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 Thirteen, Departures

I watch as some of my friends in the past month have proceeded to pack up their belongings and either move or prepare to move as their residencies begin, husbands return to jobs in other cities, and simple need to get outta Dodge sets in. Some of our crew here would fight this, the general erosion of our people out of the cracks of the city to other places. I say Go, Go Boldly and announce yourselves. Whether you go simply to the suburbs, to states a goodly drive away, or to the other side of the nation, Go! Chase your dreams and your education and your spouses. If you must return, come home with the knowledge that you lived while you were where you went. And always remember that we all love each other lots and we can draw strength from that wherever we are.

Two Hundred and Nine, Reactivate

[cough] [splutter]

Life happens. More on that at a later date!

Off to Canada for a week and who knows, I might be better at posting up there where the weather is nice....and hot as well!

One Hundred and Ninety-nine, 1812 Overture

I had a really bad weekend a long time ago.  September 7th - September 9th, 2001: I first got caught for going 30 over the speed limit in a residential zone--a mandatory court date--and then I proceeded to twist my ankle on a putt putt green.  Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that big a deal with the following Tuesday to come but at that point in my life, it sucked.  My ankle healed well enough.  I learned that I really did NOT have the upper body strength to walk all the way across campus on crutches without stopping for a break every hundred feet.  But as the week wore on, I began building up some strength and I managed to go two hundred feet without stopping by the time I finished with them the following week.  The anxiety from the speeding ticket, however, did not cease.  The court date was set for Oct 22nd or 23rd--somewhere around there.  Court was in my hometown, school was over an hour away, I had no car.  Oh, and I never told my dad who pays my car insurance.  Yeah, I was freaking out.  I turned then to those who I go to when I'm in trouble--the Beatnik, Lord Chaos, and the Engineer.  They helped me crack a plan where Beatnik and Lord Chaos' older brother came down Sunday night, took Monday off to drive me to my hometown and court, and then return me to my schooltown later that day.  

The elder brother--Politico for short--and I really grew close that day.  He helped coach me on dress as well as making sure to show the proper respect to the judge.  On the way up north he had classical music playing to help relax me.  It didn't really work.  I was a nervous wreck all the way up.  Getting to the courthouse, we went in and sat down--us in our suits, everone else in their everyday clothing.  I might have been self-conscious about it except again, I was a nervous wreck.  Then he called me up...incorrectly saying my name.  My brain went into auto-pilot as I stood up and walked to the front; I corrected the judge on the pronunciation.  Part of me cringed as did Politico back in the benches (I learned that later).  He spoke the offenses then reduced them on the basis of it being my first one.  I believe I said guilty when he was done talking and he then told me I had the choice of points on my license or driving school to rescind them.  The rest is a blur in the courthouse except for the stop at the payment desk where I shelled out court costs of around $76 from my carefully collected rainy day fund.  Then Politico and I began our trip back to schooltown.

The Beatnik is the English major, but storytelling runs in their entire family.  For some reason, Politico began the story during the start of a Tchaikovsky piece.  Both the story and the music began softly enough up to the point of the cop pulling me over.  There a major musical announcement came forth.  Again the music quieted down and proceeded along with the story in much the same fashion that I simultaneously ignored the situation with moments of utter terror for the next month.  Then the planning stages of the court date were upon me.  Slowly all the pieces began fitting into place as odd as they might have seemed and the situation promised to move forward as smoothly as we could manage.  The drive up to the courthouse was a tense, advice-filled time and proceeded up to the entry into the courtroom.  Then the great battle (ok, this part was slightly off between the story and the music) during which the decisions for my mistakes were made.  Then, as we left, great relief!  Wave after Wave, Bombardment after Bombardment, everything was finishing up and the pounding noise massaged my relaxed self having survived the ordeal.  That song is now forever associated with that event and with the Politico in my mind.  In the grand scheme of things, not a big deal, but to me at the time, it was my world crashing down.

I realized then that if I ever got a chance to do something similar for someone else, I wouldn't hesitate.  The world gave me the company of people I needed at the time and I wouldn't hold myself back for my friends if such a time came for them.

