Two Hundred and Fourteen, The Spark!

Often I'm reminded by a few friends why I need to stay in my college town. Why? They love me. And I do love them. So what pushes me to go away--far far away? My father went around the world for his education, then career, and brought me into the world here as well. Talking to him teaches me that none of it was preplanned. It just happened that way. With the sole exception of that first foray over here. What spurred him to it? That is what I wonder because I'm searching hard for that part of me that will send me off into the corners of the country. I need to know who I am and cut my own path through this world. I love my friends. At times I feel stifled by that love because I worry about meeting enough people to find some who think like me while hanging out in the same places. I need to get out and away--someplace where I can meet others in a similar boat and we can explore our new boundaries, such as we choose to set.

Another sun-soaked season fades away...

Two Hundred and Ten, Stagnation

It's not that life is stopping all around, it's just that my personal development has slowed down to a crawl. I see myself as the same person who entered medical school four long years ago. Have these years meant nothing to the personable side of me? Can that side really have remained unchanged as my professional side underwent immense challenges? I look around at people moving forward with their lives--their real ones that matter! and see that I will have to work just as hard at my life as I do for my future career. While I rarely assume things will fall in my lap in most things, I see that in this area I have remained quite naive. Things will work out as they usually do but I will have to help it along a lot. And that means I have to learn, and learn quick.

But what is it I need to learn?

One Hundred and Eighty-five, Memories

One of my favorite teachers in high school taught me history.  As the Engineer pointed out to me tonight, she often would draw a boot on the board and say, "And here, scholars, is clearly a map of Europe."  Learning from her about events long gone instilled in me a deep respect and love for history.  Hearing about events that occurred centuries ago and how they shaped the world was very moving.  As you learned, some minor events could end up shaping the world (such as a single assassination in Austria).  Other events you knew would be important as you learned about them.  The number of "firsts" that this relatively young country has seen proves to me that today is a day schoolchildren of the next millennium will have to memorize (or at least to know what decade this occurred).  Today a new president was elected.  Not because the way he spoke or the color of his skin or his gender, but because of his beliefs in how to run this country.  That doesn't change the fact that history books of the future will look back and note that this was the day when a non-Caucasian person was first voted to the title of President-Elect.  What does matter is that this nation didn't vote its first black president into office.  No, I know that the majority of this nation finally voted for an American whose beliefs they likened to who happened to be a man of color.  

On that note, I begin NaBloPoMo [five days late].

One Hundred and Seventy-five, The Elderly

I went into a room to check on an 83 year-old man's progress that day.  "Good morning sir." I said clearly as I turned on the light and approached his bed.  His eyes perked up and his head tilted slightly towards my voice.  In the corner the television was blaring away on some news channel some family member or nurse had put on for him.  I realized as his eyes stared at the ceiling that he would not be focusing directly on me.  I involuntarily speak louder asking him how his night was.  In reply, a slew of noises issued from his toothless mouth.  I put my ear close to him to hear him better.  No avail.  How was I supposed to gather information from this fellow?!  I stood at the side of his bed despairing that this man with a rich history (all 83 year-old people have a rich history) couldn't communicate what he was trying so hard to tell.  I continued explaining my exam steps as I checked his heart and lungs and operative site and legs.  He never stopped with his trail of words.  In fact, I couldn't hear clearly at all in his chest due to his larynx sending sound waves down through his body into my stethoscope.  As I said goodbye and left, he quieted down in what I imagine was frustration.  He might have had a stroke, but he obviously was aware of people.  He just couldn't communicate effectively and that is what made me saddest.

In opposition to that experience, I met a nurse later on that day who was from the Philippines.  She had immigrated 58 years ago.  At the spry age of 79, she worked regularly in the operating room as a circulating nurse--the nurse who makes sure everything runs smoothly in the OR and gets stuff we don't have in there.  She was telling us stories about her younger days and stuff about her husband.  Her husband is Japanese and apparently when she married him, the Philippine government took away her Filipino citizenship.  She told an elaborate story about how she eventually kept from being deported to Japan through friends in high places and even getting her name on a bill that Lyndon Johnson signed.  And then there was the story about her husband who was to be deployed in the war "in just a few days when the war ended."  At one point a newer worker in the area, some nurse or tech, came by asking if she would help move the patient back to the ready OR.  The 79 year-old fixed a look on the intruder which clearly meant, "Let me finish my story, then I'll take care of it!"  She picked up where she was decribing a kamikaze's underwater counterpart, a Kaiten.  Her husband had been training as a pilot for one of these and was scheduled to be deployed a couple days after Nagasaki.  Her wrinkled face was animated throughout the storytelling.  Deep furrows appearing in her brow when reciting the parts regarding her possible deportment and the fact that her husband was a Kaiten pilot.  Wrinkles clearing out with her smiles when she reached the happy conclusions of remaining in the States and her husband not being deployed incidentally.

