It used to be a tradition
involving trays of coffee and desserts,
a shy, obsequious girl on display
and the chinking weight of gold.
I hid somewhere among
exploding stars and raging seas
waiting to be found.
Now the planets are aligning
but my heart isn't.
Its a winged creature
with a mind of its own
spoilt by too many dreams,
and Prince Charming looks nothing
like this. Except for the stars.
They, apparently, approve.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
I’m overwhelmed, asphyxiated by
words ricocheting in my head. Their clamor
is like the primate section of a zoo on a
midsummer weekend, except it intensifies
after the sun goes down. No banana for you,
I think to myself.
Their risqué mating rituals form thoughts,
paint illusions on a caffeine-starved mind
too tired to bother looking for reality. Too tired
to be a bulwark against the words, really.
Tonight, I let the ink spill onto paper,
words that resemble rorscharch paintings
in syntax and form. Yet the words are there,
whispering,
out of control,
catcalling,
inviting a cataclysm.
So glad I'm on vacation.
words ricocheting in my head. Their clamor
is like the primate section of a zoo on a
midsummer weekend, except it intensifies
after the sun goes down. No banana for you,
I think to myself.
Their risqué mating rituals form thoughts,
paint illusions on a caffeine-starved mind
too tired to bother looking for reality. Too tired
to be a bulwark against the words, really.
Tonight, I let the ink spill onto paper,
words that resemble rorscharch paintings
in syntax and form. Yet the words are there,
whispering,
out of control,
catcalling,
inviting a cataclysm.
So glad I'm on vacation.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Ah. This month is solely to remind me how much I dislike outpatient medicine. I'm in the pediatric urgent care clinic - its driving me crazy. Half the time it feels like punishment for having had a wonderful time last month with Cardiology. The heart is beginning to make more and more sense, and all I really need to do is sit down and read some more to fall completely in love with the heart.
I've always liked the heart, but now its pulchritudinous. I'm in danger of wanting to do a fellowship. Uh-oh.
I love pediatrics more than I like medicine, the balance is tilted, but I prefer well-child care to doing urgent care. The one good thing I can think about is that I'm learning to document concisely. Sigh. You think I would have learnt that by now!
Not ready to be a senior yet, not ready to supervise an intern or student on my own, but I don't have intern-itis yet. I find the inpatient floors more intriguing, more interesting even if I have to pry myself out of bed at the unholy hour of 5AM. Even if there are a multitude of things I don't have time for, its still a rewarding experience. I'm still in that phase of liking heroic medicine, so to speak. I don't like the mundane bunch of rashes and snotty noses I'm seeing, even though they come attached to the cutest beings toddling around on the planet.
Oh well. I'll figure it out. Eventually.
I've always liked the heart, but now its pulchritudinous. I'm in danger of wanting to do a fellowship. Uh-oh.
I love pediatrics more than I like medicine, the balance is tilted, but I prefer well-child care to doing urgent care. The one good thing I can think about is that I'm learning to document concisely. Sigh. You think I would have learnt that by now!
Not ready to be a senior yet, not ready to supervise an intern or student on my own, but I don't have intern-itis yet. I find the inpatient floors more intriguing, more interesting even if I have to pry myself out of bed at the unholy hour of 5AM. Even if there are a multitude of things I don't have time for, its still a rewarding experience. I'm still in that phase of liking heroic medicine, so to speak. I don't like the mundane bunch of rashes and snotty noses I'm seeing, even though they come attached to the cutest beings toddling around on the planet.
Oh well. I'll figure it out. Eventually.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Letter to Someone's Children
It is my regretful endeavour
to inform you
Mrs. Rose K
must die.
That, somehow,
you must find the strength
to listen to her, let her go.
The funeral must be planned,
the casket satin inlaid.
Her Grandchildren must be sung to sleep
every night as usual.
You will point to a star
older than life itself
and tell the children
it is Grandma,
and the baby will learn
that she was the tooth fairy.
Flowers must be bought
and you will return to your goth days
to wear black this weekend,
and share wet smiles with yourself
at JC Penney's
in the dressing room mirror -
Oh how she grounded you when she found
black lipstick in your purse
covered in a condom.
You may now leave the house
and not worry
that she will be dead when you return
because she won't be there.
But I will give you tonight
to rant and rave
and call me a tryant
because I killed your mother.
Signed,
the Inept Intern.
to inform you
Mrs. Rose K
must die.
That, somehow,
you must find the strength
to listen to her, let her go.
The funeral must be planned,
the casket satin inlaid.
Her Grandchildren must be sung to sleep
every night as usual.
You will point to a star
older than life itself
and tell the children
it is Grandma,
and the baby will learn
that she was the tooth fairy.
Flowers must be bought
and you will return to your goth days
to wear black this weekend,
and share wet smiles with yourself
at JC Penney's
in the dressing room mirror -
Oh how she grounded you when she found
black lipstick in your purse
covered in a condom.
You may now leave the house
and not worry
that she will be dead when you return
because she won't be there.
But I will give you tonight
to rant and rave
and call me a tryant
because I killed your mother.
Signed,
the Inept Intern.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Six months later... I still love life
Ah. The gorgeousness of winter is passing here in the Sunny City. That sentence would have been irony, except that the past week has actually been Sunny and pretty. Last week it was snowy, this week it is spring.
I've made friends, lost friends and learnt more in the last six months than the whole five years of med school. I fell in love with babies and watched them grow and beat the odds. I see them in clinic now, and smile every time they show up on my schedule. I see people in my continuity clinic, adults, some of whom picked me because they like my "spunk". We hug at the end of each 20-minute visit. I'm happy, I'm smiling, I love going to work.
I've stopped submitting poems to be published, mainly because I haven’t had time to type up the poems I write. They’re not even sad, they’ve turned more introspective, a questioning of things I have always believed. No, I’m not questioning my faith in the inherent goodness of the world despite having been hurt. I’m finding out that life is a series of checks and balances, and the scales are finely balanced. Always. There is no grief unmatched by joy, no sleepless night unmatched by lazy day. There is no smile that is unreturned, unless you count the infants, but they don’t have to smile all the time to be adorable.
Speaking of infants, I think I’m a happier pediatrician than an internist. Not even kidding. Its amazing how happy I am when I’m around the kids and babies. I still don’t know what I’m doing with a lot of the older children, but the babies make me want to sing. Yes, sing. Despite my dislike of the NICU, a neonatology career is showing up on my horizon of career choices. I’m not impressed by my vacillation on career choices. Not that it was one of the never-choices, but it wasn’t even remotely considered. I thought all the ICU fellowships were at the bottom of the list, but two of them are slowly coming up on my personal ranking hierarchy of choices. And they’re not even that far apart if I think about it. Eeek. I’m turning into a fellowship person, and it scares me. Kidneys and guts remain firmly at the bottom of the list, yessir indeed they do.
My home is still incomplete, unfurnished, but I’ve progressed to calling it “home”. I think I have picked out a couch on craigslist, that beautiful website for the cheapie like me. I’ve picked out two desks, I’m waiting to hear on one before I make up my mind. Either one will make me joyful and better organized. I’m waiting to get my living room organized a little bit before I pick out a dresser for my bedroom. A dresser and a mirror. I’m getting end tables from the dollar store tomorrow.
I went to the lake on Friday, and took a beautiful set of pictures of the sunset. It was a lovely day in the sixties. Dad loved the pictures, I emailed them to him. The new cam is amazing, and I want one of my own. I’m going to save up for an SLR or the same camera I bought for my brother, a Fujifilm Finepix S1500. I also want to buy adobe photoshop and play around with pictures. It is more fulfilling than buying a car at this point. I want the small happinesses of life – is happinesses even a word? Or a neologism?
