Marisol the rabbit and GI stasis

Marisol and a little sprig of mint.

Whenever my rabbits hear the jostle of the container of oats, they perk up and run towards the noise, eager for this special snack. So when on Friday night, only Panchito came running, I was worried. When I held oats by Marisol's mouth, and she turned her face away, I knew something was not right.

As a volunteer with Rabbit Advocates and rabbit nerd, I have read a lot about rabbit illnesses. One of the most common is Gastrointestinal Stasis (GI Stasis), in which a rabbit's digestive system slows down. A House Rabbit Society article refers to it as the "silent killer," which is really the last subheading you want to see when you're faced with a potential case of GI Stasis in your own beloved pet. 

Marisol kept readjusting, trying to find a comfortable position to decrease her pain. You'll notice a single cranberry near her; it took me about two hours to persuade her to eat it. 

I stayed up late with Marisol and coaxed her to accept a fresh cranberry, a treat she loves. I hoped that her lack of appetite was some weird fluke, and that in the morning everything would be back to normal. After all, before I left the house for work on Friday morning, I had spent time with Marisol and noticed she was eating and being her usual playful self.

Sadly, the next morning, Marisol showed no interest in her breakfast of Oxbow pellets. She stayed huddled in a corner of the living room. And something about the way she was hunched struck me as off. She looked like she was in pain.

Rabbits are prey animals, so they do not show their pain like us predator animals do. Wild rabbits are fully aware that any noise or indication of pain can result in a predator finding them. I understand that, but it is also heartbreaking to watch your poor little house rabbit huddled in the corner, aching and filled with instinctual fear.

Needing a second opinion, I called a friend from Rabbit Advocates. Our conversation lasted less than two minutes. Once I told her Marisol hadn't eaten, she said, "take her to the vet." I think I knew that deep down, I just needed to be reminded I wasn't crazy. If a human goes a day without eating, or a dog skips a meal, it's cause for concern, but not a reason to rush to the hospital. Rabbits are different.

Within an hour, Marisol was in her carrier, accompanied by her "husbun," Panchito. It is very important avoid separating a bonded pair of rabbits, as they will calm each other during a stressful time. That comfort is even more important when you're going to the vet, which ranks high on the list of "stressful activities" for practically every pet. 

Panchito (left) and Marisol (right) in the carrier on the way to the vet. Panchito looks a little more terrified of the car ride than Marisol.

"She looks very healthy," the vet told us as she inspected Marisol. Clean and healthy ears, teeth, paws. The right temperature. The right weight (3 pounds, 4 ounces). A strong and healthy heartbeat. The vet encouraged us to keep a close eye on Marisol and take her to a more rabbit-savvy vet the next day if conditions didn't improve. The vet also suggested offering Marisol some pineapple or papaya, which apparently have enzymes that can be helpful. (Addition: When I spoke with Marisol's normal vet during the week, she said she discourages pineapple and papaya because the high sugar content can exacerbate stasis).  

I had hoped for more answers, and I had a lot of questions bouncing around in my head. Why is she sick? When will she get better? What did I do wrong? What will I do if I lose my Marisol? 

Holding Marisol at the vet's office, and reminding her how loved she is.

A day went by, and the pineapple and papaya went untouched by Marisol. She nibbled on a blade of hay, but then retreated to the space beneath one of our couches (a place she and Panchito like to sleep). Jared and I put water and pellets under the couch, just to make it all a little more easily accessible for her, but it appeared that only Panchito took advantage of the room service.

This is where I want to say how important it is to have a pair of rabbits. All through Marisol's sickness, Panchito has been by her side. He grooms her and cuddles with her, only leaving to take short bathroom breaks and grab a mouthful of hay.

"He isn't leaving underneath the couch out of solidarity with her," Jared remarked. Rabbit bonds are incredibly strong. This makes sense to me, and it is beautiful.

On Sunday afternoon (and Easter, of all days!), we packed the rabbits in their carrier and set off for an emergency clinic. Jared called ahead and found out when the rabbit specialist would be on duty. It is vital that rabbits are seen by a vet who understands them, and thankfully, living in Portland, we have several rabbit savvy vets nearby.

Second trip to the vet in two days. Again, Panchito (left) looking more terrified than Marisol (right).

On the way to the vet, I noticed that Marisol was grinding her teeth--a sound I had never heard her make before. It sounds a bit like rubbing small bits of gravel together. Teeth grinding is a subtle sign of rabbit pain (not to be confused with tooth purring, when they gently click their teeth together to signal contentment).

