November 8th, 2007

So I turned 23. Big whoop. Now back to studying...

Notes to self

Next week I will...

1. Go to the gym every single morning. No more snooze button. That extra half hour is just not worth it.
2. Sleep no less than 7hrs a night.
3. Not drink any coffee. No matter what.
4. Understand how to calculate volume/osmolarity/electrochemical equilibrium problems. Even if it kills me. (Possible conflict with points 2 and 3)
5. NOT spend all afternoon munching on skittles, so as to stave off hunger and keep myself studying.
6. Spend time with friends that is not study group, class, small group or PBL related.
7. Drink plenty of water. (Not so much as to change the osmolarity of my cells).
8. Organize the leaning tower of class notes and handouts placed hither thither on my floor.
9. Learn how to take vital signs properly. This "I'll do it better next time" attitude is not working.
10. Did I mention go to the gym every single morning?

The lack of sleep/caffeine dependence cycle of pain

Consider the simple medical student. He or she must strive to keep a balance between the positive and negative factors that are plentiful in his or her day to day life. These factors in the most loose sense can be defined as such:
Positive factors: Any such thing which ensures the health of the medical student. (Sleep, free food, free books - free anything, really, time at the gym etc).
Negative factors: Any such thing which may be detrimental to the health of the medical student. (Lack of sleep, stress, ultra-competitive cut throat classmates etc).
It started out innocently enough - happenings that in themselves did not pose any serious obstacle to the health of this medical student. A desire to attend Neurosurgery grand rounds the next morning; a shocking amount of material covered in lecture that day and the next; a dramatic increase in the amount of work to be accomplished in lab that night, a presentation in the next morning's class....in fact, a total of 6 negative factors combined to be the straw that broke the life-balance camel's back. A series of unfortunate events, if you will.
I worked late into the night, hoping to get both my studying for the day's lectures AND my reading for tomorrow done while working in lab. A free dinner would have been a bonus but I didn't plan on spending an hour at a meeting, no matter how good their food.
By 12am I was done studying, had completed my work, but hadn't read for class the next day nor practiced my presentation (which, by the way, is only for an informal PBL small group presentation, but if I don't practice I tend to suck at it. A lot).
Of course I had to get up early the next morning (5am instead of 6:40am) in order to avoid the slippery slope that is Falling Behind In Medical School. (A catastrophe of cataclysmic proportions) I did my reading for that day's lectures and practiced my presentation with time to go to the gym. In order to stay awake during lecture, however, the smoky brew of coffee was necessary. With even more lectures gushing forth material surely to be covered in the next test, lab work, studying and reading to be done, the allure of the brew became too strong to resist.
Now, one week later, I am slowly weaning myself off the brew and enduring many a gaping yawn. I'll see how next week goes...

Cells are awesome

In doing my reading for tomorrow's classes, I stumbled upon this delicious fact and I just had to post. Generally speaking, the more complex an organism tends to be, the larger its genome (the total amount of DNA in its cells). Yet, while the human genome is 200 times larger than a certain species of yeast, it is 200 times smaller than a certain species of amoeba. Yes, amoeba. Those amorphous jello like creatures with water for brains.
How amazing is that??
One more thing....each human cell contains an extraordinary amount of DNA. If stretched end to end, this DNA would be 2m long. But, deadrocketcow, you say. The cell is so small, how does all that DNA fit in there? The nucleus of the cell with a diameter of about 6x1o^(-6) - 6 millionths of a meter - achieves this remarkable feat by creating a series of supercoils and loops of DNA, all bunched up tight. This, according to 'Molecular Biology of The Cell' by Alberts, is 'geometrically equivalent to packing 40km (24 miles) of extremely fine thread into a tennis ball!'
If that doesn't make you almost vomit with excitement....I dunno, you're missing out on the fun.
And since I am posting even though I should be dilligently reading....we had our first Histology lab on Wednesday. It was cool to see sections of duodenum and liver and trachea and actually get a visual of all the stuff I read about in text books. When I realised that those pink stained dots in the cytoplasm of the liver cell were actually pink because of a stain for carbohydrates and connected that with learning 'the liver stores glycogen' in the text book, I had this huge burst of excitement. Glycogen! I almost yelled. It has to be glycogen!
And then....we looked at electron microscopy pictures of the very same liver slides, and we could actually see the rough endoplasmic reticulum with the *gasp* ribosomes sitting right on it. It felt like I had been given private access to a secret world, one that I could only have imagined. Awesome-ness, I tell ya.
Back to reading late into the night, with possible over-sleeping rammifications for tomorrow.