I’ve been meditating the past few days at night, before I go to bed. There are a lot of realizations I’ve had, and one of the biggest is that I’m actually learning to stop and smell the roses. Live in the moment. Be spontaneous. Offer to help. I’m living for the small joys and it has made me a happier person. I’m happy for every 30 minute workout I squeeze into the week, every time I’m taking the bus instead of cabs. Every night I get six hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’m happy.
I love my parents, and every day I spend here in this country, watching families tear themselves apart, children growing up in incomplete homes, my respect for the gifts I’ve taken for granted rises up out of somewhere deep and chokes me. I laugh with my mother over the phone, hear my father’s oft-spoken pride in the short conversations we have every week. Get my brother’s opinion on everything from furniture to electronics. Buy him stuff. Laugh over in-jokes that no one else will understand. Tell him something and know that he'll understand why its funny or frustrating. I'm blessed, very blessed.
Its beautiful. My life is beautiful. Touché. I love life.
I've made friends, lost friends and learnt more in the last six months than the whole five years of med school. I fell in love with babies and watched them grow and beat the odds. I see them in clinic now, and smile every time they show up on my schedule. I see people in my continuity clinic, adults, some of whom picked me because they like my "spunk". We hug at the end of each 20-minute visit. I'm happy, I'm smiling, I love going to work.
I've stopped submitting poems to be published, mainly because I haven’t had time to type up the poems I write. They’re not even sad, they’ve turned more introspective, a questioning of things I have always believed. No, I’m not questioning my faith in the inherent goodness of the world despite having been hurt. I’m finding out that life is a series of checks and balances, and the scales are finely balanced. Always. There is no grief unmatched by joy, no sleepless night unmatched by lazy day. There is no smile that is unreturned, unless you count the infants, but they don’t have to smile all the time to be adorable.
Speaking of infants, I think I’m a happier pediatrician than an internist. Not even kidding. Its amazing how happy I am when I’m around the kids and babies. I still don’t know what I’m doing with a lot of the older children, but the babies make me want to sing. Yes, sing. Despite my dislike of the NICU, a neonatology career is showing up on my horizon of career choices. I’m not impressed by my vacillation on career choices. Not that it was one of the never-choices, but it wasn’t even remotely considered. I thought all the ICU fellowships were at the bottom of the list, but two of them are slowly coming up on my personal ranking hierarchy of choices. And they’re not even that far apart if I think about it. Eeek. I’m turning into a fellowship person, and it scares me. Kidneys and guts remain firmly at the bottom of the list, yessir indeed they do.
My home is still incomplete, unfurnished, but I’ve progressed to calling it “home”. I think I have picked out a couch on craigslist, that beautiful website for the cheapie like me. I’ve picked out two desks, I’m waiting to hear on one before I make up my mind. Either one will make me joyful and better organized. I’m waiting to get my living room organized a little bit before I pick out a dresser for my bedroom. A dresser and a mirror. I’m getting end tables from the dollar store tomorrow.
I went to the lake on Friday, and took a beautiful set of pictures of the sunset. It was a lovely day in the sixties. Dad loved the pictures, I emailed them to him. The new cam is amazing, and I want one of my own. I’m going to save up for an SLR or the same camera I bought for my brother, a Fujifilm Finepix S1500. I also want to buy adobe photoshop and play around with pictures. It is more fulfilling than buying a car at this point. I want the small happinesses of life – is happinesses even a word? Or a neologism?
I’ve been meditating the past few days at night, before I go to bed. There are a lot of realizations I’ve had, and one of the biggest is that I’m actually learning to stop and smell the roses. Live in the moment. Be spontaneous. Offer to help. I’m living for the small joys and it has made me a happier person. I’m happy for every 30 minute workout I squeeze into the week, every time I’m taking the bus instead of cabs. Every night I get six hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’m happy.
I love my parents, and every day I spend here in this country, watching families tear themselves apart, children growing up in incomplete homes, my respect for the gifts I’ve taken for granted rises up out of somewhere deep and chokes me. I laugh with my mother over the phone, hear my father’s oft-spoken pride in the short conversations we have every week. Get my brother’s opinion on everything from furniture to electronics. Buy him stuff. Laugh over in-jokes that no one else will understand. Tell him something and know that he'll understand why its funny or frustrating. I'm blessed, very blessed.
Its beautiful. My life is beautiful. Touché. I love life.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Poetry and the End of vacation
My 30:30 is going well, over at Splash. There are several of my favorite people on the site have been participating, and the gorgeousness of it all almost had me weeping into my oatmeal this morning. In comparision, my Open Letters pales in prettiness.
Sometimes, I think poems need to be gritty and rough, like driftwood. The poems in Open Letters are meant to reflect that. I like to believe that they fit this hope well enough. At least, I'm not embarassed to share them alongside prettier and more thought provoking poetry from poets who've honed their skills. Seriously, there is even a sonnet. Someone posted a SONNET in a 30:30 - thats the kind of people that make me want to weep for joy.
I posted Open Letters #1 on Poetbay, the response so far has been lukewarm. Part of it may have been the simple fact that I haven't posted there in longer than six months. I think I've outgrown Poetbay, I'm ready to move onto forums and places that challenge me and make me want to write poetry. I'm tired of telling people I love their poetry when really, I don't mean it. I'm tired of offering critique where it isn't welcome and the critique forum is almost a joke. Sure, encouragement IS important, but the same comments over and over again make me gag. Maybe I will go ahead and delete myself from there, and see how I feel about it. The only thing stopping me is the memory of a good friend who passed away and the thought of the few good friends I have made there. But there is always facebook, right?
I think I should go back to the AAP forum or Penshells. What scares me is how easily I can disconnect myself from any place of poetry, how these poetry forums besides Splash don't feel right to me. I can't bring myself to go back and post. It might have to do with the fact that I know that at Splash, I have friends who held my hand through a lot of things. But that isn't an excuse I'm offering myself and whoever else cares enough to read this blog. If anyone besides me reads this, I sure don't know.
Ah the difficult choices I make... haha.
In really exciting news, I received my print copy of the debut issue of Touch: The Journal of Healing. I was published, and they have the first line of my poem as a sort of introduction to the book with a page to itself and my name under it. How awesomely cool is that! This is also the first time I'm holding physical proof that unbiased people like my poetry, and the first time in the past five years that I'm holding a print copy of my poem in my hand. I almost squealed when I picked up the envelope today.
Vacation is almost over and I think I'm ready to go back to work. I'm starting on the peds inpatient service, a sudden change to my schedule. I don't mind the change, but I'm scared. And nervous. And terrified that when I have to draw blood, I'll completely fail and burst into tears. Hopefully, though, I will be better than that. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Sunshine and smiles, atleast while the sunshine lasts!
Sometimes, I think poems need to be gritty and rough, like driftwood. The poems in Open Letters are meant to reflect that. I like to believe that they fit this hope well enough. At least, I'm not embarassed to share them alongside prettier and more thought provoking poetry from poets who've honed their skills. Seriously, there is even a sonnet. Someone posted a SONNET in a 30:30 - thats the kind of people that make me want to weep for joy.
