Why I [think I] want to be a Neurosurgeon: reason #2

The day that current 4th year medical students around the US found out about where they would spend the next 3+ years of their lives training during residency happened Thursday, March 18th, 2010. This epic day was excellent for one of my fourth year friends, who got her first choice in General Surgery and good for another one of my fourth year friends, who got her third choice in General Surgery also. Of course, since I am somewhat convinced that Neurosurgery is for me, I eagerly scanned the posted match list for people matching into Neurosurgery. It was both exciting and extremely frightening. These feelings sent me into a frenzy of setting-up-appointments-with-the-Neurosurgery-powers-that-be, in order to frankly assess whether or not I am a good enough candidate to 1)match ANYwhere...you best believe that I will take what I can get and 2)maybe/possibly/hopefully/please God match at my current top choice. One of these meetings happens on Friday. Another, hopefully, next week Tuesday. My resume has been updated and printed on paper watermarked, my goals put in fresh perspective and my fingers appropriately crossed. Which leads me to this post:

Reason 2: the specialized, very technical aspect of Neurosurgery is appealing to me. I enjoy working with my hands and spending time on tasks that require physical manipulation. It gives me an incredible sense of accomplishment and pride when I am able to complete said task, with the involvement of much elbow grease. For example, as an undergrad, I worked part time in one of my school's cafeterias. This job involved sorting plates, cups, cutlery and other dining hall paraphernalia off a rapidly moving conveyor belt, ridding them of the drink and food scraps they had left and placing them onto the car-wash-for-utensils that then cleaned them. At the start of the 4 hour shift, there would be the odd bowl of half eaten cereal and empty juice glass, but eventually, piles upon piles of plates and silverware would be jammed onto the belt. Although a very simplistic example of technical skill, I loved every moment of this job. The manual dexterity required to manipulate forks, knives, cups and glasses of all sizes, odd shaped bowls and plates, stack them together in like piles, remove all traces of solid material from their surfaces, place them into the dishwasher machine on steroids and do it incredibly fast - while hot steam billowed into my face and even more objects jetted in on the belt was insane. (In a very good way). Each shift, I would challenge myself to not drop a single utensil, or allow a plate to pass by unnoticed.
Exciting also, is the idea of being highly specialized in a field, performing complex procedures with meticulous attention to detail, over and over again until I am absolutely amazing at what I do. Could the satisfaction that comes from knowing you spent hours scrupulously dissecting away a tumor/placing screws for spinal fusion/establishing hemostasis with a job well done be greater? I think not.

Why I [think I] want to be a Neurosurgeon: reason #1

There are two fourth year medical students on the Psychiatry rotation with me, and, during the shuttle ride home from the hospital today, I was talking to one of these medical students about residency applications, rank lists and match day - this year to be held on March 18th. The conversation, being a good one, fraught with such expressions as "I can't believe it's happening" and "It's out of my hands now" and "Am I really going to be a doctor in 4 months?" got me thinking about my own impending doom/application process, which starts July 6th, on my first Neurosurgery sub-internship. And in the course of my soul searching and deep inner reflection, I decided I needed to put into words why I think I should spend the next 7 years AFTER medical school being sleep deprived and slaving away long hours in the hospital days into months.

Reason 1: Working hard makes me happy. Working extremely hard makes me even happier. This is not to say I do not appreciate a lazy day at home with naught but a book in hand. I do. I just don't feel the need to "have a life outside of Medicine", or "Maintain an active social life" or the many other good reasons that people quote when deciding on a lifestyle vs. (for lack of a better word) non-lifestyle specialty. I want to be consumed by my work. I want to wake up early, spend a substantial portion of my day working hard at what I love, and go home feeling fulfilled, because I brought it all to the table. Will this naive, idealistic and romanticized dream of an honest day's work change as I morph into yet another bitter, overworked and underpaid resident? Maybe. I hope not...but we will see.

Man on bike vs. traffic

On the highway on my way to psychiatry at Westchester hospital this morning, I saw a man on a professional racing bicycle riding furiously amongst the traffic. Was he riding furiously because he got onto the highway inadvertently and was in full scale panic mode because he couldn't get off? Or was he training for the next tour de France? Who knows. In any case...what happened next was pretty awesome in my (humble) opinion. As he was riding along on his merry way, an SUV, perhaps assuming it had the right of way (SUVs these days!), tried to cut him off and switch lanes. Without pause, the man on the bicycle held aloft his hand and struck the side of the SUV four times (yes, I was watching eagerly and counted). Sorry, buddy, I got this lane. I mean, I know you're in a vehicle that probably weighs about 30 times more than I do...and I'm just a guy on a bike right? But, come on now. I got this.
Which made me think - what sort of person thinks that this is acceptable behavior? What was going on in his mind? Does he have a mind? Etc. Pretty interesing. Especially now that I'm on psychiatry...food for thought, I tells ya. Food for thought.

This time will be different

This time will be different.
This time I have foil paper.
I put it on my head, it protects my brain.
Wrapped three times around
not twice-
three times. With the end tucked in at the middle.
It provides
maximum security this way.

They have attempted to enter my house three times now.
I know this because the silent alarm
that is hooked up to my medial temporal lobe
to my
corpus amygdaloideum
went off each time.
(they don't know I know).

I have TOP secrets.
Top security secrets that the government wants.
They put
surveillance cameras on my street
at the grocery store in my favorite coffee cup my wife is in on it too.

I am a lone warrior in a world gone mad.
The new delivery man making his rounds
has his eye on me.
The deli across the street
recently opened
with the fat free muffins
has a room full of spies
working nine to five
tapping my phone lines
HA! Joke's on them
I communicate via the mind.

Last year I developed a math equation
an equation of cataclysmic proportions
unlocking the secrets of time
this equation will
change the fabric of time and space
as we know it.
So you see. I have TOP secrets.
Top secrets that the government wants.

Men in long gray overcoats
and
blackened sunglasses
working for the CIA
for the FBI
hover on street corners
communicating over the private satellite links
they have installed in microchips
at the base of their brains.
They pretend to read newspapers
They hold long conversations with their mothers
but
the newspapers are upside down
and
they say the same thing in a loop
3 minutes 33 seconds.
(I timed it).

Trying to get past my defenses.
Might as well give up now.
Almost got me last week
when I ventured out for supplies
running low.
A lone warrior
in a world gone mad.
But
this time will be different.
This time I have foil paper.

