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| If anybody knows of a place to sublet in NYC for only the month of July, I'd be very interested. I just need a bed, a toilet and a square foot of fridge space. Preferably in the Upper East Side, or close to public transportation that can easily bring me to Mt. Sinai Hospital.
And while you're at it, do you have any favorite places to go that I have to check out? I hear there's this yogurt place...berry something?
Edit: Ok, found a place, one block from the hospital. Nice! Thanks for all your help. And I guess I'll have to try this Pinkberry place for myself. I've seriously never heard of this phenomenom.
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| NY, NY
Damn. Just confirmed it. I'll be in New York City for a month, and I'll be leaving in just over a week. Talk about last minute planning. So...all ya'll New York peeps, got a couch? Just kidding. Hopefully I can find housing through the program ($900 a month...I hear that's cheap). I'm doing an away rotation at Mt. Sinai. My recent breakup with L effed up my plans to do my away rotation in Boston and match in Boston. Luckily, my last minute scrambling for "aways" has rewarded me with what I believe to be the last open away rotation for otorhinolaryngology on the island of Manhattan. I'm probably 80% excited and 20% scared. But I'm 95% looking forward to it.
And more breaking news. I'm going on my first "date" since the breakup tomorrow night...gotta get back in the saddle some time. I don't know if she thinks it's a date...in my mind, it is. I know I'm not completely over L. You think you're over her, but then she leaves an irresponsible voicemail telling you that she misses you, and your heart still feels that twinge. I'm certain that I don't want to get back together with her, which I think is significant progress. Like that line from Little Miss Sunshine: "You know how tired I am? If some girl came up to me and begged me to fuck her, I couldn't do it." Well, I'm not that tired of her, but that's where I stand emotionally. I would say no from an emotional standpoint.
So this girl I'm taking out, she's convinced that she's a rebound date. I don't think I've ever "rebounded." Is "rebounding" more virulent if you're broken up with, rather than the breaker-up'er? Am I on the rebound now? I said, "Don't you think two months is out of the rebound time frame?" She responded with a resounding, "No!" I'm not an expert here...any insight you could offer to help me understand this rebound phenomena such as inclusion criteria, symptomatology, etc etc, would be very helpful.
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| Under My Umbrella...ella ella, eh eh eh.
You could probably call this my lamest post ever. But that Rihanna song, Umbrella, has been playing in my head all day. It's not that good of a song, but I get flashbacks of the video of her naked covered in silver paint repetitively singing syllables to the word "Um-Bra-Ella"...and a part of me likes it.
Besides that, I've thoroughly enjoyed my first week back in lab. Learning new techniques. Transfecting, transforming, amplifying, digesting, ligating, co-IP'ing. This is my first big time lab, where we're racing to discover something before two other labs across the country do. It's kinda a rush. Very different from my last two labs.
What else...entered the post-breakup workout craze a couple weeks ago.
Swimming three times a week, lifting four. So much weaker than I was.
Must rebuild. Sigh...happy to know this new protein powder doesn't
give me gas. It's the little things in life now.
Sent off my application to the University of Washington for an away rotation in September. They have open spots; I next day'd it. Glad to have that off my shoulders. My incredibly broad and ripped shoulders. (Soon, very soon....)
It's starting
to become nice to not have somebody knowing what I'm doing at all times.
Know what I mean? Before it was: "Hey baby, I'm in the car driving to
the gym. Chest day. What are you up to? I'll call you when I'm
driving home." *one hour later* "Hey, I'm driving home now, gonna eat
dinner. Oh, you're studying? What are you learning? (blah blah) Ok,
I'm home now...call me when you're walking home?"
What the F? So much better now. I feel free.
Oh yeah, I became an American yesterday. Got sworn in with about 500 other immigrants in a school gymnasium. I wasn't expecting much, especially after singing the Star Spangled Banner, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and watching a video of America landscapes set to the song of "I'm proud to be an American." But as we were told to stand, for the oath, they called on each soon-to-be New American to stand by country. Started out with Afghanistan...and that set the tone. So many people, from over 60 countries: Iraqis, Israelis, Sudanese, Croatians, Russians, Iranians, Koreans, Rwandans, Mexicans, Vietnamese and Indians...and me, one of the few Canadians, standing together, reciting in unison, to become Americans. It was kinda cool. Inspiring. Cliche as it may sound, we live in a great country. God bless America...and may He give our President wisdom. Lots of it. Please?