I posted Open Letters #1 on Poetbay, the response so far has been lukewarm. Part of it may have been the simple fact that I haven't posted there in longer than six months. I think I've outgrown Poetbay, I'm ready to move onto forums and places that challenge me and make me want to write poetry. I'm tired of telling people I love their poetry when really, I don't mean it. I'm tired of offering critique where it isn't welcome and the critique forum is almost a joke. Sure, encouragement IS important, but the same comments over and over again make me gag. Maybe I will go ahead and delete myself from there, and see how I feel about it. The only thing stopping me is the memory of a good friend who passed away and the thought of the few good friends I have made there. But there is always facebook, right?
I think I should go back to the AAP forum or Penshells. What scares me is how easily I can disconnect myself from any place of poetry, how these poetry forums besides Splash don't feel right to me. I can't bring myself to go back and post. It might have to do with the fact that I know that at Splash, I have friends who held my hand through a lot of things. But that isn't an excuse I'm offering myself and whoever else cares enough to read this blog. If anyone besides me reads this, I sure don't know.
Ah the difficult choices I make... haha.
In really exciting news, I received my print copy of the debut issue of Touch: The Journal of Healing. I was published, and they have the first line of my poem as a sort of introduction to the book with a page to itself and my name under it. How awesomely cool is that! This is also the first time I'm holding physical proof that unbiased people like my poetry, and the first time in the past five years that I'm holding a print copy of my poem in my hand. I almost squealed when I picked up the envelope today.
Vacation is almost over and I think I'm ready to go back to work. I'm starting on the peds inpatient service, a sudden change to my schedule. I don't mind the change, but I'm scared. And nervous. And terrified that when I have to draw blood, I'll completely fail and burst into tears. Hopefully, though, I will be better than that. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Sunshine and smiles, atleast while the sunshine lasts!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
I started a 30:30 on Splash. It was surprisingly easy to take charge and lead. I'm not a take charge person most of the time, I'm content to let others take charge and hand me a responsibility - I'll take charge of that. But this time, I started something and so far, I have two well-standing people on my list.
I was thinking about it this morning. In my chosen career, I will end up taking charge of people's lives. Asking them to change their lifestyles to suit their health. Basically, I'll be taking charge of their lives in a big way, though we'll pretend that they did it. I'm actually already doing that, now that I try to be objective about it.
In other news, my brother now has a blog. My decidedly non-literary, non-journaling, non-writing brother. Its got to be the joke of a lifetime, even if he never updates it again. Now that hes got at least one legitimate post, I can tease him about it the rest of his life. Hahahaha. I love you, bro.
I started a series of poems called Open Letters. It is, as the title suggests, a series of letters to people who either have been or are a part of my life. I don't know how many of them will recognise themselves or others that these letters are addressed to. I dont know that any of them will even read these letters. But I'm writing them for myself, imagining myself telling these people some of my thoughts about them.
I'll post the collection here later, some day when I have nothing to blog about.
:)
me.
I was thinking about it this morning. In my chosen career, I will end up taking charge of people's lives. Asking them to change their lifestyles to suit their health. Basically, I'll be taking charge of their lives in a big way, though we'll pretend that they did it. I'm actually already doing that, now that I try to be objective about it.
In other news, my brother now has a blog. My decidedly non-literary, non-journaling, non-writing brother. Its got to be the joke of a lifetime, even if he never updates it again. Now that hes got at least one legitimate post, I can tease him about it the rest of his life. Hahahaha. I love you, bro.
I started a series of poems called Open Letters. It is, as the title suggests, a series of letters to people who either have been or are a part of my life. I don't know how many of them will recognise themselves or others that these letters are addressed to. I dont know that any of them will even read these letters. But I'm writing them for myself, imagining myself telling these people some of my thoughts about them.
I'll post the collection here later, some day when I have nothing to blog about.
:)
me.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I am currently on vacation.
Vacation - three syllables that stand for luxury and daredevil traveling and all that. Despite my love of travelling, I am currently spending my first ever vacation from work at home in my apartment.
A lot has happened since that journal entry on 6/6/09. I got my visa, I came to the US, I started residency, and am currently three months into my intern year. I started making myself a scarf, read a few good books, got a new computer (courtesy of my wonderful wonderful parents), a pretty new phone and an apartment I love.
In the past three months, I also splurged on a new bed - I spent a ridiculous amount of money on this beautiful beautiful bed I absolutely love. Thats the brief update... haha.
I haven't written any poetry in over three months. I haven't found any new music in this period either. I haven't managed to buy all the things I need for my apartment. I havent managed to get my license, or a car for that matter. **shrugs**
I have learned, though, that I love being where I am. I love working with people. There are any number of moments that I don't want to be around people anymore, and I'd give almost anything to be curled up in bed. But I like the people I'm working with, they're genuine and I think we're developing happy bonds.
I have also learned that it is a fine thing to dream, but it is a finer thing yet to be able to fulfil those dreams by myself. Yes, there are loan repayments. Yes there are a million things I can complain about. At the same time, I am finding myself a calmer and more fulfilled person when I go to bed at night, and to me, that is all that matters.
Huggiez,
memememememe.
Vacation - three syllables that stand for luxury and daredevil traveling and all that. Despite my love of travelling, I am currently spending my first ever vacation from work at home in my apartment.
A lot has happened since that journal entry on 6/6/09. I got my visa, I came to the US, I started residency, and am currently three months into my intern year. I started making myself a scarf, read a few good books, got a new computer (courtesy of my wonderful wonderful parents), a pretty new phone and an apartment I love.
In the past three months, I also splurged on a new bed - I spent a ridiculous amount of money on this beautiful beautiful bed I absolutely love. Thats the brief update... haha.
I haven't written any poetry in over three months. I haven't found any new music in this period either. I haven't managed to buy all the things I need for my apartment. I havent managed to get my license, or a car for that matter. **shrugs**
I have learned, though, that I love being where I am. I love working with people. There are any number of moments that I don't want to be around people anymore, and I'd give almost anything to be curled up in bed. But I like the people I'm working with, they're genuine and I think we're developing happy bonds.
I have also learned that it is a fine thing to dream, but it is a finer thing yet to be able to fulfil those dreams by myself. Yes, there are loan repayments. Yes there are a million things I can complain about. At the same time, I am finding myself a calmer and more fulfilled person when I go to bed at night, and to me, that is all that matters.
Huggiez,
memememememe.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
6.6.09 - journal entry
tomorrow,
i shall burst into a million dewdrops
on a thousand rosebuds.
will that slake your thirst
or will you leave, smiling,
sated by the shimmering rainbows
in my being?
tonight,
i am myself,
a bumblebee on a chrysanthemum,
jolly in my solitude
and cozy in a flower.
i lean on the night a minute,
wishing to be here for a while longer.
i shall burst into a million dewdrops
on a thousand rosebuds.
will that slake your thirst
or will you leave, smiling,
sated by the shimmering rainbows
in my being?
tonight,
i am myself,
a bumblebee on a chrysanthemum,
jolly in my solitude
and cozy in a flower.
i lean on the night a minute,
wishing to be here for a while longer.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Paperwork Demon
So the Match is over and I Matched to a program I loved since I interviewed there. I am headed to MetroHealth in Cleveland for a four-year combined Internal Medicine/Pediatrics residency. I spent two days dazed and incomprehending, then the paperwork demon appeared and brought me back to reality. Like crash-landed me into reality, that I have less than a week to complete as much pen-pushing I can.
I am surrounded and inundated with the white stuff. Its stacked in piles and piles around my room - notes, books, papers, folders, more notes, notices, bills, booklets, pocketbooks, takeout menus - you get the idea. As I'm sitting on the floor on the one corner that is scrupulously paper-free, it strikes me that I'm upto my eyeballs in paper.