Happiness is...

1. An early morning session of high intensity interval training.
2. A Stephen King novel, a hot cup of English Breakfast tea (two sugars - yes, sugar damnit - and milk), a rainy day.
3. A freshly opened, out of the package, new white coat.
4. Another desktop worthy picture of my nephew.
5. Volunteer neurosurgery call with the most amazing residents on earth.
6. A clean apartment.
7. Two hour conversations with my Mom about nothing.
8. A hard day's work and a shuttle ride home.
9. Nebert shenanigans.
10. A good night's sleep.

Happy Birthday to me

That is all.

Goodbye General Medicine

In the last week of my 4 week general medicine block, the team changed. On Sunday, one of the interns called her last call and the very next Monday, the other intern presented his last (at least, on this rotation) presentation at attending rounds. It was a sad day. Then on Tuesday, the R2 left and Wednesday the R3 moved on as well. In short, I was left with a completely (well almost, the attending and PA stayed on) new team for about 3 days and a consequently completely different team dynamic. It was weird.
Everything felt wrong. It was four new people to get used to, with their own personalities and styles of teaching/learning. Mixed in with my desire to make like a tree and leave early every day in order to get some much needed studying done (evaluations = written by previous team), was my desire to be the perfect medical student/scut monkey, in helping out every member of the team, AND learning while I did so. I also didn't feel the urge to "make nice" with the new team, because that Friday was my last day. So what did I do? I toughed it out until Thursday, staying as late as usual and offering to help. On Friday, I stayed until 1pm and called it a day. Goodbye general medicine.
I have a feeling that I will never have a team as nice as this first team. Every now and then I catch glimpses of the R3 on the floors of the hospital and wave and grin enthusiastically to show how much I miss her. Walking with the PA one day, I saw the [female] intern who hugged us both and told us how much she misses us. It's almost as though we were never thrown together in close quarters for 4 busy weeks. We also had the special treat of being taken out to dinner by our attending Wednesday night. All in all, it was a very good team. I put a thank you note underneath my attending's office door to show my appreciation (after careful consideration about whether or not it was unethical - I decided it wasn't). I miss them all.

Medicine and the 'difficult' patient

Medicine changes people. For better or for worse, it has the potential to transform the most idealistic, I-want-to-help, good natured, hard working MS1 into a bitter, angry, and uncompassionate resident. For example, during conversations with my team in the hospital:

"[deadrocketcow], I swear I never used to be this mean. I never used to complain this much."
"I remember when I couldn't wait to be a resident. I thought it was all glamorous and helping people. But really, all you do all day is make calls and work with difficult patients. You're basically a glorified secretary."
"This sucks."
"Oh....no! Another admission? The Emergency Department admits everyone! Somebody shoot me."
"This guy [patient] is unbelievable! What does he want from me now?! Tell him to stop paging me already."

Looking at that, you might think I am surrounded by some of the most mean spirited people - doctors who don't care a fig about their patients. But after you have been working a 30 hour shift every 4 days for the past 3 months, on top of a 14 hour 'normal' work day, with no consideration for weekends, this does not sound all that unreasonable. Especially, when you have to work with the not so occasional 'difficult patient'...

Patient X, an active cocaine user, was admitted to the hospital with extremely high potassium levels (this is a dangerous thing as it can cause heart arrhythmias). He had been told for several years now that he would need dialysis, as his kidneys were no longer functioning correctly, but had decided he was not ready. Well, this time, his kidneys decided for him that he was ready since they could no longer rid his body of excess potassium. During his admission, he was beliggerent and rude to the nurses and our team, constantly demanding more pain medication, refusing to take his medication for his extensive co-morbidities, devising his own dosing schedule and demanding that we change his meds to that effect. He would also leave the hospital for hours at a time without telling his nurses, to smoke and engage in other medically frowned upon activities.

What is interesting were the contrasting attitudes my team had towards this 'difficult patient'. It was apparent that the further away you were from the start of your medical education, the more likely you were to be cynical and dismissive of this 'difficult' patient's needs, thinking "If he doesn't want to be treated, then why is he here? Let him leave."
Being fresh and naive on the medicine team, my thought was "this man is depressed about his life, his illnesses and the fact that he now needs to depend on a dialysis machine for at least 4 hours every other day in order to remain alive. He feels helpless, has no more control over his life and is expressing it by being difficult and rude to the team."
The intern, who is a 1st year resident, and still pretty close to medical school, thought "this man is understandably upset. He is very sick, probably depressed and hates being in the hospital. If he took his medications like he was supposed to, the diaylsis would probably help him feel a lot better. But what can you tell a crack head?"
The second year resident thought "this man is insane! Did he spend 10+ years learning to be a doctor that he can tell me what the correct dosage is for his [illness]? I know this must be hard for him, but come on! Maybe if he spent less time smoking crack, he would care more about his health."
And the 3rd year resident thought "He doesn't want to take his medication? Fine, that's his choice. Just don't call me at 3am because his [indicator of disease progression] is through the roof. If he wants to leave too, that's fine with me, just make him sign the Against Medical Advice form."

Let me just add: the members of my team are extremely hard working and go out of their way to be as helpful as they can for their patients, often at the expense of sleep, food and their own sanity. But working 90+ hours a week does have it's toll. Nevertheless, the medicine doctors and residents I have interacted with are very positive, taking time out of their hectic scedules to teach me, an ignorant medical student what is what. They find the time to sit with their patients and talk to them about their children, despite having 20 other patients they need to see within the hour. In the end, it works out. Somehow.

Happiness is making it to the library after a long day at the hospital

I finally made myself go to the library after I was done in the hospital today - despite wanting to collapse onto my bed forever. I can now pass a test on sudden death (for cardiac reasons), coronary artery disease and cardiac catheterization. Just imagine: soon, I may be YOUR doctor.

Some good things that happened today:
1. I went with a very nice lady to get paracentesis done and held her hand during the entire procedure (say thank ya to comfortable shoes).
2. Saw histoplasmosis under the microscope from a patient who has been mysteriously (no longer!) sick for a while.
3. Was given permission during intern conference by the director of the medicine residency program to *gasp* have a sandwich before all the interns had gotten theirs.
4. I studied. Life is good, no?