Random thoughts

I had my first test today. It was short - (12 questions) - more of a quiz than a test, but still. I studied hard and I am glad I did. It required quite a bit of thinking what with the pKa's of amino acids and different pH environments. I had immediate gratification too (or not), because we went over the answers together in class, as this was only our first test.
I was angry with myself, of course, because I missed a question I ought to have gotten correct. If only I had.......but of course 'if only' doesn't count. A wrong answer is a wrong answer. How many times must I tell myself not to obsess over having made a mistake, but rather focus on learning from that mistake and moving on? And when will I truly believe that I am learning material so I can better understand the basic science behind disease (hopefully to be a great physician) and not just to ace an exam? Give me strength!

In other news....I work in a lab at night in the hospital affiliated with my school and I often have to pick up samples from the nurses. Last night, I was standing at the nurse's station waiting for one of the nurses to come back from seeing a patient. I was looking around at all the neatly labelled files and cubbyholes wondering what 'patient request form' and 'meal agreement' meant, when I happened to see 'report of death'. For a moment I was stunned. How could such an appalling proclamation be so casually placed next to 'meal agreement'? How could one line mean so much? I wondered how many families had been affected by the filling of that report. Was there someone right at that very moment heading towards being another name on a piece of hospital stationary? Of course I know that many people die every day in hospitals, and yet, seeing a visible and tangible reminder of that fact was somewhat of a shock.

I have three more allosteric enzyme inhibitor drugs to understand, *cough* memorise *cough* before I sleep.

On traffic lights and making it to class on time

So far, every morning for a week and a half, I have woken up at 6:40am so I can squeeze in a half hour at the gym, eat breakfast and make it on time for my 8am class. On each of these days, I have left the building where I live at 7:50am (give or take 5 mins - mostly give) and turned right to walk down the block toward the traffic lights. Every single time this happens, I am forced into stress mode. Why is this? you might inquire, with raised brow. Let me tell you.
The light is always red. The little stick man in white is on, telling me it's okay to cross the road. He's giving me the right of way. No mind that I am halfway up the block at this point. Who cares that I am right at that awkward distance where I can't really give up on making the light but I am just a little too far to make it without breaking into a run? Not you little stick man!
There I am, thinking furiously in a panic, 'Should I walk faster? Can I make it in time?'
I break into a stride, with my eyes fixed on the road. I am picking up speed, navigating my way around parking attendants, innocent bystanders and incoming people traffic. In my head, a mantra is being repeated 'Please don't change, please don't change, please don't change'. Will I make it?
When I am a few feet away from the curb, when I am almost certain that I will, in fact, make The Light this morning, the orange hand flashes.
Yes...this happens every single morning. I falter, all my fears confounded. What now? This is too much to bear! If I cross, the lights will surely change mid-peregrination, putting me in the direct path of 50 raging yellow city taxis. And yet...do I dare...?
I tell you, I die every morning.

Disturbing

I hope this (or something similar) doesn't happen to me.