I am headed Home in less than two weeks time, and the sheer amount of the ragged paperwork I'm facing is staggering. I just spent three hours figuring out loan repayment schedules and realizing that yes, I am going to be forking over more than half my monthly income in loan repayments alone. While it means that when I finish residency I will be free of atleast one loan, it also crushes my dream of making it back to college - yes, I said college - for that long-sought degree in creative writing. Well, there is still the online classes option, I guess.
Meanwhile, the exercise in numbers reminded me of why I chose a career where the only math skillz I'm going to need are those that can be adequately performed on a standard four-function calculator. I am not fit company when I'm accounting for a huge monthly outgo relative to a small-ish monthly income. Yes, the numbers are still swirling around my head.
Once the number job gets approved, I can graduate. Its been like pulling teeth so far, what with people being to busy to tell me things in advance and then suddenly pulling it out as an obstacle. I feel like I'm running in one spot, unable to surmount this numbered hurdle.
Hopefully, tomorrow I can get atleast something moving at some end, I can get some more printouts and mail out some stuff that has been waiting for ages, including one Christmas present. Wheeeee.
Meanwhile I'm going to watch CSI: Miami online for the third night in a row until my brain lets me fall asleep. My insomnia is back in full force - I haven't slept two whole nights. Hopefully, tonight will be better.
I am surrounded and inundated with the white stuff. Its stacked in piles and piles around my room - notes, books, papers, folders, more notes, notices, bills, booklets, pocketbooks, takeout menus - you get the idea. As I'm sitting on the floor on the one corner that is scrupulously paper-free, it strikes me that I'm upto my eyeballs in paper.
I am headed Home in less than two weeks time, and the sheer amount of the ragged paperwork I'm facing is staggering. I just spent three hours figuring out loan repayment schedules and realizing that yes, I am going to be forking over more than half my monthly income in loan repayments alone. While it means that when I finish residency I will be free of atleast one loan, it also crushes my dream of making it back to college - yes, I said college - for that long-sought degree in creative writing. Well, there is still the online classes option, I guess.
Meanwhile, the exercise in numbers reminded me of why I chose a career where the only math skillz I'm going to need are those that can be adequately performed on a standard four-function calculator. I am not fit company when I'm accounting for a huge monthly outgo relative to a small-ish monthly income. Yes, the numbers are still swirling around my head.
Once the number job gets approved, I can graduate. Its been like pulling teeth so far, what with people being to busy to tell me things in advance and then suddenly pulling it out as an obstacle. I feel like I'm running in one spot, unable to surmount this numbered hurdle.
Hopefully, tomorrow I can get atleast something moving at some end, I can get some more printouts and mail out some stuff that has been waiting for ages, including one Christmas present. Wheeeee.
Meanwhile I'm going to watch CSI: Miami online for the third night in a row until my brain lets me fall asleep. My insomnia is back in full force - I haven't slept two whole nights. Hopefully, tonight will be better.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The excited ramble, I guess
The rank order list submission deadline was on Feb 25. Now I'm counting down to Match Day, and I have butterflies and other pretty crawlies in my belly. They're growing bigger and bigger and eating more and more, and hence I will not gain any weight from all the brownies and cookies I'm eating.
Not being allowed to cook also severely limits my culinary variety, so dinner is mostly unhealthy - noodles, ready to eat food, noodles, cookies and milk, occasionally oatmeal and/or cereal, noodles, etc. I have three different kinds of noodles in my room, and that is sad. I suppose I could spend more money at the hospital for dinner, but a salad (>60% lettuce - dosen't that make you feel all rabbitty)costs more than 5$, and I'm heartily sick and tired of grilled cheese sandwiches, "oriental" vegetables and boiled green beans. Not to mention white bread.
I'm just getting over my poetry slump, I wrote one that was well-received over on Splash and that makes me happy. I'm also reading more poems. Not one the workshops, since the hospital computers won't let me access the workshops and the internet at home is pretty unreliable, but published poems, prize-winning poems, poems that take me away from the eventful environment of the not-too-ill into living rooms strange yet familiar, a silent kinship under the skin.
I recently had the opportunity to listen to Dr. Thomas Duffy (yep, the guy who discovered the Duffy antigens, for anyone who understands) talk about the arts in medicine, and poetry in medicine. He could have been talking only to me. Some of the more "grounded" medical students with me were like "What the hell is he talking about?", but I loved it. I love hearing that there are people who do both medicine and poetry and balance them out.
After the 11th, when I walk into a patient's room, I won't introduce myself as a medical student anymore. More likely, I will have a medical student with me whom I will introduce. I will add a doctor before my last name, and fewer patients will know my first name. I will add an MD behind my name, and we all shall be proud. I might also be scared or nervous as I wait for the 19th, Match Day. I do hope I will Match at the program I loved interviewing at.
I'm flying back to Chicago next week. I get to go back and steal hugs from my favorite two-year old, and do a whole lot of shopping. I love shopping, and I have a list of things I have to get before I fly home. Like buy a crazy amount of chocolates. Like a really crazy amount - its embarrassing how much chocolate I'm going to have to buy in the next couple of weeks.
Hershey store, are you listening? I'm coming your way!
Does anyone know if Coldstone has ice-cream that I can carry home to the heat of the Indian summer? :P
Not being allowed to cook also severely limits my culinary variety, so dinner is mostly unhealthy - noodles, ready to eat food, noodles, cookies and milk, occasionally oatmeal and/or cereal, noodles, etc. I have three different kinds of noodles in my room, and that is sad. I suppose I could spend more money at the hospital for dinner, but a salad (>60% lettuce - dosen't that make you feel all rabbitty)costs more than 5$, and I'm heartily sick and tired of grilled cheese sandwiches, "oriental" vegetables and boiled green beans. Not to mention white bread.
I'm just getting over my poetry slump, I wrote one that was well-received over on Splash and that makes me happy. I'm also reading more poems. Not one the workshops, since the hospital computers won't let me access the workshops and the internet at home is pretty unreliable, but published poems, prize-winning poems, poems that take me away from the eventful environment of the not-too-ill into living rooms strange yet familiar, a silent kinship under the skin.
I recently had the opportunity to listen to Dr. Thomas Duffy (yep, the guy who discovered the Duffy antigens, for anyone who understands) talk about the arts in medicine, and poetry in medicine. He could have been talking only to me. Some of the more "grounded" medical students with me were like "What the hell is he talking about?", but I loved it. I love hearing that there are people who do both medicine and poetry and balance them out.
After the 11th, when I walk into a patient's room, I won't introduce myself as a medical student anymore. More likely, I will have a medical student with me whom I will introduce. I will add a doctor before my last name, and fewer patients will know my first name. I will add an MD behind my name, and we all shall be proud. I might also be scared or nervous as I wait for the 19th, Match Day. I do hope I will Match at the program I loved interviewing at.
I'm flying back to Chicago next week. I get to go back and steal hugs from my favorite two-year old, and do a whole lot of shopping. I love shopping, and I have a list of things I have to get before I fly home. Like buy a crazy amount of chocolates. Like a really crazy amount - its embarrassing how much chocolate I'm going to have to buy in the next couple of weeks.
Hershey store, are you listening? I'm coming your way!
Does anyone know if Coldstone has ice-cream that I can carry home to the heat of the Indian summer? :P
Monday, February 9, 2009
Exciting News Blog
SO remember how I wanted to be a doctor as far back as I can remember? Yeah. I'm starting my last rotation on Thursday, and that runs for four weeks. Then, I get to add a "Dr." before my name and an MD after. Isn't that awesome?
