Those following along at home may have noticed a slight delay in my posts (read: 18 months). While I cannot say such a hiatus is excusable I like to think justifiable explanations exist, predominately the clinical years of my medical training, the application and acceptance process of residency, attempting to not be an awful husband, and the minor time sink of fatherhood. Pun intended. So what might I say about the past 18 months?
I think I now understand the concept of Stockholm Syndrome.
I say this because for the past two hours I have been free of the yoke of education for the first time in twenty years. Today I finished my last required day of medical school. True, the small details of some paperwork and actual graduation must occur, but for all intents and purposes I am no longer a proper student.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
There have been moments, days, weeks, and months that were pretty awful over the course of the past four years, but I'm having a surprisingly difficult time identifying them. All I can think is that this is traumatic bonding. Everyone else who has sat through countless powerpoint lectures (sometimes at the speed of 160 slides/hour), spent hours hacking their way through anatomy lab, study on white boards in study rooms (sometimes while dancing to headphoned music and having friends unjustly laugh at you), and dragging themselves through clinical rotations probably knows what I am talking about.
I've never really been anything other than a student, so what does one do in the wild working real world? Work, I suppose? All I know is that I am excited to find out. I also have a sneaking suspicion residency will still involve a plethora of learning, lectures, and superfluous activities just with a paycheck and real risk. Which is also pretty cool, because let's be real: while I have actually *gasp* enjoyed medical school, I am pumped as hell to be done.
I have to note, however, that I could not have finished the past four years without the help of my ridiculously supportive and loving wife. I guarantee she has bore the brunt of more useless medical facts than she thought existed; sometimes so far past her line of acceptable discussion that I couldn't identify it if I tried. To her, I give a million thanks.
In addition to the better half, I have to thank my parents for always being around to talk or offer a break, my sister and her family, my in-laws, my extended family, and my friends/class mates. I am convinced that all of you, and no doubt your parallels to those other students reading this, are what make medical school enjoyable and worth it for all of us. Thank you immensely.
So I suppose this is it. The end. Or more accurately: the end of the beginning. Which might take some getting used to.
Until next time.
(Because let's be real, when have I ever not had more to say?)
Friday, April 26, 2013
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Manual Over Autofocus.
I am astounded that in a month I will be one half of the way through my third year of medical school. As I've gone through a handful of rotations and have spent more time than I cared to at the hospitals, I've noticed something that has been irritating me. As a student, for as much as we are active and participating in patient care, we spend a lot of time observing. We watch residents, attendings, and nurses, seeing how they interact with patients and approach the art of medicine. The mantra that is often taught, or supposed to be taught, or ideally taught but secretly thought by some of those teaching as foolish, is that in medicine you should not treat the disease; you should treat the patient.
The sentiment of that statement rings true with how I feel. The execution? Not so much. Many physicians stop short of treating the disease, let alone the patient. Instead, they treat the symptom or a specific manifestation of the disease. An ID doctor treats the infection; the surgeon opens and drains the abscess; the endocrinologist manages the diabetes. This makes sense from a practical point of view. If I have learned anything over the past two and a half years it is that I cannot learn everything. An expert should handle the complexities and nuanced management of certain conditions. But what happened to treating the patient? (This is not to say specialists cannot treat the patient instead of a symptom or aspect of disease; it simply means I haven't seen it yet. I am wanting to, believe me.)
Recently on rounds, the attending reminded us that "In medicine, we treat the patient, not the numbers." This statement was made regarding abnormal lab values. It was meant to remind the students and residents that we cannot simply try to correct abnormalities on paper; we must look at the patient clinically to confirm, adapt, and change plans. Sadly, it was meant on nothing more than a level of clinical correlation. As opposed to a grander statement about the lofty responsibility of treating the patient, it was about confirming laboratory findings clinically. What this statement actually did for me was point out the failures of the medical team to go beyond a talking point and treat more than the patient; I instead wondered: what about the person?
Too often it seems medicine becomes bogged down in labs or physical findings. Sodium is corrected; cholesterol is monitored. While these things are astoundingly important, I do not want to be a physician who works through tunneled vision. I do not want to be a physician who treats the patient instead of the disease.
I want to be the doctor who cares for the person.
Most of the people I have worked with thus far- who no doubt care about patients immensely and typically practice good medicine- do not focus on the patient as a person. Maybe this is naive and foolish. Maybe I cannot actually appreciate the weight of what it means to be a physician and all its struggles because I haven't reached that point yet. Honestly, I do not know and don't get me wrong: there have been a handful of docs who continually impress me both with their control of medical knowledge and their approach to patient care. Such physicians do exist. I just suppose my hope is to join their ranks in one and half years (technically) and four and half years (board-certified-ly).
Until next time.
The sentiment of that statement rings true with how I feel. The execution? Not so much. Many physicians stop short of treating the disease, let alone the patient. Instead, they treat the symptom or a specific manifestation of the disease. An ID doctor treats the infection; the surgeon opens and drains the abscess; the endocrinologist manages the diabetes. This makes sense from a practical point of view. If I have learned anything over the past two and a half years it is that I cannot learn everything. An expert should handle the complexities and nuanced management of certain conditions. But what happened to treating the patient? (This is not to say specialists cannot treat the patient instead of a symptom or aspect of disease; it simply means I haven't seen it yet. I am wanting to, believe me.)
Recently on rounds, the attending reminded us that "In medicine, we treat the patient, not the numbers." This statement was made regarding abnormal lab values. It was meant to remind the students and residents that we cannot simply try to correct abnormalities on paper; we must look at the patient clinically to confirm, adapt, and change plans. Sadly, it was meant on nothing more than a level of clinical correlation. As opposed to a grander statement about the lofty responsibility of treating the patient, it was about confirming laboratory findings clinically. What this statement actually did for me was point out the failures of the medical team to go beyond a talking point and treat more than the patient; I instead wondered: what about the person?
Too often it seems medicine becomes bogged down in labs or physical findings. Sodium is corrected; cholesterol is monitored. While these things are astoundingly important, I do not want to be a physician who works through tunneled vision. I do not want to be a physician who treats the patient instead of the disease.
I want to be the doctor who cares for the person.
Most of the people I have worked with thus far- who no doubt care about patients immensely and typically practice good medicine- do not focus on the patient as a person. Maybe this is naive and foolish. Maybe I cannot actually appreciate the weight of what it means to be a physician and all its struggles because I haven't reached that point yet. Honestly, I do not know and don't get me wrong: there have been a handful of docs who continually impress me both with their control of medical knowledge and their approach to patient care. Such physicians do exist. I just suppose my hope is to join their ranks in one and half years (technically) and four and half years (board-certified-ly).