The wait between Marisol's vitals being taken (temperature by rectal thermometer, weight) by a technician and meeting with the vet was over half an hour. Jared, Marisol, Panchito, and I sat huddled together on a bench. Jared and I stroked the rabbits, pulling little tufts of loose fur out of their coats and scratching the spots behind their ears.

I cried during this ordeal. I like to say Marisol is my soulbunny. I love her. But I was not prepared for how lost I would feel at the prospect of losing her. She is not yet two-years-old, and I expect to have her as a pet for at least ten years, if not longer. I thought with her healthy diet and ideal living situation, that medical problems were far off. Being confronted with the possibility of losing her filled me and Jared with grief.

As soon as the vet walked into the room, Mari perked her head up. The vet said Marisol looked very healthy and alert, but had some stiffness in her stomach region. It was time to move from monitoring to medicating.

Marisol was prescribed Reglan and Metacam (for the pain), and the vet administered the first doses at the clinic. Panchito absolutely loves Metacam (he had some after his neuter) and looked forward to his regular doses. Marisol, on the other hand, was not so sure how she felt about it. It smells overpoweringly musky, but I am assured it tastes honey-like to rabbits.

Marisol takes "bug-eyed" to a whole new level.

"You caught this very early on," the vet said before we left. "I have a bunch of other rabbits in the back room here that I am monitoring and syringe feeding around the clock."

I have felt like a bad rabbit owner the past two days, and like I am letting down my fellow volunteers at Rabbit Advocates. But the vet helped me reframe that thinking--a bad rabbit owner would not have taken her rabbit to the vet twice in two days and spent hours researching GI stasis. A bad rabbit owner would not have noticed early warning signs and immediately reached out for help. Even the most thoughtful rabbit parents can't keep all illness at bay, but we can mobilize immediately when medical care is needed.

It is now almost 2 am on Monday morning, ten hours since we left the emergency pet clinic. I've been up keeping watch of my rabbits. Marisol nibbled a few pellets and drank some water. She noticed me eating a banana and came up to ask for a bite. I let her have a nibble, and cried a little. This time, not because I am worried I am going to lose her, but because she is bouncing back.

Panchito, Marisol, and me! :) Photo by Ryan Muirhead

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For more on Marisol and Panchito, visit their Instagram page: instagram.com/panchitoymarisol/

Only Temporary | Dilley #1

There is nothing like working alongside a steady stream of adrenaline. Waking up, dressing yourself, eating cookies for breakfast, and driving along an empty, desert highway to a compound tucked between a ranch and a state prison.

Through a metal detector you walk, just after neatly rearranging the entire contents of your backpack into a bin. Even the wad of tissues. Even the granola bar. The guard counts the amount of Advil you brought, because you can only bring enough for one person for one day. Depending on the day, you may be whisked through the gates as soon as you arrive, or made to wait until 8 am, the start of visiting hours.

One day, I wear a sleeveless blouse. One of the guards thinks the straps are thick enough. Another reminds me to keep my blazer on. One day, a fellow volunteer wears a top that is deemed too sheer. "I've worn this in court," she says. "Keep your cardigan on," the guard tells her, "I don't want to get in trouble for your outfit."

Over the week, we learn the names of the guards we interact with the most. One of them tells us her family is horrified that she works at such a place. They were once immigrants themselves. "I tell them, if I don't work here, who will?" She is named after a delicate flower. When we need to see clients urgently, she helps us find them. Their every move is tracked in a database we do not have access to.

The pro bono project's "offices" are in a large portable building. I went to a rural elementary school; I am reminded of my second grade classroom. The same drab tiles, bright lights. The impression that "this is only temporary," and yet, more than twenty years later, my elementary school is still dotted with these mobile shacks.

There is a large empty "lobby" area, where clients wait to meet with us and where we hold our large meetings. Along either side of the lobby, there are small rooms that are used for one-on-one meetings. Two, maybe three, are reserved for visitors. During my week there, I rarely saw visitors. Who can afford the expense or make the time to come to Dilley? It is 70 miles southwest of San Antonio.

Nearly all the women and children I speak with have family or friends waiting for them, eager to welcome them and help them build a life here. Some women hope to reunite with relatives in Tennessee, Virginia, California, New Jersey. Some will stay in Texas, but even so, it is 361 miles to Dallas and 563 miles to El Paso.