I won't have a graduation ceremony, my school isn't having one. I'm so exhausted from all the interviews and travelling and the non-stop working, running, moving, studying, that all I want to do is to go home. So it all works out and yes, I'm flying home on April 3. Yay. I booked my flight on sunday.
Speaking of interviews - I have been thinking long and hard about my rank order list for residency, and I sort of have it figured out. Thats a secret. The results will be out on March 19, just after I'm hoping to receive my MD from my school. Whheeee.
I finish that last rotation on March 11 and I'm flying back to Chicago the next day. Tonight and tomorrow, I'm going to be packing. Just throwing stuff into suitcases and a duffel bag. Aaaaaaaa.
I'm too happy and exhausted to type out my thoughts in order. But my joys are so interconnected, it is sort of hard to pull them apart and figure out what comes first. Am excited for the next couple of months.
I won't have a graduation ceremony, my school isn't having one. I'm so exhausted from all the interviews and travelling and the non-stop working, running, moving, studying, that all I want to do is to go home. So it all works out and yes, I'm flying home on April 3. Yay. I booked my flight on sunday.
Speaking of interviews - I have been thinking long and hard about my rank order list for residency, and I sort of have it figured out. Thats a secret. The results will be out on March 19, just after I'm hoping to receive my MD from my school. Whheeee.
I finish that last rotation on March 11 and I'm flying back to Chicago the next day. Tonight and tomorrow, I'm going to be packing. Just throwing stuff into suitcases and a duffel bag. Aaaaaaaa.
I'm too happy and exhausted to type out my thoughts in order. But my joys are so interconnected, it is sort of hard to pull them apart and figure out what comes first. Am excited for the next couple of months.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Poem
I have no fingers to feel with,
no one to reach out for.
My breath comes in little wisps,
pale ghosts telling me
I'm alive.
In the twilight darkness,
my mind is hypaethral,
perhaps even transparent.
Quis operor sequor?
Est is sententia
vel est is flumen in suus tractus??
Lacuna es decessio mihi.
English est haud diutius meus castrum.
(What do I follow?
Is it thought
or is it a river in its course?
The words are leaving me.
English is no longer my forte.)
no one to reach out for.
My breath comes in little wisps,
pale ghosts telling me
I'm alive.
In the twilight darkness,
my mind is hypaethral,
perhaps even transparent.
Quis operor sequor?
Est is sententia
vel est is flumen in suus tractus??
Lacuna es decessio mihi.
English est haud diutius meus castrum.
(What do I follow?
Is it thought
or is it a river in its course?
The words are leaving me.
English is no longer my forte.)
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Poem
Lights sparkle, fiery and hazy
in lukewarm water jets
pounding my numb skin.
A taste of being almost home.
Back when I was little
and a bath
involved
me and one of my parents,
in a bathroom
filled
with bright plastic buckets,
I'd close my eyes
and enjoy the feel of water
pouring over my face,
warm and caressing.
I didn't know then
what it meant -
I am just beginning
to understand the real meaning
of home.
When the simple sensation
of water coursing down my face
and washing away tears
feels like a caress from all those years ago.
When I can almost smell
the flavors
in my mother's kitchen -
fresh coriander,
tamarind,
freshly-grated tender coconut
for festivals
I can no longer track.
When I dance on the edge
baring my heart
for strangers to read,
trying to find a niche
I can hide in.
When all I want is my freedom
and a kiss, maybe a hug -
so badly that it almost hurts.
in lukewarm water jets
pounding my numb skin.
A taste of being almost home.
Back when I was little
and a bath
involved
me and one of my parents,
in a bathroom
filled
with bright plastic buckets,
I'd close my eyes
and enjoy the feel of water
pouring over my face,
warm and caressing.
I didn't know then
what it meant -
I am just beginning
to understand the real meaning
of home.
When the simple sensation
of water coursing down my face
and washing away tears
feels like a caress from all those years ago.
When I can almost smell
the flavors
in my mother's kitchen -
fresh coriander,
tamarind,
freshly-grated tender coconut
for festivals
I can no longer track.
When I dance on the edge
baring my heart
for strangers to read,
trying to find a niche
I can hide in.
When all I want is my freedom
and a kiss, maybe a hug -
so badly that it almost hurts.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Snow, windiness and a rant about terrorism
I WON NANOWRIMO 2008!
Yes, I wrote a very bad 50,558 word novel in 30 days. Well, I wrote about 30000 in the last five days, but who cares so long as I finished in time to earn my brown winner's badge (look on the right... its there, I promise)!
Its been snowing the last couple of nights, and since yesterday there has been this pretty layer of untouched, inch-deep powdery snow everywhere. Its a beautiful winter wonderland. I love winter, snow, and everything else about winter. Watching snowflakes falling, floating down slowly, dancing on the wings of the wind, soothes and calms my mind no matter how often I see it. Even if I'm on the street and it snows, I love it.
I'm not even from a snowy place - my hometown dosen't even have a proper winter. The only way you can tell its winter is that you aren't sweating when you wake up. So I don't know if it is the mutant gene that made me go into medicine that also makes me love winter.
I was sick on Thanksgiving day - I had a migraine, I threw up twice, lots of fun. Then, I heard about the attacks in Mumbai. Eeek. Mumbai. My hometown. YIKES.
Thank God my family is okay, they arent hurt or anything. But seriously, who creates the indoctrination that killing is right? For any reason? How insane does someone have to believe that doctrine? How heartless do you have to be to knowingly orphan a child? How freakin insane do you have to be to torture a human being - a person - to death?
What ideology, what holy grail could possibly inspire young people to kill and be killed in such a bloody manner? What sort of faith is it that teaches its followers that they would go to heaven for killing others? There wasn't even injustice involved - these don't seem to be revenge killings - I mean, look at the destruction, the bloody remains, the indiscriminate shootings at CST.
Mumbai is resilient, and we're all sick of the repetition that we hope will aid the recovery of this beautiful, historical, wonderful, warm city by the sea. But how do you deal with wounds that scar the psyche of a people?
Seven years ago, I sat transfixed as I watched the twin towers fall in New York. I couldn't believe my eyes, I couldn't believe that one of the places on my must-see-before-I-die list was no more. Seven days ago, I sat horrified as images of my burning city, my wounded hometown, my bleeding people streamed in front of my eyes live on my computer. And I couldn't believe that this was happening. Both times, I was equally sickened by the loss of life. This time, it was the horror that this is home.
We will heal, somehow. We will move on. But the horror will remain. Forever.
I am medicine because I have this lofty dream that I want to change lives for the better. I want at least one life to be better because I touched it. I want to be heroic and save a life. Several lives. This loss of life saddens me. The perpetrators are probably not the ones who died. They will just come up with more of these brainwashed victims and have them believe that they have "seen the way, seen the light." But these young men who held a city to ransom are not much older than I am, they seemed to have been educated, handsome young men who might have had successful lives. What went wrong, what flicked the wrong switch, is something we might never find out. It grieves me that I, who is training to change lives, am powerless to stop the horror touching my own.
Yes, I wrote a very bad 50,558 word novel in 30 days. Well, I wrote about 30000 in the last five days, but who cares so long as I finished in time to earn my brown winner's badge (look on the right... its there, I promise)!