Thank you my friends.

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, Contra

Dancing something called the Contra - Free on first go, $3 for each subsequent visit.

Seeing one of the Kids - whatever a tank of gasoline costs to drive an hour and half.

Wearing yourself out and then getting only three hours of sleep before your 7:30 surgery the following day? Priceless

One Hundred and Fifty-five, Long Commutes

There are people for whom an hour commute is perfectly normal. I am not one of those people. Today I drove from home home to my school town for a day meeting and then headed back home home. Doing that on a daily basis would make me very introspective and likely to get into a wreck. Roommate commuted for an hour at one point and so a 45 minute or 30 minute commute is no biggie for him. Even those would be pushing it for me since time to be introspective is not necessarily what I care to have at the moment. As it stands, I don't have to drive on my own for a bit, thankfully, and so I'll enjoy the rest of this brief break I have before I start up my OB/GYN rotation in a couple weeks!

One Hundred and Twenty-three, Things I Recall

- "Defying Gravity" from Wicked the musical
- some of the longest bridges I've been on are in Louisiana
- Don't stay in Gretna
- Museums close early on Sunday in New Orleans
- Getting lost in northwest New Orleans
- yells in the middle of the night
- freakishly empty restaurant
- a car being pushed along by another car
- too many onions in one day
- the video game city of Houston (looks like nighttime downtowns in first person shooters)
- the largest puppy I ever loved (no, I'm not calling him fat)
- puppy logs!
- the Airport departing gate traffic Nazi which combined with
- the Engineer's neck crick proved to be quite humorous (after the events that transpired)
- The Hobbit Cafe! Yay!
- Restaurant waiter/waitress issues
- the Gregarious Kid during Egyptian Rat Screw...scary!
- the Engineer's magic trick with his glass of smoothie and a paper towel
- Hairspray (yes the movie with Travolta dressed as a woman!)
- BRAWL! (Smash Bros.)
- No World of Warcraft! (by choice)
- Losing my voice
- Watching the Kid touch her eye to point out the location of the lacrimal duct when she hadn't washed her hands after eating stuff with jalapenos.
- Crone-voice (myself when I didn't have a real voice)
- Coffee with my friends near a railroad when I barely had a voice
- Getting excited as we came upon the last hour of our trip
- Falling onto a bed for ten minutes post-trip

One Hundred and Twenty-one, Abandoned? Part Deux

So after escaping the zombies in the small town in Louisiana, we came upon a Popeye's fast food place. Upon going in, I glance at the menu, wince and ask the cashier hesitantly,

"Are the red beans and rice vegetarian?"

"No"

"Uhh...do you have anything vegetarian?"

The cashier paused, then glanced over to her right at the drive-thru lady.

"Do we have anything vegetarian?"

The drive-thru lady also pauses in her activity of putting an order in a to-go bag. She glances back at the manager in the back.

"Do we have anything vegetarian?" She asks.

The manager looks up at me confused. She ponders the menu selections which she knows by heart. Then a lightning bolt hits!

"We can make the red beans and rice without the sausage gravy. That's vegetarian." And now that she has one, she's on a roll. "We also have coleslaw. No? Ok, there are onion rings as well."

My eyes lit up at these, the first option that sounded appetizing. I had Popeye's for lunch that day, and it consisted of an order of onion rings and a fast-food Mississippi Mud Cake. Not an experience I hope to re-create anytime soon.

One Hundred and Eighteen, Hittin' the Road!

Spring Break is here! I'm on the road with A Kid...[*sniff*]. Posts sparser than ever!

One Hundred and Fourteen, When Life Gives You Lemons...

Life's frustrations can be hard to bear at times.

My friends and I were preparing a trip to visit the Engineer down in Texas during Spring Break. Unfortunately, while we'll be down there, he'll be heavily involved with work likely staying there for twelve hour days. So, we make lemonade. We'll still go down and get to visit him (however briefly), his dog, and we'll have a place to use as a base of operations for wandering around his region of Texas. I'm also excited about a side-trip to New Orleans!