My biceps are so swollen I must strain to brush my teeth. Yessssss.
~~~~~~
When the sun shines we'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
That I'll always be your friend
Took an oath Imma stick it out 'till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my Umbrella
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| Taipei, ROC
#1 I tried a bidet for the first time yesterday at the Narita/Tokyo airport.
I had heard of these contraptions. A device attached to the toilet that "gently" cleanses your bottom after you drop the kids off at the pool. There were controls on the right side of the toilet complete with pressure settings that ranged from 1-7. I was a bit wary of the pressure, so I brought it down to 2 before hitting the spray button. First of all, it was not so much a spray as a direct stream of water. And second of all, it was uncomfortably aimed directly at my anus. I don't know how they get it that accurate. You'd think that everyone's got a different ass. I immediately began hitting the "reduce pressure" button, but even at pressure setting 1, there was still nothing gentle about it. *pucker pucker* But it worked. Afterwards, I felt so fresh and so clean clean.
#2 Upon reaching Taipei, we first went to see my grandmother, whom I haven't seen in almost a decade. She had aged considerably, her back was impossibly misshapen and accentuated by a paunch that didn't seem to belong on her, like a Mr. Potato Man belly stuck on a skinny 4-foot tall woman. It led me to consider the idea of reverse adolescence. You know how during adolescence, kids grow several inches, physically change at a ridiculous rate. Maybe the same thing happens when you get old. To an extent, you're able to hold on, fight off the age, until some point when it catches up with you, and you go through several years of dramatic aging. The twilight of life.
But one thing that warmed my heart, is she was so happy to see my sister and me. She didn't cry when my grandfather died, but I could see tears of happiness in her eyes when she thanked us for visiting. My dad told us in the car, that there aren't many people in the world that you can make happy simply by your presence. It's true. I can only think of two.
#3 I want my funeral to be almost the opposite of my grandfather's funeral.
After the funeral, forgive me if this is insensitive, I whispered to my sister, "Don't let my funeral be like this." And she looked at me with understanding eyes and said, "Don't worry man, I'm on it."
It was like a haphazard practice ceremony run by a stranger who essentially had two funeral scripts at her disposal: one for a Buddhist family and one for a Christian family. After she started by reading scripture, she was informed that my grandfather was neither Buddhist nor Christian, forcing her to omit most of her lines. Upon seeing my grandfather's body, my grandmother began to talk to him. You know, the intimate whisperings that come from the heart. She was shushed by my uncles, who told her that there would be a time for her talk, when we would all be able to hear what she had to say. I mean, jeez, let a widow have her last private moment with her husband. It's incomprehensible to me. And of course, you have all the bowing, choreographed with people pushing you around to position you in the right place, or the right group.
When I die, donate whatever body parts you can, have a closed casket. If I'm able, I'd like to be able to write something to be read at my funeral. Have a slideshow, and have an open mic for whoever wants to say a few words. But the most important part, is the huge banquet afterwards. I think the crux of the issue revolves around who the funeral is viewed to benefit. I don't view my funeral as having that much to do with me. I'm dead, what do I care? But I do care about my family, my loved ones. Do what you need to feel better, to find comfort. I hope that somehow my funeral will engender even more love between those I care about. It's not about me.
#4 It's weird watching my dad cry.
Besides the housemaid that took care of my grandfather for years, my dad was by far the most emotional person. I think it's tied to indelible memories of my dad crying, asking for forgiveness for his temper, for his abusiveness, for his indiscretions, but at the same time never really changing. But again at the same time, I know that he means it at the time. My dad is the most complex person I know. But when he cries, I can't help but step away, distrust his tears, cringe internally. The more I think that I'm over my past with my dad, the more I realize that I can't escape it.
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| e-GF update
No, no, it's not epidermal growth factor. You nerds...