Amalia* is the first woman I meet. She is breastfeeding a tiny girl whose teeth have barely started to come in. She has left a young son in El Salvador. "Bring me a toy when you come back," her son gleefully asked when Amalia's father came to collect him.

Amalia and her two children were kidnapped by members of the MS-13 after Amalia refused to pick up extortion money for them. "Next time you don't listen to us, we will break your feet. And if that doesn't teach you, we will kill you." Within a week, she had cobbled together every penny she could and fled.

Founded in California, and spread across Central America via the mass deportations of the Reagan Administration, the MS-13 (Mara Salvatrucha) is notorious for unrelenting brutality. In Dilley, I learn about "papelitos" (literally, little papers) left on car windows and slid under doors, foreshadowing harms to come. I learn how you can spot gang members by the clothes they wear and their prominent tattoos. I learn of homes tagged, small business owners extorted, young girls kidnapped, children murdered.

Five years ago, I traveled to Guatemala City, then drove north through the jungle to Tikal--unaware of the past and present surrounding me. The sounds of birds and insects ring in my ears, and the face of a young soldier at a checkpoint appears, when I think back to the trip. In a four door sedan, under the stars, moving towards a small town in the shadow of a once-great civilization.

Maritza* has streaks of blonde in her hair and red rimmed glasses. She considers herself a city girl, but her last name reveals her indigenous place of birth. To escape an abusive spouse, she and her children fled from Guatemala City to her remote hometown where the only work you can find is picking coffee beans. The elders speak a native dialect here; Maritza's mother and grandparents remember the civil war. Soldiers took a machete to Maritza's grandfather, and he lost an arm. His only crime was being born a "campesino" (a native peasant farmer).

The law of asylum is not easy to understand. You must prove you are in danger. You must prove the authorities cannot help you. You must prove you cannot be safe in any other region of your country. You must prove you are being targeted for a specific reason, an unalterable characteristic.

Sometimes we spend hours coaching our clients, fitting their stories into the parameters of the law. Helping them organize their thoughts chronologically. Assisting them in coming up with examples and lines of reasoning to defend assumptions. Asking them to recount horror upon sadness, so they won't freeze up in the their Credible Fear Interviews, where they'll be prodded by a stranger sitting across a desk and typing on a computer, who relies on a translator present only by phone, who can show no emotion and little empathy, and asks question upon question, to the point where it would be easy for an onlooker to assume they were watching a trial, an interrogation.

Nataly* is the only person I meet who could ace the Credible Fear Interview without any help from us. She grew up in Texas as an undocumented immigrant and returned to Mexico in her twenties. In July, her husband was kidnapped and publicly executed by a cartel. Though she is reeling from the pain of losing her partner and father of her children, she cannot pause to mourn. Nataly has kept detailed, written notes on every aspect of her case. A family member drove her to a point of entry, where she immediately pled asylum--and was then sent here. Our entire conversation is in English; her accent is exactly Texan.

Nataly was the exception. Most of the women I meet with have not finished secondary, or even primary, school. Many have been forced into relationships with older men, pushed into having children as soon as they are old enough. Some struggle to write, and others cannot read or write altogether. Often, I'll ask what part of their country they are from, and they'll shrug and say they are not sure.

We leave just before 8 pm each night. It is August, and the sun is still bright as we drive to the mobile home park where we are staying. Late into the night, we type our notes into the database. We email the permanent staff for advice and for help requesting special accommodations--translators for women who speak native dialects, female asylum officers for victims of unspeakable sexual violence, further medical evaluation for children with fevers, coughs, and rashes, who until now, have only been offered Vick's VapoRub.

It is midnight, and I cannot sleep. I simultaneously wonder how it is possible to do this work for weeks on end, and how I will ever be able to leave. When on Friday I walk away from the residential center to return to Portland, I do not turn for a final glance. I feel as if the next morning I will be back, emptying the contents of my bag onto a conveyor belt, ready for the next wave of adrenaline to hit.

*Names changed, per women's request for anonymity.

--
I traveled to Dilley, Texas as part of my volunteer affiliation with the Innovation Law Lab, an exceptional nonprofit organization on the front lines of the fight for asylee and refugee rights. If you would like to learn more, please contact me at victoriabmuirhead@innovationlawlab.org.