I make this vow freely and upon my honor

Some of my favorite moments during Orientation (which ends tomorrow) thus far have been little, seemingly insignificant things.
Monday night I saw the statue of liberty up close for the first time. It was an awe inspiring few minutes. Looking upwards from the boat, with my mouth slightly agape, I couldn't help but feel inspired. The hand held aloft, the many folds of her robe, the seven pointed crown and the sheer enormity of the statue combined to reduce me to a revered silence. There was no way to capture that moment, nor would a picture have done it justice.
My white coat ceremony was a small affair, with parents, friends and significant others invited. We were seated alphabetically and after a short speech, were called down to the front in fours where faculty helped us into our coats.
Right before we walked down, the dean of the College read to us the WCMC version of the Hippocratic Oath. I found myself thinking about how sacrificing the calling of medicine is and how, right at the very beginning, we are expected to lay aside our personal differences, in order to learn to serve patients with selflessness and humilty.
Especially thought provoking was the last line of the oath, 'I make this vow freely and upon my honor.' I was not coerced, or sweet talked into applying to medical school. I decided on this career because of my interest in learning about the body and a desire to be of service to others in need. Every action I make during the next four years of medical school must be done with this goal in mind. And in order to keep this in mind, I must not forget people.
I have hope that learning to be my best, whether it be from my classmates or admitting my mistakes, rather than ignoring everything save my grades or position in class will be my main strength.

New time, new direction.

I was on the phone with my Mom a day or so ago, excitedly telling her about the short white coat I recently aquired at the Student Affairs office. With the coat came free medical advice/inspiration in the form of a book titled 'On Doctoring' and information on Orientation week which starts on the 25th. She suggested that I remember these few days before the start of medical school. I think this is excellent advice.
In a few weeks, when I am bogged down with how much studying I have to do, how there is so much minute detail to be committed to memory and when I am questioning why I would subject myself to such torment, I can read this post.
Yes, I am a lowly MS0 (a term recently gleaned from many odd-hours spent reading through Student Doctor Network medicine forums and medical blogs) but I can't help it. I am incredibly excited. I cannot wait until the first day of class. I cannot wait to meet my new classmates. I am psyched and I am pumped - just writing about it has caused a huge grin to appear on my face. I can't help but feel I have been waiting and preparing a long time for this moment.
That said, I know medical school will be tons of work and discipline. I know that I will often be stressed and impatient with myself. This is part of the reason I chose WCMC, because it has a reputation for being laid back and less stressful than the average medical school. (Cross your fingers).
So...in the interim, I will continue to be delighted when I find a new medical student/resident blog. Although I have restrained myself from reading through my Undergrad biology text books, I am severely tempted. I am relaxing as though there is no tomorrow.

Christ brings me sunshine in winter

In Grade 11, a few weeks after prefects were selected, my classmate died. We had been friends on and off when we were younger, and sometimes studied for the Grade 7 exams together, but as we got older, we drifted apart into different circles of friends and became acquaintances at best.
She got sick and I, like the other people in my class, thought nothing of it when she did not come to prep that night. She was just one more person who had the misfortune to get malaria. We all assumed she would get better. And she did get better, at least - for a short while.
I passed her in the corridors, a Friday, as I made my way to supper. She had just taken a shower and was walking to her room where she was a prefect in charge of 10 girls. She was wrapped in the brown towel she always used. I glanced at her, wondering if I should offer to get her supper. Instead, I asked if she was feeling better. I can't remember what she said, but I know she smiled. I smiled back and that was that.
I wonder now, if something extraordinary inspired me with that moment of altruism. I wonder now, if it would have made a difference had I offered what I intended. What parallel universe would I be in now? Would I, in just three short weeks be starting medical school? Would she be dead?
She swam in the school swimming team, was cute, bubbly, short. A popular girl with popular friends. She was light skinned, paid attention in class and got good grades. My mother knew her mother.
I was sitting on my bed one night, when a day scholar spoke into the window, giving all of us in the room a fright. "[B.....] is dead, you guys". I stared stupidly at the window. She had just gone home that weekend. I had seen her, smiled at her two days ago. But it was true.
That week we had a memorial service for her. I sat in the hall, thinking about the nature of death, the fragility of life for the first time. Just like that. She was dead. I kept thinking, I saw her on Friday, smiled at her. I saw her.
I thought of her parents, having lost their only daughter. I thought of her brothers, having lost their only sister. She was only 15. Yet, her life was over. In days, she would be buried and there would be no more [B.....]. In a few years, she would be reduced to bones in an uncaring earth. I couldn't get over the finality, the suddeness of what had happened. Even now, it makes my heat skip a beat.
At the funeral, I saw her in her coffin and for the first time I cried. She was laying there, in her makeup, in her church dress with her eyes closed. She could have been sleeping. Her mother was there, crying. I wanted to say something, but could not find the right words. It was so unfair. So unforseen. Whenever I remember the song we sang on the bus there, I grow cold.
I think of her mother now, 6 years later. Does she grieve? How could she possibly have gotten through such a time?
I think of [B....]. What would she be doing right now? Where would she be?
I remember singing on the bus. I can only remember that one line, "Christ brings me sunshine in winter".
I remember her.