All in all, a good day. Tomorrow I am on call....so no studying for sure. Ps - I am still working out for 45 minutes at 5am during the week, strength training/lifting weights twice on the weekend (on an upper body, lower body repeater, if you're interested), sleeping an average of 7 hrs a night (got down to 4 hours once last week) and eating healthy.

No patients...

It is 7:08pm and I do not have a patient. Since both patients I was following last week have been discharged, I have to wait until a patient comes in so I can have work to do tomorrow (and not look like a total slacker). However, as I am a newly minted MS III with 1 week experience, it takes me at least 3 hours to examine a patient and write up an admission note. This does not include reading up on the patient and practicing my presentation so as to be the budding superstar that I am on attending rounds. Looks like I'll be here until 10pm or 11pm....and yet another day with no studying done.

Medicine Week 1: Awkwardness to the nth power (where n = infinity)

On Mon, July 6th at approximately 9:30am (after a brief introduction by the course director), 11 or so hapless, naive and incredibly awkward 3rd year medical students (yours truly included) were thrust onto the floors of the general medicine department at New York Presbyterian hospital to help take care of patients. With no inkling as to what to expect and what to do about not knowing what to expect, important questions began to arise:

1. When the team is going around (rounding, if it pleases ya) seeing patients first thing in the morning, where is the medical student to position his or her person so as to provide the least amount of interference with on going proceedings? In other words, how can I stay out of their way, yet remain visible?
2. How many times is it appropriate for the medical student to ask "Do you need any help?" before the energy and time required by the attending/resident/intern/physician assistant to respond, "Thanks for asking, but not right now." greatly exceeds the benefit of said proffered assistance?
3. What is the role of the medical student, exactly? Is it appropriate to be seen sitting at a computer and checking one's email?

It all seemed so hopeless. However, much can be accomplished in the space of 5 busy days. I am on a team made up of an attending (the lead doctor ultimately in charge of patient care), a 3rd year resident in internal medicine, a 2nd year resident in internal medicine, a physician assistant and two interns (first year residents who have to fulfill basic requirements before they can focus on what it is they are doing residency for). And me. Of course.
Since the same basic pattern repeats itself every day, it became easier after Wed or so, to get a sense of what was going on and then, at least, in my opinion, to make myself useful.
I get to the hospital at around 6:30am, check up on any events that transpired with the patients over night, taking special care to ensure any patients I am in charge of (2 - 4) aren't in critical condition and that I know exactly what state they are in. This is important, both for my own education, and in the event that I get pimped by the attending and lose points by Not Knowing My Patients (my evaluations are a big deal, thank you!).
At 7am, the team, sans attending, goes around and checks on the patients (about 20 or so) to find out if anything is pressing and how the patients feel. We then sit down at 8:30am with the attending so that the person who was on call (stayed through the night to provide continuity for patient care) describes in detail what happened to each patient during the night and if there are any new patients admitted.
From 9am - 10am, we round with the attending, checking on any new patients as well as those who are in critical condition. This is the point when the team comes up with a plan for patient care, with the attending deciding if this plan is appropriate. Since the attending is under pressure to get the on-call person home, so as to avoid exceeding the 'work hour limit', that person goes home at 10am.
After all the rounds are complete, it is time to get down to the nitty-gritty of patient care - paper work, writing notes in the patient charts, calling other doctors to call other doctors so that specialists can come in to see patients and other such scut work. In my case, I help my team as much as I can, and focus on the 2 - 4 patients I am in charge of: from examining the patient and writing a note about their progress, making sure medication is being given, that tests are being sent and carried out to mopping up patient vomit.
Usually, I have a class at 12pm - 1pm. When I come back from that, everything repeats itself. At 6pm (medical student official going home time) my feet are screaming for mercy and my stomach is yelling blue murder. However, this is a critical moment. It is tempting to rush out the door without a backward glance in order to eat and begin studying, but it is important to ask everyone on the team if there is anything that I can help with. The fact is, there is always something, so I am guaranteed another hour or two of work. As such, I usually get back from the hospital between 7pm and 8pm too exhausted to think about anything beyond food and sleep. If I got a new patient that day, I practice my presentation on them for the next day's rounds and read about their disease. If not, I read up as much as I can about all my patient's diseases and their treatment. Not a great substitute for hard core studying, but I have weekends for that.

So far, I am still eating healthy, getting some exercise (5am - 5:45am, if you can dig that) and sleeping no less than 6 hours a night. Let's see how long that will last.

Boards...

...are over! From 7:30am to about 4:30pm, I poured out all the knowledge I had acquired in my first 2 years of medical school onto that 336 multiple choice question test. I was calm, I was determined to do my best and the force was with me. Sometime in July, I will get my score and will be 1/3 of the way to being board certified. Awesome.

Home stretch

There are two weeks before the end of BOD and before we are set loose to study for the Boards. Not that it really matters - I have not been to class in about a month. However, it will be nice to not have PBL three times a week at 8am.
Skipping classes is the best thing I have done so far. It gives me more time to study class related material for test's sake, allows me more Board studying time (can you say awesome?), gives me the chance to actually do research (something I had neglected for months and months) AND get a decent amount of sleep at night. What could be better than that?
There are various things to be considered for this 6 week stretch I have ahead of me. I need to make a study schedule and decide where I want to study (the library is sure to be infested with my classmates). Should I take a day off, or plow straight through until May 26th? There are many plans to be made, much scheming to be had and the rubbing of hands together in leery fashion.
Until then, I have a Physical Diagnosis written exam on Tue, a practical on Wed, a Rheumatology test after next week and a triple jump exam to end it with.

If not now, when? or I don't want to have to study this for the first time 6 weeks before the Boards.

Several times as I have been studying for this HORRID and merciless exam, I have opened a chapter in one of my board review books (anatomy, for example) and my immediate thought is "I'd rather eat ground glass than study this right now. I can't believe I memorized all this crap during Anatomy...there is NO way I can do it again."
And then I feel sorry for myself and maybe even shed a tear or three. Then, I think....if I don't do this now - I will have to wade through all this information (and more) after classes are over aka board studying crunch time.
Do you want that?!? I scream to myself (in my head of course, I'm in the library). Do you want to be crying and vomiting in terror 6 weeks before the worst exam known to mankind simply because you were lazy?!? Because you wanted to sleep an extra 3 hours?!? Better shape up or ship out, young lady, or I will be mopping you off the floor!! This is the anti-lazy-pro-270-board-score-self help mental Nazi I have installed somewhere in my amygdala. It helps most of the time.
Not so much right now....head and neck anatomy? Give me a break, this chapter is 20 pages too long. Full of pure memorization, as soon as I read "...the external carotid artery has eight branches in the neck." my brain started to hurt. Did I really know all 8 of these branches at some point in my life? Arrgh! Somebody, kill me now. I can't do it, I can't!!!