Its been snowing the last couple of nights, and since yesterday there has been this pretty layer of untouched, inch-deep powdery snow everywhere. Its a beautiful winter wonderland. I love winter, snow, and everything else about winter. Watching snowflakes falling, floating down slowly, dancing on the wings of the wind, soothes and calms my mind no matter how often I see it. Even if I'm on the street and it snows, I love it.
I'm not even from a snowy place - my hometown dosen't even have a proper winter. The only way you can tell its winter is that you aren't sweating when you wake up. So I don't know if it is the mutant gene that made me go into medicine that also makes me love winter.
I was sick on Thanksgiving day - I had a migraine, I threw up twice, lots of fun. Then, I heard about the attacks in Mumbai. Eeek. Mumbai. My hometown. YIKES.
Thank God my family is okay, they arent hurt or anything. But seriously, who creates the indoctrination that killing is right? For any reason? How insane does someone have to believe that doctrine? How heartless do you have to be to knowingly orphan a child? How freakin insane do you have to be to torture a human being - a person - to death?
What ideology, what holy grail could possibly inspire young people to kill and be killed in such a bloody manner? What sort of faith is it that teaches its followers that they would go to heaven for killing others? There wasn't even injustice involved - these don't seem to be revenge killings - I mean, look at the destruction, the bloody remains, the indiscriminate shootings at CST.
Mumbai is resilient, and we're all sick of the repetition that we hope will aid the recovery of this beautiful, historical, wonderful, warm city by the sea. But how do you deal with wounds that scar the psyche of a people?
Seven years ago, I sat transfixed as I watched the twin towers fall in New York. I couldn't believe my eyes, I couldn't believe that one of the places on my must-see-before-I-die list was no more. Seven days ago, I sat horrified as images of my burning city, my wounded hometown, my bleeding people streamed in front of my eyes live on my computer. And I couldn't believe that this was happening. Both times, I was equally sickened by the loss of life. This time, it was the horror that this is home.
We will heal, somehow. We will move on. But the horror will remain. Forever.
I am medicine because I have this lofty dream that I want to change lives for the better. I want at least one life to be better because I touched it. I want to be heroic and save a life. Several lives. This loss of life saddens me. The perpetrators are probably not the ones who died. They will just come up with more of these brainwashed victims and have them believe that they have "seen the way, seen the light." But these young men who held a city to ransom are not much older than I am, they seemed to have been educated, handsome young men who might have had successful lives. What went wrong, what flicked the wrong switch, is something we might never find out. It grieves me that I, who is training to change lives, am powerless to stop the horror touching my own.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
NaNoWriMo! and some other things
Ahhhh November. Glorious fall colors are alive all around, and winter is creeping in one finger at a time. I *heart* fall in the midwest, even if it makes my nose itch and my eyes red so no matter how much my feet itch to go out I stubbornly stay home.
My most recent attempt to get off Zyrtec was pretty disastrous - I ended up with an itchy, runny nose paired with psychopath-red eyes. My insomnia might have contributed to the red eyes, which thankfully didnt hurt or itch.
So November is National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo, and being the absolutely crazy person that I am, I am participating. I very wisely told a lot of people about it, so now I am working on that 50000-word novel. The target, for those who don't understand, is to complete a 50000 word novel in any genre any story in thirty days, from Nov 1 to Nov 30. Check out the Nanowrimo website, its a cool place. I'm an official participant.
I started off okay, then three days in my story dried up, the words wouldn't come any more. 1700 words a day is a huge word belch for me. But then I switched stories, a random seed, and my chatterbox gene came alive a couple of days ago so I powered up Potential Novel No.2 from 500 words to 10900 as of right now. It is really weird because I have been waking up at 4 without needing an alarm for the last couple of mornings to write uninterrupted for two hours before hitching on the all's-perfect-with-my-world mask and leaving for the hospital. I'm currently doing a full-time elective in Pediatric Cardiology, so I'm also reading and researching for that. I am getting more comfortable with reading EKG's, which is good. I'm also picking up murmurs and the differences between the different kinds of murmurs, that is encouraging. All the earphone listening hasnt damaged my hearing, apparently. That is definitely good news.
I've been hitting atleast 1500 words on my morning word belches over the last couple of days, which is great for me. My personal target is 15000 words by tomorrow morning, since I have to devote a couple hours to grocery shopping and shopping for other essentials, such as toilet paper, today. I'm completely out of stock and eating at Au Bon Pain (which is where I'm posting this from - I'm here for the free wi-fi and a change of scene - and for lunch, because I have no food except dry saltine crackers at home) is pretty damn expensive on my strained student budget.
I attended peds cardio clinic today where I saw a three year-old girl with an irregular heartbeat (she has nothing to worry about - she is fine). I was playing and interacting with the busy, curious little kiddie while gathering information from the mother and grandmother about the history, and it was surprisingly easy to handle. The kid was entranced by my stethoscope, and she wanted to play with it, so I gave to her for a couple of minutes while I scribbled my notes and kept asking grandma questions. I let her listen to her own heart, then mine, (she liked my heart better because I was only wearing a single shirt while she was wearing three layers of clothes). I demanded her breakfast cereal from her, because she was my friend and we were supposed to share everything, and it made her laugh because it was in her belly already... It was a fun interaction with the family.
All this joy in less than seven minutes (I blame the step 2 CS for my obsessive timing of clinical encounters), during which I completed my note as well. I have a natural organizing system in my head, a pretty useful tool for presentation. As I offered my opinion to Mom and grandma (with the understanding that my verdict is not yet gold, just a feather yet) along with reassurance that my "friend" was completely fine, grandma asked me a question out of the blue: "Are you going into pediatrics sweetie?"
I just smiled and nodded, while she continued, "I hope you are, darling, we need more pediatricians like you. This is the first time *** has come to a doctor's visit and not cried - she is actually laughing and playing, when it is usually the other way around. God bless you!"
I didn't know what to say, so I just thanked her and ducked out to get my attending, I was pleased and embarrassed. My assessment was pretty much correct and reaffirmed, and the family left with another "God bless you!"
This is one of the first times that I have been so completely comfortable handling a family on my own, though it isn't the first time I have been told I am good with kids. It made my day and lifted my spirits to hear the lady's words, because it reaffirms that I've made the right decision to devote my life to working with children and their parents.
In my last post where I revealed six embarrassing things about myself, I said that I am not comfortable with people, and kids terrify me. It is true that I am an introvert and by extension, I am extremely uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. But I am good with patients and families, and I have an issue with constantly underestimating myself. My fear of interacting with kids comes from my childhood with several cousins younger than I - they all cried as soon as I entered the room they were in, but they would gurgle and coo and babble with my brother. Their mothers would think I was doing something to their babies, and I often got scolded/chastised for "scaring" them. Needless to say, it made me jealous, and left this lasting belief that I am not good with kids. The things you learn about yourself in med school... seem to be varied and interesting. My reluctance to be around people stems from my nerdy and bookish interests, none of which were common in the environment I grew up in. Sure, my mother shares my love of poetry, but she is my mother, not my classmate. Trying to explain the intricacies of iambs and meter and why writing haiku or sonnets is fun to my friends was a waste of energy and dignity, so I ended up being everyone's friend and no one was truly, really mine. Now, I have a voracious appetite for peopling. Having been denied for so many years, medicine is a banquet for my human-starved writing, and a lot of people find their way into my poems and words.
This has been an incredibly long, incredibly random post. I'm amazed at my wordiness considering I've crossed 2000 words on my NaNo today, plus all the other's I've written and spoken, and there are more bubbling up in my head that I am trying to catch.
Today, life is good.