Yes, I'll have the Terry Pratchett with a side of Tolkien, please.

I just got done reading Stone of Tears (again), the second book of what is now an eleven part series called the Sword of Truth by Terry Goodkind. For those of you who are ignorant in these matters, I urge you - proceed to your nearest bookstore and purchase Wizard's First Rule. If you are unsatistfied with the contents, I will refund you the full price of the book, no questions asked.*
This renewed desire to read all things fantastical and magic was born after July 21st, (which I am sure you know to be Harry Potter Day) when I consumed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. What should I read next? I am left with a lingering desire to immerse myself in lands filled with mythical beasts and the continued battle of good versus evil (may the good spirits protect us). Perhaps I will go ahead and buy Blood of the Fold (again) after having left most of the books half way across the world.
Or should I venture forth into unknown territory in order to feed the beast within? I do not wish to be disappointed...the buying of an atrocious book is a grave error that cannot be undone.
Perhaps a little science fiction (can you say Asimov?) to whet the palate. Maybe a short foray into the Dark Tower series for a little comfort-read. Then a sweet treat of a Discworld novel. So many books, so little time...

I need something to read. Something new.


*Let it be known that the above mentioned statement is null and void. deadrocketcow will not be responsible for any claim or request of refund be it in money, store credit, or objects of equivalent or lesser value. Sucker!

No more music

He was sitting there, as he had always sat there, stooped and grey, in his faded yellow armchair, with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The light from the faux chandelier turned his carefully combed strands of hair into gleaming wires of hair gel. With his meticulously pressed shirt, trousers and spit shined shoes, he could have been a walking ad for personal cleaniness.
Softly, in the background, a record was playing. The same record that had been playing for the past 7 years since Maggie had been taken away pressed on and delivered its soothing melodies. In the dimly lit room, with the chairs around the table arranged just so and the framed pictures on the mantlepiece lovingly positioned, the record could have played forever in an endless loop. Time, it seemed, within these four walls, had stood still.
What had become of those people whose pictures were so lovingly polished every night without fail under the dining room light? Who were they, these ghosts that carried within their every cell half a copy of their lost father's dna? And where were they now? Where were they?
She sighed. He must have fallen asleep after his evening meal. She reached forward to clear the table. The bowl of soup in front of him, however, was cold and untouched.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice told her what she already knew, but she had to confirm. With two fingers on the side of his neck she was sure.
In the sparse and scrupulously cleaned room where he had played his records all those years, she lifted the stylus off the spinning record and silence filled the air. There would be no more music.

Classes? Yesterday's headlines

Yesterday, at 10:45am, I put down my pen, got my stuff together, handed in my exam and walked out the door and into freedom.
Well...it was really two doors and two floors, but who's counting?
Ladies and gentlemen. In as official a tone as I possibly can manage of an un-official matter (it's not official till I am clad in cap and gown) I do declare that my undergraduate education is over.
Now don't be jealous. You'll have your moment. In time. Smirk.
And yet, although it has barely been 24hrs since the discovery of this freedom, I find I am already bored. I guess studying for class does have its uses.
So...what to do? Should I go invade the library of all its books for one last time? Take up residence at the Omac and bid a slow farewell to the cybex weight machines? Or discover my inner party whore?
I think I'll flip a coin. Or a rubik's cube, on account of having more than two options.