End rant.

I will take it

one branch at a time.

Back to the grind.

The Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

It's a question that is becoming more and more frequent in my mind: should I study three extra hours or get a good night's sleep? Is it really worth it to go to the gym when I have a test in two days? Which is more important, my health (surely in the short run only) or doing well on a test?

I make beautiful, super-fantastic plans. This is me, writing in my planner Friday night: wake up tomorrow at 6:30am, workout for 45 mins or an hour, eat a good breakfast (something with heart healthy whole grains and a good amount of protein) and commence studying by 8:30am. Good, awesome. I go to bed smiling to myself - I'm really going to crush the Boards.
What really happens: my eyes open and by the way my body feels (actually well rested and wholesome), I know it's definitely not 6:30am. I keep my eyes up at the ceiling praying it's only say, 8:30am. That wouldn't be so bad....I could just skip the gym, swap the heart healthy breakfast for coffee and a banana (they're full of potassium, right?) and still crush the Boards. Even on an empty stomach. So I look at the clock. It's 10:30am. What?!? How could I have possibly allowed my body to get the sleep it needs?? Did I even hear my alarm clock? When did I turn it off? Arrgghhh, etc.

Of course, you know my whole day is ruined. I shall fail the Boards, never get a real job, end up working 12am to 10am shifts at a 24-hr McDonald's and eventually wind up homeless and penniless on the streets. So I convince myself that since I'm late already, I'll go to the gym for half an hour AND eat a good breakfast. Studying from 12pm to as late as I can manage is not really so bad. Especially if I skip the movie I planned to watch with N tonight. Again. It's just a movie, right?

Luckily, that didn't happen today. Today was better. I planned to get to the library at 8am when it opened, but I got here at 9am. Instead of getting up at 7:15am like I planned, I got up at 8am. What's 45 minutes between friends, you ask. Nothing, I respond. I will study until 8pm when the library closes, get a work out at the gym, do some much needed apartment cleaning and then go to bed. That will be a good day. (If I can make it happen....i.e. not take a nap in the middle of the afternoon when the going gets tough.)

My study break is over. Back to learning all the intimate details about Streptococcus agalactiae. God knows, the Boards love those little critters.

On Basis of Disease, Boards and Christmas break

Tomorrow is the last day of class before the first day of Christmas break. This is a good thing. I am looking forward to seeing my sister and her husband and my oh so little nephew (who just happens to be the cutest little boy on earth, cuter even, than your nephew). Now I can get down to some serious Heroes TV watching and some long anticipated Just After Sunset reading. Yes, indeed. Life is good.
BOD is only half as interesting as BAM. At this point in time one thing is still clear to me: I am definitely interested in learning about the brain. This means neurosurgery, neurology or psychiatry, in that order. Of course, I could have a mind blowing experience during a pathology rotation in 3rd or 4th year and decide to become a pathologist. [Insert joke about lack of people skills here]. Another thing...
As we plod through the body system by system, I am reminded of just how much will be expected of me somewhere between April 15th and July 1st. It's the big U. Or B. Or S of the B...I said the, not 'a'! Ladies and gentlemen, the boards are coming. And I am very afraid.

Goodnight.

November 8th, 2008

I am getting older.

D-Day

T minus 1 hour and counting...

D-Day

T minus 7 hours and counting...

The week of doom

T minus 3 days and counting...

The week of doom

T minus 6 days and counting...

Lists and such

This week I:

1. Watched a pituitary tumor being removed via the nose.
2. Took my second Brain and Mind test.
3. Got my grade for said test.
4. Caught a cold and then learned that Theraflu is far more superior to Dayquil.
5. Considered taking No doze and opted for coffee. (What next: uppers?)

Tomorrow I will:

1. Not take a nap after class, no matter how congested I feel.
2. Re-memorize those descending motor pathways (feels like Brown again).
3. Go to the gym if I feel better than I did this morning.

Right now I need to:

1. Read (and learn) about a bunch of opioid and NSAID analgesics.
2. Prepare for tomorrow's classes.
3. Not think about sleep.
4. Stop thinking about Pepperidge Farm Soft Baked Milk Chocolate Caramel cookies, because I have already consumed an entire package.

Brain and Mind, yo. (And MPSII)

Today was my first introduction to the harsh reality that is 2nd year. Class began at 8am as usual but after an hour and a half break for lunch (which will be reduced to an hour as the semester proceeds) it was back for more medical school learning. I realized that I never had the chance to say good bye to 1pm days with lectures that never exceeded 60 minute blocks. Lucky first years...
Yet, I had a very good day. The lectures were interesting (on the non-verbal part of the mental status exam), the small group discussions enlightening, though a tad bit tedious (what with the awkward pauses and the shuffling of the feet). I did get picked to play doctor and 'pretend' interview one of my classmates. With 12 other pairs of eyes on my every move and not having conducted a complete history since last year, my interview was - how do you say - not so hot, but still. For once in small group, my heart wasn't racing out of control and I actually thought about what I was doing...as I was doing it. Will wonders ever cease?
I think I will enjoy this semester. It is, after all, all the classes I have ever wanted to take, my major in College (Neuroscience) and my (as of now) dream career rolled into one. Of course, it doesn't help that everyone says it is the most (and I quote) 'horrid and unforgiving class at WCMC' and that 'by the end of the semester it will have made me it's b!$#&. Shudder.
I am half way through my anatomy of the neck notes for tomorrow and it is 11:06pm. Why did God make necks??

Untitled

Unhappiness
is something that happens to other people, she said
of mind filled with possibilities and bursting forth with a mad desire to educate
those souls who could not know love as she knew it
how she was living and breathing and creating with every step
a monument, a vision of self sacrifice
So that not even the little that he had could dissuade her.
If there were an expression of doubt or pity that might stand in the way of her consciousness she could not see it because
Unhappiness
Was something that happened to other people.