Until next time.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
All Work and No Play
Time is a sneaky mistress. For most of school thus far, any kind of ending has been far off in the future. The slippery and fluid nature of time has changed that. As things currently stand, two weeks of regular lecture, a final exam, a pharmacology shelf exam, and about 250 drugs are all that stand between me and the halfway point of my medical education. Such a time crunch might, as one would expect, explain the severe lack of blogging accomplished by yours truly.
For this I apologize, but sadly, school and all of its craziness take priority. In the mean time I hope everyone else enjoys the spring for me. I'll see you for a week and a half in the summer. (For fun, check out the new countdown at the bottom of the blog.)
Until next time.
For this I apologize, but sadly, school and all of its craziness take priority. In the mean time I hope everyone else enjoys the spring for me. I'll see you for a week and a half in the summer. (For fun, check out the new countdown at the bottom of the blog.)
Until next time.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Extermination and Creeping
I am lucky enough to report back that the Infectious Disease module -viruses, bacteria, prions, parasites, helminths, and all- has been exterminated and is thankfully tucked away in the "Win" column. (For those keeping track at home: school is still winless while I am undefeated.)
In lieu of summarizing the modules and its disgusting contents, I am instead going to go back to enjoying my spring break and leave you with this photo of my dog creepin'.
So pop-pop-pop your peepers.
Until next time.
In lieu of summarizing the modules and its disgusting contents, I am instead going to go back to enjoying my spring break and leave you with this photo of my dog creepin'.
Until next time.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Bugs and More
For the past three weeks, and for the next three as well, I have been and will continue to learn all about infectious diseases. Viruses, bacteria, parasites, fungi. You name it, we're probably learning about it. While we are currently about halfway through the process, we've only just begun the bulk of the material (bacteria) yet have completely finished viruses.
Don't get me wrong: viruses are very interesting. At the beginning of ID I thought they were much more impressive than bacteria could be. I mean, come on, bacteria can at least understandably be viewed as tangible organisms. We can see them move and divide. They are cells just like us. They have a cell wall, sure, but we can see the connection. Viruses? They're pretty much just little grenades with nucleic acid, bits of DNA and RNA covered in a protein capsid. How can we rationalize that? Pretty creepy little things.
Viruses: addressed "to whom it may concern."
Imagine my shock when we began discussing something that put viruses to shame. Made viruses into pocket-watches while they become the sundial. Of what do I speak? Prions. They are nothing more than little chunks of protein that infect cells and then screw things up. By "screw things up" I mean "get into your brain and then create tiny holes." They're the culprit behind disease like Kuru and Mad-Cow. They make no sense. Humans, animals, plants, etc? Gobs of cells all chocked full of organelles and DNA striving to make a living in life. Bacteria? Little cuties we can't help but feel sorry for. It's like they're trying to be us but just can't ever quite get there (don't feel too bad for them: Exhibit A). Viruses? Jerks that just keep trying to take over; the ants at our proverbial picnic.
But Prions? They just want to watch the world burn.
Namely because they would survive it.
What do I mean by this? In 1986, people in the UK burned over 4 million cows who might have been infected with BSE (Mad cow). And I mean torched. We're talking over 1000F heat. They then buried the ashes underground in a concrete container until 1998. TWELVE YEARS. At that point they opened the container and found the prions still smiling right back, waiting to continue their rampage of destruction. Wicked, eh?
So should we be worried? Pouring buckets of cash into prion research so that we don't all have chunks of protein infecting our brain?!
Not really. Turns out the major way to get a prion disease is via ingestion of infected tissue, also known as eating brains. This is why Kuru has only ever been historically found among people of the Fore tribe in Papau New Guinea (who engaged in cannibalism) and BSE was spreading because of the use of animal feed made up of dead-and-processed-other-animals. I'm going to spare you all the lovely photo of such a mental image that was included in our lecture. (Edit: to clarify, the most prevalent form of prion disease in humans is CJD which comes from ingesting infected beef, which likely themselves had infected food from animal products. Details.)
Oh, medical school.
Until next time.
Don't get me wrong: viruses are very interesting. At the beginning of ID I thought they were much more impressive than bacteria could be. I mean, come on, bacteria can at least understandably be viewed as tangible organisms. We can see them move and divide. They are cells just like us. They have a cell wall, sure, but we can see the connection. Viruses? They're pretty much just little grenades with nucleic acid, bits of DNA and RNA covered in a protein capsid. How can we rationalize that? Pretty creepy little things.
Imagine my shock when we began discussing something that put viruses to shame. Made viruses into pocket-watches while they become the sundial. Of what do I speak? Prions. They are nothing more than little chunks of protein that infect cells and then screw things up. By "screw things up" I mean "get into your brain and then create tiny holes." They're the culprit behind disease like Kuru and Mad-Cow. They make no sense. Humans, animals, plants, etc? Gobs of cells all chocked full of organelles and DNA striving to make a living in life. Bacteria? Little cuties we can't help but feel sorry for. It's like they're trying to be us but just can't ever quite get there (don't feel too bad for them: Exhibit A). Viruses? Jerks that just keep trying to take over; the ants at our proverbial picnic.
But Prions? They just want to watch the world burn.
What do I mean by this? In 1986, people in the UK burned over 4 million cows who might have been infected with BSE (Mad cow). And I mean torched. We're talking over 1000F heat. They then buried the ashes underground in a concrete container until 1998. TWELVE YEARS. At that point they opened the container and found the prions still smiling right back, waiting to continue their rampage of destruction. Wicked, eh?
So should we be worried? Pouring buckets of cash into prion research so that we don't all have chunks of protein infecting our brain?!
Not really. Turns out the major way to get a prion disease is via ingestion of infected tissue, also known as eating brains. This is why Kuru has only ever been historically found among people of the Fore tribe in Papau New Guinea (who engaged in cannibalism) and BSE was spreading because of the use of animal feed made up of dead-and-processed-other-animals. I'm going to spare you all the lovely photo of such a mental image that was included in our lecture. (Edit: to clarify, the most prevalent form of prion disease in humans is CJD which comes from ingesting infected beef, which likely themselves had infected food from animal products. Details.)
Oh, medical school.
Until next time.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Future!
It seems as though my time as of late has been dominated by thoughts of the future. What do I mean exactly? Many things.
Concerning literature, I pretty much read like I'm tearing up the TRON universe. By this I mean I now have a wicked sweet Kindle. While I was formerly a staunch advocate for physical books, I now realize the utility of possessing what amounts to be a Hitchhiker's Guide in my bag (Seriously. Wikipedia and free international 3G? You come up with a better way to describe it). I'll never give up physical books; the weight of the paper and smell of the words are too wonderful, but the sheer ease of reading and on the go access to my library act as a nice addition to my bibliophile-ness.
