I'm broke, but it was well worth it.

It's a strange feeling, coming home after 3 months of living in another county. Back to New York accents. Back to driving on the right side of the road. Back to a place you've known all you're life. And you feel both instantly comfortable but also out of place. Momentarily at least. Now, I can't teleport (not yet at least), but it almost feels like I have. Such an abrupt end to an amazing summer away. A sudden reality check. But a necessary one. And so, for the past few days, I've lived in unbelief. Yes, it's great to be home. There's no place like home. But it's surreal. Did this summer really happen? Did I really take the overnight bus from London to Paris and back again? Did I really play ultimate frisbee in the Queen's park (Green Park)? And where did all the pubs go??

Anyway, what I really set out to say in writing this blog was a simple thank you. Thank you to mom and dad, family and friends, professors at Arcadia University and those people who gave me the extra loans, for supporting me through this adventure and amazing experience. Thank you to the staff and patients at Queen Mary's for welcoming me to London, for taking me under your wing and leading me by example, for teaching me so so much about amputees, prosthetics and physio, for being my family, and for being my friends. I will cherish all the memories, and who knows, maybe I'll be back to visit some day. Thank you Leslie for being my roommate, for exploring London with me, for keeping me sane and calm as we waited on the side of the highway for our bus back to London, and just for being a friendly and familiar face day in and day out. (I still can't believe how small our room was!)

This whole "living in London" experience was a greater blessing than I could ever have hoped for. I am grateful for the memories and the lessons learned (both PT related and life lessons). But most of all, I am grateful for all the support from all of you. Thank you. Cheers.

Frisbee = Zen

I wanted to give a HUGE shout out to my fellow ultimate players! I have been blessed 10 times over by playing frisbee every (ok, most) Sundays while I've been here in London. As my friend Jim puts it, "playing frisbee is my zen." It clears your head. It's a great workout. And seriously, how much better can it get: playing frisbee in a beautiful park right in front of Buckingham Palace, most mornings getting serenaded by the "changing of the guards" marching band music. I wonder if the Queen looks out her window and smiles when she sees such fit young people (including you, Jim!) enjoying her park?!? I can dream at least. Anyway, being able to play has added so much to this whole experience abroad: what a treat it is to be able to join together with complete strangers and have good ol' fashion, light-hearted fun. So, thank you all for the fun and memories and for welcoming me so warmly.

Play on and may frisbee continue to a your zen!

Before and After

By popular demand, ...Natalie BEFORE the Haircut:


... Natalie AFTER the "best and worst" Haircut EVER:


Both silly pictures, oh well :)

My Latest Adventures

This past Friday, I was feeling rather spontaneous. On the bus to work, I contemplated what I wanted to do this weekend. And then out of blue, it came to me. Why not go to Paris? Sure, why not. Only live once. I decided that the overnight bus was my cheapest option, and I could catch a bus that very night. Come quiting time at work, I rushed to an internet cafe to buy my coach ticket. This was at 4:00 in the afternoon. Five hours later, I was sitting on the coach bus, on my way to Paris. At 11:00 p.m, I was warmly welcomed (ok, I was allowed in) into France by Border Patrol. Then the bus drove onto the ferry, I spent an 1 1/2 hr on the ferry, and then I got back on the bus for another 4 hr journey. Yes, it was a long journey. Thankfully, I slept through most it! Who says you can't sleep on a bus??

Anyways, there I was. In the coach station, in PARIS, at 7:30 in the morning! Map in hand and a Metro ticket from my sister, I was off to find the Louvre, then Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower, Sacre Cour and the Opera House. It was quite the adventure! and such a full day! And the craziest part is that I was only in Paris for 15 hours! At 10:00 I boarded the overnight bus, on my way back to London. This way I didn't have to pay for a hostel. And I could sleep on the bus again and have all day Sunday to recover. All in all, it was an exciting and fun weekend in a whirl-windy sort of way. I'm glad I did it though, thanks Nicole for the recommendation (and funding!)
___
And now for my biggest, bravest adventure thus far while in London.

Today I got my HAIRCUT!!How does this qualify as an adventure...I'll explain:

Again, today after work, I was feeling spontaneous. I walked into the little mall by Gloucester Road Tube Station, and the hair salon caught my eye. Haircut for 12.95 pounds (about $20). Sounds good, I could use a cut.

It started out on a very positive note. The hairdresser washed my hair for a good 10 minutes!! Shampoo, Massage. Conditioner, Massage. Another liquid, Massage. Probably the best head massage I've ever had.

Then I sat in front of the mirror and he starts fluffing my hair as hairdressers do, and I know what he's going to ask before he does: how do you want your hair cut?? I give him my generic answer (because I'm unadventurous when it comes to my hair): I want it a little above my shoulders, a few layers, a little more of a style.

"Do you want a French cut (point to my bangs) or a French side cut?" Uh, sorry, can you explain that? I'm a clueless American.