In one day I encountered two people who showed me the wide variability in human function and communication.  I also grew to appreciate different qualities in each.  From the gentleman patient, I had a glimpse of future disability that is more likely to strike than sudden death and the possibility of unheard stories.  From the nurse, I learned the richness of a life and the joy of knowing the lives others have lived.  In fact, it gave me hope hearing her realizing that the gentleman probably had regaled other people with his own stories prior to his mishap.  I hope those people take those stories and remember them time to time.  

What are we but the sum of our experiences and knowledge? 

One Hundred and Sixty-six, Humanity's Progress

I had a family member who witnessed a terrorist's bombing. I will work with my family to make sure she gets the psychological help (from family and professionals) she needs to work through it in her mind. I do not wish for revenge on the ones that did that and killed others. I just wish for proper justice based on the transgressed laws of that land.

Evolutionary fight between physical might and the ability to protect/kill versus moral understanding and the ability to understand/forgive?

Ond Hundred and Sixty-three, The Number of the Devil

Roommate and my electric bill today: $66.66.

One Hundred and Fourty-nine, A Step Back

I talked with Beatnik's mom today--it is her birthday--and we both mentioned how people can put in effort and in the end, you'll end up where you do and you work with that. It's an important lesson for kids to learn as they grow up. Many children (and adults for that matter), don't see anything beyond their own ideal pathway. This is handy in defining a goal or set of goals but if ever they fall off that path somewhere, everything comes to a screeching halt. Why? They just don't have experience with failing at something so they don't know how to react. People are tripping all the time (no LSD jokes please). It's hard to find a person who's never had to fall off her or his train tracks and have to redefine the pathway. That's an integral part of being a human being. Whether it's a big exam coming up or the health of an unborn baby, there are things in our control and things out of our control. Speaking from experience, I can control the amount of time I spend dedicated to studying for my exam. I cannot control most parts of my testing experience or what my score will be from that day. If I do well, I will be thankful and proceed onwards. If I don't do well and I pass, I'll be thankful for passing, and prepare to work harder down the road.

If I don't pass at all...well, let's just say there are other steps to be taken before I jump off my train tracks.

One Hundred and Fourty-three, Seat of My Pants

Maybe it's an unconscious way my mind tries to bring excitement to my calm, ordered life. I don't care for this particular excitement. For most of my education, I've ridden an edge. At first it was the A/B edge in grades. Then in college, it was the B/C edge. Now in medical school, where there aren't letter grades, it's the P/F edge. Even now, I sit here having calculated out my grade for the unsure course. It's on the edge. There is one unaccounted-for grade which should push me over into the "safe" zone but it's definitely nerve-wracking. It's been like this since I started in Fall 2006. As always, I keep faith that what's right for me is what will happen, whether I agree with it or not at the time.

One Hundred and Seventeen, Midnight Puja!

I've been to a decent number of Catholic Masses in my life (my best friends growing up were all Catholic) and I noticed some similarities in midnight celebrations. Depending on which calendar you look at, either March 5th or 6th is Shivratri. That and Janmashtami are the big nighttime celebrations for me in my faith. Both religions have their intricate rituals. Both tend to have some aspect of explanation of the day or the hopes of the priests in how the night will change our patterns for the better. Everyone is rapt with the religious fervor that only comes about by being surrounded by hundreds (or in my case at midnight, tens) of people of like mind who are reveling in it to the same degree as yourself. I went with the intention of heading out after a couple hours. I stayed until 12:30 AM helping to clean up in the last 20 minutes. Even that was peaceful and enjoyable. To know that the work you do is benefiting your place of worship does make a difference in the quality of my work. The passion that is missing at home comes forth when there. I belt out the bhajans with the rest of them and if I happen to get off-key, I fix myself as best as I can without worrying that I'll bring apart the whole fabric that we've sewn together. Whether immigrants or natural citizens here in the US, our faith binds us in ways others might not get to experience.

Ninety-five, Auras, Moods, and Emotions Oh My!

Do I reflect those around me? Or do I create my own aura that infects others as well? People can argue both ways. I like to think that I can be a ground for other's emotions when they need it and can be a well of availability for those who want some sunny cheerfulness. But then would that be true or just the truth I want known?

Eighty-one, Fourty-five Minutes Before Class

I slept well last night. I don't usually dream-and-remember. I do dream but usually I have no recollection. Every now and then I do wake up in the middle of a dream remembering specifics clearly. And then, like this morning, I wake up right after I've finished a dream. I think this is the worst because you know there's a magical world just beyond your fingertips and mentally you reach for it, trying to grasp even a single thought inspired from it but to no avail. It is lost forever to the mists. Some people take on a sour grapes attitude, "Well, if you don't remember it, then it wasn't worth remembering." In fact, I say stuff like that a lot. But something within tells me that with dreams that is not so. That what we dream of and forget is of utmost importance to who we are as a person and possibly the world, if only we could recall them.

Seventy-two, And They're Off!