With school, our attention has been forward-focused on the looming mammoth of Step 1. The first of three nationally required licensing exams, Step 1 is an orgy of all the medical information we've learned or will have learned or will have supposed to have learned over the first two years, all condensed into 8 hours of mind-numbing goodness. Who has two thumbs and is pumped? This guy.
The final sign that I'm obviously future bound? I wrote this whole post from my frakking phone. What?
Until next time.
Concerning literature, I pretty much read like I'm tearing up the TRON universe. By this I mean I now have a wicked sweet Kindle. While I was formerly a staunch advocate for physical books, I now realize the utility of possessing what amounts to be a Hitchhiker's Guide in my bag (Seriously. Wikipedia and free international 3G? You come up with a better way to describe it). I'll never give up physical books; the weight of the paper and smell of the words are too wonderful, but the sheer ease of reading and on the go access to my library act as a nice addition to my bibliophile-ness.
With school, our attention has been forward-focused on the looming mammoth of Step 1. The first of three nationally required licensing exams, Step 1 is an orgy of all the medical information we've learned or will have learned or will have supposed to have learned over the first two years, all condensed into 8 hours of mind-numbing goodness. Who has two thumbs and is pumped? This guy.
The final sign that I'm obviously future bound? I wrote this whole post from my frakking phone. What?
Until next time.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Alive and Kicking
Contrary to what I can only assume to be popular belief, I am alive and well.
Much to my surprise, or at least cautiously optimistic belief, I successfully defeated the modular of Brain and Behavior. A nine week behemoth, it was advertised to be the most challenging module of the first two years of school- a reputation it seemed both pleased to have and eager to maintain. The most enjoyable result of being done? No more anatomy. A year ago we started in the cadaver lab and have sense made our way from the heart and lungs, through the GI tract, all around the GU system, up and down the extremities, and lastly into the brain, head, and neck. While dissection lab was usually pretty nice and a change-up from regular lecture, it's really nice to be freed from the afternoon time commitment and additional exams.
We're now into the module of Blood and Lymph which is going fairly well; it's very pathology focused which might mean a test that has its devil in the details. I still want nothing more (going on 2 weeks later) than to revel in the joy of being done with B&B, but have decided to get back to the grindstone. If I'm going to dance on the grave of this semester, I want to be damned sure it's dead. I don't know if it's cold in the ground just yet.
So that's what's going on. Fiction writing is still happening, slowly, but I am currently planning on waiting to post more until I have a better story formed. If I had more time, I'd like to be able to finish NaNoWriMo on time. I suppose with my late start, it'll just be a two/three/four month excursion for me. I mean, I'm a little busy with not shaving this month...
It is November, after all...
Until next time.
Much to my surprise, or at least cautiously optimistic belief, I successfully defeated the modular of Brain and Behavior. A nine week behemoth, it was advertised to be the most challenging module of the first two years of school- a reputation it seemed both pleased to have and eager to maintain. The most enjoyable result of being done? No more anatomy. A year ago we started in the cadaver lab and have sense made our way from the heart and lungs, through the GI tract, all around the GU system, up and down the extremities, and lastly into the brain, head, and neck. While dissection lab was usually pretty nice and a change-up from regular lecture, it's really nice to be freed from the afternoon time commitment and additional exams.
We're now into the module of Blood and Lymph which is going fairly well; it's very pathology focused which might mean a test that has its devil in the details. I still want nothing more (going on 2 weeks later) than to revel in the joy of being done with B&B, but have decided to get back to the grindstone. If I'm going to dance on the grave of this semester, I want to be damned sure it's dead. I don't know if it's cold in the ground just yet.
So that's what's going on. Fiction writing is still happening, slowly, but I am currently planning on waiting to post more until I have a better story formed. If I had more time, I'd like to be able to finish NaNoWriMo on time. I suppose with my late start, it'll just be a two/three/four month excursion for me. I mean, I'm a little busy with not shaving this month...
It is November, after all...
Until next time.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Not Quite The Beginning - Part 2
Carter grimaced when he saw the number. Pushing the side button on his phone, the call disappeared from view but remained in his mind. Could it have really been 3 years? Leaves crunched under his feet as Carter cut through the small park toward his dreary apartment building. The wind nipped at his exposed skin and forewarned the coming cold front and autumn storm. Trash littered the worn stoop of the old brick building before him. Dropping his shoulder to push open the heavy door, Carter doubted himself. Did you really think he wouldn't show up? Come calling as soon as he was out? You know him and you know he'll never change. But can't I change, he thought, arguing with himself.
After he had climbed the four flights to his one bedroom apartment and set down his bag, Carter's phone vibrated against his thigh. The accompanying tinny ringtone stopped when he pushed the talk button.
"Carter Hamilton, it's about time you picked up," Jackson's familiar voice said. "You really gonna leave an old pal like me hanging?"
"Jackson," Carter said, "how are you doing?"
"What do you mean, 'How am I doing'? How would you be after breathing free air for the first time in 3 years? I'm fucking fantastic. Glad to be out of that concrete shithole."
"I can imagine," Carter replied. Specks of dust drifted through the air in front of him, catching the evening light.
"Well now, no you can't, can you?" Jackson spat. "You weren't caught. Weren't even arrested or talked to, if I remember correctly," he added. Carter stopped pacing. Seconds ticked by. "But, let's not rehash the past. A new leaf and all that bullshit." Carter heard the squelch of a train through the phone.
"What can I do for you?" he asked. Unease twisted through his stomach, as he waited for the words he knew would come.
"I've got a job," Jackson replied. "And I could use your services." Carter felt bile seep into his throat.
"Jackson," Carter began, "I don't know if I ca-"
"You shut it. Stop right there," Jackson interrupted. "I don't want to hear a thing. Not one word. I knew you'd go soft with me gone. You never had a damn backbone." Carter closed his eyes and willed himself to say something, anything. "I don't know what you don't understand. You're the alarm guy. That's it. You deal with all the electronic crap, cutting your wires, and I handle everything else. Stealing ain't exactly a complex science."
"You don't understa-" Carter stuttered.
"No," He said. "Just meet me in an hour at the old diner on 23rd. I could use some real food." And with that, Carter heard the line go dead.
After he had climbed the four flights to his one bedroom apartment and set down his bag, Carter's phone vibrated against his thigh. The accompanying tinny ringtone stopped when he pushed the talk button.
"Carter Hamilton, it's about time you picked up," Jackson's familiar voice said. "You really gonna leave an old pal like me hanging?"
