”. First, it’s one question, not fifty. Second, why do you immediately associate casual sex with prostitution? Are you that prude? Third, stop making sex a taboo. The look on Rebecca’s face said it all after that question was asked. She laughed to herself, and answered somewhere along the lines of, “I was not trying to describe a prostitute, but you can take it in any way you would like to.” Rebecca then went on to describe writing sex scenes. She encouraged people to write about the awkward moments of sex, for instance, erectile dysfunction or premature ejaculation. She said those are the parts that no one ever wants to talk about, but are extremely relatable to most people. She then talks about how if you want to write a sex scene, you need to have sex and during it, really observe. She said that it can take away from the pleasure, but will really help you when you write a sex scene. I know what I’m doing this weekend.

My favorite quote from this experience was Rebecca Schiff when she said, “For a writer, I don’t drink very much.”