Can you flip a rubik's cube?

I kill with my heart

I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my eye.

I do not shoot with my gun; he who shoots with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my mind.

I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my heart.

-Gunslinger's Creed

Bring it

I want to go to Medical School. As in, right now. I want to take all those juicy biology related classes and pour that sweet information right into my head.
Spring break is over and I have about three more weeks of classes before reading period and then finals. When my last exam is taken, I will then have two and a half weeks of waiting to graduate. During this time, I will probably rip my hair from the roots in fits of boredom or go slowly mad. Or both. It will suck big time.
On a lighter note, next week I have a chance to visit two of the Medical Schools I am interested in. Hopefully this will help me make up my mind, seeing as how I can't go to three Medical Schools.
I am a little sad about leaving Brown. After all, I have been here for 4 years and have come to know this place well. It will be strange not to wake up in the morning and head to the OMAC. Or, not be able to sneak food into the Sci Li anymore. And what about that Ratty food? I always talked badly about those veggie burgers, but who's going to make them like they do?
In the mean time, I will write my philosophy paper and revise my English essay. The theme in my English class for the rest of the semester is Literary Journalism. I have been writing about women in Neurosurgery (of course) and how Neurosurgery is such a male dominated field. Browsing through all the negative and sometimes frightening literature on the choices women have to make in an effort to pursue this as a career only made me more excited. I have been waiting all my life for this stage in my education. I say, bring it.

Ambulance rides and hospitals

The week before last was an awful week, mainly because I got sick on Sunday and missed about a week of classes, as well as work - that's half a pay check for me this week, boo hoo. It was super cool, though, to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance and as I lay there answering the same questions over and over again (are you on any medication, do you have any allergies, when did you last eat?) I couldn't help but think to myself....I will be asking questions like those some day, and on top of that....those sirens sound like they're awfully far away - I wonder if ambulances are sound proofed?
I was wheeled into the hospital and was struck by how much equipment there was everywhere. Tubes and flashing-red-light-things on wheels and contraptions on the walls that beeped every few seconds. It was awesome. I stared hard at them in an attempt to fathom their wonders. Reveal your secrets! I yelled, but in my head, careful not to add delerium to my list of ailments.
I was examined by a 4th year Med student and missed a fat opportunity to attack her with questions because I was so out of it. After a chest x-ray, a life-scarring immersion to bring my fever down, more proding and being force fed medicines and cold water (to lower my heart rate - the doctor kept asking me if I was nervous), it was time to leave. I smiled and said thankya big big, that bed was positioned in such a way as to give me the worst lower back discomfort ever in the least possible amount of time.
I got better towards the end of the week, after taking medicine every four hours and sleeping all day, so that I went to class on Friday. Of course, life would have it that I had a mid-term the next Tuesday with just enough time to get better but not enough time to study much.
And even worse, I couldn't go to the gym for a week, and when I did venture back, I was weaker than your 97 yr old grandpa. I couldn't even do half an hour of cardio, for crying out loud.
Now that Spring break has begun, I can catch up on all the work I need to do. Life is good, yes?