Ireland Revisited

This past October, Jared and I were fortunate to be able to return to Ireland once again. It is one of our favorite places in the world-- such a beautiful country, with a rich heritage.

If you are considering a trip abroad and are on a budget, consider visiting Ireland during the off season (October-April). Some of the country's key tourist attractions may be closed or operating on a reduced schedule, but as a result, you will likely get some great deals on lodging, food, and car rentals. It may also be rainy and a bit chilly, but that's what warm socks and rain coats were made for.

Jared and I typically fly Delta, and were able to find last minute, round trip tickets from San Francisco to Dublin at the low cost of $523. We left on October 6, and arrived on the morning of Jared's birthday-- October 7.

Friday, October 7

Immediately after picking up our car rental, we drove north to County Meath. We had planned to see Newgrange, a very well known, prehistoric, above ground tomb type structure. However, when we arrived at the visitor center, we learned that we would have to wait several hours before the next tour. We decided to simply purchase a ticket for a tour of Knowth, a nearby and, for some reason, less popular, though similar, site.

Obviously, I can't make a comparison having only seeing Knowth, but Knowth was pretty spectacular. A series of mound shaped "tombs" sit clustered on a hill overlooking a lush valley. The tombs are covered with grass. Within are passageways that connect to other structures (although, as tourists, we are only allowed to venture a few feet underground).

Knowth has a very rich history. It was initially constructed in prehistoric times, and continued to be in use for several years-- just adapted to suit the rulers of the time. Many artifacts, possibly dating as far back as 4000 BCE have been discovered beneath the mounds.

After our somewhat whimsical tour of Knowth, it was time to drive west to Doolin. I don't know why we decided driving across the country after spending hours on a plane was a good idea. How quickly we must have forgotten the treachery of the dimly lit, narrow Irish road. Never again!

This was likely our big mistake of the trip. As we neared Doolin, the sun began to set and we found ourselves on a narrow road that butted up to a foreboding rock wall. Other cars were whizzing by as if on a freeway. But we were terrified. Jared was driving, but as a passenger, my anxieties were high, too.

Finally, we made it to the Roadford House, a lovely, simple bed and breakfast with a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean and town of Doolin. We were treated to a delicious dinner-- Roadford House is known as one of the best restaurants in the area. We were then so tired, we almost immediately went to sleep.

Did I mention it was Jared's birthday? Yes! On one hand, how wonderful it was that we went to Ireland. On the other hand, how unfortunate that he had to spend a sizable portion of his day driving on a narrow road (not to mention, on the left).

Saturday, October 8

Jared chose Saturday's itinerary. Fascinated by the Aran Islands, off the coast, he booked a ferry trip to Inishmore. Our inn was a short drive to the dock, and for that, we were thankful.

We boarded the Happy Hooker, a ferry of healthy repute, and voyaged for what felt like a quarter of an eternity until we reached the first of the three Aran Islands. But alas, it was not our destination. Nor was the second. At last, we reached the final island, where we disembarked. Thank goodness for Dramamine-- it kept my delicious breakfast of oatmeal and cream in my stomach where it belonged.

Almost as soon as we reached Inishmore, it began to rain. The countryside really does look stunning covered in a cape of mist. It almost gives you the illusion of going back in time, and seeing it through the eyes of early settlers.

When you see a normally rainy place on a sunny day-- you have a feeling that you are a tourist and the morning has been staged for you. When you see a place in the rain, and when you begin to feel as if the jackets you brought are not enough, your experience, though uncomfortable, feels genuine.

We rented a tandem bike, which we soon discovered had a bit of a malfunctioning chain. Our very touristy island map assured us that it was an "easy 30 minute bike ride" from the port to Dun Aonghasa, a prehistoric fort built on cliffs overlooking the ocean.

Perhaps it would have been an easy 30 minute ride if I was in better shape, if it was not raining, and if we had not accidentally taken the high road as opposed to the low road. Since this isn't a parable, there really is no virtue or secret to be unlocked in taking the high road. I suppose it makes a slightly better story-- but at the time, it sure was painful.

Seeing Dun Aonghasa was worth taking twenty high roads. It is absolutely stunning. I can't imagine how prehistoric people even began to envision and build such a majestic fort. I am afraid of heights, and even I felt compelled to stand near the edge and peer down at the rocks below.