And how could she?
When the mind is tormented with what the senses provide and what the heart will speak
What does it matter what the future will bring
If tomorrow will be the same as yesterday or the day before
And if the night will follow day?
In that moment; in that endless moment when their souls lay naked
Before the altar where they drink the sweet tears that consummate a union
There is only now.

So when she said
I am bruised and bleeding on the ground before you
I did not believe her.
For how could so cheap a thing which infected other people
Now rear its head and contaminate that vision of purity?
Suddenly the lines in the pavement that were once there to play by
Were cracks
And the sunlight that fell in your face in the morning window became a glare
Your laughter a mad cackle in the dark of the night.

But has she given over her mind’s thought to the depths of this new despair?
I have said to her this, but she does not respond.

In the spirit of poetry...

...a new favorite.

Pursuit

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.

-Stephen Dobyns

i used to be bigger than this -
really
i was high flying high ballin'
in a high powered car

used to roll down the streets
glasses low hair gelled music on the stereo
hey baby - want a ride?

walking through the streets like twas nothing
i owned these people, these streets
mister - shine your shoes? mister - that drinks on the house
that drinks on me - mister

easy breazin easy ridin
the days and nights away
long gone now
no power no people no friends
as if they were ever

just me and this room
this cold dark room
with the roaches and the rats
and the screaming next door - christ, will you ever shut up?
no momma here no, boy
just you and me and everyone else

only time can tell

Seeing red

We agreed, we decided - we made contract to leave at 6pm, because Coldplay is playing at 8pm and I want to be there early. Doors open at 7pm. But N isn't here yet. I am about to see red.

Strap on whenever it seems appropriate

Many things have happened since we last talked. Yes...it's been quite a while, hasn't it? Let me tell you: grand things have transpired in the moments we have been apart. Like the fact that I am running a half marathon July 27th, right here in the streets of M. And the fact that I am actually going to a Coldplay concert in Connecticut this summer. But the real nitty gritty of the issue for today, ladies and gentlemen, is this: I went nuts last semester. That's right - I went stark raving mad. I was a raving lunatic for all of 16 weeks and I did not realize it fully until the semester was over and sanity spoke reason into my rabid mind. And by sanity I mean the voice of reason. This being, of course, my mother.
Probably, the seeds of my madness were sown towards the end of the first semester when I decided that my entire existence would cease to be if I Did Not Get Honors. Many a night was spent plotting and scheming to avoid this end. "So, I got an 88 on this last test....if I get at least a 95 on the next test and maybe a 92 on the last test, provided, of course I get 100% on the final, then maybe I could get honors. Cross fingers, knock on wood, throw salt over left shoulder, consider putting soul on lease." It was bad I tells ya. Bad. It so happened, that I did get honors that first semester. My ego was officially inflated. Life was good. The seeds, however, were starting to germinate.
Next semester came on by with its Anatomy and its Physiology and its Histology. Perhaps people in my class decided they really needed to get focused. Perhaps I became a little bit dumber. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. The fact of the matter is, I was getting *gasp* median scores. Me! How was this happening?? In desperation, I studied harder. I began to eye my classmates with suspicion. Who was this 34501 who kept getting 97% on every test, while I, surely, an honors student, was struggling by with 87's?? Was this fair? I deserved better! Did God hate me?
But the demon of the gunner is an insiduous and nefarious predator. Slowly I had breathed life to it as it crept into my nostrils. Quietly it had infiltrated the dark depths of my growing dementia. Before long, I was possessed. I was possessed with the demon of the gunner and I had gone mad. I studied because I wanted to get honors, I wanted to get 100% on that test, and damnit, if it was not going to be tested, why learn it? I forgot what it was to enjoy being in class, soaking up the sweet medical knowlege as it was taught to me. I lost sight of why I was in medical school, of whom I had begun this whole process of education for - the patient. (I had forgotten the face of my father.) In short, I was turning into the type of physician you would never want to treat your Aunt Mildred.
The semester ended and I did not bother to check my grades when they were posted. I knew there would be no honors beside my OCED number. However: I did not cease to be. I was alive and breathing and although I began to think murder in my mind when my Mom asked me for the eightieth time, "What's happened to you? You used to love going to class!" I was still in Medical School and I still had a second chance.
To further my learning experience, I discovered, after talking to the Course director for last semester, that, although my test average was mediocre (average of 88%), my PBL instructor must have loved me because I got a 95% on that baby. Turns out, I could have gotten honors if I hadn't been so doolally. 1.6 more points would have been just enough. But I would still be mad.
This is not supposed to be about grades. In fact, this is the last time I will ever refer to my grades in a post again. It's about how I became a gunner and then learned to live again. Or, how I learned what Medical School is really all about. Or maybe even, 10 things not to do in your first year of Medical School.
Today, now, I will study because I enjoy it and because I want to learn. If I need to spend an hour of my time looking up something I don't quite understand but probably won't be tested on come test, then so be it. I go to Medicine, Patients and Society because it is an important part of my growth as a physician and not because attendance is taken. I participate in small group discussion because I care, not just to get 'noticed by the facilitator'. Because sometimes you need to strap on whenever it seems appropriate.

Break time

It is 9:45pm on a Saturday night. What is your beloved drc doing? The answer of course, studying Anatomy. What else?
It is two weeks into the semester and already we are moving at break neck speed. I have an embryology exam on Tuesday (thanks to Martin Luther King for giving me an extra study day) and my first Anatomy exam the Monday after. Yikes. Just thinking about it is making my heart race. I have not dared to take a look at the material for next week - to see it all at once, all million white stapled sheets, is to cause heart failure. Instead, I will look at it one day at a time. This way, I hope to preserve my sanity and make it out of Med school alive.
This time last semester it would be bedtime for me. I would have studied all that I had planned for the day, with time to spare. Alas. It is not so this semester. I set my glutes down at the library about 10am this morning, got up at 3pm to eat lunch and was later kicked out when it closed (it really should close later on the weekend, not earlier) at 8pm. Right now I am in the anatomy study room and I am not done with what I had intended. The debate in my mind right now is.....should I sleep late in order to accomplish my study goal for the day, or should I just set my study goal lower?
Break is over.

Anatomy 101: How to be a gunner

1. As soon as you walk into lab, begin dissection on the cadaver as though it was meant exclusively for your learning purposes. Group members not there? That's okay - they can just learn by osmosis from you.

