5 Reasons Taking Over 16 Credit Hours Is A Terrible Idea

5 Reasons Taking Over 16 Credit Hours Is A Terrible Idea

You will drown.

When you first start college, you try and follow your major's suggested schedule. This is a huge mistake. With the stress of your social life, eating, and trying to load yourself up with knowledge, it is just too much for most people.

1. You will drown.

I, personally, am drowning. I decided to take it upon myself to take 19 hours, and it sucks. I've cried three times this week, and school started Tuesday.

2. The required materials will cost you too much.

If you're taking more than five classes, the books and other items your professors require from you really start to add up. I mean, $35 for a bag of rocks? Come on now...

3. The stress of all the assignments will hurt you mentally.

Most professors require huge projects and essays around the same time. It's brutal to have 3 research papers, a project, and a test to study for all due in the same week. Not to mention, when you're in the fetal position in the corner of the library, people will assume you're on crack.

4. Physically, you will make yourself sick.

It's not good for your health to be constantly worried and overworked. Trust me, you won't be able to keep food down, and the worst part is that you won't even lose weight.

5. It's just not a good idea.

If you ask around, taking a 7:30 a.m. class (not a good idea), eating McDonald's before a 5K run (not a good idea), and taking more than 16 credit hours in a semester (not a good idea).

Cover Image Credit: http://pad2.whstatic.com/images/thumb/4/4b/Recognize-That-Someone-Is-Drowning-Step-2.jpg/670px-Recognize-That-Someone-Is-Drowning-Step-2.jpg

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Yes, I Had A Stroke And I'm Only 20

Sometimes bad things happen to good people.

Recently, I read an article on Cosmo that was written by a woman that had a stroke at the ripe old age of 23. For those of you who don't know, that really doesn't happen. Young people don't have strokes. Some do, but it's so incredibly uncommon that it rarely crosses most people's minds. Her piece was really moving, and I related a lot -- because I had a stroke at 20.

It started as a simple headache. I didn't think much of it because I get headaches pretty often. At the time, I worked for my parents, and I texted my mom to tell her that I'd be late to work because of the pain. I had never experienced a headache like that, but I figured it still wasn't something to worry about. I went about my normal routine, and it steadily got worse. It got to the point that I literally threw up from the pain. My mom told me to take some Tylenol, but I couldn't get to our kitchen. I figured that since I was already in the bathroom, I would just take a shower and hope that the hot steam would relax my muscles, and get rid of my headache. So I turned the water on in the shower, and I waited for it to get hot.

At this point, I was sweating. I've never been that warm in my life. My head was still killing me. I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, trying to at least cope with the pain. Finally, I decided that I needed to go to the hospital. I picked up my phone to call 911, but I couldn't see the screen. I couldn't read anything. I laid down on the floor and tried to swipe from the lock screen to the emergency call screen, but I couldn't even manage that. My fine motor skills were completely gone. My fingers wouldn't cooperate, even though I knew what buttons needed to be pressed. Instead of swiping to the emergency call screen, I threw my phone across the room. "Okay," I thought, "Large muscle groups are working. Small ones are not".

I tried getting up. That also wasn't happening. I was so unstable that I couldn't stay standing. I tried turning off the running water of the shower, but couldn't move the faucet. Eventually, I gave up on trying to move anywhere. "At what point do I just give up and lie on the floor until someone finds me?" That was the point. I ended up lying on the floor for two hours until my dad came home and found me.

During that two hours, I couldn't hear. My ears were roaring, not even ringing. I tried to yell, but I couldn't form a sentence. I was simply stuck, and couldn't do anything about it. I still had no idea what was going on.

When the ambulance finally got there, they put me on a stretcher and loaded me into the back. "Are you afraid of needles or anything?" asked one EMT. "Terrified," I responded, and she started an IV without hesitation. To this day, I don't know if that word actually came out of my mouth, but I'm so glad she started the IV. She started pumping pain medicine, but it didn't seem to be doing anything.

We got to the hospital, and the doctors there were going to treat me for a migraine and send me on my merry way. This was obviously not a migraine. When I could finally speak again, they kept asking if I was prone to migraines. "I've never had a migraine in my whole life," I would say. "Do you do any drugs?" they would ask. "No," I repeated over and over. At this point, I was fading in and out of consciousness, probably from the pain or the pain medicine.

At one point, I heard the doctors say that they couldn't handle whatever was wrong with me at our local hospital and that I would need to be flown somewhere. They decided on University of Maryland in Baltimore. My parents asked if I wanted them to wait with me or start driving, so I had them leave.

The helicopter arrived soon after, and I was loaded into it. 45 minutes later, I was in Baltimore. That was the last thing I remember. The next thing I remember was being in the hospital two weeks later. I had a drain in my head, a central port, and an IV. I honestly didn't know what had happened to me.

As it turns out, I was born with a blood vessel malformation called an AVM. Blood vessels and arteries are supposed to pass blood to one another smoothly, and mine simply weren't. I basically had a knot of blood vessels in my brain that had swelled and almost burst. There was fluid in my brain that wouldn't drain, which was why my head still hurt so bad. The doctors couldn't see through the blood and fluid to operate, so they were simply monitoring me at that point.

When they could finally see, they went in to embolize my aneurysm and try to kill the AVM. After a successful procedure, my headache was finally starting to subside. It had gone from a 10 on the pain scale (which I don't remember), to a 6 (which was when I had started to be conscious), and then down to a 2.

I went to rehab after I was discharged from the hospital, I went to rehab. There, I learned simple things like how to walk and balance, and we tested my fine motor skills to make sure that I could still play the flute. Rehab was both physically and emotionally difficult. I was constantly exhausted.

I still have a few lingering issues from the whole ordeal. I have a tremor in one hand, and I'm mostly deaf in one ear. I still get headaches sometimes, but that's just my brain getting used to regular blood flow. I sleep a lot and slur my words as I get tired. While I still have a few deficits, I'm lucky to even be alive.

Cover Image Credit: Neve McClymont

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The Separation Of Skin & Mind

A poem about disconnect.


Why is man lost from God?

Why must we remain separate?

Is it our skin?

Hugging us tight, holding us captive to the ground we walk?

Then I offer

my skin

so that I may return home

Is it our eyes?

That keeps us blind of sights and miracles?

Then I offer

my eyes

so that I may see His Glory

The separation of skin and mind c1.staticflickr.com

Is it our minds?

That tells us when we see ripples spread across the ocean

With each wave breathing moisture into the coarse brown sand – it is only water?

Is it our minds?

That tells us laughter that brings to surface rose-red cheek

And makes vibrate the blues and greens and browns of our iris – it is only laughter?

Then I offer

my mind

so that I may understand that the scent of lavender is more than a simple smell… But rather a pulse

of consciousness that births me aware – aware to understand…more….


Because the meaning of miracles is lost

The beams of light

that dance a gentle jig on our skin

The air that swirls

through our mouths and nostrils and fill our lungs

The silence that rings

when all are calm

we have forgotten these miracles

and so

separate until we are reborn

The Wheel of Reincarnation upload.wikimedia.org

new skin

new eyes

new minds

and remember…

and return to days of our future; past

I long to sleep in the shroud of paradise

Until then… I lay to rest in the shroud of paradise lost

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