At the Gym: That man in red

He saunters in, geared in his fiery traffic light red ensemble that only seems to accentuate his inner all systems go attitude. With his matching headband, sneakers and towel he makes his way to the fitness corner, goal in mind.
Months of hours spent sweating it out at the Olney-Margolies Athletic Center has given him a self assurance mere mortals can only dream of. With the practiced ease that can come only from hard earned experience, he adjusts the seat on the stationary bicycle to his desired height. Nonchalantly, he places his cd player on the surface designed for such personal effects and hoists himself up on the seat. It's time to get down to business.
He selects his program, his legs positioned and at the ready. A final check with his cd player ensures the correct playlist is selected, so he eases his way into a 5 minute warm up.
With his arms pumping purposefuly at his sides, and a sweet rhythm in the making, he could cycle his way to the moon and back.
His receding hair line and slightly paunchy midsection might be a testament to his age, but boy, does he work that bicycle! After a half hour, it seems the playlist on his cd player has come to an end. Without a break in stride, cool as a cucumber, he whips out a fresh cd from the pouch slung on the handlebars and does the old switcheroo.
45 minutes later, it is time for the next phase of his workout. With complete indifference, he makes his way through sets of seated leg curls, 100 pound bench presses and lat pull-downs. It is only the determined set to his jaw that exposes the intensity of his workout.
Home stretch and it's cool down time. Unconcerned with the stares he is receiving from the ellipticals (one of which is mine), he half walks, half jogs his way around the track. He then strolls over to the exercise mat where he proceeds to twist himself into pretzel like stretches. Feel that burn baby, and stretch yourself flexible.
Coat in hand, and one last swig from the monstrosity of a jug that is his water bottle means he is done, thankyou very much.
Until tomorrow.

I entreat you - justice must be served

Last night calamity befell. I am speaking, of course, of being unable (after a long and tortuous week-long wait) to watch House.
Yes. I agree. This was indeed a dire situation. Before you rush out with your hacksaw in a furious bid to dispense justice on the Computing and Information Services at Brown that delivers tv to my computer, let me explain.
After a busy and productive day of class, library and work, this noble and efficient Brown student came back to her apartment at around 7pm. With two hours to spare before House was to begin, she dilligently began work at her computer. Of course, there are innumerable practical definitions for the word 'work'. Browsing through facebook, for instance - the proper alingment of thumb and forefinger upon the mouse must be achieved to ensure accurate and efficient perusal. Let us not forget that mind stimulating endeavour that is the instant messenger conversation. To what level of simple-minded thinking would we stoop without such intellectual pursuits?
As such, I was working at my computer, carefully noting the time as it crept forward to the anticipated hour. With incredible foresight and responsiblity I opened the appropriate web-page at precisely 8:15pm and lauched the program.
Imagine my surprise and horror when I beheld such an atrocity as no human should be made to suffer. The screen was frozen! A single image of a popular day-time court judge was etched on the screen like a chewed wad of juicy fruit gum caught in your little sister's hair.
Even more diabolical - to my utmost dismay, it was only Fox that was afflicted this way.
I closed and re-opened the program. I switched channels. I opened a new web-page. Alas, my efforts were in vain. The universe was against me and I would not win.
So you see; my day, my week - my peace of mind was utterly ruined. How long the week that stretches before me until the next House. How cruel, how unusual the punishment I must endure.
Yes. Go forth and dispense that justice.

The Way Things Are

I have had an epiphany.
This epiphany was born out of a gradual realization about The Way Things Are. For one thing, clothes are meant to fit people. Not the other way around. To say that my body is un-proportional is ludicrous. To what standard am I comparing myself? And who set that standard? People come in a myriad of shapes. No one shape is 'the one'.
My lower body may be as much two sizes larger than my upper body, but this does not mean I do not fit clothes. Clothes do not fit me. So what if I have to buy low rise jeans because a 'normal' pair will be too big at the waist? So I bought my first suit with the pants a larger size than the jacket - big deal. No tears will be shed here.
And who says that all females must wear heels? To be sure, they look nice on many people, but come on now. Since when did heels become the epitome of all that is feminine? Don't get me wrong, I like the way heels look - even on myself. I just won't wear them. And I won't feel bad about it, because I will wear what I like to wear. Sneakers and more sneakers until I am old and gray.
This includes little clutch bags and purses. Perhaps I ought to add excessive make-up and certain types of jewellery; diamonds and other such precious stones. What is this madness that has possessed so many women everywhere? Could there be some deep unfathomable value to a diamond (besides its price) that I just don't get? Do diamonds have souls?
Because some women go nuts over diamonds. A whole industry worth of Valentine's (speak of the devil) and Christmas gifts is dependent on the ecstasy that grips a woman's heart when she receives one. How can one love diamonds? They're just expensive shiny stones, equally as good as any other piece of jewellery.
I'd rather have a Stephen King book.