2. Ensure that you hog the scalpel. Other student's hands were not destined for glory as yours were. Besides, they can only hope and dream of the academic heights you will attain.

3. When a faculty member comes around to see if you need help, dazzle them with your intellectual prowess. Act as though this is the exam, right then and there. This way, you are sure to be placed on their teacher's pet list.

4. If the faculty member likes to show you structures by asking questions, be sure to scream out as many responses as you possibly can in the shortest time frame. Never mind if s/he asked for a muscle - throw in a few blood vessels and nerves for good measure. Don't worry if you mention a few structures that aren't in the part of the body you are dissecting...your faculty member will understand that you are merely being didactic.

5. Insist that you correct everyone in your group when they do not know or give the wrong answer to the questions. Be patient - not everyone is at the level you are, and they may misunderstand your altruism. However, you are doing this for them. Always remember that.

6. If you can, tuck the anatomy atlases and dissection books under the cadaver where they cannot be seen. As in 5 above, you are only doing your group members a favor - how can they learn if they have the answers right in front of them? (Be sure to take a peak at the book yourself when they are not looking. This is only so you can better serve in your capacity as anatomy group coordinator).

7. Elaborate on your study techniques, how and why they work for you - preferably to the whole class. Explain that this is the tried and tested study manual for them. You will soon be publishing it and you are doing them a favor by letting them have it free.

8. Always leave the lab last. In order to be a leader, you must first be a servant. (Remember to make sure the faculty observe this).

May you continue to gun as you have always gunned.

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.

Grrr

I want to be asleep right now. Instead I am wide awake and I keep getting out of bed to check my mail. This time I logged into Blogger and now I am here, writing this silly post. I have an exam tomorrow, I woke up early this morning (well, relatively so) and justice declares I should be asleep right now. In fact - counting from the very hour I slid between my sheets - I should have been asleep for three hours now.
If I hear the phone in the apartment upstairs ring one more time, I swear, I will climb through the plumbing and have at them with a hacksaw. We're not all done with finals, sugar. And what is that shkr, shkr noise I keep hearing right outside my door? What is this? Is the carpet in the hall rubbing itself onto my door?
Sweet sleep, why do you elude me so?
I'll be good, I promise.

Retribution

I am so utterly alone, and so completely desperate. My heart beats, but it is only to feed the guilt festering in the blackened vestige of my soul. I am damned. I see it in their eyes, in the way they half glance at me, in the way their eyes refuse to take me in. Am I so abhorrent, am I so beyond redemption that even the maggots deny my existence? Please, scream filth at me, burn labels into my flesh, throw the blood at my feet. Only, do not look at me that way.
Ye Gad, divine being, agent of karma; for what it is worth, I am sorry. Unborn child, fruit of my womb, humanity, I beg of you, let me claim self dignity before I make retribution.
If it was selfishness that drove me, I repay it with self-sacrifice. If it was pride that possessed me to think only of my circumstances, then surely I have re-paid in tears a thousand fold. With every breath, you, society, have wrought vengence. With every thought, I have received that vengence, and I accept it gladly. I will tell you this - at that moment, at that selfish moment - my very future was at stake. And so, I threw the dice, I played my hand and I let guilt take residence in my soul. Now, I will give life for life.
Yet, I must believe that there is hope. I must believe this, if only for my sanity. If only to make this act, this cleansing of soul, acceptable.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now.
And at the hour of death.

November 8th, 2006

This morning, just like any other. Gym, class and lots of lab work. This evening, just like any other. American Sign Language class at Rhode Island School for the Deaf, and studying for my Neuroanatomy exam tomorrow. And yet - a fact about me has changed. Furtively, things have been changing since November 8th, 2005. Changing behind my back. And I have been excluded from this change. Until now.

Is it true, I am no longer 21? Is it true?

Fear and trembling

Today I had a migraine. No, not a simple headache - a full blown migraine. Having had my first one toward the end of the summer, I know what I am talking about. This time I definitely recognized the signs; inability to focus (I was happily studying Neuroanatomy), blurred vision and extreme sensitivity to light. Quickly downing an Imitrex did no help, the pain came on at full strength. And when I say full strength, my friend, I mean quite literally, Full Strength. Two Imitrex (don't tell, okay?) and four exedrin later, I was on my dorm room floor, pleading for mercy. I actually called Brown's Emergency Medical Service, but changed my mind mid-ring. After all, I knew what it was.
I am sane now. But I await the next one with fear and trembling.

The whole kit and caboodle

In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

A statement so simple, and yet so utterly profound. This is the ultimate moment of inception, a time so far back into the past as to render meaningless any explanations of time as we know it. It is not, 'Millenia upon millenia' or even 'Soon after the Big Bang'. It needs no elaboration. It requires no permission. It is simply, 'In the Beginning'.
As to who is in charge? The answer is quite simple really - God. There you have it.
And God, in his unequivocal omnipotence, made all that is and would ever be. He created, ladies and gentlemen, the whole kit and caboodle.

That guy

That guy, he
works out at the gym 24/7
lifting heavy weights
and so he compensates for his height

That girl, she
told me
the only reason I am here
my fathers, my father's fathers
own New England
let me show her my 4.0

Those people, they
look at me
when
I'm with my significant other
and they
whisper to themselves
unmentionable relations

That lady, she
told me today
drinking water
helps you
lose weight faster
who said I wanted to lose weight?

That one, told me
I shouldn't be here
affirmative action

That person
looked at my tray
devoid of meat
you think you can save the world
one plate at a time?

Neuro stupidity

Q: What did the Stimulant do to the Neuron after their wedding?

A: He carried her over the threshold.

4th year at Malory towers uhh, Brown University

The year has come. By this, ladies and gentlemen, I mean Senior year (notice the capital). Classes, work, a great apartment, research and 3 awesome friends. How could I ask for more? Well...there is the issue of Medical School. I would like to get that congratulations-you-have-been-accepted letter in the mail sometime. Now wouldn't that be something? I bet it would. Are you listening Johns Hopkins?
And before you rip my hair out (hold your daym horses), here is the anticipated, long awaited class list:

EL91: How to read a poem
SI40: American Sign Language
BN165: Structure of the Nervous System
BN293: From Neurons to Perception
BN195: Independent Study (Fragile X Syndrome research)

Isn't life great?

in a flash of inspiration i found the words, and then i thought about it and the words were no longer there
they slipped through the fingers of my mind, escaping permanence, escaping expression
but i want to tell you, i need to tell you
oh, and i can feel my heart beating and the confused thoughts tumble through my mind and when i try when i try and try and stop them
they skirt around the edges
possessing me
do you know what i mean?
do you?