My most recent attempt to get off Zyrtec was pretty disastrous - I ended up with an itchy, runny nose paired with psychopath-red eyes. My insomnia might have contributed to the red eyes, which thankfully didnt hurt or itch.
So November is National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo, and being the absolutely crazy person that I am, I am participating. I very wisely told a lot of people about it, so now I am working on that 50000-word novel. The target, for those who don't understand, is to complete a 50000 word novel in any genre any story in thirty days, from Nov 1 to Nov 30. Check out the Nanowrimo website, its a cool place. I'm an official participant.
I started off okay, then three days in my story dried up, the words wouldn't come any more. 1700 words a day is a huge word belch for me. But then I switched stories, a random seed, and my chatterbox gene came alive a couple of days ago so I powered up Potential Novel No.2 from 500 words to 10900 as of right now. It is really weird because I have been waking up at 4 without needing an alarm for the last couple of mornings to write uninterrupted for two hours before hitching on the all's-perfect-with-my-world mask and leaving for the hospital. I'm currently doing a full-time elective in Pediatric Cardiology, so I'm also reading and researching for that. I am getting more comfortable with reading EKG's, which is good. I'm also picking up murmurs and the differences between the different kinds of murmurs, that is encouraging. All the earphone listening hasnt damaged my hearing, apparently. That is definitely good news.
I've been hitting atleast 1500 words on my morning word belches over the last couple of days, which is great for me. My personal target is 15000 words by tomorrow morning, since I have to devote a couple hours to grocery shopping and shopping for other essentials, such as toilet paper, today. I'm completely out of stock and eating at Au Bon Pain (which is where I'm posting this from - I'm here for the free wi-fi and a change of scene - and for lunch, because I have no food except dry saltine crackers at home) is pretty damn expensive on my strained student budget.
I attended peds cardio clinic today where I saw a three year-old girl with an irregular heartbeat (she has nothing to worry about - she is fine). I was playing and interacting with the busy, curious little kiddie while gathering information from the mother and grandmother about the history, and it was surprisingly easy to handle. The kid was entranced by my stethoscope, and she wanted to play with it, so I gave to her for a couple of minutes while I scribbled my notes and kept asking grandma questions. I let her listen to her own heart, then mine, (she liked my heart better because I was only wearing a single shirt while she was wearing three layers of clothes). I demanded her breakfast cereal from her, because she was my friend and we were supposed to share everything, and it made her laugh because it was in her belly already... It was a fun interaction with the family.
All this joy in less than seven minutes (I blame the step 2 CS for my obsessive timing of clinical encounters), during which I completed my note as well. I have a natural organizing system in my head, a pretty useful tool for presentation. As I offered my opinion to Mom and grandma (with the understanding that my verdict is not yet gold, just a feather yet) along with reassurance that my "friend" was completely fine, grandma asked me a question out of the blue: "Are you going into pediatrics sweetie?"
I just smiled and nodded, while she continued, "I hope you are, darling, we need more pediatricians like you. This is the first time *** has come to a doctor's visit and not cried - she is actually laughing and playing, when it is usually the other way around. God bless you!"
I didn't know what to say, so I just thanked her and ducked out to get my attending, I was pleased and embarrassed. My assessment was pretty much correct and reaffirmed, and the family left with another "God bless you!"
This is one of the first times that I have been so completely comfortable handling a family on my own, though it isn't the first time I have been told I am good with kids. It made my day and lifted my spirits to hear the lady's words, because it reaffirms that I've made the right decision to devote my life to working with children and their parents.
In my last post where I revealed six embarrassing things about myself, I said that I am not comfortable with people, and kids terrify me. It is true that I am an introvert and by extension, I am extremely uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. But I am good with patients and families, and I have an issue with constantly underestimating myself. My fear of interacting with kids comes from my childhood with several cousins younger than I - they all cried as soon as I entered the room they were in, but they would gurgle and coo and babble with my brother. Their mothers would think I was doing something to their babies, and I often got scolded/chastised for "scaring" them. Needless to say, it made me jealous, and left this lasting belief that I am not good with kids. The things you learn about yourself in med school... seem to be varied and interesting. My reluctance to be around people stems from my nerdy and bookish interests, none of which were common in the environment I grew up in. Sure, my mother shares my love of poetry, but she is my mother, not my classmate. Trying to explain the intricacies of iambs and meter and why writing haiku or sonnets is fun to my friends was a waste of energy and dignity, so I ended up being everyone's friend and no one was truly, really mine. Now, I have a voracious appetite for peopling. Having been denied for so many years, medicine is a banquet for my human-starved writing, and a lot of people find their way into my poems and words.
This has been an incredibly long, incredibly random post. I'm amazed at my wordiness considering I've crossed 2000 words on my NaNo today, plus all the other's I've written and spoken, and there are more bubbling up in my head that I am trying to catch.
Today, life is good.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Six Unspectacular Things About Myself
Brenda tagged me to reveal six embarrassing things about myself.
1. I cannot wake up in the morning - I think 8 am is early, but I manage to kick myself out of bed by 6:30 during the week. Don't ask me how.
2. I read/write poetry during study time.
3. I cannot sit still in a classroom atmosphere - I zone out, write poetry/stories/journal entries. I'm still able to answer questions and participate in intellectual discussions - no idea how. My multitasking talents are honed to perfection, I guess.
4. I abhor paperwork, but I am entering a profession where it is the be-all end-all. God save my soul.
5. I am not comfortable dealing with other people's kids. Or with people, period. I'm going into Pediatrics. Yikes.
6. I don't have a single picture from a single birthday since my second one. Even though I celebrated some of them.
Terms & conditions!
1. link the person who tagged you: Brenda
2. mention the rules on your blog: (these are them).
3. list 6 unspectacular things about you: (see above)
4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them: Brenda, do you honestly think I read blogs other than yours? Yikes.
1. I cannot wake up in the morning - I think 8 am is early, but I manage to kick myself out of bed by 6:30 during the week. Don't ask me how.
2. I read/write poetry during study time.
3. I cannot sit still in a classroom atmosphere - I zone out, write poetry/stories/journal entries. I'm still able to answer questions and participate in intellectual discussions - no idea how. My multitasking talents are honed to perfection, I guess.
4. I abhor paperwork, but I am entering a profession where it is the be-all end-all. God save my soul.
5. I am not comfortable dealing with other people's kids. Or with people, period. I'm going into Pediatrics. Yikes.
6. I don't have a single picture from a single birthday since my second one. Even though I celebrated some of them.
Terms & conditions!
1. link the person who tagged you: Brenda
2. mention the rules on your blog: (these are them).
3. list 6 unspectacular things about you: (see above)
4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them: Brenda, do you honestly think I read blogs other than yours? Yikes.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Wishful
Its a crazy month, stressful and exciting. I love it and hate it, all the guessing. Waiting for residency interviews is nailbiting-scary. And I stopped biting my nails in 1996.
The worst are the would-be-friendly rejection letters, because each of the programs I applied to have been carefully chosen. Of course, I have my step 1 score to thank for the showing so far, and I should get more starting Nov, once the MSPE's are released to programs. I think my MSPE looks good enough to garner me a few interviews more.
Its disconcerting to hear others say things like they have 15-20 interviews already - jeez. You popular, ideal doctor, go away from my life. Really. Stop making me feel inadequate already!
I want to get a good residency; I want it so bad it hurts sometimes. I want to be free of worrying! This whole process is going to drag on for six months, right until March. ITS TOO DAMN LONG!!!