We decide on a French side cut (why not?) And so, the haircut begins. He divides my hair into sections. Nothing different there. But then he makes his first cut. Now, imagine how you would cut a piece of wrapping paper, using one long motion to cut all the way across the paper. That, is how he cut my hair. No "snip, snip, snip' of the scissors. It was an awful noise (rippppppppp), cutting straight through strands of hair. Is this guy really going to cut my hair?? I thought I took a deep breath and decided that it was only hair. He kept going. Eventually, he did go "snip, snip, snip," and this made me feel much better. For a little while. But then it was time for the French side cut bangs.

He left the division for my bangs for last. Normal. Twirling it into a knot at the top of my head. He then proceeded to "attack" my hair with his scissors, stabbing the twirl of hairs with open, sharp, scissors. In and out, In and out. "Shearing" I guess you'd call it. I'm pretty sure it was at this point that I had to started to laugh. This can't be happening.. But, it was.

At this point, I was convinced that he was finished. And I had to say, I was actually liking the cut, even after getting attacked by his scissors. But,no luck. He wasn't finished yet. He then went all around my head and used his open scissors to stab and attack and shear away hair in a random fashion. It's hard to describe. But it definitely wasn't a snip, or even a chop. Form of shearing again. (I'm guessing this part was to thin/fluff my already thin hair.) Who really knows at this point? He soon finished up, fluffed up my hair as he did in the beginning and asked me if I like the cut. The words, "yes, I like it" came out of my mouth, but my head wasn't so sure.

Let's just say, it was an eye-opening experience. I'm pretty sure my hairdresser at home will have her work cut out for her upon my next haircut. All I can say is that this was definitely the best and the worst haircut I've ever had.


(I think I'll stop being spontaneous for a while!)

Where in the world is Natalie?

...can you guess?

The tale of the Englishman

I'm learning many things here in London. Academically, I am learning all about how to work with persons with amputations. How to teach them to use their artificial leg (prosthesis) to increase their mobility and in many cases, to walk again. Today, one my patients, an amputee, "graduated" from walking school and he was discharged from the hospital after being there for 3 weeks. A long time to be away from home. But at 5pm today, his son-in-law was going to pick him up and drive him home. Home again to be with his wife. And the best part: he was going to WALK into the front door. It would be the first time his wife saw him walk since he had his amputation earlier this year. What a journey this man has been on. Yes, he lost his leg. Yes, it has been painful physically and emotionally. But yes, he would walk again. He is walking again. I can just picture his wife's proud face, smiling as he walked into the house today.

And I'm learning a thing or two about the English culture. First of all, I learned the difference between British and English. The true English are those who were born and live in England. British refers to any person born and living in the United Kingdom (Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and England).

I am adding many new words to my vocabulary such as "rubbish" "cheers" "cheeky" In context:
1. The weather today is just rubbish. There's nothing good on television. There's only rubbish
2. "Here's another cup of tea," says Sally. "Cheers," replies Andrew.
OR "Here's your change love," says the cashier. "Cheers" she replies trying to sound British but everyone knows right away, she's American.
3. "How did you get to England?" asked one my patients. "I flew." I replied. "You cheeky monkey, of course you flew!"

And last but not least, I'm learning a thing or two about romance. Yes, that's right. Yesterday, a near and dear patient of mine (a true "Englishman" he calls himself) was giving me dating advise. The conversation went something like this:

Englishman:(Insert English Accent) "Nat-a-lie, love. You really need to get married soon. It's best to get married when you're young. I can see you having a large family. Find yourself, a nice looking chap and go after him. And when you find him, give him a signal-So he knows you're interested. Give him "the look." You know, give him "the eyes." (Englishman gives me the eyes.)
Me: Ok, I'll keep that in mind then. (smiling and trying to look busy somewhere else)

10 minutes later

Englishman: Nat-a-lie, love. Come here. You see that fellow over there. He's a good looking fella. Take it from me. I know. You should go after him. Yes, he's a very good looking chap. Do you want me to say something to him? I'll tell him that you're interested.
(Insert Me with bright red cheeks)
Me: No, no. That's ok. Thank you anyway. I'd be so embarrassed.
Englishamn: Ok. Hey you, you're a handsome chap. Are you engaged??

Handsome Guy (insert thick Irish accent): No, I'm not sir. (Laughs, blushes I'm sure).
Englishman: Oh good good. Because this lady sitting right here. She's eligible. And she has eyes for you!

Me (in my head): Eyes for him. Well, he is good looking and his accent is cute, but where did this come from? Is this really happening? Did he just say this, right in front of me??

Handsome Guy: Oh, is that right? (remember: thick Irish accent = very cool).
Englishman: Yes, you should take her out to dinner. Isn't that a good idea? You'd both have a really good time.
Handsome Guy: Oh yea? I might just have to do that sir??
Englishman: Oh, brilliant. It's a date then?

Me (to Englishman): Ok, very good. I think it's that time. Your patient transport is here friend.

And Cut. Close the curtains.
Handsome Guy exits.
I exit. Beet red in the face.
Englishman goes home, only to return tomorrow.

And that is the tale of the Englishman. The tale continues of course, but that's enough for one day.

Overall, it was all in good fun.

And in case you were wondering, no there is no date in the near future.

Three Things I LOVE...

My family...


Sunsets from my apartment window...

The Beach (Brighton, UK)...