I want me some cardio too

Cardio-hog: 'kärd-E-(") O hog, n. Any of various forms of the species homo sapiens, which uses too much of the cardio machine.

Look here. I like to exercise, and I go to the gym 2 hours a day. That may be a little on the excessive side, but hey, my thighs need it.
Now some people....(ahem, ahem) always be working out at the gym. I mean, I get there at 4pm after I'm done with work and these cats? Already on the ellipticals, and been on them a good while, if their sweat soaked shirts are anything to go by.
So baby dawg, I do my thang on the stairmaster, and after half an hour, miss-sweat-stained-t shirt is still on. (Never mind the half hour limit on cardio machines, no ma'am, I'm beyond such pettiness.)
A few stretches and 45 minutes of weight training later, I'm ready to crank up the ol' metabolism. But of course, you know who and her twin sister are still on the ellipticals. Damn girl!
Now, don't get me wrong, I understand and appreciate the pull of the cardio machine. Your heart rate is in the 85% efficiency zone, you're feeling the burn and you just know that extra 100 calories will take care of that snickers you had with lunch.
I myself, have given into the sweet reasoning voice of the 5 minute cool down at the end of a 30 minute work out......but please! More than an hour? Give it a rest sugar, the machine will still be there tomorrow.
Yes. It's you I'm looking at. Time to get off now.

Late night in the lab

Working on Medical School Applications (notice the capitals, ladies and gentlemen) is strangely exhilarating. It makes me feel powerful; as though merely by using strategically chosen words and spicy synonyms I could rule the world. And you know what? I think I could.

Here I come Johns Hopkins. Or Columbia. Or NYU. Or....

In a month and a half I will be a senior. This makes me (officially at the very least) one of the wisest few on campus. Of course, this was the case even as a freshman, har de har har har, but now, my friends, it is for real. Be very afraid.

Did you know my sister won the Manager of the Quarter award at the hotel she works at? She surrre did. And she's only been working there a few months. Respect.

I should be writing an essay. Not my blog. Goodbye.

Home

tomorrow is the day of reckoning aka d-day soon to be known as The Day My Mcat Score Was Revealed To Me. despite the faith and good feelings of the people that make up my ahem, life, I know that whatever score I get will be a disappointment. because that's just the way it is. with the post-now wisdom some people call hindsight, that ten minutes you spent not studying will come back, grin at your sorry self and its teeth will not be white.

i'm in zambia right at this very moment. as I press these keys and put words together, I am breathing Southern Hemisphere air. why am I saying this? I just am, so deal with it.

wooden floors that go squeek under your feet when you walk on them this way, and water in the fridge safe to drink because it's been cooked to get rid of the germs. grass outside and the sound of the six million dogs barking late into the night in the neigh-bor-hood. going to church on foot, but not really, just in your heart. and a living room you can sit down and watch tv in because at the end of the day, damnit, we just want what everybody else wants: a place to call home.

so count those hours down with me, friend, and think big thoughts.

I have a box
in this box
I put my
tears
blue tears, that drip down
the side of my face
over my cheeks
I let them
this box
used to be empty
now
it is
a quarter full, half full, three quarters full
tell me,
when this box is full
and begins to run over
where will I put my tears?

Ode to coffee

Oh coffee! How marvellous is your power. How beautiful are your mechanisms. You give me strength when I have none. You fill me with a sense of renewed vigor and purpose. How potent your effects, how merciful your action. When the tentacles of sleep seek to crush me in their lethal embrace, when the very jaws of exhaustion seek to devour me with their terrible fate, coffee, you spring to action. Your smoky flavor alights on my tongue. Your purine rings awaken in me a desire to re-memorise all 10 steps in the glycolysis pathway. They open my eyes to the way of the electromagnetic wave - they equip me with the critical thinking necessary for a 15 on the Mcat Verbal. Truly your works are noble. Long I made jest at your pro-studying capacity. How I mocked those who partook of your healing powers. Alas! I was in err. Permit me now, this moment of post coffee meditation, to extol your virtues.
Oh coffee! How marvellous your power. How beautiful your mechanisms.

What it is

Notice:
The droop of the shoulders due to the heavy burden
The discarded Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts coffee cups
The pained expression in the eyes

Overheard: Dramatized and blogified

Not so thin girl: I have all this cellulite on my legs. It looks awful! I've been going to the gym and eating right, but my legs are taking ages to firm up.
Thin girl: Omg, I had the exact same thing, like, a year ago. I know exactly what you mean!
Not so thin girl: Really? What happened?
Thin girl: I was like, enormous - a size 10 can you believe it??
Not so thin girl: Umm, yeah...
Thin girl: Yeah, well. A friend of mine told me about this amazing procedure. You will not believe it, OMG!
Not so thin girl: No way, what was it?
Thin girl: Hold, on - I'll tell you!
Not so thin girl: Ok, Ok.
Thin girl: So, it's really easy, but you have to like, be kinda strong you know?
Not so thin girl: Mm, Hmm.
Thin girl: So basically, what it's about, is that like, you just don't eat, for like two weeks. And then, OMG - you'll be amazed at how much cellulite wears off! Plus, you lose MAD weight.
Not so thin girl: You don't say...
Thin girl: I know! Isn't it marvellous? I could not believe it either! When my friend told me about this, I was like, I cannot wait to start this procedure. And it SO worked! I mean, now I'm the same size I was when I was 11! I can like, wear size 0 clothes. You should try it, it so works!!
Not so thin girl: You know what, I think I'll just...
Thin girl: No really!! I'm dead serious. The only bad thing about it though, is that you tend to faint or collapse when it gets too hot. Or too cold. Or when it's late at night. Or early. But you know what I mean right?
Not so thin girl: Right.

Do not wait for leaders. Do it alone, person to person.

Mother Theresa

Do it in purple

I'm back. Here. Another semester lays all stretched out and furious before me. What have I done wrong? Express a desire to go to Medical School? Show my intentions of taking the Mcat in April? It's a count down I tell you. 87 days and my life will flash before my eyes. Four score and 7 days and my heart will stand still for 8 hours. Oh boy, oh boy - Mcat fever. (I'm too young to die).