"Jackson," Carter said, "how are you doing?"
"What do you mean, 'How am I doing'? How would you be after breathing free air for the first time in 3 years? I'm fucking fantastic. Glad to be out of that concrete shithole."
"I can imagine," Carter replied. Specks of dust drifted through the air in front of him, catching the evening light.
"Well now, no you can't, can you?" Jackson spat. "You weren't caught. Weren't even arrested or talked to, if I remember correctly," he added. Carter stopped pacing. Seconds ticked by. "But, let's not rehash the past. A new leaf and all that bullshit." Carter heard the squelch of a train through the phone.
"What can I do for you?" he asked. Unease twisted through his stomach, as he waited for the words he knew would come.
"I've got a job," Jackson replied. "And I could use your services." Carter felt bile seep into his throat.
"Jackson," Carter began, "I don't know if I ca-"
"You shut it. Stop right there," Jackson interrupted. "I don't want to hear a thing. Not one word. I knew you'd go soft with me gone. You never had a damn backbone." Carter closed his eyes and willed himself to say something, anything. "I don't know what you don't understand. You're the alarm guy. That's it. You deal with all the electronic crap, cutting your wires, and I handle everything else. Stealing ain't exactly a complex science."
"You don't understa-" Carter stuttered.
"No," He said. "Just meet me in an hour at the old diner on 23rd. I could use some real food." And with that, Carter heard the line go dead.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Not Quite The Beginning
As they ran, the alarm slowly faded behind them. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, Carter thought. He and Jackson darted through the alley, their footfalls heavy and loud on the uneven concrete. No one was supposed to be there. No one was supposed to get hurt. Rounding the corner, Carter saw the flashing lights of police cars. He felt grief well inside him, the ocean of inevitability pulling him into the undertow. Jackson, struggling to keep up, gained ground as Carter stepped from the alley and abruptly stopped at the edge of the road. The wail of the police sirens grew as it bounced from the empty buildings.
The first of the black and white cars whipped around the corner. Knocking Carter to the side as he ran past, Jackson darted into the street. Carter felt the world slow as the cruiser's brakes locked into a skid. The bumper clipped Jackson's legs at the knee and bounced his body off the hood. He flew forward into the air. His face hit the pavement with a wet slap. The bones in his neck cracked with a hollow pop. Carter stared, aghast.
"Sir!" The policeman yelled, as he jumped from the car. "Sir, are you alright?"
Blood seeped into the cracked cement. Carter looked up and saw police cars surrounding the area. He looked to the growing crowd of policemen.
"What happened?" a patrolman asked.
"Is that the suspect?" another said, motioning to Jackson's lifeless body. The officers looked to Carter. Their faces wore concern beneath the flashing red and blue lights. The sirens had ceased, giving way to disturbing silence.
"Sir, what did you see? Do you know this man?" the original officer asked. Carter looked to them in disbelief. He realized how the scene must look to the policemen. They don't know what happened, he thought. Jackson's dead eyes looked through him from the street. Carter felt a heavy weight creep into his stomach. The tar brewing inside grew thicker as he paused, choking to keep it down.
Taking a shuddered breath, Carter began to speak.
The first of the black and white cars whipped around the corner. Knocking Carter to the side as he ran past, Jackson darted into the street. Carter felt the world slow as the cruiser's brakes locked into a skid. The bumper clipped Jackson's legs at the knee and bounced his body off the hood. He flew forward into the air. His face hit the pavement with a wet slap. The bones in his neck cracked with a hollow pop. Carter stared, aghast.
"Sir!" The policeman yelled, as he jumped from the car. "Sir, are you alright?"
Blood seeped into the cracked cement. Carter looked up and saw police cars surrounding the area. He looked to the growing crowd of policemen.
"What happened?" a patrolman asked.
"Is that the suspect?" another said, motioning to Jackson's lifeless body. The officers looked to Carter. Their faces wore concern beneath the flashing red and blue lights. The sirens had ceased, giving way to disturbing silence.
"Sir, what did you see? Do you know this man?" the original officer asked. Carter looked to them in disbelief. He realized how the scene must look to the policemen. They don't know what happened, he thought. Jackson's dead eyes looked through him from the street. Carter felt a heavy weight creep into his stomach. The tar brewing inside grew thicker as he paused, choking to keep it down.
Taking a shuddered breath, Carter began to speak.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Nothing But The Rain
Throughout my life, my hobbies and interests have widely varied. I can remember devouring everything I could about ancient Egypt and dinosaurs in elementary school. This transitioned to drawing and sketching to playing percussion which lead to freestyle biking to golf to learning the guitar. My unending desire for knowledge and the revolving door of activities that engaged me have both given me countless experiences. The changing focus resulted from my starting something new, tearing through it as fast as I could until I felt I had a good handle on it, then being stolen away by something else. Fortunately, the spoils of my sporadic nature have never completely abandoned me when I seemingly ditched them. I love riding my bike when I get the chance, obviously still draw and sketch, occasionally hit the links with my friends, and maintain a prehistoric presence in my life (Winston, duh).
Certain passions, however, have endured throughout my life. One of my greatest can best be described as a love of the story. Since Kindergarten, I have loved to read and have been drawn in by books and stories. From Dr. Seuss to The Boxcar Children and Goosebumps to Scottish detectives, a perpetually walking man, and a sprawling epic, this has grown throughout my years and manifested most obviously in my studying English in college. Yet, my interest in stories has never been confined to just the written word, bound and printed. Movies, TV shows, plays, musicals, bands? They can all show the complex weave of human interactions and emotion. And I love it, being more than willing to commit and dedicate bits of my elusive free time (namely whenever I can't hang out with my wife/friends and my brain can no longer handle studying).
An interesting addition began during college. Rather than merely taking in the stories, I began to produce my own, writing fiction, first for a writing class and then for fun. Much to my chagrin, the time-sinks of life and medical school stopped any continual creative progress. This fact has been sitting my mind, gnawing at my post-central somatosensory gyrus (not really- I'm just in the Brain/Behavior module right now). Throughout the day, I'll imagine bits of scenes, shadows of characters, and inevitably think I should write a story with this. Considering the frequency of my blog updates, you can imagine my success rate (hint: dismal).
Because of this, and in an effort to change it, I'm going to try and write- short stories, scenes, chunks of dialog- and probably post them here. Will these be complete stories? Good stories? Worth reading? I honestly don't know. As any writer or would-be-writer will tell you: writing is hard. It's work; it's tough; but, I think it might be worth it.
In closing: what are some of your favorite stories? Personal stories, books, movies, TV shows, anything. Feel free to post away, if you're out there.