Apparently the process towards next November's election day began this past week with the start of the "primaries." I'll admit that until "The West Wing" came along, I had practically no idea how the guys that showed up on the presidential ballots got there. And then I grew a small interest in that show because of the Beatnik's mom. The public library began carrying "The West Wing" DVDs and I got hooked. That's where my education on our nations political system came from. I realize something thinking back over Jed Bartlett's campaigns and the final campaign between Jimmy Smit and Alan Alda's characters and comparing them to this year's election: We don't have the same information input from the real candidates that we did for "The West Wing" candidates. I don't mean positions on health-care, education, or the workforce but rather the kind of person that the candidates are and if we feel they can accomplish what they claim.

It's one thing to know a person based on positions and plans for their execution; it's another to get to know someone as the person they are and get a feel for how they will work with the hundreds of different people they will have to get along with. I'm not saying to make it a popularity contest and vote for the one who gets their face shown the most (as I believe presidential elections are right now) . I'm saying to talk to the people who ask for your vote. Get to know them like you know your friends. And then come to a decision about how he/she will interact with other people. Because a job in politics boils down to just that--interacting with other people. And it doesn't matter how many plans a candidate makes up or how much money they have; without the charisma and force to convince other politicians to see his or her way, nothing will happen.

Now if only there weren't three hundred million people in this country for each candidate to become good friends with...

Fourty-nine, Future Faith

Temples in the US are worried as they watch their supporters age and their children don't come in for any services. The growing number of priests watch in consternation as slowly the supplicants start filling in with white faces. Faces whose blood has never been to India, never seen a Hindu puja outside of videos of either friends' marriages or YouTube. Priests are taught the ancient rites for the different gods and goddesses, not the process of bringing in newcomers to Hinduism, especially with the language barrier.

I have often been pointed out as an example of a pious member of the younger generation. I used to be proud of this. Nowadays, I am indifferent. I either ignore it or I smile and duck my head at the attention if it's from multiple people. My faith is important to me because of the hope it gives me. The hope that I think everyone has and needs. The world is not an easy place to live in but all of us do. Somehow, we do. And my belief is that a large part of what makes it bearable is hope.

The Hindu Temples of the future will be filled not with people from India, but with Americans--Indian or otherwise--who see hope through the help of any of the gods and goddesses (or avatars) represented by this religion. Already, a large part of the bigger temples in the US are Caucasian Americans. And whether they come to a temple, church, synagogue, or another place of worship, they all seek the same thing.

Hope

Fourty-one, Humanism in Medicine

There's a reason why the number one complaint by patients about their doctors is not that they don't know what they're talking about. Rather the biggest complaint is that their doctor isn't treating them like a person. They barely spend time with the patient; they just don't get to know him/her; the doctors' abrupt manners affect their patients.

My thinking is that over the past 60 years, medical education has evolved in its ability to pass vast amounts of scientific knowledge to the learners which, unfortunately, has moved hours from the bedside to hours in a lecture hall. This lack of bedside hours equals directly into lack of communication skills with patients. And that's what doctors do. Anybody can make the diagnoses doctors can make as long as they learn the language which is vast. So the doctors have to take the knowledge they hear/see/feel and convert it into English. While I do think it's important to be able to build the knowledge base so that everything you hear/see/feel means something to you, I don't think one should neglect the ability to talk to the patient. After all, if you know everything wrong with a person you see, what's the good of not being able to inform them?

Our Dean recognizes this and is willing to stumble along in trying to find a solution. I'm just sad that I'll be missing out on his changes.

Twelve, Meat

I can still recall the pepperoni pizza that my friends ordered while staying at my uncle's home. It felt really weird to watch it come into the house and for everyone to just eat it as if it was another pizza. And that's all it really was, just another pizza. I don't think it bothered my uncle in the slightest (although I think my aunt would have freaked a bit if she'd known). But it made me uncomfortable to see.

I'm a vegetarian. I was raised that way and have not felt the desire to even try meat in my entire life. I don't really care to preach to anyone on why they should or should not become vegetarians. It's not my place. I respect your belief in your own ideas just the same as I expect to be respected for my ideologies. So then come the questions, would it be right for me to ask people I love and care about not to eat meat in my future home? What about homes of relatives? Do I ask them to check with my relatives if they can have meat in their house? It's just stuff we never pondered.

Part of what goes into my beliefs is that meat scares me because it's an unknown. I avoid the meat sections of super-markets, I don't purchase meats, I don't feel comfortable touching anything that has or recently had meat on it. But then I don't mind purchasing entire meals for friends, even when it's beef (although veal did make me squirm inside). I obviously eat out which is a sign of faith in a system that I know has flaws (restaurants mass-produce food for people to eat and don't necessarily have the best dish-washing systems; it's unlikely that I've gone my entire life without ingesting some minuscule portion of meat here in the US). Through these two views, I drew an arbitrary line. I would trust in restaurants to maintain cleanliness and not pursue eating meat on purpose. And that's worked fine for me. I just realized that the line doesn't end at the restaurant or my friends' homes, but will one day enter my own home as well.

The correct "answer" to whether friends can eat in my future home is that it's my house and what I say goes, visitors' beliefs non-withstanding. My friends tell me that and the part of me that makes decisions tells me that. Yet I feel a deep guilt when I cause them to forgo what they want to eat.

That's where I stand on meat.