I saw my ex-girlfriend last night. Dropped off her stuff and received a large shopping bag full of crap I never realized that I lost. I had a plan: to enact a strong and cold exchange, walk away without turning back, and drive off never to see her again. It started well, until she said she was hungry, which appealed to my stomach and my pitiful inability to say no to pho on 19th ave. So I said ok and kicked myself immediately afterwards. To make a long story short, although I didn't play the cold role, I still played the strong role, but almost in a brotherly sort of way. And I wasn't overwhelmed with emotion either. It was like I was observing our interaction from a ceiling mounted camera. She was the waffling one, the confused one needing advice.
But I did wonder, as I was driving home, whether I was making the right call. I began to second guess my assertion that I didn't want to get back with her. I called a wise friend, who gave good advice by asking two questions: "What did you believe about L yesterday?" I believed that she had treated my heart irresponsibly, that she was flawed, and that our relationship had been irreparably harmed to the point where future Trust was a long shot at best. And his second question was: "Did she act differently than you thought she would act?" And no, she didn't. I expected her to be confused and emotional. So, he concluded, if there's no new information, there's no reason to change your assessment of the situation. I just thought that a small nugget of simplistic brilliance that I wanted to share. It's nice having a Economics PhD/MD candidate as a good friend.
"Science is a way of trying not to fool yourself. The first principle
is that you must not fool yourself, and you are the easiest person to
fool." -Richard Feynman, Nobel prize winning physicist
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Facial GSWs
My sub-internship rotation was an interesting experience. It's arguable the most important month of rotation that a medical student will do, because it's usually in the field that s/he desires to match for residency. Theoretically a sub-i takes on the responsibilities of an intern. But at the same time, you have to impress your attendings to get letters of recommendation. And though all that hecticness, for the first time in a year, I didn't develop any relationships with patients. It's kinda sad to look back on it, but my desire to impress by working my butt off in early mornings, reading up on cases at night, preparing my talks, showing off in the OR, overshadowed what I really liked about medicine: interacting with patients. I honestly had ZERO non-medical discussions with my patients the entire month. I'm going to have to think about that.
But there was this one compelling story that I thought I'd share.
I'm usually on top of all the patients on our service, because I have to skeletonize their notes in the morning and just in case one of the attendings asks me about one of their patients. The only ones I won't know about are the ones that are admitted overnight. This one morning, there's a new ICU "player," an elderly woman with GSWs to the head and neck. As we're walking to the room to round, the admitting resident is giving us the one liner.
"86 year-old lady with two gun shot wounds to the face. One in and out from the cheek to angle of mandible," as he's pointing with both hands towards his face, "and the other lodged at C2 with a dens fracture. Neurosurg is on board, to OR this afternoon."*
I'm jotting all this down, and as we go into the room, I'm first on the computer taking down her vitals. Gotta be Johnny-on-the-spot with this sort of thing. I don't think for a second that it's somewhat unusual for an old lady to get shot twice in the face, and how the heck did this happen? All that matters is impressing the superiors. On some level, that's kinda sad, but it sure was my reality for a month.
It's not until later in the afternoon, when I have a free moment to read up her chart, in preparation for the possible question from an attending, that I discover her story. She has moderate to severe Alzheimer's disease. And she was shot by her husband, her life partner of over 50 years. No, it was malicious. He loved her, I'm sure. He had been taking care of her for years, in spite of her dementia. When his heath started to fail as well, he wanted to die with his wife. There would be nobody to care for her, and why shouldn't they die together, after all they had been through? So he took his pistol, and shot her twice in the face, before putting the gun to his own head and pulling the trigger. He died. She lived.
I wonder what he thought before he shot himself. Why didn't he put the bullets in her brain, or for that matter, the heart? Did he unconsciously lower his weapon a fraction of an inch before pulling the trigger? I'll never know whether he was crying or stoic, but I remember thinking that it was a shame...a shame that they couldn't die together.
*age and injuries changed, story slightly extrapolated from the chart
~~~~~~
And then there's this story of a young tatted up dude who got shot in the face over the weekend on a drug deal gone bad, shredding up his tongue and his throat to all hell. He stays at home drinking smoothies for sustenance until his girlfriend finally convinces him to go into the ER two days after he's shot. Soon afterwards, he develops overwhelming infections because all the smoothies he drank crept into places smoothie shouldn't be, and bacteria like smoothie. What a freakin' wacko place.
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