Until next time.
Certain passions, however, have endured throughout my life. One of my greatest can best be described as a love of the story. Since Kindergarten, I have loved to read and have been drawn in by books and stories. From Dr. Seuss to The Boxcar Children and Goosebumps to Scottish detectives, a perpetually walking man, and a sprawling epic, this has grown throughout my years and manifested most obviously in my studying English in college. Yet, my interest in stories has never been confined to just the written word, bound and printed. Movies, TV shows, plays, musicals, bands? They can all show the complex weave of human interactions and emotion. And I love it, being more than willing to commit and dedicate bits of my elusive free time (namely whenever I can't hang out with my wife/friends and my brain can no longer handle studying).
An interesting addition began during college. Rather than merely taking in the stories, I began to produce my own, writing fiction, first for a writing class and then for fun. Much to my chagrin, the time-sinks of life and medical school stopped any continual creative progress. This fact has been sitting my mind, gnawing at my post-central somatosensory gyrus (not really- I'm just in the Brain/Behavior module right now). Throughout the day, I'll imagine bits of scenes, shadows of characters, and inevitably think I should write a story with this. Considering the frequency of my blog updates, you can imagine my success rate (hint: dismal).
Because of this, and in an effort to change it, I'm going to try and write- short stories, scenes, chunks of dialog- and probably post them here. Will these be complete stories? Good stories? Worth reading? I honestly don't know. As any writer or would-be-writer will tell you: writing is hard. It's work; it's tough; but, I think it might be worth it.
In closing: what are some of your favorite stories? Personal stories, books, movies, TV shows, anything. Feel free to post away, if you're out there.
Until next time.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Pretty Shameful
My heart sinks and dies a little bit every time I read something like this.
Do people forget that any greatness the country has comes from its freedoms? You know, including Freedom of Religion? Does anyone really think things would be better if we were all the same? Do people not realize that there is a huge difference between Islamic Extremists and a person who is simply a Muslim? Just like there is a huge difference between a crazy member of Westboro Baptist Church (aka Fred Phelps) and a person who is a Christian?
Until next time.
Do people forget that any greatness the country has comes from its freedoms? You know, including Freedom of Religion? Does anyone really think things would be better if we were all the same? Do people not realize that there is a huge difference between Islamic Extremists and a person who is simply a Muslim? Just like there is a huge difference between a crazy member of Westboro Baptist Church (aka Fred Phelps) and a person who is a Christian?
Until next time.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Little More Personal
In honor of a previous post of mine, I've decided to again talk about things I like and/or like to do. This stems not out of disdain for my current academic situation as before; we've only just begun second year and I think I'm going to like it. Instead, this blossoms from my simple desire to think about things I like and have something to do while my better half isn't around. So, without further ado:
Things I Like More Than...Other Things?
-Extra computer storage space. External hard drives, USB sticks, blank CDs/DVDs, I am an equal opportunity advocate. I don't actually know why I have such a fascination with extra space (I may or may not have three external hard drives, two USB sticks, three spindles of discs, and an iPod), but I think it goes back to a feeling of freedom and potential. Do I have space to buy that [electronic media]? You bet your ass I do. I have space three hundred times over.
-Naming inanimate objects. This partially ties to the previous comment as I also name all of my computer drives (don't tell me "T-REX" isn't cooler than "C-Drive"), but it goes beyond that. My computer? Persephone. My T-Rex? Winston. Turtle Ottoman? Herbert. iPod? Nightwing. Phone? Alfred. Doing so just gives everything a bit of punch and personality. Try it. Need to kick you off? Spartacus.
-Discovering my water bottle to be full without remembering having filled it.
-Forgetting about E-learning assignments for class (online assignments) only to find that we never had any.
-Stepping outside on the first real day of Autumn. The air has just enough chill that you know Summer is finally over.
-Fruit snacks.
-Having a good author draw you in and then finding out he/she writes a series or has additional books.
-An indie girl, an odd but wonderful group of people, and two crazy Frenchmen.
-The Library.
-The Wire. I'm through season 3 and would argue it's the greatest story told on television, and I'm a frakkin' Lostie. ((+10 nerd points if you know what else I'm referencing here)).
-The unusual feeling/pain that you feel in your face after laughing so hard you start to cry and can barely breath. This exclusively happens with friends, usually when ridiculous stories are being told.
-Anything that satiates my ridiculous need for trivia.
-The ultimate gateway fruit.
-Hanging out with old friends, and feeling so at home it's almost like you never left.
Thoughts? I'd love to hear them in the comments below.
Until next time.
Things I Like More Than...Other Things?
-Extra computer storage space. External hard drives, USB sticks, blank CDs/DVDs, I am an equal opportunity advocate. I don't actually know why I have such a fascination with extra space (I may or may not have three external hard drives, two USB sticks, three spindles of discs, and an iPod), but I think it goes back to a feeling of freedom and potential. Do I have space to buy that [electronic media]? You bet your ass I do. I have space three hundred times over.
-Naming inanimate objects. This partially ties to the previous comment as I also name all of my computer drives (don't tell me "T-REX" isn't cooler than "C-Drive"), but it goes beyond that. My computer? Persephone. My T-Rex? Winston. Turtle Ottoman? Herbert. iPod? Nightwing. Phone? Alfred. Doing so just gives everything a bit of punch and personality. Try it. Need to kick you off? Spartacus.
-Discovering my water bottle to be full without remembering having filled it.
-Forgetting about E-learning assignments for class (online assignments) only to find that we never had any.
-Stepping outside on the first real day of Autumn. The air has just enough chill that you know Summer is finally over.
-Fruit snacks.
-Having a good author draw you in and then finding out he/she writes a series or has additional books.
-An indie girl, an odd but wonderful group of people, and two crazy Frenchmen.
-The Library.
-The Wire. I'm through season 3 and would argue it's the greatest story told on television, and I'm a frakkin' Lostie. ((+10 nerd points if you know what else I'm referencing here)).
-The unusual feeling/pain that you feel in your face after laughing so hard you start to cry and can barely breath. This exclusively happens with friends, usually when ridiculous stories are being told.
-Anything that satiates my ridiculous need for trivia.
-The ultimate gateway fruit.
-Hanging out with old friends, and feeling so at home it's almost like you never left.
Thoughts? I'd love to hear them in the comments below.
Until next time.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Unforseen Difficulties
The preparation for medical school is ridiculous. If one were to try to compile all the possibilities together, I have no doubt the process would be damned near infinite. Some people start prepping in high school. They take tough science classes, shadow docs, and begin the process of building up a history of interest in medicine. This way, when college rolls around, they can reference all that they've done so far. Then college consists of pre-med courses, volunteer work at hospitals or labs, the entire MCAT preparation and process, and -topping it all off- the application process. Buckets of forms, letters, grades, personal statements, and interviews.