We stopped at a few other spots on the island-- the Seven Churches, as well as a beach occasionally frequented by seals (we saw no seals-- just kidding, we saw seals. I just forgot). We weren't in luck where vegetarian fare was concerned, so we made do with coffees and our supply of granola bars. Always travel with snacks-- as a picky eater, that is one of my many mottos.

Oh, it should also be noted, on our way back, we took the low road.

When we finally made it back to Doolin, it was time to head to the Dingle Peninsula, where we were to spend the next two days. I had found a really charming, refurbished farm hand's cottage on Airbnb, complete with a small kitchen and sauna.

Once again, we forgot to fully take into the account the poor road conditions, and the fact that most of our driving was to be done under the shroud of darkness. On top of that, our GPS could not find the cottage, and we were left to rely on directions from the host. While his directions ultimately got us to the right location, there is something comforting about being able to stare at your GPS or smartphone and know exactly how many miles or minutes you have to go before you arrive at your destination.

Sunday, October 9

We allowed ourselves to sleep in-- it was time for some vacationesque relaxation after being on the go for the past couple of days. We then filled a backpack with snacks and water, then headed out for the Slea Head Drive, which makes a loop around Dingle Peninsula.

To get to the drive, you must trek through some exceptionally rocky terrain. It was somewhere along this road that we stopped at a lookout. We were informed by a young German teen who spoke fairly good English, that if we were willing to hike and scramble rocks for ten minutes or so, we would make it to a very beautiful lake. We decided to take his word for it, and did indeed make it to a lovely lake.

We felt like wimps on our way back, especially me, as I struggled to find my footing (and avoid mossy mud). Our sense of wimpiness was especially heightened by the fact that a young Irish man was walking the same "path" (I put that in quotes, because it was really a free for all to get back over the boulders) with two young children in tow that he was practically carrying simultaneously.

Shortly after our hike, we entered the Conor Pass-- a one lane road that connects to Slea Head Drive. Conor Pass cuts through the mountains, one side of the road hugging the hills, the other exposed to clouds and sky. It was a scary road, but because it was truly a one lane road, cars drove slowly and were very polite about making space. Honestly, we felt safer on this road than the "two lane" roads in Doolin.

We stopped in downtown Dingle for a bite to eat, then continued the drive, stopping at beautiful points of interest along the way. In contrast to the day before, today was clear and sunny. I wore sunglasses (Jared never does, perhaps on principle?) and there was no need for a coat.

At one point, Jared tested the water temperature at Coumeenoole Beach, and discovered it was very much like Half Moon Bay in California, perhaps even a touch warmer. When I close my eyes and think of Ireland, I return to a grassy spot overlooking the sea. So lovely, so freeing.

Monday, October 10

Before leaving Dingle Peninsula, we stopped at a beach named Inch Strand. "Inch," in this case, has nothing to do with size. The seashore is incredibly lengthy. Being the off season, and a cloudy day, there were hardly any people on the beach. I think we saw about a dozen people, maybe a couple of dogs.

Our next step was Killarney, where we planned to visit Ross Castle. Ross Castle is more of a tower. It dates back to the middle ages and was the home of a prominent family in the area. Over the years, the tower fell into disrepair. A group of American businessmen decided to purchase the castle and surrounding land with hopes of transforming it into a theme park. However, one man bought out the others, and decided on a historic restoration. Now, you can pay a few euros for a very informative tour of the castle.

Tours with Jared are quite fun. Guides often throw out questions they hope nobody will know, but Jared almost always seems to know the answers. However, there was a question that stumped us all on this tour-- we learned that in the middle ages, plates were polished with lead to keep them bright and shiny. Unknown to the noblemen, the lead, though elegant, was also poisonous.

Life in the middle ages, even for the royals and nobles, is not something to be envious of. They pooped in a common place, and then used the stench to rid their clothes of bugs. They positioned their staircases and designed their homes with an eye towards fighting off assailants. They did not sleep lying down, partially because they believed one should only lie down if dead, but also partially because they likely had such poor respiratory function, it was not possible to comfortably do so.

What a great tour we had a Ross Castle, and what lovely walk around the nearby lake, but I am glad we did not stumble upon a time traveling relic while there, because I would have not enjoyed the lives they had.

After our time at Ross, we ventured to the Killarney National Park. We walked up to Torc Falls, which was rather reminiscent of Portland. We also stopped at Ladies' View. A beautiful lookout named for Queen Victoria's ladies-in-waiting. Upon visiting Killarney, they all agreed they loved this spot, so it was named for them. Since I share the great queen's name, I almost feel personally involved in this outcome.