The worst are the would-be-friendly rejection letters, because each of the programs I applied to have been carefully chosen. Of course, I have my step 1 score to thank for the showing so far, and I should get more starting Nov, once the MSPE's are released to programs. I think my MSPE looks good enough to garner me a few interviews more.
Its disconcerting to hear others say things like they have 15-20 interviews already - jeez. You popular, ideal doctor, go away from my life. Really. Stop making me feel inadequate already!
I want to get a good residency; I want it so bad it hurts sometimes. I want to be free of worrying! This whole process is going to drag on for six months, right until March. ITS TOO DAMN LONG!!!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Coelomic Musings 3
{One of a series of poems from the hospital}
My thoughts are imprisoned
outside the window
like moths trying to get in
to burn themselves at the altar
of your bedside reading lamp.
I sit with you,
my body a question mark
dangling on a chair,
you a semicolon curled
in paralysis.
Together we watch
technicolor miracles - a red-blazered witch
speaks of deaths, lives, money.
The quiet ticking of the clock
becomes too loud and long
from eon to eon.
I hallucinate about endless sea,
open cloud and free wind.
Freshly mown grass
and new delivered button roses
offer a moment's glimpse
at Life as we both once knew it.
Your grateful touch
brings my skewered perception
to book, the razor-edge of death
is walkable again.
I dont need caffeine anymore
My thoughts are imprisoned
outside the window
like moths trying to get in
to burn themselves at the altar
of your bedside reading lamp.
I sit with you,
my body a question mark
dangling on a chair,
you a semicolon curled
in paralysis.
Together we watch
technicolor miracles - a red-blazered witch
speaks of deaths, lives, money.
The quiet ticking of the clock
becomes too loud and long
from eon to eon.
I hallucinate about endless sea,
open cloud and free wind.
Freshly mown grass
and new delivered button roses
offer a moment's glimpse
at Life as we both once knew it.
Your grateful touch
brings my skewered perception
to book, the razor-edge of death
is walkable again.
I dont need caffeine anymore
Friday, August 22, 2008
Compressed three month Blog
It has been such a crazy time since I last posted here. I've moved from friend's place to a pretty condo in suburban Chicago to sharing an apartment with three other girls and calling a room the size of a closet my own. Of course, this claustrophobia-inducing room is temporary until I can find better accomodations.
I took both CK and CS in two consecutive weeks at the end of July and the beginning of August. I just finished celebrating the results for my CK, which I passed, IMO, with flying colors. With my QBank scores swinging between 60 and 75 all the time, my score surprised the heck out of me, considering all the craziness that the past three months of my life have been.
My parents asked me to buy myself a gift, and because I am a nerd, I'm thinking about getting myself a booklight... haha. Nerds FTW.
Met up with a bunch of classmates and schoolmates the other day after a long time, I hadn't seen some of them in over two years. And it was fun. Its nice to meet up with people who understand that unique situation I am in.
On the flip side, my rotations in CT aren't happening. Not exactly sure where the goofus happened, but it did and now I'm stuck without rotations.
That may be a good thing because I want to go into Pediatrics (YES! I finally made a choice!) and neither of those were pediatric rotations; so that leaves me free to do a slew of pediatric rotations for my electives. I'm working my a** off to get rotations here in Chicago, this is where I want to live and work. I might decide to do a Sub-internship in Internal Medicine both because it is a school requirement and because it will keep me from being idle and tearing out my hair while waiting for my pediatric electives to be scheduled.
You heard that right, I said I want to go into Pediatrics. Yay for words coming back to haunt me... and premature declarations.
I'm also trying to finish my scary-looking paperwork for the residency application process. It is so scary.... I hate paperwork and I've been told many times that I am in the wrong field for the amount of hate for that particular item... Sigh. I suppose it is the rule of balance.
I've also been calling programs and doctors in practice to see if I could do rotations with them; I've exhausted the minutes on my phone... hahaha. And I'm still sitting on my ass. This is doubly hard on me because I'm not a people person at all, and it makes me cranky and insociable. I turn into a cave being. Completely... except for the fact that I wear clothes... I don't feel like talking to anyone after those crazy, long days. I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH PEOPLE ANYMORE! (I happened to mention this to my mother the other night when she had called - and she laughed. Obviously, there are exceptions - I do always want to talk to my parents and certain friends)
Yesterday I went to the clinic so someone could stick me with a needle and draw three huge tubes of blood from my arm, and get a complete physical; today I had a chest x-ray. That concludes the medical portion of the programme - it is the the last bunch of tests I'll need before I graduate, hopefully. Results on Tuesday!
For all the rollercoaster that I've been on since mid-May, I am a stronger and saner person today. I've noticed my priorities have changed a lot... though I'm still not a people person. I'm learning to focus on the big picture. I'm trying to hone my sense of humor... apparently, I developed one when I wasn't looking. I've also made friends - some of whom will be permanent sparklers.
And Big hugs for everyone that sent out prayers, good wishes and encouragement. I love you all!
I took both CK and CS in two consecutive weeks at the end of July and the beginning of August. I just finished celebrating the results for my CK, which I passed, IMO, with flying colors. With my QBank scores swinging between 60 and 75 all the time, my score surprised the heck out of me, considering all the craziness that the past three months of my life have been.
My parents asked me to buy myself a gift, and because I am a nerd, I'm thinking about getting myself a booklight... haha. Nerds FTW.
Met up with a bunch of classmates and schoolmates the other day after a long time, I hadn't seen some of them in over two years. And it was fun. Its nice to meet up with people who understand that unique situation I am in.
On the flip side, my rotations in CT aren't happening. Not exactly sure where the goofus happened, but it did and now I'm stuck without rotations.
That may be a good thing because I want to go into Pediatrics (YES! I finally made a choice!) and neither of those were pediatric rotations; so that leaves me free to do a slew of pediatric rotations for my electives. I'm working my a** off to get rotations here in Chicago, this is where I want to live and work. I might decide to do a Sub-internship in Internal Medicine both because it is a school requirement and because it will keep me from being idle and tearing out my hair while waiting for my pediatric electives to be scheduled.
You heard that right, I said I want to go into Pediatrics. Yay for words coming back to haunt me... and premature declarations.
I'm also trying to finish my scary-looking paperwork for the residency application process. It is so scary.... I hate paperwork and I've been told many times that I am in the wrong field for the amount of hate for that particular item... Sigh. I suppose it is the rule of balance.
I've also been calling programs and doctors in practice to see if I could do rotations with them; I've exhausted the minutes on my phone... hahaha. And I'm still sitting on my ass. This is doubly hard on me because I'm not a people person at all, and it makes me cranky and insociable. I turn into a cave being. Completely... except for the fact that I wear clothes... I don't feel like talking to anyone after those crazy, long days. I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH PEOPLE ANYMORE! (I happened to mention this to my mother the other night when she had called - and she laughed. Obviously, there are exceptions - I do always want to talk to my parents and certain friends)
Yesterday I went to the clinic so someone could stick me with a needle and draw three huge tubes of blood from my arm, and get a complete physical; today I had a chest x-ray. That concludes the medical portion of the programme - it is the the last bunch of tests I'll need before I graduate, hopefully. Results on Tuesday!
For all the rollercoaster that I've been on since mid-May, I am a stronger and saner person today. I've noticed my priorities have changed a lot... though I'm still not a people person. I'm learning to focus on the big picture. I'm trying to hone my sense of humor... apparently, I developed one when I wasn't looking. I've also made friends - some of whom will be permanent sparklers.
And Big hugs for everyone that sent out prayers, good wishes and encouragement. I love you all!
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