Here is that list, my friends, in case you lost count:

BN104: Developmental Neurobiology
PH4: Basic Physics
BI28: Introductory Biochemistry
And the Kaplan Mcat prep course

Do it in purple.

Coldplay is the only music worth listening to

What if there was no light
Nothing wrong, nothing right
What if there was no time
And no reason or rhyme
What if you should decide
That you don’t want me there by your side
That you don’t want me there in your life

What if I got it wrong
And no poem or song
Could put right what I got wrong
Or make you feel I belong
What if you should decide
That you don’t want me there by your side
That you don’t want me there in your life

Oooh, that’s right
Let’s take a breath, jump over the side
Oooh, that’s right
How can you know it if you don’t even try
Oooh, that’s right

-What If. Coldplay

The Beginning of the End

Christmas is coming, and hooray to that. Boo to the snow, which makes it impossible to get out of a warm bed at 7 in the morning. But hooray for concoctions of half black hazelnut decaf and half cappuccino. That creamy froth goes down like a bad habit.

Boo to being unable to sleep at 2 O'Clock in the morning, despite a full day of studying and running around headless chicken style. Boo to the Organic Chem quiz I have tomorrow. Who cares about enolates and enols anyway?

The last two weeks of school. Hooray for classes that observe the reading period. Boo to Organic Chem for going way out of line, and keeping us learning.

Awesome. Absolut Neuro T-shirts on the way. Hooray to being first in line to buy mine, and double hooray to being a Neuro nerd. Nerdiness is in, baby. Get with the program.

Boo to the feelings of anxiety that seed in the bottom of my stomach and develop into fully grown panic trees on the day of the Orgo exam. Hooray to no more Orgo classes after Dec 17th. Orgo - it's not you, it's me.

But most of all, hooray to being one step closer to the semester that starts it all: applying to Medical Schools, lots of essay writing and....the Mcat. Boo for all the studying I will have to go through to prepare myself.

Life, in the meantime at least, continues to go on.

Thanksgiving weekend is here

Psycho, groupie, cocaine, crazy
Psycho, groupie, cocaine, crazy
Psycho, groupie, cocaine, crazy
Psycho groupie coke
Makes you high makes you hide
Makes you really want to go, stop
Psycho, groupie, cocaine, crazy
Psycho groupie coke
Makes you high makes you hide
Makes you really want to think and stop

-System of a Down

In other news - no class for two whole days! And then, because they hate us so much, Organic Chem exam right after Thanksgiving weekend. Bleh.

November 8th, 2005

I thought time would stand still and let me be 20 forever.

I cannot tell you

let me tell you
I want to tell you
telling you is all I wish-hope-dream for
yes? answer me with affirmation
spectacular, unique, incomparable
tell me, you say
want me to tell you
anything, everything, nothing
in gasps - in stutters – in silence
in quiet tones
and in between words
in between heart beats - a response
harsh, sarcastic, bitter-sweet, painful, inside, outside
every dimension considered
and rushing through daylight
gathering ideas, mentally noting-
to laugh. To breathe. To feel
warm
hot
on fire – and yet
the cool waters of deliberation
anti-Climax
tell me, you say
deleted words, phrases –
a nod here
a frown there
I cannot tell you

Saturday night ramblings

I have a Neuropharmacology exam on Tuesday. I do not have class, meetings, or lab as it is a Saturday and yet I have only studied 3 hours. Why is this so?
For one thing, I am in my room which is most unconducive to productivity - of the studying variety, of course. I need to be in the library, forced to gaze at nothing other than Neuropharmacology text books and notes.
My room is also under a sleep spell. Rip Van Winkle would agree. Entrance is followed by immediate decrease in the firing rates of most of my brain stem modulatory neurons, and a strong desire to get horizontal.
And then, there's no class on Monday, due to ahem, ahem 'Columbus day'. This really should be a day of national mourning, but that's just me...
What else? I just ate a pesto-cheese-tomato-red pepper-and lettuce sandwhich and studying just doesn't seem so hot anymore. Naughty thoughts have begun to intrude, such as...what better time to watch Grim and Evil than the present? Or even better, Reno 911? Family guy? Or heck, the entire adult swim?
Naughty, I tell you. They are being punished.
Orange juice, anyone?

Bathroom conundrum

When one is in the privacy of one's bathroom - and it doesn't necessarily have to be one's bathroom, any bathroom is appropriate - and one is going about one's business, a dilemma is in the making.
The dilemma that I refer to here is the situation in which an external force in the form of a knock is applied to the outside of the door. The door being, of course, the entry to the bathroom that one is currently occupying.
Several solutions avail themselves at this point. Does one cry out, "I'm in here" and endure the possible questions that might ensue? Who exactly is 'I' and what is the initiator of the knock going to do about it? And indeed, one most certainly (depending on where this bathroom is located; public dormitory as opposed to private home) will have ensured that admission is impeded via door-lockage, and as such, utterances akin to 'I'm in here', are redundant to say the least...
One might also cry out, "Occupied!". The ostentation and pageantry associated with such a manner of response need not be discussed.
So what, really, must one say in reaction to this happening?
"Yes?", "What do you want?" or even "Who's there?"
Perhaps one's best option is to remain silent, for even the most brainless of knock-instigators will understand the meaning of a locked door.
Still, the conundrum of the bathroom remains irresolvable. It lurks behind the shower curtain, underneath the bathroom sink, in the medicine cabinet, and not even the most socially cognizant individual can figure out its mysteries.

3rd year at Malory towers uhh, Brown University

So once again it's back to this place that I can almost call home, Brown University, for another year of good old Neuroscience classes and Organic Chemistry labs.
Back to studying late into the night at the Science Library.
To walking Thayer in search of that perfect brew of coffee.
And even though I have the Mcats to think about sometime next semester, I can relax and enjoy the fact that at my fingertips are thousands of resources that can, and will, make me a better person.
Ladies and gentlemen, in no particular order of preference, the long awaited deadrocketcow class list:

CH36: Organic Chemistry
BI80: Principles of Physiology
SI30: Intermediate American Sign Language 1
BN167: Neuropharmacology and Synaptic Transmission

Did you miss me?