We spent this night, and the subsequent night, at the Killeen House, which I highly recommend. The owners (a husband and wife) are absolutely delightful-- they knew our names, and gave several great suggestions. Over dinner (which was divine) we overheard a conversation with other guests, where the owners recalled previous guests from years past in great detail. What talent!

Tuesday, October 11

We had planned to take a boat tour around the Skellig Islands, but due to poor weather, the trip was canceled. You may know of the Skellig Islands from Star Wars. Nowadays, it's next to impossible to book a landing trip there-- even for the locals.

Only a certain number of people can visit Skellig each day, and only during the regular tourist season. It is much easier to do an "eco tour," where you just circle around the islands. That was what we had planned to do, until the weather interfered.

We instead drove around the Ring of Kerry, making a stop at a quaint little rock circle, where people wrote wishes and tied them to the branches of a nearby tree. We met a nice couple there, two American men, with whom we had a friendly conversation. It appeared that one of the men had recently finished cancer therapy.

We also stopped at Ballycarbery Castle, which was once owned by the same family that owned Ross Castle-- the Valentine Browns. A gorgeous ruin, nearby signs admonish visitors to keep away because it is structurally unsafe. We were the only people there, so after rushing out in the wind to take a good look, I took a nap in the car.

On our way home, we made another stop at Ladies' View, where we stopped for a snack. I even managed to place a Growlithe at the Ladies View gym there (for all of you Pokemon Go players).

Wednesday, October 12

We loved our past experience at Dromoland Castle so much, we decided to return this time. In addition to booking a hotel and dinner, we booked breakfast, a hawk walk, and a last minute spa treatment (for me; Jared is not fond of people rubbing his bones together).

We arrived a little too early to check in-- our fault entirely. But management treated us to scones and coffee. Delicious. We can't get enough of scones, especially when clotted cream is in the picture!

Afterwards, we went on our hawk walk with Anthony the hawk. A beautiful young guy, he has a penchant for landing on heads and flying into tree branches. After a walk with Anthony, where he flew from arm to arm, we got to see the rest of his "friends."

There are several other hawks on the grounds, along with a few owls. A creepy nightmare owl and a beautiful fluffball of an owl.

Later, we had dinner at the Earl of Thomond. It was not as magical as the year before-- mostly because the men at the table next to us were being incredibly foul, and we later learned they were actually staff at the restaurant, celebrating the last day of a friend. Their behavior put quite a damper on our appetites and our entire experience.

Thursday, October 13

Even as I write this, I feel the sadness that comes with knowing something good is drawing to a close. Our trip was a beautiful respite from the "real world."

We saved a couple of our favorite places for this, our last full day in Ireland. First, we stopped at the Rock of Cashel. A bit more crowded this time, and a bit brighter, it was still gorgeous.

We also learned that if you spend more than 15 euros at a nearby gift shop, you get free admission for up to two adults and four children. That's only slightly more than the cost of admission for two adults, so it was totally worth it. We now have a tiny knick knack in our home that reminds us of our trip. We usually hate knick knacks, but this one is small and tasteful.

Our next and final step was Glendalough. Oh, beautiful Glendalough, home of St. Kevin. The more I learn about St. Kevin, the less I think I like him. He was a hermit who established Glendalough, and it is rumored that he once pushed a woman off a cliff for "tempting" him. Quite a forceful way to say no, don't you think?

Glendalough was a little more crowded this time. There was a large group of schoolchildren from Spain, and several families and couples. We also couldn't locate an exceptionally interesting fallen tree we had spotted two years prior-- but I guess that isn't all that uncommon. All of the ruins were still there. So were the signs advocating for the protection of the grazing sheep.

On our drive there, and our drive north to Dublin, we saw several signs for "St. Kevin's Way." My, my, my, he sure had quite the way. It seemed to weave itself in and out of every nook and cranny, and appear when you hardly expected it.

I joked with Jared that maybe we should walk St. Kevin's Way one of these days. But he knows our minds best; we aren't that type of tourist. We prefer cars, and occasionally, tandem bikes.

Why I don't participate in my employer's wellness program

Off the cuff email addressed (and sent) to the Stanford BeWell program:

Hello,

During my first two years as a Stanford employee I participated in the BeWell program. What wasn’t there to like about an easy extra $200? However, my attitude towards the program began to change during my second year of participation.