There's a lot to do.
Assuming all of this works out, you're all of the sudden in medical school! You get to become a doctor! Your hard work has paid off! What does school do? Well, they continue with preparation, but this time it's to really become a physician (for now we'll ignore the residency process needed before you can become a practicing physician). In other words, the journey continues.
Some of you might be saying, "Wow, that sounds pretty tough." You, Hypothetical Constant Reader might be right. I won't argue that the process is lengthy and can be challenging. It's true. But I believe the real troubles arise from the unforeseen difficulties. The problems that pop up and create situations you've never even begun to consider in your- literally- years of preparation. All of that preparation has been so that when problems arise, you have the skill set and ability to assess and act. A child presents with shortness of breath. Assess and Act. A young man becomes violent and aggressive as he pesters you for drugs. Assess and Act. An old woman codes on the hospital floor. Assess and Act.
But what happens when unforeseen issues arise within the process of your preparatory education? How do you handle the different thoughts, opinions, ideas, and behaviors of your fellow students and teachers? The situations that arise away from the classroom? How do you assess and act? Do you stick to your own Self and values, possibly straying from the carefully constructed path of the Medical School Journey? Or do you keep quiet, noting your feelings, and hope for the best?
I suppose the real question is: can a person really complete this journey through medicine and end up the same core person at the finish line?
Now you might be asking, "What on Earth is he on about?"
Don't fret, Constant Reader. I'd say all is and will yet be well. I simply sit here thinking, on the cusp of a new year, I see all of the new M1s going through orientation. They anxiously and awkwardly begin their journey. Cramming onto a charter bus to breeze through the other campus. Nervously accepting the white coat in front of your peers. Awkwardly talking and drinking at the parties. I can't help but wonder, how different am I from them? Have I changed over the past year?
Looking back, I'm surprised by how much medical school, and all its tangential connections, have factored into my life in so many different ways. One year ago I wrote my thoughts and hopes on beginning school. Rereading those words now, I feel as though I managed pretty well. Was it easy and did I ever do it alone? Of course not; no way. Many thanks to all who've helped me (especially a certain redhead).
Two points of advice, however, given then by someone who is still wiser than me now, stick out more relevant today:
Until next time.
There's a lot to do.
Assuming all of this works out, you're all of the sudden in medical school! You get to become a doctor! Your hard work has paid off! What does school do? Well, they continue with preparation, but this time it's to really become a physician (for now we'll ignore the residency process needed before you can become a practicing physician). In other words, the journey continues.
Some of you might be saying, "Wow, that sounds pretty tough." You, Hypothetical Constant Reader might be right. I won't argue that the process is lengthy and can be challenging. It's true. But I believe the real troubles arise from the unforeseen difficulties. The problems that pop up and create situations you've never even begun to consider in your- literally- years of preparation. All of that preparation has been so that when problems arise, you have the skill set and ability to assess and act. A child presents with shortness of breath. Assess and Act. A young man becomes violent and aggressive as he pesters you for drugs. Assess and Act. An old woman codes on the hospital floor. Assess and Act.
But what happens when unforeseen issues arise within the process of your preparatory education? How do you handle the different thoughts, opinions, ideas, and behaviors of your fellow students and teachers? The situations that arise away from the classroom? How do you assess and act? Do you stick to your own Self and values, possibly straying from the carefully constructed path of the Medical School Journey? Or do you keep quiet, noting your feelings, and hope for the best?
I suppose the real question is: can a person really complete this journey through medicine and end up the same core person at the finish line?
Now you might be asking, "What on Earth is he on about?"
Don't fret, Constant Reader. I'd say all is and will yet be well. I simply sit here thinking, on the cusp of a new year, I see all of the new M1s going through orientation. They anxiously and awkwardly begin their journey. Cramming onto a charter bus to breeze through the other campus. Nervously accepting the white coat in front of your peers. Awkwardly talking and drinking at the parties. I can't help but wonder, how different am I from them? Have I changed over the past year?
Looking back, I'm surprised by how much medical school, and all its tangential connections, have factored into my life in so many different ways. One year ago I wrote my thoughts and hopes on beginning school. Rereading those words now, I feel as though I managed pretty well. Was it easy and did I ever do it alone? Of course not; no way. Many thanks to all who've helped me (especially a certain redhead).
Two points of advice, however, given then by someone who is still wiser than me now, stick out more relevant today:
-Don't be dazzled by bullshit.
-Make sure all things pass the smell test for veracity, virtue, and truth.I think those are good things to think about and constantly return to. All things considered, I'm looking forward to my second year.
Until next time.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Very Talented Man
If there's a party with good music, I will dance like hell all night.
I imagine this to be an accurate representation of both myself dancing and others' reactions. I call those others "losers who should be dancing."
This has never been a problem before. I wouldn't even go so far as to call it a problem in this circumstance, it just had... unforeseen consequences. Literally not seen.
Let me begin by stating my new, and now passionate, belief: drinks should be restricted from the dance floor. Be honest. Have you ever been able to really dance well holding a drink? You're always worried about someone bumping into it or you spilling it on yourself or someone else. You may just be worried about losing any of your precious drink, not even on yourself or others. And forget about looking good while dancing and holding a drink. One arm either becomes a magic stabilizer and awkwardly doesn't move while the rest of your body shakes, or you opt for the up-in-the-air, my-drink-is-safer-up-high hold. Either way, it just doesn't work out. The solution? Ban drinks from the dance floor. It would make everyone less worried and look cooler.
Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.
Obviously.
It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.
My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.
Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.
Obviously.
It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.
My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.
I fully expect it to become the hot and wild new trend of the upcoming fall fashion season. I hear it's already huge in Europe.
Pretty strange events, all things considered. My advice? Keep dancing like hell. If you don't already, give such dancing a go the next time you have the chance. It's just too damn fun not to.
Until next time.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Not Quite All-Star Material
I've been in a bit of a dry spell with the blog. Who knows why we've had this high pressure system for so long, but I've decided to go ahead and rain some words down for y'all.
(Y'all? I don't know either. Just go with it.)
So, in honor of my trying to return to form, I'm going to tell you a little story.
As stated previously, I'm currently working in pediatrics. It's been a really good experience thus far, and there have been some really interesting cases and children. This seems to be a general trend in medicine. As much as any other profession, it offers wonderful examples that solidify the simple truth that people do interesting things (to say the least).
[Exhibit A: The man who was ruthless attacked by a pasta noodle.]