Last Semester

Compared to junior year, being a senior is a breeze. Even the flurry of Medical School Interviews last semester was filled with happy moments thinking about myself as a Med student. I enjoyed the interviews; they were chances to prove to the schools why I would make a fantastic Neurosurgeon.
I remember how it was to think constantly, fervently, from the moment I woke up in the morning to the moment I lay my head on my pillow at night about The Mcat. Every single event that semester was based around it. It was either 'before the Mcat' or 'after the Mcat'.
I thought it would never end. It was an insurmountable roadblock towards entry into Medical School that kept on going. I remember being anxious, feeling exhilarated when my practice exam score would go up, depressed and angry when I plateaued. Every hour was spent calculating how best to study the physical sciences, how I could read through a set of passages and have time left over to check my work.
I spent days agonizing over what the perfect schedule would be and how I could utilise time spent eating looking over flash cards and learning formulae. I amassed huge amounts of test papers, questions and full length exams. Every inch of my floor was covered in test material. Nothing else mattered. My dreams were Mcat. My goal was the Mcat. I lived and breathed it.
And now, just like that, it is over. Test day came and went before I could take a preparing breath and all that is left of the Mcat is a memory.
When I hear people talking about getting ready for the Mcat, about how worried they are, about how they just have to get that fantastic score. I smile. And I remember.
(Class list, fellas.)

EL18: Introduction to Creative Nonfiction
BI30: Endocrinology
PL50: Moral Philosophy
BN196: Independent Study (Fragile X Syndrome research)

Food on your table

When I was in Zambia, I worked at a clinic in the laboratory. I helped the lab technician enter all his results onto the computer (because they were going paperless donchya know) and what took him through the afternoon when the going was slow, I did over my lunch break. He said the cold weather made his fingers stiff. I believed that like my name is Gertrude. And it's not. Anyway, every so often we had to do tests on people's stool and such. You know - samples of urine, blood and other bodily fluids, basically robbing the already embarassed patient of his/her remaining shred of dignity. It's like that. If you wonder why six meals a day (not counting snacks) isn't doing you justice, chances are, your intestines have company, and unlike good guests, they do not want to leave.
What was really interesting though, was seeing how the reminder that no matter how rich and important you thought you were, no matter how fancy a car your drove and how loud your heels clacked when you sauntered into the clinic, even you were unfortunate enough to have a digestive tract with two openings. The patients would come into the clinic, stride nonchalantly to the window to deposit their unthinkables and act like they hadn't a care in the world, but I knew it. They knew it, the whole world knew it. In a minute, his/her most private of substances, most intimate of materials would be exposed for the entire lab to see, and his/her decency would be stripped away to nothingness. You could see it in the slight curl at the end of their smile, in the way they clutched at the plastic and paper wrapped, foil ensheathed bottle as though willing themselves into oblivion. In the panic lurking at the corner of their eyes that screamed "Yes, yes - it's true! Even I have a rectum! Oh, the horror..."
And when they came back for their results, amid the polite handshakes, the carefully worded greetings, the mortification lingered. "Oh yes...what is it I am here for? My crap? The bottle of fecal matter I deposited at your window? Quite forgot, really. Slipped my mind. Yes, smile at me and tell me I have Giardia. Make idle chit chat with me as though you didn't smell just how putrid my excrement stank, you sick, sick lab technician. Yeah, grin at me as you prescribe a course of deworming. Just remember, buddy, my anal discharge puts food on your table.