The in-person screening and advising appointment was very uncomfortable. Emphasis was placed on my weight, and on how I needed to exercise more. As a woman who is 5’7” and 140 lbs, I am by no means overweight. However, the advising, and subsequent follow ups placed undue focus on my body. Having struggled with my self-image for much of my life, and having experienced a surge in weight over the past two years (due in part to added medication), this focus did more harm than good. During a follow up coaching session, I broke down in tears of guilt and frustration. It was then that I realized, the extra $200 was not worth it. Not worth the constant guilt over body weight and image.

One might say, yes, well, you don’t have to focus on physical exercise or weight loss, you could choose to focus on stress, or healthy eating, etc. But the thing is, my life is pretty great as is. My job does not unduly stress me out. I have great family relationships and friendships in my life. I know what helps me decompress after the rare challenging day at the office. I’m a vegetarian and a great cook, and most of my meals are prepared at home. I have an excellent primary care doctor who I trust when I have medical issues.

So when someone asks me, what do you want to focus on? I immediately say the first thing that comes to my mind, and the thing that bothers me the most—my weight. And not once has anyone at BeWell replied with, actually, you’re at a very healthy weight for your age and height. Nope, every time they reply with tips on eating less and exercising more—tips that reinforce my already negative beliefs about myself.

This year I decided to not participate in BeWell. And I’ve already decided that I will not participate next year either. And oddly, I feel like in my own unique way, I’ve chosen what truly makes me feel well.

Sincerely,

Victoria Muirhead

A Jaunt Up North

Over President's Day 2015, Jared and I took a quick trip up to Seattle to see the sights with my aunt Susan. Despite colder-than-Bay-Area temperatures, we managed to stay warm enough and had a magnificent time! 

After dropping off our bags at Susan's house, we hit the town-- stopping at the popular Space Needle. If you download a free app, virtual space needles will appear in the photos you take-- as long as you're standing in the right spots beneath the needle:

(1) Susan looking very local and composed.  

(2) Victoria confused in the clouds.

(3) Jared using mind powers for city entertainment.

Next stop: Chihuly Museum-- which I highly, highly recommend to museum lovers of all ages. Jared and I took one glasswork class, in which we made mere paper weights (no glass blowing involved), but it gave us a whole new appreciation for glass art.

Apparently the new frontier is combining colors. But I think we can all agree that the shapes created are definitely impressive, too.

An octopus's garden!

Voyage of the imagination

We walked over to the Bill and Melinda Gates visitor center, which highlighted some of the really cool projects they are undertaking across the globe. 

Talking about philanthropy....

A scrolling paper list of everything the foundation has supported... Anything in this snapshot catch your eye? 

More photos from around town:

A... fish ladder?

Getting some sun at a local burger joint... Yum!

We got to spend some time with my cousin Michelle, her husband, Matt, and their fun (and big) dogs. They live in a beautiful town called Burien, a short walk away from the coast. 

We walked down to the nearby beach park just before the sun set, then headed back to their home for a tasty barbeque. 

Not warm like Hawaii, but so scenic.

An unpeopled picture of the shores.

One of the "high"lights of our trip was Deception Pass, north of Seattle. From there, you cross a bridge onto Whidbey Island. The view is gorgeous:

Tumultuous seas below.

Jared, the bold adventurer

Hundreds of feet above land and water

Beneath the bridge

Once on Whidbey Island, we visited several former military sites, now parks.

Who knows what we are laughing about here?

A cute little lighthouse!

We had the opportunity to visit the Boeing Museum. I know Jared could have spent more than the day we spent there. 

Aboard a retired Air Force One plane

All the cool kids (and I literally mean kids) were climbing into this contraption, so I had to, too.

On our final day, I overcame my fear of heights to ride the ferris wheel hundreds of feet into the air:

Jared: having an awesome time! Me: freaking out, palms are sweaty... but still managing to smile.

Susan: Just enjoying life.

The view from the top of the wheel was incredible! 

The view from the top of the wheel was terrifying!

My bravery was rewarded with a most delicious meal from The Pink Door, an Italian restaurant near Pike's Place Market. I had a delicious veggie lasagna. Jared had a perfectly toasted grilled cheese sandwich, and Susan had colorful beet salad. We ended our meal with these divine cream puffs and lemon cake with blood orange sauce... both of which were amazing... especially the cream puffs. 

I have a feeling it won't be long before we are back in Seattle again.