I hit a kid in the face.
(Y'all? I don't know either. Just go with it.)
So, in honor of my trying to return to form, I'm going to tell you a little story.
As stated previously, I'm currently working in pediatrics. It's been a really good experience thus far, and there have been some really interesting cases and children. This seems to be a general trend in medicine. As much as any other profession, it offers wonderful examples that solidify the simple truth that people do interesting things (to say the least).
[Exhibit A: The man who was ruthless attacked by a pasta noodle.]
When kids are added into this mix the results can truly take off. I just imagine all the things adults are capable of and add in the non-existent social rules that govern children. They will say and do just about anything.
Picture yourself as a young medical student. You're in clinic and seeing a hilariously talkative 4 year old Boy who's at the doctor for throwing up. After checking things out with Mom and Boy you go present the case to Doctor. (Boy, by the way, is essentially healthy. The source of his emesis? Eating too many bed time snacks. No joke.) Upon returning to the room with Doctor in tow, Doc and Mom proceed to talk some things out. You, as Medical Student, are sitting quietly on the stool and observing. At this point, Boy is quietly sitting on the footstool and intently looking back and forth between You and Doctor. Boy then slides his stool up to you, right in your grill (medical term). He leans in -leading you to lean in, as if you're sharing a secret- and, looking at Doctor, asks:
Boy: Is tha'chya Momma or ya Gran Momma?
Boy: Is tha'chya Momma or ya Gran Momma?
You: *Blank Stare* (trying not to laugh)
You: What?
Boy (much more intently, while motioning with his head): Is tha'chya Momma or ya Gran Momma?
You: What? Neither! That's the doctor!
If you can come up with a fitting reply to that, I welcome it for the future. Another scene from the same visit:
"What do you normally eat for a bedtime snack?" the Doctor asks.
"What do you normally eat for a bedtime snack?" the Doctor asks.
Boy pauses, as if this is some kind of a trick. He boldly replies,
"Oatmeal!"
Her brow furrows in disbelief.
"Oatmeal?" she says.
A grin slowly creeps across the boy's face.
A grin slowly creeps across the boy's face.
"Cookies!" he quickly adds.
This was obviously a very entertaining visit. Occasionally, however, the excitement comes not from the patient but the doctor. Or, in this case, the medical student.
I suppose I should just come out and say it.
I hit a kid in the face.
And made him cry.
I know what you're thinking:
But that is not the case (kind of). Let me explain. Kids are fussy. It's a fact of life. So sick children are especially fussy (by "children" I more accurately mean this 11 month old.) I was working with another medical student who was trying to listen to this child's lungs. The child was unhappy and crying. Let me tell you, it's hard to hear breath sounds when they're being dominated by loud wailing. To help with this, I pulled my ID badge (clipped to my white coat on a retractable...badge...clip) and was loosely holding it in front of said screaming child to function as a distraction.
This is what I'm talking about. Although mine isn't FBI. Sadly.It worked. Seriously. It often does. The kid starts playing with the badge, and boom, no more crying. Unfortunately, the aforementioned retractable badge clip felt that now was the most opportune time to become UNclipped from my white coat. This resulted in it rocketing from my hand and hitting the first thing in its path...
...the kid's face.
A reenactment of what may have happened.
I know! I know! I'm a terrible person. Needless to say, I went ahead and left the room at that moment. The boy was unhappy and me being within sight of him wasn't going to help. In my defense, however, it was the card and not the heavy retractable part that hit him. When it was all said and done he was alright and not worse for wear.
Kid's are resilient, right? Especially in the facial...region.
Until next time.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Ongoing Changes
If you can't tell, I'm in the middle of shaking somethings up around here.
You may or may not have noticed if you came here from a bookmark or previous address, that there was a feeder page and my blog has a new URL. If you're currently going, "What are you talking about?" you can pretty much ignore what I am, in fact, talking about. I originally wanted my blog to be orderly and systematic in its makeup. That flew out the window when my desired address, to match my desired title, "Paging the Doc," was not available. This led to the use of the alternate address -pagingdocgib- that you know and love (or maybe just bookmarked). Imagine my delight when I discovered my ideal name, that which so perfectly captures the essence of my writing (or maybe just the title of my blog), was available. I snatched it up!
So what does this mean for you? Nothing if you don't want it to. You can go to pagingdocgib.blogspot and be redirected here (although you will no longer see new posts in feeds/notifications), or you can do what the cool kids are doing and delete that old mismatched bookmark and save yourself a new new. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.
From where we left off, I have now successfully finished my first year of school and am currently doing some summer work in Pediatrics. Let me repeat that.
I HAVE FINISHED A YEAR OF SCHOOL.
This is also known as, Good-lord-how-did-time-go-by-so-quickly or I-don't-feel-like-a-quarter-of-an-official-doctor. Other milestones? I have also now been married for over one year and, as expected, lived in a new city/apartment for the same amount of time. I cannot believe it.
You may or may not have noticed if you came here from a bookmark or previous address, that there was a feeder page and my blog has a new URL. If you're currently going, "What are you talking about?" you can pretty much ignore what I am, in fact, talking about. I originally wanted my blog to be orderly and systematic in its makeup. That flew out the window when my desired address, to match my desired title, "Paging the Doc," was not available. This led to the use of the alternate address -pagingdocgib- that you know and love (or maybe just bookmarked). Imagine my delight when I discovered my ideal name, that which so perfectly captures the essence of my writing (or maybe just the title of my blog), was available. I snatched it up!
So what does this mean for you? Nothing if you don't want it to. You can go to pagingdocgib.blogspot and be redirected here (although you will no longer see new posts in feeds/notifications), or you can do what the cool kids are doing and delete that old mismatched bookmark and save yourself a new new. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.
"But MG," I hear you -faithful reader- calling, "What about a real update?"
Well. If you insist.
Well. If you insist.
From where we left off, I have now successfully finished my first year of school and am currently doing some summer work in Pediatrics. Let me repeat that.
I HAVE FINISHED A YEAR OF SCHOOL.
This is also known as, Good-lord-how-did-time-go-by-so-quickly or I-don't-feel-like-a-quarter-of-an-official-doctor. Other milestones? I have also now been married for over one year and, as expected, lived in a new city/apartment for the same amount of time. I cannot believe it.
The summer work in Pediatrics is going swimmingly. I have really enjoyed getting to see how the hospital system works, met some really interesting and fun patients, and its nice to see if I might want to do Peds for real. You know, when I'm done in 3 years (=insane.) The most amazing part thus far? Just how resilient and upbeat children can be. Some of these patients have acute problems that will be done in a week, others have lifetime chronic illnesses that will put them in and out of the hospital every year or six months, but all of them are so joyful and happy. They really add perspective, in the best possible way. Sometimes it's been heartbreaking, yes. But overall? I wouldn't change a thing.
Well. One thing. That my own sinuses would obey me and stop acting out so that I could be at the hospital now, rather than at home, seemingly blowing my brains out through my nose. I haven't had anatomy of the head yet, but I'm sure there's some kind of pathway/condition that could make that possible.
Until next time.
Well. One thing. That my own sinuses would obey me and stop acting out so that I could be at the hospital now, rather than at home, seemingly blowing my brains out through my nose. I haven't had anatomy of the head yet, but I'm sure there's some kind of pathway/condition that could make that possible.
Until next time.
Monday, May 24, 2010
What Really Happened
So everyone is clear: this post is my response to the LOST finale and frustrated place to vent about how some people just don't seem to get what happened.
So: if you're a LOST fan- SPOILERS.
If you're not a LOST fan- sorry, this blog will suck.
So: if you're a LOST fan- SPOILERS.
If you're not a LOST fan- sorry, this blog will suck.
Begin rant:
Did other people just not get it? People seem to think that the characters were dead all along, or there was no plane crash, or they all died when the nuke went off, or that the island was purgatory. No, no, no, and no!
The island is/was decidedly NOT limbo or purgatory. As Christian (Jack's father) said, everything that happened in life and on the island was real. The plane crashed, the oceanic 6 went home and went back, everyone time traveled. All real. Jack fixed the Well of Life, that last bunch of people got off the island, and Hurley/Ben took over guarding it. Jack died on the island. All real. Thinking anything else is simply not understanding what happened on the show.
The ONLY THING that was them being dead/in purgatory was the sideways world that we STARTED TO SEE after the bomb went off at the beginning of the season. In "real life" the bomb exploded, brought the characters into present time, but the island/life never "reset." The writers simply started showing us the sideways purgatory world at the same time.
"What was the point of the sideways world?" you ask.
It allowed the show to essentially give us, the viewers, half of a season of character resolution. Having the sideways world be the characters post-death was perfect. It allowed us as viewers to see what each character truly thought of themselves at their core and then reconciled those feelings with the happenings and conflicts of the tumultuous lives they had with each other on the island. We got to see Sawyer be the good man he knew he could be and always wanted to be as a cop in LA. Jack became the father and family man he never had. Kate was no longer a murderous fugitive, but an innocent fugitive. Locke lived a life where he loved others and, most importantly, loved himself without feeling shorted for being in a wheelchair.
The characters being "touched" (by Desmond or otherwise) and remembering each other was them remembering their REAL LIVES and being able to then grow and move on (which is what happens in purgatory). How could it get any better?! Ben stayed outside the church because he was not contented with himself and the life he led, hence him not moving forward. People you didn't see in the church? All people who had either moved on individually (as I suspect Richard had- he knew what he wanted- his wife) or weren't ready yet, such as Daniel Farraday and Charlotte (this is what Desmond and Eloise were discussing at the concert. Desmond was not "taking" Daniel because he wasn't ready).
((Fun Did-You-Remember Moment: Sideways (aka dead) Jack looks in the mirror and asks his mother where he got that scar on his abdomen because he doesn't remember. She says he had his appendix out. We know better than that now. StabbedbyFakeLockeduringtheEpicLastBattletoSavetheIsland.))
((Fun Did-You-Remember Moment: Sideways (aka dead) Jack looks in the mirror and asks his mother where he got that scar on his abdomen because he doesn't remember. She says he had his appendix out. We know better than that now. StabbedbyFakeLockeduringtheEpicLastBattletoSavetheIsland.))
The only people who will be truly upset are the ones who don't understand what happened (but now hopefully they do with my explanation) or those who do not accept that the show is about the characters more than the mysteries (which it always has been). People will ask about Michael/Walt and other characters, or other mysteries on the island (the numbers- etc), but I respond: we KNOW answers for most of them and for the others- who cares? Will it make any difference knowing those details? We know Michael has become a "whisper" on the island- which is what happens to people who die on the island but are not finished. We can assume Walt has gone on to lead a normal life. The numbers relate back to Jacob's master plan of bringing the candidates to the island to save and protect it. They stem from the lighthouse, as each candidate had a number (1-108). 4,8,15,16,23,42 were the numbers of Locke, Jack, Sawyer, Hurley, Kwans, etc.
It comes down to this: Did you enjoy watching a thought-provoking, well-made program, that is and will be different than anything on television?
For me that answer is a resounding YES. Well done. Fantastic finale.
Thoughts? Comments?
End Rant. End of LOST. Sad face :(
Until next time.
Until next time.
Monday, April 19, 2010
A Return to Form?
With the point of this blog being to keep me writing, it would probably be more effective if I actually wrote something once in a while instead of posting comics.
I'm rather taken aback by the fact that it's almost the end of April. I cannot believe that the school year is nearly finished. No small amount of disbelief hits me when I ponder the fact that I'm almost a quarter of the way through my medical education. Well, let me clarify: I'm a quarter of the way to being a doctor; I'm nowhere near close to even remotely thinking about the end of my medical education. I'll probably finish my schooling when Winston, my faithful and inquisitive T-Rex, finally stops questioning every aspect of the world.
Read: Never. His curiosity is insatiable!Side-Note Medical Reminder: Ladies- do a self breast exam once a month. Fellas- same goes for you with your testes. Seriously. I'm not kidding.
At this point I would like to remind all of my faithful readers that medicine can be gross and you should consider yourself warned. The following isn't a detailed description of a random medical procedure or graphic photo, just my musings on the poor word choice by those in medicine. Examples are, however, given.
The terms that people in medicine use to describe different aspects of things that can go wrong with your body disturb me sometimes. In addition to using food-words such as caseating (from the latin caseus meaning cheese) to paint the delicious image of dead and decaying body tissue onto the blank canvas of your imagination, the particular description that currently gives me the creepies is- wait for it - "like a bag of worms." This line of text would be where I normally delve into all of the medical details none of you find particularly interesting. Instead, I think a more fitting option is to simply let that phrase- like a bag of worms- float around, wafting in the air while you silently shudder and try to imagine what it could be used to describe.
(If you really must know, it describes the widening and dilation of veins that run from a man's testis- aka Varicocele. Not awful or really even that disturbing. It was just more fun to portray it that way.)
Until next time.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Beginning of the End of the Beginning
This just might be the current feeling. Or at least the one that seems to crop up right at the end of any breaks.
(Click for better view)
Thoughts?
Until next time.
Until next time.
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